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BOUGLAS JEEROLD'S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
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DOUGLAS JERROLD'S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
VOL. III.
JANUARY TO JUNE.
LONDON; PUBLISHED AT THE PUNCH OFFICE, 92, FLEET STREET.
AND SULD UY ALL DOOKHELLFJtS.
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CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
Alt and Himrj S24
Baltimore Smith. A Sk«Ul> from the Fleet 35S
Benjamin's Men. By Paul Bell 607
Bread tram Bniin 431
Guild Hearth-slane, the BH
CkapterofChurdiMice, a 400
ConfeMionaofan Old Picture, the 97
Confetnans af Bichaid Grainger, llie 147
Cmwner'B Quest Law in Utopia 344
Cricket an the Hearth, the 16
Death and the Hangman 115
DevU'i Walk in 1846, the ■. . . 213
Eden'B, Mrs., Sixpence. A short Stcr; for Samaiilans ■ . . ■ £30
English Sceues and Character 38, 117, 42;i
Englishman id Prussia, the 46
Pew Good Actors Wanted, a 25S
Hedgehog LetlcrB, the 69, 176, 369, 4S2, 556
His Majesty the Public 143
History for Young England, a 70, 266, 467
History of Greece, a 624
History of St. Giles and St. James, the (hy the Editor) . 1, 289, 286, 431 How the Henbant'B Clerk turned^ Cabdriver, and foaud KimacV on the
Road to Fortuua 225
Iron Heart, the 26
June 623
Labourers' Galliering, the 145
Laugh of Bhaaamanthus, the '. . 362
Man and Be«s{. » Question 116
May-day for the People 412
Man of Good Sound Sense, a 44!)
Man was not made to Mourn 642
Mariana Restored 368
Masquerade of Society, the ......... 338
Memoranda of Matarin 125
Mission of the Press, the 156
Henof Letters and Iheir Abettors 17
Old Soldier, the 66
Old Misery, the Miser
29'
/■ji.
Ou the DisldTBDtageB ofnol being t nwirf 326
Oligind Good Womsn, the , . 330
Our Village a* it Ought to Be 346
Our Village u il I. 170
OutnaM and the laoer Uk, the 606
Plea for out Climate, b 241
Plea for the World Below Stairs 216
Poor Man's Coat, the 397
Freaent and the Future, the 643
Prewand the People, the 263
Eailwaj and Rojaltj 236
Religion and InduaU? 366
Itighta of the Pocket, the 537
Bomewaid Bound, the - . . . . 134
Besearehei in Belgiairia, or the Works and Wonders of the West . 433, 516 Reviews of New Books :—
America; ita Realities and Beaourees. By Fmnpit Wvse.Eaq. 563
Antonio Perei and Philip the Second 377
Ballad Romances. BjB. H. Home 181
Baron's Yule Fcaat, the 189
Bella and Pomegranates.— No. VIII. and Ust ; Luria; and a Soul's
Tragedy. By Robert Browning, Author of "pMSceUue" , . 673
Black Gown Papers, the. By L. Mariolte 671
Citizen of Prague, the 186
Complete Conconlance to Shakspeare 87
ConftssionBofa Pretty Woman 477
Confessions of an Homwopathist 186
Discaveries in Australia. By T. Lort Stokes. Commander, R.N. . 569
Dunster Castle 93
Earl of Qowrie, the, a Tngedy . lt»
Embassy, the, or the Key of a Mystery 498
Emilia Wyndham. By the Author of "Two Old Men's Tales,"
" Mount Sorel," &c 565
Enchanted Roek, the 191
Essays on Subjects connected with Literature 472
Essay on the Character of Macbeth 474
Eventful Epoch, the, or the Fortunes of Archer Cli^e . .188
Mystery, the . . 184
Female's Friend, the 184
Forest and Game Law Tales .43,192,285
Harding's Fables for Young Folks 86
Hinta on the Study of the Law. For practical Guidance nf Articled
end Unartided Clerks. By Prancii Edward Slock . . .575
History of Civilisation. By William Alex. Mackinnon, F.RS., M.P. 567
Life of Carl Theodore Kiimer 85
Life and Correspondence of David Hume 363
Ufe of the lUght Honourable Geortpi Canning. By Robert Bell,
Author of " The History of Rusua," " Uvea of English Poets," &e. 671 Lives of the Kings of England, from the Norman Conquest. By
Thomas Ra«-oe, Esq 664
livonian Tales. By the Author of" Letters fifom the Baltic" . . 572
Rcsiewi of New B««k> (cmtitmed) : —
LordofBiushlej,the,»PUrmPiv.Act. 191
LmSouhratlfl 86
hegeaii at the Idea 87
Margaret ; or, the Oalden Mine 193
N&rrative of a Four Hontha' Regidenco amongst the Nttivei of a Valley
of the Marqneiag TiUnda 380
Nuns of MiDBk, the 3S3
OlWer Cromweirs Letter, and Speeches 182
0"er Populition and iti Remedj 378
PauU Monti ; or, the Hotel Lambort 93
Peers and Parreniu, a Novel. (By Mn. Core) 374
Poems. ByThoDwiHood 273
Poems. By ThomM Powell .... . . . 95
Pomfret; or. Public OpiaioD and Private Judgment . . . . 283
Prying of a Postman, the 285
Purgatory of Suicides .95
Report ofan Educational Tour in Germany . . . . ' . 376
Roscoe's Life and PontiBcalB of Leo the Tenth 379
Schlegel's Lectures on the Philosophy of History . . . .379 Self-Teaching French Grammar, the. By J. Tourrier, French Master
et Weatminstcr School, &c., 675
Sir Roger de Coverley, > TsJe of Che Court of Charles the Second . 237
Skelchea from Flemish Life 186
Superstition and History of the Middlo Ages 472
Spirit of German Poetry 84
Tatas from the German 235
Tales from Boi^eacdo 236
Wcatem Clearings 236
Wigwam and the Cabin 94, 285
Queen's Lieges, a Romance 479
Queen of Denmark, the 186
SUortSlory of the Allotment Sptem 164
Slajidardof Progress Ill
" Song of the Shirt, the " 565
Spirit Voic«, the 67
Star in the Dark, a 649
Theodore Hook's Gruve 109
Things of Importance 349
Time reimM SlalthuB, the List Verdict 441
To-day 223
Under the Greenwood Tree 3B4
Use of Fools, the . . . 193
Victory, ■ .432
Vision, a 68
Winter Scone 4B2
Winter Robin 29
Wiv-csof GretlMon 335
Worlii of Statesmanship, the 147
Y* Threo Vojces 365
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Uist of Sllusltations.
BY JOHN L
FUTK XIU. " Tbs dWT ylildliiE (o Iha InBtnimiJDts, opena i dull eDddan Bound " ....
XIV. " LoR uiythlng r "eiclktmed Tugle, "ODiy a box of gold ! "
XV. " All right," oried BIsit, tram b
he Ujffened Chs cordi of bl* vl
XVI. "Hr.Cn>«bone,'-i:riedSt.jBmH,"you world'
. XVII. Sntpelonl
DOUGLAS JEJtROLD'S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES *
ET THE EDITOR.
CHAPTER XXII.
JiNoo vaa bom for greatoesa. He had in his character the great dement of a great general — a great atatesman ; marrellous aelf- poBsession. Meaner boja would have been in a flutter of impa- tience ; not BO with the pupil of Tom Blaat. Hence, he aat mider the bed, with critical ear, liatening to the hard breathing of the drunken man, who soon began to snore with such discordant vehemence that Jingo feared the deeper might awaken his bottle friend, Mr. Folder. Jingo knew it not ; but his teatimony would have been verj valuable to Mrs. Tangle ; for the anoring of her husband was one of the diaquietudea of that all-auflering woman ; the rather, too, that the mauconatautly denied his tendency to the habit. He never snored. Of course not ; nobody ever does. Now Jingo might have been a valuable witness on the side of Mra. Tangle, who could never succeed, talk aa she would, in im- pressing her husband with & sense of his infirmity. On the con-. trary, her accusation was wont to be repelled as a gross slander ; an imputation unworthy of a wife and a woman. It ia had enough to endure an evil, but to have the nuisance treated aa a malicious fiction, makea it intolerable. And Mra. Tangle felt it bo. Of this, however, by the way. Return we to Jingo.
With knowing delicate ear, the child continued to listen to the Bt«rtoroua agent. At length, the boy crept from beneath the bed, and treading lightly as a faiiy at a bridal couch, he made his way to the window. Now, had anybody attempted to open it for any
* CoDtinoed from p. SOO, Vd. II. HO. ira. — VOL. III. B
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2 THE H18T0BT OP
honeet pnrpoBe — hod Molly, the maid, for instance, sought to raise it loerelj to give her opinion Of the moon and the night to any niatic astronomer below — it is very certain, that the window would have stuck, and jarred, and rattled ; it was too old and crazy to be made a comfwtable confidant in any such foolish hasineas. . Ten to one, but it had waked the mistress of the Olive Branch, who 'would ineritsiUy have nadged the master. And now a robbery was to be done — a most tremendous robbery — perhaps, to he further solemnised by homicide — for who ehould say that the Farcte who wove the red tape of the life of Tangle, attorney-at- law, were not about to snip it ? — who shall say that so awful a crisis did not at that moment impend — and yet silently went the window up ; easily, Hmoothly, as though greased by Bome witch; smeared with fat "from miirderer'H gibbet." It Is a pity that the devil makes evil so very easy to the meanest under- fllanding.
Two or ibree tninutes passed, not more, and Tom ELact liaatt his head and one of his legs into the (Camber. There was n ^rim
' emile upon his face — a mmvlerons simper at his moutli — a faraay brightness in his eyes, that iihowedhim to be upmi a labDur of Ime. No soldier ever scaled a wall, to receive, it may ho, a bnUe* ot & bayonet, widi the after-leaf of lam'cl that the Gazette fimctMafly lets fall upon his grave^no hero, we say, his nerves strung wifli shouts, his heart heating to the beating drums, his blood boiliBg at Blanghter heat, his whole sool breathing fire and gunpowder, and all to gloriously slay and Back, and bum,- — no Bu<di adveotM- rous plumed biped ever looked more grimly bcfiutiM than did that low-thoughted burglar, that leprone-minded thief. Strange B»d
' mournful this to thwk of ! For what was there good or ooble to make Mb muscles iron ? What holy ilame of patriotism raged ki his heart, refining its grosEness — what lanrel could he hope far, wet with a nation's tears, nations always weeping when Ae private soldier falls ? He had none of these exalting elem«sts to sublimate him, tta a time, into an iaunortal imp of glory. Sie motive was gold ; brutiJising gold ! His enemy, if he came to close quartew, a weak, wine-soddened M man. His fate, if he should fall, no laurel wreath, but suffi>catiDg rope. And yet, we say, the eonceit of poor humanity! We feel hmnbled for oar nature, but we toast declare the truth. Wdl, then, Thomas Blast, prepared for robbery, and it might be, bloodshed, looked as hor- ribly animated — sa ferocionsly happy — as tbough he had mounted
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SI, GILES AITD ST. JAMES. S
Bome In£ui rampirt, graoionBly «enimisBumed to bI^ hhui, woman, and child, to piEage and to .bum, koA all for glory — all for tiie OTOrlasting fame— of who shall count how ajany years, or months, or daye ! Howwry different the potore — tlie^t«Boftbe two men ! And then, again, there is bo Old Buley (at teaat'jii iids world) for the m^bty iD«n of ihe buQy bnrglar. Hare 1
Whilst ivriting this pteee of villany as, riiould H strangely enough find its way into any bartaelc, it will be called, we hare ikot k^t Tom Blast astride upon the wiiidow-«ill. Oh no ! be has busineas to perform — hard, worldly bnsmess, ae he deems it — tnd he has entered the chamber ; and with much oompomre^a placidity which it has been seen he has transmitted to his son — he gazes -at tie sleeping, hard-breathing Tan^. Vt. Blast was , net a man, in anyw^ay, above his profession. He nerer neg^ect«d, howerer p^ty they might be, any of the details of his art. This feeling of precision was, wehavenodouht, bom with him ; and long custom had brought the principle, or whatever it was, as near to perfection as may be allowed to any aehievement of fallible homa- nity. Had destiny pnt Blast in the ref^etahte position of the attorney in the bed, sure we are, it wonW have been the same with him. Certain we are he would have been as particular with his inkhnrn, his pen, bis parchment, his feiret, — as he new was with his equipments of dark lantern, crowbar, and ri^e.
For some moments, Blast, by the aid of his lantern, looked meditatin^y upon Tangle, Possibly he felt Buch a d€^ sense of secnrity that he Uked to dally with his snhject — 1» coquet with robbery — to gently sport with sin, to give rt a sweeter flavour. For this is a trick of humanity : in evidence of which, we could and we would quote rosy e:iamples : bat do ; we will not treat the reader — in this history we have never yet done so — as though his bosom was stuffed, doll-Uke, with bran : we believe that he has a heart boating in it, and to that interpreter, we write, as we should say, many things in short-hand : sometimes we may lose by it ; neverthdess, we disdain to spell eveiy passion wilb its every ietler.
" He'd never be stole For his beauty, would he. Jingo?" asked Blast, in a loud whisper, blandly smiling.
'* And whatever beanty he has, he shuts it up when he goes to sleep," replied the child. " Oh, isn't he drunk !" the hoy added, with considerable zest.
"He is," sdd Blast, who still looked contemplatiTe. Then
4 THE mSTORT Of
fading tlie lantern, to catch the hest vieir of Tangle's face, ho continued — " Wbat a horrible pictur ! He looks as if he'd come Irom Indy in a cask of spirits, and was just laid out, afore he was to be buried. Jingo, my boy" — and the paternal hand WM gently laid upon the hoy's head — " Jingo, your poor father may haye his faults, like other men — I can't say he mayn't ; no ; but he isn't a drunkard. Jingo, else he hadn't got on the little he has in the world — he hadn't, indeed. And so, take wanung by what yon see — hy what you see," and Blast stretching his ann towards the sleeper, said this in a low voice — touchingly, that is, paternally. " And now, Jbgo, where's the shiners ? ' asked the man of business.
The thoughtless reader may deem it strange, ntinatural, that a man about to perpetrate gibbet-work should thus coolly delay, and after his own fashion, moralise. But then the reader must ponder on the effect of long habit. In his first battle — though common history says nothing of it — Julius Cteaar, not from cowardice, but &om a strange Inward perturbation, bled at the nose : similar accidents may have happened to other heroes nhen they have drawn what with an odd gallantry is called their maiden sword. . Still the reader may not yet comprehend the composure of Tom Blast. The more his loss. But then, probably, the reader has never been a househreakcr.
Return we to our colloquy. " Jingo, where's the shiners ?"
" There !■" said the boy, pointing to the closet : " and see," he whispered, with a proud look, at the time producing Tangle's pistols — " see, I've got his pope !"
This touch of early prudence and sagacity waa too much for a father's beart. Tom felt himself melted, as with undisguised tenderness he said, taking an oath to the fact — " Well, you are a bloomer! you are — "
At this moment, Tangle rolled upon his side, gabbling some- thing in his sleep. On the instant. Jingo was at the bed-side, with both hia pistols presented at the sleeper's heod. The eyes of the little wretch glittered like a snake s — his lips were eom-
Eressed — his eyebrows knit — his nostrils swelling. At a thought, e looked an imp of murder. " There 's a beauty," said the encouraging Blast, "don't let him wag — if he should " — it was needless for Blast to finish the injunction ; a terrible grin, and a nod from Jingo, showed that he clearly unc'erstood the paternal wish.
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BT. GILES AND BT. JAJ1E8, fi
" ThU ie the closet, et V eud Blast, 'with a veir contemptuoua look at the frail partition between him and El Dorado. Then Blast took a email crowbar from hia pocket ; a. remarkably neat, portable instrument. For some eecondfl he stood twirling it in his hand with the composed ur of a professor. Had he been a fashionable fiddler, he could not have fondled his alchemic Cre- mona more tenderlj, more lovingly.
One moment he looks at the door. Ha ! that was the touch of a master ! How it was done, ve know not. By what sleight — what dexterity of hand, we cannot guess, but in a few Beconde, the door yielding to the instrument, opens with a dull, sudden sound ; and Tom Blast surreys Tangle's chest of gold. Blast's (SOU and heir still presenting two pistols at Tangle's drunken head.
At the opening of the door. Jingo looked round and laughed. Before, his eves were bent upon the sleeping man ; and it wa« plun, from the working of the boy's face, that he was fighting with some horrid thought — some danmahle temptation. There was he with death in lus two little hands — there was he with it terrible curiosity growing in his features : hie lips trembled, and he shifted uneasily on hu feet ; he breathed huti ; he ponced, for an instant, down the muzzle of each pistol. There was the man — sleeping — still ahre, though seethed in drink, and looking like death. There he was — the dreaming man with his dreaming mur- derer. For should the deyil — and the boy felt him at his sid^— should the demon only jog his elbow, crook his finger — and how odd, how strange, how very curious it would be, to see that sleep- ^g face, with a flash, asleep in death ; to catch the look — the brief one look, as the soul shot into darkness !
But Tom Blast suddenly burst the door, and the boy laughed and trembled. He thought it very strange — very odd — he could have wept.
" All right," said Tom, "we're lords for life!" He then laid hands upon the bos — paused — and looked suddenly blank. Wayward, obstinate Plutus ! He would not be lifted — no, in hia heavy majesty, he would not be made to budge. Ag^n and again Tom Blast essayed to stir the god— to take him in his loving arms, and, hugging him to his breast, to bear the divinity to some- sweet sohtude, and make him all his own. Provoking, was it not, that that which added to the treasure, added to the difficulty? Tom could have cursed the patriotism of the voters of Liquorish, tlmt— the immovable box declared it — ^bore so high a price. Ho-
had no bebe£ that theur virtue could hare bee* »> rary Talmlile— to thems^TOK Ttan, kew«ver, wovid not he baffled. No ; a voiee inoed from the hex, litat, like the voice of jeenng beaaty, at <»ce piqued and auimaled him. And atsw he waa resolved. Hia amenB might mack — Ua Adam'a clay might he flawed baneath. the load — neTertheleu, He woidd Uft it.
" Jingo," whispered T<»n, " doa't mere 4 toot. The damoed bcs " — m thia wa^ ioea DBgratefnl man too dlen treat lua Mt^er- flnx fit wealth i — " can't be lowered oul of window ; 'tweidd go nnMMiTf. 1 11 creep down and unbtdt the doer, aad then" — Blait bad said enough ; Jingo nodded his perfect cotnpr^eeEnoB ei hia fa&er's {dan ; and the robber, silently as a ahadow creeps along the floor, paaaed from the nxno. Jiogo was alone — alene, with his ranrderoua toys — fi»-to him they vere verj playthings — and the deeping sot. A^in,did strange thoughts tia^e in that mistaught little braia — again did a doTilieh ^Htit c^ miechief begin to poaaesa him, when b» paterud monitor returned, wdth a hght^d, a [deaeed look.
It was, doubtless, a changing sight — a apectade hugely e^yed by die few select i!^>ectators — to bebold Hercules mt^e his final maMular pveparation forthe a(dtievement of any one of Ids laboota. The majesty at wifl — that mor^ regality of man — muet have so- beamed and flaalwd amond Us brows, that eveo the gods may have lei^ed from tha windows of heaven, pleased with s royalty dutt seemed a shadow of their own. And so be of good heart ye many sobs <^ Hercules, fighting, wrestling with the monsters di adverse fate — be of good £e^. thouj^ you cmabat in the solitude of a desert ; Dovcrthedess, believe it, if ye fi^t courageously, there we kind looks &em. heaven always beaming on you !
We iiuline to die belief that Tom Blast bad never heard of Hercules ; or if indeed he bad, the name waa so associated with tte Pillars, that if he ei>« ctmsidcred die matter at all, he may perehuice hsre thoo^it Herculee stuiie very famotn tapetcav aiM A>t tertain London liostekies known aa HetcaleB' FSlars merely etaniizad his reparation. We feeg^, too, the name ef the anti- qwry who wrote a vsy thick book, proving that the pillais aet up C^ Bereules — vulgarly supposed te eommemorate lua l&heurs — woe no otkM than a vety classic pttblic-hoaae, wherein, aAer lua last day'a work^ he drained his cool tankard. Be this as it may, Blaat WM in no way- strengthened by the tWughi of the r^oHning HfscuIeB, when he ptepaced himsrif to lift npoo Ua ^didar tint
ST. filLBS UID- 8X. HMES. 1
biUar sweet — that "h^tvj UghbUB*, serious raiiitj'" — thai biu- tunwg, cEoahmg weigkt of gold. NerertlieleBs^ Ote prepvatioa ot Blaet w&a wotihj of &e best Bcoondrel hero of the world's M age and wedatau. He looked at the box wkh flashing reBolutim — set hU teeth — fixed bis feet — and put fotth bis arms, as LbaaglL he wettld roet up an oak.
Aad saw ahout, ye iiaps ! Scream,, ye deiiUuna, — for it ia done E The gotd ia on the tluef'a dioulder ! His kaees quiver beneadt the sudden wealtb. — hia cheat labours — his face gjwws purple aa gr^KS — and the reina in hii gibbet brow start thick and blaek wiUi bloed, — yet a proud sraile plaja about his borae-sboa mouth, and he le<^ a Nei^ate hero !
Breatbing hard, in hoarse whispera, tbe robber gives directionB to the boj — "Jingo — good fellow — don't stir — only a minute — onlj a minute — wbeu I'm clear off — then — jou knoir." Aad witb thU broken cownsd. Blast — hia Btren^ straiaed to the utBMst, tumedto thedoOT — and staggered from the room. Youog Jingo's iaca darkened, and now be glaneed towards the window, to HCnre himaelf a retreat, new he fistened to catcb tbe progrsaa of his father's footsteps. To trip — te atunhle but am int^ — and what a erasing sunnnona to t^ whole household would reault from that fallen beap of gold ! Still be liatened, and etjll be felt rerftssDred ! Tbe robber made siieut and successful progreaa. It was a difficult pa«e^;e— that nacrow, crooked Btaircoee ; and as the thief accommodated hie burthen to its wiuding wftj, thoughts of mortality would come into tbe diid'a brain ; for be marvelled how when anybody died — and it waa an <^ old house — tbey owned tbe coffin do»a tbu confined, sinuous path. But gold — heart-streagthening gold— i»OB bis ^uld^'a, and he bean up witli Atlutteon will, the whilst he moves aloag noiseleseljr aa tbe bare limps en iha greenswacd. Hehas eroaaad the threshold — closed tbe door behind bim — he is in the wide world, witb bis fortune on his sboutders. Wbither shall he go ?
Direct, asust ^d, ye good getvi that, all unseeuy favour and sboigthea the m&v m^iey-Biakei ; tbe- man, wbo only eata, and drinks, and ti^aa Ma tem^rate rest, that be may bo keener at a bargsia, sharper for prefit. How many, — save Aat their goldea burdeoa are law^ g&iBB, Ui^ i^ obtained by no greas violatioa of tiie statute — arc, like T(m Blast, puzaled, asnfbuaded, by tb» vety tieaauie they ha>ve toiled for ? What a hard, uagrate&d w«jgUi,-T^ea moBstreofl WMJib ! Sawbaw, with all t^ Ueasii^
nungled with it, they cannot extract heart'* ease from it. They sweat and toil under the load, when — though they know not how to Becnre the happiness — they would fain sit tiiemselTeB down on Bome green, pleasant spot, and enjoy their long-toiled-for delight. No, it may not be. The spirit — the sole possessing spirit Aat, day and night, made them subdue all gentler, softer inflaences, to the one exhausting purpose, wealth — the spirit is still their despot, and rules them as tyrannonsly when in cloth of gold, as when in frieze. They hare worked, sweated for the precious load ; and, when obtained, it is hung about with fears. How many have crawled, bmte-Uke, on all-foars tbroogh dirty, winding ways to wealth, with the sweet unction at their souls that, arrived at the glorious bourne, they would then walk very erect ; would cleanse themseWes of the inevitable defilements of the road ; would, in sooth, become very sweet men indeed. Well, they have reached the shrine ; they have learned the true "Open Sesame !" — they are rich, past all their morning dreams of wealth — but somehow, there is thetrick of old habit, — dtey cannot well stand upright ; and their hands have been so dirtied, ,^e{tny their way to Plutua, it seems to them a foolish task to try to whiten and purify them. This, however, they can do. They can, somehow, blind the world : yes, they can put on very white gloves.
Take from Tom Blast the spot of felony, — and as he staggers
onward in darkness and uncertainty, almost crushed with his
weight of wealth — knowing not where to 6nd repose — he is no
other than your monstrously rich man, who has exchanged his
. heart at the Mint for coined pieces.
Fatigued, perplexed with rising fears, the robber goes on his nnknown way. He strikes wide from the village — goes down lanes — croasea fields. And then he pauses ; and casting his load iqwn the earth, he sits upon it, takes off his hat, and wipes the streaming sweat from his brow, a myriad of unthought of stars looking down upon his felon head.
Yes ; he has taken the good resolution. He will henceforth be an honest, respectable man. Let fate be only so kind as to assure him his present spoil, and he will wash his hands of all such woi^ for the rest of his days. He vrill— he thinks — leave London. Tes^ hQ will discipline his soul to forego the sweet allurements, the magic wiles of that city of Comus. He wiH go into th* comitry, and be very good to the poor. He will change his name. With such change, he cannot but slough much of the bad reputa-
BT, QILSB Ann SI. JAICES. 9
tion that the prejudice of society has fixed Dpon lum. He will become a country gentleman. He will give away a bullock and blauketa at Christmae. He will go regdarly to church. Yes ; he will eihow that be can be truly religious t for he will have a pew as fine, if not finer, than any pew be had peeped into yesterday. If fate, for this once— this last time — would only be kind to him ! This virtuouB determination eo befooled the feloa, that ho felt his heart opened ; felt all hia nature softened to receive the best and kindlieet impreBsions. Though, in hia various crooked ways, Tom Blast had gulled many, many men, yet bad he never ao oom-
Siletely duped any man, as, at that moment, Tom dnped Tom. He sit himself mightjly contorted. He looked arouna him — at the hedges — the trees ; as though carefully noting their particular whereabout. He roae blithely, with s<xne new resolution. With renewed etreugUi, he swung the box upon his shoulder, and in a few miuutea he had hidden it. He would come bock at a proper season — and with proper means — to moke the surer of it.
Return we to Tangle's chamber. Oh, innocent sleep ! There was the parliamentary agent — the man with the golden key to open the door of St. Stephen's to young St. James — there was he, still in port-wine slumbers — still sunk in the claret sea ! Beautifid was the morning ! The tumble air frolicked in at the open window — for the mercurial Jingo had not closed it when he departed with Tangle's treaBures. The glorious sun rose blushing at the ways of slothful man. The sparrows, tenants of the eaves, flew from distant fields, many a one proving, by the early worm that writhed about its bill, the truthfulness of proverb lore. And still the attorney slept ! Sleep on, poor innocence I Thou kaoffcst not tho gashes cut in thy pocket ; thou knowest not how that is bleeding mortal drops of coined blood ; for bow much seeming gold is there, that, looked upon aright, is aught other metal? Sleep on.
And Tangle sleeps and dreams. A delicious vision creases and wrinkles his yellow face like folds in parchment. Yes ; Tangle dreams. AnA we know the particular dream, and — sweet is the privilege! — we may and will toll it. Somnus, father of dreams — what a progeny has he to answer for !— did not kindly send to the lawyer a visionary courier to apprise him of bis loss ; and so to break the affliction to bis sleep that, waking, he might perhaps the better endure it. Ob, no ! tliere would have been no sport iu that. Contrast is the soul of whim ; and Somnus waa inclined to a joke with the razor-sharp attorney.
WbereupM, Ttu>^ ^vamt that ha was i» Ua dattlv-lMd — ud ■Mnrtheleu, bed. bt him had nsrer been to delieiow. He kxmw hi& hour waa cemc : a usiling angd — all eUgenee — wi eitk«r nijn biiil told lum ao. And Tangle, «alliDg up a deeent lodt itf regret at his wife «nd children, Bttinditig about them, told them to be oonfoTted, aa he was going- Inmiediateljr to heaven. This he know ; and it showed their ignoTanoe to look anj doubt of the mMer. That afaeat d gtAd — the gold once taken to pay iba eketota of LiqiKii^ — was, after the manner of dreams, Btwehow his awn pn^iertj. And therefore, he ord«red the cheet to be ph<ed on- the foot of his bed, and opened, The lid was raised ; aad eh, what a glm-j ! It was £11^ to the edge with bright, bti^t guineas, all bearing tha benevolent faee — a wonderful IftmeBS, in fact, as every face on gold is, a speaking likeneea, for H talks evwy t«igae — of George the Third ! When Taagle saw them, ha umled a smile— ay, could we have fidlowed it — to the very roots of hie heart. " I am going to heaven," said he ; " I have toiled all my life for thttt goodly end ; I have sersfted and seraped those blmsed things together, knowing tihat if I had enough of them to bear my weight, they would coiry me straight to Farsdise. Ko, my deu- wife, my dsding duldren, think not mj brain is wandering ; think me not light-headed ; for at this sdemn time, Hue avfid moment, I only hope to cowsnimnate the g^TMl Inject itf my life. I have made money in this world, th^t, by its meaast. I might make Evre of heavea in the next. And they" — and Tai^le again pointed to the giuneas—" tboee bri^ celestials will earry me there !" And now comes the woBdocfiil part of the dream. When Tangle had ceaaed speaking, every gtdnea rose, as iqton tiny wings, front the box ; and, Hke a swarm of bees, filled the doatli-chainber with a hummij^ sound. Aai then gradually every Bung George the Third face upon the guinea grew and rounded into a cherub head of glittering gold, the winga extending and expanding. And who ah^ count the nnmber of the cherubim glorifying the chamber with their edhi^ence, and making it resound with their tremendaus music I A e£i»-t time, and. thai Tangle dreamt that the cherubim were hfiuing him from hk bed— aU lifting, all snpftorting him, all tending Urn in bis opwud £ight. And then again be smiled at his worldly wisdom, for he felt that every guinea he had laade — oe BKtter how, upon earth — was become aa anged, hel[nng^ hiia to iMftven. And s&i in his dream — TO»fi™g and anuIiBg, ho wentiq>^-up — up! ( ' i u^l ■
8T. OILES AKB BT. UHES. 11
Koip, if MMj MTJlltBg leadtr disputM the Bodtetitiatj- •£ t&is (koHi — if, ptuJungr it vide, ha taHi it estnwftgant aad ndkidoiis, K« are, vitiuMt fUdBer pcepArstioii, rewly to prore it a twj reuiBaUe and Hie^ dream ; a diesm tii&t ia no otker than a vusnaij end>odimant af tfae wnking tiwugl^a of vanj a Jm*^ >i4« koudB uid hokrdB, as thonglt enry bit of gtid. vm, ■• tiu- lowjflD hfkTQ it, H^ia of PamliBe. When (and it does smn»- tMH happea) a lugli dignttazj of the Church diea with a oobr of tone hofidcBd and fbrtj thousand pounds, who iknU ■aj- diat tha good man has not hoarded them, in the belief that ererj ponnd viB MCTH him as lui angel to hdp him to heaven ? He kncHn he Oisnot teke l^flB to bins ; bat, with a wisdora onhnown to modi. o£ the ignorant laitj, he eridently belieTee tiiat they can ch^ Am there. Hence even Chuich avarioe,' properly cwiudered,. tavj be eoceUeat rdigion. — hraice & orairiing, caterpillar nuMT nuj only crawl to soar the higher — a triumphant Prrche I
And still Tangle, in his dream, was ascending to the atara, Wasercff man brought back to this earth with so terrible aahock? C<»Qpared with it, a drop from a balloon uptn Ston^enge wovld ha a few feet ftH upon a feather-bed.
"HaBoI Bleu me I liy good friend! Welt, yoahare a cott- aftstion ! Sleep with the window open '. "
Such were the ezeUMaatioos of Mr. Fidder, uf and arr^ed tor an early walk. Though by no meana unwell fr«»n the last ni^^— OBtainly not, for he was Mvec soberer in his life — he thought he would take a ramble in the fields just to dissipate a little dulnfiss, a digbt hesTineaa he felt ; and being of a cowpeniooahie nabire, liB thought he wmU hold ont to l£r. Tmgle the advantage of Meenpanying him. Wherenpon, he tried the atteiney's do^, and, finding it unlocked, with the pleasant freedom of a friend, he catered the chamber. The- opened wiodew straek him with vsat astonishment. The election was not over, and Mr. Tan|^ might catch his death. Again ha gave veic» to his ^uuetj. ' *- Uj dear sir, — Mr. Tangle — die window — "
" Ten thousand cherubs," said Tangle, still in the clouded— " ten thousand, and not one less. I knew I had ten t^floaaiid ; and oU good '. not a pocket-pieee among 'en^ Chuubs ! ' '
" BUh my 80^ ! ' said Eddezi ". he 's in acme sweet dream ; tad with, the windnw opea. Weli, if I eo4dd dream at all under BtA rirniTTTintinrnn. I shoold CErtainlj dream I was in a saw^mill vridi a saw geing Acovgh eray joint o£ sy body. Asd, wbat 'a more, I edi0^ vaka ai^ Sai. it aJl trott Hr. Taagte 1"
12 THE HI8T0BT OF
Witt other ezckmatioDB — with bIUI more BtrenoouB pulling — Hr. Folder saw that ho was about to achieve Bncceas. There were nndeoiable symptomB of Mr. Tangle's gradual return to a con- BcioasnesB of the £ a. d. of thie world. Gradually, cherub by cherub was letting him down easily to tins muddy earth. The attorney Btretched out his legs like a spider— flung up hia arms — and with a tremendous yawn opened hta mouth ao wide, that Mr. Folder — biit he was not a man of high courage— might have eeea that attorney's very bowels; Tangle oaclosed his stiffly-opening eyelids. It was plain there was a mist — ^possibly a cloud, as from burnt claret — passing before bis orbs : for it was some moments before the face of Ur. Folder loomed through the vapour. At length, Tangle — with every vein in Via head beating away as though it would not beat in such fashion much longer ; no, it would rather burst — at length Tangle, resolving to be most courageously jolly, laughed and cried out — " Well, what 'e the matter ?"
"Why, my dear friend," said Folder, "as to-day is a busy day, I thought we could not be too fresh for work : and so, as we were a little late, I may say, too, a little wild last night—"
" Pooh, pooh ; not a bit. I never felt better : never, in all my life. I always krow wheu I 'm aafe, and drink accordingly. Never was yet deceived, sir ; never. There 'b no pott in the world I 'd trust, Uke the port you get from the gentlemen of the cloth : they're meu above deceit, sir ; above deceit."
"Nevertheless, I do think a walk in the fields — just a turn before breakfast—-"
" No," said Tangle, " turning upon his side, evidently set upon another nap: "no; I like buttercups and daisies, and all Uiat sort of thing — breath of cows, and so forth — but not upon an empty stomach."
"Well to bo sure," said Folder, "you economize. You get your air and sleep together."
" What do you mean ?" grunted Tangle,
"Why you sleep with your window open, don't you?" asked Folder.
" Never," replied Tangle.
" No : then who has opened it for you ?"
Hr. Tangle rtused himself in his bed. Wo will not put down the oath which, to the astonishment of Folder, he thundered forth, when he saw his casement open to the winda. Suddenly he leapt from the bed ; and as suddenly Mr. Folder quitted the chamber.
" Bobbery ! Murder l" cried Tangle, with amazing lungs.
ST. eUXB AND ST. JUtKS. 13
Kov, we KftTe never Icnown this confdaion of terms in uiy wsj accounted for. Tnie it is, Mr. Tangle saw, ob he believctd, the clearest evidence of robbeiy { but there vas no drop, no speck of blood, to afford the slightest hint of homicide. Wherefore, tben, should he, fslling into a common error of humaiutf , couple murder with tbeft ? Why is it, we ask, that infirm man, suddenly awakened to a loss of pelf, almost always connects with the mis- fortune, the loss of life ? Are pnne-strings and heart-striogs so ineritably interwoven ? We merely let fall this subject for the elncida^on of ^e metaphysician ; and so pursue our stoiy.
"Robbery! Murder!" yelled Tangle, dancing in his shirt about the room like a &antic Indian. Mr. Folder, at the door, took up the cry, and in a few minutes landlord and landlady, chambermaid, waiter, and boots, with half-a-dozen tenants of tne Olive Branch, were at Tangle's door. " A minute — only a minute," cried Tangle, as they were about to enter — " Not dressed yet — the murderous thieves — nearly naked — the scoundrel malefactors — guineas, gnineas — gone — gone — where 'a my stockings ?" Very distressing to & soul of sympathy was the condition of Hr. Tangle. As he hunted about the floor for his scattered articles of dress, his face — he could not help it — was turned towards the empty closet, as though in his despair be thought some good faiiT might replace the treasure there, even while he looked. — Thus, looking one way, and seeking his raiment in divers others, he brought his head two or three times in roughest companionship with the bed-post. At length, very sternly rebuked by one of these monitors, he made a desperate effort at tranquillity. He ceased to look towards the closet. Setting his teeth, and breath- ing like a walrus, he drew on bia stockings. He then encased his lower members in their customary covering ; and tben the turned-out pockets once more emit his bruised soul. He dropt npon the bed, and sent forth one long, deep, piteons groan. "Themnrderousvillains ! Evenmyljacco-Btopper ! 'hecried:and then his eyelids quivered ; but he repressed the weakness, and (lid not weep. " Somebody shall swing for this — somebody ! " he Bud ; and this sweet, sustaining tbonght seemed for a time mightily to comfort him. And thus, the attorney continued to dress himself, his hand trembling about every bntton-hole ; whilst the crowd at his chamber-door exchanged sundry speculations as to the mode and extent of the robbery, the landlord loudly exclaim- ing that nothing of the sort had ever been known in his house : a statement emphatically confirmed by his dutiful wife.
14 THE HmORT SF
" And Tsaw," ciied Tui^e, tjiag t^ while Iris Bedk^tli Vk.e a faay-wisp; " and sow, ladies And gentlemen, jDa may ODme in." InstAD% the (diamber -was thronged. "Look here— -look h«e," he said, waTing his hand towards d>e emptycltMetatfatrerauidoas shov — "tads is k pretty Eiigiit, I tbmk, for a re^tectaltle house!"
" What 'b the matter, sir ? " eud tbe landJ<wd. *' Ha?e yon -tost anything ?'"
" LoBt anything ! " eiclaimed Tangle ; " only a "box of gaU * Yes — I — I won't say how many gmneas."
There was smnething touching, awfid, in this inteUigenee ; fir every one «f the bearerB, in same way or tiie other, cidled npon Heaven to hless him or her, as the case tni^t be ; everybniy also declaring that, he or she had never iieard of each a thing.
"But, sir," said (3ie landlord, very provoking^, "are tou sore tltere 's no mistake — was it there when yon wint to bed V
To this tmpertiaent, iiunlting, unfeehng question. Tangle ma^ no veriwl answer. He eaerdy lotted dsggerwise in tiio faoe of the querist, and laughed Bcornfully, h^t^^aHy. He might as well have langbed in the dead fitce of a dead-w&H, for Hie landlord continued:
" Because you know, sir, and this gentlemau " — he meant Fee- der— " and Molly Chambermaid, and boots, simI my wife, bQ know diat you was a little the worse or tlie better for hquor, ae you may diink it, wiien yon came home froai Lazarns Hall. You must feel that, sir ; I 'm sure you do feel it. "
" I t«ll yon what, landlord," eaid Tangle. " I tdl yon what, sir ; this insolence shall not serve your turn — not at all. Yon riiall not rob me <^ my repntalion to cover tdie robbery of my moaey."
" /rob yon! /i«byouI" cried the landlord, adrascingtown^ Tangle, and followed by his wife, the maid, and boots, all takii^ |nrt in the mnsic " He rob you ! " " Master rob you ! "
"Look there! 1 take you all to witness," cried Tamgle, running to the bed, jdncking away &b pillows, and showing a key — " the key of the cloHet ; of that very closet. Now, had I forgottwi myself for a moment as a gentleman or a man of business, is it likely that I should have been so particular with that key ? "
" They must have come in at the winder," said tiie boots, gaping at the open casement.
" Hallo 1 my fine fellow," cried the t<Hi subtle Taifle; "yonseCTi to know something ^out h ? "
"Acaose," answered the unshaken hoots, "neaon tUe gm- tieman sud he fomd the winder oftm."
8T. OBJte AND ST. JAXBS. 15
The lawficvd i^proached the eloaet, lotted about it as though pOBsibI; the box might itiU be in eome corner ; then Bcnlded Ub head; then with his thumb and finger felt the bolt of the lodi, and then BBgaciously obserred; " he was an old band as did-tfaia. All ^ce joaAs on it, sir ; aU the mariis on it. "
"A great ooDBolation," answered Tangle, with a gbufljlpin. " Well, ilr. Landlord, se^ng jonrself in this oondttion — i^at do you propose ! " And the looke of &e landlord answered — ^Nothing.
" You see, nr," at length the Olive Branch mode answer, " yon see, sir, this k election time. Now there nnH a honester l^e in the world — though I was bom in it, I most Bay it, — than Liquorish. But at electi<m time, all sorts of Tillains eome abont
OB, as yon must know. I don 't see what you cui do Tee ; you
can send the bcJlman round with a rewtu^ for the thief— and —
" Pooh, po<^, focJish man ! " cried Folder, who then drew Tangle aside. " Don't you see, my dear sir, how nteh a st^ would damage ns ? Drni't you see bow it would eerre the other luirty ? Imagine ! ' Lost, a bos of guineas fram the Olire Branch ! ' Consider ; what squibs they d fire at us. They 'd swear, — that is, they would insinuate, — that we had brought doini the gold to bribe the electors."
" That never struck mc," answered Tangle j " 'tia more than likely. Heaven help us ! What 's to be done ? Five-and-thirty years have I been in practice ; and never— never before such a blow. Stript, sir — stript," he said, in atone of maudlin sorrow — "atript even of my 'bacco-stopper. "
At this moment. Doctor Gilcad's carriage drove up to the door, and the footman entered the Olive Branch, bearing a letter for Mr. Folder. This anival, coupled with the silenoe of Tangle, caused the landlord, landlady, hoots, and chambenntud to quit the room ; and they vrere speedily followed by others, some of whom said, " What a pity ! " Some, " How very odd ! " and some, " It was very mysterious ; but doubtless lime would show."
" Hy dear friend," aaid Folder, having read the missive, " it is a summons from bis Lordship, who observes that we may as well blend breakfast with busineas. ' We 've no time to lose."
Tangle looked blankly at the floor — blankly at the ceiling. He then wailingly observed, *' That snch a calamity should happen to me 1 To me, above all men in the worid ! How can I ever face his lordship !"
" My good frjend, it'a not so bad. The loss, heavy as it is," said folder, with a vmile, " caa't he niin." ^
vCoo*^lc
16 THE CRICXXT ON THE EEABTH.
" You're a kind comforter, Hi. Folder ; indeed fon &re," Bud Tangle, trying hard at a emile on his own account.
" For you 're a rich man, Ur. Tangle ; a very rich man, and can make up the loss without — "
" / make up the loss, Mr. Folder I /make — pardon me, my dear sir, yon really speak in total ignorance of such matters. No, the gold being his lordship's — for his lordship's special nse — if an accident has unfortunately happened to it — why, of course — "
"Well," replied Folder, catching the drift of Tangle, "that yon can settle with his lordship himself. In the mean time, we had better prepare for our Tisit. I shan't be fire minutes — but you — you need a little preparation. Don't you shave this morning t"
" Not for millions would I attempt it, Mr. Folder. In my state of mind, not for millions, I couldn't do it, sir — I couldn't so provoke fate. I tell you what I'll do — 111 walk on: in my present condition, I'd rather walk. I shall find a barber in the TiUage, and — I shall be at the hall as soon as you — tell his lordship quite as soon as you."
And Tangle with a wandering eye, and unsteady hand, sought and took his hat. He then ran from the chamber, and Mr, Folder retired lo his own apartment.
'THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.
It is the time of gentle thonghts and words,
When voices that make masic in the ear, (As dd the tove-not«s of sweet-throated birds,)
Are speaking the old welcomes, trite, yet dear ; And folk, made happy by their Christmas cheer,
Tell o'er the names of friends in by-gone times. And sing old songs such as their sires did hear,
Until their carols mingle with the chimes.
At snch a time tbon comest, little book I
And flnd'st a welcome waiting everywhere ; The gorgeous chamber and the chimney nook.
The SpiEiT of thy leaves is asked to share, As tho' he were a gueat expected there,
And coming with an hononred kinsman's claim — Such a " familiar face" be seems to wear —
And sach a houaehold word doth sound his ni
v.Goo'^lc
MEN OP LETTERS AND THEIR ABETTORS.
I WAS prevented, Sir, as perhaps you may have heard say, from delivering a short address at the Manchester Athenteum meeting of the 24th ult. Not that I ever should have dreamed of putting myself forward on the occasion, had not some of my neighbours requested it : there being also members of my own family who ore good enough to thini that what I had to say was worth listening to. Most persons, even the humblest, have some who encourage and thmk well of them. When wo camo home that night from the party (with my speech unspoken) there were tragical faces in my house, I promise yon. It was of little use to remind the discontented ones, that to bear me would have been no novelty to them — that some of us, even, knew parts of the oration by heart : one having copied it out thrice, with annotations and corrections. Wait they would, and I must needs hsten. Therefore It is for the Bake of family peace, not my own vanity, that I have acceded to their entreaties ; and as you. Sir, they insist, were one of the causes which postponed indefinitely the arrival of the " opportune moment " (as a female relation of mine phrases it), it ia to you, they continue, 1 ought to communicate the fact ; together with some particulars of the topics intended to be embraced on that very interesting occasion. In so doing, I beg you again to beheve, that I ara considering the feelings of others — not my own,
For will you credit it. Sir ? — the very subject on which I was desirous of speaking was the neglect of Qenins — a fertile theme, though rarely, I must add, treated agreeably ; though now, it ap- pears to me, of greater and more general interest than ever. For see how The People are writing The People's library ! Here we have a man from ^e ranks, laid snugly up for his old age in Chelsea Hospital, who gets some one to put down what he remembers life in the ranks at war-time to have been — what he thought of Penin- sular quarters — how he got on among the common people ia
so. ini. — VOL. ni. c
18 MBS OF LKTTBB8 AMD THEIR ABETTORS.
foreign parts — and when, and where, and how he caught a glimpse of Napoleon for himself ; and, like every one else. Mend or foe, felt a strange thrill at sight of the grey coat and the husiness-like-looking cocked hat. There, again, a lot of Leeds, and Nottingham, and Sherwood people, rallying about auch true men as James Mont- gomery, or Ebenezer EUiot, or William llowitt, are setting them- selves to describe the old walla, the dales, and the wood-openings of their own neighbourhoods, — till locaUties wfcdch I donbt not would be thought in reality very so-so, by people who cannot admire anything lower, than an Alp, or nearer home than Italy, get hold of one on paper with a strong fBseination — the sorcety ef tr«th. Senthward n shall find a Dorsetshire sebvcbtaster, good WilUuii Barme, not wily putting down true village thoogfats in sweet • Tilli^ poems — I vnxid say nearly as good as Bums', only I am rather afraid of some Scotch retationa of mine, who hare Bun« than a touch of the thistle ia their compoeition — but also contribntisg an essay on an obsolete local dialect or language, eomplete &.. .. tderer enough, I am told, to attract the attantion of philologists and antiqiariaDS. Abroad, ereo, where the people are iK>t so &ee to speak as with us, unleia I am miaiaformed, — there i^ ^e same sort of wofk going oa. It was aaly last year we were readii^ the ezp«riffltces <rf the travdlii^ Tailor of WOTdohl, ia WeatpbiUia, who Milahed his way through Europe aad a good part of Aua. Th«m ha* not Hias CartaUe {though she ia ^tna^ abont ^ Welsh) told the English ladies how, if they go to Agen OD the Oai«nae, Honeienr Jasmin the Barber-Troubadour or Tnmbatlowk Bivbsr, instead of ourling their hair, will make theai weep wit^ reciting his own PreveB^al ballads — to aay nothing of M. Rebeol the baker ef NistDO^ ud Sarini^ Lepointe, and soorea of iMtet lowly working ram in Franoe, iriio h»ve fwitd that tfey an worth floagt as welt aa mils of &eir own ! Can I, who aaabulahnmUe old travelling dM'k("a bagman " Theodore Hook would hare oon- temptBOBsly called me), and Amn to write like ^ta rest of dem, see t& ^is and be mmowd ? No, truly. Sir. I am psud to live ni anch a time.
y«7'pnmd, bat a little jealous ^o. "Ay, there it is I" will ery aeme aetira memiier <d the Society for the Obstntetion of Knswledge. " l^e eld faon is hwwat aftar all ! Of murse, all Aat spe«dl^r*'>S i^**^' ^"i <»eafly, waata^, as he owns, t* ba oo his legs hiauielf. Thk eomas of all yaw whokaala eaJUaratiea of the Baseet!" And forthwMi ia retosned « boaAida ef Ae
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MB« osr tBTTEan ixD Tacn abbttoim. 19
dMigers of escitm^ ambidon, bad paauram, and the like ; being Kierel; a repetttiMi with Tariations of the Laureate's Ument for his pririlegeB, and his " Shut Setame" of the Lake country againat the eoiomoBalt; ! Not bo festwilh joai interpretation, charitaUe Sir ! What my wife thought (or the partial female friend who coped mj mstion), I will not profess to assert ; but I, at least, was not jealous ef aaj of tlio Loodoa gentlemen, who entertuaed ua so pleasantlj. I am jeidmu, not vf, but far, those of jkj own order. I want them to enjoj the full benefit of the period they are living in. If the swords of feudi^ times are to ttil to them for [dough- idiares — if, of the epearfi of a decre|»d aristocracy of intellect, it is Aeir privilege to make prmung'Jiooksr I want tbam to }aen the fidl aae, and enjoyment, aad pr(^ of the weapon tnnied into aa infriemeBt.
Aod, to lioB end, I woald bar* a somewhat different language k^ te ^em than hae hkherte been em|^ed : — in some eaaea out 0f incapacity, in othei« out of iwBtake ; in moat, with the speakers' idea of enhanciag their own conacqvenee. The fnsnds aad well- wisbera of awn cf gMtios haTe been ht too htvish of pity ; for too narrow in their ambitioDs, and gross in their eficonragwoenta. Let us take an instanee. The worid does not reUsk Ur. Am&. nmtli's yerses, or fathom the depths of Ur. Dive's philraopby in a twmhiing ; and yon akall see ^ peet and the thinker, encom!- passed by a chtnr of sympathetic or tragic^ persons, railing at Her ■ajeaty because she does sot tliere and then, make Mr. Amaranth
her prime minister ; or at his Graee irf , because h«ia alack in
DBBsiDtiiBg wise PrMfeesot- Diva, while he wotks out the Good and Bfil ^aestioa. Now, I doubt net but the peet, if promoted, would at least ^y kis part as w^ aa naie-tenths (d lito official mackinee who tun) and creak their hour, as hmg as th^ were wovnd up for, ■ed then stt^ ta be re^Jaced by cleverer iBventions. And I will hope (this ie muefa) that the adminble philoBepher might, if gliKi- fied With f^rpte and fine Hwaa, coatinue te rack his bcwne for die beae^ of mankind, as diligmUy as he doSE now in.hia hen»e4pan attire. Bat do the sarrowfiil and initsble people, who snirMuid these gifted anes widi an atmo^iave ef oen^lunt uid seem, ever take mtoaenwnthowibeirfrieQdsi'eaU^ataad? Wl^ they exist ? Wlkat Aey peseeM i Are tho AaaraBths aod Dives already so TBry tar b&aeiA king* and prisean^ as to make the dewal of moia ^ac— ttBJ ttLMuims sa veiy emel aa i^ustice } Hae the poatna vmrprnx wide bsjend ttn swoop irf Bnam's anibUioiLt — tW 0uh>-
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20 ues or lsttbrb and tbbib abgttorij.
Bopber no mineB of thought, Huch as the " North Countrie " cannot match for profundity ? And ia it enough the luugo to dwell on these heritagee, as, in themselves, honours and poBsessions ; in the warding of wliich there is gloir ; in the stewardship of which, a noble duty ? Far too little. On the contrary, because the poet commanda fair domains, and the thinker works veins of the purest ore, he is therefore also to have the honours of the world I He is encouraged to accuse Fortune, because he does not share in the splendours of an emptier greatness, in the money bags of the trader, whose ideas reach the mysteries of the role of tnree, and little beyond. Is this not worldly ? Is it not the counsel of weakness ? — the expectation of irrational assumption ? Qod wot, I am none of those hard and cruel preachers, who talk glibly of "ranks" and " diversity of fortunes and of pleasures " and so forth : — and, thewselTes rubicund in the fatness of the earth and the Ailness of good cheer, proclaim to the poor that a mouldy crust is the epicure's best eating ; and that rags, somehow or other, keep out the cold better (especially if the wearer be lean) thaji furred mantles and treble-piled velrets. But to insult the miserable, and to encourage the high-hearted, are widely different offices. To those who make verses, or who ponder grave questions, as a mere means of enriching themselves, my observations don't aj^ly : nor my consolations. They are traders; and so that they have to sell what the world wants to buy, and so that they neither waste their substance, nor cheat their competitors, they are to be pitied, if opportunity is denied them, and had debts faJl in. But which among "thefollowing"of either Poet Amaranth or Philosopher Dive will admit that hia idol stands in his category ? Why then, by the style of their Jeremiodea, abase two sincere and admirable men, to the level of the tricking, the common-place, and the rapacious ?
Once again, I am not addressing the world at large, but the world of genius. Is not the mechanic who sees beautiful forms and colours in every tuft of moss and patch of heather, as he crosses the comer of the moor behind the foundry — who can call up the fairies in the blue mist of the hollow, or ima^ne Cleopatra's pomps in the red light careering from the furnace' chimney upward into the dark night — a richer and a happier man than the clod who trudges homeward thinking of nothing save his coarse appe- tites ? Cherish, then, you who have te do with the gifted, thankful- ness for this privilege, as not the least valuable aHsistance you can give him ; who have possibly neither money, nor places, nor renown
MBK OP tETTEBS ASD THEIR ABBTTOBS. 21
at c<»ainand. Bo not lie to bim by profeuing diat be vould be as great aa Sbakspeare if be bad the opportimitj, nor encourage bim to BtriTe to rise bj pointing out tbe folly and madueBs of tboae in bigb places. Tell him of bis own greatocM : — of die bigh thoygbta God has gi^en him, if not to create, to appreciate withal ; and should these fail to produce him eartbly reward, remind bim diat he hat enjoyed pleasures neither to be bought nor stolen away. Bid bim prove lumsdf worthy of these and better by patience and self-deni^, and avoidance of all that shall tarnish their beauty. He baa a brotherhood with the chosen spirits of the earth ; let bim look to it. You will help him, if you can, to comfort and to fame, and to bind com paniaii ship ; you will rejoice to see bim wear them well ; but, if tbese are long in coming, or come not at all, you will also help him to retire into tbe sanctuary of bis own lovely imaginings or lofty contemplations, tiiere to find tbe unequal lot made equal — the incompleteness of time and change completed !
This is what I want said to tbe People as an humble brother, and not as a callous orerseer. For, if it applies to some among tbe nncomprehended great whose pilgrimage through life must be seriously embittered by tbe ceaseless wailing of tbe one or two who bear them company, how much the more ia it a necessary wiadcm for that far larger company of aapirants who bave geniua enough to eioite them, hut not to raise them, still less to sustain tboKi, and whoso part on earth is to partake by enjoying ? I havs seen much of this class, sir, from one or two eireumatances. In eome aort, I belong to it myself, aince, whatever my Mra. Bell may say when she is in a fond humour, I assure you that I am neither a Scott nor a Byron. Well, I am convinced by some experience, that tbe notorious amount of suffering which falls to ita lot is in no small degree ascrihable to a short-coming view of tbe functions of Genius on the part of the looker-on ; which, con- jointly with what is celled affectionate sympathy, may and does drive the poor dreamer, many a time and oft, to vent himself in tbo manner recommended by Job's wife. B. vrritcs pleasant
poems on the aspects of Nature B. has kind friends^ He reads
them his veraes. They are honestly enchanted — " As good aa Wordsworth's ! " is the oborua. B. is modest ; — " cannot form a judgment on bis own poor productions ;" but bis friends would not deceive bim, surely ! For a week or more, then, he walks about bis counting-house, or homeward down the same daily insipid
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22 MES OF I^BTTEBS AMD TSEfK ABETIQU.
Une, vith a glory roosd hb head. Tke world, howerrw, alwBjn ■low in tajing " Ameii,"doeBfiot contiBOB thepiwoe ; acoordiugly, B.'s iriends mnBt laegin again ; and, to proTS UKunaelvo* siBGere, mnet rail at tbe world as stupid, or malicJaoBly negleetfol. B., who liBB been pondering " the Kydalian laurels, " in more shapes thui one, is with little difficulty tcratehed «^ by hia warm-heaited bepraiaerB into the half-delicious half-tMmenting glow of feeling himself an ill-used man. Good bye, then, to the court of Obenm »nd Titania seen in the dingle; — to " Egypt " floating down tlie CydDus, as she once showed herself in the amber and orimaan glow of the flame-light ! His path is filled with mocking shapes instead ; brandishing chains and bolts and barrieis, making fast erety door, blocking up every avenue ; and in iJie fiwe-gnmnd he sees a weary fignre mnking forlorn to tlie earth, under the con- tempt of Uan, — ^where so Utdy walked the lliankful and enohanted lover of Nature and of Fantasy.
I am not supposing, Sir — I am telling what I have seui. It is now many years since (so long ago that to mention the matter will harm or pain no one) some of my family were shown the versea of the wife of a fellow-elerk : husband and wife, as neat and hapi^ a little pur as often start in the woi^d, without mndk of " tl^ deeeitfulness of riches " to perplex them. She, it is true, was raliher pale and thoughtful, with very large bright eyes ; but the ■erionsness was w^ understood when once we were told that Hrs. Eden had a turn for verse-making— " mewing " as an oldnureeof mine uaed to call it ; —and the ladies {waised her all the more because she was no slattern with ink on h^" fingers Mid ahoea down at heel : but a thrifty, if not a willing hous&-wife. Kden, the more fotdish of the two, was very vain of his mate, — who can wonder ? — and wonld sit long winter evenings copying her veraes in ooj^rplate-hand, in a rul^ book not unlike a ledger. Uoi«- wer, he was perpetually reciting them to every listener he ootild find ; and this " poem," so ran his commentary by way of depn- cating censure, " wonld have been better finished if the bahy had not been iU," and " the other Italian legaid must not be harsUy blamed if tbe scenery was not qoite right, since Urs. Ed«i bad not been in Italy, yet." EesolutiiHi will always get its ewoer a hearing, sooner or later, nay, nine times ont of ten, a cfrngreM- tion, if two or tliree will eontoit him. Meek little Mrs. £&n became talked rf np and d<nm her str«et. Albtuns were sent bar, aO redolent of mnak and otto of mea. Presently, aomedung «f
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HSM or LETTKBS AKD TBNR ABBTTOM. 28
y«t sweeter Bavffor " smoled apon her board" — iDaeiue to hereelf. tad , beat tMtured of poets and ciiticB, had each acknow- ledged MBte Bpecimen of her powers, — which, bolder grown, she had Heat forth, — with pbrasesof delicioos enoQuisgement : to them, merely irords of oom'se ; to her, alas ! gospel truth. She was heard to say that "her fame ahonld make no difiEarence in her feel- ings towards her old friends." In ehott, the clerk's wife waa lost, and the Poetess, as she would have utid herself, " stood confessed.''
Did I wiA, even for a wholesome purpose, to pain you 'need- lesdj, I woidd write, day b J day, the history of" Sioannah Eden's FoemB," ami their publication ; bow titey ware bom in " a fever of vun-longing ; " how they only saw the light through a series of struggles and economies, amounting to privations, not merely for herself and husband (they were proud, and preferred to spare and pinch and wait), but also for their poor infant. Publishers look on such effusions, Sir, with different eyes from those tA friends "havii^ albums," or indulgent celebrities. Sixty poimds was to be made up for the publication ; but what matter, when every one who had looked at " Hary Queen <jf Scots, a Drama," declared, load and long, that it was one of the most remarkable eff<vts of female genius, sure to produce an £1 Dorado of six hundred golden guneas at the least I Eden, who was a clerk, ought le have tested this praise by the amount of money any one was will- hig to risk thereupon ; bat he had lost his calculating head, and was become a dreamer for a dreamer. " More vigorous than Miss Baillie ; " " More munoal than Mrs. Hemans ; " " Fu&r of fancy thftn L. E. L." — with such fine phrases did be keep off hunger and cold, and stave off, for a momwt, the importunity of debt. And alas ! he was cheered on in his folly, not merely by honest, fotdish friends, who thought sni^ encouragement precisely what w&B best fitted to saj^)ort the Genitu ; but by base persoiu who found an interest in trading on his delusion. The Editor of the Uattouvnll Oaxette has too many kindred np and down the eonntry ; and so l<mg as the Edens had a roof over their heads, rtiey might connt upon what their friend of " The Catefpillw- " ealled " the poweriul influence (f the press ; " — meaning his pro- mises of prtuse in that verarious and widely-spread joumaL
I met the httle woman two eveninga before her book came out, walking with her husband. One could see in her face, sallow as death, traces of ^e severe emotions she had passed throng (for her pwig* ever emaposkien were to her, be use, as MT«re as thott of
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24 HEH OF LETTBBS AKD THBIB ABETTOKS.
a when in the agonies of poem-birth] ; but one could read,
too, in her large, wild pair of eyes, now very brilliant, that fanatic eelf-occnpation and enthuBiaam, which, while it lasts, leaves no room for fear to grow, nor feelings which pun can hurt. She did not heed her shabby shawl, nor her bonnet put on awry, that hot Bummer evening, aa her husband handed her along, with a sort of secondhand simpering copy of her raptures ; and the look of one who should soj, " Behold my Corinna ! "
I dfd not Bee the Edens again for some time, a hnsiness journey
calling me Irom home. During the interval, the poor poetess of-
Sti-eet, had proved one or two changes more important than agree- able : she had exchanged the pleaaurea of admiration for the com- forts of condolence. Who need be told the fate of her venture, so extravagant to herself, so less than insignificant in the eyes of the world ? But the injustice of the public to " Mary, Queen of Scote," declared the condolers, was neither new, nor, unhappily, unaccountable. There had been intrigues, underhand influence employed — there must have been — to stand between a work of such merit and its due. In particular He of " The Caterpillar " knew how one poetess of renown could pTOvent half a dozen reviews from lending a helping hand to any new comer ; — how another tragedy- writer held aU the daily and weekly press in fee. The ear of the poor woman was filled with lies like these ; and her heart with bitter, bitter thoughts. There was no one about her to whisper how that Ehe stood in a false position; and besides, she was long past believing such a truth. It was easier to fancy every human being that wrote verses, false, envious, mahgnaut, and leagued against her, than to come down from her delusions, and own herself mis- taken. So, there were to be new gripings — new fevers — new saerifices — (this time the meagrely furnished but neat house ([uitted for a sluttish lodging, under pretext of change of air being necessary for Mrs. Eden when she was writing) — and, in process of time, there was forced out — another volume.
Am I growing proltz over my tragedy ? The rest may be told in a very few lines. On my return home from another protracted absence, I inquired, among other friends, for the Edens. Stephen had disappeared — none knew whither— in terror, it was concluded, of a printer's bill. Where Susannah was gone, was better known — to the Lunatic Asylum ! " And so ended," commented some -of the very friends who had been foremost in fooling the poor -Buecejitihle creature, " her attempts at poetry : as if she could
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UEK OF LETTZBa AITD THEIB ABETTO&a. 20
hftve made anything of it ! " And Hie literaiy man of " The Cater- pillar " annouDceil the dismal &ct, in a lugubrious paragraph, giving, with an admirable show of delicate humanity, the last ianciea of her Bhattered brain, — the last Tersea she had penned — " On the death of her infant."
Believe me to be serious, kind sir, when I repeat that I could tell you half a dosen tme stories aa dark as this. And with such experiences, do you wonder that I am jealous for all of tu minor prophets who write, without any eitraordinary originality or depth of talent ? — Knowing ouraelTeB, we can neither be mode ridiculous nor become unhappy ; but let not our friends destroy or darken this self-knowledge by misplaced flatteries. If God has given ua fancies and feelings rf finer tissue, and rarer sparkle than belong to others ; let us take them for what they are — blessings and enjoyments ; comforta for our own hearts when lonely ; food for our own thoughts when sad ; even though they will not win for us " the purple robe, the golden chain." These last are good ; and the admiration of our fellow-men a good thing also ; but, better than either, is the resolved and healthful spirit of him who con be glad in the riches of his own spirit, be they less or more, if tem- poral rewards are denied to him !
" I am ashamed of you! Panl Bell!" cries the keen
voice of one who is looking over my shoulder ; " one would fancy you wanted to show the world how to make little of you ! As if there was not enough of that going on already ! — and as if jou were no bettor than poor, silty, Susannah Eden !"
" Nay, who has a right to speak, if I have not?" was my
" Well, take your own way," was the answer. " Tor my part, I say that those who go half-way to show others how to neglect them, deserve to be neglected, Paul Bell ; and I hope yon will be, that 'sail."
" As you please, dear j so jou will only leOK me in peace ! " But I will not, after this, trouble you with the remainder of my speech. It is of the less consequence, ebce nothing will pacify my wife and my wife's sister but having it printed separate.
Ardwkk, Nov. 184G.
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THE IRON HBABT.
Tbb isj ii gatkering op th« miat M though it were a turtle gr^, Some maid (that kept a monung IiTst) Would not haTe dew-stain'd bj the way.
Tbe cheerful biidi are all a-win^ The wak'ning flow«« scarce smml of «artk, WbUst Dove in song is mnrnuiriiu — Too aoft for grie^ too low for mim.
Come I let qb wander throDj^ the dale Where billowy Dove deUghts to flow, And 1 11 reeal a gaaiaia'a tale Waa told me long, long years ago.
Once on a time — (0 happy words J What pleasant memories are thine !) A serf that kept Lord Robot's herds At morning mias'd a brindled kine.
In Tain his rustic horn he blew. No welcome lowing met hii ear. Alack ! poor villain, well he knew Lord Robert's loss would cost him deal.
And o'er the wold and tiiroi^ the dale Tbe livelong day he vainly songbt, Until bis heart with fear did quail, And he became like one distraught.
Then saw he, or 'twas grarnmarye. Lord Robert riding all alone, The knight stoppcKl 'neath a blaated troe, And sat down on a mgged stone.
He took a little cross of gold And broke the holy sign in tw^, Then blew a blast both clear and bold, And lo .' a voice replied again.
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ita moH m&RT.
ere oanVtx niriit'tftsni to Vtdtu." The knight rmjied, " An :iiom huki !" A voice like tfcmder uid, " 'CW !*(« P'
And at the soond Lord Robert's Bte«d
Did bristle ap Mb flowing mane :
He waa A horse of noble breed,
And yet he dripp'd with Bweat Uke nin.
The knight sprvmg to the B»ddle-bow, . And though uncased in mail or plate, HiB callaat war-horse reel'd I ti^w, Ab though o'ermaster'd b; the wei^t.
Day carae and when Lord Robert heard. The brindled kine had gone astraj. He Bwors that by his knightlj word The idle Berf should die uiat daj ; And as he Bwore so did he do — The man did for the heaxt atone ! The IRON nEABT God's ima^ slew. As though it were hut flesh and bone>
Young Marian Maj was veij fair, And gentle as the turtle-dove. Her eyes, as blue as violets are, Seem'd almost tearful with their love.
Her old blind dre wonld never stir Unless hia Marian held his hand : " Though I am dark," he said, " with ktr," " The power of light I iiiHlarBtand,
" I seem to feel the rosea blnsh
" When Marian's cheek on mine is lain,
" The lily's silver glory — hadi !
" Thou It hear it when she ^eaka again."
Lord Robert saw the gentle maid, And lustful doom'd bar for bii pi«y. His will was whi^er'd and ob^'d. For who SQch master dare gainsay !
A shriek rang throni^ Lord Robert's hall ; 0 no 1 'twas not tke scraedi-aiwl^ 07 ; Thongh harrii, it conld not so sppil As did that burst of agony.
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And Maiion May wu nrslf seen ; None spoke of her above their breath : Lord Bobert's iron bbabt, I veen, Had cliiU'd the gentle one to dsath.
She died — her father conid not slay, And BO ther laid them side by aide. Aod thongn men spoke of Marian May, None dared to tell why .Marian died.
Lord Robert and a clninp of roearH Went forth to battle for the Rood ; And in that Holy strife, for yearn None rode ho deep in Pajnim blood ; Where'er the iron heart had led His ruthle&s vassaU on, alack ! Were crimeou heaps of ghastly dead ! — Hb never bronglit a captive back. And deep and loud his revela were, But wine could never heat his brain, And much men mai'vell'd lady fair Did ever Emile on him in viun.
Nought could delight him — nought distress In hnman feelings he 'd no part ; He cared not who might ban or bless — God keep ns from the iron seabt'!
Lord Robert was an aged man ; His sinews weaken'd day by day, His bleared eyes with ibenm ran, His raven hair was thin and grey ; And ever and anon he'd start And gnash his teetli and cry alond, " Hell's cnrse npon this moH hbart " By which my weaiy limbs are bow'd."
Then would he pace his chamber round And mntter fearful words of sin. And beat his aide and lo ! a sonnd Like death-bells answer'd from within.
Still would he beat and sweat with dread, Until ontwom he swoon'd away ; And those who heard those sounds have said They seem'd the knell of Marian May.
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THE WISTEB ROBIN.
His awe-afrock knaTes would raise him np, And seek with wine him to restore, But he would dash away the cup And swear the blood-red wino was gote.
At night his was a fitfnl sleep, Although so weary and so old ; With evVf breath his flesh did creep. His [HON HEART made him a-cold.
At length he di«d — nnshriven died, Thongh three great abbots proffer'd aid. Hie corse they holv rites denied, And in uDhaUowea ground 'twas laid :
The delvers sung that dug the hole ; And as they bore him from the cart None pray'd for mercy on his soul, Bat cura'd alond the laoN hbakt.
THE WINTER ROBIN.
I UEAN to say that the man or woman who can deny that the robin which conducted Jane Foster over the moor, and saved her from perishing in the snow last winter, was commissioned by Heaven, is not a whit better than a Pagan. . I bold fast to that ; if I didn't, I should be a Pagan myself. I don't — and I would wish this to be distinctly ultderstood — I don't believe all that is told about it. For instance, when the neighbours assert that tlie robin changed its shape after leading her to the cottage door, and that she saw an angel spread his wings and rise from the ground, and that she watched ham in dumb awe till he disappeared in the thick, vapoury atmosphere, or was hidden by the blinding snow that came feathering dovm — I don't believe that. Neither do I much credit the tale which, her old grandmother repeats with an lur, it is true, of great veracity, how that sitting by her fireside at the time when Jane must have been crossing the moor, and fretting herself lest the child should lose her way in the snow- storm, she heard songs floating in the air which no earthly voice could have sung — sweet holy songs about the love which the Divine Friend bore towards little children while he was on earth,
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30 TBI WDiIBB BOBOr.
and how he lores and t^eridtes them bow, looking down npoo them from hie far, htg^ h<Hne.
It waa a very cold morning, and they had eat«n Kttle on the previous day ; and for many days part the cloth had teon apread upon the cottage table for potatoes alone. Faal they poseeBsed, &e windfalls of the woode, gleaned before the severe weather set in ; but only one crust of bread on ^lat cold morning, and no money to purchaseany,while, alack, alack! thebakorrefuBed^irthercredi^— having three ahillings and fburpence already scored against them. So Jane pretending that the cmat was larger than h really was, and that shehadsatisfiedher appetite, Boakedit in some warm milk for her grandmother, and carried it to the cJd woman's bed^de.
" Grandmam," said the child, "I want to go to Bookfield tOHlay."
"To Bookfieldl" exdaimed the old womui. "Is the giri mad.-^to think of going to Rook£eM thia weather V
" But grandmam, what are we to do 1 We have no bread, and no potatoes."
" la it lo get bread and potatoes you would trudge sUteen miles afoot on a lone common with snow-diifte higher than the hedges ? No, no, Jane, stay at home, and — "
" And starve, grandmam V
" Why should we starve — isn't there ■ Goi above us all!"
" Tea, gnmdmun.
"And does he not feed Uie yomg ravens that callnpoa Him.?"
"Yea, grandmam."
" And do not we say onr pray^ mom aad n^ht ? — Why then, riioald yon go to Roekfidd ? '
" Becarae, des" grandmam, God only hel^ those who h/iif thoBs^veB. If we wait both at home, bread w<»'t &U tBto our Imps. I must go out and seek it."
" And how will yon seek bread V
" I win beg, grandmam."
'• Beg ?"
" Tes ; I w31 1^ the gentlc^Uks, m they jpaas I7, tiiat I hsm a grandmoAer at hmne who is very old and wJ^, and that we have no ibod to eat. Ok, they are very gennoua — are the rkth peo^e, tot they are ChrntiaBs, yen know, gnndmam ; and does not Sciiptnre say, ' He tlurt giveih to tha poor, Wdeth t« tKe lord?"'
" My poOT, po«r child ! nsy po«r Jaae ! "
v.Goo'^lc
TIte girl wu very eimfJe — so Bimple utdeed as to inagtae that Ae had but to att^, ia tincete aad Appealing toiMS, a trae and moTiBg tale to gain compasHOn, and, what waa of more cooas- qnenee to her, relief. The M noman, thoiif^ simple enongfa in her way, was wiser on that pcunt tbwi her graodiuighter. She had seen a little of the world, and knew that the Chriatiaiut; of the 114^ is too oftei), like the working-man's best ganaeot, worn ooij on Sundays.
" iij poor Jane, do jou suppose that the gentlefolks will listen
" Tet, grandmam ; why oat ? I shall tell them that you are old and hungry."
" Does it snow now^ Jenny bird f "
" No, grandmam : it ia qsite fine, aad I shan't feel the cold, I walk M flat, you kmw. "
" Yen ^lalL go to Raekfiald. God will protect my datfiag. Fetch ne that box, and grre me the key trota my pockeL"
" Yea, gnadnaan^ Oh, hew good yon are to let me go."
" Not to iMg, n^ child ; yon shan't beg y^ I've BtHnetldBg left in Aisb<H. that will keep the wolf firotn the do<ir a little lon^,
sndiris) knows bat wbat but litiwe," added the oU. woman,
dndiiBg hoself, and q»«aking below her breath, " heat ti> say nothii^ of Asm. Fear I&cbard, we shall see yo« bo mwe tilt w<e meet in hMTen."
She drew forth a chain from the box — a gtdd wedding ring, whieh, if we nay judge from the nterest with which she surreyed U, Afl prized li^Uy. The girl had hastily atttredhenelf in shawl and boBDct, — bath greatly the worse for wear, as the saying ia, and ofiering hot liif^t jantMlma from tlie severity of the season.
" Take that to tfa« pawiMhop at R«(^Lfi^ and ask them to land ycai tern lUUinge upaa it. Utnd you dnn't loae it, and see tint yvm Bring Ab ti^et and moMy safe home," sud the old woman, placing the chun, carefully wrapped in paper, into the gid'ahaMd.
CkenSy, dhnrily, Jaao dt^aited <n hv bumiob. SliUie as tha iF™i"*^ lark — U^t and. agile as dre sk^ipii^ bwa — ihaldng her ^atay m^ aa^raa^ — ber ^c€^ glowing witkthvexerctie. aha m^ &fi a. ielof^ttai bird penriag forllt rich notea, aU du richff fv tkat tfey ware wdid and lacked Ae vdbira that wnnld bava Uted tfaam tit tim ear tt rsbiensBt. Onsrard and onward. Kgkt t^ w«ra ■eanaplished. 81m wm at UwUcU,
v.Goo'^lc
SB . THE WINTEB ROBDH.
She entered the pawnbroker's shop biddlf, for she was not ashamed of honest porerty, and felt, perhaps, hke many others who have sought, tiuder temporary need, the same accommodation, that it is better to borrow money of a tradesman (not an usurer) in the way of business, than to ask a loan from a inend. The shop- man, after many questions, and much imperUnence, for he saw the girl was poor,'and, in bis own opinion, he was an indindual of great importance himself, consented to take the ring, but would only lend half the sum demanded.
" Five shillings, and if you don't redeem it I shall lose by it," sud the man, with as ranch apparent sinceri^ as if he spoke the truth.
" Well then, five shillings," sighed Jane.
The ticket was made out. The money was pud, and Jane left the shop. It was a great disappointment to hare got only fire shillings for the ring. It would not last long, husband it as best they might. She was strongly tempted to beg. Would her grandmother be angiy f It was market-day at Rook£eld, and there were many well-dressed people walking in the streets — -ladies with smiling, happy faces — some of them leading by the hand little girls, younger than herself, who were snugly wrapped up in furs and pdisses. Then these ladies were buying at the shops — not mere necesstuies, but luxories and dunties — toys for their . children, ornaments for their houses, fruits and preserves for family enjoyment.
" Ah, " bought Jane, " those ladies who have so much money to spend will not refuse to help me. I won't show them the five
shillings but no — no," and she hastily corrected herself, "I
have five shiUiogB, and that, as grandmam says, will keep the wolf from the door. There are poor folks here who, perhaps, have not a penny, — let them get alms from those who are disposed to give. If I were to beg, I should only wrong such as have neither money
Thoughts akin to these passed rapidly through tbe ^rl's mind, and she determined to return home without delay, lest her grand- mother should grow uneasy at her long absence. And, in the act of increasing her pace, she felt for her money, which, folded in paper, she had thrust into her bosom, to assure herself that it was safe. Alas, alas ! it was gone ! The ticket was also gone.
They were gone. With ashy face and palpitating heart, she felt and felt again. They were gone. Overpowered by her mis-
Coiwlc
THE TTIHTBR ROBIS. S3
fortune, ebe sat down upon a doorstep and wept in agony. The house to which the doorstep belonged was eridentlj the habitation of a wealthy individuaL It was situated in the ariBtocratio quarter of Rookfield. Moreover it was exactly fronting the Church, whose taper spire pointed, tilce the cleigymon's Sabbath finger, upward ; end wMch, being thus set, even on week' days, before the eyes of those who dwelt in this and the adjoining houses, could not but rerive in their minds each morning, and eveiy hour of the days of labour, those lessons which bad sunk so deep into their beutl therein, on the preceding day of rest and wor^p. Not that tba owner of the house in question ceold be supposed to need ench admonition, — for he — the proprietor of the doorstep upon which poor Jenny sat and wept — was the clergyman. Opportunely, or otherwise, it happened dtat at this critical time tiie rererend gentleman, who had been summoned half an hour before to attend the bedside of a dying man, returned home, accompanied by a friend who had joined him on the way.
" What — what — what is this ? " eiclaimed the clergyman, pointing with bis gold-lieaded cane to the weeping girl. " A child crying on my doorstep. Really, bow inattentive the servants are ! The old cry, I dare say. Eh, Fisher ? ' Want, hunger — that's it, eh?"
" I shouldn't wonder," replied the reverend gentleman's com- panion, with a shrug.
i' Come — come — speak out, child," cried the pastor. " Didn't you hear me ask you what was the matter ? Do you know who I am — eb ? I am a clergyman and a magistrate ! Do you hear that ? I allow no beggar in Rookfield. I send tliem all to prison. What, you an't frightened — an't you ? "
Certainly Jane Foster, altiiongn she had risen hastily and was wiping her eyes, was not in the least alarmed. She curtseyed to the gentlemen, and was in the act of moving away.
" Stop — stop — not so fast. I asked you what was the matter ? She does look fiunt, — does she not, Fisber? " said the clergyman.
" Y-e-s, I think she does, a lit — tie," replied Fisber.
And if she did, tliere was nothing extraordinary in the circum- stance, for she had walked a long distance, and had not broken her fast wnce the previous day, and then she had dined off potatoes.
" I feel confident that this is a case of impoution," whispei^ the clergyman to his companion, with a singular inattention to liis
KO. XIU. — ^VOL, UI. D I
MC
Tbe gid ttf^ui-to waA of iImb qamw-
" iteid irlutt--^ aak jita bv tha tiwct twM—'wfeat fc jw>.ai.
-" As if Bte ware S^xmimg Oe SindM nnaod c^ uMng ^
" I — I fdtt't wean anj luim, bv," re^lM ^ne, banitiicr aboA into teaM. " I bore lart fin sUAm^:; m^ fp'Biiamithor smt ffis tojpKnn &raig, a^ I hare kvt tlieaaa^.^'
Sbe ^engjqtieai Ioc^mI his friond B^n^jia ttia ba. " T» pmm, ta fViim !" be csclaJDM^, ^fb^ to ett^ i^lUUeileJBk utfEeeBfe iMBeiatUK. " TkeTice vl ths IvMst cbwM» m «b»-
The Bhw&TMtroiigaweftg-difciwwigwrtlMLMt *>«■*- t«n4 againt. Bfr na»«d Im hand, a^in^ " There, ^et anra|r child, get away ; " and walWd iato the Iwim, fe^BiKed ky IMS'
Jane boitia^laft timt rm^^kmibooi. He good, As thwa^d, cmdd eoB« frsm ewb a Tieomity. But nduitinH eke t* d« ? 9ika , snut be>|r nsw, and bspfy ehe snght ne^ iritb dH»ff-Mb»tiBipi««d- to die lower orders Bomething whicli was not "vict," It uma vitli a hsvry hsnt Aat, tnnang o«t of tbe ■tnot is, f^neh the dergjmao lived, she stood where the ladies pawed linva itom tkar mwket, and le^ad n &m fasea with eager, bn^iy tiym. It begmtOBBQiirjaHtiiittlastiMK. Tinud aad aebmed, Ae WKtdMA as q)portuiit^ to kmIk he? first ^ipeai. B&t eTuy one wwi ia. nnh haste t9 g«t bom%, now that Bne>w -wae fdfiiq^ tkftt her sup- plicating attitude, and pale, aUeEUatad face wen scarmly notiMd, or gtun^ t/^ a mU, iBuyBpathnaaif Marv. Ah, it vae aad ibr the poor gn^ to see v» nw^ ieUew^htistiaBS, not oh t£ whem was disposed to lend to tbeir Aakec an iMwtateaUe fnettoa of th« wealth He had hsBtowsd wftmAam. It is true thai i^ bad aot yet petitMBed wilih her tongue,— kut har eyes, hei A^d*, her ^ched limbs aai hue attire, what eleepKnt toogiaes they had ! Hcnr impressiTe then' raatmy! ^t it wbb a weok^ay, sad Chnrity WM a tliene for Simdaji. Onoe ia sokq da^s, tho rkh f(As of Roohfield oondeMeoded to call t^e poor Hkbii brethren.
Faster fell the snow. The girl's bonnet and shawl were wUte as the roofs of the hwraea. She shirered sAd bar teetb chattered. The marrow of her benea was ch^lad. Shs had atowaaad ira ar
BIX isdirkhwls, sena tl nhiui ■ilwijjjiii.a.a i*^^) 'ffi'RsipiiBed ber eiMteBoe l^ sansck m » sMn (EFti)« baai, <v «ltbnr xanto i^eo- tim (f bersBk. "iMj a,^mrf, — ^'ferMj'gnMtecldier; I have l«Bt five ^ill&n^, aaiim Imn' mtlii^ M> evt afehbim." Faster fell ibo mmTj, nut thnw n%o-ma« llnu eattrMtnl iRdked faaMr on lAisir vvf .
^e t/tatffwelk to the poor, ^ndWA ID fte Xonf . /MMtKaiof^ did iCiMU fate ofihelmm^Aemiwiifb*'tAtvri,^'dii.itiwtio me. Boly wMde, Moivdited by tluMe i«lt* taMMd a, Ani eex 1w the petition efihe ahmrii^^ beggar gU.
Upward of ttwo'lKmn^did'JBnft atudr w^Ketii iv<titt VtaSAj- tfSUng Baoir, and suffeii^ dim HMont ptiwMJaa hmm Ae een- bine^ efe0t»-sf eoM MJ buq^; ,&iid dafing A tint fiBM' sbe got angry and efen abusive words, depreonfimi'laolr^ mA tfvsRil of Bridewell, but not one fadl^wuiiyi not oact
And now the day was ao fav adnmsA tlut Um sig^ would Bom oIoBein. It atiS n<nr«<Avt — &M. The coUirMratKne. Ae she homed along the pownont, she en^bi freqMBtMgbte of rousing fires in grates, and bippy peofie' wfuming' tbesMdvei thereby. The cold was in ber limbs, and in bar beu^ She muflt hasten bOBte, btat hec poor gnndBiotiiBr ihoidd dio with fright beoaiee of ber loi^ ateetio*. Yet mae- nan dn' would bc^— yet enoe mote, for her aged nlatien'i site, fte wmM beg.
A udler, iMber an ■wkubww paiwutrgs ia Beekfiekt, ap- ptMched. She ndted bsr li<iiid» in' ai^jdroatiM,' bar pt^e faee, sttecnmng wWi tean, and ber swpUcalii^ at6ta^, ottnetad tlie wtRthy im'n «NeDtie*. EHu mU tier «t«^, aad the' baBtee Be»- mu dftnr fren bis pocbct » leatlimi por^ and phnd five fiMbngs in be* band, w^giJhwtbe gam it to ber fortW cake of hii moAer, w4h> Vbs alto m «ld womait, aBd wbom he- w«b Jtvry- lAg t»neee, aAer a leng-^cng aliaeaa& — if lAe woe (tift dire — if she were etnll alire. 5e ^otdd bore a ehiU tOOr ^^ Mi^ l>»t he thengbt ^s'-was dead, — 'be didi'nt knov.
Ob joy^-^h, ligbt-baarted joy ! HeapiBg VMoimttf bleanngs upon the bead of tbe generous eon of lieptDiie, ecr Inrppy Jaae set ber &ee bomcward is M»d eamBSt^ 3be iraa «it the moor ne>w ; h«( emked to tbe sbm by the peoettatrng mm, aoA cbflled atmOBt b^eud tbe power of ber ^6^ti, enfolded firase te bear. At every step she to^ ber Btma^' gsew len and less. The snew M new so faet and tbaA, tlwt riijeeW at ft trifling iUatance were obscured, and her little f«t uak iaefeie ewry JUtMrt.
■*2 Coo<5lc
CO THE WINTEE BODIK.
Oh — to die upon that lonely moor — how horrible ! To sit fran- tically down, and — as she remembered to hare heai-d it told that people so had perished — to heap the enow wildly around her, and build herself a frightful tomb therewith ! Were such to be her end, through Hie long hours of that bitter winter's night, bow would her old grandmother rave in mad despair, and call vainly upon heaven to aid her darling child !
Thicker and iaster — thicker and faster yet. No sky, no horizon, no object on which to rest the eye, bat all one waste of snow, that made the eyeballe ache to look upon. "Faster and faster yet, and feebler and feebler grew her steps. A dizziaess came over her — a strange sensation spread around her heart. She could not hold
out much longer. She felt herself sinHng Yet one more
struggle for her young life.
A chirp, as of a little bird, sounded in her ear. It was close beside her — a robin — a winter robin.
The moor was, in summer, particularly barren, even for a moor. There was not a tree for a bird to perch upon. Only a few shrubs, and they were now hidden by the snow.
Chiip, — chirp.
It was only a simple robin,— but God alone knows how greatly its presence cheered our little maiden, battling against the storm on that shelterless and dreary moor. What trifling circumstances infuse new life into the desponding breast I The Scotch warrior gleaned new vigour from watching the efforts of a spider. Mungo Park, when resigned to die in the African desert, beheld a tiny- weed lifting its obscure head to the heaven that encloseth all the world, and felt that Giod, who planted that humble vegetation there, and did not withdraw from it Hie sustaining hand, but sent the breeze to faa it, and the rain to water it, — would succour the child of his own likeness also ; — and from that consoling thought, there grew such energy, that his limbs received new strength thereby, and he prosecut«d his path anew, and arrived safely at the village he had despaired t» reach. And this little robin, — this humble robin, dearly beloved by tale and fable, and homely rhyme — of the music of its speech, of its chirp, chirp, chirp — were begot- ten such resolution and courage in the heart of the sinking child, that there was no longer any question of her drooping and dying; but a. certainty that she should behold her grandmother again, and hve, please God, to bless Him in after years for preserving her amidet the dangers of that afternoon,
Upl:«l by Google •
THE WISIEB KOBIN. 3?
The robm, too, became her guide. Not that she coiild have missed her way, but the trodden path being hidden b; the snow, one direction, so that ahe did not wander far from the conjec- tured track, was as good as another. And the robin went right onward, hopping now — now flying, and ever strengthening her re- solution. And so she found herself, ere long, at the door of her grandmother's cottage, and then she saw the robin no more.
She related her story to her grandmother while warming her- self at the fire which blazed on the hearth. And oh, what fervent thanksgivings ascended that night from that lowly roof to the Throne of Glory !
The next morning there came a knock at the cottage door, and when Jane opened it, who should present himself but the sailor who had given her five shillings on the previous afternoon. He started with surprise at seeing Jane, and enquired whether Damo Foster lived there. When Jane repUed that she did, the seaman gave a cry of joy,
"That's Richard's voice," exclaimed the old woman from within. " I know it is. God be praised. He has sent me back my son."
" My mother, my dear mother," cried the sailor rushing into the cottage.
We pass the scene which followed,
" And BO this is my Jane. — my own child," said the seaman, presently, taking her in his lap, and kissing her for full five minutes without drawing breath.
" Yes, that is poor dead Mary's child," said the grandmother. " It was her mother's wedding-ring that she pawned yesterday."
The old woman, the neighbours, Jane herself, all assert that it was no robin ; but an angel &om the skies, that led her over the moor that afternoon. Who shall dare langh at their belief? For are not the resolves, which, nobly taken, enable us to battle successfully with the storms of life, and conduct us safely Hohe— angels, and guacdian angels, too? So, here's God speed the Wnter Kobin on repeated missions !
A. W.
,11 by Google
BiraUSH SCENES AIO) CHAHACTEHS. Bi woAUM 'Bomaa. The nme aim seea of otlier eonntoieH, t^ 9mm om a of tke tntth <^ the eonamm aeaertioD, Ant H>ere ie bo ce«ntry irtiere each T&iiety of cnROOs and mdep«Hiteiit indiTi^id ehataeber abounds as m our trwn. ^e faeedom-of our ctostrbatioB, b«A in politics and religion, is imdoabtedly the cause of it. We fatrre bo raanr Bccta, and so vikdj ^niioaB of ntr own -on ali matten, that we stand np for them with- a.pertJiiaeitj wlach ^wrs on ub both with the growth of centeuivB, and «f our «wb jeaw. We faaTO no gorernment pt^oe entering hrto our faeuaes, howwer ^e^ nsy now parade beibre them, and compel&ng ns to ^ this wid tfart, even to the Eweeplng of our chimneys, and the nnrkiag <f «ar coffins, contrary to wir own pleasure and notimtB rf wtirt is right. Govermnent fleeces na sweepnigfj enongh of «ur «aeh, hut in other respects, and especially in provincial towns and country plaees, we do just as ^fe Vke, and some of ns grow into haAtta and ideaa most amusing. I hare formerly shown some specimens of this tn my "Nooks of the World ; " and how (nany more SoofcaBiight we Tisit in this land of good, hard-headed Joan Ball, abonnding with oddest scenes ai^ eharaeteffs. There mi^t he a doien more volumes of " The Eccentric Mirror" wiitten o»t of one's «wn knowledge. Let as from tnne to time pen a fetr dovm.
MS. I. TBB COOHIilT M4HTT-MEKXEB.
A &ieBd.of nioe.iMal nnud^d far some tdiasiA KattiagfauD, n^ave he &rad, « eiagnlu'-loaking woman going to uid ft» in tk.6 ■trasts p^ his bouse. Bhs was tall and stssog ; had the iigciro frad godt af a laan ; had aistroBg -raqtveBeivo aeantraABoci, 61U of a strai^ but an^aai character ; ia sfaort, 'vae ens «tit of tiie ordinary class of mortals. " That wonutn," sud he to hiuadf, "is no townswoman. She has grown up in some country-place ; she has not only a character, hut a history, and I should like to know it." As he passed her once in the street, she seemed to look hard and searchingly at him, as if to say, " Who are you now ? You don't seem to me just like the rest of these towns- folks, who don't care a halfpenny for anybody that isn't dressed
'«p M mai a» myieid or tajUtAj." Feshi^ it nigi^ lieliikt be'kM£ed,haBi uLha: Hii deiimloF'lune » littl&talk mdi her
One dsf be wif ha vata- a iJMp,.«nd ateppwl in tM; The till, KteMige wvtoaa was a&ing Iw » pnmjwwth of r«d oohee. ^Iw AepawL ^ it dMRi bebsB lar madj wrapped id pxpcr. SIm riaol^JCfeMdiVu^lhui p"^"^ it baoktwrnnrfB Um, sajing —>' Wdl, now, oBt that isto tmt." TWoiiKTeiypiditcdf did so. She weighed the two ipaeees-ia har hasd, and ginag him one bwik, ttmi, ." Wd«p sie th«l) wp .agun;; 111 tdu tkia ajMU— it 'a nif^Ma- ihe heuieBfr— 'tB(h«'i fat « ae^iOE."
As ebe ssw my £iimd. Bmib, she tsoierf tsvardb Ubi, a«d without aay fK^ise, added —
" What a thiog this seV ia I Itls.dia: laitthaag-&BtIeayCB us i' thifl-ansrld! "
"IhAt'a«LhnMtcoDfiHun, «tl<^" a^ nj- fism^ "I 4Unk, Kf g«Ml woBB, <A^ joL w«BB Bat brovj^ 19 in this taM."
" Soy I BtAam I vwasi sudMr. 'Stn're roght thna, jne«t«r. I 'm none o' jewrfiBiJdB towmwonnn. Ytn xa^ sec iJiat at & Wb I mcImd I AmH mah tiro ■£ tbe vngiax t«ini-gTowa WBW. S*,. I ami hum jod bian^t ip i' Ih' etmntTj, whtta ifaat«'sli&aBdLstBwglh.i' tfa' vary uc I wwnnd faHa.aLlittie wcMh to smiL ■hoBLi' th' oheoeg ; btch ap &' com ; IwA after Ih'laBte and-paga; lya, and drive Ih' pWn^ ^a ainch. itj fayther war a little ftnuw, .aod a hardMrnaiiiHig man he w-ar, and iMtido «a all tntrh niau. Wim I mc gvonn ap, mf £ajther ^aj, -wtd JefcrneMPo' th'&gm,.aad-IwM:f<ial<BBBBgfa tamanj."
'^BaalMODghr'
"A^ fiwl aaong^! It's toutii, bud ; I janaa pnotiwt to dev^ it I'jaaoBe'^yatrfine, fattia tlaBge aa ii niAaaied to wy A' irolh. What's dsoe 'b done, aad aaonot ha laidaae,!— moee 'a 4h' pi^I B«d whene'a tk' use t» dtm^it? Ayo, fedwarl ! Bnt I war only like mony 0' one besides. That 'a A.' aaiafaatui ma\ ytang nuo — mind what I s^, that 'a th' misfoiiiB on 't. We ham to t^ tbe maat iiiniiiiliiM) abof in oar iisea, th' ati^ as nqtwea mo>t aenec, jaat vtiten wa 've g^ten th' leaat aenae ; and aa MB haoie to BsauitfEcr't. By I«ddy, I 've emacted enough fiir my folly. Th' yonag feUow as X marnad, war a liki^ eoai^ ^a^^ dtap to look at, bnt he war good for nowt. He war' too fond of sitting i' th' ^-booae «o^ and I aoon fun out 4h^ ha'd
«0 ENGUSK BC£N£a AND OBABACIEBS.
only married me for what he could get. I went on workiDgl Any after da;. I went to th' plough, to th' team, fetched up th' cowb, and milked 'em. I war up o' summer momings hj four o'clock, . and came home from milluDg daggled up to th' kneee wi' dew, . and there was he hulking i' bed. By Leddj, I war fit sometimes to go and fling a good. Bousing bucket o' watter on him ab he lay. Bat that wama the worst. Ereiy night he war sore to be . i' th' ale-house ; and mony and mony a time have I had to fetch him away, and pay his akot into th' bargain.
" Thinks I to myscn, my lad, this wusna do for me, I dunna mean thee to slurt th' bit o' money my fayther got with such sweat and trouble ; no, by Guy ! that I dunna ! So, 1 threw up th' &rm ; sold th' stock, and come reght away to Nottingham."
" And what became of your husband ?
" VHiat became of him ? He followed me, to be sure — what was he likely to do, a poor dirty rogue ? Trust him for running after the money. Aye, he set lus nose after it like a ferrit. He made hissen eure now of laying hands on 't in some hole or coomer o' th' house or other. Sut I took pratty good care he shonldna.
" ' Where 's th' money wench ? be often said.
'"Where should it be?' satd I, 'but gone to pay debts off that a drunken sot like thee sets on.' But it signified nowt — he knew better, and he war always gropin' about, high and low, after it. < Get to work !' said I ; ' thou s limbs big enough, and a carcase strong Enough — get a spade, or a pick, and do summut for thy bread, as I ^. I shall turn Manty-mekker.'
"Aye, mester, you may smile. You dunna think I look much like a manty-mekker ; and 1 11 allow," said she, showing her great hard bony hands, ■' but these hands as ha' handled th' pitchfork, and th' dung-fork, and held th' plough, dunna look th' Ukeliest i' th' world to handle a needle and thrid. But where there 'b a will tJiere 's a way ; and I can assure you, I can mak a tightish sort of a gown — aye, I can please these fine town wenches better than you 'd think for.
" But 1 'm OTemuming my story, I took a house, and began manty-inekking. That dirty rogue of a husband o' mine was always preg^ng about th' house to And out where I'd put the money, but I took care. One day, in walks a man with a hook in Bb hand, and siud, ' MesBiB, I want th' poor-rates.'
" ' Poor-rates ! ' said I. ' By Leddy I thou art come to a wrong house then. I'm a poor woman mysen, man.'
v.Goo'^lc
ENOLISU BCZKEB ASB CBUUCTEB8. 41
" ' That may be,' said he, 'hut you've ta'en a hotue of five pounds a year, and either you or Ih' landlord mim pay the poor- ■■ rates.'
'"Then let the landlord pay 'em,' said I, 'he 'a able enough.' " 'That's true aa th' goapel, missiB,* saja th' man, 'but he
" ' And I caima ! ' aaid I.
" * But yon mun,' said he.
'■ ■ But if a body canns,' says I, * what then { '
" ' Then,' says he, ' you mun go to Hi' workhouse, and other people mun pay to you. That 's ^e way now o'daye ; all pay as long aa they can, even when the children are crying upon the door-aill for a roasted potato ; and when they con pay no longer, they turn en out, and so to th' workhouse.' - " ' Uon,' said I, for I hod bin conning him o'er as he war talk- ing at hissens, — and I seed as plain as a pike-ataff, that th' fellow, epite of his trade, war an honeat sort o' chap — ' Uon,' aidd I, * canat tell me where to put a bit o' money out safe ? '
" ' Well,' said he, giving me a queer sort of look, aa much as to say, ' I thought you said yon 'd got none,' — ' maybe I could do that too.'
" ' Then do ! ' s^d I, getting a chair, and retching up to th' ' top of an old cupboard — ' do ; for here I 've gotten the plague of my life, — a bit of money in an old stacking, and it keeps me in a continual fever ; for that dirty rogue of a husband o' mine la always progging after it, and one of these days he '11 get hold on 't, and then I 'm mined for ever.'
" So down I brings th' owd stocking, and holding it open afore th' man — 'There,* says I, 'there's just four hundred gowden guineas there !' and wi' that I held it up to hin, and my eyes! hut th' mon did stare !
" ' Missis,' said he, ' that 's a sight good for sore eyea, how- ever.' "
" I am afraid," said my friend, "you were not very prudent though, to ahow such a sum thus to a stranger."
" Prudent, wam't I ? Doat ta thiuk then, mon, that I 've got no white in my eye ? Yay, I know an honeat man from a rogue when I see him. The man was aa good as hia word. He took me to a gentleman that gave me good security for my money, and I get my interest to this day. Many 'a the time tiiaX dirty rogue of a husband o' mine lias hunted the house over for th' money.
BkIwl! hair }mwKiimi what's «abta it! I ohi ttmijn- tell
■ffheo Jw '« Um after k. I ted ivc^liuag tnnisd tafiftwvy i' ^'
drawers and iverywhere. But I '11 take care that he never ■BMHtc
abit,*dktf DMBK, turn."
' " WeU," ^niaagliimi, "jaaimartaiiilyliBn liUJoiamfort in
liim."
" Comfort ! no ! xay comfort lies in o^difieEeBt i^oortoE. I iaok. for very little comfort 1' this world ; ^lot, tkaak Gad, Hive is a comfort, even heraiMuLtfaat 'auxmdtgiui !
" Wb 'ne ail fax 'Wf«^<"wip 1 I fiMiid mi^ hMimw looriBh ; inHMy attam b>,; Mid j^ I i iiim Bom^mv rieht.. in^/Aiag nirMwH M «»wd md ballmF. I'liar almTs si^^iu^ id mrim- ohafyi' th.' KiU. o' ^atcf. Jfj kuahud'a gtaaga ok nuii* Be half-mad. Night afterafg^ I had te ftMi lun'bMKW&MuAc IHt-hoHaa^ Oneda?;, h«wew,jO«»esa<uae;ouB^woaaKt)D-have A gonnwda, smL^k fiaya te wiB—'}iiaaB, io you avar ^'toia plaoe o' wadbI^ ? '
" 'Ko,' said I, 'I'm atdiamed is sag I dnviuk "lb aajf'th' tniUi, I diuma td^lgr Imoi* wheie to ^ tot ^bou sees, I'm a fltiiai^er fat^, aad -I iatuta. Ukoto go aiBOagM Mks jb I 'dasBa
" ' Ah. !" uid &' josDg womKi, ' I wish you wwjld ^with me on, Bssdsf to.die i^thodiata' Chsfiel ; I fbiBk yen 'd hefilnaead ; aodpei^i^^u'dfijtdaoM^ect yaulittledeeanof. OD.Ast>da>r> «h ! dieiie u a iHce mm nrMaiiij, ft»m IdUdun, tiuf o>bb Uto, BiAaEt Hwrtan.'
" 'Well,' says I, ' as thou says aa laiidi.aBdaiKasKinkin^, I doBBanBodif Ido ge. I 'm atneif in wxnt.of <BVHMBb; and I ^drak it 'a hsBanse^ I donaa amk rdigian.'
" Well, I inoit. li was a big du^d, an' ligbl»d wf iaba a blaze brighter than any sunehine wally ; aad ae I went in ai lb' d«er, sa^s I to myMu — 'How, ve^ this wendt be aahamed on mo ? I shouldna wonder, for I 'm not just th' sort to be poad on ior a eom^anitm ; and it 's ooe Uiiag to ax a posr cdd woman Hke me to go to chapel, asd vtotb^ to like to be aeen iti' her. Bnt in we go«a. It war ae.brig^ u day, and a pratty ^Jmaiig o''fine -draasy Mks theoe war ; but up walks th' bmireJaBS'i^lAi' laidiUe of aw, and tuiming rannd to me — ' Came aitag, neebor,' saye tdie, ■ my seat 'e -up hare ; ' tmd in she tiikoi me. By le^y i I num f^tsOiqueer in aum^life! Aw ^«8 seemed te bejstoDma; and weU i&sy m^ht, Isr I seed that I must look like u crow in a
EHGLim HffilBS Man CBISACTERS. 43
AkI «' pgMBB. ^d -njut a mbu -nt tkal Eohrt BIwAmi.! .Bhi! irtnt n tjifflir ^nlinii ' bwy wwd idwC ha saidiiraBlUke-a nimi ii'jBiy heuL He teJd ks kjiM ao&l «raatuiH we ur «»r: ; latiivwj lime that be Jifted lus liand, it vu Hte M««tta,«wti«[g A'M^i' tb'mlderaew. Tli'w«tbcrBlartedeHt.«')nf hexrtr->i>d A' tMBi ran ioiwB my deeka ; lad he soou eeed thid., and wJnt dfloho, hid £aes his efas^amc^d pointing tOAK, duMteonb — ' There t that woman ia touched \ She k cMcfaad ! If-^e tiaaAa toiwiuttbioiMsgut, oBlwtiflB t&aataetefaer! ' iutd 4^aii.iM]«aud Minlihrr rrinri imt ' "hrint Trmrr punt if ' * ^ .^nsi ! '
" WeU, I vaft nniR in wirfi- ■ tahVin); is. my life. IiMAAll-Df A teteqUaand a quake, -and it' Ugbte ^aod i^eiTtUog «pHH laraid wi' me. As )Pe vent bone, tJi' youag wwitwi flAnd v« kov I liked it ? ' Oh,' Boid I, ' I niver waa so bad and niver so well in all my days. Oh ! wh«t a sitmer 1 Ve bin ! Oh ! what must I do to be saved 1 '
" ' Thank God 1 thank God ! ' said th' yonng woman. ' Ton are in llie rigtit way amr, and ff ycm only go on it wffl be a Ue»eed day for you, and for me too, you came to the chapel.' And now, aw my comfort 'a. i' religion. I go regularly to cbapel. I 'm in a class, and aH the society is very kmd to me. Bat dunna think that I 'ye had nothing tut swinmiing work of it. No, the direl came after me l&a a raaruig litua, — and oh ! what a naaty divel it ia !
" One day a y«Mg w<(aBBn latm^t a gown-piMe fer me to make up. It was o-'mty fine, rich, Tenable go<H).^Me indeed ; and when I come to meaerare it, ^len I found that there was a yard and a half of the stuff too much ; and such good stuff too !
" • Tak it ! tnk it ! ' says the divel ; ' they '11 niver know ! '
" But the Lord said in my heart, ' Dumm tak it, woman, It 's none o' thine ! '
" ■ Tak it ]' again says the diwl.
" ' Let it aloae ! ' sms the Land.
" Oh ! what a Aa^ I Ltd on't ; tUl at htit I im avd rolls the piece together, and off to th' ytnmg woman, and flinging it down, eaya — 'There! there's that too mnch ! ' Away I goes back, thinking then what gladness I should have. But I was mistaken. The divel seemed like a raging going-fire. He war at me aw the way home. He seemed to drive mo up th' street like a great wind. ' Well,' said ha, ' and what better act thou now ? Art ta nny fiJIcr, or any fatt^ ; any richer «r any brtter ? ' Ofc I what
4i THE FATE OF CITIES.
a nasty direl it is ! Well, well, I mnn bear my trials and my temptationB, I reckon, like other folks ; and leam not to set my heart too much on the things of thia world. And that 's what that dirty rogue of a husband o' mine is always telling me ; and it *s true, but I know why he tella me that, — it 'b because he wants to find th' owd Btocking-full o' guineas. But I 'U tat precious good care tliat he doesna. Oh ! what a dirty rogue he 's bin to me, — he has driren me to God t "
With this the old dame tnmed to march out, nodding signifi- cantly to my friend, hut stopping suddenly, she looked at the two balipenny-worths of red ochre which she h^d in her hands, and said, as to herself, — " Let me see, which is which ! Aye, this ia for mysen, it 's the biggest — tother 'a for a neebor ! "
THE FATE OP CITIES.
Trb throbbings of the City's plethoric heart Streugthen and quicken, and export its blood In human streams more wide and for apart From its dense centre : man in social brood Subjects the fields to citiea : where the wood] Harboured tie wild bird thro' Time's silent years. And cattle on the still lea had their food, Usurping man's warm home of joy and teats, Filled with his life and death, its awful walls uprears.
So on the Indian wild the Banian tree
Spreads vast its bowery branches ; which bend down
And root in primal earfb far o'er her free
Domain ; — a forest from one trunk alone.
And from Convention's law which is outfrown
From Nature's, into Nature's man should seek
Duly tor Truth b pure nurture when the tone
Of civil life is jarred ; its laws too weak
To balance wills, and unity 'moug units make.
Man shall be social ever: civil slates, Shall they for ever rise and fall { can Time Perfect a social mould for human bXet Infrangible 1 — must nalional suns climb
v.GoO'^lc
THE XKeuaHiux IS PBirSSIA. 4S
ToDOon-tids greatneea bat to slope thro' crime To sun-aet 1— it is matter's law of change : fiat of man's moral will 'tis tlie sublime The laws of Truth to poise, deca^ estrange ; As ABkalon'a orb stood in its meridian range.
Creation's scheme is progreeB ; cilied states Are agents in their rise ; — what iu their Eall ? " We rose for ruin" — read npon their gates : " Ye fell to make os safe from Rain's call " Wise modem states should answer : " in your fall Wisdom we learn yoorgrandear never taught." Rome's, Athens', genius survives o'er all ; — Truth's phtenix soaring trom their ashes caught, Poised on her moveless wings, — oh, England 1 fear for nought, Francis Worslev.
THE ENGLISHMAN IN PRUSSIA.— No. VI.
Geruah Looses are generally built upon the principle of a thorough draught — that is, of obtaining, not avoiding, a tiiorough draught. Opposite a door, window, passage, or gate-way, there is iistially oaotjier door, window, passage, or gate-way ; and by these means you continually find yourself in the centre of a strong current of air. It does not matter in the worm seasons of the year ; but in the winter or other cold windy months, and more particularly in Rhenish Prussia, it is dreadful. In addition to this, the doors and windows do not fit close, so that you may sit and roast your body cImo to jODT stove, with a draught cutting your ankles off, from a long gap underneath the door, and another draught cutting your throat from the sides and chinks of the window-fr&rae. We have sat at dinner on a cold windy day in winter, in a room like on oven, but with our feet as cold as ice, from the wind of a great stone hall below, that had a wide staircase opposite the front door (continually opening), the bead of which staircase was directly facing the dimng- room door, the s^d door not touching the floor by at least half an inch all along. As there are no carpets or other impediments to the wind, we had it " fresh and fresh ' as any of the doors below
leading to street sr pnian wert opnted, t» bb^ tu&mg at open windowB. Then, -the-Bwtfad of ymraiag tke room m miter bj the German atove, is deteBtaU«. Y«a we tHiter waAt ^ot to BuffocalioQ, the horrM -tiling Ymxatnag ted-hot, or it doM not give out half enough heeA, and' is often the only warm dung ia tha room. If the stove was alight and wann, we were never able to convince any host or boateas of any house, pi£Iic or prinite, th&t tins factwafi not the ptinnpal conuderatjoo, and that it iras the person occnpyiug the room ir}io ought chiefly to bo«MMidared — it wafi whether he iras warn a: eoU«— that was A» pent ; the stove being warm ww, in itself, ^Ma or nvtUag W the porpose— tte stove was not lit to wann itself oriy. It wis of no' «e i — they amiled, or took it nndsE, and went Brway, iMtjiag, " EoglandsRi were an original people !" Sometimes the stoves are Et by an apertore jrom the outside of the room, so that the regulation of the tem- perature being thus totally out of your hands, they either freeze you, or regularly bake you, just as the case may happen; and you have no remedy but to run out of the room. In the- -eamforts and luxuries of social life, Germany is a hundred years behind tiDgland.
We Shodd here tAserre that Germsny is a Tnttmn of philoso- phers who do not undenrtand ven^stHm. S« tmch has habit the pewer t* dead«n perce^on, nMntal aa well aa bodily, thet vna men of.aeienoa BiK-cen&Bed, er ia not disdngnish the facts of tiM CMd; W& bwM eomplwMil t« QeciMB fd^ymciaafl «f 1^ d«»d£di ovut wUch SUE apAstBtetA had become by mwn- -of tke 9tMM» ffManS mi^at, Knd Tcmai^d &aA we o«&bi net Mt spas. .» dME cr viadsw, m the wind wwild rash ooUly in, and Itenee thwii ou|^ te be sw»« method t£ ventihuion adopted in thes Kvm i bnt tke gentltmen a&reiaid.hwTO delibendely pointed toitbe mi Ja« of tbe riave, eboening that.ti«reVaB the ve^iklioB ! Ab Ammti cnt^it to gp to Qertma.y, aad deliver a leetwe oa hii MawO' at aU the priae^ai tons.
While upoB. the ailbjeet of domeatK eMwoiKy, we ham a iinr m<a« useomfortaUe (Nervations to maHbt. The bad» arC'VU te» ehui. A ^ort mm oaa scarc^y lie cfuite str^ght withcwt U* feet pfcSHBg ag^nat the foot-bowd. A taJil muL Kwrt ^Aee lie waaohed uf neae and-Jiaeea, m hia ndted feet aad mU«b lOBBt ^dc out over the wooden barrier at the bed'« fsot, or else (aa the piflews are gwoctraUy h^hac than the hoad^beaid) his hend mast hang over the piUowa, aad dba^e' lavMada
47
tbcANB,— -Ml sttitairiKH -wiatAi, to<Mif^aoit>i»fawrlidgt,.wwMal English tntTellerB have awoke in the momio^ ti iHwii ■iiwrniTiiij cotiMdmk.a^ BtaM&tA mbamUmKwt. In viatet — wdi^aM hAe tr^^ pvM — (fcr »f Mr ttmoBto kuMV n7-AB^.Bhntde-«nDtw> — tfcwB cwMa fcifraA Jfeptwrfwt. Iuthe£i>t.^BB^ltolihitetB^ nntnitt Tiw4r tft "t^mt' ii :" dtc^aMimxih^tMmnmr; Ui»|Nwt tiMked n mwld he e<an^«Hd m intoted. For gfiiQwt BaeiB^dw pwttuekedin? th^DmnU aak. TUiwiO^d.Wfi^^.cxtrBm- gant ; tbe UraketB tbtsafoAr ue |ai^>arY aaid "wigebf ef th» same vMth as tbe 1»«d. The BwiiMiaeneB in bhat lolf & dwBa tones is th^mght yon KT« amobe b^ dw oidd eoDsdng ia :at sue aide ar^ba other ; in yonr oSbttoto rapHc <^ Mpeno^ yooanbe as opening at lite othernde^ baA t^^tbe nmoiiig; yvur bed-dotheft ma boiddled round you in ne eba^.at all, anA vi£tL ae- go«d moceSB.. So mnob for bknlcets ; but very often your only bed-clothes is a abnrt vdth a rtnSed htf;, Ik fact a hmiU fsather'had laid over it, Ntrw this puSed hag, whadi aoMra yiw, is jost the wwitk of dM bedr or Bomethiag ieoB, asd. littte nore thu two-tfaiida of He ISBgdi ; sad here is a scuie «f maety ! Yob iDwt inisvitablif li»i»:tfai ahape of a> frog, 01 y«ac iwek nad alMuUenr vmdd bs ^nte ^Hraovared, except 1^ the mere fibeet. A ^Mrtcs' ti aa^bsae-of das, oncl ym. aee enre te be is a TspMu- tathr therftathoe-b^ ■ » ex«««gR*flly hot ; but everr tane yoa Ctum fm^ en* nJe to ti» oAer, thv naotowfwk cwerukg jwiifigi^ woMfiieet, aad kteiBthefrevBiaif air of yow wiaAry chfuAer. If yom turn at all hut^y, you ebbo the thu^ <a both Bides, aad a thwrnigh draaght insbnfiy poaws throHf^ your hot Tipoiw bed, and aatmaehes ywar pmr iega aad ba^ SonetiiBefl in the n^t, and in die darkuem, yoa lanre "a scene " irith yow feather bag, which can Beaiec^bodeMridMd. Ym avake 'witb a freztm limb^ or aide, m ahovider — SBdanww to adjust die bag and ema yewK^ pn^ieriy — Sad yon have got the tlKDg broad-vayi over yovJaetead.of loi^way»— try t«-patiKT^;ht — it geta comer'WKyB — iken ao-h*w— changes ila sbapa sa as utt^ly to biAa and eeufaae you in the danh, ttB. yon da net know, and £md it impoaaibla te ^aeor^, Dihether yon ar» in a moog peekion jn your bed or hsre get the bag -wnmg ;— yen are in a ferer — it now gets hottcrthaii ewer, and less in tnze— becomes elastic, perrwse, ahve — has a will of ha ^'w» — and finally ehps off vfCfa the flooc, eiAcr relfing ladcinoath the bedetwd, or getting itself invc^ed with legs c^ c}ia0i, so that ym are cwB' p<dled t» gat out ta.ibe fti^tfuUycridaiv MdgiopenboatiKtdu
.CoO'jIc
48 las GireuBKiLui ik fudmu,
(larknesB, upon the ic; caipetteBS floor, to reeoTcr your det«Btable aod accursed companion.
The furniture of the house is for the most part ill-made and hadlj put together, like the slop-work articles of our cheap uphol- sterers or furniture-brokers. Heads and pwnts of nails and screws often project from chairs, tables, and so&s ; as also Hplinters and sharp edges of badly-finished articles, to the frequent injury of the clothes, and the hands or other parts of the person. The so&b ia the great majority of houses, and in all lodging-houses, are mani< festly not made to lie or 1611 upon, because if yon do so, you are sure to "start a plank," or knock out the back or sides. Twice hare I had the upper half of me deposited upon the floor behind, in consequence of sinking hack nith misplaced confidence upon my sofa, on returning home fatigued. The sofa-back f^ll out in an instant.
The Germans piide themselves very much on their tailors, and of late years they have claimed the honour of making boots equal to the Parisian eordotmiert. Their clothes are certainly well made, and the fit excellent. You purchase your own materials, cloth and silk, and the expense altogether, at the highest, is yet one-third cheaper than the same article in " quality and out " can be obtained in Bngland ; in some cases (such as siJk, satin, velvet, and other fancy naiatcoats) the price is less than half. . The boots made by the best bootmakers' are also about a third cheaper, well made and durable. The objection to the shape which an Englishman would always make is that adopted in the toes of the boots, which extend two inches and more beyond the actual toes, and speedUy acquire an upward direction, as if intended to cover some withered eicre- , sconce at the end of the foot. German gentlemen drees well, with great care and neatneas, and with good taste, even on "the bright side of things ;" a style which is always dangerous, and requires many additions to justify and carry bS becomingly. Clean hands are sn important addition, and certtunlj a very uncommon one. The ladies dress well ; but, considering their station; no young women dress so well as the bonnet-makers, sempstresses, shop-^rls, and that class. The prevailing characteristic of good dressing among the younger women of all ranks ia the arrangement of the hair. This is generally dark and pro^e, and the great beauty of it is di^layed ina variety of graeefid^aits, bands, rolls, or shell-shaped designs at the back of the head ; and as they commonly have bandsome necks and shoulders, the effect is quite beauti&l, and
THE ENOLISHIUK IK PRUSSIA. t9
ID ja&aj cases, no doubt, irresistible. The objectionable portion of women's dress of all ranks is tlie shape of their shoes. Nothing can exceed the nncoathncss and ugliness. Tho shoo presents just such an appearance as would be obtained if a lady dipped her foot slowly into a bason of blacking as .high as the ankle, — took it out csreftdlj, and allowed it to dry and cake.
It ia impossible to pass over German cookery. Many of their dishes are excellent ; and i of , their three hundred methods of dressing potatoes, a, rery desirable selection might be made. A great many of iJieir soups also, for flaTour, wholesomeness, and economy, are not to be surpassed.' -.But for originaUty, for in- ventiveness, for the bringing t^^ther Tof. the most apparently nneongeniial and incongruous materials, they certainly .expeed any- thing that an Engltihman could imagine. The table ■iTHSte of a good hotel always presents an agreeable variety, Pea^s'^p, with slices of raw beef in It, or followed by raw herrings {" cured " in some way, but not cooked); baked beef with preserved plums, and hot yellow gooso-fat laid upon slices of brown bread, or, toast, may seem rather startling to delicate stomachs. Baked''ducka stuffed with chestnuts- and' onions,"- and garnished with a sauce of pickled cherries or.very.sbnr-brandy-cherries ; potatoes fried with vinegar and sugar ; tutnips 'iS)vered with cinnamon ; and black pudding " assisted", byihaked pears preserved in syrup ; potatoes srewed with onions and . sugar ; French beans fried in brown sugar ; and boiled sahnon smothered in custard, or a light batter pudding ; — all these may appear ingenidnB,;i(fni()tr.^uerally seduc- tive. After a great many dishes of this kind.'the last that comes before the desert, is almost always hot baked fnuttou with a rich brown sauce, made " thick and slab," The following specimens of Koch-Kunst will also he found interesting:— a dock stuffed with almonds and apples ; raw bam with pancakes and salad; potatoes and caraway comfits ; a turnip sliced, and made delicious with rock-salt, pepper, and caraways to bo eaten widi coffee ; a hare stuffed withehestnuts.ifec. In thomatterof poultry, theGennancooks have need of all thar art, as there is really very little flesh upon the bones of their fowls ; and a goose is eommonly a mere skeleton, with a gristle and a thick yellow fatty tough skin over it ; in fact, an English friend has truly designated it when he said a German goose was just Ifte " a little fiddle in a leathern bag." The use of blood in many of their dishes is alarming to our notions oi refinement, especially as it is made no secret of " the art, but is
HO. Xni. — ^VOL, !!r. E , - T
60 THE EXGuaHUAH IS nnsiA.
«pen^ carried in jags and cups from iIuigbteiJioaMt. The Ic^ of muttKKL are alao apt to be rerj mnBcal^ and |Mpy. The King of Pnmia lends to WindaM' for hit vaMoa. Hov ^iadij wcnld erery Englidunan in Pnuuft do the ume.
The witKB of the cootttiy ore light, clear, wbolasane, mad very agreeable, when jon get need to the peoaliar flavaar irhieli most of the best poMeaa. The red wines of Gemumj arc eoBunonly half the price of tiie white wines. Some of the former are really little better than a nrogh s<»t of red ink ; others, bow«v«r, are very good, and not witltout atren^h. The pa««at of tic white winea BJmplj resemble bad Tiae^or, and a qnanti^ of sugar is eotnelimes used in drinking it — not generally, thonj^ ; — the eternal pipe qualifies everything. The beat of the white wines, whether the Idgh-flavoured hook or Ho»^le wines, are by no in«ans cheap, in foot the same price aa Champagne. The fineot of all theBe white winee costs the merolunt bimaelf six shillings a bottle on the Tery Tineyard of its birth. The price of these winee Taries, not merely with die district and aiipoct of its growth, but erren wtA the part of the mountain. Thus, the grapee txtasA ef ao rich a quality in the vineyards at the top of the mountain oa at its foot, nor at its foot so rich as in the centre. The sonromuDE longer there, and consequently those grapes contain the most sugar. They draw ^ttinctions in this matter between ijna^vds that ore within a few yards of each other, and appareotlywkh reason. TheiS'cAarte^vf^r^haBbyDOmeaiiB the same fine fiBVOor as the Sehvrtzhofbergtr, though both grow upon the same momi' tain. We have seen the whole course of the Tintage seaaon — wine-mahing and all — and feel conTineed that the diatineti)on Is always well founded. Coffee in Germany is very good, and jvet^^ell made ; but the tea is always poor, if not detestable. The greatest portion of what is sold ibr tea, is not tea at all ; we have ofien dried the leaves, and found them to be demonstrable hqdg^'ow impostors. Beudes, the water with which it is made does not properly boil ; nor can you get really boiling water in Garaany, unless you take ont a tea-kettle (aa ^ey have none) and see to it yonrself. The urn they bring yon at the hot^ never really baila.
Those hotels only which have been aceustcnned to the 'riaita and reaidenec of Knglish people, ore comfortably habitable to English people. This is die case now vritholl the prineipal hotels, and even ^ose of the seoond class are nowswsre wlaen thsy iiave got a troublesome customer. " We would rnther Invc
THE tWT-.UaHinw is PRUSSIA. 51
ten Germuia ^naa. <»te Eng^iBhuHUi in tiie home," iB a eommoa ■Eiying, tiith re&rence to tke tnAible grroD. No wonder 70 give trouUe iriiere nothing is ctnofortahle or " fit," aeeording to onr habita. Thej saj ve ought to "coti«mi," as GermanB do when diey go to Englnnd. Yes — well tfaey may emifonn — it is cssj to «onfoR>i iiO a neat of clover, as tfaej must eurely find aai hoases after th«r windy abodes. Bttt let ns imagine an Engli^man of Ibe middk class, and aeenstoHied — we will not eay to the first- tate hotels, bnt to dte best ecwunercial liatc^ of his own eountrj^ : let us merely imagine him entering his bed-TOom in n Geraian inn, and discovering b«pe boards in the oddest weather, no sort of cnrtMns or liangiags to his bed, drai^IrtB from windows and creriees all round, aatriog emell of stale tobacco-anoke, a towel the rise (^ a during-elodi, aad a jt^ lud bastm no biggar ibaii a milk-jug ^td slop-bason — or else the water is contained in a wine- bottle, and to obtain raws is of coarse one of the " troables " given by aa EnglishiBaD. Then the landlard and waiters plaee themselves at onoe ea the moat oa^, familiar, and indi^reat tero^ with yao. We onee called at an inn where a certain learaed phTBciaa lodgad. We lavt tjie landlord on the staira.
" Is lilr. Doctn L widiin V The landlord passed on, saying,
as he disappeared dirougfa a door, " I haven't the least idea ; y«a em go and look." Boog very Imuly engi^^ one day in writing, we paid mo attsBtion to the entrance (^ die waiter, who came in to kok aftw the stove, as it was a cold day at the latter ^d of aatomn. He passed rennd bdnnd our chair to do some- diiog or other, and we eanrinned writing. Presently wc began to fed horridly coH, and with a wind cutting into the hack of oar nvA ; when, looking romul, tiiere was my lord the waiter leasing oat of the window, w^ch he had opened for the pmipose, laughing and chatting vi'aii a giil, who was leaning out of a window from the naxt hoose ! These sorts of things are of dmly ocenrrenoe. 1 aUnde to the r^nlar German inns and ordinary hotels, ^ritich are the trne versioas of nationality in &ese reelects. I do not allnde to the hotels stnBtantly freqaented by Englidi families and travellcra, for these are " sophisticated." Yet these are all that are described by most of our tourists.
The manners of the Germans are polite, pleasant, cordial, and very eeiwatnuona ; not in all rejects refined {the contrary in respect of "smoking and spitting," and in some habits at tabled.), bnt for the most part obliging, and without any of those airs of
.2 1^,
£2 THE ENGUSBUAH IX PBUSSIA.
pride and superciliousness with which EngliBbmen are so con- Btandj and so justly taxed. A Genuan, of whatever rank, is pretty sure , to return a civil answer to any decent person who addresses him. They converse freely with strangers, and are never averse to begin the conversation, except with an English- man, because they say, and very truly, that whenever aBlraDger,(hi8 own countrymen included) speaksfirst to an Englishman, the "great man" immediately thinks the speaker wants to be acquainted with him, and therefore he will not enconrage such familiarity ! The Gennan manners may be regarded on the whole as frank, un- reserved, and pleasing ; but we must except the ladies of the middle class, who are all rather reserved, and " out of doors " abominably so. The Style in which a lady of this class receives a salutation &om any gentleman in the streets, of whatever country, is like the most chiliing and repelling "cut." This ia not in- tended ; it is merely thought good style, especially in all small, and therefore scandal-talking towns. As for tho younger girls, they pass you in the streets with faces as hard as if carved in wood, and even in cases where the wearers of these faces are well known in the town to belong to no such unimpreasible and im- pregnable fortresses as they would have you believe.
Tho question of a nation's " morals " is rather a nice subject — in fact, it is always rendered a ticklish matter to discuss " morals" in our own country, by reason of the vulgar limitation of the sense of the term — which vulgarity has now become imiverBal among us. It refers to just one thing. Justice, honour, truthfulness, fair' dealing, charitableness, Bincerity of feeling — none of these qualities are Included. The^one thing always meant by "morals ' is tho legal or illegal commerce of the two sexes. How, with respect to justice and even-handedness among the Gormans, we should say that, as a national characteristic, they are more prevalent than in most nations ; and tho same may be said' of honour and truthful- ness ; but it will be understood by all who have read the previous papers of this series, that we by no moans include the Prussian government or its bureaueratical officers in this compliment* Of
* A gentlenum named Brooks (iu all probability an Englishmui), had written sotoe account of the Prussian Boldieiy. He was accused of ii-eacAtry ; seized, tried, snd acquitted nt Aix. The miuister Kamptz (this was dariog the reign of the present king's father) said he was nstonished at sneh a verdict ; had him agwn seized and brought l>efore tJie court at Magdeburg, whicli found him guilty, and he was imprisoned for more than a twelve- month ! But worse than all (as na insult to Justice and a free court), tho nuniater ordered the court at Aix to reverse ita decision, — which it was obliged to do 1
TUB ESeUSHUAK IN PRUSSIA. 63
thdr ^r-dealing in matters of trade we confess we have had very few and slight opportunitieB of judging. The Gennana have tiie r^ntation ^ malutig clever bargains, and are often said to take mdur adrantoge when thej con safely do so. In the majority of instanoes, howerer, we think this accasation irill be found to hold good only with the Jews, of whom there are an abundance in Oemm&y. As for maUng the EngUsh " pay double " fbr many things in the shops, that is not mnch to be wondered at ; and, though it is not right in any casej yet the temptation u hardly to be resisted, because John' Bull has such a swa^^ring vray with him — is BO determined to have the thing he wants, at any price — is so saspidoua of being cheated, which commonly provokes cheating — iand Is, inoreover, known to bring over money for the sole purpose of spending it. The QermaDS are in gieneral very charitable, sincere, and extremely hospitable. If you hare « sufBcient introduction to a German family, they are pretty sure to welcome yon at once, and if they do so afterwards, yon may be satisfied that they sincerely mean it. Inthe matter of "morals," as the term is' exclusively understood in England, the greatest hyiio- crisy prerails in many parts of Germany, and undoubtedly in all small towns, especially small university towns. It is true that the young men, and men in general, are far less Ucentious than in France, Spain, Italy, and England — for has not the German his pipe ? But, notwithstanding this national " sedative and sooth- ing abstraction," there are instances and occasions enough, in which his peccadiUoea might be brought to light, to the utter oonfuaioQ of the grave and denying countenance which is habitu- ally assumed, with reference to all such lawless doings. Neverthe- less, there are in the larger cities houses of ill fame regularly licensed — and therefore the " lawless " in morality becomes " lawful " in civic regulations. But the grave o^nder regards it all OS beneath his high character, and has no toleration for it in others who are discovered so to forget their philosophic dignity. We overheard a German gentleman lecture a friend in these words : — " Ton have lost your character. I don't care how the fact stands ; but why did you suffer your folly to be known ?" This is a bad condition of morab. It must be admitted ; but what nation shall cast " the first stone?" Verily, the world needs a vast deal of rational purification, and the first step to it must be — not a stone — but Truth.
The amusements in Germany are not numerous, nor of an ez-
■tit»a wilt «8. rTbey- e«uUt sf -cliibe, *tj>iA*efai'<ifMyw)iMBg' &e nwaabeBaiweefctO'fUrat tttUJMda.'JwnMww, JiaigtJB, <— jo.iwifl jttDepins. -TJwi QJrmag miiftnJ gatw » dw«xi*»riwtic. iltiw mm afaneted an the ■ fnaeiflaaf- iKJ^Hiag aBwr^rtteig > timt ia idanl% May «f nniwniirltiiitiOTti awH Thith nnden tbef (UMe>awwinef4o thagreftt m^^^: of ylaywa ; jMtdiit t»ly t<ileEi<€*-*nd.ii«yiHii t^Mii EN ■ncgwiftliOTloBla^niMid^eweiitBoni.of aU -Mrtsof 'Caai|^ dated idau^aB-MidwfiHBMBta. 1kn&is'nafiii].w-it. H")) «tMVt to a.«cwiti£c hwdt<t^&>Qt«leraUyalMpid>Mjd «^iii^rQiM*e. ^he ganeiataiDe^s^sr large juidWl.«kiHlei> is tfi«ll-MtpMtB<^t«si- lent KmuBemeHt. Conoerie mw ;«lao ,|wniraHa, '•ud 'far -the moat port, vwy indifferaxt. ^TcA of a aiwucal awrttsw'.' '«hj, any one j^ mt firstm^ Xcudon o^oiierts iriU coMtMii 'men aspMaw »rtiata, and .Al*uya a ntwellibeMl and voided ^adeetMO tiian diaJl be fewkd in aoj kalfidoMii finb-vato ooaeerts in G«r- mmy, with the . ese^iwi «f thiue nUdi «re given «ti -tfae greatest eeoaBioMsin-suchpIaceB ab Vieona, Draaden, 4Bld Beriin. It is tnte that Buet.^ wr best w>lo perfooaecs ia this ««mt«y are Gemuis ; bit ithat eaiy proKa that oat'tiatiaa, «ai wit the WfjKtaed ''muBieal Dation/' has^iet the best gaM. TIm faet is, the lomoerta in Gemuuty aae genetaUy oeofaadTto-tfa heavieat GermMi .«oni^utioBS, yeiy iDcliffeF«at^ ^aad banUy ezeeHt«d. Aa-fer their theatres, there is wit aHMh to^be^said ahoQt'tbeia. fSo be bdn, thayare far better than ««s^ tJK prestoti tuoe, wUch is saying little eiuH^. 1^«r«ihibitio*s-4f gyMMStic p«r&waanoes aad «f bertamaiuhtp 'are.^dmirabte. fSka most Qxoiting and ieaet tee^rate of all the t Getmrns- ooour. duiing &e eamivala.
TbciCUrQiwlibegias with long proceatiiMs.thmigh'-ti streets f f all gc«at eities ; . aad ef small tasrus dao, a their moans ; 'CMMJitiiig of ^iuu^hal -and . eoihkMatic >• and <9»rB and «hariiats, aud aeowtrk edifiewi en nheels, all U^^ oniameated, utd filed nith in«a*adwoB*m~-eft«n SMoe «f Ae most re^ieebible, among (he lobabitantB, in faBeycoatumee. fShaee are haasemeD aad fMtcaen, «iid ■ adecg. oa tUi^ys, and goats, ond pigs, and aalvaa, and st^Eed knitatiens.af coloasal birds, all «f whom are Also attired in a fanciful manner, and distributo pitatod ballads and witticiuus to the admiring crowds areuad, and to these also who throng the windows, and to whom tbeip^>erB'3re presented at the end of long pc^ aa the proceision and all its wotlay-trun
THE BXGLISnUAK EN PRCasIA. (5
mores idong. The period for all this ism'the motitdi'of ViAitiOt^; Mid '66 the w«*yier"lBCither snowy, rriny, CftfereisA'h&rdfrOTt Upon the gttmnd, Mevyhodj looks pm^le ftrid wb^e'^WMhithetiDld, and probaWyhftB hia feefwet thfough'brffthe day if he' i«BUe iAto the streeta. At M¥ee, iMt 7«ftr,'t}w peifattQ«-s of (be cardvaliBtroduced the pleuoat ^earaace of a iRattbei''oF dmnken houses r^tfaig about in the squares M*d: public 'jilaiSes,t5beMd by the houBM fat^g DMcde bf -stme V»y U^t'DMrtfltial cK[MMe of bemg ctttriedaitd dttimd about 'byiitenm!<9de,'Bnd ons^^, who supported dio inebriated edifices onpol«8. Bet asililliiiore'ftfHiie- i-ons and raried series of tSspIays and proceiAiOiis takes |face at the Candral of Oologne. After tiie sploodoora of the streetaaFe oonbluded, all the parties retreat to different hotels to dinner. The close of one of these dinners/Of whidi We -were partaker and witneaa, presented an extraordmary sceiie. An elabwate defibr^ tioti of it appeared in a Loudoti periedioaJ aorae half-year ago, from which w^ crare ■ permisgKsi to make the followmg eltract. We might have been more acnrpnlons in quoting 0*r own iTorde, hnt that 'an ingemous rogne has deliberately ^ated the whole acccnmt'for att onxttnental book, which appeared after the Queen's visit to Prussia, and without a syllable of acknOwledgmeat of the obligation. The -ifter-dinner- scene in (piestion we rdated nearly as- fo^ws.
The band now began to plj^ a wdl-known air, which had been 90me'yesra 'shicc composed for the 'camiTal, and the whole happy company at each taUe took part in it in the follttwing' manner. Gtee of (he heroca took the poat Of loader of the chofus,' and sung the aifwith the band, accompaniedby the whole room. With the begniBing of the next verse, or recommencement flf Hie air,' the leader set the- example of dappingiris hftWda " to the tone ; " and this han'd^appiog accompaniment was accordbgty made by t^ presAit. The leader next began to whistle with the baijd, -hBd we bH wbistled. The BeJt thing was to tap the -wine-gkBaeB wJththo back of tile deBeTt-kniTes,wbich produced aiftultittldHlons ringing and jingling sound, and of course many glasseS'Were broken by anibitfaras performers. Marking time, or beat^g the "mehxly" wiUi the fcfet upon the 'floor, follow^ this with a aoanding, nnarmnous, aatiafflctory effect. -The next variation upon this very original mtiody was that of rattling the plates upon' the tabte ; and because at the conclusion, enon^ plates had not been broken, a number of gcuUemen broke their plates upon their own heads, the
6S TBE EHGLISEMAK IS
vUte fr&gments falling upon and down their backs ia all direc- tions. Then we liad an imitation of the braced drum, everybody dirumming txpou the table with the handles of bia knife and fork ; a hanh noise, in which the band could scarcelj be heard. A laughing accompaniment followed, and was very well executed by us all. The leader now took a cork, — cut one end of it, — dipped it in wine, and rubbed it up and down the outside of a wine-bottie, producing' a squeaking sound as if a mouse should sing, only sharper ; the band thus had an accompanimeiit of three hundred Bqueat'Dg inBtruments, the effect of which was indeacribablj ridiculous. The last Tariation was to sing with the band, and drum upon the table with both fists ; which was accordingly per- formed to admiration, every glass, plate, knife and fork, tumbler, and even decanter and botUe, leaping up in the air, or contributing its share of sound and merriment to the accompaniment, and thus terminated the amusement.
The grand conclusion of the day's entertainmentB—ranking above the theatres, the horsemanship, the puppet-plays, &c. — is the great masked ball, which takes place at the Giirzenich— our account of which was also " adopted verbatim, without acknow- ledgment by our friend of the black flag.
Literal description of the Giirzenich Ball is out of the question. The reader will understand a rough cartoon of it much better. Imagine a dancing saloon, so long that it requires two bands of music, one at each end, and when you are at one end (the saloon being full of talking and laughing masqueraders), you cannot hear the band at the other. Imagine three or four thousand people there. You arc in the midst of a crowd of ugly-painted monsters. Cheeks of chalk and scarlet, goggle eyes, carbuncle noses, long ears and horns, dogs' faces, ghosts' faces, fools' faces, devils' faces, jolly faces, and women half face and half mask ; bulls' heads, let^ards' heads, asses' heads, Turks' heads, and girls with giddy heads and gold ornaments ; princes, princesses, merry- andrews, Swiss and Tyrolese peasantiy and brigands, white-robed figures and dominoes ; all these there are, and many gentlemen m plain clothes, all of whom, by the violent contrast, look like undertakers. We are ^assured that sometimes there have been five thousand and upwards crammed in. To dance is impossible ; nobody thinks of it, but to walk b also impossible ; you cannot stand or move except as the grotesque mass around you stand or move. If an apple were to fall from the roof into the saloon, it would not reach
U.g,l:«l by Google
FKDSSIA. S7
tho grouad, one would think for hours, but bob about from eliouldei' to Bhoulder. A walking-stick would find itself unable to Btand without great prcasurd ou all sides. At about Four o'clock in the morning the denaitj of the crowd lias dimimshed, space is obtained, and dancing commences.
Next to the carnivals, the Christmas festivitjes take rank among tte enliTening scenes, and not very uimierous pubhc demonetra- tions of hilaritj, in Prussia. We will just say a word or two or Christmas-time in Berlin.
Christmas is ^e period when everybody makes presents to his friends, male and female ; it will, therefore, be readily understood, that all the shops are fitted out.to th» utmost of their owners' ' means, and make their moat striking displays. There is a great detd of cake-eating performed in all tbe northern parts of Ger- many, and particularly in Berlin, where the confectioners' shops are on the first scale of magnifioence. Some of them endeavour to attract attention by a-variety of eihibitions, — such as beautiful views from Italy, the Rhine, China, Sk. In the Couditorei of Fuchs tiiere is also a sort of magic-lantem, exhibiting about. fifty caricatures relating to the " chronique scandaleuse," and the bureaucratic administration of tbe city. Few, however, possess a universal interest, and are solely adapted to the time and place. The wit and humour are, in fact, in almost all cases, of a local character, and would be uninteresting, if not unintelli^ble, to all who were not familiar with Berlin. KroU's " Wintergarten " is the most magnificent and extensive of all these palaces of sweets. There is on immense saloon in the centre ; a band playing con- tinually ; and round the walls are two-and-twenty elegant shops, under tents and fancy arbours, where a provision of glittering things, eatable inclusive, are waiting to be purchased as presents. Both the wings adjoining the saloon are decorated like hot-houses; the walls are covered with climbing plants ; and Chinese lamps hang from the roof. The large curtains of the windows are transparencies, chiefly displaying painted caricatures. There is also in Berlin at this time a popiDar Lotterie, in which, by paying 5 groschen (about 6d.) for a chance, a variety of " invaluable " things are possible to-be obtained. The exhibition of Faust's " Blmnengarten," is also a sort of lottery, in which the prizes are all living flowers. The saloons are glass-houses, very pro- Aiaely decorated with flowers. Last Christmas, the Boyal Aca- demy had, for the first time, the following ingenious and beautiful exhibition. Six paintings of Albert Durer were copied upon a
trftupareBt-gTOimd, md diBpli^ed In** iMi tBitorinM{t)n,'ll4& Hi accampuiimeat of ohmuaeseeleoted nOKi-tte'worte'Bf old BHttriera, Bncli>aa FsIeBtriiia,OlH«b, Haydn, ^Rs./foaBta'gifa^n-tnimanions eip«aiti(»of the subjects of tb«Me great |iH!tiBr«a.
In concludisg; this series <^ papers, '^""liaglidttBaQ '%! Pnuna ""raqosBtepHiiBHianto'OfiiepoBeor tvo^Hpha^reMKAft. Mnoh ban been laid of a^diapan^Dg k^d ia'^e «i«ra In haa token of the poHtiee, n&ffiei, morals, atfd cuHOBU-trf 'Frwuift'; norhareyarioua objectionable characteriBtiw*iidd«ueiHitrttie»t<BH allorred to pus without eoDuaeot All he em ii9ft"nrj"is'1ids; — he h»s sp^en ^10 trutb ezootiy-as It ptmwutiod -itmi to He mild. -Bat no fKR^KfAgemeata that he has dwaght IntnMlf boimd to stteri— -no senae of abBorditieB, iawsgna^es, HUd «)Hnt- caaanga, have in may respect altered Ua estimate wid epishni'Vf t^e Msenti^y ^h qualities exiBtiDg in the iimer apirft of "tte QeiBttn nation. H« rsgordK Crenaany^asi the gt«at-3tore^^iMB'4ff ne*r ideas; as (^ awtion hy wbfofa 'Ao kingrferaa, «<|Sb% of iioaginaitiwtiBiid 6f seienee, have beoa'ndEJdVfer in' 'modem 4vfB by^teotates.ofia.geniuipattkgag with' the Ugttest ; ns'^te'iiatim, jM-odiu^ tiio gmteit m»ber of indefatigible und UffrJdertttag BpiolamtlK canae uf Truth, both a1)Stn,Dt iu)d'pRiMieH],'tlMni|!h chiefly abatmet; as the aation to -whom, of All o^iere,' the^iiHfderB age is moat indebted for new food for it6.aoBl;«fkl 'SB ^THMIoD'fa whicb (tlitn^ t^ pfBctioal derah^neHt 'and mgaftiBatfen -ni^ devolreoponfiB^andMid'France) 4ie redemptMH of the ttdden world «dll be originated.
A VISION.
Beatiog a mighty holwuk 'gainst the asa.
Whose wild wavea round it roarad tumuUtwusly,
I lay in alnmber, and a form of glory
Came in adrwmi, and-toM-«ie"thB^ story,
Of dark crime IwoOdiTig ■over misery ;
Of kunsn laws that warred petfetnaliy
Witii.tha Boul's lioliart inalincte, and the dowry
Bequaathed to man by- natafe ef free thought.
Free bread, free labour, filched from human luud,
Who in their struggles as their fury blind,
Uke' the wild ocean tkaSng 'gainst the rock
That stands unshaken, inedom Tainiy sought
^ron tynmie ^rho their prayers and threats did tttly moek.
.THE HEDGEHOG JjETTEKS.
Uy Iiobiv— HtniBg^pnt die luMe-iwg (mUie laaxe, luainiawa ta ny pwtor iwdpi^er. .1 was-sMtn-burdjAiid fast iirtke "!£iMr*l IstcUigeiioe." I ita't kaowiurvitw,'bat I've & famkeriDg-.ifter thenaiy. I'btdian.vicle iVho'iraB liiadiargad. a-iiBdahiinaan at fcvty, and died a light' porter. Thatiwas, hvirerer, in tlie goad old timea ;A«y h^, -we don't aee gMjoJieaded^^eofttsiMBr. Well, havH% a sort «f regai<d for the "wooden' viffie, l-mta lMting:fer th&flhip*ewa, w^en I rum my. kw»d against ■tkescwotdai—'^'jlhe AdnniiUty, «o amrk their eewe of the neUe scs^mmbi of tlie J«te ■Dr-'-SMgayBewiard an boardthe fcbtr, hsre'praB«rtKl-'«ma«r relatm ef bis, Mr. RobertBemud, aKiBtaBb«Drgeffadftfae£ifHe frigate, to the rank of surgeon in the naTj." All well 41x1 good, and «ll eaeeesB to ilx. B«beTt Bernard! Still, I aaor't help tiuakingit, that tlte Lords ef the Adviralty might, as Lmay uy, pay a atill prettier csmplnieBtto the iBenaory. of the dead Imto — for la ' iMr» hewaa, dying the death of a hero, asxraoh-asBiy'Lord Ndaon, tiuugfa no boUet went throng bis BlMniUer-~-thtHi by pnnuotnigihis reUlaon. P«rdon a cabman's bdidneBs, -while I tdl yeo what I mean,
Socter Sidney Berajud boarded the -£^fiuV to atta^ a fever that was layng -all huidalanr. The nobte, ^g-rheartedf^ow Tolimteered to lead 'the foriomhopc agaiBst death, and fell the foremmt. That '.a graiUed. WeU, bow doyou tliiok,.if-I<'autB a Lord of the Adiwrottf, I'd rcnard the deid ? I '11 tell ywu.
You Ve'tvpenot >«w frigates at -the praseab BMBMBt <m tiieBtodu. Th«y TD«st ail, 'vrbtn they 're laimehed, be christened. Well, why Qot eail one of the' best and trimtnest of the Itit, the Sidney Ber- nard^ You can't thkik that she 'd lail tte ^wer, or misirer her hdn leiB readily, 'for be^iriug such a. aonac ? You can't think that the jock tars aboard of her, say that the sailoTEi of the -nbole fleet, would think the worse of the craft, beoMtie called «f(er the
aulor's friend — the noUe cour&geouB mKn nho died in tiie uilar'a awvice. Well, my lord, what do ycni say ? Do yon think the propositi a hold one — do you fear that the nobs of the navy would look glum at it ? Let ub talk the matter over.
In the first place, my lord, nm jrour eye down the Admiralty List. Well, saving your preBence, wouldn't you think that some- times Satan, in a waggish hnmoor, named her Uajeaty'a ships, and not Christian men ? Here we have Qriffins, and B^atletnakes, and Vipen, and Furiee, and Harpies, and all sorts of terrible and filthy things, all complimented and honoured by the Lords of the Adnuralty, as if they were their own dearest pets, and they wanted to show the world how much they thought of 'em. Now, for once, let their lordships show they can have another sort of &roDrite. At the present moment they may intend to call one of their now frigates the Flea, or the Spider, or the Cochroach, or the FoUcat, or the Water-rat. Let them pause awhile ; let them think again, and, renouncing the fooUsh notion, determino to name her the Sidney Bernard. It is a name that must glori^ her timbers ; and who knows — even her gracious Majesty,, delighted with their lordships' choice — might, herself, condescend to christen her. — 'Twould oe a pretty compliment from a British Queen to firitamtia!
Consider, my lord, what a very nice thing it would be to have a Sidney Bernard afloat ! How pleaaaDtly the fleet would look upon her I How, at certain times, in every sea of the world, she would carry with her the recollection of the gallant surgeon — how she would help to keep up the spirits of the young and struggling, who, wherever her pennant was seen, would see the gratitude of England to humble, but heroic men ! It is worth while, depend upon it, my lord, to keep up this spirit ; so have nothing to do with the Flea — cast aside the CocJcroach — renounce the Polecat, and stiok to nothing but tiie Sidney Bernard.
Who knows, if the good esample be once set, how, among all future. Lords of the Admiralty, it might spread! There is a Hxm in the List — ^why then, on the other hand, should we not, some day, launch a Grace Darling ? I don't think that even the Trafalgar or the Bbwe would be ashamed to sail in her company; do you my lord ? At all events, you can but try a little bit of this kind of reform ; and, therefore, my advice to you is, begin ' with the Sidney Bernard. For my part, I don't see why you shouldn't have all the great names of England afloat : I
THE HEDGEHOG LETIEHS. CJ
can't tuiderstond nby Shakespeare shoulda't sail as well as iko Sevattation, or that MilUm shoulda't go as close to the wiiid as the Canopus.
And so I am.
Your obedient servant, my lord. Jumper IlEnoBHOQ.
Letter XXV. — To Mas, Hedgehog, of New York.
Dear Gkancmother, — Knowing your lore for all titled fulks, I write to tell you that at this moment I do think all dukes double hazardoas. I shouldn't wonder if my next letter should tell you that tbej 're entirely repealed — smudged out of the Peerage. We ' to been in a pretty pucker for tida last month, and a few dnkes hare done it all. Good souls I They all mean well, and yet people wiU .misunderstand 'em : nay, I heard one low fellow declare that the Duke of Norfolk only wanted bells to his coronet to be quite in character with hia talk. Excellent man 1 How mueh baa he been mistaken !
You must know that the Duke of Norfolk can't abide the Com LawB. With all bia heart and soul he wanta 'em repealed. But he doesn't banland sbout against 'em ; no, he goes quite another way to work ; he tries to joke 'em down ; but somehow, either dukes are commonly bad hands at a joke, or vnlgar people won't give 'em credit for it ; for which reason the Dnke s joke has been taken quite the wrong way. Nevertheless, it was so good — so original — that it was impossible to be altogether spoiled.
However, the Duke's wag^ry is this. The people will want wbeaten Sour, whereupon Norfolk (without a smile on his face) has advised them to take, in nice warm water, " a pinch of curry powder " going to bed. What a friend at a pinch! He said " he meant to try it himself with his labourers ;" that is, I sup- pose, " on his labourers ;" a very different thing. Should his Grace succeed, 1 do hope that there will be a labourer's diow ; when I have no doubt that Norfolk will carry away the prize — say ajar of mixed pickles— -for a curried ploughman. Norfolk further explained to the ignorant mob that curry powder was made " of apices and that sort of thing," and was very good " with a little bacon or any little thing of that kind " — (I believe pickled pork is the nearest cousin to bacon) — "they might have: It was a PICKLE ! " But why did not his Grace finther recommend with
02 ™li HXDOSBOO LXTIBBS.
euTTj powdsr fowls u>d nibUto ! They ue, I believe, eqwJly gved with " k little baoon," mndqiiite u bckb to be had, foj pei^le who can't bny Com Law bread. '
It is said — bnt I don't believe it — tltat the Duke of Norfolk ia BO certMB that ctHry powder is as good or better than wheateu bread, tbftt be has given orders to plant, I don't know how manj acres of bis land, with pepper and nutmeg trees. To be sure, be '11 not be able to grow spicea so cheap as he can bring 'em from the ludiea — no more than we can grow i^eat at the [wice we can get it from otker coimtriea — bnt it will onlj be a part of Gom-I<aw wisdom if the Duke slKMild try iL
Howerer, I doo't bdiere & word of thia story. Aa I say, I 'm oertain the Dnke of Norfolk hates &» Com-lMB ; for he 'egnu a new way to work, and made monopoly qMte ndiculouB. He kas flnng a sqmb at h made of curry powder — and never aqnib did more mischief or made a grarter noise. It is not the Dnke's fault if his joke has not been taken the right way ; nevertheleflB it has dime beMer serviee than his beet Herionsness. Never wu Jock- pudding more successful ! Fermy part, I can qinte believe thathia Grace foresaw that he Bbsoid be misnnderstood ; bat nereititdess, knowing iritat injury his mistaken joke would do the Corn-Laws, hedidnoteare tobe thotight, fora time. Tety ridiculmis, so that in the end he might continne to be useful.
Onoe, grandmother, I read in Roman history that <me Curtins jumped on horseback into a tremendous deep ditch, to save his country from nan of some sort. CurtiiiB was smashed, buried, of course ; but Rome was saved. Well, the D.nke of Norfolk has done the Bsme generous thing. Once a man advertised that he would jump into a quart-bottle — bnt didn't so much as try it. Now the Dnke, in his ducal robes, and with his coronet upon his head, to save his conntiy has jnmped rif^t into a cvny-bottle. Thue he is, corked for all posterity \ Tfaoie he ia, as I once read —
lake bottled-up babea that grace the room Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home !
Who woold thiitk that a great di^ c<Hdd make so little of hhnself?
Bnt I tell yon, tbne 'a sunething broken out among the dukee, ju«t as aometbing hu happened to all the potatoes. There's five or six of 'em, joat now, vecy had indeed. The Duke of WelUng- '-0B, for one, is, th^ say, in a high state of infiammation ; he is
«o pMtered with the Cora-LawB and fak proziu. Bat, perhaps, jta don't know what aobls proxies are. I '11 tiy to tcU jon. You aee, «^cn an EngUdi peer has bo conceit whatever in hie own br^ts — when he deem't knoir when to say " Content," and when " Nen-eontent, " — hegirea, I toa; say, hie whole Bonl into another .mau'B keejraig. Ee it satined to be a sort of breatbuig canmEG in the world, hanng made orer his opiuioDs to another. Well, th^ do say that the Deke has serenty of these very small sends in hie pocket ! Con^der it, graadnothet ! Properly looked at, ivhat a sight is the Duke of Wdlinglon. People who don't think, only see in him on old, thin, pale-faced gentleman, with not a Tery gentle Uok — hut I, who often see him from my stuid o^oeite Apsley Honse,— I always look on him as sometiung tre- mendons .' I always see those seventy poxies, as I mi^ say, juized up wiUi him ; aerenty-ono hoacU nnder that oae small- limmed hat ; aeventy-one hearta beating nnder that ^ort Uttie iraiatooat ! Why, ^ Siamese twins were nothing to it. It 's .wonderful, isn't it, grandmother, when peers, hj their |ffoxiefi, can put their toola into another man's mootli, and be made to preach what he likea, — inst an the showman talks for Pmieh !
The OBxi of the dukea, a little indi^osed, is the Ihike of Cambridge. He says he doesnlt beliero in bad pokrteea ; and no doubt he 'a ri^t, — Cor he haa never se^ithem, either at Windsor «r Buckingham Palace, «* Cambridge Honse, or at any of the Boblo tables he has so often viBited. Eu potatoes luve alw^s been capital !
The Duke of Ba^and, too, spcab up far potatoes. There has been a wieked eon^iraoy this aeason, to take away tfaor chuac- t«rs ; for, like a certain naughty being, they are by no meaas ao bad as they are painted. But, then, saye the Dnke, " there mnat be aranetiiiDg resjlyaffooting the British character, to make one per- son in every three what are termed croojtent." Bat Uio Dnke la not one of these three 1 Therefore, let aU ^the poor take pattern by him ; he never complains ! He is no croaker !
The Duke of Richmond is also, just now, a person of great interest. He loves the Corn-Laws and prize oien ; that ia, he will make com dear to the poor man, and eram cattle with oil-cake until the poor beasta can't atand upon their lege — can't breathe— .ean't look out of their eyes for .greaee 1 IJean labourera Mid &t <Kifln! WaU.lBan'thelpsa^git. I <£) weoderthat some of these noblemen can take such a pleasure in breeding such monntaina of
64
tallow, for thej make oDthing better. It's plain that all they think of with their beasts is to show what g^reat beasts they may beoomet All I know is, if I was a monstrous rich nobleman I couldn't do it. I should think that I was somehow mocking myself, knowing that I had »o much and others bo little, when I crammed ana stuffed an ox aa notiiro nerer intended him to he stuffed, and all to make him a monster of fat, — a devouring wonder. I do believe it, grandmother ; when I saw such an over-fat, useless crcatm^, I do think my conscience would smite me, and I should say to myself — " Juniper Hedgehog, think you have four legs, and that's you." However, I thank my stars that I'm not a duke. If I was, I should certainly go into quarantine for a time ; for tl^cre's something abroad— a ducal fever — that 's catching ; I 'm sure of it. You ask me, grandmotlier, to send you news about new books. With all love and affection, I think this only a bit of conceit in you ; because you must know that whatever we do that 'a good, the Americans always st«al from us. And I must give 'em this credit, they know what they 're about ; they 're not ignorant thieves, for they always steal with a taste. Then, as of course you 11 have The Cricket on the Hearth printed on brown sugar paper, and sold for three cents, (a very high compliment this to Mr. Dickens), I shall say nothing more about it. I shall only call your attention to a great escape that that gentleman has had fr'om the murderous 3fomtn^ Post. It's well known that no authoE ever survives a cut-up in the Post. No : then he 's as done fw, .as if one of their own miaii-miUiner's needles had gone right through his heart. After such a cut-up, a man is generally fonnd dead in his bed the next morning. Hardened offenders have been known to live two nights, hut this is rare. Well, knowing this, you will judge my feelings, — loving the man as I di) for a noble work of God, doing noble work — you will judge my feelings when I read what follows in the blessed Morning Post of Bee. 22. It was in the very third page, in the very fifth column ; and was . part of a review of The Cricket on the Hearth. Well : the Post, in the fifth column, page 3, says : —
To notice stich rubbish at all, as literary woiks, is perhaps not over consistent ; but, recollecting that they are the offspring of one who is paraded at public places as a "great gun," yea, a tremendous cannon, of literature, we are bound, in justice to <mr readers, to express our opinion upon them. . . '. The man who oonid write, and (Ee people who con read, snch nnmitigated twaddle, are* fit only to resume their
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THE HEDQEHOG LETTERS. 6S
piottfores and betake themselTes iDcontinenily to topa-and-bottoins asd sago padding ... A siliy, slovenlj nnrae-girl, who realises the juve- nile idea of
" See-SHiW, Mai^ry Daw,
Who sold her bed and lay upon straw, ;. Was not liie a, dirty slut
To sell her bed and lie in the dirt i" and an enthnsiastic manu^tnrer of cock-horsea, and other similair |lro- digies of the animal creation, with hia blind daughter and grinding employer, together with a pair of " loreyers," make up the dramatic persimas. They are all eminently stupid in thought and foolish in action.
Well, when I read this, you might have knocked me down even with the goose-feather of tike Post. At a, glance, I saw that Dickens was lost to us. Knowing the Post's tremendous power — for at least three French milliners take it in — 1 felt that the author eoiJd not surviTe it. It must kill him. In a minute I saw Mr. Wakley, the coroner, and all that, and read the verdict — " Died by die Post." Well, hardly knowing what I did, I turned over the leaves of the Post, and came to another notice of TAe Cricket on the Hearth, in page 6, column 4 ; a notice of the drama of 2^ Cricket, in which the book was spoken of after this fashion. Yes,— in the same paper ; at page 6, column 4 : —
The characters are flesh and blood characters, with live hearta in their bosoms, bounding and palpitating, and fluttering with human aspirations, and human joys and sorrows. It is a simple story, wiiole- Eome and natural ; and breathing as freshly of the rur^ homes and the yeoman life of England, as a canvass of Oainsborough or Morland. Its great and abounding charm lies in its line spirit of goodlinesa — its inspirations spring up gracefully and lightsomely from Uie well of the home affections, and are evoked by the tricksey beings that haunt the chimney-nook. The cricket's chirp is (he fahy music that charms within its circle all the gentler virtues and tbe abiding amenities that shed a sacred halo around the domestic hearth.
You may he sure I was astonished at this. But it has all been cleared up since. I now understand, that in future upoa all great quesliona of letters or politics, the Post intends to have two separate bands to do 'em — that is, one way for the fools and knaves, and the other for the decent people. Yes, in future, the Post is to be like a chess-board, entirely made up of black and white. The above I think a very pretty sample of the way in which the thing will be done. -
»0. XIU.— VOL. III. F
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gB . TBE HEDOBHOfl LZTTEBB.
And now, good bje, grandmother. Who knows iriien I aha]] be able to writ« to 70U again! For folks do saythat we 're going to cut one anotber's throats about a place they call the Oregon. Well, if it does h^pen, I know what will he the end of it. We ahall kill a few hundreds — perhaps a few thonaands — we may knock a few towns to pieces, and play other dent's tricks. We may hare oar sea-figtis, with — for the gbsy of war — brigs gmng down wilii tlieir ctdouTB nailed to tiie maat : and after wo 're done all this, we riull then see whether we can't call in somebody to settle thn matter, gunpowder haring failed to do it. Now, let us try this plan first.
There 'a been a Tet7-good notion afloat, that the merchants of botJi countries should meet and eddreaa one another, and m smooth away the difBculty, t^t the matter might be put to what is caHed arbitration. Well, I think the plan a good one. Squares of infantry, and squadrons of horse, are very pretty at a reriew,— but let ^e war be fought by quiet gentlemen in a fight of words ; let the worst weapon mod, be a goose quill — die worst amronni- tioQ, ink.
Wiih this wish — not forgetting deo to wish you, and, by the bye, ereiyhody elw, a happy new year, I am,
Yoar affectionate grandson,
JCHIPEK HEDQEHOU.
THE OLD SOLDrER.
Clothed in rags, and blind and lame, Hungar-nnittcn, bent and old, To my door a be^ar came, Bhivering in the winter's cold. Pity for the poor old man Touched my heart, I gave bJTri food, And queBtioning him, he thus began His life'a sad tale in pensive mood.
" Pour score years the earth I Ve trode, Forty years I 've begged my bread ; My manhood's prime I ^wnt abroad. Hired the blood of men to ^ed. I temtmber, when a youth, How I loved each blood-stained story, All to me was sacred truth That pertnined to war nnd glory.
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THE spnxn-vaicB.
Twenty aaDimen o'er my ksad Scarm had £own, when frcon & home Of peace and lave I madly fied. Afar in foreign lands to roam.
is fired with drink. Mind anci body both I aold — For a Holdiei dare not think ! I never felt a soldiefs pride ; 1 feh I was A slave and wept ; While with war's muaBgnined tide, O'er the groaning earth we swept. Horrid sights 1 oft have seen. Dreadful soands I oft have heard ; In a hnndred iieldB I 've been, Where my blood hath atamed the Bwaid. I left a limb in Hiodostan, On Egypt's plains I lost my sight, And home returned, a homeless man, My eyes — my heart — bereft of Kght. "
THE SPIRIT-VOICE.
In onr natuve there ore circles of bting : inward, de^ is the princljdc of odonUion ; feelings profound, wanderings of melodious joy, outbome from tte consciousness — the growing conscionanesa of OUT connection with the eternal ; generated by w&ves of spiritual life, outflowing from divinity and diffusing themselves over 01U- being : out from these, powers connecting us with huma- nity, social, brotherly ; whence love, compaBsion, and tendemesB flow : out liirther still, powers taldng connisanee of beauty, light and shade, colours variegated, and all the forms of material things : and out from all these, and stirrousding all these, are powers of sensation, the hist link of oar connection with the universe. Our nature is one, oUhough the circles of life are many. Travelling up end down in it is a voice, unceasingly uttering itself, sounding through the whole of our bf^ng, from the interior of our epiritud constitution to the outskirts of ow physical organisation : coming forth from a power — a living power, hidden in the depths of ihe sout, beneath its foundations. In this power we rest ; from it we draw life. It meets us at every step, in every feeling, in every
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GS TEE SFUtll-TOICE.
thought, ID every act : we are wholly encompassed by it. Beyond
it we neTer can go ; retire Irom it we fiad impossible : it is within and without, beneath and above, near and afar. It desires to diffuse itself throughout our nature, to fill every circle of our being ; beginning in our deepest and inmost parts, and spreading up through and out through our frame, leaving not the least fibre of physical orgaliisfttion unanimated by ita life. It is an eihauatleaa fountain-— «n inextinguishable light — an indestructible power. It is love and joy — purity and peace — harmony and melody^ — beauty and grace ; — it is courage and fortitude — manliness and strength ; all perfecting, creative.
The voice ever uttered by this living power, has been heard in all nations, by every rational sou! ; hiUierto faintly, sometimes more, sometimes less distinct. The moment a soul hears its utterance, it acknowledges its authority. When it speaks through a man, the thrill passes over humanity. Eighteen hundred years ago, it spoke through one with an awful sublimity, its tones richly laden with a musical joy ; humanity beard the voice and was refreshed ; felt itself more divine than its consciousness had hitherto attested : that voice spoken from a great depth, with a germ of the otcmal in it, continues still to be heard, waxing louder and more subhme, inspiring the benevolent with courage — the upright with a love of purity ; whispering hope into the ear of the despondent and down-cast — giving strength to the feeble and . oppressed — and a balm to the wounded ; making the heart of the .oppressor quail with fear — arresting the criminal in hia career, and annihilating the life of corruption ; opening up a bright future in this world, and bearing humanity on towards the land of life, purity and peace.
And humanity, subject to illusions and delusions and vain wan- derings, becomes more eager to hear the voice. It has listened, and listens still ; it has heard, and hears more ; it obeys as it hears. Following its every act of obedience, it becomes finer toned J— and by the action and reaction of obedience and its results, its progression proceeds ■ — -the channels of ita being become sounder, purer and more properly positioned, and truth flows in as if in streams : — the change in its being has caused a change to come over nature ; and So finely touched is its inward parts, it " hears the beating of nature's heart," and God in the soul holds communion with God in nature.
This change stealing in upon a soul brings along with it high
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THE SPIRIT-VOICE. 69
appreciations of the capabilities of biuuanity. Hitherto it seemed " a thing of no value ;" but noir its dignity, its greataeBs, and the deaign of God in reference to it are all-abBorbing. This con- ■viction constitutes its dedication to God and humanity ; and the " unbounded prospect " of a ceaaelesB ongoing, is to it a source of unfailing inspiration ; it feels the hand of God actively at work inweaving divinity into the texture of its being ; and seeing its own divinity in every other one, its salutation is, "Brother, we are one ia nature, let us how before the Highest, that God may become one in uh." Such an one has tasted of the water of life and can never die.
It is souls such as this, with their heads in the heavens, that mediate between God and man : they are prophets to the race. They stand as chanaels through which the divino Spirit-Voice uttereth its inspirations in the ears of mankind ; and, when through these the senses of the aoul are awakened to it, the foun- tains of tlie deep break up ; the Spirit- Voice finds an echo in its constitution ; and in its turn it becomes an oracle for God.
Throughout all being the Spirit- Voice is one — its aim one ; jet bo it remembered that in its thousand-fold mauifestation, the con- ditton of the soul determines the form of its expression. It may be seen far through, somehow or other, at the bottom of hate — it is full expressed in love ; it also lives covered and enshrouded beneath selfish accumulation — it appears in broad noon in acts of benevolence : in despondency and hope — in repose and activity — in punishment and reward this voice is ; humanity in its lowest condition is not without it ; it may be heard by it as but the faintest echo, but the time comes when it shall speak, and the broad heavens reverberate the sound.
There is no up-going with despair, so let us ever hope. Expres- sioQs of discontent are heard ; seen, are commotions, dread up- heavings on the earth : 'tis humanity — humanity labouring to be delivered. That hollow, grumbling sound which passes heavily behind the mountains is the echo of its complaint — it reaches the ear of God — and from his throne streams down light on the path of life — the angel of love in the distance beckons humanity on — the invitation embraced, it plants one foot in the Future and shall shortly bid adieu to the old world for ever.
B. H.
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A HISTORY FOR YOFHtt ESQLASD.'
Wliat B ptie ii it to sea h proper geotlemaA to ksre ladi a dick i& hu aock that La lAimot look backward. Yat no better U hfl vho cannot seo b«liiDd tiim tba actiom which long lince were performed. Eutarj' makcth a fonug man to be old, withont either wiinklei or gnj haira ; pnvUe|^g Mm with the eiperienco of ago, withoat either the infinnitJee or inoonvemencM tbenoC Yea, it not onelj makelh Ihinga put, present ; but ioablelh one to make a rationall conjecture of things to come. For tliia world aSotdeth aa new acddentB, but in the aame senae wherein we call it a new TOOtm ; which iB the old one in another ihape, and jet no other than what had been formerly. a agun, forbiihed orer with >ome new and diObRnt drcum-
CHAPTEB THE TENTH. BIOHABD THE FIRST, BUBNAMES THE LIOH-HEABT.
H89 — 1199. EiCHABT, the eldest Bmriving son of Hemj Plantagcnet, held the duehj of Acqmtaine and ruled it with an iron sceptre, at the time of his father's death. Fourteen days after that event, on the 20th July, 1189, he received the title of Duke of Normandy ; but it was not until the day of his coro- nation in the palace of Westminster, on the 3rd of the following September, tlutt the title of English King was conceded to ' Ihiko Biehard.' There had however been no disposition to qooBtion hia Bucceesion ; and in the interim, hy his appointment, his mother Eleanor had been released from her captrrity and invested witlt the powers of Regent, which she seems to have exercised pra- sently. We are told hy contemporary writers that she made n denes of state progresses ; released prisoners nidawtully confined ; pardoned offences against the crown ; restrained forest severities ; reversed outlawries on common fame ; hy proclamation ordered all freemen to swear allegiance to Duke Richard and obedience to his laws i and everywhere distributed alms, in her own name and tiiat of her son, for the soul of the husband and &ther whose heart they had broken.
As the body of the old king was home from the pleasant toffn of Chinon on the Loire, the Windsor of our Norman princes, to the sad oid abbey of Fontevraud, their favourite place of burial,
• ContiDued from p. fi65. Vol II.
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A HISTORY pen SODSa BNQLAKS. ?!
Gorl Bichard met the procesaieu and aceompaiued it to the great ckurcli. As tlie funeral rite went on, and. the knightly mourner stood by Ilia father's body, the deftd face was uncoyereil and blood bnrst frwn the Dostrils. This miracle, which the chroniclers care- fully i'dat«, Tery atrtmgly marks the feeling of the tiaje. It waa the body of the dead bleeding in the presence oi its murderer. lUchard shuddered ; fell in prayer before the altar ; and after the space of a paternoster left tie church, never to return to it till borne there in the pride of manhood to a grave at his father's feet. ,
It was he who had thrice refused to sheathe the aword he had drawn against bis parent ; it was he at whose bidding, when hie brothers Henry uid Geofireyhad made ample suhmission, the unna- tural strife arose again. For on noBe of tiic princes had the old king's discountenance of tbe martial tendencies of his age fallen so heavily as on Richard. While yet ia boyhood, his personal prow- ess was the favonritc theme of the poetry of his time ; and as years passed on, high above the. moat noted warriors of NtHmandy and England towered the haughty crest of the youthfiil Count of Poitou. With a body ino^tabte of fatigue, and a heart inaccessible to fear, he lived but in tike toumameM or battle ; and there was not a tilting ground in K^rope he had. not vidted aa a private adven- turer, and home off ita prize of valouK. The ohronielors err who ascribe his departbre tar tbe Crusades to remorsa for hia father's death. With tiie pasmosate ^irit of enteipriae that distinguished him, he had publicly tabm the Cross seme months before that event; which only served to confirm his resolve. The succession to the throne had brought with it no sense of duties or responsibilities. The confidential couuseUiM^ wlm bora tidings of his- approach to claim his English crown^ were oharged wi& projitcta to drtun the resources of England for no purpose imre closely oonnecbed with its government, than the tecorery of JarusaJran and the punishment of Soldan Saladin.
It has been seen th^ he did not reeeii^ the kingly title till he had passed through the Fona of his coronation. The thoughtful reader will discover in that ciecuixHtancB ;. in the popular measures with which Eleanto' thjou^t it prudent te grace bis accession ; and in the description i shall now iMiafly give of tlie coronation ceremonial itself (of which his is the most aiwient preserved la fiHiaai records) ; ample coi^rmation. of what has before beea urged against the false impression of too many tuBtoriea. These Nonnao. princea did not, 1^ the mere physical right of conquastr govern d conquered petq^. They were not serfs or slaves who
72 A. mSTORT FOB TOUHQ EHQLANI).
croirded the passages from' the palace to the abbey of Westmui- ater on the coronation day of BJchard the First, and whose voices, 'though but as a matter of form, were solicited to confirm him King. They were a. part of the day's dignity and power, as essential aa the clergy, the abbota, and the bisbopa, who advanced first in the procesaioa ; as tbe two barons who followed with the cap of state and the golden spars ; as the earls who carried the rod and sceptre ; as the three swords borne by John the king's brother, by David brother to the king of Sootland, ■ and by William Earl of Salisbuiy ; as the six earls and six barons, who carried on their ehoolders the gorgeoas accoutrements of royalty ; nay, as the ponderous crown Itself, which was on this day borne ' in the stout hands of the Earl of Albemarle. Richard came last ; supported by the Bishc^ of Bath and Durham, under a canopy of silk stretched on four speara and held by four barons ; and was received at the altar by Baldwin Archbishop of Canterbury, who administered to him the oath of the Anglo-Saxon kings. He then threw off his upper garment, put on golden sandals, was anoiuted in various pa^ of his person, and received successively from the proper officers the cap, tbe timic, tbe dalmatic, the swords, tbe spurs, and the mantle. The Archbishop conducted him, thus robed, to the altar, and solemnly adjured him not to assume, even then, the royal dignity, unless prepared and resolved to observe tbe royal oath. On this he renewed his promise ; vehement shouts from the crowded aisles of the abbey answered the Archbishop's formal appeal to tbe People for confirmation of tbii election of their Governor ; and Duke Bichard, taking the crown from the altar and presenting it to the primate, Baldwin placed it on the bead of Kmg Richard the First.
While this passed within the abbey, a horrible and disgraceful scene was in course of action outside, which, even so late as when industrious simple-hearted Speed wrote his useful Chronicle, and beyond that time, seemed quite an auspicious event, and comfort- ing to Christianity. The coronation of Richard, he says, *waa ' accidentally hanselled and auspicated by the blood of many Jews ' {though utterly against tbe king's wiil} who, in a tumult raised ' by tbe multitude, were furiously murdered ; which, though it was ' afterwards punished by the laws, might seem a presage that ' this lion-hearted king should be a special destroyer of the ene- • mies of our Saviour.' That the murder of a Jew should have been utterly against the king's will, only proves what the power of money already was. Even a Jew might on that ground claim
A BISTORT FOK YOUHO ENQLAND. 73
protection. On the other hand, vh&t recommended them to the king, apart from the curse of their unbelief, mode them hateful to the people. They were the hankers, the capitalists of Europe. They held exclusive traffic in the markets ; with absolute, and, unless by ruffian violence, unrestricted control over the element which with labour governs the world. The impulse given to com- merce bj every fresh crusade, I have before pointed out ; at such a time, their demands rising with the number and wants of bor- rowers, their profits became enormous ; at such a time, supersti- tious excitement raging high, tbeir religion became especially odious ; and this therefore was always the aptest time for some shocking scene of persecution. Hatred of their faith, and envy of tbetr gains, were indulged together. The present outrage began in a dispute at the abbey door, where some Jews had mingled with the crowd and pressed for admittance ; it spread throughout the city ; it was inflamed by a report oil the following day, that the king had made glorious commencement of his reign by a general permission to kill the Jews and plunder their property ; and it was not quelled until, not alone in London, but in York and seve- ral of the larger cities of the kingdom, it had been signalised by the most frightful robberies, conflagrations, and massacres. Richard seems to have been the least to blame. It was suspected that not a few of the more powerful barons had most assisted to inflame the popular passion, for a cloak to the design they had more deliberately formed of sharing among themselves the spoils of' their victims, and of efiectually extingiushing their debts by destroying at once the securities and the persons of their creditors. When tlie king deputed his justiciary, the famous warrior and lawyer Glanvil, to disperse and judge the rioters, the result of his task showed what a feeling he had had to contend with, and what power must liave backed it up. Three men only were executed ; and of these, one because he had stolen the goods of a Christian, and the other two because the flames they had lighted in the houses of the Jews bad spread to the dwellings of Christians. Beside this indeed, Hichard offered his royal protection to the Jews, and forbade any further interference with their persons or property ; but it availed them little.
Meanwhile he had been busily occupied In raising money for his Cmsade. His father's treasury gave him a hundred thousand marks ; but he required a sum gigantic as his warlike projects, and there was but one mode of getting it together. He turned his presence chamber into a market overt, and oflered everything for
74 A mSTOAX FOK VOUSG BXALAJCD.
Bale. He sold the dememe lande, be solU honoura and o&e^ he wdd biaht^cB and abbacies. He coKpromised a quarrel witlt bis natural brother Geoittey, lately elected Archbishop of York, for a bribe of three tbousand pouuda ; for one tbousuid he wld the earldom of Korthumberlaiid and lordabip of Sadburgb to Hugh Fudsey the Bishop of Durham, who also purchased of him the office of Juaticiaiy ; for ten tboueand he restored to the King of Scots what hie father had nreeted from bim ; and when a remsn- Btraooe was addressed to him oa the impolicy', of all this, yridt tippeai to tha example of Stephen, be sirore that be wotdd sell Loudon itself if he cuild but find a purobaaer. His arrangements completed by expedleats of this kind, which cost bim four montba' incessant labour, he held a great council in Fipwell monaalerj, and provided for the regency of tbe kiogdoni. He dinded its powers betweM) bis chancellor, William Longchamp Bishop of Ely, , aed his jasti<nary, Hugh Fudsey Bi^op of Durham. Neither to Eleanor nor to John was any share of authority eommitted ; but he increased bis mother's dower ; and, with the Tun hope of engaging that mean and jealous nature to lus interests, endowed bis brother with the earldoms of near one third of the kingdom. He left Engkud on tbe 11th of December, 1189, never to return to it, or to take further share in its admi- Bistratios, until ibe 13th of March, 1194.
Hia departure was ibe signal for attack on the Bishop of Dor- nam by his brother regent the Bishop of Ely. The wetter vessel broke;, and in a few montba Loi^cbamp was not only sole regent, but bad received from abroad, on his royal master's interce^iion with the Vatican, the office of papal legate, and reigned supreme in church as wdl as in state. Ha was in soma respects a remark- able man, aud undoubtedly very able. He was of the lowest birth (bis grandfather had been a serf in the diocese of Beauvais), and had j^assed to the sttrricc orRiebard from that of his natural brother tieoilrey. A proficient in the dexterous arts which win their way to power, his ambition had grown with every new suc- cess till it overtopped all means of restraint and of repression. The descendant of tbe serf of Beauvais was the only man whom Richard did not dismiss, when, on bis tather'a death, either with aiscere remorse or to invite popularity by the show of it, he sent bis own old counsellors from his service, and called to his side thoae who had remained faithiiil to his father. When tidings o£ Longchamp 's conduet to hia fellow regent were h4«ne to Richard, on the Gontiuent, ha did indeed send formal instrBotioos for the-
A BISIOBT FOB TOCXO BMLASS, ?tf
mnatotement of the Bishop of Durham : but they were tuncooto- pKiied by da; Uintlst^oa of die power already tioiwd to such bold uses by Longchamp, and the latterr declMuig himself acquainted better with the kiug'e secret intentiona, openly refused to com- ^y. The trust he had received at the king's departure, he added, was m«ant Ut comftiBO whatsoever powers he deemed needAil to il« discharge. And he ahoidd govern the kingdom abno.
In what way he governed it, is unhappily ta be read only in the BtatementB of men manifestly his foes. They say that he was not only haughty and insolent, but graapiiig and prodigal ; that to the laity he was more than a king, oppregeing tbran with fines ; that to the clergy he waa more than a pope, nuDing them with exao- tious ; that he never enforced submiaeion by his justice, but by the promptitude and severity at his vengeance ; that had he remained in power ' not a knight could have kept bia silver belt, ' nor a noble hie gold ring, nor a woman her bracket or necklace, ' nor a Jew his merchandise ot gem ;' and that, in the line of Konnan kings, no such pomp or parade had ever been exhibited, H was indulged by this son of ^e serfs ol Beauvais. Wiierever he rest«d, a formidable gnard was in waiting ; wheo he rode forth, a body of fifteen hundred horsemen attended him ; he sealed
Cblic acta with his own seal, not wi^ the great seal of England ; imported from France large bands of minstrds, tronbadourB, jongleurs, and jesters, who did nothing but wander about the public streets, singing of the riiancellor and regent, and declaring that the world had yet produced no equal to William do Lohgchamp ; and these aonga and shoutingB quite drowned the cnrsea of the native population.
It is doubtful if tliese curses wre heard, certainly. On the contrary, there is a suspicion that Limg^amp was pt^ular with every class beneath that of the haughtier barone and the imme- diate adherents of John. Worthy Feter of Blois praises him for his wisdom and unbounded generosity, sad talks even of hia amiable, benevolent, and gentle temper ; and, making all allowanee for the quarrels his mere Bvpertonty must have created, and to the many persons in every class like^ to he moat mortified by what was most praiseworthy in hist, it will bo s^e to conclude that good predomiaat«d errer evil in his t^araoter, as it rarely fails to do widi men of real alnlity and genius. I take the secret «f his position te have been ttiat, vay shortly after Biehaid'a departure, he discoKired John's designs on &e succession ; and
7B A HiaiOBI FOB TOCNG EKOLAND.
felt that they could only be effeetivdy resisted by tie seizore of extraordinary powers. This seems to derive coDfirmation from tbe fact that, while yet in Sicily on his way to Holy Land, Richard not only. took occasion in a treaty with King Tancred, and in letters to the pope, formally to declare the succession in Arthur, son of his dead broker Geoffrey, but secretly commissioned bia chancellor to engage the help of the Scottish king should it hecome necessary, in support of Arthur's pretensions. John had at the same time spies ta UcBsina ; and, on this being conyeyed to him, redoubled his exertions against Longchanip. As for the possibility of a safe return to bis adventurous brother, it never Beems to bav« entered into the dream of his mean ambition. He had but to triumph over Longchamp and seize the throne. A crusade was hitherto bnt another word for the grave of whom- soever joined it. Prince or plebeian, the chances were against his safe return.
While Richard yet lingered in Europe, little can be said to have passed beyond an active preparation for the struggle be- tween Longchamp and John. When he set sail for Asia, the struggle desperately began. Through a space of more than two years, it continued with very various fortune ; but the combi- nation of interests attracted to the side of the usurper, proved at last too strong for Longcbomp, Geoffrey, the previous chancellor, now Archbishop of York, left France in defiance of a royal interdict, and joined the confederacy against him ; it best served the independent designs of many of the Norman barons to take similar part in tbe contest ; and it ended in the precipitate flight of the so powerful cbancellor and regent. This last incident is the only one deserving of special note in this somewhat tedious and vulgar strife. The tall figure of what seemed to be a female pedlar, with a pack of cloth under the arm and an ell measure io hand, was observed by some fishermen's wives on the sea-shore near Dover ; and on nearer inspection revealed, from under a ' green hood,' the black face and new-shorn beard of a man. It was the chancellor waiting to embark for France. He would have escaped, it is added, but for his ignorance of English. The fishermen's wives could get no answer to their inquiries for her wares, but a loud laugh ; which raised suspicion of his sanity, and induced the inspection that discovered hiqi.
This incident may. remind me that it will not be unimportant or uointeresting to make mention of the state of the language at this time. The Saxon was now assuming that form in which its rela-
A BISTORT FOR TOUNO EKOLAHD,. 77
tion to ourpresent speech becomes distinctlj apparent. That there had ever been any deliberate design in the Normans to aboliah tho natire language, I have before characterised as an ossertion wholly without warrant ; but the same causes which ioduced a gradual amalgamation of the races, brought about also important modifica- tions of the language ; and a general and free communication of foragn clergy with every grade of the Saxon people, had of course an important influence in these changes. Such instances as that of Longchamp were now becoming exceptions, in the higher places of government ; and even of him it is said that in his last chan- cellorship he liaew more of Saion than in his first. But one of the striking homilies preserved and translated by the learned and in- genious Mr. Couybeare, is in itself the most vivid illustration I could ofi^er of this transitory state of the language of our forefathers. 'Its date IS of the age I am now treating ; and probably there is no better specimen on record of what may be called the latest period of Saxon. Few grander things, it may be added, have been written in any speech, in any time of the world ; and it would be noble employment for the noblest writer, to give back on answer to its gloomy and dark sublimity which should become the brighter prospects and the sincerer faith of a more hopeful and happy world.
|
The wes Iwld gebyld |
For thee is a house built |
|
Er thn iboren were, |
Ere thou wert bom, |
|
The weB mold imjnt |
For thee mould was ashapra |
|
Er thn of moder cocoo |
Ere thou of moflicr earnest. ■; |
|
The hit nea na idiht |
Itfl height is not datermined. |
|
Ne thes deopnes imeten |
|
|
NcB til Uoced, |
Nor is it closed up |
|
Hu loQg hit the were. |
(However long it maj be) Until I thee bring |
|
Nu me the bring«th |
|
|
Wer thu been seealt. |
Where thou shalt remun |
|
Nu me soeal the meten |
Until r shaU meagure thee |
|
And tha mold aeoththa : |
And the Bod of earth. |
|
Se tith no thine lius |
Thy house U not |
|
Healiee itimbred. |
Itf9.iiChand'lowi |
|
Hit bith nneh and lah ; |
|
|
Thoone Ihu bist theonne |
When Ihou art in it |
|
The helewagea beoth l»ge. |
The heelways are low. |
|
SidwageH unhege. |
The side-wayH unhigh. |
|
The Krf bith ybild |
The roof is built |
|
Theie brost full neh. |
Thy breast full nigh ; |
|
Swa tliu sceolt in mold |
So thou Shalt in earth |
|
Winnen ful cali. |
DweU fnU cold. |
|
Dimme and deoreie. |
Dim, and dark. |
|
Thet clen futtet on hod. |
That clean putrefies. |
|
i:hm>leaE is thcet hus. |
Doorless is that honsa |
|
Coogk: |
18 A HIBTOTT FOB TOUHO MTSLAKD.
And deorc hit ia widunnen And duk it U vilbm :
Dter Ihu bist feat bidj'te There Uwu art bst dat&iue^
And Dielh heflh tha eetge. And Death holdB the key.
Lathlic is thiEt eorth hua. Loathly is that earth house.
And grim inne to wnnim And ^m io dwell ia ;
nier Uu ace*lt wunieii. Thara lliuo dialt dweU
And wurmeB the to deleth. And worma aJull abase tliee.
Thus Ihu bist ileyd. Thus thou &rt laid
And kdffiBt thine fronden. And leavest thy Enende ;
Nefst tha nenne Awind Than hut no &iend
The the wylle faten lo. Hut wtU cone to ttiea,
Tluet nfre wule lokien Who will ewer ioquire
Hu the that hus the like. How thai baUEB liketh tbae I
Theet lefre undon Who shall ever open
The wvle tlu dnre, For thee the door
And the lefter hMen And acak tlwel
For soDB tha biat Isdhe For eaaa thou beoomest Imthly
And lad to iseonne. AM baleful lo bok upon.
At the time when J«bii Beetned mMt seeure in his triunqthant uBiirpation of the regencj, mtelligence reached Europe of Richard's deportuite fram Faleatine. The eager antieipationa of the penile then becanie evidence of the deteataticn in irhioh John was held, and of the freih popularity Richard had acquired by the repoi-ted prodigies of hia valour. I have not dwelt upon his career in the East, siDCc it did not come within the province of mj History, and, for the present, the origin and practical isflnenoe of the Crusades have been <nicgh adverted to. But, apart even from the poetical exaggerations which pervade every available record of Richard's life, and which have made him the theme of romance in every age, there can be as little question of the extraordinary cha- racter of his martial expioits, as of their ludiorouB inutility. His greatness as a soldier contrasts throughout with his incapacity as a leader. He was too fickle and paasionateto pursue Bteadily or rightly any victory ho had gained ; he waa too hcadstrOBg and ohstinate to keep together the jarring forcoa with which he had to deal ; he waa pre-eminent in personal strength and bravery, and in these alone. The name of Cfflua de Lion, which had preceded him, h© well maintained ; but the repute of hia father's wisdom, which had also travelled to Holy Luid, he did not support so well. Every cham- pion that dared to oppose him, he vanijuished ; wherever he charged, though into a boat of Saracens, the enemy retired frwn before him ; he worked like a commou soldier at the heavy battering engines under the walk of Acre, and even in sickness was home on a mattress to the trenches ; hia cry of ' St. George ! St.
A mSTORr FOK YOUSQ GHGLANS. 79
George ! ' became a word of fear throughout the East ; and for a century after his death, the Saracen mother terrified her child, and the Saracea soidier rebuked his horse, with dte name of Richard of England. But he left the land which be had only helped to deluge with blood (for hi^ cmeltj was net lew remark- able than his valour), without the achieTement of one enduring advBAt^e '; and there was a better than hie reaeon for the gri^ and (^me with which, as he left, he is said to have raised hia dhi^d before hie eyea when passing within siglrt of Jerusalem, and to have declared himself unworthy to look upon the holy city which he had not been able to redeem.
"What indirect advantages ef commerce this as well as subse- qnent crusades promoted, will better appear hereafter ; hut it ^oold not be omitted, as a fact very eigQiScant of the general progress of the kingdom under his father's reign, that Richard had eaited for the East in a fleet of fifty-three galleys, and a hundred and fifty other shi^. So strong a naval armament, manned with eeMnen so capable of their duties, hod probably not be&re been seen ; and some few of the ships carried he nmiiy as four hnndred persons. It ia interesting to couple with this the fact that the laws of Oleron, the origin of modem maritune jnris- prudenee, and an antherity to this day, have their date in Kicnard'a reign. They are even said to have been written by the king ; but bis troubadour swigs, and his rimming libel on his friend the Duke of Burgundy, are better authentjeated. I may add inoonnection with n aritiiiie afiaira, thdt one of the only two le^slative charters dated in his reign had a tendency to favour and protect, the ad- venture and enterprise of seamen. It mitigated the severity of the old law of wrecks ; by which, in cases of shipwreck, unless the'ship could be again set afloat within a given time hy her sur- viving crew, it became, with the cargo, the property of the crown or of the lord of the manor. Richard's charter declared that the owner in no case forfeited bis claim ; and that if the owner perished, his sons and daughters, and in their default, bis brothers and sister's, should have the property in preference to the -crown.
Romantic as his Eastern adventnres, hut not more relevant to sober history, were the king's mishaps on bis way back to Eng- land. Impatient of hie long-delayed arrival, a*id wholly ignorant of its cause, public eipectation could but rise and fall with every scrap of party tidings brought by returning pilgrims ; till at length an intercepted letter to the French king from the German emperor, revealoa the truth that Richard had been taken prisonw on
80 AHISIOBI FOR TOtTNO ENOXAKD.
his passage through GermaQj. The emperor had bought
the rojoi priaoner from Leopold of Austria for sixty thousand pounds ; and had lodged him in chains in one of the castlea of the Tyrol ; where, by day and by night, naked awords guarded and watched ' this enemy of the empire and disturber of ' France.' What followed, — from the hearty sympathy of his English subjects, from the gallant efforts of LoDgchamp (who had escaped t« France and been again in treaty with John) to negotiate his release, from the royal prisoner's gallant self-defence before his judges, from the enormous ransom claimed and the horrible exactions resorted to in raising it — to the flight of John when the French king's famons mission told him to Look to Himself for the DotU was broken Loose, and to the arrival of Richard on the shore of Sandwich amid the acclamations of multitudes assembled there^ needs but this cursory mention. Chanceller Geofireywas dismissed to bia arohbishopric. and Longchamp was reinstated in his office ; a new coronation purged the monaroh from the humiliations of his late captivity ; John was with a somewhat abused generosity let loose for new treasons ; and, after a few brief months residence in his kingdom, Richard passed over to France to revenge himself on his enemy King Philip.
Yet signs and portents had become- rife in England sufficient to have claimed the attention of a more sagacious prince. The country, already drained by frequent exactions, had, by the last contributions to the royal raasonj, from which no exception was made in any class, been reduced ' to poverty from ' one sea to the other.' Out of this condition, and the neglect of the most ordinary duties of government and police,- sprang a quasi-servile war, maintained for some time by the poorer and less substantial against the richer and higher closes ; headed by an ' advocate of the people,' William Fitz Osbert ; and comprising a secret association of more than fifty-two thousand malcontents. Of this apparently formidable organisation little can now with certainty he traced ; but its existence ; the formal judicial charge it caused to .be brought against Fitz Osbert (he cherished his beard aa fanatics commonly do, and is called Longhewrd in even the formal records of the time) of circulating preposterous doctrines on the 'love of liberty and happiness ;' its forcible Buppression by the violent death of Fitz Osbert, and the seeds of discontent it left, to . take other and more dangerous shape in later reigns ; are facts which may not be disputed, and which will receive illustratioQ here- after. There had also arisen out of the long prevalence of factious
A BiaTOBr FOB TOUMS ZHaUNll. 8l
Btragl^ee between John and the bftrons doHug Rictiard's sbsence, a new cOTtdition, so to speak, of relations between the baronage and the throne, which from any monarch less wilful and unreflecting than Biubard, might hare claimed some Berioua attention. The inapti- tude and imbecility of John had thrown all tbe real duties of his govemment into the hands of a council of barons ; these agun were opposed bj men of their own class, as well for self- interest as on general and independent grounds ; and the result of a series of quarrels thus conducted, between equals as it were in station, between independent forces — the crown represented on the one hand, but no longer with the prestige of power it had received from the stronger kings ; the aristocracy advancing claims on tbe otjier, no longer oTerbonie or overawed by tbe present prcBsure of tbe throne — led to what may be called a system of unscrupulous party struggle, in which royalty lost the eiclusivepoaitionithadheenthe great aim of the Conqueror's family to secure to it, and became an unguarded object of attack to what- ever < hostile confederacy might be fonn^ against it. What elements of good there were in this, to countervail the evil inci- dents of the reign, will appear after the death of Richard.
Meanwhile, to good ana to evil he was alike indifferent. He had sot, during &e whole of bis reign, resided for a year's space in England, and it was ordered that he should never return to He seemed to care for it simply as the source of so much revenue for his private adventures and personal brcnls. Hubert Archbiabop of Canterbury was now, wi^ tbe aid of Longcbamp's counsel, grand justiciaiy and guardian of tbe kingdom ; and it is stated tiiat he transmitted to Richard during hia four years' paltry squabble with Philip, the prodigious sum of eleven hundred thousand pounds. But it must be doubted if such a sum could possibly have been raised at a time when a hyde of land, or a hundred and twenty acres, was commonly let for twenty sbillingH a year ; when an ox or a labouring horse cost but four shillings; when a sow cost a shiUing ; and when a abeep with fine wool was sold for tenpence, a\,l with coarse wool for dxpence. To the statement of the enormous exactions named it is at the same time added, that though every kind of expedient was neces. sarUy used to plunder erery class, and even the tournaments, revived and allowed by Richard's removal of his father's prohibi- tion, were made the means of avaricious taxation, — lees actual violence and injustice were on tbe whole committed by Hubert,
HO. xin. — VOL. m, a ( ' I ■
> aiaxoKZ toa, tofho uffiLASB.
and more ^uaaiM of good tai wiadont aUMded hii gopAsiaei^ ihta at anj fomer poiod of Ute reien. He was th« pupil of the great QlaBvil ; to the nafeet he kad thus iohmted for the laws, IB powbly to be attiib^ed the Becood l^iulatire ohaitar of Richard, wtaUishiug the wiie proTuioii of aa uMifoHtiitf of ireighta and measuree throoghout the kiggdtm ; and it ia certua that under bis direetion aod adaiifiigtration, the insUtutioii of itinerant justioeiwsa not onljreaumed and eentiaued, but in swne req)ecta received improTeioeat. Hored^i enablee us to state that the Junes to try pleas for the crown seem bow to have cMk- sUtad regularly d twelve pwsons. Id each connty two koights were asmed by the jadge«, with power to select two others from each hunt^cd in Uie county. To the latter two was then intnuted the pririle^ of adding to their number ten &ee and lawful men, resident in the neighbourhood ; and by theee means a jury of twdve was formed in erery partioular hundred.
The detiuls of Richard's war with Philip are in no reqtect interesting. It lasted fsur years ; and was diatjiigiushed, as in the instance of all Richttrd's wan and rietories, by wondorful feats of valour, and results the most contemptible. Its dettuls read rather 1^ the chance encounters of ferocious brigands, than the deliberate strife of the two most powerful of Buitv- pean sovereigns. Its most notable incident was the arrest of an old enemy of Richard, who had exerted hinudf suc- cessfully to prolong his ImpristrameDt and to enforoe the most galling of its indignities : the valorous fighting Bishop of Beau- vius. He was thrown into a dungeon at Rou«i and loaded with iriHU. Influential ehurchmen remonstrated. ' You i^all -determine for yourselves,' said Richard, ' whether or not I am justified in what I have done. This man has done me many wrongs. Unch I could forget, but not this. When in the bands of the emperor, and when, in consideration of my royal character, Ihey were heginnbg to treat mo more gently tuid with some marks of Inspect, your master arrived, and I soon experienced tii6 effect of his visit : over-night he spcl: with the emperor, and the next moniing a chun was put upon me such as a horse could hardly bear. What he now merits at my hands declare yourselves, and be just.' They retired in silence. Appeal was then made to Rouen : but P(^ Celestioe replied with a Boverereproof of the Bishop's mar- tial prt^tensitias, and particularly of bis having selected a champion of tho Cross to exardse ibaa im. He veuU aoKeit cwly for him
A HI3T0BT FOB YOVSO ENQLOD. te
Asafriend, he-ftdded ; as poatiffbe coulduotinterfore. He vrote to Ricbanl accordingly, and implored him to pitj ' hiB d«ar wn, the Bishop of Beauvaia.' Richard Beat back for answer the blood-smeared coat of mail in which the hishop had beeo taken prisoner, and to which he had fixed a scroll bearing this happy sentence from the Scripturea : ' Thu hate we Jbwtd ; know thou wSefier it he (Ay sons coat or no.' The pope answered withaBmile that it waa net; that it was the coat of a bob of Mars ; and that Mars must deliver him, if he could. The bishop did not recover his liberty till the king himself had suffoed fell arrest.
Richard's death was chamcteristic of hia life. Soon after a ecomfut and triumphant letter which he caused to he circulated through England, and in which (alluding to a rout of the Firmcb wherein a bridge bad sunk beneath the fugilivea) he boasted that he had made the king of France drink deep of the waters of the Epte, he engaged in a ridiculous And ignoble quarrel with one of hia Poictevin barons, and received his death-wound from an araher OD the waUs of the eastle of OhaWi, whose arrow pierced a jmnt in his armour. The castle was taken ; the garrison, excepting the archer Goardon, were butchered ; and Gourdon was taken to the couch of the dying king. ' Wretch t what have I done to ' thee,' asked Richard, ' that thou shouldst seek my life ?' ' My father and my two hrotbere,' the young man calmly replied, thou didst slay with thine own band. So that Thou now diest, and the world ia freed from an oppressor, I am content to die.' I forgive thee, youth ! ' miBwered Ridiard, with the last better impulse of his nido and wayward nature. ' Loose hia chains and ' give him a. hundred shiUings.' The order was not heeded in the eKcitcaiont that followed the king's death, and Gourdon was flayed alive. Richard died in mueh anguish on Monday the 6th of April, 1199. He left his lion-heart (he was proud of the epithet] to hia faithful city of Rouen ; hia ' ignoble parts,' hia bowels, he bequeathed to his rebellious Foictevina ; and be desired his body to be buried in Fontevraud, at his father's feet. He made no mention of Bnglnnd ; which seems to have been little in bis h)Te or his romombrance, at any time. He was forty-two when he died, and, in his rcigii of ten yeara had probably passed mz months in the country he was called to govern. He had married Beren- garia, the handsome daughtOT of Sanoho, king of Navarre ; but he was notoriuiialy wtfaitbful to her, and be had ne iatiM.
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In the course of his impetaous qnurels with the lett<iiiig crusaders, a zealous preacher ia aaid to have had the boldaess to adtUe him not to rebuke other people's vices tUt he had purged himself of his own ; and he counselled him first to rid him- self of hia three fsTourite daughtera, hispride, his avarice, and hts ToluptuousneeB, ' You adrise well,' replied Richard, ' and I hereby dispose of the first to the Templars, of the second to the Benedictines, and of the third to mj prelftteB.' The anecdote is characleriBtic of the wit, the bonliomie, and frankness, which have saved this monarch from the severer jadginents of history. Un- doubtedly the Teinplara and Benedictines deserved hia compliment, and of his prelates, Peter of Blois tells ns, that whether they de- voted more tJme to packs of women or packs of hounds was a matter of extreme doubt. But Richard himself, with an inheritance that should have moved him to exertions worthier of his duties and his name, was a slave to all these vices. He never won a victory which his pride did not change to a defeat j and every victory, and every defeat, every pleasure, every glory, every humiliation of his life, were purchased by the plunder and the impoverishment of his subjects. Yet his wonderful strength and valour, in that age of martial adventure and bold exploit, endeared him even to the people he ho slighted and misgoverned ; made him the general theme of the poets and romancers of the succeeding century ; and to this hour associates thoughts t^ high-hearted generosity and the purest chivalry with the name of Richard Ciedb DB Lios.
London : W. Smith.
A VBBT nsefal, very agreeable, and very cheap publication. The necessitj' for every educated and accomplished person, to say nothingof , inclination, to be acquainted with German poetry, renders a manual and selection of this kind valuable. Mr. Giostick hax, it appears to us, performed his labour very judiciously, and in a manner that proves him to be well-informed on the subject, and with a critical appreciation and analysation extremely serviceable to the reader.
The literature of our own conntry, in all departments, is becaming so insormonntable, that it is found absolutely necessary to condense it into
XEW BOOKS. Sf
extracts and beanties, and a very diliffent reader now finds it difficult to make himself acqounted vriLh mora than the masterpieces of the most celebrated authors. To foreign literature, therafore, but little time can be given, and to he thus presented with a fair specimen of the chief Oennan poets, ia a greal boon.
There is no necessity for na to enter nptm anj criticism of the poeti; itself ; but wa have been struck by two things : firet, that after all the immense sensation created by the German writing, that there are so comparatively few poets could claim a place in Qiis collection ; and, secondly, that the tendency of the whole runs so much towards words and sentiments. A great deal more condensation, and a little more reality, would, apparently, vastly improve the whole national poetry, which, from first to last, seems to spring more from enthusiasm than observation. Compared (at all events, by these specimens) with oar grand outbreak of poetry in the IGth century, it is comparatively weak and purposeless. It is not fair to make comparisons through the medium of translation ; and, therefore, we shall leave the siAject, merely reminding the reader, that in Mr. Gostick's book, will be fonnd an agreeable collection and a valuable guide.
The Lifk of Cxbs, Tbboook Korkbb, written by his Father, with selee- tions &om Poems, Tales, and Dnmas. Translated by G. F. Ricsibdson, ' F.6.S. 2 vols, post 6va. Second Edition. London : D. Natt. Theodob K9^rhbr is principallv known in this country as the author ■of a lyric, entitled " the Sword, which has frequently appeared as a translation in our periodicals. This spirited song, most persona believed, was an isolated poem, which, like the ballad of The Burial of Sir John Moore, " Not a dmmwas heard," had given itaauthor an almost universal popularity. Komer had, however, much stronger claims to fame. If he has left nothing behind him that entitles him to be ranked amongst the great creative poets, still, it most be confessed, he had coikaiderabte lyric
Kwera, and was, altogether, very happilv constituted. Nature had en bountiful to him in physical gifts, and he had made the most of them by acqairing all the Bccomplishments that could folly help to develop them. His temperament was highly enthusiastic, and being carefully tended by his parents, and aoundly educated under the care of his father, he mantfested a generous and chivalrous nature. In addition to these qualifications for gaining the admiration of the world, he pos- sessed a great talent for versification ; and, if high sentiments couched in spirited language, be poetry, he was a poet. As he stood ob the verge of manhood, Germany had been armed to a national resistance of the French domination ; and, as a distinguished student, he took a conspicuous part in the outburst, of what would now be termed, Young Germany. His enthusiastic songs were well-timed ; he was himself a realisation of the beau ideal of a modem military hero, and being extremely popular, a lieutenant's commission in the volunteer regiment
8B Kkir sooKtt.
of students yn» bestowed on him. Here, lie fen^t, tang and entyiuei, in s way tliat poet* like te feign, ani ladies love to know of. In bis twenty-iecond jeai he was, however, killed in a ikirmish, uid (lying in the prime and find of his popalarity, left the charact^ of s pemct jnvenile hero.
That some abatement most be made for the (Hreomstaneeii by which he was snrronnded, there is no doubt ; but etill enough remains to prove that K5nier was mtitled to be incorporated with the poet^ of Gernuuiy. Hit precocity was remarkable, though by no meant without main- par^ela. Althongh dying thas early, he left behind him a lai^ col- lection of popular lyric poems, comediei, tragedies, and prose pieces. His tnifedies are Mid to have g^ned him most deserved andpermanmt fame ; bnt as fw as we can judge throngh the medium of tmnsktion, his lyric poems seem to be most possessed of the "bcnlty divine." Enthusiasm seems to b« the sonrce of his inspiration, and the feeling thns engendered, decorated by a high conceit, toms the staple quality
He life by hie fatber, the collection of matMlala and remarks made by Mr. Richardson, the translator, and the nnmerons incidental noticea of celebrated poets and conlemporarien, all combine with the poems to render the two Tolnmes light and interesting reading : and, oaubtless, it is a work that will find ils wty to ladies' bondoin and the tables of military cavaliers. _^^^^_____^_^
* Hi&niNQ's FiBUBS FOB YoDRG FoLKs. Grant and Giifflfh. TeiB is a very charmiiu, and withal, a veiy seasonable little bookfof little people. The Fables treat of " Flowers, Trees, Animals, Birds, Insects, &c.," and with grace and tenderness recommuid such objects to the intelligence and sympathies of eariy leamem. Mr. Harding is an earnest and affectionate teacher. The volume it very nicely illustiated vnth woodrengravings, happily illustrative of the texL
La Bodhbxtte; oiv The Advcoitaras and ReD^leeliaBs of TfaorMa Domey:
a h'arralive fannded en Faet S toU. pgat 8vo. Loodoa : Madden aod
Makolm.
This novel leminds one of the fictions of the last centnry, when adventures of all kinds were narrated witk a simple intention and in a simple style. While perusing "La Soabrette," we conld not help being remmded of the once popular but now utterly forgotten "Belqr Thoughtless." In both, there is the same sensible observation of manners and character, with that violent dash of the romantic, that ever will have a charm for the young novel reader.
There is, however, in " La Sonbrette," a very praiseworthy wm to espoie the painful and vrrong position assigned to the domestic teacher in society. There is rather an injadicions straining to prove the case.
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■ad ■ lenwDtie, stag* kind irf irillaKy a&d bhe marna^ intrndoMd, ntlier too hackneyed to deaerve reriral : — perhaps this ib the fact «o partieulu'lf set forth in the tille^Mge, bat each occntmteei are now bo highly improbable, that it ia not Beoeeaary to wan handsome ladies' maids against BDch impocitinis.
The AnthoreBB ia appueiitly vnaeeoBtomed to writing, hat whateTer jtay be her deiiciencies, nhe (for it is oertainly a womaa's writing) has the one great reqnisit« for popnlarity, and that is the power of im- parting a strong intereet to her narratiTe ; — there ia not a page of it which, if glanced at, does not, to a, certain extent, fascinate the reader,' apd in spite of the severest critical eonBd«ation afford nmnBement. Thia ia ao esaeDtiallj the qualitj lequired to produce BQCcessfnl fictions, that there can be little doubt the writer, gifted as ahe oiao is with con* oderable powers of obsMratiw, will become celebrated in this class of liteiatnie.
LaaBias of tbb Isus, jttin mbeb Poemb. Bt '
[Edinbu^i and London : Blacswood and Sons. It is a hopdess task for the critic to bring all vereificatioB willun one category : what ia poetry to one mind is not so to anothei, and there may be a donbt raised whether the essence of poetry is not some- thing engendered between the wrttei and the reader. Irving, there- fore, this vexed question to fatnre con^deratLoa or n^lect, we can only say that Mr. MackaT has already acquired a large number of leaders, who acknowledge his veiseB to pofieess the influence of poeliy. The present volume will probablv enlarge that nninber. His versin- catdon is for the moat part amootb and fluent, and Ae subject of his poems interesting. If we are obliged to class him as a poet, we must
She belongs to that section that derive their inspiration from as eat temperunent, and that his verses are the reEoIt of enthusiasm. This, singly, certainly does not prodnce thehigheatktnd of poetry, there being wanting to it the intelleclual fecundity tiiat arises from a ftrongly creative imagination. As a poet of the fe^inga, however, Mr. Hacbay has won himself an auditory and a place that Ge will doubtless keep.
A CoKPLKn CoHcoKDAMB TO Sbikbpebh : being a Vczfaal Index to all the pasB^as in the Dnmatic Worita of the PoeL By Mra. CowitBH CiutiiB. In 18 [larta. Imperial Bro. Umdon ; Chas. Knight & Co. . Tbis is ftfobably the most stopendona honour ercs paid to genius by one admirer. The Iliad has been written to be put into a nutshell, a childish piece of homage : but here we have the works of the poet, repeated many timea over. EndleBs toiJ, incessant attention, a love untiring for the author, could alone Have produced sqch a work, Mra, Clarke has performed what a very long list of nobles aai gMitles once proposed and failed in, namely, to erect a monument to Shakspeie.
Coiwlc
8||l, HMV. BOOKS.
Hare we hare one nora lasting than brass or Btone. A Concordance t» Shafcspere ! A conoordonce to the only author, which'woold not seem to be a presamptnooa rivalliog with that coocorduice which belongs to tile
book most important to the haman race.
There have beenft verbal index, and an index to the most remark^le passages in Shak^Mre's works. Both works of labour, hy perseveiing, pains-taking men ; but here we have the patient adoration of a woman producing a work more laborious than both combined, and infinitely more useful. Twiaa'a verbal index had no connecting sentences, so it was hap-hazard work turning fat the paragraph desired. Ayscongh'B index was thought a miracle of labour, but its imperrection is proved by the present being inaiiy (we should say five) times ita bulk.
To those who nave not seen the book it maj be necessary to explain Mrs. Clarke's plan, which is to give every word, with a reference to eveiT place it is naed in, and a sufficient quotation to mark the sense it is nsed in. It will be seen (hat as there most be five or six words in every line, exclusive of connecting words and expletives, consequently the text of the playa must be given five or six times over. We can easily understand that this must have been the labour of many years. A degree of skill was required in making the exact quotation required to give the exact sense of the word, and in this Mrs. Clarke has been very fortunate.
The immense utility for matters of reference is obvious at a glance, but it seems to ns that many other advantages may be derived from an examination of this storehouse of words. Classical students of the dead languageshavelongknown the advantage of studying an author through the means of a good verbal index, and thus comparing an author's various naes of a word. Inthepresent bookhe has the double advantage of seeing the various sentences in which it is used at one view, lliis itself will greatly aid the elncidation of Shakspere's text, and also of contemporary authors. It becomes in this way a great lexicographical aid to the language. It also presents many curious facts to the inquir- ing as to the comparative use of words, and presents in a most striking point of view the illimitable powers and inexhaustible wonders of Shakspere's genius.
It would not be right to take leave of this noble labour without noticing the excellent manner in which it is printed. To at all bring it within the pecuniary means of purchasers, and get it in a moderate bulk, a small type is absolutely necessary ; but it is beautifully clear and admirably printed. Altogether it is a work that all concerned with may very justly be proud of, and for which the public should be grateful.
FonKST iND Gahe-Law Til 8v
As the first of these volames has only reached ns, we presume the -other two are not yet issaed. Miss Martineau avows hw object to be
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political in her Pietace ; and her previons works having been, many of them, produced on the same plan, we cannot be surprised at the mode die haa thns adopted to disseminate particular opinions and principles. With every deference for Miss Martineau's acknowledged abilities, w6 cannot think her plan a good one : writing tales up to abstract principles haa a. one-sided appearance, and gives a tamenees to the narrative that no power of invention sEems to be able to overroaater. When the object ia thns openly displayed we lose all confidence in the facts related, and the deductions forced from them; every turn of the stoiy is already apparent, and a disagreeable conSict ia created in the mind, ' ' ' 'is and importance of the aubjecte, and the com-
part of the century, to make a rojal road to everything. We had hoped that with Mrs. Hannah More and Miss Edgeworth the attempt would have ceased. Certainly the present age and its profbundeat thinkers are convinced that abstract questions must be grappled with by patient and profound thought, and the battle fought out with the weapons appointed for such contests — passionate and earnest inquiry and argu- ment— and not with toys and tales. Fiction nndonbtedly can greatly aid in the dissemination of information, and may be and ia used as an eloquent advocate ; but then the advantage novels give to a cause is the lively and forcible way they convey to large masses of readers the actual stat« of persons and things — a very different kind of writing to the adapting facta and circnmstances to produce a particular moral. The latter mode is superficial and offensive ; and haa long been abolished in the highest class of literature ; and the apprentice who laughs at Qeorge liamwell it is found can still be affected by the catastrophe of Othello, althouch the hangman ia not there to "execute justice and muntain truth. We hope Miss Martineau will relieve her fine talents from shackles so encumbering, and give us either political economy or a free portrayal of life and manners.
No one can desire more than we do the entire abolition of all the remnants of the tyrannona and barbaroas feudal system, and of coarse amongst its remains the pemicions game laws ; and we therefore regret we cannot say we think these tales forcible or calculated to aid in so doing They seem to ua (and we have read every one attentively) never to touch any of the principles of those laws as at present existing ; and are rather illustrations of the History of England, adapted for intelligent young kdiea. The upholders of the game laws wiU reply (and justly), that the few hints there are in these tales belong to ages and customs long since past, and tend rather to abow how much better the tillers of the soil are now treated. We confess we have not been able to find a aingle argument against them, either more pointedly put or Buggeated by the narratives.
As tales they have not much interest, as the reader is engaged in seeking for the application of the events rather than interested by them.
nW BOOKS.
imariM no wadiTcouaia in Aem, bot then is a total want ofAe of ths Bgea the; treat of; and whoarer ia acqojuated with theidd caoonrt antbon will b» gaMy annoyed by uto modem colonriBg new of the atjle and timtnumt. The An^oren ia
a admiiMil
pMtkle of mnpathr with aotiqne thooghta and aentimaita.
du^tar entitied " llie Primate'B Call," giving, or nther Teij bintly attempting to deluMate, one of the moat powerful and paaaiMiats iMicim bltwea that ever met — ibe barons and the ^imate debating the prineiplea of M'g"* ChaHa — ia ao totsllj out of keeping that it is rather an injmy than a benefit so to atimalate yomig mi^s to read Ustorj. Into the moathi of theae peraonagea are put a statement of caoset and coom- qnenees which, if known at all, conld be onlj known to a few gifted w^thprofonndlegialativegemnt. Ofit8Btoimypanion,proadBelfiH^eH, , and mingled motives and proceedingB, nothing is intimated. And one
from an aceompli«hed gof^ite« to her pnpila.
We dioald not have bean m dafaorate in onr notice of this work had not the celebrity of the Autiioress led na to iear others woold be ft^w- ingin the same track, and thna, by half diaeudon and feeble compiomiae, dwrade to a logical wran^ qneatimiB that mmt be settled by the boldeat ditmaaion on the broadeat prindples of juatioe.
Pavu Hokti ; or. The Hotel I^nhm. By U.' Enoam Sua. From the fVenoh. With twentj Engratinga frma deiagns by Jolea Darid. Med. 8n>. LmidoD : Chat^ao and Hall
Hons. Sn has a right to be tested by the hij^est standard : he ia and has been received aa an artist of the firat c1m8 ; he is net a hack teribbler for the cirenlatiDg libraries, who escapes from and defisa criticism, by declaring that he writes merely to amose, and that the aie of his books is a sufficient guarantee of his talents. He is removed from this sordid and injurioos elaas by his genios, and by those higher aroiralions which ever accompany the possession of the fecnltv divine. Tho writer of fiction in ita finest form mast be a philoaopber, and thonld be a philanthropist ; bis aim is to develop hnmao nature, and add to the stores of experience genins has already garnered on this inexhanstible subject. The modem ^sop has also undertaken the office of legislator, and by his vivid pictores of aocaal and political evil* baa sought to relieve large masses ol his fellow men from the evils and errors of misgovemnient. This new application of an old power cannot be too frequently presented to the consideration of the reflective ; in onr preaent phase of society, it is undonbtedly one of the most importtmt iutellectnal engines existing ; more potent, because more endaring than the daily press, of whi<^, indeed^ it may be considered an extended
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*'Pa«b HMrti" ia, bovmer, net ob« irf Uiii chw af bowIi, »mA £Sm ewmtidly from th« " Mjitenea of Puii" ud the other noreli of Sve that we luLve leoked into. There is no donbt in it mi um bejond the d«TelopmeBt of mere artittic skill : uid, nnacqsunted u we are with tke rataian life it professes t» portray, we still think that its aim and tendency is to show the hollowness and evil srimig from the cod- Tentions goTeming it. Whether it be onlv an a^istiMl portrayal of a certain cIms, or iraether it be, as we think, a phileaophieal exposition of the evils of a system, certainly no one can pemse it withoat aUiorring and oonderaning the false and fectitioBS sentuient that seems to be the niling principle of French ehaiBcter. To sebititate for this exotic and nnh^thy temperament a more irtideeeme and reasonable state of feeliDg is a <Fery hiuh aim, and a very nobte effort. It wonld be curious to see in wbirt li^t t^ Poriaian pnblic receive this work ; whether as an exciting story of criminal indnlgenee and hi^-wroog^t sentiment, or aa a well-tempered castigation of a feverish and Tioiooa oonstitntion. We cannot bat consider it aa the last ; and very skilfally and efen elegantly, it appears to as, has the antbor administered the drastic dose. On so polite a elan, vehemence and Tiolence wonld be thrown awjiy, and he has, therefore, very deliberately and very skil- fully dissected and laid hue tke horrors of the mbject : he has given to sectiment all its charm, and to high manner all its blandishment : he has sablimaled sensnality nntil all its groswr particles are com- pletely precipitated ; and, by so doing, he has given the ven' essence of French feeling-~sentiment. This powerfnl element, whien forms the substrata of so many characters, has never been sofficientlT snalyaed : it penetrates into all phases and conditions of character, cretUing frequently apparent contradictions that have punled many plodding theologians and mmaliatt: it is a mirage that has misled many critical philosophers (Barke pdrticnlarly), and a power that has given oniveraal popnlanty to many poets. It is difficnlt to define this false-true uid bad-good myeteiy It is a reality though it elndee a definition ; it produces noble actions occaidonally, though it is in itself false. Sentiment it was undoubtedly made Nero weep at a tragedy, though he could order hie most intimate associate to the torture ; and it is the same oper&tion that made the French mob rerel in the eiecutione of the guillotine, and in the pathos of RonssesQ. If s definition may be ventured of this powerful emotion, it may be lud to he that intellectual acknowledgment of virtne and beauty, or what is considered euch, which engenders an almost uncoU' sdonB imitation of, and passion for, the qualities or things thns admired. It is thus totally different from those emotions and passions and affections ttat spring up spontaneously in persons of kindly natore ; these latter Iiave no intellectual reflection in them : they are not the resnlt of the imagination he^ ignited by a train of eloquent reasoning : — a good English eottsger's wife loves her child instinctively, and not because motherly love is a besntifnl thing. Bat it has been said by competent anthoriliesj that the French lady will be mote often found to be in love
with love, than really to be posaessed with the pftsnon. And this bringa ns round again to the novel in question, from which we nay appear to have needleBslj wandered. It ia, however, thie factitioas sentiment— tb is imitative pasaion— that lays at the root of French character, and, perhaps, of all character bred in highly convential societies :^education of every kind fosters it, by emulation, by the eloqnence of teachers and authore, and human beings are not made to develop their natural characteristics, but their sensibilities are excited to an admiration and imitation of good feelings by any and every means. We are beginniiig to discover how feeble a guard for principle and how weak a subatitute for spontaneous feeling this ia. Every capital of Europe abounds with innumerable females thas edacated, reduced to a state of proatitution. At the first assault of genuine feeling or appetite the imaginative virtue gives way. And so with men, although the unjust clemency of society towards their vices may make it less apparent.
It ia then, we conceive, at this monstrosity of (he intellect and the feelings that Mona. Sue aims this novel. It is to show how rank the soil is that produces such beautiful but poisonous weeds. It is but another portion of the same society, eaten into by the same evil, that Mons.' Michel et has exposed in his " Priests, Women, and Families." It ia not to uphold it, as has been unjustly, though perhaps ignorantly charged upon nim, by much of our presa, and more particularly the reli' gious portion of it. And these writers themselves are as anxious to create sentiments, to arouse the sensibilities, and tarn the intellect to the admiration of what tbey think virtuous and beautiful, as they accuse the French writers of being.
The religious papers have dealt mercilessly, not only with the novel, but with the author, branding him as a pander to the worst appetites, and a defender of the greatest infamies. But theae writers, zealous for tbeir own sentimentalities, have no measure in their hatred to those of others. As regards " Paula Monti" there is nothing alluring in the crimes she contemplates ; and an unprejudiced mind — a mind not alarmed at the heavy blows dealt to conventional society by the exposition of its falseness and errors by such writers as Sne and Micbelet — could see nothing bat a very true, careful, and well-depicted exposure of the feebleness of conventions which sanction and promote marriage witbont lore, polished mannera without benevolence of heart, and outward deference to position without any inward reverence for genuine goodness and greatness.
The subject deserves a much more profound and lengthened consider- ation than our circumscribed pages will afford ; but circumscribed as they are, we cannot refrain from intimating the profundities which a work of true genius must always more or less trench upon. Mons. Sue and such writers are as important in their sphere (and their sphere is fast extending) as men who seem more directly to govern the affairs of nations, lliey frequently generate the opinion, which, in its countless
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HEW BOOKS, 93
waveB, IB at last to float the legislator to aome greftt Dstional enact- ment. The time is post when fiction ia oaij to De consideTed as aa inatroinent of amosemect.
Considered artiHticoUy, some feulta might be pointed ont in (he con- dact of the Btorr and in the deTelopment of cWacter, but these we cannot now sn&lyie. Like onr old i&nmatists of the second class, Saa delights in the eccentricities of human character, and fajihions beings who seem rather mad than criminal : not without great apparent tmth, tfaongh, being exceptions to human natnre, more canons than inatmctive. And in this novel at least it most be said, that viewed merely artiatically, he belongs rather to that inferior doss that Be>>!cH more to idealise realitj, than to that creative clsas which has the highest of all literary poweia, Uie power to realise an ideality.
Dcrim^B CiffiLR. An Historical RomaaceoTthe GreatBebelUon. By The Ber. J. T. Uewlbtt, M.A. 8 vols, post 8vo. London : H. Colbnm. Tbb remarks made an Mr. James's new novel apply in a remarkable manner to the present work, and prove in what a merely mechanical mode this kind of literacy ware is produced. The time and scene of Dnnater Castle are that of Arrah- Neil— England in 1642. The Dra- matis Persoun are also curioualy similar ; the chief difference being that in the former the hero's birth and fortunes are a mystery, and in the latter the heroine's. The little approach to humonr that either makes, consists in the eating and drinking propensities of a roysteiing cavalier. There are much the same descriptions of interiors and scenery ; quarrels and interviews ; skirmishes and escapes ; and other moving accidents by flood and field, all recited in the usual stereotyped phia- aeology. In Danster Castle, however, it mnst he said there is a little more vigonr of delinsatiou both as regards character and circnmstances. The king of coarse ia introduced, and in much the same style of por- traiture ; a very faint sketch in a washy style. Mr. Hewlett admits however into his pages one most important personage — Pym, a giant of the age, of whose real proportions and characteristics the author has DO idea whatever, although had he peraaed Mr. Foister's Life of that true man, he must have been elevated to a more just estimate of one of the most remarkable men of that remarkable age. That he and the generality of such novelists take no genuine interest in the era that they pretend to delineate is proved by their utter disr^ard of its style, tone of feeling, manners and customs. A sufficiency of flavour is, they think, given if they now and theR decorate their pages with a few cavalier's oaths and put some canting scriptnral quotaUons into the month of a Presbyterian tradesman. In fact these prodnctiona have become to the circulating library what melodrama has to the theatre ; neither have any noveityofinvention or force of conception, but abound with reiterated movements, situations and dialogues, ex^M-essed eath
time in b more exaggerated lona, leekitig by iBcre««ed vehemence to aapply the place of ongLoalitf . Tbef are ii)&DDfitd.nrBd to' snit a marEet, one b^ the way veiy nearly exhausted ; and their aothon caniutt be conudered as artiilt, but artizaua. Ther have their pattern before them, and a veiy short appraiUdcelbip eoables them to turn oat & tolerably ahowy article.
We regret to aee by a postscriiit that Mr. Hewlett ia nffeiins from domestic affiicliona, and that hia heal(h and aituation are not laim aa to condace to that ease of mind necessary to the pcoducti«i of a great literary work. VVe trust that he will soon recover hia waat«d health ' and raiidt^ and a|gaiii delight na with Noveii taken from actual life, eqnallinx in spirit and cleverness his "Pater Priggins." With the tone and spirit of the piesect work, putting aside its mode of eieciition, we cannot aympatbise. It surely is a matter of bad taste, to say the least, to make his hero'a chief meiit the haviog killed Hampden on Chalgrove field, and eoaally false to place all his distress npon whether he was legitimate or illegitimate by birth ; an accident which haa only ennobled the character of many heroes, from William the Norman downwards. The same gentleuian also, the pattern man, is iBcltned and studies to become a ChnsUsn minister, with a promise that be dkall go ODt Hlanghteiing, if there is an opportunity. The whole tone towards Um Parliamentary party (as in almost all the novels of the aama class), is nojust in the extreme and shows an utter ignorance or gross perver- sion of history. It is to b^ regretted that the original authorities are not atodied by the aapportera of the circulating library ; for we can assure them tliat much more picturesque descriptions, and a mndi more powarfnl interest mi^t be foimd in the pages of Clarendon, Wbitelock, and other contemporary anthoritiea, though perhaps some madein Walpole might say theae writers are themselves, m every sense of the word, equally romantic.
TBI WrawiH ini> thb Cibth. By the Author of flie • _ ,
" €iay Rivers," &t. first Series. Bqoare 13mo. New York : Wiley and Pntnam.
A COLLECTION of American Tales, formerly published in Annuals. The author tetls us in his Preface that they illustrate the Border history of the south, and vouches for their general truthfulness, having drawn them from living portraits and from actual scenes and circumstances. As far as we have been able to look iato them, we can corroborate this assertion, and there is a freshness in the subjects and a vigour of deli- neation and observation in tho^e we have perused that place tbe author far above the usual writers of this class of literature. Aa graphic spe- cimens of Americas mannem and feelings, they are valuable to the European reader.
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1. Ponn. Br Thohu Powbli. 3. DkuuiH: P««u. Bi Tmohis
PowBU. 2 vol*. Mmo. C UilcbeU.
Tut poeinB we hkve ntt in UMtho' dupe, and beliere tbey ware paWi^ed wMne time Binee ; this appliei alio to ths dramM, altlioiigh it ^ipean tbej bnTe undergone Home modificatioD. Mr. Powell hu coa- n<&rab)e pow«r of -TBi8i£cstic«, if not aJmoet " a fatal facility." AH hi* prodnctioiu «how too much carelegutets and a total disregard of " Old Ben's " apboiism, that " A great poet's nuule aa well as bora." Natare hae done mncb for Mr. Powell, bnt he will do little or nothing for himself. Some of his Aoiter piecei are rtsy prettj, and entitle him to the nre and neble title of poet. He ■aema bowerer, in common ■with many other writers, to think that all that a poet pans mast be poetry ; and theref(»« writes, and not 00)7 wWtes, but prints, an<r vtfae idea that entera his head. If this want of consideration is formidable in lyric poetry, it is fatal in dramatic ; and, con&eqaently. these dramas ue not really plays, bat Teinfied diaJognes. Mr. Powell has, howerer, a quality in him, which with severe training might prodnce something lasting. As it is, we can only say, hasty writers can only expect to have idle readers, and regret that many pretty tho^hta and sweet sentiments aro thns likely t« " waste their «i
Ibb PoMiioftT OF Suicims ; a Prison Rhyme. In Ten Books. By Thohis CoopSK, the CbuiiHt. Fcp. Sto. J. How.
Tois work and its recq)tion are remarkable signs of the times. Bat a few ywtis since, and the very name of chartist, or even radical (which by We way has become rather genteel, since there has sprung up an vltra party), would have been snfGcient for any paper or set profesmng req>eetal>ility, to have shunned it as something of a caste which it was defilement to think of. Thanks, however, to the means of disseminatiug opiniiHiB, and to s«ne hearty wfffkers in the canse of true liberality, every one has now a chance of being listened to and even &irly appre- ciated. The chartist poet has perhaps even a better chance tluui the conservative, inasmncn as there is to be expected from him newer developments than can be hoped for from one of an expiring creed. Mr. Cooper, therefore, can fiiirly be left to stand or fall by bis merits as a poet ; and if be thereby loses the opposition or the encouragement o party, still be bas the better oppratnoity of diffiising the glorious light of gecins over all classes.
The birth of a new poet is an epoch in the world, and chronology would employ beiself mnch better by emblazoning in her records the advent of genius, and the publication of a great poem or work, than W recording Uie births and deaths of hundreds of warriors and kings. It is no matter whether poets shine as momiDg or evening stars ; wheihei they precede their age or express it at its meridian ; wiiether lliey embody the past or foreshadow the futnre. In whatever way they come, they come to remould mankind to msrshg] men tc new modes
Coofjic
of condact ; to extend the dominion of intellect ; and to aid in the removal of error and evil. Whatever may be their conBciougnesa or intenlioD, snch must be the effects they prodace. A man, however, may have many talents, great enthusiasm, a glittering taacy, facility of expression, noble aentiments, and even fervid eloquence, and yet not be a poet in that aense of the term in which it is applied to the few great ones, whose remarkable ideas, stamped in all-enaarini; langaage, lave become the current coin of mental intercouiBe. Men who have moulded the phrosea, bnilt ap the lanenage, and embodied the great thoughts and feelings of a nation. vVe have read Mr. Cooper's book wi^ great sympathy for the sufferings so refined a mind mast have endured in nis imprisonment, and with great admiration of his undaunted nature, proved by his abstracting bis mind amid sach scenes to the highest learning and literature, and resisting tempting offers to withdraw from the advocacy of the cause in whicb he has already suffered a mar- tyrdom. Differences of tast« may exist as to his poetical abilities ; but none as to his heroic condact in adhering to his philanthropic prin-
The poem consists of a succession of dialogues of suicides, from 8ar- danapafus to Lord Castlereagh, and the poet thus takes occasion to dis- coss opinions, reli^ous, social, and political. In so doin^ he manifests a wide extent of literary gleaning, and places in canons opposition the characteristics of human nature. His powers of description are considerable, and thon^ he has not the firm distinctness of Dante, he has the same sense of the gloomy and the vast. Milton, how- ever, is his prototype for style of expression ; and he indulges in the same remoteness of allasion, and the same gorgeousness of imagery, nntil, with his original, he occasionally verges into the vague and tui^d ; substituting physical vastness and bulk, for genuine power of thought and simple lablimity. He has many stanzas, however, of noble verse and great felicity of expression ; and many curious and interesting traits and eccentricities of the hnman creatnre are de- veloped.
When it is considered under what circumafances it was written, and with how little aid Mr. Cooper has acquired the mastery of literary and poetic expression, it is a remarkable performance. As a political poem we cannot 'but think it ill-judged, for it appeals by its perpetual display of learning and allusions to subjects that can only be &iniliar to persons more than commonly well read, and not to the class with which the author so necially delights to connect himself. Such a man cannot but produce other, and we think, superior works ; and it woold be a benefit to all classes if he would give a chartist epic, prose or verse, depicting the genuine hnes and characteiistics of the people, enabled as he is bv his powers and his position to reflect the reality nnencumbered with the prejudices of rank or party.
As it is, we recommend its perusal, both for its own sake and ar ~ specimen of tl 01 tiie people.
DOUGLAS JEBBOLD-S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THE CONFESSIONS OP RICHARD GRAINGER.
As you have requested me to put upon paper the account which I gave jou of the most romorkaLile passage in my life, I shall do it aa briefly as possible, and leave you to correct any errors into which my pen may slip ; for I am not a practised writer.
Some one has said that we remember best that nhich has caused us pleasure. Is this true ? I cannot say it. I have two Tolumesiamymind, — the"Plea8ureaof Momory,"andthe "Paius of Memory ;" and I almost think the latter has the bolder type.
If there is a place in the world of which I could draw a picture from memory (if I had the handicraft), it is Robert's Told ; but few were the hours of comfort I had there. Some poet saya — " iSj eyes make [octures when lliej 're shut ;"
and though I am no poet (though I like poetry, and wish I bad read more of it when I waa young), I am aore I can often aee Robert's Fold, and every particular thing about it, very well in the dark ; better, indeed, than in the light. Talking of poetry — I would say that there ia plenty of it in some of the plainest and commonest facts in the world, if only men who write knew how to handle them. For inatance, there seemed to be nothing like poetry about those old grey stone cottages in Robert's Fold — their broken windows, miserable fire-places, and rough atone floora : but let these facts be looked at in connexion with the hopes, feelinga, and desiKB of the poor creaturea that lived there ; or let them be contrasted with the freedom and beauty of aurrounding nature, and I think something like poetry will then make ita appearance. RobeH's Fold was the name of a homostead, conaisting of a form-
X.,.„v.- ,.„„.,„. , ^^^
93 TEE COIIFEaSIONS OF RICHAAS GKAIHGEB.
house, buma, stables, and a few cottages, etanding la the form of a square and connected by a wall of loose stones, such as is gene- rally used for a fence in- that part of the country — the west of Yorkshire.
To see this Robert'-s Fold, you muat tmagine a. large, old- feahioned, and gloomy farm-house [but it might have beeo-mado pleasant enough with pleaaaat people in it), suhstantially built of old grey stones, with a porch in the front, aed windows of small panes with stone partitions, but some of them blocked up with slabs. In the front of the house wm a garden, — not an ornamental one, but a plain kitchen-garden, — where kale and potatoes were grown. On one side of the house was a gate, which led into the Fold, and on the other were a few poor cottages. The Fold, as I have told you, was a square, of very uneven ground, and, when inmde of it, you could see nothing beyond it. It lo«<ked dismal enough on a rainy day. And here, in dw f»na-h»uae, lived lay uncle Robert, to whom the whole {voperty bc^nged. Now I must say something of my uncle's charaoter, aod tliis is no pleasure to 'mo. But I shall cndmvoar to look away from my own pleasure or pain, and writ« down exactly what is iair and tme, without any wish to injure his mvmory, but with an intcntioD to ilhtstrate t«cts which should be weQ understood, for the wel&re of Bootety.
My uncle was a miser. He was, I bolieve, the richest man in the pariah of Fordenton, iritwe bis fium w«s utnated. Adjmui^ the Fold, and at some distance from it, he had, altogether, about five hundred acres of land, some of it capital pasture land. I sup- pete he had the common feehnge of our nature in him ; but his love of money had overcome Avm, so that ttey were aeldom visible. He had been brought up in a hard way, ^ough he c«me to all tluB property ; and bia living so msch alra«, suirooBded hy none but his poor, hardMrerking dependeitts, hod ^traigtbeBed h& uah^py and avarioiaiis diqtosition. Stvai^ as it may teem, (I have not to account for it, but oniyto-Mata th« fact,) he seemed to delight in unh^piness. I could undentaad lus love <^ meney in some roeasnre, hot I never could understand his hatred fw evMy- tlung ocmfortable aad cheerful : — nothing o^mdod him moeethan a merry ^eecb, and he did not like te ■eeDoa at eaae-stid happy, even <n a Simday. " I ihonld think tiaeu might find aometla^ to do better than standing against that wall," he wmild say, when hn caught me indulging in a lounge outnde of tha Fohl, on a Sua-
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THB COHFSSSIO^IS OP BICHAKD GRAISGEB. 09
day afternoeo. " 'Tia as good as anythnig you do," I would grumble, h I stole Rwaj out of his presence. As to Iiis drees, mj uncle Robert might have posaed veil 'as an object of charity among respectable perSMia. He delighted in still wearing a worn- out ftiBtian coat, which he ncTor changed from Monday to Saturday, though -it was often drenched with rain. The pockets were the only parts wbich he cared to keep in repair. On Sunday he w&s tid«nbly well dressed, but never seemed to know what to do wiih hionetf. To church he went, and, etrange to say ! he sometimes read fte " Pilgrim's Progress " in the evening. What he made out of that book I cannot tell ; fbr lie never stud a word about it ; but I have since thought he must have had some good thoughts and feelings, new and then, under the ruj^ed rind of hiB external b^m'noar, or he never could have wasted an hour's candlelight over that story, which every one may Interpret so as to suit his own case. Yet I have thought, at other times, when feeling legs charitably towards him, he most have construed Christian's adven- tures into an allegory on money-getting, or he never would have taken up the book twice. But this is all speculation, I must Blale the facta of his character fairiy on both sides — if I can find two sides to it. Neither going to church, nor reading the " Pilgrifn's Pr(^;ress, " taught liim to be merciful; to give one penny more wages ; (x to lower his rents one farthing. If he believed in a heaven, he expected it to come by magic, with " bocua-pocus !" and ** b«y pttesto ! " He bad no notion of getting into it by improv- ing ftew<wW as he passed alang, Perhaps he thought that its enjoynent would depend, like earthly enjoyments, upon contrast ; and t^refin« he made, for all tho^ around him and depending upon him, the night of life as black, daik, and cold as he coidd, that, at Int, the breaking morning might be all the more welcome to the poor ereatures. But just as 1 have written this, which se^nB rather severe, &e thought occurs to me — No one ever taught him^ttei^— he was brought up so — he had nothing better within him— how could be m^e the world better ?
This hstds me to another bought — Who made that sad Eobert's Fold Buch a ndsemUe place? Ay, or seek out forme — commen^Kce moralist ! dm£ng ^e worid into Pharisees and Publicans,' — tiie very good and the very bad, — the sources of the vice and woe in the most wretched lanea of London. Tell me how nraeh of it may be ascribed to sins of omission on the part of the virtnona, the respectable ?.^— tell me how much of it may he
100 THE COSFESBIOKB OF BICHARD aaAIKOSB.
owing to the Bpeculatists, and dogmatists, vrho hftTO divided luaa- kiud into contcDding partlea, inste&d of unitiog them for the im- provement of their own nature ? But all m; thoughts on this Buhject will be implied in mj story ; to I proceed with it.
Ill one of the houses in the Fold lived a poor widow with a large famllj of bods, from seven to seventeen years of age. The hut in wkioh they were huddled together was in a wretched con- dition, and my uncle would do nothing to improve it ; but he took the utmost possible rent, while he paid the poor woman (for she laboured in the fields) and her sons the lowest wages. Never did I feel so disposed, with all my heart, to hate a fellow-creature, as when I saw him, on a Saturday nigbt, in winter, screwing the last halfpenny out of this poor widow, and overcharging her for millc, potatoes, and everything she had of him, while he knew that he was not leaving her enough for firing and subsistence. One of her sons he put in the stocks for stetUing three turnips, and two of them have since been transported. For whose fault ? I must tell the truth. My uncle knew that what ho gave them was not sufGcient to satisfy the cravings of hunger : when the eldest complained, he told lum to seek employment elsewhere, but ho knew that none could be found. After a while the eldest of the poor woman's sons ran away from Fordenton, and was never heard of until he was lodged in a jail. I have never lost the im- pression made upon my mind by the poor distressed mother. Caro a^d liard labour had effaced all marks of female character from her person, but had left her feelings alive. When she heard of her son's arrest, she sat upon a low stool in her hut, swinging her body to and fro, clenching her bands and eiclaiming : — " On, ho wotild have been an honest man if he could — oh he wouid I — ^if he could have got work and wages — if he only could .'- — he never would have been there ! " This was her cry all day long. But - 1 must come to my own case. My misery, while I lived (if I may call it life) in Robert's Fold, was such as no tongue can express, and I shall not torment you with its particulars. It is enough to say, literally and stiictly, I had not so good a life as the bouse-dog. Every good faculty ihat I bad was repressed and blinded. Every good feeling was poisoned, and I was filled with loathing and hatred. " Home!" I had none. I had no place to wuch I loved to go. I entered my uncle's house every night, when my toil was done, ate my food in sorrow, anf crept, heavily, up the old dork staircase to a room without a window, where acarci?!/
THE C0SPES3I0NS OF RICHABD GRAINGER. 101
eVet- a r&y of light penetrated, to throw myself into forgetfiibesB. In the morning I sometimee felt instinctivelj cheerful for a few moments, hefore I remembered exactly where I was. Then, throughout the day, it was not the hard work that oppremed me, though it whb continued from early in the morning till late in the evening ; — no, it waa not the bodily work — men hara done more and happily — but it was the absence of every encouraging motive, of every cheering thought ; it was the thanklessneas* of all I did ; it was the slavery of the soul which oppressed me. You may say, why did I not run away ? I waa a youug man, and strong — why did I not seek another situation J Ah, sir, there it such a differ- ence between theory nnd reality. The worst of my slavery was, that it had deprived me of hope. I saw the world all in the Colours which this Robert's Fold had impressed on my mind. Where should I go ? I knew not a better place. I had some recollections of having lived more comfortably with my mother ; but she was dead, and 1 wished I had died with her.
I could not bear to look back upon this period of my life, if I did not consider that it has taught me, far better than any book could teach me, some lessons for the good of others. It has taught me, sir, that men are not to be paid for their labour in money or bread only ! The labourer requires, as wo all require, brotherly feelings, sentiments of mutual respect, to make bim feel himself a man and live as a man. Who wacts an equality of earthly riches among men ? They must be poor earthly souls who would strive for such a low object. But an equality of honour and hind feeling for . all who labour in the system of human existence — this is what we want, — something to raise the head and encourage the heart of the poor workman, to make him feel that his fellow-men reckon him worth something. I have felt this want a thousand times, heavily, and I know I am not wrong in believing that it is the most pressing and degrading deprivation which the poor and the hard-toiling have to endure. Where is the religious law of " Honour all men?"
Another truth I have learned is, that to mend the thoughts and dispositions of men, you must mend their circumstances too. We are not angels. We are net sunbeams, equally pure in all places. You who look forth upon pleasant parks, from the windows of dro wing-rooms, oh, it is so easy for any little book of poetry, or religious prose, to convince you that the world is a very pleasant place,— that the Maker of it clearly designed all men to be happy;
102 THE CONFESSIONS OF BICBARD aailXOBR.
but thinea liave a different Appearaacfi when (lewad qb » <^ innter'B Jaj, through th« paper aquares <f die cottage Tindoiira in Bobert'e Fold, and manj pUces like it. You who diatrU>ute tracts through the mUerahle lanee and aJleje of our towtu*— your parpwM ia a good one ; but remember that air sjid light, dMnli- n^sfi and beauty, are God'e good mesaengere ; and contribute yeur eade&Tours to remote the gtooiii;^- wretched plaoee left upon the face of the ear& bj centuries of thought and aetiou beitowed vfoa vrong purposes. If you would haTe the pet^le believe inahwTen; show them a little of it.
But I must return to my sborj. though I wish to B.vai it. The cmxent of evil and miserable feehngs between myself and, my imcle waa brought to a crisis by. circumstances whiclk I miteit now relate. During the winter ereninga I was glad to hide myseilf in any of the cottages where etiU some human feeling waa to be found. Several times my uncle expressed his displeasure at this conduct, by locking me out of doors. To one of the cottages I was olten attracted by the presence of a good-natured girl, who threw Bomething of a cheering light even over the jxiswable pkce in whbb she lived. There was no' serious attenshment hetvratu us ; but I frequently vi^ted the cottage to indulge ia a littliB harmless talk, and to screen myself frooi the cn^nual cootem^ and ill-will with which my uncle ti^ated me. lie ezpreaaad has resentment at my visits in every possible annojing way, threatened to turn the family out of the cottage, and te disnues the brathoEs of the girl &oa his service, which he did. At last, on o«e oecar aion, be used an expression concenung my visits, which raised Btj anger to the highest degree. I gavehima violent ai^thraateiung reply, and, from that time, he treated me with still greater ill-will and severity. One night I came home much later thwL usual. He was sitting by the kitchen fire. I sat down and endeavoured to eat the crust of bread left upon the table for me. HeproAeeded with a str;un of virulent abuse, until I dashed the bread i^eii the floor and vowed, vehemently, that I would never taste another Bioi'sel in hU house. He repeated the exceedingly obouupus expression. " Now dim't say that again," I esclaimod, stairting on my feet — " don't say that again, if--if you would go to bed alive ! " He r^eoted it, just as I laid hold of the bariet of aa old gun whieh atood in a corner ; and hardly had the wftrds eseaped his Ups, when, with one bkw upon the back of his head, or his neck, I proatiated him. The blow seemed to hav» lut me also.
Coaqk
I -wia stuiue4 — a dreadfti) aa^A kom risgbg i« mf mm— a ibidk tOMl wa» beftBPe .b^ OfM — I knew Bvt whera I was tiS I found n^nlf oat in the fieU. Tbwe I Btood iu th* middle of the wide pasliv* UDd«-'A« fev^ng Aj ; a-Sev momeBta eince, and I ms " WMiwifiililii, bat -Irte fmti erim« ; now I i*aa a rillaiii— ^ murderH-, net fit tQ l«v» in the wolU !
" I b«T« sbm tbe old umb I I am b murderer ! h« foroed metoh ! " swd 1, twl Mught theoorcart of a.w«od ; "and now let AdBt^CBia twdeDdMjKiaseraUeda;a.aaM(tta»tbeyple»se! " I add«d, iw I threw layt^ dam nuder the tr«ea. I lay tbero fbr aome tke» in all die ageaytS romoM* aad drnpair ; bnt tLe first ^mpwof m«nriEi^lightiafHg4it«diB». . " T»Lond«aI " flaehed thwBgh 1^ Bsijtd, mmI I bant layM^s 3Mt1iward» with tmj utaiost i^kead, taJnng tbe kneliMt t^<!ia orw ^m mooiB, aad never »t«yfiilgfla»e-to^uattchay tharat at a ^risg-, and tolara my face, autil, M tbe«loa6 ftf tbe a»xt iay, I was rnvte tkaa forty miles fnii Rabcoi'a F»ld. WIhd rti wm (faak» Aark, 1 approadwd a bWBlel, mMo^ a Utile -Aap, and bought a lesf; tlien, won doim wiA lUiffu, foiiad a- few koum' sleep beaide a lay~staek. Before dajfi^l I Btaried off again soathward*. I had no obar idea of tbe ol;^ of my j«ximef ; bat somat^g' drone me onwards, —wmA— there was oo spot «f the earth npoa which I tovid rest. Bat 'haw ean I toll ymi Ae hoinrs of that journoy to Looden ! How can I make you understand the feelings with which I passed tiiNagh rtU^^B and hamlets, and awr men ai>d woobcd, and heard EMle i^iHdren laa^^g ! ^ey aecaned te b« ia another n«rid, far tan^ 'fhom tbe world of despair in wUch my imnd was imprismaed. Hew could th^ talk and laD^ ? it s«em«d tame so very atrai^. They were in hewT»--I wb« in belt. Sometimca I theugbt, " Ob. if this ooBld be all a dream-— if it could pass away— if I etuid (mQ»ied I had aevw dcnoe the deed~then tlie most wretched spct npoB Ae lace of the eai^h ww^ be a paradise fer me. Hard .in^<! tw^e, fotirteeii, sisteen hwra a day ; hard fare ! Atj ebipe -of bread, t^e pefnee of a beggar's taUe — these would be hinriee to me ; I sbotdd be in heaven with them, eowning from dM eoM wind and the rain in the most nueerable hmei ; I shotdd be rick and ba;^ as a kii^ if tUa ametbering load eouM be lifwd from my beaem — it thia b«rnU» tbtmgfat weald eease its pressuK «■ my brain." Tet, in tbe mght, strange ta say (b^rtitis tiie fcet), my dreamt were«f in^ffweut thinge, and my uade eame to ■M ia hia nnai drees. Hid set me nfy jobs of work fqr tbe next
da;. The moment the thought occured, " This is all a dre«m ; I have murdered the old man ! " I was awake, ao lliat I camtot be sure that I thought of it till 1 was awake. Onoe he come to me in my sleep, and looked more cheerful and friendly than I had erer Been him. " Come," aaid he, " we will let this matter drop>f 'tb a folly to make our lives so wretched. I will be a good man, and you shall be a good boy." This was rery etruige, and unlike what is usually aaid of dreams ; but I remember it was the case. I got through the country, and planged into London to lose mysdf amid its mLUiona of caring, fearing, toiling, buatling mortals ; but it did not seem so busy and crowded as I had expected. The people aeemcd to have leisure to stare eren on the arrival of one poor countryman. They looked out of shops and out of chamber- windows. The coachmen and cabmen stared at me. Several persons turned to look back after passing me. A little boy looked i^ in my face and whispered something to his companion. All kindaof^oughta— ^secret associations for detection (^criminals — of speedy intelligence conveyed to London to arrest me— of all the persons to whom 1 had spoken, (a* of whom I had bought anything oo my way, being in a plot for my conviction — passed through my mind. I did not feel the ground firm under my feet. I could not find air enough to breathe. 1 walked on, on, on ; but no street seemed obscure enough ; the people seemed on the watch for me everywhere.
I cannot deaeribe to you the life I passed for some weeks in London ; how I wandered irom the obscurest lanes into the fashion- able streets and squares, and gazed vacmitiy upon a thousand objects of curiosity, yet seeing everywhere and at all times only one object — my crime. At last, when half-famished, 1 found employment at a wharf. Here I laboured bard, but could not rest ; for my fellow-labourers seemed to suspect me. I left London and went to work at an excavation on a railway. I fell and broke a limb, which confined me to my lodgings for some weeks, and my health was now reduced to such a weak state that I could not endure severe toil. I next found employment under a gardener, who treated me with considerable kindness.. This kindness gave me a new view of life. I saw that it might be made a happy life, and this tiiought only increased my anguish on account of the crime which had excluded me from all communication with good and happy men. Oh, many of the things that men have been so long complaining about — bad climate, the necessity, of toil, sick-
TBE CONPSSSIOSS OF RICBAKD GRlIliGER. 105
nCBs, pOTertj, death, are not worth a moment's diKoiitent. If men would conault t<^ethor how to deal fairly and kindly with each other-^how to live free from crime and e*il paasions — the world might be a happy place without making all men rich, or healthy, or iinmortal — wi&out mending the climate, or making the eartli teem with fruits, uDassisted by the hand of cultivation. Have not men been thinking and complaining, for the greater part of their existence, of things which do not concern them, and, meanwhile, neglecting the plain, umple things, which they might do and ought to do for tbdr own good and the good of others ? The rich farmer goes to church, hears how the ground was enraad for Adam's sake, and concludes that Adam was a very wicked man ; then comes home, and will not let the poor have a fair share <^ the fruits which the earth is still willmg to yield. Then his stacks are burned ; he imprisons the men, whom he would not feed, and goes to church again to lay all the blame upon Adam! This is making the worst <$ tho world ! Must contrast always be necessary to show us the valne of things ? Can none but men who have been sick feel the pleasure of healtii ? Must it ever be necessary to go through a purgatory to know what a paradise means ? Must the world be thus ever blended of light and dark- ness, joy and woe, heaven aaA hell ! I know not ; but never did I see the heavenly happiness that may he upon earth, amid all its common cares and troubles, until 1 viewed it in contrast wit6 my own remorse and despair. " Oh men, women, and children, who are free froln crime," I often felt disposed to eiclfum, " you are in heaven — yes, in heaven itself, did you but know it. Labourer ! coming from the field of toil, reposing in your cottage amid your children, sitting down at your lowly board, while your wife pre- pares your comforts with a busy hand, complain not that your dwelling is humble ; divine joys inhabit it ; tell me not that your windows are low and narrow ; the divine light shines through them; it is godlike; it visits aU ; the breath of heaven blows through them, and you are/ree to enjoy these visitations ; and you who dwell in pleasant houses, with peace of mind and with plenty around you, not only happy yourselves, but able to moke others hi^y, what have the angels, which you have not ? One kind action may prevent a multitude of crimes. Oh ! to live surrounded with the smiles, the good wishes, the thankfulness of tho poor ! To feel that the good, the riches you enjoy, are not stolen from the general good — not bought by the sufferings of others — but
106 tm COOTFaBSIOKS 07 BK»AH> »ItAIN^.
that Hmj an a. ciqt cf happiuMs fiSed from liesTm, and roonmg over pkateotudf tor the r«^^ of ^ Honad yo« ! "
D«Bp BORDw is tiw BOiuM of deep thonghtB, Haw I Btnwe to AKgatiQj own crsBe lad. mj mm rMaorM in plans of beDerrisBce £H*aU DHokmd ! That da^.jaetiM, right ietite ^beulote bana«f •11 hnuHt eziBlence ; thst et^ in living and aotang in aecordaitoe ndLAnilmrsof geitM>al««t£ue,&etti«<wdhappine« of theisf- vUnaL emu be «ftU-<foBBde«[ — kew de^j I felt tbie ! What unoe- iaMHrj"lntnMe did all argvaiMits in bixdia, to ^M>re tbe reaKtj-of waajanee avd religicm, appear to me ! I felt tbem ia my^ own euAanae ; I migbt bare donlrted of them couU I bare doubted (£,iaj mta bein^, but not b^<iM«. It is when a man haeofeoded aguusi the lawc (^ aocietj (the tme neceesary laws, I -Kteaa) that be £aela hov deeply h>» own life aod happiness are osftivitk '^em ■■—bey it is impossible to U>c in i^natitm from tfaem. As tiie v^Kile tmsk, aQ the Iwaocdies and Uie boughs, every tvng and emy leaf of Ae- expanded oak-tree are eentained in the olosely- eompaeted aeom. so aU the lawa of smial exiatence, imi^ aad order axe ka|died in the cwBeieaee of a man. They vaaj be shut Bp, ii«ii-boand -for ftwJule ; bat iiwe they art. I felt tHa. Bew- erw the tran^resBor may hide Umself irom the outward opnrstim of the law, he cannot hide himself frem its inward reali^. How can he flee froai his own true self-enHteuee ¥ I feh that a nfane agusM Mciety demaods retributien. I understood the motive, the heait-impidBe, wUdi has -driven the offender to oSb" up his life to appeaio offended justice. This power of conscjeooe, when nndireoted to ite true object, tbonght I, has prodaced gloomy BtqwratiltMiB aftd demanded cruel Baorifices for atonement. ; b«t I eune^es hoped to satisfy its demands in a milder way. I wWd eadeavour to do good. I Vmild nwte my whide life » sttcrifiee fer tbe gaod of <Ahers. I would work hard, early and late, dc^ffive ntysctf of all thii^ hot the barest neecssities, and spend i^ ray eantii^ upon objeots of charity. But how eould I put this reoo- Intion into praetioe i Whore eoidd I find an entrance into tbe world ? It seemed dosed against me, as with gates of brass. Or ere* if I eould do all Has, I thought again, it would only bo myda^ for the pmeo t — it co^ not be more than right. How cenld it han snperabandant DMvit to ateae fnr the past ? how could it caU the de«d to life agun f Bad aa he was, he was et^ a man. Heaven waa inei«ifal to him, and vcoukl have given \am tme for What Tight- had I to take the ewwd out of tbe
THE COSFBSaiOKS OP BIOKJJU) OBiOfalK. 107
judge's lumd, Mul vtr&etke poor aulprit dowa ? En Toioe aseued crying in mj ears — " You would not givaxoe time ! "
SoaiBtiiaea I tried tofisd can^Ht ut a £alw r^igitw!— u atgu- vag that mj owd d»ed v&b aa iBevitable oeeeacitj ; but it woohl tut do, I could run oh witb vouuca, «mI e^ " Wbo proroked me to the deed ? Mj un«Ji£. And wWt mncLs hba m imiA and fff^reemre ? Want of Wtor teacluDg ; " aad m as and on up to ibe fi»t man ; Imt 1 oohM not feel it to be tm*. I eeidd sat rentose tbe load frotn' B^ owm eanainaice to tliab of way (Am xaux. I feH that if atl tlw world were «ruel tyraota asd oppreBstwa, stiU. &» oooimand for me waa an elear -and aathont^ve as erw — " Thou shalt do no murder ! "
At other times lay tium^iU ondeafoived to escoae the deed ; but oh, tine^ aeamai b)U Uke weak, B^hiatioal, epeeial jdeadere hofiKe an ineKorahle, penetrating judg«. They aaid, " The mas deawted to die — ^he waacrual, oppresane, injurioiu to awoiety j " but coBficisftcc replied, " H»wa,» stillaBiaii ; God gare htm life; iwhohada ri^t to take it away:? " Then I said to myself, "Bat I was brought of in darkoeas and ignorance ; ^at did I knew of the Tohie of ba&un life — bow divine and ha^y it. may be ? Would I saw injiue odq humaii being? No, ndher wauld I die myaelt Thoa lot n» jiu^e mjstiS aceor^g to wbat I now an. and try to fw^t the pCML" But cooMieoifie auews^, " YoH are a nutrdei^er !— aothu^ <m» excuse the «ine — yos are sot .fit to Iwel "
&iai«times my feeUage were putMwed with hatred to mankind. " If I am to be pimiahed for my crime," said I, " let the ri<^, the ael&h, and tbe H^-n|^eous "ho leave die poor is igBoranoe and auaery— let lAem be peniehed too. Are thoie «wly who yield to tME^tation, when it is oTerpow^ii^, and not also those who fead oj) into tai^)tati<Hi, to be puMfihed ? Who pmuBhes theee vho ecHomit «f»ec murder ? — who, ^adually but rarely, starve aad overwork and d^rade tbe poor mojx uttU his esiatenee becomes a bordea to him. Shall one hasty act of pasaioB he puaished, and Melr aeUeh, calculating villany be bononrod and reapected ? If jofttiee is to be done, let it be do«e vifoik & bread acale, and &m how nuny »f tiiie re^eotaUe and the ni^ will be found t« be aoeonplieaft ia the criines oonvouttod bj tJie poor aad
Btrt alt i^ eonplejots aminst the defects cf ImiBaii lam wetld not ^ifle the wvfi» of God a law in my Dciwnfi«cft~" Thou abdt
106 THE COIIFeaBIOirS of BICBABD OBAtKOEU.
not IciU I " I dared not enter a church for fear of seeing those irords embUioncil before me.
I had alnajs had a taste for reading, which I had now flomp
(^portunity of indulging. I borrowed some books of history, sod spent my leiBure eveningB in reading of wars and cruelties, until I sometimes almost felt a moment's consolation in reflecting that there had been wor»e men than myself in the world. Said T, " If our kings, and judges, and warriors, and priests, had employed themseWes, instead of making wars and fomenting hatred, in making, the world better, in teaching men how to deal fairly and kindly with each other, we might he HAred from crime and nuseiT' ; but what have they taught poor people ? " ,
I continued some time in my eituaUon, until my master recom* mended me to a gentleman in the country, under whom he had served ; and I again sought relief in a change of place. When I arrived at my destined place of labour, what a paradise it appeared to be for a man with a mind at ease I I had the care of a beautiful garden, and the family whom I served was one of the most amiable in existence. What a heaven this wodd may be made by kindness and goodness ! What a hell it may be made by oppression and evil passions ! This seems to some only A common-place thought ; but I felt it deeply. I had once believed that the earth was almost solely inhabited by cruel, unfeeling, selfish creatures — now I found that there were angels on the earth ; bat I knew it not until it was too lat«for me to enjoy their society-; imtil, by crime, I had excommunicated myself from the company of the good and the happy. My master's eldest daughter fre- quently came into the garden to converse with me ; she observed my gloom, and would sometimes say kind words to mitigate my despondency ; at other times, she gently reproved me for not appearing at church. How little could her gende spirit compre- hend of tho depths of despair into which I had fallen ! I bent over my spade as she spoke, and never dared to look her in the face. The little children kindly noticed me. I could look upoii their innocent faces, and it sometimes did me good. Sometimes I thought, (or rather endeavoured to think,) "I shall he judged by merciful Heaven according to my present will and disposition, and not according to what I have done in my madness. I cannot be yet an utter reprobate, or these children would not trust them- selves in my presence." I tried to see smiles from heaven in the Nulling face's of these children. £ut these thoughts would hot
TB£ C0HFESS1088 OF BICHABD OBAIKGEB. 109
atay with, ue — they faded away, and left me in all my dark irretchednesB agiun. I cannot describe, all mj inward torture — if I could, my reader (happily for bim !) vould not undeiBtond it. There ia a point beyond which thoughts and feelings of agony cannot be conimuuicated and explained to others. Uj BufieringB exhausted my health, and I sunk under a slow fever, The kind- ness of the woman in whose cottage I lodged seemed wonderM to me. Then I thought how I had only to say one word, and all this kindness would be suddenly turned into abhorrence. But during my illness I wept under a sense of the kindness of my attendant, and my tears relicTcd me,
I recovered ; but I could not rest in my situation. A blind impulse drove ne away ; with a few hoarded shiliiugs in my pocket, I wandered through the country, and (why I knew, not), directed my steps towards the north. I could not bear my sus- penoe. I felt as if something was dragging me on to Fordenton, and to that terrible Robert's Fold, where I always saw the dead old man stretched out upon the floor I The reader may beliere it or not, according to his knowledge of human nature ; but allhamau actions are not to he accounted for. I went on, day after day, — on, on, on, until I arrived at a village within fifty miles of Fordenton. I. sought out the obscurest pubhc-houae — I cast my usual glance of suspicion about the place, then entered,, and sat down in a comer to take refreshment. I had not sat half-an-hour when the door opened. I started, as usual ; but Heavens ! whal; did I feel as I reco^ised the face of Harry, Fanny's brother, who had lived in the Fold. He stepped up to me, with a heartylook of recognition. ". Ha, ha ! " said he, " a pretty midnight flitting you made of it, and rare and dull the old man has been ever since you went, for some one to abuse. He goes very lame of the rheumatism now, and I dare say if you 'd come back he 'd forgive you all, (though 'twas a rough parting you had,) and leave you the cash, my man I " This, I believe, was what he said ; but I hardly heard it. " I am very ill," said I (and it was true), hastening out of the house. I felt as if I must faint ; but the fresh air restored my consciousness. " The old man alive! " thought I ; and that thought mode the earth seem too happy a place for me to live in. Then, again, I thought, this must be all a dream, or the young man was an agent in a plot for my apprehension. Not until the next morning was I restoretT to a clear consciousness of my altered situation ; and then what n morning ! what a ncw-crcalcd-wotlil \
110 THE CONPESSIOITB OF
New heaFens ftnd a new earth shone Dpon me ! I will attempt no description of mj fe^i^. A eoarerution with Harry assorad me of mj hapfoneBs. " I am a man ^ain ! " iJiought I, " and now let poverty, eiokness, hard labour, death ittelf come, I fear not ! " But it waa months before I conM drag myself to Sobert'B Fold, and dare to look upon the supposed dead man aliye. Sot ontU I h«ard of his serioos illness did I rentore to go. He had Buak into half-imbeoility, but conscience was awake within him.
" Riefaaid's come again ! is he ? " said he, as die honBekeepW mentioned my name to him. "Well, well, Richard, take care of the money ; don't stay out late at nights ; dm 't i^e about ; goto churdi, fiichard ; take care of the money, Richard ; hot stop ! thwe are iome we've paid short, Richard ; Sally Dmin — boA her lads nm away, they say ; sad job ! pay Sally Dmin her w^;«s ; make all strai^t, Richard." He chattered on in this way day hHer day, whenever aroased from the stupor into which he was diEpooad to Hnk. The clergyman 'nsited him and tried' tn make the preoepti of truth, justice, and mercy, intelli^le to his benumbed faonlties ; b«t he <«dy kept muttering about " Sally Dtmn, and both her lade run away frmn her 1 " " (Mi," thought I, " if tftey had bat taught tlus poor ra»n better when he was young and well ! "
I mnat end my story here. The old man died. His money fell int« my htm&s ; bnt I hare never f^t Hiat it vas n^ awn. It bel<Hig8 to tfae poor. I have worked hard for my own livdSfaood ever since, and so I mean to do as long as I can handle a spade. I hare built a pcbofd in Fordenton, and hare endeavoured to expend iU-get traasurea in relieving those circumstances of ignorance, pover^, neglect, and misery, which impel men to evil passiooa, to crime, and to suoh misery as I hare fblt, and which I would hare no other human being feel again ! And if I had the ability, as I have the will, to iniirance others ; if I had the tongno of an eratcr, or eouid wield the pen of a ready writer, I would spend all my strangdi, and sum np all my argnments, in saying to the rich men, the l^riatore, the judges, the clergy, to allwbo deplore \hs inorease of crime and mreery among the people, — " Oh, good sirs, do not be satisfied with punishments ; do not be satisfied with death-bed penitence ; but unite all your wisdom and all yonr boktmdence, and ^tfrent! prersat! prevent 1 "
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THE STANDARD OP PKOGRESS.
A LEAF FBOU THE KECORS OF A SISCODBSlHa SOCIETt.
All oilier cmtum ue InpeUed b^ the men ipliit of uitnn, (ad by It mabt- Xain their iDdividualil}-; m man atone, as in tba ceatni, iwu tbe MuJ, widraot whieli tbe world would be as nature without the eun.— Schillimo.
AtutUa. This, I think, we may fwauoM as aa incoDtrov«t^le fact, that we are all agreed aa to tbe ezisteiiee of a pogTMSTTe power ia humanity, — that we all believe we should coatribote, to the best of our ability, towards the development of Aii power. Nevertheleaa, we differ on an important point— namely, aa t« what pn^resa actually ia ; wanting, ab it were a certain nwasure, whereby we can ascertain the degree of advancement tirnt may bore tUisn place.
Loremo. Uost true, 0 Auelm, and we wa&t even more tbao thou aayest. For not only do we want a standard to distingnish the ^%ater from tbe lew degree of adnuicement, bat we have need of one to diatingaub an advancement or pn^ireMHon fi«m « bai^aliding*
Antonio. An important mattw. For it were nselesi for tbe traveller to know simply that he was to proceed, witkHd kn«wing wbedier he were to go to the nortb, Boutb, aast, or west.
Lor«n«o. Yet sudi ia exactly our predicament. Some ^ us are for promoting a mor<U oulMre, conBid«iBg jm>fioteney in art or science, as a defect rather than an addition. Otlien would go lera £m;, and sp-ead tiie biowledge of scieMie and ti fttets, esteeming die o&pring of (be im^p^nation to be miwoithy of aerten regard. Otb^s again weald promote on^ enkmv in the site aad sciences, and tJunk tiiat virtue would flow &■ a cenBeqnence. Saib being tbe case, it is clear that although the hope of tu all for ibe ppograsBof humanity beBpeafceth a kindly, and, I may say, a'Doble fe^uq;, tbe notions as to what is {Ht)periy to be called progroas, vary so much, that what seemedi to one a oaue of r^ioing, ia to another food for lamiMtatMn. Nor do I see, altboagh we-^Mve muohdiaooursed, ^t any approaek ia made to a certain ataBdnd, whereby one may indicate one's own poaition, or correet one's opponent of a fallacy.
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112 THE STANUARII OF PROOBEaS.
Antelm. Then aa we are all equnUv iatereeted, and all labour not BO mncli for victory aa for truth, let ub endeaTour to release onnelTee From onr present difficiiltj ; and in tbe first place let us endcaTour to set down a sort of nullity in progress. By regarding thia we may be able to judge of tbe departures from it.
Sut)poae then a man placed in a aroall island, eurrounded by a narrow water, with beautiful fruits growing on the opposite side, that are pleasant to his sight, but beyond bis ability to attain, Sappctse &at he has no means of shelter against tbe inclemencies of the weather, — not from priiration, hut from ignorance ; that as ■urrounding inanimate nature grows pleasant be grows happier, and that when tbe aame inanimate nature ceases to be pleasant, he feels misery. Of a truth I cannot consider this other than a very low state of hnmanity.
Ernest. And yet the man in this atate ia free from much unbappineas, which belongeth to what ia ciilted a more civiliaed condition.
Amelm. Very true, and the dog that is placed in aimilar eircum- atances. is still more free, for he hath a thick coat to potect him from much misery to which the man is subject. It seemetb to me, that in our whole discuasion we have aaaumed a distinctire nature in man ; and that if we remain satisfied with tbe state which he may enjoy in common, and even in a less degree than other animals, the queation should have been, whether it is better to be a man or a hone, or somothing of the kind.
Lorenzo.- -Ay, truly, we are not endeavouring to anawer a 'f Voypge of Gijliver," but we will assume that the progress of man meaneth that of man in his particular nature, and not towards mere hapfuneas as an animal.
Angeha. Let ua agun'snppose the little island inhabited by divers persona, whereof one ordereth the rest to build huts and to lay down a rude bridge that- they may cross the narrow water and reach the fruit. Would this be a progress from the other state ? and if 'SO, wherefore ? '
' Ernest. I see, by our assumption, I must not anawer that it ia ft-progreaa because th^y can taste the fruita formerly denied them, etnce the bird can attain the aame end ; and thou wilt not admit a comparison between creatures of various kinds.
Anietm. Look you ; tbe answer, methinks, will he something in thia wiae. Aasuming, as we all have done, that man is a pro- greasive being, and that he is not fixed to the immoveable natural
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THE STATTDAHD OF PROOBBBB. 113
UvB that detennine the brnte or the regetable, we oiuBt conclude that a mere eubmiesioii to these laws is leoB coiuonant to his own particular essence, than an aaBeition of his diBtinctiveness.' The man in, the first caae, was but a plaything of nature — no jojs or Borrows sprang from hiin self, but were the gift of things themselres UDConeciouB of what they bestowed — of the tree, the stream, the hurricane. . You could almost have calculated his condition bj the state of the thermometer.
Now look at the chief in the second caee ; he does not fellow in the track of inanimate nature. He has made a path of his own ; he stands as an instance of the peculiar essence of man triumph- ing over external ohetacles. Therefore do we pronounce the second state to be one of progression from the first, because t&fl peculiar essence of man is more manifest. . .
liorenzo. Would it not be better if for this somewhat clumsy periphrasis, " the peculiar essence " of man, we substituted the current word "freedom ?"forit seemethto me, that all predicated of the one, may as well be predicated of the other.
AnKhn. Right, good Lorenzo ! If you would express the peculiar nature of man — of mind, jou cannot find a better word than " freedom ; '' for that alone is tree, which can shape its own course, and only that which shapes its own course, can overcome the influence of surrounding nature. If we talk of progress we necessarily imply freedom ; and we may therefore say that the more there is of freedom the more there b of pn^ress.
Lorenzo. And now I see, that even by ^y second case, thou dcsignest to figure forth but a small degree of progress. The .chief indeed triumphed over external nature, and used the rest as his instruments. But they in their turn originated nothing. The chief was to them, what nature had been to the man in the first case.
Antonio. Not quite, Lorenzo. Nature treated the man as a mere senntive being, capable of physical paiu or pleasure. The chief, on the other hand, must have made the people understand his orders, — the whole capacity of communication between man and meoi must, it seems to me, have been created, before a transi- tion from the first to the second state was possible. In the very act of obedience, methinke, there must have been somewhat <f freedom.
Amelm. True, Lorenso; and therefore, judging by the staudard of more or less freedom, the condition of slavery to man, however
HO. XIV, — TOt. m. I
v.Goo'^lc
U4 tBK STAHDABL OF PROORBSS.
abject, is higher than tliat of slaTerj to inanimBte nsttire. I am aware that I shall displeaee many of mj rhyming frieode, and be thought to mar many a pleasant sonnet ; but 1 must nevertheless aeeert my conTietion, that Burrounding nature often appeareth as an enemy, when we reflect on progress.
Entett. Nay, this is most nnpleasant doctriDO. Nature, with all her bonnties and beauties, to be regarded as a foe !
Antehn. Be not alarmed. I mean a foe only in that sense m which the marble may be called a foe to the sculptor, when it resists to his fwce and blunts the edge of his chisel. Between the cases which we have stated is another m which the miserable mait— not yet in communication with others — f&ge himself a rude cave to avert the inclemencies of the weather. Nature, by her very resist- ance, hath roused the freedom of the man. The condition of his progress was one of war, and he caniiot fulfil it without an enemy. The sculptor cannot earre on image put of water ; the very powtir which reeiateth him is accessary for the existence of his statue.
.Antonio. The Platomsts placed their evil principle in Tnatt^, which resisted, as it were, the forming energy. It seemeth thou art speaking somewhat after the some fashion.
Ernest. Nay, thou must not confound nature, on which tite Bivine form is so plainly imjn'essed, with that inert or even resist- isg matter which defies, or at any rate yields not readitf to, a forming power.
Anselnt, Thou art right, 0 Ernest, speaking from the jiomt of view to which we ourselves have attained ; for, to the man eden- tifically cultivated, the essential Un« of nature are revealed, and he can appreciate the unity which is manifested through the variety. But in these rude stages of mankind, which we have been ood- .udering, no such revdation hath been mode, and nature will appear either as a foe or as a capricious friend, on whom reliance may not be placed. To observe nfftore as the artist, or as the scientific man, helongeth to another portion ; freedom frmn nature is to be gained by the first contest.
X/ormzo. And now let me retnm to the position I took ere this d^iresBion on the relation between man and nature arose. I am willing to admit l^t the guidance of the chief is a higher state than mere obedience to nature. But stjll, methinks, it is a low state ; for the other men have exhibited, as it were, only a faculty of bemg guided, and have not de*eli^)ed that peculiar essence of man, which is displayed in the chief — I mean the power of b^ing an originating cause.
Coo'jlc
DEATH AND THE H&TiaiiJiS. IIS
Amelm. Right, 0 most excelleiit Lorenzo ; and now do I beliere we have gamed a point upon which we can be of accord. The Gsseatial of mankind ia freedom ; and accordinglj, as that is developed in the greater number of individual men, the greater is the progress. First cometb fi-eedom from Burrounding oature, then Cometh freedom from other men ; but bo long as there u one man in whom the originating power is not, so long is perfection not attained. It is to extend this power, to multiply its posaeeaors, that we feel to be onr mission, endeavonring gradnally to abolish the Bubaervience of any human being to an jauthoritj, lie lawfulness of which he doth not perceive from hia own coaTictioa. There ara times in which passive, irrational obedience is necesaaiy to disci* pline mankind ; but such are not the times which, according to our standard, we con admit tg be those of a h^h state of progress. On some future occasion we may apply thia atandard to particular questions, and perhaps we may £nd we have a key to their adu- tioD. Our great doctrine, I repeat it again, is this — that freedom is the essential of humanity. As Opidust.
DEATH AND THE HANGMAN.
Up at a cra^ old hDuae-top, In a dreary room, whose walls wen hung With pictures nim of the gallowa drop. And the doggiel rhymes by felons snug ;
There at the close of a Sabbath n^ht. The hangman sat as mute aa stone ; There he sat ia the mnri? lisbt. He and his shadow alone — alone I
The hum of the streets had died svsf, And the loighty city held its biskth, As thoagh it ksew tiutt the eomog day Had been. set apart by maa, for D^th.
The hangman rose, and paced the room (The curse of <^in is a weary curse !) He paoaed to look at the felon's doom, And he tried tohmn the felon's Tene; l2
Upl:«l by Google
S UAN AND BEABT — A QTrBSTIOIT.
At length to hia shadowy aelf he spoke : " Two living crdtturea of flesh ana bone, I on the morrow must help to choke, Doing to them what to othere thej Ve done 1 " When fiiBt I took to the bangniAii's trade, I 'd man^ qualms at the gallows tree ; But I aaid, ' 'TIh i>aw, and those who made The law most answer for anch as me.'
" The makers of law have honour and wealth, But I, who finish what they begin, Can only creep among men by stealUi ; ' For somdiow, they think my craft a sin.
" Two on the morrow must hang till they 're dead,
And I mnat hang them, nor pause nor quail ;
For where shontd I loot for my daily bread.
If the gallows' guns, alas I should ^1 1
" We have nothing to fear I" sud a voice — (and the n
Was fill'd with a £imp and fetid air.
And the walls all reek'd like a long-closed tomb,
For la 1 the pbesbhce of Death was there.)
" We have nothing to fear ! Good men may preach
That life is sacred !— that none must slay !—
But we have the rope and the beam, to teach
That the lu^w CAN kill its two a-day.
And the gdlows-lesson soke will leash ; 6o hangman mine, there ii always hope That we must thrive until all men spam Those grisly teachers^- the beam and lope."
UAH ANIJ BEAST— A QUESTION.
" How is't good Hodge, that whilst you feast
Your cattle fat as marrow. Your fellow-man, hi woree than beast.
You grind, and starve, and harrow V Hod|;e wink'd his eye — then made reply-^ B treat onf
'Cos— 'co*-HW ptunna eattmp'
by Google
ENGLISH aCENSS AND CHABACTERS.
BT WllXUH HOWm.
No. II. — Dick Rbdfebit, the Couhtbi Wag.'
If every man who wm brought up in a thoroughly eJd-F&Bfai(Hied country village, would turn ^ock to the memory of his bojiah dajB, and call to mind the peopl^ and their habiti tiiat he finds there, what a curious assemblage would thej be ! Never was there a part of the nation where a more odd set of fellows lived and flourished than in the very neighbourhood where 1 was bom. I have ^ven some good specimens of this &ee and humorsome race, both in the "Bi^'s Country Book," and the nooks included in my " Rural Life of England." These were so uncommon, that there were sagacions readers who winked know- ingly, and set them down, in llteir snpenor sagacity, for inven- tions of my own ; while so true were they, and so immediately recognised in the place itself, that more than one burly sou o£ queer independence threatened hard with actions of libel, bnt felt die sketches of himself or lus fathers so true that he grumbled, ' bit bis lips, and died like the wolf in silence. Like many another oeighbonrhood, the flood of population and taste has now rushed in there, washed away many a gathering heap of eccentricities, which time would otherwise have matured into racy richness, and left a bustling, and yet poor generation, where all, fifly years ago, was still as Sleepy Hollow, except when the little knot of its roystering eccentrics made the public-house ring with their fits of laughter, and gave birth to anecdotes which still live and circulate amongst ft less old-fashioned tribe. It is time to snatch a few mcei- shadows from the retreating past, and let tiiem live a little longer «s they lived in t^e days of our fathers.
Oh, for a few years of leisure to wander about in the rural districts of Old England ; to sit on the bench of the village ale- faonse, or by the fana or cottogc-fire, and hear the stories of the ' 'Countiy round circulate, as I used to hear them in my boyhood ! ' There would be more knowledge of English countiy life and character thus brought to light than has ever yet been by die
118 EKSLISH SCEKEq AUD CHABADIERS.
keenest or most honest observer. What tales, what jokes, what scenes and characters, has every old village, that live only there, and die for ever to the world at large ! Sunlit side of the odorous haycock ; russet and shady eide of the com-Bbock ; sweet Bhodoir of the summer tree where the labouring rustics and the roBtic dames and damaels re&eik themselves from their field- labours ; sunny ingle of farm and hamlet-inn t what wealth of wit and humour, story and eihibition of life, do you daily enjoy and then let perish, that would enrich the written page, beyond the jHvudest stretch of imagluatifm ! Where was it but here that . Shakspeare picked up his exhaustless affluence oi sly humour, qnuut adage, flash of rustic wit, snateh of meny or melancholy song, and rare treasury of homo knowledge of human nature ^ What a £eld for him would have been my native hamlet ! What a strange old scene it must have been in my father's time ! There was old Squire Fletcher that lived at the Hall, and old Kester Colcloiigh that lived at Godkin House up in the fields ; they were the old gentlemen of the place, and the centre of the village knot of merry fellows that ina<^ the King of Prussia, the chief ale- house, ring with their mirth. And how often was the mixth at t^eir expense I For there was Dick Redfern the wit, to turn it against them, and Sammy Hand, a new purchaser in the pariah, t^ Adam Woodward the baker, and Tom Marshall the shop- keeper, and Bill Newton, and Jack Shelton, the greatest scape- grace of the place, to join in the laugh.
Old Squire Fleteher was the very eoul of good-nature, and old R^rt«r Colclough " as soft as a boiled turnip," to use the phrase that Dick Kedfem used in describing huu. These two dd wordiies were like many others who have lived on their here- ditary property, without exertion, labour or care, till their very intollect seemed to have turned into fat aJid good fellowship, fUl te last btrtJi &iu)ly and estate expired of inamtisn. So simple wM old Kester, or, as the village in its dialect called him, " Old Urater Colclongh," that he was the perpetual butt of the wage, and when he heard of any pranks or nusdiie^ he declared pou- tiwij that it must be done by " Bill Newton, Jack Sheltos, or Mmebody dse ! "
Dick Eedfem was the only one of those jdly companions who wMl«ft in my time. I remember him a thin old fellow, as crasy M <Hte modi more renowned for wit. Dean Swift, was in his latter days. He waa the hai melancholy rdtc of his generation ; all his
EirsiISB SCENES AND CHASftCTERS. 139
eantemponries vers dead, and all his " quips aud cranks " were dead intlt them. He would come light and thui, sad grej aa a ahadew, down to the Fall, my grandfather's honee, a mile below the Tilla^, ail hira down a moment, talk of Bill Newton, Jack Shelton, or eomehody else, and then aay restlejuly be mast away to " the Fail," where be actuidly was, and when he got to the village, say he must away "to the Tillage, for old Squire Fletcher Mtd old Kester Colelon^ were waiting for him at the King of Proflgia."
A more melancholy min of a right-merry fellow cannot be inugined. Old Squire Fletcher had long lain in his rault under the yew-tree ; and BiQ Newton and Ja«k Shelton had vanished onder tiieir grassy mounds ; and in the HoU now lived one Sampson Hooks — for the people woidd never honour him with the tide of squire; and the sons ol Bill Newtwi were become his prey and the prey of hie bailiff, Joe Ling. But of these men anon, when Ve have wandered back a little over the earlier days of poor Dick Bed^era.
Diek bad been a wag from his ladhood, and could not help it. It was bred in him ; and, as he nsed to say himself, ' ' what is^^bred in fhebone will never be out of tlie fiesh." He had a bead, and it had its bumps, that were sure to bring him as many knocks — though there were no phrenologists bom th^i to tell him the reason of it. He could no more help being a wag, than Sam Foote could. He once theught he would be a farm^ ; but while he was learning the rudiments of that profession, his humour put his mistress out of hnmem- witJi him, and he waa ordered to carry his " frumps and his impudence away with him."
His offence was merely what the German wag, Eulenspegel, used to affront so many people with, showing them the truth, not in a symbol, but in a matter of fact. His mistress kept cows and sdd milk ; and one day she said to Dick, "Dick, give the cowa eaae tnmips, and give the best cow twice as many aa the rest,"
Bick very soberly served all the cows with about a peek a poeca, Mtd then reved ^nt two peeks roand the pump in the yatd. -There needed so explanation of this odd act. The conscience o£ Hie good woman flariied in her face ; she cuneout like aheroi&B,; flnng a broom at the head that started such a mbcluevoua ideas idii^ would have made it nng inwardly if it had not had a moat admirable capacity of docking, and bode him come for his wages vlten he- wanted them. Dick flew out of tiw yard faater than.' the
ISO XltaLtSH SOXNBa AVD OHABAOTKBS.'
dame hod floirn ont of the house, and nerer cune ^Mm fer hia wages ; but whenever the good woman appoared in the village, he was Hure to appear on the wall of the churchyard, it«elf lying level with the inBide of the wall and high above the street, and as she went poat, call out, amid the laughter of his fellow-boys and of the village, " Good Mother Watery, how goes it with the ires' tailed cow^ "
It was not many weeks before Dick's wages were paid to bi» mother, with an offer to apprentice him to a plumber and glazier twenty miles off. The offer was accepted, and Dick disappeared for a season. The biography of his apprenticeship is unknown. He came from time to time for a few days' holiday to his native village, and every time turned the old place upside down with his toicks, his jokes, his fun and his cleverness. He could play on the fiddle to a miracle ; and as soon as his time was out, he sekup as plumber and glazier, fiddler and wag of the whole neighbourhood. So long as the village church stands, so long will Dick Redfernbe talked of : how hi was the soul of all parties where he came ; how he made the parlour at the King of Prussia the merriest pUoe in England ; how old Squire Fletcher used to laugh till he cried, and fall off hia chair at Dick's nonsense ; and how old Eeater Colclough declared that neither Bill Newton, Jack Shelton, nor anybody else could come up to him ; how he used to propagate the most extraordinary stories by appearing to read them out of the newspaper, of which he Was always die reader in the parlour at the Kingof Prussia ; how these stories were told the whole country round, and declared to be in the newspapers ; but when people looked for them they were not to be found ; on which, Dick, when appealed to, would say, " Did I read that ? If I did, I have forgotten it- Nay, lad, I rayther think thou must ha' dreamed it !" How Dick went round the country with Bill Newton and Jack Shelton as itinerant showmen, as Dick said, to show his comrades what fools there were in the country ; how they gave out that they had a most outlandish animal to exhibit, and always hired a bam for the purpose ; how they hung up a sheet across, and Dick entertained the people with a long and wonderful story of the wonderful pro- perties of this animal, while Bill Newton took the sixpences at the door, and Jack Shelton made uncouth noises behind the sheet, which filled the people with the strongest expectation, till, the house being filled, Dick and Jack withdrew behind the sheet, and all three stole silently out of the odier door and ovot the hills
KNOUBH BO£KES AHD DHABAOTEEB. 121
aa fast u they could, Ungliiiig kU the time at the concourse of aimpletoDB in Uie bam, who sate sad sate until some one al length', lifting a corner of the sheet, aatonished the whole assembly bjr the disoorery of nothing !
This campugn made the King of Prosua uproarious with Unghter and applause for a whole winter ; but old Squire Fletcher aaserUng that this might pass with the country hawbucks, but would not do witli the sharp chaps of the towns, and old Meater Colclough saying, " No, no, neither Bill Newton nor Jack Shelton, nor nobody else, could pass off their jokes on the townsmen," the three set off again. There was soon seen at fairs and statutes far and wide, a booth with a large placard on the front : — " Here all good people are taught, in two minutes, and at the small charge of one shilling, how to carre without cutting themselTea."
There was soon seen an eager crowd assembled before tiiis booth. Everybody was asking those who came out whether it were wortS seeing, and everybody, with a knowing shake of tiie head, said, " Ob, very, very ! See it by all means ! "
So in went everybody, and there they saw a mau— -it was Dick — standing with a huge round of beef before him, cutting with the edge of the knife turned from bim, the most delicate slices, and exclaiming the while, " Ladies and gentlemen, alivays cut in this direction, and you will never cut yourselves ! "
"Is that all?" ezcltumed everybody; and Dick, grave as a judge, always replied, "Yes, all, and sufScient ; always cut iu this direction, and it is impossible you can cut yourselves."
The people vexed at their folly, but ashamed to confess it, with- -drew, and as they passed oat, crowds of eager waiters demanded " Is it worth seeing ? " To which many replied, " Oh, certainly ! See it by all means I "
Thus went Dick and his comrades safe and sound all round the country, and returned to their village in some months, with thdr bags loaded with the money of the ninny-bammers of the towns, uid to the no small amasement of old Squire Fletcher and old JHestoF Colclough.
From that day they reigned &e oracles of the King of Prussia, aai not a trick could be ^yed but old Ecster declared it to be the work either of " Bill Newton, Jack Shelton, or somebody else."
If Dick made tliem merry at the King of Prussia, he made tbem just as menj in every other house. He was a free guest in every <cottage and farm all round. Wherever he came, there came with
122 XKBLOa SSIXER ASB CBUCiXntaO,
him frolte aad. wonder. The childran shouted and clapped- thar hssdg, for he plAjed them aii sorts of gwd-htimoured tricks, tuiel TOiDp«} with tbem like a ^-eat lad. The gtrb all uniled ad bluahed as he came near, for he was sure' to have some faaaf Quag to say to them of their sw«etfaearts ; and ail the eoimtry fellows stood with their mDutha wide opea when he spoke, for they ra^eoted that something wonderful would drop eat of his.
But he SA not draw more funilea out of their faces than he did capers out of their legs ; for he was the only fiddler at wake or WhitBHitide that diey would have. Nay, lus fiddle, they said^ spoke and made them- leap about like peaa in a fiying-'pan.
■ My father, once coming out of Derby on a market-day, saw a great crowd assembled on Cheeter-grecn, and heard from it at the same time the merry muac of a fiddle, and the most boisterous laughter. As he came nearer, lie thought, why, that can be no other fiddle than Dick Redfern's ; and so he rode quietly up, and peeped orer the heads of the crowd into the interior o^the circle. Sure enough, there stood Dick Bedfem fiddling away with all his might, and with a grsTity solid as that of the stone-post against whiehhe loaned, whilst who should there be leaping and skippisg about to the sound of the fiddle, but a lanky old gardener of the Tillage, Jonathan Moore. Dick's fiddle did indeed seem te speak, and Jonathan obeyed ^1 its injunctions to the letter, amid the continuous laughter of the bystanders. The fiddle said, as plainly as could be, " Lie thee down, Jonathan ! roll over, Jonalhaa ! up again, JonatiianJ wlurl thee round, Jonathan! spin away, B^n away, spin away, Jonathan ! "
Every note of the fiddle told on Jonathan just as the string- twitches on the paper harlequin. Now he WUS prostrate on the green ; now rolling over ; now springing up, ud now wUiliug rOBnd and round like a mad Derrise at his devotions. My bther rode quietly off again without being perceiTed by Jonathan, thmgh the twinkle of Dick Redfern's eyes gave ^go that he was w«ll enough perceived by him.
A few days after this Jonathan was naiUng np some trees fbr my father, for whom he almoat daily worked, when, after standing and looking at him some time, he sud, " Well done, Jonathan ! B^a away, Jena^haa J"
Jonathan started ; stood a memsit, first turning red, uid then white, and than esdaimed, " By Quy, Uester, and so yn seed me t(rth«r day with Dick, on Chester Qreen ? By4ediy, but tfast
BHaUSH BOBNBa AHO OSilUCTllBS. 1£3
feUow's fiddle has witchcraft in !t. liiftd had a, Bup of ala at th' Fox aad Owl, and just as I came otbt the @i;een, up comes Diek bebisd me, stnuk up with hie fiddle ; 1 gftve a le«|i hi^ aa hi^ 83 myself, and began oapn^g aw^ spite of aiyBelf. If I must h&ve died for it the next mom^it, I could not have helped mysdf. The fiddle acreeched, my limbs went — and 'od rot it, theugh ! — bat I 'd myther ha' gen onytJiing th«o yo should hft' seen me sich on old fool !"
Dick had oftes buBiness at Eastwoftd, about two miles from Ida own village, and aB often made the gneata merry by his fan at the Sun there. In Eastwood lired ut old herbalist, one Amos Wire ; one of tbose aimi^, credulous old men of the last, and eren of the present generation, in oonntry places, who still believe all that Culpepper says. He accordingly gathered hia plants in particular pha^ of the moon, and under the particular planets that Cul- pepper directs, and doctored a host of people as, simple as himself. Dick fiedfem was very fond of sitting an hour with old Amos, to hear him talk of " yarba and trinea, tangenta and culminationa," or to wander ,wi^ him into woods and meadows aa he gathered his medicinal planta, and converse with a well-assuraed gravity on all Ilia subjects of faith aud fancy. It was rich food for the parlour of the King of Prusua ; and so weU did he play his part, that Amos took the strangest fancy to him, and Dick declared that he believed that if he were, in ^e name of the Lord, to command old Amos to do the rashest deed, he would verily do it, such was hia child-like credulity.
This gave a hint to Kll Newton and Jade Shelton, who thought that they conld strike ont of it a benefit fijr. their friend. AccOTd- ingly, they appeared under the window <^ Amos's porlonr, where hft aLoft in his low cottage of one story, before it grew light one nmning, and one of them, said, in a aolemn tone, "Ames! Amos ! ' On which poor Amos, who was ^^tbably lying awake thinking of his plants aod plaaata, immediaJiely made answer, in a voice of the deepest revereace, " Speak, Lord, for thy aarrant hoareth!" To which the rogues without rejoined, "Amos! Amos I I commuid thaa- ta arise and break all the church windowa 1"
To which Amoa at onee relied, ' ' Lord ! thy BarT«nt will obej thee!"
On this, the twO' rogaea haatened away to watdi in the churshr y«ed foi the approach ef the old. bmo. As he- did not anive,
Coiwlc
124 BSSUBH BCEHIS AIQ OHABACTSOS.
bowerer, so soon aa they expected, and aa the dawu rapiiU; ad- Tknced, they fell t« and demolisfaed the windows themselves, &nd hastened awaj, knowing that Dick Redfem would have to glaze them, and thinldng that it would be a capital job for him. Ajuob, who, though old and sloir> was as zealous as he was credulous, Hoon after appeared on the Bcene, armed with a long leaping-pole which he had used in nimbler dayp, to enable him to spring across stream! and bogs, on his herbalist rambles. No sooner, howerer, did he tee that the windows were all broken, than, with a look of asto- nlshmebt and self-reproach, he made his retreat.
Scarcely was daylight established, when the strange discovery of the demolition of the windows was made, and flew all over the parish. Many were the conjectures who the sacrilegious depre- dators could be, and some one soon said that he had seen old Amoa Wire coming in haste, at daybreak, out of the churchyard, armed with his rantipole. This was enough : Amos was speedily sum- moned' to the presence of the Squire, who was the magistrate. Accused of the fact, Amos did not attempt to deny it ; on the contrary, he frankly declared that he had been called npon by the voice of the Lord to go and do that deed, and went on purpose ; but, to his astonishment, had found that he had not heeii actire enough in his zeal, and that, to his tmapieakable mortification, some more faithful servant had been employed to execute it.
Soch was the well-known truth and simplicity of Amos, that both magistrate and clergyman saw at once that the thing was the work of some designing scoundrels who meant to have made a tool of him, but had, probably, as was the fact, found him too tardy in his motions. Ho was therefore dismissed, and a messenger was sent off for the glazier, our Dick, But the two perpetrators were before him, had related what they bad done, and what a famous job it wonld'he for him. To their great amazement, however, instead of signs of correspondent joy in Dick's face, they saw him stand as if he were shot, and with a face white as a ghost, be ezolaimed,
" 'Od rot it, lads S Tou 've done for me 1 / gkue ti« whole church hy the year .'"
This was a blow too much. It spoiled for awhile all his mirth. It cost him the whole of his spare capital to repair the disastroas labour of hia friends, who, thunderstruck at the announcement of a fact of which they had never dreamed, slunk away and dared not for many a day to show th^ faces at the King of Prussia.
Dick faithftilly repaired all the windows with glass of the best
U.g,l:«lbvGOOglc
UEllOKAHDA OP KATCIim. 126
quality, never asking a consideratioa of tLe puiBh fof so nnl(xiked for an accident ; and as for Bill Nen'tou and Jack Shelton, thej vere as poor as ehurcli-miee themselrea, and could not help him to repair their fault by helping him to r^ir the winders. From tiiat time the glory of the King of Prussia departed. Old Eester CtJclongh, when he heard of the transaction, was nearer the mark than he perhaps had ever been before, for he protested that it "was cert^nly Bill Newton, Jack Shelton, or somebody else."
Old Sqnire Fletcher died soon after. Meater Colclough became too infirm to get to the Tillage, and in a few years died also. Bill Newton was overtaken by troubles which curbed his spirit, and Jack Shelton went off nobody knew whither. Yet for mtny s jear afterwards did poor Dick Redfem wander about the old neighbowhood, a thin, grey, and crazy fellow, such m I iftTe described him, everybody eaying, " See what the sharpest vita may come to!"
When he was dead, little property was found, or debts in his books due to htm ; there were, however, these ungular entries : —
Joe CUj, Dr. £ t. d.
To pntdng out my eye with a stick, it the King'of Pnuaia • . 0 10 6
San Argill, Dr.
To breaking me two flddlesticks .110
Thus he valued his eyes at exactly two fiddlesticks.
MEMORANDA OF MATUBIN.
Stefhek's Ghben, Dublin, is perhaps the finest square in Eurttpe ; theveryirregularity of its edifices, adding to the beauty of its appearance. At its north side, and flanked by that very hand- some structure, the Surgeon's-hall, is York-Btreet ; whero the subject of diis brief sketch resided for the greater part of his life ; and where "Bertram," "Woman, "and " Melmoth the Wanderer," were written : it is a dull gloomy street, of spacious and respectable buildings, occupied altogether, at the present time, by professional men, sni^^ns and attorneys, and situate in the parish of St. Peter, of which Maturin for many years, and to the close of his ezistoice, was the popular and respected minister.
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It IB BOW long WO, rinee a gib in edSege, fvnier of rambling on tlie monntains of WieldoT than of confined rooma and aoademic halls — fonder of poetiy dwn of Bnetid — 1 aacideatallj bcomn ocqnunted Trith Mr. Hatarin, an aeqawntanee that eventaa% ripened into intimacy. He was fend vf the iocietj of joaag peraona: of a elwn^ £apo«tion himself, he delighted to reci- procate it with olhen ; and I have seen him [dajing on a gTMS-plat with . a troo^ of AiMren, hims^ as gaj as any of tb^, when, being bald, they were ^ways euro to make an attack vpaa hia wig, while he cbaKed the RuceosBful dcfvedators through the alieya of the garden, laughing heortitj at the kidtcrous i^igfat to which their roguery had redoeed him. I was a member at that time at an amateur company of «ctor8, who gloried in the high-acnnding appellation, "Roaoane." We bad engaged a very pretty httie theatre, fitted np by a Bian named Luiin, an anottoneer, at the rear of bis sale-rooms In Qrafton-street. Larkin had, I briiere, been himeetf a member in his early days of a pronticial coDqwny, and hence the nuunfestation of a paedon, tliat even wraidly pmdence coold not altogether restrain. The memory, and the feeling of the memory of tbeeo days, w^ nerer leare me, when, proud of my red ribbon of membership, and my wand of office as steward — for I was too bashful for tiie bowrde — I paraded the room (we had no envious distinctions of our company) or stood to talk guly with my friends, especiaHy with one, and thought myself the happiest and the highest of human kind.
1 believe there are few young men ftwd of nature and poetry, who have not at some time eipresBed their feeling in verse ; and, it being known that I was addicted to rhyming, I was requested by my amateur companions to furnish them with an epilogue, to be spoken on a partici^ar occasion. One of the members of our society bad Bomo knowledge of Hr. Matnrin, and had presented him with tickets, thinking very justly that the presence of the only antiiMr in our dty {Shiel and Lady Morgan no longer dwelt there) , and that individual the author of " Bertram," would confer on honour on m, and odd a stimulus to our juvenile ezertioDs. The verses of my epilogue, at that early p«iod c^ my lifie, were, I have no donbt, suffi- dently pretensional andpnerile ; — they have altogether evspei&t«d from my remembrance, but th^ had the good fortuse at the time to please, and procure me an introduction to Mr. Matmin, tad from that period till his dea& I enjoyed a good deal of hia ««Brer^ sation and society.
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At the «ti4 <4 &6 |4i^, u I lingered beside lion attrMted bj his name and his remaibB on our periDrmanee, be isTited me to aeecmpaay himhMiie; and having dona m, to partake of kiaatrnpla Mipper, whi(^ I remember well conaiated of poached eggs ukd spinach : h I &!»o remember the nenotuneaa that teized hm at being eaUed on to suatain ft conTenation with bb author of bia pORtion and eelebritj in the litenuy world ; the author of one of onr few BuoeeHftd tragedies ; the friend of Scott and Byron ; and from whom better things migbt have been expected if be had not beeD IHieniatmvl; carried off at an early age.
The imnde of the boose was gloomy aad melnncbdj' in tbo extovme : jnstthehonBefartberomaiiciatii^opeiined "Melmoth." The dull kitchen candle of the aemnt tlnvw but a faint light ; and mj feet »track with a lonely Homd oa the aaked flags of the hail, which wa« barely fnmiahed with two citaira saimoanted by his crest, a gallojnng horse ; the stairs were without carpets. On entering ■&e drawing^oom, it almost appeared to be vafdniahed. A simple drugget partly covered the floor, and a small table atood in Ihe centre : bnt the entire «nd neareat the door was oeenpied by a diran covered with scarlet, wbidi appeared strangely out of diaracter with the general meagreneH rf the ^artment ; beside the fidding-doors was a sipiare piano ; at the fire wsb jAoced an old aim chair, in which 1 aftertrards saw him eit it^ mmy a wearyhoor, till^bree or four-o'clock in the morning, while writing the" Albigensee;" and on a small work-table bMween the windows lay a rery ancient writing-desk. Sntdi was my first gSmpee of the aathor's domicile, which had once been a witoess of very
When Sir Waher Scott had fwwBrded Matnrin's tragedy of "Bertram "to Lord Byroo, at that time amemher of the committee oi Dmry-lane, bta lordship, stniek with its merits, hod it imme- diately prepared for repvasentotlon : its soecess wm sodden Mid immense. At tkat pwtod, ohhongh known as an author, from the time ofpabliehinghis " Montorio," while yet almost a yoi^, he WBB but a poor and struggling curate, wilii a yoiing and increasing &mily, possessed of estreaaely potished tastes, and el^ant habits, wlsch caanot be indidged in without ezpense ; and semng thoa Tmexpeetcdly and lately an opening both for fame and profit, be had for a time fo^otten the dictates of prudence, and almost the neoesaary restrictions of his profession, in the gratifieaitiMi of his passion for the refined and splendid, and abandoned himsEU to a dream «f nooeM, diat vma never entirely reoliied.
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On his arriral in London, he was toij moch flattoied uid careased hj some peraouB of rank on ihe committee of the theatre ; and being invited to their houaes, Ke was captivated b; the agr£- m^m of their society — the aplendour and elegance that surrounded t^emj and his corresponding taste made him imagine that he could transfer something of this on hie return to his own residence, and that he could be the cause and centre of pursuits and pleasures similar to those that had attracted him. With the literary m^i of the metropolis at that time he does not seem to have been eo well iJeased ; he met sereral of. them at the table of Mr. Colbum, who D&d previously published for him, and expecting naturally enoi^, as a stranger, a rich treat from th^r conversation, he confessed himself considerably disapptunted.
' Having derived considerable emolument from the Author's Ni^^t and copyright of "Bertram, "and deeming now that a source of ud- biling independence was opened to him, he proceeded to fumisb the house that I then saw so despoiled, in a s^le of extravagant elegance and expense, and to give entertunments to all that Bor- Gounded his fame with their flatteries. The walls of the purlours vere.donein panels, with scenes from his novels, painted by an artMt of some eminence ; the richest carpets, ottomans, lustres, and marUe tables ornamented the withdrawing rooms ; tlie mostbeautifiil papers covered the walls, and the ceilings were painted to represent clouds, with eagles in the centre, from whose daws depended brilliant lustres. When I knew him first all this had disappeared : hia sub- sequent tragedies had been unsuccessfid ; he became embarsMed ; and he was obliged to write laboriously for bread. Perhaps ^e peculiar nature of his literary productions prevented his adnnee- ment in his profession, though certainly no curate in the diocese performed its duties more zealously and Irreproachably ; but tra> gedies and romances are not esteemed by the public the beat preparation for a bishopric, although it is to a bishop that we owe the first romance. Home was excluded the communion <f the Scotch churoh for his " Doiiglas," and Mr. Maturin himself feh it to be a matter of apology and explanation in a preface to 'one of his later publications. There was an idle story afloat, that an official from the Castle had been directed to call one evening with an offer of its patronage, but that finding him emptt^ed with some adult college pupils in acting that very tragedy of "Dougfes," he had returned, told the circumstance, and the idea was abandoned. ^ The family of Mr. Maturin was respectable and of French origin. The family tale was, that a lady of the French court having been
HBUOBANDA Of HATtTBIN. ' ISO
-Bta]^ed in h«r orriage b j a basket hud in the sireff; Then it was taken up, a male child was diBcoTered in it, richly dressed in the most expenaive lace ; this child she adopted and Aducated, having named him Mathurine or Matiiriu, from the street, Rnede Uathurioe, in which be was found ; he eventually became a Hu- gonot, and emigrated. Of the early days of Maturin I can eay but little ! but on knowing subsequently some other members of his fomily, I have been told that from his childhood he was always remarkable for his love of poetry and the stage ( that he used to sketch short dramas, and get bis brothers and sisters to repreient them, and that he was particularly skilled and attentive in their costume and accessories ; no similar abiUties, however, were shown by his brothers, whose lots in life were very different ; but his sis- ters in general, who idolised him, possessed a good deal of his peculiar tastes, and shared with him sometbtng of his talent. It is certain that he himself was a most excellent actor ; — his vtnce, his declamation, his figure, were all superior, and the represen- tation of the chief scenes of some standard play was the constant and rational amusement that be provided for tiie young men of rank Mid ^tnne that were, during their collegiate course, while he yet kept pupils, committed to his care.
He was very early in life entered of the University, and was a member of the famous Historical Society, the chief school for old Irish oratory and public men, put down by the jealousy of govern- ment in troubled times, and thbugh many eiertions have been mode for the purpose, never since restored. He does not appear to have been a successful candidate for scientific distinction, but he was a very elegant classical scholar, and he was elected one of the scholars of the University, which is generally considered a strict test of classi- cal ability ; but he was not the deep student of derivations and editions, nor the pedant of Qreek metres, — he felt the moro refined beauties of the old authors, as standards of universal thought and '.eipres^on ; skimmed the surface of their brightness, and made tiiem subservient oftentimes in conversation to extremely apt and Micitous quotation ; he was also extensively read in old French history and literature, and bad amassed a fund of strange and heterogeneous information. His Universitjacquaintance was chiefly of a literary cast similar to his own, and his special fiiend and chum was Croly. He was subsoquently ordained, and entered upon the curacy of Loughrea. The confined and almost isolated position of a country curate could scarcely have been agreetUrfe
MO. XIV. — VOL. III. K
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130 ME«OBAM>A Ct lUICUlL
to a jonng man of his taetea and pvrsuiU ; for, ctoh about thia time, no h&d published Lis fi»t rom&uce of " Montorio," its eecood title, that of the "Fatal Eevange," havii^. been added by the bookaellor, as mere attractive. This waa of the SadcUffe school, but certainly not mere iiiiit»tioD i and though now lying, perohanee neglected, on die ehekeB of some Teiy old circulating library, it has been reputed one of the best of laa productiooB, and proeurad him the intimacy and friendship of Sir Walter Scott. At Loughrea he was on inmate for some, time of the castle of the O'Hores, the lineal deseendanls of the old Irigix kings of that district. I hare often heu:d him apeak with, delight of ^t ancient stmcture, and the lyish hospitality he there £i^pyed and mtnessed. He was an enthusiastic lover of antiquity, and had a strange passion for exploring old and desolate houses ; iq st> much BO, that when I have bean walkmg with bim through some decayed parts of the city, if any house particularly attraoted him, about which be imagined some history to attach, or fanoied.it had au air of mystery, be would knock at the door, and find some ezcuae for examining tbo interior.
Mr. Maturin's father holding, a high situation in the Irish post- office, and taking a prominent position in some of the public insti- tutions of the city, his son was soon appointed to the curacy of St. Peter, thetpariBb; in. which he. was resident, — a parish, the first in the city, of ^eai. extent, andcontainmg mpat of the wealth, rank, imd talent of the metropolis. At this time be married a very Amiable and acoomplished perstMi, and increased bis income by taking college pnpib. Though panotoal and> irreproachable in the performance of his ministerial duties, yet, partly from his peculiar j^enius and pursuits, and partly hecauae at that period, perhaps, there was not such a stirring of life among the <Jergy, it does not aj^pear that he teak any prominent part among his brethren, Ot flought for promotion by such conduct ; — he did his duty, but neyer overstepped it. He . was iviiversaiiy beloved by the parishioners, who were proud of baring a man of such ttdenCa in their pulpit, and .attracted by the amenity of bis manners : and, though the m(re religious lamented what they conMdered the false direction of those talents, and others reprehended or ridiculed hia attach- ment to puldio amusementa, his eccentric dress, and his pasuon for dancing, yet his gaiety of manner, fascinatiug conversation, and bis gentle, good-natured disposition, disarmed even prudent censure of its bitterness, and often converted blame to admiration.
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His- sirmoiiBr thongb pleMkig and profitable, were lu^ remark- aUe' fv tuijr' devfr. eopoaitions of thedogy ; nor could.itbe said, JB gmKoi, tbat he displayed anything of pulpit oratwj:; but <me Mt cS sennoDB, ^ich be afterwards published with, great ssQcesfi, deacTTB in this instance to be made an- exception.
Hii method of coiDpMiiton was peculiar, and calculated to hare t^ pregudMudeffODt-itreventualty had upon hia health. He never wrote durmg: the day, the moraing being- occupied by domertic &rrangeii»nt« or tbe datiea of hia cure ; the aftwnoonB ha devoted to long, romontioirsniblM, in n4ich I had oonatontly the gratifioa- tioa of being his companion. Fond of nature at sH times and undw ^ fdl aipeeta, hia dating aeaaon was autumn, aa I believe it ia to moit tltooghtinl minds. There was in- him a Btrange vacillatjoo of temperament between' gaiety and gloom, and in our rambke along the beauti&l'aoeoary, ao well known to the tourist, of Lucan and Leizlip, to the etadl mountain- hid den fountain-head that gires birth to the waters. of the Liffej, I hav« known him ke^ contnued silence, and seem"peTfeetly abUraoted fromevcrirthing iwnind him, and' then: Boddenly break out into esme expreasianof boyith- Am, repaatr wit^ his fi^ sonorous voioe, some favDnrite pWiaa,or8Bk myopimon, suoh as it was, upoB-some point of critidem. Bttod he looked up at aa yon gaae upon an eagle ; but he loved Siott in his heart, and stodied Crabhe as a pointer whose graphic BbitobeB-funiiBbed Tiim with many sn extract to entert^n ns widi on our' eicnrsions. Another favourite of his was Roggt ^ose ballad of "Bonny Kihnony" he had by heart. A most agreeable compaiih>n, hewaa not^ however, possessed of first-^ate conversa- tioaal powers ; he picked for yon t^ sparkles on the surface witJi rapid and'choice seWtiimi but he never led yeu down from deplh to depth, and' thr<ragh>ctH<eni on«averD) ^ giant of the mine of thou^t, like- Coleridge (whom, en parenihese, he disliked for a men^esB aUaek on Ue tn^edy, which the ill success of the "^ Remorse" had Incited ; asd he had prepared a retaliation in th« pages of " Colbum's Magazine," which I read in manuscript — a reTiewof"Chrintah^"—£ut-wbich I do not remember to have seen pni^^ed) : he waa-tbe jdeasing improvisatore, hut not the divine sybiL On this acMnat itis impossible to relate nny of his particular MntimentaorconrenntionB. The only one that was fixed in my mind, was'hu onoe arguing that suicide was not positively and expressly con- deonted m auypassage of Scripture, and declaring, that heoonceivod to pass away from the sorrows of earth to the xiBaee of eternity, K 2
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by repoung on a bed of eutern poppy flowers, where sleep is death, would be the moet enviable mode of earthly exit ; hut this he uttered altogether as a doctrine of opinion, and not of purpose. Ketuniing late iu the evening, it was then after a slight refresh- ment that hia literary task commenced, and I have remained wiA him repeatedly, looking over Home of his loose manuscripts, till three in the morning, while he was composing hia wild romance of "Mel- moth." Moderate, and indeed abstemious in his appetites, human nature, and the over-husy and worked intellect, required support and stimulus, and brandy-and- water supplied to him the excitement that opium yields to others ; but it had no intoxicating effect on him : it< action was, if posuble, more strange, and indeed terrible to nitness. His mind travelling in the dark regions of romance, seemed alto- gether to have deserted the body, and left behind a mere physical organism ; hia long pale face acquired the appearance of a cast taken from the face of a dead body ; and his largo prominent eyea took a glassy look ; so that when, at that witching hour, he suddenly, with- out speaking, raised himself, and extended a thin and bony hand, to grasp the silver branch with which he lighted me down sttuTB, I have often started, and gazed on him as a spectral illusion of hts own creation. Thia severe labour, continued at night without inter- mission during the composition of a, work, waa occasionally relieved by the enjoyment of music, of which he was devotedly foud ; his wife was one of the first, if not the first private anger in the me- tropolis, and he took care that her natural abihties should be improved under the best teachers ; he was a good theorist in music, accompanied well, hut had no voice himself. I remember these hours especially with regret ; he was indeed a lover of muaic, and not the mere affected /anatico of an art ; and the silvery strain of the simple ballad, or the bold and intervolved harmony of the con- certed piece or bravura, alike served to gratify his taste or open the depths of his feelings. Another tielassement waa attending the weekly re-unions at Lady Morgan's, while she yet ret^ned her resi- dence in Kildave -street.
I have already hinted at hia personal eccentricity, and I shall now describe him a httle more particularly,— not for the sake of ridicule, which did not attach to him, but that I may present B graphic picture of his appearance ! — tall, thin, pale, with a pen- sive expression ; large, full, but lightless eye ; a graceful figure j his drcsa, not merely on thoae country rambles, hut walking the Ktreeta, attracted general atiention, but the peop'e knew it waa
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Uftturin, nnd he passed iritbout molestation ; a large brown roc|ue- laure, with a long capo, which nearly hung to his feet, and wmch be held closelj round bis person— its colour bad once been dark -browD, but it had changed oy time to that of high toaat anuff^ his nether limbs were cased in old black weh pantaloons, a style that had once been fashionable ; his long feet, thus looking longer, were cased in well-worn shoes ; his email hat was twisted into all possible ahapes, brown and napless, and coYered with ragged crape ; his small wig scarce gave a stray lock to cover bis high and intel- lectual temples ; — such was the strange figure that presented itself to citizens and strangers ; hut still, the one could perceive that be was a perfect gentleman, neither decayed nor mad, while others only looked, smiled, and said, " There goes Maturin." The con- trast tliat be presented somelimes to this was equally strange. I have seen him dressed in cAnary-colonred shapes, and black frock of most fashionable cut, scarcely reaching to his knees ; — these trivial variations from custom or propriety, were very leniently r^srded in general ; some might laugh at him, hut he waa loved by all.
For many years he had enjoyed epistolary intimacy with Sir Walter Scott, and had received soTera! invitations to Abhottsford. It is to be regretted he could not accept them ; in many ways they would have proved beneficial to him. 1 have seen many of Sir Walter's letters, which were models in their way, and, like him- self, kind, simple, Bennble, and homely. Maturin from the first knew him to be the author of " The Waverley Novels," from a letter which he received shortly after the publication of one of them, containing a peculiar Scotch proverb which Sir Walter hod put into the moudi of one of his characters — " We keep our own fiah-guts for our own sea-maws." On Sir Walter's visit to Dublin, he had anticipated the pleasure of meeting Maturin. Alas I he had only the sad consolation of paying a visit of condolence to his widow, and gasing on his porb'iut in crayons, copied after his death from a portrait which ap-
Kared in one of the numbers of " Colbum's Magazine." A cast d been taken, but post-mortem hkenesscs are never true ; it appeared for a time in the shop of a Dublin bookseller, but was never executed in. morhle. The affectionate interest that Sir Walter took in him may he judged fr^m the fact, that bis rude desk, at Marsh's Ubrary, which had been constructed by himself, attracted his attention as an interesting relic.
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134 SHE KftHB'VABD Bonn).
It WAS the intontion of Sir W^ter SoMt to bave edited his woi%8, and irritten hja life, and he ^tplied to his fsmilj to collect materia for the purpose. His own unfortniiate fiulnfe, utd the {atal neceBEstj' entailed on him of undartakiDg the noblest, greatest teak thnt ever devolved on intelleotuat man, of paying, st the ciwe of a distinguished life of artexampled euc«A», Ae debt that had felten on him, like dark clouds obacoriag tbe mnsbiDe, bj the labours of declining age, alone pre<rwit«d bim. 3uch an act 'On the part of Sir Walter irould at once have put a stamp upon tbe fiune of Maturin ; he irould not thee baro been recolleot«d merdj in the green-room as an author who had brought money into the treasury, or in the circulating libraries as having fumi^ed a Ant runances, noir searcel; read, to their dielres ; but he would faa*« been elerated to the position he really deeemd to hold, that of one of Irelimd's distinguished authors ; and ibis brief memory tf an tyniable and accomplished man would bava been bappily useless.
THE KOME-WARD BOUND.
BY PAUL BELL.
The Dog that is idleianercr tired of rumiag. — The Ufa of tlie' St«rk ymma in crfiD^*''fofc, lot."
ZuBxiiH FaoTaaas. A NEiaHBOVBHOOi) iuto which I was drtnrn by bunncEs, not many weeks unee, bad, just before my aniral, been tfarowniuto fits by an occurrence, now-a-days so oddly oonunou, that I should not lancy it worth narrating, lare for certain Cftusiderations presott- ing thenselires, which can hardly be repeated, too iieqaendy.
Xhe Padgetts of Fash Gate bad, for tlu«e;parta of a centmy, been a couaideraUe family in its genatntion ; peraena of sope- riurity-aud taste ; and who spent their lires in giving inog^ant trouble to* all in anywise dependent upon tham — 4iwv by inatrus- tion, now by interference. If you want to benefit the poor, it is not' by the sedatire of bnttoa^i^dii^, ^anymoro than by the fti- mulant of curry pomier ! I am. apt (perhapB 'tie -a fault ofn^ impalieat temper) tomiBtmct the beneridtnee.of bores. I have seen tbe heart- aokness of t^e «orrowM axaapenited into positiTC loatbiDg by the sympathy «f wliat the quaint tdd divine caSed "teiei-ful talkers." Now, ^eBadgetta bdi^FediB.amoBoptdyof
HD. 135
patent hAppineu, aa siuiiifiKtuT«d by thHosclTea ; of 4ereral quali- ties : — coorae comfort for the Crockery of the «arth, and beauti- fiJiy fine pleasurea for the use of the Porcelain — which with tham meant the intellectoal (for, to do them justice, they were not lorers of Ifammon). They were impulsive pe<^Ie — charmingly enthunastic ; and talked. . . . Verily, to hear a Fadgett talk was, indeed, " a Practical Treatise on the Use of the Tongue." One — it was a favourite family anecdote— had abeolutely, during a chance encounter with King George the Third in Wintlsor Park, by a display of his volubility, puzzled to silence that "Hydra, the curioeity of Miss Bumey's"' Good King!" Another (this tale was somewhat more apociyphal), had convinced a Methodist preacher out of his pulpit in the Tabernacle at the end of Faih Lane ; and shut up that nursery of deleterious doctrine. The eloquence of Mrs. Fadgett the first had been largely expended at auctions (in tboBC days a lady's favourite haunt), in depreciating the toys and trifies she subsequently meant to buy. Her boss had travelled : and told their travels in a stream of narration " like Kedron in flood," till the neighbourhood flod before them. Still this family of oppressors passed for pleasant, accomplished, and " a real blessing to the county." The ladies kept schools — and taught them, one Cestor on the Pestalozzian principle : then after the pattern of Mr. Harmony Rapp's,- — lastly, changed their syetemB at once into a sort of mosuc, " comhiniog," as they averred, " the best features of the colonies at !Fredericksoord and Mr. Combe's luckless experiment at Orbiston." The mole Fadgelts superin- tended buildings, sacred and secular ; and were glib and confident about Gothic windows, Palladian attics, Byzantine arches, roeoco facades, and Tudor chimneys ; till, bewildered by so many fine words and unsettled principles, one country architect, on whom these disseminators of new ideas had no mercy, broke down — absolutely lost his wits, — took to the draw-well,— and deceased. The Padgetts led the talk, as they led the taste of their neigh- hours ; and briefly, in my poor judgment, were as heavy a scourge to a parish, as the worst enemy to country sociability and country simplicity could have bespoken. Defend us all from originators without originality !
I could never dnter Tash Gate — the family are for^tiff connexions of my Mrs. Bell's — without being reminded of one of those honses-in a harlequinade, which begin with a row of trim flower-pots in a neatly-curtiuned window ; continue into a blacksmitVa shop»
19S TBS BOUE-WABD BOtrVD.
with ft roaring fire, a riogiag anvil, and a kicking hone ; and end in a iraterfaU, with " the Genii of the Amethyst Torrent itporting in the Waters of Delight," (aa the gentleman who makca out the bills for the pantomimea iauaed to describe such a aeene). When I first knew the mansion, it was sufi'ering under an eruption of China-monsterism. There were bowls in the hall, enough for half a hundred Punches to play with — sly little teapots huddled together by tens on shelves above the back stairs — a plague of pUtters and dishes in the spare-rooms, — and Bonzes and pagodas, blue dragons, green parrots, and devils of every " fancy mixture" in "my lady's chamber." The temple of Hum himself coald not have been fuller of curiosities ! Ten years later found the first Mrs. Fadgett with FalstafT, in " Arthur's bosom." The hurricane of innovation passed over her borders of Nankin and clean swept her provinces of the Willow Pattern. The new people were fired with classical enthusiasm : and so they crammed eagles and pateras, tripods and triglyphs, and fasces and bulls' heads, and hjisk-garlands, and shields, and naked Pagan images, into every hole and comer they possessed : raved about the Greek idetu and the Ionic volute and the Parthenon. Flun Nancy was poetised into Anna Comnena, and Abel was turned into Hadrian. It was all " taste" with them; and the poor, plain, country neigh- bours were stuffed with Stuart and Eustace, asd Forsyth, and Hope, and Winckelmann, till ono or two openly, and more in secret, longed for old Madam Fadgett, with her tea and muffins and her long whist — " cracked " though they hod considered her, while she was a living woman, by the intensity of her passion of amass- ing old china.
But the Grecian fashion went by ; pure dilettantism came to a discount ; as a useless thing which did not feed the souls of those who embroced it as a pursuit ; and the world not having as yet generally began to recognise the necessity of the privileged classes occupying themselves with the temporal wants and sorrows of the poor, Miss Anno Fadgett dechned succeeding to the style and title of Anna Comnena, and betook herselfto" low Church " excitcmc&t, as her speciahty. She would be a beacon to her generation ; and accordingly began by making the house so intolerable to her sisters, that one solaced herself with a French dancing-master (and is now living, his widow, on a competence at Perpignan), while the other, after a few years' recourse to those comforts yclept " drops," by the gentlewomen partaking thereof, — herself dro[^)ed rather tot-
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THE EOHE-WAIU) BOCHD. 137
lerini^; iuto the familf ranlt, on the door of wiaeh her name is ei^jaTen, and a rhyme to her memorj', as "a cropped lily ! " These vicissitudes, however, were of small conseqnence to tho sealoos lady ; seeing that Miss Fadgett's brother, the head of the house, was rtgenerated (I am not oaswerable for the irreverence of the verb] hy her means. So down went the clasucal tmmpery ; away were sent the Pagan gods and goddeases ; the pantries were cleared of the pateras ; there was never a tripod left in " hall or bower " for Pythoness to preach from. The fine classical library was carted up to London, to iJie care of Messrs. Payne and Foss, and withont " stop, let, or hindrance," every man, woman, and child belonging to Fash Gate and its dependencies, was to be Simeonized into a patent righteousness, whether he would or not — nay, nor of Fash Oate only, but of the whole wicked county : for Zeal was afoot; and who. Bare the e/celera,eiMtera, (you'll excuse the favourite texts, I hope, sir ; but I cannot bear quoting Bible words like so much jargon,) would slumber or steep in such a cause, save he wished to keep on terms with Perdition ?
0 weary, weary people ! thus to perplex and " harry," as the Scotch Bay, and sit in judgment upon the boey inhabitants of one of the sweetest neighbourhoods in England. Fash Gate lies on tho
edge of the shire hills ; and within sight of the Hall, where
Baadera were practiuog their lungs, and fancy-fair-moogers cbris- ttanising all manner of pen-wipers and pincushions for the good of Hindoo Yogees, and the starvation of wt^il widows and scanty old maids at home, — there stood on the riung ground, behind the score of neat white cottages that made up the village, as beautifiil a me- morial of the ancient times as I recollect. An arch, a buttress— a fragment of a cruci6z, and a tomb with a recumbent effigy belong- ing to an old priory, stood — happily shall I say ? — just beyond tho verge of the domain of the Incessant family. Had it been on their property, Padgett zeat must have been stronger than Padgett pride. Down must have come that neat of Evil ; and one <^ the Patent Cast-iron Chapel Company's erections have perked up its head on the identical spot, ere Uie world was three weeks ddcr. And there would have been a cast-iron Preacher too, capitally loaded to the muzsle with orthodox thunder ; a batch of saeh steam engines being always kept hot and ready for use, at Fash Gate. -But, alas for man's indifference, and the impenetrability of woman ! these offensive scraps of Papistrie belonged to a si<^y old lady, who lived somewhere in the South, and though she never vaw them.
IBS THE ROSB-TfAID) ^Oms.
wmdd nerer Bel!fhem ; "least of all, "said the cliarital>legi>-be*freon, Tflfwlved to lose do opportunity of bringing aboot good undentanding among neighbonra by telling the whole troth "to a parcel of ranting Vethodiate ! " I nnut add, that in retnra forthase opprobnons namea, ■&e lodj 1TKS Tiaited by four letters at the least erery month, ac- quainting her with the preciae hot-hearth which was reaerved for her in a place I wonld rather not mention; — and which she would ocenj^ at no very distant period. Mrs. Bell ia at my shotilder, telling me I have already jeered too much at good things. I don't mean it: and she knows, ns I tell her, what came of all this tmmiltuouswort, TheTadgett fancy spread : and the people of the neighbouriioed began to wateh each other poUoe-wise, One-pretty woiminwas tabooed as " unsafe," because she- would not c(»ifioe herself, while sin^g Moore,* to Moore's " SacrddMelodies." — One Aenmatio old gentleman — a steady cbarch-goer — was de- nounced as " a aabbath-breaker," because he continoed to put Dapple into his one-horae-ehaise ; whereas the Fadgetts, a wiiy tough pair, who had never known a day's illness, walked to church. They -wonied tiie pacifie old Rector into taking a curate, who was pramised to be a second edition of Mr, " Satan" Montgomery, handramer, more 'flowery — more in earnest 1 — Yn&t additions and adaptations suitable to ihe country. And -then they worried the curate, beoanse his Mm prored to be not pre- cisely their hm, and because he had jnst senae enough to object to' Miss ¥'adgett singing -the Parables- aet by hMself to airs from " La Qazza Ladra" in &e Infant Schools. And the bro- ther wrote high and mighty letters, and the Eeverend toIu- minons replies ; and it fell out that at laat, the -whole creditable correspondence was printed in " The Meddler " for the comfort of those who were thirsting after truth, and burning to teach
" "Fact," (aa Miss ' EtoworUi xaei to say in the notes to her noTds). By the way, a daased catalBgae of things admknUe and inacbiiiBdble,witfa their AoMati (as bottniMBkHfB^it), ia mnted for the use of the Junid and thoee dosinHu of " gettiog od.-' — One- would IUlo to kasw, for iastaa«. how Mademoiselle Ddjazct met the request of the very Great, l^y ; who, d
of seeing the Pearl Of thePiiijit Boycrfaet, whilo in London, sent an embassy to her, beggiitg'lo be inftmned on what emning ilie would play'lier''iant imfir^ia'iAaraeteri/" — One wvald be ^nl to iatWi tbe jduksopby of the ie at tea with oae of hi - jjiEant discipline, a4ke< if the D when tbay'^
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impr^tenAaraeleril" — One wvald be ^nl to iatlunn Ike jduksopby ol buning of the Sunday achool'iaistnsa, who, while at tea with oae of her own profeflsion, after discuBsiog divers matters of inEant diseipline, asked,
" Do you make your children curtsey at the name of the D when thayVe
reading T— I always do mme. IT'B aiFERI"
TB£ Bei»'iriK> SOIMS. 189
jmoft and gsodwQI by dimb foree! The VadgeMs had grabbed op the May-pole on Pash GateGreen, n^Mi'had kept its ataadinf; thuDiigh the reigD of Ohina-monflterinn and danrical deganee : — to set ap in its etead the Pfllory and the Stake.
Well, it 18 not always the wiry and tough -who hold ottt the longest ; BtiUleBB those "who bare never hod a day's iUnees/'^at liye to tell what Iteeomes of rheumatic old gentlemen whw drive -gigs oa Sundays, when "they drive no more on this side of the grare." The Fa^etts were people pretty sore to wear themaelvea out (though I have known some gifted with pn^nBitiea like theirg, live to a spectral age, breeding confusion to ti»e very last). A fit of righteous indignation into which Mr. F. waa thrown, " on the breaking ont," aa he c^ed it, of the Mathew Temperance fiuiattcism, hastened his end. He died, and his warnings were printed in a book, and himself canonized. The sister died, too, — Bony, it would seem, for having been ao violent during her life, OBCe the Hererend of her nomination was'wontto avoid the snb- jnt of her last moments, with as awful a brow uid as heavy a sigh, as if hers had been a ease of rank 'ism. Por some years my rombdidnet leadnenear Faah Gate ; indeed, while in the ocatip«li«n of its last^Hnned inhabitinitB, thne was amall conifert in entering its walls, vnless one had an appetite for "-Mt>rmng FortioH,' at bpeakfast ; " Wgrda-inBiMua," at hiach ; Drrini^ sauced not with love-apples, but wHh peppery puhiaiea,fordiiiM]i ; tracts at tea ; and so forth ; and was ahje to say "Tes," and Bpeak amies of the Pope in the Tight |daces. So tar from this ; with me, such pei^ile palsy every good thought and good wmd I ean eomaiMid at the best of times. Theirwaysare immode8t,'to B^ the least. Bat not hwg since, being c^led uponto extend ' a journey, 'methonght I would make'a eirenit of a few miles, jnst ta see how the eld place -was looking ; and the woods where I had so often gone bird-nesting, when Mrs. China Padgett was Lady of the'.MiuiDr.
No railways con go neartho'eGtate, it. lies so high amoi^ the hSls, BO I had no idea of finding the outward aspect of matters in anywise changed. The trees seemed grown toUer, and theroads noFTUwer ; timbwaaall ; and the Hall made a poorer figure t^an I had fancied ; even though Progress had laid bis strange faaads on the old pot-hottse, wliicb med to stand near tbo avenue gates, had fiwad itsfrmt with stone, had broken out at its side two Tudor oriels, arid oonrerted the dingy old BlaetcKanrwHchnsedtO' creak as hBrriity'«n a windy-night asthongbthe sign had been the Old
IM THE BOUE-WABD BOttND.
BlMk Raven, into Cflt jFa^gate atms. There woa some motto over the door, which I could not read ; but I had heard that now- a-days an inscription is thought nothing of, if the passer-hj (en make it out. So I ireot in at once, and called for a glass of Fash Gate ale, hoping — since the day was cold — that, among the other " choppinga and changings" which that unlucky place had seen, the Brewery had at least been spared. For though the world goes round, and John Bull must go with it, I am not so sure ahout John Barleycorn— I mean as to the making of ale ; for I would not be thought to hold with the " stand-still slarralionert," as a friend of mine designates that very select society, more generally called by the Post " The Country Party."
While mine host and a young, civil man, with a face strange to me, was away fetching the liquor, I went to a window, which looked across the park, for I was in a humour — the liveliest of na has such fits — to catch a sight of the rums among the leafless winter treoB. Kuins, bless you ! I stood fixed by what I beheld ; and it waa a good moment ere I could exclaim, "Why thoae Fadgetts have been at it again ! What 's all this ? "
The ruins were gone. Gone the old arch and its waving ivy ; and even the crucifix, which any one who did not know it might have mistaken, from a distance, for the stump of a tree ; and in their place, something so newly old and so anciently new [ For a moment the thing puzzled me.- It could not be an alms-house ; for fewer pinnacles would have served, and there would have been no need of that large window on which the sun was playing bo plea- santly ; — nor a eliurch, for churches are not grown round with low buildings, like bams, inasmuch as they have few windows, yet not like barns, because of a row of gilt crosses on the roof. Everyone will have guessed already what it was ; — ^new as the idea was to me who was thinking no, harm. Shade of the Low-Frotestant Miss Fadgett, with her tracts and her Readers, her Tabemacle-tunes and her account-books posted up of other people's merits and pecca- dilloes ! A spick-and-span-new Monastery I
" Here *b your ale, sir," said the Boniface, with a rueful smile, OS he jogged my elbow to attract my attention ; " we 're all qiuet- like, down here, to-day. Uy folk and the rest ore up at Fash Gate town End to look at de show."
" The show ! Is there a wedding, then — or a funeral ?"
" Bless you, sir ! There 's no one to be married worth seeing Bin' our Sqnire brought home his lady five years ago. It 's the new bnildmg they are for handselling j and the; *re fvt their
THE BOUE-WARD BODHD. 141
Bialiop, as they call it, down trtua Tork, and a prooeBsion, and flags, like oora od club-days used to be before Uiss Padgett made such a rout over 'em. Well, to be sure, and she was as hard as ever a Pope or Pagan of the lot ! But what would she say if she were alive now, I wonder? I tell my Missis, she 11 get up and walk ; fetched oat of her grave by these Roman doings !"
" But the Priory yonder is not on tfie Fash Gate property ?"
" Yes, but it be, sir, begging pardon j the Squire boaght it, Mr, the year he was married; and they're been as busy as bees among 'em ever since. Never was a Padgett but he was fantas- tical ; and I have a right to speak. Mayhap, sir, you did not know they had all turned, root and branch V
"Turned?" said I, bewildered.
With that the landlord took down from the wall "a picture," as he called it, being a framed inscription, in black letter with embla- loned borders, and a gentleman and lady with wings and gold plates round their heads, and no shadows on their faces, like Queen Bess, keeping ward at each comer.
"Can ye read that?" s«ud mine host; "it's not every one as can."
The " picture " told that, on the ere of a certtun Saint (name omitted here, ss too personal), " George Gregory Fadgett, his \rife, their two children, Augustin and Barbara, and their entire household, had entered the Holy Roman Catholic community."
" And their entire household I " mused I, half aloud.
" Ay, belike," was the comment, " That 's the Fadgett way ! No pleasing the Squire else ; and the people at the Hidl had had enough of Mr. and Miss Padgett and their psalm-singers. But, for aught I can see, — I don't say so much to my Missis, though,— Tone was as peremptory as the other ; six and half-a-dozen, tai : I dare say you know the family. They were always a 'cute Bet, and very rhaptodictd ! Another glass, sir ? The gig 'a at the door."
" Well," thought I, as I drove away, catching as I crept up the hill something like a nasal chaunt, and too much put out with this new Padgett foppery to have the heart to stay and see " the show," or to attack Uie Hall, hod that been suitable on a day of Bueh high solemnity — " that fellow is no fool. It Joea run in the blood. First China, then Greece, now Rome. The F.adgetts must hare their toys. And the last, who would have fainted at the very name of a Catholic, kim as peremptory in following her own Pope, as any of them. What next, I wonder ?"
HIS .MajEsrr iihe- public.
The Britiali OoDBdtutiou .re«io|piis«.t«i> Eiagsat AnnSi; The railwajrii have their king. The regal.tttle, tiieiefwe, msj'be ascribed to uiother than the aetual- prince, without io&higgmettb of tlie royal ptero^^dKe ; and we. pretaat that in epeiJuafj; ot the FdUic as hiH-MsjeE^, we meditate and compasa no aState wbat erer against our Sorareign: Ladj the Queen, hoc- caomi; ajul dignity. Need we be more explicit'? Well then. Hia-jfajeaty the Publlo laya no claim., to the royal anne. The lioK and the unlcoroaienoneiofhiB'Cattls ; aad tJiough big toaxiBi oectoiuly ia •'Dieuet man Z}roii,"ha does uat uaurpit for his heraIdia-mott4L Neither doea he pretend to. the crown, ball, and soeptee -, but acknowledges the property of those goods and dudtek to belav- fiillj Tested in tbe hands of thw~preBent possaBSor ; and-.to'tho wish that she may long wear and hold tbeni, he is ready to re^sd "Amen ! " Fjirtlier, he reDOtnices all and. every piBtmaien to &st fhiitat deodooda, waifsr estiajs, eacheata, treaawre-bnTC, flotsam and jetsam. Hsris.a.kiug, throneleas, crownieaB, eeeptra- lesB, without. a cooit,. yet Jtot without courtiera. Howevar, he is untended by any lords and ladtee.in wai^g, gc^d sticks, s3ver BtickB,-grooBis <^ dw stole, chamberluns, gentlemfin pensioners, and.bed'-eatfire ; and Us. only maids of honour are those he buys at Richmond. Last,, and.not I^at, so fv frma levying tax«s, all be bu to do wi^them.ia to p^ them.
Yet His Majesty, the .Fuhlie-ia, doubtlesSi one of the mightieet moQarcbs in^ the wodd., Hia dominion and. authoii^ have, beeo acquired, compaaitiTely, quit«.of late. Poraa.many as a thaasaad years, they were extremely limited : indeed for many ceotunea it was hardly ^ipaient that Utete was eiicb a. persen, nMch less hing, in . eiistence. Hia personal and naboral rights, to say nothing o£ his will and. pleaasre, 'nera oevei consulted ; aitd it may be said thatlie passed the oarlier ages of bis life in. slavery. It wiE be aeea that His-UECjestyis a rery ancient monaiK^; .^d it isprobablatiiat bdirillcontiiuia tareigntiUdoiHaBday ; of him, thenraoFe, it may be literiUly auarted, that the kmg n»T« dies.
So neariy aMotiitaukpotantota is BisMajsrty ti» Fxd)&t, that
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Hia lUJXaTI TIDl PUBUC. 143
his will maynow almost be dsdared to be lav. It ia true that Ids mmdatn cosnot be. alirayaoarried into efiect immediately, but sooDer or later they are eaia to be obeyed. Foe euumla, whan he: cbct^ed the refWRl of the Coi^oratiim and Test Acts, the Abolition of SlaTery, Catholic Emancipation, the Reform £ill,.and the .mitigation of thecaminal. coda, he-iencountored Tioleat oppo- sition, and tluB continued a long time ; but at length his ordi- nauces were complied with.. He commasded, some-time ^p, that the Cem-Lawe should. be. done aw&y with, and the.FabelUon nbioh wat rused agmnst this daeree is-subaiding.; sod tibe measure, as we.aee, is on the paint of being, carried. 5a bas.also decided that the Oave-Linrs shall be abolidied. that the Poot^Law shall be amended,, that Iii^riaonment for Debt shail be put as end to, that the laW'Sball be refonned, that the houis of labour in. faotories shall be' sbortenadr that perfect liberty of conscience sh^ be established, and that many other improvements shall be made in legislation ; and^soonar or later all these things will be done.
The means by which His Majesty the Public enfor«e8 snbmisBioii to his authority are not those adopted by the genettt&y of auto- crats. Ha has no recourse to muskets, swords, bayenete, axes, . tukd gibbets. He does not «all out the militia, or the yeomwuiy aa¥alrj, or even the poue eomitatus, for the purpose of co^vion. He.C0Btenta himself w^ deuring bis subjects to do his bidding, or tti.take the consequences ; wbicb are sure to follow in the event of ncn-oompliance. It always proves dangerous to sl^hb Hii Ui^ss^'s opinion.
His Majesty the Fnblic has of late discovered a new and very pleasant method of controlling afiairs. Jupiter, it was said of oldr gwened aU things with his nod.. His Majesty has found that he can. exert a like influence by his laugh. When the Thunderer sboidi- bis curia, Olympus trembled ; nor witb. leas eSect does His M^eety the Fi^lic shake his udes. There is a laige.clasa of gentry who are beginning to find this out to their cost Keverend and Right Reverend preachers of evangelical povet^, themselves overpaid ; shuffling, statesmen, foolish juttjees, and that not inoontideraUe the dishoneet and knavish portion of the bar, feel duly, to their increasing discomfiture, that he u lou^liug at them. Inthesame predicamaitace.aU ^e varieties f^ the quack,, from the political .-tieuntebauk. V> the nostrum- vender. RetoUere of dap-trap enthesiasm, who, on behalf of ssme downed abuse, axe pMpetually innokiug.the " British Lion," and caUing .on.their partisans to " noil their cokmrs to the nuMt,"
Coofjic
144 HIS MAJEBTI THB PDBLIC.
"rally round the altar and tbe throne," and so forth, are in course of annihilation beneath his high derision. And what Trill become of state ceremony — of pomp and parade, of stars, garters, and liTeries? — for on all these things His Majesty has fixed his broad grin.
His Uajesty the Public has yet another instrument of authority — ^he is the great paymaster ; and has only to loose or draw his purse-stringa to have his way. Once upon a time, croivned heads could conclude peace or make war as it pleaded them, without any reference to his wishes or. convenience. It is now, however, necessary, on such matters, to consult him. A government could scarcely undertake an enterprise in these days, without his cod- eurrence. He needs only resolutely to button his pockets to put an effectual veto on any auch project. Truth to say, in his capacity of paymaster, his power is almost despotic. The state- coach could scarcely move unless he found oil Kir its wheels ; — t^ state ball could hardly take phice if he did not pay the piper. And it is in this character that his excellent Majesty performs one of the noblest duties of a sovereign.
His Majesty the Public is the chief promoter of all useful inven- tions, of literature, and the fine arts. In ancient times, a Virgil required a Miecenas. Less than a century ago, scarcely a book was published without a fulsome dedication, to a nobleman ; and almost within the memory of roan Johnson wtuted in the lobby of Chesterfield. This state of thiogs is no more. His Majesty the Public is now the great patron. Other princes may bestow their small pension upon the poot ; he enriches him with a handsome maintenance. They may dispense their hundreds ; he grants his thousands and tens of thousands. In the main, too. His Uajesty possesses a decent taste. He allows the writer a free scope ; he encourages the artist worthily to employ his pencil. He does not condemn the painter of genius to depict puppies and mackaws. He is the best, if not the only, friend of the dramatist and musician. He exacts no adulation ; requires no dancing attendance. There is no backstairs way to his favour. No intrigues are necessary ; no pages, equerries, confidantes, ladies in waiting, need be propi- tiated by his suitor ! One must, indeed, now and then, defer somewhat to the prejudices of His Majesty ; bat nobody is obliged to be a slave to them ; and i' will be found, generally, that tho best way to please him, is to p'ease one's self Nor is the successful author, punter, compos: r, a mere humble dependant on His Majesty the PvbHc. Hi is one whom that worthy monarch
THE LABOIIRERS' OXTHEBIHO. 145
delighteth to honour, &nd that even more th&n as his equal. Hei therefore, is the wisest of courtiers who devotes himself to iJie ser- Tice of His Majeetj the Publio. His Uajesty b the true disoemer and reirorder of merit ; he ia a sovereign who has both the will and the power to render such service worth the while. See what be baa done for those who have toiled either for his adfoutage or amusement, &om the constructor of hit railways to his ballet- dancer or clown. Let all who would thrive and prosper strive to -deserve his good graces. Who does not venerate, who woold not ■cultivate this great and munificent monarch ? All honour, credit, and renown toJiim, Long life and happiness to His Majesty die Public ! P. L.
THE LABOURERS' GATHERING.
A DOUIBMOBATIOK OF THAT KI&B THE TILLAOB Of QOATACRB, WOOTTOB BAB8ETT, WILT8, ON THE 5tH JANUABr, 1846. . Tns moon is fitful ; now in Hhroads,
Now earth gleams dimly 'neatb her eye ; Palely she sails o'er billowy clouds
On the blue ocean of the eky. Are they Night's Ghosts now gathering By yon road-side beneath the moon 7 Some bony hands to tapers cling,
By which theii bag^rd looks are shown.
Their features tbo' we human style,
Spectral with famine have bei»»me. — > Shipwrecked are they on desert Isle 1
Or spendthrifts bare of food and home 1 — They stand upon their native soil,
Whose horn of plenty wide is strown ; Whose ships load ocean with the spoil
Of realms the sun ne'er sets upon. Th^ starving stand upon the land
Wroudit &utfnl by their hands alone ; Around uiem, halls made rich and grand
Bv them — who have for bread, a stone. Shall the producers have lAu share
Of the nch produce of tbeir toil ? Shall the cousnmers never bear
The labouTj yet devour the spoil ? iro. IIT. — ^VOL. m. L r- I
THE LASODB£HS O&TBEItlNO.
Behold tbe plight of men by whom
The Tights of property have birth ! What do their prior righu become,
Whose tjtrfie* give the toil its worth I They uk enough to house and feed,
From hood to mouth, their babes &ad. wives ; No hoard of all the wealth they breed,
For the weak age of toil- worn liTes.
This winter's Tught, by their lean forms
Their tattered wives and children throng ; They come from hnts which no fire warms,
To commniie over want and wrong. One feared, he cried, to eat the food
He 'd earned, lest he should starve for more : One 'Inong his children long had stood,
To pick one for the workhouse door.
Dark savages in circle dance
Around War's captives to their band. This honr that thro the ball ye glance,
Fair " curled darlii^s " of the land. Turn ye, light listening to Love's voice.
To theirs without, now crying — Bread ! Who gave the viands of your choice,
The robes ye wear, the halls ye tread !
Yet work with want 'mid sloth's supply,
Bids them no crime conspire ; endQad With eloquence is suffering's c^,
'Mid patient peace of fortitude. Dehumanised humanity
Is in their looks, not o'er their sonls:-^ But what must in their natures lie.
Whose will the &te of these coatiols t
Inheritors, from ages dark.
Of England's tillage and the sigh Of her ancestral peasautiy !
In yoQ ia kipdled tiratthe spark Of conscious right, of moral will.
And means true freedom to attain ; The rank of manhood among men ;
A human life for toil and skill : To be no more the aerfe of others,
To whom by birthright yon are brcthers. — This cry the senate and the land shall fill.
Frakcm Wob£Lbv.
THE WORTH OF STATESMANSHIP.
In free couatrieB statenneii ace the pttj^ieia of the people, tui the BttiiigB th&t more them grow from the grvrea of detd thinkera. Pq)iikr leaders, — Btanding forth for the milUoni, work the action, and bo goee on the mechanical shvtr of government.
The progression of mankind is thus, in an especial maaiier, the oue of two great dinsions of the race— original thinkers and popular leaders. The members of these classes are coDsequently entitled to ourmost earnest gratitude and highest respect ; norimut these feelings be denied to itateimm, though they a^ipear in no mate intellectual aspect tlian as mei« exeentors of the national will. But let them not calculate on being rated high in the minda of a really free and edacated people. The lore and admiration of such minds will be offered in th^ utmoet iotensitj to the great think- ers of humanity — to the few glorious exponents of the Dtrine Energy, who in the dim past appear in bright and nerer-fading lineaments, set up, each on his altar. To the leaders of the people— the manj instruments of these few instruments of God — they will offer the hearty good-will due to their indispensable and honour- able exertions. £ut to statesmen — to the inttrumtnU of in- »trwatent» of inatrumenU — what can they offer but the poor remains of thankfulness, already poured forth, nearly to exhana- tion, on those more worthy of it ?
Indeed the urgent necessity which is now experienced for popular leaders themeelTes — -men who act only as di&sers of the thoughts of great intellects, and as the media of communication between the people and the goTcnunent — is but a proof of the present low state of general^ intelligenoe, and of the very imperfect nature of the existing social system. In a rationally-constructed sorae^, made iq> of wise and good human beings, goTomment would be the business of erery man and of every woman, and would proceed from them not indirectly, through repretentativts, but directly, .by oounoil held amongst themselves. In such a phase of socie^ the divided action of which we have spoken would, in most cases, cease. The original thinker, the popular leader, and the states-
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148 ™e WORTft Of SIAIEBIUHSHIF.
msn iroQld be combined in one indtridoaL InteQigence and con- dition would be BO equal, and all suggOBted improTementB, if Tftloable, would ba lo rapidly adopted, that the great thinker Tould not only conceive the thought, but diffiise it, and carrj it out in practice.
Yea : we rejoice to hope that such will one daj be the social state. Not fir ener will the illastrious benefactors of the race, who stimulate it by new ideas, be treated when living as public enemies ! A time kUI come when, addressing a refined and intel- lectual people, they shall he estimated at their real worth, even though unburied — and shall not find their funeral a necessary preliminary to their fame. Whilst still young, and whilst the warm blood of vigoroua enterprise circulates tlirough them, they shall witness the acceptance of th^ views and the reenlts of their practical application, and feel nerved by the contemplsUon to fresh exertions. Aristocrats — by the natural law of aristo- cracy— they shall no longer depend upon the breath of a man of wealth, who depends upon the oreath of a man of birth ! ' For are we yet, though, from Utopia ! In this nineteenth century, man, though advanced beyond the ape, has not quite pro- gressed to the angel. Humbug in cIoth-oF-gold despises truth in tatters. Tact commands more than geniut in the market of the world. 'CtUenew is judged wiser than wisdom— inatmiveYi m reaping is better than sowing. Adam Smith merited praise- but Sir Robert has power.
How many have died in poverty and despair who, in death, have been the cause of stars, of ribbons, of titles, of salaries, to -men incapable of comprehending the principles to which they were destined to owe these eagerly-coreted distinctions, until they had become the current convictions of the ago ! The earnest devotion, inflicting upon an unfortunate author Interviews with hia enraged landlady, has fiinushed matter, years afterwards, to Cabinet Ministers for interviews with the Queen. A plain, much- ridiculed, mach-hated name, has given warrant to that which, uttered subsequently by another, has led to a patent of nobility. A scholar's garret has been the birth-place of thoughts which, in after-periods, have been the staple of business in a Downing-street office. The strange alchemy of time has transmuted into on- doubted gold for the small man, that which was looked upon as mere lead when laboriously dug forth by the great.
A. W.
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THE CONFESSIONS OP AN OLD PICTURE.
BY A SPEAKHtO LIKESSSS.
I WAS born in BernerVstreet. I recollect the day well when I came into the world. My master, a fine yonng fellow, with a long beard and dressing-gown, had been annoyed that Tory morning for lus week's rent. Hs was one of those deTil-care-a-bit-for- the-morrow geniuses, who lire one day on Champagne, and the Other six days of the week, have to come down to half-and-half, and not always that.
Unfortunately, the landlady demanded her claim on one of the Bmall-beer days. My poor master, whose last half-crown had been spent the same morning on a cab home, "regretted that he could not discharge the debt," mentioned something about a bill he had just taken up, and s^d he really had nothing in the world but a trifle he waa ashamed to offer for the sum he owed. The colour flew to my cheekB as he pointed to me. The landlady reviewed mo from my brutus to my waist — for I was only a half- length — *nd turning up her Jerusalem nose, talked about " that •Ort of thing being terribly overdone ;" but at last she looked at me in a new li^t, for, casting her calculating eyes round the naked walls of the room, she discovered, from a rapid iuTentory .■ she took of the furniture, that there was nothing half so valuable as myself ; for the whole of my master's property consisted of a boot-jack, a palette, a pot of bear's grease, and a Bailey's Eve, with the head knocked off. So I was basely sold for a matter of seven shillings rent, and sixpence boot-cleaning. I was earned down stairs under the landlady's dirty apron, and waa finely knocked about when I was introduced to my new master. He was in such a rage that he instantiy gave me a pair of black eyes, mud so belaboured me with his painting-brush, that he took every bit of colour out of my face. He then put a large horse-pistol into my hand, and, throwing a rough jacket over my shoulders, chris- tened me " A Bold Smuggler on the Look-out ; " though I must say my look-out at that time was a v«»t poor one, as my face was turned to the wall, and I had some eighl^-and-twenty Italian boySr
150 THE COSFESSIOXS OP AS OLD PICTDBE.
&nd ten more smugglers (eTeiy one of them on the looV-out), all leaDing fiolentlj against my back. I afterwarda ascertained tliat thej had all been bom in the same garret as mjself ; so, belonging to the same family, it was onlj right that as brothers we should rub tog^ier a little in the world.
Mj poor master, it aeems, used always to pay hia rent with an "ItaiianBoy," or a "Bandit," or a "Virgin;" and thewholegangof smugglers which infest half the drawing-rooms of England, was originally drawn and quartered in his back attic. His landlord, & regtilar old picture-dealer, was aware of his failing ; and, no doubt, wu wont to encourage it, aa the only coin that had passed between them for years, had been pictures. If he had a. preference it mm for portraits, as it was so ea^, he said, to find likenesses for them afterwards.
To retum,however,tomyown history. Ifound myself onemoming mnffled up in a ulk pocket-handkerchief, and conducted stestthily tO'sn auction-room in Bond-street, where, to my astonishment, I beard myself ccdled a Salvator B:6sa ; and.certatnly there was the name marked plainly enough in my robber's jacket. I assure you I began to have a very high opinion of mjself, as all of a sudden iny value had risen from seven shillings to a sum I will not Tmturetfl name, lest I should not be believed. How the auctioneer, too, prused me ! Not a feature about me escaped cnlogy. He ti^ed about the fire that beamed in my eyes, the rigour with iriuch my month had been thrown in, and directed pnblio attention to the fine woolly touch there was about my jacket, and, par- ticularly, about my hair. I almostblushedto hear myself pictured in each glowing colours ; but unce then I have bees used to it, and receive it ^ now with an unmoved countenance.
Well, I WBB knocked down for some hundreds to a retired tripe- merafaant. I was conducted home in a handsome carriage, and was provided with the place of h<»iour in my new master's man- sibn. Visitore came far and near to look at me. Bnt I did not long enjoy my elevated poaition. A bald-headed old gentleman, who took a sight at me for three long hours one day, through an iastmment something Uke an ear-trumpet, declared I ' was a "tiopj ! " and, considering I was taken from a Greenwich pen- sioner, who used to sit to my mastw for ninepence an hour and his beer, he was certainly very right. This opinion, however, bnnight me down in the world, for I was sold soon afCerwards to a Hr. Solomons for two Spanish Masters and an Barij
THE CONPESSIOHB OF AIT OLD FtCmilE, Iffl
Father. After this I WM carried to the hospitBl for decayed picttiT^ in Wardour-Btreet, where my frame tindenrent a complete renora^oD, I ynx next sent to the Weatmbuter oven, idier« artuttc bakings are earefiiUy attended to ; and I can asatire you when I was drawn out, I was what the French call a regular *' cro&e." I was done to a turn, I looked at least tlrfee hun- dred years older. My head was deliciously cracked all over, the bridge of my nose had nearly given way, and the fire of my ey« was all but burnt down to the sockets. Pictures are like siHne sort of cheeses, the more they are decayed the more they are liked; and I was so far advanced in decay that there certainly was no decep- tion in oalling me one of the old masters : there were so many lines in my fece, that I might safely have passed a> the oldest of them. ' I had had bo many baths of meguelp and turpentine, that all the freahness had been taken out of mc, and my countenance had become so very black and dirty, that 1 was Kterally a fine speeimen of the dark ages. In fact, I aearcelj knew mja^. I had thrown my pistol away, and had got a skuU, in my hand instead. Hy hair, too, had grown considerably longer, and had become grey from old age. An erpreswon of sentimental hunger grinned from the bonra of my hollow face. I saw myself accidentally in the glass, and thought on reflection I looked like a canonised Karanagh, or the living skeleton tnmed into, a Catholic saint. I certunly appeared very miserable ; but people seemed to Uke me all the better for it,
I must eay I laughed considerably in my sleeve ^which waa made of the dirtiest , sackcloth, by the bye) when I was sold aa a picture which had been discovered in a vault in an old cathedral demoUshed by the Moors in the south of Spain. I was christened afresh, though what my name waa it is impossible for me, ont of my number of aliasei, to recollect. Of counw I waa sold for nothing less than a little fortune ; but then my ugliness was considered a positive beauty. I was praised for my tints ; for my flCHb, though it was aa"dirty as a chimney-sweep's ; for my lights, though there was not a single bit of Ught in alt my face ; for my warmth Of colouring, tliough that warmth had been brought on by the intem- perate use of sprits of wine. In short, I was looked upon by all eyes as a picture of perfection. Such was myrepute — ^fiJr the guide-books had circulated my portrait and sang my praises all over Europe — that I was at last bought for the National Gallery. I was placed next to a picture of Holbein's ; and really, for the first time in my life I felt myself at home.
1S2 ; THE OOKnSSIOVS OP AX OLD PIOXDRS.
My muter first paid, me a vieit one day. He recogused m« st once, and laughed. Uy heart beat gratefully towards hita^ ' for he looked so pleased at seeing an oid friend so high up JD. the world ; but a shadow alt of a sudden came orer his face, and he looked as black as the Banished Lord, who was hung opposite to me. , He left the room in a double quick . hurry, that evidently portended the brewing of mischief. I was soon afterwards called into a private room, where I miderwent the most severe towellmg I have ever had in my life ; they mbbed me so hard during my examination, that my diaguises fell off me one after another, tUl at last as many coats were taken from my back as the Graredigger moults in Hamlet, and I appeared again in my original costume of a Greenwich Pensioner. " There I I told you BO," said my unnatural parent : " Carotti has dec^ved you again;" and he rubbed his hands with such fiendish glee, that I blushed through my paint for the parent who could expose his own offspring, strip it of everything it had in the world, and actually smile ti\ the while he was doing it. To excuse my poor master, however, I roust say it was not done bo much to ruin me OS a rival picture-dealer, who had got the ears of the cojumissionerB,. and shot into them any quantity of rubbish he liked about fine art, and so forth. It was only a matter of professional envy, — my master thinking he might make the same amount of thoukaDdii bv palming copies instead of originals upon amateur judges, as wol as an Italian who had only taken his diploma of copying in ft school of picture-doctoring, so veiy inferior to that of the English practitioners.
He certainly succeeded, uid I was rewarded with a new dress in honour of the occasion ; for he took me to hia home, and pro- moted me to the rank of admiral. I was then ordered to take the command of a line of pictures in a large room in which there was nothing bat portruts. It was called by my proprietor, " The Hall op AsCESTORa." Whoever wanted a noble father, or «n Uustrious mother, came here and chose one for himself. There was variety enough for the proudest ! Even a Welchman might have satisfied himself out of the collection. There were ancestors of all centuries, — in wigs, cocked hats, crowns, tiaras, little hoops of glory, — in short, every species of bead-dress that expressed old age, sanctity, or nobility. Antiquated ladies, too, were not want- ing. Poets even were amongst the ilite, and the greatest beauties of even' court were there represented in all ihmr original punt. Men of genius were not excluded : bat they formed a miserable
THE COHFEBBIONS OF AN OLD FICTUSZ. 1S3
minority oompftred to the number of miBtreasea and martjn. The few that were present £i not look comfortable.
I could not make out ■whai my buainesa could be amongst such a display of loveliness and ancient blood, for there was not on caquirc, or a pug-nose, amongst the whole lot. At last an old gentleman paid us a visit one daj. He asked the price of a lineal descendant of Fair Rosamond. It was 1201. This was too much. for him. He then bargained for a Qerman Baron, with a coat of arms with aiiteen quarters in it, and thirteen syllables in his name, who was described in the catalogue as one of the pillars of the House of Eapahnrg. This was above his reach agaio ; so he let go the pillar, and aimed next at a branch of Rufus ; httt the branch was too high for him ; and, after endeavouring to embrace a great- grandmother of Charlemagne, and regretting he could not afford to take Cardinal Wolsey into hie family, he bid for me, and I was ultimately knocked down to him as Admiral Drake, for 632, I7f. 6<{, , with the solemn assurance that I was a capital likeness, and the only one that had ever been taken. From this conversation I learnt that this hall was kept up expressly for the convenience of those monied, persons who, having no notable ancestors of th«r own, came to this collection to purchase the best they £ouId for their money. The prices averaged in proportion to the rank; but a very remote ancestor always fetched more than one of recent growth ; for instance, Richard III. took more money than Charles X., and Queen Boadicea was much higher in her price than Josephine.
The old gentleman took me home with great pride, and I found, to my infinite amusement, that I was introduced to all his acquaintance OS the great-grandfather of his maternal uncle on his great-grand' mother's side. His future father-in-law, who had previously no notion of his son's illustrious connexions, was especially in rapturesi with mo. This father-in-law was very proud, but his estates being half mortgaged, and half in Ireland, had yielded him lately a revenue best expressed amongst arithmeticians by the figure of "next to nothing;" so he was anxious to marry his daughter. Lady Rachel, to a wealthy commoner whose alliance might keep his coronet in the very best double gilt. Ralph Smith had long sought his lovely daughter's hand. The earl liked him very well, — fbr he had mode two or three plums, it was said, by- dabbling in guano, — but then his ancestral pride would not allow him to have his ancient house entered by a common Snuth.
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IM TRB CORTESSIOKS OP AN OLD PICTFIIB.
Bat this diBCovery of Admirsil Drake being ao cloeelj allied with bis future Bon-in-law, effectually removed all the earl's seniles, and the marriage was at once annoonced in the Myming Poit.
The tivasseau was already ordered, and the wedding-cake ac- tually, made, when an accident occmred that put a drag upon the progreBS of proceedings. The lover of Lady Rachel, a young bar- lister, who wrote beautiful poetry, and polkaed, as Lady Rachel eipressed it, "like an angel," was in Christie's Sale Rooms when a' portrait'of Admiral Drake was put up for auction. It waa so unlike the one of the friend who was shortly to rob him of the treasure of hie heart, that little as he could afibrd it, he bought the picture, and laid it before the earl. The two were compared, and certainly we were no more alike than Mrs. Gamp and Hebe. But Mr. Smith declared I had been in the posBeEsion of his family for'hundreda of years ; and it wao aa much as I could do to keep mycomilBnance, when he gravely asserted that it was a common ohserration amongst his Meuds, how like he was to the admiral, especially about the cheek, and that any one could see he was a genuine Drake. The earl was only too willing to believe this, and the young barriater waa sent out of the mansion, as a base impostor and a false accnaer. Grief settled like a mil- dew'iqion his heart, and in lus desptur he accepted a judgeship at Sydney. Before leaving England, however, he determined to have his portrait taken in his new wig, and present it as a token of affection to his dearest Rachel. Chancctook him to the very house in which I was bom in Bemer's-Btreet,^my father waa atiU living there, but in a very different style to the period when he threw me like a straw on the world to rise bymyself His landlord bad died suddenly, his wife had followed him a year afterwards, and my master found himself, one fine morning, left the sole legatee of a capital house, besides the revei^onary interest in aU the Italian boys and smugglers he had peopled it with for the last eight years. Since then he had made old pictures " better than new" on his own account, and had found making use of other people's names such a profitable bnainesa, that he had his French cook, waa a director of almost every railway, and poasessed a gallery of pictures which, concddering It contejned a genuine specimen of every painter in the world, he was proud of stating was "richer than anything «lse (^ the kind in Europe."
My master received the barrister (Julius 0 'Flaherty waa his name) with all the a&bility of a geniua, and at once conducted
THE COHTraSIOKS OP AK OLD PICTURE. 15S
hinrto fais studio. Here he was etrnck with tbe vonderM like- ness-of M many Greenwich peniionen to the Admiral Drake of luB-hstedriTftl. No wonder at it, for they were all twin brothers of-Ji^elf; being copies of the very eame model who used to come for-Dinepence an hour and his beer. Julius allnded to the Bvaga- Ifcrity-of thia prolific reduplication of the same likeneBS, and my master, bemg is a contBtion of life to aEFord to tell a joto agdnat himself, explained that these portraits were always kept on hand t6 supply people with a ready-made ancestor, the difficulty of' the same likeness being got over by putting on a cocked hat and' featherfor a field-mandial, a wig and gown for a Lord Chancellor, a telescope in the right hand for an admiral, a goose-qnill A>r an author, and a skull for a saint or a doctor. How Julius jumped and shrieked when he heard this stoiy ! But he lost no time ; he'tiianked my master briefly, and then ran out, leaving hia com- ranion to suppose be was nothing better than a niadinan, or a Erenehman, just escaped from Paris, Ho had scareely had time to come to any conclusion, however, before the agitated O'FIaherty waaback again. He hnrried my master into a hackn^-coach, and at least five-and-twen^ of the pensioners were bundled in witii him. They arrived at the earl's mansion just as a procession of Broughams was driving off to St. Qeorge's, Hanover-8C|nare. Julius charged them to stop as they valued their lives, and my master, escorted hy his foithful band of pensioners, was shown up to the drawing-room. Here the earl joined them. Julius, with a fluency of words, a safe guarantee that he must ultimately arrive to great distinction at the bar, opened his case. He painted in wM^ls that burnt — and blistered as they humt — his angiush of mind, his desptur, his discoTery, his hope, his ecstasy, his more than bliss, all witiun the last ten minutes. " There, proud earl," he said, in a voice of lightning and thunder, "there He your atmestors!" and he Iwd a stunning emphasis on the wwd "he." Uy nmster, at this point, stepped forward and emhuned these fusions, for the barrister had so overtudhis speech widi Irish images, that the sense of it had been crushed under its extreme beanty. He adapted his powers of arguing to the plainest under- standing ; for, with the m^;ic aid of a sponge anda little turpentine, he made me throw off my admiral's uniform, and to and bbhold! . I appeared once more in my original character of a Greenwich pensioner. The gnano-merchant, guessing the issue of this metamorphosis, ^ckly left the house : the young barrister -then
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Ifie THE UISSIOH OP THE PREBB.
stated thftt bin visit Lad another motive beside unmaBking the unprincipled and rescuing the helpless. It was to beg die eari'a acceptance of 3000 shares in a railway of which he was chainnaa, director, and standing counsel. The old earl hurst into tears at this affecting incident (for the shares were at 21 premium), and Bimply said, "This is too much." He gave his children Ids blessing ; it was kU, b; the bye, he had to give — and that same day Julius and Rachel were married.
I have remuned ever since in the O'Flaherty family. I hare a very comfortable place near the fire, and am a great favourite with everybody. JuUus often talks about me ; and whenever he alludes to my early career the whole room laughs. I am sure I eujoy the fun as much as anyhody ; and my relatmg the unvarnished tale of my own life is a proof that my position hae not turned my head. I am very glad, however, that I am permanently fixed. I never was fond of moving about. I always had a dread test I might tumble down in my old ^;e to be the Marquu of Granhy to some low pubUc-house. Thank heaven, I am msured against any drop of that sort, and now I hare only hope, one master ambition, and that is that some day I may pass through the world as a genuine Raphael. More improbable things than this have come to pass, if you will only believe the word of an " Old Picture."
HoBACE Maihew.
THE MISSION OF THE PRESS.
To arrive at the true source of the hostility between the bar and the press, we must follow, through some of its ramifications, the mission of the latter. Every man is now aware that there is both anatural and a political system of society. The former grows from the laws of man's being, the latter is the offspring of conquest ; and such as we now know it to be to our coat, it is the conse- quence of a great original wrong. Of the political system the bar is an essential part ; of the natural system the press is a portion.
It is possible to trace the bar with tJl its privileges ; its excIoNve right to plead before the judges ; its establishment as a sq)arate profession ; its monopoly, and even its wigs and gowns, up to some statute or some regi^tion, whichthe jodgesand the benchers, by the authority of law, were empowered to make. So it is possi-
THB XlSaiOir OT THE FBXBS. 197
ble to trace the rise of the ro^ naTj uid the profesuon of & naral officer— from the first general requimtion of Ethelred on all the lands of the kingdom to form a fleet, through BucceasiTe statutes and regulations levying taxes for its support, or empowering its officers to seize men for its service — to the last and yet wifiilfiUed regula- tion for wee'''";^ its muster-roll of those pensioners the aristocracy has encum\)ered it with. But the newspaper press was not established by taw. Like cultivating the ground, it springs from the wants of man, and is essential to the development of society. The authors'Of the political system have continually endeavoured, by sharp Ubet laws and by various restrictions, to impede the eiten- sioD of the press, and limit its usefiilness ; but no enactment of theirs, neither the common nor the statute lair, called it into being. Accordingly, under one form or another, large, liberal, and world-ranging, like the metropolitan journals, or narrow, cramped, and strictly local or technical, like me little bits of coarse dingy paper that are tolerated by the despots of Qennany, newspapers now exist in all the countries, however different their pohtical institutions, of the civilised world. The Sepoys have newspapers ; tiie Rassians cannot do without them ; they are published in Turkey and China ; and tliey have already taken their station as part of society at New Zealand and thg Sandwich Islands. They are most useful, most comprehensive, most numerous, and most sought after, as in the United States, England and France, where natural society is most, and political society least, developed. They are valued most where man is most free, A newspaper is a
Gwer at New York ; it is next to a nullity at Berlin. Thus, the r and the press in their origin are ports of hostile and contend- ing systems ; the latter is essential to civilisation, and increases in strength, as society throws off the trammels of that system to which the bar belongs.
The mission or duty of the farmer in the natural order of society is to produce ss much food as he can at the least cost. So the mission of the monubcturer is to make clothing or cutlery abundant and cheap. What in the same tntler of society is the mission of the newspaper writer ? While the bar has for Its object to perplex, confound, and mystify, in order to keep other men in political thraldom, the press seeks to make all things straight and clear, and free man fitim all shackles, but those of reason. Even ' the journals which support an erroneous system, do it solely by an appeal to ^t power. The press collects facts ; it winnows the
IM IBE , imsION OP Tqn FOBBS*
meatal prodndnaa. of caoli .day ftod ereiy people, Jtnd the naetul reanlts. It w&tcbes for erenta,. it g^iheia i from every quatter.-and Bpraade it to Uta suaeexteat. the world againat threatening dasgere as th^j atiae. ] the fii'st light of every downing improvemoit, aiad \iaag» it before . every inquisitive and adouriag eye. Tha true ndasion eG.tlie.^pnap, itB very aoul, is to gather and diffiue tnitii. That ia its aokunt duty ; and remembeEing how email a portion of a daily joamal is composed of queationable matter, we have no heaitation in aaying that to a great extent it actually performs that dutj.
We are well aware that a contradictory opinion is afioat, in .society. People habitually toaat the freedom of the pme, and declare ^t it is like the air they lu^athe — if they have it not^wy die : uevertheless, there exists amongst them a slight dread and a practical contempt for the object of diair Uisoretic love ; aad seizing hold of little diacropaaicies — the ten' thouauidth part of its daily contents — they also haUtuaUy speak of the lying press. Gathering information from all quarters, being open to the oom- piainta of the lowest man in the oommunity, and the h^^iest employing it ^ communicate his viewa to mankind, represenlN^ all claases,. their pasaionaand prejudices, as well as their reasfoi, It is, in common with everything human — liable to error, and ocoa- sionally circulatea fBlseboods and oalumnies. That, however, is the exception, not the rule. Every new^wper writer aoknow- ledges his reaponaibility to scratinise every paragrafdi, to aeparate the truth &om the falsehood, the good from the evil, to premote good only, .and circulate tmly. truth. He is nrarally and atdemAly pledged to Booiety to perform. that duty, and the ocmidenoe which is now universally placed in the bu& of all the statemeata of newspapers fiOYes ihat it ia in genen^ duly aaA honourably perfortned.
'When unreflecUng peraons apeak inconsiderately of " the lying press," they must have some sttmdard of comparison whiui is infinitely more Inith-telUng. The bar, which ooteriously hires out its tongue, like church-bells, to sound any tune, suppUes no such standard. Nor does any class of men in their private interooBiae. Traders in their dealings, men and women of fashion in thar polite eommunic^ion a , surgeons and physicians, and . notoiioas teeth-drawera, to aoothe or beguile their piUiente, with almoat every other clasa, indulge in a hoense of asseriitui which, finds no counter- part m the.iiewBpai>er press. Throi^jhout .socoety, anecdotes are
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XHE ins^eN OF -mB pbiu. UI9
pBtinto ciroulsdttt&nd. rAa(lJl3rpa»&fT0intmcni& to.Molidii vUch no ii«rB|>q>enwould publish. We vSi- uy no&ing -of pdpit ^isoonneB but tJbisr tli^t tiie. authors of tiiem, netvlyone &nd all, ve jjedgad, Aprwri, to Thirt j-nine ArtioloB, to ConfMeions of EoUh, to bodwrof doctrinea, which th«j hara norer, seruptilouBlj and unbiMAed, aub- j«oted to examination ; and the pfobablUty thwefore is, that they far leu abound ia tnith than the daily Btat^nenta of newapaperB, which are within erery man's oomprehoBsion, and open to daily refutation. We maat, however, Bay of Uterature in general, in- cluding scientific treatises, as wdl as works of acknowledged fiction, with elaborate theories of hearen and earth, and man and animal B, that the writing in newsp^ers contrasts favourably with that as to its truth or falsehood. The newspaper writer c<ei- tinuallj looks out for facta, and he is continually checked and kept obedient to them by a great multitude of critics, Se caonot and dare not indulge, for long periods, in the dreams of imaginalioD. A writer in his closet, who does not bring his lueubrationa to the test of day till his volaine is oomjJeted, utd who has gone <n, nninflnenoed perhaps by facts, in the ruts he and odiera hare worn, it more likely to be in error, and perust in error, than the author of leading articles in a daily new^iaper. His party bias, his prejndiooB and paeaiona, are generally avowed and guarded against, partly by himself and partly by others. Even when ho is pledged to an erroneous syBtem, or bound u^ witha faotion, ho de^ in. a great meaauro with facta, and preteikdH todiffose truth. Thus we hare seen the mimopolist Standard, and Berald, by qualifying a hasty and unguarded stat^nent of the aqpostle of teae tmde, be- come tlie expounder of a partial tn^, in defcooe ef an erro&eoua •ystem against the ohan^ion of one of the h<^e8t oaoBes dutt erer e gaged the attention of mankind. Looking through society it muBt be affirmed that nowhere, in the practices of manlund, oan a atandard be found, in comparison to whieh the']Heas demrroa the epithet of lying.
On the contrary, because the preaa is on the whole trath-telling wherever it predominates in aociety, aober truth-telling will be the habit of the people. All barbarous tribes at all times have indulged imagination witiiout restraint, or been addicted to lyiog. The very act of putting pen to pajter induces thought and conud^^li<». The slow progress of written oomposition gives m<ve time for deliberation than spoken language, and a nation of vrriters-will neoeasarilybe more guarded and more correct in ita osswtieilB
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' 160 THE HIBBtON OP THE PKBBS.
than a nalaon of speakers. An orator sponta Mb fint erode reflec- tionB ; a writer can purge and mend biii words to be a correet fiipression of hia thoughts. He may hare something t« conceal, but tt is in general to the satisfaction of bis enemj' that a cunning man writes a book, and preserres a record of himself fbicb ma; be a witness against him. That be puts bis words into a perma- nent form is, therefore, a check to deceit when a writer wishes to deceive. All necessary communications between man and man are cleansed from grossness and inaccuracy by the filtration of the ' press. To speak like a book is to speak we]!, correctly, willigood manners, and with truth. To write in that manner is the duly habit of writers for the press ; and where they are numerous, where the readers of daily papers are the bulk of society, to speak like a book will be the habit of the people. Falsehood is more com- mon in Ireland, where the influence of the press is of modem origin, and as yet comparatirelj feebler than in England, where it is far more extensive, and has been longer established. News- papers in fact practically create that high criterion of truthfuIneM by which their contents are tested and sometimes condemned.
The press is freer than any otber profession to express opinion ; it is unfettered by any theory ; it is not bound by bribes nor emolument to uphold any system ; it is pledged to no creed ; it can follow tmtb wherever it leads. Being dependent on society, it respects tfae opinions, feelings, and creeds of every class, and would be ashamed of the anathemas which sometimes resound from pulpits ; it incolcates toleration by its precepts and by its example, and is not unirequently condemned by rabid tbeologiana tmd heated enthusiasts, because it will not depart from its respect for existing opinions. It will not sustain the exaggerated preten- ' dons of any party,' and by the ultras of every party its very virtues are thns made a reproach to it. The press has more time to scrutinise, and is more cool to judge of affairs than those who are plunf^ed into the vortex of politics. At the same time It has no means of enforcing its views ; it is not backed by bayonets ; it can neither dragoon men into submission, nor subdue them by spiritual terrors. Thus, there is enforced on it a respect for reason and a love of justice, aa well as a regard for truth ; that forbearance, that toleration, that respect for others, which are proper in all, are imperatively and especially required from the press. Ita members unite most of the functions of the Lcvites, except beuing the sword; they teach and theyheid, but they are
THE UISSIOX OF THZ PBESS, 161
guiltless c^ lulng an^ kind of phjwcal Ti<denee. To Ae miniitwa of the lair — to the members of the har — thej leare the odiooa task of inflicting penalties, even to death, and of pUntiBg evil in the vain hope that good will groir from its root.
The mission of the press, and its ori^ in the natnntl i jatem of society, white the bar originatea in the political 8jst«m, sopplieB « clear explanation of the cause of their mutual hostility. Th« present temporary quarrel iB a mere symptom of the permanen opposition. No class is more imbned with feelings of animositj towards the press than the legal profession. The judges, gene- rally speaking, as well as the barristers, seldom lose «n oppw- tuutty to hare a fling at the newspapers : seldom, too, do tliey neglect to trounce them, and inflict on them fines and imprison' ment, when they hare the power. They fear tito press, and are always anxious to curb its tongue. Swollen into mock dignity by a corporate monopoly and a share of the pririleges of the aris- tocracy, they submit only to professional rules, and practically aat at nought responsibility to society. At the same time they perust in treating all the business of life and all the rights of men accord- ing to their own antique and uncouth fashion. They know that addresses to the crown to remore a judge and impeadunents are out of date ; Hiey know Qiat the bulk of mankind, submissire to their spells, humbly acquiesce in their usui^ations. Only now and then some spirited individual impugns a judgment or attacks a legal argument in a newspaper. Only the newspapers, acknow- ledging in reason a higher power than law, criUcise and condemn the proceedings of both barristers and judges. The legal profes- sion is placed on the confines of respon^bility, and the press grapples wiUi it and holds it within the limits. It is daily made to feel its dependency, and vainly tries to escape from subjection to society and the press. The whole legal profession has an initinctire abhorrence of the press, and tries to degrade tlie power it cannot resist. The two bodies ore the antipodes of each other. The one is the champion of reason, the other lives on political BOperstition. Between them there is permaaeat diseord, and tba preMnt quarrel is of that only a symptom.
In the end, the bar will be defeated, and we waru it against the inequality of the contest. The power of the press is as bouiidleM .3 that of society. It reaches the throne — it is wdoomed ir ''^^
cottage. It can poll down injustice, however lofty, and nu» up lowliness, however deep. It castigates crimes wluch the Uw
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tiv. — voT.. ni.
fM TBS UIB8WII OF T^ FRESft,
■msMt Maeh, mid prerMrta tbote wfaklt lbs bw eas <»df pwi^ ItMmm Te^FCMng iliem. Wb«r«Ter aa eye ottn ftee and a hukl OMi vrita Am is die ^en. Peraou in trilH^tioB r^ on it iat redress, and they feel eta» tiuX wrong vili not go impuiiisfaad if it t« ICMVk «e tke j*iini«k. Like %h(, it peaetratai into every noA uid-ci«HBy vf locwt;. and eutiM help 4iul bealiiig on its beaaia. It aips rii^ alMwa ia tb« bud. It ati^ tke tide ^ tyrany -wiioi eettia^ in Ml fl»t>«l. It dariv«a iu T«at ^«w iroiQ the ^fftooipk of its teiag. S«dusg out tmtb, twd reprMOtitiog reaMb, it omoeob'ates Mi Mm point tint whoie loora] power c£ aocie^, «tid f4m«itea a»d gevemsi, witbout violesco, bj tha men knowladge tkat tb* ^^fne*l power sf soeiet; is alwAja ready to viiulieKtc tiM rigfct. Aa it eomea into full ^eradaa, the oonrae of society baoanes uniform and eqtial, a&d iia enda u« abtaiiied without ^K ocRtralnoM and rehellMOfi, iij which a rude unlet- tered p«eple BHk« tbnr irllt knemi.
ThU is tJie rB«l SBfltwo, aod tfaeae ttra the l^gk buhctuma of the presB. We do not •ffirtn that tbej are tktw^s fulfilled. It k of OompMROitely swdeni origin ; and those who ue devoted to it are scaKwlr Mlisible of its vMt power, and do not amoom all its dignity. Th« avtoal prese does not reaeh ideal exeeUeoce. Those who owdoM it Moog to the indiuMdotta claosea, «iid must live by tiieir liAouF. Tbey shara in all the arile whi<^ tUiO. ditig to na from c^t^OMt fairing made a daVe of tbe l^oorar. The degra- dation hea|Md <n mEefd. industry in the olden tines leavea its brand on k vtill. The do-nothings, deriving their titles and their wealth fhmt a plundering lutcestry, on whom, worthleae bm they are, they are a great iu^ovemeut, are, in die politioal system) the ennobled and the honoured classes. Whoevor Irves hy his labour must, to some extent, he subserrtent to tikose who possess the property of eociety, and have inhwited usiu^ied political power. The members ef the press, being in that predicament, too frequently give ap to party what is meant for mankind. They forget that catholic uni^ which is the characteristic of society, and make tjaemsalves ^e servants of class intorests instead of the general welfare.
Like ereryduDg hnmim, the press hu its imperfections and abuses. B«tigioa has its popes, and the preM has its proprietors ; men who uw it for personal aggrandizement, and to attain political dignities byporchaBing and betraying the guardianship of society. Both religion and the press haro been perverted into in^rumcnts
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TBE imUOX 07 THE ZBSIB, 283
ti'toMficm ; md aa that ma nndv ths means et ili limine uir itMid if cBDoUiiig Buikind, m line h «DnwtBm vaad by ita aartj, MMkn, asd pnpiiatBn, to .(KmeoM faui and JiBaatnnate illaehaod. It ia tbm ai bad j* • hnd «oUi«, -wko flgiOi, not for light, bat ferfaf. Inke Itanisten, itlvbea fees t« .maanlaiB the WTOBg: b«t adnla that is Aeir rriawitiii! fiiaiirli lialir. Ihi n)« of ^eir eDndaei : in iha picro k is a dapattin frm tin pmcnple «f ite sBateoun. It is » poUntiaM ia be'doiflDnd isd-faj lA Msanagotrid oC Whnt die peBBteksaAea l^AthabftrnaboBi, visa doninoerad «w by pw^ leadara, or parroted hf paipiiB' ton, it 18 than indeed dsgr^ded ta the leml of BflDaaisgtpieat- hood or the insincere bar.
Bnt with all ita present imperfectlona and faults, the presa is acceptable to Hocietj at large. No mao except an <^preB8or Ukes to hare anything to do wiUa a h-trjer, and lie usea him onlj as a tool which it is unpleasant to handle. No man is willingly with- out a Jiewspapar. Etiey thought the xou^ diaordar of flng^ish freedom, the want of conrteaj which is the national characteristic, and all the evils of warm political discussion, cheaply purchased by tha aravMQMat «ad itvrtroetioB ai a newapaper. Gmrper deictibea it ae :—
liMpdrit>n«ttatfNi «Ule I nad
Vtai baMd in chana of oltnea, wUeh Aa ba,
Hoqfh «lDqiieBt tbeiiuelTe% jet fear t« bitak J
Wbat isicbnt a map of boaji liCe^--
Its floctaation and its jaat ameeraa T"
. Bat the folio of f«ir pajtaa has now awellad to a folio of eifl^ pt^flB, Bi2te«i pagea, and evui twenty pagas. LocooiotiaB has scarcely improved mive ibaa nem^)^ers sioco Cowp«r wrote, aod is not more sidworrieid than thaQr are to t^ geaMal welfore. Brery mim lot^ duly for hia newspa^a. W«e Ibe judges to abdicate, uid the eourla to Bu^end th«r ftmctieas, no man wotUd at (woe misa and r«gT«t them, except for the low of a eohima «i unusement ia tJut new^iaper ; hul &e day and tite boar when t^ poitman "with hie twan^uigh'HB," "the herald of anoisy world," or the moil ti'aiu loaving its great bags of almost a ton weight at letters, should go to its deslinatitm without nowapapers, would he &U of ooosteniation. We camot picture ike geaotal aUfio. the fidgett;. uneaeioess «f ^ uw^iMit lookmg foraacoanta of Hu
,11 :«l by Google
IM A SEOBT 8T0RT OF THE AILOTHENT ETSTEH.
AiriTal of bis ships, or of the etste of the markets, on which his whole daily bmness is dependent ; and the fright of the timid owner of public securities, or of the well-paid_f unction aries of the government,'^wluch would spread itself into isnumerable con- jectnres as to what cominotioa could have laid an embargo on the newepaper. Por the mail to aniTo without the joiimsb, would be like die approach of day followed bj no rising sun. Whenever t&e fact ia alluded to, everf man becomes instautlj eensiblc that society could not exist in its present wonderful ramificatious with- out Qeirspapers. They are not merely the ofispring of the natural system a[ society, they are essential parts of it, which will outlive the throne and the peerage.
A SHOKT STORY OF THE ALLOTMENT SYSTEM.
Thirtbbn years ago, when allotments for the poor were first talked of, I well remember that many dissentient voices were raised against the measure ; and in our small village of West- brook, more tban one farmer was found who predicted all sorts of evil from its accomplishment. At this time West-brook was a nest of _ half-ruinous cottages, chiefly inhabited by agricultural labourers, who took no p^ns to keep up the appearance of the tenements in which they lived, and which from their great age were constantly in want of repur. Tiles were blown off, ond unless the inconvenience was immediate, seldom replaced ; the pluster fell in large patches from the bulging gables and over- hon^g fronts, and remained so till masked by the summer coat of whitewash which most of the housewives found time to apply ; few whole casements existed, but when the old leaden frames let fall a loEenge, a bit of brown paper, or in some cases a piece of felt, or a handful of rage, filled up the aperture, and conridei'ably added to the neglected and ill-to-do aspect of one of the most ^easontly-situated hamlets in Essex. Sir Gilbert Woodford, the lord of the manor, had been for some years an absentee, and so long as tho rents were for^coming, his agent cared little for the comforts of the tenants. The hall itself, with its closed windows and pleasure garden nm wild, was the picture of desolation ; and,
Upl:«lbvGOOglc
A BHORt STORT OF THE ULOTUKIT STSTIK, W
in fut, nothing seemed to tluire save beer-shops, which ererj tenth house in West-brook professed to be. About diis period, the distress generally felt in the agricultural districts, llie low- ness of wag«s, and consequent dissatisfaction, occanoned the landed proprietors to legislate among thenuelres, how thej mi^t best quench the incendiarj fires oightlj bloEiag from county to county, sjK^ading terror and ruin among their wealthier tenants. Then it was, that, while some contented themselves with hunting out the offenders, and subjecting the county to fresh expense iu prosecutions, and an increase ^ prisoners, others, more wisely obserring that neither the gibbet nor the couTict-ship affected the cause, or idlayed the imbecile vengeance it occasioned, at length tnmed their eyes to the condition of the farm-servant, and felt the necessity of conceding something to his wants. It was at this juncture that Sir Gilbert returned to West-brook ; and one of hisfirst acts was to grant some sixtyallotments, varying from fifteen to twenty rods of land, to the neediest labourers on his estate ; those who had the largest families had the largest piece of ground, and a rent of five shillings in the one case, and seven in the other, was fixed for their annual rental. The delight of the poor labourers at this arrangement was only equalled by the chagrin of one oe two of their employers, whose fears and jealousy furnished a host of arguments against the well-working of the system, *' You know, neighbour Noakes," said Fanner Woodfine, letting the bridle fall on the neck of his sturdy cob, while he paused to talk to his friend, who was plodding up the field path from the marehes, where he had been to look at some fat stock for the Christanaa marttet, — ■' You know as well as I, that it is in the nature of a man to be more careful of himself than of another. Very well, ur. If he has ground of his own, his master's will be neglected; for it stands to reason that after rising at fonr o'clock, and working two good hours for himself, he will not be as fresh and strong aa if he come direct to his day's labour at six ; and what other way is there for hiTQ to cultivate his allotment ? " " Very true, neighbour Wood- fine," responded Ur. Noakes ; " but we should do unto others as we would be done by ; and between ourselves, the condition of the agricultural labourer wants bettering. Here they are, compara- tively speaking, well off ; but in the lower porta of ^e county, and in Suffolk and Norfolk, the average wages is not more than seven or eight shilhngs a week ; and what is that- for a man with a wife and family?" "Ay, ay, that is another thing," replied
lb. Wood&ne, alMfply, evidentljaot a bit plMsnl I7 Ua Migk- bonr'a view of the matter ; " bm Into tke mm is rerj ^eatat. There n Jc^ Hvr, for iartnc*, on* ol 1117 IwM vnrloBaa (when hBhun'thadftdraptwmu^); 1 a«iwtMiiitlw.ha«yit opBof the locgvat ihue* allettoA to hin , and I ^vf UdLMiutaat wttgiu^-tvdra duJlh^^aa ws^; behAa.aIi^e fnuhr to b« mr^ bat on* of hia bars can ean 2(. $A * imk m tb« leaaoB at crOTr-keapiBg." " That, bmrerer, doe» Bat iMt aS the jeur M«d," Bwd Mr. Ifoakea, smiling ; " and May's wif* aaA ux «&ttd«a^ sad dme diilH^s » week tor lua eottagje, eo^Mt laar* mash ol ^ twelne duUbtgs aaapent when Setwrda^ mi^t mmss." " Ah, I m«i &ey have MUen 70U with the philasthropj of the rndtti," intenrapled Kt.WoedfiBe; "batmark nywerds: iriiettthea{iria§>«OBes, jeu wiU see the ewU- of it. A vret^ thing ndeed, fer a wsiitcr to be Mbjeet to theooimBieoceof hissanaiits! And I shoirfd motat aQ vnmUr, if Uaj eones to me, a&d s^s be wavts a daj for h^Kl^ and^eks the finest in the we^ flsr that pntqMse. He haft worked vet; w^ hidierto," he eentiuaed ; " but it stoo^ t» resMW that sAer twdre honn' toil, a man mast be too eriMusted to^be ef obj IMS to tilBctt, It ean cul<f be done Vf getting op of mwntitge, and Aen, aalbefbre said.beeMuiotbehatf bis wMlh to ma. Sir OilbeTt AoeaiCwi&a geediBtentioo,Ib«Te no doubt ; bat eokn^ as these foUts get their rent, it smtters litt^ to then hsw macE yoo or I na; bbAt for the sake t^ t^Mv seeing themseli^ea pnCed in Aa new^apMs as pattern koAonb." Aad m Mr. WooAoe gathevcd up the rans and prepared to amble hosw, alt tke while exelain»ig, " Yoa will see ; spiii^ time is net far eff ; hare » care of joor seed petateee ; look ^srp after the Bsoura ; * wkQe f amer Noakes smiliBgly hdd back tba Cre-harTed gate for hki M pass t^roi^, goo4hanKiaredlir obaernag, " I an ^waja iotfned to think weU of CTarjthing that promiats to better the esafition «f poor huBMsit^, ssid wnearely hope fc woikin^ of tAe tytlaa May ^apny« yoex sv^aeians, aad ivaivn jmsr pMJadieee.." " We shall sea, we ahaU see," repeated Mr. Wwx^e. " I hare set mj keert foirlj against it, and bo I teH yea. " thm sajmg, he bade the atber good waning, and rode off.
In a nook of the lane, leading to the la^r fan», stead a siagle cottage, apparently ee-«qad in age with those that e«anpoeed the villtto. Befcee beer-riieps had been ho rife in the nncbbewhood, thiafitde ;^ bad baenrenMrkable for ^MtrimMaBaf the As<w»- knet before it, oMi the luxtuisMCS of a vine by wfasefa it wan tfrvr-
A SHOBT 8T0BT OP THB ALLOTMENT SYSTEtt. 1117
ain-eftd ; but now H difered Taiy Kttk from the aspect of those in ^ hftmlet. Tlos was tW haUtetioK of Ur. Wood&ie's ibkb, Jrim May, 1^0, gooeTaSj sp«akiDg;, wu a goo^ speciiOMt of Ihh dasB — hcmest and bat^irofking, nerer negleotiBg nis emfhyjer's intereBt or bis own, but whent em the fanner phr^ed it, " h» bad hod a dr<^ toO' mDctt." On tbeee oacaaiona (wUdi, to do Mtt joa- tic«, raroly hanpened, mr« at ChriBtmai kkJ Eaatcr^au: tinae, or in the ererrt of a eri^ot match,) it would ta^* Jobi eome days to wmm biintelf sober ; nrnd a -fit of inelwiation gua^mXtj eost him the h>ss of bt^ a inA'a work, the iCei^eaeure- of bis muter, hwd-ache, moroeeBeee, and feeooteDt ob. H» own side, and short idlairanee ob thai of bis wife and ehitdreti ; bwt though, as I bare said, tiiese oatbre^s were 1^ no meane ord^Barr ooeurrenceB, he ran the hmard of tfeem daily ; for the want of ether rewurcea seat the poor- fanp-serrant, by way of refaiatjoa, to the piiblio- ihottae. The eoBseqtienee of ^vs was, — the pint ef ale to which he bad been aeeustotsed t» hmit himsetf, soon wew nfo a pot^ Aai, m ^e memitiae, the -rine, wbiek had immi ta trtmlj k^t an^ weM trakted, a&d tba fniit^e of i^tji hait proved an in^ptanl sewve of profit, began to show the extended ftbaences of 1^ prepriet«r ; and the little garden (too smaU for the prodaee m vegetablea), but rich in Bweetherbe uid early flowers — another source of weal^ to the bnmbls h»use«i{e— m spite of Susan May's ondeaToiB^ and th» atteatim oi the two eldeet boys m weeding and watering it, deduked in tite beauty and abundaoce of its bleeseoaa, and missed 1^ ietip ^ging, msHure, aod ft^sh nkowtd, which John had bean id the habit <^ beet«viiHg w it. The effect of these appwent trifle* sooa became fett by his wife and family, and, in eonjuVtioB widi hk Ae^Ued potations, eoneiderably ftbrsak bis limited GoeMS, and caused a eorrespwtdeBt diminisbmeHt ia the «wiifi»ts of bis humble hmaestead. It was at this period, and just as John Mv ^*^ progressing tr^m a ttpler te a e<Hifiived sot, l^t Sir fiiSiert Weodferd comneneed his trio) ef the- aUotnent system, ^kI gave a new in^ulse to the poor man's «mt»^a, by granting Um, in eoBMdwstion ef Us nameroua fanulr, one of the largest ^ares. AH th»lab««rt>g nenin the village BMie or leu b«i*- filed by th« arvangsBieat, asd in a vh^ sbrnt time isa •Sects h»gn to tefl on the Aaractem of this Mtberto ne^eeUd dass. The ground was giv^t to dkem at Aa beginning of the yiw, and W> ReoB« did the e|mig airrive. tbaa emi^ive infaetiT ^rwg vf
IliS A SIIOKT BTOBY OF TOE AIJ.OTUE>'T STSTEK.
uDODg »t them, and gra.^tude, no less thiui self-interest, actuated them in the desire to render thw' little holdings productive and well-kept ; the early day-break found few of the proprietor un- employed, aud such of the hoys aa were able to assist felt almost OB proud of the poMtesBion as their parents ; the woods. and roods were put under contribution, for the purpose of enriching the soil ; the accumulations of dead leaves and heaps of rotted weeds and Toad-dust served admirablj for this purpose, and the task of col- lecting it gave the ^oung assistants health, babita of early lising, peneveranco, and industiy. By Uarch the ground was dug, ttic manure worked in, and, in his anxiety to compete with his neigh- bonrs, John Uay not only rose early, but, as the evenings length- ened, became loo much absorbed in the business of his garden, to stay out the reading of the cheap paper at the Plough. Sy this means he saved a pint of ale nightly, and by putting the price of it aside, was astonished in a short time to find it amount to a sufficient sum to purchaeo all the seeds and plants he required to crop his ground. This was the crisis that would cither prove or refute Ur. WoodBoe's predictions on the subject ; and such of hia neighbours as he had inoculated with his prejudices, or who pos- sessed them on their own account, began to watch their beds of plants, seed potatoes, and heaps of manure, with jealous vi^once, lorgetfiil that nothing serves so much to keep a man honest as having a character to sustaiu. Without this their servants would have forfeited their possesions ; so that it beeame a guarantee of good conduct, instead of, as these gentlemen believed, a provoca- tive to peculation. Seed-time passed awaj ; their employers lost nothing, not even the day which it was supposed they would be exacting enough to ask for themselves, and the poor men's gardens were stocked. Neither was it observable that any diminution took place in the manner or amount of their daily labour ; on the contrary, the very circumstance which it was supposed would take from it imparted a moral strength that no longer made them feel mere beasts of burden ; they hod an interest in the emi themselves ; and the consciousness of owning ever so small a tract — anything beyond the task-work of labour, the bore price of daily bread — awoke a feeling of self-respect and independence that made them work with a good will, more liberal of its labour than the compelled hireling who deals out so much of his corporeal strength as will win him his scanty livelihood. And now, as the spring advanced, the allotments began to wear quite a flourishing
A SnORT BTOItr OF THE ALLOTUEKT STBTEU. 1(W
a^jpAftrmee ; the delicate green of tiie jonng Keds, and the bud- ding leaTSB on the little hedge-rows that divided them ; the Iwg, □eat rows of peas and beans ; the beds of radisfaes and onions ; the borders of lettuces, leeks, celeiy, and ridges of potatoes ; all lookiug healthr, and promisiag sneb accessions of comfort, naj, lamrj, to the poor man's lot, that hope and contentment grew op with them. What a qaiotlj' busy scene those gardens became I By four o'clock in the morning, naj, sometimes earlier, you might see tiie hnmble proprietors at work in them, earthing np the potatoes, transplanting cabbages, and remov- ing the destroying insects ; and when evening came — the soft, sweet evenings of April and May — ^the reeking parlour of the public-house, with its stifiing fames, loud oaths, and angry altercations, became abandoned for the fresh, blossom-breathing ur, in which the lark still carolled, and which no mder sounds than the gleeful laughter of playing children, and each pleasant and gentle talk as springs up amongst herbs and flowers, amidst those that cultivated them, disturbed : then the hands that all day long had spent their strength in their master's service, felt renewed at the sight of their own inclosures, and worked nutiringly till the stars shone ; the children too contributed their share of help, thinning the beds of their too abundant crop, clearing ^em of weeds, and bringing water from tho neighbouring well. Can it be supposed that this snpwnnmerary employment, and the habits of neatness and order so essential to a garden, were without their effect on the home habits of those individuals ? The eye sought there the same neatness and regularity it had elsewhere effected ; and the thorough repair which Sir Gilbert ordered for the cottages was seconded by the efforts of their tenants to maintain them in it ; and in the short space of twelvemonths the effect of the allotment system, and the presence of a reudent landlord, had worked wonders in the village of West-brook. One who had prerioualy pascied through its apparently tottering street, would scucely have recognised the picturesque hamlet in its state of renewal. Ctou- fort and clbanlinees have continued to grow with the age and increase of the allotments ; for after ten years' trial Sir Gilbert gave a larger grant, and I have heard that this year he has again added to it. As for our fWend John May, no one has more largely profited, both in character and acquisition, tban he has. The cottage in the lane is now a picture of thrift and prosperity ; the vine that for so many seasons had trailed at will, allowed to accQ-
1]$ OBB TtUUOa ^ IT IB.
iiflfctn iTinlinti vmnI And uafrtotfttl brtmJMi, hu l>aaR McdMlf pnued Bnd tended, »mA jirida buwiBBd;' ; a. hire er top af btmm an ettaUii^ied in a mnnj ooraer of Hm UtUe gHden, awl if we Maid g«t « pa^ ftt tbe back, m ilunld fivd » toKpi» ol lAoct* legged pigs, thrivix^ «d the Mfiue ^ the M^le uid wute vege- mSm ud Mft^ potatoM. Of UtB ymn ^ <^ildrM. have baoo seat ta m^ioqI, and tbe ioCTMae ^ luafid Uterataie at & km priec^ SDaUae Jatn ta beer mssh oun haftlthir and aintiaiai|* papm naA by hJB Qirn haarih than tlnnnhgrforwaaiy pajj bo <harfagliateiMg to in til* tap-DMw of tbe ilM^
Ur: Weod&M hca laat his ^judiaaa » tlm tids of tuna, ami ■oir wAj ntiptiatrv that tha aUelmests bs Itmtied to tventy tads, al bmbI, to QMb mHB, 3%ay m^ manage ddC q«witi^ (a» thej ■iponr tfr hwra done) vithowt injacy to thfdr eaiplafen, and irttk b^efit to tiKwaeWea ; but a rod bejvod it — M>d aU his oU daubts and KiBtnMt naold retim.
Hia. CuuxjiTR Wnrs.
OUR YIUAGE AS IT IS. » MWHi oMinia.
taK Aovgbt baa faecfaMtlj rararreii t» mj miaif wbaa i beve bcfla fMuiog Ami^ ■& ^insutdinl Ti£^&— M»e of a btmdrad c^ dktt plans vlA dmtdbad eottagea of oU gia^ ataiM. I bare glawiid tbitM^ d»e gaMi at t^ yars«Bag«. w haire laalced up to tbfr dd cbar^-i^in, sod tbk boa be^ tbe ctran of laj iBcdi~
tatMDU
" Tkre siij^t be a b««k, and a jtrj nuAd baok, a. geauise *tnet for tbe timea,' wnt«n apan thaieid Cfiiv. Vanoae aatfi wa«U laafc m^h it fraH varimu pouit* of v'ww. It wonid atggtat to- tt« PtotastaBt a buitor? of tb« BlefatmadiiaB. ar would eatl failb fiMQ the Ctttiaalie a a%lt for tfaa daaaj of aMtiaat ^etj ; bnt I sbftll iatk at it tnm naither <^ theae pMots of «t«ir. Ona &ct is <«rtoi9 : tbst spira doriasee, that for more tiuw five hundred je»i& Cbniattan doetritke ha« been pn^aaed here ; tbait a aiweeeaii^ of mm* adMated a«d aet a^>art to teach tbe pei^e bow to lire and haw tQ dia, have ratided near that cdd ebor^. And row I kek wuttd aaad atdt— vheae are the reeuks 1 What baa b«e« done to Tvae tibe pec^le higbiM and make them ba^tpier ? " In reply-ta
IT ■■■ m
tUs iflMrtiM, I mH (feaoik faidifUlf tk aauii&m of oae of Aa hu-gwi of tbcee TiUagnr wliiek I kaow verj veil.
L«t nft ranler try to guan tlia nune of Qar ViU^ft. T* c«n- Msl its loeality, I itid be fpmrhg of topogn^hinl deseriptioo. B^wU, tbM, gMd M4der, k hag tmi wida *«al af in«ti^ Imoim ; MnwfUoDd gn^, witkoumw vindawB mwim hag b«&m the good effect of li^^t ^oo miorf ami ba^ i*m ijifiiMiiriiJ. odtera new, ebttai, nd ijaewd. Abart is tlie wd^ tf tha ^UafB MtKoia th* g»7 rihwA tiirT, ■cd.jiitit iffwiti the dhnelL jm BH ui oU 1m«w, itf" giovnf jkfmtffim^r ^htre dwells that fwy greai mt^ {I iMat b^ dawn rj ]p<M attd mice » b(nr)~tbfl
Hot aiMtber Tmid ■mUlta.ywt the aapeet of Our TUtg; laM I ibmU 1M eaaght mad ttken before— 4he ■qaire !
W«ll, I torn, tboK, to sketch the moal aapcet ef Am pbc* ; ia &i» it will, KMt likdy, nwtiad the leader of sMeral atiwr ^aM«, >o I «hatt be oat of daager. It is Mnmootj oetMMed » quick and ordeiij lill^e. People gescvaljj retire to rect at a good hour aad Amf secur* &am diaturbance in Our VKage. We h*Te no Sun- ivy amiawmeBta «myti^ beU-nnging. A trarUrir who skmld OccaBioDa% pau tfareiigh Our YiSag«, wnuli ocrtaial; give na a g«od alMumcter, at leaat ke irould aaj, " I aarer mar attjdiag wveng in the place" B^pf »e thaj w^ only kxifc ob Ac avt- nde ! bat the preaoBt sketch is iBton^ftd te giipe a. gkme iai« the iogida of Oiw VSkg*.
7o be^» at the beginniDg — vrimit i» Ae mt»t daiu^ ? Let ns ga> ioiwm the taaa, babind the eld efaupah, and h*Td » peep at the raetory. It m hatf-past nz a'dook rjt., and the Keetor ie takiog hsa dtiner. We aan tcU, nithoi^ «»*efwiropptBg, wbai be m taJJk- iag abost. We know bis tc^M* fvr tbe table, as well a» bis topics ftr the polpit. Bat our purpaao dees oat ta^iin a^ tddbag mA the SeatorV psinde dMBOtar. I* ift eiAcknt to dascrifaa iim aegatiF^. Be k, as the vh(^, a Toy ^M* >*■• He does not interfere with the concema of the |sifii ; bniaanftBca ^u- nlf to tbe dvtiaa af ^ pulpit. TbMB ia an idea ^t is awaken- iag wiutb altoati— in ov lraea~~tbM the jmofi* an naialUi^ DNre than nsarbiaiM, that tbey csonot be mtadad hj men dwich' gtang, tbattbcrmust b»sl*aaiialed touulMaiatedbLtbe-eseicisa •f tfaeii narol and intellMtnd faeultiea, ■■ short, that ibs; «MBt ba edMKtod ; Ikat the tne Atago. eC reUgtea aod, esmMfawitly. tba pnper bwnie«t ef a dargjaMa* nbaaW. be to denlc^ m miij
teas
172 OUR Tni^QB AS IT IB.
and order, the beat facilities of maDklnd ; to teach &e young to lore and follow the pure and refined pleasures of the intellectual life, instead of the gross and hurtful indulgences of the lower passions. Now, of iJl this, our Rector has never heard ; or, at least, has nerer understood a syllable. He would call, it hetero- doxy or nonsense. He is a man of routine. " That which hath been is the thing diat shall be," saith our Kector.
Well ; as our Rector has been described negatively, so may Our Village be described. If you know what it is not, you may guess what it M. 1 St. It is not a place of social intercourse. No fanuly in the place is respectable enough to visit with the Squire. There are two doctors and two lawyers in the place (for Our Village is nearly a mile long) ; hut thc"birds of a feather " do wrf "flock together " in this case j for Lawyer A, has a quarrel of seven years' standing with Surgeon B. ; while Lawyer C. has discovered that Apothecary D. is a low fellow — sprung from nothing. Sur- geon B. was once very frequent in his visits to the rectory, and drank many bottles of wine there : the consequence is, that now he never goes to the rectory. So much for our social or rather non-social condition, 2nd. There is no intellectual life in the place. If you require proof of this statement, you have only to w^k over to the bookseller's shop in the neighbouriug town of B. Ask Mr. Page what hooks and periodicals he sends to Our Village. He can easily tell you — " Sir, I send one Sel!* Life to the Queen's Head ; one Churchman'e Magazine to Mrs. Church (a retired widow), and one BeU'i Messenger to the Squire. I send novels, now and then, to Miss B., the surgeon's daughter, and some magazines to Mr. A.', the attorney's son. Besides these 1 sell several copies of Moore'g Almanack. " No lecturer ever comes to Our Village ; hut a conjurer can generally contrive to pick a few pence out of our pockets. Wo wore once honoured by a visit of some portion of Mr. Wombwell's carnivorous family, and for two days Our Village seemed alive. The roars of real, Uve lions, broke pleasantly npou our stillness.
Thirdly. There are no intellectual amusemmtts in the place. A few old card-players meet every week at the Queen's Head ; hut they hardly form an exception to our assertion. A tailor, of a melancholy visage, perforins occasionally, ** Oh Nannie, wilt thou gang wi' me J " upon the violin (but " Nannie " never will ge in proper time) ; and our shoemaker has been attempting, for some months, a tnnei (it remains to he proved wAat tune) upon the
ODB TIUAOB AS Tt IS. lIS
dftrionet. This is all the social music we hare, with the ezce^ lion of the piftnoB at the houses of A., B., and C, before mentioned. With regard to our music at church, it Is currently reported in the neighbonring town, we make our psalm-tunes as we sing ; for nohody can recognise them. I may safely say this — I heliere such sin^ng is not to be heard in all London.
So much for the negative symptoms of our place^and do they not imply all that must be said of the poaitiye facts ? Ton may guess what the people are doing if you know what they are not doing. There is no rule more certain than that, throughout nature, one order of life can only be displaced by another. You refuse to cultivate flowers in your garden, it is soon overgrown with rank weeds. Where intellectual life declines, sensnal life rises. Wo need not illustrate the truth — it is a common-place, admitted and neglected — as Coleridge said, " a bed-ridden truth."
Let us only take a walk down Our Village, and we shall find some illustration of this truth, of which our Rector will know nothing* It is seven o'clock— the shades of evening are closing around us, and the old church-tower is fading into the grey sky. How quiet seems Our Village! The music of tongues is chiefly confined to the tap-rooms. The tailor is again popping the question, " OA Nannie," &,c., in ad libitum style, and the shoemaker has just commenced that mysterious tune on the clarionet. But where are our villagers } You cannot see a figure in the street — look a little better — in the shade of the tree by the Squire's gateway — see you nothing ? " Yes ; two young men are standing there." Ay ; and if you were an inhabitant of Our Village aud knew the gentlemen, you might guess their occupation. They are indul^ng in some coarse jokes on the poor ^rl who is coming down the street, so carefoUy folding a shawl around a tattered dress. That poor girl's history will be a good comment on the text which our Rector will not understand. She belongs to the most degraded family in Our Village; and what, think you, led to the degradationof that family? You will smile when I tell you my opinion (which is more than an opinion — a fact} — " That girl is degraded and miserable because oar Rector wo^d not let her father lead the singing and play the bass-viol at chwch." A strange cause, you say, for such an effect ! Well — I vrill explain the case, and in so doing, I shaU illustrate a great moral doctrine already stated. Here is the story then : — " Billy Hodgson, the father of that girl, is a shoe- maker, or ratber a mere cobbler — for he of the clarieDct is our
Coo'jlc
TM^sntiU* mtm ia St. Crii^'s Ibw. BUj o good pur irf-^Mea ; bat he could put tba I»h t« a pi fitirif. Dsiing the tinte of «yr fenoer Mtior, HodgMB wu Ac grata mMMl Miikoritj' of Our ViUae^ He felt that be kul ■ ^Me in tbe pMuh— « gift to ezereiae— « mmhou to &lfil— ^ young authors say. He eonld say, oa Satmiaj tirmaBg, wbea Im had ;gatheMd his ehotr in tht gidlerj, for pcas^oe, — " To pimtow we Bh^ sii« E)m«7, I>«Tnei. and the old 40^ PtatM." Beiai ft«OB3f»rtAUe and ^(iiewoTtfay fiteUog of Wf-fl JmrtkiK ia aayiBg titM. ThBn Suday wM iade«d for Billy * iUy ^ pleaMue. fia believed that it wns creAted and aet a^Mvt from •!! other dkyi iar piwlm flinging The cieik jnight suy, " Let lu MBg," ise. ; hot ^ylMKL&BtdetenautediAet^naldbeaof. Tba, inpreptn- tioo for ihia greatday, tl^ra was ahnwlent oMnpatieo daring tbe week. Xhere ware the wjenwti, the giria (iwriading fiod^ea'a two dw^hteiB), te be aduoaJAied and ke^ inreadmeaa. "Now, ^ally," Ho^on wo^ ny, when he met «w of lus oli«r, " mind you dw't have a cold nat( Saa^^."
Th«s ibere wor« the (aoan — two yowtba 'a^ mqniaed nneh eoBiJag — to be b^ in order, and tiiie o&anter-vaget iiad t« be k^ to hk post J 6ir he laid a pr^peaaity te ge CDuitiag at a B^^bonriag haralat ea Saadays. Hodgsoa even coBpoaad several paelm-toaea, And aot bad onse, whioh were aavg in oar -^lav^. Thus it was ia 1^ days of hia ^ry. And kt ua not treat with an air of burlesqMo that w^h wa^ lite bait part of paar Hodgaon's li£B. It WAS in his p^mody tia»i he rose »boT« eaetk and all its Bordid CAKE about upper-lsAthers, soleB, welta, and boboails : this BBalm-aing^g was the mun connecting lii^ between tbe aool of Biily Ho(Q[Bon And bearer.
AloB I it was eevered — and poor Hodgflw has, indeed, fjidlen like Lucifer. I cannot tdl all llio cirenmatABcea of petty dia- piitea which led to tite diasijution of tits old «[Qire <tf siBgtni ; but o« £ector (who kaowa and cares aiding aboat music) gave many A&oote to our leader, and eaded the diapute by ejecting Hodgaon, his dai%ht«rs, his baas-Ttol, and all big other adherents from the gallery. Hodgson hAB never been in the Church eieee tbat iataX day. When he is very tipsy, and allaaioDfi at« made to his old psalm-sngiog habits, he will My — " Yoo may oall me what you like now ; but them wae the best days of my li£e ; and I was .as decent a man ae any in the pariah ; bat I wab turned out by a ntnn ibat knowa no nnwe of muaic ibtm thie jug ! "-—
Upl:«l by Google
CDS TILLMS jM XT U. ITS
Well ; tititx the ejection iiiete was a blafib in our niamhvernae, for ne had no un^ng for seretal SondAya ; bnt t^ra wm « wane Uuik in poor Ho4gs(ala mind. For » liuls tma he «mua«d himeetf 1^ gcuag (Jwnt utd tellii^ wImI lie eallad '■ the ri|^ code of die Storf ; ' Iwt ea Sktardi^ ereaisgA ad -Simdi^ Im felt a want ef avBKthing; on es^j plwe witkm, -trhiadi he endewroored te £11 by fi«quent potetJoDi at tbe i^Reea's Bead. To mate tlie atory cbort — his evcming drwig^ inetaMed mitii it roachad tfae gallon Bteasuie ; he first a^ected, Oma Ulrjraated and lut)f-Btan«d his wi& and children, aod be bns boMnw the most degraded character — the greatest droi^uKl in Um bbtMi. The Rector tbak« he did vey Well in fbretesng that aw^ « man would disgrace tbe Olwi^ ; h«t forgets te aetice Hui, prerioHi to the ejection, Hedgean WMn-fleb«T, ordedj, and laatulpmit- iuei. Ihe et^id Suture aajw—" tiie Hedgwmirera tiyntya a bad lot." If I WBre to give iam u; wtplaaation of ifae com, ha weaU Bcont it and sa; — " 0 tbat haa notiuiig to do widi it: Hodgam wodd hare drunk juai as baid if he had k^ on pMlnt-aitqimg te ^a day." Thefieetar, weaawhae, e(»^ac8 to ptwteh, 1b a very orthadex atyle, «« ihe evil ceu«ei|aencee oS ae^ectii^ ta attend Church. Both oar Squire «ud «ar Rector belong to a large hut usetees class of mnralista, KhD find it easier to lUto* worda of r^robation than to inquire by what means the onteasts of society have been led astray, or by what tneaas similar cases may be prevented. Such moraUste look upon evwythmg as a miracle ; for they will never give thomaelvea the trouble to trace an effect to its cause. To say that ainaers are ainners ia very easy ; but a more useful thing woiUd be to inquire into the exact circumstancB of their fall. If this were done, there would he found many casea snbAanitiBUiir like that I have related. The connection that haa been traced between the emulsion of the old basa-viol from our orcbeatra, and the circumBtanoea of Hodgson's daughters, degraded to aomethiug wenee iian btg^anf, ie not imaginary. If the unhaj^y girie eould tell their inner history — how, when thtnr fMhw tod degmded hinsrif (and wb«n every body looked upon ^em as degraded also), they felt that they bad ne station to maintain, no eharaetra' to lose, and how they were led, step by step, down the wrong way, until they really Irecame wIhU jKuple Memed fo erpffif Jftem to 4e — if they could tell Uietr true talej it woidd confirm my esplaaation of it. Yes ; vice is a very bad thing — and bo is a great deal Of cold, selfish respect- ability, and moral orthodoxy !
Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc
170 THE HEDGEHOG LETTEKS.
Before I close this little atory (too true), I must notice what tt suggests repectiog Our Village generally.
I haye presented a glaring instance of vice resulting from a want of good occupation ; but &e rule laid down would bo too well confirmed by a close inspection of social life in Our ViUage. What are our young people tninking about t What are they doing ? I have told what they are not doing. They are hardly recognised by their superiors as creatures having souls ; but they hare Bonis, at least, feelings and pasaions. What are they doing ? I leave the reader to guess. If there is not light in a place, of coarse there must be darkness.
To conclude — have we not persisted too long in the old mis- take of treating vice only as a matter for reprobation and punish- ment, instead of studying the means of prevention ?
Are not many of the vices of l^e poor and the ignorant just the natural effects of that state of moral and intellectual deprivation to which they are condemned by the apathy of their superiors ? — Is that to be called a moral education, or a religion which cnlti- vales none. of the best faculties of the mind, which encourages no activity in pure and elevated pursuits, which treats the people as if they were only machines, and thinks to atone for a week of moral lethargy by a sermoa on Sunday ?
Such questions are suggested by Our Village as it la : wc shall consider them more fully when we attempt a sketch of Ouii Village as it odoht to be. •
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.
COMTinilND IBE OPINIONS INO IDVENTnKBS OF Jtrt)]
MHDOH ; AND WBITTEN TO HIS IMLATIVES kSD AdtClllTAIICB, 1 ' VABIOCB FABtS OF tHB WOBLD.
Dkab Ebehezer, — Your letter came to hand. There was no fear of that. No letter that showed a man to be a fool, ever yet miscarried. Asd a pretty noodle your bit of foolscap paints you. What ! you 're glad we 're going to have out the mihtia ? Ton 're delighted to find. we 've so much blood in ns ! . Blood, indeed I
,11 :«l by Google
THB HBDOGHOd UBTTEB*. If?
What bnnnesB has any decent Cluistiiui man iritlk blood, miless ia the war of black pudiiings ?
Well, at jour tim« of life, I didn't think you could hare had the pipe-claj fever bo atroDfi; upon jon 1 And jet it only makeB out a notion of min«. You ma; begin witli boys and lads, and teach them what 's right and straigbt, — but it's plaguy hard to take the twist and crank out of you respectable middle'aged Solomons that Kill be fools, and still think you're so very wise, only because you 're fools with a grave face. You say, the whole town of Numskull ia ripe fw war. li it ? 'Twould serve it right just to have one morning's lelish of it. The mayor, you say, ia very hot for glory, and the mayoresB and her daughters dying to see tiie whole town in regimentals. If the thing could be done, I should like to have Numskull besieged, and the mayor's house piirticulwly well peppered. 'Twould be a nice holiday, a capital sight for the rest Of all England. I think I could arrange a very pretty day's amusement.
Let me see : we will be^n about seven o'clock in the morning. The mayor is yet in bis bed, lying on his back, twiddling his thumbs, and counting over his virtues. Whiz — bang — crash! A shell — fired by the Yankee Wholehog artillery — (they landed laat night irom the Caxidoion, Pennsylvaniau frigate) — falls tiirough the roof — throu^ floor and floor— carriea away, never minding the mayoress's screams, half the state tester, leaving the mayor and his wife unhurt, — but still falling through dining-room and parlour, — and intent upon doing its worst, descending into tbe cellar, and finally dropping into a pipe of the very best beeswing port, just going to be bottled. Now, this bomb we 'II suppose to be the first sugar-plum of war !
The Mayor jumps out of bed, thinking of his money-box, his
5 late, his bonds, his pipe of port, and his wife and daughters, 'he lady mayoress screama Uke — no, I can 't think of nothing stronger — ^like a woman I And then her five daughters, all in their. bed-gowns and curl-papers, rushing in, scream, too, to show the tenderness and the weakness of their womanhood. Now, Ebcnezer, am 't all tJiese creatures pretty hypocrites ? I mean what I say — and I '11 prove it.
Bless their little satisfied souls ! how they do love the military,
to be sure 1 Wbat a beautifid thing is a review to 'em — isn't it ?
And how they'll smile upon cannon-balls as if they were things
to eat — and how they Tl wink their precious eyes in the breast-
KO. XIV. — TOL. m. s
■178 ;
jdatM of tbe4eM' ofioem, U»re than tf tkey stand Midtair -Mm looking-glneses ! And tLen, in their 1Mb prfoa f Wwia, tbcj think no more af a nun Ihuii «f a b>r>'dMr fmri, if be in 't a soldier. B«t «slj pat a fMtW in Ui <[np - jei clath m^ ^d jJAca «■> Ms body— 1^ Inn tight ntwid wm m, Msk (Ibe baW i>f glwy !) — aad let » long Mraf<d dangle bj U« nde — Mid to wgnoan's heut, w^ot a dear peaoeek tbe svact fcUotr is 1 She OMiId foUoT bin ail over the warid ; hU £e«tben arc w tia«, asd he deea etixtt m> hea^ntiSui^ '. Aad ia this yiay, fibuMoer, do WMien 4^^i. and ngaia nake tbenHlvee paitiaa ia waa aad wiekedAWB ! Jia Oar htarta, to be aBTD, they don 't meaii it. Tb«f 'U Eaintt mom «f 'ea, i» mo a cut finger ; l»tt tiboi a le- i^w wi)j abawB tbe friypeij ef war — wilh<mt the Uaod. tke autaic 's bea«tiial, mwI Hiiie '» aa ixJl ibsa far list.
Sometuawa, £bas«EW, w& bear vf plaaa to ndse woveo ia wiiat tbej eaU tbe aoeiol leala. I 'm mi abjectMn, I '» sure ; awl Bhould Tery well like to see tbe plan triad, 2[eT«rkb«le«B, I <fe thioki vitm I r^&entv^oa the sMScbw^ af waE, — I da tkiak that voman au^t give man a lift. Bat tbaa she ia »uieti an odd, eao- ' tradictory thing ! Elae, at «&», ibe 'd aat feer prscian* iaee agauBt cutting thioata, and wauUa't think (JaughtM- a bit tlie better, baoavse doae \iy aiae jomg mea in red coaM, vilib colsars flying, and tnuafMa birajring,
{Bj Uie bye, Sb»esei:, when I tiaiak ef wliat the trumpet re^y dooB — hoT it eels man iqioa taaji— and awbee bload 'hmn a^aioBt blood — bcayiag seeme a «^ital word for it, len't it add, too — aod Uiere 'b ecuae meauiiig m it, defend <w 't — tfaat a traxipet twd . a jackaas, are tbe oaiy thinga that brsy ?]
Now, here 'a & chance for womea, Ebeoeaer I If tfaef 'd onlj fol- low the exauplo of ny eo«uiin Jobuuia ! (Wbat a loeaiber «f Far- Uament that girl would have made !} She was gaiiig to be mar- ried to Samsoti C^reaai, a ymiag maa in &e pmluatery line. They were m asax it, that if the ring vaw't bought, they'd often (through the wiadows) laoked at it. W«U, b«'i very bad with this militia dJaeaie — this scailet fever : and ia tbe prida «f his powder-puff heart, told J«hanBA A»i he 'd no doubt he abanU be a corporal. Wherefore, the girl at once told him, that be naat either give us all thougbte of pipatday er of her— t^t ahe'd Mvcr take a cartri4ge-boz to h«r »ixm — aad when dte ntarried would, by no nMaoB, have a buebaad with fratlMra. So if Sameon won't con- iei\i bo moult, be bees Jehaosa. Tbe girl '■ only a mHd<of-aU-
179
vtsk'—lMt :mKf Tay »ue fct«»k hw kseea ftgam, if she isn't a pnt- ima for coHltwaM. C ^ «ure »f it : if tM women -frere reeo- hitelf t» ta^e tiie matter in hmA, &ey raigfat put an end to var dvrerlb wcrtd. And tke; o«^ to do it : tnrmdd be die pret- CiHtfwAer iMtke pKttieat e^ t^^TiTMld wear — Aaf Te&tlier dtey Migbt ifimtta their ^■Mn-«^ gloT^. Bit I contend tint it 'a itoimb's tnrn wwt — lAat Ihiy cwB hw -"TmiBimi " if pnjperly laalwtliooi. "hat vm atifitm.
Bore 'a « Wby ham. A little, Mplew, «i7ing ifaing that 's MMAti a 1oi*« cf ft'OK ^ ftvt nmite— Mid ^nnging, ^hm shall ai^, Kpfait a baaf cf bpw w^ it f Wdl, llm p«(ty fit6« VDimal ■8 cncfaij wnmUM, «mI pswd«Kd, and dl norte of cbtb ta^en of it— 4b« tUag hee— rfBg « a very little turn mn^i a^easure, tkaC tiie Battk of BagbBd ««uMn't Ve taken fer it. And -diia thing — that there's been auob fear and aoA bope abant, -and nch a lot of lo«e — with ita first toOtfi, and ita meMlefl, and its running Kloae— awd ita -teariiiBg it to kseet upon mafher'B lap ond Mjf iLhe B«licf and tke Lord's Prayer, — tfaabkBied'AiBghiLB only been kegotten, and bom, and ntirscd, *sd tanglit, to h« cut in tare with a bMMdmrcrd, «r b)*wn -topieeefi with etnmoti shot. la it Ofaristian-Jftifr— ia it vwa aeiiBiUe — 4« beget efafldren to do nnd suffer mch denla' voA ? Dependvpon it, if iroraen kneir thdr trve diguty, aa it'a caUed — 4iiey wnldn^ sirifer it. No: fliey'd tldiik better of what tfasy were meant for, and vonldn't bear eholdren for bftyeneta asd Wlets. Some of theae days, Ebenezer, they nay think of Aeu thin^ ; bat at preaenti a WJ>iBan inll ivn «iW ganpo-witt, joat w poae will ms after "valerian.
Bnt let ne «oine back — for 1 're wandered a long way — to tbe aiege of "H-rfMiinitl, jietto let yen eee the beanties of war. Well, lite laayar, and ia« 'wife -aaid 'dau^bva, are all embracing one «M)tber in tte bed-i>»om, when buig comes another shell, and blows «w«; Jbnia and I^onisa (yoDog pretty things, tbat never did harm to anybody) mto the next world. Sang — bang — fall ^e sbdla ! CrMh goes the honee, and the mayor and his wife, and three dangfatera, scramble dewn stairs, and hide in the cellar !
Now, Mr. Mayor was a great man fijr war, and aQ its glory. Yea ! when Ml of his best port, he would give his favourito toast — "A speedy war and soon!" And wherefore? The purple-faced dd aaa knew nothing of war but its ontaide finery. The regimental band, tbe fifes and drums, made him feel as strong as Samson — but then he'd never had bomb-shella drop n2
ISO THB BBIXlEHOa LBTTERS,
througli his houfle, and his helpless children alanghtered under his eyes. How very differently does he now— squatted low, like a toadstool in his cellai^Uiink of war ! How does he groan, and shake, and in his misery tear his grey hair, — as he hears the hell of war roaring about him — and listens to the yells and shoute of men, like derila escaped from the homing pit, to work destruction ! And now — bang — ^bang— hla house is hurst ofea — half the regiment of the Pennsjlvanian rifles flock in— Pilh^fe, Pillage is the cry — ^they tear from room to room — ^they desoeud into the cellar — they stave in pipes and hogsheads — they seize the mayor's three daughters— And (could he ever have thought it ?) now is he grateful that Maria and Louisa, in sudden death, met a better fate. Well, the poor mayor makes a rush at one of the heroes, when lus brains are knocked out by the butt-end of a musket, and the " glory " continues.
But I know your answer to this. You say, "we never suf- fered aU this. The rascally enemy can 't come to Numskull to do this wickedness — we are s^e !" Why, you stony-hearted ruffian — forgive me, for a minute, Ehenezer — Is the atrocity any the less l«cauBe you don't suffer it — is it a bit better because you send out men to do all this and endure none of the horror yourself ? But so it is, Ehenezer ; you, and such noodles as you, roar about the glory of war, because you've only seen a review — ^have only looked upon the fine glossy skin of the tiger, and have never felt its teeth and claws. True it is, you've paid taxes : and certainly, it is thought bad enough to bleed at the pocket ; but, after all, 'tia not quite so bad as to bleed yourself, or see your wife or children bleeding on the bayonet. Purse-strings are delicate ; but, somehow or the other, heart-strings carry It.
And therefore, Ehenezer, let me hear no more of your cock-a- doodle-do-ing about the splendour of war, and the grandeur of the militia. If you want to punish your fellow-creatures, am't you a grocer and a general dealer, and can't you be satisfied ?
There's short-weight, adulteration, passing-off bad money. — fifty ways for you to delight the devil with ; hut don't treat him to the morsel of all that ho best loves — war — wicked, stupid war !
And with this, I am. Your best friend,
JcinPEii Hedgehoo.
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Ballid It«iiuicE8. By^ R. H. Hobne, Author of " Orion," " Coamo do Medid," &.C. Fcp. Sra. London : Charles Oilier. ,^ The title of this collection is more cloaelj appropriate tban at first glance might appear. " Ballad Romances I " — eo they axe exactly, having all the intense interest of prose, with all the ext^nisite grace and brilliancy of poetiy. If Ihey become not popular, then is onr&ith'gone in. the human he^ and the human imagination. It is tike ofGce of genins to disarm criticism, and to excite rapture ; and so it is impouible for any set measure to be taken of true poetiy. It pleases, it enchants, as the operations of nature, as the sou worms and the flowers blow. We may certainly, after the pleasurable emotion has subsided, examine more minutely, and gather more exactly the causes of our delight. Bat to predetermine what genins should do, or after its creation to test it by another creation, is a wrong as well as an absnriiity. We indulge in this PolonioB-like dissertation, because we so frequently find one thing tested by another ; and have no doubt we shall see and hear the same method applied to these poems. They are not like Bycon, nor Tennyson, nor Soathey, nor Browning : they are themselves, and in themselves are beautiful and true — true in passion, true in relation, and true in sonnd. The Poet's heart has felt the haman emotion here portrayed, the Poet's eye has gathered all the true images here so felicitously described ; and the Poet's ear has caught the musical utterance manifested in the rhythm. It is in the latter quality or power we place the most reliance for testing the true poet, mecnanical though it has always been esteemed, and often decried as something contrary to sense. If the rhjrthm is fine and sonorous, gentle and melodious, according to the sense and passion, then may we be sure it is the genuine offspring of a poet. Rhythm (we mean not a set measured line nor ready rhyme) is never but with the tme poet, fluent, and in its fluency most potent, rising and falling with its labject ; now warming itself mto a torrent of pawion, and then spreading itself into a lake, reflecting every image,. There may be certain established formula of verse that can be spun off by the thousand by those who have caught the knack ; bat every genuine poet has a rhythm of his owuj horn othis own spirit, breathing his own words, measuring his own music. The thoughts, the images, the passion, hs may be conscious of, bnt scarcely of his rhythm ; that is the vehicle pro- vided by nature for the embodiment of these celestial things. I f this there> fore betokan no coniciougneu, so art, nor leasomnj;, ao maunfitctniiiv.
162 VSV BOOKS.
then we may be certain that the ntterer baa the fccnlty divine — has tbat QDiversal nature, that fine translucent spirit that appreciates, and can develop all forms and processes with which it is connected. We do not say that a poet is always poetical : we do not say that in Mr. Home's vetses this power or quality ia always to be found ; (in what poem is it^) but he has it to great perfection and in great abundance. Ihs heart and mind are full of nis subject ; hk an^entanding is irmdiated by his imagination, and he pours forth hia vaixe full measured and spiritedly, as a bird, warbles oat its nnconscious song. He is a poet — ona of the few sent to delight and relieve thi^ labonoas age, and as soch shonld be peruiBed with fove and reverence.
There are other elements of popularity n these efcarmiog; poems- buddes their poetical powei- ; they all shadow out or even more tmm- tivrfy nUtte a stefy ^pftmion a»d intereat, arf aa "Suiamjk»,v^ btitaded WDidd hitelwb »d excit«, Ttie NsUe Heart, MS arae -pime s(«ry, vionli dsEght, as vnrald. tt»t wwiderfel owAoMt of pMntm (mk- laiaed witH a iaree a» fei m wa leecAeet HneqnaBed in oax titeratare) of Delorft. The naMre of our ftotioea prechider any Justification by a more miirate expontioa, or by qnetation, of out high estimate of this vshmw ; but we aK »eady to rtm the riA oi reproach flpMn any who pwpchase it at ost euvMBt reacnnibeciitettoi).
OuvKO: CaaHnrfev'a JuKums HHb Sfbkohm: with £ur«tM«MB. ^ Tboius CiuaaB^ la Twa Tiliimn Demr 8v«. LtHtdon ; ChMnm
£vaM in t&& se^eiliiial, " d(y--«»-dagb" (t» nse a G^^itm,) b«<^ of 'SigHsh BiAcrry of tbe- Otsat BcdbaUion, there at* do details at Hsx via WM tb» graaC ams cif evenU. Every -raadar of Hume, hiaguif A&ciatMfa, and bH tbs ^dll mvre ploddinf matUr-of-tect coUsoMrs, mdrt haVB bMH diuppointsd or mrrpriwd t» find how, itainedMriy afMr the tieontiiAi of eaarWs Stmrt, (Am kMwiM dwiwSe to tl& shimest $fm: On tbe nndodraaia of ttatt onnt the hiatsriaavscMk txr baT» ttbaMtri their pawns of mrmtiiiii ; nd tl># hlat^ atri nounlai pagHBt kanag Wen paiuhd wOi ptetorial dket. Hit mitahr faUa os tha njaii rtory, Mn apfaesatif tnflibg «iA«-Mt tiwB ilte up twAvs ycAtiF of tnwt importKst tdsWfy, iriwndK lit shinoAed many bslfrre' Botnd proidam of btMuoi !)«{«« atfilooaisdpriiloi^eA the hmotabls vrMri of' a aarrativB of thvw- fanportmit tanu wu pensived by a tfiaa wl« had tnany qaaliAcMlianft to Mipply Ibrr WMt, and Godwin^ Sisiery of Sie GMaBMWmeHltfe was pnd)liukB<l. lu nany re«p««t» it it a nt^le' work, wrilteb with en&t^ Hid hnowMge, thou^ dlMlgnred with tiw paftialitiiM, not to sof prsjuiliott, of the an^r. S%Be!l.y disuiXtwl wUh tW ignoraiwi as the DUnj floency e( tbsir style, he appmisd him' self tb MWfy m^ to tAvngrrtar histetriua; H^ phnswli^ sMofad ta>
„ 'G vutmrtft oar mode of e^itssioii. Stilt wc had
b«t « dte akad»^ng of the nrat «piiit of fhe time ; dt abase md enlogT-, sf hets and «v«il^ mKeimt, and' mim tJum sdBcfent, bat d the imI pRteace (tf the tge t&ere wu m portraj^. Ehiddittions of tbia mat om, tbenfore, hy so osmest tzA ao capbfcle an mteliect as Hr. Carlyta's, is a gnat MmaiDo. If« alwa^ deaU with the eaaential. His gUMRN and rtgonm spint kn no nyarptiOiy ivith the 8n{ieT£ciaI afid-'tha iid«-«ts««tiBi. He ragards er^t^ming in Ha sequence. Things widMat impertBnt ««!*eqtience have no attracliona for mm. HepBi- c«i*BiilJwirin«gnificairee fiw eltciting kncnriedg*, and he wH&ers tfiem i*ttit iia mom. A great histsTkn wast oceasioiianv be a great sBtiriaf, aad tiiia Mr. Cariyle proves himself. His scorn of falsifiers and trifleis seems equal ; whether it is judicious to be always eierciahlg tbia power of tsMaii^ and degrading "the dry-as-dnat" sehool msjr be doubted. We Mvs an etxmpU ia Mfchelet and thitrry, and perhaps in other foteiga ■waten, SuK a tttiatian of historic^ events may be given with tke ttMMt fwce and ftrrfh wiUiDnt t^fferring everlastingly to flte diort- coniogs of atlist writers. Tt h, however, to he reeiembered that Mr. Cwbfds hM to remerc sa ivamaae quantity of mbbiafa, that has been aeooiimlklad b ordet to miertpreaent and m^gn the great man whose cMne of tbeogfats aad deed* he bokls td portray, so a» to convey some ' jMl lotisn of then.
Bfr. Cirijrk M to 09 a dcfiglrtftil wrhet,— one vt»m «6 pernK with- ont concionnesB that we am studying, ao coinpletefy doas he occupy and fill the attention. TheH who have at allnade history or bio- gmptar tteir stady mnt soon hxn fclt low fagraentxrj thei noBSSMiify are. Wliat mere oecammal glhnpses — what mere waifli and straifs-'-what men ^toppiagt of time, escaped from die great wallet of obMvion,— Mdi nsmtions consist of. Yet Ae regular historiatia make np a narrative that presents an unbroken aequence, and we roll from OM end of Ihc RflBHUi period to the ot%«T, and from the knding of the Saateta»te'y«rttrdity, as if it were all as coherent as a police re^rt. It is too much fke ewe dm with imfiridaal biogr»ph_y. Ceitam events axd otoutveRoss, estMm«d fran beiM fbcts, are lant hold of, and the intttaticfs, the very psttfaag praktMy containing the processes of ckwaeter and condact moat iiAerestiirg aird rmpottant, are bridged ow* wit* a phraee, a« if the gulf thus passed was of no importance, Snch writing has beeome- n drug. It aftinh but little nutriment, and meB tktK sTaffed with words, asfter conauming- libraries, have passed away as ignorant as at starting, and far more so fban, if Uiey had eser- cised their own observation on the living world aroand them.
There have happily sprung up in France, and amongst ourselves, writers who have felt the ineffiinevcy ef this made, and Mr. Garlyle, in England, has kid the foundation for a new school of historical com- psntion. The originator of a new style seldom is enabled to perfect it. a^ tlien' an aouiy- exci««cen«es and Irmperfections in this new school'
IB4 HBW BOOKS.
which mccesBive attempta mxy modify and remove. Bat the apiiit is there ; the eomeet palpable recognition of the things treated of aa lealitiea — a coiitempt of words for words' sake — a determisation to produce carreBpondiog ideas in the reader's mind, and a comprehenaion of the events murated in all their due relations. Such composition ia neither easy writing nor easy reading ; that is, it is not lazy reading ; it recalls with all Uie force of reality to the senses, and with all its tremendous consequences to the reflection, the deeds and events it re- lates. We are transplanted into the very presence of the time, and pat face to face with the circumstances. We feel onr own relation U> them, and are obliged to regard them with a personal interest that arouses the faculties of our natare to their most forcible existence. They beget suggestions and reflections that have a healthful and permanent effect on the tinderstandtng.
In no work of Mr. Carlyle's have we so much felt the force of his geniusasin this of "Cromwell." His varied knowledge, his wonderfid appreciation of the value of &ctB, his pungent style, his pervading sub- tlety of intellect, his quick sensibility to all ttiat is truly great and ■valuable, were, to our mind, never more strongly and delightfully por- trayed. He knows, and we all know, that all that is recorded of sacb a spirit as Cromwell must be fragmentary, had we even folio volumes of facts to repiece his life out of. With the shreds and patches that remain, what sort of image can we expect ? Mr. Carlyle does not seek with "the dry-as-dnst" school to palm off a Tnssaud's composition npon US. He tells us he has only a Tvrio : but he shows us now we may make np a glimpse of the wanting parts. And nobly does he do this : bringing to bear in tbe operation the minutest fragments from the remotest places. The only things that remain to us of tbe colossus, who knit up the ravelled skein of the great contention between rights and privileges, are what was once a portion of himself ; what he wrote and what he said, and, as far as we can get at it, what he did. Of all these only fragments remain : and hitherto have been strangely mis- nsed, and misunderstood, and misrepresented. Mr. Carlyle here col- lects these membra disjecta, and, by arrangement and lights gathered from a profonnd knowledge of men, and " a learned spirit of human dealing," breathes into them snch coherence, as at least to enable the Teader, or rather the student, to obtain some idea of the individual and the circumstances. Neither analysis nor quotation can give any idea of the valne of the work, and therefore with this imperfect intro- duction to it, we most earnestly commend it to the reader^ respectful and earnest attention.
The Femilx's Fki&nd. London : Houlston Etnd Stoneman.
This is the first namber of a periodical, tbe object of which is the
improving and enforcing the laws for the protection of women ; and
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bears every eTidenca of proceeding from a body deeply impressed with the social BOcredness of the caose. It cOBtaina t}ie draoght of a petition to be preeented to the Qaeen, by a depalatiou of ladies, on the subject. We have felt it our duty to cwl the attention of onr fair readers to a purpose apparently so well advocated — a purpose, involving in it the moral dignity and happiness of so vast a multitude of their sex.
CoNFBSSiOHS OF AS HoHCM>PjiiBi9T. Fcp. 8vo. Dublin : S. B. Oldham.
We have always objected to the principle of constructing a story to produce a particular opinion, or attack any scientific system, and certainly the mode of execution in the present instance is not such aa to induce us to recant oar objection. The best part of the book has nothing to do with Homceopathy, but we cannot say that even this best part is such as to lead ns to hope the author will persist in his literary attempts.
Sketches fooh thb Flehisb Life : in ihiibi Talbs. Translated from the Flemish of Hemdrik Conscirnce, and illustrated by one hundred and thirty EngraviDgg on wood, from dedgns by Flemish Arttats. Sq. fcp. London : Longman &. Co.
Hehdrie Conscience deserves the popularity he unquestionably enjoys in his own conntiy ; he writes graphically, heartily, and fumply: sketching the scenes and manners amon^t which he lives, BO as to convey a lively impression, even to us foreigners. He may be a trifie too national, bnt that is a ^nlt on the right side, more espe- cially as it is also on the weak side. His detestation of fVench man- ners is unbounded, and doubtless the adventurers who seek refuge on the French frontier must be a lamentable curse t<i the honest Fleming, who seem to have retained a ^eat deal of their primitive simplicity and goodheartedness. It might, however, be wiser to seek an amalga- niation with their great neighbours in matters of innocent tastes, as it seems scarcely possible that the Flemings can continue for ever to pre- serve their individuality as a nation, or even as a race. If however the present " Sketches" are just portraits (and they have every appearance of being bo), it ia highly desirable that they shonld preserve their inde- pendence.
The illostrations are numerous and very characteristic, and Ihe book altogether is prettily cot up, and is exceedingly well translated and interesting. We are olsliHed to the tranilat«r for an introduction to ao agreeable an author, and ^onld be glad to know more of him.
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The Qmm op IhsnriBX, ta H!«totleaI Nor^ Edited V ^''^ Gobe.
S rolCL pMt 8to. t-ondra : R. Ctltaaa.
TH« CtnzKH OF PBAauE. TraiuiUt^byHABT HowiTT. S vda. poit 8vo.
London : H. Colbum.
We bave placed these novels together, because they posaeBS m&ay pointa in common. Thejf both profess to be historic^ ; they treat of the same period, though m different countries, and they both have in their original form apparently a political object. They are also to a very eooaideiiible extent alike in (mtiBwnt a«d CMitrnction. la boOi ■we find innnmecable princei and counts, chamberlains aMd statemMl, witli all the wtificial " dolltry " of a costt Tte(« leems to b« alM in eaeh author the same foreign kind of lentimwUal waniaf of nai^ croeied on a vehement dence-tn be liberal.
"theQueenof Denmaik"isto ua tbem(atagresaUe«f thotno. Itii ]eaa crewded with peraenages, and lesa perplexed with intriguai. TIlb characters are drawn more distinctly, and the descriptions of thiaga ani events are leas encumbered with details. The domestic interest prcvaila over the historic, and the real, that is the interesting heroine is Lisette, a goldsmith'a daughter, whose modest pore passion tor a heartless male coquette ia well portrayed. The author, or authoress, for we aitenaie ottr notiam m to which an the writer befciwi, baa well deUneated t&e lighter eraotmos of tlie heart, and undeTBtairifi all tieTariations offte tesder passion," especially as relates ta the female patient of this£v- order. The vivacity of the writer is akin to that of Mrs. Gore, and as the tiiM* ia tkat of me most grotesque and artiftcial pemd, perhaps e**r lecnrded, mmsly, i&o middle ef tba eij^tMntll e«Dtai7, t&ere ia mfitf a jnstifi^atioB for it. The sftrae Stppont aapetttnuuee for wit, and beatt* lew want af high pmneiple for pfailomphf , it pot iKte ths menthi <rf (Ae chaiactti^ tho^ it must bs contaaMd, mw« taw uH, ^Mt the ftuAiiM ottUawtiAedperiMlmaotianaitaintiwtaeUdB. Hie third vottone i»
rticnlady oconpMd wilii tlis dtate a&us, tiie folV «f StMeowe, candeRmatHn ef bis mhnipy, H not goHty nutnaa, Qawn CandiM HatiMs ef Danutk. Tlie ■nem and Crimea vf ceortt mam straagriy anongb t» favn becDme the unmMal subject of thew yAum taMe»aBd CMlmge lead them intvadmiialioii of mwmOitatX Mpmo^Hf. Demooai? auMOt httMbetterattvoesteatlMa t^estratoiriDK MiMalM»
of tbe ooBtantibU ehaa of iadinriduals, wlio fcttaa en ttue eorroptias of maatrdiieal scraetBrnent. ISeUindnem of fWr»me, aadtbeinji " of DMiiiMi, ewird aat be laore fetciUy ei^MBad by a Ten Paias.
The description of places and manners evidently prose it t»betl»' worit of a rwAiM of may yaars, if not a bMIt*, aM so for it » ibsCrae-
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tiTC, as wall a* dsvaiag ^ and altogether it am Iw j^uU^ MetmaiMifcd aa worOiy, Mt mam aeconatar of peanal. "TkmCHaamn.tt'Pmgm" ia of s Bodi Mtm aabit^M riw^ and-
aiMoa at oombiwiMf maay nEcellaiiaiM. It seeks to derdap tbrinitiatnt intikacies.af punou aod cf»iacter, to deal prafoundly with polilifd pkilaiophy, lo descQb» loeDery okd, coafts pictiiiesqiialy u^ p^Ai- uU]r, utd to- gac^^ all with tAei;giaccs of style and «t. HoUngevaty allavaaca Car tbe rsdodtioB vf » tnmslatioD^ it CNisatb* eoid to fUfil its aiau. The rU>i»«tnTi ace eUoratel j &«wm, but want tba fnva moA TigDoi at reality ; tbvf bm toe waek eulted l^ draniptaaii, whiob is tdo Ettle joatified by then csodaat aad langnage. A teiy witty, bril- liut e«aiiit«M, ia iiBoJly, if ja^ed hj ber pi:«ceediags, an liqwrtineBt spoiled ^1 ; and tbe cjiief dttaaetsi, TbooiM Thyntou^ tba oitiEeit of Plague, W a more oammMi-flaca personage tbontba tvlogat tvttyvham b«riaw«A npsB kim wenld kad aae U> espect. Tbs En^Mss Madi. ^n«raM is wdaa'a piwca ol nawe neloibawatic ntaokineTy, «rba ktvotvu
idsa. (tf eStet. AitistioDjr Boiuidsre^ tba novel ia lar too onwded witti cbaracten, deacnpttan^ and inbrigoes. Of ovinae- lev-brad cbildcsa do not torn oat to be low-bom : aad tkoogb tbe vaA a peimejtted with deinocratie sestiment)^ yet the UHial boiaag* t£ the coTcIiat i* paid to aristociaMy, by: ifindicg' ont at last tint tbey ase sat plebeiaB. It ia not, bowever^ with oat constdendile mtrrita ; rail it w oetaffiooaliy interaatmg frsm tbe eanett dciineatiuos of tile fottooe* af it£ peracauwBt, and Baaietiinea ebi>qBelnt in its diasertattoBS. 'Ehede- scrirttion of Karlstoin, an ancient Jinstrian fortres*, formerly investad with eslRHirdiaary pmilegei ia oi^r te meinUdD \i» pun militMy ferraar of the middle ages, is estretDriy well grrta, and is an exerilaat satire on the melodratnatic fei-vonr manifested by the modsis. yoaai; nobUity who wish to realize the idea of chivalry. The captain of this tcoop of fanatics and eccentrics, the Count Podiebrad, is a fair embodi- ment of the notiona of Young England, and in this character the author baa shown some capacity for humour. The bomtjardment of Prague is also powerfully and graphically described, without exagge- ratlonj yet with a fall delineation of the terrible horrors of war. To raany also, tbe bock will be acceptable from its bigh-wrooght aenU- ment, but to us who think this lactitious feeling d^gerons and dis- agreMkble, it is a serious blemi^.
Tfa« great defeat of aach sovelt la- tbe mai* in wbidi tlcty Confcan^ right tud wrong, by eettti* i&etwlTamatic graoea t&ey ^Te>-to taim poaitiims and peiaenagiea. They se^ to create a csmproniafl (WWe hnl lately aim t» obaerve i» a lady's writings) between twn st«n^ haslllB feelings, both of wbicii cannot be right. They seek waakly, tbosdi peth^ aaaiaibly, to er^^ s eeriitien between two eon-- t^ndtng piinc^tes. They stty to AriMeeraey, Demooracy ta s eaxeae, TBlgar M(<vw, but he- metatf "mil ; tei Jit/atecniry Sbev toy, Aristo- cracy ia a mrrem oH feilsw, 6«t thm hov graocfal be ia ami ]tD«r Ceroua be can bs. Tbay ^tsnnkte bstwaen \iin twe, now kt^ J in tbv deltHMtioB of the flnest te«4ingaj and Hien inpMtring: tbet
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igS NEW BOOKS.
teader witb Um descriptiom of gorgeons Bpleadonn. In otM matenai, it is ^1 grace and magnanimity of mind ; the next, we ue to be awed by costly dressea and Bumptnoiie furnitQTe. From the ipirit they tura to the BenseB, paying to both an equal homage. This confusion of ths essential and the non-essential ; thii pretended homage to rank and to
{' istice cannot be correct, and the creation of a sentimental enthnnasio, lending both into one admiring feeling, is an^hing bnt benefidal to the canw of eenie and right. The young will read these books, and
eittent, hare their enthusiasm turned in a false direction. To t whose reflective powers are paramonnt, snch works, as we have said before, can only expose the &ke state of things, where compensation for wrongs can only be gained by some fortnitons interrention of sentiment, and by the combination of romantic incidents that seldom occur. Maria Theresa and Caroline Matilda may have been always ready to rush in and, " throwing by a cartain hitherto nnohserved,'' renonnce or revoke an UDjnst jadgment— they may have been able to legislate far varions races and for all time, — they may have always the gublimeet justice and philanthropy oppermost in their hearts ; bnt still we must think it nnreasonable to argue, or b^ indirect modes, assert that, therefore, it is desirable so to arrange society that a very small class of Tinman crea.- tnres should have the control of millions. But, above all, we protest against this momentous and imminently approaching qnestioD being forestalled or compromised by writers who deal in factitions sentiments and nnreasoning enthnsiasm.
Thk Eventful Epoch ; ob,The Foriunes of Arcbek Cute. ByNicnous MicaBLL, author of " The Traduced." Id three vols, post Bvo. London : Simpkin, Mamhall & Co.
The time of this novel is 1791, and the plot^ language, and manners seem to be of the same period. Indeed, during its penisa! we have turned to. its title-page to be quite assured that we were not reading one of the original Minerva Press prodnctions, all of which we thought had been put to flight by the new style introduced by the publication of Waverl^. The vehement abuse of the French Revolation seems to be a re-ntlurance of the old volnnteer enthusiasm when Frenchmen were represented as frogs, whom it was meritorious to spit and broil. The
C'., such as it is, may be fonnd in numerous plays and romances of the centniy, where a virtuoiis and ideal hero rescues, to his own detri- ment, a chaste and persecuted wife from the machmaUons of an unscrn- polons seducer. Besides this main business of the fiction, we have tt
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mw BOOKS. 180
t^Tolaliraiary eDtboBiut ftuthor, ■ benvrolent old nobltnun, a Tisegar maiden aunt, and a very woithv yoong aristocratic lady, Minda Clive — tlie neareat approach to wmetniiig like a reTelation of character. The charaeten, maonere, and incidenta are all of that elaaa that maj be com- preheorivnj styled the Bham-raal. There is no donbt human beinaa nav« had each of the cbsracteriBticE described, and the events may all have occnired ; bnt in this class of writine tbej are so nnartistically and unnatnrally apportioned and mingled, tbat they " look not like die iidkabitanta o' the earth," thoagh they are placed npon it. The follow- ing qnokUion of one of the first sentences will, we think, jnatify our assertion as to the style and sentimenta : —
Tkt Eye o/' England, the fean of Europe, the coriority of the world were ' directed to one comitiy— that comitry was France. Abeady had aitarch]/, with the emblems of liberty blaang on her lying front, trampled on Stt hearik and (Ac aUar. Tbe Eur flag of the Bourbon bad stooped to the iUodf (rv
This ia a pretty fair specimen of the langnage ; and we £nd, throngh- ^^ ont the three volumes, phrases and catchwords we hoped onr modem satirists and parodists had weeded for ever from onr literature. We had flattered oarselves "withering Ecora,"* "gloriona constitution," "polIat« not my ears," had been banished for ever, at least as far a* the Rnbnrb theatres : hut it is not so. Men and women made to talk and act in the fashion of thia sort of literature, hear almost as much resemblance to reality as the wax-work fibres of barbers' diopa. There is a coarse outline and travestie of hninani^, bnt no new revelations of hamsn nature, or even just delineation of those chaiscteristics which have been already mapped and recorded by its great obeerven. There is nothing gained by tneir perasal, all being cUstorted or burlesqued, and they can only please a class of readers excited by any representa- tion of distress or violence that is placed before them, without con- sideration of its probability or even possibility ; as, however, there are many such left, who patronise the circnlatinK library, " The Eventfnl Epoch" may att^n its share of readers. The teat we apply to all works, is the amount of instmction or new experiences they iSaiA, and not the mere temporary interest they may create.
The BAnoM's Yvlb Fbisi ; a Chrisbnsa Bhyme. tbe Char&t. Fcp. Svo. London : J. As this is termed " a Bhyme," we shall not be very severe in apply- ing the t«st aa to whether it be poetry. That divine essence is so Eflldom fi>nnd even in volumes of mnch greater pretension, that it may
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w^ helakm thia ioidun for ttw mader U Aantt Im bisntlf. 9oi
SB pi«i*r slaia pnM ; -tmewlfy aa, if tiHa thsn ^ammtmiiif crve a pitivaai Ifaow^t Borttwlly wprawod, ituaonndkaMM Ikn iaioti- dpatcidibt itHMuUfwelaaaM; batvhcHtiiaiKmof poBbyiigTTCii, ktt A« HMiM is muting, tbca d i* Jlitifyiintiiiig. Mi^ r«rf«r8 r Bwin pnae no apta caaton, and we aatuiei witb tiie 'fenn ¥p a^ th(t ilfiw prnawat callmtiMi of i^Wm is «qnal, if »et
r "to maoj Ifat hare gsified ^yi^^aritf , n'MtdMUal af pniee
&at*idli salufy a jndicwiis autliori dmtbtkH, many ariataciBiicvHUiala might be improved by the iDtrodactwn ef Mr. Ceoficr'fl p««M*. Bat baUer thio# are te be eipaeUid from him. His taiai^ and kk fod- lion botb «a«ble him to do greater twice to hw cbai jumI the wodd thaa E«lW <d im poBna haY« ^ auaifeatad. The tnw offiee of maA jBMt ia t« mcora utw «xperieiicee, and icvsal nor conditiaiH «f hiimaiutf ; and this we eameetJy entreat him to devote hinurrff te. We waolil have him cast aside the mere oaachiseiy of liteiatiiie, the set pbraies, the Eteieo^ipad dutacterielica, ^e moa. out J«rmBla Isr eonatrncting tiiles. Let aim show us ihat mclioa of aociaty lie has had mdi oppoittuutiM cf obaemsg, and has aimurenUj -oMaeity to dmaibe. Let ua lee tham as they are, with tJI tbair goodasd bad qnalitiea ; umnuEiied, mdisgnised, but develo|wd futUoJlj imd fuUjj t^yt Um reflecting; ^udent of hnwmin ^atme mav have wiKa^ witkal to alndy. Uieie vill be plenty of mattriei to raeate Ute most intense intoMWt and accofiy the pntftHuuleat couiduatian. U is ift^^ntfli^if thfl-* ^ieratune* or r^her th^ litenry art, is used as a Lon^ne gba^lo ^pve AWtitioTia udow t* iacts and ciicnuat^ues, rather dun as a muirMKopa to enlai^ tiie knowledge 'of the atodent : to creala » aaDlimenUl intaiert, and ntd. te record the leaolts of exfiecienM and dHanaticn. Writjiu; neiely to excite the leadw » aa ah«rt-ughlad as it ia isjurioos. The famfOKi reader growa more fiitidieoa aa each hij^ naawonad diah ia ^eaented ; wbeisw^ when the pabulum is of a ^n^olesomie nature, the aji^tite does bnt i&crsaae with wkat it fleeda oh. Whaa wr>f«c*, wirth the taknta and expe- riences of Mr. Cooper, neglect to apply themaelvnB to " The EeveU- tiona " of truth and nature, which they must be enabled to make, it is deeply to be regrettedj and we eainestly hope he and all such will aid the goad and great cause by opening up b-esh storea of infonnation. The poor (that is nine tenths of the population) have never jet been trtily represented »B regards their characfieristics, opinions, or condition. We know as little of ttieii; real slate as of the tribes of Africa, perhaps leaa. Tet here is one of the«Melv««, who baa the power of ntterance ' and ape^a not of them, but ct matters ah«ady exhausted by the stilus of a claaa who have bees delineated safficiently, and perhaps more than sufficiently. Mr, Cooper might give the poor a titerstnrv, and than we shoald boob find them rising JntSeBociatscsle. We do not
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. aeiF BOMB. IBI
]Kt Jawr vf xaaibc Uob dine fwAMnl^MBungmtiM and rineere iwltjual laibeoixBi, lat ^tair faaetiBg »n ^w Wikalnrc Dmnm, faas itot dittant 'day.
Tb^ E4SL or Qvmas: a l^Msdy, in Trre Acta. ^ Ae Iter. J. Whttb.
9vo. Loudon. C. Nmvltj. TsE LoKiv iw BuRQHLEY. A PUy, in Fire Acta. Std. London. E. Churton.
The " Lord of Bnrghley " haa some veiy pleasing and beantiful writing, bat ae a dianm it w dofiwent in all the Twpiierte* of paaBTon, diarscter, action, contrast, and plot. As a Barrative poem it would juv0 been less op«D to d»jeeti«s; tad tiie antltw^ ^sitw aeeBBinore akia to tb(B Epecieflo^ litenlimi, ddigtohig m it omb in amplifjnBg, v«7 much ia the mamMr, if niit to i^ in dinci imtalLMi of ^widan Kwivlee, A cDBuawi-plBce iiaa^t a.ad mttif-Aiiy aetsaieaBe a various pleaaiBg faBues. The adetutm »«4 tins of Tivrse are bonuiwed ioo trom thia p^ular writec It is iMit ntitice to add, it ii one e! the nwst evenly sustained works we ever read — as level as a railroad, though not so monotonons to travel over.
The " Earl of Gowrie" is a far bettfer dnami] though inferior aa a jMcra. The charactera are -well defined, and there is power and paasioD in some of the scenes. Still it is too much elaborated, and there is a jsyateautie 6iB^»y ef dramialic leaoarces and bb appanst coDBcioosness in the peieonagei vi the p^ ^at preveat its bmag esteemed as the product ^ a tntly dnmatic genias.
Thi Smcmjjit»o Bock : a &ina»Ae LegmS. B7 Pbrci B. 8t. 9omi. llmo. LnutaD: Ii«7«>i4ud Adaa. This is the second Series of Mr. P. B. St. John's " Indian Tales, illustrative of American Life," and it is written in as fluent and pictu- resque a style aa the former. It appears that the author has visited the scenes and savage people he describes, and there is a great deal of spirit and interest in his descriptions. With regard to the characters and stoty, there seems to be more of literaiy skill than personal observ- ation and originality of invention. It would have been more pleasant to UB to have met with a closer imitation of the manners of these Indian tiibes, not that we are prepared to dispute the general correct- ness of the outline given ; but they appear to be drawn too mnch after the pattern of the long-received poi^raits of such savages, which we suspect, on a more intimate acquaintance, will be founii to be as mach like as the manners of Eastern life portrayed in " Almonu and
m HEW BOOKS.
Hamet," and otber atories of thesune kiiid,wrilteii before the Mat became
better known to ua, are to thoae of Hindoatan or Persia. From Mr. Percy St John's ready liteiarf talents, and means of Dbservation, and energy of nature, we may expect far more valuable resnlts. To diaae- minate new experiences of factB or feelinga ia the great end of all literature, and to this highest poaition there is every probahility of thia young writer's laiaing himself, if he will only make it his aim. As it IS, we do not think be has yet done jaatice to the powers he poasessea. The little tale, however, is well worthy of pemsal, and is wnt(eii in a very right and good apirit.
We might very well have excnaed onraelvea horn noticing this woric, seeing that it has been published nearly a ^ear ; we have, however, looked into it anfficiently to aay that it ia written in a harmless spirit, and contains enough description of French manners and character tc reward a perusal. The stoiy flows more gently, not to aay languidly, than most modem French novels, but is not without interest.
In 3 vols. Vd. II-
We have already recorded onr opinion of the principle on whi<^ these tales are composed. In the present volume, ^a the aubjects approach ooi own timea, we are happy to see the author's geniua shining forth more potently. The story entitled " Heathendom in Christendom " ia powerfully narrated, and we are aasored it is little more than a narrative of a murder which took place thirty years ago, with scarcely any alteration bat the namea, 1^ however, there be no alteration, there mnst be additions to make the events cohere as a tale.
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DOUGLAS JERROLD'S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THE USES OF FOOLS.
Kaa SoLOUON himself was probably not so wise but that lie might have been nmcb wiser ; and wo hope that the collectire wisdom of the world in general, and of our own great and mighty nation in partjcnlar, will pardon us for doubting ita omniscience. We bclieye that it has yet to loam many things — perhaps ; cer- tainly, one thing, — the magnitude of the uses, political and social, of the class of people ccdled Fools. Be it our task, then, to advocate the claims of folly, to show forth its dignity, and demon- strate the services which it renders to the community at large. And if we happily succeed in our endeavour, we shall have pumped up a no small bucketful from the yet uaexbauE^ted well of truth.
The word Fool is a term of contempt. What a difference there is between names and things 1 The individual fool is often a person of honour. How many, by their lives and ejiploits, who, had the motives of their actions been examined, would have been proved arrant blockheads, have, on the contrary, gained renown in their day, and rendered themselves everlastingly famous ! We mean no offence to any worthy hero, present or defunct ; but we must say, that the foob of society are some of its finest fellows.
We would not harm a fly, much less hurt the feelings of the British, or any other lion. We trust, therefore, that no great fool will consider the comparison we are about to draw as inten- rionally an odious one. But we are desirous, for our argu-
vo. XT.— Toi. in. 0
.Coo'jic
104 THE USES 07 FOOLS.
ment's s&ke, of pointing out an analogy wMch esiats between the race of fools and the lower animals.
They are both remarkable for a certiuii want of sense — for a greater or less deficiency of reason. Now it is to the lack of Bense and reason in the brutes, that their utility is in a great measure owing. Were the elephant a ivbolly rational, instead of a half-reaaoning quadruped, would ho be such a booby as to become a beast of burden— such a zany as to exhibit himself at a fwr ? Woold the dog, with a little more sagacity, be such a dmpleton as to submit to be kennelled, and to be persuaded to hunt on our account, when he might remiuu at large and hnut on his own ? Would he toil and slave as a turnspit, a scout, or a go-fetcb? If the equine skull were not a num-skuU, where would bo the dray-horse, or the hack ? If the intellect of the barb were equal to bis mettle, where .the bigh-mettled racer? It is mighty fine, forsooth, to call the donkey a stupid ass ; but for his stupidity would he carry panniers ? Not he ; nor would any of the tribe of asses put up with the impositions that are laid upon them. The monkey, according to the Negroes, has the wit to hold his tongue ; not, as an old philosopher suggested, because he has nothing to say, which still would have been sensible enough, hut lest he should be set to ^ork. Thus Jacfeo— if we must credit Sambo — by the wisdom through which he is allied to man, esempts himself from man's doloinion.
Nature has wisely implanted certain instincts in brutes, and we make use of them by directing their instincts. As wisely has Nature implanted certain propensities iu fools, and they make themselves useful, by obeying their natural propenwties. . And here, not impertinently, it maybe aaked — "Whom doyoucall fools, we should like to know ?" Fools, beloved reader, are (he unreasoning portion of mankind. It is a peculiarity of all fools that they act from their mere impulses. The uncommon fool, the madman who jumps out of window, is but an exaggeration of the common fool. He obeys his impulse without looking to conse- quences. So does every fool, more or less, in his degree. Needs must, with him, when a certidn personage drives, and bis driver is his uppermost passion for the time being : away he goes, no matter what vriB happen during his course ; still less where it wili lead to in the long run. Perhaps as good a picture of a fool as any portrait of a gentleman that ever appeared at the Royal Academy's Exhibition, ie a gallant young sportsman riding n
Coofjic
THE C8BS OP *001B. 195
Steefde-ohase, — ^yoickB-^yrfro ! {we speak in character,} orer hedge, ditch, striked railing, cheraux-de-friae, and glass bottles ; through river, streamlet, pond, pool, brook, pnJdta, gutter, thicket, h<aSt, brake, bramble ; heltef-skelter, pell-mell, neck or nothing ! Does he set no store by his Kfe, and limba, and precious eyesight ? Quite the roveree ; pertiaps he values his brains at a higher rat6 than other people do ; but this fine yomig English gentlemai^ with his high animal spirits, is not highly gifted with reflection ; and in the noble ardom- of sport he has bhnked personal consi- deratio^B. He is bnt a slight caricature of fools in genera). They agree with him in the peculiarity of not thinking ; and they there- fore pursue their pleasure irrespectively of nnpleasant results. NoT> there are many parts in the great drama of life, whose perform- ance is attended with mncb that is disagreeable. MdEt people are actuated by their worldly self-interest : were they wise enough to knoir it, they would never undertake these charoeters. But fools, happily, adopt them from inclination ; and herein lies their utility. Theyare just as fond of themselves, and of the good things of this life, as wiser people are. Being, however, fortunately deficient in the powers of comparison, judgment, forethought, imagination, as well as in perceptivefaoultieswid knowledge, they are unable to sec and indisposed to consider the damage, hazard, trouble and annoyance, whicifi are likely to beset the vocations they have chosen. What a fine thing is this for the worldly-wise ! They have thus all their dirty and disagreeable work done for them. Were it odierwiae, it would be as though there were no scavengers or chimney-sweeps. Who would become a coal-heaver, or even & footman, from a mere conviction of his fitness for the dfice ? England may expect every man to do his duty ; bnt if England relied solely on his sense of duty, we fear she wonld be wofidly disappointed. Some men may act well their parts from a principle of right ; but the monsters of morality who wonld choose them from such a motive, are much too scarce for practical purposes. Glory, then, to the fools who supply the place of patriots and pbiiantbropists !
To a commercial country like England, one very great advan- tage of fools is, the immense benefit which various descriptions of them confer on trade. Trade is promoted by ^e spending of money. There are many fools who are as loath as the wisest peo- ple to part with their cash, except for value received. Thanks, however, to their foolish ideas of value, they distribute thousands, which otherwise would rust in their coffers. Jemmy Woods at o2 .\^
186 THE USES OF FOOLS.
heart, tfaej are QEORas-THB-FocitTHS in deed. Thejr are splendidly T^in and royallj fond of diEplaj. Reason would catechise them to the effect following : —
What solid advantage did they derire from outward show ? Were they such geese as to admire it in other people ? Coidd other people be such asses as to admire it in them ? What ple»- sore could they take in the approbation of asses i What good coald thej get from approbation at all, except in as far as it served their interests ? But were they not rich ? Need they care for anybodj ? Why spend money upon anything but solid pmlding ? Why not save it for a rainy day ? Such would be their refleetions, provided they could reflect. And what then ? Why, they would jingle their puiHcs, put them up, slap their pockets, chuckle, and hug themselves in their self-comptacency, and laugh at the eitra- Tagance of their neighbours. Bnt, their folly be praised, they can- not abstract or generaUae, or perform any <ff those dangerous pro- cesses which reduce humbug to its nakedness. They love osten- tation ; they dote, in theirfolly, upon praise ; and to this idol they eacrifice their hoards. Ye jewellers, milliners, tailors, haber- dashers, perinmers, coachmakers, and all ye purveyors to the court of &shion, bear witness to the utility of these magnificent fools.
The medical faculty, which, in its present state, may well be ranked amongst trades, is also largely indebted to those who are deficient In the faculty of reason. What a blessed thing it Is for the body-tinkers, that men's bodies re^re so much tinkering, which they would not want if men knew how to manage them ! How fortunate it is for them that there are so many fools in the world who know not, or do not refiect, that diseases arise from breaking the natural laws ! How much, especially, docs it profit them, that such fools, whom we may call Fools of the Stomach, will eat, and stuff, and gormandise, and swill, and guzzle, till they get gout, the bile, indigestion, and nine-tenths of all other dis- eases ! Suppose Wisdom would only whisper to the aldermanic, and kindred fools, " Why, you stupid pig, do you go on cramming yourself with turtle and vemson, and dmiking ale, and wine, and
Stmch, in quantities sufficient for a dozen people ? Don't you see, olt that you are, that you are overloading your stomach, con- taminating your blood, and will have to pay, both in purse and person, for your folly ? " Suppose Wisdom, thus crying, though with the voice of a down, " Stop ! What are ye about 1 " were listened to. Sons of .^scnlapius, what would become of the
THE UBBS OF FOOLS. 187
"[HwfeRnim? " And what would ye do, gentlemen, but for aer- TOoB old women, and whimsical yoimg ones, and melancholy and hypochondriacal foola in general i Could ^ your patiente diatin- gnish between a remedy and a placebo ; were they aware of the real limits of your art ; did Uiey know how many of their com- plaints could be cored by temperance and exercise alone, how oonld you keep yom' carriages ? Had they the prudence to eat and drink a litt^ less, do you think you would get your bread and cheese?
From medicine, fcy a not unnatural transition, we pass to another trade, which is largely supported bj fools. The undertaker suc- ceeds the physician in our thoughts, almost !n the relation of cause and effect. It is he who has the last to do with that on which the doctor has done his best — or worst. Ashes, any one but A fool would think, might be consigned to ashes, and dust to dust, with small ado and little cost. Fools, howoTer, to the undertaker's emolument, think otherwise. Hence the pomp and the parapher- nalia attendant on funerals. Now, what would be the consequence to the poor undertaker, if all his customers were able to reason t Kost of them believe that man is an immortal spirit, and that a disembodied soul is in a higher state of existence. They do not suppose such a b^g is capable of feeling honoured by outward show : still less can they imagine that it has any regard for an ostentation of fripperies from a shop in Regent-street or Oxford - street. They cannot but conceive it as looking with supreme contempt on the trumpery of crape, and scarfs, and hat-bands, and plumes of feathers, and mutes, — ei&er fiill, or thinking, of Barclay and Perkins's Entire, — and hearses and mourning coaches from Long Acre, and horses with topknots of feathers ; the animaU bwig stained black for the occasion with lunar caustic. Still less can they fancy that it could be pleased that these ceremoniea i^onld Intend Uie consignment of its former clothing, its mere left- off tatters, to the ear^. They cannot think that it regards it» deserted hull otherwise than as any iatelligent chicken would value its shell, any wise serpent its cast skin, any clear-headed butterfly its chrysalis-case. They know that the "mortal coll" once shuffled off, has no feeling in itself, and can therefore denTe no benefit from a demonstration in its honour. They might know, with the least research, that by the laws of Nature it is destined to be resolved into its elements, and will not even remain in the place where it is deposited, but must, sooner or later, mingle with
tlie niftt«rul muTene. A Terj Iktle icudito would' tell them Hut it u a compound of oxygen, hjdrogen, nkrogen, carbon, »ilphur. phofphonu, lime, pota^, soda, aud other salts, denired from various eatablea and drinkables ; from transmuted beef, puddiilgi mutt<m, veal and ham, potatoes, bottled stout and other liquors. They would esteem it highl; absurd to pay ante-sepulthral honoHS to a mutton chop. And yet, with very expensive rites, they worshqt the result of eating. Wherefore? Because instinct prompts tiliem to show a respect for the deceased, and common sense does not prewribe the made of showing it ; because their heads, q^n contemplat« but one idea, or are ineapable of putting a few ideas together. It«aB(Hi with these worthy folka, and they will tell you, truly, that it is of ao use to reason with them. If rstlooahty were general, the obsequies, both of liob and poor, would be simply plain and decent. Grief would aeem mocked bv association with drapwy ; solenmity outraged by aonneilon witii upbolstery. The now phupp ana jdly undertaker would be reduced to a mere atatwjoligg. No more would funerals be ^mished at Ike outlay of a little fortune, «id jevil would be the plight of those who by this craft get their Uving. Let those sleek, well-fed- citizHis, then, among others, bethiiA: them, as Ihey sip their port and crack their w^uts, of the ra^t 'Obligations which they ate under towards fools.
We may almoet seem to assert what every fool knows, in jnerely allndiog to the employment which fools afford the lawyers. Herein, however, 'they do the state a aerrice which has never lu yet been estimated. Of course the law would be of no use if nobody could be found to take it. Rogues and swindlers might thffli prey with impunity. Now, when a man is injnred or cheated, the pn^aluU- ties and chances are, that if he seek legal redress, he will, eTsn should he gain his cause, find himself oat of pocket on the whole. This consideration would deter nearly all reflecting persons, except the very few vho are actuated by pubhc spirit, &om ever having recourse to law. They would rather put up wi^ wrong, and allow themselves to be defrauded, tium go to the eipease of justice. OSendnv of all kinds would go unpumahej. Moral and reli^OHS obligation wo;dd be the only inducement to prosecute. A pretty state, indeed, society would be in ! But foUy supplies prosecutors jind plaintiffs. The vindictive, irascible, and Utifpous fods, ua grati- '^ing their own humours, ^ect, thus, the ends of justice ; and shiUt they feed and fatt«n the attoro^ey and barrister, pr(«u^ jA» »el£are of the nation.
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isa una oF-roou). U»
. Wft irilt not a7' bov far tihat fonn c^ Mt called aupentitioB iiisj, in respect of temporalities, have benefited another profession; nor inquire on what aocoimt there iras need of a stAtute of Uort- inain. But ve beg respectfuUj to remind your reverencea that 6ne characteristic of foola is their inability to perceiTe incongruity. pQ you knoir any rich pluralists 1 Are you aoquainted with any dignitaries who are called — no, not Babbi, but — Uy Lord ? How would these things be if so mAuy among ua trere not hUnd to inconaistency }
People are aometimea apt to complain of the Hmited extent of tike wisdom o( parliament and of minieters. They should consider, however, how necesaary are fools to the constitution of a senate or a cabinet. Those who have business of their own to attend to can Imrdly oonduct that of the nation ; we are therefore mainly depen- dent, for our legialatora, on the wealthy classes. Now, if every rich nobleman jjr gentleman were to ponder upon the troubles, turmoils, and perplexities of office ; to imagioo himself caricatured in the piint Bh(ma, and ridiculed, abused, ind traduced in the .newspapers ; whdat, on the other hand, be reflected how quietly he might enjoy himaelf on his own estate or in tniTelling ; in how many pleasant pursuits he might ocoupyhis time: he would require some very strong motive to induce him to enter public life. If he had not such a motive in his ambitiou, if he were philosopher enough to divest himself of that paasion, what would the queen . and the country do for servants ? How many would be found who would eerre the public irom pure love ? But where those few •ngela only could be induced to tread, the fools of ambition rush in, and so we have the business of the nation done— after a .ftishion. This consideration will eiplun many legislative anoma- lies, which have never, ob yet, been accounted for.
But whether or no the civil govemmant could be conducted if there were no fools, asanredly the military and naval services . could never be si^plied witliout them. As we do not make this assertion without some fear of being called to account for it, we hereby advertise every gallant fellow whom it may concern, that we believe that he, individually, entered the army or navy, Mther because he had no other means of getting hia living, or from compulsion ; or else from a religious motive, be feeling in himself a f^teciol calling to the profession of arms, solely in order to defend Lis native land. We are persuaded, therefore, that he became a . flddier or a tailor for very good reaaooa i and we, accordingly.
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200 THE rSEB OP FOOLS.
beg he will nnderitand that we impute no folly to him. But we fear that were all those who, independentlj of any of the abore- mentioaed motires, and without any thought or rejection at &U, - have pat on the red coat, or the blue jacket, deducted from the brOTO defenders of our country, that country would be very poorly off for defence. We aospect that there would be but a sorry re- mainder, were our forces deprived of all those who have enterrfS tbem from mere love of glory and escitement, and a desittf to shine in a gay uniform ; and we tremble to tbink of the con- sequences that would ensue if heroes, generally, had reason and imagination enough to ask themselves a few such qneations as the following, which, presuming to speak as with thevoioe of Wisdom, we will suggest.
Wherefore are you about to gird on the sword ? For Fame and GI017 ? For show, and the admiration of the Fur, — -ek ? And a fig for danger, of course ! Fray, simpleton ! have you considered what danger means ? Have you imagined, booby I the seosations oecasioned by a mnsket-ball in the knee-joint ? Have you cal- culated, loggerhead ! the results of a cannon-shot's impinging on your shin-bone ! Dolt ! has it ever occurred to you to fancy your- self undergoing amputatiou ? Have you, noodle ! ever pictured yourself to yourself, with a shell biirsting at your ear ; a rocket exploding in your stomach ; or your eye poked out witbabayonet? Can you conceive your mangled body, you dulkrd ! lying on the field of battle, with a horse tramphng on your crushed limbs, or stamping its hoof in your mouth ? Have die delights of a forced march, or a bivouac in the open air, in wet, and cold, and hunger^ ever presented themselves to your stupid mind ? What amount of glory, worth speaking of, mooncalf! are yon, one among thousands, likely to gain ? And as to the admiration of the ladies, soft man ! what would they think of you with a wooden leg, or a . nose flattened with the butt-end of a carbine ! What, ninny- hammer ! is most likely to be the reward of your prowess, after all, but a beggarly half-pay ? And do you really mean to say, blockhead! that you have no regard for your precious carcase ; no desire for comfort and enjoyment ; and that you positively cannot find any more pleasant and profitable occupation than the trade of warfare ? And you confess, do you, you dog ! that any idea that Pravidence had called yOu to this, never entered your thick wid unbeheving head ? Why, then, you ass, you goose, you guH, you silly, empty coxcomb, go ^ong with you, and torn doctor, dr
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THB ITSEa OF JOOVS. 201
lawyer, or panon, or b31-diBCoanter, or broker, or banker ; sad e&t, and drink, aad sleep jollilj, in peace and plenty all tbe days of your life.
" Why ehonld a std^er think, boys?" says the song. Wa apprehend, indeed, that ve have given very Buffioient reasooB why he sbould not think ; and have ehown that it ia to hie incapainty of thinking that we are indebted for our valiant champions. Where, but for our iDeBtimable fools vrould be our wooden waUs, onr mighty pOBscBsions, our freedom, our very existence as a nation ? Wlere - wouldbeourboastof Cregy and AgincoQrt, of Blenheim, Ramillies, Talavera, Vittoria, Saragossa, Waterloo } All glory, then, unto Glory's fools, who brave that danger in the cannon's mouth which it ia to be feared they would not brave if they were only able to think about it.
We have yet one more proof — our strongest — to instance, of the mighty value of fools. It will be agreed, on all hands, that, but for matrimony, the world would very soon be at an end. Far be it from ns to ioainoate that none but the subjects of the present observations wed. But we do mtuntain, that if all "persons about to marry" were capable of analysing their own and their intended partners' minds, and of judging how far their dispositions accorded, and thence to deduce the probability of thur future happiness, tho number of unions would suffer an alarming reduction. Fanoy that every lover could discern faults in the object of his affections: imagine that from a transient pout or frown, or a temporary fit of sulking, he- could infer ill temper : suppose he could thus foresee hymeneal storms — look out for matrimonial squalls: or say that from a needless purahase he could predict extravagance ; perrcrseness and obs^acy from a small whim ; or irra-tionality from an inconsecudve romark : how many hapless maidena would be doomed to involuntary celibacy I It may bo appre- hended, too, that the number of matches would be further not a little lessened, if all fond lovers were capable of imagining the troubles and responsibilities attendant upon manned Iif^, and alsl> of calculating its probable expenses, and the likelihood of finding the means to meet them. But what with those who are bom fools, and those whom passion places, for the time being, in that category, those perceptions and reflective processes which would so feariully discourage matrimonial views in general, are prevented. What sufferers would womankind and the clergy be through the- universality of wisdom I Heavy would he tho Joes of the coo-
302 Obl) laSKKTi ISE lOBSB.
ketitmer', Bmall the cotiBumption of bride-cftke. Thus we see, tiiab to the tribe of fools, aot only is eecietj iodebted for some of its most uaefiil servants, but eren for its very perpetuatioB. And fools it vill Btill require. It would be penlous if all were wi^e, unless all were also good. TTiuversal wisdom niU be desirable in ike MiUeanium, bat not till then. We believe we have shown what evils would ensue if eyeiybodj were endowed with that dan- gerous posseBBiou, knowledge, and with the mischieyous faculty of reasoDing. And surely we deserve some thanks from their holi- neases, and reverences, and high-and-mightineBseB, who have endeavoured to arrest the march of mind, and impede the develop- pieut of reaaoo. In the meantime, commend us to jour fo<Ja. Let the fool's cap be & badge of honour, and the first of April a day famous in the calendar.
Percival Lsisa.
OLD MISERY, THE MI9EB.
Af the beginiung of January 183 — , and at aa early hour in the ereniog, a fire broke out on the premises of a fioor-cloth manu- faotory situated in the immediate environs of London. A quantity of oil contained in the building had ignited, and the whole pile became one glowing mass. Higher and higher the fiames mounted, roaring and leaping till the sky grew red, blaod-red, aa it over- Lnng the scene. Dense volumes of smoke rolled off, filling the i^por air. Crowds of people, making the engine-drivera furious, blocked up every street and avenue. The fireinen, hemnied in ou all sides, were busily endcftvouring to force their way. Females shrieked, men sworeloudly, — the firemen swearing loudest of all. And still the throng increased, thousands hurrying ,jip from tdl sides and filling every thoroughfare conducting to the spot. But a few paces from the flaming pile was a store whore saltpetre was k^t, and this intelligence was speedily circulated amongst the lookersroo. The wind having commenced blowing slightly, the fire soon communicated with tbe store, and the utmost alarm was now manifested. A terrace of large houses adjoined the latter building, and the flames were widening rapidly. Water too was difiicnlt to
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be obtuned, for the wefiiiei was so severe as to hare firozm aU tbepipefl, and scarcel;''aa Higina could be worked. la the raera time the flames held on their course imchecked, and two of tha boyaes sdjoiniiig the saltpetce store were alr^j kindled, Three now, for the curling fire ran along the roofs eiultiqgly. Ladders were reared againeit the windows, even those at the furthest end of the terrace, and therefore remotest from the danger. Piles of bouaehold furuitiu-e grew up suddenly in the street. Fatheni, with, insane Looks, poured forth a provision of orders, that were drowned in the tunuilt. Servants ran hither and thither. Bi^ howled. Children screamed. Women fainted. Confusion became Cjttofounded.
As the fire spread along the terrace, there was one house that attracted universal notice. The flames ascending from the salt- petre warehouse, brilliant as they were, and their hues were gor- geous, did not serre tQ.([iHtract the uniform Attention rivetted o« Sub building. It seemed from the street a glowing, gutted pile, and yet Individuala cwild be descried in the various apartments numinz to and fro. They disappeared presently, and the roof fell in, sending np one vast eloud of dust and smoke, that for some moments obscured the whole scene.
Suddenly on the top — yes, on the very top — on the outermost wall of the roofless carcase, appeu^d a female figure. Beueatb, the fl !»■">! Ti£f abyss glowed like a crater. In the injaginadon of tbe .Bpectat<H'B, the crumbling sides had b^;ua to rock. £very biieath seemed hushed, and to the stunning noise, an awful calm had Su«M;eeded.
Immediately a voice was beard to exclaim that a wedding had taken place in that fated house, on that day, and it was ^leedily jsported that this was none other than (ihe biide herself, who thui ^^aled with frantic gestures for their aid.
" Stand aude thme ! will no one help her ? " cried Ihe musical Toice of » youth from a quarter where the pressure was less dense. . " Cowandsj cowards, out of Uie way I say. " And he darted for- wards, elbowing big way towards the building.
As this incident did not take place unnoticed, some movement WM oecasioned in the crowd, which was becoming worked up to a feverish pitch of eicitement. The fire had spread to the adjoiniifg .houses, and was raging with unabated furj ; the smoke, however, was earned by the wind in a direction opposite to that towards
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wKIcIi sQ eyes, widi an iireiiBtible unpnlu, were direeted. Amy of joj broke from the assemliled miUtitiide, when tliej beheld s iottj ladder bIowIj reared agunst the tottering wall. But tt readied tody to the windows of the tiiird floor, And there was the h^gfat of another beyond it.
Suspense grew feorfol now. Some of the boldest Among them, having the hint thus given, began to devise plans of asaistaDce, and a few grew desperate at the idea of leaving a fellow-creature, 'Onug and newly manied, to periab in a manner so truly terrible. " e ladder was lowered, and another of smaller dimensions laahed __jarely to its top. Again it was reared, and this time with greater cantion. But a shout of horror burst from the multitude. The female bad disappeared.
She had fallen, in fact, into the flames ro^ng wItMn the build- ing, and where humanity shrinks fixim following her, in ber awfiil fate. When all farther aid was thus rendered nnavaiUng, and nothing remained to be done, the voices of the spectators grew imperious, and njony were heard to wonder why the ladder had not been reared before, Btnne even muttering that a slJr ought to be made about it, and that it should be by no means hushed np ; others there were, who loudly announced tbeir firm desire to have hazarded their lives, as if they were wortbless, in the poor lody'a behalf — only tbe pressure of the crowd withheld them. Bat one Trace near the centre of the throng was-loud above tbe rest.
" I say," it exclaimed, " and 111 hold to it, that this yonng man was the flrst that offered help."
" Who was 1 who ? " cried another voice, equally loud, but in accents that mode the hearers tremble. " Let me see him — I'm her father-~let me see bim."
The multitude gave w&y, with suspended breath, leaving room for tbe speaker to pass. Eager faces peered inqiusitively into his, as he pushed hie way along, but tbey instantly drew back in fear, so terrible was the agony depicted on bis countenance. Tbe crowd was so dense that it was no easy thing, with all good will on th^ part, to elbow through them, — for the passage that had been mo- mentarily opened, closed again from tbe effects of the distant pressure. But tbe speaker persisted in his efforts, and raised his voice inore loudly as ihe delay increased.
" Why — look you all ? " he cried, " she was my child — my child — a bride this morning, and now swallowed by the flames.
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OLD KISgBY, THE HIBER,
There was not one amougst you, but that youth, vould s& a step to sare her, though eyerr hiur od her head should have brought gold to her preserrer."
Just at this juncture, and as a seaeonable iaterroptioQ to the old inan'B irailinga, the roof of the adjoining building fell in, and at the same time the en^eB, having at length been fully supplied irith water, began to plaj vigorously. Another incident for a time diverted &e attention of the crowd. When the dust and smoke had in some measure cleared off, a little dog was discovered on the window-sill of the third story. The terrified animal^ howled piteonaly, for its feet were scorched by the beat of the bricks and the burning wood.
*' Ten pounds," cried a voice from amongst the throng, " Ten pounds to him who will save that dog."
There was a ntovoment in the crowd. Numbers were eager to obtain the proffered reward. What compassion in the former instance had failed to accomplish, cupidity was now in a fair way to achieve.
" I'll double it rather than lose him," exclaimed the owner of the animal, " Twenty pounds — twenty pounds if my dog is saved,"
" D'ye hear that ?' shouted the old man whose daughter bad fallen a victim to the flames. " D'ye hear that ? " be cried, furf- onsly, — " Twenty pounds for a dog ! Where's my child ? "
" This is he yon wanted," observed a bystander, pushing for- ward the youth whose l«nder of assistance had bdiire attracted attention. The crowd fell back in a circle round the old man and the young stranger. Conferring amongst themselves respecting the age of tbe latter, the beholders were unanimous in ofnnion that he was scarcely turned eighteen, which indeed was the fact. The wretched father seized his hand with a frenzied gesture, and exclaimed —
" God bless you, lad — God bless you ! I don't distinguish you clearly, for my sight is dim. I can't weep — I wish I could. I'm an old man, as you see. She was my only child, and her husband is dead too — crushed in attempting to save her."
In the meantime the dog had been rescued by some adventurous individual, though not without contention on the part of others. The owner, whose whole concern seemed engrossed by the animal, edged bis nay from amongst the multitude, and took up a portion by bis wretched neighbour, whose child, less fortunate than the
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tOA OLD lUsGBT, THX IQSIK.
^rate, had perished. The youth contimied to sapport the bereaved, p&rent. ConBolation was neeleas, aad ho did not atteotpf it.
" Take him hencci" said one of the bystanders, addi^ssing the yoang num, and pointjag to his wretohed companion. " Take lum eat 0 sight of this and out o' hearing of it"
" 'Tis good advice at all events," replied the youth, and hepT%- railed upon the old man to suffer himself to be led away.
" Oh, my child — my child — you are taking me from my child ! " In occenU snch as these, he poured forth his anguinh as they Talked along. Several of the crowd, impelled hj curiosity, hod detached themselves &om the main throng and followed them. To escape these, the youth entered the first inn they reached, and led his companion to a quiet room, from which the multitude of spec- tators was, of course, excluded. There he seated him, well nigh sinking, in a chair, and bathed his temples and his hands with rinegar.
Suddenly, — after the lapse, perhaps, of half an hour, during vhich interval the sufferer had betrayed no consciousness of the loss he had sustained, or of the events that had taken place, he sprang from his seat and darted towards the door. It was locked to prevent intrusion, and offered resistance to his efforts to tbrov it open.
" Why do you keep me here ? " he cried wildly.' " They are murdering mj child for the sake of the gold I have g^ven her. Let me go. The sight of her father will daunt them."
The youth endeavoured to lead him back. The landlord's daughter, who had accompanied them into the apartment, clung to his arm.
" Speak to my father to prepore him a bed," she said, her eyes filling with tears. " He must sleep — sleep is the only thing for liim."
" That's her voice," cried the wretched man, looking helplessly at Uie speaker. " She would speak so always — always kind — always gentle."
They led him to a chair. He no longer resisted them.
" Yes," he murmured, " She would speak so always."
And this he continued to repeat in a whisper barely audible, till his assistants thought ho had dropped asleep. The girl, drawing near to dispose hie head, which had fallen on his breast, more com- fortably, gazed steadily in bis face. Her features changed eud-
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OLD mSXBT, TfiE BlSett; Sff
ietAj, and shb signed M {be ycntth to approach. Immedikte^ afterwards thej. opened the door, and tpread the thliiigB of the old man's death.
Anudst the cottfosion that ensaed, — the room bemg on the instant veil nigh filled irith awe-Btriclen peofde, — ^the ;F^outh vidi- drew, and reg^ed the street. - He was instantly beset by the crowd, and overwhelmed with queries as to what hod taken place; And when the sad event was made known te thom, they vere not,' as those within the room, where the dead man sat in his chEur Uke sleeping life, hushed bj awe and terror. Comments were loudlj and coarsely made. Rnde men broke into noisy speech, and, to the youth's astonishment, declared that the deceased ought to have died years before, and so have spared the world much wrong and misery.
TTnprompted fay cariosity, a qaestioa rose'to his lips, bnt he did not utter it, for he wished to escape all further contact with the roDgh people that surrounded him. Seeing the fire still ra^ng among the honses on the terrace, he rushed forward, and in a few minutes was mingling in the commotion that prevailed on the spot of the conflagration. But here also — for the'news had preceded him, — he heard the same comment delivered with much emphasis. If he shifted his position — and that, in the working to and iro of the crowd, was unavoidable — the same words rang in his ears, reaching him from eveir side. And at last, the youd), without being able to obtain a plausible reason for this opinion, so seemingly imiversal, caught himself subscribing to the nncbaritahle sentiment, and echoing the remark of the crowd, that the deceased should' have died years before.
The wherefore remained a mystery. When he found himself alone in his chamber he sat down, and Strove to rid his recollection of all discordant images connected with the scene he had so re- cently witnessed, that he might reflect on that nlone. The de- ceased ought to have died years ago ! A vindictiTC feeling, roused by some real or suspected injury, might hare given rise to such a comment, if it had been uttered hy two or three persons only ; but published thus openly by a multitude — what was he to think of it J What harm had the dead man in his life-time wrought ? What deep wrong had he committed ? He had asked that question of the speakers who were loudest in the proclamation of the verdict, but he had obtained no answer — nothing but a repetition of the words. He had sought fi>r any possible solution to the enigma.
SOB OLD IDBSBT, TBS lUSIB.
bnt could gather none. . He remembered that no shoir of dislike vae mciDifested towards tlie deceased wlule he went among the crowd, wailing for his daughter ; bnt whether that forbearance was due to ignorance of his name and person at that time, or arose from comniingled feelings of awe and invduntai; respect — awe at the terrible late of the yoong bride, and respect for the father's agony of soul — agony so great, that it might well stifle all censorious speech, however deserved, he could not determine.
He visited the still smoking ruins at an early hour the next morning. Though all danger was over, two or three of the amaller engines yet kept thwr station — a corresponding number of firemen lounging guard iqion them. A freah concourse of spectators had assembled, to whom the erection of a barricade of ^anks around the site of the destroyed property, under the auperintendence of the police, was a Bourse of vast interest. The ravages of the fire had been very great. Beudes the floor-cloth manufactory, and aaltpetre store, five honses on the terrace had been wholly or par- tially destroyed. Here also, while mingling with the crowd, and surveying the scene of destruction, the cry of the preceding night fell dismay, yet, in spite of himself, convincingly, upon his ears — Be ought to hM€ died yean he/ore !
He was resolved to fathom the mystery, and for tiiat purpose accosted a man having all the appearance of a gentleman in his bearing, though shabbily dressed — one who had seen better days, OS the phrase goes. What did it mean, he asked ? The sudden excitement betrayed by this individual was ungular to witness. He did not reply, however, but moved impatiently away.
A romance certfunly, but an uneasy one. The youth, forcing through the crowd, made the beat of his way to the inn where he had left the dead man on the previous night. The landlord's daughter was in the bar. She no sooner saw him than ahe uttered an exclamation of joy,
" 1 was afraid that we should not see you again, sir," ahe said ; "yon are so much wanted up stairs,"
" / — wanted ? Who wants me ?"
*' The old gentleman, that we thou^t was dead last night ; but you took yonr leave in such a hurry that you did not learn it was but a swoon!"
The youth gave a bound forward. The delight that he experi- enced— the old man being a stranger to him— was unaccountable. Smprise was quite a secoudai; feeling.
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OLD UI8ZRT, THE lUSER. 209
" Ib he Btimng yet," lie inquired.
" No^but he will see you directly," was the reply. '' He did notfaiDg but ask after yon. If they tell the truth about lum, he has led a iriohed life."
" Ha ! I have heard aomething of that ! What has he done 1 Who is he ?"
" Don't t6u know, airt He 'a Old Misebt, the miser,''
" Old Miaery ! I nerer heard of such a pereon I "
" Why I thought all Loodoa had beard of Old Misery."
" I never have, I asaure yoa. But I will not he inqul^re about him. He wiahea to see me, you say ?"
" Yes,"
The youth presently found himself in the deeping apartmmt occupied by the object of his bterest — not yet awake. Placing a chair by the bedaide, he seated himself, and contemplated 'th& pinched features of the alumbering man.
The sleeper was turned siity-five, or a year or two nearer seventy perhaps. Hia thin, straggling grey hair should have won respect the youth thought ; and would have won it, ho doubted not, if the life of him for whom it pleaded had Bot been of a complexion to make age, in aa individual case, diahonourable. The lines that were deepened in the forehead — the brow, corrugated even in slum- ber— the weazen cheeks — the thin, bloodless lips — the angularity of the countenance, at a genend view, were far from pleasing, and showed to more disadvantage on the sleeper's pillow, than when diatorted by terrible grief on the preceding night. The old man Started — not thoroughly awake — but catching at the skirta of the dream that was leaving him. Rising himself in the bed, and staring about him, as if dimly comprehending the presence of some great calamity, but uncertain of its nature, his eyes encountered the youth. Then memory concentred all her strength upon the late event, and he fell back sobbing, with hia face buried in the pillow.
But this first burst of feeling once controlled, he was enabled to talk calmly of what hod taken place, and to view it oa a deserved retribution for a life, and a long life too, of huge misdeed. " Confidence," he said to his young companion, " that I have not deserved from any living being — not even from her who should hare risen from her bridal bed this morning, I place in you." He continued to speak, and the youth listened in sorrow — in amase- ment — in affright I The history so narrated was, alas I a too com*
SO. XV, — TOL. UI. P
, no OLD HUEBT, THB USBB.
mon one — a mieer'a — an usurer's — sggraTBted perfi^s, in sone of its details, but onlj the hittory of a grinding ubutot at the worst ; of a man wbo had beat his knae at the ehrine of the golden idol, and eaten the bread of orphans to that end. Nothing more. ■ Sat, if there wae little that was strange io the hiatwy, there was much that was Btrange in the feeling that dictated its disclosuj'es. Ay, there was that which was verjf atraoge. There was — ^be it not lightly spoltea of, nor treated with incredulity — repentance ; and thne woa^e^ orerwhelBune remonie aIbo. Many timeB as 4he speaker proceeded, he bowed his head, and wept in Terya^ny. Who can despair of the greatest criminal, when a miser, and » devourer of widows' houses, has repented ?
" Let us be stirring," he said. '* I swear 1 will net break my /iuit, till I have undone what mischief X con reash to undo."
" But your health, sir," pleaded the yeuth. " requires dmt TOU should not go abroad on this raw rnoraing, without having takeii -some nouiishment — a inup of tea— -a r<dL Let me order them."
He attempted to hold out, but yielded presently to the youth's persuasion ; saying, as he did so, ibat be was well-tutored, and needed to be schooled in all thirds now. A cab being provided ior them at the door, the old man having partaken of a very slight .breakfast, and giren the driver his dtrectioos, tkey set forward, voiding the street in which the scenes of the fast night had <0£curr^, and so they came at laet to MjUbank, where they lighted.
There are many obscure localities :&DWned upon by the coovi«t
' prison in this neigbbouihood ; but the least enviable as a place «f
reudence is ^— — street. The old man aod his voung companiofi
* having hade the driver await tbrai, went in search of it. It was
found with little difGcuky. But let us ^ffe^ede them hj a few
minutes.
. In the lower room of «nefif the dwelling in the street, a woman^ eoarce^ turned thirty— she should have Men young at that age, hut she was not — held a sickly infant in her arms, and drew nearer ^e window, that «he mi^t the better note what change had taken place in its ieatures smce she placed it asleep in ibe bed at aji earlier hour of the morning.
" It will die, George," she said, spieaking; softly and mourafijly i* her husband, who was trying to veao. hioHelf at the scanty &« in the grate. "It has Stored greatly, I can't weep ft^- it, Geor^, Ood is very good to take it to hinismf, It vjU know lao wont—no vufieriog nit£ Eim."
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fOa VISBBT, THE lEISEB, Sl|
:' S#t she did weep — ^bitterl; — aa 4>nly a mother vbo b<^ds bor ijiag iuhnt in her anas out ire/ep. The man ^proaohed h«', and t^nt orer the hahy also. But he nether spoke nor wept. ,
" Did jou aay that »he was really burnt to deatii, George ? " anid hiswlfepreaonOyt "aud her fattier dead — soawfuUjBuddenf Well, voll. God aenda his jud^enti. "
. " Kot judgments, Mary," relied the man mildly ; '• we haire OffOr Hired hard, pTesuinptuouB people — rehgious folks, as they BtyU tbemaelves, fi>r using that ezprMsion. Dead they both are ! [ beurA of the fire last nif^t, and went to see the rvins before yo« • !W€re up this monung. 4b for the poor girl, he had married 1^ y«stei^7 to a man d his own choosing — not of hers ; and from tii I g^ered about tl^ match, I b^ve she would rather h»r9 ■ i^one to her grave than to dke altar with him yest«n)9y. "
"And he is dead too?"
" Yea, — the roof fell in upon him, as he was tryieg to save the wife he had purchased. Well — I wieh it hadn't happened, and that -tite <dd man had lived to reptnt ; hut God knows beat, and wiU 4eal more merciiidly with Mm than he dealt with ouraelvee and -Otters, Hist ! — there's a knocking."
The man went to the door and opened it. He reeled back witk Avpriae, stunned with surprise, hut adranced in an instant, and raised his arms to drive away his Tisitors.
" Spencer, hov me," pleaded the old man, " don't be videat— disn't— y<» haFO » right to be, I know — but bear me - — "
The man within the room — the fathw of the dying baby — uttrae^ a frightful oath, and seized the door to shut it in the speaker's face.
'* You had best hear him," said our friend, the youth; "youhaa wdeed ;" and, looking sairowty at the man's threatening couate- Hanee, he recognised with emotion the individual he had acooried on th<f scene of the conflagration in the iiKnning.
The w^e, still htdding the uck infant, approached hw hasbani, aed fflitreated him to g^va way. Her words prevailed, and he Eell back, sullenly enough thou^, from the thre^dd. The cJd man «IkI ^e youtti entered.
" lam a changed man, Spenew — lamiodeod," said tlie usurer. ," 1 never should bare ohai^^ed though, hut for last nigbt. Despe- drMtJ diseases require domrate r«nedies, they say, and mine has iieen desperate euragh-.-God knows.''
He paused awhile, stniggUng with his feedings, and continned: . " I MDcome to «skyonri^e^Tei>»<f<'*U that has passed hetween
i& <>U> HISBBT, THE UISBR:
Us, and to make reparation for tlie rub I have wrouglit. Don't be barsh With me. Don't repulse me, aB I have repulsed jon;' many's the wicked time. I hare money, as jou know ; you sh^ yet be a rich man, Spencer, though only in your just position, were you to hold up your head with the wealthiest and proudest."
" Honey ?" sneered the man he addressed j " yes, that is yotH- panacea for all evils — I know it. But will money bring hack" the child that lies rotting in his grave, and who died of no disease, but that of want and cold? You know that I came to you and begged for a trifle of money to get him what was necessary to save bis life, and you refused me, and drove me from your door, WSi • money," continued the man, savagely, taking the infant from its mother's anns, " spare me this child either ? No ; not if you emptied the Beuik of Bngland at my feet. Your reparation comes twlate."
The usurer vrrung bis hands.
"DWtbe bard with me, Spencer," he cried; " for the love (^ God show that mercy to me, wUch I denied to you. We may save that child yet. If money can command science enough to save him, he sbaJt'live to comfort ye both for many a long year. For the child that's gone — and for.tny child that 's gone "
He sank back into the youth's arms, murmuring through his. tears — "Forgave me, Spencer, forgive me."
" As I hope to be forgiven, I do," replied the man.
In less than ten minutes after this scene, the usurer and his young companion were, again seated in tie cab ; and the driver was urging bis horses towards the Fleet Prison.
" The man I am going to release has been confined seventeen years," said the usurer. " Don't look ^t me so. I am human noir, whatever I might have been. He borrowed money of raa, Z thought his security good, but !t turned out otherwise. The mail was honest, I bdieve, and would have paid me if be could ; hut there was never a chance of that. I put him m the Fleet, seven- teen years ago this winter.'*
" And he has never been at large m all that time V cried tia youth, amazed and horror-stricken.
" Never I He had no friends to do anything for him. Hb . lived on the poor side of the prison, as it is colled, and must hare been more tlian half starved, during the whole time be has been tliere ; but, please God, be sliall be a rich man yet."
" Here we are," shouted the driver. " Shall I ring the bell, iHii "
tHi DxmV TALK nt 1S46^ ^
They got oat, and when tha gftt« wu <q»eiied, Ae uanrer deared to he Bhoira^into the wuting-ioom, and that Henry Abbot might be brought to speak to him,
" Heniy Abbot ! " ezcWmed tho man addresied ; " yon 're too late to apeak to him. He died jeslerday."
With much difficidty they got the old man into the cab, and while the jonth supported his senseleas burden, the driver whim«d hia horaea the whde way hack to the inn they had first quittM.
The usurer died about a year afterwards, but he hred \oag
enough to accomptish a great deal irf the good he int«nded, and
. increased the funds of the principal charitable institutions in. the
metropolis at his death. The youth ^but we will be ulent
about him. Our tale is told.
Abnhzldi Weateb.
THE DEVIL'S "WALK IN 1846.
The Devil nneasy sat in his state, Sevolving the news from earth of late.
Cries he, " I most have later ; I shall visit. the earth;" and as he spoke Around him he threw his tiavelling closk. And with nimble and groan, On a red hat stone, Rode up from Monnt Etna's enter.
He spread his wings, and away he flew
O'er Sicily, to Malta ; Bat sliDhted not, as a fre^ wind blew, Till a »vaarite haunt came into view, A stepping-stone, where to rest his shoe—
The rock of bm'd Gibraitar.
Cloudless and starlight, the brilliant sky, As o'er sea and land he roll'd his eye. And his quick glance scour'd the coast abi, From Cape St. Vincent to Trafalgar ; *' There ! " cries the Devil, " my temples are." On Africa now he tnm'd his gaze, ** Yonder," said he, " my altars blsie. And hecatombs, as in ancient days,
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in 'iatit.'a inui' or ISM."
Am «Mnfl M my Ariafc Ta prieita I of Dahm ■ nvrdenm* tnm,
Heed Dot Tcmr victimi' whine,
But pils tna fuKots higher : TTntil bj nnndreds tEe wretched slaTei
RoBBt, and expire,
And from the uyre, SpreHding o'er oil the world ita himuii floiH. la deathfet* chandera aholl spread Priiaaier't luune." Once more, the D«v!I ia on hia way, F^ng o'er B(b«j'b foaming bay, DiWaog a Klaace from hit onward aou, A* ne peswd the banka of Uie fatal Loin f Whence there rose to hia ear, aa h« tbondkt, tba wild And drowning ahriek of mother aad cfaila.
And blithe as a bridagroom before hia mamage, Takes his seat for town in a first-class carriage. 'Twas night ( and the Devil oontriTod t« steal Into the Home, as Sir Hobert Peel
Mode hia free-trade oration : Oh < conld 70a have seen him writhe and muut, Ah each dnty digcarded pierced hia heart,
And he groaned out with veialiou, " Cnise their freo-trade— for wars will MHt : Bnjer and seller mnat dwell in pesoe : I likd hoped to have set America on To fight with England for Or^on, Bat my blood- red standard ma; nOW be hxVi, Goodwill mutt rei^ throughont the world." And the Devil wiui anger storm'd and shook, Ah from tba hoose his way he toOk.— »»
He saw a huge crowd by a ptiaen wall, Waiting the ^bbetl (ettiTal ; They had waited there from set of iut, And as yet the day had not began.
Hark ! the death-beU tolla—
Back the vast crowd toIIh-.^ A moment's pause, like the silence of dMrth ; Even the Deril hdd hia breath : Then a mnrmaring shout, it rent the iUr^ A woman hong strangled and qoiveiing there ; And the Devil ^aretf on the crowd below, And he joy'd at the fniit of the mnrderoDS si
,Coo*^lc
TOE d£Til'9 WaIie ht 1846.
Thierea, by dozens, were plying their trade. Women were fighting, or dniiiken laid. " These are the scenes that 1 love right well," Thought the Devil ; "they wrrt to pet^le H^."
Now he takes 'mong the sity gtreets his range
And marlu a, crowd, anxioas and dense. Thronging around the Stock Exchange,
With eagcmes* moit intense ; As if bon^ the life of aach needy wretch On the pnce his scrip that day would fetch.
" Hnrra!" cried the Devil, " aian's never coDteat
With the sober rata of five pat cent. ;
To get rich witbeut labour, m bow the desire
Of noble and heftgar, parson and sqoire ;
Sinner and saint, i^l join the dance;
But to-morrow I'll play to them, 'Off to Prance.'"
And now for a moment qniet and still.
The Devil be hiTk'A in tne tmoke of a mill :
Where spindles were turning,
And gaslighta wow bnming,
And children thrir day's bread were bosily earning. Thought be, " What a conscience these Englishmen have ] They give millions of money to free tbe poor slave. And then to bis master they turn round and cry^ Though yon whip your slave till he's ready to die. In raising your cotton, that cotton we'd buy."
The mill is stopp'd, Ibe work is done :
Away the weary children run,
Quoth the Devil vrith a belliBh grin,
Aa be stroked his (inger upon hia chin —
" That child ia gone to purchase gin."
But pale he tnra'd, when he saw the libel,
Tbe child has not purchased gin bni~a Kbla.
Still paler be tnrn'd, and soaroe could spetJt,
When he found ten thousand were sold that week.*
Confounded, he tprt&d bis wings oo hi{^,
And shot like a meteor through the skyi
Till over Mount Etna he stopp'd,
When with ramble and groan,
Like a red-bot itone.
He once more down the crater dropp'd.
* ABuding to the present extnvrdinaiy demand (M Bibles at Hanchestor. -
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A PLEA FOR THE WORLD BELOW STAIRS.
BT PAUL BELL.
Ween I was a little tiny boy, sir, I used to Btoud at the door of die Blue Bell, opposite my father's house, that I might w&tch the mutsgoingout, with a bittemesa of yearning you gentlemen who live perpetually in &e metropolis can't understand ; — we country folks used to be for ever hearing of your London Cries ! Now — it may 1>e that the increase of reciprocal intercourse has taken off the edge of the strangeness ; or else you have fewer " Water Cresses," and *'Babea in the Wood," "Bird Cages," "DoUs' Bedsteads," " Hot Muffins," and other such " easements of life," (as Jeannie Deans called them) than your fathers. Here and there, it is true, one may hear, in a long lonely street, some pernicious Italian temping you to buy a " tombola," (under which inTitation the Le Grands have assured me there lurks a Jesuitical meaning and inten* tion calling for close watchfulness on the part of The Record ) ; hut -diere 's no more possibility of encoontering a sweep than a Unicom : while the ice carts are too grand, and Monsieur Jullien's vans too genteel and Englitik (for Monsieur JuUien boasts, I hear, that he is now a thorough Englishman) .to make any noise as they go ! In short,— whatever Mr. Hullah may choose to say, sir, — Londtm is a less musical place by daytime than it was thirty years ago.
For all this — and though, to boot, tiie race of town criers wha lued to bawl in village streets for lost children, and to announce «ales by auction, is well nigh extinct, — there is no lock of criet Abroad. I can never, for instance, set foot in certain houses, -without being knocked down by " Who wants an old ahtte f" or " Churches to mend !" Aud what housekeeper will deny the fact, that, so soon as ever two or three get together and begin to praise their own and to pity their neighbours' mismanagements, — a sort of " Ullalu" or lament, over the " degeneracy of servants," is as certain to be raised, as a most comprehensively christian " grace" after my Lord Bishop of Exeter's dinner, or the peal of applause which follows Macready's " There's no such thing ! " in his dagger ■•eene from Macbeth. Young England or Old England, — Eneter Halt-goer or Bomeward-bound — aristocrat or miU-owner, it is
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i, PICA von IBI WOKLD BBLOW STAIRS. SI?'
jn^ty much the same song — the Bune words to the ume tone ! — • beggarly Bccouot of " per^wsites" and keys turned — of Licen* tionanesa in a shoulder-knot, and Cheatery in a bedgown and apron ; a tale of tnimpery warfare, without a aingle new feature or ez- ^temeat to distinguish it. And when the chroniclers hftve talked themselves out of breath, ninety-nine times out of the hundred Oomea this ineritaWe wini^ng-up : " Well, w* shall never see such . B thing as a good old servant again. It's a great pity!" - How, wj, without any unfair wish to take their br(»d (a grievance) out of the Criers' mouths, I must beg leave to say a few words on a matter which comes home to all of us ; whether we have "chariots and hoi-ses, and fifty men to nm before ns," like Adonijah the BOB of Haggith, — or but one poor gawky Tilly Slowboy, to branduii om- baby in the faces of all our friends who threaten to enter our houses. What right have I to speak ? is a question which will be asked, perhaps,— This, sir — Owning as I do some fifty cousins, in every condition of life, from my cousin, Lord — -~'s steward, up to my cousin the cotton Lord, who has a steward of his own, [and who, Hrs. Bell desires me to add, might naturally be expected to ■how more kindness to his relations,] I have had much oppor* tiinity of observing what goes on in families : and as I only make mischief in print, can warrant my fairness as a private witness. What I say, I know ; and I hope this assertion will content any irho may be disposed to fancy me presuming.
First, sir, — nay, it is last too, as well as first, — I am disposed to deny that those who treat their servants in " the good old fashion," are worse served than their grandfathers and great aunts. How was it with them ? If 1 was not fearful of prolixity ; or, if the matter oould he proved by instance against instance, I could bring up some &mouB examples of knavery and ingratitude which were produced in tiiosehomeljdayB, when the persons under the same roof lived toge- ther like one tribe ; and father and son waited upon father and son. Was there any charm in frugality of manners and familiarity of speech which could keep out cupidity and ignorance ?— destroy the desire to rise, or put to rest iht gross sensnal passions t Look at an old ITewgate calendar ; — not that I wi^ to be understood to encourage such reading, save for good purposes — false wills, murders, persouai outrages, connivance in mad-house oppres^ons ! — are no such " accidents and ofiences" chargeable on the domestic servant of the blessed old times ? What tales, again, would our provincial annals unfold, of misers in lonely houses— of credulous ladies held
Slff A rUA AMI «B WflRj) llLOir DTAaui,
Ifl k tknldom, mask M In tJiMe dkjB cDdd hordlf burt a week— 4rf - Ijitijp (Utd cHicMierieft~^«f <]*tla crimes, the reiy mention of irhleh it were M well " to hiuh up," for the Mke of the old eaetitcheoti t I woold shoek no perxnt't aodeBtjr, Init I etn Bolemaly usore the reMler, that, dsring a winter which maa^- yMn ^o I Spent In one of the most patrianthal dlBtrtd« of itdf idaad, I commonly heard ladies promtdgKte one elaas of scniidaht' affainat ladies, with a hwdlhood which ptwed at aB et«ata thfl- i^ to be familiai'--th«t hereditarj serriee ml^t not tmfiMqnenti;' laenb somewhat more intimato I One «f y«ar London anthon, ' oh*, woold be liharged with gross txaagentxan, did he " book" half the " facts" which would there have been narrated t» hlttt Whh regard to one hoaso oat of ttene : and this in an Arcadim which our lanreate would describe as a world of innocence, not tO' be desecnted by "Manchester tradesmen." Let us hope that
the gentlemen and ladies In shire were given to telling lies
(rfeach other ; — ^bnt the disposition and the direction of their talk says much, and if only a fiftieth part of the gossip was troe, it is important testimony.
- Yes : while I devontly believe that We have lived to see the end of ^e fidelity of Ignorance, I atn no lesa cordially assured' that we are Buffering little by the loss. As we sowi we reap. Don't let the notorious discomfort of American households be throwit in my teeth ; and simple natnrol Mistress Clarissa {'aokard'» " Housekeeper " be quoted against me, as a pt<i>of, that, whMi- erer liberty and cultivation extend, that desire to "girt on"' breaks ont which renders man insUbOTdinate to man. What if Jonathan be whipped la " parlour, kitchen, and all," by his own rOd } — the instruction of his own eagerness to tbrire, beinr bettered by those whom he would part with at a wfnk, could haK a dollar, more or less, be turned in the operation ? What, secondly, if onr dearly beloved kinsman suffers in his home from the spectacltf in his land of black work, in such large proportions, that all service ia somehow confounded with slavery ;-Htnd bean a bad name f I'hen, again, the strong ambition to be aristocratic and foshion- abl« displayed in the new coontry, (sadly will these yonthful fotK peries one day fall away, and the vanity thereof come to ba- nnderstood !} can hardly fail to react upon the worid b^ow Stairs. When Mrs. Judge Peabody, or Governor Comberlege's lady girinjf way to an agony for soma new Preach coitume, would try to per* sn^e her lord and master to adopt some ridiei^nsly inapplloablo-
A RSA fW KB VWBIT l»«*r WtilS. KM-
■irho steams MrMs to AmerlM to stiMt Daana-biMC ds^s,— itiM^j beoBDM he bad been smu " &t Mrs. V^ntine Mou'i I ' — > ioee Bhe cob^idOT, AAt tb« Miw Fhi^ or Uba BeuiftHtaMe, frfiO' baa the confidence of her toUette, U litre to Ve ijiog to die for HkA' imftttainable gnniamt ? Doe» she ftrget tiiat tfas imitftHon is often flkrnore^qnaattliatididSrigfBtiT 1, foroM,«er6 Iaj'OHtig,fi«« iBftn, in New Yoi4c, uid hmkin; mri for b hehnnate, would far rather ttf the Hiss PhUUa or th« MiM Remarkabls afoKwaid — as lest' unlikely to bffdisRatislied^ ftplainUfe And nodsBtfortuaea,— than tiiosa hlgh-flyMV Atit fflittTOMs ? So who oan wonder that all Uie muds marrf off, And leave dejeetsd Qvuideur ta Bomb it*' OWB floors and cook Iti own dianem 1
Auetfda, then, I take iti Is dispMed of, at leaM* till '■ tba aN Ani of further adTioes," — Mid the disiatiBfactory ocndltion of !*•■ "kelp" is not to be laid to the enlightenment of ha people ; apoint to prore which manj* rigfat^Tibere labour wltii as inaatie peronft- mtj, Easif# far is it to acetue the SchoolmMto' u baTiag weak- fined Ae uoews of service as ^stjogoisbed from servitude, than oar own wajs and habits of life. CoHsider, ye who are dealing by iriiolesale in inveettve, what pOsMs in nine out of the ten bouses ill which yon have been trtbr domesticated :-^how many examples of self-indulgence above and machinery below stain you have knows I -^^ow mnch «d«r you reeolleet, enfant by nothing better ibaxi- Hie turn-key system— ^0 restraint of peculation being an aSait <tf as many wardt, dS though the bunch of keys were a Bride- irell ! — ^how mBch licence lanetloned by example ! Who shall woV' der if the confidential servant, permitted by eraMons to stavft the payments of inconvenient bills« himself ends in debt? if flie Waiting fwwi^elOBpriciourfy settled, drive him to kitohea wrury, to the pawabrcdcer. Mid ** the snapper up of unconsidered trifles." Of snppoM your bouse a pleasantly ccmvivial ene, and that among the deu JHends you draw round yon, some ttrei devoted mm time to time (nM le mm the sharper phrase of die- Caudle vocabuloir) Into eoun^^us doqnence and devoted professimi of Ai^idBbip. Ymi, of comve, it is to be hoped, are no warning Uathew, ready with an antidote, whereby a virtue is mannfactured tX ftn instant's warning ;— no Uistress Ellis, my good tadyl to deduce all the poirible sibs and grief of life, &om my Lord Oar- digan's bugbear, thfe black bottie. Yet if Jeremy your man— a being with comparatively bo few jdeasnres Mid means of self'
SSO- A n>8A rOB TBI WQBU). SfLOW 8TAIBS.
roBtraint — presenbi hinuelf " in hia cnu," how bre>ks out joatr ijghteous indlgiuttioD : " Dmnkennesa, ' aajs everf wise head of. a fuoilj, "IB what I oan merer lookorer!" ITor should you;' but are joa always true enough to your kind, to advert to the example whence the habit grew ?
Then, there's gamUiog : — these outrageoua examples reproduc- ing the MisBissippi mania of Lauriston Law in the soberer times of at Joseph Hume and a Sir Peter Lantie ; and which furnish us with : " fiallails of Berkeley- Square," and " Diaries of the Etmuyi," who BO late was Shoulder-knot in ordinary to the MarchioneBs of Salis- bury, and is now pretending to the band of one of the Mbt- diioness her, cousins ! It is wicked, doubtless, in our gentry of the second table to exchange their / 0 Vi as if Crockford's was. made for them : It's frightful to hear of cook-maids inTesting their saTingB in The Rottenhorough Line, and hanging themselvea in their garters, hke unfortunate Miss Bailey, because the Grand Uulligatawny Junction can't get its bill — (such tragedies have been.) But in this are you wholly guiltless, my Lords, my Gen-, tlemeu, and my Brethren in business ; who are h&ppily, neitber> lords nor genUemen ? When your winking and blinking " fel-. lows" have sate up four nig^ to minister &esh packs of cards^ to you — when they have seen your tailors rated aa monstrosities if- they ask for their money, whUe they bayo been sent to those very, flfune tailors to borrow for you the cash which is to discharge your. debts of honour, — ^is it wonderful if they also beguile their vigils by " touching a card," or if, hke you, losing more than they are worth, they " roh the till ? " Nor must poor Betty (at the instance (rf any anti-self-destructioniBt) be buried at a cross-road junctiouT— " her maiden strewments" denied her ; — till it can be proved, that Betty's mistress has not shown ber the way to pat " her finger into the pie" of risquesanddividends, of par and premiums, — till a otoud of witnesses can be brought to prove that Betty has never
paid an area-visit in the house of sharebroker — ten years
ago, a hroken-dowu merchant, no matter in what lane, of what, town, but to-day a magnate of Belgrovia, with his wife in her opera-box, and his daughters heralded in " The Weekly Cratcler,". «S among the loveliest debutantes of the season.
Ay, you may take it as you please ; yourselves proclaim the< severance of your interests from those of your attendants, byeveiy inconsiderate selfishness which appetite can plan, and every idle «zample which luxury can furnish ; hut, la spite of all,.tho &ot;
A PLEA FOR THE WOULD BELOW STAIRS. '22t
renuins unaltered, that tlie bmil^ is stiU^^the fsmiljr : — a machineof which you are the mainspriDg I AndthouKhinyHrs. Bell may anti does nn&iHy pay for the rapacity of Lady Salisbuiy in the disturb- ance of our " establishment ;" — and though the chariot wheels of our good, weary, red-faced maid-of-all-work "drive more heaTily," from time to time, bo often as some sanguine Betty shall flash her possible gains in her friend's eyes (sinking, of course] the distant, but no lees possible, garters, — I will never believe but that in the long run and in the mass, masters are served as well as they deserve fo be ; that is, order hj order, decency by decency, intelligence by intelligence, trust by trust, kmdliness by kindliness. I shall be answered, I know, by certain well-worn assertions : such as that '" taking people out of their proper sphere," means " taking libera - ties," — that indulgent master^ip means impudent and careless service. Now, to have bad liberties taken with one is doubtless s heavy burden on the conscience of "the genteel." An over iismihor phrase is a deadly sin, so exquisitely do we measure the proprieties of onr own language ! a too hot self-assertion not to be forgiven by personages so impeccably meek as we, when our owd performances are ctAed in question ! But I would of the two hear this load, — heavy and humiliating and full of alarm as it is, — ra- ther than the tUght self-reproach of feeling that I had neglected my responnbilities in the exaction of my entire claims, — that I had expected one less advantageously placed for the cultivation of self- restraint tkhan myself, to exceed me in perfection of duty, — that I had set an example of hardness of heart and self-indulgence, c^ treason to tnith, and want of faithin the future as better than the present, to those over whom circumstances had set me. . .
" Here's cant and common-place with a rengeance ! " cries some loT^ of household discipUne and human freedom. Qood sir, I chum my Cry ; as you claim yours. And common-place niay some- times be the wisdom of ages — if one only dared say as luuch. Bat, however, one instance is sometimes worth pages of flat asser- tion and flat denial ; and, since we have been taking so much iS late, of lursin areas andpantry pretension,-- f ladies' maids with " speculation in their eyes"— and loids' gentlemen, as flowing iii their language as though they had nothing else to do but make -np bouqwU in The Morning ■ , for Uie
" wisest, virtuoiuesti disdeetest, best " of opera management and mttnagers, ' let me beg to put fiffward
pm 4 nut- van •sB]t■w9B^^ v^ww kaibs,
in eridence (and })j mj of dDnag » duli 4inKiiH-»e) a true atwy pf a BnutU idock.
Ererj one bta toma pat pmwbuqd ; juid tbii cloct (a two dollar 43onaaii cloek, roadfi in aom« little qaaiat town of the Black Forest) Ih^ipeiied to hi IHe tt'«asiira belonging to tbe attondaqt uii friand of one of ;oBr turambliug Jjonioa writars (a relation of mj Uri. BeU'»i air), who in Uinung out rerj unn, I fear. The owner i« ^ Ctenoan, and the cloak talked to him Af heme. He ia Bomething sf « neobaDiat, and g(hi14 takA to pietfM and ehiai it bijaself i-r" 'twaa the tqtple of Ma eye, u abort- JJ'qw ohaoce threw witfai* die range of ihia kind creature's miniati^ another poor, acrambling Vlthor ;— ^411 Iriab youth i who, homel4«a, Wplaaa. and without f jielatJon in the world (his only brother Iwring bean loat in «hip> )rr«ck many y«an before), had u»ae to liondou tO tij the beggarly jrade of l^teri — 4iad bean striekui by BopNWption, when Bcarceiy (wenty-two, and had 1^ down to ^0, alewly, in the Sanatoriun^ I have never heard of a lonelier case, Timo ie time, air, is hour jdon, aa I dare say you know — not readily te bo parted with. Lwg Itod dreary ware the hours of ev^y day and of every night vrhit^ floor ■■■ " ■■ muat needs pass without avy im*, pave his atteodanti to upei^ to. But " th« familiar" ftforowd, who went to and tro, (oftea of his own accord) bit on a rare conpanioa for the bed^dden ^Mth, " his little clock," So he to^ it, e«d he nailed it up by jthe bed-side, tbtit its tiny voic« pjight t^k to the poor fruteid isreature the long night through— --wtd great, great, they assure ipe, was the comfort thereof.
I am telling the tale shortly ; not t9 wake it op for effect (aa London mugasine writcn I have haanl oov^Juned gf, ^e too apt to do).'^Well, after hogeiii^ through the mid-wiiit«r, the londy tu&cec died. The bwial waf to be arntagad, his scanty haodfid pf papers to be seated up «id sent here ; Sie few ragged wrecka «f l^B mrdrobe {they had but just held out) tp be diati^ted theret -~-ftnd " the EuniUsi'," of connw, to real«jm his wpron^ted l*an. ".But," sold he, with a very d^^£»l fgca, to the peFsm I he«rd mention the sad otory, ■■ I shall w^er twkt any pleosva in jny clock more ; 1 sh^ always tlonk of lh» poor, dying man ! " . If a piece <^ true faelmg like thjfr— one anwngst tiiousutda w« could all tell — does not amount to A ^W for &ir wmideration of f, eloas it is somew^t too much the fashion to mistrust and ridicule ; does not encourage a hope that the fttidts of domestic servants may W Mdter Qiuis tEw «lie«r< ; aad, m *uJ^ ama auUy ceaahfd^
mbf tlun, ur, I MD «&ud ve had bettvr, with tlie IfiAst pMubl? odti, aet our Whe&tstoaea and our BabbagoB to contrive tbose antiv watoD " bewAre of wood and dnven of water," irliicb tha bnUiant ^E>dUor of ths Exammer dewribod so wbimueallj, norne y«us f^. And tJw sooner wo boar "eaieier," " stop her t" " aet tm ahead I " and like aev Criea, w our kiwadmg troughs and inivata ch«nber« — the b«tt«r will it b9 for ottT peace, ei^er^^ajid jHutual good uiider*twi}ins '
TO-DAY.
The most etriking feature in the present day (far more than that of 'railways even) is the utter chaos into which all previously received principleB and opiniona are reduced. There is no recog- nised " rule of failh." AU that for eighteen hundred years served ^hc vorld for moral principles are, as it were, withdrawn from circulation, to be resolved afresh into theSr elements, and prove jheir authoritj ;- — tnej must speak intelligibly in the dialect of fo-datf, or th? spirit that is in them will not appeal to the hearts and wants of men— will not serve them to shape their conduct hj In the claqhhig of interests and the turmoil of active life. Every .day, every hour, la for sa(^ one of us filled with passionate details .which hurry ug along without our seeing too clearly whither they lead, and it ^ceds something stroi^er, larger than they, all sym- pathising, all pervading, to fonn a rule of Ijfe to whjdi we may each, one of os continually resort in all seasons of perplexity and difficulty ; nothing one-^ed, nothing of limited sympatnv, nothing }a short that is sectarian wiD answer the reguSremepts of a rule to guide and counsel aij< men in the varied phases of iiFS as it Is developed io each,
Fot the lest three hundred jears men haie been hreakiig loose jfroni the rock tg which aforetime they were anchored, and have fesijved thtanaelves.iBto sects and religipns, and shades of religion and ho relij^on, each one ^ying to construct an ark for the' saving of his own soul out of the wrecK and fragments <£ other systems.
To bring matters to this pass, principles have been at work whWhi though not defioitelj bearing pit mor^ »nd r^glp^u^
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211 TO-SAT.
questions, have had a grand influence in bringing the minds of men to their actual etate of discontent and expectation. The practical republicanism of commerce, the collision, the increased activity of men's mode of life, haa broken down die barriers between all classes, bringing every manuer of men into contact with each other, BO that they have gradually learned to regard all things in a more general lighL Dogmas, which have long been preserved, cut and dried in the hortus-siccns of sennona and mor^ essays, have no longer any efiect, however ingeniously applied ; right and wrong have not changed their nature, but they are found to be more relatiee than potttive, and are not to be dealt with by the sharp sweeping denunciations and vague assertions hitherto lavished upon them. Uen have begun to perceive that there is a truth, a nde on which it asserts its claim to humanity, in what is wrong as well as in that which calls itself right. Points that were once of ^tal interest and objects of the most bigoted partizanship, are heoome matters of indifference, and though the attainrocnt of "unitt" and " the' universal brotherhood of humauity" is still &e philosopher's stone of morality ; yet the centre of indifference, the common ground on which all men meet, is widening every day. Men are d^y more ready to sacrifice their httle pet par^ ten^ of private speculation, wd allow them to merge into the general life of the whole ; men do not as yet, perhaps, quite lovo meir neighbours as themselves, but neither do they quite hate them w much for not bebg after their own Ukeness. Controversy on isolated pmnts of doctrine does not flourish. Men have too' much at stake in these days to have the heart to play at logic, or
Soibblein ayllogiams.. They have no guide, overseer, nor ruler; 10 old faith in which their fathers dweft has vanished from them, titey may no longer lead their lives by it ; they are encamped in the wilderness, — "gone forth, not knowing whither they went," and their numbers are duly increasing. All recognised sects aro gradually loung theb hold ; " Grown old and ready to vanish away," is tiie device inscribed on each ; unto none of them is it given to have "the large utterance of the eariygods." There ia no room in them for the mighty heart of humanity to take refuge. *' This place is too strut for us," said the sons of the prophets in the days of Elisha ; w« are the children of the pro- phets, and it is the cry of men noio.
Oidy a very little while since Mr. Newman and his company mtered the Catholic church ; be has examined long and wdl,-^
HOW TOE USRCHAHt's CLERK TUBSED CAB-DBITEE. 225
lie has looked to the right hand and to the left, «nd Qnallj hu made Ait "Teoture of faith." It' is the grown man Ujing to return to the . fast and talis shelter there, instead of prcanng cntoar^ ; he has endeavoured to " become as a little cfiUd," if so be be may thereby attain the kingdom of Heaven ; but <Md- hood is a blessing only once in a lifetime. "How can » man enter a second time into his mother's womb and be bom ?" The nnlmowing, losing, all-believing heart of a little child can never return agab.
A hundred and thirty Jews were baptized into Christianism the other. day ; they came out of their old faitb, hoping to find a Itfger room.amongst us.
All men . are waiting and expecting ^they know not what ; they i^re waiting as " those that watch for the day."
Eighteen hundred years ago the world was waiting.as we are waiting now ; the old forms, the old beliefs had lost ueir power ; men were without God in the world, and the sense oftheur deao- lateness pressed heavily nppn them.- One came and tuud, " Foi>- LOW ME. It is written of Him that he knew their hearts, and for more than a thousand years men have felt Him to be their guide.
If in these days one would ariue who could gather together in one the hearts and aspiratioDs of all men, who should be able ia «peak peace to him that is far off and to him that is near, who could know our hearts, and make articulate all that is now strugding in human soub, who is there who would nof " arise and follow Him?" G. B. J.
HOW THE MERCHANT'S CLERK TURNED CAB-DRIVER,
AMD FOCHD HIKBELF ON THE ROAP TO FORinTE,
It is only neccEsary to step from the squares in the vicinity of (he Edge ware-road, to the streets adjacent to them, to be con- ' vinced that no painting of imagination is necessary to depict such a home as that to which I am about to introduce the reader. Half- way down Bsrlow-street is Court : an archway not much
higher, and not at all wider than an ordinary hall-door, leads through a passage, apparently over cellars (it is hoarded and hollow.
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296 HOW IBE HETtOBAST B CLBBK TUBHEU CIX-BRTVXB.
tiaiMtAm HsreatcKttglj'M yon-paaa doi^'it),>to'v immQ oomt, not^VBuch eqoarer 'tkan & London Iwok yud, BsiTonnded ' by^ tall, timft-blaokeited'lHraseB, mndowleea and nnt^atnd,' yiiHi mnArj^n- jecttOBfl 'and irrq^cnities in tiieir -Btroetare, 'like tbe ezteri«r cliiiBUB/g of ^dd-fesliioned ikrav-ltonseB. The dscm of theee bmmB stand 9pen throagh the dreEuieet rngbt — thera iaiiotbing iirdism to steal— ^tkestMTs "without baloBten, (uid'l»«kai away^ pUeea, have been taken' pieoe-meal bj the wretched iahalntialfi lor few- wood, and tho remainder w so rotted with age and filth, -sb otiy^ afford a precariotis footing. In many «BfaiieeB yon niay me Armi^ chinks and loeae boards, from Ibe garrets to the celloni, wUIe eyery attic is an obserratory, admitting not «dy a Tiew of-tbe heavens, but tiie &ee aocess of ita -^emental rigoars ; rain, and wind, and snow,' beat throngh these apertnres, ■and render it bnt'ft Toookery for the^wretch within its waUe to congratnlate himself on faaviag a roof 'orer' bis head. These hoBses-ue^et in tofiementa ; no lodger has Bwre than one roam,'aiid in this'me-nxmi'it frequently happens that a fomily of five or six, eometimes^mcffe, of indis- criminate ages and sex, father, mother, and cUIdren, are living. Here crime herds with honesty penury, and profiigaey vrith virtoe yet untainted ; want bids the one seek such a shelter, debauchery the "Other, ^iby-and-bye,' thevirns of moral contagion spreads tiirough
■ the community, and the Apposed elements that have jostled against
■ each other «n the door-steps, or stiurs-head, - shake hands at last in fellowship. In a large dilapidated room in ene of these bouaes there was- sitting, one dismal night in the December of 1840, a sad-looking woman, surrounded by four pale, half-fanushed children, the eldest of whom could not be more than seven years of age ; a gaunt, hunger-wasted man, paced to and fro the floor, which creaked and sunk beneath his rapid footeteps ; only a few minutes before he had brought in the bundle of straw on -wjiich his wife And children were sitting, and to procure wbichhe had parted at the pawnbroker's with hia last waistcoat. It was freezing fast, the snow lay in indurated, dirty heaps in the close court, into which light scarcely paietHited during the winter months, and the wind 'fiearehed thirough every aperture of the crazy tenement, 4111 Ae < starred and iU-olothed inmates shivered again. Except .the Imp ' of etrav,.,a deal, box, low stool, and cr^pled table, there was jao
fumitore in the place ; the burnt-out aehes of a fire remuned in the grate, but neither wood or coal appeared to renew it, . and the inch, of yellow fetid candle that was flaring in tho many draughts,
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HOW T9E >fE£CHAST'g CLERK mB^^ .CJiBrI9Xlf;fgt. Sit
wjkich nnitlier.tbe u^UcfttJon of ^iwini , paper, nor the protiwiqa of 'qldci^ thqpjagh tte broken iwindoffs co^ prereat, jraa a luzHiytbAtiseejueaa waste jrheD no eioployment was goiiig on, AftOT a while the duldren, though H^pperlees, fell-«ff to Seep^^^d the mother, lajiog 1;hem side bj aide, ooyeredtheinwithh$qQi):e^- bare cloak, and the remnant of an old blanket, carefoUy, aud.with as toQder ai.graceaB if it had been a siikea coverlet; then- she kissed thoin,.her wan hps trembling with more than abl(issJDg,.widj»ciTS, which, f^e drank in ailenoe (lest her husband should perpelye tj^pni), rolled down her cheeks as she did so. Fresentlj she rose,,,ai^ st(^$i^.forwKd,.put her arms about.ihe una, and. whispered, to him.wprdB.of .(inconragsment and hope;, but the sight of hpr worn aii,d -altered >aoqAtenattce, the craraigs.«f &ep)e hunger wil^ himBeifriBOtd the sight ot his unfed chiltliK?, jn^ him deaf to ^ other eonaiderations, and putting her gently iroin him, ge^y, even in that moment of keen misery, he.bAde her sit down, wUle^be endearenffed to firqjeet sotne «ch^e ;^y..^^h they.,;tiu^t ea^pe ^tarration.
" T^-pituation X.told you of yoaterday," Jlje rejoined, „aB[ his wife placed herself once more beside her little ones, " thep^s- p^ua.pf ivhich seemed absolutely written to suit me, and placed ifttbaagwit's window for the very purpose of my seeing it, is not yet filled ap ; but the man is a haxA barguner, and will not afford me a' word of information respecting it, nnlese I first put down his fee of five EdkiUitufs."
"AJas!" Baidthe woman, casting her hopdess glaoee round the roov, ' the cold emptiness of which made her shud^r " we hav^no^ng left that would bring that aimi."
"lAndfor want, of it,"resmned the man, -" yonf..^;)4^>. ^d our children may perish."
'' Iiet.BS ia^e patieape a little, Ipnger," .said .therWf^an.iofUy ; " thej say at the worst things mend, and surely they .cannot be mnch worse with .us than now."
■■" Ffttienoe ! " intejxuptsd her hnshand, '' what has it done for UJ3 — what.will it-do for us ? I, was a fool not to take that villain M'Gill's advice, for then at least our home WQnld not baye been broken, ftp,,. and you .and the . children would hare ,had^.,bed to lie down on-"
" Oh! thank Oodrather," exelaimed the ;wi»uan, 'V4iat you
ore.^tiUrich'in integrity. Whataiesuch comforts in. comparison
with the loss of an honest heart ? ' ' And she once mor^ i^proaohed
ft 2
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228 HOW THE MESOHASt S CLZBK TtTBKED CAB-DRITEB.
uid pot her arm tenderly about him. " Ah ! you are cold," eho said, as in apite of his continued exercise she found he trembleil.
"■No wonder," he relied, ahnost harshly ; " we have had no fire to-day, and my feet got wet through when I went ont for — for oiir bed just now — and then yon forget 1 have lees on me by a waistcoat than I wore yeaterday."
"Ttne, dearest !" said the woman, without seeing or appearing to see, the selfishness that coloured his compltunts, or wounding the egtnsm of his grieraucos by sotting her own in oppoeition to them.
" Here have I been," continued the man, " eighteen months out of employment, and ever more to find it in my own claj^or calling is imposBible. What respectable person would treat with a man in garments thread-bare as these, and who wears his coat buttoned up to hide his worn shirt (clean to the last, though, my poor Kate) and want of WMstcoat?"
Oh ! do not give way to this despondency," murmured the woman ; " some casual employment may help ns to as much as will replace these ; do not by useless mnrmnrings make our misery worse ; recollect that, this hitter night, there are creatures worse off than we are— beings wanting even a bed of atraw, and the shelter of such a roof as this. Oh ! my husband, let us endure a little longer — God will doubtless have mercy on us, and with the evil make a way to escape. Be brave, be patient."
The man gaaed at her, with all the Tietter feelings of his nature in hi^ eyes, and clasped her to his heart affectionately. Once more she had recalled him from the brink of evil ; for the temptjngs of hunger and want were rapidly undermining his faith in good, and but a moment before, he had meditated, almost calmly, the commiBsion of a crime that, if even undiscovered, would have lost him his own esteem,' and rendered him the slave of con- science ever after.
While they stood thus, a noise of heavy footsteps shook the stairs ; and, snatching up the candle, the woman hastened to the landing, closing the door of her apartment behind her, as if to prevent her husband following.
Archer stood still, wondering what occasion took h^ from the room, when the sounds of mingled beseechings and high words reached him, and a moment after Kate threw open the door, and a mau in the dress of a coal porter appeared at it; he gaied round with a sort of vacant astonishment, looking from the tall
nOVr THE UEBCHAHT S CLERK TUSSED CAB-SBiniB. £S0
lean man irho confronted liiin, to the meagre sfeepera on {heir bed of Btraw, and drawing the back of hia great dirty hand acrtna bis eyes, he left the room for a moment and returned biingitig in about a peck of coals in a bag, and a bmkdle or two of wood.
" Here, take them, misaus, ' eaid the man, " and Qod forgire me for being so hard to yon ; I will bring ye in half a hundred in the morning, and if you never pay me, why I shall be none the worae oS in the end."
"Kind, generons man ! " ezclumed Eate, lifting her tearfol eyes to bis rugged coimtenanee, that, even tbrougb its mask of coal duet, showed full of benevolence and pity.
" You see our condition, mj good friend," said Archer, who fabtly comprehended the affair; "we are poor, but not unprin- ciplcd ; the very first money I am enabled to earn you shall be paid the price of the coal. Your disinterested compasuon we can never repay;" and he laid his thin hand in that <rf the poor coal merchant, and wrung it with a sensation of deeper gratitude than he had ever felt to man.
" Forgave me, William, for not telling yon what I had done," said Mrs. Archer ; " I knew, when I requested the coals to be sent to jne, that I had no means of paying for them ; but I have been promised by one of our poor neignboura some work to-morrow, which it would be impossible to do without fire, and so I thought I would ask trust UU I had been paid for it."
"Feed your children first, ma'am," interrupted the kind-hearted coal-man ; " I can better do without the money than they can food ; when I want it I'll come for it ;" and, so Baying, be caught up his sack and shuffled out of the room. Scarcely had he been gone ten minutes — not more than long enough for Kate to light the fire, all the while making his generous conduct the subject of grateful panegjrio-^when some one rapped at the door, and a clean ruddy-faced woman, whom Mrs. Archer Immediately recog- nised as the person to whom sbo had ^ven her order at the c<»l store, appeared at it, with a basket of no very small dimensions in her hand.
" Lord love you, ma'am," exclaimed the woman, "why did'nt you tell me bow badly off you were this afternoon ? I hope you wont take it amiss — (for there was something that spoke out through the squahd looks and poor garb of Kate Archer, indicative of a different sphere of life from what her bumble benefactress was accustomed to), — I hope you won't take amiss my bringing a few
230 HOW THE HEttCBAin 8 CLEBE TDBKEK CAB-DRlTEn.
tMngs^of'tli'e'cliilctren;" ^d abe deposited the basket before tht glad Iwt'bevildered-tilrtdieir, ftHa ernli orHy tbsnk berWith her teare'; bat the poot irrAmui vauted' no tbftbln'; dite basteiied to fin tbd k<Atle ^m vater, onA B[treild tnif upon the coarse but ctean table the atofbadie-h&d brmigbtirith her^breadand tea and cold lAeat'; and' tben at Uat- tunung to'hev hiubond, Mrs. Archer exclmindd— ^
"Did I not Bay God would be merciful to ub? HOff can we thank tlds kind voman and her htubamli who bare'MTEd tis from another nlgHt of cold and hunger ?"
" Ob, ma'am, if yon eonW bnt kncNi' how warm my heftffBas, and how Hgbt' afad happy T tOa, you would know I didn't want t&askB,— ^bless yon, die {Measure's worth double the enpenae-; but what I'wtif a giHDg to say to you, if sd be your good genrienmn won't' be offmded, ib this, — my boy Jett has come home VB17 poMly, afad' he'wautB aomebody to tale his-plac9 fbr two or tbree days, tin he cdfbeB round agbin. Wellj it'ian't that' the pbn^ is much, but then three and sixpence d day is bnter ^btex nothing, and my bOy and the old man tboagfat if your good gentleman could driVri, it 'ed be bettbr'than aittiiig in doors doing' nothing'."
"ButVlmtiBitIamtod»?" ezclaiilied Archer. "If I can' be usefol tb ydbr aon, for tite sitke'of Us folbet'^'kiildneBirdUd joUR, I Bhtill'be most wiUingl"
" I am half afraid, no#, I haVa be* too bold,'' aaBVrefCa'tbe oldwoniaD, "aiid' diatfwben I tdl yOtl, yooTl qnarrtl-with your bread attd bdttef . Ite long and shivt of it is, J«m'driTCB a cub;"
"Aild'h«'i3 ill, ^nd'ifanto'Bome one to driVoitfor himj"' sug- gested Archer.
"NWf efturtly so; ait'; dlete are plenty of people whoworfd , drnfeif for him; atfd' b& glad of tlie chance," rejoined' Jem's moaier! "but we thou^t that the Mr and the eMB«fse,> and yt>dr Btd^ cKiaiten, and the Haei and sitpencff a diy-^"
"' I aeei I SeS;" itaterruptod Archer, Whose ohe^B a ilMBiftnt befiJHr bild Curbed With a rebellious sense of degradstion dtthe proposal, " and will accept of the ofier ; tell your son I hare been fcclWtdBked to driTC in' town, find will be vet^ cstteM bOtJi of his tiniigH and hoite-flesh." The cbihlren ^idly rose up to their' ilileZf^t^ aupptf, Aid ftte good tfoiiian departed delighted widi t£e(<oiHftiril'dheli&tfcoAfbi^d,-aDd the thanks and' blesHings of t^ dlstrtSsfed' ctmple; It wis no* ArcherV tuvn to inspirit and .I'^ffiBltM' Ms wif^; ifho kneW ttiat noAiiig bnt ber wants, and
WW THB UfBiafi&llI S- OIiBEE TUHSBfi: DAB-DBITBS. 201,
ibosa ai Ms. childreD, could liave deteriiiiasd.}itm ta tnu^e vtftMk, ereiy. [wsju^e,. and, pluck, up tkus bodily, tho latent prids^ siilL rooted in liift heart j but the fire kindled, by the hands of humblo' cdurity,, the o)Jy food h» txr his hod tasted throtigli the doiy, providad frotnthetsuoe eourcft, haid read a, homily to hia galled Bfuit, that had Boddenly reduced it to astmaeofhut-tmadaty, and deteimincd hin, al.whAlerer.ainouiit (^iiuauLiatiea, tejclose with Hie presaat oSar.
" You.hftre. indeed. proTed a. true preset, HAtcv." he added, ctmaolinglyk. " I.ahall soea obtain the aoaaa-o£ applying to aa ageDt,,or.of'ftd^»tisu)g for wsnething else i.aodin die .laean tin^ there ifrno fear. of my, being' reco^ueed by aay.oae wha^fonoarlj knewm^ in.saoh a garb,, and awk a eaJbi^ ; bul^b^garB nwui net be choosGdra i sebear up, myvpoor girl, Mid.BtnTe'ta'tliinkr.MT you reminded me just now, Ihat it is.alLftv tbe:baBt.."
^te.roae.eerly theiQieixtmemi&g,. and preKaiadhW'. bnabtod'a breakfast., befere: hsf started to his. novel acW{>ati»B, aoi IlW% indeed, did t^ houra. aeem till hiar return, se: unused hadi she lately, been to pMs-a^ day without seeing him. U was late ia the evening iriven. he. eamft.home ; the cMLdceailud geaatabed,. not, hewers,. Bi^pwleBa; and* thanks to.'tlie. paw. coalman, a .fire wekomed hun, and made (Km^Hmtui^ idiaBiM ft Utile spaoe. about the hearth.
After his- first. greetingB with hie nil*,, Accher. produced from. his pocket,, not. hia promised daf,'s earning^, thiea luid aixpenoe, but a bandsoBW tuid apparei^y well-filled pwsei. the. omtanta o£ which beproeaeded.to spreodon thetabbi req^uesting her to.take a.peueil'uid make an iaTeutoi^i of them:, th^ were: «^ht sere- re«gBs, and 2701. InBank. of England notes. "And^oow let me tell you how die^cBiBViuitom}^ hands,. Kate," stud Acaher. "for you are boking rerj, white aud. uizi<Hi». I took: i^a.lady tmd gentlemaU' in. ^ Strand, who desired to be diiren. to, Camden. Town, aod.' youmay. guesft my Station whan LfoKod that the hauae-I.w:^OTd«nd,to set-thma d«wn at,. wsaal«H.by thatmau,, U'Gill'B. I did nok. wait a momaut after L had received my fare,. except to put! (^ tbfiMeps,. atid.^ut. the dow„ but-^ve off ae rapidly as possible. Fresently, another geotlemaQ hailed me, and in letting dawtk the steps, uid rera^juetting tlia wuhioUi I per- eeived betwe«a it. wd the batds, of the earrtag? the tuning taaael <d tiiia pursei. I put it in my peoket, and haviiig driven this passenger to/thfi otfaer eiJreme of tows, Uu^oiind q£ a polieeauw
292 BOW TUS UXBOHAHT S OVBBX. TDRNED OAB-DBITEB.
irhat I ought to do in Huch a case, but without telling him what ' had happened. The man, who perceived I w»fl not much an tidept at my buBineBS, informed me the place for aach deposits was Somerset House, where I immediately drOTe, but the office was shut up, ao that nothing remains bat to keep possession of it till to-morrow morning, when I shall take it there the 6nt thing." And this man, who but the previouB evening had been tempted by his poverty to canvass within himself the propriety of robbing in defence of his starring wife and children, now that hs had to all appearance this money at his metcy, felt no other feeling with regard to it, but anxiety for its restoration to the owner ; hut then he had the present means of honetHy providing bread for them. Having carefully taken the numbers of the notes, and the amount of the whole, the poor cab-driver and his wife lay down on their wretched pallet.
The effect of air and labour was soon evident in the sound sleep of the man, nor was Eate, who bad also been hard at work during the day, long in following his example. ~ Considerably a^er mid- night, or rather, in the small hours of the morning, the crei^ng of the old stairs, the noise of heavyfootstepsin the room, and the flashing of sudden lights awakened Kate, who cowered closer ta her husband on perceiving three or four men standing by them i Archer, however, instantly sprang up, and, after a moment or two, recognised the person of the coal-dealer, who regarded him with a Teiy rueful expression of face ; and beside him a police-officer, and the gentleman whom he had driven the day before to Camden Town. The latter, who did not discover his loss till some hours after it had occurred, immediately applied to a magistrate, and obtained the assistance of a very intelligent poUce-o£Gcer, who, having found out the number of the cah &om the keeper of the Camden Town toll-gate, proceeded to the various coach-stands, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in hunting out the owner of the one in question. Poor Archer immediately comprehended the meaning of their visit, and after his first involuntary feehng of annoyance and humiliation at the outrage offered to his poverty, by their unceremonious entrance to his wretched home, he ex* chimed — ■
" I am sorry, sir, that you have suffered so many hours ' anxiety about your purse ; I assure yon I have been as anxious to restore it to you as you could be to recover it, and went for that purpose to Somerset-house yesterday afternoon ; 9ut, nnfijrtnnately, it wa&
now THE UEBCHASt's CLBRK TmtHED CAB-DRlVEtt. £33
after office hours, so that there was nothing left but to retun it till the morning, when I intended taking it there the first thing."
He then handed the inventory, of its contents to the gentleman, and produced the purse. The latter looked from the man round his miserable abode, with nndisgoised interest and commiseration ; . and, after thanking him sincerely for the manner in which he hod acted, and apolog^ing for entering his place and disturbing his iamUy, he Itud his card oa the table, reqnestjng Ari;her would call at the address on the following morning, and pressed into the poor man's hand a note for fivQ-and-twenty pounds, delicately saying that it was not offered by way of rewa^ng his honesty, for he felt that would be to instdt him, but as a trifling aasistaiico in his unhappy circumstances, which he could not think were self-induced. Overwhelmed with gratitude and astoDishment, Archer could only clasp the hand of the generous man, and stammer forth broken thanks on behalf of himself and children, while. the poor coal-maa delightedly exclaimed —
" Didn 1 1 say, wr, it was all right, and that if he had got the money yon were sure of it !" -^.
" You did, indeed, m^ good fellow," answered^ho gentleman, who had heard from hun as they came along the histoty of his acquaintance with Archer; " and to prove that such conduct as yours rarely goes unrewarded, eren temporally, you must let me be the means of repaying yon your kindness to this distressed family, — I mean so fai as money can repay it ;" and the stranger absolutely forced upon the honest coal-dealer a five-pound note. The serricea of the officer were rewarded afiierwards, and the party left ■ -■■— Court.
The feelings of Archer and hia wife maybe imagined ; palpably, indeed, the finger of a merciful Providence appeared throughout the transaction, and their gratitude and happiness were in propor- tion to the exigence and hopelessness of their past situation. For- tunately the next morning Jem the cabman was well enough to resume his box, and his first job, by order of Ur. Worthington (the owner of the lost purse), was to drive Archer to his hotel in the Adelphi, but not before the latter had spent some of the 251. in redeeming his own, hia wife's, and his children's apparel; so that, though wan and meagre, he now looked respectable in appearance, and his features, freed from the hard, care-drawn expression misery hod impressed them with, even prepoasessing. Not contented with lurnng relieved the present necessities of
Archer's itaalji lik Wortinngtan had ianpiwd that' nmewgnthia conaeoticns he rai^ posobly- servv^faiin more eifiectuB%; and though thu thought wM aimereiiiipHlu^:fint,it haducnr beeone a detenttaUitimi, E^onldthepwv^raaD's'preTiMwhistoiy bearlnmxtnt in belieTi)^ )am dwerring of it; 11dBiTBSBooatDld;hehadbeeiiai cl^'k fbriBMiy yean is a-^onuneraal htnua^iii the.ctty, the prin^ eapat of' ffhieh, wlien dying, had Bbajagiy- rmtmraetdtA him ta the autice'Of hiancpheTTaiadsiwceHW.; bvCthia pananj "ritothwigfat more x>f'- befrieodB^ some ^j of hig-iOiro, tbwt in-attaiwUiig' to a dead nuo^inshes, y^ey aberAj-a&auiiaulB infonned likirtbat<hcL had DD fiadieE oBoagioai iar- ias: Heraieeaj Aa BDou-avhe bad,a little sfaookioK the ef&obac^ this snddeaaDdaiideBBn«d«TOnt,.hB MideanNBed:tve%taiii:BiHtfwrwtt»tioK; bat" iihuHwn (ia wAr. ta <K>rer Ma owiciiijuatie^ hi*' late- enfl^er had. aeontl^ ^nad mmonra to hia diaadTantage,. oc tbattbe mere &ct;aE< liia beii^ euddmly dismiMad flram an -ixitflng movL in vhidiihahad been aa long established, was in iteolf euffident-- to oceate mupaaot to hia diixxedit, all hi» ^orta vere uiuTaiEiig;.
Put off with promises from month ta monlb, his eitiurtioiL at length beeame so de^)M:at«, that wont stared hiin. in tbe face. At this juKCtnt^ he-'WM peraaaded by the landlord of.liie hMue he rented to a^y to a lora.BOoetT'fbr snck o-amn of mtney as would enable bhirto ke«|)'cB a few ihwAIu Ifl^w. bavivgr stlU: faith in the assnzaiwes of (so called) Mendat wfaoisther than- own tiiein inability to 'fflffve him, or the diaagEwaUfrfiKt'that theynpoald not*, oontimied hia su^nae indefiintely.Aadaddad to tfaeinowtveniniea and wretohednBae of Ma aituatiiab Thia man, irtuse' otone waft M'Gill, was manager of tbe society to which be recommended -his tenant;. iBulfiEEthBBbafriendedhiiB^aaAreber belierad) byrrender-
iiij. inij rififiiiiNi bill ^I'li i luii ihhimij. infwnii^ himi that hia
name was oJtau^SiuMtfr at tha ottee, and Archer. baoMBtt a. deJ)lor for ten: poimda, Aftra a few md» the anba^^mu finnd ib wasimpaosible ta-ke«9iip his'wcddjn pn^nenta, fmreiocpt; a«a- sional en^^meiitiB.a^tying for a lawyer wbflm bo/haeor, bojlutd no meanB-of!eKniiuga.£ialling; andnowtbeafiparentdiantweatedi- nesa of hia landloid more atroa^y evinced itaelf,. and hej kiiidl; informed him that henaad nat fear bmng troaMed by the aeciety for ikv. money, a»i« weuld preiaat a^thtf. Ahovt this time, however, the alteration in tfas nuoagci'a atyle of UfxBg- and i^maraaee, hiagigi naililln liiiiin, milligii iial iirinaii. iiart nnitniii buildii^ vpeenli^tniB im whidi he, w(K ogagod, dximvfmi hint
i0k'
BOW THE llEaCH4NI S CLBBK TURNED CAS-]»tIT£B. &ii
tbe Buapidons of his partners, and a rigjd scnttinj"of his aecon&tB tiiok place; and it then turned oat that through the CDncnirence of the secretary, who w&s acretctareirf Ut'oim, be^lutd rohhed tiieta while in office of Bometfaiitg vrit a thousand pounds: No redreas was left' to them but to get iM of hinr, wUeh ibej dM as qoick^ aspomible ; but even br H doing they hod not destM>7ed his -power to injnre and swlndte them, an instance of wUcb we may glfe'iil his condnctto Archer. His debt, in reality, had iiev«r a^pera«d on the societ^s books; and perhaps tf'GiS ffanM' Uave aDowed'it'to have gone beyond the tw^e months agreed on fbrita repa;;inent, but ftr tiie circumstance of a smsll sum of money bftring betai'Btmt to Mrs. Arcdier by s' relstiyei wUefa circom' KtftMffB' oomiiy to U'Gill's ears, hetWoo^t it irooldb© agood opportni^ to get' some of it j accortfnglj he called on' Archer, ora inducing the account sftid, in a sort of off-hand wny<^
"'AnAei*, ym owe the Iiosn Society in ^ftiker street* ten pCnmdsj nxt«6ll<and fbur-pence, 4ith fliies, do-yon not?"'
" Yon WeH knftw I do, amnrered Archer:
"WetH" he'daidi "pay me down eight ponnds and I «fll'give you a receipt for the whole amount,"
But the poor clerk, who had heard of his impiincipled conduct, saw at once the dishonesty of the offer, and rejected it.
" No," he said,- " I wiU neHhw be dishonest myself nor abet it in others ; I owe the ten pouais to the society, and will pay it as sMBM-ertacit b» in' my power;: hut I will noty. erai to sore myself 'ff'priseni defravd ! "
fbd rage of the other' was on]/ lesa omel t&an his rovenge;
" iUawuber," he sud,. " you are in my debt some six months' rent: either you pay me witbioLl^ds^,, oc Ii^eebyoU'aBd take your goods in ezeeation'.''
And lie was as good tM hi* wwd ;: Ub a^a|^y tenants were thrust out homeless and robbed of their goodb, which wore sold for A fourth of Aeirvdne.learlDg little or notfiing to the wretched owners when the clahns of their base creditop had been paid. After this they had mored from lodging to lodging, each better adapted to their daily sinkuig oiHSHnstaneeB ; the parlour had been changed for the seeend floor,, tbstfsr the attic, till at last, every arti(Je gone &at co^d obtain' thwi a^ meal or shelter, thoy had been driven to hide themselves in the dismal place where the poor coal-man had disoovered tbem. 'The Mst of the story is soon told. Ur. Worthingtow lost soithne- in inqiMiog at the firm to . which Archer had belonged' tte- tmt* of his story, and flndbg
230 HAILWATS ANS
that he had really been discharged without a fault, ho convosacct amongst his commercial friends (he wb3 himself a IWest Indian merchant), and obtained for him a more lucrative post than ho had before held. Things hare prospered too with the honest coal< dealer, who has lately increased his premises, and besides green- grocery, eiMbits a splendid board with a Tiew of Hampatead Heath in the distance, and. a notice that vans for the removal of furniture and the conreyance of pleasure parties are always oa hire within. If you talk to him of the improvement in his business, you hear all about the gloomy court in. Barlow-street (saving the names), and he tells you with twinkling eyes that he owes it all to that five-pound note, which has done him more good than all the money he ever had before in his hfe ; and well it might : it was the first he had had that put blm a pound in advance of the coming necessities of the morrow. . The last we heard of the scheming M'Gill was in a etogging transaction, which led to his being brought b^ore the Lord Mayor, and fined for stopping up the way in front of the Mansion House ; but we do not yet despiur of his meeting with his desert. Mita, Cabolike WniTB.
RAILWAYS AND ROYALTY. .
[Ih du peregriiuitioDg, the other dsj-, we bxpfeittd ta visit the old town of Pon- teftact (Pomfret), and found it all iaaJ^rment aboat a new lailirajr which is beint Gompleled between WakeSeld and Ooole, and which passes bj the oatskiits of Iha town. A visH to Ibo ancient caille, and its many associations connected with his- tory, led us imperceptibly to imiulge in a reverie, wherein the opening of the ioeoagcaous PonteCmct ndlway ii anticipated.]
I s*w, methought, old Pomtret's town,
Whose dacal castle crumbling, In page historic hath renown —
rtJood gracious ! what 'a that rumbling 1) Full many a noble lost his head,
Within yon spacious court, And Richard's self lies wrapped in lead
Beneath that bloody port. These grassy monnds are rife with graves :— • O'er Lancaster's yon elm-tree waves 1 Now railways are disturbing things
To mortal mAi when living — But, who knows what a railway brings .
To dead men of misgivine 1 ^~. ,
vXiOoglc
EAU.W4Y8 AKD BOTAtTY.
Witnesi old Pomfret's castle wall —
(I feel my hair now briatUng !) Heard'st thou not the dead men call
Id answer to the wbiatling Of the firet train that woke their Bleep, And shook thj toppling time-worn Keep 1 Fint, Lancaster felt ill at ease,
The rumbling was so great ; He foand his head betwixt his knees.
Nor set it on quite stiaight ; And when the second whistle rang,
He broke bia ston; bed, And upricht ejiTacg, with hollow clang,
Amid tne-griily dead — Who thou^t that Doomsday must have come, Bat, disappointed, looked quite glum ! King Bichard woke up ghastly pale.
And clutched a rusted spear. Bat when he saw the open vale
He laid aside all fear. The dungeon's walk were crumbled down- He felt the cool fresh air, And looked about to find hu crown,
Among the crowd to wear.
And hark ! the train moves oS, and lo !
The wheels whirl deftly round ; Impell'd by mystic power they go,
Shaking the solid ground ; , And swifter now, and swifter still.
Their speed but quickens ever, The fiery car descends the bill
Until the woodlands sever From wandering eyes the meteor star, Whose smoking track is heard a&r 1 Quoth lUchard, " Earl, what meaneth this.
To waken as from sleep. With roaring voice and fearful bias,
Thna o'ei
A pandemonlnm go-cart, sure.
Hath broken loose from h^ ! " Qnoth Lancaster, " 1 would it were.
If Nick be there as well ! I feel a chillnesa o'er me creep — King, lay thee down again to sleep." Alira.
vCoo*^lc
THE UASQUBRADE OF SOCIETY.
Shaesfebe BajBtlat " all tlie wofld 'a a stage," and that "one man in. his time plays m»iiy parts;" but howerer this maybe TeceWed as an etenial tnitlp, I am disposed to, consider that in the present day the arrangement of pecibnniuice is somewliat different from that which preiuuled in the tii^e of Shakgpere, and has pre- vailed generally in all times aot'|o diorougUy sophisticated as thoseinvbicli we" Britishers ".•«'ti«t. Thejntofthe Theatre is now boarded over, so as to.be lertS with'the stage, and greatly to enlarge it ; and, on this,extend6i«rea,"we,-do.»0t|rfoyi>art« in a regularly concerted drama, bnt"-^ the In^dveds of thousands of us — we mingle in an heteragenesne Maeepte^ode. A flood of arti- ficial light pours down upon us'^om gorgeous chandeliers above our beads, and, stimulated by tbe crash of a -mighty orchestra, we engage with ardour in tbOc^ursiBts of the hcqir.
See how earnestly and ijurefitJIy tbe ebatacter which each has assumed is attempted to be-suataned ! TbeJCjawyer looks like a livingroll of paKhM;ent|<a)id'Sr^y%ind BeeiiiB inajHred by thoughts otfees. How scornfully he glautees at the Poet, who posses him vrith eyes bent on the ground. add- folded anns, wrapped in medi- tation and apparently oblivions ef the basy crowd around him! Here comes the Soldier^ with anerect gut and an imperious eye, sick of these stupid peaceful days, and longing for the old game of war. After him comes the Legislator, who professes to under- stand everything, and will talk three, mortal boprs on any subject in creation. Do not his self-satisfi^ emirk and bustUng air of importance show bim every inch a maker of Aeta of Parliament ? But here is s<»nebody indeed ! Iloom. for the Sight Honourable the Earl of Hawksnest ! Is ho^ot an unmistakeablo aristocrat ? Bom to be served and obeyed by .bwn inferiors !
Now all these people, wttb innumerable other people appearing in the same Masquerade, s^vewith all their hearts to support effectively their individual characters ; but firequ^itly indeed their true vocation peeps out in spite of their supeificial sAsumptioQ of some different order of human being. Thus a.mui affectmg the
U.g,l:«l by Google
eabtmxi gmee '^<fiA -Sage daUpIablylMinrr, his real caUngof Jack Pudding. Tlie Fhilanthropiit in speech msj.too tmupa- TCD^j'shsarlmnMif Bi.fact hnt^Miunfi.ftttaDMy. The Legiiktor is not mUobi. Been, bf the lOBakAaU of %jfptA»tmaa, tob«AXMi« -Btt^obber, at :gnMkeeper,.'«r -^^edng^K, ttr tiaker. The Ijord u taooAariivtv'pklpahlefeetaiimR— 4tiieJ(cnb«at a <wiadlgr— Ihe Ciagjittttiin hookater. '£iiigB have, be&ne mm, Btmtted grandly "-■iMatiibtAndently-MrtKa'iiothK.batbirtckWBi-aBd Popw have .piitQn'aBtaBiahing:BitBvho<Mtnnjr'weeftaaoliha^lIianoUm>iB«n. ■^ ia-the f Mfrintj vS-.Utt mxtn:txmttKiii}y T3eU>Bd,.«nd the <jrw^ iJEaa^MBida Tendered aKnaceontoqitWe than nedd. be.
tBat-.Miai^af thectg^Myi-Aoaie to ra^jki mietlf mth the ft, riwrt vgnjqy lArt anMS,-iitthoitimd«;g(nag:tbe.fMti8Be and ■■MiTOBwribffity jf'^yaJMafctJtany-nipyertaDgrftpwMKiff chwarter; and-^asrHne of the *mMi[Mn:pr(£Br:eaBiittMr>Hid anry-iiaj. da- aactora to th— a<rf gm*er-^nyu&,:ia emMqncMie of ihe'«we tif tWr iMMHf*iu>i,i.ap i^me yKij^MMj-f^aog ioAniiaiaT^nSet no aBamnption at all, and just shoir their confbnnaiicfi to thenleB of theplMe>b7>«QKdiigA^VB&mdidennBa, ^Shn thor time .poMes amootUj', wiliHint i''Tfiif aiiil iiiHimli iliiini|lliirtirtiiil F«ir^ow, ornte, >^HLUMj-<ai«e,-^aAer.tt^i6'PMBeBt, w^i^inirthey go; biit^'^ho'thiidc:-attall:abDiit.'thcBi eanud«r dtemTery rnepieotoMti'jort «f pe^Ie,:who faare-^nciTer said jior done ^anj- .tluog aotUKe'^rigtetJaoA mho i<mhtiMB^id acmevtj of amuing
iB.Ais mvimr<aauU ipenon alba saAa-toiHiutrato samefrsg- ~msatalA(iBrelopnieM'of:haBanitj,-er ^ntaine fr«n-n]ch'deTel«^ ■sent, and lAelteCT Jamietf jn-ritemmty . Bnt thftBOBMroBB-powevs andiliiitingMldtit^ApeciBiarttaa of 'oa^nan or woman centiBaaHj taid'tolmalB.thvoi^lhnyKiialAciiaQ.'oratatoof inactian, and .oxlHlnt'Ae'wJi;de ' being .«B «xintiiig:at ;d)e~lime. ^ence the aeownty for^eautBDD, iorbf^oeuKj, fw. fee ■eaPTentioaal atifling of atLthaD^ts-aDd.-tniJu»«0ntHH7 to.the- oaenihvtMter.awaiiMd.
ThfiB in the LMaaqncrade of Society .u« lboa» vho make it up veonateainad, aad itis^i^to aome eriect feir that any indiridual twitldiacorerhimadfaa he teally is. Lore and friendi^p may eBOBO the mask lo ibe renored far a vhile, or the donuBO to be thrown back, but thme Imnrious momenta of iincerity are seldom, .wid.Bie.imkaewj) toall bnt the faTonred objects of eonfiddnee.
^t lookatihase spectators in the boies^ who ait elevated above the nuning throng of masquers, jud who crtticiie Ihcoi* aj^narance
Upl:«l by Google
240 IBS HASQUEAADE OF 80CIEIY.
and doings — noir Unghiag — now reproving — and nov soliloquising. Who are they ?
They «ro pbllosophera, mondiatB, and refonners ; and though you aee them now sitting in judgment on the social ma5querade> yet their present position ia but occoaionolly assumed. They taka their share in the occupations of the area below — and many of them with right good-will too. You obserre also that, with very Few exceptions Indeed, they appear either in some especial cha- racter, or at least in mask and domino. Nor could they, without great difficulty, manage to keep in the theatre at all unless they eo far conformed with its cuatoms. The two or three enthnuasts \rh6 obstinately refuse to compromise their true nature so far are soon turned out of the glace ahogether, or if, by their innate energy, they remun in spite of all they encoonter, they ue shunned by the great majority of their fellow sojoumera in the building — both mere masquers and philosophic reformers — and are in every way made to feel the oonventional indecorum which they have committed.
Yet, however the most prudent of these critical spectators may attempt to conciliate the crowd below, still the very fact of th^ presuming at all to ^t elevated above the turmoil, and speculate upon its merits and defects, is an offence which brings its own punishment with it. They are looked upon with suspicion and dislike by the mass of masquerB.- " What do they here," say they, " unless they mean to do as w« do t Their remarks on particidar characters are impertinent ; and their entire opinions, carried out, would be subversive of the masquerade itself. So it was before wo came, and so it will be after we have gone. The great and wondrous masquerade never stops, and cluu^es but little. As one representative of a character drops off, another supplies his ^dace ; and, without ceasing, the glorious and inspiring music sounds from on high, and the brilliant light descends in golden streams I Though each of us may change his oliaraoter at will — and, with his character, his deportment, and his very thoughts themselves — yet must he, in every case, but act over again what others havo acted before him, and what the well-understood usages of the company require. Ever seemingly different, but ever really the
Thus, hypocritical, clever, lively, wearisome, companionable, heartless — severely commented upon and pertinaciously preserved — goes on the Masquerade of Society. A. W,
U.g,l:«l by Google
A PLEA FOR OUR CLIMATB.
I iKi not exactly know who is the beat abused man in ^e iroiU —but I am sure I know what is the beat abused thing. It is oar unfortunate — much-belied — much-suSering — long-eoduiing climate. Ererybodj baa a bard word and a bard blow for it. It is nerer brou^t up for trial but to be condemned — and condemned generally, withont recommendation to mercy, or benefit of clergy. First, we abuse it ourselves, and then foreigners take up the tale and abuse it for ua. We hare bemoaned ourselres so pitifully on OQT atmospherical woes — we have scolded East Wind soimpitiably, and taken Fogs to task so severely, that not a Frenchman or & Spaniard, or an Italian, but riseii from bis cradle and goei down to lua coffin with the comfortable assurance that England is a little— wretched — drizzling — dribbling hole.—thc condemned cell of the world — a mist dungeon — an atmospherical cbaoa of clouds and snow, and all sorts of akiey abominations— -where the winter is all fog and Ice— the apring all fog and hail — the aummer all fog and rain — the autumn all fog and sleet, — where all is cheerless and tempeatuona — a sort of Nora Zembla with the chill off — a apirit-petriiying Limbo — where the tempests which continually rage and howl bare fairly Mghtencd the poor sun oat of the sky !
Now, I propoaa to act lance in rest— that ia to say — pen in motion — agunst these fallacioua notions, propagated here and fostered abroad, — to declare in the outset that I beueve our climate to he one of the best — if not the best — in the world, — and that I mean to attempt, at all events, to prove the aaaertion. I know the torrent of objurgation with which this atatement of opinion will be recaved.
" What ! " excliums one gentleman, puffing a freeung Uaat of cast wind in my teeth, " are you in love with rheumatism — smitten ivitb the charms of sciatica ? '
" Do yon take," inqnires another, "our pea-SOi^ ujata for clouds (f gloiy V
" What can you say," mildly queries a third, " for a climate under whose influence the thermometer jumps up and down like a Jack-in-the-box, and the mercury in the barometer has generally
so. IT. — ^TCt. III. R
Upl:«l by Google ■
ZiZ A FtEA POK OUR CLItUTE.
a far etroDger penchant for low life at the bottom of the glasB column, than high life at the top ?"
" And where there is tardlj ever a fine day for pio-nics?" addB a young lady. ■
" And where the Bommer always seta m wiiH i\a usual severity V superadds an old jpker.. ...
"And'^ere tradeemeii $ui adVertisementB oTTrarm cteAlDg into the 'newspapers:— beginning the announcement for everyday in the tlir«e hundred' Mid sirty-five, Tfith — 'at this rijoronff seaaoB of thfe year?''" interrog^es Hnother.
In spite,, Bowever; of aUthis, — of enst wiiidsi— Jijgs-— raria*>ini Ih tfeliigeratlire— backward seasons — and dl die jokBB which we liaYe. ifiad6 upon our own fancied' atmospherical suff&ritigl, T am prMtAfed' to mdntaiii the' tratH of my proposition^ ; miig' Charles n. was nota Sobmon (in all raspecti); Ihit he isbiA some very sHrewd things^ and amongst oAien he one day tbld'hia cnutlers'that be considered' the clmiate of Eiigland to he the bestin-tlie world, because there was no other iii wfaidl a mm Gianld' litonr out of doors, exposed' to the weather, with lessrisk to his he^lU and' inconvenience to himBelf,' for bo many hoars in tlie dayi and bo many, days' in the fCEcr, as* he conld inEngland: And'thi, after all, is the tme test t» try climate by. I a£rit'at once, that our sky is not a diow on& We' cannot erijihit such transparent' depths — silch unclffuded ekpanses of" aznr© as Italy can. Wo. have no such moon as shines on' Keditfirranean: wares or on tropical Savannahs. Our sun-risings and^ enn-set^gs may — as Byron- has dfeserilied tliem— be merely " obscurely bright." But, after all, wbeie is the grand advantage- of iiidigo-coloured skies,r and' moons as shiny as that" m the Colfiseum, and brilHant sun-dses which nobody gets out of iris bed to- look at— and' gor- geous audsets, which nobody will leave his' dinner t»- admire ? Cannet all the ordinary occupations of life — those occupations which, employ mb and make ua happy and great — he; arwdlper-, - fbrmed' under a mild and' cloud- tempered finnament, as under the blaze of a scorching buh which, as in the West Indies, fevours a .man with a brain fever if he sleep in it by day, — or as under — thftt'TJe-sonnetted moon whict^vesa man the mumps if he repiDSO in its mild, raya by night ? Here in happy contrast wilb the fervid east-^" the sun does not smite by day, nor yet the moon by night.*' I give up therefore to more' fevoured- land* bright snns and coups de soletl — lustrous moons and the swelleJftlces of their
.A. £LBfc BOR; QDR: ObUfATE. ^
WOtBhippeni, and cooient mywlf witboHr sky uiukBr'n'liieli.^W om work, or tnrdj or rajoy ouraekoB, not pei^pg ofUn attmukted 1i]rth«Mkutlp«in»of theneatiier — bulBd4oBi onueTBrprsreiited froniLdeiiigrwhatin* wiah tluw^h ite influemoo. la J&ct, tfao pr0> wlii^ <dtmtotanBtio of our (dimate U itA aogi^tive featoTQa. Itft tonat are rtrtliw-iifintnd than eitbw very wtim on v«ty ooU. Spring, Buumw,. autUiDU. mater,, we oan.goabosbew. buwuM without \bt or UndrftBce. A iUgfat t^ai^ of dfiea* aaablei wt, withoHti muoh moro iocanveaunce, torineat ibeabongieg tompa- Eaturea'of tte aeasona. W« arehardly oroi IwfibwJAua doora bj ttther beat.QrookL. We h&raraot to Buooza awqy tbe. fieiy fuiy of ^ MBnoMr'a' nowr. ut' li*Um aiukB. ortc wbUa-awtw tba wiBter'a oraiuiigrctBiit^ied. OTar,'a ftifllog. stove., ftgiuii, wo^ltuna BttdreaisywietJMMOiHit.ae ia.tllatHC^iim.wWe^t^ ORbueiatqaud into & b^: iIuBrfV' bglh Ibr. naaHf - h<d£ tbe jmxs We baive no long Ung«n]tg-iRuteni,.Mia dMkUaitad Statefron tbaiotfQ wtiwm enmtriea: a£ tsfiUwd Buttpe, w]ie» use cbmai tiiQt asmt- and enow bides ^e green pleasantness of earth for montba. tagpllwri We am fro* ttnn.-tbe tocriUdt variatisns of, t«m||en(qiB -i^ch tbeoe maa a]r«afllcfeed.m^.wd feam. all' tlJe, ftbowiaatiwa: whwh ^e^involrai Wa-awnot froBtrbiUofLia wurten^, non moBqaito UMisi in wBomsn- We barn no dite pariiUuMK riidiig.axia Biiwbdeiome w^Mtaticn. filmed, into tank lusunanue faj^ oiwonnr bneding sim. Tntfir— «ur oUmata has ita- isowmiMaoea ou tbe Mtve of haidtb, bnt diey oaft genarall; be guacded agfuiurt br owe ■md attvnljon. Ab-ftU wttite^ a oojd ia tbe bead.is-not so deadlj aa-ague fcun iMliait malaria, aad^I vouldgQ.tbs.Itti||i)i;of. pi«- femng; mea a ^arp twinge of rbettmatum to. ai dsoiibdlf wild bout of jdknr fswr. W« bare, then, . I oontondt alnuet, aU tba snbataotial goodtt of climatei We aw tb^B afibrd to fpve up soma of ita more ftoeiM bsautieB. li Hie- shj Ista u»go about ear bnsineaa ib oomfort. It is too bad to ^uamal mtb, it for not b^ng blue enoagbi— attd.if lh» sun dtinea well enouj^to enable . uBt«aee>oHr-£url«ad;tb«^eatiof itaDifiadew«raod,the wrdnDB ef ite: tnaasi ^: nub laug^ af tbe buninar; becaaie tlia. lli^nu>< meter isiBot- 95° ib 1i» ebaie. But I by no. mauw. aotu^f giva
Xblue.idues and laowoUt nights. We baTetjjeia oeeiMwi^ly— !ti. 13m firmament erery now and again. do«ft pnt on it* very belt dreei, — bnt— & oomM and tbe duace'a oi^ to tbe urobin who blubbeEsferhia Sundi^ cbthea every, day in. the week I
Letna-oaQtraBta&w-of thfi more diaagreoable, fMtwafrof die
SU A PLEA POB orR cluiaix.
&tmos[^ere wluch we liave to bear np agMost widi thoK wUch tfflict the Bfttirea of other, and nominollj more faTOured lands.
East wind is a great bugbear amongst ub, and it certainlr nips EbrQwdlr. Koreover it is cbilly, and baa a bleak, inhoepitable, nngeiiiu feeL We admit it. But take eome of tbe more unplea- sast breezed of other climes. Take tbe scorcliing land winds vbich blow in low latitudes, with breath withering as though it mshed from tm oven's mouth. Take thesirocco, if you like it, and fry bow your lungs feel under its influence. Think yon are gasping in tbe furnace of the simoom, and what jov. would gire for a good.mouthiul of wholesome home-brewed east wind. Talk of 6nr sou-westers, no doubt tbey are twrible, but not SO bad as tbe whirlwinds which wrench up dwellings, and uproot trees, and t*ist the masts out of sinking ships. Our squalls are fierce, but white' squaUs are fiercer : tbe home bmricane ii not generallj BO fdrtouB as tbe foreign tornado, and no wind sweeps our stormy channel yn^l tiie iron rush of the IiBvanter over the sunny Medi- terranean.
Fog is fiuotlier^gbear. In the first place, its prevalence is grossly exaggerated. It comes neither so thick nor so often as people say, FartJcnlaF localities are certaioly infested with it. London is — ^but as the nardies between it and the sea are more and more drained, our old drab-coloured friewls (fogs, not Quakers) &re becoming every seasoa thinner and more like angelic morning calls. But, even when fog does come — what then ? It is only a carriage panel or two smashed in bad instances, and an inability to Bee down— -say Baker-street — in slighter cases. Now, after all the number of people who build their happiness on escaping being run over, or running over somebody else — or on the abuity to look down all Baker-street, is really comparatively small. Besides, there is nothing unhealthy in onr fogs. After all they are composed of good — thick — homely — wholesome — un- pretending air. ■' Are they like the miasma of your lauded Italian climat«, ^e fever-laden mists of your adored tropical skies — - do tbey waft agne from nndnuned swamps as on the Misussippi — do they bewilder and lead wayfarers to destmotion, as in Alpine solitudes— do they brood for months of leaden darkness, as over northern forests — are they, in short, pesdlential or dangerous, or constant ? Neither one nor the other. They come and go, leaving ndther raving fever nor shakmg ague to mark their progress, or anything in fact to prate of their irhereabouts
A PLEA, FOB OUR CLDUTE. 248
except a penny-a-line aoknowledgident'in the neirqiBpere to 'the e^t that "The Metropolia iraa yeeterday Tiait«d by a denae fog." Thank heaT«ii, it does not leare its cards in the shape of doctors' bills ! '
And now, for the changes in the temperature and the weather. This is perhaps my weakest point, but it is for from heing a breach in the wall of the argument ; our climate is certainly fickle. What then ? If it be foul, yon have the more hope that it will soon be fair ; and if it be fair, yon have every reason to hope that it will Dot get foul. You inay sometimes be disappointed. But in what are we not J Life is not had because alt our hopes da not always become certainties — all our eajtectations are n(^ inrariably realised. Can anytiiiug be conceived more dismal than the opening of the rainy season in a climate cursed with one. To look up at the sky as you hear the first drops, and to know tbat for month — and m(»tth — and month — there is no hope — can be no intermission — ^rain — rain — rain, I remember how I used to pity Robinson Crusoe when I came to the oft-repeated jihrase, " It being now the commencement of the rainy season." It quite counterbalanced the joyous anticipations of the dry. For my own part, I should like best to have'thD weather as it is, mingled good and bad, sunny and showery. There is alwaya hope in this, and novelty, and the prospect of continued change. If runy days come altogether in a lump, like misfortunes, they are bard to bear. But as to our junlps from heat to cold, I fetu: Ve are no worse than those many other places with a moch better name. In eastern deserts, travellers tell na that the nights are often as cold as the days are hot ; that they gasp through the one, and shiver out the ol^er. There is hot work in Uadrid, yet some sentinels there were lately found froaen in their boxes, I never knew of such a catastrophe befalling the conquering beroea who guard the avenues of the Horse Guards. All English invaUds rush to Pan, yet I have heard of the ground there being baked b^ the morning's aun, while hoar-frost ^et lay in the shade,
In fact, to prove that our atmo^erical rariations are not so great, or If they are, that they are not so injurious as people 4hink, I appeal to ihe bills of mortality of this and other countries — I appeal to the well-known fact, that the value of life is greater in London than in any other great city in the world i taxi I believe that the statistics of health of Britain, in genera].
att M .nSA FOB >0)tK 01BIAI3,
wID not ifanr 'it> l)fblnd itaoi^taL Now, this k .a -my ibwg aqpmiwit .AgnM^ &Toi7^tjiui>dk>dowii'bloir't<)all^ d«ala- ' BatjoDB iBdulged in toithe detriment d our fttnolii^erical oha- ruter. It is a fact which there is no diaputing— talk as . you jiiaase of ■Jngli«h olimate — ^yoa .ltr« ibe ItmgMt in it. Talk as foa pleaae df our fogs ae pobaa, Uiey are at l«afit wondeHblly Afw ones. Talk oe.you^ase of '<rar<ee8t winds. as life-eitermi- sati^ ; aomeAhing else must 'hois^^nn us WDnderfiil<tatigluteM t» kdd oat «agaUantly againit tli«m.
And Wanot only do hM out t^inat all thtse advewe inflH- •ioes, bat it -strikes im, ithat ab the whole.'aw^mMii^^ UBd«r 9ar dvridnl finnaiaontito ibbt up as.iespeataUe a raceof qum tad womsn, in «ptte both of fagB aad wBt winds, ae w« meet in Mntitriea tmblotted b^ the oaa, and .imNOii^ed by the other. lUntaUy 'nod .phTsioally, ^England h«s «t Imat hsld 'her mm •giunst all «hajlenf|«s. C^ sea uid akice, in nwd and muMle ba^ tlM, «ur<«olan> mk generally been &ymg whta wecaue-otf. ■ImiHNiUe aimadae wid gnuid anDwa hare alike liad reaMMi* Jionbt-their inTiaolbilitj and their ^landenr after fuU-experienee of ^onr weodea men of war on wat«r, and-our fle^ and Uoed men «f W«r njKHi land. So far as [Aiysical beauty and . symmetry go too, I bdiere we keep up the ohAnteter ef ,the " huaian £noe <ltTi)ie,"aBd tlvshatoan figure, v^ueh loefaa sometimes quite as divine aslh&'faca: of ceune Idonot ttand vp for monopoly in {muJo beauty, or in aoythii^ elra. I. grant to 3p<in< and Italy Aair hiBtMuB «yeB, and jetty iinglets---albeit the former are •Hnewhat too apt to light up upon. owtMn jealous coosideralAonB. I gire to-SroBce all'the ooquettidt^M^ilejM x)f her daitgfatera — tterely remarking in pasmng ^t as in^theoaae of eertaiu books, Aeir attvactiMiB tie in .^e muiser more than the mattei^ IinlUqgiy 'nnendar to Ame^ all &a lovtiinoM, all thefewn- l&e.-gBaoes whi^ her authors are so fond of: clawuiig for their DMUtiTwomen, Aldrough 'tis a pity that such ehsRSB shMld be m ^anrient. No one (hniea that Qvrmwj. amd HoUand-.^an muster a fair array of plump white-ekinned ttowh, thoughr alter aII, tfae;p«rava aooiEnrhab torpid nee, — noi that thaitilknare Bortherly Bati«n».of .Burope hare not, by^ aeoaunte.ia''my comfortaMe fetsale popalation soattered amid their pine £treU», wid on the hads»«f their. iabod^/tancb; lmt,!8Aer>idJ],-I t^ik we may very &irly;ehaBeageJltaly, Fiooce, Amerioa, Oemaay, and Norway, .to bting together Btuh a dis^y u may be sometunes seen ia
A.CI.EA FOa.ODfi CLUUIX. 317.
Iioodani ffhen the glo^ of ^yde Fuk Eules tlie dar,.«id.ttut of the Qptaa tli£ :aigl^. We .bare ^naaettj of [Uutue iirbkii need :aat jifild tHe palm -to .tbat of Ae la^ds of Uie oUls-Aad ^:iQjtll»--^ve lwTe.a,^w<;i«ur(af «owpleji«i, a clear raub^- traaa^reucj of akin, -which. are the ^ envy of Uie bloodleaBjMied dames of .Fcance, aiid 'the somewhat MiUowj-cheeked lUdies-.of ^ix Statao- I dcnot baj that- there maj notihe a fioar ewaiaM- tion of aotd and body than we find in the hi^hied, -V<A1- educated, &ank Engluh girl, with. eyes all liqnid bhie,ia.TXUce.all ailrer ri^, and a heart as naim >as.it is pore. J r^a^ iHwie nM^'be.afiner marriage, of sfnrit and flwh, buLl'iiowr SMr.raia.
And has cliiaate nothing to do mth the falociai^ ch«olc«. IhO- well-develt^e^proportionaof tbe wotaen of Si^laad? Undoulilodlf. Itesercitfla itaiObieBee for good w oviL ■ BjinHtte. hUdw .W ISegm — clioute atants the E^^uiuaox — the act^deotB of^cOmate produce, tbe-^oitee.jof die AJpe, aad the,pUgae^of .^^pt- Jfjom duea tjiui . rain down mch beauti^iig.jjiJueii£e»-*if.ltmlth:£>Ua fromthem as t^e " gfait^ dew from hoayeo." ab^ jtb fpiomi with.the firmament for being a tJkiu^t.tao cknui; — ^for nofccon- tvtuially affiicting na with l£at uuraned U»e, whieh I .su^ect would aoon producoao abondastcr^of Sfuouymouae: to the famed" totyours perdri»?"
Having then, for the present, di^fosed of. our men and m_ the animal fruits of our i'l'""'fr' — let us cone tOiits actual v»w^ table produetiona ; cliwate has certaJAly.a.gooddLeol bo.do with. than. 'Letju .aaetlien howwe.h«ve hem t<«ated .in .Uua re- ject. ".Qod,".HaidJ'aUer in hia.^oaiat way, "aojghtluwe.'nude a better .fruit than the Btrawbeny— fbut oertainly.bo never did." Weqniteiagroe^tht^ olddiriBe,iaud add^moreoreTirtbat it.ia ia our latitndea- only, that the delicious liUle aaoisel can be.^acl(ed;in hJ£heet;perlettion.iiiotD 'Us b*d. The: rasp— -the stcawterry'a fiiet Qouain, ie by nameang uawoctl^ of .the rel^ionahki. Thai oome (wrriGhrcb<Mkad.^pl«8,~^Jittle-and:l^--MU*6et aad grate£B%.ac)d — f^Baatfbr Qati^gainderthe.tree-— latdinaerio yoor-piwifUvg — afiior dinner wi^ ynur wine. Tbe.af^ is a.;^t of. .staling exoelleiice>'>«d withithe aza^ion„perhi^, of .the wohw^-iof : N«w Jenej, '*fe,o■D~ne,^ntk^1lte.nn^hLiaJLl.j)fdialBtieD. .iF«ofleet«lk «moEMaBiirrnnTwti,jtjKy.M« tvty.jfoai—ioi e^fder. iJitbeJsap l)e,tb«>aoiiain.«f the it£a;wbM^,,tJ9ef«>r.iB.|;he.hntiier^<^-tbe iffU. Aj)dheaawe,leel'»iKeiaiia-BtMi)g. . .-Hwer^ were .. JJbwvmch JHJey maaees of sweaty ripcMU, as haag iawoli-aii— d^oliMtoi*-
24a A PUIJk rtffi OUB CUtfATE.
from our sprrading jugonellflH. l%e gooseberry ia a hnmble glo- bnle of T^;etab!e deliciotnnesB, but Uke otber tbiogs, hmnUe, it deserrm to he exalted. We bare g«t into a habit of comparbg it with Ijie grape, alwaja to the disodrantage of onr own prodaction. And f et I doubt much whether the grape be, after all, the finest friiit. Of course, as it is the rarer, and conseqaently the most tiipenBiTe, it gets all the credit. People go into extasies at the romaatio glory of a vine, and almost into fits at the vulgar horror of a gooeeberrf hush. But so far as beauty goes, the northern plant haa just as much to boast of as the souuieru — while, as to taste, although the subject be one on which there is proverbially no disputing, it has always struck me that our own respectable berry has more pleasant palate-tickling qualities than the clusters of the sunny souUi, Of course, its fermented life-blood — wine, is the strone point of the grape. The making better champagne than the gooseberry, however, is no proof that it affords better eating, and I may be allowed just to bint that were as much care bestowed upon thegoosebeny as the grape, were it as scientifically cultivated and its juice as skilfully prepared, there is no saying what the vinous results might be. This I know is quite an heretical hint, never- theless truth has on one or two occasions been costumed ia attto- da-fi &shion, and sent, labelled " heresy," out of the world. I need not now run over the catalogue of the kitchen garden, but I put it to anybody, whether with our strawberries, rasps, apples, pears, 'gooseberries, cherries, and nuts, (as plums and peaches are somehow associated with British cholera, I have less hesitation in giving up to other countries the palm in tiieir production), but I repeat, with the productions I have just named, may we not afford to give up the generally coarsely-flavoured fruit of the tropics — their squashy melons and oily cocoa-nuts— -the turpentine-flavoured mango— and harsh shaddock of the West Indies — the dates and olives (and the locusts which oat them) of Africa and Asia? But after all, the best fruits of low latitudes we have, either grown in our hot-houses or imported by our fast-going steamers. Fine- apples ore as common as turnips now-a-days. Even before the late inundation which has poured upon us across the Atlantic, a diatin- gwshed authority said there was a better chance of getting a pine- apple any day of the year in Cerent Garden than in Calcutta. No doubt they do not grow wild in our hedges ; our climate has cer- tainly baired that ; hut has it barred the development of those enter* prising qualities in ourselves, which have rendered the purchase of
A riBA. FOK OOB CUHAIE. 24ft
tiie fruit in an EngBih nurket more certun thui in the marts of the land vhere it is grown, thooMnds of miles away ? And then, us to our treeB and oar flowen, with the oak and the birch, the beech and the pine, we need not sing so very small before tlie t«ak or the palm, tiie cork tree, and the cedar. Our flowers hare not petiiAps the vanegated brilliancy of those of tropic lands, but the latter are scenllesa. As the birds of southern lands, with all their gaiety of ploniage, and glancing hues, are still mute, — noiseless — beautiful only to the eye, so the flowen round which they flit have none of the etoqnence, the true langoage of flowers, which rises up in grateful exhaladons from the wall-flower or the nwe ; the; have no " sweetness to waste upon the desert ur."
It will be reanembered moreover that, while our land grows so
Cfiisely the vegetable luxuries of the table, we are not behind- id with the more substantial productions of the fields. We have wheat as good as that of the Baltic, while we hare fruit much better. We can give the world both saccharine and mealy vege- tables, Annish dinner and desert with the same excellence and in almost equal profusion.
There is yet another test by which we may try our climate. The country which produces the smallest number of Hving animals no^ciouB to man must, cteterit parihui, be the one most agreeable to live in, and as the chmate has a direct efiect in the production of these animals, the climate which sins least in this respect must ' so for be tlie best. Now how are we off in this respect ? We seem just in the bappy medium, where nrather heat nor cold exercise their worst powers. Go North, and amid dreaiy pine-fwests and thick-falling mows — the wolf begins to appear ; not much further on, you come into the land of the bear, brown and white — ^lanky- haired and shaggy — growling now in woody defiles, now on floating icebergs, the ugliest customer of an ugly clunate. But if yon wi^ to shun the cold, turn southwards ; the first intimation, so far as animal life goes, you receive of the increasing solar power, is the appearance of those swarms of flying and creeping abominations wmch our maligned climate permits not the presence of. Gnats, mosquitoes, locusta, in the air ; centipedes and tarantdlas (m the earth, somewhat detract from the glory of olive groves and the romance of the cypress and myrtle. Pursue your way still fiirther, cross the boundaries of Asia and Africa, and the increasing bright- ness of the sun increases the unpleasantness and dtuigers of the earth; the serpentccnledin therotten stump, the ■oerpionvt
310 A EI.EA S<m .ova CbUUTE.
in Ms daik hiding-plane, -beuts of prey lurbiqciii every jtmgle, t^e harmless bat exaggented into the blood-sucking Tampire. oreeodilaB in the riiere, eharks in the seas, — behold some of the pleoaant inhabitants of brighter skies anil leas changeable atmo- spberes than our own. Talk as jou like of the.lomiiant vegeta- tion of the tro[scs, expatiate on the palm or the bread-&uit, on thepatriorcbal treeac^ primavalfoneita ; but rem^nberthe com- pany they harbour,; rememher the things crawling and ueeping, crouching andhauiuliag, with wUch .they swamt, . and baluue aur lack of pomegnuistee and auiooda pears, by' our. exemption from the spring of the tagtr and. the.ewl of the baa.
Iverilytliink that a glance at the array of insMt and reptile abominations which eatomologists are so fond of ctic^iBg pins throng and artangiag in. a species of msnater meeting in cahinetft of.natoral histoiy,. is 'quite £[nough to make .any sane roan coDgratakte himself w^ a.p^^t.flu^ of inw&rd dehght, that his lot is . east in a load vhere the nost. formidable .inseet plagues consist of an ocoasional'wmp in the annuner air, uid an occa- sional black beetle crawling over the winteta ■ hearth— rjiot that I have wiy affection for either cace— on the contracy, I icordially wish that a war of eztemuBation could. Aomehow be .got up be- tween the fat gentlenuLn in black and the.thingentlemanin yellow. Bat after all, what are they, to those horrible beings with no end of legs— with eyes whene nobody weald look-Eor eyes— ntad, as Sid- ney Smith -«aid, with heads whwe, with all sabmisaion, thair tails ought to be J What are.4ur poor hopping fleas, .isdu^noos or idle — our harmless " crickets on the hearth "— rour buxiiqg bbia- bottles, to the entomological . ahorU«as one sees in .the Sritid MuBaam — ^uders, like crabs rubbed ov«i' with burs' grease and turned hoicy — scoipians .with their homy eyes.and rfavsr-^visg stings, the ody saJieCacttiry, trait in .their ohaEooter, by the way, being their r^pocted .^titade to stiag UiemaelwsB -oat of the world — oeatjpedea, thioe ohsoure ilhiags, thoae oust aeherontic individnals, from a swann of which I am .«ure I would run foaterthan fram.apoFkof artillery.?
'Con»derCaranxunent the jeUlnessof a Ufe in .these clinutes, where when you^e yau^may find a eoerman«aeoQiiood.in the toe of «aeh hoot, a. legion of white ants in the act ofdevouriog yic«r Sunday nlotheo, iaosc|uitoeG innnmerahle, who nvrer leave off devouriugyoaFself—^animals, to ^ote Sidney .Smith ^tgim, Vith their mouUis in their belhes, wallcing with a Juuiired fec^
C 0(1*5 Ic
jl. flea fob QCR GLIUATE. 2fil
over the breakfast bread and bntter — where, vhea 70a go out to vreik, jour vife' may get a real boa round her neck — where TOjal tigers look in upon pic-nic parties — wbwe jour cachinnations at jour own joke may be eohoed hj iham «f the laughing bjena — where, literally, and actuaDj, yoa cannot keep the wolf from the door, and where £nallj, ^e metaphorical lion of a party may suddenly disappear down tlw^&raatof a hand Jfife ^animal of the name so unthinkiog^aanmwd. Teiily
"Engbi^, wIHi-iU'^4Mata T hyre-Ow tUB^
1^0 lions, no boas, aaTtig«m,-vo«e«puiiis, no wtdwwnhwt— purely a couple of dozen extra nui^ dnys'in tiie jear, and "a akj of not quite so indigo a hue, may be extrused ' in couMdemUva of their nejtber watering nor warming mehgentij.
I hare thus run through a iew of the consiHeiations which, as I tiiink, ought to induee us to Toegnaider .the terdiet so ge- ner^j, jet on so light.gBann<k reaoDdcd xgunst.Bor.eUKiate. Bj our abilitj to remain ovt of 4oore -mthout mk ui .looonTenicnce more hours per day and' more daje pCT year in Englesd than in almost anj other eoimtty — ^)y onr exeioptnm from whirlwinds, tornadoes, earthquakes, siioccoes, aimooma — by oareacafte from eeaaons of ceaseless rain, ceaseless. heat, ceasdeas cold— ^bj our longer and more healtby lino — by- the' heroes aadhennnas whom our skies have hent.ore^ — bj the lmmless.gkrieB of oar majestic woods, the rich greenery of «ar'&jds — by the -ftnitsrwe «at, the flowers we smell, the birds w« hear, the beaslH we hare and the beasts we have not, the inofiensiye rep^es we -pmsess, ^and the offensive reptiles we do not^by all these conaiderations, on all these grounda, I call upra the reaider, oTcn though an reasterly draught be chiljii^ him,' of a. London fog he blindi^ ban, or a sudden rattling shower he deetzoyir^ .bis hiq»es of a feasant walk before dinner, to besr'those' tittle- inflietionfi in' good' humour, to look upon them fflily in the tight of nligbt dra^HMehe to the general ezcelleoce, the general healthfulnesa of the climate of Great Bribun.
A.B.3.
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WINTER SCENE.
'Tis sQch a nigU when herdsmen first begin
To house and fodder vp their cattle ; when white frost
Hangs thick nptm the brookeide-hedge, and meads,
Close cropp'd, rustle beneath the tread, and to the (pttes
"nia kine, with argent froat come silvet'd o'er,
Pnffing their cloudy breath i' the moon's face.
With wicker maund the merry maiden trips,
To gather linen from the orchard pale : —
Anon she spreads it steaming at the hearth ; —
Anon heg^ logs upon the btaziDg pile ;
Her pretty rounded arm shows dappled o'er,
And on her modest cheek the frohc kiss
Of snowy-headed Winter sits in blnshes.
All night Old Frost works wond'roos alchemy.
And every noteless bush and mossy stone
Of wTongbt, enchased idlTer, shows at morn ;
Ronnd glittering sloes, that peep'd through leafy shades,
Like elnn-eyes in the dusk twlTisht houi,
A misty bloom, as on Damascoa blade,
At dawn enwraps. The brook its wonted song
Sines in another key ; the lichly-jewell'd fern,
And pendant branches hung wiui crystal bells,
Their icy cymbals clash in harmony,
A low, clear, ringing music often heard,
In quiet places on so sweet a night.
From penloua rocks the venerable goat,
With hoary-hermit beard looks sagely down,
And laminates on change. — The mountain tops
Hyema usurps— ^already there encamp'd
WiQi beamy lance, and mail crystalGne-proof,
He opes the drear campugn— «! vict'iy sare,*
J. ScHOLES. ' • In "A Sermon on Winter," a hope-breatMng, touching disooniBe, by Qie Bev. Robert MacleUan, oC Biidport, the nciaaitudea. of the season are eloquently set forth. " A good preacher," he Hays, " is white-headed Winter : he not only, aa regards the Spring, goes Forth ' to prepare the way of the Lord ; ' but clad in fau snowy eurplice, wiUiout controyersy, this doc- trine he ever crieth in the wilderness, ' Distnut not the providence of the Moat High God, even when all in the natural or moral world ia most dark and Eold, and sombre, for out of such things He ever bringetb light, and beat, and gladness.' "
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THE PEESS AND THE PEOPLE.
The pn^;rMS of literature, and the improvement of the people, have nm like parallel etreama ; when the current of the one has been impeded, the course of the other has flagged. The people maj regard the presa as having giveathem a eecond birth : it has infuaed Boul Into their civil life. The first newspaper, looking hack upon it as I do now, aa &e first seed of the g^ant tree which is spreading its wide arms over the length and breadth of Uie land, — the appearance of t/iat newspaper is an epoch in, history. It belongs, I need scarcely say, to the time of Elizabeth, that star- ch&niber dame, who little thought what woric such prints would one day make among tbe descendants of her loyal lieges. At the eventM period of the Spanish Armada, when the transmission and difFiision of intelligence regarding the Important movements of the time was matter (J great interest, " The Englidi Mercnrie " was issued. Many of these papers, bearing the date of 158S, and printed while the Spanish fleet was in the channel, may be seen at the British Ifuseum. The CommonweaUh, was prolific of periodi- cals, but they were devoted to mere party purposes, and were full of tiie scinrility and malignity of minds antagonised at all pomts on matters of politics and religion. The same remark may apply to the first daily paper after the Revolution, " The Orange Intelli- gencer." The dark background of that period may serre to throw out in high relief the freedom of the present day. At that time, none of tho proceedings of parliament were pennitted pub- licity except upon authority. The progress of journalizing was not, however, rapid ; for in the reign of Queen Anne, London had bnt one diuly paper — ^if such was the feast in the metropdis, what must have be^ the famine in the provinces I How dormant lay the popular cner^es— crude diamonds, encmsted and embedded in the unopened, unsuspected mine ! How barren the soil over which the plough had never passed to, turn its virgin bosom to the fertilizing sunsbine — ^how worse ^than barren was it, yielding rank crops of weeds — ^prejudices, superstitions, bmtalisma, — the sad remains of which are fast flying before tho steam-press and the
EteatD-en^ae. The days of Steele and Addison stirred the waters with the magician's wand ; but though it thus spread, circle after circle, it was far from reachJog those claasea wMch are now daily giving evidence of high intellect, notwithstanding all that weary toil and various injuries from fil-dirided wtedtli ii&ats upon them. By 1724, London had three daH^jopers, besides several that were published weekly. Gradually the power of the press advanced, and I73ri>rongbt' in the "Gentleman s Uagazine, ' thatparent of tui, endless progeny of periodicals, which havesinee fbnnd'ooneumers and con'bibutors frmn dasses which at t}te - time in question' ranst have: been tie very pariahs of knowledge ; for Johnson says, speriuhgoTthat-peiibdi "that men not professing learning wwo not' ashamed' of ignoimce, and in t^ female world, any acquaint- ance with BocKks was distinguiiilted only to be censured."
The mass of tiie people were not only ignonmt, but they had nof the least idea that they might be, that they oughtto bei other- wise—tlie divine light lay nnhindled in unconsctbus breasts ; tmd "if ^ lig^twidiin tJiee be darkness, how great isl^at darkness." Aftfiat tinm, too, and long after, the privileged' classes were full of alarms st the mere idea of educating the poor. Plato's repub- lic-and' SBire'fr TTtf^ia were not hdd to ha half' so fallhcions. Books; pictures, statues, whicU a Rstering patrwagB might have called from national geniiis, like coins ftom the mint, were pro- Mtnte^i aa calculated to mislead the multitude, withdisw t£em from their preecrihed' provinaa, and was, in efibcti deemed' to be " casting pwrffeBefbre the swine."
ESiall wenot rej dee that these days are pasf?' Staill we not loolchai^ more in pity than in resentment on that shOTtsigfcted selSshnSBs, tfiat conld thus attempt to say to ^e- tide of hwnni prom^ssionr " Thus^ far Aaii thou go, and no fartiieF^" — which corSi attempt to set im barriers aguhst that approaching tide which have proved' as feeUe aa the premises on which: they wore hoilt wcire fabe ? liia nowfaiUyarace between tbeclasses; and I fahoydiat the energetic song (rf' the people, audi as can write " The Sincide'a Purgatory," and' "The Baron's Tiilo," with the few hours' that they wring from toil; or snatdj from rest, irill out- run the coUeg«-tai^t and caati^^eTteredBons of fortune. When we talt of the friends of fee peoplej Ifeb us remember Joseph Lancaster, the Festaloszi of En^and, ^e mnch-tried and untiring friend' of the education of the pmple. I shall peiiiaps revort to him some fhtui'o time ; I will now- onl^ prase to recall a ciroum-
A- FEW GOOD AOTOK* WAKTED. £M
Bttmce equally' lioiNtir^ble to him and the daes to whose eerriee he devot«d himself. Like all who engage in great achemes of improve- meat, he became embarraseed' ; but on examination into the cir- Cumstaneesi it mis found that hisembairasBment had arisen from no s^fish^or impn^ier e^wnditnre of fonda ; that, in fact, himtelf and familj TCryrarely tasted aoiinal food, but BubEiBted prinoipallj upon bread and milk. Among ' the d^te ^ere was a very oon^- derable one to a bakers (HonoartD his name ! I nnuld'I were able to proclaim it.) When some-one expreBsed surprise tiiat he should havegiren mch Itu^ credit, he answered, "Thegoed Mr, Lan- caster had done to the poor of his neigfcbeurhood i* soch, that, as long as I ham a loaf, he eh^ bare half of it." I will not add ano&er word. I' have presented a point of view- which «b11s for mlent' CTmtemplMion .
Mbs. LBUAJf> Gillies.
A FEW GOOD AGTOEa WANTED.
W^KE 'wM^it tiiAt r saw the flaj xiiStMUl so finely acted?
The^jd^r^ of Bmnht find; acted !
TeB.r ' ■ -
Iroponitjle-! toro or three parts perhaps.
The play..
TeUu»aU<aboin}it^
The-IJieslmr was not a large one, and as far fronr being small. "Son cooM . hear eveiy word that was rooken in it easily, but a terrible excdamatiioa, or a clear, bold,, wdl-rounded climax of voice did' not s^ipear. noisy or exaggerated. . There muidihavs been judgment in building that dteatre.
Yes. As it is a buildmg in which the finest poetry is ^oken, the architect had felt it advisable to make himself master of the scieiicd of'aeoiisticsi. Moreordr^ he had not thought so entirely of paddng a certain tnupber of paying bodies in a given spacei but that he had detertnined that evet^ living creature in the house should see,. hear, and be at ease, three matters mainly conducive to silence. Whereveit this could not he done, the space was fairly blocked out, so that no restless adventurer, olinging round a column.
SM A FEW GOOD ACT0B8 VAUTED.
could be tempted to disturb the ten others widun the reach of his own discomfort.
Ay, they maruige that in France.
Fretty well where you pay well, but moBt insolently amies where you do not.' For a nation tiiat talks of equality, its places of public amusement are most aristocratically disponed. The two upper circles of many of their theatres hare t^e principal chandelier in a direct lino between them and the etagft
Well, — But to this particular theatre.
The prosceniom appeared to he unusually narrow, the opening o£ the stage itself much smaller than ordinary, and rather low. But the whole theatre was low in Its proportions, which prevented any of the Bfectatora &om obtaining a foreshortened riew of the actor, such as you may have seen when the object presented to you i» the <-rown of his hat with the floor of the stage for a background. The architect had recollected that he was building a theatre, not a tower, or a Nelson's pillar.
Why to be sure, we baTe curious pdnts of dght in most of the theatres.
And every part of thi^ tmening was visible from every port of the house. The fundamental principle appeared to be to take the human figure aa the standard for the picture presented, and the natural human voice as the measure for the space to he filled by it. So the canvas, as I may call the opening of the stage, was wniewhat above the proportion of a large historical picture, the figures painted in it. I do not mean the historical landscape ; that bears a somewhat similar proportion to the usual stages, but the larger works of Michael Angelo, Eafiaelle, Paul Veronese, and Correggio. I imagine that something beyond this proportion was adopted for the sake of motion and change of disposition ; but as a play is, or should be, tLe representation of human actions, and the capacity of the human face, figure, or lungs cannot be enlarged, unless to ho made ludicrous, it is clear that all dimensions ought to he calculated upon them.
But the scenery —
That is to anticipate, perhaps ; bnt no matter. The object of the painters was evidently not to realise, hut te suggest. I never in my life saw a stage into which you could cram a cathedral or a fortress ; there the human figure again interposes a measure fatal to the attempt, and the spectator is only amused hy the ingenuity or the clumsinees of contrivances. But hy giving a part in ita true
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A FEW aOOD ACTORS WANTED^ 267
proportions, you belp the imagination to the whole. FenpectiTe And arruigement will always accomplish this, provided yoD cim only dispense with those unsightly rags which dangle from the top of ^e stage, and those clumsy machines which border the sides. Placing all the audience well in front of- the picture, by meana of ihe cMuparative smaUness of the opening, a scene apparently illimitable is obtained, aimply because no one sees the end of it ; which is surely a quality for sufficient space, inasmuch as it repre^ ■ents infinity if you choose. Thus by attempting less, more is done. The eye takes in as much as it wotdd of any subject, however gigantic, through such an aperture, as you might see Westminster Abbey from one of Hie chapels, where the arch of the chapel itself would be all the disc presented to theeye ; but the whole idea of the building would be conveyed as perfectly as if you stood at the end of the nare. The stage is never so absurd as when it attempts to realise all. It is subject in that to the universal rule of art. I loiter on the threshold, and yet I must say a few words more before I come to the actors. The curtain drew np, and, aa the very sentiment of the first scene in BHaUet is the feeling of dead midbight, the stage wan much darkened, and the audience part more.
Would the audience bear — ?
Oh ! the audience was come to the play, not for the playhouse ; that was elegant but simple in its decoratloos, even to severity ; marble and brasswork were used for the fitUngs, so that it looked even grand in the gloom. Spectators bear the darkness at the Diorama, why not in the theatre ? Indeed the object should be to spare the audience nausea and headache, by keeping any over- portion of light from oppressing the eyes, and making the objects presented, easily and clearly visible. Therefore, as I siud, the stage was much darkened, and the audience part more ; so that the eye, surrounded by the greater darkness, could discern very well the features of the actors, and the work of the scene, yet with a full notion of the midnight gloom in which it should be acted. I imiBt pause yet to tell you how the theatre was lit. The smatlness Btm of the picture, as I shall coll the stage part of the house, per- mitted even the low roof to bend ConHiderahly downwards towards fbrming a false ceiling ; above this, and open to the stage, the priiicipal lights were placed, so as to throw by much the greater part of the illumination from above. No doubt youhave often seen the candlelight paintings of Schalken. If you look carefully
so. XT. — TOL. m. a i - I
2S8 A jraw eoofi acioks wAimik
•t IJmbi jtn will iT(Htd«r to bm wluitT^^pKUy facM heliMidlw ptinted. At first aiglit tJiey do not Appear so, for the light hea»g generally thrown upon the featurea from a etudle below &am, a^ tiie nobleaeaa andmucfa of th« beaaty t^ the lines diaoppeoc. You faftTO not a Scbalken or a print fr<Mn him at hand, pvhi^ ; then Btaod before die j^aas and look at janrsolf with a caadle h^ below yo«r &ce, w, what is mooh better, get swae very pretty WOnvHi to do as mudi, then place the caodle at a modwEube an^ above, aod see whether Nature, that gave iu li^t front the sky iDstead of tke earth, did not threw below what is becoming to tlM features ; she formed, then, the usual etage laa^lli^ter8. The &ct <nc« ascertained io this way, weitld be enoi^ to drire ^ tite lumdaome actrestes of our nsual tbeatres ioto open rebellion. Alas for thera ! kind deuUj, treUy alas i for the defrauded public 1 ! how many dsJight^y-e^SaBim. tkovgb ddicat«- featured facai are made utterly blank by the waid «f aatairal riiadow, oc ue soandaloBsly distorted by falae oMs. How oftes, when oae meets with a baauti^ actreu in society, one is amaaed that*ahe appears eo much more heautiful, beauta£ul i& feature and outline, off tfae eta^ than up(Mi it. Yet ao it ia, and dun is the public robbed of its legitimate delight, and the actt«aaea aw robb^ of the delight of being delightful ; ao that twdiitect, pn^^cAora, lessee, and lamplightera, ought to be fovod goUty by a coroner's jury if beanty-^e, and the theatre sfaoold be sold as a deodaod.
1 1^ the public that Miss well, never muid t^e name, and
Ifrs. but no matter who, wofdd drive them mad if they eonid
only aae th^ faces as t^ey ou^t to be aaen.
And even the men, ior the purposes of their art, have, or ouj^t to have, boes worth, looking at. EdmimdKeanwidJalmKemble, at all oveata, to say nothing of less favoured actors, made some- thing of theirs ; aad the very draperies, the stage dresaas, often apeeimena of voty picturesque costume, lose half their richneae «nd Iheir effect from the want «f shadow. If you doubt this, g^ permiBBioa to visit the green-room of a principal thsatre, where the light, though enffieiant, ia differently dispersed, and cimrinfle yourad£.
I take all for granted — go on.
The soldier pacing impatiently on Us guard, and«tin-:og to ke^ himself warm in tfae bitter night, gluiciag from time to time fbr his relief, c^^s the play. This was done ae it should be, that ia, with sense and oare ; uid then came the ether soldien with
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A FRW aOOD AiQTOBS WANTED. Sfi9
Honlio, «od here hegua a diSerenite from ike usual style of pr«- Ee&ti^ a i^iaraetM'. Horatio, as I aaw Um, was a gowoed adiolar. ail »dept br»t^t t» tlie place by the unlearaed BoHiefs, to question, eKamiue, &nd laj the g^st Ihej ezpeeted. All were ehoraeters : he staid, grave, and geatie, they b^ and martial, but oonsiderate uid respectful to their lettered Tisitor. Sordj this is a part of the very story of tlw play, and the tiaaeUed, courtier-like non- descript, whiuh Hwatio is genendly made, is a most tasteless and ignoraot perversion, prqvdictal to the very wtderetaading of t^e ^t, and infinitely m t« the diara«t<er at Hamtet, upon wbich th^ <tf Horatio BO eeeealially bea».
The E^pearanoe and beu-uig of the uao we Aong^tful and sedate. EvtM bis fear <» tbe first bebriding of ^te ghost was silent asd seJf-poaBessed. He " trenUed and looked pale," a* if he had found a wonder beyond the wonders tst his usn^ eon- templatioB ; but bis terror was ooutrasted with that «f &e soldiers ; * it was concentrated in bimself, and domiaatod by his reflection ; theirs was rongh and open, and they appealed to him as £» the faelp be had promised them. So in his whde conduct there were the independenoe and self-posaessiou of the ^iloai^ber. He was respectful to the Prince, yet as a friend, and Mi thrwighout the ^ay tha office of the htstotian and e<HBmeBtator, which be after- wards openly a«eumes, in peaking his friend's story upon the "raised stage" to &e people. Then the Crhost; Shakespeare was wise to act this pant himself : it is the most difficult in tbe whole drama. The ghostof Hamlet's father is a paaatonate sprit; full of grief, revenge, remtwse, and pity ; a safiering ^id wnliug thing, that from the very first cooieB to seek for a hnman listene*', flt to receive (he story of his sorrows, and to avei^ iJtem. He is a human soul widiont a body to act its desires. The " martial «talk " with which he goes by the watch, eur acton have tra- ditionally adhered to ; but here I beheld frum the first the painful efibrt at disdatn,- t^e craring for ■ml adjniation fit to unlock tbe TCHce of death. With " a eountenanoe more in sorrow than in anger," be "fixed his eyes on them, most «onstaaitly." Once " he addreesed himself to motion like ae be would speak," and vas conpelled to depsrt Toiceleas and tKroi^stridcen. His nnap- peased'thirst of human andienoe wae the first interest created in the play. A subdued ligfat was made eonetuitly to rest upon his path, BO that, in tbe surronnding gloom, every change of feature was clearly observable. His stage af^iaaee fixed tbe attehtiw e2
SCO A FEW GOOD ACTOnS WANTED.
ea everj gesture, however alight, and his presence was the bardea of the scene. But with what delicacj were the Tarious and etiU earthly passions of bis recital to Hamlet, idealised bo as to become tpectral, yet lept free from that monotony of a dull bard bass voice, speaking on one note, by which tbeir expression has so often been desecrated. The elocution had tbe effect of an exquisite piano in music, commanding attention by tbe refusal to seek it, more thrilling than tbe loudest and stormiest outburst. Notbing could be more opposed to tbe uauol stilted dignity of its repre* sentatires, than the whde simple manner of this player of the Ohost. He was, as Shakespeare has described tbe effects of his eloquence, very pathetic, and his bearing in tbe closet scene, with regard to his guilty wife, was the tenderest renewal of a deep passion, which in his earthly days he had believed immortal.
And now pass on to the court. Let it be ushered in as it should be, by tbe lord chamberltun, Polonius. What a grave, important, •elf-satiafied, unconscious humour reigned in the old arbiter of • etiquette t An elder Liston, in his beat and quietest style ; a reality, such as may he seen in every court of the present day, as well as in that olden time or in the time of Shakespeare; a mind grown old upon trifles, and mingUng the experiences of the merest fiincy with the shrewd lessona of practical eiperience in really important iesaons. The humour ia the perversion of sense to the pnrpoaea of folly, the miiture of the statesman with the valet de chambre, bo that the set of the king's whisker is a thing of equal Importance with tbe dispensingof the kind's justice. The creature is extant and visible. The mummery is hourly enacted with as serious a belief in its vital consequence as ever Folonius felt; and thus did the actor top tbe part. He would as soon have thought (4 introducing an air on the jew's-barp, as of face-making : the fun, and there was plenty of it, was in the devoted energy of his trivialities. In the same spirit were enacted Bosencrants and Gnilderstem i obsequious to the Ki^ig and Queen, aupple at first -to tbe Prince, afterwards almost insolent in tbe belief of his assured ruin. And then tiie King himself, pale, suspicious, cunning, watchful, raising tbe tremulous hopes of those around bim, aa tbe-flattery of royal condescension matchleasly does it ; kingly by the deference of all about him ; mean and unquiet in himself ; reading the looks of Hamlet a^a fate, and eyeing hia sad and unconscious partner, lest she should change and conspire against him. For one moment alone the great struggle of passion
Coiwlc
razed him to the ground ; when in the height of terror, and detected guilt, he stood for an instant, and but an inetant, gaq>iDg ere he could call for lights, to leave the hall in which the pUy had been acted before him. The Queen, bow subdued, moumf ul^ and pathetic &om the very first I How tender the appeal, " Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet ; " as though she had ali-eady discovered the hollowness of her new passion, and strove hard to keep the emblem of her purer thoughts near her. How regally sad tbroughout, catching at the hope of Hamlet's reviving on being united to Ophelia, and broken-hearted with the loss of that hope. In the scene in her closet, where Hamlet reproaohea her, amid all her terrors, or in the lapses of them, bow fond yet of him, — how wretched beyond measnre, that he must be her sccaser and her judge !
Hamlet himfldf ! Above all, what a reality ! How thoroughly tiuhke any creature of the stage I How unconventional I What an impulsive talker ! A prince In bis own room, and as entirely at his ease. Talma, the companion of great monorchs ; a prince himself in a nation which avowed no aristocracy but that of genius ; n gentleman by heart ; a man infinitely above all affections ; umple, true, energetic from fulness of feeling, with an eye rich in colour, round and full, with a voice sweet in the tones of conver- sation, distinct to perfection, without any approach to the syllalMC, and revelling into the organ tones of passion as they seined to grow out of the subject. Yes, Talma who was all this and much more, might have been the prototype of the Hamlet. But my actor was younger, better realised " the glass of fashion md the mould of form," which Talma could make you forget if be could not fulfil. . Talma never played Shakespeare's Hamlet.
He put so much of Shakespeare's Hamlet into Duels* words and situations, that for the moment it was our poet's spirit in a new body ; and where he had something of the original to deal with, as " C'eat un reveil peutAtre! " Shakespeare's hair could scarcely hare stood more on end vrith the thrill of intensity as he wrote the words, than did that of Talma's audience when he spoke them. But to the Hamlet of i^ stage, who hod Sbakeqieare to deal with throughout, and not Duels.
. . His sarcasms to the king's foce were most courtly bitterness ; the edge of his tongue was most smoothly keen ; and you felt from the first his pity for bis mother, the struggle of habitual honour
262 A ^nr goob actobb waktbd.
widi yroBeiA ebmnt for ber. And when left to himself and ta the ezpresaioD of his mnld irearinesB, it was indeed manlj Buffering. Tears eeened to come agaiiiBt fais will, and be dmrniHsed them silently. Imbued from first to last with the poet's own caution agtuDBt " periwig patedness," the colouring of the whole repre- Beotaticra was wrft and hormooioas, Cone^o aa opposed to Rubens ; rich, deep, clear bb daj, full of grand ehiare-senro, but witboat one raw tint. The dispoMtion, the generosity, the fine temper of the being was the palpable design fnao first to last. Hamlet was a creature to b? admired and loved. Kind with Horatio, eourteoos witb all, indignant with cause, and as an exception from his disposi- tian. The player restored, in the scene after the diEsppearance of the Ghost, these wonderful and terrible touches of pleasantry, thought necessary by the poet to mark the excess of terror in snob a risitation, by the effect ef the rebonnd, when Hamlet is enabled to summon his powers to contend with the oppreseioD. And this was due as a part of the tragic suffering, whrcb is the human lot of the hero, and the intensity of wbicb eTolvea his thooghts and ttctioos. In his scene witb Ophelia, how little noise and how muefa feeling ! How little action and how deep an interest ! The eye, the broken tone, told the love which the words hid from the king ; and as what be spake only "laek'd form a little, " and "seem'd not bke madness," n^ber did he act the outrageous madman; wbicfa, had Shakespeare intended him to do, nndoubtedly the king would have noticed it aa much as the matter of his speeches. The Midience bad ttie full volume of the previous story whereby to read Hamlet's words, a commentary which the king had not, and, as I^;o need never wink, or scowl, or sneer his villany at Othello, to let the spectators see what a villain he is, so Hamlet, summoning to his imagination the feelings of the lover, who has taken forced but solemn leave of bis mistress, who fears lest she conid anwor- thily betray him, who doubts the sei be has honoured by the moral convictirai (J hia own mother, whom he honoured the most, and who wishes to coneeal all under the mask of mournful miaan- thropy, need only ntter the teit as anch a man must talk it, to make his auditory feet almost as mm:^ aa himself. But perhaps tbe effective triumph was in the closet scene. The player never forgot that Hamlet was speaking to hia mother, and sometimes in the veiy presence of another life. His reproaches were feverish with horror at the being ol^ged to use them, Tfa^ were anything but the gratification of wifr or tbe relief of a desire. They evidently arose
A rxv vftoD Acnara hasted. S93
sa K^nwelieB, or even aa tbe unrationB of hct do in men's minds, ' Bie more terribis and emphatie in words the more the speaker may by to qoalify t)i«m. The welctRne indulgence of passion vas in the killing of the tvppoeed king, and in the comparison of the two brothen. Nothing coidd be more tender or pathetic than tiie pro- mise to " bog blesmngs " when the queen should be " desirons to be blesaed." There was reconciliation for two worlds in it. In a word, the actor's taste brought out all that is noble, eloTated, tender, and kindly, as the habits of the character, and pnt uptm these alt that conld contrast with them, as the uncongenial accidents of hia fate.
I always welcome the grarediggers with their weU-assorted argument ; their trade-talk of death, which is the best sermon npon it ; their " houses which last till doomsday." They enfwce the terror in the lesser sense and disarm it in the greater. Suffice it that my clowns were natural and uneonseioua ones, which is the task the poet has set them. And Oarie, the comic quintesseiice of the courtier class of the characters, played his part only with superior earnestness and amusing dotage on nothings. Lords in waiting and g^itleman ushers are really very droll in their inanity, but if they were pretentious buffoons they would be kicked out. Their merit is an exceeding solemmty, an incapability of the ludicrous, which makes them as ridiculous aa the gravest of all four-footed animals. Where a smUe or a frown is promotion or disgrace, luxury or beggary, the obserratitm of the royal countenance is a most serions occupation. A viTanous absurdity from such a person ! Make him guilty of high treason at once ! High treason it would be agtunst the mystery of king- craft. How finely did this cringing oTer-serrile tiling contrast with the placid, oqusl Horatio !
You have said nothing of Ophelia and Laertes.
No ! They are a family portrait and should always be considered together. The characteristic of each is exceeding seoBitiveness, Opheha, as I saw her represented, bid hers as a girl does to make it the stronger by the suppression when she might indulge it ; shew ns timid, conscious at first, recklessly woe-bcgone after- wards, and in her madness telling the whole truth of her sense. Then she was passionate to the full, and the music in which she spoke, and the flowers which were her types ware treated as the niatur^ occupations of her purer lip, the eerrices as wdl as the emI>odlments of her thoughts. This was expressed by the actress in her perfect spontaneity.
i(H PUT JUSTHTA.
The brother, Laertes, has always been one of the most iU-used of all the great dramatist's creations. He has always been made ferocious instead of quick in feeling. It wonld be difBcult t« contrive more pungent wrongs than he has to suffer, and such as would make a man, fall of the worldly falsehood of punctilious courage, less nice about the means. Laertes invested hmself with interest in the beginning by his anxious love, bis fear for his Bister, not words spoken merely, but earnest feelings eipreesed. He was tender, anxious, doting on ber, her honour, her youth, her beauty, her fate. In the latter part his rage beeame concen- trated and terrible from the suppression of his tears ; tbe anger itself was as grave as Maeduff's, the deadly revenge was the prompting of the demon king ready to use it for his own fell puni(Hie.
I could tell you more, &r who could see Samiet played and not have more to say about it ? Sut even what I have oud, suppose you to know the play throughout, and to care more about it than the average of readers or auditors, perchance.
But, this theatre of yours, may I aak you, where —
" In my mind's eye, Horatio," as you knew before yon aakod. But that mind's eye baa been informed by what every one may consult for himself. Shakespeare expected to be misunderstood in this play. He has commented himself on almost every scene, by repeating all the loss obvious ones in a short description. Look through the text.
Aye.
I do not say that some performers have not done tbis diligently, but to " play out the play," as it should be.
Why you will end as you begun ; you will say there are " a few good actors wanted I "
PUT JUSTITIA!
'TwAB when the moon was darkened o'er with clouds of lurid hne— Twas when in all the blackened sky jou'd see no speck of bine — 'Twas when the blast swept searching past, across the lonesome moor. Bearing its weight of snow and sleet to sixty houseless poor;
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FUT JDBT1TU. 2(U
Tiea rose the wail, upon the gsle, of numy s ihiTering mollieT, And qnick the wail, the Hhup white hail, in stifling aoba wodM smothei. B^l, fierce and load, the cnrses prond of savage maul; wrath Uight make the brave Chiist's hen'aon crave upon that grisly path.
F<B- then w«r« deeds of iiwtjce done upon a wintry day,
And twenty borels, black and bare, withoot the thatch-roof laj.
It was the law, and bayonets saw — the bayonets of the free ! —
The light asserted of the good who sought his Ming fee.
Knaves, famished, lean, with ikin not clean, lank hair and homy hand,
From sire to son scant life had won upon a sterile land.
For twice a hnndred yeais they toiled, in sqnslor and in grief,
And only paid full twice the meed of many a fertile fief.
But blight had fallen upon the field ; this year their lent-staff died ; Potato, pig, the osier twig, drooped, plagne-struck — (woe betide I) The Isiidlord (jnst and stem was he, and fitly proud of blood) Bethought him wall, time Dow to qaell a sordid, nseloss brood.
Twaa thus that night the deed of light saw finished full and fur. And not a wretch a limb might stretch upon a covered lair. And as the curse grew wild and worse for savage kindred dead, The good man calTs his honse to prayers, and, thankful, goes to bed.
rant feces, glistening eyes, then they coant who sinks and
Next day the son shines cheerfal down, as e'er shined wintry son ; Bnt nnder that fair, happy sun, a marther dark is donel
With cheerful face of health and grace (true symbols of the good), The righteous master hies him forth to earn bis zest for food ; And here and there, with bonnteoiiB air, he bails a Deighbour''s bow ; But one sad spot he vittta not (his heart too soft I trow), -
While ambUng now, with musing brow, a briary bank before,
One yell— like as the fiend of hell I— lent force to that fell roar I
The good maa foils — two death-winged balls his " fiur round " body
And o'er the bank, lean, eager, lank, just peer two faces fierce.
A month hath waned, — the turf, blood-stained, has claimed the price of
Two ghastly corpses, on a tree, in sickening silence swing.
The good man's rest is in oaken chest, where all his Withers slept —
In many a page, by the county sage who rules the news-sheet wept.
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A HISTORY FOE YOUNG ENSLANI).*
What a pitie if it to jwe > prapet gentlemui to have nicli > aidi in bii neck that he cuiiKit look bickmid. Yet do better ia he who ceonot ■•• behind him the sctioDi which long eloce were perfoimed. Histoid maketh & young man to he ohl, without either viijiklei or gKj hun ; privile^Bf hiM ■with the eiperieiKB of nge, wiihout eitlier tlie inBrmltiai or iiicon«ni«nce« thereof. Yet, it not onely mateth things past, preBent; but iBiblath una to nuke a imtjonsll conjectute of things to come. For this wotid aSordetb no Dew acddenls, bat in the tame sense wherein we rail it a nev) mom / which is the old one in anothel sh^, and yet no other than wlut kad been Svmnij. Old actions ntnm again, furhiilied over with («ne new and different circuift' fltu.ce>.— FoLiw,
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. JOHN, SimiTAMED LACKLAKD,
1199 — 1316. John was present at the death-b«d of Cceur de JAoa. ; and the ijiag king was said to have declared htm aiiceeoKff to the throne, and heir to one-third of his treasures. The latter he seized at Chin(Hi ; and passing into Touraine, Maine, and Anjou, was met in that ancient territory of the Plantagenets by the claim of his nephew Arthur. Thb adverse confederacy, headed by the Breton people, had a formidable aspect ; and John, coBtent with sacking the city of Mans, and burning down that of Angers, hastened into Vormandy and Acquitsino, where, by the influence of friends whom he had long secretly cherished in those pro- vinces, and backed by the hereditary rights of his mother, his sovereignty was admitted. He received the ducal coronet and sword at R«nen from the hands of the an^bishop. He had been Earl ; he was now Duke ; and by God's teetli (hta &Tourite oath] he swore he would be King.
I have shown the growth of a power in England, duting Ute last reign, claiming to overawe the crown and compel the respon- sihility of its mtBisters. But this power was never distinctly put in motion against the succesaion of John, When, indeed, on Archbishop Hubert's arrival with the letters firom Normandy, justiciary Pitz-Peter commanded all freemen to swear alio- jpance to the duke, there was enough hesitation among the * Continued from p. 31, VoU III.
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A' mnraT ?0B tobii* maLun. SSf
]prri«taB and barooe least ■ffeete^ to John's interost to rvoAer neoee- eary tke eiimmMui^ of ft gt'o^t cevncil at Nort^mmpten ; but th^^ does Bot wem to have been toaeh difficohj in pTvcuring from tiua eouDcil, an onanimoos reselation to Bwear fealty to Jobn, Dnko of Nonnaiidy, on the condition that tb« jtresent rights of each indi- vidual should he req»ected. In truth, though the anhaequeot mixfortiuiea and sorrowful death of Arthur largrfy mewed sym- pathy in England, there Tras never any formidable stand attempted on the ground of hie right to the throne. The battle was fon^t in the foreign jffovinees. Here, while some BHj;ht haTa tbottghthis claim soperior to hie ancle's ; and many were eertai^ eonvineed of the supmor weight of the frequent written testi- tnofties of C«ur de Lion for his Buccession, as compared wtA the equirocal dying dedsratioB alleged by John ; them was hardly lue man of influence that would bore drawn the sword for bin, on any Snch principle as tbat the crown <>f England was heritable prc|ierty. The genius of the conntrj was repsgnant to tbat notion. It has been shown in this history, with what care, at each snccesaive coronation since the Conquest, the form of the choice of the people was preserved'; it will have been seen that of the five kings on whom the English crown has descended since the Con- qaest, four have been constrained to rest their most ayaillng title «fl that popular choice or recognition ; but the ntost emphatic declaration of the principle - was reserved fw the coroaation <tf John,
He landed at Shon^am on the 25tb of May, and two days afterward was crowned at Westmioater. As 1 have before re- marked, his right was in no particular admitted till after this ceremony. He was earl, until he assumed the ducal coronet ; he was duke, until the national couocil of England, speaking throug& Hubert of Canterbury, invested him at Westminster with the English crown. 'This crown,' swd that distinguished prelate, b^ore he [daced it on the head of John, ' is not the property trf ' any particular person. It b the gift of the nation, which elects, "* generally fimn the memb^^ of the reigning family, the prince ' who spears in the existing circumstances the most deservmg of ' royalty. No preceding events can entitle any one to succeed to ' this crown if he be not chosen king by the body o£ the nation '' (ab tmivertitaf€ regni eteclut), according te the exam|4e of Sanl ' and David, who were not even of royal race. We ha»« ttiis d^ ' assembled to exerdse that great duty, and hare etaotad for cm
208 A mSTORT FOB YOPSe XROUND.
* Bovereign John, Duke of Normandj, brother of the deeeawd 'kiug.' It is added bj Hoveden aud Mathew of Paris, from whom this statement is derived, that tbe duke, without starliag the queation of hia birth .or that of his brother's alleged will, dis- tiuctlj .signified his assent to these principles; and that then, liaTiag taken the customary oaths to protect the church and gorem juatlj, a shout of ' Long live the king ! ' rang through the crowded abbey,, and was echoed bj the throng outside.
. It w&B characteristic of the already most notorious meanness and daplicity of John, that in the preamble to a law which he pablished on the seTenth of the following month at Northamptoo,- he was careful to unite, with his popular title, the titles he had thus renounced. God had raised him to the throne, he smA, which b0longed to him as well by hereditary right, aa through the unani- mous consent and favour of the clergy and the people. But the Bolemn act of the 27th of May coidd not thus be revoked or evaded. Speed, with his patient industry and narrow vision, ealls that act ' a second seed-plot of treasons ;' but it so happens, throughout our English history, that Treasons have been the second seed-plot of Liberty. Other critics have imagined John's corona- tion a mere arrangement of conditional fealty specially restricted to him ; the sole temptation to elect him in preference to his nephew being the. consideration that less was to he looked for from a legitimate monarch, in the way of civil restitution, than from (me who held by elective tenure. But these reasonera overlook, not ^j the fact that the law of succession as between a living brother and a dead brother's child was by no means settled at this time, but that the choice of a monarch on exclusively here- ditary grpimds would have been the exception, aJid not the rule. If anything, beyond the objection to entrusting sovereignty to a child and a woman (especially such a woman as Constance of Brittany), induced the preference of John, it seems most likely to have been the anticipation of a pos»ble and not distant struggle between the throne and its feudal dependencies ; and the sense of how much the latter would be strengthened by an incompetent and feeble occupant of the former. For how stood the govern' "^ent of England, when placed in the hands of John ?
At the commencement of this reign, the balance of power between the various grades of feudal society, as in a great degree established by the discreet and powerful administration of Henry the Second,. had been. wholly relaxed and unsettled by John's
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A BISTORT rOB YOUKO ENQLAND. 269
lawless dealinga in Cteur de Lion's absence. The powers wliioli Henry centred in the throne for good purposes, were prosti- tuted to evil by his son. The weakness which an able king, for sagacious ends, had struck into the aristocratic element of the Ifingdom, had unce been nsed for the suppression of all restraint upon monarohal tyranny, Conid such a sovereign as Henry haVO continued te rdgn, until a forced repression of the baronial feuds might have permitted the gradual and free reaction of the popular on the kingly power, all would have been well, and the estaUishment of rational liberty hastened by at least two cen- turies. ' Even as it was, thero stood the People between the two <^iposing forces : alternately recognised in the necessities of both, and by both made conscious of their power. In the church quesUous, and that of resistance to invasion, which arose in the earlier portiim of the reign, they took part with John ; in the questiona of civil freedom which immortaUsed its close, they joined the grand con- federacy of hia enemies. And most comforting is it to discern, that in the end, the very vice and falsehood of this despicable king were made the tributary slaves to truth and virtue. A man more able, though wi^ an equal love of tyranny, would have husbanded and kept his power ; this man could only feel that he existed when he felt that he was trampling on his fellow-men, and, making hia power intolerable, he risked and lost it. We are told, notwith- standing, that with the B^ons and not with &e People the enduring triumph remained. A conclusion ill-considered. They who have followed the course of this history, and have seen what silently expanding influences have been in action ever since the Conquest, will not need to be told now what Power it was, secret but irre- sistible, that ultimately shaped the mere exclusive claims of a powei-ful faction as against their feudal lord, into a record of general rights, perhaps at the time unconscious, but certainly eternal, inalienable, nor ever afterward to be wholly denied to even the meanest Englishman. '
John was in bis thirty-second year when he began his reign ; and his character was formed and known. It belongs to the few- in history or in human nature, of which the infamy is altogether black and unredeemed. 'Who mourns,' cries Mathew of Paris cm his death, 'who shall ever mourn fot the death of King John ? Hell, with all its pollution, is polluted by the soul of John.' While yet in youth and under care of Giroldus Cambrensis, thM clerical and courtly tutor, though he professes to have discovered
I UBrOBS ■eO& TODKG EHaUXD,
Sm geaa of f nbire enMU«Doe in his prinody p^il, wenU seem te have disoonred it tbroagh & morrelloiuly dense aiat, in^netrttUe tx) most i^n. He desciiW Um a prey to t^e fbUieB of youth, impressible u wftx to vice, rude to hie better adnsen, more ■ddioted to liiz«ry tiuw war and to effenanaey th&n h&rdBhip, and a gnms ivsaeuMw. Tkeee qnalities grew with .his yean. Ctmbined witli them, he had just enoigh of the ambition of his nwe to bi^fbr^awreslnHigly the pnsiUaniuity^rfhia spirit ; wid thns be wns iii»olait and mean, at wee the most ahjeet and the most arrogant of men. 'Hie pitiless cmdiMs raeatled of him su^ass bcJi^. The ivcUeat madness wiik which be rodted into hi* qtHUT^, was esoeeded by his inqwtent «o<MMKae vhen resistanoa l&owed ite front. He deaartad the people «^en the pei^^ joined Um agamst the chwoh, he deeerted tbe ^oKb wbra the dimtib JMned him against the peo^e. Tbe Bonks hare ceproaehed him with infidelity, but be hod net &ulh enough to be an infid^ To be ejeia that, reqairtti soGoa moral aouteaesa, seme intellectual discrimina^on, hewever blaely sp^adT The story tM of his having e«:lw»ed, in hooting, over tbe body of a fat stag, ' How h^jttly has this feUov liv«d, yet be never heard maaa 1 ' tells bnt the feUAwship of his ovm natiure with that of the besets of tbe fidd. Ha differed from them only that he was a perjorer and a mnrderer. He had tbose appetites debsMohed and gross, and those sensual habits obstiaate wad f tuieos, whi^ we enly so largely found where intellectual and meral sense are entirely absent. And in efiact these did mere to pretapitats his ruin than bis mnrdua or bis perjories.
The first eSeMive demenBtration against his reign arose from an aot of Inst. Inflamed with paswm for the yonng wife of the CoBut da la Uarcbe, a powerful noble of Aaquitaine, be divorced Ids own wi& ; tempted the ocimtoss and ber father, the Count of Angcmkme, wi^ the daziling proqtect of a ia^^wn ; and ia defianea of opposition married ber. It would be to weary tbe reader's patience to describe tbe strife that row in Acqnitune ; the espoiiBal of the canse of the insurgents by PhUip of Franoe ; the junction of these forces with tbe Breton party for poor young Arthur ; and tbe straggle into which the -war resolved itself, whether the race of Plantt^enet or of Capet should be lords of FraoDe. It will suffice to state the result, without detail of tbe awAil eruelties and hor- rors that aocompanied its prt^p'ess. When it b^^an, John was master of the whole French coast, fnnn the borders of Flandeca
A HIBTOKY FOR TOUK& ENaUNS. Bit
to the foot of lite Pyrenees ; wlien three years had puaed, tlu beet portion of that vkluable territory wm kroTocKhlj lost to him, and after a aeparaUon c^ three hundred years, Noimandf , Aajou, Uune, luid Tounuae, were reamiexed to the Frendi orown. Something ominous, men said, was in hia jesting name of Lackland. There is not a doubt that he bad also meanwhile caused bia nephew to be murdened, vitfa att^idnnt cironmstanoeB of cowardice and guilt, of sad suffering «nd of exqaisibe pathos, not materiallj differing from that wbicb the geniiu «f the greatest of writers has thrown around the tra^ histo^.
WhUo these erents were in progpass, the ooutraa^tible chief actor was loud in hia compl^nts that his ^nghEli noUee bod fei» saken him, Thej certainly saw pass into subjaciura to Fraoee, thoae large and <^ulent provinces ao long won and gujuded by the swords of their fathers ; and mode no ogn of resistance, fiat this bad a deeper significance than mere disgust with J^^. They bad elected their country. They were no longer for^n pro- prietors on a soil nhich was ::*ttheiroHai. They ware JGi^ishmen, resolTed to cast their fortunes and tboir fate witli England. Soea after this, iadeed, they raised a counter.cry loader than that of dieir recreant king, acouaing him of " foresgn " faFouritdsm. WiUi ^ nsine, t^robrious now, of Fore^oer, they branded the AngeTin, the Norman, and the Foiterin nobles, whom he had brought into England e.t the close of hia foreign wars, and wh<na be now del^^ted to parade about hia person, to load wi& dignities and wealth, aai to encourage in vigorous efforts to plunder and c^^ress the Dative population. Even the fend historiui of ' Korman Conquest ' here admita that the conquMing noble and the conquered peasant had found a point of contact and a eommen syn^athy. He can no loiter resist the concluMon, that in the iioil of Enj^and there was at length genninating a national spirit, conunon to all who traversed it. Without doubt it was so. And not a new fine was levied cai one of the old liiwnainaj not a new toll on one of the old bridges or highways, that did not now bring tbe English baron and lord of the mwior jiearer io bis in' terestn and rights to the English &mier and citizen.
The seoond great struggle of John's reign wa* in resnll no( less disastrous tbsn the first. Innocent .the Third waa iqion tbe ibronc of the Vatican, and John provoked him to a desperate quarrel. But even in wickedness (if Uathew of Paris is to be believed) Innocent was a match for Jtdm ; and iu int^ect be was
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Sya A HISTORY FOB TODWG ENGLAND.
incomparably lus superior. Twelve hundred of his letters are extant, attesting bis ability and energy. The dispnte originated in the old conflicting question of tbe appointment of bishops. Tho king refused, on the death of the primate Hubert, to recognise, . for the new arcbbishop, a choice of the monkish t^spter ; in opposition to which he named a primate of his own. The dispute Iras referred to Some. Innocent prononnced for the monks'~(of course) ; but affecting to discover a flaw in the appointment they had made, he annulled their archbishop as well as the king's/and nominated one of his own. There Waa a lettered Englishman of great distinction living at the time in Home, who had taught with eingular applause in the Fans schools, had been invested wi& tbe ohancellorship of the Paris university, stood high in tbe English church, and had lately received the purple. Innocent named him, and die monks accepted him, as tiie English primate ; bis virtues less availing for that choice, than the impression that be was best adapted, by his inflexible constancy and courage, to confront and disarm the opposition of the English king. But Innocent lived to repent, more bitterly than John, the appointment to the arch- bishopric of Canterbury, of Cardinal Stephen de Langton.
By the teeth of God, John swore, Langton should not set his foot in England ; and he challenged the pope to do his worst. Innocent was prepared. He hod secretly intrusted to the Bishops of London, Ely, and Worcester, that tremendous power of the Interdict, by which the Romish church asswled rebellidna kings through the sides of their unoffending subjects. These bishops waited on the king ; and warning him of the day appointed for the desoent of the church's wrath,'enjoinedhimon their knees to avert her vengeance by submisrion. He drove them from his presence with laughter and contempt ; and they launched th^ holt and fled. Instantly the churches closed ; the bells ceased to toll or chime ; no solemn service was performed ; the relics of the saints were laid upon a^es in the silent church, and thrar statues and pictures v^ed with black ; the administration of the sacraments, 'except to in&nts and tbe dying, vras suspended ; mar- riages could only be mdely performed, to the danger of tlicir sacredneas and efficacy, in a porch or churchyard ; and the bodies of the dead were buried silently, and in unconsecrated ground.
England remained under this Interdict fonr years. At the end of the first year Innocent fulminated agunst the still recusant monarch a buH of Excommunication ; hut so rigorous a watch was
A HIBTOBT FOR YOUXQ ESeLAHD. 273
kept at the ports that it could not be officially published in Eagland, and till then it was inoperative. A change was meon- while noted in the king. At first be had affected the utmost gaiety, while his people were struck with horror. But as habit .reconciled the latter to the suspenuon of church usages ; as they saw, despite the Interdict, the course of life more on; as the papal frown had not withered the harvest, nor dried up the raia, nor blotted out the sun ; they recovered heart, and resumed their wonted cheerfulness. Not bo die king. His moody fits returned, asd his abuse of the clergy became every day less loud. What he had taught his subjects in this particular he seemed suddenly, anxious to unteach ; and by proclamation he declared, that whosoevor, by word or deed, diould now maltreat the clergy, ' should be hanged forthwith on the nearest 'oak,' He had, in short, been struck with profound alarm. Excommunication, he knew, was but the forerunner of Deposition ; and it was already current in the mouths of his enemies that the pope had blessed the banner round which Philip was raUyiug his forces for invauon. To meet so dread an extremity, on what could be rely ? For his answer, he had but to think of the forest laws he had made more cruel ; of the odious and oppressive taxation by which he had plundered every class ; and of the lawless imprisonments, the forced hostages, the groundless seizures of lands and castles, and the violent and wanton indulgences of lust, that hod converted the most powerful of the barons into the most inveterate of his foes.
What course his terrors took might seem a figment of romance, but that Mathew of Paris vouches so gravely for it, and gives such grave authority. From the land he had governed so un-christianly, he turned to the Mohammedan Emir who had just then conquered Spain, and whose genius and prowess threatened to extirpate the religion of Christ from the whole of the south of Europe. He entrusted to two of hia creatures, Thomas Hardington and Ralf Fitz -Nicholas, and to a priest named Robert of London, a mission to this eastern warrior ; and Hohert of London afterwards described its result to the old historian. He sud that the palace of the Moor was a strauge and wondrous place ; and that the splendid yet uncouth shapes they saw on passing through ita endless halls and galleries, moved tiieir extreme amazement. At last they stood before the Emir, Kohammed-al-Nassir, a man of grave look and middle stature, who, throughout the interview, kept his eyes fixed upon a book which lay open before him. After KO- IT.— VOL. in. T ^
274 A BIBTOBT FOB TOUKO EirOIiUTB.
all due rererence, the letter of John was- presented, tranalhted by an interpreter, and found to contain, on oertaia con^iom of general support and help for private vesgeance, an offer to hold the English crown as the Bmir's vassal, and a promise to embnute the Mtwammedan faith. The Bmir shoved no emotion in Kstening to it ; but at its close i^uietly put a nmnber of what seem to have been very practical questions to the envoys, concerning the strength and population of England, and the character and prospects <^ John ; and then, with unmeaning expressions of Mendslnp, dis- miased the embassy. But as they retired, he called back R4A)ertof London, and, as that sober clergyman assured his friend Hathew of Paris, adjured him, 'by his respect ft>r the Christian faith,' to say what kind of man his master was. Bobert could not resist the appeal : he said he was a tyrant, and would soon be tieposed by his subjects. Nothing more was hoard of the Hroir.
The next that is heard of John, shows him, so difficnlt his strut, and himself so impotent and helpless, stretching out his hands to those very subjects, and imploring succour jron the general body of the people. He aj^realed to them on the gnnmd of the inTasioit mustering on the shores of France. And s man of more decent courage, though with the consciousness of equal mipopularity and guilt, would have dared to make the appe^ more confidently. The national spirit had not failed him yit, Stated and distrusted as he was. It had lately helped him to chastise the Scots ; it would have supported him, had be not crarenly slunk away from his challenge to the Church ; it tad subdued the saTage inroads of the Welsh ; and, by the promptitude of its snppression of the quarrels of the native chiefs and revohed BngTmh nc*les in Ireland, it bad shed the one solitary gleam of light that borers round his miserable government. Tweo^ of the natne princes were con- ciliated ; therefroetoiybaronswere silenced, and the most powerfol driven from the country ; the province witfiin the Bngiiah pale was divided into counties ; the laws of England were introduced among the settiers ; sherifie and other officers were appointed ; and the same monies were ordered to pass with equal value in both countries.
Nor did this national spirit now tnnoronaly amwer to die timorous appeal of John. As the news arrived from France,— (hat the pope had promised Philip not only the English crown, but the entire remisaon of his Mns.if he inm John from'titetfarone; and that the French king, bent upon the enteipriee, bad already col-
A HWraiT WUR YOONO aff«UJ4II. ,-27S
lected a large urmy in ^otmatAy, amd ms VMt^ widi B-fcet of Bereilt««n hvndi'ed vmaela, — tbere iros not a msD ciipi^e of beariog anus in Et^land who did not, in obedience to tba rojal BOttOKinH, march to tii»«OMtfl of Kent and Stusex ; and tb^ewBa not a ship capaUe of oKtiying sis borsoB tbat was not bnn^ht into FortBinoatli haH)OHr. It was eakula(«d at this-thne that upwards of Biitj t^iia«nd men bad ra&ied ander the standard tyt Jt^n. ' Sufficient, ' eidaiioB iba old ehroBMler, ' to have de#ed alt the powers of Europe, had tfcey been animated wilii low fer their BoTereign.' It mattered le» that they should be aunaated with loTe for thdr Borcreign, than with love for their eotmtry. This they had. This, J(rfia did tiot dam to trust. He had hi» last remainiDg <^(Utoe wntfain hie 'groap, and let it meanly go.
Sy this tisie, Innoce^ knew bia whde dastmid^ cbeariKteir. With a »ere eetded ti^ret reliimee en- that, than on the p«pMa- tions of FhiKp, henowBent bis emtfidential minister,' t4ie Sab^dmcon Pandttlph, to terrify him to a compromise before the War idtouid begin. Pandslph j<nned John at Dover. It wae tiiree days Vitbin the Feast of Ascenwon ; and one Feter the Hermit had predicted that on the F«aBt of AaeesBion, John diotiM ba«e leased to reign. WorUng with this and other agesciea ou tkedeqrietttde feoTB M^ siupieionB ui the oowardly praice, the w^ Faodulph proeared his Hignature to an inBtrument whi^ he hsd bafore «oatampttKiHily rejeoted, and which was made knewn the fDUowing day. It admitted Langton to the archbiihoprie of Canterbury ; it reatored to tbeir lands and offices aiU exilM, lay and deried ; it liberated whoeret hod been imprisoned in the eo»se af the fire years' qnarrel t it rerwsed all outlawriee ^;ainst ehnri^uaten, and (pve bends that the dergy should be no longer snbject to snch judgments ; it engaged to make foil rastitution for momeB anlaw- fntly seized and injariea wantwily iufficted, in the course oS the Btraggt«witbiwc)eBiaBttcal«athority ; and, these conditiota faitit- fuHy eoraptied with, it provided tot the revokement of th« aentencea Xf Interdict and ExeomBHinleation, Bffld for the return of tlM exiled hiBhops to their allegiance.
Onthe day titia iaBtntnrent wafl made public, with the lung's signa- ture, and with those ef SatisbBry, Boulogne, Warrenne, anTFaRWB, the English fleet was on its way back to harbour, after h**ing captured a squadron at the mouth of the Smhb, destroyed the slnps in the hubeur of Fecamp, swept the whde ceaBt of Normandy, and burnt IKeppe to the groond. Hons thaa ^s, Tbe Bn^^ii^ t2
276 A mSTOBT FOB TOUKQ BKQLAHD.
Btandard dow floated over Bcirhitm Downs, with more than sixt/ thousand men in arms to defend it. Yet two days after, the 15Ui of Maj 1213 (the inteirening daj having been passed by Jiriin and Fandulph in solitary conference), witnessed an act of igao- miny and infamy that would have remuned almost incredible, eren thou^ the English fleet had been blown into Bhreds out of the channel, and every man that bore arms beneath the Eaglisk standard had gone over to the standard of Philip.
Early on that morning, in the church of the Templara at Dover, John, surrounded by several prelates, foreign mercenaries and knighta, and the few barons that adhered to him, placed in the hands of Pandulph a charter, formally auhscribed and exefinted. It was read then and there. It declared that John, king of England, having resolved, in atonement for his sins against God and the Church, to humble himself even as lie who for all onr Bakes humbled himself unto death, then and there did, not through fear or force, but of his own free will, and with the unanimous consent of his harons (sanctified pretences must be propped by deUberate falsehoods), grant to God, to the holy apostles Peter and Paul, to pope Innocent, and to Innocent's rightful successws, the king4om of England and the kingdom of Ireland, to be held of him and of the Roman church in fee, bj the annual rent of one thousand marks, and the annual payment of Peter's pence, with reservation to himself and his heirs of the administra- tion of justice and the rights of the crown. The instrument being read, John knelt before Pandulph as the pope's representaliTe, and took the oath of fealtj to Innocent. He took it in the words of a vassal swearing HubmisHioD to his lord ; and doubtless rose with a comfortable sense of gladness that so he had laid England at the feet of a foreign priest, and done his best to make every one of her children as much a slave and vassal as himself. He had even taken exquisite care to bind posterity to the imitation of his own baseness, by agreeing to the instant forfeiture of all die rights of his successors, should thoy attempt to contravene the doings of that infamous day.
There is, nevertheless, not an English freeman living in this nino- teentb century who may not trace in some degroe to that day a portion of the liberty he enjoys. The first great advance to a general an3 equitable legal government must be said to date from it. Memorable were the three remaining years of the life of John, and filled with events of importance to all succeeding ages. They will be treated in another chapter.
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HOBB OF A JonKNBT PROM COBM BILL, TO Gbind ClIBO, by Way of LisboD, AdKos, Giiwtaii^ople, and Jerusalem : performed in the Sleamera of flw PeniDtnlar and Oriental Companj. By Mr. M. A. TiTU&sa, Author of the Iri^ Sketch Book, &c. P. Gvo. liondon : CbapioBn and HalL Ml. MiaHiELAnQiLoTiTiiAnaH'satyIe,a£ exemplified in the "Yellow Plush Correspondence," the "Irish Sketch Book," and certain weekly coutribntiouB, is Eufficieutly well known to lead all who opened the present work to expn^t something highly entertidning and amusing. The same sort of joj'ful expectation that we need to feel at the ridng of the cnrtain to a jovial pantomime, occupied hb on taking np this book ; and we have not been disappointed ; we have, indeed, oeen more than satisfied, for it contains not only vivid pictniea of foreign places and pet^le, bnt that qniet, agreeable, good-hnmonred satire on men and follies, which is all the more agreeable for being the result of good taste and good feeling. Satire, at least in onr language, had, nntil vei^ lately, been a coarse commodity, hut we have lived to see that it tnay be keen and pungent when united with the utmost delicacy of expression and the greatest kindness of feeling. Mr. Titmarsh is a satirist, but then his book is far from being bitter, or, if it is so, the draught is so well commingled, that what he says of certain sherbet, " the bitterest and most delicious of dranghts 1 ' may well he applied to it
The nnmber of j>ages does not exceed three hondred ; it is a small book as to actual size, yet it is wonderful what a description of people and things, what hnmotons pictures, what innnmerable remarks and allosions it contains. It is the veiy essence of travels, and like the mbtlest distillation, is very potent in its effects. It is difficult to define wherein its charm consists — perhaps in the onion of many cha- racteristics, certainly in its being not only a book of travels, but of reflections. An excellent account of Gibraltar is given, quite equal in detail to a goide-book devoted to the subject ; but we have Uiereto many sly glancings at the absurdities of human nature on which war is based. At Athens again, we have a very excellent view of the place M it is ; with a sufficient perception of what remains of the beautifiil, bnt with a very wholesome castigation of the affectation and cant of elasaic enthiuiaem. At Smyrna, all the time we are receiving vivid notices of the place, we have the double advantage of having one of the most acnle and Incid illnstrations of " the Arab«in Nights" Entertain- ments," and so generally on the art of literature. What can be better
278 NEW BOOKS.
te an erposiUoD of the charm of that prodaction, and better express the graces of style than the following 1 " The beanty of that poetry ia, to me, that it was ntver too handsome; Uiere ia no fatigue ofmiblimi^ about it." In all parts of the book the soundest taste ia roanifeatea, and the tme position of Byron and bis school well posited as to Shak- epeare and the greater poets. Our ^>ace does not permit of giving extracts and eiamplea ; bat the following happy expressions will give some idea how the book glows with £ne perceptiona and observant satire. " Our guida, an oecompluhed amnditr," as a matter of coarse. The gentleDimi at Athens he dssjHibra as " fierce bub not dAngerons ;" and Tejoioes at Smyrna, " that a LoB^uar i» bo longer a spiUooo for true believOTB."
Mr. Titmarsh ia not, too, without bisenUuuiann, tJunigh ii aeenii to glow more towards the living than the dead, as witnesfihis description of the beauliea of Smyrna, more aapecially the Fig-nymph- We appre- hend bnt one annoyance ^m this book, and that ia the setting in of a race of cemic tourisU. Now, as incapacity is mere bearable in the old stereotyped phraseology, and learning may be aeaful when it does not endeavour to become frolicsome, we hope that Mr. Titmarsh, tber^ore, will register his style, as the tailors do the fashien ' of a paletct, and that thus we ehall be saved from an epidemic of fotly, !oi which, unfor- tunately, no quarantine is provided. Let him go over the whole globe after th« same mpde, and we ^vill go with him joyfully ; but as is said to the swvants, we cannot allow any foUowais. We diead Uie next anmmer, or rather the following publishing season. Bui, however, we tcvst weihall th^ see him again and aloae.
PoENS. Bt Thoius Hooii. Id Two YolmDee. Fq>. Svo. lk>B^ : Edward Moxon. AoAiN have we in the greatbusyblnndering world ; stupid, stolid, dozing, prosing, hustling, bustling with the petty object of the day, let one of the greatest of our poets gn down to the gra,ve unappreciated, or if partially deified, wrongfully so, And thia in an age ringing with indignation against other blind, wilful, itupid old ages that are gone ; especially fulminating against the seventeenth as not appreciating the great one, in. spite of contemporary landationa that he was —
— 1 , " thondering iBwhylu*
" Endpides and Sophocles to us,
* PacDvius, AoMiia, him of Cordova " "■
or uain, though^ it wa« boldly, but yet wie^y pro^uod ^iti he gboold be
" Frerii to all asee t wbes poatan^
"ShdU lralA««Aal'(n«u, think bU hi* paodjgy,
" ThatiiinolSbakeapeue's, evevy line each vevM
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Sorely put- a^' do not .deBejrv« this stolid charaeter, and if thej Aould, IB oora m a condition to bring llie chai^ T Who ff'as brave or wise enongh to aesBFt whilst he was alive, that Thomaa Hood was a
Ct poet t or, like Jonson or Diggea, would dare to name him with ice or Theocritna, with JuvenS, or even with our own Pope or Dryden, much less with Sbaluspeare or Jonson, two names that at length demand a aarvile homage evea with the nnimpressionable many. And yet we defy any who tan truly appreciate these poetE, after perasmg the two volumes now published, not to say Hood deservedly ranka with them, uniting in a wonderful degree the opposite qualities of many. Why wait for confirmation of many generations to assert this, when a comparisou of the works will justify the assertion. Were this collection for the first time put into the hands of a man of taste and eiperience, it would be difficult to convince hira it was the product of one spirit. Or be must declare that it was a kindred production to that of the very few that embrace the whole circle of human sympathies, and possess the opposite Unities of wit and pathoa in their utmost perfection. To our own shame wa say it, we knew not Thomas Hood until his real wojke were thus presented to us. We had seen him
Siecemeal, had admired, as they crossed us, many of his individnal pro- actions. We regarded him of course as a great humorist, as a most amusing word-conjurer, aa an earnest, powerful enunoiator ; but we had never reSected on the curious or the tiirprising contrariety and univer- sality of hia powers. He bad been contrasted (and that too in a work of great pretension) with Theodore Hook. The porest critics coald not consider him but as a great joker — a hving and enlarged Joe Miller of the age. His grave poems were received with more suijirise than Wrpreciation, and slowly won their way to public attention. The- *'Song of the Shirt" ran with electric powerthrongh the whole mind of the land ; and even that perhaps owed something to its medinm, BO slow are we all to give credence to an unejpected development of power. Its stem nncomproniiaing reality too, was as much a passport to its ready popularity as its own felicitous truth and poaticalpower : " Eugene Aram's Dream," nor the " Midsummer Fairies, both inlrinsicaliy greater than this admirable but painfal lyric, made no- (nch sensation ; and the latter, and his "Hero and Leander " never reached beyond a very limited first edition. In oar opinion they must both take a permanent place in the langnage, more especially the last, which is worthy to stand beside the old Qreek poem, or its admirable
C phrase by Marlowe. It is highly probable that whatever posterity V of IHr. Hood, will be through the beautiful lyric and narrative poems in these volumes -
His power over words is wonderful, surely no writer at all eqnals him in his abundance and aptitude in the use of epithets so perfect yet so inexhaustible, equalled only by his power of verse which is nume- rous, ciyatal and sparkling as if scooped directfrom Uie Pieriui spring This certain proof of tras poetry he pwMwos in great force. Hu-
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power of words is magical, making them perfonu seTeral dntiea at the same moment, and playing sleight-of-pen with them in a manner that no one else c^ at all approach. For instance, in that wonderful poem, " An Ode addressed to Hae Wilson, Esquire," we have —
" Ab if b« dee-dash-dee'd
Of this indomitable tendency to indicate the landfal and the frolic- some Out floats as it were o<rer the snrbce even of the deepest truths and most powerful emotions, the instances are innnmerable, but as that earnest little poem " The Workhouse Clock " fumishea a atrikine example,not only Dlthis strong characteristic hut of manyothers, we shall, contrary to our uscal custom, indulge in a quotation or two. How abundant in expression, feeling, and observation, is this account of the panpei throng I —
The
'"'th .
Tba veaver, her sallow neighbour. The grim and sooty ardsan : ETory soul — child, woman, or man Who Uvee — or dUl — by labour. Stirred by an orarwhelming zeal, And Booal impulse, a terrible thing I Leaving shuttle, and needle, and wheel. Furnace, and grindstone, spindle, and reel. Thread, and yam, and iron, and steel — Yea, rest and tht get unfautecj meat — Gashing, ruehing, crushing along, A very torrent of man I Urged by the sighs of sorrow and wraog. Grown at lost to a hurricane strong. Stop its course who can ! Stop who can its onward course And irresistible moral force ; O t vain and idle dream 1 For surely as men are all aklo. Whether of feir or sable skin, . According to natare's schem^
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Omrard, anw*fd, with hast; feet,
Th^ swanD — and westward still —
Manes bom to drink and eat,
Bnt starrine amidat Whitechapel'a meat.
And funisluiig down Corrihill I *
Throngh the Poultry— but still unfed—
ChratiBn charit}', bang your bead I
Hnngiy pasBUig the street of Bread ;
TMraty— Uie street of Milk ;
Ragged — beside the Ludsate Mart,
So goTgeouB tliTough mechaaic-art,
WiUi cotton, and wool, and ulk I "
Here ia a trne Shakeiipe&ma poem, both in abandance of language and eicactness of eTpresaion, and it will stand adyantageoaa comparison foT imagery and nice touches of observation with Hubert's account of the reception hy the popalace of Arthur's death.
We should very much have liked to enter on an elaborate exempli^ fication of the vaat variety of powers these poems comprehend, bat space forbids: wecanonly,therefore, earnestly recommend to the reader " The Ode to Rae Wilson, Esq.," which we believe has hitherto only appeared in a periodical publication ; for strength of satire, grace and wit, true feelins, and that peculiar mixture of frolic and pathos ttiat must hereafter cie called Hood-ism. Never have cant ana hypocrisy beea more admirably exposed, and the gennine feeling broncht so powerfully out in contrast to it. The poetry and wit are here blended miraculously. We had marked many passages to qubte, but finding them so many, leave it to the reader's perusal. The lyric poems in the second volume are worthy to be bound up with Jouson's and Fletcher's.' The sonnets are not altogether quite so exquisite in tone, following too much the concetti of tae old poets. The one on Lear is too full of them, and altogetlier beneath the mighty subject Bnt the following is BO appropriate, that we cannot refrain from closing with it onr too brief notice of two volumes that are full to oversowing with the divine and refining essence of genuine poetry ; —
" His voice is Beard, but body there is none To fix the vain excurwons of the eye ; So poeta' ^songa are with us when ^ey die, Obscnr'd, and bid by death's oblivious sbmnd, And earth inherits me rich melody."
Velisco ; OB, Mehoibs di
The key to this novel may be fonnd in its first and last sentences. Its motto says, quoting from old Barton, " Amidst the ^lantiy and misery of the world, jollities, perplexities and cares, simplicity and
Tillany, sabtlsU, knaveir, csnduir and mt^miTt witiiaUy mixed, and gfferiog tbemselTes, I rao on ;" and its fiaia feaienee' is, " It jaaj be expected to afford evidence bowmncbl feell^etntliof the aphorism, that ' Experience is the mothw at knowJedge.' " It is evidently the work of one who has Bean mncb of men and the world : who is acquainted with various coontriss, and who has lired his whole term with hia observation keenly alive. Nor in so living does he seem to have dolled his sensibilities to the good or the beantifal ; the whole tone of the book is as freah and as buoyant, as trastfal of genuine feeling and virtne, as if penned by an eathusiast ignorant of the world. It is nn- doobtedly a satirical npvel, and tbon^ abounding in Spanish names and characters, more than one individual holding a conspicuous position in QUI own land may he diacemed. It is doubtful indeed if it should not be clasHed witi tie political novel*, and placed on the. shelf witi " Coningsby" aod "The Sybil," and the other numerous works liiat have for the last twenty years porported to shadow forth the bi^itory of
it is usually buried by the professed historian. It bas, in fact, a double object, atriuing at home follies ibroueh fareiga ones: And, certainly, if Ibe author is to be relied upon for tiis evidence, and there- is eveiy reason to believe that he speaks from personal knowledge and long exp«rienae, the hereditary anstocracy of every oonntry bears within itself the seeds of mortal disease, their dece^ and estinotion being distiuDtly marked in their mental imbecilil^ , ignonnt oaaamption, dis- gosting egotism, and sensual heartlemness. We have seen the decay of uie French, Spaniidi, and indeed almost all the southern continental hereditary aristocracy, by the appointment of noble imbeciles to the governance of the masy. And in our aountry they have only been saved as a class by the continuous transfusion of new vigour from the classes they so sillily afiect to look down upon. We have seen what Dukeism has come to, and may live to see Barouism- equallr demented. Aferit in the individual, and not in hie dead great-grand- father, is bat becoming the test of competency. All this is well set forth in the present novel, not obtruaivdy declared, but unfolded in. nice traits of character, and a development from the life. We know not what has been the author's career, but be evidently has been in a situation, if not to share in the working, to well view the machinery of public governance.
It is quite impossible, having once viewed it in this liabt, not to discern uiat not only are several public characters, but that several public events are delineated, and dilineat«d with a shrewd knowledge of their internal processes. A fiery biehop ; s tergiversating, high legal functionsjy ; a facile, tima-ssrving, subtJe minister, with very little alteration of circumstances, might ali be found in oni own senate. The Post Office eBpionaga, the cant of religious promulpition, and other *— tcE of the time, are as applicable to England as to Spun.
t is, however, not only in political maUen that the aathor has
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bFODght the vhole of hia Imowladge b) bwr, Ths nlativB poMtton of tjie eexes, the follua of the imagiaaUre, and the fraudi of the cnnning, are smartlj portrayed. The stolidity and DnprogTewiTeiMM of the provincial portion of society, and the folly of nseleu kunisg, lure shown in two almost Dovel cWacteis — Fattier Uanoet sad the barber Capello. The style is esaeatially that of the Spaoieh novel ag perfected by Le Sage. Innumerable chaiactere, endless iocideala, and perpetual rapidity of uarratiTe, angptfi* and fixes the attention. Aninial epitits exclude al! unwholesome sentimeutaiity ; at the same time it most be said that the English author emits occaGionvJlv' a tendemeu and full aenseof thegoodaad the hieh,. which, is nut to De found in the Picaroon school. The hsro'is certainly not free from the eirore of hie class, bnt there is no confusion of the author's setitiments of right and wrong with this personuja'a conduct. There are seme episodes and descriptions which partake more of (he elevated style of Cervanlea than that of LeSage.
Of course it has ita defects, and these we Uix to be mieparabla from its oonslmction. The imitation of a well-known 'style is apt to detract from the real merits of the imitator, and the detenuination to satirically expose political abuses makes the narrative occasionallv darken into a more sombre and prosaic style than is oonipatiUe wiui llie lighter and gayer portions. Aliegether, however, it has great merila, uniting as it does in conunoD with the highest class of this 8i>ecies of literatnre, a poorlTayBl and development. of huraao natue with an interesting lively story. Its varied chwaetaia, incessant advui- tore, and animated portraitures of Spanish men, womffli, and mannen, must make it as acceptable to those who seek such mental pabnlnm only for excitement, as its deeper chaiacteristics will tn those who never tire in viewing the endless kaleidoscope of bnaianity. The vivid- ness of the delineation of Spanish manners and feelinga, and the admirable descriptions, can only be derived from a perwmal knowledge of the land and its pet^le. It is evidently the result of a life of great incident and colture, and as aoch deserves to be pbced on the.porma- nent list of our fictions.
This is a novel written with a- purport beyond the intention of gra- tifying the ciwuntiD patrons, of the circulating libmr^. Mr. Cborley hat peculiar notiona and, theories- relatitu to various sscial matters, and like the otGer philosophers or satirists of the. time, he adopts . this mode- of promalgating them. To expose the mercenary tradinij spirit that per- vaiks one section of charchinenf and. the illiberal ^lim that the truly
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coDscienttous poriion of them are sabject to from a misiadgiDg pnblic, seems f« form the staple commodilj of the work, Pablic opinion and private' judgment are, however, bronght into farther contrast by the indirect advocacy of talent against mere social podtion, — the hero, Walter Carew, a man of statioa and fortune, manring a Mademoiselle Pirzheim, a mosical genius, but placed in several situations that are hiehly shocking to coaventionaJ persons.
The novel is well worthy of perusal for several qualities, and there are in it many gleams of characleiiBtics that are valuable, as sounding in a new though slight and narrow track, the dept^ of human nature. The author haa considerable capacity for oiigiikal observation, and an impressive style of commanicatiug his experiences. As a story, it is not felicitously designed. One half of it concerns the domestic ai^irs of a quiet, not to say " hnm-dronr" family of English middle life, ali respectability and propriety : and the other h^ the adventures of foreign adventureiB, amidst the most romantic localities, all excitement and desperation. The framework also adds to the complexity and wearisomenesg of its too elaborate det^ls, the work purporting to be a hiatoiy, written by a vety prosy old bachelor, whose interpolating remarks very often mar the vraisemblance and interrupt the narrative. Nor is there any of that interest excited towards the characters which it is peculiarij the province of this kind of literature to create. The
Ewd people, it cannot but be acknowledged, are very good ; and the ad one ought to detest ; but somehow or other, one Beems to care for none of them, thongh it would be difficult to state how it is, one is so indifferent towards them. We take it, that it must arise from the pro- trusion of the author's idiosyncrasy, llirouf^ the thin drapery of cha- racter he throws over his lay figures.
' The ability, and there is great ability in the work, consists in its occasional sketches and scenes, and it has altogether more of dra- matic than descriptive power ; and several of its passages are bithfsl iranscriptsoflifeand its customs andprocesses, and prove uieanthor to be well acquainted with many modes of existence and clutracter. This, in- deed,sometJmes degenerates into personalitIes,and there isone scene, and probably more, though we have not been able to detect them, in which a notorious dealer in works of art is portrayed to his Tery words. Mr. Chorley is to a certain degree a champion of talent, particnlarly of the professors of the fine arts, and has an irrepressible indignation towards those cont«mptible pseudo-patrons who manifest themselves in two shapes ; beiux either sordid and impudent traders, who, while robbing tfie artist of his fair remuneration, affect an encouragement of art ; or else, belonging to that equally or even more contemptible class, who, assuming on their rank and position, patronise rising ability in order to mimster to their own consequence and vanity, with a chilling and supercilious insolence and meanness, that is even more distFessing to genius than the coarse assumption of Uieimpodsnttrader. Wediouldbe
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glad, however, if there was greater breadth and firmDera in the author^ satire, and tliat it was more free from a self-snffideiit and petulant lone. It is, however, a work worthy of attentive pemsal, and of a pennauent place in our literatnie, as containing the evidence of a keen and observant witness of social affairs.
FORBST *BD GAHE LlW Tiim. By HaBEIBT HlKTIHUU. Vol. III.' ■
Fc«p. Bvo, LondOD ; E. Moxon. We see no reason to alter our sentiments as expressed towards the first volume of this series. As the tales come down to oar own period thej have somewhat more of visisemblance, and the authoress ia always on the side of humanity ; however, it is, after all, but special pleading, and too much is ofton proved. The wants and the rights of the poor can no longer be tampered with, and they have now more to fear fi-om too much than from too little interference. It is dangerous to confound charities with rights. Loss of independence as a class is more injurious than neglect from the rich ; the best coonsel is to teach them to work out their own claims in the social scheme.
The Fbtikqs op i Posthan. Poet Sro. Lond<Hi : Smith, Elder, & Co. The idea of this volume is good as a vehicle for the exemplificatioD of character, bnt it cannot be said to be well carried oat. It is not entire!; deficient in this particnlar, nor without occasional gleams of interest ; but the world and its cnriodty wonld not have lost much if the Postman of Stockgate had proved ^thful to his trust and delivered his letters as directed instead of to the pablic.
WEstEBH Cleiuhos. By Hrs. C. M. Ktbelahd, itaUior of A Nov Home,"
&e. Sq. ISma. London: Wiley and Patniun.
The WtdwiH AND TBB CutN. By W. GiLVOBE SIKHS. Second Series.
Sq. 12nu>. Londm -. Wiley and Fotnam.
TlLBS FltOH THE GeKIUH OF HsiNBICH ZsCHaKEE. Bv PaRSB GODWIN.
Second Series. Sq. 12mo, London: Wiky and Poloam.
Tbreb publications forming a portion of "Wiley and Putnam's
libraty of Choice Reading," printed and published in America, and
reissued here with new title pages. As they possess the interest of
foreign literatare, and conseqaenuy a degree of freshness that is advan-
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tagBom, we doubt the policy of «iidetrmriDg io mnke Aem xppma to be Bnropeui piodnctiaDs.
The lady's bot*— "W«ternCleariiigf"— contHinsfoaiteenrtorieH, to that if anr one is tediona, it «tuinot be said to be long. Nor to aur one interested in new mannen and pntisewortliy efforts can they be teoioos. The weet, " the far west," is a land of hope and adveulare, and anjr iUnstiation of it mnst hare tome degree of interest, and as sach is worth reading. Novelty of matter, however, nnfortonately does not necessarily produce omMj of style, and we are diaappoiitted at findhtg in American litetature a vearisome edio of osr mode, Mra. Kirkland is very good and very obaervant, and so is Mr. Qilmore Simms, but somehow there is the old flavour in their style, and thoogh we know much of the material is new, still the cookery makes it appear stale. This comes of that aniverBaljetonpleasant human tendency, imitation. Formula ia bo easily ftdlowed, and ao difficult to create. We must therefore take ibe dishee aa we find them, and there is excellent food in all of them. -
The " Transla^ona from Zschokke " seem faithful and spirited, and he has a vi^ur of nairstien and composition that make the reading hia talea not a duty but a pleasnre.
Tu.ESi'Boii Bocciccio/'witli Modem IlkistTBtionsi aod o&er Feeau. Fcp. 8ro. Loudon : R. Bentley. Wr have debated whether we shonld notice this strange book, bnt as we BDppose it was sent to as witl> a dtoeire on the part of its pro- ducers th&t it aheold be commented npon, we shall not refuse to do so. It might be superciliously dismissed as the work of scone crack-brained and impertinent individual, who, either not knowing, or foolishly despis- ing all the uBoally received and understood decencies of society, recklessly abandons them. Boccaccio very properly has long been a book which decent individuals only read in a selected edition ; the selection, therefore, of one of his most irreverent stories would aloce be a signal instance of bad ta£t«, bat when diis is made a medium for introdacing pertmsl attacks on men already (knawn to lite world in various ways it is grossly indeooroas. The style is so eia^rated that it precludes the idea of there being any intended maJioe, but it is aot therefore the less imper- tinent both to the public and the individuals concerned. Such intem- perance of conduct can only be attributed to ill-regulated animal spiritfi, which breaking into untimely boisteronsnesa imagines itself witty. These remarks apply more partiealatiy to the first tate, bnt the whole book ia an unpleasant mixture of attefflpted wit, and » bewildering mysticism. It is certainly the product of mor« than one writer, and they seem to belong to a daw that has no fttcnlty of meaAving Qiings by a reamnable
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to gaide them : tbtij have no sense of litneag, and no peteeptioa 5 pto~ inieties. Thej leem m iF, Ehoiild thej be mclmed to b« gaUaDt, tbey would inault BomB meek old womau, or if witty commence a gnffaw in a sick chamber. I'hey have no real notion in what wit consists, md seem to tbink audacity and coai^eness its principal characteristics. The book woald not be worth aTen snch notice, aid it not eontain ■ome passageB bespeaking fine perceptions and *poetica] exjiEession. ITiongii coaise, not to say indecent, and irreTerent, not only as regards religions feeling, bnt human nature itaelf, it is not positively yicioas, and seems ratber the lesntt of a disordered imagination than the invo- luntary violence of a roboit consdtntion. We should net be snrpnsed to find it the product of tbe grave fathers of large families, who have indulged in wttat they deem a little worldly fi-olic. It is, however, too much like tlie froKcsomeness of middle-aged gentlemen, ^oee forced animal spirits are apt to lead them into nnfeemly and disreputable dilemmas. We regret that what is good in it, and there is mncb that is fine, mast be sunk by the overwhelming trash, and hope never again to have (o peruse sncb revolting and abortive attempts to attract noto- riety. There is sufBcieut evidence of power to command attention in a legitimate career, without aiming at a style totally muoitad to the gniiiB of tbe wiiteiB.
Sia Ko«Btt SB COVKILBT, ft Tsle of the Cenrt of Qiartos thv SMNiod. Bf
ttia Aathor of " Maids of Hohout." In 3 volmooe, post Svo. L<»don :
H. Colbnni.
It is Bonewbere related tliat Steele usad to amioy Addison by threat- ening to carry the worthy and most respectable knight into a few torn bolics, md oa his proceeding la carty the threat into eiecntion, and datonnining to plaoe the woilby Sir Jtoger in a disrsputaUe dtnatioB, tliat Add^n pnt aa end to Hie respectable old geutleman's career It noght be a mattec for speonlUien whether the crtatOT of the character would have objected to the preceeding of tbe present siitbsr, wlie has nvoned the proceeding, and given as the early cu««i oi this eariiest •f a mce of gannina Eoglisb cbaracieis which have been eontinned by kindred gemiMS liireugh Mr. AUworthy, Sqnire W^atem, Parson Adams, down to Mr. Pickwick in oar own time.
The object of Mr. Frank Banelagh, as the anknown anther designates himself, has not, however, sought so mnch to elaborate a character up to its development in declining life by Addison, as to make an oppor- tunity for displaying a considerable acquaintanceship with the manners and characters of the court and town at the time of the Beatoration, The superstition of tbe age, and the public events, are also occauonally dealt with ; but, in tbe general acceptation of the title, it cannot tie
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termed &d bistorical norel, althongh it treats of hiatoiica] penonagea. All the well-known characters of this too well-known p«nod appear in its pages, from Uie King to Tom Chiffinch, and from Cathenne of Braganza to Nell Gwynne, and from Nell Gwjnne to Mistress Knight. To attempt to give the conversation of snch beaux and bekef e^Htt is always dangerons, for thaagh tile brightepit mnst occssionallj spealt as
Slainly as uieir less gifted neighbonis, yet when tboB formally inlro- aced. tber are expected to manifest tbeir Euperioritj to ordinary mortals. If, however, they make in these pases no ve^ superior manifestations, tbej baye a vivacity of tone and fivelineM of utterance whicb pass them off very satisfactorily with the reader. We do not object to the practical jokes and vicious propensities attributed to Lord Eochesterj but we must take a little eiception to charming Nelly's portrait, in which the natural aristocracy of her bearii^ is not suf- ficiently iiifimated. The charming creature who could divide the attentioil of the best-bred men with the elegant Miss Stuart and the other high-born ladies, must have had grace of manner as well as intel- lectual vivacity and personal charms. She is to be regarded «■ the ' sjmibol of the snpenority of natural powers over conventional, and aa a jiroof that wit, talent, and beauty know no distinctions of rank. We hfmlly think she would have condescended to think the removing a chair when her rival in wit was about to sit down, was a hs^py repartee. Her conduct to Mistress Knight, which is alluded to here, was certuuly gross for those days, bnt it was not without a laughable iinmonr in its results.
The author has been very diligent in collecting eveiy anecdote tbat is characteristic of the men and period, and his book is pleasing and entertaining, being written in a very lively style. It would be ont of place to examine it by the rules which should govern the highest kind of this species of composition. It is written to amuse and entertain, and it will be found to have completed its aim, and, on the whol^ to give a very foir notion of the time and manners. It has of couise its aarker passages, and a mysteiy, which is duly involved in tlie first and evolyea in the third volume. The rigid historian and antiquarian wxf find anachronisms ; but no one can accuse it of being dull, and it will pass a few hours much more satisfactorily, and even instructively, than many works of graver pretensions. No circulating librtur will ba able safely to dispense with Sir Roger de Covetley, and it will not be the least of its merits, if it ahonld indnce a few r^en to turn to the papers of Addison to renew or gain acquaintance with the adroiraUe original.
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DOUGLAS JERBOLiyS
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES.'
CHAPTER XXIII.
The borongh of Liquoriah poaaeHHed two barbers — only two. Happily, however, the Duniber was Hufficient to admit of deadly rivalry ; for let this truth never he forgotten — two can hate as well as twenty. Now, the hatred of Rasp and Flay welled up &om their love of the same thing, the British ConstitutioD. Mr. Rasp loved that daatic object with a tender and a reverential love ; he always approached its consideration with a fluttering; soul — a Bweet concern. The British Constitution was the apple of his eye — the core of his heart. He loved it beyond any other thing appertaining to this loveablo earth. His wife — meek, in- jured woman !— has often considered herself slighted and despised by the libertine preference, "A married man with a family," Mrs, Rasp would sometimes patiently observe, and sometimes not, " shouldn't trouble his head with such nonsense." Occasionally, too, she would very much like to know what the Constitudon, as they called it, had ever done for the poor ? And when Rasp — in moments of ale — has expressed himself perfectly willing, nay, rather anxious, to lose hia head for the Constitution, his wife has only placidly remarked, " that it waa more than he'd ever think of doing for her."
Now, Flay loved the Constitution after a difTerent fashion. It was a pretty object — very pretty, indeed ; very desirable, very
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essential for the hftppineM, or at least for the enjoyment of ntan. Fl&y loved the Cons^tation with a sort of oriental love ; it was the passion of the Qreat Tur^ for some fair stag-ejed slave ; the affection of one who is the master, the owner, of the creature of his delights — the trading possessor of the lovely goods ; and there- fore, when it shall, ao please him, at p«fect fiieedom to sell or tni<^, or bow-string, or pnt in a sack, or in any other way to- turn the penny with, or dispose of th.e idol of his adoratjon. Yes : Flay thought the Constitution, like the fleih-and-blood pearl of a harem, might now be devouringly loved, and now be advantage- onaly bartered. Where the man, living in the twili^t obseori^ of liquorish, learned such principles, we know not. Certain it is, they were very far beyond his social conditbn.
We have now to task the indulgence of the reader to endeavour to remember that Mr. Tangle, diisy and tremuloae, quitted the Olive Branch, summoned to Lasarus Hall by his lordship. The wine still sang in his eara, uid the evil spirits that men swallow as angals in their cups over-night, beat in Tangle's beating heart, and twitched his nerves, and seemed to turn his eyes into burning- glasses, as he found himself in the street. And then came the loss of the gold upon his hrain^-came with a crash, stupi^ring, stunning, as though &e metal itself had fallen upon that tUvine web-work of nerves — wherein Tangle's soul, spider-like, lurked for human flies — and smitten bim out of life. And then his. stomach seemed to hold within it one lai^e nausea ; and he looked at the rosy children about him — the red-faced, laughing neigh- honrs, and wondered what they were made of.
Nevertheless one thought like a star shone brightly through ^s fog of soul, for the said soul was much obscured by the wine- mists from the stomach — the thought of the barber. Tangle must be shaved. It had been one of the principles of his existence — one of the bundle of determinations with which he had set out on the pilgrimage of life — or raflier, this principle he had taken up at the twenty-mile stage — to suffer no man to take him by the nose save himself. In the vanity of his philosophy, he had believed that no blow of fortune could have rendered his hand unsteady at the morning razor ; and now, with the loss of the gold upon him, he shuddered at the thought of the sacrificial steel. In the disorder of his soul and the sickness of his stomach, he saw him- self shaving ; and saw a very numerous family of imps laughing- and winking in the g^ass — and planting their fingers at his throat
8T. SILES aa> ST, JAUX8. 2fil.
— infi then grimuDg hard ^ain— fud nodding, and madking their forked tongues, ai raTeUing- in the hope ot a delici«Hi tngedj. And' Tanglo—fin' we obooM togivethe whiLe truth— TifD^ did foi a momentt i^palhuw with those aurder'hiating demona. It vaa weak— it waa irieked ; but ia another mommt, thfl ideetwas Htemlj banished. For Tangle moembwad that his life.woa intvrod ; and h»w verj draadfiil it woold he, should ho leave the irorid in a way to forfeit the policy ! With these thouj^Ui Urt Tangle entered thcshop of Rasp. He entered and i^ntnk baek. " Come, in, ht," cried the hoqatable barber. " Her?, Tim. finish this gendemao." Saytng this, Hasp instant^ quitted the beard he was about to re^.for the ohtnof thBnew*«onier> Tan^t look«d about lum, and fait himself a little woanded, aemewhat disgraced by the meamiesa, the rustic pornliy of t^e rixof. He looked too at the man lathered to the eyes— the mm eoneigned to Tim, Rasp's little hoy, who quickly mounted a stool, that he might the better possess himseLT of the noee of &0 oustomer. Zfow, albeit the features of the man were very thickly masked :by sof^h^nds, it was the inatant conviction of Tangle Aat he saw coarse, dirty lineaments beneath ; and thereupon his pride started at the thought of losing his beard in such company. Ha4 Tangle felt himself the prosperous man of yesterday, <i«rtainly he would as won have offered his neok to the aze,.a8 his chin to the self-same brush that had lathered the beard of that Tery vulgar man ; bvt adTeraity had ahastised pride, and after a.natural twinge or two. Tangle sank resignedly on the wooden chair, ondwith.an all but smothered sigh, gave himself up to the barber. Certainly, he had never been shared in such company ; but then — the thought was a great support to bis independent spirit— noboly would know it.
(Nobody would know it 1 How mnoh msult, injury — how many hard words, fierce threats — nay, how many tweakinga of the note might be borne by some forgiving souls, if — .nobody would know it ! What a balm, a salre, a plaster to the private hurt of a sort of hero may the hero find in the delicious truth that— nobody knows it I The note does not bum, for nobody aaw it pulled I It is the ^e of the world looking on, that, hke liiie oonoentrated rays of the Bun, scorches it ; blisters it ; lights up aoch a fire within it, that nothing poorer than human blood ou) quench it! And al) heoanse everybody knows it !)
Tangle was reconciled to bis humiliatien— ^r it was nvthing Usa c2 C^oimIc
fSS THE HISTORY OF
to be handled in snob a shop and by such a barber — bj tbe 1)elief that tbe world would remain in ignorance of the uncomfortable tttct. And much, indeed, at the moment, did Tangle owe to ignorance. He know that be was a crushed, despoiled, degraded being : be knew that with the box of gold be bad lost his sense of self-respect. Compared to the Tangle of yesterday, be was no better than a Hottentot ; for be bad lost bis better part. This be knew : but, ignorant Bufferer, he did not know that the maa seated in lathered companionship be^de him was tbe midnight burglar, the robber of bis more than peace, the felonious Tom Blast. Now, Hr. Blast himself immediately recognised tbe parliamentary agent ; but feeling that he had the advantage of having looked upon him when Tangle could not return the attention, the robber gazed very composedly through bis lather : nay more, he was so tickled by the sudden advent of Tangle that, in tbe gaiety of bis soul, he chuckled.
" If you please, sir, if you laugh," stud little Tim, " I moat cut you."
" The child has a hand as light as a butterfly " — swd tbe barber father to Blast — " but tbe boy 'a right ; he must cut you if you laugh. Steady, Tim."
"All right," cried Blast, from his sonorous chest; and he stiffened the cords of bis visage.
"Very odd, sir," said Rasp, vigorously lathering Tangle, as though he was white-washing a dead wall — " very odd, sir j when a man 's being shaved, what a little will make him laugh. — Never heard it properly accounted for, sir, did you ?"
Tangle spoke not ; but shivered out a Jong sigh, evidently provocative to the mirthful Blast, for little Tim again cried, — " If you please, air, I must cut you."
"DoDt blame the child, sir; thaf's all. Steady, Tim" — said the barber, who again addressed himself to Tangle. " Glad to find there's no laugh in you, sir." Tangle made no answer ; but again sighed as with the ague.
"There! I knowd I should cut yon! "cried Tim as Blast winced and the blood came from bis cheek. " I knowd I should do it."
Tbe barber turned from Tangle to take a view of the mischief ^one upon Blast, gravely observing, as he eyed the blood — " Not Uie child's fault, sir. , Never cut before in his life ; never. "
*' Well, it 's no use a stifling it," cried Blast ; and gently putting Tim aside, he flung himself back in the chair, and roared a laugh.
SI. aiLES AM) err. jaios. 293
all the louder and the deeper for its long reprewion. Tangle looked round. Uost etrange, n&y, moat imultiiigiras^t to Iiim-— to him with tiie load of affliction neighing on hia brain — that anj man should laugh io vehemeotlj, bo veij bnitallj. On hia waj to die harber'a Tangle hod felt a little hurt that even tiie birda should chirp and twitt«r ; that the flowers in the gardens shonld look bo happy in their brightneBs ; the very finenesa of the day Beemed unkind to him : oevertheleag be tried to bear it like a man. But to have hia solemn thoughts, deep as they were in a lost money-cheat, outraged by the Tulgar merriment of a very vulgar man, — it was cruel, barbarous ; surely he had done nothing to deserve it.
"It's very odd," said Tangle, spenMngboth angrily and aorrow- foUy, " very odd that a gentleman can't be quietly ahaved without people" —
" Az your pardon," said BlaaL "Hope the barber'a not nicked you ; but I couldn't help it. Ton know what a little will make a man laugh sometimes. All right now I Ve got rid of it. Go on, little shaver. I 'II keep a che^ as stiff as a mile-atone." And Ur. Blast resolved to control his merriment, aorely tempted as it was by the proximity of the melancholy man he had plun- dered. It was a most capital joke, a most provoking piece of fun, yet would the thief be serious. For some seconds not a sound was heard, save the mowing of beards.
" Well, Ueaster Rasp, here be a rumpus I here be a blow for the Blues ! here be liick for the Yellows ! Ho ! bo ! ho ! There never was aich a meas. I ha' nt laughed so much since they put the tinker in the stocks! Sich a glory!" This announcement, brokenly uttered through roars of laughter, was delivered by Skittle, the cobbler of Liquorish, who, exploding with the intelli- gence; burst into the shop.
" What 's the matter V asked the barber, eo alive to the luck of the Yellows, of ■ which party he felt himself a very shining particle, that he paused in bis shaving ; holding twixt finger and thumb the nose of Tangle. " Luck for our aide, Bob ! What is it ? "
" Why you must know that the Bluea — ^jeatlike'ero — ^brought down a box of golden giuneae. You know, in course, what for !" observed the cobbler, severely winking one eye.
" I should think I did," answered Rasp, and he stroj^d his razor on his band very impatiently. " That 's the way they
asm the CboBtittttion. That'i how they'd uU wad hi^tte British Lioit, for »1I the worid like vesL Well, % box of gniDMsI I should like to CBtdi 'em offeriog me any, that's tdl," orieil Kaap ! and with a grin of indignation, he agsin stropped his blMlck
" My good man," add Tangle, very meekly, for he w» owf- oome, brokenhaartedhythemirtlLof th«cobblor,— '"mygDodmuir will you proo«ed and finish me V
" Wouldn't tniat rn^^df, air, till I Ve heard all abont ibe BIbbb. Ton don't know my feelings," said R^i. " I should slice you. sure as pork. Oo on, Bob. Ha ! ha ! Down with &e Blaes !" And still Tangle sat half-shaTen and whoHy miserable, Ustenii^ to the blilLe story of the cobbler, whose notes of exultation struok dagger-wise into tlie flesh of the outeaged agent. Was erer man bo tmi 'i He could not bounce from his chJsir, and with half his beard upon him sally forth Into the street. No ; he wasdoomed by decency to ait and hear the history of his wret«hedDeae and the l^tal mirth it occasioned. The cobbler and barber roared wifii laughter ; little Tim smirked and giggled, and Tom Blast, wit^ his eyes leering towards the agonised Tangle, showed that the sweetest and deepest satisfaction filled the bosom of the thief. His felon aoitl hugged itself in vast enjoyment of the fun I
" Well, you most know that the Olive Branch was broke open last night," said Ae cobbler, " and the box of guineas broughtrto the borough— we know what for"— and Skittle pot his forefinger to his nose.
" I should ratheo' think we did," responded Rasp, Fetnndi^ the digital signal. " RaUier."
"The box of guiueas carried off; all took wing Uke yeang goldfinches. The landlwd says, and his wife says, she 'a sure d! it, too, that it's the devil has done it."
"Ha! ha! ha 1" shouted Tom Blast, mi^itily enjoying the fabe accusation. " Foot devil !"
"I don't wonder at your laughing," said the bari>er, grwvely. " It wasn't no devil ; the devil's a better judge than to cBiry away gold of that sort ; it would do his work all the better leS behind. And is there no suspicion of who's stole it?" Hete Blast and Tangle listened attentively, but assuredly with a differ- ent cnrioeity.
" Why, that 'sthe worst of it," answMed the cobbler ; "they 've tried hsi'd to snspeot everybody, but somehow Aey oan :intAe no haod on it," ■ -
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Horonpos tite baiW wriiiUed bii bivw, and tbraghtUlj and tenderly with his fingere twiddled at tke snd of hla noae, as Ibaigli he bad Ae leeret there, if it cenld aaij be coaied ont. " I tell TOD. iibat !t ie ; 'tian't seldom I 'm wnuw — I hunr Hib #aef."
"Ton!" axolaHied Tangie ; and " Yenl" waa at the lip ef Blast ; but that cautions man Bmetherad the impatient word wiA « Bort of grunt that paased for nothing.
" He 'U nerer be fiMud out ; di no, he 'b too conning fmr that," eaid the barber ; " bnt I shouldn't wonder if the ieHow that had the keeping of the money isn't him that stole it."
" Was there erer such on infamona!" — exclaimed Tangle, when Im wm suddenly stopped bj the peremptoty ooolneH of the Ixuber ; who, tapfong hunai the sboolder, obnrved — "Bless yon! it 'a a thing done eveij day. Nothing more likely,"
"Nothing," Kud Blast in his deepest bass, and his t^ twinkled eojc^ngly.
" Am I to ^sy here half-i^Ted all day i " cried the goaded Tangle. " Fatlow,&ii(hmel"
" Tell yon, oonldn't trust myself till "we hear the rights of the jiuineaa," laid the patriotio barber. " They was brought here to violate the Constitution, and nbomsoever 'a got 'em, I 'm glad titey 're gone. Thoo^ mind, I 'd ta^e a, bet that him that 'b loat '«m, knows beet iriiwe they 're to be found."
" Ha ! Master Barber," cried Blast in a loud tone of comf^- mait, "it 's plain you know life!"
"Why, I 've seen a few lections at liquorish, "raid Hasp, "and thia I W01 say — &t Knes, if they knowd him, would rob iiiar vwa father. I might, in my time, have had my hat full «f gnineas" —
" I ehonliln't brag of that, if I was yon, Mr. Baap" — said the barber's wife, suddenly descending to a cupboard in the shop, for some domestic pm'pose — " I shoiildn't brag of that, and yon to keep me and your children as you do."
" Women hare no lore of counby," said the barber in a soft 'mae as his wife departed.
" Don't nndenUmd a bit on it," said the cobbler. " There 'a , my old Margery Daw at home — she e»yB tb«t women hare enovf^ to do to love thmr husbands."
" And that's' hard work aometinwB," said the barber. " I 'm ^Eeard it is."
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"Am I to be shaved to-day?" roared Taaglo, the lather dried to a plaster on his face.
" I tell you what it ia, sir," said the harber. " You 're half shaved aa clean as any baby : now shaving's a penny : veil, if yon can't w^t, you're welcome to the ha'porUi you 've had Cor nothing. A ha'penny, Bir,"and the barber looked loftily about him, " a ha'penny won't ruin me."
" I 'm in no 'urry," observed the accowunodating Blast. " Your little boy can finish the gentleman — I 11 wut."
" Thank you — very kind— come along, boy," cried Tangle, and Tim moved his stool beside the lawyer. " Now you '11 be very particular ; and mind, don't cut."
" Then don't shake, sir, if you please," said Tim ; for Tangle, agitated by what he had heard, by the delay he had been com- pelled to suffer, as the boy touched him, trembled hke a jelly. And as he trembled, the barber leered euspicioaely, directbg the cob- bler's looks to the shaking gentleman i and Tom Blast very aooa made one of the party of inspection, communicating by most elo- quent glances, the strongest doubts and suspicions of the individual then impatiently undergoing the discipline of the razor.
" If the thief 's. caught, I suppose he'll be hanged," said the cobbler, staring at Tangle.
" Heaven is mercifiJ ! I hope so — heartily hope so," eiclaimed Tangle vivaciously, eamestlj ; at the same time jumping up, his shaving completed. '* I hope so : I 'd go fifty miles to see it — fifty miles. Give me change." Saying this, and tying his neck- cloth, Tangle laid down uzpence. " Make haste."
Very leisurely, and aa with a soul by no means to be dazzled by uipences, the barber took up the tester. He then approached the bottom of the staircase ascended by his helpmate, and with measured syllables inquired, " Eliza Jane, love, have you change for sixpence ? "
And this gentle query was answered by another, running thus. " Have I change for the Bank of England ? "
" It never happened so before, sir," said Rasp, feeling the six- pence, "hut we hav'n't a copper halfpenny in the house. The- child, sir, shall run out for change. Won't be ten minutes; nothing beats him at an errand."
Tangle looked savagely about him. He could not wait : he- would not be thought to give the sixpence. He therefore observed, very emphatically, " Very wdl, barber ; I 'II call again," and hurried away.
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" Don't jOQ know lum ? " cried ihe cobbler, " he 's one of tbe Bluee."
" Well, if I didn't tbink he was one of them thick-skinned' lot while I was shaving him," sud Rasp ; who then tmned to Blast. " He knows something of them guineas, eh, sir, I 'm hound for it?"
" 'Xaetly," answered Blast, " They 're a prettj set — them Blues. I 'm a Yellow."
" I 'd know that, ar " — observed the barher as he finished the undone work of Tim — " I 'd know that, sir, bj the tenderness of your &ce. Now for that old Blue, a man might as well shave a hrass knocker. I can tell a man's principles by his skin, I can."
"Net a doubt on it," averred Mr. Blast very sonorously ; who then rose irom his chair, and proceeded into a comer to consult a fragment of glass, nailed to the wall. Whilst thus courageously BUrveyiug his face, his back turned to the door, another cus- tomer entered the shop, and without a syllable, seating him- self, awaited the weapon of Rasp.
"Heard of the robbery, sir ?" asked tbe harher, "Ha! ha T - ha! Bare work, sir. What I call fun. "
" What robbery ? " cried the stranger, and immediately Blast turned at the sound, and knew that it was St. Sites who spoke. Silently, the burglar grinned huge satisfaction.
" Thousands of guineas stole last night, nothing leas. I wish yon and I had 'em, sir, that 's ail, for they came here to do Beelze- bub's work, sir ; to be laid out in perjury, and all that ; to hmy tbe honest souls of honest men like mackerel. Therefore," con- cluded the harher, "I say I wish you and I had 'em. Don't you?"
Hereupon Blast quitted the mirror, and the while serenely tying his neckcloth, stood face to face with St. Giles, chuckling and echoing the barber — " Don't you wish you had 'em ?'"
" If you jump in that way," cried Kasp to St. Giles, " I won't answer for your nose."
" And you havn't heard nothin' OD it, eh, sir!" sud Blast, in his light, vag^eh manner. " Well, I should ha' thought you'd ha' known all about it."
" Why ?" stammered St. Giles, for he felt that he must make some answer.
" Oh, I don 't know," said Blast ; " some people hare sieh a knowin' look, that 's all. They 're bom with it. An 'praps you WCaldn't like to have (he guineas stole from the Blues, — if they
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■re ■tole. But ae yon ray, Mr. BubOT, I don 't bdieve it. S3an your heart, it '» my pinion a Blue would Bweu anything."
" Yon won 't have a drop fd aid thin ntorung ?" aaked ihe «ob- Uer — that sympatheitii] Yellow batng iiiig;htily towdied bj die hirgt- tuartedoeai of Bla^ " Jest a drop f "
" 'Tis a Uttle early," eaid the vary temperate Blast, " knt I oaa't refuse a Yellow nothin'." And to &a aatoniwhinMit ■ aad relief of St. Qilea, his tormentor followed the imiting eobhier iatai the ahop. Uneasily sat St. Giles whilst B«ep performed his fime- tioo ; brief and wandering wwe the rqiUea matle by his enatoBME to the barber, very eloquant on the robb«y, and especiaBj.gmto- All to Proridenoe for die oalaniity. " Whemsomever haa-t^es the guineas — always suppomng they are tak^— has done a ser- > noe to the country," uid Eac^ " For my part, and I don't «an who knows it, I hope they'll Uve long and die happy witli 'en. Fretty fellows they most be ! Come to seU the Constitntion; tt rob OB of our rights ; and Aeu sing out about thieves 1 Wliot i» you say, sir?" cried the barber, liberating his cnatianer fromhii uneasy chair.
"Just so," said St. Giles, " I sheoldn't wonder: to beaure." I
" Why you look," stud Rasp, marking the absent air of St. Giles, " you look as if you was looking a hunted miles awy. Yon can't tell us what you see, can yen V
ITow, St. Giles, had he herai in eammnniealsTe mood, mi^t have interested the barber, miJung hmt a partaker of the Tiuon that would rcTeal itself to his customer. St. Gilea plainly beh^ Tom Blast with the stolen guineas. Had he watched him staggejing beneath the pillage, he had not been better assured of the erildcnng. Agun, he had marked the thief s face ; it wore tbe smug, lackered look of a fortunate sconndrel : the light as of the stolen guhiaas dickered in his eyes, and his lips were puckered with inaudii^ whistling. St. Giles took httie heed of the talkative barber, hut laying down the price of his yesterday's beard, quilted the ahep. AJixioualy, fearfuUy, he looked about him trma the door. He stood, like a lost traveller fearful of ^e sudden leap of some wild heast. Blast waa not in the street : be now avoided St. Giles; new evidence that the old ruffian was the robber. St. Giles hastily struck into the fields, that with less chance of iotarruptioiv he might ponder on the present difGouIty. He waa only knoinr to young St. J.ames as die vagabond of a prison ; and, therrim, open to the heaviac suepcuxi. If aneatad,— ^ow to ucouDt &r
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hiiiiB^ ? Sbmild he atanos boldlj seek the yctong lord 9 — fdr aa jet he had Dot seenhioi. Or ohould he at once turn hia ttepi iowarda London ?
Hie heart sank, and the siekntsa of death fell upon him, as Sgam he saw himself bmet b; inevitable peril. Was it :iKit fony , dieer, brute~like atiq)iclitj, in a<d«omed wretch like him, to yearn forinnooEait daya, for honest bread 3 Woe it not groas itnpudeno* in him to hope it — in him, so fwHied and cast upon the irald to be its wrong, ita misery, and disgrace? Why not go hack to London, dash into guilt, aad when the time «uae, die gallantly oa the tree? Why not dap hands with Blast, and become with him, & human aninnJ of prey ? finch wtre theeonfuHd, the wretched thoughts ^at poaaaMed St. Gilei, aa with feet of lead he crraaed 'die fields. Divinely beantifiil was the day ! The heavens Bmiled peacx andht^ upon the earth, brimming with things of tcndemees and beosty. The outosat paused at the winding river. Did hia eye feed delightedly upon ita hrightDeae — was "hie ear solaced by ibi sound ? No : he looked with a wild ourioaity, as though he would look below — and he heard tonguea talking &om the etream — 'tanguea caUing him to reat.
"Ain't lost nothing?" cried a voioe, and St. Qiles arouaed, to hia delight bdwld Bright Jem.
" No ; noting," sud St. Giles. " I was thinking though that I might lose aometiiing, and he all the richer for tiie loss. But the thought 'a gone, now you 're come."
Jem looked like a man who catches half a meaning, and carea not to pursue the other half. So he said — ■' I thought, mayhap, when you left us in the churchyard, you 'd bavo come over to the Tub. Master Capstick aud he knew you wouldn't, but I know he was Borry you didn't."
" I tdl you what it is," said St. Giles, " I hadn't the heart."
" That 'b the very reason you ought to ha' come to us. Master C^tkk 'e got heart enongh for balf-a-dozen."
" God btesa him! " cried St; GUes.
" I 11 jine yon in that, wheuever you say it. But I can aee by Ae look of yon— why, your face is full on it — I can see, you 've flomething to say. I 'm afeard the world ham't been as careful of you as if yon 'd been an image of gold, eh f Come, lad " — and Jem lud his hand gently upon 3t. Giles's shoulder, and spoke tanikrly as a woman — " Come lad, let 'a know all about it."
" Yon ahall know all— you ^lUl," and fit Giles wiied Jem's
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hand, and with moistening ejea and choking ihroat — it was aucb' a happiness to see sach looks and hear such words — shook it eagerly, tremblingly.
" There, now, good lad, take your time," cried Jem. " I 'm going to Master Kingcup, the Bchoohnaater ; not above two mile away. And so we '11 gossip as we trudge. Jest orer that style, and " — and Jem paused, with his looks directed towards a stunted oak some bow-shot &om him. ," I say"— he cried, pcant- ing to a boy sleeping in the arms of the tree — " I say, that 's a London bird, perched there — I 'm sure on it."
Instantly St. Giles recognised his half-hrodier, the precooioua Jingo. "You 're going to the good gentleman, rou say, Uie school- master," cried St. Giles, animated as by a sudden flash of thought. " I 've a notion — I 'U tell you all about it — we 11 take that boy with us. Hallo ! come down here ! '' cried St. Giles to the sleeper.
"What fori" said Jingo, stretching himself and yawning. " You 're no constable, and I shan't."
' "He knows what a constable is, depend on't," said Jem^ shaking his head. '
" Well, I 'm a coming," said the philosophic Jingo, obserring that St. Oiles was about to ascend — " I 'm a coming." And in a moment, the urchin dropt like an ape from branch to branch aad fell to the earth. As he fell, a gumea rolled from hie pocket.
" Where did you get this ?" excliumed St. Giles, picking tip the coiQ.
Whereupon little Jingo bowed his arms, and in his sbrilleBt treble, answered — " Found it."
CHAPTER XXIV. Thk candidate for Liquorish has, it may be thought, been too long neglected in our attention to his agents, and their meaner crea- tures. Seemingly we have been umnindfiil of his lordship, but in reality not so. We felt more than satisfied that we had placed him, like a treasure in a temple, at Lazarus Hall. For there was Doctor Gilead, the good genius of larder and cellar, big, perspiring with anxiety to assuage, by the most recondite and costly means, the hunger and thirst of his esalted guest. Had it been possible to purchase a hve unicorn, its haunch would have
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smoked before young St. James ; tLe sole {thcBnix would hove been roasted in its spicerj, and dished id ita plumes ; and Ganjmedo might have had anj price of Doctor Oikad for pecu- lated nectar. In die fulneas of the Doct«r'a hospitality there lurked a grief that no new animal — no yet unheard-of tipple could be compassed. He must therefore — at last he was resigned to it — make the best of the good things of the earth such as they were ; he, by the way, possessing the very beat for the eiperiment. Mrs. Gilead, too, had her anxiety ; though, it paina us to confess it, her husband — it is too common a fault, crime we should rather say — did not respond with all his heortatrings to the vibrating chorda of Ua partner. But how rare is it to find a wedded man with a proper sympathy for the distresses of his wife ! The elements tnay hare suddenly conspired to spoil her boanet^-^e may hare broken her dearest bit of china — the cat may have run off with her gold-fish — and at that very moment, above all others, her husband will insult her with his philosophy. And so it was pith the aniietiea of Mrs. Gilead. She felt that, whilst young St. James lay pillowed under her roof, she was answerable for the aweetneas, the soundness of his alumhera ; nay, almost for the pleasantness of his dreams. She was wakeful herself in her tenderness for the repose of her gueat. " I do hope bis lordship will sleep," she stud, twice and thrice to ber wedded master.
" Bleas the woman ! " cried the Doctor, at tbe time perplexed with the thought of some poauble novelty for the next day's dinner, " of course be '11 sleep. Why not ? We hare no fleas, hare we ? "
"Reas, Doctor Gilead I Don't insult me! Fleas in my beds!" and Mrs. Gilead spoke tremnloualy, as though hurt, wounded in her huawifery— the weakeat place of the weakest sex. And Doctor Gilead knew there was not a flea in the house ; but it was like the man — it was like tbe brotherhood at large — to suggest to a wife the probability of the most impoau- hie annoyance. Of courae, it was only said to hurt her.
Nor let us forget the Mias Gileads. For each, saying no syllable to the other, waa sleepless with the thoughts of providing life-long bliss for tbe noble, the beautiful guest. How delightful to make him happy for the rest of his daya, and how very advantageous to be a legal partner in the fehcity. If eyea ever did dazzle — if lips erer did take man's heart from hia bosom, like a Btone from a .
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black eheny (we tiibJc Ast unaU p«rf«ot), syw ind lip» dwoM do the double deed to-moRw.
And joiBg St. James, m a de^ bm of eidetkdewn, took big rert ; none ^ wone, it mtj be, A*t be koew not of thO'iMB* Rnney vorking against his freedom. Thrm lete of' hymooieti chainB' were almoet all nigbt long hammered at by three jaa^ ladies, and jei &e meoDieiouB rictiB deptt— «ren sa the colprit takes nnbrotmi rest, wbilM haBmeia &1I Vfoa tiie soafitdd for to-moiTow.
If the reader will pais ihe intentiona of the jovng ladies M at bast bmevoleutly pnrpowd, he must conf««s ^t we hav« for Hm last tbree ofaaptwa left jonng St. Janet most tendeil; eared fins Sleeping and waking he has had the prettiest cares, tiie ewevtoat attentionH, like a shower of roie-leavei, oast upon him. And mur Monday morning was eome. TIte morning of the Aa^y of namnM* tion was arrired. A law-maker was to be made by the voioe of « free people ; a senator, without crack or flaw ; a perfect arjotttl Teasel of the state was to be blown by the braaA of nnhoi^lit man. Katare seemed to sympathise inth the wwk ; at leaa^ such was the belirf of Doctor C^ilead, his imagination Viniiling somewhat with the oceasion. He rose on]y a little later than tbe sparrows ; and from the beauty, the enjoyment of ont-door objeoti, took the hap[Hest omoDS. A member was to be Teturacd to Pw- liament. Certainly the lark never fluttered nearer heaven— oarer Bang so hopefully. Such waa Doctor Gilead's aweet belief ; and rapt in it, be did not the next moment hear the voice of an an in a distant meadow — gave no ear to his ovrn geese gagging nair bis bam. Happy the superstition that on snch occasions wiU on^ listen to the lark !
Everybody appeared at breakfast widi a face dnst for trium|di. " Had bis lordship slept well V ai^ed Urs. OHead ; and witfa voices that would mdt the heart of a man, were the Uiing reaHj soluble, each Hiss Qilead put the same question, but with a manner that plainly said ber peace of mind dmendod on an affirmative reply. His lordship had slept well. Eacb and all of the Miss Gil^ds were blest for their esstence !
" How do you do, Mr. Folder ?" asked his lordship, as tint worthy man, wi^ his old equable look, entered the bre^fastpai- lour. Now, Mr. Folder had never looked better — never felt better. His calmness, lua philosophy was astonishing, admirable ; the more so, as it was hia friend and not himsalf who had lost a
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fnanre of gold. In ttw words, aai in his own smiling Yny, iSr. I'slder lud he ms ehannin^.
" But where 'b Tangle ? th ?— not 1^ Tangle behind ?" cried fais.lor^iip.
"No.no," and Folder, nth a bi^rfflmile. " He preferred a'indk botobb the fields."
" Poor fellow I he doesn't ottea gat a Ut of graBS in Lcmdon, } daie aaj," laid the Doctor ; who then turned to his lordship, and grubhing hii hands, and laughingas at theenjoyment of a sweet secret, Bud, " it waiildn'tdo,inylMd,te lose Tangle; no, no, we must take Mre of Tangle." Iimeoent Doctor Q-llead ! At that moment he daraght the agent the haj^ keeper of l^otuands of the birds of Paradise hatched at the Mint : and alack ! they had made wings &r tiiemselTes, and flown awaj. Had die Doetor known the con- dition of Tangle, what an a^ect, fgrlwn Tarlet woidd he have seemed in the offended eyes of his admirer.
Hr. Tangle waa announoed. He entered die room ; hia face galranued into a smile. It was plMn, at least to Folder, who knew all, that the agent had Ubonred ho hard to get that smile into his countenance that it woald be very difficult to dismiss it — it was so fixed, so very ri^d. It was, in fact, the hardest smile oat in. the hardest oak.
"' Qnite well, I trost, Hr. Tangle ? None the worse, I hope, for last n^t V said yoong St, James, gaily.
Tangle's knees strock each other at his lordship'e vince. Last night ? Did his lordship, then, know of die robbery ? Such was the first confusion of Tangle's thoughta ; and he then remembered that his lordship doubtless hinted at the wine swallowed, and not at the gold carried away. Whereupon, Tangle declared that he was quite well — never better. And then he resolutely put down a rising groan.
" Noting the worse for anything last night, 1 '11 be bound, eh, Hr. Tangle?" cried Doctor Qileaid, alive, as every man ought to be, to Hie reputation of his wine, when the wine, like the Koman's wife, is not to be suspected. " I should think not. And, Mr. Tangle, I've not forgott^i the carp that pleased you so much. There 's plenty in the pond ; and we'll have some of the finest, I can tell you."' At this moment the Doctor was snmmonod from the room ; whilst new risit<H« continued to arrive, assembling to escort the noble candidate to a very modest fabric, largely chris- tened as the Town-Hail. Young St. James knew everybody —
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welcomed everybody. There w«a not a man present mih wtom he would not and could not have shared his heart, — it was so unoz- jiectcdly large upon the happy occaaion.
" Don't youwieh, my lord, that your noble fatLerthe ezcellait MarqneEawt^heretoseeyourlriiunph?" exclaimed one oftheart- leaa Misa Gileoda. Rosy ignorance ! She kaew not that, how- ever the paternal heart might have yearned to he present, it was sternly checked by a atroDg sense of conatitutionol duty. For the Marquess, &b a peer of England, could not, must not, directly or indirectly seein to interfere in the election of a member of Parliii- ment— in the free assertion of the people's choice. Therefore it was only permitted to the father, the peer, and the patriot to send his banker.
And still the visitors poured in ; and aa tbe crowd grew, every man looked more important, as though catching zeal and con- stancy of purpose from new-eomers. ' ' The borough 's been in the family these thousand years," cried a spare, fibrous, thin-faced man, with a high piercing voice, " and the Constitootion had better go to sleep at once if any nobody 'a to come to represent us." . " Tell 'ee what. Muster Flay, we own't stand it," said a free- holder in a smock frock, that in its unspecked whiteneaa might have typified the purity of election. " We own't stand it. My father and his father — and' hisn after hisn — all of 'em did vote for the family, — and when folks come to ax me for my vote ag^n 'em, — why as I says to my wife, it 'a like a flyin' in the face of Provi- dence."
" To be sure it is" — answered Flay — " it 's ungratefid ; and more, — it's uncoustitootional."
" No, no, Muster Flay ; the Blueshave always pud me and mine very well."
*' Hush ! Kot so loud," said Flay, with his finger at his el». qxtant lip.
" Bless 'ee, everybody knows as everybody's paid," answered the clean-breasted voter.
" To be sui-e they do ; nevertheless," observed Flay, "it isn't conatitootional to know it. It 's what we call a fiction in the law ; but you know nothing o' theae things. Master Stump," stud the barber, who then drew himself back a little to take a better look of the fine specimen of ignorance before him.
" What 'a a fickshun ? " asked Stamp. " Sometlun o' use,
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" I believe you — ^the coiutitoolion couldn't go on without it. Fiction in the constitootion ia like the flour in t, {dum-pudduig —it holds all the prime things in it together."
" 1 see," answered Stump, with a grin, " if they hadn't n» fiokshun, they 'd moke a very pretty hiling of it ! "
And after this irreverent fajuon, comparing the lofty uses ud the various wisdom of the Constitution to the ingredients of a Christmas pudding, did Flay, the Blue barber, and his pupil in the art of government, discourse amid the mob assemhled in the grounds of Lazarus Hail ; when a faint-cheer, an ineffectual shout, rose from some of the mob gathered about a horseman arrived in haste, with special news. This intelligence was speedily con- veyed to Doctor Gilead, whose face suddenly glowed like stained glass, he was so delighted with the tidings. Uaking his way back to his lordship, the Doctor cried — " Joy, my lord ! Joy ! Joy ! The enemy won't stand ! The Yellow 's mounted the white- feather I No contest, my lord — no contest ! Three cheersr gentlemen, for our member!" And Doctor Gilead, for awhile forgetful of the meekness of the pastor in the zeal of the patriot, sprang upon a chair, and loudly huzzaed. His note of rejoicing was responded to, but somehow not heartily. The assembly tried to look very delighted, very triumphant ; yet, it was plain, they felt a latent annoyance. Was it that they were dis- appointed of the pleasing excitement of a hard-contested, consti- tutional fight ? Waa it, too, that every man felt himself considerably lowered, not only in his self-estimation, but in the value that would otherwise have heeu set upon him by oppo»te buyers ? It is a painful feeling to be at the tyranuons, the ignorant - valuation of any one man ; and doubtless, many of the electors of Liquorish shared in this annoyance, for now they might be bought at young St. James's own price. When a ma" does drive his princi- ple, like his pig, to market, it must try the Christian spirit of the seller to find only a solitary buyer. The principle, like the pig, may be a very fine principle ; a fine, healdiy, thorough- going principle ; and yet the one buyer, because the only one, may chaffer for it as though the goods were a very measly prin- ciple indeed. The man must sell ; so there goes a principle for next to nothing : a principle that, with a full market, would have fetched any money. To sell a principle may be the pleasautest &ing in the world, hut to give it away is another matter.
In Mr. Tangle, the news excited mixed emotions. He rejtnced -
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tkftt ths nonej would be' lea* needod. than. had then baeii sd opposing, buyer .in the markeb: an^ then he felt doubly sad at the loss: For with the, grid in his poiwaaioat and thene btaaf; ths leas necetuty for its wide expendituro, he might — he felt bw* he could have done it sctnehow — j«t, he might have levied a bea.'rj' per ceatageupOD what remained. Thai« would have been a lugex lM>dy'of metal for tlie experiment ; and l«t tJiis be Bud of hu*,- Tangle always prcfarad BOoh experimests on a grand scale. This. Tangle, (xhiIuimI in aool, and^downoast in deBuanour^ snfihred' hittaaJf to bo'Ied t« one of the half-daaen caniages prepared for:' tk& firoceiMon ta th« Town Hall.
Shall we att«aipti-a.4eMripti<mof tbemob im t^cIw— -the- moh •on itorwbaok— 4Bd the mobnon foot, departing from the rectviTt- bouod on the solemn daty of making a firb-aew senator? N»: we will merely . chraDiole , the touohing trudi that., as tba meb laoved on, they seat forth a cheer, that waa shrilly answered frett the topmost windows of the<rect«ry, whereat all sorts of maidsi . -covwed all over wiA bloe ribands, screamed, and fiuttered hand* kiBrchie& andva^na in. glad .augwy of trnunph. This ordcrof therector for the profiiSMt diapl^ «f St. James's coloora-had been carried' out witlt. responding zeal by his retainers. BlnO" fluttered everywhere. The dairyimaid Iwd deoked Crumpla's bome with blue, aad Xh&- animaL m the maid ayerrad, seemed ncj proud indeed of the badge ; had she wom tt in hoBOur of haS'Dwn son, then . onlyr'K fortnight oM, she- could nob have, looked moM' 'COffiplaceotj happy. There was not a single as* belonging to • thai rectory that didinot somewhere carry the colour ; andwedo aaaaiS' tk»:readaiv rery-graFe and very wise the asset lookadr' iritbit..' They seemad,' as Jock the hind ohaarred, to underatand "^the' thing like any Cbrisdaa.!' A blna flag fluttered £rom the fop of the reetory— and: blue streamers fiW every out'houaft.' Brea the > gilt weathercock.— the fact somehow escaped th»- ■eye of the rectoFr— bore- at its .foar points: a long, long strip *£■■ blue Hbaod.in homearof the political pnnmples of the Blue.' 'Candidate.
The mob, wesayvcheeredias.theyael'fiinraKd from the ractoi;^' and' IJie men'«esTaBta and the nuud-^etvants (Peered agaia. The! homehold gods of LasarusrHaU drew* a long. breath as retered.' fnimiithe' crowd and tumult of the mob that had hnetled and«<ni- fused them- ; . and the solemn row of Ecideflaotical Fathers, ataodr- ingv in Choedh-nalitast file i^on. thetlibiaijr'shelrei, onoo.mare
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geemed'io f^el themselFes-the nndisLurbed pOSKfMors'of thdironke> hdme. Poor old- feDow*! — aanyof them, too, snch wonderfnl faMdc st chopping one liEtir'iHto little bundles of hoiiei tile better tomabe springes with — ee manj too. the ' Eloquent Dumb'-theOrtat IV)!^ gotten — die IlluBtaious Dim-^tbe Folio FlinutOFe in calf or tndy pastoral vellum,— 'for fiTC-and-tventj. years bad ' stood upon the ^elf; and no mde hand had ever touohed -them. They bad been bought by Doetor Gilead, and made-to stand befoi% all men yisitiQg fliefibrary, asTouehers for the learning of thereelor. But whrai Smpio — of coarse, air, you remember the Btory — wbenScipio,bytbefoftim» of war; was made the some time guardian of a beautiful princess^ Scipio himself was not more respectfnl of her charms, than was Doctor Qilead of the fascinations of the Fathers : he never knbw them — never. We are aware that there may be vulgar souls who, judging from their simial selves, may ddnbt the continenc« oif Soipio: wB think this very likely ; for sure we are- that' many fAlks, seeing the scholastic beauties possessed by Doetor Gileal, believed he must enjoy them : for the Doctor, like Scipio, never bragged of his abslinencei He, good soul, suffered men to think jiurt wbat they pleased : but this we know; altiivngh the Fathers werefor five-and-twenty years in tile power of 'Doctor Gilead, yet^ a" Sdpio in' his way, he never — to speak scntpuloady like * nttitrOn — he never somuch as laid his little finger on them.'
Therefore, shoiily before the arrival of his lordship, was it a' gnat surprise to the Fathera to find themaelveg one morning taken from- the shelves and opened.' Hew stiff,' poor fellowst were they idlin the back I And no donbt, very much astounded was Origen; and- Basil, and Theophylactus, and JerOm, and Twtuliian, and- o^ibr respeetsble' Fathers,' to' find themselves duttttd and thwaoked as they; when in the'fleA, were wOnt todusbbud th««ok thdr dis- putants ; the man-serrsnt and the msid^bervaut, otherwise intent,- t^ng no more account of them than , if they vrere old day-booka ahd' ledgers: In the vanity of their hearts — at' least, in as-mutdi vanity as can b^Ug to churchmen— they thought tk#y were to be odnsutted and reverenced ; in a word, made much of. And thek" owner. Doctor' Gilead,' did make much of thetnt - He paid them- the'deepeHt'devolitoii of- which the good man was searible ; for ho" bad 'them' all' 'packed- off to be newly forhlsbed and newly gilt ; and thbre the dead F^hers of the Church BtDed gHetening widt^ gaU ; and douhtlessliS uneasy in the Mdendoup forced upon diem- ae- any bishop in a coaohiand^faan There'ttiey w«re; like the 1 2 I.
jiet'OBfli^-tte maVwho^didnot feel A'lisgeJiitwMt in &«.me^ iuatiaaiBB -jaoDg lord -who was guog up torparliwn^t loitajie eapeoiol cara trf all of them. — In the ^ like vay, Ui&t wbeartbe knighb o( old w&a anned, aod About to go iottik to ala; the dragan ^atoMried off mra, Tirgins, RudoBltle, juidiCinitinaalljbretitliad ^'brimstone blight upon. the CEopa axid herbage, 'luftking dumpiib th& heart of the farmer — m the- like nayi that be was attended hj sage, grey-headed reverenoe, by youdis.and.mwd^iB, beating jjwlands and green boBgha, and .aoccau^aqying him with idtqnta, -kndivayers, and Wing looks, so did the young lord St. Jamts take hia way to the hustinga, that ho. might therefrom, depart for FarUament, there to oombat with and aoundly drub the twenty ^dragons alwaya ready to eat vp everybody and ererythiag, if not pterented by the-ione particular - mttnbei'' Young St. JamsB 'Would be the ohampion gainst the dragon taxation; he. would 'ke^ the monster - from the farmer's baooa — from the iaraia^A ■wife's eggs — hoia the fanner'a daughter's butter.: he would ^nt«ct their ri^ita ; and the farmer, and 'farmer's wife, aqd fumer's daughter, .iJl Ml that they had a moBt dear and tender interest in. that. a[dendid young gentleman, who would do nothinj; but bow to tbem, and amile i^on Ih^iii, just for rail the- world 'fts If he'Waa no bit better tihan they.
" He '11 let 'em. kaoW' what 's,whi)t>wiieD he gets .amoqg 'esa," aaiA an old eeuubTnanto Flay, who, thtf) he.ii^it.be aansa£«» ^oBwble to the lord about to ibe made , a laflr>BUikeri walked, wit^ his.hand upon tha carriage. " They 've had it all their,.awji waj long enough ; he '11 date '«m look about 'em"
"Themanfor the otoMitootion. That's plMn,,witJi haU'..a^ eye; he 's born with it all iniia bead,. Jikea cook. with-,ft0oinb," aaid Flay. "It 'a iik:the:family," coabiBaed thebarber; "initbe fomily."
The proeeuion halts &% the Hall. We pass . the ebeering, It^ gEMoing of the oppoaite parties. We paaa ijl the hidtbnb of Ibe Section, aa familiar to the Siitiah!ear as'tbe mar of the Britieh Lion. It was ^(uu,- that it was already known there- would ba »o eoatoet ; whereupon dask and Uanki.were-tJu kM^. of the YdlaVB. lipid very loud aod fierce their . denunciations. The Bluea, fto^, thev^b they put abold^ happyrfaoe aatheaBatt«r,<weieillat ease. A-^iM^ opposition would have ^given them great delight, iaaa- much as their tried patwUam wemld -haTe shwe-aU thebi^gktci* Iwtfaetest.
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':'ibidTiiow'tba adeaw bntiuMS is opMtediibyUr.^bjrar, too oi^WMsed^by the gMataesBof iheioeoantm, to tn^T oaewft^M lim verj eleqnent addrsis to be haaod by tksiiBultitDde; ndio, .^ao'idcwbi, in gratitude, c^Mfed npnonrieiulj.
llbei Rerereiid SoctOF Silead tLen Btept ferwsrd ; and loddenly .&e«rowd seemed te feel tbemadvea at ^oroh, tbey-were so hiubed. i7he Doctor said that notbing- but his kwg knowledge, his affectioa .for bis lordship, could baK induced, him to hieak from that prioaay vhich they all knevwasJtis greateit ba^Kpiaeu. But he had a^ "duty ta p^orm ; a daty to bis oeuitry, to. them, and to himself. .l%at dnty was to prc^ose the distinguished, nobleman before them,, ae 1^^ legal and mwal representative in parUament.
Aikd young St. James was duly proposed and seconded. " Is. itbere no other candidate ?" asked the Uayor, with a conBcious&ee that tbem wte not.
" Yes," cried a mice t and . immadiatdy a man etept forwasd. wbikt tbe Yellows Beared with trininph. "Ibave to propose," 'Said the man, — and reader, that man was no other tban Ebenezer TSiipeton, basbsjid of Clarisut, — *' I have to propose, aatbe repie- .'smtative of the borougb of Liqaorish, Matthew Capstiek, Esq."
A. shout of dorisimi burst front the Bluss. For a noment, the .Yellows, taken by surprise, ivere silent : tbey tben paid back dte '.^tOQt with shoutings vehement;
" Does anybody eecoad Hattbew Oapstiek ? " asked the Mayor i^lfaast.
" I does," cried Rasp ; and aguathe T^wa.ahouted.
The Reverend Doctor Gilead . leaked ban^tily, eontemptuously, at the faree acted about him. Nevertheless, be thought it . jieesssary to demand a poU ' for young 6t> James ; the show of hands— as theastounded Mayor was cOBipelled to own — baiag"de-- .^dedkj in favour of Mr. O^stiok."
CHAPTER XXV.
" Wht yon never soeaa to do it ? " «aked Bright jMaanxiensly, - 'Boirowfidly.
" A man is ' wedded to his ceantry, Jem ; utd being wedded, 'ttuit listen to her voice," was tlia answer of Gapstiok.
It was neariy midnight,' and the late mnffin-maker and hianBQ ■ sat abme in the Tub. fbe news. of his probable eleclwit . for
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liqnoridi bad blluinpon Ckpetick ezplosiTelj. He Bad, in trntb, been much. startled, agitated by tbe tidings; but, the mufSn- . maker was a pbiloet^her, and after a brief hour or two, he had anbdaed the fleah-quakes of the merelj tnodest man, trembling at his own under-vslnation, and sat re-assured and- cobn, c<mtem-
Elating his possible appeuance amidst the SBges of the land, imself a sage, with the quiet resignation of. a patriot. Capstick Jndustriousl; essayed a look, a manner of monumental tranquilli^. Be smoked apparently, for all the world, like a cnnmon man ; and yet — it did not escape the affectionate glance of Jem — ^yet did Capstick's eye now and then bum and glow with a new light, even as ibe tobacco at the breath of the smoker, glowed through ' the embers. Ra[ndly was his heart enlar^ng with the good i^ the nation. Orations, to be uttered to the world at the pni^ter season, were concdred in the muffin-maker's br^n ; and as he sat, like a pagan god, in a cloud of bis own making, they already grew and grew, and he already felt for them the myrteriona love of the parent towards the unborn. Already his ears rang witli the shoutings of an instmcted, a delighted senate. His heartbeat thick with the thought of Magna Charta, and the tremendous uses he would yet make of that snblime test. With no hope, no thought of parliament, it had been the pride of the mnffin-maker to despise die world and its Aomge ; a hopeless world, overstocked -with fools anil knaves, altogether unworthy of the consideration of a philosophic mind. And now with the chance of becoming va senator, Capstick felt a sudden charity for the universe. After all, it was a universe not to be neglected. And for the men and women inhabiting it — poor two-legged emmets ! — they must not be suffered to go to ruin tbeir own perverse way. He wonld, therefore, go to parliament^ and save them. Now, when a moa has once for all determined upon a magnanimous line of conduct, he cannot but for the time look the better, the bigger, for the re- Bolution. n is thus in all cases. For instance, when a virgin, with lowered lids and lips trembling, at tbeir own courage, drops the " yes " that is to mt^e a man beatific for the term of bis natural existence — a "yes" at which all the wedding-rings in all the goldsmiths' shops sympathetically vibrate,— she, the virgin, looks as she never before looked in her life ; sublimated, glorified, with a halo of beauty about her ; a halo catching light from her liquid eyes and rosy, burning face. And when, too, the widow wiUi a Aweet audacity, facing the mischief, man, as an old soldier faces a
BT. «ILE3 ABD BT. JAICEB. 013
• cannon, says "yet," tolling the monosylltibleBhortly, boldly a'sabejl tolls one — she, too, expands a little — juit a little, with the thougkt, the good determined upon, — she, too, has her. halo, though cer- tainly of a dimmer kind i juat a little dulled, like a second-hand
-ring. . So true it b,.tb&t magnanimity hasau'expansire, a deco- rative quality. An<l so when Capetick, for a moment, felt himself A member of Pariianient, he felt for the .time bis w^atcoat ntubh.
' too small for him. In the like way that when, stirred by great emotions, tbe female heart takes a sudden shoot, it is sometimeB newftsary to cut the stay-lace to allow for the growth.
And Capstick sat enlarged by hie own thoughts ; with the ears oChia soul up-pricked — for souls have ears, and rat times pretty long ones — as though listening for the tniinpeta that should sound a blast for his triumph. .But Bright Jem had a heavy, a ddorons expression of the divine coantenanco of man. His master was in danger of being made a Uember of Parliament. He was, at that moment, in the imminent peril of being taken from rustic delights,
.from the sweet, tiie flowery leisure of the country, to he tamed into a maker of laws. His condition weighed heavily upon the
: sense of his faitbiiil, his affectionate servant ; who gazed upon him as Pylades would have regarded Oreatea, had dear Orestes been sentenced to the pillory. Capatick already felt himself in the House of Gammons, and amiled through his own smoke, 8S he thought of one of the hundred apeeches he would make, aM the cheers that would celebrate its deUvery ; and Bright Jem only thought of the nnsaroory miaailes to be burled at his jHend in the
.hour of his trial.
" A man is wedded to his country, Jem," . repeated Capstick, with a growing love for the assertion.
" Hia country ! Why, you don't call Liquorish your coimtiy, do you ? Beaides, what does the country know about you 'xcept your muffins : if tbe country hasn't quite forgot tbem by this time ? If you are made a member of Parliament — heaven Jire- serve you, says 1 — ^you '11 only be made ont of spite and malice," cried James.
Mr. Capatick took Ma pipe vride away from hia month, and began what would doubtless have been a very eloquent speech. Bright Jem, however, suffered him to get no further than — " The choice of the people, Jem."
" The people ! The choice of tiie guineas, that 's it, Mr. Cap- atick. A member for Liquorish I Well, they might as well make
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.a litde TMiag& of the goUoi >«alf Drer'sgin, vad' Mod 'l&Mfcjits pulisment : &r tLftt 'e thepee|^'a cbaoe henkbonls. Why,.3«B must know, thftt' it -e fiffimo lov« ^ joutiUitrSBipatoi^— oa t^yeall liim — pst JOS up. To.eaiTj liu pint ^m In* jomg bEdiliip-~'ibr dtere 's some sore 'atwvan 'en—^aii Bead'RichimUiy-aweeperte porliamaat without 'wubing."
" Inpoauble !" orutl Copatitk, with Tery-'ocuiderftble dignitjE.
*' Certain of it," insiiied Jem, "else whj, may I he bo bold to ttak, shoidd'he pitch uiioii yon ? "
■' I am not eiaetlj acIiimii^-Bireeper, Ur. J«m«B 7 not exaetlj,'' 4ib»erved Cspatick, majsatioallj.
"A course not: agoodmy&vn it: butyou know wbkt I mean, don't you ? " said Jem.
"It iano matter. Hr. Snipeton has' very bmiSy aatitfied ne «f the purity, the patnotiem of his intonticmB, mid — good na^A, Mr. James," sad Capatick rose. " I must riBe>eaiiy to-munaw'"
" Bon't ray, Ur. JaoMB, then ; it 'b a putting astonein<m^ luHow that I co«Idn't ' sleep en, se^g I 'm not used to it. - Clad 'btesB you, sir — good night," aad J«m held forth his hand.
'■ Qrttad night, Jem," said Capstick, taking Jam's hand. ".Aad imnd, to-m«rrow, early Jem— totj early, J«n,"
Almost at dawn Jem was in the garden, dtg^aig, digging •&» though he wioold get rid of thoagtit. At tines, very aaragely would he plunge the spade into the earth, as though, it relte*^ him. And then he groaned — humcned-— ^ond tigfaed. And'did morning broke gkrionsly ; and the birds mng ud whistled ; and the flowers came laughing out in the sunshine. The summer earth, one wide altu, steamed -witii sweetest-ineanse tolieaven.
Jem bad laboured for a couple of hours beftire Oapetick joiiwl Mm in the garden. " Why, J«m, you Ve'dons a full half-day's. work already," said the candidate for Li^ioriBh.
" Somehow I couldn't feat ; and when I didslcep, I had notltir^ but nasty dreams. If I didn't dre^ yonnras taken to the Tenter for puUiug the jqraaker's nose — «nd I.kitoM''your tender, ■ir-'^Be- thing more likely — I wish I may die. Never had Mwh a clear, dean dream in all my life. It was all made out ibo!"
" And what did they do with me at the Towwr ? " akked Oap- stick, a little tickled by the importance of theimfmsoiiMent.
" Why they chopped your head off as olean asa sheep's," sud Jem eantestly. " I saw 'em do it ; beard the cho^^r go right throogh bone, gristle, aod all." Capstick «hpt Ida Mndto>tai»
ST. 4IU8 ilXD: ST. 3AUES, 3tS
.«nk, IbflnWddottlTitaok it' awaj ^oin, aad'akK^c Iw'kefcd-ancl .SBfiled. Jem eon^ued. " Thaj ohtpped it off, aod I ilmrd.it 'fyH from the block Tith abimip. And after- that tbc^ cut jon uto'tDur quarters to be hmg up £Ditan «zample."
"Ha! ha! and that's the worst they did," cried O^aUok; " thwe was an end, ^en?"
"Nothere wasn't," Bud Jem ; "for I dreamt' Uiatthe^'iniNla mb pack iip-one of the itaarters, like Bpring-lainb, aad carry it to your old mufSn shop, and hang it jest erer the door atween tbe twotwindows, as a warning to alltraitors. . And I himgitap. And Uien I dreamt I sat down on the door- step, and it was as mnoh aa 'erer I could do to keep thebiiidB from pecking at yon, for all I did ■nothing but pelt i' em with doUars."
" Very extraTagant," said Capstick, who addod grardyr^lay- ing kiB hand rery tenderly upon J«n'B shoulder, " when the time reaJly ciHnee, don't throw away silrer ; first try penny pieeea." Jem shook his he»d: he could not reli^ the hnmoor of the .•conomy.
" If, noiT, they really ^old make a monber of pai^amcKt of you" — Jem shuddeicd at the notion as at the.tkoHght of scone naiue^us drug — "yiou don't mean to aay yiu'lHevre the'Tub, the garden and all ? "
-"The voice of the country, Jem, moat be abeyed. We'll come dawn here, and reonut ourselvvB wb^i the House is prorogued. ■WflBhall enjoy it all tlie. more for the work of tie SMsion." Cap- ■tiok already B[Mk£< like a member.
" Wdl, I . know BiHuethin' of parliament, for X knew poor .Sam ChiUems, the Unkman, as was killed by the late honts. He need to t^ me a good deal . about it; wh^ver pleasure ^m ioam have, to go. and at steaming among a mob «f falks--r«iid hearing speecbes and smns of figorea that you don't know fUOtbing about — and aever (^leningyjoar own month" —
"Never think it, Jem," cried CapsUck, "1 shall apeak and twry .<rften-.-very ofUn."
'".The .Lord help yon! " exclaimed Jem, amaied at such iiktniniBatJon. " Atjwurtltie of life, too ! "
"That's it, Jem, Twenty, ten, yaara ago, I shouldn't have ^ota ripe for it. Beally great men are of alow growth ; I feel .that I have just now reached my prime, aad my country shall bare it. You den't ki>ow~kow should yon ?— what I may meet Titlt in parliament."
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:3I« THE HISTORI'O?
" A little on it," aiud Jem. "You'll meet wi& bald lioitfs . and noiny companj ; and jou 11 turn night into day and day into night, and so do no good with neither one nor the other. Meet ! Will yon meet with any Buch company as you leave ! I should like to know that?"
" Why, what company do I leave ? "asked Capatick coldly, and with dignity.
" Why, the company ahout you," cried Jem, and Capstick shortly coughed. "Look at 'em: will you meet with anything like them roses, jest caning their precious mouths, and talk- ing to you in deir own way — for how often you 've said -they do talk, if peo^e will only have the sense to understand 'em! You*n go to court, perhaps ; and if yon do, will you meet with finer velvet than 'e in them heartsease ? will you see any ■diam<mds " — and here Jem struck a bush with his spade, ana the dew-drops in a silver shower trembled and fell from it — " any diamonds brighter and wholesomer than them ? Will you hear anything like that in parliament ? " — cried Jem emphatic^j, and he pointed upwards to a fluttering speck, a lark in the high heavens, gushing with song.
" These things are to be eojoyed in their due season ; when, as I say, the House is prorogued,' said Capstick.
" And what 's to become of all the animals that 1 thought yoa 80 fond on ? They 'U none on 'em come to good when you're away. There 's them beautiful hees — sensihle things ! — you don't thiiJE they'll have the heart to go on working, working, when you 're wasting your time in the House of Commons ? And you 11 go and mi^e laws ! Ha ! We shan't have no luck after that. If the bantam hen that *b sitting doesn't addle all her eggs, I know nothing of bantams. Why, how," — and Jem spoke in a saddened tone — "how in iax weeks do you think you 'II look?"
"Look! how should I look?" cried Capstick, bending his .trowB.
" Why, you 'II look like a act of parliament ; and a preciooa -old act, too ; all parchment like, with black marks. And yon II go to bed when the sun gets up ; and instead of meeting him aa you do now with a head as clear as spring water — and looking at him, all health and cranfort — and walking about hearing the birds and smelling the cows, the flowers, and the fresh earth — why, you '11 be slinking home to your bed with no heart to stare in the Bun's face — and your precious head will seem biling with a lot of
BT. OtLBS AND ST. JAJIES. 317'
ttXk ; all wobbling nitb speechea you can maVe nothin' <
you 'li Boon wish yourself a mushroom, a toadstool, uiythiiig to
bo welt Id tho country Bigiu. ' '
" Jem," said Capstick, " you mean well ; but you 're aa enthu- -
" You may call me what namea you like," said Jem, Tory resignedly, " but you 11 never be happy away from the Tub."
"You'll lay the breakfast," observed Capstick, peremptorily ending the conversation as he turned from the gvden to the house, whilst Jem^ — «s if he had a new quarrel with the soil — dog ' his spade into the earth with increased energy.
In a few minutes a hen broke out into the customaty proclama- tion of a new egg, — " Well, I know," cried Jem. pettishly, " I know : you 're like a good many people, yon are ; can't even ^ve poor folks an egg without telling all the world about it. Humph 1 he may as well have 'em fresh while he can ; " and Jem bent his way to the hen-roost — " poor soul ! he '11 get nothin' o' the sort when he's a member of parliament."
In very dumpish spirits did Jem prepare the breakfast. But - when he saw Capstick, habited in his very beat, issoe from his chamber, Jem groaned as though he looked upon a victim arrayed for the sacrifice. Capstick would not bear the note of tribulation, but observed — " You'll go with me, Jem."
" I 'd rather not," said Jem ; " but I 'apoae I must go in the mob, to see as nobody pelts you. Humph ! I wonder what any Jew will give for that coat when you come home. But I 'spose it 's all right. People put their best on when they 're hanged, and why, shouldn't you ? ' All right, o' coarse."
Capstick managed to laugh, and tried to eat his breakfast with even more than customary 'rehsh — but it wonld not do: he had no appetite. He felt himself on the verge of greatness. And bis heart was so big it left him no stomach. Suddenly was heard the aoundof distant music. " Heaven save you !" cried Jem, "they're coming after you. " '
" Don't be a fool," Bud the philosophic Capstick, and the music and the shouting seemed to enter hia calm bosom like flame, for he suddenly observed, "It's very warm to-day, Jem."
" Nothin' to what It will be.'' said Jem. " Here they come.' Afore it's too late, will you hide under the bed, and 111 say you're out ? " Jem rapidly put the proposal as a last deqierate - resource.
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SIS •atermfaovi'-or
" Don't be ft fool," again cried Ospatici, and witlt inWefcseat' ■nbottMoce. " Opentha door."
" It 's all ovef — too late," groaned Jem, and tdmost iimmdiBMlf tke miuie came clanipng to the window, and tbe mob buEca^ and Rasp, and others of Capatick'H committee, filled the cottag«>
"Huirah!" cried Ra^, "tirte cheers for Caprtiokl CAj»- stick and tlie Constitution ! " and the mob- roared in obediMiw. "Newi Mr. Capatiok ; all right I can' tdl jaa. Hia lordship hasn't a toe to stimd upon — not a singls'toe. Thie blessed HigH ypn Tl slee^ Member for Liqnoriak ! Down with the Bluest The- Constitution and Capattck! H(UTah( Whj, Jem" — cried, the" harber, suddenly astounded — "yonlwTB''t got no oolonr. Here's one:"
" Well, if I must m^e myielf a CMMry," cried Jem,' aitd ha took the proffered riband, and shook his head.
" Now, then, strike op, and three more cheers for Gaprtick aod the ConatitDtioii," roared Ratp. The tfompets sounded"- die dramH beat — the mob roared,-^HUid amidst the hubbub, Capetiek sufiered himself to be carried off by the committee to one' of tlie three carrit^es drawn up at the end ' of the lane, whilst Bright Jern^ as though he walked at a funeral, peouvely followed.^ — In a few- moments the lioe was formed t and musicians and meh, taking new breath, gave loudest utterance to their several instm- menta,- And Oapstick, the philosopher, smiled and bowed aboat him witb all the easj grace of an' ohl candidate; Bright Jem gaaed at him with astoaishment. Could it be possible thU tbkt smiling, cotirteoos, bending, man was the rigid muffin-maker f After that, there was nothing true, noting real in humanity; At- onee, Jem gave the world up.
The procession reached the Town- Halk' Hnrrdie aod'liootiKgs met Capstick ; who felt warm- and odd at the salutations. It vas- plain, however, that Capstick and the Constitntion — as Rasp weald coupla them-^must triniDjdi. Th6 great confidence'' ia' young St. James had, somehow, been severely shaken. It w<b0' known even to the litde childr«i of tiie l)erougfa' that the m^ste- rions chest of gcdd had beencorried off; and as the cnstomwy donation to the electors was not forthcoming, it was beliered tiiat ' young St James would rashly trust to pnrily of eleo^On. Tangle, soeore in his belief that there would be no 'oppositio& t«= his. lord^ipj had said no word of the robbery ; hence, he<hdd'> suffered very valuable time to he lost — time ^lat had been impnveA'
ST. GIEEB AMD ST. liXES. 3t9'
tddie.utiiMBtbjIhS'Sgento of Smpeton, wbo, ibougkhe Booved;-' appeared himadff JalioDred by meaos of his merceaarieB, with aU' the'ttrdouV'that hatred and ^d could supjdj in tbe cause. Wlien, however, it beoain». certain thathia lard^up wo(^ be oppoasd, TaOgle felt the dire- neceautji — dice, indeed — of telling tbe trath'. And'then befell b»bad not .the courage tocan^ him through bo uBiiBnal a task. TTherenpon, he sneaked to his inn, ordwed »' poet-nhaiae; phtcQjd hiniBelf and poctmsnteau. thweis, and late at, night Becrettj dio^etowu'ds London. Ere, bovever, bed^arted, . Leleft a letter foF'tlieaoblA candidate. We give a cerreM copj.
"My Loed,— Deeply, indeed, doi I regret that a circnrastance — - a.tender circumBtaDce^ — to which it is needless more particularly to allude (for what — what right have I, M Buch a time, to force n^, domestic sorrows on your lotdsbip's attention?) — a tender cir- cyuutance, .1 say, compels my immediate attendance in London, Yoa may jifdge of the importance of the event from the very fact that, at sucb a time, it can eerer me ^m youv lordship. I leave you, however, in tlK full aasuranoe of your triumph — in the full belief that parliament, which has received so many omamMita irom. jour noble house, has yet to obtain'an.viqtaraUeled lustre in the' genius of your .lordship, With the profbundest respect, I am. your lordship's most devoted serrant,
"LtKE Takqlb.'"
" P. 8. — W« are' all,' in this mortal world,' liable to accidents. My good'Mend, Mr. Polden will inform your lordabip of a cir- CBmBtAncQ'tbat bas given me miioh pain ; a eireumstaneei boweTa>j ' that when I sbaH bav« the honom- of neit meeting your lordship, I doubtnot I Bhail be able most filUy to explain to your lordBlups moat perfect Batisfaction."
. "ThereiBgreat viUaByin this, great villaay, mj lord," — said Doetor QHead, poiaeaaed- of the contentB of the lett«r — "but' it isn't BO much the moneythat 'a- lost i that may be remedied-— it 'b .the time^ Ibe precious time; There' is do doubt-tiMt the other aide hare UJtea tlwr meat unprincipled advantage of the ealamilry, aadihaTe bribed rigbt and left. Neveatheleu, we muat not despair. Ne^, certainly, noti We must look the: difficult in the brce like tnanv my< l(»d— like men. " Tbe Doctor, t«o, spoke lik« onede- tesmined'to^^ktt.te thalast minute, and the last guinea. Aad tlW'DotterwM inotL mere^ a man of worda^: No. With a- fine dtnininn fifnkirnrtiijihginmartirliljfdi^Tr ■■ rhmjm-ffT a-maahi
320' ' THE HIBTORY OF
larger amount than was ever dreamt of by all the apoBtles, eixA cording it to a trusty servant, he shortly but emphatically said to him — " Gold." The man' smilingly acknowledged the magic of that tromendoua monosyllable, and departed blitiely on hia errand. Nevertheless, there was a s^iig sense of honour' in tbe hearts of the majority of the patriots of Liquorish ; for althbi^b* some took double bribes— ^though some su^red themBelveB to. be gilt like weatter-yanes, on both sides, — the greater humher remained true to the first purchaser, It was the boast — the con- solation tbat made bo many of the Yellows walk upright througb the world — that they, stuck to their first bargun. The double fee would have been welcome, to be sure^ but as some of thnn touchingly observed, they bad characters to take care of. Be- mdes, the same candidate might come again,
" Can jo\L have any notion of the cause of the motives of this man, Snipeton ?" asked Doctor' Gilead of young St. James, who slightly coloured at the homo question. " Why should be have started a candidate ?"
" Possibly — I can't tell — but I say possibly be has strong political fedings. But, 'tis no niatter, 'twill only add ] to the escitement : at the most, 'twill only be a Joke. A muffin-maker sitting for Liquorish ! For our borough ! 'Tis too ridiculous t» ima^e," and young. St. James laughed.
" A very contemptible person, certainly," stud Doctor Qilead ; "nevertheless, be 's twenty a-head of your lordship, and as there is not above another hour for polling, and we know the number of votes, matters do look a lJUl,e desperate." Such was tbe opinioa of Doctor Gilead, very dolorously pronounced at an advanced period of the day ; ,and young St. James — although he had corn- bated the notion like a inan and a lord— began to give ground : >t no longer seemed to him among the impossibilities of the world that the family borough of Liquorish ' might be usurped by'a muffin-maker. And then St. James — thinking of Clarisaa — ■ meditated a terrible revenge upon her husband.
In the meanwhile, the contest raged with every variety of noise and violence consequent upon the making of a member of parliament. Songs were sung ; — how the poet was so suddenly " found, we know not ; biit discovered, be was potently inspired I7 ready gold and ale, and in no time enshrined the robbery of tbe money-box in verse. Every line, like a wasp, had a sting at the ' end of it, aimed at the corruption of tbe Blues.' The concludii^ etania too, breatiied an ardent wish for tbe future prosperity and
ST. OILIS AKD ST. JAUE3. 32}
iMpinn^ of Uie tluef— and an expreBsion of kindness that Tom Blast, KB he mingled among the mob, received with the ailance of ZQodeaty. Tom 8 only regret was that Jingo, his own child^ had not been entrusted with the ballad, as the melody and the sentiment of the song were beautifully adapted to the voice and intelligence of the yonng minstrel. Besides, there would have iMen something droll — very droll, a matter to be chuckled over with private frienda — had Jingo chaunted the satirical lament for the stolen gold ; he being, above all others, peculiarly fitted for the melodious task. And where could he he— -onoe or twice thought the father, and then the paternal anxiety was merged in the deep interest of the hour; for Tom Blast with all }iia nught roared and cheered and hooted in the cause ts the Y^ows. Much, we think, would it have abated the pa^ triotic zeal of Capstick. had he known how vociferously he wa3 lauded by the ttuej of Hog Lane. But at such a time, ^plause must not be too curiously analysed.
And now both parties began to nmnber minutes. A quarter of an hour, and the poll would close. The Blues had for the post twenty minutes rallied ; and Doctor Gilead rubbed his hands and declared that, in spite of the corrupt practices of the Yellows, in «pite of the soul-buying bribery that had been resorted to by un- christian men, the rightful seat of St. James would not be nmirped "by a muffin-maker. Poor Jem hung about the Committee'roomB laiA secretly exulted when Capstick receded ; as secretly monrQed -when he advanced. At lengtii the final mimbers were exhibited; And to the joy of the Yellows, the despcur of the Blues, and to the particular misery of Jem himself, Matthew Capstick, Esq., was declared twenty votes ahead of his opponent '.
" Three cheers ft)r Capstick, our member," cried Basp from the window of the Yellow Committee-room. " Three cheers for Cap- stick and the Constitution ! "
" Give it him," cried Flay from an opposite house, and the obedient loyal mob of Blues discharged a volley of mud and stones And other constitutional missiles in use on such glorious occa- sions. Crash went the irindows ; and, on the instant, the two factions in the street engaged in a general fight ; all moving, as they combatted, towards the Town Hall, already beset by a roaring mob.
A few minuteai aiid Mr. Capstick appeared. Whereupon, the high bailiff declared him duly elected a knight hurgeas, and^
HO. XTL— VOL. ni. t ^ ,'
^2 TEE BISTOBT OF
'bucUed the sword about liiin-— tbe sword wiA wlucli, bj a P''*^ fi«&in, tbe kn^ht wu to defend the borough of Liqnori^ from aB sorts of wrong. Capetick, with the weapon at his thigh, adTsaced with great dignity ; and was for a time regardless of the showet« t^ eggs and potatoH that, from ths liberu bonds d 1^ Bluei^ imomuatel; greeted him. The young Lord St. James — haw Snipeton leered at him ! — also appeared oo the hiKtings, and aea- deidaOy reeeiTsd fuO in bis face an e^, certainly intended fat tlk» insage aS the auoceisFul candidate. U was plun, too, that Cajpr aiicl thenght as mnch, tor he tunied, and ta^ng out his pock^ Landkercbiaf, advanced to his lordsbm, and in &e piditest maiosnei «bseiTed, — " My lord, I have no doubt that egg was intended .to be mv property : will you therefore pennit me toreclumnjawn?^ — «nd saying this, Capstick with bis white kerchief ranored th^ offensive matter from bis Iixdship's £ftce, whilst Ae crowd — toadied by tbe courtesy of the new member — laughed and cheered np- Toariously.
Hr. Capstick then adTanced to &« front <^ the bnadngs. At ttie same monent a potato lell ehort of Idm, netr hu foot. 'Whereupmi the member drew bis sword, and nmidng it into ibe potato, hdd it up to the mob. AiwQier langh — another cheer greeted the action. "Sikncel he's a nm on — ^hear him! " was the ciy, and in less than tan minotet tfae new mender wbb permitted to proceed. Whereupon he said ^
** Gentlemen — for gentlemen in a mob are ahrays Imown bj ^i' 8gg8 and potatos— I ehoold, indeed, be nnwortby of the honour you bare placed and showered upon me, did I in any waj complain of the manner in wbioh you have exercised the privilegqa I see lying about me. I am aware, gentlemen, that it is the &e6 birthright of Engliabmen — and may they never forget it ! — to ^E any man who may offer bimaelf for tbe bononr of representing them in Parliament. It is right that it shotdd be bo. For bow unfit must the man be for the duties of his ofGce— for &e trials that in the House of Commons he must undergo — if lie cannot, properly and respectfully receive at the hands of an eqUgbtenod constituency any quantity of mud, any nnmher of egge or potatos that in their wisdom they may feel disposed to vimt upon him. I should bold myself a tnutor to the trast re- posed in me, did I. at this moment of triomph object to ^tjier your eggs or your potatos." {Veir loid cheering ; with a c^ of " TouVe the sort for uB.") " No, gentl^nen, I look upoli
8T. aiLES ARD ST. JAMEB, J3d
eggs and potatos as, I majr saj, the comer-BtoneB of tbe Conatitu- tion." (" Three cheen for the Conatitution," roared Rftsp, and tbe YeUowB obediently hellow«d.) " KeterAi^eBB, pennit me to saj this much. Feeling the neeessity -that joa ^ould always ezeroiBe for yooTBelTeB the ri^t »f peltiiig joar niadifctiB widi egga and potatoB — permit ne t« d^Bcne ibat I 4» not dink the aacred cause of liberty v31 be endangered, that I 4ti not believe the baaia of the Constitution wiO be in. die 'smallest degree ahaken, if upon all fotore flections, trfcoi yen tdtall be caBed if«n to eiercieo the lugh prerogatire of peUng yoer can£date«, yaa select eggB that are sweet, and first maeh yonr potatoa."
Laughter and loud cheers attested &e reasonableness cf the proposition. When alence iras reaHmd, TWiqg Lord St. James Btood forward. His mal, be sud. was &r a &b» nc^aally their candidate. A petition to the Hoom of OoBBOBa wmU, liowerer, speedily send bun back to his prOT«r obacniity. His terdship was prepared to prore tbe grossest hrn»etT '
" The box of gwoMW t "— " Who atala the gold ? " was shouted from the mob, and Tm £kst luMsalf hd£y halloed — *' Who stole the gaJBoaiJ "
doctor Gilead stc^fenrard. "Uy friesMh," 1m Mtid, "it is true that a baz of moMy waa stole*—- ^nt, vy fiaendi, you will rejoice with me to leam that the box is reotnvrvd."
" Gammon ! " cried Blast wiidly.
" The thief <a thieTei had cast the box into my fish-pond ; but I have juM been informed liui on dragging the pond for carp— I bad given the order before I fitted bome— the box has been found ! ' Throe cieers, my friends ! "
Blast groaned and the Blues hnzised.
The ceremony of churing was duly performed, Bright Jem witnesung the triumph with a heavy heart : bat Uatthew Cap- stick, Esq., M.P., (he had been dTi(y qualified by Snipeton,) as he was paraded along the streets of liquorish had no vri^ ungratified — yes, there was one, & Tittle one. It was meraly tiwt' the late Mrs. CapHtick could, for a veiy brief time, look vf from her graye and see her elected husband as be rode !
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ART AND. MISERY.
Ahid the treuores of the Scnlptor'a art
Entranced I stuod ; — each form mj sisbt Drank wondering in, till overflow'd my ntart
With Beantj'a strange delight 1 The brighleet thoughts of Qreece were gathered there.
Her foith's divinest mysteriea ; — What later ages dimly strove to share,
And what the present tries. There the Apollo held his lordly head,
Watching the deed he 'd done : A Qod-iike act— yet, more the Ood display'd.
The look that he pot on. Faint with excess of beanty linger'd there
The Indian Bacchus ivy-crown'd ; As fii>m his locks the balmy Eastern air
Seemed floating all around. The Satyr's face glow'd with the jocond time
When laoghter leapt flxim tree to tree, And echoed throoch the groves beneath Ihe cUdm
Of golden Arcaay. And there the ThnndeTer heaved his awful brows
O'erfranght with sullen majesty, Like to some frowning cliff beneath the snows
In cold solemnity. And gentler Woman found her every grace
The cold white substance sweetlv warm ; — Hei love, and power, and beauty fill'd the place
Sluinea in some faiiy form — As Psyche daim'd the rightful clasp of Love, —
Athenfe beam'd with wisdom bright, — Affection's power in Niobe conld prove —
Goddess as Aphn>dite ! The swift Bacchante showed her lighter mood —
Hebe, the gentle ministrant ; — In each and all man's holiest, highest good.
His first, his last sweet want. From these 1 poss'd, and in the City's baants
Of direst cnme and misery. Exchanged Sonl^ empire for its saddest wants ;
Love for depravity. ^ - t
ABT AND HIBEET. 323
I uw the Btt»ght«ii'd forehead branded deep
With the hot tonch of bnnung am — The blooded eye that knew not now to weep,
And spoke uie fire within. And gentle woman had a Harpy's form,
A Toice all strange to mirth or song : Her lore, a Bcorching passion, could not warm —
A cnrse usurped her tongue. And rudely now contended in my heart
The World's Ead truth, the Greek's ideal ; And sore I strove to reconcile the art
With the nnsightlj real. By that 1 saw Humanity a Qod,
This show'd my fellows less than men : — There seemed it o'er ambrosial clouds I trod,
Here breathed a Stygian fen. How vain, methonght, for man to give by art '
A mind to stones sp dull and mnte ; And let a brother from his rank depart.
To sink below the brute ! Bnt Art forbade me in her power despair,
And whiaper'd, — Man h^ yet to learn, — My visions are not vainly bright and fair,
Hy fires not falsely bum : For Beauty never looks with scornful eyes
On sin and woe's deformity ; And where her love is, ne'er can vainly rise
Pity's ingenuous plea. A Power there is shed o'er the hearts of men
These wide extremes ma^ reconcile, — Qive Misery a ^mess in his ken
Who basks in Beauty's smile. Such Power hath warm'd the coldness out of Art, ',
Lit Classic forms with genial life ; Dethroned the ancient Gods, — but to impart
Souls with aftectioDS rife. The universal brotherhood of man
In one all loving God united. Brings Ihete fsr-sundered poles within the span
of souls this tnith hath lighted. From both alike doth bluest Wisdom flow- By art we soar on winn of beauty Unto his throne— while Sin and Sorrow show
The blessed path of dnty [ H. N.
THE DISADVANTAGES DF KOT BEWG A DWAKF.
I All one of that unfortunate class who have to work for their bread. I make no bones of confesaing — and I would all tlie world were bo honest — that I should be rery happ; to •fispeBse with the work, — if the bread did not go with it. However, I have to sup- port myself ; the public will not support me. I am uo lion ; mj name Is not in everybody's month. Idy fixm baa sever beea puffed in the newspapers aa "perfectly ^pometrieaL" I can atate fearlessly, that I have never be^ reported tft possess a "beautiful and intellectual coontenaacov" Soi; baa- it been asserted of me in print, that I ata " a perfect nun ot mmi, intellect, and beauty." To continne my list of negaliBwi my eqn^age has never been paraded round the stivets ; ia knitii, 1 have not even a wheelbarrow to parade ; utd I never ga/ta uiy " levaea," because I don't beliero anybody wei^ cuna to them. Fiadier, I defy any one to assert with tmih, that I hare been three times invited to Buckinghtun Palace by the special command of the Queen herself, or that I have reeoved from her Mwjesty erai tbs very slightest present. The Queen Dowager has been eqaallyijiatteMiTe. I pledge the public my word of honour, diat that iUustrious ladynever gave me a magnificent watch, set with brilliantB. The Duke of Weffington, I regret to say, has been not a cubit more geaerons and discern- ing. I was at Paris lost seoaou without having been, invited to the Tuileries. Louis Philippe, in &ct, only permitted me to waste my sweetness on the des^ air of a decidedly uncwifbrtable bed- room au cmquihne. To finid the catalogue {£ my griefs, I cannot state with strict truth, that I have been " p^onised by .all the principal crowned heads of Eur^a ;" nor dnt the news- jtapers have made me a peramagc oi so great in^rtance, as to .cause the insertion of fabricated aecooats of my capture by bandite ; while, to crown all, neitbM the matda of honour at court ynor the ladies of the West-end aver purchased of net at the cheap irate of a shilliitg apiece a narrative of n^Ii& and a kiss into . .-Abe bargun.
That I have bean thus neglected, tints Idlto-Uinliiand bloom
I»( TBS niSADTAKIAGES OP KOI BSlSa A DWABF. 327
WiMen ttT uwapapera, U^es, and mouardis, I attributa entiielj to my ODMirtiiaatelj not hakvlng been bom a, dv&r£
I amueacefujcfeet thui tw«; iine ilia laerymm, lamnota fluted abortion — ergo, I havo aerw beou proBOunced " perfectly Bymmetrical." I am not a " delicate m<ABter ;" tbere&re, I have never been tbe oon^tauion of uouarcbs. Woen I tbink wbM a fate irould have been mine had I onlj bad tbe good luck of being hom a repulsive exception to tbe general niles of nature, I looE perit^B "more in sorronr than in anger" upon limbs of tbe avenge proportionB and cbiaelled after tbe ordinary ordec of btunaa arcbitectnre. Had I only nwsfumd aometbing imd« a cbtb-yard abaft, I sdiould bare a cairiaee to ride in, instead gf tiaaiiaiig it on foot. I abould hare ikdmuing crowds of fine Udie*. flocking to Bee me orery moming. Tbe Duke of WeElington and I nugbt havo bad a cbat on Waterloo. I migbt have spc^jen vith tbe Queen, and goaai^ied witb Louis Fbili^ie. I migbt bare laada aoiaetbing wbicb IciuiMoall a " progress " through Euc(^« €ottrta TouU have been my stagesw-oewapapeis my oaant- <i)ur<u*-fc A baronet title would have laised me to rank, ajid my same wotdd b&ie been a houaehold word in half tbe c^itala, <£ Europe. Alas ', the last tbiee&et of my growtb spoiled every- tbing. Stunted, I should have been adored : well-developed, I am neglected. I bate no " magnificent presents " madetomeby tbe greal£st uvwned heads of the worid to «xlubit to my morning Tiutors. Mylutlgbtbaabeenmynun— soith«Abeeadecreedbydiat eolig^eaed pubbc opinion whereof I am a bumble admirer. I do not mum to say, that, vera I tw^Tefeetbigh,! should not be^fet^ and eaiBBsed. Exb^nes meet — ^but nohiqtpily I am betweot them, and tberefore, not beii% a mtmatei: either one vay de the -other, a giant or &dwaj^ I an left unsmHed on by Bncking^ni Palaae~wuHked to Veraailles.
There ate a fooli^ lot of p«^ ambitious of boii^ noticed by monareba and received at courts. They may not, it is true, abstractedly think much of tbe bonoui of kissing tbe band of tbo ^uie, or bong told to make tbomselTes at bomo la tbe other \ but society, that sessJblQ-profbundly-wise oidertr of things, ba^ ordained that tba mass of "B"'r''"'i should look up witb reve[«ic« to a conTeatlonal and cbance-bestowed rank } and this being so^ the ambitions, of wbom I speak. legard the noliee, the friendship, not the pabvoage <f kings and oueena as one of tbe conveulMWU ' foeaas soeiety hat decreed ct botowing its homage upoa
Cootjic
328 ON THE DISASTASUQES OF 501 SOMQ A BWABVd
tbow who demre it. These tmfortmutei, then, ttitertanung tida rieir of tliingB regftl, eoncluded'— Absurd people 1 — that it iras b^ great meatal g^fts, and the productioii of ^eat literary, Bci«Dlific, and artistic works, that rof al favour indicatiuj; natjonal gratitnde was to be procured.
They looked to Tarioos p^es of the histoiy of Vanous oationa, and foond that this princi^e had been acted upon — that science, aai literature and art had been honoured, while they rcDetvacI royal favour ; that queens had suggested subjects to a dranatiat. and that emperors had picked up an artist's brushes when they fell from his palette. But we being a bighly-ciTiiized people hare changed all this. It is not mental greatness, but bo^y littleness, that kings and queens delight to honour now-a-days. Write like Sbokspeare ; but you must go to the Italian Opera if you wish to see the monarch — paint like Raffaelle, but you must be content to- take a dauber's price if you wish your pictures to decorate a royal palace. You may have some chance of seeing the inside of Windsor, indeed, LFyou take to delineating the royal wardrobe and the royal kennel. There is a glimpse of hope if you fly your genius at such themes as lap-dogs, ^oves, macaws, and hats ; but ^ere is nothing like a good degree of physical deformity — some monstrous malconstruction to excite the notice and display the- taste of the fountun of honoor. Write another " Hamlet," or ptuutanotiier "Transfiguration." All very welL You may go and see Windsor Castle with the rest of the public. But be lucky- enough to be only twenty-nine inches high, or to have three legs, or to present some other agreeable novelty of appearance of the- kind, and jou are a made man, loaded with regal gifts, weighed down by the gold of a discerning public. You can pass the ^nter- — should you like it — in your hotel in the Chauaafe d'Aotin at Paris, and the summer in your rose-hid villa on the Lake of Como ^
Times are hard. So say everybody. Prudent Others of families think what they shall do with their children. Let me wlusper & bit of advice. " Madam, you are giving that child wholMt^lie food — cruel parenti You are not squeeiiog or distorting its Urilbs — unnatural mother ! It may one day want the meal y0u are Kow so barbarously assuaging its hunger with. Don't you see that the innocent, if so treated, has not the remotest chance — ^barring a miracle of good luck — of being stunted in its growth, of never attuning nuinly dignity or wonunly beauty. Stint it, and It may peradventure be stunted. Give it ^n : they say that excellent
ON THE SISADTANTAGE8 07 HOT BBINfi A SWASF, ^0
tMireragB oramps an inftint's growth. Never tnmd its mbanings, its pukingB, will its pinings. It may die — then it does so in a glorious cause : but it may live — dwarfed — a wonder-iMung mon- Bter. Be wise then — be the Prospero to rear a Caliban. Heed not its cries or conrulsiona. Some future daj will well repay them — jea, some glorious epoch; seen afaroffdown the dim vista of time, when, deck^ with kingly gifts, the centre of a nrcle of war- riors and statesmen, monarchs shall delight in, and nations ring iRfh the ^y-bome fame of your dwarfish offspring !"
A word in serious, sad earnest. Fathers and mothers of Eng- land, yon have read the paragraph I have just penned with hcnror. Has it never struck you that by rushing in crowds, as yon have done, to see — and to pay for the show — a miserable object, a stunted infant, you have been in fact ofiering a premium to cupidity to unite with nature when she shows herself unkind, in order to produce again a something which shall be a world's won- der and an owner's profit? There have been many "infant phenomena" on the stage and in the booth. The public has patronised ^ese disgraceful, these — one would think, to a pure and natural mind — disgusting ezhilntions. "Who shall say how many poor infantine limbs have been clogged, how many poor infantine frames have been dosed and drugged to produce like moDStrosiUes. If people will pay largely for the ught of what is unnatural, rest assuredthat the unnatnral, so far as man can make it, will be manufactured for the market. Demand begets supply. If the public want dwarfs, every means will be employed to pro- duce dwar&.
Ladies, who have visited, who have kissed a dwarf, do yon know what you have been about ? Do you know that partial or faulty development is nothing but disease ? You would not be amateurs in pathology. You woidd not flock admiringly round fuagut htematodes, or expatiate in raptures on the wondej^ merits of a case of rickctts. Cancer and crooked limbs are horrible, and you shrink from them. Dwarfishness, ladies, is not less disease, that there is nothing absolutely repuldve in its features. There must be some lack of natural power, of natural health when the body does not become developed. This want might be shown in a thousand hideous ways, in a thousand diseases. Sometimes it manifests itself in dwattishnesa~>the disease of littleness. Such cases will occur. And let me here add, that I do not in the least charge the eihibitors of these instances, now or lately before the
puUi^ with having MtaipteA or baling »id«d upModuMB^ Afl «&et&1)j tke exbiUtioK of wUA tb^ Buda moncj. Aii th«iK aaaacaa Hky ioduea otiien to be ku ■uvpuloaoi Lit a sti^ Ito pot to th« antire Bjatttn. Let pullk «piuoa eoafeis its error ; aai in ftilun, whiw k dwarf k bora, iM ita pataaM tend wilfa bo6e»t Ute tb« utthai^f being tttsc srriTug, a »eoitrai 4»e»twe, iato the wvrld. Let its tHsfcfftme nad their Aatoess Iw Tailed from the norid. Let reUremteat be tbei lot of the baiag vhom nature' hae prev«itod fren auagliiig Sndj witb ka f«lIoiP< craatuna. Lat ths brand be coiered. ^ atigKa hid. I^t the see««e7 «f private dwdlivg or puUic aAjlom e«wr^ it. Let ui haie HO uafortasAteH — the Yietima at ence ai MUare'a B>7«tBiiHH ditiptnaiiirn — aad tke woHd'a inadeet aad heedleaa cunoeit^.
A.B.B.
THE 0BI615AL GOOD WOMATT.
All tba worU knows that the title of the Orij^iiul Good Woman ia aoggeitive of a ceitiUM ugn-board, exhibiting a delineation of the female fiarm augelie, mvuit that itoij of the corponal edifice which corneHponds te the attic of a dwelling-house. The pictorial archetjpa of female ezoelleuce is a ladj widuut a hea& Now the heuL is considered to be the kaowledge-boz ; th«i csabeA of undcrstaafng and wiadom ; wherefore it is invested^ netqdwd- eallj as well as physoally, with a yre-wnineiiiee OTer tlui mere ttuol^ which eootajas leu valuable pn^ierty. The emblem, tluata- fbro, of the Original Good Woman repreients hec as defcaeat ia the national and koowiog &adtiesk Its linmer, anctwdiiiglj, ae^na t4 have meant either to insinuate that a woman ought not to ha.t9 mental powers, or to assert that she has them not ; that shs «ught not, as a good woman, to have them, or that the has. then not as a woman, and therefore an irrational ctGAture ; cenaa- <jueatl7 thai yon, fair reader, are either good-for-nothiug or stupid ; both of which epthets we agree with you in retordng en hin^elf^ The wretch — the aavage—the bruie I Bhie-Beard, who deea. ptaied his iaipuitiTe wives, was a geptleiaan to the £Blkiv wh» executed the Original Oeod Woumh.
Kow the tru& ia, that if there was aDjthltig &t which thii
THE ORIOQTAI. Qt>C» VtmiX. 331
c^brftted ]ady was distingaieted, it was for &6 potsesMMi of tfaow vetj ([odtitiea wbwh (Ihh petoml SMter itae dmied ber. As a good wonan, dte was a good hoaeeirifeh As a good bsise- wi&, riw wsB skiUed in cookery. There is re«aan n roaetmg a» egg. Moeh. more is the mtiooftl fseuhj involrod ia trammg a fowl, in euring a rooDd of beef, m diesBing- a shoulder of naatton And enian saaee,- and especially' in jogging a hare ; operatitns '■^cb eTerifr good woman is renowned for pesformiDg- to adimfatimi. What can, be more thougfat&l than the. ]o6kixg vp at linen, th« damii^ of hose, && sewmg on. of bettons ? things whiek a wotaim «f attj pretensions to goodness is dwag almost eontktaaUy. Thought Deoesiotates a bead[Hece. Your good woraon, then, has « head, Mr. Smith : so has janrs, Mr. Jones. Bat we seed not remind job of that. Yon know what ewea the best of wemeB staod jon per annom in caps Kid bonnets.
No : — the man was a poor philosopher as weB se pvnste*, who said tJiat the mtna wa& the men's akme. All wetnea have, at least, a sort of int^actoal fticahi«9 ; just as the3r have a pecnbar style of limbs. The Original Good Woman was not an aee^uk* loos nevatec. In c^ositiaa to &b danb tliat rcfceaejots her a» such, wa will tet np a sket^ of her in pem-on^ink. . Net ontf can we a£nn that her tiiMildeni were really and truly snrmountod with a head ; bit we might alsos if we ebese, state what the colanr of her hair was. But we forbeu'. We have ita desire to excite » malrj between sweet anbtmi, raren black, jaseo, chesnut, gi^den, or e^en rufous : for we will not suppose •Ten Aat tint to be out of the <(uee(JOB. Not wishing to ad]»£- eate, Faris-fikfl, on an apple of Record, we will give ao iniiicalioa «f the ^oitienlar indiridii^ who is the tact's living repreae>tatiT<ek !For, that there exists hec exact counterpart at this presrat moaent, though who she is aerther hero nor Aere, will readilj ha admitted b^ numj bachdars, and, we would fain hapg, by some
We must be alltwed to dw^ a li£de longer «a tlus head. It waa one, which, if there b any truUi in ecauiology, would have turned that of Dr. Gall with adiniratioB. All tb«t we know about it is, that it was » very luui^w»e one. But if bumpa we cc^ patible wi& beonly, and cOBfigoratioit is indicative of cbaraeteri it must have been quite mountainous in the. nobler and mwa WKHdile ragioDB, — whilst is die more questioiiaUe districts it jateeented a quiet leid. We eonoeire,'— always suppoHog tha
332 X0E ORiaiSAL good womak.
oorreetneM of Gall's doctrine, — ^that the top of the forehead must have been lUwHually full, and the proportioiu of the upper port of the occiput comparatiTely moderate. For the fonner locality is. Buppoeed to be connected with the reflective intellect.; and. the Utter witli a sentiment termed the " Lore of Approbation." Nov tlte Ori^nol Good Woman, though not given to much speakingr was remarkable for always speaking to the purpose, and never betrajiug any inconsistency or inconsecutiveness in conversation. In reply to the question. Why ? or Wherefore ? she was ac- customed either to give a reason, or to confess that she had none to give. Her conduct, moreover, was singularly rationalj and .not dictated by whim, caprice, or the blind impulse of the moment. On the other hand, albeit she was not, by any means, insensible to praise or admiration ; yet the desire of attracting it was not always uppermost in her mind, and did not consUtuto her chief and main conaideratjon.
In brief, reasonablonees and freedom from vanity were the distinctive features of her character : for the rest she was endowed with the good' qualities which are peculiarly feminine. Be it observed that her understanding was of a practical nature ; she was no metaphysician or mathemaliciaa : she gave her mind to the study i^ her part in life, and consequently she ' acted it well ; and engrossed, in its performance, with the bu^ess of the scene, she was notalway curtseying and smirking at the spectators.
Her expenditure on dress, whilst she was single, was propor- tionate to the means of her family ; when she became a wife, to those of her husband. She was never known to be discontented or unhappy for the want of some piece of finery which she could not afford. Her attire was regulated by her own taste, without further reference to fashion than was necessary to avoid being eonspictiouB. Wlien, at one lime, she was getting rather plump, instead of pinching her waist, she reduced her diet ; and one of tiie few persons that she ever treated with contempt was a'modish acquaintance who reconunended her to " lace a little." Another was a relation who counselled her to wear ear-rings. Her infancy was remarkable for an eariy abandonment of her doll, and. for the moderation of her. delight in new frocks. All her instructors were proud of their pupil ; but the least loud in her commendation was her dancing-master.'
. She.was much more sdiciteus about her heidth.thaniher com- pleiien : and for the soke of exercise would walk bravely forth in
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THB ORIGINAL GOOD WOUUf. ' 333
sU weathers, dietsed teiAer with reference' to tlie d&j and the eeaeon, than with respect to the eyes of belioldeni. Thiu she spoiled verj few bonnets and other apparel, by being caught in showerg, and sucb like accidents. Hence too, perhaps, it was that she enjoyed such an immunity from illness ; for the Original Good Woman was nucommouly fortunate in this particular. She was never known to faiut or be troubled with hysterics ; and was wonderfully free from all sinkings, swimmings, dartings, shootings, drawings, spasms, and all-over-i^ness. Uerailments, when she hod any, were plain, downright, uneqwTocal maladies ; as ferers, in> flunmations, ' qiunsies, colds in the head — strange to say, they were all such as .are recognised by the medical facul^. Other- wise a most elegant creature, she was never elegantly indis* posed ; nor did sbe ever encourage herself in tbe persuasion that she was unwell, still less, affect to be so. And on no occasion did she ever declare that she was dying except once, when it was almost the last word she ever spoke.
Her conversation was distinguished by a freedom from needless inteijections ; from appeals to her (roMAie» / trndher graciout ! and from declarations that she never ! It seldom related to clothes, unless she was about to purchase them ; it never tended to the prejudice of her acquaintuices, nor turned on their petty doings and affairs. They might add to their wardrobes without her noticing the circumstance; they might display. bad taste in so doing witbout exciting any other comment on her part but a smile. She was more interested in the discourse than in the costume of her fnends ; and when she came away from church, she better remembered what was said than what was worn there.
The parents of the Original Good Woman were anxious that she should marry nothing under a title. She disappointed them, though her hnsband possessed the highest, that of a wise and honest man ; and he ultimately became a great one, even in the world's eye. Circumstances compeUed him to take a part In public affairs. Through the successful advocacy of right, he became famous in his day. A peerage was within his grasp ; bat its acceptance would have compromised his principles. Wavering, as the best will for a moment waver, he asked counsel of his wife, as to wbat course, in tiiis conjuncture, he should pursue. She ex- bi»^ed him to resist the temptation ; to trample the bribe under foot ; and told him that she f^t prouder of him for his moral pou-
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SU m iiiiiinni aooo mata.-
tfoK Aan ihB Aaaii be «nra fce m eaqunr. " fbe t&kig," eud
H» MWMt, koweTtr, to «naw<» mu » Bb«ggl«. Id dn she iid nat whiaiLiJij, bnt eanfortol fam ; afas v» ft wife, bat set
lueij ; ^s wu centeot iridi Us ■oiimg «t a csmfBitabk mdxiit- «ace aid pravnua for UianMbce ud familf . ^e «w mart to Msnlt Arith bin m tbcir eeams Afiiurs,ftBdt« ghttuil tab xMm ibcnos n gMd put.
Ab • ■■Ibuf, ibe was cavaFd and tcadsr of bur gftftuig ; bat rin £d Mt 8p<nl M- pot tb«im ; nw m* A» pontned milk » ■stMB Ad tlm« i?Bro «• Mcb aAer cbfldna B exiflnce. Xa tbeir mamftgcment, during iu&acy, ibe wm gsidad by ber ^^ ■eiaa, md not by bar mo^hly sarm ; baii^, ia fcct, a ^nfoand vjBteiafi for 4lw u^fiags mtd te practieei t( dl |iwiap» «ail go«£eK. EteMO, oa no pretext ma she aflietad kr^ a ctsrisg far iwueeestibk ron&a, aad {■staes «f tbM datoiqtiiQ. Sbo had bar iretJoemn ; bat ^ demised tbent and atoorc to be lid ^ &taa. But &r atmog eaasB, tbe Origin^ Gaod W«wui aietrer wpt.
la jvatb abe wsa beaatiAl ; and bar daatwa, a« sbe »draaeed in age, were not dcetniyed, bat tady obsngnl. She wwa her ««■ bur after it bad beeome grey, and was at sa pains to tidt«r ap ber foce. Tbna ^a grev oU wi&oat giwmig ridieahos ; aM when she coidd no koger be buMboaae, iIm wai 'naeraUe.
Of ber person, in ha best da^, we viB iay no more tban ^diat it waa a conuteipart of. the Venus de Ue£«s, as to bH bat tbe '' stone's head, whose inHgnSeant prc^iR^DB are an approadt to ber £Jse ideal. Bat no t»m of that motHtroiu aad injurious eoa- eeption. We trnat wo haie eaid eaw^h to prore that not even Lady Jane Gr^ hersdf waa more nnjnBtly bebeaded than Ae Original Good Woman.
Pekcital Isioh.
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THE WIT8S OP GREAT HEN.
BTfAlILBEU.
That deligbtful ciilict Ul*4eQar, tonriit, {i^ as « tcMrat McniB to me t* hsT« only one faah. BaBelj, iimi he ■wetiawt fhn ftt Wws uhuaed of Ub feefinga) Midml-Aiigdtt Tit—iili. bw deaH witli " Uen'« Wtm " in dte BUB— «nd, u all th» «wU nottreMfleot, inliiaowBiiKwtctoeeUediuUoiL* WckHvlweB ■onewfaKt ianndmted, too^ in our Bmall paHiMr, l^fewniM books bwii^ OB " Tho Wma of Eo^ud," wiA JUta td 'rirtaoa dmra iq) ia batth array, and aelf-aaaertian B«et«% incidoated wUla meekneas and domea^c peace are preachod. y/ha Ink not knrd of the Wins ^ Wdniber^ <« noM twcka (atoat wobmb Aey Xinat hava beas I) tha ohaipioM of ikal hnva 4»ty aawd life,
Hub, aod liberty ? ^ iiar ^ naeny ones at Winisar bo.
I am not gwag to taXk about Sbak^earoa ff alo cfaanctaffi derelGpad or aadcTF^aped ; taapuagbaAtboariearf^owaaboat QaMM Laar and Deadamona'a mo^er, aa too pration nd leSned for tbe aje we an living m 1 Sacred abali be tbe swiden nana of lflatrei»Page,anlallIkMwabmitb0rwoouigaiidiraddi4g; — imlaai tbe SJuikap«ar$ Sod^ make it worth my while to nokk.
I haro but to do iritb tiie Wma of Great Men : with thooMcnn — tbe oppressed — tbe mi^uided — the nnpitied— the iU-mkou of; tbedogatotbibeelBofGaDius.tbebardeaBaromidbianetici whom Ibe world of writers has agread to discouutaaaMO aad pratait agamak In Franoa, I obseiTe, tbe Poet ajid the Artist is, by oommon oe&- Bent, recammended to bo a Prieat also, — tfaat is, to cmbmoa the TOW of oeliba^, and (not to be icuidaloiia} to uanpeosate himself for tbe same by tbe exercise of peutoral afections. And tbas, tiie£neatuitollig;noes(f tbe earth, penmttedtoroveaadtocbaTiga, may escape tbe worst cooaeqneaces of satiety,— ^re meroifiilly rescued &oai being degraded by the Uezentian imioa of Life with Death — of that which is dirine wiUi that wbiob is mortal Tb^y are not to be expoBad to the drop of wator which wears away the stone (-—-to the miwaaried praetiaiags on their nema ot tbe stupid and those who cannot undeTstaod them ! We bavo bardly
we wiUheri^a^ "afasR
330 THE WmS OF QBIAT UtK.
nnired at this ptnnt of philftnthropio enlightenmffiat. Our Greftt Men are not absolved from the neceasitj of taking wires, on Tom Sheridan's famoua principle. Far from it, thej are supported in BO doing ij ererj privilege which indulgence atad respect can bring toge^er. So wondrous, in this point, do we esteem the amount of their self-sacrifice, that our admimtion thereof forms no inconsiderable it«ni in the amount of our hero-worship.
In brief, since the whole world has agreed to blow the trumpet in the train of the Great Men of the earth, — why may not I, an old family man (" under the slipper " — who knows ?) beat my (hum) drum before the weak, undervalued squadron of their wives ? 'Tie a perilous piece of musieal audacity, I am aware, which brings the pltkyer under the broadett broad-aide of ridicule. But the peace and quietness of the deficient, and the threadbare, and the shabby, are not worth much— so I may as well risk mine, in relief of my conscience.
Why statesmen, scientific teachers, and lions of all sorts and sizes, take unto themselves wives, has been frequently owned, Talleyraad's " JetiurepoM! " is thehigh tragic eipression of what
P also meant, when, being, remonstrated with on the apparent
homeliness of his "choice," he explained, that what he had wanted was " a little woman to sit on a stool and love him all the day long." To seek for compomonship in high thoughts and generous purposes — for support in self-sacrifice and encouragement in aspiration, sounds charming — in a novel. There are, moreover, a few stock examples in History, by appealing to which many seem to think that the reproach may be escaped from— of the general indifierence of Great Men to corresponding qualities in those with whom they are to pass their Uvea. There is no such conve- nience to people desiring to make excuses, as the example of a Fhmnix I " Because I cannot find another Lady Rachel Russell, another Lucy Hutchinson, another Madame Roland, at evety street comer," says the Great Man, " I mi^it pnt up with triiat I can get," — «dding the logical sequence, "and one fool is as good aa another." Ton don't say this ? No, truly; for it is only on'the stage, or in one of dear Mrs. TroUope's novels, that people so broadly state their own purposes, and do homage to their own perfections — even unto themselves. But what is it yon do ? Look to biographies — look to criminal courts — look to the expo- rimce of real life ! -^o begin with &e " primrose -time" ofmatters, — whocanmea- rare or gange the irresistible fascination of Greatness as a lover?
'Tib all mighty fine to talk of Prldea of Villages subdued bj wit&ed red-coata,— to hang garlands on the tombs ^ ill-statred OalanthaB {oide the very old Timon who caUeth hunself New, — as if aught eonld be more antique than stale ' apite, stale irit, and stale sen- timent !) that hare been won bj die noble air of such Bevilles and Ardens, as the Miss Porters described, with pale cheeks, and lamp-like eyes, and beards past reeisting. FoUy — fallacy — and finery; all this ! In nine cases out of ten, — in ninety-nine out of a hundred—your girl will rate Distinction as higber than roses and lilies ; and lay herself at the feet of Renown, though sweet smiles and sweet words may be hers to command in the largest possible measure. Ambition is nowhere more singular in its workings than among the unsophisticated, and the half-informed : and when to this universal passion is added all that is comprehended in the ■words, "pride of sei," — the notion of being of consequence to those whom Fame and Fortune delight to honour — ^the eif ninte flattery of being selected as "the identical Sht" who is. essential to the well-being and well-doing of Greatness, — few, I insist, who take all these matters into account, will be inclined to question what I have advanced ; — that your Hero(not precisely Mr. Carlyle's, since he, sometimes, comes oddly near a brute-force gentlemain) shall outbid and outbny your Beauty, or your Man of WealtUl If, unluckily, the Great Man happens to- hare a Byron head into the bargain : if, as not unfrequently happens, his mind speaks in his face, — or is heard in the tones of his voice, — well-o^ay, for poor simple Ann, Eliza, or Mary I It is " ask and hare" with a Tengeonce!
Or there is another condition in which Great Men ccHnmit wedlock, leading to consequences gravely worthy of eiaminatitqi'. \He.aud She (as the old music-books primitively state the person- ages of an eclogue) shall be both insignificant at the time of their " billing and cooing," — shall make what is called a love-match ; with no disturbing thoughts of the future' before them, save a vague prospect of getting along some' how or other. And, argumeiiti gratid, tiie briefiess barrister shall shoot up into' a Lord Chancellor — the clerk in the hack shop blaze out as a Railway King, the spoiler of paper (most rare miracle of all), become an R.A., called to sit at the feasts (^grandees and welcomed (even as all Greatness is, moral, imaginative, or intel- lectual) by the Sovereign of our country as an honoured guest,' or a worshipful adviser. Again and again have such metamorphoses
BO, XTI. — YOL. III. z I
338 IBM wirsa w wuux itsx.
Vien seen'; tha man becoaaiag fHooiu, tha wamui reinaiiu^ obscure. Ag&iu and again shall jouhare ^tjvented—futy, but foe irhom ? Trulj^, far tb« one on the sunn; Bide of the vail ; — ior £h« stronger, the mare courted, the more gifted meinbet of the houses ))xidi while his mate, according to the deliciouE justice of the woibl's mitiistrations of sjntpathj, shall be critteised, sbunned, blaioed, — tfareateued vith the pilloiy of public censure, with the stocks of iaeluttiiaUe restraint, with traasportation to the OoTeotry of civil select ;— not for any wrong she has dimu, aot for any change
B^aientlr her ot^nal in fortune, her equal in age, her equal iqi poeition, tier snperior in erery andawment which qualifies one htUBM being to eoaoede, to condasceiul, and to sympathise witk VW^cn Poor, maltreated, fortuRe-s{)ited Greatness ! Bat whar^ ffrea in diese our d^s of philanthropy and toleration, ^lall we udJii^ tad sorrow, and bro^erly love fcr the Small ?
Vi^ii: tfae meAock is committed, and the pur start in life — (W me oa his itpward way—the other to remain on the same level of miod as tliat on which "her star" had placed her: — aay, pVBfaapsi to decline from thence, aa the spirits ^ youth fade. ttod W pleasing coasciooBnese of beauty departs, and the care ojF ''podovr, kitchen and hall," or, as I Have neardit oalled, " the SMpHUid-«>ndla fever," begins to enter the aoul. Poor Woman t EOBiember, too, t^t her wsni^ time sets in when Man is stiU in Us prime, that the fine gold of her eD^iantments is tarnished lo^ )>dB^ the splendour of his iuccess comes to it» brigbtost ! Evatj' new accident moves the ptur furth^ and futher asunder. ASa^ tioa becomes sapped by flatteries en every side : preyed upon by a spirit of inevitable ccoiqtarison. The World moves the Qreal Uan to . take consolation. The small Woman, with lost youA, lest beauty, lost daali^y : bewildered by flights for wtucb, neither nature nor education had pr^ared k^, becomes pen«rae, dodged, re^achful ; — attempts, poor blinded ereatnre ! sntall a^'aesertiens of her own, crooked little maaagemeats to gain, her seccet ends,^'MU' provocations to pro^ that " ske is not merely the tame drodge which some folks think her." Woe to hur, II she once begins sack an unequal contest ! Id. any ease hw lot is sure to be a sad oae — at best die &1II estate of an aff«e somot : in which the flerman woduui ddi^iteth, the Baglish not. Sot let ker taks an attitode of waif are ; let hor, the vealtar Tassel, show,— be it m erar so meuL a. deg^M, — tLa haa»^ ^
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Tfifi WITKS OK OKBIZ HBI. Stt
lulBiuiity, «iid J^ ihall kne tl^ irfaole vorU ag&iut her, in Aa twiakling «f U (iy« ; — most of ill tlie woiU of Wontea ! No hii of CJariwu Nid CteBenUoBa djiog to BjupAlhue *ilh t^ pi|N)lu preaclier, or tb« deep polhieiaii, or the hi jh-Msring foet, «r tlie utist who brinca tbe i^y-hoaw down! Nowantofitcftdj fcies^ to tfae Great lun ! ^ownttttmetiauinaaeas—btMa tk» il^per-wofkii^ race, (olio in lOBie lort r^raduce the to»'kisuDg« wonh^ofhiaArch-lBfaUiUJitf), to the loftier andHorelilMrdMulit nb*^ ^apieiBg " oaareatiaia, ' an madj ta be beguiled cr gtud^
■ill! II '«r ihe Qeaiiu will t No want of tuffj femaiaa, I mj^
\j aiknt «eatei^ t* aatiiiae the raiaU Wooan ; bj id^tiwn bwng» t» jtrSFs how tlw Great Mao aboirid be «|ipTcciated I BntkiuMMn ia ft BoUa thiqg, (ne of life's- noit «am£artable •wHaaantB : Iwt it JMij be «1m « verjr cniel ««. Sball tbf iTHld go M for erar. withoot o«ir fisdiag meaat to Mpacate th* cnllMkia ti HMM Imol tbe d^ndatin of Mkera ! C«iiio( gnat lad imwH. ttm^aDd weak. Has and Woaum fall into tlidr pheea ; witWd tba lMt« being tvtmcd or jnand to death 1^ «ka Wnw } ShaQ "wt net »»« daf t«it Genim by tiie aannar In wUek it Hppoite, wt eaata aiida, raiyOBwMitiea ? Or ii the MBoe aod low-thowghted «rat of " iupired idiocy" to he allow<t£ liU Ae end te eiCMe the had hnaband, bthar, and eitizeD !-• h Hiring hard widt p^ertiaBote uafaimeia on tluae wiio aarroowl fain, and wh* Meed beneath the dtahot-wheds af hia triatnpli ?
And this leada ne to the laA and darkest phase of the atuui betwixt the great and the coBunoD-plaoe : — I nean, when the iufaior being ia demoraliwd «ith«r to lerve the purpose of the O^erior tne, or bf the nBctmsaioBi infloenoe af his conipanionah^ I hafo alw^s eoiuideped aa amoog the moit really tragical dsrice^ ti ■aodera ietwa, the inodebt imagiaed (may we not saj tran- «cribedJ)byMkaMartin«aaiBoaeof hertales; of the ftwger's iniio- centwifo ooaafatted byhwhnsbaad togooutereryday to circulate * ^pen qnaeti^ of baee ocon ; and thaikful, wlien ahe felt th^ liatHe— new ef fever creeping over h«, as liuugk bar one chance of aespta and happiness na» in co^aemeat to a sick-bed ! There k naay a «auewdtt(di the tuegnt^hiet of Great Hen conceal, lees aatfreme in iis ndswy, bat newrtboloao of the same family. Hiere IB ihe wonan, ptrmieted, winch means enconrnged, ta go roond a«Bg4efiMndi) sftba Great Uao "ia^Scnlties," to raiaeauiney «Uc^ in tter «wn ^^^airiag heart, she hnaws ^tera ejuatt no neaas t£ faq^g, Ti^ is the womaA drinai,ibr thaaaka of
"2 CfKwIc
SiO THE WITEB OF QREAT HEK.
" keeping up appearances," to reckless expenditure at ibet Hioment when she feels the future to be hopelessly encumbered with difficulties. In what respect are their ponies lees than those of &9 terrified child compelled by its task-master to attitudinise on tight-rope or slack-wire, with a smile of grimace on its coun- tenance ? There, again, is the woman, compelled to support the man in some flagrant apostacy from his avowed principles ; to give out the lies he baa fabricated la excuse for some wretched recourse to expediency : — knowing die while, — albeit by InBtinet, posably, rather than by reflection, — that she is art and part in a profligate tninsactJoD. And all this, without the excitement of responsibility' (don't store at my phrase) to support her ! Tet analyse the story ^s given by the world, of the Man of Letters in extremities ; or of the Man in Office anxious to conceal possihle downfall ; or of the Man in Power bent on jostifying some marvellously sndden bar* lequinade ; and if the wife figures ia it : — how perpetually will you find a part of the misadventure traced to her influence, or want of influence. How strongly will Reproof lift its voice against her thoughtlessness — how keenly society criticise' the advocacy of one assumed, because of her recognised inferiority, to be unprincipled f Tbe one word of indulgent notice or kind construction bestowed on . the secondary figure wHl be listened for in vain ; the idea of such a non-entity having proved struggles or trials wordi counting be "ignored;" while the severe verdict is, as the mathematicians would put it, " a constant quantity ! " Think, once again, how the companion of Qreatness, without any tyranny prepense, or want of love, or withering neglect, may be stretched and struned, as it were, to the desti-uction past cure of all health, strength, and equilibrium ! It ia not hajd for tiie companion of an ambitious man, — himself balanced by that proud humility which always accom- panies the highest ambitions — to caricature hu desire to rise, seeing that no such equipoise as his exists to keep even moderate hopes and pm^oses in check ;— orfor the flimsier thinker, who fluttersin the train of the profound philosophical inquirer, to find herself stripped, bewildered, lost in a chaos from which she has no power to emerge; — or for the Poet'snifetoimaginetbat in bis outward eccen- tricities lies his poetry, and therefore to out-do the oome. From all this what rueful consequences proceed! Who bos forgotten the clever simile, comparing the most celebrated of modem authors toaburning-glaas through which the rays of the sun passed without destroying it, and his wife to the "bit of paper bcsido, wbick.
THE WIVES OF QREAT MBK. 34t
would be presentlf in a blaze i " — but who has added, with the conunoneat and cheapest of charity, that the hit of paper thus placed fould not, according to Nature's laws, help burning i
It is a safe and conTcnient manner, moreover, . of wreaking «nvj, which cannot have escaped the cognisance of any one skilled in the subject, for those who feel Greatness itself to bo beyond their detracdon, to fasten on some one of its accessories. Venna fiould not be called imperfect ; but tiien her noisy slippers! A—— is past the power of depreciation to injure ; but really Urs.
-Candour "(ff^ expect something more from A "s wife! " B
has written the book of the season : young damsels blush, and elder ones rise on tip-too to see him come. " Such a countenance! suohamaunerl such a gentleman of Nature's making !" Torun
Jown B 's book is to write yourself an asa. But, of the little
woman " like d^ected Pity" at his ude. . . " Who was saying that lie had married her out of a milliner's shop ? — and she loolu like
it." C is damaged yet worse by his domestic circumstances,
'" ffe wonid come among us, poor fellow : but that horrid woman teepa him at home. And no one can put up with her !" Let these
charming, charitable rerdicts come round to the ears of A or
B or 0 ; and who knows, but that in the friendly report
ofthesam^maylie the germ of one of those long domestic tragedies of dull mitery, the end whereof is a desperato man breaking loose from a do^ed woman : theoneforerery sympathetic soul to soothe; -the other, an obstacle in erery one's way ; indefensible, unsightly, to be jostled out of sight, broken, and forgotten I
*' Whither," says some impatient Hero-worshipper, " would you lead us, by this defence of the mean, the limited, the stupid ? " — To the strengthening of the Great Man ; to the supporting of him in " all due and becoming domestic amiabilities," (as a clerical fiiend of mine, who preached the most mellifluous of sermons and Lad not spoken a word to his wife for ten years, used to phrase it) to the encouragement of him — here all the ladies will bridle, and Jook applause, — in aless rondomchoicethanhiswont. Further, if any one fears that the Small Woman will give herself undue airs, and grow imperious open the improved scale of mercy and notice awarded to her, let me gently remind him ; — that the days of im- proving intelligence by proscription, of raising the mon^ tone by Tengeful punishment are p^t ; and that — without meaning to announce a Uillennium in which Fnulty and Polly shall reign, — still less the commencement of an Amazonian epoch when she-Bishopa
3J3 THQ L4D6H OF KBOUUHaBSR,
■Ml nii&e Ae-PoM^itM Bhalie in their wye* sod itelM, ttitl^Ae* fareigii onnuten settle bosBdary ^aMrela with Miff. J«B*Aui'a (aot Rebecca's) dangfaten — «« But atill nakt ^ob • Teaeaa* 4intiM of tbat cede of pcipalar praiM aad eciuve, lAicbgireB all tiM credit to tke ridi, ud all the Aartiiwirot t* tiw peof. Let fluNse irt» are leea ahcill tlian Xantippe, las pnetutaalmally nib' ■iuHTe than QriaeUa. bava their diaace and tbeiv adrceate ; aa wdl m tU DeaM Bwifta who break tbe hearta ol &b SteUaM hr whcKa tliejr jawraeiltM tbeir thoagiita, md the BoniaM and tlia ^rau who lave dedicated letne ^ tbe moat maiMaimeA at tbeir
!■ m; next, perubreatnre. The HtMbMwb </ Orcflt Wnun.
T^ lAUGH, OF BHASAHANTHCS.
KHUAKAirms sat on bis iron tbrone,
Boamaag owli ifcaMeriDf ^^, Tv erimaa in oaitUj tiancN iam.
In bia fiety «a>Ua to reaat.
A gbott came up to the jndf^cnt bai.
And stood for sentence there. And the judge of heD glared etendf down,
Ai a great vnptnd Bhonld glan.
"I kaow thee, feOMT," Ihs j*dDB«sc!^Bed,
" A Wipei ghest art thou ; In the brighteat isle tdd ocean girds,
Thon wert bom to speed tbe plough.
" Haet ploughed — and died T or, rA«l soul !
Hast slanghtered rich men'i game, Or triqa«ed oa thnr T^nt lawas,
Or gives thairiieka to flwae 1
. " Host left behind nnlawfnl hrate. The parish rate* ta swell 1 Speah. paiiper,.that 1 roar auAgn Thy fittmg place in bell." •
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TH2 L&CGH OF BHADAUAHTHtTS.
" Not so, my lord," the ghost replied,
" Felon nor vagrant I, And three tall sons in wedlock bom,
Might answer slander's lie ;
" But that the first at Waterloo, On twogaabed Frenchmen died — . .
Their colonre on his corjiBe were foDitd, £tandung hie weltrng ude.
" His brrihsr, hy v. Bujiaaii shot.
Fell, OK the folded atoclcade ; The joansest, with his sUnghtered troop. In Aff^baa land is hii,
"■nwfcing- ^"Wai answer for ttyseHI"
Qioth Bhadmauiithna stem, " Whcnfot* I Aa»td not Band thM hesee.
In PUi^etheB to bun }
" Where was (^ death t" — " Till xueaiy-Skn.
I wheeled a loadstone banrow; The Union gave taj last poor tneal,
And that was patrid morrow."
" Then thu dost monnw, bUv«^ «t lata ,
TieinUa, and heu thy doMU [" A sudden, calm, nim smile lit np
Tlat spectre's tate of gloom.
T»ftarJvamtlk«l»r4«/litU?
Thffii came a laagh — hut such alaofpi,
A shriek had been more gay — It was the'fiist that erer iwe
HelTs edtoes, M th^ sity.
Coald it hkw ratohed boms Umw mill,
Or soma ffm feudal tow«»— • Bnt theaa are uoi^ihla for wiaei liead^ : ' - '.
They 're no a&irs of our*.
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CROWNER-S QUEST LAW IN TTTOPIA.
Whilst the kingdom of Utopia was in its infancy, dariDg the transition state of its constitution to the point of absolute perfec- tion, its inhabitants were subject to certain legiBlatire h&rdahips. In particular, poverty was treated as a crime, even ib cases where it arose from inability to get a living. The destitute, whether imptovideat or merely unfortunate, were shut up in workhouses,— where they were placed, indiscriminately, under the same rule of disoipUne ; all being alike systematically made nncomfortable. They were put to the dirtiest drudgery ; they were coarsely and scantily fed ; .their, heads were cropped and shorn ; And they were forced to wear a garb of ignominy. Han and wife were separated ; no recreation was allowed ; nor. was any kind of solfice permitted to these unfortunates. To fortify philosophy by a pinch of snnff, or to stifle hunger with a morsel of tobacco, was a high crime and misdemeanour.
The management of each of these penitentiaries Air the poor was conducted, by a local board of goremors, called Guardians, who were controlled and superintended by certain bashaws termed Commissioners, whose head-quarters lay in a largo houst or palace situated in the Utopian metropolis. The chief office of these bashaws was to dictate the arrangements for the inoonventence of workhouse prisoners ; and they were pud handsmidy for taking this trouble.
Now, the UtOTiiana, who were always a good-natured kind of people, did not fail, from the first institution of this system, to enuaint tondly agunst it as inconsistent with justice and humanity. They being, howerer, indisposed to riot and sedition, and their ([ovemment never conceding anything to popular opinion, except imder the fear of an absolute insurrection, their ezdamations and outcries against the law relative to the poor were tbr a long time unavailing. At length, however, the overthrow of this barbarous ' eode was effected in consequence of the event following : —
A wretched woman, with an infant at the breast, driven by disbwB, Bonght and obtained admission into one of the work- houses. She ms here placed upon the neual dietary, the skilly
crowser's qcest lat in utopla. 343
ud water of aSiction, and atrajed by tlie iaquiaitora for the mp- pression of iodigence in the nrntent'to of parochial charitj. She waa also, for the correction 'of her penury, handed over to the kind attentions of their familiars, the natron and beadle. By their tender mercies she was soon taught to know what it was to be des- titute and friendless. This discipline, however, wholesome as it may have been, proved also to be bo unpalatable, the rather as she had aeen better days, that she found it altogether intolerable. ' She accordingly determined to withdraw herself from under it, and to seek aid and succour elsewhere in the wide world of Utopia.
It had been enacted by the bashaws or commisBioners above- mentioned, in order to compel all persons guilty of poverty to submit themselves to the workhouse course of penance, that the extreme of misery should be allowed to press upon them, so long as they remained without the walls of the institution. Cold, as well as hanger, being well calculated to promote this end, they bad ordained that not a rag of clothing should be afforded to any one who should have the audacity to leave it. The mother, therefore, and child left the workhouse as they had entered it ; the former in tatters, the latt«r naked, having been, previously to its removal, stripped of eveiy shred of its eleemosynary long-clothes. And so parent and offspring went forth into the frost and snow.' '
Onward tottered the poor woman with her burden, vainly im- ploring relief from all she met. At each step she became more faint and footsore ; mCre and more deeply the fangs of winter bit into her shivering flesh, whilst her child, in its agonies, screamed louder and louder every moment.
At last she was seen to cross a ford, when suddenly, with a. gesture of frantic desperation, she dashed her child wto the middle of the stream ; and instantly fell, or plunged, after it. Assistance was procured, and both were taken out senseless. Tha infant never revived.
A coroner's inquest was held on the body. Now the Utopians hod been for some time accustonung tii em selves, to \be horror, and notwithstanding the aensure, of grave judges and judicial per- sonages, to take the law into their own hands ; so that their juries returned the most extraordinary verdicts — as singular as the cele- brated one, " Served her right."
. Evidence was given at the inquest of the mother's state of mind on leaving the workhouse, namely, that it amounted to frenzy.. Depo«u^onB were also made as to ^e treatment she reieiTed whilst
348 ftVB VlLLiee AS IT OCGST TO BK.
SD iniiMte of H. Tbt atnppmg of ihe ebfld upon its renrar^ waa^ HkewiH dulj authenticated, i^nallf, it was proved that ^ tbese ItroceediDgs, the last inelnnve, were enforeed bj the board of gorwDcm or gnardians, at the ordinanee of the metropolitan conf ntiBsioners or bashaws.
The coroner, in imnniDg up, defined the crime of imirder aa homicide wilfuUj committed by a sane indiridnal, and as charg;e- itble, in addition, on all who were instigators or aecesBories to th« fact.
The jury, after a few raomests' deliberation, aeqnitted Ae pri- soner on the ground of iuBsmtj ; and retm-ned a renlict of wiuuL itiniiHEH against the metropolitan bashaws.
In tlte next sesNon of me Utopian senate, the statute against dte poor was npoaled.
pBBCiTii Lekb.
OUa TILLAGE AS IT OUSHT TO BE.
It wotdd'be tasj to draw ont a sketdi of a TiUagv in Uttqm, Sefimnation is a jdeasant work in the world of inaj^nation ; but is soon as we touch this material world we feel the preeanee of difficulties. We mast not amuBe onreelres merely with painting jaetnres of all that we should lore to b^old ; we Btnat find out tto causes which fveTent the realisation of ovt views. If these ohstractions are founded in reason and nature, then we DHiBt resign Our Bckemee as risionarj ; hnt if we find no t^mnd^m to our Tiews Bare in the errors of men, against these we must reaolvtely ^utend. Now let us inquire what are the eaases which prermit ." Our Village as it is " Stota becimiing " Our Vill^e as it ought to be." It b erident that ihej can be foond neither in reason nor in nature. There is bo necesnty that any of our riUagers should rende in that filthy and unwholesmne " back-laoo " whwe the Hodgsons dwell, and which has always been the laboratory «£ ftirere. ^«« is no law of nature opposed to the law of reasim, ^lat ereiy family should .have a decent and wh<deeome dwdliag. Light, air, and water are cheap. Light for the mind, too, ia eheap. ThneisnoTeasonagainBttheeducstioBofeveiymiBd, — tht^ ^vimng of erei^ good, hannomous facnhr^ in Our Wli^. Our
OUB TILL4S!! AB IT OmBt TO BBJ &*7
jroBttg lftA«B mighi leach tliech^r«B of tke poor to rettd, tosew^ ^□d to eing some che«M BMlodies. Our yoiOig Bien vko lum rceeired eomeAtng l&e bd edncatioii might fa^ ^elr hre^res wli» bvre reeetred ncne. E*en ooT taiter nii^t be toi^t to ^Jf ^ OA ^(HttttV H) praper time ; utd the BhoemakflrBught, atlADtj bring hit restive danoDef to somethifig like a time. Oat tquire might EniperiBtend the heaHhfi.t ^torts c^ oar yoong men ; o^ rector m^ht find heneTident ooenpation to dispd the riz dajs' MTEui of ererj week, and, in a word. Our Village might be nade^ WTtfeout a miracle, soMethiag moro like &at " AalwrTi'* of w^th good-hearted GolilMiith snag. Wbj' not? Ew« is a qoeetkn Ibat mnBt be anawered. For eveiy faet there is a reason bodm- where. Onr Village b, wkhont a doubt, a aad dull place ; anil though aerer&l eawes ei»tribiite to make He cmifitioB w)mt it is, •m befiere there is o«e prmcqial eatue, yiitkoat wU^ the o&er& would not b« dfeetntJ. Where shall we find this eaose i We h&Te BSJd it H not in Batttre ; ihes it most be in the miRds of ^e people : ftey are not prepared tor a seeial rcArmatioa. Bit Ika^ Is too T^oe an answer: we must seek further, Tbers is one common prmrii^ of agreemevi in the mimds of sH liie lowding »eB of " Dm- Vaia^" — Ae reotoc, tlie squire, and the lawyer. It is ttie notion whit^ they fjDtertain of r«2t^Mm as a mere afbk' of tUBent to smne doctnoee and going to crhmtA. Here is the orw whid paralyses aH hepee of soeial Tt^rorewciit. All great smd good Borements i^iriDg IVobi rdigion ; but a ftite, narrew notioD M religimi is the most serioas obstiMtiwa is ^e w^ of anj heaere- lent design. Bear witaess to Ibis foot — tons c^ thomaads of young- shres in mines and manti&etories kept in the fiml glocm of th» most hopeless ignorance, beoaoee our ^«sent Tiewe ^ t«%mm (!^ wiD. not allow bs to gtre job the pririleges ef htusaB beiagfl ! It fs not our boMness here to meddle wiA rdiginn dtx^rindlj; bat a'plain view of ite practical nature is wanted. IVaetically, as tin New Testament teaches us. It consists in the derriapment <^ thfr good, the harmimious faculties of human nature. We can only judge by fruits ; where this development does not take place, the root of religion is not to he found. Now we must apply this rule- to our rector. We have no wish to interfere with liitn personally, nor to call in question any of his doctrines ; we hare only to CMI- uder him as a social agent, and to suggest to him a part of hia duty, of which he has, perhaps, never thought. A religioua teacher must be a helping, g^dmg power among the people over
348 OnR TILUGE AS IT OUOBT TO BE.
whom he ia placed. All thjngs that ftre good, beautiful, and happy in their influenoes, ehould find in him their promoter. As the florist unong flowers, so should he he as the cultiTBtor of national natures : not striviug to tie down all to one exact pattern, but help- ing aU in the derelopment of their best instincts : not merdy mling against weeds, but encouraging and helping the growth of aU. that is good and beautiful. Now this is a Tiew of religious duty which, unhappily, our rector never learned at Oxford, and, consequently, he has never taught our squire that there is any inconsiatency between the religion of a " sound churchman" and a total neglect of all rational cultivation of the people who dwell round " the Hall ;" nor has he erer hinted to onr lawyer that the gospel would require him, instead of gathering in rests from the wretched hovels in our " bach-lane," to pull down these dens of discomfort and disease, and build up dwellings suitable for humsD beings. All truths of this nature are fast asleep in " Our Vil- lage ;" and if we wait for our rector to wahen them and put them into motion, we shall never see a glimpse of " Our Village as it ought to be." .The plun fact must be spoken (without any per- sonal ill-wiU) : our rector, with his present views and habits, is an ineuhu upon t^ hopes of social or intellectual improvement.
Here we may just put in a word in reply to a charge which we have heard preferred against our modem philanthropic literature— that it would make social improvements a substitute for religion. This is not true ; but we woidd measure the depth of religion by the extent of its benevolent operation ; we would conceive of it as not merely a shut-up doctrine, but as a spirit, with life and love, nusing and refining all life and practice. We propose social improvements as instruments to be swayed by such a spirit, and, with regard to that form of religion which refuses to employ tbem, we say it may be very comfortable for an individual who is satisfied with it ; hut it Is not the reli^on required in order to realise even " Oor Village ex it ought to be."
Joseph Gostick.
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THINGS OP IMPORTANCE.
This Is a comprehensive category, and the items are as rariotu as the contents of an oid clothes shop. ETorybod; in the world has his " things of importance ;'.' but be finds it hard to peranade his neighbours that they are not trifles, about which do wise man would ever trouble himself. And yet, from the ererlastiag bostle that goes on, one might fancy that nothing was ever transacted on the surface of the earth but things of importance I
Geographers tell us that the heights of the highest mountains in the world are in proportion to their size, not more than the inequa- li^es on the rind of an orange ; and the aSairs of life keep th« mountwis in countenance : the important things that fill the whole field of vision (i>-<2ay' with their imposing bulk, dwindle down trom the colossal to the merely mortsl, when to-day becomes yesterday, and on. the morrow they become absolutely invisible to ^e atriotest investigations of history or scandal.
In the experience of every man, the important things of to-day are degraded into the trifles of to-morrow ; nearly every occurrence of life is more indebted to the momentom of falling inun the pass- ing moment than for any specific gravity of its own. If it did not make one smile it might well make onp laugh, to look back on all the things of importance that have agitated us in their time. Where are they now ? Their joy and sorrow have perished with them, they have vanished even from our memory, and are now no more to us than the scenes of a well-written novel or play ; indeed, we come to regard^em with precisely the same sort of feeling.
It is the same with our wicAies. A man jnay possibly desire no more refined vengeance on his enemy, than to grant him the wish that lay nearest his heart five years previously. So long as life remains, men will put forth fresh desires every day, as trees put forth fresh leaves every spring ; but the same destiny is laid on each, that the old in both cases must fall off and die ; men must jnoult their feelings and desires in the course of nature, and very miserable and good for nothing they feel at such seasons ; hut vitality is strong, and so long as life remains men must go on
SfiO THINGS OF ptPOBTANCE.
wialung and hoping, and transacting their "things of importance" till death comes to place fhem under other conditionB of being of which we know nothing. — Perhaps whilst it is going on, the most important thing in the eyes of all concerned, man, woman, or ^onfidarUe, is a lore affair — a real fit of desperation, be it under- Blood ; not the t^id sentiment of preference, such as weil-brought- np j'oung ladies are instructed ia all thej ought to indulge in if ikvf wish to «0BtiD»e resectable. Deradedlj there i» netfaing in life wordiy to he cvnipared to a stroi^ pania« that calls into aetmtj ejtxy ^cnltj of bodj' and soul : it is like the bmtiBg fiKth <if a T^cww, showing a& the alxvig& aad fiie that lay Itiddtn bdew tbe surface. It ie not a thing thM can last long, {Utt wtK^ woild most isfailiUj go to die deace if it did); itdiea aw^, leaving at Snt the afpeannoe at desolate han«TioeM, b«t aft^ • 1rti3e dMrai|WB^ iqr * richMM and fertili^ of Mvl that waa B«t so beAn. Bj- Avae tw; iadinduBlB die puaioB «f lore eanaea to b« r^aKled aB a men A«aai, or M a tnilUnM' ODce ^macd a dreis cap^ » ■ dniii^ Mwiai, with bewsttfid Une. "--Tbc7 reua of t^Ht termet firea vniy a »iiMlbrt«Me waratfa fit for JNMSlte pvpvsaa.
If it wen pniriMe to plaea in array aR the men awl wmmd M iiAoDt « gnmie paaim bad been landted — all tba objcets vf «■ unfortunate attachment — the anasemevt irf oretTbodj wohU be extieme, vliea Ike; bdteld the Atm of very ordisaty mortals whieh wvald a^icu- to dun- diaendtanted riew 1 !■ lora, it is aa <m|j)atie tmth, " Aat oothing it, bat all thingi Moa. " \^eii the beat of passioa haa passed awkj, the objects, when befacM in the eeol fight ot reflection, generallj seem greater boras than tte average ran of ^e bobs and daBght«:H of Adaot. Few whe hare been die object ef passioBs:te Ion ever fum iato sterling fn«>da. The thmgB we most eagedj gra^ at, are like the pebUea in a spai^Hng brook ; so long as the 8ii> ibises on t^en, and tiiey glitter with mnstme, thej look to be rery preciooa tlnngs: hat in a Utde while th^ become dry and dim ; eoe fiuds ^em good tor nettling bat to make roads withal to trawd under oar feet
iTejT day. BUstory i
t notinBg hat a tnnsean for the fcsiH renaias erf tilings that were of importanee in Aeir ^y a»d gmuittwa; hot 'we OBB teldom leaSee the traaqv^ asavraaca it gi*tw, tiwt tfae mast importaat «f tmportuit things wiB petrify iato wttaie of (Mt, ody iMereetuig aa they in their tm are typea of aknilar giWb or iBtorasta ^»A wffl teoeh Aoae wfae cone after a ta the ^ «f
time: for no eoMtioK of either joj- or aotrow Is a print* pfqiertj; there ia b» moDOpoly in nature ; we are all one family, thongli, to be sure, ve occa»onallj meet with those whou we do net feel aay pride ia claiming for relations. Hence it is that men are libelloUBlj said, " to hate their own likenesa in & brother's face"- — hut it ia ao such thing ; it is not the likeness thej object to but the very little justice that is done to It. Who is there who does not from his soul protest against a caiieatore, or even a photographic portrait ! — Nurses tell tittle childrea Uiat " heaut; is but skin- deep ;" and we may rest assured that the importance of the mo^ imp(»iant pet^a in the wnld is of even greater tenuity — a very little goes- a great way, and a square inch of th« realky may be beaten out to an oiteiU eicaedoig diat of gold-leaf. Tha pe<^ and things of the taoBt Augustan ages are net gold, — only gilded with in^ortanee ; the st^le material of which they are made up ia <he same in all timea, Pe^le have such a mania for {»acjiag damselvea and dieir ooooenu taeaoduu to the genertd rule, whereas ever; man is an average specwiui back, of ihe uu£>iilaal amouotofiealiinpertBiicelnTest^uiUMsensofmea. Tohesura, the inheritaBce of each ia infinitesimal — bat what of tiutt ^ £ach man has '^e gift to see himaelf with microscopic eyea which tu^itj a tbousandfoLd. This is a viae pronsion of natura ; for nobody would have the heart to traaiact his own afiairs If he only saw them aa they ^paar to other people. No woader, tlnn, our aSucs are miiiiitanag«d when we i/ara them or«e to Bomebedy ebe to do forue!
" When we take our w^k abroad," and see all the labour thfit ia done under the sun, what is the impression that it makes 1900 us ? We wander that peo^e can be found to take ist^reat in mch thinga, and we criticiae uomercifidly the smallest discrepancy bn- tween the pragramme and the performance of our neighbours.
When one reflects on the unount of labour and pains that have haen expended on what have eventually peoved bilures, it alaufit makes one tremble. A very tragical histery might be written on tmMCceuJvi mm, if the world eould be made to feel aay iatcrsst in these who &ii ; aad yvt it le^ures an amount <^ aetoal tal^t «v^ to achiove a fsilura.
How many people are there who troi^tle their heads about the iw( o/jMfsnl( diat are regularly daclaied 3 Not eneinathousaad. And yet if w« oould reafiae dw amount of patiesee and labaWt «nd time aad mAney. and hope and ftar, aad MkoMa of haait,
.Coo'jic
SOS 1HIK08 OP IMPOBTANOB.
that hare had lo be endured before a single item in tliat lirt isodd he produced, one would be apt to wonder that the madhouBeB are not as wide as Topbet ; and yet Dine-tenths of all this costly laboor has been tn vain, and comes under the compendious categorj of ■" inventiona that did not answer."
Bnt still these things are hidden from our eyes ; for if there wera no man to undertake, in hope, labour that appears profitless in the ejes of others, the world would soon come to a dead stand-still.
King; Solomon was wearied for want of some business of bis own to transact. He was a bystander in the game of life, for he had soon played himself ont; and that accounts for the terrible sagacity with which he discerns the worthlessness of all that is done under the sun. Sucb a keen conviction of the intrinsic usclessness of all things is not healthy : it is a wisdom not intended for us.
We look out of our wind6w at the people passing along the streets, and sit idly in judgment on their personal appearance and general aspect, wiUiout in the least realising that they are, each and all, ' cherished and respectable totalities to their individual selves — that there is a personality in their very defects infinitely touching to the owners thereof. If the law of self preservation were not im~ planted in the heart of each, it is to be feared very fen of us would stand much chance of salvation if we got into danger.
Every man feels as if he were the sole person in the universe; the rest of the inhabitants have only a real existence in his eyes ao far as they help or hinder him in his own path ; and he has merely an bistoricd belief in thepersonalityof themen and women who do not come near him : himself and his own sensations are the only points he realitei.
Take the moat insignifieant traveller who ever aet foot on the deck of a steamer, and aethimdownin the heart of all the Rusaias ; iriil ho feel of less importance in bis own eyes amongst the hundreds and thousands of strange beings who are gabbling their uncouth dialects, and leading their lives as best they maj, than he did when in hie own parlour, his feet cased in their worsted-work slippers, his coffee-pot steaming up its fragrance, his mufBu over- flowing with butter, and hia well -trained wife down stairs to the moment to preside over the breakfast, and anxiously inquiviog what be would like for dinner ? Ko : , never a bit of it. He is always •ibe same man, and the impression people and things make upon him is the only idea he has of their intrinsic importance. If he write a book about what he has seen, he will appear therein as the
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centre, whilst the rest of the world passes like a panorama before him.
A man's sentiment for himself never foils. - One sometimes wonders that the world does not get out of patience with the foil; and stupidity daily transacted upon it ; and so, no doubt, it would (for the world is not altogether peopled by fools), but every man is patient and long-Buffering towards bis own share of folly. The virtue of mankind in that respect is certainly exemplary.
Krerybody is, however, of importance for at least one period of their lives ; and that is whilst they are Babies. It makes one half sorry that people should grow up into hardened men and women.
The man who was hanged the other day was once " the finest baby that ever was bom ;" and it would be possible to trace back his career, step by step, and as the weight of every day, " that brought its own evil with it," was cleared away, we should come at last to the human nature that lay beneath the human heart that - called our own brother.
The most insignificant people — peo|de for whom their neigh- bours feel profound contempt — have a soothing beUef in a special providence, retained expressly to attend to their peculiar egotisms ; it Is lucky this source of comfort cannot fail, for if it were given to a man to see how very little his best friend identifies himself with his interests, he would never have the heart to live out half his days — it would be an unadulterated truth too much " above proof" for mortal senses to bear.
Nature is very good to all her children, for as half thehardships of the world are imaginary, she fences men round with an armour of hopes and delusions to keep them from being hurt, or, at least, to soften the pain. It behoves, then, every man to deal gently by the harmless vanities of his neighbour, seeing that be also is encompassed about with the same. There is nothing, so far as we can pereeive, amongst the afiairs of men, of sufficient importance to be of any intrinsic moment to the well-being of the universe ; nothing that will materially influence its course. Let the world lay that to heart and grow modest ! On the other hand, nothing can he considered a trijle that brings either joy or sorrow to the meanest individual ; therefore, it would be weil if each one of us, instead of thinking great things of ourselves, would be more tolerant and kindly-affectioned to each other. We are all more
NO. XVI. — VOL. III. A A _
nearly equal tlum we may b« inclined to think. If we were to do BH the apoBtle recommended dghteen hundred years ago, the wo^ would not be the least hit nearer the pit of destroction than it is noKi that the people in it u« each heroes in their own esteem ; naj, it it possible that things might work more smoothly, and thkt th»e would occur fewer of " Uioee cataracts and breaks " which, as it is, sometimea threaten to throw die " Umes out of joint." 6. £. J.
"UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE."
Our fretted palace-roof ; Well-spent, say I, in forestry,
Were all Bummer days like this ; Till wood-lamps shine and owl-watchiaen cry
Through oar green metropolis 1 Like thoBe that made in Arden shade,
Their happy court, of old. Let Bs " fl^t our time " as in the piime
Of the innocent age of gold : Each made wild mayor in turn as 'twere.
O'er " the forest burghers " here ; That will obey our gentle sway,
Prom love and not from fear. For we will not take, for our pleasure's sake.
The life of bird or beast ; On herb and fmit, and wholesome root.
In guiltless state we '11 feast. All wearing crowns, that bring no frowns, —
Leaf-woven diadems ; And the jewels earth nnmined gives forth, —
Her fragrant surface-gems, 0 wood and stream ! how fair a dream —
How vain a dream is thin ! We owe our life to Ihougblful strife.
With woe and wickedness : Man must not spare to spell with care,
And work out God's intent, — And know ! Thou wilt be chaiged with guilt,
Who art but innocent.
W.A.
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BALTIMORE SMITH.
A BKEICH paOU IHZ FLEET.
*' The fact is," said No. 5, folding hia dingj-looking dressing gown over his kneei, Bsd raeeating himself in the eone-boUomed elbow chair, oppo^te the attorney, — " the fact is, that without letting you into mj earlr histiMT', I cannot so well accounb for my being here. I shall however be as brief as possible, and as jou say you hare no other partUt to meet this evening it will while away the time 'till nine o'clock," and Mr. Baltimore Bmitb, known in the ptuiance of the prison iunctionaries as No. 5, from the situation c^ the Kpartment he occupied, unburdened himHlf as follows : —
" I first saw daylight in a small uid dirty court in Little Barlow Street, where my fadier rented a cellar, and my modier took in washing and lodgers. — I have no recollection of the stats (mental or physical) which we distinguish as childhood. As soon as I could speak, I ran on errands to the chandler's shop, and finding discotmt exacted of my miserable little body for every mistake of quantity or qaality in the ha'p'orths and pennywortm for which I was sent, I fonnd my mind charged with as much care and cunning at five years old, as a woridly man brought up under different circumstances is consciona of at fifty. If arrested by a game at chuck-farthing, or led to feast on the fresh pea-shells swept from the greengrocer's stall into the street — while I watched the one, cr munched the other, I was busied in concocting some plausible story to account for or excuse my delay. 1 was always, in fact, what my father (who followed tiie profession of a costermonger) called a long-headed fellow ; and soon discovered the necessity of assisting him in his efforts to keep that and the rest of my person covered — a work of some difficulty, owing to the increase of members, and competition in his trade. Accwdingly, when my arms found sufficient strength to lift a measure of onions or a bunch of greens, I ran along by the side of my father's hand-truck, and between the pauses of his stentorian announcement of ' lilly white tumipt ! echoed the . Aa2
Llg.i^lbyGoO'^lc
356 BALTIKOBE SMITH,
cry in dio shrillest tones of my little wliistle voice. All would not do howerer. I was shoeless, hatleas, and an old body-coat ia which I was equipped, — the alirts of which descended to my heels, and prevented the secessity for every other garment, and in which I trod the earth looking like an overgrown crow in a pantomime — was moulting piecemeal, and threatened very Hbortly to make a full disclosure of my circumstances. In this dilemma ' the child ' evinced itself the ' father of the man, ' and my wits being sharpened by short commons and a north-oast wind, (it tras midwinter and the sale of vegetables very alow.) I resorted to the expedient of going to a school which an eccentric old lady had started b opposition to the clergyman of the parish, on condition that the children should wear an uniform, and he called tiie brown-coat-boys. Her plans had been so combatt«d, that even the limited number of coats she had provided were not all filled ; and hanng washed my face for the occasion, and borrowed a suit of a neighbour's son, that no suspicions might be awakened as to my real object in desiring to be enrolled, I presented myself to her, unsupported by parents or friei^, boldly relying on my native ingenuity for prevailing on her gene* rous nature. I had not miscalculated my powers of address, and, penetrated by my desire to pluck the tree of knowledge, (in the hope of its leading to its antediluvian result,] the good old woman forthwith placed my name ou her list of protigit, and I found myself master of a muffin-cap, corduroy trousers, a brown-coat, with a paucity of skirt, and two shirts with an amplitude of collar ; besides warm stockings, and a substantial pair of high- lows. What a fit-out for a boy who, as I before said, had never known the comfort of a whole suit 1 But in this transaction I had reckoned without mine host, and having attended school during the slack season in my father's tine, I bolted as soon as business grew better, hoping, by giving a confirmed character to my upper garment — which now vacillated between a Prussian jacket and a coatee, in fact, by cutting off the suspicion of a skirt — the bud- ding tail attached to it, to deceive the familiar eye of beadles and policemen ; but, alas .' though I kept out of the way for some time, taking up my residence at an old chum's in Somers- town, and meeting my father half-way from home, I was at last laid hold of by that extremity of my outward habiliment, where the amputation had taken place, and compelled to accompany No> 6 C division ' unwillingly to school. ' But once more my powers of
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A BKSTCB FBOH THE FLEET. 3S7
Invention Itefriended me with Urs. U&17 Baxter Brown, and I drew BO pathetic a description of the hard usage that bad obliged me to abandon school to take up again mj' ancestral borroir, that the poor old lady pardoned, with moist eyes, mj ahduotion of the brown coat and cord bracce ; which, partlj from sympathy, partly because their state of filth and mutilation rendered them useless to any future pupil, I was, to my great bodily delight, allowed to retain. The chagrin of the schoolmaster and policeman wer« per- fect— the one meditating personal reprisals for the wholesome example of his scholars, the other anticipating nothing less than that a charge of robbery would be preferred against me. My patroness, however, who appeared to think it something very terrible, desired me to consider myself dismissed the school with ignominy, which was about as good as telling one to consider himself horse-whipped who doesn't even feel the lasb. I was about to boast that 1 bad previously dismissed myself ; but not feeling the remainder of my coat and other vestments secured till I was out of hearing of die precious junto, I made off, leaving the brown-coats and their col- leagues tion-sitiled. After this I feit the necessity of being cau- tious,— for the police never forgive you if you are fortunate enough to disappoint them ; and having icamed sufficient at school to teach me that a long head is just as useful as a long arm for all the purposes of acquisition, and much safer, I resolved not to lose anything that I had learned ; for this purpose, I daily sub- tracted a few pence from the proceeds of the vegetables I was entrusted to sell, and kept up my writing and arithmetic. I know not whether this system materially interfered with my father's profit : but his stock degenerated each week, till at last his cus- tomers deserted him. About this time, too, my mother, who fM" a long period had lived on little else but 'cream chF the valley, 'died of imhihition ; leaving us, in what Walker pronounces a familiar phrase for being in difficulty — hterally, the suds. In these troubles we resorted to a mode of raising subsidies, now, not only popular but prevalent amongst the lower classes — we raffled away, piece- nieal, whatever remained of any perceivable value, from the old Dutch clock that through my moUier's time (when not enjoying a recess at the pawnbroker's) hod ticked on as ceaseless as the good woman's tongue, and to about as much purpose^ striking every hour but the right one, to the lop-eared rabbits my father so prided himself on, and bad bred and fed with a view to prizes. The method is, to procure as many members at a Bhilluig o'
sn
sixpence each, u vill coTer tlie smonnt at vhioh jaa TtAas die article in qneBtion. In this lait instance eighteen members sub- scribed sixpence eaeh (tbe winner to pay s shilling), tmd all being assembled in my father's cellar, the throwing began — on old black- ing-bottle serving the purpose of a dice-box. In Uiis way he obtained nine ehiUiogs for his last rabbit, a very different price from what a dealer would have given him ; but as it proved bat dry amusement to tbe losers, it became imperative on him to quench their thirst, so that ia the end the ooosumption of beer caused so twioiia an aberration (^ the sixpokoes, that a headache horn the over-night's repletion, and an empty hutch, was all that Temained in evidence of the raffle. Having by these means qnita cleared out our imderground abode, it became necessary to diveat it of ourselves also ; and a little affair of back-rent making it inconvenient for my father to iaforin the landlord of his intentio&i we dipped away to free quarters ia Qoodman's-fieids, which an acquaintance of my father's, about to moke s(Hne involuntary researches in Australia, had just vacated.
" I shall pass over the many shifts to which we were reduced to support, existence — our life in Borlow-street hod been magni- ficent compared with that which followed ; for, as I remember hearing a lad inform a magistrate who asked him how he got his living, — ' we chanced it,' and a very unsatisfactory speculodon it proved. Whenever a fortunate errand made me tnaater of a few pence, I tamed fruit merchant ; and stocking a basket with a few oranges or apples, disguised the poverty of my venture by crying, ' Now, who'll buy the lajit twopenny worth' of whatever it might contain — a rute that rarely f^ed in finding me a purchaser amongst those believers in bargains who put their ftuth in fag- ends and remnauta. I soon found that cushsows never think they can have too much for their money ; and that in proportion to the T^idor's distress, they calculate their choncei of }Hv£t ; and tlie hint was not lost upon me. Hy oranges grew more after they hod left St. Botolph's-lone than they had ever done in FM-tngal or St. Michael's ; and the most indifferent- looking fruit, once it had entered my premises, by the simple process ol pricking the tind, and immersing it in warm water, came forth in the most pro- mising condition, large, juicy, and thin skinned, patting to shame the proportions of those offered by other itinerants at the same price. I may remark, en pattant, that it was not prudent to appear frequently on the some beat. SomeUmes in the spring
A SEKTCR PaOM THE FLEET. 3S9
mornings we trudged as many as ten or fifteen miles to fill our buketi with early primroaeB from tbe aheltered woods and lanes in Essex, and vended them in the darksome alleys of Shoreditch and Spitalfietda, a penny a root, to poor wearing girls with faces pallid aa the flowers ; at otners, we hired ourselves to Messrs. Abraham and Son, and perambnlated the streets — rolumes of humanity bound in boards ; at others, took part in a procession of hand-bills, or masqueraded for an ' old-established ironmongery warehouse,' as tea-canisters and coffee-pots. At length I was fortmiate enough to gain the notice of an old gentleman, whose horse I oocaBionally held when visiting his factory in our neigh- bourhood ; and Uiough, Qod knows, little description was neces- sary to illustrate my condition at this time, I did not prove unjust to my talent of oolonnng when the old man's inquiries gave me Ihe opportunity of exhibiting it. My recital ended in my being instidled to an hmnble post in the factor's house, from which I rose to fill no legitimate situation, but to monopolise the duties of h^-a-doien — valet, clerk, butler ; in a word, factotum of fhe establishment, and made myself so useful to the old man that nothing was done in which I had not a voice ; but, instead of find- ing myself loaded with benefits, in return, for voluntarily loading myself with the business of others — would you believe it — the old hunks, at his death, though without child or connexion, cut me off irith mourning and a fifty pound note, leaving the balk of his property to hospitals, and a few hundreds to his housekeeper. I must lay, his ingratitude greatly shocked me, though I had hap- pily taken care of myself ; and being possessed (as I need not tell you) of a radier agreeable person, I readily conceived a plan to make the housekeeper's legacy mine also. She was old enough to be my grandmother, it is true, and the victim of a heart disease which the doctor who attended my master informed me would take her off upon the least excitement ; but Qua proved no disconragement to my design ; and having always been courteous to her, (knowing she possessed some interest with the old gentleman,) my attention to her now did not rabe any disagreeable suspicions of my motives ; in fact, she proved as winable as a girl of fifteen, and we were married. She had not, however, acted aa disinterestedly as I fancied she would have done, in consideration of the sacrifice I made, but had settled more than half of a very pretty little pro- perty on herself, with even the right of willing it as she pleased ; so that I felt an unpleasant check upon my conduct to her, A
duun, tliough it be made of g)Ai, ia gaHing when it fetters os ; sod the many opportunitiea of domestic excitement which I had proposed to mjsdf, seemed, however natura!, uosafe under these Gircumstsnces ; so I became a pattern of conjugalism, and the. result was that my revered wife, in the ardour of gratitude, made a will in my fovour, and within a week afterwards de- mised of palpitation, produced by running down Greenwich- hill in a fit of fair-time enthuBiasm. ' Peace to her ashes 1' I contracted for an economical hearse, and a spot in Spa- fields; for, poor thing, she had alnays held with principles of Bavingness through life, and I had respect to her prejudices afterwards. Meantime, my ambitioo. grew with my fortune, and, X began turning over how I might best increase it with the- least fear of loss, and most profit to myself. I had not sufBcient capital to go into a large way of business ; with peddUng I had become disgusted ; and my inTtate knowledge of human nature made me mistrustful of the prudence of partnership. Besides, I had other notions. I had grown out of the recollection of all the Little Barlow-street people, and my improved dress, and address, had made so radical an alteration in me, that 1 might hare bought oranges of my old compeers in Goodman 's-fields, without any fear of recognition. How easy, theu, to cast the- sloagh of my humble origin, and come forth as distinct a being as the bright-winged insect from the filthy grub ! To he brief, I n» sooner planned than I executed ; threw myself with my personal effects into a cab ; drove to a west-end tailor's ; equipped a dress- ing case at Hendrie's ; took a quiet lodging in Salisbury-street, and had a name-plate engraved * Baltimore Smith, Esq.,' though hitherto I had known myself and been known simply as Hooky Snooks. In changing my cognomen, or in any other part of my proceedings, I had not thought it worth while to make the old man a party concerned : indeed, I had not seen him for some months ; for in consequence of hard times, and a severe accident, he had become a member of the ' house ;' and, as early associations are the pleasantest to old people, and almost all his Esrlow-court' acquaintances (with the exception of certain patriots) who, like the- renowned Barrington, ' hod left their country for their country'^ good, ' were there also, I did not disturb him.
" I did not yet, however, clearly see my way to the sort of specu- lation X desired. I looked about, but none of the advertised humbugs of the day, that promised with a ' small outlay and.
A SKETCH FKOU THE FLEET, 301
Jiroper attention ' to reaUse a fortane in a eliort time, were to mj mind, I preferred obtainiog, as a much easier and eipedi^ous method, the' fortnnea, or eVen a moietj of them, that other men had made ; and, becomiog acquainted with two or three aimiUrly situated and congenial apirita with mjBelf, we aoon after con- certed a scheme that seemed admirably adapted to work out our viewB. We started a ' Loan Society.' You stare, aa if there was nothing verj ingenious In this deyice ; and in truth these concema have become as common in low neighbourhoods, of late, as gin-
Ealacea, pawnbrokers, or the public-houses where thej are ordinarily eld. But then, sir, it is in the working of them that the art con- asta. Our prMpectna (though my own production) was, I must confess, one of die most perfect things I have trrer mat wik in the shape of pofiery ; the philanthroi^ of our intentions was beautiful I A company of Howards could not have eipaliated more feelingly on the necessity of reHcning the stmggUng tradesman from impending ruin, or have drawn a m<n« delightful picture of the benefit we meditated to the needy widow or the distressed artban, by the advance of small sums to be returned by nnfelt instalments. But pending the adrertisement of this address, I and my colle^ues, whose united capital did not in reality amount to mere than 400/., (we hadmadeit appear twice that sum in figures) were busily on the look-out for suitable parties to furnish the means of commencing our scheme ;— sanguine young ^ente. and avaricious old ones, posses^g a little ready money, and an inordinate desire to increase it ; men who looked at no other consideration than the amount of profit, and felt no scruples of the good faith or fair dealings of a concern that promised to return 30 per cent, interest. These we were not long in finding, and began business by discounting bills at the above premium. Ten per cent, we were to share half-yearly, and, deducting 5 for necessary expenses, a bonus of 15 would remain ; but this, in our anticipative wisdom, it waa determined should only be divided every four years.
" Here, then, waa our money-making machine fairly in action, and we minted aomethbg considerable, I can tell you ; for beudes bill-disconnting, we had more applications for loans than we had the means of answering, charging at the rate of 10 per cent, for sums under 10^., and aa much more as we pleased for la^^r ones — the ' Albert and Victoria Equitable I/oan Society,' a fine name sir, oud a take-in one as it proved. We had soon no end of applications &om gentlemen's servants, persons holding inferior
SIB BALTIKOKB IIQTH,
gOTemment utuatifme, or appoimtments in the UrwBt oonrta of law, anxioaB to inTast their eaviogi in bo InorfttiTe and fioiuiah- ing a coDcera ; and with a laudable deBire to benefit our tpeeiea we admitted them. In the meanwhile, I had managed to havw mjself appointed manager, while mf three confidant* figured, one as treaaurer, the others as tnutees ; so that we had the whole affikir in our own hands, beaidea being handsomely pud for hidd- ing office. Po8iti»ely, when I think of the nnbnsiDesB-like con- duct of these men — thor facile gullibility and blind confidence, 1 take Kone credit to mjself for having assisted in teaching them a great moral lesson, which, in spite of their natural obtDseneiia, the emptiness of their pockets will for some lame remind them ofL So wdl-conducted and profitable an eatablishment, managed by such honest and respcctabte men, caused quite a plethory ckC trustingness amongst them, and these sapient riutreholders made nothing of agreeing to rules which they had ne*er read, and aigning accounts which they had never seen — reljring on the authority of the auditor as a sufScient guarantee for their oMreetoew. Ueanwhile we, the manager, treasurer, and trustees, wiUidrew our original investments, Bhariog the poetical portion of thera with great exactitude, and taking owe to put fresh stock in tlie book ; which, 1 need hardly say, never found its way to the bank. This ruie, however, was perfectly successful : it encouraged the old speculators, and decoyed new : while from oar imaginary captal we continued to draw solid dividends, adding each time to our traditional stock. In this way things flooiishcd for nearly three years ; when , aa if to show that even the ' Equitable Society ' was not exempt from the mutations that cliaractcrise all hnman undertakings, one or other of the shareholders, roused by some horrid newspaper report or other alarmist, began to make some pertinent, or rather impertinent inqniries as to the amount of stock in the bank — the sum paid in from borrowers every week; — hinting, that though he had seen the monthly report he had not paid parttcutar attention to it. Of course he was furnished with a satisfactory account ; but the man hod, it seemed, suddenly cut his vrisdom-teeth, for he absolutely made the discovery that the weekly receipts did not cwreapond with the omoout i^ capital. How I wished that I was possessed of the eye- pressure power the heroes of modern novels exhibit, for then I would have 'annihilated him with a look.' As it was, I had nothing for it but to put on the my blandest expresHon,
A SKETCH FIWH TBS FLBBT. SQ8
and expliua awaj hb little nusooDO^tioiiB. ' He liad been nnforUuiBte in tuoking bin eiamiofttioii at a very dull time — if he vuted till the next numtfa, a number i^ bills were .due, and he would £nd the money eotne in again ; ' and la for a time hie qualms were quieted. When, however, a few months bad el^aed, the mistroet of the man's character broke out again, and what was worse, he inoculated the rest with his BospiciouB. In ran the advent of the promised bonus pre- sented itself (perspectivel;) ; the HhareholderB grew clamorous for tangible poBBessioQ, and intiated on withdrawing their monc^ — a scheme quite at variance with our rules, under a certain length of notice, and peculiarly awkwu^ at any time, as half the stock extant on the Society's books had no <rther existence than a figurative one. In this dilemma it was h<^les« to fisBHse ; th^«- f^, during tiie month tiiat elapsed between the form of giving notice, and its fruition in the shape of returned shares, we, tiie maDager, treasurer, and b-ust^es, declared the ' Equitable Loan Society ' to be defunct ; and, divesting ourselves *rf all official BCCOuntaUeness ooonected therewith, retired into the quietude of private life, oonsiderably enriched by the spoliation of these nn- oonscionable speculators, whose rapaelty had hitherto prevented them from discovering that throughout the affair they had been participating in illegal lucre, and tiiat the percentage charged hy tiie ' Eqoitable Society ' was considerably over that which is r»< eognised by the Act of Parliament. Finding no legal redress left to them, they had tiie modesty to propose a compromiBe ; an in- vitation that of course I and my colleagues decUued on ptvtcipls, as involving the compromise of ourselves both in cash and charac- ter, neither of which we could afford. After this, I tried various projects, but with littio suecesi. Those horrid ' Equitahles ! ' every- where they had spread the name of Baltimore Smith; and, because I happened to have managed the concern for Ibem, tiirew the whole responmbility upon my shoulders, and in every public-house they entered, and throughout their clubs, morbidly attributed its fiuluro to me. For some time, therefore, I remained in unprofit- able seclusion, vainly racking my ingenuity for a scheme ol com- fortable maintenance at the smallest possible outiay of personal trouble and eipense. At length I conceived the notion of an agency office, and had even prepared a number of the most eligible advertisements to be fairly copied on showy cards, and relieved by a erimson show-board, when the fellow with whom I was in treaty
361 BALTIUORE BUITH, A SKETCH FROM TH£ FLEET.
for a front window insolently demanded if I was the man who hat( Ifitclj managed the Equitnhle Loan Society ? becanee, if BO — but I did not wait to hear the remainder of his ill-bred jargon, but iiicontineatlj broke ofF my nogotiatiou, determined to have nothing* more to do with him. Foiled in my (by no means unprecedented) device of supporting myself on three-and-sizpennj and fire-shilling subsidies extracted from cooks, clerks, ladies' maids, companions, governesses, &c., I remembered with gratitude a means that had not before struck, me, and to which I immediately applied. Pre-^ vious to the closing of the ' Equitable ' I had, by an oversight conseqaent to the confiision of the establishment at the time, put paid to divers of the bills standing in the Society's books, at the same time transcribing them into one of my own, without this little memorandum attached ; and in my present eiigenciea (for I had got thjough a great part of my property in building and other speculations which I could no longer go on with) I determined to test the efficacy of this fortuitous arrangement. So, copying out two or three of the accounts, I dropped in upon the debtors, and where ten pounds were due I desired them to pay me eight ; where eight, six, and so on, giving them a receipt in full, beadeB relieving them from the espense of fines, i;e., consequent on not hav- ing kept their instalments regularly paid. In this way I contrived to live for some time ; but the ' Equitables ' having got hold of it, drove me from this resonrce also, and hurried, I have no doubt, the crisis of my disastera. With the power of drawing realities from idealism, had departed the means of paying workmen, or of purchasing materials for finishing the houses I had in hand ; be- sides being heavily in arrears with the architect, who, having found out how matters stood with me, seized upon the buildings die very day I had succeeded in mortgaging them, with the intention >of taking a passage by the Great Weetem, and trying my fortune in the Neir World. Instead ofwhich,"addedMr. Baltimore Smith, with a dolorous sinking-down of voice, and lengthy expresuon of counten- ance, " I find myself an inmate of this objectionable place, — n German professor of the cornopean for my chum, and but small hopes of speedily obtaining my certificate-— time, opportunity, and health, all wasting — for to a man of my active habits, this seden- tary life is dreadful ; and though, to be sure, I have the option of taking exercise in the yard, there is no knowing who one might meet there ; and to be recognised hereafter as aFleet prisoner— faugh!'' And the gentleman's disgust shivered every fold of his well-worn
TE THBSE TOTCSB. 36JI
dresdng-gown. " I cannot recoucUe it to m; prejudices. What is it to me, KT, that the nephew of mj Lord Littlegood is mj neighbour on the one hand, and an honourable lord himseu on the other. That irill not soften, in the estimation of honest in«n, the ill repute— the felonious sound — the name of prison carries with it I But I beg pardon," he continued, insert- ing a few slender sticks into the dirtiest of grates, beneath the foulest of tin coffee-pots, " you will share mj simple beverage ; I find the lightest diet the best adapted to mj inactive habits." And, on ' hospitable cares intent,' Ur. Baltimore Smith set forth two odd cups, and a pink packet, marked ' soluble cocoa, ' from a comer cupboard, and was about to ring for two rolls from the kitchen, when all tmexpectediy to him, the sentence, * All out I All out I ' sounded through the gloomy length of the coffee gallery ; and the attorney, who had offered not a single comment on the history he had heard, laid his hand (as in duty bound) on that of his client, and departed.
C. W.
V THREE VOYCES.
T; glasse was at my lippe,
ClesT spjrit sparkliuge was ; I was abont to sippe,
When a voyce came from y* glasse — " And wonld'st then have a rosie nose I A blotched &ce and vacant eye 1 A shaky frame that feebly goes ! A form and feature alls awiy 1 A body lack'd with rheumy paine ) A burnt op stomach, fever'd braine ! A maddie mind that cannot thinke ! Then drinke— drinke— drinke ! " Thus spoke y" voyce and iledde,
Nor any more did say ; But I IboQght on what it saide, '
And threw y' glasse awaye. T' pipe was in my mouthe,
Y' first clonde o'er me broke ; 1 was to blow another.
When a voyce came from y' smoke I
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Coow, thii nniBt be» fao&s« ; —
Tbeo 1 'U inaSe if I nuv not smoke ; But a vovce came from y * boxe, And tfius these voyoe* •poke : — " And w»tild'«t tboa have a twimmie hedde, A imokie breoih and bkcken'd toothe t And wonld'at thoa have thy freshneaa &de,
And wrinkle up thy leafe of youtbe I Wonld'st thou h>Te toy vo^ce to lose its tone. Thy hesTeoly note, a bagpipe's drone 1
If than wantd'st th; heklth'e chwineb choke, Then smoke — imoke— smoke ! The pipe* of thy tweet mnsick itaSa, Then sDoffa — mnffe — HmfTe ] " Thai ^Kike, and fledde they both.
Glaaae, pipe, boie. in a daye. To loae tiiem waa 1 lostb, Yet I threw them olie atraye. O, wonid we be alle health, alle lightnesse, Alle youth, alle eweetnesse, freshnesse, brightnesse Seeing thmngh eTerything, With mindea like y* crystal springe ! 0, would we be just right enough ! Not drinke — not smoke — not snufie ; Then would our forward coniM
To y* right be u natuiall As it 19 withontea force, For Btoues downwarde to falle.
THE RELIGION OF INDUSTEY.
Thbkb is a religion in industry that if more recognised would sanctify and ennoble the working daaa. Mid exalt labour, as attractive, honourable, and sacred. An old proae poet writes truly : " God ia well pleased with honest works ; he suffers the labouring man who ploughs the eaiih to call hia life most noble : if he is good and true he offers continual sacrifice to Qod, and is not 30 lustrous in his dress as in his heart."
To labour is to pray. Industry is cultus, culture, worship. Works material as well as spiritual ore acceptable to the common Father and Mother— God and Natare. The legislation of God
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THE MOMKOI OF Iin>(IBTRY. 367
tmd the kws of Natwe ue one. Bj them are the indvstrioiu benefited. Bj them mre the idle condemned. The laws of Nature ever reward obedienoe to God'g tegislation, ^ver poni^ disobedience to the Divine Lavgifer. Do aotbing and thoa shalt rpt. Lie s^ and the rultureB shall hover orer thee aB over a corpse. But, up and be doing ! and thy shadow shall groir long. That road which thou treadest shall remember thy full stature. That silvern-leaved larch may darken thy shadowy shape for a while ; but while that stayest thou sLalt go on. Each step that thou takest into the purple evening fiom that golden noon shall make thy shadow grow more vast iiBtil black nigbt comes.
Prayer is not confined to words. The tme liturgy is daily effort. That rubric of every-day virtuoos endeavours is the brightest page of thy miwal. Prme and trsia that buddy vine aright upon the sunning wall, aad- thou acteat a prayer for grapes in purple clusters. Thy wine-vats fnll and richly flavoured, and thy goblets for thee and for thy friends, bubbling up bright red beads to the brim, shall be God's answer to tliy rightly prayed prayer. Go also into that garden and dig. Every spadefull that thou diggest shall thus pray : —
" Oh, Divine Seedsman I Grant by this effort that the seed which may he here may flourish ; that it may swell and pulp ; that it may sprout and grow ; that its plumula may rise upward, and its radicle tend downward ; that its leaves may open to day- light ; that it may bnd and blossom, and that it may seed again, and supply all thy children, with bread, oh. Common Parent ! ''
Such is the true and beautiful prayerfiilness of industry. They who can receive this can understand the grand affirmation of those old monks who established agricultiu'c throughout Europe — Laborare eit orare. " To labour is to pray."
While musing on the religion of industry, I saw a vision as in the sky. There seemed first one reading a Bible, and one came to him begging, yet he raised not his eyes from the book to give to him that begged. And I heard a roiee eiclaim, " The letter killeth, but the spirit maketh alive." — " Faith without works is dead." And a dull leaden cloud passed over. There appeared again in the sky like one in a market-place giving to a beggar, while many looked on. And I heard a voice e;tclaim, " Thou thief, thou art giving that which is not thine, but which thou hast stolen from that beggar. Justice before charity ! " And a light vaporous cloud flitted past. And once more I saw in the sky a company as of one family, brothers and sisters, working together
in a garden without hedge or pale, and eating togetiier of tb» fruits of the garden. And there was no beggar, nor thief, nor selfiah one. And I heard a voice eiclaitaiag, " This is the Pamdlae of works ; these are my beloved in whom I am well pleased." And the sun arose and shone in splendour over all theeartb.
QooDwm Bakhbbt.
UABIANA RESTOBED.
AoiiHST the marble balnstrade,
The peacock dipped his pornle train ; The foDDtoin o'er its haain mads
A gentle shower of cooling rain ; Through pleasant bowers, with jasmine staiied,
Bine spaces oped, to glance and wink ;
And here and there, with meny chink. The blithe grasshopper thrilled the sward. Each day the chambers of the hall,
With light and frequent step she trod ; The portraits on the puielled wsll
Seemed greeting her with friendly nod ; To lick her hand, as she pass'd bj.
The greyhounds left their snnnj nook,
And not a thing she touched but took A beauty from her company. The window, where at eve she leaned.
The broad sun as he snnk to rest ; The turrets of a busy town —
The tall tops of a forest nigh —
And a bounding river met her eye. When from her window she lock'd down. Yet sometimes she wonld live, in sleep,
The whole life of her sorrows o'er — Would see the poplar's shadow creep
Athwart the grange's moonlit floor ; And natch the mom, with sickening light,
Weigh'd with her long day's store of grief ;
And wake — to find that day too brief For the notation of delight I
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THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.
Fkiend BcjiRiTT, — Whether it was one of your Manchester ^ends, or whether, indeed, it wtis notbiDg leaB than a dove from jour own American woods that dropt one of your Olive Leaves io my cab, — 1 won't atop to consider. It 's enough that I 've read Ijie Leaf again and' again, and can't help thanking you for it. Can 't help admiring how that you, "a poor man not worth a dollar in the world," ae yon say of yourself, should be scattering thousands and thousands of these healing Leaves about America — Leave» in their meaning and intention worth all the laurels that ever grew out of dead men's graves, made ao foul and rank with dead men'a blood.
Your Leaf fell into my hands just after I 'd read Mr. Adama'a speech in Congress, where he stands upon the Bible for his right to Oregon, and would cut throats according to lus notion of Genesis ! Foolish old gentleman ! he can't have many years' mortal breath in him, and therefore it is sad to see him pufBng and puffing to blow the embers of war into a blaze — to see him, as I may say, ramniing down murderous bullets, and wadding muskets with leaves from the Bible ! But there 's a Bort of religion that would sharpen the sword itself on the stone tables of Moses.
However, this is an old trick. There 'a a good many of these pious lovers of gunpowder who, somehow or the other, will insist upon turning up the regimental uniform with pages of the Bible and Testament. To make a man particularly the care of Heaven, they think it only necessary to dress him in red clothes, put a feather in his cap, ball-cartridge in bis cartouche-bos, and a musket in his hand. And these folks — they've been doing it in
BO. IVI.— TOt. m. B B r- \
370 THE BEDaESM IXTTSBS.
Hie HouBe of CommonB only a week or tiro ago — alwajB ^ve the gioiy of eUaghter to " His Arm that giTCB ail battles ! " And BO, according to these people, the Army of M&rtjra should be an annj with forty-two pouoders and a rocket brigade. Their ChriBtianitj is Christianity humbly firing upon one knee. Their incense for thje altar ia not myrrh and frankincense, hut char- coal and Baltpetro. Our Sir Robert Harry Inglie, for instance — • who in the House of CommouB speakB for pious Oxford — ho was quitd delighted that the GoTemw-Geaeral of India had put bo much religion into the bulletin that published the slaughter of nine thousand Sikhs, as they call 'em. They were all killed — aecording to Sir Robert — not by the eold iron of the English, infantry, but by a heavenly host ; the bayonet, in truth, did not; do the work ; no, It was the fiery twords of the angels, oiid praises were to be sung to them accordiogly. And &is iB tha Christianity of the QazeUe ; though I can 't find it in the Neir
And, poor Mr, Adams makes a veiy lame CMe out of GeneBis ; aomehow or the other he reads his Bible i^wide down ; for he
declares —
" If our controversy rempectdn^ OiegaD had been with any other than a Christian natJon, / ei>uM not quote firoa tbai book; if we were in, dispnte with the Chinese about the territory it would be a different question. So it is a different qnestion between qs and the eavagea, who, (/ angbodf, have now the riiAtfnl occupation of the coontiy ; Ueatut th^ do ntK bOimt tit BOOK."
And because Mr. Adams believes " The Book " and the Red Man does not, he Mr. A. has not scrupled to countenance the wholesale robbeiy of the Bed Man's lands. Thus, either way^ it is the custom with some very devout people — Mr. Adams makes profit of his Bible ! And thus a war for Oregon would be do other than a Holy War> — a war declared upon the streDgth of sacred texts. Christians would blaze away at one another on the authority of the Scriptures ; with perhaps, to tickle Mr. Adams, " Peace on earth, and good-will to men " painted on American cannon.
And Mr. Adams, &iend Elihu, will go to his Bible to settle this matter of disputed land. Now the first dispute of the sort mentioned in " The Book" was arranged, certunly not after the fashion of 31r, Adama; for here 's the original "Oregon queatioa"
C.ooq\c
di^OKd of in Qeneus in a maiinsr quite forgotten hj tbe Adsmi of Aia«rica ; —
" And there was a strife between the herdsmen of Abrom's cattle - and the herdsmen of iLot's cattle, and the Canaanite and Perezdte dwelled then in the land.
" And Abram said onto Lot, Let there be no Ori/e, T pray ihte, between me and Aee, and between mj herdsmen and thy herclsmen,yi>r we be brethren :
" Is not the whole land before thee 1 separate thyself I praj thee from me : if thon wilt take the left band then I will go to the right ; or if thoQ depart to the right band then I will go to the left."
And ao, Elihu, Gunpowder Adams is answered out of his own
But we shall have no fighting for Oregon, Mr. Adams'a speech is like one of the wooden cannon mounted for cheapness bj the Dutch ; it looks wai'like and dangerous, hut sound it, and there 'a no true ring of metal in it — it 's only wood thickly ptunted, Be«des, your Olive Leaoet — copied as thej are in the Americaa papers, which as you Bay " enahlea you to bring the principles of peace before a million of minds every week," — your Olvoe Leaeet must go to cool the glory fever, smacking its lips for blood.
Ton 've been some time known among ns Britishers, Elihu, as the " learned blacksmith ;" but your (Hite i-eows are getting for you ft" etjll better name. It 's a fine thing, a glorious thing, no doubt, to get at the heart of a dozen langu^es and more — as they say you have done — and so be able to make, I may say, a speaking acquaintance with tlie Qreeks and the Romans, and so on ; but it 's nobler work to hare made yourself " the head of the periodical peace publications" of America, and so to preach qniet and goodness to t«Ds of thousands of men, that otherwise, like bull-dogs, might be patted on to tear one another to pieces.
It 's a tine thing to think of you, Elihu Burritt, Blacksmith. To see you, working all day — making your anvil ring again with g^coious labour (bow I shoidd like just a set of shoes for mj mare «F your own making), to see you forging anything but swords vai bayonets,— and then, when (A<ri work is over, to think of yon sitting down, with your iron pen in your hand, working away, to weld men's hearts together — to make the chain of peace, as yonr own Bed Men say, between America and England, — and to keep it bright for ever. When I think of this work of yours I 'm pretty Bb2
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THE HESGEHOO LETIXBS.
Bure t^t your tnie-lieart«d countryman Longfellow must hare li&3 ;oa in his brain, when he painted the picture of his bUckamitK
Eftch morning sees some tnak bi^n,
Each evening seea it clwe ; Something attempted, Bometliing done. Has earned a. night's repoae.
Thus at the fluning forge of lin
Oar fortaoes mnat be wrought ; Thns on its sonnding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought !
I especially like your fancy that English Plymouth should write to American Plymouth — Eochester to Rochester — Norwich to Norwich, and so on. As you prettily say, " it would be more like mothers writing to their daughters." You are right too, that " every letter thus interchanged, like a weaver's shuttle, will carry across the ocean a silken ligature to hind two kindred hearts, and through them, two kindred nations." Depend upon it, the thinking masses — for odd as it might seem to some Solomons now in their grave, and I may add, odd as it does seem to some Solomons fast going there, — the masses do begin tO' think — they are all against the cruelty, the wicked tom-foolerj of war. I 've just been reading one of their addresses ; I think the last. Fine, rousing words are in it, I can tell you ; words that strike upon the heart better than fife and beaten sheep's-skin. Just to show you that we, too, have our pacific blocksmiuis — onr iron-workers who, like Elibn Burritt, think it far better to make hoes and spades than pikes and bayonets, I copj out this little paragraph, addressed as it is to Americans :
" Working men of America, you are, or sbonld be, the pioneers of freedom ; snch was the mission bequeathed to yoa by Washington and his great brother patriots. That mission you will best fulfil by per.. fecting your inatitutions — bji abolithing the slavery of while and blait — [Ding this into the ears of your countrymen, Master Burritt] wages and the whip — by driving from your legislatures the landlonls, usurers, lawyers, soldiers, and other idlera and swindlers ; by making the veri- table people, the wealth-producers, really ' sovereign,' and thus est»-
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bliahiog a real, instead of a nominal, Repnblic. Wu will not tud, but
will prevent yon accomplishing these refonnB."
And to crown all, you '11 have to sow wheat for ub, inBtead of making gunpowder. Already you have sent maize into the stomachs of the Irish, — and this ia better, isn't it, more profitable too, than riddling them with bullets ?
And this morning I read in one of the papers a long accotint of the pleaaant dishea mode out of Indian com, and how they were mightily relished in Scotland ; a professor — whose name I forget — hsTing written and lectured on the best nay of dressing the grain. More pleasant reading this, of Btomachg comforted and bellies filled by American greia — than throats cut and bodies slashed by American steel. Such a gazette of the kitchen is better than twenty gazettes of the War-office. If we must have ft war, let it be the new war of prices* — the buying cheap and selling dear ; and so no more at present from your friend and admirer, JiraiFEB Hedgehog.
• The great pcinciple of "the movement" of Free-tnde, " tc buy in the cheapest and seU in ue dearest market," is of somewbat older oriran than Juniper Hedgehog inuigineB. Adam Clarke in a note to the proverb " it is nang^t, it is naught, euth the buyer," says " hov apt ore men to decry the goods they wish to purchase, in order that they may get them at a cheaper late," ana l«1la na of " a plessont story " St Augustine has on this subject A certain laountebonk published in the full theatre that at the next enter- it he would show to every man present what woe in his heart. The ime, and the concourse was immense. All waited, with death-hke to hear what he woold ssy to each. He stood op, and in a angle « redeemed his pledge.
ViLT vnltiB emere, et ciBO TEmsBE. " You all wish to Hur cheap and aKLL DB*a." He was applauded ; for every one felt it to l>e b deecripdon of his own keart, and was aatiafied that all others were similar. " In quo dicto levissimi «cenici tamen conseienlioa inyeneruut suos." — Dk Tbihitiib, lib. xiii. c. 3. Oper, yoL vii. col. S30,
We are not quite sure whether we are not funushing the FrolectiODistB with a text, but as we happen to have so many to spore the other way, they are exceedingly welcome to it
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7bhh Am FiKTHUS. A KoveL B7 Mm. GioBx. 3 voh. Post 8t«. London: H. Colbum. It may be thoaght by etriet utilitarians that in a nuguiiie like oars, intendea, as ^ as it is possible, to aid in tbe development of all thow principles, tbe application of which can benefit the naoy, that too Inacb of oar limited literary space is given to the notice of novels. It is, however, not without a motive, coherent with the design of the ntaga- line that this is done. Novels have many recommendations. As » medinm for conveying a knowledge of haman nature as modified by particular mannen and ci(«umitauc«B, they are of real service. And whetlier treating of remote periods, as in the historical class, or of distant manners and onstoms, in what may be termed (for want of a simpler term), the ethnologic^, or gei^raphical kind, or as a means of eonvndng a ksawle^ of the morals, sentiments, and principles of one class to another, they are eqnally valuable as mediunu of in- formation. It is as one of the last class that we deem Mis, Gore's wiit- inra of peculiar interest to our readers.
This aathoresB has, at all evanta, one quality which compensates to a certain extent for tlie want of many otheiH. She has a style. AU that she writes is clear and readable, and has dut indescribable, und^ finable power which induces the reader to proceed : arising, do donb^ from tbe disUnctnesa of her own perceptioiis, and a great readineaa 01 intellect, enabling her rapidly to fumisb the moani of expressing thraa. There is no complexity in her statements ; her descriptrons are never encumbered with tedious details ; nor confused by llie introduction of their remote relations. This, therefore, gives to her narrative lightness, and the reader proceeds unconacioaBly from idea to idea, and from image to image. Of the intellectual qaality of the matterthus offered to the mind we have no great opinion. Character in its concrete state she has no power of delineating. She paints a quality and not a character; hot herein she is but tittle infenor to many wnteis of a standard celebrity, Congreve and Pope did no more, though they might do it in a more potent manner. The portrayal of real character beloccs to much fewer authors than is supposed. After Shakespeare, Addison {in a BmaU degree), Fielding (largely), and perhaps Sir Walter Scott, we shall find but few of our celebrated dramatists and novelists who do more than pointedly portray a characteristic, either embody- ing an idea, as in " Pelham ;" or working out a monomania, as m
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Godwm'e "Mandernie." Mrs. Aasten'a admirers, and Mis Edge- ■worfh'e, will probably indigntintl j demand tor them an eioeption. Bnt, if carefally analysed, they will at the best be found to peisonify by the Telding in a logical mode a few qualities and characteristics. An in- tellectual Francatelli might realty produce a, serviceable manual that would develope the whole art of character-cooking in as methodical a manner as any cnlinaiy process. Mrs, Gore is then not to he singled ont U deficient in this power ; bnt it must be said she avails herself of the mmal formnla less loeicallj than Home of het contemporaries, less ^IfuUy according to Uie received theory of human natnre, as derived from obaerration or mental science. In "Peers and Parvenus" this is particularly perceptible. Resolving, after her bshion, to avail herself ef the prevailing notion of the time, she has thought fit to put herself <m the side of the low-bom against the high. We are sorry to see this contagious cant spreading, bKause it is always the effect of cant to destroy the principle on which it fixes. The cant of religion brought •n infidelity ; the cant of patriotism produces reaction in fevour of arbitrary rule ; and the cant of sympathy undoubtedly will prodrice lesction on the side of bmtality. Cant is a moral vims, destloying for the time of it« course all the reticulation of principles.
That WB must class Mrs. Gore's works amongst one of ila resnlls is proved by the ignorance displayed of the tnie principles that regalat« the rights of ment&l superiority. Her hero, the child of the poorest peasants, is placed in contrast with tiie child of the most powerful , aristocrats. The one is intended to embody the might of intellect, and tiie highest nobility of the heart — the other is bmtat in his tastes, and namw in hia mind. But that this contrast is made, not because the tmth of the principles is appreciated, but because it is effective, is proved by its treatment. The peasaM has no benefit from Mrs. Gore^ aigtiment,becaDBe he is taken out of his class by the asBnmed superiority of his intellect ; and there is not even any just advocacy of the aris- tocracy of mind. Jervis Clere (the peasant hero) achieves nothing that marks his superiority to the eonrentional aristocracy amongst whom he is placed ; on the contrary, he only ministers to the gratifica- tion of a more cultivated portion of those socially superior to him : he in no way vindicates his mental position by ever being placed in a |>08itian really to show the inferiority of the casual to the essential. It IB only by the poorest and most in^dent means that his pretended superiority is portrayed ; and very ignorant must the authoress be of the portrayal of genius, when she makes it consist in the publishing a learned antiquarian treatise iu a philosophical society's papers. This aloue would prove the inadequacy of the writer to the great impending question between the artificial aristocracy of custom and the real one of natural superiority.
The book has been considered in some quarters as having a demo- cratic tendency, and it is evident the authoress had some soda intention
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Tenrding it.- It it doubtful, however, whether it has not & tendency ntber the Tevene. Maiotaining the privileges of hereditary aoodtedoiU' to patiDniee the remAikable hnnun prodnctions, whether monstroiitie?: of intell^ or body ; and llius afforame the innnmerabla nuder-ciop of- amtbcrac7 an opportnnitj of awerting that " genius is always patronued- by its Boperiore when properly demonstrated."
Taken in its broadest view, it mast have, however, an nainteational detnociatic effect. And in common with all the rest of " the fashiiHi-; able novels," it bears the most concloeive, becaose involuntary, testi- mony to the ntt«r inefficiency of forma to fis essentials, and proves that. no creation of orders and aistinctions, can make virtue, or genius, or even hnmane nuumBrs hereditary. It is from these admirerv of here- ditary ariatoeracy that we should call testimony to their itmate. meanness, self-sufficiency, and intense egotism and selfishness, that, characterise those callinK themselves " lite bigber classes.!' A more. brutal, ill-mannered, and truly vulgar person than the altimate Lord. Hillingdon is made, it is impossible to conceive, and indeed than most, of the characters that are here pafaded as representatiTes of the highest; nobility. The best are imbecife in mind, the dupes of the most obvious empiricism, and the worst on a level with the most debased chnrls.. Surely these novels, if intending to befriend a depreciated aristocracy, must call forth frequently from them the trite proverb — "Save. me from my friends."
Though deficient in the best qualities of this kind of literature, therft * are delineations and observations that prove the authoress's capacity ;. Bud in Lucy Hecksworth, a woman of high conventional station, but of A fim and delicate spirit, v/e have suggestions of one of those truly feminine and noble creatures which a woman perhaps can alone give an, idea of, in the depth of its deep passion and Die uiueUsh purity of its- affection. It is but a suggestion of a character, but still it vindicates, the authoress's knowledge of her sex, and her sympathy with its pro- foundest and purest feelings. It is one genuine ton.ch of goodness like this that redeems a mass of meanness, frivolity, and imbecility, which too often characterise the modem Pandora.
Refobi of iV Educational Toub in Gekminy, and Fasts of Gbsat Britain add Ibelanii, being part of the Seventh Annual Keport ot HoKACB Mann, Esq., Secretary of (he Board of Education, Mass. U.S., 1844. With Preface and Notes by W. B. HorwsoN, Principal of the Mechanics' Inatitu&in, iJverpooL Pep. Svo. London : Simpkiu, Mar- shaU, & Co. ;
HowEVEB we may differ with the Americans on some political points, there is an eamest sympathy between the people of each country as to the progression and improvement of the grand body of the people. In. .
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B nation, tboogh divided into two ) an admirable proof of this feeling, ^ , LtioD of the most essential kind.
It is well deserving of attention from all persons interested in. pablic i^^rs, and indispensable to those engaged in edncation. Some idea of Um method in wnich the sabject is treated maj be formed bj the fol-
" In the conrae of this tonr I haTe seen numy tWngs to deplore, and many to admire ; I have Tinted conntries where there is no natioiial ByBtem of •dneatioa at aft, and countries where die minutest details of the KbooU are Mgnlated by law. I hare seen schools in which each word and process, in many leesma, wka almoat overloaded with explanation and commentuy ; and many schoolg in whieb 400 or 500 children were obliged lo commit to memory, in the Latin language, the entire book of Psalms and other parts of the Bible, — neither teachers nor children underalanding a word of the lan- guage which they were prating. I have eoen countries, m whose schools all Hirms of corporal punishment were used without stint or measure ; and I hare visited one na^on, in whoee eicellent and well-ordered schools, scarcely a blow has been struck for more than a quarter of a century. On reflectionj it seema to me that it would be moat strange, if, firom all this variety of
Stem, and of no-system, of soond instructioQ and of babbling, of the duiei- , ie of violence and of moral means, many beneficial hints, for our warning or ear imitation, coold not be derived ; and as the subject comes cleariy within fte range of my duty, ' to collect and diffuse informaUon reelecting schools,* I Tenlure to summit to the Board some of the results of my observa^as." .
Aktonio Perez inn Phiup the Second. By M. Mionet, Member «f the'
InstitDte of Prance, &c. Translated vith the approbation of the Author,
by C. Cocks, B.L., &e. ■ Post Svo. London : limigman & Co.
The French sathors leaving the rhetorical diffusMiess that so long
characterised them, havelatteiiy produced works uniting so admirably
the historical and the dramatical that they have become the models, of
modem historians. M. Thierry tells us that this style owes its origin
to Scott's Historical Romance, and that the perusal of Ivanhoe, in which
there was bo much truth of matter, but so much falsification of events,
le.d him to endeavour to impart to facts the same force that the novehst
gave to fiction,. Monsieur Mignet ia a sobererwriter of the same school:
we miss the energetic painting of Thierry or Michelet, but we have
, stjll a vivid narrative of startling events. The half-barbaric time is
well portrayed, and we feel that we are in the midst of a throng of
high-spirited barharians, and in an atmosphere of morals and manners
far removed from our own.
Don Antonio Perez had a life of extraordinaty adventure even in his extraordinaiy age, when life was held by the gravest civilians at about
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tike sini« T&Iue as a modem military hero would estimate it H« UtM in AH age of Ereat action and little reflection, that ia for the maltitade ; and on* of which it would be errcoieouB to judge hy our own staBdaid Mther as regards morals or maDDors. Politics were condacted by the Ittoat subtle intrigues ; deception bad been reduced to a science, and was saBCtioued as a proof of intellectual power. The foims and modaa of the middle ages still survived The struggle between the saperiiap and the inferior chieftain had not been decid^. Force wm often called into the aid of craft ; and the life that the execationer could not leaefa^ although it was esteemed bis due, was takra bj the aasassin. This last eptthet, so hateful to modem ears, was bj no means so in the du& ef Antonio ; and therefore the murder, as we name it jostly, that b* procured for his master on Eaeovedo was by no means the atrocioaa crime that we abonld now regard .it. His elevation to power, hie ■trufcgle with his absolnte master, his Sight and adventures, and intrigues with the Princess of Eboli, are all veiy graphically and twthfidly told, and as an illuHtration of the time, it is as instructiTe Aud interesting ai the "Chronicles of Jocelyn de Brakelwid ; " we gather from fro^mentB, or rather specimens like these tmer notions of vaa actual condition ol the period, than is possible from any merely ^litical or philosophic bistories. The one presents &cta in a trae view to the obsarraiiiia and the feelings, and tiie other an intellectaid deduction from the aeqnence of cwue and effect. One such narrstive as either of th«k will do more to dispel the infatuated nonsense of those who wmU levive the forms of the middle ages than any argumentative refutation. Such contributions to history as " Antonio Perez and Philip (he Second " are especially valuable to those who wish to form their own notions as to former tiinei and former social proceedings.
Otbr PoFtruTiftN inn na BaiCBDr ; or, ta Zoqairy into Uie Extoit md Canses of the Distreas preTsiling amoog the l^baaiiag OasMa of tho , British Islands and into tbe Meana of remedying it. By Wiluah Thmus Thokkmn. Demy 8to. London ; Longman and Co. Tbb title of this book it not fortunate, for it seems at <mee to assuM the matter in dispute, and to declare that there is over-popalatiou in the British iBlauds. The term " over-population " is, however, mnA more logically apphed in the body of the work, a very searching in- vestigation being made as t« the distribution, occupation, and ctrndUtiMt of the labouring class, not only as regards our own country, but als» as relates to the chief European kingdoms. Mr. Thornton then g^vw a rapid outline of the condition of the labourers in Ei^land sinee the Anglo-Saxon period, awarding to the Norman-feudal period the merit of best protecting and maintmning the agricnltural peasant. The
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bmiiiM of this period, the terrific ravageB ot pestilence, ood the MTage insurrections, seem all powerfullj to oontradjct this notion. That ■Hie Young England gentlemen, vo rife since the production of the Waverley novels, and so elevated with falM notions of pageantry and piety, should mate this assertion is not surprising, but we regret to see a liberal and sensible writer like Mr. Thornton foiling into a belief of tills mirage. The narratiTes of contemporary writers give us glimpses of heida of debased and ferocious churls, that show human nators in its most abhoirent form. '
The remedies for better trimming the balance regulating the de- mand and supply of labour are finally considered ; and this portion of the book contains some yaluable sn^estions, more especially that one recommending that, as an inducement to the recovery of the waste lands in Irel^d, a right in them should be given to the peasants who Mdeemed them. Irish energy only requires to be put in a ri^t direction; and it will, doubtJess, ultimately redeem the nation from its Wretched condition : and it appears tbat laboar thus stimulated and appKed would redeem land wnich the mere capitalist cannot make profitable.
Mr. Tlomton is a strong, perbaps it may be said a vehement advocate for free trade, belieriog in its power to prodaceefl'ectB possibly beyond its reai^. He also advocates the small farm and allotment ■rstems ; but tike all theorists, is more eloquent as to tbeii benefits taan snj^^estive aa to the means of their being brought into opera- tion. He is also very decisive as to many speculative pointe of political economy, but we cannot say equally convincing. The book; however, is one well worth studying, and should be thankfully re- ceived as a oaeful addition to the literature of a subject of all others most engrossing and important.
Bobcoe's Liva *hj> Fohiiiicite of Lbo ibb Tentb, Edited by his Son, Onduding the copvright portions.) With fine Fortnita. Post 8vo. London : H. G. Bdm.
Schltcbl's Lectuus on the Pqiliwopbi t» Hisioitr, tnuiaLiled &om the GenDsa, witJi a Memoir of the Author, by J. B. Kobebtson, Esq. Second Edition, revised ; fine Portnut :^ the AutfwF. PostSvo. London: H.G. Bohn.
Chi4pnbw has readied its zero point in these two volumes ; for ths matter, print, and binding are equal to that of the usual full price. It is a bold speculation on the part of the publisher, and the salejif thoU' sands can alone rBmunerate him. Still, doubtless, the thousands will be found, e^>ecia)ly as regards Leo the Tenth— a masterly work that hat already Uood the test of time. Mr. Roscoe's style was not so lurid and
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tAkiog u might be desired ; bat his diligence, his knowled^, and his •ODDdjadgment have established bim as an acknowledged b)c«raphical historian. A standard work is now within the reach of the humbleBt atadent.
With respect to Schlegel's Philosophy of Hiatorj, we cannot think the selection equally jndicioas. It was certainly written in the decline of Schlegel's powers, oad is tinged with the religions enthouasm and mysticism of a new convert. It is an effort to reconcile theolo^ and history in a manner in which the preconceived theological idea is allowed to predominate. It was impassible for a man so profoundly learned as Schlege), to write any work that wonld not contain mnca that was important, and some of the earlier chapters comprise extensire and just views of the subject, and the work is one which mnst demand the attention of the historical student.
Mr. Bohn has a series of these kind of works, and the manner in which they are issued is extremely advantageous to those whose peca- niaiT means are not commensurate with their intellectual riches. It would take us too far to examine by what process it is that improved editions of works are published at so much less than their original price ; and how it is two-guinea books come to be sold for three and sixpence. It is a question embmcing the interest of authors, publisher^ and the public, more than may at a glance appear. The rights «t authors form the foundation of the theme, and it may be worth our while some day to endeaTour to show that a mean between the first exorbitant and the last equally extravagantly low price would be better for all parties.
NiRRtTlvE of ■ Four Montlu' Reudence smongst the Natives of a Valley of the MiiRiiDEsis IsWHDS ; or, a Peep at PolyneBsn Life. By Hermah HSLVILLE. Loadoa: Murray.
Is there any one whose eye may fall on this page, weary of the con- ventionalities of ciTilised life — some toil-worn Sisyphus bowed to the earth with his never-ending task of rolling up the hill of Ufe the stone that ever threatens to fall back on himself— dispirited with the energies he has wasted on unrewarded or uncongenial pursuits — cheated with Hope until he regard her as a baffled impostor who shall cheat him no more ; whose heart beats no longer high for the future ; but whose best afiections are chilled, and loftiest aspirations thrown back on them- selves. Is there any one sick of the petty animosities, the paltiy heart- burnings and jealousies, and low-thoughted cares of what is called, in bitter mockery, society }— Oh ! " if such man there be," let him take the " wings of a dove," or what perhaps will bear safer the weight of himself and his woes— a berth in a South-setf whaler, and try the effects
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of a " Besidence in the Marquesas," and like a " Peep at PolyneBiaa life," and if he likes the peep make that life his own. ■ Here, and we call Mr. Herman Melville into court, he need not fear the single rap at the door which dieeipates his day-dreams as surely aa the kite in the air scares away the feafhered minstrelsy of the grove ; nor the poetman's knock that peradveuture hrings the letter of tho impatient dun or threatening attorney ; nor butchers' nor bakers' bills ; nor quarter-days with griping landlord and brutal brokers ; nor tax-^ gatherer ; nor income-tax collectors guagiug with greedy exactness the drops that have fallen from his brow. Here, strange to say, he will find Uo money, no bargaining, no bankers with ffverdrawu accounts or dis- honoured acceptances ; no coin, and therefore no care ; no miseiy, and therefore no crime. No com'laws, no tariff, no union -workhonse, no bone-crti«hing, no spirit-crashing, no sponging-honses, no prisons. Bai he may live as the songster wt^'d, btit dtu'd not even to hope he conld lijc
bnt not "alone." For here are Honrig even more graceful and lovely than the flowers they are perpetually weaving to adorn themselveB with chaplets and necklaces, their only ornaments, but worthy of the court of Flora herself; inviting him to repose his weary limbs beneath the shadows of groves, on couches strewn with buds and fragrant blossoms.
Here the bosom of Nature unscarified by the ploogh, offers up spontaneously her goodliest ^fts ; food the most nutritious, and fruits the most refreshing. The original curse on man's destiny, appears here not to have fallen, " the ground is not cursed for his sake f nor "in sorrow does he eat of it all the days of his life."
In this garden of Eden, from which man is not yet an exile, there are no laws, and what is mors agreeable still, no want of them ; nnlesB it be an Agrarian law, which works to every one's satisfaction. In this paradise of islands, you have only to fix the site of yoar house, and yon will not be called upon to produce your title deeds ; and you may call upon your neighbours to help you to build it, without any surveyor being called in to tax their bilis. Here you may, instead of going to your office or warehouse, loiter awa^ yoar morning beneath the loveliest and bloest of skies, on the margin of some fair lake, reflecting their hues yet more tenderly ; or ^oin tiie yonng men in their fishing-parties or more athletic sports ; or if more quietly disposed, join the old men seated on their mats in the shade, in their " talk " deprived of only one topic, yonr everlasting one, the weather ; for where the climate is one tropical June day, " melting into Joly," it leaves yon nothing ia wish for, positively nothing to grumble at.
Such ia life in the valley of the Typees ; and sorely Rasselas, if he
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hod Iiad tlie good lack to atamble oa it, would not have gone foitber !■ his search after happinesc.
There is, however, one trifling drawback — torn* ehadowe to tenpn the light of this glowing pictare— the Typees are cannibals I Tfat antbM nukes an elaborate, bat to onr notion, a vwj nnnecestaij apotagjr for this propentity of tbeira. The Polynenona have the advantage (t ' the catmib^ of civilised life, for we have long since made liie pleaaaat diaooveiy, that man-eating is not confined to the Anthropophagi of th« Sooth Seas. The latter have undoubtedly one redeeming distincticot— they only devour their enemiea slain in battle : there is nothing whidl man in a civilised state has a keener a[^til« for than his particoki friend. Oo to any race-conise, and you will find some scented Damei picking his teeth with a silver tooth-pick after devouring his Pythia^ as if he bad relished the repast. Oo to Tattersal's or Crockfard's, ana yon will find that in a single night a man has devoored his own wifa and children — having been disappointed in supping off his '""'■■"-'" friends. We know instances of highly respected conntry genUemea swallowing at a single election the whole of their posterity ; and conld quote one huge Ogre who can gorge in his migh^ roan a few millions (u"the finest peasantry" — nothing, indeed, eivuised Men are mon expert in than picking their neighbonia' bones !
Possibly, we may have poshed the parallel to the furthest ; bnt it ia I iraposnble to read this pleasant volume withont being startkd at the / oft-recnmng donbt, has civitiiation made man better, and therefore happier 1 If she has bronght much to him, she has taken mnch away j and wherever ehe has trod, diaeaae, misery and crime have trailed her footsteps. She finds man a rude bnt happy savi^, and leaves him a repulsive outcast, whose only relation to humanity consists in the vices which stain it !
We have dwelt more on the subject of Mr. Melville^ " Narrative," and the reflections it excites, than on the book itself, which is one of the i most captivating we have ever read. What will our juvenile readers say to a r«a^ Robinson Crosoe, with a real man Friday? — one Koiy- Kory, with whom we will venture to say they will be delighted in five minutes ircmi his introduction. The eariy part of the volume, narrating the anthor^ escape from the prison ship — with his strange comrade Toby, whose mysterious fate, after baffling our curiosity and specnlB' tion, is yet to be developed — for the best of all possiblereasons, uiat die author himself has not found it out 1 — is full of vivid excitement The hair-breadth escapes of the adventurous seamen, their climbing ap precipices and perpendicular rocks, thmr perilous leaps into cavemons retreats and gloomy ravines, are painted in vivid contrast to the volup- tnona ease and tranquil enjoyments of the happy valley which they eventually reach. Although with little pretension to author-craft, there is a life and truth in the descriptions, and a freshness in the style of the narrative, which is in perfect keeping with the scenea and
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KEW BOOKS,
adnstnrcs it delineates. The volume foniie a part of " Moiw'a Hone and Colonial Library," and ia worth* to follow " Sorrow's BiU* in Spain," and " HeWa Indian Jonniua." Wliat IraTeller 'woald
vnati for a higher distinction 1
Taa NtTHS op Minsk ; NurUiTe of QtB Abbew Hakrena Mieczydswrica,
Abbess of the Baaliau Nona of lliosk ; or, Hiilory of a Seren Yaara' Fer<
■DCation, suffered for the FaJdi. Fcp. Sro. Bogoe.
ToB {Hsrsecution of the Nona of Minsk has been so tmdly affirmed
and denied, and has excited so much interest, that this little volumef
which contains a translation of the authentic narratiTS of the Abbess,
will be acceptable to the public as affording the beat nieans of judging
fniBi internal evidence whether one of the most cruel persecutions or
Tileat ivpostares has been perpetrated. It is meatly printed in a cheap
fwm, and appean to be caiefullj and graphically tianalated.
LifB kND CoaBESPONDKltCE OF D«Tiii HoMC From the Papers bequeathed by his Nephew to the Rojial Society of Edinburgh ; and other original ■ources. By John Hill Buftion, Esq., Advocale. 2 vols, demy Sto. Edinburgh : W. Tut.
Thrse volumes are a valuable contribution to out literature. What- ever may be the variety of opinions relative to the value of Hnme'a philosophical worka, there can be no doubt that the shortest letter that throws a light on the working and progress of snch a mind, is a useful contribution to mental investigation. Hnme^ mind, in whatever category it may be placed by Uie historian of philoaophy, exercised directly in his life, and continues to exercise indirectly in njs imitators and followers, so powerful an influence in the reciona of thought, that it becomes a necessity to all interested in mental philosophy to avail themselves of the vast amount of illustration thus for the £rst lime affinded them. It is strange that documents so interesting in (hem- selves, and so important as additions to mental science, should have bean ao long in reaching the public. They have now, however, fallen into the care of one fully cap^le of making them available, and for the first time we may boast of possessing a bii^raphy worthy of the great Scotch philosopher. Hume's own brief but admirable autobiography may perhaps have rendered other writers less willing to enter the field against his terse and pregnant memoir ; and thus have caused what must hitherto have appeared, especially to foreignera, a disgrace- ful deficiency in our literature.
It is not only as a contribution to mental philosophy that the present volumes are interesting. The biographical narrative, developing
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^fi REW BOOKS.
■a it does, by nnmerons admirabk letleisfrotn and to Home, s gndnAl Listoiy of tbe progrera and flnctnatioD of hit mind, and his conneetiob Tlth public eveata and the most eminent men of his time, is extremely interratiiig : and " ihe sfmy ot hia life," Ukoo^ that of a acholar, hu iD it« intellectnal adrentniea & diarm aa great as that of manj l^OM foitiines have been moie variomi and violent. Home's clear, close, and pointed style of analyHition are brooght to bear as rigidly oa himself aa on any otner anhject nf investigation ; and we therefore have that Tare kind of biography which ve feel to be a tiiie reflectioD of the man. The eiperiencea thaa'eained are of the ntmoat value, and the leader most riae from the book invigorated and infoimed. The earlier portion is also uecessoiily a history of the progress of thon^t in the Ust centDiy, and Ur. Bnrton haa given a ver^ able exposition of Home's philosophy and his varions great treabsea. This may be
who vjil h^ve but very vagne notions of a. philosophy, which it has for a long time been the feahion to decry, and which consequently is, though much tallied of, bstiniperfectly-knowii/eapedally to theyoiuiger< students of the day. . .
The glimpsea of social life, both in our own and foreign conntiies daring the past century, and the graphic account of his travels, interspersed with characleristic remarks and anecdotes, bring a great portion of the work actually within the class of light reading. In its most profonnd portion it is never dull, and the perspicuity of Hume's style, as well as that of the biographer, render all parts of it the easiest and most agreeable reading, Mr. Bnrton appears also to be extremely impartial in his critical examination, and with a perfect appreciation ot the great subject of his work, never to he deluded into any unbecoming enthO' siasTH. It is a book worthy of a philosopher.
It is such kind of works we would specially recommend to onr readers. They cannot but elevate all who peruse Uiem, and thus have an immediate and powerful tendency to produce that equality of mind, which will prove the means of reaemption both mentally and physically to the hitherto neglected and injured masses of mankind. Book societies, formed so as to circulate such works amongst those nnable to purchase them singly, would be one of the readiest means of elevating the people. Our hope and reliance is in the dissemi- nation of works engendering reflection and fortifying the rational feculties.
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IJOUGLAS JERROLIVS
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THE HISTORY OP ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES. •
BT THE EDITOR.
CHAPTER XXVL
HATiNG.traTelled half ourstorjr — (courage, reader ; QuLy half !)— we have to ezplun a few matters of the past for the better appre- hensioa of the future. Let ns therefore goaaip five niiQBt«a, Let UB pause awhile in this green lane — it is scarcely half-a-mile from the Town. Hall of Liquorish, — ere mouating Pen, our familiar hippogriff, with you, sir, on the crupper, we lake a flight aod in » thou^t descend upon the mud of London. , The sweet breath of the season should open hearts, as it uncloses myriads of buds lutd blossoms. So, let us sit upon this tree-trunk — tbts elm, felled and lopped in December. Stripped, maimed, and overthrown, a few of its twigs are dotted wiUi green leaves ; spring still working within it, like hope in the conquered brave.
I« not this an escape from tbe scuffling and braying of immortal man, moved by the feelings and the gmneas of an election ? What A very decent, quiet feUow is Brown ! And Jones Ja a ciri^ peaceable creature ! And Robinson, too, a man of gentle beariDgl Yet multiply the three by one, two, three hundred. Let there he a mob of Browna, Joneses, and Robinsons, and then how often — made up of individual decency, and quietude, and gentleness — is there a raving, roaring, bulljing crowd ! The iodiridaal Adam eets aside his dignity, as a boxer strips for the fight ; and wfaedier
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gie thing to be seen !b a lord major's coooh, fireworiu, or a zkdj on A iiTer, goose^>addled in a washiiig-tub, the sons of Adam will tJirong to the sight, and fight and scream for Tantago-ground, witli a Tiolence that would dume anj colonj of monkeys, clawing and jabbering for etol^ angar-cane. Sweet, then, is it to the philo- sopher to moraliie upon the-hubboh and the jostling crowd. He pities the madneas of the nndtitnde, and respfMa die serenity of Us own Bool : the more bo, if looking from a window, his own toes ate untrodden, uid his own ceat-tails'mtoin.
And so, reader, let us breathe awhile in 'Sub green Bolitode — if, Indeed, it be a solitude. For who shall coont the little eje-like flowere peeping at us from the hedgea— looking up frx)m the sward in our face, openly as loving innocence ? A solitude ! What a world of gruMsdo we tread upon, a wra-ld so crawdtd a»d knaming with insect citizens ! If wily one tmi of the peg we would let down our pride — of all the heart-strings the bass and grumbling one — we might oompare many of these children, fathers, and grandfathers of a day with the two-legged kings of creation, the biped majesties <Df threescore years and ten. We m^t wat«h thdr little runnings to and fram tfaeir hoards ; their painfdl climb- ings to the very needle point of some tall blade of grass ; watch them and smile, eTen as the angels, at their pleasant teisnrewatdi and smile at you, Gmbbings, when you go to the Bank and add to jonr sweet salvation there, the balance: smile, aa atpoorSiqierbnB when, climbing and cUmhing, be rose to great Odd Stick, and kept it twenty years, — lo angelic computation jnat twenty throb- bings of a fevered heart, Snrelj, there is -not an iraect tiiat Tve might not couple with an acquaintance. Here, in ^s little, trim «obriety, is oar qnft"ker friend, Placena ; and here, in this bntt«rfiy, tipsy with its first-dnj 's wings, is Polly, foolish PoUy, who cannot consent to see the world, nnless she sees it in her finest clothes. And BO, looking at a piece of turf, no bigger tlutn a lurk's foot-stool, we may people it with friends and "woiid acqoaintance.
Is this solitude ? And the blacklnrd, vritb his notes of melted honey, winds and whistlee — no. BtJitade ? Tbejay, whose vtnee is a continual dissent, -grates — no. Sditude ? And the household rook swims upward in the air, and with biini«ward eaw, awakens busy ttou^ta of life, of the day'soaresandtheday'sneeesHtties, The earth has no place of solitude. Kot a rood of the wilderness : that is not thronged and eloquent Tith crowds and Ttuces, com-
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ST. GILES AKD ST, JAIIES. 387
tinnuiTg"witli the spirit of man ; «irihwed bysucfa eamnnmion fifth » kntnrfedge whofle douHe fnrit is 'cKrin^t'liope -audiitedkrat
So once more to onr Btory : once-more to eonHider the dotugg ■«£ nrcn. They are -not to be thought of with less diarity^for tiia gOBBJp m a green lane. -Nay, try it, reader, on yunr own acoonnt. Say that yon hare -a small wrong at yonr heart ; say, that in yonrboeom you noMe a-pet injoiy like a pet make. WeD, bring it here, away from the hri<i-and-mort8r world ; seethe innocent beauty spread around you ; (he snuny hoaTcns smiling protecting lore upon jou ; listen to the harmonieB' breathing about yon ; and then soy, is not this immortal injury of yonrs a wretched thing, a moral ^mgns, of no more account tiion a mildewed toadBtooIt Of cnuree. Ton ore abashed by omnipotent benevolence into charity ; arid jou forgiTe the wrong jou hare received from man, in yoHr' deep -gratitude to God.
'J^ererth^eBB, there are natares hard]y suscepiible of snefa influ- ence. There are frfkg who would take their smaltest wronga-wiSi them into Paradise, Go where they wfll, they carry with them a traveUit^^ase of injuries, Dowe not know Tromperly ? A Tery regularman, and a mast respectable shopkeeper. He taketh his sabbath walk. He looketh round upon a wide expanse. The heath ib Blnminated with flowering An-ze. He stands npon a Teritable 'field of cloth of g(dd. He is about to smile upon the natural splendour, when again fae'recoUects the bad half-sovereign taken ten days ago, and at the extremest comers of his moufh the 'smite :dieB, a death of suddcnoess. And Grizzleton ? Did he not travel for enjoyment, aad did not some past, particular 'wrong always blot out, destroy the present beauty ? He made a pil- grimage to Kiegara. He was aboot to be very much rapt, astounded by its terrible grandcar, when the spray fell npon his new hat, and he could not but groan for the cotton nmbrella, price one dollar, diat he had lost at New York. And in this way do ■we often shndow present pleasures with the thought of some sort of counterfeit money — -some sort of departed umbrella.
And wrongs, naturally enough, bring 'us back to Ebeneier -Snipeton. It was his trctde to lend money : nevertheless, bo was not a- man who snSered business to entirely absorb his pleasure. Hence, 'when he discovered that the patriot who, purely for the sake of his country, was to snatch Liquorish from yonng St. James, thought better of the rashness, refosing at the last moment to'save
aW' THE BIBTOBT (HP '
&» nation, — ^he, Ebeneser, treated himself to » co«tlf but deUeioos enjojment. And he — ^it «u dnu hepondered — he could afford it. He wM s tluiflT', saving man. He dallied not with common- temptationSi He wasted no monej upon lumrioHs hoosekeeping ; and for his wife, no nun erer spent less with the nulliner. He tool care of that. Well, as the hometj proverb goes, it is a pooE heart that never rejoices ; and therefore Ebeneser Snipeton, tem- perate, self-denying in all other expensive enjoyments, was resolved, for once in his da}^, to purchase for himself a handsome piece of revenge. Determined upon a treat, he cared not for its cost. He woold carry Capstick into Parliament, though in a chariot of solid gold. The young lord had dared to look upon Clarissa. . The creature, a part of himself ; whose youth and beauty, hdonging to him, seemed to him a hetter assurance against decay and death. He had bought her for his tawfid wife, and Holy Church had written the receipt. Nevertheless, that smooth-faced smiling lord — he, too, to whom the good old husband in the embracing phil- anthropy of a hundred per cent, had lent ready gold, to be paid back, post-obit fashion, on a father's coffin-lid — lie, the young, handsome, profligate St. James, with no more reverence for the sanctity ot marriage than has a school-boy for an orchard fence, he^t was plun — would carry off that mated bird ! This one thought parched the old man as with a fever : waking, it consumed him ; and be would start from his sleep, as though — ^such was bis worded fancy — an addw stirred in his night-cap. Therefore he would not stint himself in bis feast of vengeance. And therefore .the freeholders were bought at their own price, — and they proved bow dearly they vdued a vote, — and Capstjck, the muffin-maker, . conquered the son of a marquis. People averred that the new member owed his elevation to the fiercest malice ; but he, ous- anthrope as he was, had now and then hb holiday notions of humanity, and did not to the full believe the scandal. No : though he did not confess it to himself, it was plain that his neigh- bours— at least the more though tfid of them — believed in his powers of statesmanship ; it was their wish, their one hope that he should represent them ; and though he himself cared not a straw for the honour, it would have seemed ungracious to refuse. And so he quitted the Tab, and Bright Jem went heavily along with hirn to London. '■ I shall be quite the simple Boman in this business," said Capstiok. " I feel myself very like Cincinnatus taken from turnips. " " Without goin" to that Parliament, I only wish yoo
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SI. GILES AHD ST. JAMES, 309
WM well amoDg 'em agin," interrupted Jem, *^ And therefore," continued the eenator, "I ataH lodge humbly." And Capstick iept his word ; for he hired a three-pair floor and an attic iu Long Acre ; and having purchased a framed and glazed copy of Magna Charta to hang over the chimney-piece, he began very deeply to consider his manifold duties as Member of Parliament.
With varyidg feelings St. Giles had watched the progi'ees of the election. He had — it was his duty — shouted and bellowed for St. James. Nevertheless, the final prosperity of the muffin-man, his early benefactor, scarcely displeased him. Agiua, too, he thought that, should the young lord refuse to employ him — for he had still been baulked in his endeavour to see St. James—the new member for Liquorish would need new attendants to illustrate his dignity. And Bright Jem had, of course, revealed to Capstick all the transport's story ; for the felon hod made a clean breast of his mystpry to Jem, on their way to Kingcup, the schoolmaster. And BO, the election revel over, with a lightened heart St. Giles set out for London, Should St. James ful him, he was sure of Capstick.
if human misery demand human sympathy, the condition of Tom Blast is not to be despised. It is our trust that the reader {<A- lowed him when, oppressed by the weight of gold, he pipped and staggered from the Olive Branch, and gasped and sweated as he reached the field, wherein he solaced bis fatigue with the secret thought of future fortune bringing future reformation. It was with this strengthening impulse that he fiimg the iron box, gold- crammed, into the middle of a pond. There it lay, like one of Solomon's brazen kettles in the sea, contwning a tremendous genins — an all-potent magician, when once released to work among men. And Tom would go to London, and in a few days, when Liquorish had subsided from its patriotic intoxication to its old sobriety, he would return with some trusty fellow-labourer in the world's hard ways, and angle for the box. Unhappy, fated Blast ! He had flung his gold-fish into Doctor Gilead's pond. He bad enriched the rector's waters with uncounted guineas. Next, of course, to " the fiahpools in Hoshbon," the Doctor loved that pond, for it contained carp of astonishing size and intelligence. Often would the Doctor seek the waters, and whilst feeding their tenants — tenant B-at- will — delight himself with their docility yid dimenuons. It was pretty, now to contemplate them in the pood, and now to fancy them m the dish. The Doctor knew the value, the pleasure
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S90 THE mSIOBT OS
of ezciciBing tha imagi^atioa ; and. Uiua made his carp eqnaUj nuniatmit ta his unmortal and hia abdominal povers. Well, the pNtd was to be dragged for the election dinnox, and the net }m- comiag entangled with the bos — but the Decttn" has already rarealed the happy aecident, Tom Blast felt himself a blighted mm. It wa* alwaje his way. An j other thief would have hiddea the goods in any other pond : but somehow or the other, the clergy had always been, hia nuafortnne. It was no use to stmggle. ir'-th fale : he was doomed to bad luck. And whe^ too, he had made vp hia n^ud to ench a quiet, ccunfortable life ; when Jie had resolred upon respectability and an honest course ; he felt hia beart softened — it was too had. Ifothing was left for him but to Tctun to the thief's wide home, London. He, poor fellow ! could have subdued hia desires to live even at liqoMiah ; for tobacca aod gin were there ; but, he luiew it, in auch a place he most starve. With the loss of the box came a quickened recollecticMi of the loss of Jingp. Where could the child have wandered t Blast had learned that Tangle had been despoiled of his purse on the night of the greater robbery. Now, though the paternal heavt w»s pleased to believe that auch theft was the work of the boy, the father was nevertheleaa saddened at the child's disobedience. If it waa the boy's duty to rob, it was no less his duty to bring the stolen goods to his affectionate parent. In prosperity the human heart is less sensihleof alight. Blast, whilst the believed poBseasw of co'jntless guineas, actw^y thought of his son ; but, atnpt of hia wjalth, hia thoughts — it. was very .natural — did. turn to lus tiuaut chilli and the pursa he had stolen.
And now, reader, leave we the borough of liquorish. Its street u ailent, and save that certain of its dwellers have bought new Sunday coats and Sunday gowns — save that here and there in good man's house a new clock, with moralizing ti<^ to human Me, gives voice to silent time — save that on certain shelves new painted crockery illnstratea at once -the vanity and fragility o£ human hepea, no man would dream that a m«nbeT of Pariia^ ment had within a few hours been manafactured in that dull •liidieg^lafie.
And n«w, reader, with one drop of ink, we ar^Agun in London. Ha! We have descended in St. James's Square. The mcvnlog is very beautiful. ; and there, at the Marquis's door, smiling, in the sun, ia an old acquaintance, Peter Crossbone, apothecary ; the learned, disappointed man ; fer CroBsIxne had looked upon
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ST. 0IL2S AND ST., JAKES. 361
tbo escape of St. Jomea from Dovesoest as an especial miBfwtune, All hia professional dajB he had ye&rned for what he called distin^tiished [»aetice. We doubt whether he would, not hare thought the Tower liona, being crown prop^ty, most important patients. For some time, he had pondered on the policy of Tisiting young St. James, the wounded phceniz that had flown from his hands. His will was good ; all he wanted was a decent excuse for the iotmaion ; and at length fortune blessed him. He felt eertwn of the young lord's condescending notice, if he, the village apothecary, could show himself of service to him. The marquis s father was much persecuted by that luxurions scorpion, the gout,, that epicurean.feeder on the best fed.. Now Crossbone had, in his own opinion, a specific euro for the tor- ment ; but he much doubted whether science would bo hia best reciMnmendatioa to the yoong. heir. No : he wanted faith in such an intercessor. And thus, with his brain in a pitch-black fo^, he meditated, and saw no way. And now is he surromded by mist, and now is he in a blaze of light.. And what has broken through the gloom, and dawned a sudden day ? That luminous cmcen- tration, that world of eloquent light — for how it talks! — a woman's eye.
Suddenly Crossbone remembered a certain look of Clarissa. And that look, was instantly a light to him that made all clear. That look showed, the jealousy of the husband; the passion of the wife. 9nipoton was a tyrant, and Clarissa a Tictmi. And then compassion entered the heart of Crossbone, and did a little soften it. Yes ; it would be a humane deed to assist the pxa wife, and at the same time so delicious to delight his lordship. And then he — Crossbone knew it, — he Mms^ was so flt for the gay world. He was bom, he would. say, for the stones of London, and therefore hated the clay of the country.
Beader, as yon tamed the present leaf, Crossbone knocked at tho door, and stood with an uneasy . smile upon his face, awaiting the porter, who, with a fine, critical ear for knocko, knew it could be nobody, and treated the nobody accordmgly ; that is, made the nobody wait. In due season, Crossbone and the porter- sttfod face to face. "Is Lord St. James within ? " And Crossbone tiied to look the easy, town man. It would not do. Had he been a haystack, the porter, would, as readily hare known the country growth.
" Lordship within ? " Grunted the porter, f Don't know."
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Bat Mr. CroaeboDe knew better. It w&b his bo^fit ; he koeir Efe ; and therefore aJwaja paved its little shabby paaaages with silver : other pasaageH require gold, and only for that reaaita are not thought so shabby. True, therefore, to his principles, Mr. Crossbone sneaked a card and a dolkir into the porter's hand.
" Ralph, take this card to his lordship. Qood deal bothered, all (rf OB, just now," added the porter.
" Good deal," corroborated Ralph, the son of Gum, and look- ing up and down at the apothecary, ho went hia way. Quick was his return ; and with reHpectfn) voice he begged the gentleman to fcJlow him.
" Wo have met before, Mr. Crossbone," said St. James, and a shadow crossed his faee. " I wcU remember."
" No doubt, my lord. It was my happiness to employ my poor skill in a case of great danger. Ifeed I say, how much I am rewarded by your lordship's present health J "
"Hmnph ! I hare been worse beaten since then," said the- young low, and he bit his lip. He then with a gay air continued: " Mr. Snipeton is, I believe, your patient ? "
"Elesa jour heart, mj lord, — that is, I beg youc pardon," — for Crossbone felt the familiarity of the benison — " Mr. Snipeton is no man's patient. King Charles of Charing Cross — saving lus majesty's presence— has just as muclrneed of the faculty.. When people, my lord, have no feelings Uiey have little sickness : that 'a a discovery I *ve made-, my lord, and old Snipeton bears it out. ' Sow his wife — ha ! that 's a flower. "
"Tender and beautiful," cried St. James, with animation. " And her health, Mr. Crossbone ? "
, " Delicate, my lord i delicate as a bird of paradise. I '»e often 'said it, she wasn't made for this world ; it's too coarse and dirty. However, she. 11 not be long out of her proper place. No : she's dying fast."
" Dying 1 " excltumed St. James, " Dying ! Impossible I Dying — with what ? "
" A more common malady than 's thought of, my lord, ' ' answered Crossbone. He then advanced a step, and projecting the third finger of the left hand, with knowing look observed — "Ring- worm, my lord."
" Ha ! " ciied St. Giles, airily, " Ring-worm ! Is that indeeil ao fatal ? " ,
,^Wlien, my lord, it fixes on the marriage finger of the young
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ST. GILES AM> ST. J&UBS. ftSS
and beautiful wife of an old And ugly miser, it 'b mortal, my lord — mAi-tol, it does so affect, bo oasufy the heart. I Ve seen many f oses," added Crosabone emphatically, resolved to make the most of certainly a very peculiar practice.
"And there is no remedy ?" asked St. Jamea, as he placed his palms together and looked keenly in the apothecary's face.
"Why, I've known the worm removed with great succeae : that is,''aaid the apotbecaiy, retuming the look, "when the patient has had every confidence in the practitioner."
"Mr. Croaabone," cried St. Jamea, "you are a man of the
" My lord," answered the apothecary, with a thanksgiving how, " I am."
Now, when a man pays a man this praiae, it happens, say six times out of nine, that the compliment really means this much: " Tou are a man of the world ; that ia, you are a shrewd fellow who know alt the hy-ways and turnings of life : who know that what is called a wrong, a shabbiness, in the pulpit or in &e duung- room (before company), ia aevertheless not a wrong, aot a ahahbi- Deas when to he undertaken for a man's especial interest. They are matters to be much abused, until required : to shake the bead and make mouths at, until deemed indispensable to our health to swallow." To praise a man for knowing the world, is often to commend him oiily for his knowledge of its dirty lanes and crooked alleys. Any fool knows the broad paths — the squares of life.
And Mr. Crossbone — sagacious person ! — took the lord's com- pUment'in its intended sense. He already felt that he was about to he entrusted with a secret, a misBion, that might test the lofty knowledge for which he was extolled. Therefore, to clench his lordship's confidence, the apothecary added, "I am, my lord, a man of tbe world. There are two golden rules of life ; I have ever studied them."
" And these are?" — asked St. James, drawing him oq.
"These are, to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Your lordship may command me,"
" Mr. Crossbone" — and St. James, motioning the apothecary to a chair, aeated himself for serious consultation — " Mr. Croasbone, this Snipeton has deeply injured me."
" 1 believe him capable of anything, my lord, Sony am I to say it," aaid CroBsb<Hie, hUtbely.
" He has wounded Uie dignity of my family. He has wrested
391 THE mSTOBI OF
firotauB tbe borongh of laquorish" — Crossbone looked wondrons diagnst at the enormitj; — " & borough that has beea oora, aye, since the Conquest."
" No doubt," cried Crossbone. " He might as well have Btdea the family plate."
" Just BO. Now, Mr. Crosshono, I do not pretend to be a whit better than the ordintny nm of my fellow-creaturea. I must there- fore confess 'tvonld give me some pleasure to be rerenged of this money-seller."
" Situated as you are, my lord ; womided as yon must be in a moBt patriotic part, I do not perceire hoir your lordship can, as a nobleman and a gentleman, do less than take revenge. It is a duty you owe your station — a duty due to society, for whose better example noblemen were made. Revenge, my Itnrd ! " died Crwa- bone, wiAa look of devotion.
"The sweeter stiH the better," s^d St. James.
" Right, my lord ; very right. Rereage is a magnificent pae- fiioD, and Dot to be meddled with in the spirit of a. chandler. No tnnnpery ha'portha of it, — 'twould bo unworthy of a nobleman."
"Mr. CiT»si»one, you are aman of great inteUigence. A man who ought not to vegetate in the country with dandelion and pimpernel. No, sir : you mast be fixed in London. A genius like yours, ^■ Crossbone, is cast away upon bumpkins. We shall yet. see yon with a gold cane, in yonr own carriage, Mc. Crossbone."
And with these words, Lord St. James gently pressed the tips (tf Crmsbone's fingers. THe apothecary was wholly subdued by the condescension of his lordship. He sat, in a golden cloud, smiling, and looking bashfully grateM. And then his eyes trembled with emotion, and he felt that he should very much lito to acknowledge upon his knees the honour unworth&y eonr ferred upon him. It would hare much comforted him to kneel ; nevertheless, with heroic self-deniat he kepi his seat.; and at Jength in a faint voice said — " It. isn't for me, your lordslup, to speak of my poor merits ; your lordship knows best. But this I must say, my lord ; I do think I have looked after the,weedB of the world quite long enough. Ijown, iLianawmy amhition to cultivate the lilies."
" I understand, Mr. CrosationeJ Well, Idon't know that even the court may not be open to yon."
The vision was too much for the apothecai^. He.nghed, aa though suddenly oppressed by a burthen of delight. In &mj,
ST. OILES AND ST. JAKES.
be already had his fingers on a royal pulae, whose harmonions throbbiogs commniiicatiiig with his own ennobled anatomy, sweetly troubled bis beatiog heart. However, with the will of a strong man he put down the emotion, and retained to his lordship's
"You spoke of revenge, my lord? Upon that wealthy wretch, Snipeton ? May I ask what sort of revenge yonr lordslup desireB to take ? "
" Faith ! Mr. Crosabone, ray revenge is like Sbylock's. I 'd take it," said the young geademan, with a smile of significant bitterness — " I 'd take it ' nearest his heart:' "
'" Tes, I understand ; perfectly, my lord," said CrossboDO with new gMoty. " The flesh of his flesh, eh ? His wife T"
" His wife," cried St James passionately.
" Excellent, my lord I Excelleot ! Ha ! ha ! ha !" And the Apothecary could not resist the spirit of laughter that tickled him ; it was so droll to imagine a num— especially an old man— despoiled of his wife. " She would be sweet revenge," cried Crossbone, rubbing hia hands with an implied relish.
" And practicable, eh ?" cried St. James. Crossbone smiled again, and nibbed his hands with renewed pleasure, nodding tb« while. " He has carried her from Dovesnest ; buried her some* where ; for this much I know — she is not at his house in the city."
" I know'all, my lord ; all. I have received a letter — here it is" — and Crossbone gave the missive to St. James : " you see, he writes me that she is ill — very ill — and as he has great fMth in myknowledge — for there is no man without some good point, let's hope that — in my knowledge of her constitution, he desires me to cfMie and see her. I 've arrived this very morning in London. I was goiag direct to him ; but — surely there's providence in it, mj lord--J}at something told mate come and see you first."
" And I am delighted," aud St. James, " that you gave ear to the good genius. Tou 1] assist me ? "
" My lord," said Crossbone Bolemnly, " I have, I hope, a proper respect for the rights of birth and the institutioDfi of my country. And I have always, my lord, considered politics as nothing more than enlarged morals."
" Thank you for the apophthegm""— swd the flattering St. James. " May I use it in parliajnoot when — I get there ? "
" Oh, my lord ! " simpered Crossbone, and coBtmned. " En- larged morals. Ifow, this man Snipeton, in oppoairig your lordship
3&S THE HIBT^ar OF ST. OIlEB AND ST. JAMBB.
for Liquorish, in bringing in a muffin-maker over your noble head — all tiie town ib ringing with it — haa, I conceive, violated whole- sale morality, and should be punished accordingly. But how pnaiHlied ? You can't touch him through his money. No : 'ti» his coat of mail. He 'b what I call a golden crocodile, my lord, with hut one tender place — and that 'b bis wife. Then strike him there, and jou puni^ him for hia presumption, and revenge the disgrace he has put upon your family."
" Exactly," said St. James, a little impatient of the apothecary's morals. " But, my good air, do you Imoif where the lady is ?
" No. But I shall order her wherever may be most convenient. Would the air of Bath suit you?" asked the apothecary with a leer.
" Eicellentiy— notlung could he better," aaid St. James.
" Bath he It, then, And ahe must go alone ; that ia, without ihat Mrs. Wilton. I don't like that woman. There's a cold watchfulness about her thaf we can do without, my. lord."
" But how aeparate them ?" asked St. James.
" Leave that to me. Well handled, nothing cuts like a sharp lie ') it goes at once through heartstrings'." St, James passed hia hand across his face : he felt bis blood had mounted tbere. "It has often separated flesb of flesh and bone of bone, and may ea^lj part mistress and servant. Talking of servants, have you no trusty fellow to go between us, my lord V
Even as the apothecary spoke Ralph brought in a card ; the card given by St. James to St. Giles. The returned transport awwted in the hall the command of his patron.
"Nothing could be more fortunate," cried St. James. " RaljJi, tell the man who brings this, to attend this gentleman and take bis orders. To-morrow I will see him myself,"
" And tomorrow, my lord," aaid the apothecary, with new courage holding forth his hand, " to-morrow you shall hear &om me."
" To-morrow," sud St. James.
" To-morrow ; heaven be with your lordship ;" and with this hope, the apothecary departed.
St. James hastily paced the room. The waUs were hung with mirrors.
The young gentleman— was it a habit ? — still walked with hia band to iaa face.
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THE POOE MAN'S COAT.
Tbi min ihone out eo gaj, of late,
I hastened to St. James' Park gate,
And eiitered in to breathe the breeie, —
To glad me with the hndding trees,
The verdant Bward, the graceful swans,
Ths divtDg foirls, and little ones
Who laagh, while throwing crambs of bread.
To see how eager to be fed.
The qnick-eyed ducka throDg o'er the lake,
And scarce have leisure to cry " quake ! "
'Twas lightsome for the heart, to view
Nature put on her Tobe« anew ; —
To see those feathered things of life
Skim to the verge, in giddy strife ^—
To hear the laugh of children, there.
And see how glad their faces wme ; —
To mark the pairs of decent people,
Although 'twas Sunday, shuR the steeple.
And hold their church withonten thrall,
'Neath " the blue sky that bends o'er all ; "—
'Twaa very pleasant, altogether,
To see these eights in such fine weather,
And feel how freely one could walk,
And, to one's self, so calmly talk.
And talk anto myself I did. Saying, " These waters pellucid. These plumaged things, this goodly grass, These spreading elms,— each lad and lass. Linked arm-in-arm, can freely view ; And, after all, ti» scarcely true That only lords and ladies grand Are privileged, in British land.
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THB POOK MIS a OOAT.
To hare theii holidafi of mirth ; Pot none seem here of lordly birth : 'Tie trne, they all are fairly dreat ; Bat then, of coane, folk wear their best On Sundayi,"
Thu I«4;elytalkri, And to the other gate I walked : The gate, I mein, that 'a ufiar the m So vasty ii Within which, » Sits to hear Peel's lagacisnan For makiiig oath she. goTMiu well >— Doth she di»pate it 1 I can't t^ ; But think, by ro^ oithodo^, She mnst believe in — Role by Proxy i At least, yon know, the House ef I^iids, Some colour to ay thonght affords — Since he who learned midst deathly strife To govein men in peaee&il lif&— Oar war-enlightMied Wellii^)ton— Holds seTeoty peers'ssge bnios-in oae Pocket, — aad uMth tbem for asy Service that enibs th' naroly Many !
Just as I reached the gate in question,
I saw a sight tis sad to mention.
One whose worn features showed he tcaled,
With coat his work had somewhat soiled, —
The coat in which he earned his bread,—
Ventured into the park to tread ;
Whereat, a thing with gilt-band hat,
Thmst him with mdoness to the gate,
And turned him ont 1 1 stared : but, quick,
The porter hid his splenetic
And roby face, that did betokm
He feared some harsh words would be jqrakeQ
By me and olheis, who did look
Little inclined that deed to brook.
Then forth to him that ont was thrust I sped, mai thus lus case diMoaeed : " I guess, my honest Mend, you bon|^. With your own hard-earned brass, that coat*)"
THE POOa MAH B COAT.
" I did," he answered, " and I work Daily as hard as any Tnrl^ To win a cmat, and think it hard To-fce a-walk i' Ih'.pKrk^dBbsrred. My Sunday coat, to help my mother, I pawned ; and I have not another, Bave this upon my back, to wear. IW tnage, -mr, is haid to bear !"
" It-aa,"iraid I ; " a tax-^ns^bid
Upon tiaat «oat : that tu y«Q paid ;
And, though jsor ooat is ataaed. audi soiled,
. In it fer tases yau have toiied : TwHs, to ka«p in aoraraign pride
. HcT'wbese giand palaoe ■ doth 'fanrtrida Thia loUieFedapace : taxes, to fted That menial who hath done lbi»d«e<l : Taxes, to kaep thia goodly pai^ In plaaaing trim :^bnt iww, ^attid, harlc I Think of these things, until yon feel This show of red-coat men with ateel. That serves to awe the toiling erowd, And keep in oBeless pMi^ the proad. Will vanish, — if poor men will leant Their rights and duties to discern, And league, a peaceful, moral band. To end injustice through the land. Think of these things, and tell alond, Where'er you go, what wrongs the Proud Inflict on Toil. Man, speak it out ! And it will soon be brought aboat. No high-tfiied coat you 11 take to pawn, Bnt Sunday clothes become yonr own ; — And working-men will cease to he Taxed for a park that 's not -more free For them than for a mangy dog !'"
Poor, honest, toiling, woik-coat brother Tr«^sd as vilely, wordaM atnag , m ntter. Can ffoa proee me wrongf"
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A CHAPTER OF CHUECH MICE.
The clergy of « roral district in the aouth-west were oBsembled at a visitation dianer. At the head of the board presided the lord bisluf), in the person of hia chancellor. At a aide-table sat a •ompan; of the laity, coOBiating of agricultural and bucolic gen- tlemen, under the superintendence of the deputj-registrar. The after-grace had been duly B^d, and the cloth — except in as ^ aa it formed part of the meeting — remored. Leaving the reverend and more dignified guests to the diBcu»ai<Hi of grave matters and port, descend we, as romances eay, to the lower end of the hall, and to the conversation that took place between the stoat yeomen ihere, over a bowl of punch.
" Well, naaighbour Cowdry," said Ur. Goddard, addresung a brother farmer, " what didst think o' the chancellor's charge this mamun' ? "
" Ah ! 'twur a wonderful fine discoorse, wam't it ? " answered Mr. Cowdry. " 'A talk'd like a book, didn't 'a ? There waa moor nor haaf 'a Bed as I couldn't undersdand — not I."
"I wonders what 'a meant, now," observed Mr. Buckle, the collar^naker, " when 'a talk'd o' the ' unhappy dirisiona now prevalent in our church ? '"
" What, doBtn't thee know," replied Goddard, " that there be a split among the poasons ? What is 't they calls the new lights ? "
" Loosafers ! " suggested a member of the company,
" LooBltfers 1 " exclaimed Mr. Goddard. " No, no. Looaafera be matches. I'm a talk'n' o' paarsons. Pshoo ! I should know the neam on 'em if I heerd un."
" Avunjellyculla t " surmised another.
" Naw," said Farmer Goddard. " Not they. There be newer lights yit than they. I manes the last np. What d'ye call 'mn, young Meaater Lovelock ? Tbee'st bin to boordunschool."
" C^ 'em ? Fuseyitea, don't they ? " replied the swain appealed to.
" Ah, to be sure ! " cried the other. " Pussyitee. That 's the word. Poasyites."
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A CHAPTXft OP OHDSCH lUCB. 401
" Well ; who be the Faenyites ? " demanded Hr. Cowdry i
" Who he thej ? " repeated a rather ddciiy perBonaga, in a rural and Bomewhat ruety fiill dnsB of hiack and drab, with griG- sled locks, a copper nose, and eolemn Tisage, bat a queer twiokla in the eye. " Who be they ? Why, they be a sart o rattle-mice, nutber bird nor beeoat, a Qicker'n in the twilight atween one church and t'other."
'/ Husb, naaighboiir Frost ; spake lower, man ; the chancellor 'II bear tbee else, and tell the biuiop on thee," Said Mr. Gowdiy. " What dost mane by call'n on 'em rattle-mice ? How," he OOD- tinued, not understanding Mr. Frost's metaphor, "d'ye make a Christian out a rattle-mouse ? "
"Why, spake 'n by comparazim," replied Fanner Prosi. "How- sumdever, there bo Christians, — ah ! and paaspos too, as changes into mice, and rale mice."
"How! When? Who told thee ?" exclaimed several (J the hearers, some in astonishment, others derisirely.
"How? That's nuthef here nor there. When? Arterthe death on 'em. Who told me ? Thay as spoke for th^rsdres," asserted Mr. Frost with the utm<^t gravity.
" Ueaater Frost," said a neighbouring acqaaintance, "it Btrikea me thy liquoi* has got into thy head."
" No, Meaater Andress, it ha'nt."
" Then thee bbt a comin' the old sojer over us."
"No, I bunt — "
" Then, what in the neam o' Fort'n* bist thee A talk'n about ?" ' " What- 1 heer'd and zee ; and if you 've a mmd to know as much as I knows, I tell you what you do, mate, — you goo one o* these here nights and git lock'd up iu Winchester Cathedral."
" Thankee. I 'd rather you than me," returned Mr. Andrews.
"Why, what should you be afraid of, Mr. Andrews ? " asked young Lovelock.
" What odds ia that to you? " was ihe evasive, and not very gradoas answer.
" Master Andrews believes In ghosts," cried the youth, laughing.
"Well; and why not?" demanded Mr. Andrews. "Han't things been sin at night about Danebury Hill? Don't Will Smithera, as hung his self along o' Cicely Weatbrook, walk reg'larly arteC dark up Whitesboot Lane ? Didn't 'a frighten Sarah Qrunsell Into fits! "
1 no. XYU.— TOL. HI. D D
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402 ■ A CUAPTEB OF CHDRCD UIOE.
"Sbe-e! " exckimed tlitaceptie. "SlwnsTer mv aiiylliiiig worn Uulu her omsbadoK."
" Hdv aboKt that diiug, thea, timt used to 'pear in SandpUa in the ab^ of an old 'oomou best double, as.was irsll.knaw'o to be aU Nanny Ttuk^r ; she aa veotfor a witch ! "
".Hew ahont it ? Whji, it turned out tn be a giddy Aeef, that had get the Btagsers."
" Thee thiok Bt thjeelf a vine fellsr, matter Wilhun, I 4are say. Tell tiiae irtiat — thee but a unbaliev'a jackanye^ ; and eo here 's to tb*e. As to Winchester CathedisI, oint.it a-sart'n vact that old (Hiver Cromwell driroa up and down difiK.evei; i%ht in. a coaoh wi' twelve bosses withoot e'er a bead ? "
"UTaw, naw," dflaumed some of the other interlocntarSi for whose futh this Ic^nd was rather too improbaUe. " Kaw, naw — Come, — that 'b rather too big a mossel to swall^."
" Well," interposed Fanner Frost, " that loed be, and it medd'n't — I can't saj noth'n about that matter; but there' 'e ziunmnt I could say if I'd a mind to 't."
" What 'a diat, nuughbovr ? " was the general exclamation.
"Uoor nor any o' youcanjsay. It lo ht^>penatbat Ihave.ben shut up. in that are Tery pleace a whole night."
" What didst zee then ? " .cried.all again, with faosa of j^s^g
" Why not tell it, then?" pertinently obaerred young Lorelock.
" Oh! you'll only laaf at me if I do," returned Mr. Frost, with .'Seeming indifiercnce.
" No, we wun't — -Ton my seaso, we won't. We won't rasly," 'declared the bearers.
" Wall, then, thwe ; I zee they mice as I was a spake'n on just now ; paasons #B had a bin, changed into tbem there varmint."
"£ut how com'dst to know they'd ha' heft.paasona ? " inquired .an auditor. ,
" How "i They brid me zo theirselfea, to be sure."
"'What! mice spake?"
*' Wlw shouldn't they? Didst never hear o' the ung'n mouse ? ' argued the Sooratic Frost. " 'Sides, these here wara't or'narymioe; bnt aperrute in mice!s shya^. BiU there, Jf yon dwooant choose to b'lave me, 'tis o' no usemy goo'non."
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A CHAPTEB OF CBtTRCH KIOE. 406
"Ees, eOB, goo on. Do 'ee. Ko*fence in ax'u the question," pleaded the objector.
" You mu8t know, then," continned Farmer Frost, "ttat beim' at Winchester one Zunday arternoon, thinks I, well now, as I be rather vond o' music, suppose I gooes to the Cathedral to hear the anthen, Zo I 'ool then, I sez to myself. 'Cord'nly off I walks, and in I gooes, along neaav', and up into quire. 'Stead o' Btand'n to be stared at, in the middle o' church, I thought I 'd zee and git a Euug sate, zo I just shows one o' the clerks a«hill'n ; and he pops me into what the; calls a stall, wi' a zoft cushion to sit - upon, and aootiier to knale down upon, where, have'n my gmt quoat on, I voond it as comfortable as a rahhit-hutoh, thof 'twaa but a httle arter Christmas."
" Well, but what 'a that are got to do wl"^ thy story ? " inquired Mr. Cowdry.
" I 'U tell'ee. Beun' winter time, o' conrae they was forced to ha' lights ; 20 as 'twas purty dimmish in that are mirt huild'n, and a feller could goo off into a nap in a nook or kamer on 't, and there bide when servus was over, without nobody mmd'n on 'un, no moor nor a pig in a poke ; if 'a.didn't happ'n to anore."
" What, theu you mean to say that yon fell asleep ? " said Lorelook,
" Ees, I did, long 0' llsten'n to the sannimt. The discooi'lie Tas too strong tot me ; zummnt like a dr^ too much 0' pany-
~" Hadn't yon," 'queried the young farmer, "been taking a drop too mnch-'of something else ? Where had yon been to, Mr. Frost ? "
'<Senti>^ Only to the Black Zwan, I hadn't had noth'n bat a pot o' aughtp'ny, and a glass or zo 0' twandy-aud-watcr ; and what 's &a.t ? Well, howeomdever, off I went ; but ■fast, Tind'n I couldn't keep my eyes open, I draa'd a curtain athirt me, and vhin^ lay ankedier over my Teac«, 'cause I shouldn't be zin, and hy.iMay o' ksep'n off the draaft." - - " Theed'st best ha' kep' out the draaft afore thee irentest in, ua^gfahour," remarked Mr. Cowdry.
"Arter that, p'raps you 11 Till my glass," replied Fanner Frost. " Well, how long I 'd slep', dam me if I could teH ; whea at laast I woke .up, and round mjsetf alt iu the dark, 'cept a glimmer 0' moonlight, as come droo winder, and showl one o' they tombs up aloft, where At dead kings' bwoosus is." VSS
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4<M A CHAPTER OF CHUKCH MICE.
" Loramwsy ! " cried the audience BUDuItoneouBly, shuddenng. " WaaWt wit ? " said one of them.
" Ah I I b'liere ye, I was," answered the narrator.
•' Didstn't holler out ! "
" Why, there," answered Mr. Frost, " 's the puzzle on 't. I couldn't. I tried. Bat vor all I could do, Tor the life o' me I couldn't spake aboTC a whisper."
" Well now, that are 'b straange — ^^eant it ?" remarked the hearers one to another.
" No," contioned Ur. Frost, " I couldn't spake out ; and moor, I couldn't wag. But what 's queer now, I could hear the laste sound. Rum noises I heer'd too, mind Te. ZumtJmes come » sort o' rumble Uke thunder a good wa; off, slmmunlj runn'n long the galleries. Then, at timM, I Tancied I heer'd a faaint sound come vrom the organ ; and every moment I expected to hear 'un growl out, and zee the lida o' the tombs lift np, and the dead a rise'n out on 'em. Once I thought I raly did zee the zeppulchrea begin 'n to heaTC. Lor ! how the p^spration run off me to he sure ! When sudd'ntly there was a whirr'n all round me, like the runn'n down of a zmoke-jack, and then bang went the clock !"
" Strik'n twelve V interposed the ccmpany.
" Ko," said the farmeri " I counted 'un ; and 'a struck Thir- lEEH ! 'A did, as I 'm a liv'n zinner. No sooner had 'a done, titan np struck sich a sqneak'n, as thof for all the woiide a dozea whate-reeks was a-fire, and all the mice in 'em a heun' singed. And then all th? Cathedral seeni'd alive wi' sparks, dart'n and ontt'n here and there, like jon zee in a hit o' burnt p'haaper » goo'n out, 'Uassj ! Jamany t Crimany ho ! thinks 1, what 'm all this ? 'Massy on me ! and I tried to zay the Belafe ; when a couple o' Hie sparkles come a runn'n towards me, and stopp'd overright me on the pleace for the PraayerBook. Lo and behold ye ! the sparks was a pair of eyes beloug'n to a gurt moose. I could meak 'un out by a sort of bluish light as glimmer'd all roond 'un. ' Fearnot, man,' says the creetur, speak'n quite plaun, onlj wi' a kind o' sqnake. ' Zatan,' I says, ' I defies thee.' * I hiunt Zatan,' says the mouse, * and I wun't do you no harm j so don't be afear'd.' ' Who hist, then }' sez I, as well as I could, in a whisper, ' I conjures thee, spake.' ' My neam,' a' sez, * is Hitre- mouse. I wur once one o' the heads o' the church ; but I thought moor o' the looaves and Tishes than I did o' my vlock, and I nsed to zell Email beer out o' my palace to the poor people ; and nov
A CHAPTER OP CHnnCH WCB. 406
jou zees wliat I be come to. Z&me wi' &U they other mice as you beholds. ' And by this time I did zee that the lights was zo maay mouses' eyes. ' They was all clargy once,' a' sez, ' and now tiey be mice, and zo they '11 bide till zuch time as they 've ben aarved out TOr their misdoo'ns. Till then we be forced to hauut this here Cathedral. All day long we has tobidepenn'dup in the holes and Qrannies and cryptisua, and at night we. be let out, and 'low'd to bold a Chapter, and talk orer what 's goo'n on in the church. You've beard,' a' eez, ' o' churcbmice. Now you knows whattbey be.' ' Ees,' I sez, ' I 've heer'd the aay'n, poor as a church mouse.' ' Ah!' a' squeaks, ' I wish we hadn't ben so rich oDce ; wo shouldn't be zo poor now. But you hold your tongue ; only look, and listen, and book what you hears and sees, for the good o' them {and tiiere'a plenty on 'em) that it may consarn, "
" Looramaesy, Uast. Vrost, this here 's a strange story !" ex- claimed the auditors.
" Strainge, but true :" said the relater. " Well, mates, irhilst oldltntremousewaa speak'n ollt'olliers took and raiung'd tbems^Tes up in rows, zum on vorms, znm on the edges of pews, zum on book ledges on vront o' stalls, and one on 'em got np top o' pulpit. ' Now, mark,' says Mitremouse, * he 's a goo'n to spake.' ' Who be 'a ?' I axes. ' Shorelbat,' answers Mitremouse, 'Listen to 'un.'
" My once rever'nt and now myomorphous brether'n', 'a begun — what 'a meant by myamarpus I dwooant know : 'twas haythen Giik to me. ' 'Tis a comfort,' says Shovelhat, ' under out present onbappy sarc'matances ; 'tis a leviaaition o' the suffer'ns as we'm a justly undergoo'n of, to con-tem-plate the prawsperraty o' the order as we b'long'd to in the world, In like manner, 'tis a aggri- Toaition of our c'lamaties to behold the misfort'ns and disgreaaces on 't. We zympathizes wi' that body still ; we be still jealous o' the honour o' the ridg'ment we was sogers in. Now, brether'n, I'm sure you must, all on you, feel, wi' mo, the gurtest sheam' and regret when yo' considers what doo'ns, and what goon's on there hare ben for some time paast in the 'stablished ^urch.' Here Shovelhat puU'd up to teak brath ; and I whispers to Mitremouse, Why, bow come he to know about that are 1 • Thei« be they that tells us,' sez Mitremouse; 'you hide ^uiet.' Then on gooes Shovethat agin.
" ' Terrible doo'ns', a' sez, ' my brether'n ! Shock'n doo'ns ! >y'uB than ever oum was ; and see what 's come to we ! Soeece «
Coiwlc
406 A CHAIT£K OF CUUllCH MICE.
veek goocB by without some scanlous ahow-up 'peas^n' in the nemp baapers. Dcsavo'u joung womcD, and they their oim ear- t'dIs ; zitt n and sing'n vi 'em in kitchen ; brcaak'n the zeventh C'mandment ; gett'n 'bitually ti[«y in public-house ; brawl'n and Tigbt'n ; cutt'n and maaim'n dumb animals ; and wue, — the ship o' their own Tlock ! Zell'n and chaiFer'n Ut'iib and curacies over a bottle o' wine! Alnt it sheam'ful, my brethet'a?" Oughtn't we to be a'most glad that we be out o' the cloth, wid in this here iur, wi' smellers on 'stead o' bands ? What can be Uie rason and the mane'n o' this tcrreable state o' 'fairs in ihe chm'ch ? How tq remady 't ? Mayhap, my brether'n, mm on you, as knows better nor I do, will aaaswer these here questsh'na ? ' Wi' that, Shorelhat came dotTti from pulput ; and up etuok another in his pleace. ' Who 'a he, if you phwe, m' lard ? says I to Mitremonse. ' Don't m' lard me now,' a sez. ' That 'a Plttralcore ; mind you 'tends to what a' zays.'
" ' Mice o' the church,' squeaks Pluralcure, 'till we poor Tar- mint shall be enlighten 'd ; so long as we shall conttnny imder these shadders o' darkness ; we can only gie a guess at the causes o' things. Tet we, even we, feller mice, haye aight enough to zee h^w the cat jumps.' At this all the mice sets up squeak'n like mad. ' Pard'n me,' sez Pluralcure, ' I meant no light lusion to our condition. What I manes is, we he able to conjecter, my brether'n, judg'n from what we knows. Now we knows well enough what 's right and wrong ; and you wishes, and I wishes, that we 'd made better use o' our knowledge. And we knows that they as acts wrong, draas confusion and disgreaace en all.them as belongs to 'em. Well, pride and domlneer'n 's wrong ; tade'tt Tolks by the nwooas is wrong ; deception 's wrong ; and they aa praches wrong up is wus than they as does it. Now there 's a set o' clargy sprung up at Oxford as wants to set up a authority for the church o' England aqual to what 's claaim'd by the church o' Rhooam. They must know, my brether'n, that they han't got no light to 't, no moor nor Independents and Methodishes. They must zee that nobody can purteud to 't if Rhwooam caant ; and that if Khwooam can^theo they ought to gie in to Hbwooam. That 's what zome on 'em, as seems honest, whether they ho mistaken or not, ha' done ; but many bides where they be, and ates the churoh's bread whilst they prachos agin the church's docti-'nes." Here there was a gin'ral squeak'n as scem'd to zound Uke ' Name,, name ! ' ' Why need I t^ 'ee, my brether'n ? ' says Pluralcure ;
A CHiPTEB OF CHVBCH UOE. 407
< I m&neB the Pae^eff ? Bat the irast of all their teonnts is what they holds respect*!! si^ater to th' articlea ; Buhscribe'n to 'em in a non-nate'ral Bense.' Hear'n this, the mice gav' another squake as nigh as poss'ble to a gnrooan. ' Beg your pard'n,' sez I to Mitremotue, ' bnt what 's a non-nate'ral sense ? ' ' Why, a falte onff,* Bays Mitremonse ; ' as if you was to awear to a white pig at 'siEea, when yon know'd the only one you lost waa a black 'un.'
" ' Now,' says Piittalcure, ' my b'lafe and opinion h, that all this here trouble have come upon the Church all along o' its allow'n itself to be infested wi' this here Pussyism ; and my raann for thinking so is this — The backslide'ns o' paas'ns showvthey he men arter all, and bunt to be stuck up, and worshipp'd, and knuckled down te, moor than nch wake creeturs ought to be : ' and zo Pluralcure made an end o' hia spacbe ; and his room was toc^ by another, Ibat Uitemonae told me was call'd Clotchglebe.
'"Brother nibblers," ciiea Clutchglebe, 'could our aqnake be heard outzide those walls, the Church would eoon be Treed vrom her reprwoaches. The cloth wants dnst'ii, my brether'n ; the surplus blache'n. But first the bnild'n itself ought to be awep out. 'Tell 'ee how I 'd do 't — Brother Shorelhat was talk'n o' the ridg'ment we naed to be sojers of. Why dwooant they do in the churdi as they does in th army ? Tbey makea abort wnA of a feller there if 'a praches insubordinaaition ; much moor for plott'n wi' th' enemy. They'd tacho a man to understand th' articles o' war in a non-nate'ral sense ! Let a officer play the zot or the blackyard, and they dismisses 'un double quick from the aerrusfer conduct unbecom'n an officer and a gen'iman. Whereas, here 's a feller conricted o' conduct unbecom'n a Chiisdan and a elargyman, and 'a gits — what ? Why thej only anapends 'un for dree mon^s — not by the neck, mind. My brether'n, I zay that as there be coert martiala, zo there ort to be a coort clerical. I 'oodn't shoot or hang offenders, 'zactly, nor yit vlog 'em ; though that 'ood sarre some on 'em right. And I dwooant zay as I 'd goo BO Tur as to chant 'cm out o' diocese, as rogues be dnunm'd out o' ridg'ment. But I 'd break 'em, my brether'n. I 'd cashier 'em, that I *ood ; and render 'em incyaapable o' sarr'n thence- forrad in any cleric '1 capassaty. That 's my remady for the enls o' the church.' Zo spoke Clutchglebe, and the church mice all squeal'd out together, zay'n they entirely 'greed wi 'un. When all at once there was heer'd a yell like the Bcrame o' a 'nonnas tom-cat, make'n the old Cathedral ring again..
408 A CHAFTXR OF CBURCH MICE.
Anay leuttl'd mice, Uhramooie and all, to their holes and kamers. At the zame time the clock toll'd one ; a lot o' lights danced afore my eyes, and I felt a zart o' shock as simm'd to run droo me like Itghtn'n. And then I round I 'd got ike use o' my 1imhB,.and apache. But I was afeard to heller, and heun' lock'd in, there I woa forced to bide till mamun', when one o' the clerks come and open'd the pleace, and let me ont, moor dead sor alive. Bnt there, — now you've heer'd what I lam't from the ehurch mice, OB hov tbia here disgreeace that have come upoa the ctargy o' late, have been all along o' that are Pussyisro."
Here there was a dead pause ; during which the auditors of Mr. Frost continued to stare at him open-mouthed, and in silence, broken only by a few ejaculations, partaking of the nature of a
At length, said Ur. Cowdry, — having recovned from his bewilderment, — veiy alowly, " Bist thee sore, now, naaighbour, thee hastn't bin draa'n the long-how ? "
Mr. ProBt in the most solemn manner devoted himself, if guilty of a &hrication, to Jack Ketch,
" Then," aud young Lovelock, " the fact most likely Is, that the ouly spirits you saw were in your own head, and had got there, idong with the heer you drank, at the Black Swan. You fell asleep, man, and had Bomething between a dream and a Qigbt-
"Ees," said Goddard ; "that's what 'twas, mate. Thee mnst have ben a little the wus for drink."
" Ah ! " cried Farmer Frost, " you med zay what you like j but jou won't argy me out o' belave'n mj own zensea."
" Well," said Mr. Cowdrj, " anyhow, thee must he dry wter that long fltory. Come, poke over tby glass, mun. But aee, the chaacellor 'a gitfn up from teeable ; zo now I s'pose we may ha' in the pipes.
Fergital Leihh,
,11 by Google
THEODORE HOOK'S GRAVE.
A LETTBB TO A JOHN OUT OF OFFICE.
BY PAUL BELL. Ma. CaoiKEB. — "HeaTen send we b« all the better for- it this inj
twelvemonth 1 " — Tfie Oood JVntumi Ifan.
Sib, — You are looked up to (and it may be presumed with your owu ftcquieBcence) aa a Pillar of Propriety ! You have withdrawn from public life, outraged — and who can wonder ? — by the desperate aad corrupting changes which have penetrated the whote world of affitire since your *
— hot jonth when George the Third w»a King ! In your time, however ; nay, and since your retreat, too, yon h*y» done much. You have attested your chamjnonahip of " th© Veaber aez" hy administering the most lacerating chaBtisenient to all whose pens have dared to trip aside from the paths pointed out by your immaculate nuraing-grandmother — Old Toryism. You hare been the truest Lucullus to the noblest Timoa who ever taught our English aristocracy how to " fleet the world as they did in the old time," by aid of the blandishments of bought Loathing, the dainties of epicurean Luinry, the obsequiousness of abject Serf- dom. Your fight. Sir, has not been bidden under a bushel. The Press has mado much of your charity public, and recorded not a Paw of your dignified associations. You are now Retired Leisure, Sir ; steeped in the odour of orthodoxy— driven to fall back among your recollections by way of a defence against the Anarchy press- ing you Bo coarsely. For Time grows noisy, and Change rapid as steam. Why, Sir, you have lived to see the evil-doer brought to sbame without fear or favour — the Man of Pleasure, sitting, a living X>eath, at the board, to which his Aspasias found beauty, and yon tbo Attic s^t ! — the Political Trader replaced by the Political Free Trader — the sluggard sentenced to the Tread-mill — the slanderer compelled to sting himself to Death ! After so brilliant a Past, what a degenerate Present !— It is to you, then, Sir, that, in this iron age, I would point out an instance of high- mindedneas and delioooy, too precious and unique for our tliaiikB
410 THEODOBB HOOK's OBATB.
due to be entrosted to any one poorer in experiences and regrets than youTHelf.
Within a bow-shot of the Biahop of London's Palace at FuUiam, I wae, the other day, hidden to admire the grave of a devoted champion of Chorch and State, vho so valiantly administered the knoat to the wicked Whiga, and, yet more cluTabously, to their womenkind ; under the ensign of the Bible and Sceptre — the device of the John Bull. Poor Theodore Hook 1 that gayest of table- c<nnpanioni ! and best-natnred of human creatures : — diat " life and soul" (bo runs the rhyme) of great tables, the plate on which you, too, have helped to clean : — that profound moralist who shotred the blaok-hoartednesB of Bloomsbury, the low life of Leeds, the mechanical melancholy of "Manchester Tradesmen," to tender- conscienced Lord Johns, and innocent Lady Janes ; idis opened their pretty eyes, and —
Marvelled mnch to see the creattme dhie ! ' — that Imprornsatore who could set a riiyme against every name, and a eibe against every grave thing : — that man, in short (to nse one of his own farourite verbs) who " worried himself " to Death to please his patrons! — here lies that delight of so many reverend Divines, and inane Peers, and delicate Duchesses, who laughed till thdr laces were like to burst at his double-refined dovble~ entendree, — without aught to mark his fame I *Tia right. K» vulgar-looking lamp with its fat flame toppling tipsily over hia ashes ! — no countiy-bumpkin handful of com in the ear heavy for harvest! — no methodistical text with its regulation "-assurance and certainty" — nor rubbishy Bellman's rhyme, to vaunt ^ DjaiJy virtues and Ua brllliMtt parti,
should deck the stone. Most refined, sir, is it not ? ^soldfnendf* haunt the spot, in tearlul gratitude for his past services, in teu^ memot7 of past carouses ; but they feel too poignantly to praise him by effigy, or device, or tribute !
Kot titat the world of survivors was to want its teaching be<nusei poor Hook wanted his monument. — The above signal manifeetn-- tion of self-denial is little less touclung than the plain severity oF the oration, published shortly after his decease. Strangers to the anthor of " Gilbert Oumey " had, during his life, thought of him only as the caustic and lively moralist, a little unscrupulDua, and' too mnch given to class-warfare, but blithe and animated ; or they
THFODORE HOOe'B S&KYt. 411
heard of him from afar aB "capital compaoj" — tbe man vho could " bring in " to hia verses names as uumaBageable as Long- dhanks, or Shufflebottom, or Scratchby — who comd malce a won- derM imitation of the cathedral service on the piano-forte without pla^ng a note, and act a vhole Uecklcnburg- square family — fadier, mother, swelling sons and smart daughters (the whito^yed lame governess not forgotten], between the courses ! — a mocking Bird of Paradise, in short, whom kings and queens and dukes and ambassadors, alone, were worthy t« cage and to feed ! When they read of his decease, they grieved that a life so merry should come to an end. Some of them — grateful innocents ! — were sure tiiat he must have a nook or a niche in the Abbey ; the humblest went the length of Kensal Green, and there, in fond £ancy, set up a cenotaph as showy as Mr. St. John Long's or that of the deceased Paintress, inaugurated by no meaner a personage than Uademoiselle Cerito ! How little did they guess tbe truthi How indispensable was it that they should be disenchanted by those who
had the Jester's secret! This, in its mercy, the Beview
told them. For the information of all who knew not Hook's his- tory, by way of aid and solace to his bereaved familyi a friendly hand took up the pen of the Accusing Angel. " Qo to," Biud' the writer, " we will prevent those who inquire not — " we will show forth the deeds of our friend and brother. We " will wash the paint &om his cheeks, that Men may count the " wrinkles and the pun-spots ! We will strip him naked, that all "maybeholdthergrievouaness of his sores." Alas! sir, more is the pity that this truth-telling spirit is not one in which the lives of men of letters have been written .' The world has had too much of degrading cicuse calling itself admiring sympathy ; too much (^ facts twisted, and blame bestowed amiss ; of false and IHvolouA cbufusions between virtue and vice ; of attempts to identify Geniue by every morbid passion and base desire, and to prove the two not merely co-eiistent but concomitant. Sorely and shamefully has testimony been perverted by those called upon to speak. But here was silence which none were bidden to break. The tale waa ten- dered unasked. There was no thought of ct^nung a saintship for your friend and fellow-labourer — no danger lest hia intimates (as few knew better than yourself) should open too ready a hand, or too merciM a heart to comfort and succour those he had left be-' Mnd. How strone, then, must have been the principle of duty which led some old fello*-actor of the deceased mimic to step for-
f^^, and tell hb that he whom you had consorted with, and fiat- tered and wged on, whose follies jou had used, whose time jon hftd usurped, was a wretched heing harassed by perpetual terrors test his daily bread should fail— baokrupt in health — bruised in spirit — dragging abroad with him the chain of debt, aod all ita eDginrj of torment from one scene of mirth to another ; aod when at home (the home your presence ao often brightened) derived the most healthy support and the wholesome solace which Husband and Father can enjoy.
Verily, Theodore Hook had his reward! Wits — party-writers — facetious novelists — hoon companions, think of these things ; be grateful for the modesty of the grave in Fulham church-ytmi. To me that unhonoured stone Eipeaketh with a roice louder than a trumpet's. And for you, sir, — as Hook's old familiar friend — the share you hare had, be it more or less, in reading a lesson so im- portant to all possessing what are called " social qualities," entitles yon to the world's warmest gratitude. But we do not promise to emulate your example. Your virtues may be written on your tombstone.
I have the honour to remain.
Your admuing aud grateful servant,
Pabl Bell.
MAY-DAY FOR THE PEOPLE.
Thx month of May is upon na — these pages will see the light upon the birth-day of the summer time. The season of Ibe leaf and the flower — of the greenness of the wood, and the richness of the sward, and the soothing murmurs of the brooklet has come. This is not the age for pastorals. We know it, and do not intend to "babble o' green fields," to conjure np mossy grots — to make diem resound to the lay of merriest birds— to people floweir meads with fickle Chloes, and shady groves with love-sick Strephons. Nevertheless there is something in the season to moke ns think of smokeless air, and budding trees, and turf in which you shall sink to the ancle — the richest carpet of Nature's weaving. It is the joyous period when Time for a space renews its youth. It is a period of renewed energy — a blithe awakening in green freshness of the earth. The world's blood which stag-
JCAY-DiT FOR THE PEOPLE. 413
nated during winter's aleepj frosts — which moved but with an inconstant and halting circulation under Spring's fickle influences, is now rushing, hot and mantling through Nature's veins, and the denizens of earth and air participate in tbe flushed Tigour of the Universal Mother.
Hay-day b a high festjral of Nature. It is the real New- Year's day. The earth is rejoicing around uB. The birds alng from their nests, and risbg — incense- like frtnn the earth — floats towards the dumb music of the flower^. And we all partake, although perchance we know it not, in this general jubilee. The town- pent man burrjring along the crowded street, hears with a Hpeciee of semi-conscious thrill, the voice of the caged blackbird, hung out where a patch of sunsbine comes cheeringly on the brown brick wall ; or be looks with a momentarily-awakened interest upon the budding greenness of a solitary tree, impounded as it were in some black city-garden ; and donning, with all the haste it may, every shred of summer-livery which smoke and confined air will permit it to assume.
It was then, yielding to these impulses — preparing a channel for tliese feelings to run riot in — that our forefathers instituted the games of May. And they were in the right. Gladness is naturid to the season. Man is not so far removed from inanimate things that he too should not feel some impulse from the influence which quickens them, and causes them to burst into the fuQ flush of tbeir beauty. Not that every season is not cheerful in its turn. Do we disparage the bracing days of frost and driving snow — when the fire is ruddy on the hearth, and the genial solemnities of Christmas tide are celebrated under the wreathed mistletoe and holly bough? Then come — smiling and crying — coaxing and scolding — the flckle days of Spring. Perhaps Winter, which always seems loath to depart, and will keep drag|^ng oa an unhonoured existence, gives poor Spring a worse name than she deserves. But for all that, she ripeusinto Summer — the bud becomes a leaf, the snowdrop, which seemed afraid of showing; Winter that she could don Spring's livery, and therefore peeped fearfully out, as white as Uie snow around her — has drooped and died — and the whole tribe of gaudy fiowrets — a gorgeous host, bedight in every hue — come forth, eiultingly brigbted on the earth, and open their bos<fflas to Summer's sun and Summer's breese.
And our forefathers went forth with tbem. May-day sounded
414 HAT-DAT FOR THE PEOPLE.
A Toiice of joy throughout the land. Tho maidenB batlied their rooT cheeks iaMRf-dew, luid if die fluid did them no good, the ea^j rieing aud &e fresh air of the Bummet dawn were mote ofiectoal.
And here let ua not he met by sneering remukB upon the qoalit; of our ordinary JAay weather ; about East^iiinda and rheumatiEm ; dreuching rtuna and colda in the head. JS as you Bay, the seasoni hare changed since Chaucer's time, make tbe 1e^ of June May-day, Here is no bull : postpone the festival — do not emit it. What ire want is a joyful welcome to the plea- Bant summer time ; a welcome to the leaf and to the flower ; a recognition of that awakening influence, which stirs within as and prompts to gaiety and cheering thoughts. This comes with ' the summer ; receive it, acknowledge it when the summer arrivea. May-day is but a word, which signifies the opening of the balmiest, the pleasontest season of the year. Take it in its largest meuiiug, and hail Queen Summer when her hnzom Majesty first smiles upon ber throne !
We want May-day to be agun celebrated. Not, mind, as of ^re ; but one wDiud fain see the same spirit run in a more sagely-planned channel. Think for a moment of May-day in the reiga of Queen Bess. Leslie's gorgeous picture rises before o«r eyra as we pen the words. First, « gallant May-pole floats on die vision. See the green wreaths which garland it — ^ia spiral veins .of dawy greenery — crowned with a diadem of flowers. Mait tlie meiTj orowd which gambol round this, the standard of the summer. The sward is green and soft and springy beneath them. The summer sky is blue over head, and the summer sun shines down, flinging its light in dancing patohes throngfa the waving richness of the trees. Truly it is a most c^naint reveL It is the bal maiqu6 of the middle ages. Hark to Ae clash — rode but sprightly — of the pipe and tabor ; and see the antics which dancers play. Merry on us ! what a group— what monsters— what hobby horses — what quaint jestera— -what marvellous -masques — what a merry pageant ! Truly, Master Srasmos, Holiday must have been the marshal of the host. JoDy old Pedant 1 reply in thy quaint vernacular. Thou hast ordered the folds of tiiat drsfon's tail : thou hast traced the quaint mnmminga of the morris-dance : the attirings of Maid Marian, are they not thy right merrie conceit ? and the Pope of fools — hast thou not Hthie Holinesaup in his greenwood Vatican? Round the Kay-
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lUr-DAT FOE THE PEOPLE. 416
p(de ! RQimd to the quaint cadsnce of that primevAl music — buid in lund with uncouth caper and bUcL-lettcr joke. Jiunp hobby home ! — ^nJI dragon ! Jester — Tarlet as thonarfc— joke thy jokw ; h ia Summer's Stttunmli^r—tbe feast of the greenwood tree.
" Now creatnres all are narrie minded:" Chant as ye dance some quaint old tnadri^l : make th^ bright air ring with the traditional tra-Ia-la of. the roaring burden. Nature is amging around you. Join your voices in. one flood of joyous reyel^ to those of —
•> ShaUov rivera to whose ^1h Melodious birds dng madrigala."
It is the time for jest and qirip taxd Grank. 'Ehe cottage and the castle confess its influence. Hark ! mingling in the rustic revelry, the uncouth, babble of the village Hwoiu, with the courtly words' — the we-drawn phraseolo^^ of a mimic Arcadia, which (he Cavalier — all fonos and pedantic state — addressea in maaeured accents to Ute high-bom dame, moving floattngly akag ths. dance "with InalL-hBeled shoe uul nulling fardttigale !
Such .VAB Mid^^ in Hid timu gone bf . U gMdnallr fell away £:om.its quunt glory. We got. mora boaineM Jike mid I«bs pleoauEe^eaking. Wb became, Bomfihow, o^iamad of dancmg^in the open air. To the radiance of Gk sun we prefecred theig^m- mer.of melting tallow. The booading freshness of tbe ]Uua. Itethan limes — when. Huropeau'mind, taking oS a nugbty inaabas, sent out its .Shakspeares and its Speocers to Aaw bow mueh of Sod there was in man — drooped aod died for a time mider the sadrColourad veatmeuts of die Furitao. Aoother change eaneon. Fnuse-Qod-Barebonea vanished. The snuffling twang of his tabemade was -silent ; hut great stem minds vaoiehed wi^ the men, who.nmg psalms to celebrate the downfal of the Cwmliera, Xhen our country was ruled in the ^rit throned amid the ^Ided talons and marble terraces of Versailles. Beveliy beeame dehaoch — love-making, intrigue. The rule of conduct was tiie law of ceremony. Eeart-fredL impulse was goae. The ctrart shone like the moon~-^thout heat. Its withodBg Influenoe £eU upon the people. The blithe Welch milkmaid beoune the jaded mistreBB of the king. Another change. In primstdirieity ef aonl, a Dutchman biutt bis bticken palaee. Tbe land -was grars and plodding. Then Queen Anne's reign caiae — a time of tntekss f^iaatig'-^ pemwigH, hoops-ond elwdad cuao— And tluaa'days
U.g,l:«l by Google
4l<t MAT-SAT 70S THE PBOFLE.
gndnallj mergwl throogh a HhiftiDg, changing centmj into those in the memory of onr own generation, men becoming lesa fornuJ bnt more indnstriooB — citiee B]»inging np from villages ; huge trading porta from fishing hamleta ; the whole land beiximitig one hire erf' bnaj, swatming induatrj.
And from all those reTolaUonii our holiday costomB eaffered. The Puritana held them to be aborainatiooB before the Lwd. The Second CharleB'a reign paaaed amid the mmmneiy of the court and the roormuriDgs of the people. May-day waa not more faToored by the House ctf Onnge. Pope tells as what happened —
" Wbere Ibe tall Hafpcde once o'erlooked the Stnnd, Bat now-^-ao Ami ud jMtj ordain — A church eoDeeta the aunts of Diuiy-luie.'*
And after the " httle crooked thing which asks a qaestioD " had passed away from time and Twickenham, we became so bosy — so monstroaBly acUye in spnning, hammering, weaviDg, uid ^ hist fighting, that we proclaimed &e nndirided ragn of Industry, itid iHuushed holidays as a species of ragrantB — intetlopers who could giro no good account of themselyes — fellows qiiite onanited to come between the wind and omr respectability. True, we kept one ''or two as samples of the banished race ; but even they were not suffered to exist, until by decking them with the outward badges rather than inspiring them with the subtle spirit of religion, we had taken bond — so far as we could — that tbey ahonld not,- in the ordinaiy sense of the term, be days of amusement ; that is to say, that people should not dance, or hear ohecrfid mnuc, or witness lively plays then — although, of course, they might get drunk ad
Such is nearly our condition at present. We have nomioal Easter and Whiteun hoUdays, but they are very partial— -Toiy im- perfect. We would have something like Nation^ Jubilees. The French hare — not, it is true, a very rational one — in CamiTal time, when the whole population get frantic with pleasurable excitement in that creimndo ^ rejoiclngsj which has its final crash on Mardi grot. The advent of summer time, we contend, naturally in- spires men with pleasurable sensations. Why not, then, devote something like a week to universal relaxation — ^to rational holi- day keeping ? No use in re-erecting the bllen Hay-p<de» — no use in summoning bock the departed race of morris-dancers— no use in extending Hk sooty revel^ of Jack-in-tbe- Green, and ottofflpling
XAT-rAT ton THE PEOPLE. 417
to persuade honert citizens to officiate as "My Lords;" or pray- ing boarding-school mieaes to carry round the copper begging ladles. No — all those mesna of enjoyment have faded with another a^, A widely different class of amiuements would we wish to sea pro- vide afitting " May-day for the people."
Holiday-keeping and locomotion ore beginning to be abuost inseparable ideas. Durine Easter-tide we hare a partial immi- gration of the Insty men of the fields into the town, and a partial emigration of the pale faces of the towns into the countij. The change does good to either^ Rest indeed, properly understood, ineami change of occupation. When we talk of a "day of rest " we should not attempt to realise it in a day of inaction. Doing nothing is more wearisome than doing anything, and assuredly we would ^ther pass a day at stone-breaking than one stretched supine upon a sofa, forbidden even to twiddle our thumbs. Rest, we repeat, means change. A tailor rests himself by standing. The upright is not a natural posture of repose, but it becomes so because it is the opposite of that required by a particular labour. By the same rule the day of rest to a population cramped in work- tdiops and crowded chambers ought to he a day of heallhftil exer- cise m the open air. Why should the rest-day of the week be the most dism^ day of the week? Assuredly it was iot»ided to bo the most lively. The Holy Days of our ancestors were amusement days.
The word has come down to us, hut little of the thing — or per- haps we separate the one from the other. Our fathers, guided by the consummate policy. of the old faith, blended religion widi nmnsement. The same word conveyed both ideas. The day devoted to innocent pleasure they accounted holy, for they believed —and we think they were right — that whatever tends to invigo- rate man's spirit — refresh his soul — infuse new strength Into his limbs, and new healthfulness into his body, bad a necessary effect in elevating and making more pure his whole being, in advanc- ing it a step higher—a step nearer to the great perfection from whence it came. We should like to see this doctrine more received and more octed upon than it is at present. We should like — aU reverently be it eaid — to see hmuless amuse- ment become part and parcel of religious duty. We would shock no man s conscientious feelings. We have even a sort of respect for honest prejudice when it is not too lighily token tip or too blindly and obstinately adhered to j but we cannot
HO. XTU. — TOl. in. B B C^OIO'k'
US HAT-DAT FOR THE PEOFLK.
help Sftvtng that we beUere it would be for the Uadi^ .and aa- mense benoSt of Ilngland were ererj fftoilitj afiorded for m^iiig Sunday ■ more of holidaja in the old aenae, bat not in the new appliw- tion of that senae, than they are. We should lore to see our nol^ river and the green haunta ronnd Londm cxowded every sevenl^ -day hy the dingy denixeos of nramung city lanea. Leave "the amohe for a few hwrs a week. Leave the stifliiig air -of fostj, darkened cbuichea for a gammer's Sunday in the fielda ; let your children aee the sun without gating at it through the soot-fog.; let them hear other birds sing than ^e ^ngy c^tives of the "ngp, Do tbia— look on nature — learn to lore her— leant to appreciate her, and the leason she may convey. The thouf^ts she may insjute will be those which ought to be taught and leanied upon — in the liberal sense of the word — a holiday.
But we are losing Mght of Uay-time— of that period when, obeying the secret unpuIfleH of our nature, we would estabUsh^ geuerd National Jubilee— a great and re&ash!ag Sonda; for enei<- vating labour. We have said that locomotion is become iDBepa^abl^ from our ideas of holiday keeping. This we note as a good and pro- mising sign. Interseoted as our land is with railways — covered as our Mas are with steamerB-— we should wish to .see our iS&j festJvAl heccoae A grand and instructive pilgrimage tine. It is good, for man to run amoi^ his fellows — to see distant apota — to becoiae acquainted with new and untrodden localities. Travel is a glorione pill for purging nonsense. The lion of the country coterie has the conceit taken out of him by London's cold shoulder. The prejudia».staffed John Bnll, who hates the French for eating fro^ and wearing wooden shoes, very soon heoomes ashamed of his cheriidied i^inions, if he airs them on the other ttde of the water. The townunan has much to learn from the couatryman — the cooii- tryman from die townsman. Let them mingle as often iu may be. Whisk your agrioultoral population amid the chim- neys <^ the regions of iron and cotton. Bring the sooty men of the forge, and the pale men of the loom, amid {Joughs and harrows. The change will do both good — will inspire both with new ideas — will kill old prejudices — will make people diink less of thttnselves ^d more of dieir neighbonrs. We hairs bad :ioo much class warfare lately. The country has been too long uid too fiercely set agamst the town. Now that a peace seems like^ to be at huid, we would cement the allianoe with pezBOnal 'intereonrse. We idiould like to see the.man of Lanoashire abafce
HAT-SAY FOR T^ P£OPL£. tl9
huids witli &e voMi of 3<ffii0rsetyure. We would bare tbe ruddy tenant of 500 a»Ue Mraa «oiiduetiitg the waiver — freed for » ap&ce from tite raor of th^ e&giHo and the clAtter of the poweiv loom — anuBtd tbe luBlic bomeatead ; and agun, it would as much deligkt ua to aee a ftiaidlj hx talionU practised b; the operatifo of ibe nortli in conducting, in hie tuni, hU eount^ aoquaiotanoe from engine to fumnce — ^frcon mill to Ueohasioa' Institute. New^ tbia is SMidt more than mere dreanung. It would bare been bat idle imibgiDings were it not for steam ; bvt, thank HoaTon, wc new wield a power wbidi twen^ years ago we wot not of — a poww which tB working a greater rev<dution them ever was rung in by clang of tocsin, or b^tised in the hkwd of kings.
Let Uay tine be celebmted then, not by dte monster derioeff of yere, but hs the monster trains of the present day. Our wcestorfi dajioed round a pole— let our ht^ay movements run in a move extended oirole. Eailway companies can do much in this way J and if empk^vcs of labear unite wiUi the rolers of tiie rails, cheap, very cheap trips mi^t every aueoiBi^ be instituted which would rev^ to millions new beauties of creation— t^n to then freah founltuBS of thought — ^freah means of enjoyment. We would in partioulor wish to Snk, by these hdiday bauds, great towoR widi rural and mauufaeturing districts, and inland counties witb the sea. We would go farlher — we would not stop at the coatL We have just been reading in the morning journals, of a sew line of eleunors to trip it orer the Channel wav«s ia an hour and tweaty idhikIm from Dover to Calais, and in a Kttle more than fottr hours inm Bovtt* to Oatokd. Why then jihoahl we stop our dieap trips at the white eiSSe ? 'Tis but a hop, skip, and a joi^ to the Falaises of France, and the long sea dykea and level com-, fifild? of FUodcm hi a year or two the foraier oowniry will he interaeeted by ndlroiuls — tke glorious okl towss of Ute latter are already kak by thur iron bands. Wdl, then, gentlemen Direc- tors of the Groat Kortbem Line of France and its many hranchea — Direetars of the Flenish wtd the BngUah railways, why not come to aonte nniaable jurtaagomant and oosoert cheap trips in communication with each otiker ? Baater is a festival in all throe countries.: — irityrMt taMh the people of dthw the sweets. imd advantagea of foratg^ tuvel? Why not dispat«h the Londoner; uid for that matter the- men of Laacatfiire and TwJE, across the water to orchards of La bells Normandie, and tboiee away by Amiena and Lisle, or Valmiclennes, down into the bistonc " Low be2
4S0 lUT-ItAT rOH TBI PEOPLE.
Countries ;" while we in oar towns should receive equal crowds of our friends the Brtnet Belget and the blonse-clsd men of Nor- muid; and FieArdy. There is nothing impracticable in the acheme. Onlj let sach trips he performed — and thej could be ao performed — at the expense of a few, a Teij few pounds, and hnnareds of thousands who now no more tbink of visiting Dieppe and Bonen, or Ghent and Bruges, than of starting for the anti- podes, woold he all agog for a week to he passed in some strange und— hitherto dimly known hj the vague phrase "abroad." We are certain tbat the hap^est results would flow from such an intermingling of F|unce, Belf^um, and England. It would form fiiendsbips — dissipate prejudices — convey inBtructioD — bind together by tbe tics of acquaintanceship and pleasant recol- lections tbonsands who, ignorant of each other, and each other's lands, would be the first to cbeer on quarrelling statesmen, and throw up their caps for war. Let nations know each otber, and acquire the babit of inter-communication, and you will check hos- tile feelings in their hud. Acquaintances are not so likely to quarrel as strangers. Time was when the inhabitants of England were as much divided for all practical purposes as the inhabitants of Europe are now. What was tbe consequence ? Civil war — county against county— the strife of the Roses. When Scotland and England fought Uie battle of Bannockbum, London was nearly aa distant from Edinburgh as it is now from Constantinople. Paris will soon be as near us, or nearer, than the Scotch capital, and aa surely as that time will come so will an age which wiU regard the idea of the recurrence of a Waterloo just as wild as we should now look upon tbe notions of a man who waited iu expectation of another Flodden,
We would then foster these peaceful tendencies by encouraging people to avail themselvea of the cheap and ready means of com~ munication opened up by steam. We warrant, the railway and steam-boat people would in the end find it to their advantage to inoculate with a love of somewhat extended travel classes who now seldom think of stirring beyond Gravesend on the one hand and Richmond on the other. Several lines have already, to some extent, carried out the practice here recommended. We would mention, especially, the Brighton Railway Company, who deserve popular gratitude for the liberality of their conduct and the cheap- ness of meir fares.
We have abeady urid that, as a general principle, we should
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MAT-DAT FOR.THB FEOFLE.. 421
like to~ Bee Eaeter converted into Uaj time for &e people — by Bending the denizens of the towns to the country — those of the countiy to the towns. We would also wish to see every possiblg means of inatraotiTo ftmusement prorided by city ftathorities tot their rural viBitonts. Why not hare theatres opened at reduced prices ? — Railways run at reduced fares — or might not the former be thrown open gratuitously, or nearly so ? Precedents are not want< ing. The same rule ought to apply to all manner of exhibitions — galleries of works of art — museums, and so forth. We shoald not object to faira either. We have enough of police to keep down objectionable practices. We would discourage dancing booths — > ' discourage drinking booths, and put down gaming booths. Furs, after all, generate a genial Hoctal spirit — they promote good humour and relax the tighter bonds of coUTentional decorum. Why not ^ add facilities for manly exercises — why not give prizes for rowing — leaping, wrestling, and so forth ? Of course, these would ba kept very subordinate to higher and more elevating amusements, hut lusty arms and nimble legs ore, after all, not things to be sneezed at.
Wo have thus sketched out our idea of what might be an ex- tended " May-day for the People." We would preserve as man; of the old customs as appear conducive to the promotion of health and rigour. Cheap travelling would be one of our principal holi- day means of atb'action and improvement. To every class we would open up a neiv sphere of observation. Every class we would knit in closer bonds by promoting frequent and kindly intercourse. Every elnsa we would seek to improve by intro- ducing them to works of art and science, or whatever was to them an unknown field of mental pleasure and profit. We have recorded our opinion that the Kay-day festival of yore was wisely instituted. Wo have now grown b«yond its childish gambols. Let us then improve without destroying. Dancing roond a garlanded pole was better than continued toil : but the townsman gaining health ia the country, the countryman gaining knowledge in the town — th© English operative wandering tiirough the gorgeous towns of Flan- ders and the picturesque sites of Normandy — all these are surely more ennobling pastimes still than jumping in socks or chaung; pigs with greased tails.
Asoiis B. Reach.
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Tffi joy-bells peal & meny tune
Along the eTening-air ; TLe crackHog bonfires turn the sky
All critBHOD with their glare ; Bold iWiBic fills the Btsrtled streets
With iHirtb-inspiring sound ; TlwgapiBg caotiDQ'g raddeniiig breath
Wskesthmiiter-iionts around ; And tbaataiid j^ful voices cry, " HiU2a I Huoa ! k tictoky I "
A little girl stood at the door,
And with her kitten play'd ; LeaawM nnd frolicsome than she,
Tliat rosy prattling maid. SnddMi. her dieek tume ghosUj white ;
Hei eye with fear is filled. And, mshing in-of-doors, she screams — ' " My brother Willie 's kill'd t " And thoQaand joyful voices cry, " Hnaa I H^ia^ ! a viotoby ! "
A nMther sat in thoughtful ease,
A-knitting by the fire, Plyisg (he needle's thrifty task
With hands that never tire. She tore her few gray hairs, and shriek'd,
" My joy on earth is done ! Oft' ! wiio vill lay mv in tny grave t
Oh,OMll mywn! myBon!"— And thowutd J07A1I vmcea cry, "Houal Hnmj a victoky ! "
A youthful wife the-threshold cross'd, With matron^ treasure bless'd j
A' smiling infant nestling lay In slnmbei at her breast.
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She Bp<i^ no word, she heaved no sigh.
The -nidow'stala to tell ; fivt like a cwpse, oU wUte and stiffs
Upon llie earth-floor fell. — And thousand joyful voices mj, " Hoiza ! Huzza ! i. ricioRT ! "
An atd- we^ man, with haid of sbow,
And jeaTB t]i^£8c<K« and tan, liOok'd m u^on his oaUD-home,
And BUguiab seized him theit. He help'd.not wife, nor helpless bahe,
MatroD, aot little maid. One scalding tear, one choking sob^
He knelt him down, and pray'd. And tbotuand joyfol Toicea cry, " Hnua .' Hmia 1 a vktobt ! "
The Rhv. R: E. B. Maoi.egiuM'.
ENGLISH SCENB& AND CHARACTEES.
mr wiujAM Howrrt.
JOCEXY I>UF£S.
1 ThehE was not s mxa in all that put t£ tite country wbo was aUa to compete ia wit witb our M iriend, Dick Bedfem, ia his best days, bat Joekey Daweii — and the joekej has a ftime a» eatensive and endnring as Dick hiotself. By a jockey the people of the midlaad conaties in commOTt parlance, do not mean, as the tana mere inmlly sonifies, a rider at rues, but a horee-4le*l«r, a bwu-jockey.
Jockey Bawes waa a priBCO'Biid a leader in bds profession, and tltat, as all the world knows, reqnireB a k«eit wit and a cunning. There is n« trade is wfadoh onrreacbii^ is more highly estimated as a eeienoe. Whh this dass of m^i it is a orautant battle of intelleets. It is always diamond cut dtamond. To be a good horse'jockiey a man most, to aaa their own term, be as deep as the □mlh star. T« bargain, to banter, to pose by a species of sharp sarcasm aiai TaHDting e^qnenee, to set stratagem against stra- tagflm, trick agwiwt trick, ^aagMSStiie, that is tbe diuly bnunefit
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4IU tsauas soenh aitd OHUucrsBa.
of the jocVey. A fur etatomeiit of the Kctnal qoalit; of tke article, k fur demand for it, thoae are the very lut things irhieh are tiionght of. The grand trinmph and gloiy of jocke^ship Is* b; well-laid schemes, good selection of customers,— for a jockey sees at a glance whether he has, to use bis own phrase, got the ri^t BOW bj the ear, — hy the practice of the most singular arts and-artifiees, to palm on a worthless beast for a good price, or a good beast fw fire times ita value. Hence all the practices of patching, painting, oUpiRng, trimming, gingering, to corer defects and impose a temporary show of spirit till the bargain is oror. It is only a practical eye that knows where to look for what i» real, and what is deception ; but that eye will in a moment detect the cleverest deception. The good jockey will coolly lay hi» finger on the weak point, on the concealed defect, with a quiet smile, as if it was a thing of no great importance, — show up the cheat, and tell to a peapy the real worth or w<»^essneBS of the animal. It is the Johnny Raw and the pretender who pay the penalty for dealing in horse-flesh. It is Moses who sells hit horse, and gets a gross of speotcicles in shagreen coses. I have known many who prided themselves on their judgment in such matters, but I scarcely ever knew one man who was not a regular jockey himself, who did not severely suffer for such transactions.
The Jockey has a pride and glory in hie profession proportimed to its difficulties and scope of imposition. See him riding into a town to a fair, with his long string of steeds all tied head to tail — - what a confident, self-satisfied air there is about him, as he jogs on, generally mounted on the most sorry jade in his possessioDp which you would not thiok worth a sovereign, but which, if yoo ventured such a sentiment, ho would immediately orack off as a most extraordinuy creature. Hay, he will point out points in the scarecrow as actual points of breed and beauty ; and telling you, if you he a judge, you must see that at once, will make you quite ashamed of your iguOTance. And then, as to virtues, and special qualities— why, there never was such a horse ! How many miles has he actually ridden ^at tU in one day without drawing bit ? How many miles an hour does he trot ? What weight has it carried or drawn 1 ood what have said such and such great men of it f Bless OS I why it is a fact, Bellerophon was a dog-lit t» that horse T Aad iritb that he gives the jade a coaxing uap on the chbst, with a — ■' What, they'd run thee down, old Bob, eh i They 'd make us believe that thon 'rt fit for nothing but the dog-
Coofjlc
EROUSH 8CB08 jUIII CHABACTZRS, ■ 425
kennel, eh ? Bnt let 'em show tis a tit that can clear the enxmcl like thee yet. No, no, thy beat days are to come yet. Thou 'rt iic«e «f their flip-flap, ra^y-waahy bits of ArahiaoB, that can b» idipped out of their dandy wrappers and. run over the conrae for ten miontes, and then into thdr jackets again, and all covered and cordiallod and coddled np like a sick child, or an old n<»naD with the ague. No, Eob ; no, lad, thou *rt all fur and above hoard» rough and ready, all steel and pin-wire, and wilt be jogging on thy ten miles an hour when many a showier thing is not fit to draw a babies' cart." And then ho gives him a cot with hia kng whip, and makes him start and prance, erying----".See ! what, he's no spirit left, has he ? lan'tttiat action? What d'ye call that ?"
See the jockey thus on the pavement of the fiur, in hia lon^ coat, his old boots, his great jockey whip, his. hat ihtA has no shape that mortal terms can desoribe — thrown, slouching, without either roundness or squareneu, coniera or edges about it ; and his stout waistcoat with its doable rows of great buttons; see his ruddy.. sunburnt face, and how he plants hb leg, and puts out his hand OS he is in the midst of his bargain — why, he would not thank the Queen to be hia mother — he is a clever jockey — a rare hand at ft raffle, and that is, in his eyes, the summit of existence.
And what a thing is a jockey's bargain ! He would scorn to set a fair price on a horse, and sell it at once and qiuetly. There is no fiin in that. No, even when he knows that his customer is np to the thing ; knows the worth of it aa well as he does, he '11 aak at least a fourth mora than he means to take, that he may have a chance by the force of hia palaver to take in the knowing one a bit. It is at least the way to show hia wit, his knowledge ; to enjoy the luxury of a good hard fight. He is all tongue, all eyes, all ears. He has half-o-doxen bargfuns cm the tapis at once. though he seems to be absorbed body and soul in an eager endea- vour to convince some one person of the superlatire qualities of some particular steeds ; though all the while he is perhaps well satia- flcd that he shall not sell those very horses to this parUcular man ; that the bidding is only to show off on the other ude. And truly, a pretty contradiction of terms do you have about the same hone. The owner has not words to express all his virtues and beautie* — the bidder to express his astonishment at the strange defecta of the creature. What a chest I what shapely buttocks ! what an eye ! what a beautiful head ! what a set of handsome legs and neat feet t what fire and action ho has ! according bj o[ie,-HUU accor^j^
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totliBOtlKr.irtKt-ftjoilterfaaad:! wfart&pi^bMkmndlwnylBpB! wk&t incipient ^•ran, Uttmn, aadgUurior*! He is, aocoiding^to tha bidder, liabU^teaU mtU of diiwiM, ooliei, oooglui, staggen, fltid faeMvu knoMrs idiHt.- You wauietwiait be can want muih alMnefw. Bf bis McooBt it is^ totx bad «*0n for tbe degB. Bst wbili 111* beat of omtHt goM o» aboat tbis siweiy praiaed and abamA steed, tW eje of Hk jtwk^ is seeFetlj awaie of time or fbor other patties, Aat he knewa are more lik«ly to purchaae, and flu- Eaore eaay to he taken in. Suddenly, h» turns to a qoiet olergy- tnan-like sort of a peraen^ and saTi — " Tfa»t's a c^itAl bone now, if jou valued one far a gig — nue-footed a» the mm bkneelf — goes like the wind, and is miIj rising four years old. He's been mn fW & year by Sir Toby Blaoa, who would net h&TB taken two hun- divd peimds foe bim, bnt Sir Toby wsa a Ultle mn out at the elhowB, I reckon, and is off to France. I ean let yon baTO that a baig&in ;— all ri|^ and ti^it, — ^yon 'U nwer hs*s the chance
KgKB."
" What's th« price?"
" Ptioft!— deg ^eqi — » men old se^. Seventy povnda."
Hie etergTmut-mBe, iwld gontleman ah^es his head, and is waking aw^.
" What lOfU yon give then, master ? Name your price. I itigfatpoesib^eMBe down a trifie or so, to do bnsinese."
" I dtm't wnot a Iwraa at more than fifty pounds," says the OBld gentlenaB, s^Uy.
'"Fifty I oh, I ennlet yon Iwre a doKMi at (iat price, at forty, thirty, ay, twenty-fiTS, if you will. Sea here ! and here ! Bnt take my adviec bbw, that- it a bargain! that u a borae! I t^ yoB it it oa wcfl worth twn handled pounds to a geotleraan as a penny loaf ia worth a pomy. Bat to make abort on it, I 'II say aiity-ave t Them ! irtiat do yon say titen ? "
" Say fertjr, Jmb I " aays an eqnl^ Bh>ip>-looking feUew- of the Basse genus, " and let the gentleman go ; . yon see he wants to be gWBg to ha dianra-. Say forty ; that's the real valae of the tit. 1 11 Ud it fer him, come, (tone I "
•* Forty ? forty denla ! Do yen tiiink, Hocndell, that I stekL my horeea ? or t^e -the dog-fieeh of the caT^ry ? No, dm very Teast penny I 'It take ia Mxty-three ! Ah, neighhoor I " says be, so^denly buatln^ wray to a brmerly-looking mui, who is>ey«iB;g a pair wf Uaek cotti — " Ah I yon 'tb scHne nhite is your eye, I sae. Yon kiww a Int of good stuff when yna aee it, a» well as
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EXnraH BGINES AND VtUMHOaOB. VS.
KOf of yonr fkthen dU when th*j 'd a nriod to. go » oooitiBg. Como, these wHI tnm up jcur leM in atjde, urf tbey 're yoon fw a fig's en(^— jm* flTe-airf4hirty poioida- apieee ! Whst ! don't that please jou ? " as the <dd fumer 1(n^ at bim vith a ^ n^ish noile. " Wbat's the matter now ? Are hones of that stamp bo thick on the ground here ? Just look about joa while I settle with thn ctergymaB ; and mmd nobody whips tiie colts off before you can open your mouth."
" Forty poaads'I " says tlie man who bvda as if BStf-appointed, for the clergymao-l^ gGBtlemaii. " Forty pomuk, and no moror 'niere is tbe braaa — " Ix^i^ out » lot of bajik notea. '
" Forty crtABticks ! "
" Forty ! and not a bodle more ! " - " Well then it'a of no use talldBg. Alt ! sqmre, that hooter will carry like a whirlwind this next aeaaon. There's bone aaA euew ! Tfaer&'s ^ore and a«tioc 1 Put that bone out, Tom, Bb»w his paeeSf" and Ute horae'gets a out behind, and is rattled over the stones at a rate that makes tlie fire fly frtsn his Efaoea- and the peofde out of hie way in a jiffey.
But not to foUow lUI die bargaining with th« sqnire: the joc^y is now alt vociferation with the fanaer for the black colts, and aa he hufh away from faim and his offer-"—
" Forty pounds, Jem ! " says again the knowing fellow whe it waiting beside tba cler^gnnan-like gentleman. " For^ ! that's the very last werA"
" Sirty, Hoandell ! Mxty, man I I won't take a peni^ lew i£ I must keep die bone tiU domasday."
And away go tlie knowing iwe and die mild gentleoMn, locdc- ing tbroii^ tte rest of the horse-fair. But h^ an hour after- watda, yon seer them there again ; and, s^te of having vowed twenty times that he won't shy another w(»d, and the odier |m>teethig thst this and that is the very last penay that he '11 take -~-th^ are mnv got to fevty-four and forty-uz ! But bere if InagB just as stifi^, and the fight is as hard, and t^ bargain seema as hopdess. In fact, away go die knowing one- and the mild. gendeman, as if for the last time, and in amaze at the jeekey's obstinacy ; but after some quarter of an hour, as they occt- dentally pass again, the knowing one shouts — " What ! that famous horse is still hanging on hand ! Well, Jem, I 'm still your man. Ill stand fi^-four, now then— sow <w nerecl" -—He is goings—
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428 ZNOLISH SOEKES AKS 0HAKACTEB8..
"FoTtj-five! Come, thiogs are denced slack to-day — ^diere-f- take faim — I lose tweatj pounds hj him, if I lose a penny. "
"Forty-four! " says the knowing one — "that's the price — here it ie, see — Bank of England — forty-four 1 "
"Well, forty-four then, and ten shillings for luck. There!, there! "
"Well, I won't be hard, — forty-four, and Jme ahillings for luck."
Here moat people would think the natter pretty wellt a an end. But no such thing ! If he were to pass a quarter of an hour afterwards, he would probably find them still hard at it • for a split of the five shillings, or finally, whether the halter aball go with the horse.
The bargain made, the Inild clergyman-like man pays down the money, and gives the knowing one a sovereign for his friendly, but unsolicited assistance ; at which he looks with a smile, turning it over in the palm of his hand, and adding, " A Irifie more, bit, should it not be ? Why, bless me, it 'a four hours that we've been higgling with that whitleather chap ; a fire pound noto wouldn't^ I think, be too heavy. Think what I 've saved you. Bere *s a horse worth two hundred ; nay, I won't say with Jem, worth quite two hundred pounds, but honestly worth one, and that for forty- four pound five! "
The mild man ^ves the knowing one a couple of sovereignsr and his groom rides the horse home, where, in a month's time, they find that the creature is regularly made up ; has a confirmed spavin, a touch in the wind, ia subject to run away with the bit between his teeth, and, in short, is not worth a bunch of matches; — ^e good-natured knowing one having been the jockey's accomplice.
Such ia the strange trade of a jockey, amongst whom Jockey Dawea stood pre-eminent. In aH the mysteries of making up, setting ofi', baigoining and buying, he stood unrivalled. He waa known at aU the fairs far round, but in his own neighbourhood he was a very byword for cunning and invincible fence of wit. I?ay,hiBfame seems to have reached the poet Tennyaon, fortnhia poem — " Walking to the Uail," we find his name : —
In hia youth he acquired great fame all amongst his class, and all over hia own part of the country for a trial about the sale of a
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EIraLISR SCENES AND CHAAACTBRS. 429'
Iiorse, irhicb he won. He had sold a capital-lboUng grev hors^ at a great price as a right sound, healthj, and useful dark grey horse. The purchaser founds as soon as he got home, that the horse was stone blind, though: it was difScult to discoTer this hj the look of his ejes. He sent it back, hut Jockey Dawes refused to take it, saying he bad sold it for a blind one. The purchaser denied this : the thing came to trial, where Dawes stoutly declared that he had sold it for a blind one ; that his very warrautry was that he was " a right sound, healthy, and dark grey horse ; " at which die court being very much enlightened, and the jury con- vulsed with laughter, a verdict was ^ven at once for Jockey Dawes ; and his "dari grey horse" became proverbial. W^ might Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, define a jocbey to be " a man that deals in horses ; a cheat, a trickisb fellow."
This worthy, as is the ease with this genua, kept a public- house near Langley Mill, on the edge of Derbyslure, and, of course, great was the resort to his tap when he was at home, and many the merry contests between the jockey and Dick Redfern. Dick was all lightness, thinness, and volatile, flashing merriment! The jockey, short, stqut, and somewhat pursy, with a cool, sly manner, a quiet meiming smile, and pleasant inward chuckle. The stories of his feats are endless in the traditions of his neigh* bonrhood ; but we can only give a specimen.
Two raw fellows of the Peak of Derbyshire plagued the jockey for % couple of very cheap horses for the work of a very poor Utile faiin. It was at a (air at Che8ter6eld. Jockey Dawes told them be had no such cattle ; but, as if he could make them at will, they fitilt continued to bore him for them. At length, as be saw that they were, according to the rhyme of the country, —
he said — " Well, well, come to my house. I've two tita there thnt will suit you to a hair. Two capital horses they are, though a trifle worse for wear ; hut all sound as timber and paint ; sound wind, limh, and e;e-sight. Hard as hrioks they are ; they'll just suit your cold country. I call them Wisk and Bob, Come then, and I '11 sell you them both for a guinea."
The fellows caught eagerly at the idea — two horses, all sound as timber and paint for a guinea ! Th^y set off the next day, and ivalked there. It was at least twenty miles. Jockey
,Coo*^lc
DftWM, wbo wu Ntting m grekt |;1m7 in Bis BMig fireiUe aook on A cold April day, sur tke follows ceniiag ap hii ;ud, And put the DeighbouTB, who were diinktn^ in the houae, vp to the mattw* He bkde the Feakerile cune m, take a'Mftt, and a sup of «le, tuai tbcm he wotdd duw them the hones, and iouBted tiiiey should be the ea^tal pair he had pnomiBed then^— Wisk Htd Bob) — and Bootiber.
" Wiak and Bob !" exclaimed the men who wese ddnkisg,— " why, Uetter, wHl jou sell them ? Thej go likethe wind, and oan live on the wiod, — they are iuunons hoisw, and are t^eap .at an J money."
The Fedcenls oonld hardly nt for impatieDoe ; tfa«f inaiated (« ■eeing the horses diraetiy ; when the jockey, going out to tlw door, pointed to the -sigii which hoMg in front UF the house, aai said—" There they are ;— there go Wiak and Bob ; one black, the other bay, one on eadi ude. They axe dog obetp, but I aljolt to my word— th^ are yours fer a guinea."
At this discovery the fellows grew oub«geiiDHxOcd tfacoateiuid' Jaw and T^kgeanee ; but the jookey Moid the laughter of lua neifflibeurs, told them to go hmne like bwo feeds a» they were, to hotSer a van to sdl ^st he had not, and tben to w^ timt^ miles to buy two horses fu* a guinea.
Another country follow presaed him as importonately to.bnf his horse, wboi he told him that he had ^lent all his mitaiey. And could buy no more that day ; but the msn idill wratt oa.sakij|gr him to buy. " Wdl then," aud the jooksy, ''if I buy it, 1 ahaU giye thee my note to pay thee in a fortnight." The bai^jain -wm made, and the note given, and in a fortnight the fellow walked into the jockey's hoHie, and presented his nAt«.
"Allright," Bwd the jockey, " all quite right — I11p»yttiee in a fortnight."
" In a fortnight I" uudtheman; " it 's due now ; it 's a fort- night rince you gave me this note."
" To be snre," Bud the jockey, " quite tnie ; ooma agaifi in « fortnight ; I'll pay thee in a fortnight.
The man departed in high dudgeon, and punctually at the fortnight's end appeared again.
" Well, now then, you 'II please to pay your note."
"Let tne see it ;" said the jockey. " Oh yes, in a fbrtui^tt ; — 111 certainly pay it then, — 'diat's what it says."
"Says! yes,— but I '11 tell you now it's two foituights unce job
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BBEAB FBOH B&UK. 431
ought to have paid it ; and ilyoa dMi't pKy it ntnr,'!'!! take mea* Burea to make you."
" OH! " said the jockey, "there's no need Of ^at ; come again in a fortniglit, and it ahall be paid. "
The fellow who Traa now part idlpatwnoe.lmmed off, breathing fire and fury, and in Gtat hmnour, to bin lawyer, telling bim what had pasaed ; but to his turprJHe, no aooner did the lawyer set eyea on the note than he barat into a violent fit of laughter. " Why," aaid he, "yon may go for erer ; tliere ia no date to the note, and it will be a promise to pay in a fartnigbt till the end of time. ' '
The man, who had ao little achc^nhip .h never to have per- ceived thia, was atro^ ^ of a beap, bvt the lawyer aoon helped him out of his dilema. " Go," i^ be, "to the jockey ; but take a friend with you. -Let yvur frioad go in atme time first, and be taking his gtaea when jtnt arrm .; - and when you enter take care not to recc^ise him. Present your-nete, and when tbe jockey aaya he will pay in a fbrtni^t, call your fiiend to witness the promise."
The man followed his advice, osd as soon aa he called on his friend to mark the jockey's words — JetJu^Dawas gave a knowing ■ look, chuckled to hiniMlf, and Bftid-tcytto fcfflmr, — "Oho ! so thon haat been to thy motiwr, hut tben'? Hane, here is thy money, and another IJme, don't bore p«^de who- don't wsat to buy ; and get cut for the simplea iMfore tbuiitakeaprsmBBery notea without dates again."
Dead thongh Jockey Danves has been this half-century, yet his fame is atrong in its locality as ever,, and before tlie door of hia old house atill swing on each side of the ^gn the two renowned horaea that live on the wind— the immortal Wiek-and Bob--BOund as timber and paint.
BREAD FROM BRAIN.
Whbbb the iron o£ our, lives
la vrroaght out in 6k KBd>an«i»,
There the mighty V^nlcan atrives — Hot the furnace ! hard tJw atrolte I
There the windy bellowa blow,
There the sparks in miUiona glow ;
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BBEA9 TBOU BRAIN.
There on uivil of the world, Ii the claitginK huumer harl'd.
H&rd the laDonr 1 vmsll the ^mh !
la ID nukiDg Bread from Biam ! Whara that DftmeloM stone is raised,
Where the patriots' boneH were plac'd. Lived he — little loved and praised,
Died he — little moamed and graced — There he sleeps who knew no rest, There nnblest by those he blest. Here he starved while sowing seed ; Where be starved the wonns now feed [
Hard the laboat ! small the gain !
Is in making Bread fr^m Brain 1 Id that chamber, lone and drear,
Sits a poet writing flowers, Brin^g Heaven to earth more near,
Raining thoughts in dewy showers : While be sings of nectar rare, Onlv is the inkbowl there. Of feasts of Gods he cbaunts — high tmst ! JiM he eats the mouldy crust.
Hard the labour ! small the gain !
Is in making Bread from Brain 1 When the prophet's monming voice
Shoots the burthen of the world, Sackcloth robes most be bis choice,
Ashes on his head be hurl'd. Where the tyrants live at ease, Where false priests do as they please, He is acont'd and pierced in side, He is stoned and cmcilied. '
Hard the labour ! small the gain !
Is in making Bread from Brain 1 Patriot ! poet J prophet ! feed
Only on the mouldy crust. Tyrant i fool ! and false priest ! need
All the crumb, and scorn the just. Lord ! how long 1— how long ? oh Lord ! Bless, oh Qod, mind's unsheathed sword ; Let the pen become a sabre ; Let thy children eat who labour :
Bless the labour I bless the gain I
In the making Bread from Br^n.
GoonwTN Barubt.
RESEARCHES JS BEL6RAVIA ; THE WORKS AMD WONDERS OF THE WEST.
BY A SERIOUS PAKTT. • Letteb I. — To Mas. Eubtler,
TlnglAitry, Mar^ Oc 20lh, 1846.
Odr vinter plans, dearest friend, so long and anxiouBlj re- volved by the serious fire-side of a certain boudoir, seem at length destined to undergo the fulfilment too rarely awarded to mortal undertakings, however opulent in promise. The die is cast — and you know it is the privilege of Tiuglebuiy rarely to change its purposes, onee they are affinnated. We explore Bdgravia ! I am too certain of the anxiety of the kindred-minded circle of Wailford- cum-Stakeworth not without needless delay to commit our resolu- tion to the exertions of the modem Mercury.
The choice of a party is, on all umilar occasions, a matter to be entered upon with weight. You might have been sure that on such an excuruon we should not leave our sweet, enthusiastic
F behind (her inquiring mind and impul^ve and pUlanthro-
pical simplicity bow rare!) but I think I hear your surprise, when I acqutunt you that the Peckers oast in their lot with ub ! To decide our dear and honoured relative to leave the solid hearth, where he substantiates the English oharacter so worthily, some- thing more than ordinaiy motives were necessaiy. But the idea of
' myaelf and P entering upon our researches without a male
protector was not to be thought of. Far be it from us to emulate those Amazonian heroines whose proceedings hare struck a damp upon the shrinktngvirtuesof BO many women " bom but to gladden home's Arcadian sphere," (as the Poet sings). Wo are not poli- tical economists. We boast no preternatural tension of nervous energy : our desires are as retinng as our acqiurem^its. , You must look for none of the Bubversiona of modem philMoph^ in onr artless details ; fer no culpable compliances with the fuhions of those among whom the whirligig of Timo may predpitate os t
NO. XVII.— VOL, m F F ( ■ 1 Hil -
431 BB8EARCHS3 Dt BELOBATU.
We shall keep our own hours, our own thoughts, our own pur- poses. Mrs. Pecker's treasure, Bridget, accompanies her mistress — the noctomal terrors of our sister, though under control of her sober mind, demanding the hahitual presence at all hoars of an easily- wakened attendant. We shall artud public oouveyances, still more those accumulations of wqildliness — the Hotels ; where the purest prjnci^s maj he vitiated by the contact of idle and unpro- Atable conversation, and the fare is such as it may be hoped all rightly-educated English palates would distruBt, The larger part of a small furnished house engaged in Chapel Street (there was a soothing invitatioji in the name which decided the choice) wffl receive us. Relieve mo that distance or new scenes can make no difference in composed affections like ouiis. You shall. bear &om time to time of onr wanderings in these remote regions.
Eicnse lucidity. Par the moment, I am summoned to Ae need- ful preparations. The nimble fingers of P , whose taste yon
have so often paid the jnal meed to, have been for some days bnaly occu|rie<l in our equipment. No French gew-gaws for your, old friend ! who mtuntains — and will matntMn hers^ —
Unalterably and affectionately yonrs, DuxaRiu.
tft. — , Oftaprf atrwf, Sdffram Spatn, April Oe IM, 1846. Dbarest Mrs. Rustles,
Hebs we are, safe Mid sound ••••** mth tlifl mingled fedioga of exultation and sadness, which conduce to the peculiarity of new scenes. Ur. Pe<^er hsa gone to The
* The EdiMr of these "Bcsearokee" dunks it just to all urliee, to call attenlion to certain omiudone m&de by tiim in publicatjon. The excellent writer'B inAilgenoB in ecriptnral quotations hardly Buits the humour of a paiiodiatl devoted to nuBcelhuieotis dituamoBa. Entliunastie tmvellen^ like Miss BiU, are somentiU loo i^ to forget what ^ Chirin GtwnAaoD oiled " times and occasioDS," aa any one limiiliar with the literature ot Travellertf Boolcs must admit. As one instance among & thousand, andamons die least doctrinal In tstxr collection, we may cite ttie followii^ from the AUxun of an im> on the Lkke of cimui —
" Skeold it not be wid to Tmr^en, < Drinl wMar otit ot lUne own dstem and runiung water ont of thine own well 1 ' " — Frovtrit, v. 16.
To which it may be replied, tliat csuatry belaags to a person where iatx and censcimce bid him find himBcK.— -3fi« Sharpe, Qlst Sept. 1844."
IEBSSASCHES IK BELGHATIA. &S
l^iming - ■■ Office, to seek an intervlQw with its Editor
— dnce "who," sajB he, "would delay one single hour when the country is to be saved ? " — and the resolutions of the Anti-Maize Ueeting held at 'Clnglebury on Saturday last have been com- tnittod to his care. His amiable wife, who was nmch aggravated dironghout the night by the attacks of a host of nimble adver- Buies, rendering the plagoea of the East no fabte — and who never setlJes, she says, for many days in any new bed save her own, is Indulging ; P — — (who has already traced out for herself and her tardier companion a sphere of UBefuluess) is making a selecdon •fiwa among our tracts and presents for the younger branches of femilies. Faithful to my promise, then, I resume my pen ; feeble, ferohanee, but still affectionate. May, etc., etc* • • • We availed ourselves of the South Western Railway, after many discussions and scruples. — Let ns beware, dearest Mend, of materiaUsm in our comforts : — and the rapid motion of which tends to a dissipation of the ideas under which alone a tonr can be profitably undertaken. Much is it to be regretted that Mr. Pecker's plan of a quiet conveyance along &a canals, in classed boats (more English by fiu- and valuable as a protest against these violent hurrying times) is still dormant. By shutting my eyes and repeating doud passages from " The New Dew M Hermon," I succeed in secluding myself from exterior objects, nntil a long shriek followed by a stoppage, the glare of hghts,
and the alert eiclamations of our cheerful P , aroused me to
A sense of my poidtion. She, too, had not wasted the oppor- tunity. The entrance of a passenger, in spite of Mr. Pecker's protests,— unused to miscellaneous associations — had afforded her en opportunity of gathering information. He was a tall youth, with an open and cheerM countenance bespeaking a worthy origin ; handsomely dressed, and apparently about five-and- twenty. Perceiving that Mrs. Pecker manifested symptoms of diatresi at the odour of tobacco which he had extingnished
previous to entrance, ho apologised politely — upon which P
ralUed him in her artless way, and they entered at once into con- versation. His manner was ardent and his choice of language engaging. Ur. Pecker joined in, won by his affable ease —
and politics were introduced. It was gratifying, P aaaures
me, to observe the deference of her new friend to our relative's
ragacions wisdom. Their views seemed entirely to coincide.
What rendered, the rmc<Mtre more interesting wu that tho
7p2
ISC BESBJSCHia IK BZLQBATU.
g«ntUm«n profeswd Umwlf to b« ui iohabiUnt <tf Belgnna ; and entered vithont reeerve into the habits and mumers of tbe district. As onr agreeable acqnisititm (his name still oil* known) was proeeeding in the same direction aa onrselTes, Hr. Pecker pressed him to take a seat in oar vehide; which ha •cceptod : gail; remarking on the compactness of tlie presanre^ He accompanied us till within the immediate sphere of his own TicinitT : when he shook hands with ns, and we parted with a mntnaJ desire to cement an intimacy, F having presented him
with a copy of " The SlothfiJ Smoker." Till Mr. Niblett presenta himself (even then, if indeed his newly-aaaamed Anglo-papistical opinions render it advisable for his old and less fickle friends to coalesce with him on any subject) our new acquaintance may he useful aa a guide and comisellor. Such incidents at all evenlfl are soothing, p. — — says she has rarely seen a more playful comitenance.
It was late^I should have said — when we reached the station* which, we were informed, was on the site of the infamous Vauzhall of our forefathers. — When I thought of tfie scenes of disorderly mirth which those mute walla had witnessed, I was only too glad to shake the duat of the place from my feet, and entor the vehicle in wwting : — I was depressed to feel myself in the centre of iniquity. Thus burned, of old, the hearts of tiie Martyrs, when compelled to join in the Pagan dancea before the altara of Jupiter at Thebes. 0, my beloved friend, let us be strenuous in onr convictions ! —
On thia aide the entrance to Belgravia is not inviting. Archi- tectural luxury has coyly reserved her displays for the centre of her citadel, and yielded the margins of the approach to the dis- located fragments of Engineering Industry. To how many poor families could not the boilers dispersed on either side of the road. have furnished a comfortable meal ! Two ofthe largest (magnificent specimens of iron-work) were pointed out hy our instmctive travel- ing companion to Mr. Pecker, as in preparation for Her Majesty's kitohens, to be conveyed to the place of their destination, this morning, hy horses of the Royal Mews. The weight of one, to speak accurately, could not have been leas than one thonsand. tons. The sight recalled to me the brazen machine of the monarch of Smyrna, the interior of which was deluged by the immolation of the eleven thousand Christian virgins. You will remember Claude's engraving from the original picture in ih& National Galleiy.
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REWAttCBBB ID BEJiGBAVU. 437
Our Landlady, who has imbib«d fhe tiue tone of the worldly Atmosphere m which her life hoe been Bpent, received us with
Jtoliteneas radier than cordialitj. Our impuluve P , vho is
preptwed to embrace all mankind, was chilled at this, end Bays alr^dy, that she feels the stifling influences of a Court entering her very soul I She waa taslefiilly dressed in black TcWet, of the Manchester, not the Qenoa loom ; — and wore a red gauze handker- chief on her head. Mrs. Pecker's Bridget, distanced by these modish trappings, endeavonrs to account for her humbled and uneasy feelings by insinuating inebriation as the canse of an elegant and wavy demeanour, to which Tinglebury eyes are unaccustomed. Simple woman I — she forgets she is in Belgraria, Oar Landlady is not unused to the Aristocracy. Traces of the inmates who had preceded us were obrious. A basket filled with
cards, bearing noble names, vaa eeixed upon eagerly by P ,
who has already copied several into her journal ; hei rapid and inventive mind having already conceived a plan of tunung her nen-ly-derived knowledge to account. She is on the stturs, dear girl ! inriting me to sally forth with hia I I come I I come ! In the meantime, I am always,
TouTfl nnfeignedly,
DiASA Rill.
LeTTBB IIL — To IHB SkUB,
April 3rd, IM6. The singular treatment which Mr. Pecker has received, though Dot strictly speaking in concatenation with Belgravian subjects, since it occasioned the necessity of my waiving yesterday's jonmal, may therefore be mentioned withoat divarication by your recording Friend. I will ever beli,eTe that bod he made application -to one •f the journals of this politer district,— that, for instance, edited by Mr. Boyle, — he would have received a reception in better accordance with his merits and those of his cause. How will your Protectionist heart smk within you, when I acquaint you that The
Homing can make NO ROOM for the resolutions of the
Tinglebury Anti-Maize Meeting ? Mr. Scoldinghom'a convincing arguments euj^ressed 1 Our brother-in-law compendiously received by a subordinate functionary with on air of preconcerted dismissal ! Will you now doubt — dearest but too charitable friend — of the in- fluence of the Jesuits ? We were unable to speak or think of any
488 BSSEIBCHIH IH BELSBAVU.
Aung but the unworthy aabject Testerdaj. Calmed unrl^'tbe mellowiiiK consolationB of b^ercdenw, and h rasoliitioa to bring the false Drethreu to condigD indigtiitj, (m; huuble pen hetng the implement emplo;«d), I can proceed to acqiuint ^u utethodioaUj wiUi the more imme^ate subject of m; letterB. Two walks in Selgravia have furnished much. The district seeme rich in aaBQai&> tiona. But first a Uttle wholesome Imowledge. " Facta in pre- ference" is dear Ur. Fecker'g principle— a staff for those di&. posed to walk humbly.
To designate the boundaries of Belgravia with precision is not easy* — GrosTeoor Place is one recogniaed limit — the apex of Lowndea Square another. Close beyond it to the west lies the suburb of Chelsea, with the Uilitaij Hospital founded by that
freat commander. Sir Hans Sloane. But this is distinct from elgraria. The inhabitants, even, are a separate race, and refosa to communicate. In Btmrell, mj dear, yon wUl find Cadogan Place stjgmadsed as ungenteel, through the fanciful medium of Ujs. 'Wttitterly. I am told that if a Belgravlan lady of pore quarterings addresses another across the border by inquiring the character of a culinary domestic, a correspondence instantly ensues between the irritated families, which is printed in the Court News, and the delinquent reproved by cold looks from her friends, and temporary abstinence from participation in their social pleasures. What edifying consistency ! Should it not he so hetwiit us and all without our barriers 1 — with the blinded Papists, and the infuriate Dissenters of all denominations ? P says, in her ear- seat way, that never before did she imbibe the beautifying atmo- sphere of aristocratical charity. But this is only equalled by the motherly love of the Belgravians to one another. Here are nonet of the futhless husbands invented by pernicious noveUats to serve
* The Edikv fe^ it neceesary, once a^un, to oonunent on Uin lUU** text, Buice the poaitire and mintLte mformatjon she funush6s may excite ear- prise in those whose acquaintance with moda^ tomiBtB is hnuted. The oorrectoees of the aatbor of "The Great Mebvpolia" (not ftnsettiiig Us wondrous Picture of Paris) is co&ree painting to the exqoiaite Droidei7 of tome of the ladv travellers «bo have Teceatl; bononred the wtwld witti their facta. The Editor canaot but ioat&nce with pride pvevious printed tmm' bjr senoDS paHle% in the East ; with tbe aoriptural qnot&tioDa not (as alwve) omitted. Mise Rill is an homblsr sister of the titled Lady, in whose jounMl mch an entry as thii might be seen — the place, poanl^y, Jerusalem : — "W^ed this monung on the top of the bmue.— 3%m it vat Aal Savid- Ululd £aAaei<U /" -
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KBSEABCBB8 I^^ELQXATU,;
tJteir own perfidies — no aoandalous WBjtteni of ']n«oi<mi i ip friTolity I We are oasored of e,a uaiveraalitj of Bffeala<»i unong the members of lliU district, and a ^gnified appropriatitHt of the stiuds of Time, which eqtitlea it to the epthet trf Beautiful and Serious, (Bel et Crrove,) vhence.ils name! Oae or two por- tions, howeyer, are debateable land, analogous to that on which' Mary Queea of Scots confronted the Amasonina Sororeiga of Britain. Cheater Square, for inatanee, we learn, is ncrt strictly Belgravia. On the other hand, a maniion or two beyond the line- are affiliated to the mother proTinoe. Two palaces, on one of the great arteries of London, close by an entrance to the Park, have been pointed out to us, ezpTesely annexed to Belgravia hy iti magnates, out of oompUment to the brilliant financier who has purchased one— the meed of Ida sncceasful speculations. Prince Albert has requested him to place his anna — a pair of stags — on the gate founded by Royalty close to his residence.
The architectuTe of the district is rery imposing. A tall roan- .
sionnow occupied by the Earl of • in an angle of Belgrave (the.
central) Square, is a beautiful specimen of the perpendicular Pal- ladian. Others, in Lowndes Square, are in that Saracenic style whicbSir Inigo.and, subsequently, his descendant, Mr. Owen Jones, translated from the buildings of Hafiz in the East, and which the late ingenious Mr. Beckford was the first to introduce at the re- sidence of Mr. Bogers the Poet, To me such heathenish vagaries bespeak a low scale of moral responsibility. Let ns have oneness. Time was when the fathers and mothers of England were con- tented to live in English houses ; and the windon-toz was the watchword for simplicity in decoration. We are grown fantastio unce we have thrown off our duties. In three years, Ur. Pecher assures me, if the present Jacobin ministry continues in powex (which may, tie., &c.), not one solitary check will be left ! Do not mention this at Watlford. Let us not disseminate destruction, even afar off t
There are sereral public gardens in'Belgravia — used for the- /^tes champitre of the inhabitants — principally in the squares. We hope to witness one. Of the churcbeH I enn furnish you with, minute information, tiiere being no less than twelve; varying from, every shade of security. *. * • * * to every permeious tint of false doctrine. We, who cannot err, shall know which to select. Several of the clergymen have married ladies high in.
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410. BHIABOHM Dl BHrOBAVU.
nnk; aome of tlte Utter, I he&r, are orguuBin^ an eBtabKalimeiit of Sisters of Charity, and intend going round among the poor of the mewa, to minigtor to the eick and the afflicted eqae«triana. The mansion where the Buke of Bordeaux received his e^atiutted Bubjecta, and atnick terror into impenitent France, has been gene- rously giren by its owner for the purposes of the Society ; ehe herself having retired to a suburban villa, where she sacrifices faer energies to doing good to the lame, the halt, and the blind among that abandoned class composed of foreign actors, and mucdcians. Another order of Sisters of Charity (emancipated from papistical thi-aldom') con^ts of ladies who go from bouse to house among tJiose of a higher sphere than the poor and ignorant. To mwn- tiun the affectionate confidence of the (Ustrict, they enconrage
watchfulness, and discriminate truth by anecdotes. Lady A 's
right band knows what ring is that on the finger of Lady B— — 's left. Messages of love are by their agency ra^dly diffused, — timid minds strengthened — enervated faculties snarpened by the «xercise of tho ingennity. 1 will exemplify to you some day the Banner in which this admirable system of Christian emulation and rivalry works (how different from the gossip of a certain parish not a hundred miles from Tinglebury, which will not subside into peace till the Kev. Hr. Fodd is gathered!) — by instances. The members of this order have no separate or settled habitation, nor uniform cos- tumo. Some penetrate the mazes of the Opera, there to cull warning truths ; — a few have dared to lift up the voice of counsel in tho presence of our Sovereign — who sends for them secretly, whenever some new beneficence or amelioration of the public good ia to bo accomplished. N.B. You will find these and other establishments yery inewioctly adverted to in Lady Morgan's work on Rnilico — who embraces but does not exhaust this district.
These facts, wherevrith indeed we had portly furnished ourselves ere reaching the metropolis, quickened our impatience to lundle
our minor lamps, too, among such sympathetic circles. F ^"s
" Card-book," as we aheady call it, proved a valuable auxiliary ;
the name of Lady having been mentioned to ns by our
liostess, as foremost among these eminent persona. Her address ;aSarding itself — we resolved to lose no time in making her ac- •quaintea with us ; and hare just returned from our first visat. But for the romantic and curious incidents which characterised this you must wait. My sheet is already crammed, — and the aonihilatioa
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raa v. uiLtava. — tsb last tebdict. 441
<^ franks, Kr. Pecker Hya — a cunningl; deriBod meaeiiTe for tlie subTeniiHi of the Hoaees of Parliament, — has put an end to exten- sive correspMidence. Meanwhile, hoping against hope, let me eign mjBelf, Deeply youn,
DiAHA Rill.
Mrs. Peeker's lore. True to her conjugal Tirtaes, she remains principally at home : for what indeed, says she, con make up for her own tnlip-beds at Tingtebury ? . Mr. Pecker has gone to Tattersall's, where, he is told, the Protectionist meBd>era hold their meetings (by way of a protest against tiie criminal flexibility of the Duke of WelUi^lon, who lives in the neighbourhood,) in hop^s of finding some one who will take up the matter whidi intcreata ua all so deeply.
TIME TEB8C8 MALTHUS.
THE LAST TEBDICT.
" Stop ! " and the cod of the ooinibaa, looking to his left, beheld a my solemn gentleman — for he was a moral philosopher — Bud a very sharp little lady — for she was learned, waiting on the pavement. In and off, the moralist, bef(H« he retied the broken thread of his logical aynthesis, looked round npoa his neighbonra. He sighed when he hod done so, as well he might ; for here at least waa cvidenco of Nature's philosophy, instead of his own learned theory, which was to fill nations with gladnesa, by making months few and bread much: — two babies, four children, a matron, and a young lady with a very bright wedding- ring seen through her transparent glove, which very wickedly and designedly she made the most of. But doom I doom ! woe ! woe ! babies' smiles, children's laughter, a young heart's joy, God's sunshine bright on Ilolboni pavement ! sorrow ! sorrow ! mere wilea towards the great pitfall of Pauperism and Despair. The philvaopher could have put ashes on his head : he taught, and where were his disciples ? Was there one 1 Yes, do not despair, teaching moralist of a gloomy creed, for your platenic friend, the sharp little lady, has just taken her glance off the bride's orange flowers, and now, as you look, is abstracted in the sentimental woea of the Lady Belindas of her new novel. Do not fbor I the
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U$ TUB V. UALTHUS. — THE UBI TStSHSTt-
very adjurfttioa of cheerfdauw has made yon friends. Tau pot jaur icy hand upon the very human heart of FBUperism, and crj your curse upon its poor narrovr tenure qf enjoyment, whilst sh« tickles the fcehle appetite of all enjoying convention, by mawkisb episodes regardmg cold and hunger ; very pleasant to read" over d glowing fire ; very digestive, possibly, after a luxurious meal. " Yet, my moralities teach not,' thioJu the moralist : " it must be owing to the spirit of the time ;" " and my odt^ coma forth to-^ day, and die to-morrov in a fashionable gazette," meditates the little lady. Yes, moialiat ; yea, novelist ; it is " the spirit c^ the time," vhiidi, disregarding the false, ia teaching the universal and the true ; which, disregarding tbe moralities of man, ia teaobing the moratiti«B of nature, benignant now as from the be^nning > which is looking onward, not retrospectively ; which sees visiona nearer to God, than dull dreams of Time's senility ; which is teach- ing its generation not to be lookers-on, but actors ; and which is teaching it the wisdom of faith in goodness, cheerfulness, hope. Till your moralities teach with this progressive sign, fruitless and barren will they be ; till in your novela you put the comoaon human heart, they will not sell. Moralist and noveiiat, I tell you BO 1 But my verdict waits !
Set down at the Bank, Ae phtloaophic friends wqlk oeward side by ude, through narrow atreete, didl courts, reeking allvys, till they stand within an ancient city grave-yard, where the dost ot oountleea generations mokes the eailh-covering for the festering pauperism of yeaterday. Yet even here the cheerful ^inciple of life atanda out as God's best angel, triomphant above the fear- inveated change which Prieatcraft calls Death, wbieii Naiare teaches ia but a new step onward in tiie great spiritual march cJ Time. A daisy here, a tuft of sod there ; bread pathways of sun' light above the workhouse grave, as above the costly marble of the plethon-killed alderman ; kneeling angels in the ann-glwied windows, typifying faith on earth and glory in heaven, still kneel- ing at their inaudible centuriea of prayer ; a caged yet joyous lark bewde the cobbler's window serosa the cborchyard w^, are yiai- hle not, for the moralist has already commenced his cakulationa, and so makes his way towards the sexton, who is shovdling Hn earth just bcMde tiie church porch.
Now it happens that Tapps, the ahove-menlioned lark-possessing cobbler, has been lured by the bright sun from awl and lapatone) and is standing, there too, just ae the moraUat inquires of Mopetli«
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TIME V, tULTHCS. — THE LABT TEBDIOT* HA
SBXtnu the number and amount of buriali made yearly, m<mthly,' vedd^, and duly. When tbia information is noted down, then, ia a fnett qneation as to age, sex, diaeaBOB.
" Why,' repliea Hope, aher a mwiHit'a conaideration, " tbej. go off for irant o' wittlea, and I take it that thouaanda lie here, a^ wouMn't a bin coffined, if there 'd bin an eaay way to the baker s shop. For when the quartern loaf ^ts up a &rtliing, aaya I there 11 be work in 't this neek ; ho it's true, 'apeciaUy in babies.''
" And what makes the loaf dear, and the way to the baker'S' ahop difficult?" aakathe mor^iat, certun of a prime shot presently both into the ears of the twinkle-eyed cobbler, and the dull eexten,
"Why, why," conatderB the seitoa, and appealing by bjnk to Tappa, " why a very UUle corn the one, and a rery little money t'other,"
" No ! my man," replies the wise moralist, " knowledge haan't reached jrou, I see. It 's a want of moral restraint that fills ehuicbytuds, and orama woi'khouaea, makea bread dear, and brings a curse upon the world, A man that haa leaa than a hundred a year sboddn't marry ; if he doea, he acts againat the lawa of Qod and man. Too many creatures are bom to atarve, and rot, and die ; and it isn't till nations pass laws against marriage, excepting only the case of the rich, that bread will be- plentlAil, and die oomiug ruin of the world prevented. You see / do not preach
" So far you beat Malthua, air, I think," says Tapps, " for ha first put Btch a thing a-g<nng, though he knew very well he was pincking a feather oni of a Scotclmian'a cap. But now, air, jiat allow me to aak you one natural question : — Are you, with Uiat cloTor-looking little lady by yom* aid^— are you the happier for not bNBg married to her? "
The little lady bloshes, her heart beatai she turns away : the, cobbler baa propounded the first and foremost secret of her aoul. But the moralist looks grave.
" The law of moral duty and that of nature ore two differ«nt things ; knowing thia, am / to odd another fraction to the ^e^ doomed woe of human miaery 1" '
" Begging your pardon," says the casuiat cobbler, " the laiirs of duty and nature are one ; and I take it, that there 's a deal of wise beada now, as look upon Parson Malthus's population affair as a great bubble, that wasted s deal o' ipk and p^wTi and that i^
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444 miE V. lULTHDS. THE UBT TSUDICT.
not aD the pain besides ; for ye see, bit, it un't ereiy pta^an crotcheta aa are quite bo harmless as was that dear old ParsoB Adams's about his bits o' sennons. And now, sir, if there is aninfen o' the truth in this here early marriage matter, what's the cause on't ? "
" Uan's natural bad passions, or perheips, rather some Inherent principle of nature to over-populate beyond its means of subaietence ; that tiius only within a mark and bound, civilisation shall make progreBs; tiiat men shall dream fiitilely of a perpetual summer-time, forgetting the strarm of locusts that hover over to destroy."
*' Well, sir, I differ," goes on the cobbler, digging his right hand stoutly into his left. "It 's ignorance. Uake a poor man less a brute ; teach him, and there '11 be the solve, I take it. Now, if Parson Malthus had written a good spelling-book, or a good story- book for instance, or a sumfen that would a really taught what a beautiful place this earth is, bow fiiU of blessings for every human creature as has breath, he'd a done more to cure wickedness o' the flesh, than he did with that sharp book o' bis, which the bishops thumbed and thought slch a might about. Now, give a man sumfen to think about beside the public-house and the skittle- ground ; give him cheap meat and bread, so as he may fill his belly, and then I take it ye '11 find him a being as can reason, as won't slip into poverty on purpose, but keep smgle till there 's a Bumfen for a wife and bits o' children ; and then if he doesn't have 'em, the Lord bless his heart, it ain't in the right place, and I wouldn't g^vo tuppence for 't. Fot, what 's made my life a bit of a sunny Uiing, so that I've often had a heart as light as that lark as is a singing there? why, my missis; for if I have a trouble she helps to take it ; and as for children, taking the good and evil together, they're tho flowers which God has himself set in the path of a poor man's life ; it 's only want o' bread as makes chil- dren a sort o' thorns in the way o' poor struggling human creetura,"
"All very well, Mr. Tapps,' says the moralist, somewhat pettishly ; " human happiness, and more mouths than bread, are arguments that destroy one another. If you over-populate tho
"If," interrupts Tapps, "the doubt's very strong here. Why, in this here nation, what makes hre&d dear, and fills up with pari^ c<dBns sich a place as this as Mope nutates ? Why, bad Uxtog. Now put thtte down, instead o' bilding workhouses, and separating a man from his iwtter self, and tfiere 'U come com
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TDCB V. lULTHDS. — TBE lABT VBBDIOr. 445
enongli. For the e&rth is bnwd and froitfu], and nator's storehouEe not iialf laid op«n. Then, when the vrorld'a ships mat/ go free, when maa may freely reap and sow, when ye 'n made him a feelin' senBible creetur, knowing good from enl, he 11 marry and he g^ven in marriage, withoat more fear o' over-populating the earth than filling the sea with too many fishes. And to this tima I take it the world ia a-going forard too, in spite o' Parson Mal- thus andbia scholars. 7n Godt vx>rks there it w»flaw, though man's great solemn books may say there is. And so, sir, git mar- ried : there 'a figlosofi in it ; and as I take it ye write boobs,'let them be sich as 11 help poor creeturs into the light o' wisdoin. And BO, sir, git married, and g^vo a verdict for Time against the Surrey Parson. For ye '11 take the words o* Solomon, Ireckoit, better than sich as come from a cobbler ; and what Bays he on these two pints o* a wife and population ^ why, snmfen wiser than the pareon. Thus: — "Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtainethfavourof the Lord "('specially if she's a quiet tongue); and the t'other : " In the multitude of people is the king's honour, and in the want of people is the destruction of the prince." Only I'd suggist in this latter case, that one should haye God's honour, instid o' kings', and the destruction of glorious human natur, instid o' tbcm bits o' things in purple that men call princes. And BO, sir, git married."
Just as Mr. Tapps has thus advised the moralist, what should step forth from the cool porch into the wann sunlight, but a strapping young fellow in a bran-new blue coat, and on his arm such a little tiny, happy, trembling human flower, though not over brave in money-bought gaudinesa, that Uecblin lace never shrouded in purer or prouder blushes. Well, they have just been married : the parson's blessing is yet an echo ! Why, here is enough in strapping Tom Kittletink's looks, to confute the world's trumpet-blast against happiness unlesa in purple. Tapps wickedly winks, and chirps a merry ha ! ha I aa hearty as his lark hard by ; the sexton rests on bis epade ; the moralist places his foot on a newly upturned skull, it may be accidentally, though I am afraid be had not auch wisdom aa Yorick had to raise a glorious truth from inaentient dust. Tapps, like his lark, has the firat note, and it it a cheerful one, for he stops Tom Kittletink right ^ort, and thoa adds a deeper glow to the little bride's dovmcast face.
"AndsoTom," aajs Tapps, "this gentleman as isanoting
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•4*6 thie e. iulthiib. — tsb last tebdict.
down the 'rithawtld o' dead hunun creeturs, u sharp aa « pArbfa ho; at an apids-sball — and all I take it for thdm here parliomeitt men — says as how to git married ia to fidi inM Hie pit o' deBtruotion, and so you 'd better go home and make a, day o* Weeping on 't."
"Of merry-inaking," Bays Tom, all joyouB, "aa is proptt -with Mvy h^re, and a stuffed loin of pork and a precious pixaa- pudding. What! cryi Why, Lord hlesB the gentleman, a wedding asf doas hnt come once in a life ; and it's wwlli a world o' ears to eome that onoe, as I diink."
" The happiness of a day, the misery rf years, my ftiand,"
raks the now somowhal abstracted mOTalist, " the woAhotoe, parish cofGn, the slow-paced eleemosynary doctor, the scream- ing ohM, the destitution, the want of mere bread, and last of all, the earth, this earth, — ^you understand ? "
" I do, master," spn^s out Tom Kittletink still more Btontl;^, " and I Ve looked as far into the matter as a hard-woiking man, flB a Barbican brazier with no bettfir learning than uch ax pariA ochools strap and badge upon the poor can do, and I don't see that God made sich blessed little creatures as my Mary here, as ^wers only to be worn in proud rich men's bosoms. Why, hope 'a for all on ns, the aun 'b for all on us, and a man migbt as weB persistingly sit under a big down-turned bUer, when the Bun '% shining, as to always be looking for'ardB to evil. Not thitt we are a-going to rush into the pari^ anns as I say : it's oidy when a man can't be worser off that he does that. But here 1 waa, with fifteen ^illinga a-week a-ooming in, a decent second iotx back, a few bite o' things towards housekeeping, and Huj a-pioSng and moping bv herself, and both as tu loving di^dm^ Bnd wuhing to bare em to teach and make '(of 9ttVet Am ourselves ; and so I thengfat, as God didat^ ny no, tbom as go about with tracts and sich like shouldn't, and bo we 've seen tfae pmBB, aad now we're jist off to tie roast pork and podding, n<it Mvying a mortal human creature, but thankful &a what I am, And for Mary here, sir."
** And I prophecy——-" began the moralist. ■ "I Bay, sir," interrupts Tom Kittletink, "you must think better o' Bich as us, and gire us a lift by yer learning, instead of heljring to put ua down into the cburehyBrd dust, aa too many do. And I say, if ye will look thus in God's manner, ye '11 be married by this day next year, For, Lord air, there 'a a little flower tbra«
Hn *. HAlfHte. — VBX LASt TtBDlCT. 447
by ysr side ; do^t orariook her, -for nutnmonj's in her eyefl, air, as I 've had erperienoe by my Uaiy's. Come, my dear ! and youi TKpps, mind yDn ^re lu a leok in to-night : there '11 be backy^ I iBokon, and ft simg>"
The mondiBt is about to aay something, hot the Kttle lady whia* pered a little " uay" so tiear the tnith, and lo permaaire, that it ia finer than Rpeech lisped from the lips of a Lady Belinda ; and Tapps drawine Sear t<Hi, adds somstliing about> " hiunait natnr ;" and^s, t(M),nas8i»nellungsotalismanicinit,thathe tnmshiaeyes in the direction the mut« sexton, the little lady, and the cobbler's teolcB haTe takon, and beholdB Tom Kittletink just by the church- yard gate, actually kieuag Uarj's finger, on irhich is the bridal ring. And so Ood bless him ! It ia a genuflection of nature in its adoration of the True ! " Git married " Is Tappa' last counsel M he goes back to his an), Hope digs on, and, strange for him, whiatles instead of reckoning on his nest dram of pa ; and ^e philosopher and the little lady walk silently home arm in arm ; his synthetic vein now analytical, and the creator of Belinda and Fop- piugton woes t«udiing a atring whose melody b in the human heart I
A year gone by. The same sun, the same June day, (he same hmnan hearts ; yet what a change I- Is it a different church, or a different bridal p»ty, that does it all ? No ! it ii opinion — be- fore conventional, now garmented in truth. Malthns la dead-beat. It is the philosopher gone in to be married, and to the tittle sharp lady ! Qod bless them botli ! Something better than Malthus doc- trinaire, something' better than litde aqueezed tears of couTen- tionl fnith'from Tappa the cobbler. OU ! oh! blessingB on St. Crispin and St. Crispianus, both of them, after tiiis !
Well, it ia beantiAil to hear what a stout " yes " the moralist makes of it when the parson aaka the queation ; and the little trem- bling lady doean't mince the matter, trust me. Nor is any man sour enough to allege an impediment ; and, bless us ! it is the best and now found morality of the moralist to look into that happy face and love ! What is a Lady Belinda after this, though charming as Miss ByroD herself?
Of course there is to algn and seal, and into the vestry they go. When, lo ! there is that same little Mary, pale to be sure, but with snch a stout, living, blue-eyed little miniature of Tom Kittletink himself, that a mint-master might swear to the die. Uary is look- up! :«i by GoOgIc
448 TIWE «. UALTHUB. — THB LAST TBttStCT.
ing a litde pye, to be sure, u most young moUien do ; but ike moralist and bis brido know ber at once.
" Well, Mrs. Kittletiok," ujg the bidegroom, ttoppng right Bhort in front. of die parson, " a year to-daj. Have you regretted taking Tom for good and tMV
"BleMbim, no air," saysMaryinsing todropa curtsey; "the minntes hare all been too short, and they 11 be shorter now, sir ; for ye see the baby. The image of him, isn't it, air V
" Exactly. Well, here 's a pound to buy sometlung to make punch of to-night, and mind Tapps tastes it. Recollect, good Strong punch, {Jenty of rum in it, and that old Jamaica, and Tapps '11 know what toast to drialc"
" That he will, air. A dear creetnr, tai I with a lioart like hi» lark."
" Well ! tell him he tattght a man to be wise. Good day, Mrs. Kittle^k; and now my dear !"
" We 11 put MalthuB on our ehelreswith our graver books, and read "
" The mniAK heart, my love, and improve upon Tapps' logic."
" And whilst you write the second volume of ' Truths for the Time,' I'll make novels that shall be for everybody."
" To be read by everybody. You Btep here, my love ! Mind,. I think we 're as happy as Tom Kittletink and little Maiy."
" I 'm sure of it."
" Well [ then we 're with Time against Malthus. Tapps wdw right : ours is the ' last new verdict.' "
" There '11 bo many more such when "
" Every day more and more. Cheap bread; the havens of the earth free ; science, unbaring the fruitful bosom of the soil, will show men the profound wisdom of the moral the Greek sage taught, that Nature's true latcg co-exitt not wiih Evil, for NcUure is God."
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A "MAN OP GOOD SOUND SENSE."
Did yon ever nee & self-B&tisfied, dull-witted, poutivdy speak- ing, mam-chanee-puTBuiDg, very sceptical, and altogether uneii' thasiastic apecimen of the animal, man t Bid you ever see euch a specimen, and not hear him generally called a "man of good Gound sense? "
Why is he so called I Because to the stolid, want of tmue is good sense ; and the greater number of manlund being rendered stolid by the training of society, one who embodies their own peculiarities is sure to have their good word. People name by a fine name whateTer keeps themBelveB in countenance.
If assea could speak, be sure they would discooree on tlie wholesomenesB of thistles, and the beauty of long ears ; and any donkey who seemed to munch his thistles with a peculiar relish, or to flourish his ears with more satisfaction than ordinary, would to a certainty receive great praise from his speoies. He qiight even, Hverj/ asinine in his tendencies, be styled by a distinctive title, and five grandly amongst donkeys, a donkey aristocrat. The prerogative of speech has been used, time out of mind, in giving to baseness die attributes of nobility ; and men, if not donkeys, have found out how, by worshipping their own mean
aualities in the person of another, they raise dieir estimate ot leir own nature. The " man of good sound sense " is, of course, wdl to do in the world, or the world would not compliment him with such a cognomen. Indeed it is veiy probable that formerly he may have been differently considered. If he have had his way to make, he will perhaps — or when poor and but just commencing tho fitruggle — ^have been called an " honest well-meaning man;" by and by — as bis success becomes more evident — he wiU be pro- moted to the rank of a " deserving man, and no fool ; " nniO at last — when in possession of social influence, money to spend, and money to leave — he will gain his eminent, fully-^ereloped title* and wear it as gracefully as Sancho Panza wore that of governor of the Island of Barataria.
The "man of good sonnd sense" is sternly and sneetlngl;
so. IVII, — VOL. HI, o G _,
4JS0 A "MAN OF GOOD SODKD SENSE.
oppoaed to all ioiiovative propOBitiona. It is pleasant to hear turn talk on such matters. He smiiBhes them in the most wipit^- ing manner, either bj ponderous argHment, or hj ridicule which is BtiU more pondorous than the argumeoL Usuallj, too, he is not confused b; anj knowledge of the subject which he condemns, and as most of the auditors are gener^j as ignorant, and as auBiical an bims^, he makoB out the ease meat triumphantly to his own and their «atisfaotion. SomettmM, howcrer, he o«b- mhe the mielake of impairing into -the Babject before he op^Ksos 'H *; but aa he alwB^ Joes so with a prudent detemuDition hefeiv- hand not to he convinced, the study seldom does hkn any -hai^. A 'pompvoB Wirt of mock candour b, indeed, Teiytrften apart of kaa character. &e ia " open to conriction," he deidsne, and ia "unwilling to condemn mrfaeard " any new dtctme, hcnrevar Vtarying. But he labours un^er the tmdeuhtiug pemuasioo (fa«t all believers in sneh doctrines should consider his lietetimg to their ai^nmonts as a great faTonr ; and so peihaps it is — for -after alt tli^ can si^, he never has " heavd in) jttni^ ■io «ker his opinion, sheadyexprcMed." It is -a settled ^Unj^with hiia, tiiat nheevM' proteods to teach him intonds to ineuh Imn ; AMd he resents the attempt aocor^ngly. The idea of ^ra^tude -to these who enlighten i^e world by lie t^ssemination of new ideas would certainly be to him one uf the newest and most clhwss ideas eonceivnUe. Tfaeelerk of Oiferd, is the "'Oaaterbiiry Tako," "Was evidently « gentleman -and a phikHophCT, 4br-(Uiaiicer t^e ■s AtA " gladly would he le«m, aad gladly teach ; " btrt the " man of good sound sense " -can understand, mly Ihe tMtiaag side of such a character, and that but dimly.
He can cant the usual prtuse, however, of tfiose lAo have long ago firmly fixed their discorenea in the piAlic mind, or Tendered their theories generally acceptable, ootwiAstaadinK '^o eppositioB and apatby of former " men of good aeund en»e. ' He will tdk of Luther, aad GaDileo, and Lecke, aad Watt, and Harvey, as-ff be would not hare done hia IHde utmost, had he been cfHttcanpo- nury with them, -lo destroy them by sSenee, or to erucdi them hf abase, ridicule, and bad argument.
To 'prove this, there ie no ooension -when he Mnea more than wbm 'he has alsir opportunity of edibiting his 'disdaia Sor oH who, miiis own- ivj, make any objects but wealth and votMly advancement the business of their lives. For poets, in pBrtienlar« he has ibe meet unmitigated oontempt, mingled with a degme of
Coiwlc
A " HAN OF aOm> BOUND SENSE." 461
secret hatred for presenting ae they do, in their wotIib, so strong a contrast to his own grovelling BentimentB. If one of them die, and leare a wife and family deBtitute, the event affords him much quiet chuckling enjoyment, and he eipresBea his feelings in the exclamation, " Poor devil ! " coupled with some politico-economi- cal remarks abont the " tbIub " of poems " in the market," " If men must be authors," bo aayB, "why cea't they write in the new^^>erB ? " Artieta he Io^b upon as aillj, idle fellows — though he is inclined to except portrmt-pMntera, Who shew know- ledge of the world, and a kudable vrish to butter their bread on the every-day principles of trade. Musicians he usually speaka of aB " fidiflerB," iind their art as "crotchets and quavers." He vrould h&ve viewed Be^^en, and the man w^o |jayed tiie long dram is wie of iam symphonieB, as of jsBt about the same daSB, joid weuU pmbably have ^aaked how much each was in tbe habit of " niakisg" a wee&. Arc^tecta, he thinkB, lowjAi Mffioethtogin ibete times, sBpeeia% if tb«y turn their chief atteation to ema- umtal E^K^rontB. Mere inveatigstisg laen of Btneaoe be con^ tnd«B idiote, who saoiiGae tbeKsdres for the benefit of the eom- monity — though* dwrnist^^io iwrentB a saw 'dye, "warranted &st," he ie not hard apm. An >eDgineer be riwaya Bpeidta «f with reapect.
But ^ men have Aetr weakneBB, and t^ " man of good Bound scowe " ia DO exee^on. However naeit money he nay posseBs, he tasAiOoniiaDtlnigiBg to get more. Hence pi»jeeted railroads, new steatn-hoKt TrTTwpnni^ wondcrfiil BpeculatiMu of all Borts, are -daogemxts -tabptatioM t^ilm, and, if he lose, his "good somd BKiBe " is sordy taxed to aceouxt for his hsvi»g been decMved. Ufider Bueb faiala be becomes meek and distaal, as he is «[aite naaaciaM durt laa Auaeka depends on his w^tlly suooees. Should he, howetcc, lire safdy Muidat these perils, and preaper in hie gmnbling invQitiiiiemtB, he asswnes, end has grcnted to him, more «aQBideratiai than ever. He is elerated aa an idd of " respeotft- Ue" wD^dp ; pHhlie dinners are gif«n to him ; bie ehoiee raises the pnee of sle^ ; be bsya land, and AoUers h^Holly up towards the peerage.
Every .stage «f tdire nrth's fnpttM no doubt produoes crentnreB
-pnoper te that stage ; bnt ai rep&es hare be«i nicoeeded by men,
let UB befe that " men «f good sMod sense " may be Bueceeded
J>y uen withAJlonBgroveTeaoe tor tovtii, goodness, and beauty.
Annnra WuJLBasDaE. .
G G 2 / - ,,, ,1 ,
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.
LETTERXXVIII.— To JoaMRoBlIWONjPwViTEOPIHBSlBlFoOT.lNDlA.
Dear John, — When this letter may find jou it isn't for me to saj ; but wherever you axe, it wi!l no doubt find you upon a bed of laureb ; though, for my own part, I do think a bed of good honest goose feathers the more comibrtable lying. Mind, I don't for a moment want to think light of what you 've done and what you Ve suffered. Not a bit of it. Terrible work it must be ; and a bold heart a man must needs hare to go through it : you Ve earned your share of glory — (though what may be your share as « full private I can't say) — and I should think have got your bellyful of it for life. It 's my hope, however, that you Tl never get any tnore. No, having cleaned the blood from your bayonet, and once more polished up your firelock, it 's my hope that they '11 never know service again. I do hope, whatever you may think, that you Ve had enoogh of the sport ; now^^cking cold iron into the bowels of a screeching man, and no^knocMng in his skull as though it was no more than a pumpkin. When the guns are firing, and the blood "s up, of course you think nothing of the work, going at it as though you were an engine of brass made to shoot and stab. But, I should say, it can't be pleasant to think of when it's over. That field of glory, as it's called, must go nigh to make a man heart-sick ; must make him a little out of sorts with him- self : 'tis so different a field to a field of cut com. For my part, John, I would much soon^ cultivate turnips than laurels- A turnip's a nice thing for men and cattle, and so easily grown. Now, laurel- even a sprig of it, must be raised in the denl's hothouse, and be manured with human blood. Still, according to some folks, there 'b some human blood that Providence thinks no more of than ditch- water. Of course, there 's been a pretty hiurah here in England about your putting down the Sikhs. One quiet gentleman with a goose-
THE HEDQEEOfi UTTEBS. 453
quUl ia yeiy pioiu indeed upon the matter ; and tiunks that the war was expresalj ordered to destroy " the Bcum of Ama," Pro- vidence haring employed the Britisli army for no other purpoae than to sweep from the ear^ bo much of it« own offal. It's droU to think of jonr pious Christian in his easy chair, with his foot on a soft stool, his rent and taxes paid, and his pew at the parish QhuTch newly cushioned — it 's something more than droll, isn't it, to think of Mm lifting his pious eyea to his ceiling, and talking o£ some twenty thousand slaughtered men as the " scum," the refuse of creatures ; as animals just a little above apea, of no account at all to the God who made 'em. He—- good John I — thinks of 'em as no more than the vermin that once or twice a-year ia cleaned out of his bedsteads, that decent respectable people may take tbeir rest all the cosier for the cleaning. Easy Christianity, isn't it ?
And then the demand there 's been for religion in this matter, A score of pious people — all hot from their Bibles — day after day write to the papers to know when they were to be comforted, by being authorizedby Her Majesty, to return thanks for the slaughter. " Are we to shut up in our own breasts" — ^writes one Tory much afraid of bursting — "the grateful emotion! " Was there to be no safetj-volre, as I beliere they call it — ordered by the Qoremment ? " Are we even to content ourselves with talking to one another, as individuals, of this our great deliverance ! " This Christian writes from Brighton, and vrith, no doubt, tears as big as marbles in hia eyes, wants fo know when he is — according to a Government order, as if he couldn't offer up a private prayer on his own account — when he is to be allowed to return thanks to " Hm, who is the God of Battles." Perhaps I am very wicked, but for my part I never can bring myself to think of Hiu as the God of Battles. The God of Love— the God of Mercy — the God of Goodness — but I cannot say the God of Fire — the God of Blood — the God of every Horror, committed upon man, woman, and child, in the madness of fight. Looking at a field of clover, I could thankfully say the field of God ; but the words stick tn my throat when I think of a field of glory ; a field soaked with blooil, a field with thousands of dead and d^g creatures on it, sent into the world by God. But, then, I 'm only an ignorant cabman.
However, some folks are as glad that the Sikhs are slaughtered as though they 'd been no more than so many locusts. It's a great day for Christianity, they cry ; never forgetting gunpovrder u) their religion. One gentleman — I think he 's aa India Director^
sees * gooi dml of likmMi toiran tiw d)ifMrii«B of jwmr
5«eral and the Bib1«. Th» 9iklM are tiia mraUppera of c4oeb, he Bays, — «ad like ttnn Imva- boen Jertrujwi l:^ tbe trmer bdievers. lofleed, 1 't« no doobt tbaC thMB ««7-i«l^iR»f(A9 wotdd go frora GeaeuB to Httbc^ and &id & iCHiubhacw hi tmve^ ch&pter te ererj fight and moremeBt in a whde cauipaigB. And I dare BBj then tb^ 'reqsiteaiiMOTeiHLdliOMMtiav^iattlM^Bamui, — ^but then why don't t^wy go oa ta the New Testammt ? W^ do they stop riiort at that ? And if they do stef rinrt, asd take aU their examplee of bloodsbed from tbe Bibte — ani aooe of t^ir twwhing fr(»i the Sermon on the Mount, why — I mnat aA it, Aongh I know I 'm nothing bnt> a fottiih cabin»i — why daa't they, BO to ^leak, undo tlreir CbrijrtiaBity ? Why dtm't they turn Jews at oooe ; awd rettm thada, not aceoi^ng to the Testar- ment in a ChristiaB Chnnih, bat at the Bible directs, in a synagogwe ?
NerertbetesB, John RolMneen, ire Acvra retamad thuika HuA aB of you, with yoiv muskets, and yo«r Bbelts, and your bayonets and eaanoD, have killed thonsonds tA the Sikfaa. To be sure', tb^ stnick tbe ^Tst blow — that I can't deay. For alt Aat, I do think that in tbe prayer Aal was made by the Archbishop, we did crow over 'em a little too nocfa. For my-part, I ahould hav« liked it better if tbe prayer bad said something, legretttDg like, tbe eaoses of tbe dreadful Rlaugbter. Whereas, it accounted no mwe of tbe Sikhs — poor tbii^s! — b h their Snilt if they're not belierers in Seripture?-— tiuni if they'd been 50 muiy mad dogs, knocked m the head, for pea«e and mfety.
It was qnite a boliday in ourpariab ; and I do assure yow many of the people looked as they went to and from tbe cbnrch, qmte aa prond as if they'd bandied sword and musket on Uiott own accotwt, and were returning thanks for their own courage. There was Snaps, the shoemaker and churdmapden. Helmd, I kirev, all the battie at bis fingers' ends, — and looked as if he felt biiDself qnite a soldierall tbe service. And hia wife had a bras-«ew g»wn for the cwemony, and his dangbten new bonnets. Indeed, I could nm over fifty pec^e who went to chureh that day, as if they were g<»ng to parade ; and aFfter they 'd beard the Ardibisbop's prayer, they looked aboot 'em quite prowd tia/t ssAiified, as maoh as to say — " See what we ean do in the defence rfo«roountty !" For myself (but then I 'm <ml j a cobman) I mwrt say it — I diS
IBS aWQIBDa SXTTratl. 4iS&
&el il ft nMlMidid.7 bffiBiMa* I eo^dn.'^, dtv ali I omMi, get tka hoiEn* of die. bMttle out of at j bead^. When tin <ngui;begaB to play, I onlj thought of the nufiag of tbe gvna aod'tlM.'graaiia o£ tlw djiog;. Thera. ima' tms past Id - die printed aoconnteaS tiie fight that I eould Motifhiget. It vaa.thiB : —
"TioB battk hailbepiiiiftt aix,aiiiiira»over'at ekTsn o'dach ; tha l)aiid<- t«>-haad conbat oaiiuneiicBd.atiiHie, audUsted Haiealy two honn. 7K« riotr aas /uii of eiaJUng nten. For two hours voliaj after toIW watt poured in aysw tha. hamaa mass — the stream being HUraMj/ red irith. ilood, and covered vnth the bodies of the slain. At last the musket amtnunition beooming eshauated, the infantff fell to rear ; tbe bime artiHety plytog- grape, IHI not a man was Tisible within range. No
Yea, John : '■ oe oompauwB waa fek, '>t mvcvy ^om ! " And we, as Clirietians, w«fe colled- upon to give thtn^ im it !
Well, ow elergjsuut — h« 'sAkiad, good creature aa ever prajeA iau pulpift — ho piieaehed upeu the teztr {I 've no doubt. he'd arane maaniBj; in it,} " Mvi, I mtf UKto you, Lstt yomr etut»i«a." A beuitifid djaeourse he nutd» ; thoi^Ido aaeui^jiou, ageadmanj of the people, all tucked out in their best feathers (quite a church review, I cau t^.you) in. eompliment to jranr guuB- and bsytmets, .did. leek, a UtUe glum as the good gcaitlemftn.weDt oil ; for all the world as if they thought Bush a diseourae waso-'t for that daj — any boK. NeveilheleBs, hB.{H'eaehed as he ^wajs doss, real, eveirj- day reJiigiaft— ^reli^a to be werD like an svery-^y coat in the working-da; w^d, aad not the religion that 's pot on. to eome h>. cbuFcb in. He worked the text in all dmudct of beautiful waj>. It i^d scaind cold to be> suia, after we 'd bean thanking God for helping uB.^ Blai^^er t^ouaanda of barbarians— dlaakiiig GW in the words of an archbishop — to hear the words of Hiu whaHeJl^sft' to " love our enemieer" — aaui nol to- kill 'em. "No compassion was felt, or mercy shown," says the account of tlie battle. " Love your enemiee," says Christ.
"Yea, all that's very well, "said Collops, the butcher, to whom I was talking after this fashion — Collops had mounted an entire new suit for the Thanksgiving— " that 's all very well. Mister Hedgehog ; but it won 't do : such thlnga are not tcr be taken in a straightfor'ard aense. Chriatianity is a beautiful thing, not a doubt on it, but to be a Christian every day in tbe week, I muat shut up my shop. It was never intended. It 's quite enough if a
vCoo*^lc
466 THB BIMKROO UTTEBS.
nun attends his church and i> ui earnest Chnstian (moe in serea daja." And there's a good maiijfoUutikeColl(^iil onr paridi ; and I 'm afeard in erei; other parish too.
Hoverer, John, I hope it's onr last thanksgiving for gunpowder. Let ns only keep peace for an odd ten m fifteen years more, and you may bid good bye to war for good. The yonng lads of our time will be bron^t up in • better school than Uieir poor bthers, and won't have the same relish for blood. They won't cackle about glory tike their parent g^tnders — it 's the young una that I put my hope upon ; for it's no easy matter — in fact it's not to be done — to send middle-aged and dd men to school again to unlearn all the stupidity and trumpery of all their lires. And so, John, I do hope you 11 never fire another shot. Not bat what yon II be pleased to hear that there 's quite a stir among ns just now — get die ^lukrterly Seviete if there 's a circulating library at Lahore — quite a stir about educating the private soldier. Thej 're gtnng to make him quite a moral, scientific gentleman. They 're going to have hbraries for him, though they say nothing about taking away the halberds. And whether the soldier is still to have the cat o'-nine-tails or no, I can't tell ; but certainly they do say he 's to have books.
We 're to have no fighting, John, about America. And even if a war was to be decided, Uiere 's heaps of New Eng^auders — . as I Ve heard-^wfao wonld not enlist for the defence of the southern States. And the slaveholders seem to have an inkling of this, and so wouldn't hke to risk the loss of their property — their black brothers — in a skrimmage ; for the good men of the north swear they will not pull a trigger in defence of slavery. And so, if the quarrel was ever bo right upon the side of America, the wrong that in in her mnat work its vengeance. And bo no .more from
Yomr afifectionate friend,
JlTHIFBIt HEDaiHoe.
,11 by Google
A HISTOKT FOE TOUUa EN8LAHD.*
What m pilje u it to see t proper geatlemui to h*Te Bucb ■ criclc in bis neck that he cannot look back^rard. Yet no better ii be vho cvmot >ee behind bun tbe actions vbicb long unce were perfbnnod. Hiatoiy maketh a yonne: man to be old, ifithout either wiinUei or grej bun ; priTileging him Trilli the experience of age, without either the infimulie* or ioconveniencea thereoC Yea, it not onelj inaketh tliingi pait, pretent ; but ioibleth one to make a rational! conjecture of things t« come. For Ihii world aBbrdeth no new aecideDlt, but in the fame lenae wherein we call it a nta moon ; which is the old one in anether shape, and ]%t no other than what had been (brmerljr. Old action! return ag^, furbidied over with some new and different circuu-
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. MASK A OHABTA.
1213 — 1216. Ik tbe muLtitudinoua correspondence of Hia Holiness Inuocent the Third, there is a letter from hia royal vassal, John of England, to the effect that the English eaijls and barons had been devoted to him before he surrendered his kingdom to the pontiff; but since that time had violently risen against him : ' and specially on that account, sicuf jm&Iice dtcunt. ' The writer's mean soul is ia the letter, striving to make what worldly profit it can of the slavish infamy it has undergone.
Neither assertion was true. Indignation after the Papal com- pact existed as little as devotion before it. There is indeed some reason to believe that the barons who now became most active agiunat tbe king had declined to take any active part agiunst tbe surrender of the kingdom. Beside the Archbishop of Dublin, tbe Bishop of Norwich, Walter Fitz-Peter, William of Salisbury, Williun of Pembroke, Reginald of Boulogne, William of Warrenne, Saber of Winchester, William of Arundel, William of Ferrers, William Briwere, Peter Fitz-Herbert, and Warren FitJi-Gerald, who, though with popular leanings, never left the banner of the king, even tlie Bigods, De Mowhrajs, and De Veres, may be pronounced entitled to so much of the infamy of the act as pre- sence and non-interference can imply. But tbe letter which is rehed upon by the Roman Catholic lustoriana to show that diey
from p. 276, Vol. III. .^ ,
468 A HIBTOBT FOB YODKC EKOLAHD.
had eren compelled it, mnet be taken with large allowance. That one of John's moBt servile agents in Kome ahould report to his master on alleged appeal from the barons to the pope's gratitude, on the grouad-itbat' it'Wa»aot''U)' Um good-wilLof the. king, but ' to them, and the compulsion which they had employed, that he 'was indebted for his superiority over the English crown,' will onTy be thought condusire by the nwrt hsriyor the rowt preju- diced luBtaTiaB. On the other hand, it> censiatB with the beat aatltori^fia t« ailBil th«t theiisifiMm. pslicy of the cobles, to dfigiade the positiiMt aid hmnbte tbe pnde e£ th«ir. tmeteiffiir m^ht hanei seemed to tiiBiti'to eanetton the -eold afiqniescmee, if mt thesavH^ satisfaction, with which, they saw that desperate consammation of tlMiaCTedible^baaeHasaof Joho. Faity spiiit, as.Ihar&sha«n,hadi arisen in fio^cHb. Fromit hor* sprung eoenss»nd.mmpmmiEU often neither just nor honourable ; but with it have been associated, in Tery memorable periods of history, the liberties and political advances of the En^reh peo;de.
By the act of the Ifith o£ Uaji, 1213,. tlie aspect of the existing contention was changed. The pope declared himself on the. side of his vaisal ; and the French king, who lay with a powerfiil army at Boulogne, meditating invasion, was- ordered' by P&nduff to desist. But Philip's compact was loosened with the pope, to be only more firmly knit with the baroas. They had already opened overtures witt his sou ; doubtful of the side that would be taken by the burgesses and townsmen, the most important section of iM' people. These, lately so eager to resist invasion that they hoi rallied. to the etandanl of J'ohn.can alone be said to hare remaineif undecided at this eitraordjuary crisis.
£ut the event was at hand which, determined them. By the compact made at Dover, and which in all its provisions on the »de of justice the king even now soaght to evade, Langton and the exilea relumed.. J«hn met tham with assumed deference at Winchester, as the clients of hia feudal laid ; and embraced the (Cardinal' archbishc^ at the entrance of the cathedraL But the sentence of eicommunJcation having been publicly revoked, and tlie oath of papal fealty repeated, he was unexpectedly called upon by Langton to make additional oath that he would abcJish aU illegal customs, restore to every man his ri^f4,.and revive the l»ws of the CoafessOT. It. is added by Mathew of Paris, who relates this, that to the multitude assembled such proceedings were rague and unintelligible, but by the few initiated in Ae secret sufficiently understOH. Erom that dwr^ i"- truth, the Grand
A BteSOBT FOB TOBKO ZHGUJH>. 4W
Confedtra^ totdiHfe; xnAwkatwas boatinEnglaBd, gndniJlj.iB. part unconaciouBly, joined and BtrraigUieM«d it.
3te[dien^Las^tmim its- svolaad head. Selected by &no- cent, M T hwFB astd, ^ ttwt inflexible conrtanef and coorage of dwracter whioh wm thought mo«t onnlaUe to coDfront the kii^, &» pcmtiff^hadiMWWBoppartBiftyto test tbe eDdamnee of this qaaUtj, with himself H its ant^onist. Tor wot with iDnooent's anthoii^ had LoBgton exacted Ji^'a wrth fmrtibirty. When the oardinal stepped again upon his nat^ mU, aft«r hia long and partly voluntary exile, he seened to haT« 1^ hclstid him every afle^- onee that could impinge vpen hie f^'gations as an Bngljatiman. No msD worthieri of the highest boaoars of the name exiata in onr rec(»^. In an unlettered age, ho bad cultivated with poi&et aneeesc tha moat ^agiztfi «ecoeipli^uMnt» of poetry ; and at & time apparently the moBtunfeTonrable to th« growth of freedom, he now directied emting* dTBeonients, which might have WMtad in camial conflict but for him, tathe establiahment of that deep and broad dittinctiffD between a &ea and a despotic monarchy, of which our history, throughout all the varying' fbrtanea and dia- aaters that awvhed it, never afterwards bst the trace. Thift wm the work of Lasgton, and his claim to eternal memeiy. "Fhe barms were a rope of send before his arrival. He concentrated dieir wavering purposes and seattered ume.
In a monA after the scene atWinchnter, the first bold step was taken. Esettcd by the noble explnt, the first of an nunter- rupted series, of the English navy agwnst the French fleet at Damme (th« latter thrice ontnumhering the former, yet at once dispersed or tak«n). John had sudden^ resolved to Msnme ib& offensive against Philip and carry war into France ; and he anm- ntoned the leading bsrons by their allegiance to meet him oh tlw French coast. Instead of obeying the summona they repaired to St. Albans, and held a council, at which Laogton waa present ; over which Fitz-Peter tJio justiciary presided ; and where was first nn- rtiUedthatcharterof the First HcnrywUch was in future made tie basis of what they now resolved to claim, ' The copy (aeeceding to Roger of Wendever) belonged to Langton, and was supposed to be the only one then in existence. After council, the daring restdve' was taken to send forth the issve of its deliberatiom in th» fivm of a series of royal proelamatimis. In tfaeee^ the hnn granted by Henry the First were mdered to be nnivePNdly observe ; and capital punishmetrts were denounced Bgainat tlw
460 A HIBTOBT FOB XOWSB EKSLAKD.
aheri^, forestere, or officers of tlie kiDg, irho elioold sxceed tlie strict line of their duty, as limited by those laws.
John returned from France, denouncing vengeance. Uilitory execution, ho said, should fall upon the traitors ; and in savage earnest of his threat he let loose a band of mercenaricB on the lands of his reonsaut nobles. Langton confronted him at North- ampton, and adjured him to beware of the violation of an oath ; reminding him that vassals must suffer by tlie judgment of their peers, and not by lawless violence. 'Rule you tho church,' shouted the king, ' and leave me to rule the state.' Ho pushed <m to Nottingham, andvas there again confronted by the cardinal; who threatened, if tho justice of a trial should continue to be refused, to excommunicate all, iritb exception of the king himself, engaged iu a cause so impious. John yielded ; and a summons was sent to the accused to appear before himself or his justices. A summons more .surely meant to be obeyed, was at the fiame time sent to them from Langton, to meet at St. Paul's in London in a fortnight from that date, and ascertain the damages sustained in the recent quarrel.
Tbey met ; ostensibly with that purpose ; but what really passed is told by Uatbew of Paris. Lsjigton drew the Barons aside as they entered, and having privately appealed to each to forego his mere personal claim, again publicly produced the charter of Henry Beauclerc, read it aloud (few of his noble hearers could have done that), and, amid loud acclamations, commented on its outraged provisions, one by one. It is added by the writer of the contemporary Annals of Wavorly, in proof of the enthusiasm thus excited, that Langton availed himself of it to administer, before the meeting closed, an oath to every baron assembled, solemnly binding them to each other to achieve the recovery of those liberties, or to die in the struggle. The sword was now drawn, and the scabbard cast away.
His Holiness became alarmed for his English fief. Cardinal Nicholas of Tusculum camo hastily to England with tbe title of legate, and with importunate letters to Langton. The king caught at this hope of help with desperate energy ; renewed to him bis oath of fealty ; and, with a prostrate eagerness of self- debasement, offered to do him bomage as the papal representative, though, byprevious agreement, bound to do this only to his Holiness himself. The offer was accepted, and the second surrender of England to Rome took place in Westminster at the Cbristmae
A HIBTOST FOR TOinifi SKGIiANS. iiSl
featiral of 1213. But not without intermptioii did this Eecond Holemn degradation pass. Langtos came forward with a protest, and laid it upon the altar at its close. The legate returned to Rome with his new 'forma jnramenti fidelitatis,' sealed with gold ; and .with report to Innocent, that John was the most piotu of princes, and Langton the most factions of archbishopB.
Before a new step waa taken nearly a year had passed, occu- pied by the disastroua campaign in France which ended at the battle of Beauvines, and brought bock J<Aa to a more inglorious struggle, for which, on the side of the Barons, the interval had been well prepared. His iatemperance gave them tbe occasion for which ^one they waited. His gross indulgences had never been so scandalous or violent as between the October and Novem- ber of 1214. The Justiciary Fitz Petor had tJways exerted some control, and his death was the first welcome iiews that saluted John's return. ' It is well,' he cried; * in Hell he may again shake hands with primato Herbert, for surely he will find him there, He leaves me here, God's teeth ! atlastthe lord of England.' Buteven as he spoke, the Grand Confederacy was in motion. The 20th of November was the Festival of St. Edmund's, and an oj^rtu- tunity for aaseabling in numbers without awaking suspicion. All the Barons in the league met accordingly on that day in the abbey, on pretence of celebrating the s^t'sfestival, but in reality to mature their plan of future proceeding ; to define the different liberties on which they were prepared to insist ; and to resolve on demanding them in a body from the king at the approaching festival of Christmas. Bdbre they separated, each baron, ac- cording to his station, advanced singly to the lugh altar, and, laying his hand upon it, took solemn oath to withdraw his fealty from John if he should continue to refuse the rights demanded ; and further, until the unreserved concession of those tights, to levy war upon him. - -
The End was now begun ; and, from this memorable day until tlie day of Runnymede, Langton seema to have remained by the Eude of the king. The inference that he was become in any respect ^vourable to him, is monstrous. It was even at this time, wliile, with Pembroke and with Warreune, he was almost the only iilastrious or powerful Englishman who remained with the banner of John, that he rejected with haughty and storn refuBal that final appeal from his spiritual chief at Rome which inveighed against his participa- tion in the injustice of refusing to John those rights wluch the
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MS M Bnmr fob Yoma weuani.
a««B had ptaaeabij pawiewiQd during tb« reigna of jhis &tber aM hraHar ; which chMiged Jnm, ^e utdAiBh^ iritli ha«n|; fattwHtod the vbalfi dutuH)uioe ; and ifUch ooaMaaded hm, oa pain oi 'flzooiQiBinkalJeti, to exert )ub Authority to nealore peace betveen dM king tod U* vwHate. The tnatb u tlwi Langton r»- joined the kiag to coBtml ha itaaobtttfiim yMenee, ss he had MHOciaied with the harans to canoaBtiBie deir wavering pur- poe& He woe wilh Ji^b vhea de great Twnnln and tenMcta doMPted his winiaioaB to the laaiKt at Wareealer, aod left hko to A^bnbehu Cinataaae featiratftlaite. When tine king left Wmv narter st^dealj, cane le Laadan, land shut btcMelf i^i ia Ite Dearie, Luigtcn waa itill ia.Htteadaiue ob biia. His i»ot«ve aai^ be seen in. the ' firtt tiaagartkn irtiiA took pWe «a the ap> lieaiaitw if the eonfadceated huwn at Idw gates loF the Temple. Uaihav of Pans dcBDiAes it tine : ' H«re, than (to the Jiffw
* Sm^ Ina), cai&e ta the r kag tite Bforasaid great bseonfl, in s 'Tety fWDlate mmDn', 'with tkir Toiiitarj draMea and iveapOH, ' vkigtf demaadisg the £barties .awl' laira of kiog £dffiani, witH ' ol^Ks, bar themselFea, the kiDgdom, aad &e Chonoh of £ag^aiidi
* is he. granjbed and confinned aceording to the [chavter of King ' Henry tlie Firat. £ut the Icing Juwcing^ that tJu btttotu werea* ' ceadute in iheir detnaMb, vaa xeauAi oaneemed ab their hapeto- ' ■aHj. And ndten he aaw tb^: tfa)y weae furuM^ for battle, he ^ x^ied that k -naa a gieat and difSeult thii^ a^^ the; adied, 'hem vAit^haxenxmed a,rw|Bte'mtti}«fterEaBGer, that be might 'iune-^aoe lar caastdoatioB ; and if it were in tfe'powBrttfhao- ' aelf la the ^goity Kif hit -oroim, l^Mf ebould leanre eatie&etion. ' But st kagth, after loaiif'^ropoBid*, thBkmg-vMmUm^lftaMi- ■MHfcdfimttiieAriifaib^iepof Osuteifairy, the Biahap of Ely, and
* 'HSlliam.MarflhaJl^ari <i FemlK'okA) abouU heinade auretiM ; '«ndtbBth}'PUHiiioftheH-ittte]!caan(Mii,«othedaD'£Ked,he wmdd ' satisfy all. ' For offices of this nature, never a^cUBg> te oaoeeal IIm -part he Jtad t^an or 4he eKcrtaaaB he wbb atiU prepared to naka, Laogtfiii, tn-Jns ebmcter of une af the great digmtades «f Mate, cantuned .bf the aide of tte king.
On^twohaoonBAikdaMehAahap oiikeVimSedxgmj^baddaiak tram Ab ccdeAl.tff tJu> ittt ^wMNal enMiHier wifli John, lite Bsd >af Cheatec Ike Lead W^illjsm B»ffier. iMtd «i»e bu^ sf Wiacbeatec'WMt'tKTerto his aide. The Mat 'ware iaumnabte-; aad haw ibrndda^, &b kiag aemaa far tha &et time te haiie Sek. a« fpm§oaeiim caadea; Mut te ElnwhM and Fvitm
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tar tbe ««vic« of iforeigB TMWili i pv^itivted i£e ^BagKA oiBrgj ^-enermoiiBMid.iitieia-il cosDasakaB ;«rd£»d'^3beniSB'toteiul8r the OKth of aUei^aBceto.tliefreeiacnioftfaediSaiMdaMMtiBB; Bad, ■tD Mcnre ito hasn^tbe pimleges And ii:g^utt a^icli UvolHiitdli gave tO'^^nHodeTB, ea^traeed .the 'Ci^m. But ite vfnii sfti^er »rert tbe appntadt of that &tftl Easter, nor «cUset SFound hie «taDda*d AH wiaikrUe fores of Ksktanoe. ^&be fcan>Ba:met ia rthe appoiiited ireek »t Stun&rd, And MMmpsimd i>y wore ibm tiro dtbannd knighti, ibeir eBCpMeB a*d ^«YieiK, nivched 4o Bni^ej. The Jung was but a fenr nullea dlttaiit, ti Oxfoid. SetmsB tbe -two plaoee, Langton, Praabn^e, jand WHTCone, jmomiBdMBed to aaoertain tiieir peecise demands, met the liiiiliiiii of the banai'; «Bd «fter ttritif cotrfvenee toc^ baokiarpapcr tc jdie king.
' Tfa^nt^htae well hwre decaxBdetl mj vown'I ' he fanraaiy rexolaimed, on fawoisg this paper read. ■ Do Amy AiaV 1 yrSi ' grant them libeotiee which will make me a AvtB 2 ' Tbe trords -neay strifcii^y esfreen for what prnpaae theu xata faod tdken ■ftnns. It was io «Bbjeet the sovereign to^ donuition nrlnch th^ themselrea and their special claims TtfprmeaUA kw peifecdf -Jihaii dtat gemrol pnnciple of fieaittaiiee whicii tfaej aJso grandly -embodied. LaMgioB anid ■Ak J:faataaB%iaaera 'mre roHaaded vitii -seroral esMiTe pn^Bals, suoecssivelj r^eeted b^ the bartau. ' We stand to our or^nal demande,' tkej seid; 'aad DottBog ' -short ■iH tkeae ean mwr content ns.' A stiwBge diseunioo as- sued in <(hft Idnq^'a oai^. Faodulf and the Bishop of Esel«r, tlte tnoBt tnnted ef John's wlvieers, were for tijiflg, as in tite last resort, the effect of excommunication .; tait Langton, ivhen re- ^nundedtbathie-waiibonndtoeMreiie ttuBaT^fnz)ctiBnbj''Oider of -the pontiff, replied ^Kt he wan better acquainted tn^ithe-d-otiee of his epi ritual lord, amd-t^al if heaaadUa pewee, it should not be
X'nst the'<b«TBn8 at fisaeklej, d>ut against those foreign troops no)T Burraunded th«m in Oxford, wad i^iem it s«e tbe dut^, Ml it -would ^ 4be iaimatt of Ae k^g, ^to Bend back te wheace they came.
■In tttter dospatt, Jdin«fered.BBe wore BBM>peo»i»e^ Tbwmatins itt dispute he -propMed to refer to lune arbiters ; fonr eiBs«n ia &a barenB,-fear >ehoeen by haDeelf, and the Fiq>e aotiug as tiM ninth 4 b^ wlieae decision, or the dmrision of the tai^anty, -be would alnde. TUa was also -refused ; and as the wmtiiimnew left; -the tcamp, A» barons, to dose oB Atrthw arcnae of ^bopc, f n»
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401 A BISTORT POB TOtTHfi EKQLAND,
cliumed thetUBelves ' tiie army of God and his holj olitircl],' and elected lUibert Fitswalter aa thrar head. Fitzvalter had suffered pecoliar and terrible wrong at the hands of John ; and with EuBtace de VeBci, who had also a personal quarrel to avenge, had been most active and efficient in the Grand Confederacy.
A month decided aU. Northampton wae first invested by Fits- waiter : the burgesses of Bedford then forced their governor to Open their gates ; while in this latter city, an invitation woa received fi-om (he principal London citizens : and on the mominff of the 17th of May, 1215, the army of God and his holy church entered and occi^ied the metropolis. Proclamations were now issued to the barons and knights throaghout England hitherto nentral : statbg their objects, their resources, and their resolve to treat as enemies all who were not friends : and these appeals were largely answered. It is idle, say the old historians, to recount the barons who composed and completed that national army ; they were the whole nobility of England. It is supposed that when John, soon after the occupation of London, sent Pembroke t« treat submisaively, he had not ten of the more powerful barons as- sembled under his banner.
But it was in circumstances such as these that his profound hypocrisy served him as a kind of resource. He had now assumed an tur of cheerfiilnesii. Pembroke was ordered to tell the con- federates that their petitions should be granted. It only remained to name the day and the place. He was himself at Windsor at this time ; the barons were encamped at Staines ; and the place was fixed at a flat green meadow by the river side between, and the day on the 15th June.
On'the 15th of June, 1215, there accordioglyhegan, upon the plain of Runnymede, the most meinorable transaction of the English history. Two encampments, slightly apart from each other, were formed upon it. John sate upon the one side attended by Lang- ton and eight bishops ; by the papal envoy, Pandulf ; by Almerio, the Master of the Templars ; by William of Pembroke ; by the Earls of Salisbury, Warrenne, Arundel, and Hubert de Biirgh j and by ten other' gentlemen ; of which scemt attendance of advisers many were known to be hostile. On the other side stood Fitz- waiter, and a majority of the whole English nobility. The firflt proceeding was to enact certain securities for the due obserranOe of the instrument which the king was to be called upon to sigs> It was required that he should disband and diunisa all ha farogn
A HIBTOBT FOB TOnKS U&UHD. 4W
mercenaries, their famOiea and foUowerB; ihat Loodon shsflld remain in pOBsession of tbe boroas for tiro montlia more, and the tower be held by Langton for the same additional time ; and that twentj-five barons, of their own nmnber, to be then and tiure chosen, should be named guardians or conservators of the pabfic libertieH, with power, in case of an; breach of those liberties, aa that d&j to be defined, to declare war againt tbe king, and to sumiaon to arms the freemen of ereiy county. These securities, dulj recited, were unheHitatioglj given ; and then, — the Tarious heads of grievance and proposed means of redress having been one by one discussed, and tho document in which they were reduced to legal shape having been formally admitted by the king, — there was, on the fourth day from the opening of the conference (Friday, the I9th of June 1215,) unrolled, read out aloud, and subscribed by John, the formal instrument which thus at last embodied, in fifty- seven chapters, the completed demands of the Great Confederacy, and which is immortalised in histoiy as the Ooeat Charteb.
The reader who has accoinpaoiM me so far will not require to be reminded that our English liberties were not created by Una Charter. Ita inexpressible value was, that it corrected, confirmed, and re-established ancient and indisputable, though continually violated, public nghts ; that it abolished the most grievous of the abuses that had crept into existing laws ; that it gave anew tone, bygivjng a definite and substantial form, to future popular hopes and aspirations ; that, without attempting to frame a new code, or even to inculcate any grand or general principles of legislation, it did in efiect accomplish both, because, in insisting upon the just discharge of special feudal relations, it affirmed a principle of equity which was found generally aj^cable far beyond tiiem ; that it turned into a tangible possession what before was fleeting and undetermined ; and that throughout all tbe centuries that succeeded, it was violated by every English king and appealed to by every straggling section of the English people.
Many of its provisitats I need not refer to, beyond the mention that they redressed grievances of the military tenants, hardly intelligible now since the downfall of the system of foods, but then very bitterly felt. Rehefs were limited to a certain sum, as settled by ancient precedent ; the -wflste committed, and tbe unrea- sonable services exacted, by gUardiftO* ^ chivalry were restrained ;
the disparagement in matrimoay rj'e»jj(8le wards was forbidden ; and willows were secured from coniv. -rf U ' '
»o. iTi,._Toi. m. ^>>a,»"
a jnarriage and other wrongs.
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ItB- remedMB- m theoe pointa were aztanded sat al<nte to dte vas- sds, but tl>» Bab-TMi<il» <st the erown. Ad tiw Bame tini» the frMielus«B, th« "tuiewDt libwtiM, itnd'ft'ee' etutoms" of the eitj of LendoD, and of all towns tmi bcwongbi, wercdeet&red iDTiolable. Freedom of conmi^e ma atso g««raDt«ed to foFeign merchants, Wftli a proviso t» Hie- king to arrest them for gecority in time of irar, gmd keep tkem till ike- treottDeiit of' oiv- own mercbaata in the eaemy'e country sfaoold be known. The court eetabliahed for tl>» heariog of cotunon pteaft wi>» restricted from' following the img'a person, Nid find at Weetmiiinter. And the tyrannj ezNcised in and concraning t^e Hojid Forertg, was dedsiv^y con^oUed.
A remarkable prsriNOn bad relatisB to the lery of aids sad s0Otagea> It was not in the articles originall; snbmttted to the- king; and nniet be Bnpposed to hove- be«u Buggeeted- in tiie course of Mb*) faur da^' cwferetice at Runnjmede. Them aids, in conseqa€itee of the frequent foreign expeditdooi, had become of nearly annual reenrrence, and were farmed out with pecnliu'cirenm- stance of hardship. The provision in qneetion now limited tfaeir esaiction to the throe acknowledged legal cases — the king's per- sonal efiptiTitj, the knightheod of his eldest son, and the marriage of his eldest daughter ; and in case aid or ssutage should be required on snj other occasion, it rendered necessary the previous consent of tbe great council of the_,tenaats of the crown. It proceeded to emuiierate the members of this ci>nncil, as orch- biehope, bisbopa, abbots, earls, and greater barons, who ahonld be summoned personally by writ ; and as tUl othw tenants in' chief of the crown, who dioald be snamMBed generally by the sheriff. The summons was to be isaned forty days before- hand, and was to specif the time and place and intended subjeet of diBcnssion. Notwithstanding the careM limitation of this article to royal tenants and to purposes of supply, nothing in the Charter was so hateful to succeeding princes. It was soon formally expunged; it was never formaDy restored. Yet other and larger privileges silently arose in its ^aee, and no tme wa» found in later years who dared to violate them openly.
I need not dwell upon many sm^Ew hut most umful pvvi- sions for the better administration of justioc, for tbe stricter regu- lation of assize, for temporary claims and aMessitiefl in Scotland and Wales, for mitigation of the rights of'^f#e emption possessed by the crown, and for the allowance^ of lifclHiy of travel to every
fremiaii txaeptiii^ in time^oE wAr. Ipreeead tO'Sametboseg^iutdep pFOTiei ana which proved ap^icftble to all placeS' and timech. whieli held mthin them the gerra of our greate^ cmat^utiMial libortia*^ and' which hiii7« seenred laetiog gralitiidft and veaeiatiea to iJia autkoTB of the- GireAl Charto'.
These were the ekuees which pr«l«eted. dm peraonal liberty and prop»Lj of alL freemen, Vj foimdiog awessible Beonritiee' against atbitraEf uBpEieomaent and arhibmn; Bpa)iation>. ' Wq ' will atA eel], we will not recuse, «e will not defer, rigbti or juatkB ' to'anj one,' wae th« simple and nsUe pfstesL^ainBt aiciutoni' common until than, but nevei: Ihemc^orward to h«- pnaetiaed withoiUi secret (»ime or open shame. The liiir^-Biath clause (beginning with thai rude lati^y of »ullw Uber homa whieh Liwd Chathai^ thought worth, aJl tko alaaaicB} s^pulaled, in the latne gieat apirit, that BO fieemftD should be aireatttd^ w impriMned,. or diMeiaedi of hia laad, on oiill>n«d« or destroyed in an; nuwner ; dot should the hisg go apon^ bdm, nor- send upon hire, but by tlte lawfdl judg- meot of hia peen, or by the law of die land. And a supplementaij clause, not less worthy, provided that eai^ and barona ahould b« amerced! by tbeu peera only and accOTding; to the nature of theitr ofienog ; IJUt £re(»nen should ntrf be amereed heavily for a aasU fault, but aAer the manner of the default, nor above measure for a great tisnegTeastoB ; saning always to Uie freeholder his ireehold, tothemefofaaothismeFcllBBdiee, sodlto a vilhun (except he wastiie king's villun) his waiuage, or imptsmeats of husbwidry ; and that aueh amerciam^tta-shoald be imposed by the oath of tiie good men of the neighbourhood. And the operation of all this was extended, as before remarked, to the sub-vaseiUs ae well as vassals. It was provided that every liberty and custom wiich the king had. graated to his tenants, as far as coacemed Um, sho«ld be obserred by the clergy and laity towards their tenants,, as for as concerned.
Such, in its leading provisions, was the Qreat Charter. Nor did its manifest omissions, or the limited bearing of even its greatest remedial clauseB, avtul against its mighty and resistless effect through the succeeding centuries. Could its framers have foresees this, they might have paused. Certain is it that all the potent secrets included in their work were not known to them. They could not have suspected that under words which were intended to limit tha relations of feudal power, manyof die most extended truths of a just and equit^Ie polity lay concealed, as though afrud to shew them-
468 A HIBTOBI rOB YOUira XHSLABD.
wires till a milder And more anepicioiu dttj. Thej denied pro- tection to eerfB, Bnd knew not tiiat what had given them that Teiy power of denial had rent asunder for ever the bonds of Engfish serfdom. Thej protest«d against the power of taxa- tion in a prince vhile they reserved it in limitation for them- selves, ignorant that the formidable principle wonld bear down the weak exception. They demanded the regular Bnmmoning of a great ' conncil to control the king, and dreamt not that within fifty years the tenants of the crown to whom they hmited that council, would insensihly yield to the admissioa of bm-gesses and kni^ts by the ferms of popular election. They asserted a prin- ciple and could not stay its course. All-powerful as they were, QieBe iron barons of Mertou, they eould not cltum its operation in one case, and control it in another. Their part was illuetrions, but was not all. It was enough for them, and enough for the admiration with which we regard them, to hare conceived the great and prudent thought, that when <mce the rust of the Norman Conquest had been worn out of the souls of men, the various and discordant elements of England could never be moulded into any safe poliUcal form, without a distinct admiasion, however limited, of political privileges, and a nominally general concession, how- ever anfairly hampered, of civil rights of liberty and property. The personal pride, the impatience of kingly wrong, in which that thought began, has not availed to check the reverence now foiriy due to it. It vas for future time to purge the BelfishneBs and leave the greatness. It was for a posterity that has heaped upon these men praise they would have trampled on as ineolence, to demonstrate the inherent force and inexhaustible power of the simple spirit of KESiatAiicE to irresponsible tyranny, whether lodged under a peasant's jerkin, or within a baron's mail. The five centuries that followed the scene at Bnnnytnede were filled with the struggles of freedom ; and never, at any new efi'ort, were the provisions of this feudal charter appealed to in vain. Evra when silent in themselves, the spirit from which they took life still gave itself forth irresistibly ; in accents of warning and terror, or of strength and consolation. Thirty-two times were they solemnly re-affirmed and re- established ; thirty-two several times had they heen deliberately violated by profligate nunisters and insolent kings.
The names of the twenty-Sve barons selected as its guardians and conaerrators nay now be given. The reader will find in a
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A BUTOKT Foa Tomra exqlaho. iSB
Bnbseqoent list the name <tf Heary de Londres, Arohbialiog of Dublin, a man of great karning, spirit, and courage ; wfaoi for
. MTcral jearB, administered hia arcnbishopric in defiance of an interdict, and with a sentence of ezcommimication inq»eDding over
' him ; and these recitala, with the names alreadj familiar, will show the chief promoters of Maoita Charta. They were, Richard de Clare, Earl of Clare ; William de Fortibos, Earl of Anmerle ; Geoflre; de MandeTille, Earl of Qlouceater ; Saber de Quincj, Earl of Winchester ; Henry de Bohmi, Earl of Hereford ; Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk ; Robert de Vere. Earl of Oxford ; William Mareschall, Junior ; Robert Fitz-Walter ; Qilbert de Clare; Eustace de VeHcy; William deHardell, Mayor of London ; \miiam de Mowbray ; Geofrey de Say ; Roger de Mumbezon (Mount Begon) ; William de Huntingfield ; Robert de Rob ; Jolm de Lacy, the Constable of Chester ; William de Albeniac ; Richard de Percy ; William Malet ; John Fits-Robert ; William de Lanvalay ; Hugh Bigod ; and Richard de Montfitchet.
The barons recited in the Charter itself, as baring recom- mended it to the king by their council, are known, though the most part with decisive inclinings to the confederat«d barons, to have remained nominally under the standard of the king. They were, Stephen, Archbishop of Canterbury ; Henry, Archbi^op of Dublin ; William of Londmi, Peter of Winchester, Joceline of Badi and Glastonbury, Hugh of Lincoln, Walter of Worcester, William of Coventry, and Benedict of Rochester, Bishops ; Fandulph, the Pope's Snbdeacon and Familiar ; Brother Almeric, Master of the Ejiight-Temphu-a in England ; William Mareschal, Earl of Pembroke ; William, Earl of Salisbury ; >^^lliam. Earl of Warrene ; William, Earl of Arundel ; Alan de Galloway, Con- stable of Scotland; Warin FitE-Gerald ; Hubert de Bnivh, Seneschal of Poictou ; Peter Fitz-Herbert, Hngh de Kevil, Mat~ thew Fitz-Herbert, Thomas Basset, Alan Basset, Philip de- Albiniac, Robert de Roppel, John Mareechal, and John Fita- Hugh.
John lived fifteen months ^er the great 'transactiims at Ron- nymede, but lived only with the hope of reversing them, by force or treachery. He had kept throughout the four days the pretence of cheerfulness ; had spoken witii courtesy and kmdness to even hia leading opponents ; bad issued his writs to the aherifis of the counties to read ereiywhere the ctntents of the Charter and sweaE -
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■Ik^inrr to ite -tw«i>t;<fiTe comeFraton ; Mid fia&Ujc. ntt Ae ■tmoBt show of graciaoB&en, hndi, ca ihe -doBuig i»y of Ae atm.- Jeiwce, -takm Uck igaiD all the mrolted Immmb for his litccnw, «nd grantal tkem dieir former esUtee -uid kMwnra. S^ case laft -wid) hia ctOKtwea, die mask fdl. He onnetl the day tf Ua btrdi, he ginwbed hia teeth, he rolled his ey*s, he gMnwd Btioka ftnd Btnws, and nnderwent ib% ridicaloiu phrensy of a mad- -man. The pt^talar aotjon of the fint hepdeoa tnteut ii hb liiwwiiilitiiii' inay be gveiaed at from the grave tussertion of UKthevr df Paris, who telle vm diat be epent the day afler the aignotaie of ^e charter at Windaor, skulked sMtcy tbe Jtert DMnnmg -to Ae Isle of 'Wight, took up the prtrfesNon of -a pirste, and psased Ihwn BKmthfi in the island, -or at sea in the oompany of awrinerB. Fablic i«cordB proye that diia eonld not have bees, fiis fint acta duiwei a coUeoted and practical treachery, madi more oougeoial ■with his mature. He sent two deputations to the Continent. One was charged to hire adventurers and meroenariei for his standard ; &B a&BT to inqtlore the powerful interpositJoii of Rome, on the ground tfiat aonceenons ext«rted A-om the Tassal vere insnlta offered to Ae autfaoritj of the lord. This dtme, he ordered all bis eastiee to be provisioned and fortified, and set famnelf to the 'derice of flcfaemes for aurprite of the capital.
Seoret intelligeBee of some such meaenres would seem to hare Teadied '^e trimnpbant karouB when in full preparation fer v, aoagnificent tevraament at Stamford, to be fougbt in oriebration «f Romiymede. The pupoee vaa immedutely forebca-ne ; and ■fter fruitleas attempts io wani and rscorer the king (in whidi th^ 3oBt valuable time), their trumpet eeunded te arms more deqtente. The first struggle took {dace under the walls of Ko<Aiester Ga^e, which ultimately smrenderod to the king. Mn^eBaries poured in daily to his etandard, and iiie baress seem io have 'befm perplexed at the suddenneas of-tiie morememt against them.
The «iege of Ilochester had scafoe^ been decided, whwi a boll reached England from the Pope annulling the Qreat ChKBHSb. iBugland was beeame a fief of Ibo Hc^ See, this decvmeut pro- ^dauned, and 'her kiog-had no longer the power, even if he had the vitl, io suirender the ri^ts 'of Us crown wilbmit permiflsiDn frem iiis fssdtfl lord. £very 'eoBeeBsion extorted frem John, >therefore, on thejate aanlBmacy.at RMDnymede, 'had been lawleady t^en.in f ikt Boly 6ee, to the degradatini «f reyai^, to tbe
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A HI3T0BI 90& IDCKO ENGLAND. 4Sl
.disgrace of the nation, and to tbe in^MUdaeiit of tiut eFmade which John hftd bo religiously «mbraeed. The baroos weste ordered fiusllj to eubnutaad malce due oanoeaeion. WiMnut aidk- sentient they refused. Langten was thea ordered to eceaianMiaioAte them ; and that great-mioded prolate paying bo attentioa to tt^ command, Jie was au^endedfrom .the exercise 4^ his acduepieoiqjal functions. This was followed by a aeoeod bull of eicoiOBiaDicAtien, in which the chiefs of the oonfedented banuis, mentioned hy naatB, w«re declared te be wiM^e than Saraeena, and m which the Git^ of LondoD {etaimch always to the Charter) was lud under an interdict. But this too was met with calm oontanqit. Such matters, aaid the baions, in a remarkable Bmnifesto .issued iky their orders, were not within the jurisdiction of Roene. Tabi- poral concerns were not subject to the Pope's iaterferenee : ChiiBt liad only entrusted ecclesiastical ctmtrol .to Peter and io Peter's wcoeseors. (£11: Aoc -matdms quod ncn pertinet ad pajxim otidi- laatio rarwn /atcarum ; -oum Pelro apMl^ .et 6Ju» miccetew^Ms now aiti tocleeituticmrum ditpoeitio rerum.a .denww tit aoQalm^
Several. months thus ,paE»ed, Jmiiig whi(^ the mavoenary bands -of John had been :Beonuted in unexom^d numbers, obiafly iiesa Fluiders, Picardy, Poitou, and Guieuuc. They now laid vaite with wanton violenoe the richeet counties of the eonth, and Jehu [in person -marclied te the north, where the Scote had tak«k up the oaiiae of the ConfedeEacy. The hoirible -scenes here enaotad by the tyrant Are atud te hare had no parallel sinoe these of the Conqueror's devastation. With Us own hande he m»a mont to set fire in the morning to the house which had p?en him shelter on the preceding night. Castles, Tillages, towns, were given recklessly to the flames ; and countless human beings, without respect of age or sex, rauk nr ealtiag, were subjected to tortures, mutilations, and deaths, too horrible to be named ! At length wherever John speared, foieats -and jnountuns iiecame Ae only refuge to human life i «he laboure of a^pieultutie .wece sus- pended ; and, with « said signifioaaoe, in ehmehyards alone, as Imving a right of eaatcimry lor ithe meat part le^eoted by even ■the royal maraudns, a meeting or a maitet could be held.
Unhappily for their fame, the barons look a resolve in l3ns cen<Ution of things — -"their available force jiroving unequ^ to Any speedy deternunation of the couteat — to call in, on thiur Mde ^so, the he^ of 'the fomgaer. Xhey offeied the Engligh •£rown to tite oldut &os of the king ^f Fmnce, aliea^ .allied ia
472 NSW BOOKB.
the famSf of FUntagenet hy his matriage widi the niece of JohD. He landed at Dover with a conuderable force, before which John's mercenarieB made precipitate retreat ; and, receiving the homage of the baroms and cittzene in London at Paul's Cathedral, took solemn oath to govern them by good laws, to protect them agtunat th«r enemies, and to reinstate them in all tbeir old rights and posaeBsions. His first morements were Buccessfiil ; and it bad become little doubtful what the issue of the campaign now figor- OOslj entered on, must have been, when Providence interposed the deaUi of John. Entire Bncceas must have involved the Confederacy in a false allegiance, in all probability fatal to the cause with which their names are so greatly connected. But the success with which they began, only served, most happily, to involve John's latter days in gloom ; and was not needed farther.
On the 14th of October 1216, the tyrant, after a luckless and heavy march in the conntir of the fms, sought rest in the Cistercian convent of Swineshead, where fatigue, or mortification, or poison, or a surfeit of peaches, or all combined, threw him into a mortal fever. He was conveyed next day with difficulty and anguish to the castle of Sleaford ; and on the day following to Newark Castle ; wherO) made sensible of approaching death, he named his eldest son Henry for his successor. He died on the 19th of October, in the forty -ninth year of his age and the seven- teenth of his reign ; more thorongbly hated, and more deservedly condemned to everlasting infamy, than any other man of whom histoiy keeps conlemptuous record.
Neb) SOOitltE.
EssAts OH SoBraom Cohmkcibd with the LnXKiTCBE, ForuLAa' Sdpbb- siinoN, iKD HiBToai or the Middlb Aobb. Bj Thomas Wright, M.A. F.S.A, &c., fte. 2 vols,, p. Bvo. London: J. RoBsell Smilh. The ablation of the great questions afiedJi^ the principles that go- vern large societies and denselj-^polated nations, ramifies itself into legions of literatnre and philosophical speculation, that at the first glance seem far removed from it. The study of antiquities, and particularly of literary antiquities) was, until very lately, confined to a few erudite and secluded students, whose pursuits were considered, even by their literary brethren, to be at the best a harmless amoiement : the wits considered them as lawful game for banter, aud the politician and man
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of the world m dreameiB. The necessity, however, for a more accurate . exuniafttion into the BtatemenU of hiEtorians, aod the demand for a more snbataDtial knowledge of the progress of society, the doTelopment
of political doctrines, and the comparison of l^e various modes of legislation and ^Ternment, all fennented and excited bj the party pleadings of yarions sections of theological and civil factions, nave forced the attention of the reading pablic towards the learned re- seaichea of the antiquarians. The middle eras are no longer to be Gtyled the dark agea ; and the sweeping denonciations of the arrogant but ignorant party-historians of the last century are gradually lein^ wholly set aside by the light thrown apon this portion of history by the patient and plodding investigations of the literary antiqnarians. In France this section of learning nas been impregnated with the finest literary genius ; and Thierry, Michelet, and others,, have invested the hitherto considered dustiest of subjects with a freshness and charm allied to the noblest poetry and history. No sach union has taken place with as, for though Sir Walter Scott to a ^at degree united the iroaginativo power with the accumulated learning, yet, he never made the former the means of revivifying the &icU of past ages. His namerous imitators in their weakness wandered still further into the realms of mere fency.
Mr. Wright makes no pretension to be ranked in the class of Michelet and Thierry, leaving to others the task of speculating on the materials he gathers ; nor does he even seek himselfto evolve the theorv attached to the numerous facts his diligence and his learning weigh up from the deep profound of the past. Still his labours are extremely valuable— first, as adding richly to the stores of knowled^e^ — and secondly, as being by his literary ability invested with an interest, which they otherwise never could nave for the general reader. What, if given in its raw state, would be repulsive and uninteresting, becomes by his treatment suggestive and informiDg. This iUelf is of great benefit to literature, for it is rendering the study of antiquities a pleasure instead of a task. There is scarcely out of the twenty articles comprised in these two volumes one which a lady or a tolerably intelligent youth of either sex would not invoiantarily peruse ; whilst to the sterner reader, anxious to be informed of the actual state of early English society, and of the progress of language, literature, and inven- tion, they are of the utmost value. Some objections doubtless may be raised by those equally versed with Mr. Wright in antiquarian re- searches aa to the dates he occasionally fixes and to the value of certain documents, but this in no way deteriorates firomtbe gener^ value of bis contributions. He will be opposed, too, by those who draw different conclusions from the evidence he has thus adduced. We are Tety glad, however, to perceive that one so learned and so diligent in his re-
1 -g jg gjjij Qj, yjg gjijg jjj ^jjpgg ^jjg j^^g gmjj yj (jjg beneficial
s of mankind, and is not one of those who look back to the 1 period as the perfection of hnman society, and advocate the
progress o
_, nbjactioii of the mau^ to the tender mwcirti ttf &e few. Tbe
ffilbwiiig wutence in ilie dedicatioa wooU ^Qs entitle hin to 1^ fm mn\ of every aaprejndiced inqoiier, ^itified as it ie by tbe cont^iis of Us Tolmnei : — "Ihave eadearenred to pwnt the gpirit and maaiTima of the age ii\&j ; concealiBg Dene of whit ^tpeaied to me to be its beautiet or its exoelksdai on th£ ffae hand, nor, on liie other, liiding thoae gnat vUm m the teititre of tadtis/ aad d^edg in the madieoal ayttea, nUoi ought to make tis look back i^ion it tath tiaitkfulnees ■»dK mge that kcu long patted away."
We shall not enter inbi any particular spscification of these yolumes, AS it is & work which ereij one interested in liteiatme, potiticB, or Bodal progresBj should penise for himself.
Ah E^sii n> xhe Cbuucteb. of Micbeih. Deny' Sro. Iiondon : C. Mitchell. EvKiv thine that tends to fix the attention to the eaoiest examina- tion and elndication of the full meaning of a. tmlj great wiit«r is valoafaie. This critical eKercise of the mind is fer leany reaaoBS to ha enoonraged, and the more especially that it is only by the most
Stient and intense devotion to a great author that bis depth can be homed, oc the vsatneas of his genina apprehended ; we cannot say even after the profoundeet attention hw been awarded to him, that he has bean comprehended. InteUectual power of>eUB to its in the midst of darkneee a burst of light which radiattng'^o infinite relations Teveals inamnBTahle truths. The speculations upon these are also umusaerable ; being varied according to vae faculties, pereeptioDS, aad cympathiae 'Of tiiose upon whom these rays of gemns happen to f^. We are made up of fragments, and an inteOectnal microscope might (Uaoover 'that our minds are but a colkction of spiritual animalcules. Thai it is that we have now hundreds of volumes on Shakespeare, and that these are -hundreds more inevitably to be written. All howEveru^of service, and the attentive pemsal of the humblest is of more benefit .to the mind, and mi^e likely to invigorate it by exciting thought, thaa any vohime containing mere facts.
The author of the present treatise confines hlmedf to the TsiatetiDn of an opinion suatained with considerable ingenuity by .a late wtiter in tbe WestminEter Keview, that Madieth is not a nobk^ainded nuw — o'ercasl by sudden passions, and deluding supernatural seductioua — but as inhs^dy a base villain, a designing hypocrite, and a Temorseless tyrant ; going even the length indirectly of asserting that Lady Uacbedi basnuiK -remorse of character, and therefore a greater chum to the synmathy of the spectator. This is so pandoxieal an aasertjon t^at we tnink it might very well have been left with other jeax d' s^wtt^'Of tdie^BBiBe kind toils own rrfntation. hi the Monthly Bepository, naay be f<Ktnd an article, very probah^ by the same ingacious dispntant, maintUBing that iago is the injiured par^ in the play of OtheUii, .and
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that the sympathv of the sncB^uie anght to .go -with tlie " hoDest " ancient. AnjibiBhop Whateley has, ho0'«ver,^lly exposed the tricks cmplojed in such soplustical M^giunents in hU "Froofa of thesaa- esiateDce of NApoleaa Buanaparte." Such duJeclical exerciaea luty he diaragacded aa haimle&s flouiiahea of a diqiutattoua mind.
The author of the present refutaUtm has fairly met hia oppoaeoit, ■without tranaferring the dispute, as he very well nEght, to any " removed ground" of a metaphysical or usUietical Jund. The assertion wag jitade in a plain logical nuutner, and it has been .answered in the Mania iBode, and the qaestion is thus argued with as much formality .(uid we most tay as little ^snios) as aj^ two advocates oonld Juve Aane before the lord chief jnsltce.
Neither party diows isufficieal candderatian lor the pecnUar (arcninstances of the author ; .of the prevailing spirit and belief of his time; nor of the testhetical ueoeasitiea in ithe constnictirai of the drama. Neither is theie any attention pud to the biblit^raphical part of the subject. A^umeate^are drawn on both sides from pastaf^ of -which it may^ery faidy be doabted if Shakespaare was ue .auUier. Ftn instance,gr«at stress is laid and the linas.aie many tiDusqooted of, K*cMh. PiyAee peace :
I dare^oaliihatnayjMoemeaaMn, Vha -dsrea do aiore Je bbib. without any allnsion or apparent knowledge that this is an amended and disputed passage, and that the words, or at least the sentiment, ia perhaps ni<;re SouUiem's than Shakespeare's. There is no quarto edition of Ma<teth ; and it was, sajs Collier, (the very beat authority ' on such a matter), first printed in the folio edition of 1623 ; he also adds, " It has been handed down in an unusually complete state, for not only are the divisions of the acts pointed out, bnt the subdivisions ef the scenes carefully and accurately noted." Probably, therefore, it was printed from the mauoacripL These oft-qnoted lines, so much relied on as indicative of character, stand in the oldeat and most AQthoritative folioa of 1623, 1632, and 1G6G as follows .: —
"The alteration to "who Saras do mote " was made by fiooihern in editingthe edition .<f I68S. The Rev. Mr. Hnnter in the second part «f his Tery searohing and interesting work entitled " Illustrations of the Life, Studies, and Wjitinp of Shakespeare," prppoBcs a leading gnite as plausible as Southern^, and as both are coigectorei, quite at -annch enttttefi t« credit. He -would read —
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476 BXW BOOKS.
Lniy. Who dare* no ronre u none. — '.'■.
Wlulb«Mt,&e. A reading entitled to eipecisl regard inaimach as it removes ao im- Shakeapeariau rant, and leaveitheactoaltext in the state it was received throagH three editions by the intimate admiren and contemporariea of the poet. Soathem'a alteration ia exactly accordant with the Drjden and Lee bombast of his day.
We have adduced this example of verbal criticism to prove how a contemptuoas neglect of it most overthrow the finest-span sestfaeticid specnlation.
It is too Ear out of qui way to enter on the character of Macbeth, and when it is considered what has been done from Richardson to Coleridge, and by the Oerman critics, we fancy it will not be a matter of regret to oar leadera that we do not attempt to add to the long and able list. We cannot however refrain ftom a few remarks. Of the stage appreciation of Shakespeare, with Charles I^mb we have com- plete horror : all seems to us erroneous. The versification is dislocated, the speeches are cut into points, the scenes into climaxes, the whole play mto ^ndy shreds and patches. The stage and the dtama li«ve long been irrevocably divorced. Any actorls opinion on the subject is of no value ; except indeed it might be a low comedian's in his private capacity— in this way one would prefer Oiimaldi's to John Kemble^— and if any one thinks this a preposteroas assertion let him read the Utter's alteration of Shakespeare for the stage. The whole matter therefore of the Westminster reviewer's dissertation is at once obli- terated. However, neither of the antbora have considered the cha- racter in its dramatic point of view : they have con«dered as a reality what is a portion of art, and therein so traoscendently great. The action of the play comprises many years, vaat events, great change^ various contrasts, all which by art are bronght into one stream of interest The principle that gives the ever-enduring popnlarity to the foor great tragedies (for Bicbard III. is not acted as written) is the tremendous interest derived from the conflict of the passions and the feelinn. Of this powerful agent no writer had a greater appreciation than ^akespeare, and it cannot be doubted he raJade as much of it in Macbeth as in Othello, Lear, or Hamlet. It is this const^mt surge and fluctuation that has moved succestdve generations of audiences with as lively emotion as if the first ni«kt of production ; it is this human feeling which renders them imperishable. It is the fight of good and evil, weakness and strength, constancy and change, miich has been shadowed out in all great religions and poetical ennnciations.
The pamphlet that has led us thus far is worthy of perusal on its own account ; and if it were not, it would be — as leading ns back to the consideration of one who is ever fresh, ever great, and ever grandly instmctive.
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To pourtray the TsriooB characteriBtics, and the infinite vicigsitnde of feeling through which a pretty woman will prohably haTB paised, would leqnire a very delicate and a very powerful pen. The subject ig highly attractive, not so mach on acconnt of the natural attraction of beauty itself, as that a beautiful woman posseaaes a power which to a certain extent gives her a character. " Most women have no character at ^1," said the jilted and disappointed poet ; but, perhaps, it might be added, most women have no character fnot in the ignominious sense) becanse they have no power ; no will but self-will. A beaatiful woman is placed in a ntuation of independence by the natural aristocracy of her qnalifioation, and she is not compelled to aaaume a virtne in order to please. This very freedom gives, when joined to amiability of tem- perament and vivacity of intellect, a power of charming which b irre- aittible. She is thas exposed to a thousand temptations ; her vanity is stimulated ; her faculties enlarged, and her mind bewildered by all- manner of false repreeentations. The surly and the proud are courte- ous and humble to her ; and all passions, and even many interests, vail themselves to her powerful spell. Beanty is one of the aristocracies of earth, and very justly have the conventional distinctions often been subdued br it. To pouitray the characteriatica of a being so sitnated, to mark with the finest appreciation, but with the most distinct delinea- tion, her alternations of feelings, and the operation of circtunat^ces upon her character, ia a difficult task, and it would be a truly in- teresting revealment. Miss Pardoe has attempted nothing of the kind, and she has been so tar wise, as she does not indicate in this work any cambili^ of bo doing.
The joster title of the book would have been " Memoirs of a Pretty Woman,"fortheBe"ConfesBionB"reveal no more than an author is always supposed to know about the creature of hia &brication. The common- place side of the question is taken up, and the "Pretty Woman" is made selfiah and nnamiabla, At least she is ao represented, though she really aeems no worse, even if so bad, as her neighboara. All the characters have a criminal tendency, the men being unutterably base and sensual, and the women weak and malignant. The beauty b very ill ased, being duped by two " monsters which (it is hoped) the world ne'er saw," and whose conduct ia such as no men of decent breeding could be guilty of : not that they might not be as criminal, bat they could not be as vulgar.
The style ia not felicitous. It has been compared with that of Mrs. Gore, but it wants her felicitous ease and brilliancy which compensate for so many defects. It is clogged with epithets, and garnished with innumerable French phrases, which give it the same sort of reliah that the pinch of cany powder may be supposed to convey to the potato sonp. It has abundance of self-strificiency, but very little true power ; and the molality is of that conventional kind taught in respectable boarding-
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EtAook, md mlin^Hl iir fMiioaaUe c1iap«lH. Thet« i», BltMgetlwr, t«7- little that can be coiuieientioiishr pTEiised, for there w not mach deicrip- D which we ^onhl haTe snpposed, from tiie prcmni worka
of tiiiS' anthoreg^ she wonld ha^e excelled. Tbem is. no norelLy ai choiuEtec, aiad sckrcalj' any interest, ihov^ in the last voIqbib soBtvis. feit for me beroiiie, and the lunBtive- there flows more easily' and pleaasatlj.
Not is thwa^ apparealTy, the same acto^ kaswkdgs- of tha dsM- of life tiHKted of as in tha noaels af Mn. Qtao- and oUnn, StfiaA " behioaablfl aoTeliata;" and, therefore, we cBimat cile it with ^rf Buretji oi tiie fidelity of its rapresentatioas, otherwise wa mi^ add: what we Bo ofban hftd. fbreed apan oar notice, that the aiiitiecfa<^ as. TeiH'aaeiilfd by the noyelista appear i«<be the wontrhi«d and miMli ilL- conducted clua of society. It osed- to be the <^«r wa|f at tile cooi^' menoement of novel writing and aristocrMy was pttintad eaulmr du rot*. The ondonbted teatimony of theii own claae, biwveTer, iathe-only em- from which, any prejudicial argument can be f^lj drsmi, ud.o£ this there is abnudane*.
tae Ehbasst ; ok, Tbb Eet to a. Hisibbt : An Hiatarical Binaaooe..
Bema the Second Series of The Chronicles of the ItatUa. 3 Tola., p. 8»o.
London : C. Newby.
Tbis is an luetoTJcdi novel nuanfoctorad after the improved modem fashion. The subject is the intrigue of the hmidaome Dnlceiof Buck- ingham, with the Ua here repreeanted) sentimental Amte of Auetria ; the cesult dt which is mads out to ba a son, who afterwokla hecomea. the mysteriona creature of the iron mask. HiBtoricaljwabsbilify and chronological accuracy are so openly avowed b; the aatbor to be tio- loted to anit bis fiotion, that it is scarcely neceesaiy to mention the fact. There are, however, vi^^tiona of the probabilttiea ai common occnr- rences and of Ehoracter which coll for moieserijHta.Tenurk. TheDalLs of Buckingham, a character, which, in the hands of a.maHter, would' afford many o^ortunities fat interesting deTelopments and powerful writing, is treated ia the most common-place manner. That he was unscrupulous, arrogant, Tain, licentious, imd vindictive-, we knew &om histray ; but that he was in the habit of brawling in pot-houses,, that, he paraued his disgraceful intrigoea in the manner here narrated^ or that his conduct was ao entirdy without the gracea of ths cav^er cannot be believed.
We have often had occasion to remArk that Qua kind of oovel has long since sank to the at^acd of the Suney Theatre Melodrvna. Ferrymen with smart sona or handsome daughters, discontented osd. assassinating military officers, whose dooghiera ate aWays placed in a, disreputable situation by gome gentlemHi in aiJk boee, uid with. on. amazing large plume of featheiB, have long be»i the propoty o£ boUl. The novelist, indeed, has the advantage of being able to ^in otA his
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NBir BeoES. 479
thne Tt^DHS with a traascript or two fran histny, aoA the o^^ tnni^ of brin^iDg in the specnUtion* of a itatenDWh Rem ths mtfeii- taiato RichelieD is dropped fbith, who, vAaterer his rins Bun* hkVft be«n, baa aarelj folly expiated them in the loug-MiffeTing' ha hm endured at the' hands- of the moders historical. nuTetiBt.
There is geaetaily to he found in the fesblaat of theae kind, of pro- ductions, some small portioa of ioformation respecting the maanarftand characters of the penod treated of, but here there is really nothing of the Bort, b«yond whst evtty diligent student of the circulating libraiy nuut have long been acqoainted with. The merest gouip ef um tdma, set afloat from, political or malicioDH notiveB, is taken, as the gmsBd- work of the scenes and events, and every great occurrence refeirad ta a. pnvate motive. It is. one of ihe mysteriea of that most inf Bt«riaaftcaflr pablishing, how such noika con repay the cost of prodnction, or, keisg pioducad, how they can be charged the price they are„ whilst their kindred brolh«iB of the slulf, ttie mioor thastre dramas, ma; be ttgi for BiipeBce, or seen with nmsic and dunirina for a, ahiiUwa
The Qdieii'b Liiqes. A Homance. !□ i Tohnnea, p. Svo. London : T. C: N«»by.
This is aim an historical novel, but is entitled to more unsideisr tion. than the one we have just noticed, inasmoch as it has a pnrpont, beyond th» mere spinning 3, story b^ iavolvina; common-place penonages in. an improbable and uninteresting glot. We cannot admire either its style or its principles, but inaimnch as it has somewhat of both it is mora endoiable than the &int imitations of a weak proto- type, that are now usually given as historical romances.
The author is evidently an enthoaiast—not to say a ^atic — in his opinions of the middle-age form of society ^ and bo perverted ia this view, that whilst he isnarratingoneof the most revoltiogitfidbaibaroasinBtanceg of despotic t3n'aQny ever perpetr^ed — the violation of the profoundeat affections, and the open and wilful murder of a lovely and amiable woman, the onhappy lues de Caatro, he can see nothing in. tha middle ages but a form of government and r^jSjpMf. which fostered the noblest feelings and produced the perfectioD'.M humanity. He is in fitct either of the school of Lonl John lf£tnnera, or a defender of the Romm Catholic doctrioes. He has consequently all the osoal per- version of argument, and ancanBciona misrepresestatioa of facts that characterise that school. The romantic ideal that they follow has doabtlesa amiabilities and points, of attraction, but it is so entirely the. result of faith in an idea, instead of a sound deduction from taots, that it must ever appear absDtd when endeavoured to be wrought into practice as a reasoaatale theory.
Tha style is not so alevat«d and informed with gemns as that of some of the writers of ths "Voang England School," and oonw-
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qnently it U consUutir falling into the exploded fom, tonally
known as that of the Minerva Pnm. Epithets that have "an ancient and fiah-like odour," beitrew almost eveij page. " The bower-maid," " the veoerable parent." •
" The mitred abbot, and warrior bold " belong to a claw of writing we ho]* not about to bo revived : con- sistiDg as it does of vagae generalities, heated fuicies, and a falsely- directed invention.
The story of " luss de Castro " is of itself simple and sad enoagh, and it has always appe^u^d from its very want of complexity ill adapted to the uses of either Ihe novelist or the dramatist, though both have so frequently seiied apon it. The interest rests entirely in its climax, for the loves of the onhappy pair until broken in upon by the ferocions murderer seem lo nave been a" ''"" "'■' -° ',0 all bnt themselves as those of any e square in our own time. The intensity o gapposed to be expressed in the revolting exhumation ana crown- ing of the corpse of the mnrdered Inee, has always captivated the imagination of those disregardfnl of the esthetic rules that divide the ternble and the horrible. These writers have always snzed on this portion of the story with eipedal foit, and the best of them have been more attentive to the revolting sensations produced by such a scene, than even to the pourtrayal of the passion supposed to be the cause of its disgnsting enactment. It has been justly queBtioned, however, and even by the present author, whether policy had not much more to do with this proaeeding than either passion or affection ; the object being to enforce the iegitimate claims of her diildren, and to pronounce with ferocious emphasis the will and governance of the new monarch.
To those not sated with descriptions of "proud cavalcades," " ambling palfreys," " jewelled carcanets," and all the long catalogue of middle-aga paraphernalia ; who can stili be excited with descriptions of "peals of the solemn organ" and "winding processions of psllid
Erieats ;" whose blood can still curdle at the fetal combat between the ero and his malignant foe ; who has still sympathy for the ethereal beroine and faith in the high-flown sentiment and devoted heroism of the fevoarite characters,— satisfaction and entertainment may be found in these four volumes. For ourselves we must confess to being too commoii-place to derive anything of the kind from them. What is styled heroism appears at tte best mistaken energy, at the worst ferocious malignity : the ceremonies seem snperstitions acts to deceive and mislead the many : the sentiments are incompatible with the equal distribntiou of justice, and th^ principles advocated such as to produce an n&dae elevation of one portion of society to the outrage and injury of the rest. The middle age doubtless had its virtuoos characters, though as an age and "body corporate" the more it is examined the more it seems to be a compound of tjrranny, violence, and h
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DOUGLAS JERROIJyS
SHILLING MAGAZINE.
THB HISTORY OP ST. GILES AND ST. JAMBS.*
BT THE BfilTOB.
CHAPTER XXVIL When Siupeton turned hia horse's head from Doresnest — ^for the which incident we must send back the reader some dozen chap- ters— he resohed, ae he rode, upon closing his ftccounta with the world, that freed from the cares of money, he might cherish and protect hia youthful, blooming partner. Arrived in London, seated at hia books in St. Maiy Ajie, the resolution was streogth- encd by the contemplation of his balance against men. He had more tiian enough, and would enjoy life in good earnest. Why should he toil hke a slave for gold-dust, and nerer know the blessings of the hoou f No : he would close hia accounts, and open mde his heart. And Snipetoa was sincere in this bis high resolve. Per a whole night, waking and dreaming, he was fixed in it ; and the nest morning the usorions apostate fell back to hia first creed of money-hags. Fortune is a woman, and there- fore where she blindly loves — (and what Bottoms and Calibans she does embrace and fondle!) — is not to be pnt aside by slight or ill-uaage. AU his life had Portune doted upon Suipeton, hugging him the closer as she carried him up — no infant ape more tenderly clutched in tickliah places, — and he should not leave hra. And to this end did Portune bribe back her renegade with a lumf^ ing bargain. A young gentleman — a very young gentleman —
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desired for so mucb ready metal, to put his land upon parcbmeot, and that joung gentleman did Fortune take bj the hand, and, Bmiling ruin, lead him to St. Uary Axe. In few minutes was Snipeton wooed and won agun ; for to say the truth his weakness was a mortgage. The written parchment, like charmed cha- racters, conjured him ; put imagination into that dry husk of a man. He would look upon the deed as upon a land of promise. He would see in the smdlest pen-awrks giant oaks, with the might of navies waiting in them ; and from the sheepskin would feel the nimhle air of Aroady. There it lay, a beantifid bit of God's earth — a sweet morsel of -crea^n — eovjmed and conveyed into a few black syllables.
And so, Snipeton made his peace irith his first wife Fortone, and then bethought him of his second spouse, Clarissa. That be might duly attend to be^, he wmdd remsve his secaud mate from Doresnest. There were deable reaaons for the motion ; for the haven of wedded bliss was known to the profligate St. James ; who, unmindfid of the sweatest oUigation money at large usance ought to confer upon the homan heart, dared to accost his cre- ditor's wife. Let Dovesneat heneeforlh be a place for owls and foxes, Clarissa should bring happiness within an hour's ride of St. Mary Axe. The thought was so good, seat sucli laige content to old Snipeton's heart, that with no delay it was earned eut, and ere she well Jiad time to we^ a farewell to her favourite roses. * Urs. Snipeton left Bovesnest to the iS^era.
Was it a wise change, tliig ? Had Snipeton healthy eyes ; or did avarice, that jaundice of the soul, so blear his vision, that be saw not in the tluo, discoloured featores of the wife of his bosom, aught to twitch a husband's heart! She never eempkined. Be^des, once or twice be bad questioned her ; and she was not ill. No, wdl, quite well ; and — this too he had asked— very hi^py. Nevertheless, it would the better satisfy him if Crossbone could see her. Crossbone knew her cons^tution, and — and so that meek awl knowing man was sniamoned to London.
In a green, sequestered no^, hsclf-wiqr 1>etveen Hampstead and KUbani, embowered in the middle of & garden, was a small cottage ; so hidden, that oft the traveller passed, unheeding it. In tms cottage was Clarissa. To this retreat woidd ber husbuui amble every day from St. Mary Axe, quitting his money temple for the treasure of his fireside, his pale «td ^aoid wife ; luid resolved to think himself hlessed at both ^aeaa.
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" Mr, Snipetoii is late to-dsj,'' said Mrs. TTilton, the mother housekeeper.
" He will come," replied Clariasft, ia the tone of one resigned to a daily care. " He will come, mother,"
MrB. Wilton looked with appealing tenderneBs in her dtroghter's foee ; mttA in a low, enfan voice, controlling her heart as she spoke, she said — " TbiB mnst not be : do not repeat that word — not even when we ore alone. Some day it may betray me to yonr huB- hand, and then " —
*' What then ? " asked CIbimw.
" We shoidd he parted j for vrer — far orer," cried "fflie woman, and with the thongbt she burst into tears.
" Not so. Nothing parts ns ; 'nothrng bttt tbe IdndHness of death," said Clarissa. "And death.is kmd, at least" —
"At least, my ofaild, the world with you is too yonng to think
it HO."
*< Old, old and faded," ssdd Olorissa. " The spirit of youth is departed. I took at all tbingswidi dim and~weary eyes."
" And yet, inj child, there is a sanctity in soaring, when strongly, meeUf horae. Oar thtty, though set about by thorns, may BtiU be made a st^, supporting evw. while it tortares. Cast it away, and like the prophet's wand, it changes to a snake. God and my own heart know, I speak no idle thoughts, I speak a. bitter truth, bittraly acknowledged,"
"And dttty shall stqyport me on this weaiy pilgrimage," said Clarissa. Thentaking her mother's hand, and feebly Bmiliug, she added, " Surely, it can be no sin to wish sooh trarel short : or if it be, I still must wish — I cannot help it."
" Time, time, my child, is the sure conciliator, Tou will lire to wonder at and bless his goodness,"
" Yon B^ so — it m^ he," swd daiissa, witlt a lightened look, " at least, I'll hope it." And then both smiled gai^rw-w^nly ; for both felt the deceit they stnre to act but conld not carry timragh. Words, words of comforting, of hope were xMend, but they feU coldly, hollowly ; for the spirit of tmtJt was not in them. They were things of tbe tongoe, passionleBB, mechanicBl ; the Toice without the soul. At this moment, oK S<wothy Yale entered the room ; and she was welcome : evan though ihe an- nounced the coming of the master of the house.
" Master 's coming up the garden," said Doroil^, each hand rubbing an arm crofBod before her. " Somebody 'a with him<"
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" A stranger here ! Who can it be ! " cried CliuiBSa.
" Don't say he's a stranger ; don't aaj he Isn't ; can only see a aomebody," uiswered Dorothy, in whom ao show whaterer of this world of shows could have awakened a momentary curioaity. Her inheritance, as ono of Eve's daughters, was this beautiful earth, sky-roofed ; yet was it no more to her than a huge deal box, pierced with air-holea. A place to eat, drink, sleep, and hang up her honnet in.
Another minute, and Snipeton entered the room. The husband had returned to the haren of his hopes, and was reoolred that the world — then comprised in the single person of Feter Croasbone, who fallowed close at the heels of his host— should bear witness to his exceeding happiness ; to the robust delight that, as he crossed his threshold , inatantly posseeaed him ; for with an aniiona look of joy, he strode up to his wife, and suddenly taking her cheeks between both hie hands, pursed out her lips, and then vigorously kissed them. He was so happy, he could not, would not feel his wife shrink at his touch — could not, ^ould not see her white face flush as with sudden resentment, and then subside into pale endurance, ^o : the husband was resolved upon displaying to the world his exceeding happiness, and would not ha thwarted in his show of bliss, by trifles. He merely said, still dallying with his felicity — "Never mind Crosabone ; he's nobody; a family man — has been married, and that's all the same." Now CroBsbone in his wayward heart, felt tempted to dispute such position ; it was not all the same — to him. Nevertheless, he would not be captious. It was a poor, an ignorant opinion, and therefore his host and customer ^ould have the free enjoyment <rf it.
" Hrs. Snipeton," said the Apothecary, " though I do not feel it profeasional to hope that anybody is well, nevertheless in your case, I do hope that — well, welj, I see ; a little pale, but never few it — we'll bring the rosea out again. In a little wbi^e, and you'll bloom like a hough-pot."
" To bo sure she will," said Snipeton. " I thought of buying her a pretty little horse ; just a quiet thing "—
" Nothing could be better — perhaps. As I often say, horse- flesh is the thing for weak stomachs. I may say as much to you as a friend, Mr, Snipeton ; folks often go to the doctor's, when they should go to the stable. Yes, yea — horse exercise and change of air " —
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BT. 0]I£B AND ST. JAMES. 4BS
"We '11 talk of it after dinner," saidSnipeton soddenl; winciag; for his beart could not endure the thought of Beparation. Buu< ness and love were delightful when united ; they gave a zest to Rich otiier ; hut certainly — at least in the case of Snipeton — were not to be tasted alone. Granted that he sat in a golden shower in St. Mary Aic ; bow should be enjoy the luck falling direct from heaven upon bim, if bis wife — that newer of his existence — was transplanted to a distant soil ? Would not certain beea and but* terflies hum and flutter round that .hmnan bloBBom t Again, if he himself tended the pretty patient, would not ruin — taking cer- tain advantage. of the master's absence — post itself at his door- step ? Doating husband— .devoted man of money ! His heart- strings tore him one way-^his purse-strings another, "Well talk of it after 3injer," he repeated. " And Master Croasbone, we '11 have a bottle of excellent wine." In some matters Crossbbna was the most compliant of men : and wine was one that, offered cost-free, never found bim implacable. And, tbe truth is. Snipe- ton knowing this, hoped that the wine might contain arguments potent over the doctor's opinions. After one bottle, nay two, it was not impossible that Crossbone might reconcuder his judgment. The air of Hampstead might be thought the best of ain for Clarissa. Wine does wonders !
The dinner was served. Croasbone was eloquent. "After your labours in town, Mr. Snipeton, you must find it particularly de- lightful,"—bo said, — "particularly so, to come home to Mrs. Snipeton,"— the husband smiled at his wife— *' and dine off your own greens. One's own vegetables is what I consider tlie purest and highest enjoyment of the country. Of course, too, you keep pigs ? "
Snipeton had prepared himself for a compliment on hia con- nubial happiness ; and therefore suffered a wrencluag of the spirit when called upon to speak to his cabbages. With a strong will he waived the subject ; and merely answered, " We do not keep pigs."
"That's a pity: but all ingood tima For it's hardly possible to imagine a prettier place for jriga. Nothing like growing one's own bacon. But then I always like dumb things about me. And, Mr. Snipeton, after your work in town, you ean't think how 'twould unbend your mind — how you might rest yourself, as I may say, on a few pigs. It's beautiful to watch 'em day by day ; to see 'em growing and unfolding their fat like lilies ; to make
486 THE maioBT of
'em yo<ar acquointuice as it were, from the time they eoma into Ilia world to the time fhoy 're hong up in jonr Ut^ao; In this w&j yon fteem to eat 'em a hundred times over. HowoTer, pgs are matt«s that I must not tmat myself to talk about." *
"Whynot?" aaked SnipetoD wi^ a porlcw^ike grant. "Why not?"
" Dew itx%. CroaaboDel Well, she wtu a woman ! " (It vas, in truth, CrOBabcme'e primest conaolation to know that she was s womtui.) " Out taate in evary thing w» just alike^ In every-
" Figa included f " ask«d Snipetou, widi seraething Hke a Hieer.
But Croaabona was too mn<^ atirred by dearest memories to mark it. He merely a^wered, " Figs included." After a pause. " Howerer, I must renounce the aweetar pleasuree of ^ conntiy. Fate oaUb me to London."
" It deli^ta me to hear it, Mr. Crossbona ; for w« ahaJl then ba 80 near to one another," cried Snipeton. " Charming uewa iJiis, isn't it. Clary V And the old huaband chucked his wife's chin, and would amtle in her pale, ununiling face.
" Well, aa an old friend, MJ*. Snipeton, I may p^apa make BO diifereace with you. Otherwise, my praetice promiaea to he confined to royalty. To royalty, Mr. Snipeton. Tea ; I waa sure of it, iboi^ I never condescended tonune my hopes — ^but I knew that I should not be lost all my life among die weeds of the world. Beputation, Mr.' Snipeton, may be buried, like a potato ; but, sir, like a potato"-— 4nd Croaabone, tickled by the felicity of the simile, was ratber loud in its uttecance — " like a potato, it will ahoot and show itaelf."
" And youra has come up, eb ? Well, I'm very gjad to bear it," said Snipeton, honestly, " because you'll he in Londan. Your koewledge of Clarissa's constitution is a great comfort te me."
" I bare studied it, Mr. Snipeton ; studied it as a botanist would study «wne strange and beautiful flower. It is a yery peculiar constitution — very peculiar." The dinner being over, Clarissa roee.
"You'll not leave xm yet, love?" cried Snipeton, taking his irife's hand, and trying to look into her eyes that — wayward eyes! — would not meet the old man's devouring stare,
" Fray ezcuse me," said Clarissa, with a politeness keen enough to cut a huaband's heart-strings. " I have some orders — direc- tiouB^for Mra. Wilton. You must excuse me,"
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"(That 'b a treoEure, Crossbone!" exclaimed Soipeton with a laborious burst of affection, as Clarissa left the room. " A diamond of a v<»naii ! A treasure for an emperor !"
"Don't — d«i't" — cried Crossbone, liiirriodlj' emptjing his glass. .
" I said a treasure !" repeated the impassioned husband, strik- ing the table. Crossbiwe shook bis bead. ** What," cri«d Snipe- ton, knitting his brow, " yon question it ? Before me— hw hns-
" Prsj understand dh, dear sir," said Crossbone, truiquiUy fllling his glass. " Mrs. Snipeton is a treasure. She 'd hare been a jeirel — a pearl of a voman, wt, in the crowa of Ki^ Solomon : and that's the worst of it."
" The worst of it ! " echoed Snipeton.
" In thia world, mj good friend, if a man knew what he was abont, he 'd set his heart upon nothing." The apothecarj drained his glass. " Looking, sir, as a moralist and a pbitos^her, at what the worth of this world at the best is madeof, — what is it, but a large soap and watw bubble blown by fate ? It Bhisee a mmute " — here the moralist and philosopher rwaed ^s wine to his eye, con- templating its ruby brightness — "and where is it?" Saying this, Crossbone swallowed the wine : a fine practical comment <»i his Tery fine philosophy. " 1 ask where is it "i "
' ' Very true, ' ' observed S nipeton, taking truth as coolly as thoogb he waa used to it, " Very true ; nevertheless " —
"Mr. Snipeton, my good friend," eried CroesIxHie — his hand lovingly round the neck of the decanter — " Mr. Snipetwi, be is the wisest m&B who in this wcn-ld lovee nothii^. It 'B,much the safest. Did you ever hear of the river Stya ? "
" Hum|di ! I ean't say," growled Snipeton. "Is it aalt or fresh ? ■'
" One dip in it mokes a man invulnerable to all things ; stones, arrows, bindgeons, swordn, bullets, cannon-balls."
" 'Twonld save a good deal in regimentals if the S(JdierB might bathe there," said Snipeton, grinning grimly.
" So much for Styi npon the outward man," eried Crossbone : " but I have often thought 'twould be a capital thing, if people could take it inwardly ; if they could dritik Styx. "
" Like the Bath waters," suggested Snipeton.
" Exactly so. A course or two, and the interiw of a man would then be insendble of foolish weakness,'' s^d Croasbone,
488 THE HIBIOBT Of
" You *d never get tbe women to drink it," remarked Smpeton, very gravely.
*' 'TiToold not be neoeBBary, if man, the. nobler animal— for as Urs. Snipeton isnothere, we con talk like pbilosophera " — Snipeton grunted — " if man, the nobler animal, fqi: we know lie is, though it would not be right periiaps to aay as much before the petticoats, — if man could make his own heart invulnerable, why, as for woman, she might be as weak and as foolish aa she pleased ; which, you must allow, is granting her much, Ur.. Snipeton," And here the apothecary would have laughed very joviaily, but lus host looked grave, Bod.
" It seems, Mr. Cnwsbone, you are no great friend to the women," said Snipeton. "Yet you must allow, we owe them
" Hmnph ! " eried Crossbone in a prolonged note. He then hastily filled his glass : aa hasdly emptied it.
" You seem to dispute the debt?" said Snipeton, gallantly returning to the charge.
" Look here, Hr. Snipeton," cried Crosshone with the air of a man determined for (ace to clear his heart of something that has long lain wriggling there^"look here. The great charm of a bottle of wine after dinner between two friends is this: it enables them to talk like philosophers ; and so that the servants don't hear, philosophy with a glass of good fruity port — and yours is ciipitat, one tastes blood and fibre in it ; — philosophy ia a very pleasant sort of thing ; but like that china shepherdess on the mantel-piece, it is much too fine and delicate for the outside world. No, no ;. it is only to be properly enjoyed in a parlour ; snug and with the door
" Very well. Perhaps it is. . We were talking of our debts to woman. Go on," swd Snipeton.
" Our debts to woman. Well, to begin ; in the first place wo call her an angel ; have called her an angel for thousands of years ; and 1 take it — but mind, I speak as a philosopher — I take it, that 's a flam that should count as a good set-off on our side. Or 1 nsk it, are men, the lords of the creation, to go on lying for nothing ? " It was plain that this wicked mibelief of Crosshone a little shocked his host, and therefore, as the bottle was nearly out, the apothecary felt that he must regain some of hia ground. Whereupon he sought to give a jocular guise to his philosophy ; to make it, for the nonce, assume (he comic mask. " ^ ! ha !
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Look Iiere : yon must allow tbat woman ougbt, as much as !n her lies, to make this world quite a paradieo for us, seeing that she lost ns '&e ori^nal garden." Snipeton just smiled. " Come, come," cried the hilarious apothecary, ' ' we talk as philosophers, and when all 's Bwd and done about what we oire to woman, you must allow that wa "ve a swingicg balance against her. Yea, yes ; you can't deny this : there 'b that little matter of the apple still to be settled for. '
"'Tis a debt of long standing," said Saipeton with a short Uugh.
" And therefore, as you know — nobody better " — urged Cross- bone — " therefore it hears a hea^y interest. So heavy, Mr. Snipeton — by-the-bye, the bottle 's out — so heavy they can never pay it, And so we mustn't be hard upon *em, poor souls — no, we mustn't be hard upon 'eta ; but get what we can in small but sweet instalments. I — for all I talk in this philosophic way — I was never hard upon 'em— dear little things — in all my life."
For a few minutes philosophy took breath, whilst wine, the frequent nutriment of that divine plant, as cultivated by Cross- bone, was renewed. At length, the apothecary observed — " To serious business, Ur. Snipeton. Having had our littlo harmless laugh at the sex, let us speak of one who is its sweetest flower, and its brightest ornament. Need I name Mrs. Snipeton ? "
-The old man sighed ; moved uneasily in his' chair ; and then with an effort begauk " Mr. Crossbone, my friend — I cannot tell you — no words can tell you, how I love that woman."
"I can imagine the case — very virulent indeed," anid the apothecary. " Late in life it's always bo. Love with young men, . I mean with very young men, is nothing ; a slight fever. Now, at mature time of life, it's little short of deadly typhus. Of course, I speak of love before marriage ; that is, love with all its fears and anxieties ; for wedlock 's a good febrifuge."
" I have struggled, fought with myself, to think — but you shall tell me — yes, I will strengthen myself to hear the woi'St. Now, man," — and Snipeton grasped the arms of his chair with an iron hold, and his breast heaved as he loudly uttered — " now, speak it."
"Look yon here, Mr. Snipeton. Bo you think me a stock; or a stone, that I oould sit here quietly and comfortably drinking your wine, if I couldn't give you hope — a little hope in return t "
" A little hope ! " groaned the old man.
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4M IHE HISTOBT OF .
"Amsa » mypoutioQ, ilr. Snipetoo — nith- gjorions cIre«Bi- riuoes, as I luTe obaerred, tuning upon him — cannot be too eantioiu. I should be sony to ctHnpromiee mjielf bj destriag yoa to bo too confident. Nerertheleas, dio is yovng, Mr. Siiipstaa ; and the ^rit o£ y^ntb does eomatimw puxzle usi In Bueb spirit than — strong as it is in hor— I hkre tha greateat faith."
" You bftre !" exclumod Snipeton, BtirtiDg frwc bis nat and seizing Crosabone'a hand. "Save her and — and you shalt 1» rich ; that is, you shall b« irell reoora^osed — T«y well. My good friend, yon know not th« nusary it costs ia« to- aeeni happy in her sight. I langb and jest" — Cjrcsaho&a looked doubti^^-— "to cheat her of her nielan^oly ; yet"^
" Yet she does not la^h sod jt^e in- retaomf"' observed Cttmr bmie. " fiuA she wiU — no dooht she will."
" And then, thoogk I know her ta b« sick aad mfierisg. die never complaina ; hut sdll assures me aht ia irelL«veiy welL"
" Dear aonl ! You ought to be a hapi^ man: — you ought bat yon won't. Can't you see that she won't confesa to eicknew be- eanae — kind creature t — she can't tkiok of paini^ you ? She-'d Miile and say 'twos Birthing — I knov dae nouidr if she w^e dying."
" For God's sake, speak not ssch a yioiA" cried the old man, turning pala.
'• She must Sa some daj," said Creesbone. " Thongh, to be sure, according to the eouise of nature, that is, if I save her — of which, indeed, to tell you truly, 1 have now no doubt — I wiU stake my reputation present and to come upim the mattM'" —
" Yon give me li&, jrouth," exclaimed Snipeton, with sudden happinesa.
' ' But I was about to saj that, if aaved, the chances are you nay leave her yet young awl blooming, behind yon." The old man's face darkened It was a bitter thouglit that. Was ther& not some place in the East, where, when a hnsbatid died, his wife even through the torture of fire, followed hijai,? This horrid thought — how, poor man ! could he help it ? for reader, how know you what thought you shall nest think ? — this thought, we say, passed through SnipetMi'e brun. But Clarissa was no Hindoo wife. She might — as the prating doctor swd— she imgbt be left, yes, to smile and be happy, and more, to award happiness to another on this eartb, when her doating, paBSon*tely doating hosband should have his
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limbs eomposed in the gnTS'. Again ; be m^^ live tbeae tven^ ^eacs. Aad ia twenty jmrs that beMttifiil fkee woold lose its look of yonth — those eyes would turn with sobered light — tiutt faH scarlet tip be shrunk and faded. And than — yea, then he thought, he could resign her. In twenty years — periiaps in twenty yesrs^ With thia cold cwnfort, he rcntnrad to reply to the apothecary.
" Nerer mind my life, that 'a i»4)ung, " he aoid. "All I think of is Ckriaaa ; and tbera ia yet tiota— ^^ ia aafe, yon aay ? "
"It 'a very oddv very droll, that joat now you sho<^d hare named Bath — the Bath waters, yon know," smirked CnMsbone.
" Wherefore odd — ^how droll ? I do not understand you." And yet he had caB^t the meaning.
" She iwffit go to B*th ; she most driak the wbIofb. No&iDg's left but that,." aiored th& apothecairy.
"I tell you, man, for these three months I cumot quit London. A world of money dependa npon my stay."
"And wl^ ahimld yea budge ? You don't want yoor wife, do yon, at St. Uaiy Axe ? She dsesn't keep yono books, eh ? " Snipeton frowned, and hit his hpi and made- no answer. Then Crc«sbone, hia dignity strawtlieDed hy his hort's wine, roaci "Mr. Snipeton," he said, " I hare studied this caae, stndied it, sir, not only bb a doctor bnt as a friend. I have bow, sir, done my duty ; I leave you as a hosbaBd and' — I was abent to aay as a father, but that would he premature ; aa a hnaband and a man to do yours. - All I say is this : if your wife does net immediately remove to Bath," — CroBsbone paused.
"Well," snarled Snipeton, defyinglj, " and if she does not ? "
" In two months, sip — I gWe iter twa months — ^e 11 go to the church-yard."
"And so she may — so she ahall," exclaimed Snipeton, violently striking the table — his f^e blackoiing wifh rage, his eyes lurid with passion. " So she shall. An honest grave and my name clear — I say, an honest grave, and a fair ttMnbatone, with a fair reputation for the deed. Anything but tiiat aecursed Bath. Why, sir," — and Snipeti»t, dilating with emotion, stalked towards the apothecary — " what do you think me ? "
Now thia qnestion, in a somewhat dangerouB manner tested Orossbone's sincerity. In sooth, it is at best a perilous interrogor tive, trying to the ingenuonsnesa of a friend. Crossbone paused ; not that he had not an answer at the very tip of hi& tongue ; an answer bubbling hot from that well of tnth, his heart — and for
4U IBS HISTORT OP
thftt reason, it wae not the nnswer to be rendered. He therefore looked duly astonished, and only asked — " Mr. Snipeton, what do jou mean ? "
" I tell yoa, man, I 'd rather see her dead ; a fair and benest corpse than send her to that peat-place," cried the huaband.
'-' Fest-place I Really, Mr, Snipeton ; this is a little too mueli to wipe off the reputation of a jity — the reputation of hundreds of years too — in this manner. Reputation, sir, — that is, if it's good for anything — doesn't come up like a toadstool ; no, sir, the I'eal thing B of dow growth, Bath a. pest-placo ! Why, the very foun- tain, of health."
" The pool of vice — the yery slough of what you call fashion. And you think I 'd send my wife there for health ! And for what health ? Why, I'll say she returned with glowing face and spark- ling eyes. What then ? I should loathe her."
" Lord bless tne ! " ezclMmed Crosshone.
" Now, we are happy, very happy ; few wedded couples more so : very happy " — and Snipeton ground the words beneath all the tec^ he nad, and looked furiously content. Crosshone stared at the wnthing image of connubial love.
"You certainly look happy — extraordinarily happy," drawled the apothecary.
" And whilst we live, will keep so. Therefore no Bath insects —no Uay-flies, no Jhue-bugs."
"'Tisn't the Bath season for 'em," put in the apothecary. " They 're all in London at this time."
" All 's one for that, I tell you what — here, Dorothy, another bottle of wine~I tell you what. Master Crosshone, as you Say, we'll talk the matter over philosophically, I think that's it ; and therefore, no more words about Bath. Come, come, can there be a finer air than this ? " cried the husband, rubbing his hands, and trying to taugb.
" My dear sir, the quality of the air !s not the thing — it's tlic change that's the medicine. And then there's the waters " —
" We have an excellent spring at Hampatead. Years ago I'm told the nobility need to come and drink it."
" Then, sir, the waters hadn't been analysed. Sbee then they've been found out : onlyfit for cattle, sir, and the lower ordere. Never known now to agree with a person of gentility of stomach- that is, of true delicacy. And for the air, it's very good, certainly, jugt for the common purposes of life ; hut as I say, it's not the
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ST. oius ASD ST. liiaa. 493
qnalitf, it's the change that's, the thiog. There's cases, sir, in nhich I 'd send patients, ay, from Uontpelier to the neighbourhood of Fleet-ditch. The foot is, sir, there can't Ve at times a better change than from the best to the worst. The lungs, sir, get tired — heartily sick of good lur if it's alwaja the same ; just as the stomach would get tired of the very best mutton, had it nothing but mutton every day."
Snipeton was silent ; pondering a refutation of- this false philo- sophy. Still be tugged at his brain for a happy rejoinder, lie felt — he was certain of it — that it would come when the apothecary had gone away, but unhappily he wanted it for present use. He folt binuelf like a rich man with all his cash locked up. Now wit, tike money, bears an extra raluo when rung down immediately it is wanted ; men pay severely who want credit. Thus, though Snipe-' Um knew be bad somewhere in that very strong box his skull, a whole bank of arguments, yet because he could not at the moment draw one, Crossbone — the way of the worid — believed there were absolutely no effects. Snipeton, however, got over a difficulty as thousands before him — and thousands yet. unborn will jump an obstacle ; — be asked bis opponent to take another glass of wine. - If Bacchus often lead men into quagmires deep as his vats, let us yet do him this justice, he sometimes leads them out.
" I believe you said something about horse exercise, Crossbone? Now with a horse — you don't drink" — a hospitable slander this on the apothecary — " with a horae there's change of air at will, eh ?"
" To be sure there is. And then there's Higbgate "and Finohley, and — well, that might do, perhaps," said Crossbone.
"And in the evenings" — and Snipeton brightened at the prospect — " we could ride together."
"Death, sir, — certain death" — and Crossbone gave one of hie happiest shudders. "The night air is poison— absolute poison- No, the time would be from — let me see — from eleven to three."
" Impossible ; quite impossible. Can't leave business — certain ruin," cried Srapoton.
" Certain death, then," said Crossbone, and he slowly, solemnly drained his glass, " Certain death," he repeated.
"Don't say that, Crossbone," cried Snipeton, softened. "Mrs, Wilton — perhaps she rides, and then" —
" As for Mrs. Wilton, I trust you are under no particular obliga- . tion to that person ? "
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" OMigation," etied Snpeton ; bb tboDgk Hx than^^ kn^fied an inBidt. " Why do jaa uk ? "
" Notbni; but for Tonr wife's heakh. Tbe &ot ia, Mtb. Wilton ttlwafs seems melmiicliolj, heavy ; *rith goi>wi>h»ug on iar vhm^ Nftw, my dear nr, it is a trolli in moral phileBaphy not anfEoStiaQj well known and aUended to, Aat dunxpe are catching." Arid CroBeboue looked the proud discoverer of the subtlety.
" ludeisd— are they ? Pcriiafs they may be. Well, tbere *8 a wench coming up from Kent — somevhere new Doresnest. I '-ve been imaxed to oenaent to it. Bbe may make a sort oT merrier iKMnpwuon."
"^em«y," sMd Orosrixme; ""bat whvtycnmntt is an bonest, sharp ^kw^ — fi»rlu>inBty«rith0Dt sharpness in dtis 'world b like a Bwonl widMiat edge or point ; very mil for Avw, bnt ofnore»l use to tlie 0wiier.'
"Go on," cried SnipetoB, bwring to the ^Krtheeory's spo- taiegm.
" Kow, I have the very man who "11 sirit yon. The nuracle of a groom. Hooeat as a dog, and lAnirp as a porcupme."
" Humph I " cried Snipeton, marrdlnig at the fanman wonder.
" Your serrant, Mr. Croeebene " — sud Dorothy Vale, opening the door—" has called as yon desired."
" Tell him to oome in," cried CrmHbono : who then said to SnipetMi— " At lent yon can see the fellow."
CHAPTER JtXVm. It may be remembered that Smpetoti and St. QSe& (had met before. And oertunly St. Gciles had oat forgotten the 'event.: his somewhat anxious look declared his reooUecticai tof the soeoe at Dovesneat, m which he played the part of rogue and vagabond according to the statute ; but as Snipeton had no oorseqwodii^ interest in the circumstance, he had wholly forgotten the jtarson of the outcast in the candidate for serriee. But in troth, St. Qaim was not the same man. At Doveanest be was in cags : fear and want had sharpened his face, withering, debasing him. AbJ now, he breathed new ooarage with every hcnir's freedom. — He was comfortably, trimly cJad ; and his pw^t — too eft tin
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3T. aaXB ASS ST. JAM£S. ^6
bftrotsct«r ^ the sool — was not qiute at zcFe. H«iice, in few iiiDtnents, he looked irilii placid retpect at ^lipetmi, vbo Blared all oboot iiis fiiM, as a pietK«-d^lN stares at as aU^ged eld niftsler ; widi a look that m ha caauDg, woold enn a«an -to hope a ocmntvrfeit. Was St. &iea i«aHy tiie honaat fellow thai hemjqwarod ; -iok thtre in timA Ihe origmal msek ef the original crdf^ xqioB iiim ; i«r •was ha a£*a*d£al wiatitioo e^eciallj <roade to g«Ii a tnndag ^entieDum ? — Waa thete reall-r no sflair in that htmeet BtK^mg £aee 9 And SDipetea as be looked balf^wialied that all men — or all Berraats at leaM — weoe iaduieiied 1^ esrthoa viewdB:; that, ^i<if)edy £Utped, tht^ shaaU perforce reveal a damnifying fracture. Certainly, such sort of hiimao pottery, cspnsBbr made for iamtlieB, iwnld be as eseeeding OomfoFt to M Ihoasakeepae. Snipetoii thsnght this ; 4s lus owjt disKppwntmeait Aaa^tt H : £>r there bei^ no «ach teet ef jsoral 30tmdneat, he 'nmld «b1j vheMe tbe idsme^c, -tnn^-lc^g^d vesael before bbn by at docb. lAias! 'wi^iras AeBeatoiBfltant moMU) ■of trying the music of its nng?
" That will do; 7011 «aii vrntt," eaid jCrsBabone to St, GMes, who therei^aB ie£b A» eoma.
** And what can yaa sw^ for this &fiow ! Do ^a .knew all abont him— :«dw begot ihm — PtKheoe iie -camea f«om ? " asked Snipeton.
. Crossbone'wxt aooaa of -qnit^parts: aoiqnick, th^ fW^aew better than be, tbe proper time for a complete lie. We eaja.com- ^debe iie ; not a iCwwleHS, fra^entary flam, with no genius in it ; bat a well-bmlt, aFchkeotnral he, buttressed about by circiuBslanoe. Tbraafore, no so«nerwas the qoestion put io iam tham, vithont let or heeitatioD, he poured forth the following narrative, Wonderiiil man ! falsdiood flowed from him like a fountain.
" Xhe yonng n'aa wbo has just c|mtted us is of humble but honest wi^. His parents were villagers, and rented a little garden ground -whereon they ruaed nmch of their lowly but healthy fare. Far, far indeed was the profligacy of London from that sbode of nsttic imiocence. fiie pli^mates — I mean the youag man's-^^rero l^e lambkins that he watched, for at an early age he WIS sent «nt to tend sheep : bis books tbe flowers at his feet, the elouda abore his bead. Not bat what be reads rsnarkably well for bis coniUtion, and writea a good stout, serrant'a hand, He was seren years old-"- no, I'm wrong, ei^, «tght years— when he lost
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4M THE HISTOKT OF
bis iather, who, good creature, fell a Tictim to his humaoi^. A sftd matter that. He was killed bj a wiDdmill."
" I thought you said 't^raa hie hnmanity," observed Snipeton.
"And & nindmill," averred Crosalune. "A neighbour's child was gatheriog buttercups and daisies, and had strayed beneath, the mill's rerdring sails. The young mitn's father obeying the impulse of bis benerolent heart, rushed forward to save the little innocent. His humanity, not measuring distance, carried him too near the suls ; he vas struck to the eortih with a compound frac- ture of the skull, and died."
" This you knowJ "' muttered Snipeton, looking irith a waiy eye.
" 'Twas when I was an apprentice. The maa being poor, and the case desperate, 'twas given up to me to do mj beat with it. I learned a great deal from that case, and from that moment felt a natural interest in the orphan. And he Uaa been worthy of it. You 'd hardly believe the things 1 could tell yon of that young man. You can't think how he loves his mother."
" No great credit in that, — eh V said Snipeton.
" Why, no ; not exactly credit ; but jou must own it's graced —very graceM. He makes her take nearly all his wages. Hardly saves enough for shirtB and pocket-handkercbiefs. Now, this strikes me as being very filitJ, Mr. Snipeton ? " - ,--'lAjid you think he'd make a good groom, eh?" asked th^ cautious husband.
" Bless you ! he knows more about horses than they know themselves. But all he knovrs is nothing to his honesty. I've trusted fiim with untold gold, and he has never laid bis finger nponit."
" How do you know, if you never counted it ?" asked Snipeton.
" That is" — said Crossbone, a little pulled up — "that is, yon . know what I mean. And — the thought 's been working in me, though I've talked of other matters— I do think that a horse with the quick and frequent change of ^ a horse can give, may da everything for Mrs. Snipeton ; for, as I've s^d before — she's young, very young ; and youth takes much killing. An J'there- fore, you '11 make yourself easy ; eome, you '11 promise me that ?'" . "Iwill," said Snipeton, a little softened. " You Vo given me new heart. Come, another glass."
" Not another drop. Pen and ink, if you please. I must write
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ST. GILES AND ST. JAUES. 497
a littla prescription for a little nothing for your good lacly ; not that she wants medicine," said Croasbone.
"Then why poison her with it?" asked Snipeton with some energy.
"She wouldn't be satisfied without it. Therefore, just a little coloured negative ; nothing more." Pen and ink were ordered, brought ; and Crossbone strove to write as innocently as his art allowed him, " There must be an apothecary at Hampstead, and I'll send the man with it ;" and Crossbone folded Qxe prescription, and rose.
" And when shall we see you again ?" asked Snipeton.
" Why, in two or three days. But I have done all the good I can at present. You'll try the horse ?" —
" I wiU."—
"And the man? " —
." I'll think of him. — Tell me, does h« know anybody in Lon- don ? "
" Any calf you like, brought to Smithfield, knows more of the wnys — more of the people of town. He 'a a regular bit of coun- try turf. Green and fresh. Else do you think I'd recommend him ? " Asked Crosebone very eamesUy.
" I almost think — I mean I'm pretty sure — that is, I will try him," said Snipeton.
'/ Then between ourselves, I've recommended you a treasure. And — stop ; I was about to go, forgetting the most important thing. You heard me say that dumps were catching ? I hope you "ve thought of that. Now, that Mrs. Wilton — the house- keeper— she 'd ruin any young woman. Bless you I She 's hy- pochondria in petticoats.'
"Humph! I don't know; I prefer a serious woman for her calling. Perhaps a little over melancholy to be sure, never- theless " —
" Well, 111 say no more. After all, she may only seem melan- choly to us. There may be agreat deal of fun in her, for all we know. Some people remind us of mourning coaches at a funeral : the outside 's dull and solemn enough ; and so, folks never think of the jokes that 's flying inside of 'em. As a professional man I know this, Mr. Snipeton ; and therefore I hate your very grave-looking people. If they really are what they look, they 're bad j if they am 't, they 're worse. And in a word — I might say more if I chose, hut I won't — in a word, I don't think that Mrs. SnipeUm
NO. XVn. — TOL. m. K K I
498 TEG HISI(»IT OF
will am gei «nj gMd from jour hauHlcaepw. Good b'je, God bleBB jon ; — the man shall brbg the utedioiM." So ujing, and teoking dsepest mjstsrjr, CroBBbooe departed.
The apothecary had achieTod more than he had hoped. It iraa ▼erj true, thou^t Snipeton; the. voinaa waa etdd—^adaiwhol;. Again, ahe had neret looiked upon him mth.pleMawt loolu. Her FGspeot MOKod nung from her : it vw not free— naturaJ. And jet hiu ^« watched hia wife vi^t uiteeasiBg regard. Eveiy mtniwit — «h«n least, wasted, too— she was homuig near her. How was it, be had never seen this before ? It was plain due woman had aMae fabft influMtoe r exvtdmi wxa» power that eatMoged hia wife fren hmu
Let as leaTe Suipeton for a brief tiaie stmggling.Mtd weltenBg in this sea of doubt ; now trying to touch certtun groond^aRd.new earned awaj again. Let us leaTe him, and follow tbe apothecary, 9e had had just wiiu enough t whwh eirewDKtanee was to him the most potent reason for having more. He bad put up at the Flaak at Hampatead i anA t« tbali boateby ha abode. St Giles silentij following him,
" M; man," aoid Crowbonot " who wae your father^— where were you bom — what hare you boMi ddog— and w^ne do you come &om? An anawerif yen please to each of these i|Ut«ations."
St. Giles, plucking up courage, simply replied — '' I am hia Lcvd-. ahip'a serranli and hw* hie orders to foUwr jwn."
"ThMBB not the ^j^feat doubt, hia LuidBhlp'i earran^ tlwt you 're a eenvmieBt raseaL of all work, and quite up to the buainessi ve ihall put yon on." Let not the reader imagine that these words were uttered by GressbOBa : by no. means ; not a syllable of them. But the thought — ^the ethereal easence of words — ^lad iouhed the hraut of th» apotheoary, and hia.idtde frame tinged witii the awakened music. Hehadfouoda («Qundrel,.he was sure of it, and he was happy.
" Ve^ good, my man ; rery good ; I understasd you. As you say, you are hia lordship's serrant, and have his lordship's orders totakoB^directbns. Very well. You will therefore please to take your father and mother from nsy haadi : tmderatand fi» once that they were honeet, raapectahle people j and be grateful for the parents Tre given you. Your father, good man ! was killed by a windmill; and your motherstill tires in the country, and regu- luly takes three-fourths of your wages. And you are not to fcH-get that you have a great love for thaA i^othw. And now,
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8T. GILES AND ST. JAUES. 490
take this prasc»iption to the apotkecftrj-'a ; tell him to tmike it up, asd send to Mr. Sn^rton's. After whiob, jonll come to meat tli6 Flask. G«." St. 6Ses, witb perplezed looks, obeyed CrosB- bone, and vent upon his errond. "I've given the vagabond a ftOber wid mbther to bo proud of — it's quite clear, much better tiian wen raallj b«atoved upon him ; and h« hasn't a word of Aanks to say upon the matter. Let a gealleman lie as he will for the lower oroera, they'oe Bddom gratdul. Neyertheless, let ns have the virtue that he mmti. Were I^e a pieoe of pig-headed houesty, he wonldn't Bnt our wcwk. No : Prondence has been Toy good in sendiDg iw a rascal. " Widi these mute thoughts, this final thankKiving, did Ciossbone step onward to the Flask. He would there ftrther ponder on the plan that, throwing Snipe- ton's yomig wife into the anus of a janag nobleman— and, in oemmon justice, so old and vrigar a man bad no claim to sach refinement and beAvtj ; she mnet have been originally intended for high, life, and therefore' cni^y misapidied — would throw him, Croesbone, the prime eons]^rator, into the very behest practice. He wedd keep a carriage t As he looked at the gloriona clonds, coloured by the setting saa, he felt pnszlei whether hia coach panek should be a Inght bbe, a flame-eoloDred yellow, or a riofa mnlhrary. St^ the clonds changed and shifted, and still . mth the colour of his carriage at his heart, he looked upon th^ as no other than a celasttal pattwn-boefc, rolled out to help him in faia choice. ~ The wide we«t was streaked and barred with gold ; and Btariag at it, CrosebcHie was detramiDed that laee — three-ineh laoe-^H^ieald blaie i^khi his Uvenes. And rapt in this sweet dream, he walked on, his heart throbbing to the rumbling of his coach iriieela. That nmsc was so sireet, so deep, absorbing, that accom- pawpng his footstep*, he was witfiin a few paeea of the Flask ere he< eanr a crowd gathned abcntt the deor, and heard the words '* he 's k^ed. ' ' His prefessionsl zeal was immediatoly quickened, and hurrying into the middle of the crowd, he saw the body of a man, apparoitly lifeless, carried toward* the inn. The people orenrded around, and 1^ theii Tery annety impeded the progreas of the bearere towards the doer. " Stand amde, folk» — stand aside," died Crosahone, "I'm a phyncian ; that is, a medical man. Ke^ his head np, fellow."
" Gel out o' the way, exclaimed a stranger, "yondon'tknow how to carry a fellow-cretur," and the benevolent new-comer thmt aside the rustic who was, awkwardly enough, supportiog KX.2 . ,
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too THE mSTORT OF
the alioulders of the wounded man, and with admirable zeal, and great apparent teuderaess, relieved him of the charge. " Poor Boul — poor Boul ! " he cried, much affected, " I do wonder if he's a wife and family ? ''
"Abed-room; immediately — a hed-room," exclaimed Croa»- bone, and his sudden patient waa carried up-stairs, Crossbone fol- lowing. As he ascended, a horse bathMl in foam, and every muscle qiuvering, was led to the door>
" It 'b my hehef that that Claypole sends out his boy to fly his kite a purpose to kill people, that he may bury 'em. That 's the third horse he's frit this week ; the little varmint! And this looks like death any how." Thus delivered himself, a plain- spoken native of Hampstead.
" You may say death. Cracked like a egg-shell ;" end saying this, the speaker significantly pointed to his own skull. " The doctor 'e a tijing to get blood : it 's my opinion he might as well try a tomb-stone. Well, this is a world, isn't it ? I often thanks my luck I can 't afford a horse ; for who 's safe a-horseback ? A man kisses his wife and his babbies, if be has 'em, when he mounts his saddle of a momin.' — and his wife gets him lamb and sparrow-grass, or something nice for supper, — 'xpecting him home, ^e liet«ns for his horse's feet, and he 's brought to his door in a shell." •
" Well, mate, you do speak a truth ; nobody can deny that," said one of the mob ; who, it is probable, scarcely dreamt that the sometime moralist and truth were so very rarely on speaking terms. ,And this the reader will, doubtless, admit, when we inform him that the man who so humanely, so affectionately lent l^is aid to the thrown horseman, helping to bear him with all tenderness up stairs, was Mr: Thomas Blast. It was his business, or rather, as he afterwards revealed, his pleasure to be at Hampstead — his solemn pleasure. At this moment, St. Giles on his return from the apo- thecary's, came to the inn-door. Ere he was well aware of the f reeling, his band was lisped by Blast, — " Well, how do you 0 ? Who 'd have thought to see you here ? " Who, in sootb, bat Blast himself, — se^g that he had dogged his prey from. St. James's-square ? " Ha ! my good friend,' cried Blast, very much moved, " you don't know the trouble I Ve had since we met. But you must see it in my looks. Tell me, aint I twenty years older ? " .
"I don't see it," muttered St. Giles: though, assuredly.
ST. GOES AND ST. JAKES. 001
Buch a siglit would haye carried Ha pleasure to the runaway transport.
" Hk ! yon won't Bee it ; that 'b bo like a friend. But don't let uB stand in the street ; come in and hare a pot ; for I 've Bomethin' to Bay that'll set your art a bleeding." Hoping, pray- ing, that CroBsbosQ might not observe him — -and feeling dwarfed, powerlesB, under the will of Blast, — St. Giles turned into a eide- room with his early teacher and destroyer.
" I don't feel as if I could do anything much in the way of drink," Baid Blast, to the waiter following, " and so, a little brandy- and-water. Well, you wonder to see me at Hampstead, I dare say ? Ton can't guess what brings me here t "
" No," said 6t. Giles. " How should I ? "
" I 'm ft altered man. I come here all this way for nothin' else hut to'see the sun a Bottin'. Toor health';" and Blast, as ho said, did nothing in the way of drink : for ho gulped his brandy-and' water.
" To see the sun a-setting !" cried St Giles ; we fear, too, a little indredulously.
" Ha ! you 're young, and likes to see him a gettia' up ; it 's natrul ; but when you 're my time o' life, and have stood the wear and tear o' the world as I have, you '11 rather look at the sun when he seta, then. And, do joa know why ? You don't ? I '11 tell you. Acause, when he sets, he reminds yOu of where you're agoing. I never thought I should ha' been pulled up in the way I have been. But trouble's done it. My only comfort's now to look at the settin' snn — and he sets nowhere so stylishly as here at Hampstead."
"Humph! Afld so you've had trouble?" eaid St. Giles, coldly.
" Don't talk in that chilly way, as if your words was hail- stones. I feel as if I could fall on your neck, and cry like a 'oman. * Don't freeze me in that manner. I said trouble. Losb o' property, and death."
"Death!" cried St. Giles,
" Little Jingo. That apple o' both my eyes ; that tulup of a child. Well, he was too clever to live long. I always thought it. Much too for'ai-d for his age. He 's gone- And now he 's gone, I do feel that I was hia father." St. Giles stifled a rising groan. " But — it 's my only comfort — he 'b better looked arter now than with me." *
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"No doubt," said St. QUm with a quickaoiis iiu,i made Blut store. " I mean, if he iB where jou hope he is."
" I should like to pay him «ome reject. I don't want to 'do much ; but — I know it 's a veakseM ; stili a man without » weakness has no right to lire among men ; he's too good for this Binful world. As I was saying, I know it'a » weakaiMi ; alii], I should like to w«ar a little bit o' black — if it waa only a mg, so it was block. You couldn't lend me nothing, could you ? Only a ooat would be something to begin with."
&t. Qiles pkadedin ejunue la» ray limited wardrobe ; and Blast was suddenly satisfied.
" Well, he 'a gone ; and if I was to go as biaek as a ni^^er, he wouldn't rest the better for 't. Besides, the nttin' sun t«UB me we shan't be long apart. Nothing like """"■*" to puU a man up ; and so you 11 know when y<Mi "ve had my trouble. Your health agin."
"And jou ha™ had a loss of property besides ? " asked St. Giles.
" Look here," cried Blast, taking off his hat and rampling up his hair : " there's a ohange ! Once as black aa a crow ; and bow — oh, my dear fnend " — St. GHea shrunk at tiieiqipeal as at a pre- sented pistd — "if you want to put ulrer on a man's head, you've only to take all the gold out of his pocket. JSad a Ices ! You may say a loss. I tell yon what it is : it's no use for a man to think of being honest in this mcxH : it isn't. I've tried, and I ^ve
" That's a pity," stud St. Gibs : knowing not what to say- knowing not how to shake off his tormentor.
"Why,itu; for a man doesn't often make- his mind up to it. Well, I've had my faults, I know ; who hasn't! Still, I did. think to reform when I got that lump of iooney ; and more, I did Uiink to make a man of you. I'd chalked out the prettiest, inno- centeat life for both on us. I '11 make a sojer of Jingo, I thought ; yes, I '11 buy him some colours for the army, and make him a gen'lman at once. And then I thought we would eo enjoy onr- selres ! We'd ha' gone and been one all among the lower orders. In summer time we'd ha' placed at knock 'em-downs with 'em, jest to show we was all made o' the same stuff; and in winter we wouldn't ha' turned up oar noses athot^wckles, or blind-man's buff, or nothin' of the sort ; but ha' been as free and comfortable Yrith the swinish multitude (for I did begin to think 'em that when
ST. SILKS ASD ST. JAUES. SOS
I got the mtmej') u if they'd got gold rings in their nosee, and like the pig^fnced lady, eat out of a silver trough. I thought jou 'd be a stiek ta my old age. But what 's the use o' thinking on it ? As mj Bchoalmaster used to say,—' Him w seta his heart on the Uiings of this life,'— I 're foi^t the rest : but it 'a all of & pieee."
" And how did you get ^ money ? " asked St. tiiles, with very well-acted umoceace.
*' How did I get the money ? Hftw should I get it ? By the sweat of my brow," And bo far, the reader who remembMS the Iftbonr (^ WMMt in ^b theft of the gold-box, miiy acquit him of an nntruth. '
And having ^t watb a h«ip of gold," rejoined St. Giles, '* pray tell me— how did you lose it ? "
Now Bloat had, wd never susfteoted it, a sense of humour : he eotdd really enjoy a joke when least palatable 1o most men ; namely, when'made agsjnst themselves. NeverUieless, wi^ peo- ple who hare only a proper pride of such philoe<^hy, he had his share of sonsitimtees, to be called up at a reasonable crisis. Hence, when St. Qiles pressed hon to explain his loss, the jest became a hm^. Good nature mov endure a tickling with a feal&er, but ivsents a sivBtch Irom a tAp^uiy nul. "My d»ir young friend," s«d Blast, " don't do that ; pray don't. When you 're as old as me, and find the world a ^ppin' from under you like a hill o' BUid, you'll not laugh at the losses o' gray hairs," and again Kaet drew his fiogen thAugh his looks meekly, monmfidly. " How did I lose it ? No : you want't at Liquorish, you wam't ? l?o ; you dtw't JcDOw ? Well, I hope I'm not much worse than my ndghbours ; aud I don't like wishmg bad wishes, it is sich old woman's woik ; it's only barkbg the louder for wanting teeth. But this I will widi ; if a clergyman o' the 'Stabhsfaed Church is ever to choke himself with a fish-bone, I do hope that that cler- gyman doesn't lire &r from liBstanis, and that his name begins with a G. I'm not a spiteful man ; and so I won't wish anything more plun than durt. But it i( hard". — and again Blast, he could not help it. reomred to his loss — "it it hard, when I'd resolved to lire in peace with all the world, to give a little money to the poor, and — as we all nast die— when I did die, to hare uch a clean, respectable moniment pat up to me inside the church, with a naked boy in white stone faoltMug one hand to his eyes, and the ether putting out his link — ^you 're seen the sort o' thing I dare say ? — it U hud to be done out of it after all. It 's enough to make a man, as I say, think o' nothin' but tlie setting
SM THB EiaTORT OF
aua. Hoveomever, it ser?eB me right. ' I ought to ha' knoir'd that aich a fine place must ha' belonged to the clergyman. If I'd hid the box in a ditch, and not in a parson's fieh-poDd, at thia blessed moment you and I might ha' been happy men ; lords for life ; and, what I've heard, cdled useful members of society. And now, mate,", asVed Blast with sudden warmth — -"how do you lilie your place ? Is it the thing— is it clover i "
.". What place ?" asked St> Qiles. " I'm in no place, certain, as yet."
'.' There, then, we won't say uothin' about tt. Only this. When you're buller — if I'm spared in this wicked world Bo.long.-rr- you won't refuse an old friend, Jingo's friend. Jingo's mother's friend" — St. Giles tumedsick at his mother's name, so spoken-^' " you won't refuse him a bottle o' the heat in the pantry ? You wont, will you? Eh?"
"No," stammered St. Giles. "Why should I? Certainly' uot, when I'm hutler."
" And till then, old fellow,"— and Blast bent forward iu his cbair, and touched St. Giles's knee with his finger — " lend us' a guinea."
St. Giles recoiled from the Kquest ; the more so, as it was seconded by contact with the petitioner. , He made no answer .; but his face looked hlauk aa blank paper : not a mark was in it to serve as hieroglyph for a fartiiing. Blast could read faces better than hooks. " You «oti't then ? Not so much as a guinea to the friend of Jingo's mother ? " St> Giles writhed again at the -words. " Well, as it 'a like the world, why should I ■quarrel ? Now jest see the difference. See the money I "d ha' given you, if misfortin hadn't stopt in. 'He's a fine fellow,' I kept continually saying to myself; ' I don't know how it is, I like him, and he sl^ have half. Not a mite less than half.' And now, you won't lend me — for mind I don't az it as a gift — you won't lend me a guinea^"
" I can't," said St. Giles. " I am poor myself: very poor."
." Well, as I said afore, we won't quarrel. And so, you shall have a gwnea of me." Saying this. Blast with a cautious look towards the door, drew a long leathern purse from his pocket. St. Giles suddenly felt as though a party to the robbery that — be knew it — Blast must somewhere have perpetrated.
" Not a farthing," said St. Giles, as Blast dipped his finger and thumb iji the purse. " Not a farthing."
" Don't say that ; don't be proud, for you don't know in this
BT. OILE3 AKD ST. JAMES. CM
world what jou may want. . I dare say tbe poor cretur up stairs was proud enough thia mornin* ; and what is he now ? "
" Not dead ! " cried St, Giles. " I hope not dead."
"Why, hope's very well ; and then it's so rer^cheap. But there 'a no doubt he's gone ; and as he's gone, what, I should like to know " — and Blast threw the purse ^rily up and down — " what was the use of this to him ? "
"Good God! You havui't stole it?" exclaimed St. Giles, le^ing to his feet.
" Hush ! " cried Blast, " don't make sich a noise as that with a dead body in the house. The worst o' folks treat the dead with respect. Else people who're never thought of at all when in the world, wouldn't he gone into blact for when they go out of it. I'd no thought of thp matter, when 1 run to help the poor cretar : hut somehow, going up stairs, one of his coat pockets did knock at my knuckles so, that I don't know how it was, when I'd laid him comfortable on the bed, and was coming down agin, I found this sort o' thing in my pocket. Poor fellow! he'll never miss it. Well, you won't have a guinea then ? "
" I'd starve first," exclaimed St. Giles.
" My good lad, it isn't for m'e to try to put myself over your head, — but this I must say ; when you've seen the world as I have, you'll know better." At this moment,* the waiter entered the room.
"How is the poor gentlemaa up stairs?" asked St. Gijes. " Is there no hope t" *
* " Lor bless you, yes ! They 're bled him and made him q«ite comfortable. He's ordered some nunp-steaks and onions, and says he'll make a night of it." Thus spoke the waiter.
" Do you hear that ? " asked St. Giles of Blast.
" Sorry to hear it ; sorry to think that any man arter sich an escape, should think o' nothing better than supper. My man, what 's to pay ? " St. Giles unbuttoned his pocket. " No ; not a farden ; teU you, I won't hear of it. Not a farden : bring the change out o' that," and Blast laid down a dollar : and the waiter departed on his errand.
" I tell you, I don't want you to treat me ; and I won't have it," said St. Giles.
"My good young man, a proper pride 's a proper diing ; and I don't like to see nobody without it. But pride atween friends I hate. So good bye, for the present. I II take.my change-at the bar. ' ' And Ur. Blast was about to hurry himself from the room .
BOB ntE OITTWARO ASD TEE imSB LIFE.
"Stft7," BaidSt.ailes; "skould I wicitL tosee j'au,'idi6reu«
yon to be fonnd ? "
" Well, I don't know, " said Blast. " Somettmea in ono piftce — sometimes iin another. But one thing, vaj dear lad, is quite sure." Here Slaat put botb hia hands on St. Giles's shouldars and looked in his face with smiling malignity — " ono thing is qnite sure : if you don't know how to find Bie, I dialT always know whwe to come iqron you. Don't he afeard of tbat, young min."
And with this, Blast left the room, whilst St. Giles sank in his chair, weary and sick at heart. He was in ihe Tillaia's power. Add seemed to exist only by his Bufiinrtnce. '
THE OUTWARD AND TH£ INHBS IiIFB.
Brhdld h»W freedi <aod feir the (menine flowcn,
In early sprinctime o'er the mBSdows blewjng, ■ Purple and yellow buds bestowing
In lovely ahowere ; The glad eye wanders o'er each scattered gem, Ben<£ng in be^oty from its fragile stem.
But there are blooming lovelier flowers Ihan these, Pair heavenly butts in earthly heroes np-Bpringing ;
With them as joytfUs minahme bringing
As flowers or trees ; Earth, treasure thoa Qiese bloannne from on high. And lead them onward to their native sky.
Gaze on the waters of the far-spread deep, How grand, how awful are ita billows awdling. The beauty of its strength foi«t«Uing,
Even in its sleep ; We stand enntpturedhy that aoimding sea, Filled with a sense of its immeiutty. '
But in ten thousand homes of earth, there lies A strength more beautiful ; 'tis the outpouring Of the ^ad heart, with praise adoring
- Oh, 'tis a, holier, a more solemn soi^, ' Than ever shall to rolling waves belong.
v.Goo'^lc
BKNJAiaH S XiBSS.
See whew Ow avxuiy light of heaven shiiies down Upon the mouDUiaa, azuie glory shedding, A£d radiant tints out^ieadiiig,
And as the day's bright iQstre&dea away. New bewties. linger 'raid the getthig ray.
But there are g*Mter things ^tiMD Ane ; fcr, lo !* Tha ^ed Cfamtiaii, mt «&Me hony hoad The bleMcd paacs of heavenly hope is ahed
^VTiile yet below j How shall the moantains' fmrest tints dispense So sacred and so blest an infiaence !
BENJAMIN'S MESS.
BY FAUI. BHX.
Did yon «Ter try ooneluaioiu, enltghtaied Reader, with an English Cook of t^e Old School ?-~attempt to tronble her mind, far instaooQ, by deaciibtng to her how those poor idolatrous heathens, the Hindoos, boU their rioe ; or how those worthless profligates, the Italians (who ha?e no wives ef (heir own, and every one's else in common, and are, man, vrovan, and child, bom for opera singers) manage their .tnaoaroni ? Did you ever
> see her dogged face of self-approving obstinacy, the peony red resistance in every line of it de^ in proportion as she clings to her own kitchen fire, and denoiuioes all oatnnhs, hot hearths, or other new-fangled deviees to rescue the euUoary animal from the torture of being roasted alive ? Did yon ever hear her voice, Bonr and aaroaatio enough to' turn many-tided Hook and panthsistio Claret, Chablia, aud the rest of 'em into vinegar — and to blight republican miuEe in the ear — as, deaf to the charming of Miss
. AcUin's dulcet recommendation, or Mrs. Anne MiUer'a moat seducing pretaiption (as the Germans call it), she replies, " Well, ma'am (or sir), the family may take what steps they please, but I 'II have neither art ner part in such outlandish heobes ! "
Now, pcradventwe, I may be pilloried as the oearsest and most prejudiced creature of this species — a discarded menial "ontof place," ever since the late Mistress Partington deeoMed; if I
Coofjic
COB BEKJAMl^ B lf£BS.
Tcnture, at a table like youra, Uid out for the eij^ess purpose of feeding the public witb savoury and wholeBOme viands (none of your " cheap soups for the poor ! ") to complua of a dish Bct before ub too frequently ; and, of late, like the Peacock of chi' ▼alrouB banquets, with a triumphant flourish of trumpets before it. It ia denominat«d " Bekjauih's Mess"' — Beojaniio, on tbia occa- ' sion, being aetJTe, not paBBive in the receipt. How it got the above name is a matter about which Doctors differ. Those of divinity declare the thing to be of antique origin, stating that some mention of it may bo found among tbe Rabbinical traditions, and that it takes date from the head of {he youngest of the tribes, whose allotted part was to "ravin like a wolf; — in the morning," {aomewhere about tbc time of a London midnight, say the close of a protracted May debate) "to devour the prey ; — in the evening to divide the spoil." But I think this foUy. Yom: reverend Doctors are able to prove any and everything they please, whether it be to fight the fight for Authority or for Kationalism ! Another set, the Natural PhiloBOphera, who investigate all matters save their own perpetual quarrels as influencing our social atmosphere, assert that they detect in tee uess, the presence of a well-known sticking subBtaneo derived from a plant, " of flimsy stamina, obtuse in the point of stigma, silky rather than downy — which, in taste, - ia sharp, pungent, and acidulous ; when cold without smell, but on applying heat, sending forth anHngrateful odour." (FtrfeEEEs), This, however, my Mrs. 3eU insists, is merely one of the thousaod- and-ono materialist conjectures which are brought forward to cast discredit on things eccleaiaBtical — Outn Benjamin being a leading • ingredient in incense, and as such, certain to be treated with sad disrespect by Professor Pry and Professor Parrot; the investi- gators in question. Why tie unwholesome stuff should be called Benjauin'b Mess, must, therefore, for the present, remiun a myatery : — unless my namesake, Mr. Bell, who answers all con- ceivable inquiries with aa profound a cert^nty as if omniscience
were his foible, like Professor 's, will favour' us with his
lights on die subject. Meanwhile, come the confection from the , East or the West — -from Old Jewry or Park Lane — it is altogether deleterious, if not diatasteful ; and honest heads of households, who believe in Roast Beef, and hearten themselves up to fight iniquities and abuses on Brown Stout, are bojmd to grumble at it, as the most pretentious imposition of the kick-ahaw school of pUilantbropic cookery.
L)«:.ti by Google
To apeak plMnlj — making on end of my table metaphor, and leaving othera to dish my simile — I doo't like the atyle of some among those who profess to teach, or to sympathise with, the People at present. I mistrust the Trader ' nho takes up the pack of Autolycus, because he possesaes no longer a coin to Bnpport tha t, magnificence of Alcibiades. Crockford's ia a bad school for the orator who is to lecture " hia dear frieada th6 Operatives" on the virtues and beauty of Savings Banks — the " steaming board" of this Apician Duke, or the other Bacchanalian Marquia, — a comical field over which to rehearae Temperance Orations. Nor, to be candid, do I much relish the notion of the gentleman vho
ran away with Iiady , and would have done as much by
sundry other married women, they or their lords permitting— talking to my Ura, Bell and our growing girls, about " the domestic charmes." Don't misunderstand me. I am not mean- ing " t0 fling " at the morals of any class. Nay, I have often thought the temptation a^ vitiation to which the noble and rich are eiposedare moremelaucooly than the want and wretchedness of the humble and poor. But I would not have Libertines, Adventurers — Infidels in human virtue — experienced men who have come to treat the paseioos like ao many beads and aheHa belon^g to a Sa»age — curiosities which the well-bom and well-bred have got past using or caring about — to be respected or recognised as Leaders ; simply because they can sentimentaUse about factory Children, — because they can talk to Country Labourers, as if the latter were a'o many primroses of beauty and innocence ; — because they can write showy poema, or showy novels, or shovry letters in the newspapers— or showily quote the Platonists when they have to debate upon the Sewer Bill, or the Cheap Food Question. I cannot give my trust to men who have trafficked with money- changers, until they have Been compelled to part with their prin- ciples among other marketable things ; — I cannot act with tliose who have dawdled among opera dancers, till they cease to find indecorum in the Pas Seul of the rouged and tinaeUed Liberator in the " Dreary Abodes of the Desolate and the Oppressed,", or disgrace in his carrying the bat round, with the true ballet nimble- neae and seduction, saying — as plain as pantomime enti'eaty can apeak it — " Do drop a Place in ! "
" How now," cries some angry Colonel Cambric, some exquisite Sir Hyacinth, fragrant as ' Bucklersbury in aimpling time;' — " How now } would you establish the Inquisition among free-bont
CIO BENJAinaTs uzss.
BiitonB ? eneour^^ Slander to pry into family hiatories, and Fftrtf-Bptte to blaekan prirato chuaoter ? — deny refined Hunam^ ita noblert privil^ne of aiding ia t}>e wort of aooial progwa f — ^maintaiiithebamenvUcbMlongKarelept Gende SM Sinqilv, Learned and Usleanted^IUcliBBdPoor.asiuider?" — I bopenoty gen- tlemen. Coidd ISE MK8S be proved noombing; tending neither* to prodttoe fiatuleihse, heait-buming, debility, or St. Vitaa'a Dance, I would noi inquire too cnrionaly if tbe cook wore a p^t&il, or when he lut beat hla wife ; or by wfai^ of tlie pates* roade he iDt«nded to rcMh the Celeatiat Ci^ ! — Tint it i»the muiiiCiutivQ whieb has led tne to ccouider tHe training of the mMudnetarer. How many are the appeale mode day by day, to my fellow-labonren, in nothieg mora anitable to tli«r object at befrrasding the bodies and balancing the laindi of tbe People, than the wardrobe for private theatricala, whtdi was takea out to Amerie« by the wfH- known Lady who sailed fordi to coloaise in a c^K-brake, all " Wri^," RepaUicea; and who eameback all "right divine," — ready to do, in three vole, poet oetaTO, uiy grieraan which mig^ bo thoogbt a good speenlation. Hers 'b one, for instMiee, who triee to auth^iticate his £tneis as a p<^»iilar Leader, by sbowiag tn the Victory p^e-faces, how th^ L^datora riot in tbe exquisite dainties of a gaming-house supper : «hile be would fain entertein his aristocratic patrons into admittiBg him as one ot theii ^iTonrite spotrt-n^ere. by exhib^tsg tp tham tbe Dehating^ Society, the Dancing-Uall, the Penny Concert, and the Farthit^Reading-ro«nBof BMne maDufaebning town : — oKe seesion hand and glove with the Bpnning Jocks and Jenniea ; the next mth his arm romid Hodge tto ploughman's neck, brira&l of tiie (M "-ba<^-bone" tniians, which one ought hav» t^ug^ wera worn to death in the dnys of Hone and Cobbett. UbmliBB is oa longer low ; it hoe become the fashion. Those who " flamed oiDasement" at the Open in wm- droos pantalooas, and strK&gling cataracts of satin romid their threats soau fifteen years since, are now trying " to t«^ die mode" by preaching and teaching in UayFair; — clad inyiMlMm .' not, however, resisting the dear delight of " comm^ Opera or May Fair" over tbe Manchester tradesmen, yrhem down in his hemisphere, to play the part of the Lion or of the Sympathiser. And BO well do I know the deep-rooted love of fineiy in which the Englishman is steeped, that it is precisely because of plain John's accessibility to the tawdry civilities and Monmouth-street grandeurs of soeh philaDthn^Mats as msk« THE Mxas, that I raise my roice
Coo'jlc
b^kjauin's-uess. £)1
flgunst them and their c<»Dpoiiiid — against all Lord Blarneys, howeTer resoiiaat be tlieii tides of Sir Tomkjn — against all spe- cious OrtUws of the Skeggs family, charm they ever bo wisely, by the hackneyed asaertion, that " nrtue ia beyond all price."
Enoogh of SEirJiJiiM's Miss on Bomaaoier: — thece is another- prepuatioD of the BaJne mat«tiak heaner to digest—^u Fitum' cier ; of which we are hardly anspicioas entui^ Who knows not the Leader whose Leading Article would come to a dead halt, but for " the iuBtrnctire remarkB" of the last " distinguished, foreign traveller ? " Who knows no* the Orator, relying for his appear- ance of acuteneas and universal wisdom on some feather-headsd Frenchman, or some leadeo-seated German, who has " come, seen, conquered" all the difficulties of all the problems <^ our social life— written two thiok volumes inslanter, describing hie Gonquest ; and, what is more cruel, published them. Admirable, valuabte to be listened for by ersry true man who loves truth better than his own insular vanity, ana all foreign criticisms of our imma" culate establiehmenta, ajod our sublime social ordinwaces ! — but let us take them as hints derived &om impresuoas, nob cedes, accord- ing to which ouc Legidators are to rule us, and " one humble," as Landor hath it, " to hold up hands." The account of long reu- deuce, nunute sympathy (use of language premised), power of independent oba«Tatioii— b& opposed to glimpses through the spectacles of Mr. Milloimer this, or the great glasses of Lord Landed Friqnietor t'otiier! — required, ere conclueiom can have aiiy serious worth, seems to be oddly lost sight of by all parties. I hare been in a pONtion, sir, to watch how some of these oracles collect their wisdom, liring as I do in a manufacturing district, and having (m(H«'s the pity,} rdalioas among your London authors ; and I shall tell aninslAnoe, — ono among muty.
It is not a hundeed sujaraere ago, that a vary oUver and^very honest French journalist, and politico^ecaBomist, came to England
onatourof inspeolJOD.— I meaamy epithets seriously. Mj. Q
has a sharp neat pen, a clear arrangement of paragraphs, and conuderftble reasonmg power. I happen to know, too, that he has provQjl his integrity by heavy sacrifices of fortune, a melim- choly rarity in the annals of the French press. He came to us with some knowledge of English affairs: he had mastered the fact, usually a choke-pear with our neighbours, that jour L»d Mayor of London is not neit in greatness to our Sovereign. He spoke cuttingly of the exquisite ignorance of H. Alexandre Domas,
Upl:«l by Google
812 benjamin's mesb.
who in his drama of " Kean," makea the Prince Regent trans- port the tragedian for a jear to America 1 He was aware that £nglis}i young Ladies had other names than Miss Kitty or Mies Jenny. He did not expect to find the " zions of our nobility," as Titmarsh calls them, gomg*to bed in their buckskina and top-boots after a steeple-chace ; nor boxing in the pit of the Opera. He had even reached that eitreme of enlightenment, of admitting that the quiet English Sunday need not mean a Day of Mortification exclusively ; hut might also mean a Bay of Rest t« a people cle- verer at leaning affoinst posts than in dancing ! Gravely : he was " well up" in our history, even the history of our " Wigks" and Tories : could name our leading men, and " discuss the same" to Lord Brougham in English, at least as fluent as his blithe Lord- ship's French ! Well, Mr. Q- came over to examine our manu- facturing districts — the morals and desires of their population. Ho had promised to write on these matters ; to write serious facts, not. Sibylline fictions. He applied in London for letters to some of our leading people ; he was to see and to apprq/hndir, Birming- ham, Derby ; Manchester {of course)— Glasgow, including a Loch or two, if possible — in a fortnight ! The party to whom he addressed himselfC Sir, respecting him sincerely, ventured to point out to him, tliat his time was rather short, and his field of inquiry very wide ; that Cotton has 6ne life among its myrmidons, and Crockery another ; that those who spin Flax, and those who spin Iron (for really to spinning do recent manujfactures of iroji amount!) have difierent humours and habits; that the Lan- cashire Collier in "his posey jacket," and the Spitalfields Wearer, with his aiuiculas, hardly even speak a common language, have a common belief, save that money is a good thing, and all Rich people are horn oppressors ! 'Twas in vuu : — these representations ran down, without penetrating his self-complacency. Talk of Mackintosh, or the inventor of Pannus Corium, as impervious ! mere sieve, I say, to a Frenchman of conscience steeped in a
system ! Mr. Q heard my relative with tolerable patience :
dat was all.' But it Is not all which 1 have to tell. The introduc- tions were taken, and the philosophical tourist started behind the Iron Courser for Birmingham, there to begin his wondrous round. But betwixt the noise and dust and scents of his first day's tour of the manufactories, and the misery of his second day's deprivation of the bottle of St. Julieuand diahof spinach for breakfast, the French traveller fell sick, and took to bed. There he lay UU it was tlmo
bekjauin's HESS. m
to return to London ; and tLence to Paris. Nevertbeleas, tba "Letters on the Manufacturing Districts" were written all th« same. And I have since seen grave appeals made in grave pUcei to bis lucubrations, as to a testimonj w^rth heeding.
On what, then, should the ignorant minda he fed; — by whom should the intellects bare of everything, save a few rags of tawdrj ItrejudiccB, be clad ? Ifot, assuredly, on mouthing! and fdeasant {leriods, attudinisings and grimaciugs : — not by ^e Player^Kinga and Flayer-Pbilanthropistsi who bring the tinsel of RichardBon'a Show into Life's serious business. If it he too much to expect for the instant that state of high morality which shall preclude the poli- tical Rope-Dancer from finding any serious employment, he should not be trusted. Let us hope that the days when the tTXat-»orth-Uu shall look for their audience in vain, are near. As for cutting off the People &om such pleasures as brilliant oratory can afford their imagination and musical senso (their judgment conrinced the while) — as for denying them such advocacy as the Poet, the Novelist, the BramatisC can tender, and reducing the statement of iheir wrongs and wishes to the tabulated form of a Work-House Boyd Report— for be that from me, sir. I would have Poetry And Taste mingle with every transaction of our lives ; seeing that the one is merely the loftiest TruCh, and the other the most refined Common Sense. Nay, more, to those who can recognise trumpery as trumpery : while they love to see the Puppet jerk its limbs— to bear how far a given Orator can burlesque paUios and sincerity — to read whatever new monstrosity their pet writer may have described — the Political Charlatan is innoxious — he is entertaining : &e licensed successor of The Fool of old feudal times. But the People have not leisure to he fantastic over their pleasures : they ore not, thank Heaven ! so hkui as to require monstrosity and exaggera- tion to move them. Let us, then, beware how we encourage them to fancy the Puppet a real man — to mistake the Talker's trashy "lengths of Eonnd and fiiry" for an outpouring of real enthusiasm —to occef^ the Scrawler's melodramatic caricatures of tUeir homes And workshops as simple and faithful representatjona. The Romancer is, after all, smaller by a cubit than the Jfec-romanc^ of elder times : like him, a Quack, but with powers seriously impaired, and pretensions far more grasping than his ancestors'.
As for solemn Dulness parading his discoveries as infallible by the aid of that cosmopolitan jargon, wluch accepts every stranger
ICO, jvni, — TOL. ta. l l
Upl:«l by Google
tU THE CACLD HEASTH-STANE.
as therefore a sum of Scienoe — Am reign witt the People cnnnst last long. The Uerry AxAtkw mny be too nimble for The Scbool- mastei', bo koig as the world endureth ; .but twenty yeara mm« vt enlightenment «■ aiKtters which iJie most oonoem their intereBte will enable «(r friends (witheat need of any Dr. Dilworth) t^m- sekes to turn tke Pl«<ildera back, lodding them " work tjmr SHm «t hoeae." Bnt tlte dinner b^ ring^. Esoogh, 'Aen, of " BESiiMis'b Mess, " and alt that it syM^lises. £a^ to irinle- sQue Endiali roaet and bailed I
THE CAULD HEAETH-STANE.
Tub blithest sigbt a poor man aoes
Is his ain ingle s coolhie bleeze :
When the kind hearth is glowin' het,
And friends in social circle met. —
The blackest sight that meets his e'e,
When trampled down by poverty,
Wi' frjeads, aad gear, and credit, gane,
la the gruesome look' o' the caotd heaith-stane.
When a' that lo'e as kave their stools.
And, ane by atx, mis wi' the »od1s ;
When Mand^p's, love's, endeettn' bafids
A re liven frae our thowlsia haads ;
'\Vhen blackness site in beauty's plaoe.
And soriow darkens heaven's face,
How sad to sit, in tears, aJane,
Demented wi' grief, by the caald h^rtli-stane.
When down the black and cheerless limi
The frozen winds o' winter come ;
When throagh the crazy wa's tlie drift
O'er a' the honse will swirl and sift.
Pity the wretch that "s doomed to jouk
In rags beside the ingle-nook ;
While hunger bites him bo the bane,
And streeks him in death on tlio cauld hearth-sti
Wi' uane hii glaxm een to dose,
Or his sair wiitben limbs <jomj>iH>e ;
Wi' iiane to epeer, and jwne te cate,
^^'l;ilt wroH(j!it the deed o' murder there !
vCoo*^lc
KESBAK0HE3 IS
From Nafnre's heart and table tnrned, Despised, degraded, Eh&ined, and spurned — Left like a dog in duUi, wi' naae To lift up his coipse irae the cauld bearth-etane.
I 've had m7 share o' warid's ill ;
0' grief I 've Itftea drsot my fill ; Misfortune's, slander's, venom 'd dart * Has broke my peace, has pierced my heart. 1 Ve borne them all, and yet conld bear. Would Heaven but in me^y spare, ■Wliat e'en in thonght maist tnms my brain, The lang-dreaded look o* the canld hearth-stane. Edinburgh. Wu, Fehodbbos.
RESEARCHES IN BELQRATIA ;
OB,
THE WOEKS AND "WONDERS OF THE WEST-
LEixEa IV. — To Mns. Rustlsr. Deabest Mrs. Rustleb,
■ T*ke tie account of our risit to Lady , fresh from
the tablets of reooUection, Should I, iodeei^ postpone the narro- tiou, disturbing exteriorities might arise, which, by weakening impressions, might impair the functions of Teracity. Ever let ua be actuated by tJie motto.
Now 13 the g^sent ; Virgins, vineyards till. And sweet WlTice by eager ieed» fulfil.
Truth be our guide, and Charity, prompt to authenUcate good by ^^dicating evil, our companion.
It was with feelings, as you will believe, of mwo than ordinary
excitntion, that P and myself presented ourselves at the
portal of Lady Highborough's sumptuous mansion in Square.
The strikinguess of her character had made itself known to us through a thousand sources. In her youth, as her portrait, painted by Sir RJoliard Phillips, must have already acquainted you, slie was surpassingly beautiful— and, as we all are (who knows better than n)y8elf ?) an object of precious onxicty, and unmitigated temp-
C.i
tc^
nt RESSAHCHES IK BSLOJUVU*
tatloDH. Rojalty was at her feet ; but she declined its elegant bait. Her father's board, high in the councils of his Sovereign, was crowned by all the dissolute liberalism of England. Wits, men of letterii, foreigners of every shade of speciousness, flung tbetr laurela at her feet ; but ebe stood firm as Niobe. Her pcr- spicnous intellect detected from afar the storms which were about to submerge every social classification. She saw the nobility of her land, her altar and her throne, in peril ; and when little mora than a shrinking girl, presented herself in the breach I Bcaf to the fascinations of a. circle so illusive, she abode by her principles. •' It was her duty," she said, " to resist the materialism of the middle classes — she pitied, but could not admit thcni to privileges for which treasure hod been wasted and blood shed." Dowered only by this astouadiog rectitude and a delicate prettinesa toul-d-fait mignardise, (to quote de Sevigne's Memoirs') — she espoused, "when little more than a child, the august Ear! whoso name she hears ; and entered at once upon her career of heroic energy. Aa patroness of Atmack's, she at once applied herself to the fostering of high breeding, and the discouragement of the unlicensed intrusions of Republican ambition. No tampercr with the wives of Mammon (in the persona of BankeraJ — while she used the privileges of gold, she kept the aspiring race who deal therein aloof. Unflinching in her pursuit of Primogeniture, the younger eon found no adherence at her hands — the libertiae pens of Authors still less. She drew around her an august circle, which Rank accredited and Fashion adorned. Her uncompromising boldness — no less than the vivacity of her parlance, in which the repartee of the French woman and the sense of her own mother tongue were blended — exposed her to sahent attacks from the vulgar, the presuming, and the upstart. But she steered her way. She it was who maintained on the Continent the august character of a Peeress of England. Accustomed at home to press the pro- ducts of the Caskmerian loom in her boudoir, to respire but air laden with the odours of the rarest exotics conveyed from tho con- sorratories of Lightington with a regal disregard of expense — habituated to assemble on her table the luxuries of the four kemi- epheres— Lady Highborough's firm mind did uot shrink from the perils and privations of foreign travel. Courageous in tho Pride of Sex— and daring even to read Oriental despots a lesson on the immured victims whom their Salic ordinances confine behind veils, — she it was who claimed on audience of the Qrand Sultan, and
KBSEAHCHES IS BELGRATU. £17
AWcd his barbarian eyes by the splendour of England's liliea and rosea, ripened bj Time, and decorated with the lustrous heir- looms which cannot make her rank more sparkling. Long will her visit to Sultan Abd-e^-Kader, In his Alhambra Palace, at Con- Etantinople, be tallied of in the " Harem." It is to her (and not to the authoress of the " City of the Sultan") that the exquisite
and well-known poem by Mr. Milnes refers. This P has
from unquestioned authority. But w« can dilate without hearsay on Lady Highborough's union of what is moat aristocratic with what is most fascinating.
Fortified by a provision of tracts, we set forth a little after
noon ; our Landlady having advised P to pretermit the
visit till that hour. " Wliat would they say at Tinglebury could they see us now ? " was uppermost in the thoughts of one of us at least, as we appealed to the bell. The door gave way to the summons: and a domestic resplendent in the Highborough colours (staunch orange to which my heart wamledi — -and blue) admitted us, with a civil " So you're the Ladies ! " Judge of our confu- sion ! Clothed, indeed, in filthy rags did I feel myself. That our poor humble Tinglebury deeds should have preceded ns ! That our faltering endeavours to assert infallible truth should have re-, sounded ia tlie noble halls of England's Aristocracy ! What was Mr. Podd to us now ? A phantom. Was not here a rich reeom-
Sense for ourEpbesian struggles with' hia Hydra of false doctrine? ******* I felt tears of silent praise on my eheek, but
was aroused from them by a rapid esclamation on P 'h part —
"Diana! darling . , .■ . our travelling companion!" — It was
so : — He, and none other, was crossing the hall, and ere P
could spring forward to put in her claim for the welcomo of recog- nition in a strange laud — he had vanished in the interior. — Could this be Lord Highborougb ! whom censorious tongues had described as in a state of alienation from his august spouse, and
rarely at home ? "Are not friends raised up for us ? " said P
pressing my arm, as we mounted the stairs, to the presence of her we came to seek.
Time was given us to survey the drawing-room of a Eclgravian star of the first water ; since wo were told that Lady Highborough would see us shortly — and meanwhile invited —nay desired (such are the courteous customs of the house !) to sit down. What was more distinguishing, we perceived through the open door by which we had entered, that the footman remained in attendant propriety
fiHt • RESEABCBE3 IH BBLfiKAVlA.
oa the landing nithoDt — hia inquirmg eje froiu time ti> tinw awoitiag our commaDcls.
Tii« luiury of the sakon in wltieh we found oursetvea iroa indeaeribable. Ti&sueB of blue silli (onglnaUy noveo, we bare ^BCe McerUined, for tlie Moaarch of Delni) were suspeoded fconi. tranda of solid ailier ; the Bam« hue perraded the waJds, hung with choice pictures . Heve VeDoe, "when uoadoroed, adorned the most," was bathing in Qelieoa's waters: — there, Diaoa ho- vered over burning Troy ; (Edipus and Hermione, fi-om. the ram- parts, contemplating the agonizing scene. Nor was Junius BriAus, witnessiBg the ghost of Ceesar, wanting — these three being undoubted originals of Michael Ajigelo. We were sorrf that Ur. Pecker (whose rc])utatioii as a Patron of Art has re- ceived a roost gratifying tribute since our arrival) was not with. u» ; but promised oufselvcs the pteuiue of making him familiar with those treasures, on some future daj. Tables of solid jasper were spread with virtu of aU perieds. Dresden hicrymAtorieB vied with the richest West lodinn carvings : — rieh nnniatures by Sir Jo^ua, with costly volumes boimd by Bmney. Madame de Maintenen's fan, with her rival, Madame dc Pompedotif 's smelling- hottle : and between them the imrks of the brilliant pKUosephi, lladame Dndevant, whose blindness was so touchingly lamented by Sir Robeit Walpole, in the " Strawberry Annala.'" Not a toy nor a trinket, in short, woa here, whbh did not tell its tale Of the n«thin|>neBa of Beauty, or iavite to the abnegation of selfish in- dulgence. Such a ctJlectioD, how far mere inatructive, dearest Urs. Kustler, than the farra^ous sBsemblageB uf so-eaUed sanc- tity, which disfigure, not ornament, mouisions beniglited by theit Papistical sympathies ! The undraperied e:fposures of Pagan Alt are leas alien to evei'j habit of our juvenile education, less utterly at variance with every prerogative we have been used to hold dear, than the order of decorations it is the interest of Mr. KIblett, and sncb as he. to advocate. Right glad wwe we to per- ceive thai Lady Highborough has escaped the epid^meal dalliaoce with Babylon, with regard to which it is written, etc., etc * • *
We were gazing delightedly round, grateful to find that the
idslatwos element had not set its seal here, and F , inteitt
upon leaving behind her some of these pencilled tokens of admi- ration and sympathy which her ardent spirit so eagerly bestrews i when the ewiuging back of a copioussheet of mirror, which we had conceived led nowhere, revealed a third room, and voices in tuor-
RESEAacnra is belgratia. , 619
mstcd diBomrsc. My tablets were out in an instant, since I was awue by tlic ftcccnt, that tlio speakers were of no vtJgar order. It was well thought of : — tfa« diacourse tuFiiing on matters of uo csKunoa import.
" Must you go, Lmly Anne ? "
" My dear, I most ; I promised my little girl to eome back and aae &e Baib — CKiWret* and her get their dinner together. You had hotter eome with me ; — grtch hideous little monsters ! "
"Lore, I cuo't : I'm cxpeeting Alhcrtinelli ereiy numient ; and see him I must about this tiresome eoQcert of mine. Tou canp't think nbat a nice pcrsiHi he is ! — manages ererything so adnnrab^, and takes no liberties. I waDder aoBietimea, hw he gets the pec^e to iing at eueb terme — PoKcetti for only ten giBaesB ! Biit then he 'a her lover, poor fellow : — so interesting ! "
" Now do come, dear ; and citft't you leare word with George for Albertinelli to follow you to my house ? "
" Would we had socb neigkbenrs nt Tinglebury '. "■ wUspored I
to P . With the BunJIet^a, or any pereons who have been in
tradev dear Mrs. fi.ustter, sach soeial tntercbanjies are not possible.
" No, my kind ereotsra, I eaa't — I ha,v& to go through thii) bore- of engagiug a nursery gore ra«» 'again ! "
" Qmlmalheur ! I thoi^ltt your Swiss girl was such a treasure."
" So I tbonght, too, dear ; and I am sure I never interfered witb ber. Georgina hated her ; bat that was of no consequence. Children always do. I did ; and used to cut holes with sciaaors in my poor victims frocks. No, love, abo turned out consamptiTe, 90 I seat her away at onea, befcFre she got worse wpon my hands, lam Mpecting two aew ones this moi-nmg. Si»t»s ; I may have eithor, or the two toge^er, I dare say, a bargaia."
" And do you really see these persons youTBeif ?"
*' H^v eao I help it, my dear ? I could not trust Lord High- boew^h, were he at home:— and yon recollect that wretclied buKoesB of my last but oae, twrning out the' groom of the ch&m- ben' wife. But I don't exact much— clean, honest, sober— ~no foUowtrs. We have masters 6tt eTerythJBg, dear — It's ruin«ns. What cou those sort of girls want with, twenty poimds a year, I often wondN: — now that titey eon dress for nothing, and hare no appearance to keep np-? " What admirable prmeiples of suiiordina- titm, dearest friend ! What simplicity of requisitional demands ; and convoyed in what dazzling buoyancy of parlance ! Tears ro» to my eyes again : " And this," I exdaimed, " is a member of
RESEARCHES IS BELGRITIA.
the depreciated bodr— one of those whom the Utilitarian Clods of the Valley would flout to extioctioD. Tagtes, how magnificent I 'Wishes, how true ! KindDesa to her dependants, how considerate !* Amietj to prerent inquiries deTolring open others, how eager ! — And you will hear this lostroua being's name Snvocated witii every expression of contemptuous auimosity I I seemed, dearest friend, to listen to my mother tongue — I felt I was Ir Selgraria : and
when P said, " I am sure 1 shall emhrace her," — I was to*
much agitated to do more than reply, " We will, both."
" Well," after all, " resumed Lady Higbborough, " I think t will go with you — I'm dying to know the Bush chiidrcn, if they arc only half as dear as Tom Thumb ! and George shall hear these gentlewomen their catechism. One needn't keep them, you know. One is committed to nothing, especially now when you may get- ilie beat of the class for fifty a year — and who can teach the harp, too."
The Ladies came out — tall, commanding creatures, with a pallor that put your Tinglebury friend's milkmaid complexion i and even P 's red rose blossom in her cheeks (bo sweetly intro- duced in Mrs, Ellis's Terses, written in Mrs. Pecker's album) to shame. I had intended to make a minute note of their dress ^ and had turned a fresh leaf of my memorandum book on purpose ; but can only generally describe it as singularly spreading in ila ulterior portions — my gaze being interrupted by P 's enthu- siasm— who hurst forward, with "Peerless Piety, and Pious Peers," ready to offer, and a fluttering, " Dear Lady High- borough, will you allow this to cement the commencement of an intercourse !" She spoke so low, that we are sure she was not heard : nor did the natural terrors of the moment enable us pre- cisely to ascertain which was our hostess. All, indeed, was con- fusion. The stately pair turned — surveyed ua fixedly — started : and, some kind thought arising in both, sympathetically, burst into a peal of laughter, dulcet as pastoral reed — hurrying past us. I was vexed at this abrupt termination of so charming an inter- view, though I promised myself its resumption at no distant period. The silver chime died in the dist8nce--not before a gay, " A perfect gig, my dear !" had acquainted us that the convey- ances our innovators at Tinglebuiy have chosen to deride as obso- lete, still maintain their hold in the conservative districts of Bel- gravia.
We were not long' permitted to indulge dubiety as to tha
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IIESEARCBES IN BELGRATIi. 621
etiquette of departure, after a reception ro full of promise. To Iho unfeigned ecBtasy of P (ah ! do jou not recognise your art- less protegS in the trait ?) our travelling companion made hi» appearance in an elegant domeaticity of costume, which convinced ns that wc were not wrong in ascribing to him no lees distin- guished an abode. And, making all mature allowances for tho susceptibility of my animated companion — he did evince the ' pleasure of kindred sympathies, at this meeting ; accosted ns with animated cheerfulness, and though decorum precluded his en- gaging two parties of our sex to sit — bestowed upon us no small' measure of the graces of his intellect. Perceiving our avidity for Belgravian intelligence, ho kindly ministered to it ( recommended our pursuing the system of making acquaintances wo had already so auspiciously inaugurated ; called our admiration to the works- of art I have already introduced to you — and mentioned others, A statue of our gracious Majesty, in a square devoted to herself, a little beyond the boundaries of the Province, excited liis eulo- gies.— It is by Hayncs Baily, whose Eve at the Fountwn, and My own Blue Bell, Mr. Pecker cites as the most chaste and sur- prising of modem sculptures. Eluding gracefully P 's
perhaps too frank curiosity as to his relationship with Lndy High- borough, our friend volunteered the information that ho was one of the Houaehold.^I curtsied involuntarily to this reprcsentative- of Majesty. — Ho dwelt much upon the wonders of his own highly favoured district ; spoke of our hostess with terms of easy praise ; of her sweetness, and persuadability — these how charming, at altitudes where the vulgar would with difficulty respire ! On P inquiring if further tracts would be acceptable, ho an- swered eagerly, "0, as many as you ean spare !" and even hinted that Her gracious Majesty, whose amiable receipt of all commo- dities and curious inventions, finds its prototype in many of the- Belgravian mansions, would be gratified by, though she might not sohcit, a like attention. How cosy, beloved friend, is it to do- good ! — " So simple is our Sovereign,"' ho added, and BO indiflferent to rank arc the inhabitants of this quarter, that, to use his own emphatic phrase, " the Queen is a nobody amongst us I " At- tuned, as I was, to surprise before, this, I confess, astonished me. Rare grace and condeaoension ! blessed fruits of charity ! The Artists, dear friend, give their pictures to our Sovereign ! gratified by their acceptance, though too wisely aware of their own dis- tance, to expect to behold them more. A new book of " Th*
522 RESEARCHES i:< belcratia.
Triomplia of Oriuia " is In preparation for her birthday — tfee ■ wwrds bj the ariBtocratic hoatesses of Belgravia— the muaic by Chttlon. We gricTe that En^ish talent was not found worthy ! — But more, it may be, of Royalty, and its pursuits, od same' less crowded page ! Let as avoid all democratic adraixtare of the pomp of. sorereignty, with t)ie
Homely lines of every d&y, a« Mrs. Abel Smith najs ia one of her Badly sweet eewuta. Our new friend apologised oa the score of bis avoeationa — ushered us to the portal — aod wo parted with gay adieux. — Peals of laugbtev reBOunded from this edifying abode, as we quitted its prennets.
I should ha\e finished here, but I mnat append to thia (o» long epistolary commuiuGatiim what I hafe alrea«ij mentioned : — &e tnbute to Mr. Pecker's acknowledged skill in judging of works of art. — It is but to-day that he received from an accon^lished cel- leottesB, whose name nwdes^ forbida us to utter, the distinguished invitation which my thrilling pea ct^aea with proud pleaaure. You may diffuse it at Woilford * if you will : —
" Mrs. presents her compliments to her prosimate nejgli-
hour, Mr. Pecker, and frrau having derived by bequest, among o^r tableaux a portrait of extraordinary merit, deemed likely trom corresponding name originally marked at bock, either to represent^ or otherwise to have belonged to, at ne -very remste period, a family connection of his ; hut, to be sati^oetory to h^- Bslf, needing- confirmation ; trusts, under the circum^aaccs, not to aeeia digressing etiquette unveaiallj herein — the object being & reciprocal one — in requestiog the oUiging courtesy of a call at her residence on earliest convenient afternoon, from the hour of three, vot beitiff later than tkai of six, for resolving,, as she could hope, its identity ; a favour, in ratio of her disadvantage towards him as a total stranger, ^ns would not foil to appredftte, «tc- ote."
■ The Editor ia once again obliged to interpose with an. explanation. Those who might be misled by the poetiea] style of Miss Rilt, into foooying tbMlhe epistle of the "CoIiectreHa," printed above, was retouched by tiut I^, fi^ tile MBszemont sf friends M hnna, aft nbaoonlied dlat die^ iMtar is panted fma a btm^ fdt original : the original puiiatiu^n dwwved^ — wa mav add, lllat it ia a Circular ; iiince we h&ppcn to know otlier connoiaBenzs. besides Mr. Peeker of TrDglcburj, who base rcceiTcd aiiniiar invitations. The incident is too Betgnviui to be omitted, bat too romanlae to pass
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3VSE. 623
We all blush, of course, at bo flattoriag a testimonial, to which Mr. Pecker accedes. Averse to conspicuity, lie will go. You shall hear the result. Meanwhile, it is something new to find om^lves among circles where innate efforts are crowned with appreciation. — Adieu ! Our dinner, ordered at the Belgravian hour of nine, awaits ua. Mrs. Pecker protests— hut I remind her that thus the Ancients partook of their attic repasts. No, Mr. Nibletl : but P. will not wear the willow for any Papist, coDCealed or open : leas so, now, than ever, when inapiritihg opportunities of com- passioa are likely to he afforded to her.
Your unfeigned and affectionate,
D. Rill.
P. S. — I open my letter to announce a singular casualty. Even here, " clouds of mistake arise and with fair eemhlance, blot OBt the bloom »rf energy," (as Archbishop Tennieon fiady aaya iu his " Mirsndola.") How are we to understand the strafe misapprehensivenesB which bas penned a hillet like tbia just received ?
"To avoid the possibiUty of mismiderstanding or disappoiatment, as the message left with her butler may not have been correctly delivered, Lady Highborough acquaints D. and P. BiH, that neithor of them appeared suited to fill the situation in her nursery applied for."
'• Sjwm, AprU — 18*6."
JUKE. Summer, and stillneaa ; ev'ry joyous bird
Pours a balf-wearied song ; the leafy glade.
Panting with flowery fragrance, to its shade Invites the wayside waaderer: there is heard No soand amid the forest-depths, save when
The rushing streamlet by the breeze is stirred ;
Or the bee mnnnniB in the meadows, furred With moss and starry flowers ; or, from some glen The tired cuckoo lifts a pleasant voice ;
Or the lone woodlalk sings his hidden strain. Oh ! bid the poor, the lowly one rejoice, —
Upraise him from his penury and pain ; — That from the choking ooarts and al^ys dim He may come forth, and join the universal hymn !
E. U. CobUHB.
Kz«lb;C00*^lc
" A HISTORY OP GREECE."*
Upon the tlieory of Historicil composition prevalent in the present age, il most necessarily be difficult to form a correct judgment. The same influences which operate on the minds of the historians to elevate and enlai;ge, or to depress and circumscribe their views, moat likewise produce an analogous effect upon crilice, and, as a general rule, almost constrain them to think favourably of works thoroughly impregnated by the spirit of the times. It may, in some instances, however, be advantageous for those who nndertake in matters of thiis kind to think and decide for olhere, to emancipate themselves from the sway of cnrrent notions, and to rise, if they possess the power, to the level of those principles which ought to regulate the creations of literature in aJl aps and countries.
History in its primary and proper signification, really means, narrative as contradistinguished from dissertation and theorising. When a man undertakes to relate the story of a nation, we consequently expect that he will abstain as much as possible from standing still ; that he will take up the people with whom he designs to make us acquainted from their cradle, or any other point on which he thinks proper to fix, and thenceforward hurry us dang with them, offering occasionally short explanations of events intricate or obscure ; and occasionally, perhaps, panaing for a moment to expatiate on any new aspect presented by circumstances, it it be merely to afford himself an opportunity of calling forth admiration or administering delight. Above all things, therefore, it would appear that movement is characteristic of historical composi- tion— as nature abhors a vacuum, so history abhors stagnation. As it is the counterpart of life, the picture of a stream in everlasting flow, b» it is necessarily vivacious and progressive. It admits of nothing like disquisition. The indulgence of scepticism and the ostentation of research are equally fittal to it. There must be animation, there must be continuity, there must be a perpetuil exhibition of human character, and above all things, there must be unquestioning faith.
I^t the historian investigate as he pleases before he commences his task. Inquiry is his duty, and we rigidly insist upon the performance of it. He must do this however in secret, alone^ and not invite us to be present at his examination of witnesses, at the propounding of his doubts, at his questioning and cross-questioning of the old writers. What we
* " A HifltoiT' of Greece. I. LegeQdBJ?y Greece ; II. Grecian History to the R^gn of PeisistratuB at Athens. S vols. By George Grote, Ee^. London : Murray, lai6."
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A HISTORY OP OREECE. 42&
want is Uie result of all tliis. Let him spin his narratiTe how he pleases ; that is his hnsiness. He undertakes to lay before as the tissua complete, and has no light to require our presence in bis workshop, while he cards the wool and spina the thread, and eow through all the other preliminary processes which must, we are well aware, take place before the final completion of his task.
Among our contempoiaries a very different creed appears to obtun belief. Instead of saffering us quietly to contemplate the grand and CTer-shifting scenes which the circumstances of other times unfold before us, the historian thinks it incambsnt on him to be perpetually ftt our elbow, informing us what we are to admire or despise, or believe or disbelieve. In the midet of the moat stirring occurrences, when great men are struggliog doubtfully for their lives, when the fate of empires is trembling in the balance, when civilisation itself stands in jeopardy, and when by the cast, so to speak, of a die, the happiness of mankind may be secured or marred for centuries, he puts a spoke in the wheel of the moral universe, and arrests the movement of the whole, that he may discuss with some sceptic the probability or impro- bability of what he ia engaged in relating. He is not content with permitting the impression to oe insensibly made upon our minds that nature and study nave invested him uith superior capacity, that he is quick to discern motives, that he has an intuition of human character, tl)at he draws moral pictures forcibly and with suitable coIoutb; Uiat, in one word, his mind is sufficiently large for the whole pageant of human evenU to be reflected from its sur^e. His ambition will not permit him to leave us for a moment doubtful on the point. Proud of the temper and poliah of his genius, he keeps the fiash and dassle of it perpetually in our eyes. Our buuness consequently is soon felt to be to admire the historian, not to take an interest in and be instructed by what ho relates, and as admiration soon palls upon the appetite of those who attempt to feed on it, so your fashionable historian soon degenerates into a bore, whom you admit t« be very clever, but would rathei: not associate with nevertheless.
Whether or not Mr. Grote stands in this cat^ory we are reluctant to determine. He has evidently applied himself with great diligence and perseverance to the study of Grecian affairs ; and, whatever may be the fale of his work, has endeavoured to deserve well of the public. It seems to us, however, that he placed himself from the outset under the direction of fslse gaides; in other words, that he has habitnally deferred too much to German scholars, who, contemplating Greece and her concerns from the antiquariaa point of view, have by degreea brought themselves to regard her Uterature, her politics, and her [milo- aophy, as a huge moseum of perplexing topics, on which it is lawful to peculate for ever without arriving at any conclusion. We lament this, for Mr. Grote ia unquestionably an able man, possessing much acnteness And habits of application. He has not, however, sufficient force of mind
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!« render Hm independent of his inBtrnments. Availing hiiBBelf of lie learning of G«miaD;, he has salfered it, horn beiog his handmaid, to become his robttreBs. This is painfully evident throoghoat the whole of the two volumes before ns. Do the Gennana doubt t So does Hr. Oiote. Do they convert traditions into m)^eB, and exclnde wdioie ues from the domains of histoiy ! So does onr leanied coontiTiraB. His foot advBDceB timidly at the hee]^ of their scepticism, uid he appears delighted to persuade himself that the firm gronnd on whicA he treads is a shifting and dangeraus quicksuid.
lb is no doDbt quite necessary to separate the domains of histBiy from those of mythology, and to avoid giving vs a pHsonified vice or virtue for a man. It may likewise be desiimble not to confound phy- sical phenomena with historical events, and to prssent us wilb wt earthquake instead of the eiemtive of a Grecian stat«. Against stois such as these it is prudent, we eay, to guard ; but scholare have nnfeE- ttmately convinced us that learning is liable to intempeiaiioe, and ibMt, enfeebled by the luiniy of scepticism, the judgment may in lie end be made to abdicate its fanctions, and cease alt<^etfaerto distinguish be- tween the characteristics of truth and &behood. It would not accordingly snrprise na to find a speculative antiqnarian convuti^ Julias CieBaT into a mythe, and assarii^ ns tiiat the Konmn ComsMn- wealth was but a fragment of Fairy Land. Fonnerly the passion of investigators led them to carry back the banners of tiath aod plant them emltingly on fabulons eminences, into whose incompact sab' stances they soon sank imd disappeared. In our own daytbe mactjee is strikingly reversed. The object now is to roll forward the cloaks of mythe not only over the debateable fivjntier of tradition but fer iato the firm and well-defined temtory of faistoiy, and in this way to ob- scure events and charactei-s, which to out forefathers stood quite widun the range of vision.
Among those who have employed themselves, in this way is Mr. Grote. Niebuhr and Arnold conducted their readers towards Qte gigantic fabric of the Roman republic, throngh tiie avenues of legend and poetry ; but the approaches in tiieir beanty and simplicity were every way worthy tg open npon the Roman story ; they looked hke tht obscure portals, which, in some eastern countries, lead the ti&veller to palaces and fortresses which themselves are steeped in the brightest sunshine. Mr. Orole has aimed at constructing before the Histon of Greece similar entrances, using the mjfthology as his materials, and in- voking the epic Muse to adorn her more aober sister. It would have afforded us mnch pleasure to say that be had auceeeded ; but in la^g down the plan of his work he has altogether mistaken ^e propoitiotu, and appropriated to what is strictly introductory, space which he will hereafter stand in need of, should his incredulity leaye him, as he pro- ceeds, any eventswhich he will regardas real. Mr.Grote'sworkalr^dy equals in length one fourth of Gibbon's History, without o ' '
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angle page strictly hiEtorical. We ha^e hbie, we have diaqQisitioni, we have criticism ; but we have no oarratiye, no nnfolding of circBiB- ttanees, no delineation of chaiacter.
To the whole of what is dsDominated L^endaij Greece we ohfect. Toiiclied by a skilfnl and delicate bond tiie fables of the mj^bolivf rnigjit, have been made to constitute a vetj M^eeable introductiaii to tBe HeBenic annali. Gods HBd heroes might have been made our guides to the labyrinth of regal states and commonwealths which covered tile face of Greece. But Mr. Grote's familiarity with Gtrecian literatnrB has notinparted toh''" viy great proficiency in Grecian art. He moulds tbe most exquisite materi^s with bo uncoath a hand, that where we m%fat reasonably have looked for beauty we sometimes meet with awkwardness, if net deformity. Assaredty, therefore, his will not prove the Histoiy of Greece for wiiich we have dming many ages been looking. Berinal of. the M>les are develi^d through the instrument^ty of a vocabolaty, so objecdiraiable, that soDie puts -of t^e book could not be read aload in a deoent famiiy. Not that Mr.Oroteia a voluptuous writer; far from it. He is only deficient in taste, and lisMe sometimes to overlook tbe ethical varae of the phrases he employs. He is not, in fact, endowed with tliat rare senaSility which enables some writers to enter instmc- tively into the feelings of all classes, and to avoid shocking any.
Certainiy it is pai^ul to caaterapBite Ihe throwing awsy of so nrach labour as has been bestowed on theae two vrinmea ; bat thrown vway it will be, if Mr. Grote pernet in regaiding diem as sdj part of tJie History of Greece. By tbeaeelves, and as a series of preparatory dissertations, they are by no maans destitBt« of interest, and may not be without value. The mytfces are-widl arranged, thongh often rrfated in nnsuttable lango^e ; and mae light is thrown on the primitive institn- tioBE, character, and mannere of the Helkoes. But can anythisg be coiweived niore out of place than an infinitely prolix, disquisition on Wolf's crotchets about tiie Iliad aod Odyssey, in whit^ the names of Nitsdi and DMoedocos, of Mr. Prioe and the Hsmeridse, of Herman and Homer, of Payne Knight and Peisistratus, are mixed up tether in the mostadmired confusion 1 Again, t^epmd^ice may well be qnestioned of adopting a plan which compels the author to touch, however saccincfly, five or six times on the same subjects, and< to descend i^ain and aeam from the period of tie Trojan War to Alexander of Macedon. ft is quite true that Mr. Grote often displays great ability in the cour^ ot these rambling dissertations. For exMnple, hia view of the merits of Pindar, and the three great Attic tragedians, displays much critical acumen and power over the reaources of rhetoric. He discriminates witli j udgment hetwe^ the qnalificatiMis of the several poets, though he occasionally mistakes the rention in which they stood to their andience, from a natural or aoqnired incapacity to enter heartily into the religions feelings of the Greeks.
Fi-ora symptoms wliirfi appear in various parts of these volumes we perceive, moreover, that we at least shall not be able to enter reiy
cordially into Mr, Grote'a yiewa of Greet philosophy. This we con- jecture from his treatment of Sccratea. The ciicumatknces of his work did not regularly or naturally lead.him to apeak of the son of Sophroii' iucus, but he has volunteered several short alluuons aud passages, which show that his ideas have been impregnated by the Qermaa spirit, and that we are hereafter to be presented with a Socrates, not moulded by tke hands of Plato or even of Xenophon, bat distorted and ■diwuiaed by the arts of critics and rhetorician!*.
The moBt Btriking exemplification, however, of the evil eETecta of German inSuence on Mr. Urote's mind is supplied by his dissertation «n the Spartan Commonwealth. Though he arrives Rometimes at results different from those obtained by Muller, it is obvious that hia ima^nation has been overmastered hyjhe apologetical history of the Dorians, and that his judgment has been betrayed Into decisions equally at Tarianoe with logic and with history. Still it ia in this part of his work that Mr. Grote displays the greatest talent. He . sometimes exhibits an inclination to escape altogether from his tram- mels, and think boldly for himself ; but the shadow of his evil genius has t«a long been over him, so that after a brief effort or two he relapses into mental servitude, and sings the old song as he has been taught to sing it.
Ont own temper of mind by no means disposes ns to defer slavishly lo the aitthority of any writers, ancient or modem. We put no blind faith inPlutarcn or Isocrates, or Plato or Aristotle, still less in snch .aathors as Myron of Piyene. But, taking all things into consideration, it
does appear to ns somewhat probable that men who lived contemporary with the Spartans — who had access to many hundreds of works now lost — who nad the advantage of conversing familiarly with the most
instructed among the disciples of L}'curgus2 and who were besides inclined to inquiry and investigation, occupied at least a better posi- tion for acquiring correct knowledge than any professor whatever of Bonn or Oottingen. Yet Mr. Grote thinks it more safe to accept the authority of Mr. MilUer than that of the most accurate among the Ancients. We allude more especially to the subject of the Ciypieia. Greek writers of grave character afBrm that the^ Spartan Ephori .annnally proclaimed war ag^nst the Helots, that by a sort of Jesuitical sleight of conscience they might appear to themselves justified in .attacking aud cutting them off secretly. Bat Mr. Orote, faithfully . repeating the words of Ottfried Muller, asks if it be at all likely that the Spartan serfs, if made war upon by proclamation, would submit quietly to be so dealt with by their masters.
They who desire to measure the extent of their submissivenesa, may lead and consider the account siven by Thucydides of the most wanton And fearful massacre recorded in Grecian history, which was per- petrated against these men. Sparta, which lived in perpetual fear of them, on one occasion, when her apprehensions were more pungent than nsnal, conceived a stratagem for getting the most daring of the Helots
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into her hands. Promising freedom to the boldest and bniTest, who would consent to take up arms in bet cause, she thus inveigled two thousBDd to corns forward as volnnteers. These gallant Peloponaesiane having been received into the city with demonstrations of joy, were loaaumitted, and applauded and crowned, and led triamphantly round the temples, in order to place them as it were under the peculiar protection of the gods of Sparta. But after the conclnrion of this imposing ceremony they immediately disappeared, nor was the manner of their death or one of their bodies ever discovered. There were deep pits at the foot of Tavgetaa, into which the Spartans cast their surplus children, and these probably would have been the place to search for the bodies of the two thousand Helots. This was an act somewhat more signiScant than the proclamation of war made by the Ephori ; not publicly, however, but in the senate, with closed doors, and out of hearing of every Helot, in Laconia. They proclaimed as ft Jesuit swears, aotto voce, not being devrons that the world should know anything of the matter.
Nevertheless, Mr. Qrote's humanity will not permit him to give credence to the story of the Crypteia, which ia this : — A number of the most enterprising and cruel young men among the Spartans having been fumisned with daggers, were sent forth from the city to lurk about the Helotan villages, and subsist how they conld. They were commanded to conceal themselves, to lie in ambuscade, and to keep watch over the serfs ; bat, as both Mr. Miiller and Mr. Grote belieTe, for no special purpose, and with no general result. They may, no doubt, have occasionally picked o£ a few Helots ; bHt assassination, it is contended, was not the object with which tbey were sent out. Much mystery, we confess, hangs over this same Crypteia. Plato, in his Treatise of Laws, touches upon it sli^tly ; but as one of the interlocutors of the dialogue is a Spartan, and another a Cretan, it might have been thought contraiy to etiquette to develope all the enormity of the system.
In most of Mr. Orote's remarks on the power of training and diE- cipline we entirely concur. An ancient philosopher observed : " Give me the education of youth, Bud any one who pleases may make laws for the state." This was strikingly exemplified at Sparta. Laws, properly speaking, there were few, and most of those bad. The constitution was highly imperfect, and the administration frequently corrupt. Yet, because the system of education was admirably adapted to attain the end aimed at by the Legislator, namely, conqaest and dominion, the Lacedemonian commonwealth subsisted much longer and exercised more influence in Greece than states far more wisely constituted, and administered with a greater regard to jastice and sound policy.
In a History of Greece, however, it is not long and laborious inquiries nto subjects like these that are wanted ; but a display of the several constitutions of the country in action, exercising their proper functions, and producing their natural results. By this means alone, in our opinion, can we ever be brought to comprehend the very peculiar
KO. XVUE.— VOL. III. M ii
530 UB9. EDEN S
charaolem of the Hellenic States, which resembted nothing in inodeni times, bat grew out of a certain stage of civilization, and neceMarily peiisbed with it. ]u the same way^and in no other, can be popularly explained the i^ssoD whj philoaophj, literature, and the arts,- btossomed and boie frait ta Inxuriantly in Greece. In the mental constittition of the people there were, no donbt, many qaalities favourable to the atale of things to which we allnde. A similar combination of external cir- cnmstuicw, if it coald a^n exist, would not acffice, therefore, to reproduce anali^ooB effects, the intellactnal idiosyncTaaies of the people reqairiog always to be taken into account.
Un topics like these Mr. Qrote sometimes writea very sensibly; bnt even when he is most successful in his drawing, the character of his style and diction suffices almost completely to neutralise the influ- ence of his learning and logic. As a wnter he has almost everything to learn ; disposition, arrangement, proportion, rhetoiical art, and dic^on. In none of these baa he any fixed principle. His language seema to reSect the forme of the author with whom be has been last conversisg. There is conaeQuently nothing very characteristic in his manner, and he has little of tnat mmda ms ani0ii,whiGh,in what composition soever it is foond, carries along the reader, irresistibly imbuing him with troth or error according to the object and intention of the teacher. The cor* rectness of what we here state will, we feel assured, be proved ulti- mately by the decision of the public, which will find Mr. Grate's work cold and uninteresting after the hrat gloss of novelty shall have been worn away. The same thing has already taken place with some other histories that we could mention, though we need not go out of our way to speak evil of the dead.
MRS. EDEN'S SIXPENCE.
A BHOBT STOKY POR HAMABITAKS.
It was a little child that had come to the door to beg. Bnt the knock — timid and hesitating as it was — disturbed the babj, that after much rocking and soothing, Mrs. Eden had just succeeded in getting into its first sleep. And very displeased with the knock waa Mrs, Eden in consequence, and her mind was fully made up, — not only to dismiBS the beggnr, — if beggar it were,^ — without alms, but to speak a sharp word or two, into the bargain. But this last resolution waa dismissed before she reached the door, — for she encountered a cutting gust of wind in the passage, which made her lemcmber how severe the weather was out in the bleak Btreets,
MRS. edbh's sixfekce. 631
and opportunely reminded her that Christian charity would hot tolerate shflrp words under the circumstances.
Severe enough, God knows, the weather had heen for eome days. People who had made their calculatioifb, decided that for seven winters, the thermometer had not fallen so manj degrees below the freezing point. Only that morning, within half a. mile of Mrs. Sden's residence, a girl had been found stone dead — frozen, poor thing, on the doorstep of a rich man's house. But the rich man knew not, of course, that she was there, — for it is not in the human heart to suffer a fellow-crenture to perish with cold and hunger on a doorstep. The rich man had dropped into a sound sleep— drawing op his limbs in his comfortable warm bed, — unconscious of the tragedy which, so near to him, was witnessed by the awfiil frost.
When Mrs. Eden had got the door open, — which was not easy of accomplishment — for the wind for some moments absolutely insisted on keeping it shut, she beheld a little, ragged starveling, of what sex she conld not determine — small enough to he only six years old — hut sufficiently aged in features t« be twelve or thirteen — poverty having done the work of time, and laboured at it with good-will. Now Mrs. Eden, as we have seen, had determined to bestow no alms. ' The crying baby still (td- monished her of the inteiTuption to its slumbers, and as it was a very wakeful baby indeed, she had to calculate npon a second course of rocking and soothing, before she could lay it on the pillow, and so find an opportunity to prepare her husband's supper. But woman's heart, and a mother's heart especially, is nature's master-piece of sympathy. And Mrs, Eden, who had little time for reading hooks, was a great scholar in human faces. God's Gospel, she often said in her own quaint fashion, was written in children's features, — a speech for which she was, oa one occasion, taken soundly to task, by a local preacher and distributor of tracts. I believe she was right notwithstanding. When she had looked only an instant upon the little ragged epicene, and heard the piteous wail which its thin blue lips uttered, and which resolved itself into some such words as these — " Have you anything to give a poor child to-night, that 's got no mother, please ?"— ^She felt a twinge at the heart, that by some process of association, had reference to a certain siitpence Vhich was deposited in a plll-boz that stood upon the roantcl-piece within, and which she had that morning picked up in an adjoining
us UHS. EDBK 8 BIirXKCE.
street. It seemed to Mrs. Eden that this waif could not. be applM to better use than the relief of the little mendicftat. AccordiDgly she bestowed the coin upon the child, whose facultj' of speech was «rerted b; tlio magoitude of the alms, and thie donot was uathaaked. She did not heed the circuoistaacc, fiir she belonged not to that class of benefactors who are uneasj if the palate of their benevolence go untickled hj praise.
The child, grasping the coin in its little hand, made quick way to a baker's shop, before whose window, amongst other hungry and frost-pinched children, she {for it was a girl that Mrs. Eden had relioTed,} had stood but a brief while before, eyeing the loaves that were as hopelesB of attainment .as the very food of angels. There was one loaf with its crusty side turned to catcb the eye of the passengers, upon which she resolved to expend the sixpence. Now it chanced tliat the baker was not to be numbered amongst the kindest member of the human family. There was an acidity in his countenance which repelled liking. Some men we favout at a glance. This baker was of a different class. Ho was four with an emphasis, especially to children, and more par- ticularly to poor children. To do him justice ho was not servile to the rich. He was vinegar still, — a little diluted, perhaps, — bat never oil or butter, or any unctuous substance, though his wealdkiesC customer were counting gold of standard weight upon
The girl fearlessly entered the shop, and pointed to the lo^ which ^e desired to possess. The baker frowned,— to his customary vinegar, he added a copious dash of unripe lemon-juice. The child threw down the sixpence.
" That loaf — that'uo there — he in the comer," stud the child, eagerly. But tlio baker, who had taken up the coiu, did not hasten to execute the order. He narrowly iaspected the money, and dissatisfied with the scrutiny, notched it with a file. And then the full villany of its being was revealed. The Samaritan gift — Good Spirits had looked down upon it and blessed it — was a sham. Adjoining the noighbouihood in which the baker re- sided, a gang of coiuers had recently established themselves, and base money was frequently tendered at the shops of the various tradesmen. Twice that day bad sixpences tad been presented to the baker in exchange for bread. The call upon his time which the prosecution of the offenders would, have demanded, had alone deterred from sv.c'i n step, but ho Imd inwardly resolved, that <tn
UR3. eden'b SIlPEyCE. IS33
the next occasion the porty should bo made an example of. With- out more ado therefore, he walked to hia door, aod promised a Senny roll to a ragged urehln for fetohing a policeman. The lad arted off, shrieking "police" sa he went, and followed by a dozen boys and girls, ragged us himself, and TocifcratJng as loudly.
An officer was soon found. He listened to the baker — examined the coin, and professed to recognise the child as an old hand at " that sort of thing, "
" You 'U Kflve to attend to-morrow, Mr. Bulrush," he siud to the baker. " Ten wiU be the hour. It 's uncertiun when 'twill come off, — but we '11 have consideration for you, on account of your business. Bread is dear enough — an't it ?"
" It will be Tory inconvenient for me to appear myself," re- marked the baker. " I suppose if I send my wife it will do- won 'tit?"
The policeman thought otherwise, and grasped tbe little hand compressed within hia own, tighter as he sud so. The child uttered a piteous cry of pain, and ba^ the man release her, that she might take the loaf to her father; At this juncture the baker's wife entered the shop.
" You are hurting your tittle girl," she said to the policeman.
" My little girl," said the piqued officer, glancing dbdiunlHilly at tho child. " Thank you, Mrs. Bulrush, — my little ffA makes ol better appearance than a beggar's child— my little girl has warm, respectable clothing, and never utters bad money."
" Oh, it 's another case of bad money — is it ? Why, that makes the third to-day."
" Bad money," cried the child, beginning to cry as she now {rst understood her position. " A woman gave it to me — Father «ent me out to beg, and told nie to buy bread with what I got; I won't go to gaol. Please let me go home.''
" tt may be true what she says," remarked the baker's spouse.
" 'Tis so young a child, I don't see what's the use of sending her to prison ; except for charity's sake, for I suppose they'll feed her there. I would let her go — /would, Bulrush."
" Why, you see, ma'am, it wouldn't do to let her go,'' replied ihe policeman ; " if it's only on the principle of getting her fed. Why, as a Christian and a mother, Mrs. Bulrush, you must say
friaon -feeding is better than chance bread. Bless you, she won't now herself rrhen sho comes out ; she 'U be so plump and fat"
tiU KflS. EDEN S 8IXF£KCE.
A CQBtomer h&d entered the shop during the officer's speech.
" Why, Mr. Eden," eaid the haker'e lady, " you are o stranger, How'h your reBpectahle wife and the nice baby ? Here 'a b, case of a bad aiipence — a shame, an't it, to see so yoimg a hand at it — the third case to-day — tradesmen need be careful,"
"Bad money — bo young, too — not the first attempt, Isuppose," ■add Mr. Eden.
" Oh, no— an old hand at it, sir. I 've had my eye upon her this loug time," said the policeman.
" I want a half-quartern loaf, Ur, Bulrush — a crusty one, if yon have it — that in the nindow will just suit me ;" and Mr. Eden minted to the loaf which the child had intended to purchase. When she saw the baker delirer it to his customer, she renewed her crying and wept more bitterly than eyer,
" Well, good night, Bulrush — goodnight, Mrs. B.," said Mr. Eden, turning to depart. " She is young — too young for oakum lacking — cold night, isn't it ?" and he left the shop. The police- man also quitted it, dragging the child along — while Mr. Buhiish put on his great-coat — wiped the flour from his face, and prepared to follow him to make tffi charge at the station-house. *
The baby was asleep before the knocker responded to the application of Mr. Eden's finger. The supper was in course of preparation >~but not ready, and Mr. Eden was a h^ty man. But for the little mendicant, hahy would have been dispos^ of half aD hour before, and the sausage would he " keeping warm" upon the bob. Rat-tat-tat.
As it happened, Mr. Eden was in the best possible humour. His employers — he was junior clerk to a merchant firm in the City — had that day taken him confideolially aside, and annonnced their determination to elevate him to a higher post and increaee his salary 70J. annually. He could, therefore, bear to wiut com- placently for bis supper He would ruti to the nearest tavern for half a pint of the best Scotch whisky, in which to drink his employer's health. Mrs. Eden had no objection to whisky — and. the sansages wokdd be ready by the time he was returned, and had got his house cost and slippers on. Meanwhile, the little hungry girl was dismaUy sobbing in her cell at the station-house. " By the bye, my dear," said Mr. Eden to his wife after supper, " when I stepped into Bulrush's for that loaf, he was just giving a DUBcrable child into custody for attempting to pass a bad six- pence— plenty of base money about — the third bad sixpence oSvni
Hits. EDEN S SISPEKCe. £35
at Bulrush's to-day. You must be careful of the ailver you get in change at the shop."
" Tbrce had sixpences in one day ! What sort of a child wab it!"
" Oh, a little old-fashioned beggarly looking little thing with a careworn old-looting face. The policeman knew her well — an old hand at that sort of thing."
" It was a girl then — what sort of bonnet had she on ?"
" Bonnet — I don't know whe^er it was bonnet or hat — it was squabbed out of all shape. To me she looked more like a boy than a girl."
" How old do you think this girl was V sai* Mrs. E., foUoning up the thread of her own reflections.
" Any age between six and fourteen. You seem concerned for her, my dear."
"Concerned — how absurd! Your pipe is on the sideboard. I 'm going out a shopping — 1 've got a few little things to get in for to-morrow. If baby wakes"
" You an't going out to-night, my Ioto ?" said Mr. Eden.
" Yes. I mu3t go — we shan't have a eandle in the house when that is burnt out."
" You may bring me in some tobacco. Stay — you may buy me two cigars, Mrs. E.^-old Cubas — they are three halfpence each, my bve."
" Two old Cubas — I won't forget."
She had hastily equipped herself in shawl and bonnet while she was talking, and only lingered to bid her husband listen for baby's- wakbg, — ere she set her nimble feet upon tho pavement, and turned her face towards the baker's dwelling. Within doors she had only half-guessed how cold it was 'without. The freezing wind came hard against her like a substance. The few p^wins abroad were wrapped to the teeth, — except the very poor, — and. Ood help them in all weathers ! From the baker and his wife, she could extract nothing concerning the child, save that she had tendered a bad sixpence, for which Bulrush was determined to punish her. Their description of her person strengthened Mrs. Eden's conjectures, and she repmred to the station-house to see- the child.
She had never been in a atation-houae before — nor had she «ver set foot within a Police Court or Criminal Court. With.
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OCG UBS. tDEH'S SIXPESCG.
liumanitj,. as it appears under t1io awful .guises there set forthi alie woB unac^uaiflted. Tlio biittcred, brutal visages, she saw there, confronted with the myrmidons of law, — eapecially tha befaced womanhood of those of her own ecx who were under arrest, filled her witii dismay and terror. She could tell her erraiid to the inspector only with great difficulty. The nian was geutle for his office, and willingly acceded to her request to have the child brought from the cells. Mrs, Eden recognised her im- mediately, and the little girl knew her also.
" Tou gave me the aiipence — indeed — I didn't know it was a bad 'un. Let me go home to my father," sohbed the child,
" I did indeed give her a siipence only a few mijiutes before she was given into custody," said Mrs. Eden.
" If the tradesman choosea not to appear against her, she will bo discharged to-morrow by the magistrate," remarked the in- spector. " You had better talk to £ulrush, ma'am."
" Can the child go with me to the shop ?" -inquired Mrs. Eden.
" No— but if, after examining the sixpence, you are satisfied that it is the coin you gave her, and the baker consents to with- draw the charge, I will act upon my own responsibility, and let her go," replied the man.
Mi's. Eden had already seen the coin, but was unable to swear that it was the gift abe hod bestowed upon the little beggar. She was a lover of truth. But the appealing face of the meagre child sorely tempted her. And, moreover, she felt almost confident that it was the sixpence she had picked up and deposited in the pill- box. Should she stretch a point, and say she was quite confident about the identity of the coin ? Certain moral scruples beset her mind, but another glance at the child's face quieted them. God's gospel of truth was written in those lineaments — as far as the mxpence was concerned, — as certainly as the bright sun was itself a true thing, created by the Author of Truth. She said she was confident, and would swear if they required her. So the inapectdc Bent a policeman to fetch the baker.
The end of it was— that the aour baker, who, as Twelfth Night was drawing nigh, was deep in cakes, and had his time fully occu- pied, was glad of an excuse for escaping attendance on the police- court on the morrow, and freely consented to take Mrs. Eden's explanation of the matter. The child wos therefore set at liberty, and went to her wretched homc^carrying a quartern loaf, and
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TUG niQHTa OF TIIB TOCKET. 637
tome rcady-cootod meat, and n few little " proceiy things" — Mrs. Eden's gifts — for, as she said to the baker's wife, " I can't help being kind to very little children, when they come to heg — 'tis a teeaknets, hut I can't help it."
Mrs. Eden slept soundly that night, and her repose — she told me this herself — hud no reference whatever to Eden's elevation, and the annual addition of seventy pounds to his solary.
AuNOEUiT Weaver.
THE EIGHTS OF THE POCKET.
" HABitY," said Frank Slangton, — ward of the Reverend Dr. Plunnvorth, and in training under the auspices of that divine for Cambtidge ; — the young gentleman addressed the Doctor's BOn : " I think I owe you some tin."
" What did yoB say, Mr. Slangton?" asked Dr. Plumwortb, pausing in the composition of a sermon, at his desk.
" I was telling Henry that I believed I owed him some money,
" Money, I think, was not the word you used," said the clergyman.
" No, sir ; my expression, I admit, was tin." •
"Let me beg, then," returned the Doctor, "that you will not repeat it, Mr. Slangton. As a flash term, or vulgarism, it is highly objectionable ; besides which, it implies a disrespectful allusion to property. Money, properly regarded, is a very serious thing, and ought never to be spoken of in terms of ■ levity. You areJ« recollect that it is a most important bless- ing, and although, like any other of a temporal nature, it should not engross our estimation, it is neither to he thought of DOr mentioned, slightingly. To talk with lightness and flippancy on pecuniary subjects argues a ludicrous frame of mind ; a disposi- tion to tri£o with grave topics ; almost, I may say, a constitutional irreverence. For the future, I entreat yon to bear this in mind." '
" Yes, sir," responded the pupil ; and screening his face with his Herodotus, he made a grimace behind it.
Now, really, though it may he a bold thing to say, there was «ome sense in this little homily of Dr. Plumworth's. There ia,
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608 TEE alQHTS OF THE POCKET.
undoubtedly, a certain veneration for mone; which is grovelling aod base in the extreme — a horrible idolatry. Granted. Let it be anathema. At the same time, we do contend that there is on amount of proper reapect to be entertained for it by every rea- sonable person ; and with this we must insist that the desig' nation of it by such mean and unceremonious terms as " tin," and " dust," or even "cash," is incompatible. Phraseology of this kind, like nicknames applied to individuals, betokens a famiharity which doth breed, if not express, contempt. But wealth, although a bad master, is an excellent servant, and there- fore not to be despised by anybody. And he who disesteems money, contemns all that money will procure ; that is to say, nearly ererything In the world but health and peace of mind ; though even these advantages are not to be had without some of it.
One would think, from the various synonyms uaed to signify money, whereby the direct mention of it is in a manner shirked, that it was something of which people are ashamed. Men shrink in conversation from naming it outright, and hint at it, covertly, as the "needful," the "stumpy," the "ready;" as if the thing alluded to were of an indelicate nature, They describe it by initials, as £ s. d. ; and perhaps, in time, they will come to express it by asterisks. Kay, they defame it by vile and dis- paraging phrases, such as "dross" and "filthy lucre." Poets and novelists, y particular, are always aspersing and decrying it, in a mauuer which is at least unfair ; for they speak ill of it, mostly, on very slight acquaintance. Th^y call it " sordid pelf,'" and say that " riches, the incentives to evil, are dug out of the ' earth. Well ; so are potatoes dug out of the earth, and they are just as mtich, and no more, the incentives to gluttony, at riches are to evil, to those wIki are over-fond, of them ; aai the only aordidness of pelf is derived fn»n the hand that clutches it. Far be it from us to defend the We of money, considered as a blind passion, which we frankly admit to be the root of all evil, but we must put in a gentle plea for a sensible, wdl-regu- lated regard for it. " Wine ie a good bmiliar creature if it be well used ; " an 'equal claim on our afiocticn have the means by which wine is procured.
We shall not dilate on the inconsistency of those authors who write for money whilst they write against it. We will only i them to write more justly and sensibly ; and wiA
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TIIS BIQHIS OF IHE rOCEEI. $39
tbem the better pay for bo doiag- Let them pocket it, and be thukk- fnL The labourer 'b hire is not to be grumbled at unless it is inodequ&to. As to the maa who would abuse his salary, he would also «[uarrel with his bread-and-butt^. If, making allowance for high animal spirita, we con excuse a little jocularity in speaking of money, we cannot put up with its deliberate slander. This ia an injustice too gross for our sensibilities. But we are dogmaUs- ing whilst we should reason ; let us then argue, — though not e^ctly as barristers — for money.
Be it, then, considered, that money represents what it can pur- chase. A penny is equivalent to a penny's worth. Thus we say that a roll is a penny, or a ham-eandwicb fouipeuce. So much money, therefore, is tantamount to so much bread, beef, and beer ; naj, to BO much water, wherever there exists a water-rate. Accord- ingly, he who despises money, despises the neceasaries of life. A given, or gotten, sum is requisite to the acquisidon even of a smock frock and a pair of onkle-jacka ; therefore, even they whose wants are limited to the commonest fore, and to the meaneet clothing, must admit a certain care for money. But most people's souls are superior to beef, and ascend, when they can, irom plain hutehor's meat to made dishes ; or to Welsh mutton, partridge, woodcock, and Tenison. They soar above punqt-water to the treble X and the entire, and tifience, through port and sherry, to the pinnacles of claret and champagne. EquaUy do they mount from the smook frock and the highlow to the suit of Moses or of StultE. In proportion to the rising scale of demre and sfipe^te must be the increaung estimation of money.
None, then, but those saints who repudiate the good tilings of tlua life have any business to disparage coin. And we must deny this right to such even of them whose self-denial admits of otiy gratification whatever, and who draw the line of abstinence any- where above berries and sackcloth. But your anchorite and your hermit are out of the question in this country. Their existence here would be impossible, morally and pfaysic^y. A saint of tlus class could literally find no bole to put bis head in. If he esta- blished his cave on waste land, he would infringe the right of common ; if elsewhere, ho would be liable to an action for tres- pass ; and in eithm' case, probably, would be apprehended as a Togne and vagabond, and sent to gaol like a tromper or a gipsy- Brides, he would be starved. Crab-apples are the only hedge- fruits that will keep all the year round ; and he would have no
tM THE RIQUT9 OF THE POCKET.
right to gather walnuts. Uoreorer, society would not tolerate anjhody who should wear hair-shirts and never change them ; the odour of this species of sanctitjr would be too much for it ; and recourse to hatha and washhouses for the ascetic classes would be compelled by Act of Parliament. And tben a ragged and nn- cleanjy saint would not now bo li&tened to ; be would be forced to prcacb in a decent surplice, or at oil erenta in a respectable suit of black ; the which canonicals cannot be bad for nothing. No ; we address. not saints, but ordinary honest men, wbo own to a certain liking for creature comforts, and are also desirous to pay for tbem. Because it is certainly possible to eat ond drink of the beat, and to be clad with the finest, at the expense of tradesmen. But to indulge in a fonduess for good liviDg, and a taste for dress, and Bt tbe same time not to have, and to profess not to want, money, is virtually to proclaim one's self a rogue. It is to acknow< ledge an nncoucem about paying one's houaebold-bills, and an unacrupulousness as to doing one's t^lor.
Does any gentleman think a carriage worth poaacssing ? Nay, is .it an occasional cooTenience to bim to take a cab, or an omnibua ? Does be wish for a good horac ; is he fond of hunting and field-aports ? Would be he content to live in a tub, like Diogenes ; or would he prefer a snug cottage, not to say a man- aion ? Requires be servants to wait upon bim, or would he really not object to clean hia own boots ! Unless be can dispenaa with theae superfluities, let bim not pretend to decry money. If he does, he is a humbug, to say the very least. Money, be must spend, either his own or other people's, and such a gentleman, we observe, generally chooses the latter alternative.
Js anybody of opinion that it is a fine thing to travel, to cnricb his mind by tbe knowledge of men, to elevate it by intercourse with Nature ? Then must be tbink the means of locomotion, to say Dotbing of defraying the charges of mine host, a somewhat 'fine thing too. Does be delight in study ? Will borrowed books suffice him— or will he confess that he is capable of stealing tbem ? — dao must be place a value on wealth as a help to literary treo- sure. Has .be pleasure in tbe prosecution of science or tbe fino arts, and sets he no store by the instruments to these ends ?
Would any man fain gratify bis social affections ? or would he rather live as a monk ? Say that he wishes for a wife and family : — would enjoy his borne and domestic hearth. Surely be cannot "orn that which affords a maintenance to hia helpmate and
THE RleHTS OF THE KICEET. Mf
oSspring. Nay, further ; suppose liim to be a general pbHon- thropist, with a thirst for the promotion of uuiverdkl faa^nesa. UnleBs his kindnesses to his fellow-creatures are limited (as in the instance imagined is not uncommonly the case) to good advice
and wishes, that thirst will most certainly be unslaked without some draught of Pactolua ; or, at least, a cheque on its hank.
Filthy meat, then ; filthy clothes, filthy fire ! Filthy heef, filthy venison, filthy wine ! Dirty carriages, dirty horses, dirty mansion, dirty menials ! Sordid travel, sordid Study, sordid science, sordid fine arts, sordid wifo and children j sordid love and domestic hlisa ; sordid benevolence and universal philanthropy ! Such must be the language of all those who, as " filthy lucre, ' " dirty dross," and '* sordid pelf," are accustomed to sUgmatise money.
The miser, doubtless, is an odious and contemptible wretch ; odious because selfish, and contemptible because foolish. Let him be dealt with according to poetry. At the same time let poetical justice bo done impartially. Let not those offenders escape cen- sure who regard not money, since they can live without it, — on their neighbours. The fashionable spendthrift is just as sordid as the usurer. The stage Irishman is as despicable as the stage Scotch- man ; and the latter, intellectually considered, has, as the more- prudent, rather the advantage of the two. Base as it may he tO' gloat over hoarded gold, there is something in the contemplation of the power which gold expresses that is even grand. There lie, in posse, the mighty armaments, the countless hosts, the vast re- sources of an empire ; there all the comforts and luxuries of life f there the happiness of millions. Thus may an emotion approach- ing the sublime be excited even in the soul of a miser ; and many of the tribes of Lazarus and Levi may have had loftier thoughts than we imagine. It is the bad use, or the disuse, of possessions that is ignoble. No disparagement to the coin. No dishonour to the pounds, shiHings, and pence. They are types and symbols of things useful and beautiful. To spuru the representatives of so much excellence is a downright outrage upon sentiment. It ia as bad as insulting a hero iu his statue, or trampling on the por- ti'ait of one's lady-love,
Fercital Leigh.
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MAN WAS NOT MADE TO MOURN.
Thbdb U a voice which haante me stiil,
Where'er on earth 1 be ; In lonely vale, on loft; hill,
And on the distant sea — I hear it in the flilent night,
And at the break of morn : And aye it orieth — dark or light —
Man was not made to monm !
In ev'ry Btream that seaward flows,
That voice Balntee mine ear ; In eve^ wind that round me blows,
Its thrilling notes I hear ; In ev'iy Bound of Nature's heart,
The cheerful or forlorn, This ever bears the better part —
Man was not made to mourn ! The snn that glads the summer noon,
The U^ht that bleeseth all, The mjnod stars, the qniet moon,
The showers from heaven thit fall, The flowers which^in our meadows grow.
Our moantain paths adorn — All, all, in their own tishion show
Man was not made to mourn ! All Nature ciles aloud — but mas
Regards not Nature's voice ; Perverteth her benignant plan,
Her workmanship destroys — From her fair book the brightest page
With impious hand has torn, Yet still she cries, from age tD age,
Man was not made to moui-n ! 0, gentlest mother ! may thy child
Ere long thy lesson read ; Embrace thy precepts, loving, mild,
Thy fraternizing creed :— Then shall the blessed end be known
For which he has been born ; And all shall feel, from zone to zone,
Man was not made to mourn ! EditAurgh. Wm. Ffhodssob.
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THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE.
When one kxAs at the EtmouDt of theorelic lav and morality extant in the vorM, it Beems a wonder that it should not he a deal better than it is.
The precepts and injunctions recommended and enforced are cnovgh to make one believe not only in the perfoctibility, hut the actual perfection of human nature. There aeema no need of any new doctrine when we are bo far from living up to what we have already. But there is the mischief ; we are become now deaf and iDSenaible to the good thtDgs rung in our ears ; they have become a sort of refrains to which it never strikes us to attach a practical meaning ; they have ceased to lay hold upon our eonaciencea. We do not disbelieee^iactlj, but we have got to — Neyer mind. It would be BOcia! excommunication to express a doubt of any of the points of accredited morality, hut the amount of fH^ctical belief we show in our life and actions ia wonderful for its infinitesimal BmalluesB, — it shows the immense surface oTcr which a grain of reality may be attenuated.
There is hardly a man to bo found who has fiutb enough to stake the most trifling practical result on the abstract principle he would argue the most loudly to support ; it must come recom- mended by some more tangible advantage than being merely a point of law or gospel, before he will give it the preference. The fact is, points of morality are no longer obligatory ; there is uni- versally/eft to be an appeal from them to the private judgment of common sense and immediate policy ; and yet there would be much virtuous clamour raised against any one who should venture to impugn any received maiim of morality in WOEDS.
In the pi'escnt day, all the practical faith going seems to have been invested in the business by which men gain their daily bread ; they believe, that, if well followed out, it will work their salvation in this world in the shape of money, influence, and what not. Oh, yes 1 if " Faitii be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," those who are able show this forth by the trust they have in the floating property they may possess in esse, though as yet it he not realised ; and for this hope they are con-
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t«nt to endure actual privation and inconvenience. This hope tbey truBt to make manifcBt, and thev have long patience for it ; but for any doctrine or principle, wtich of them dares to — live ? for that requires more courage than to die. Those men who hare a belief in some abstract principle, and shape their actions by it, BCem enthusiasts to practical people, who are made of the Bluff the world is made of, — who are adepts in the mechanical dexterity by whicb the routine of life is carried on, but who never trouble themselves ahoutthe principles on which, in the/rriinslonoe, those rules were founded.
It is a startling fact, that the men who have the most practical faith are uadiibs, and they are shut up in lunatic asylums to keep them from acting on their delusions. They would have been heroes, from their intense and steady reliance on their own inward eoniictions, had they not chanced on points which are capable of demonstration as practical fallacies, — things that are not; but the distance bctncen theoretic wisdom and practical madness is not great, there is scarce a madman shut up for his wild projects , and inconvenient attempts to realise them, whose theory has not one time or other been supported by some philosopher, — some theo- retic man who gained namo and fame by giving utterance to the speculation, but who proved hia sanity by not allowing it to io- flucncc his practice.
" The inspired and desperate alchemists" of old, engaged over the "Gkand PaojECTios " on which their life was staked, were not engaged in a crisis half so fearful as that in which a sincere and noble nature endeavours to reduce to practice an exalted speculative conception, staking not life and gold alone, but throwing reason itself into the crucible. All the wisdom, all the instruction, a!! the religious teaching, which has been given to the ■world, ond which the world has ceased to regard, has been conquered for men, made articulate, lendercd safe and practical guides for them, out of the dread and shadowy realms of madness nnd confusion.
A man who dares to hold by the invisible, is like the apostle waking on the water, — if the hand from above bo not stretched out to save him, he roust sink down into the whirlpool of madness that lies beneath. There is a most touching meaning in that Eastern superstition of madmen being made the special protection of Heaven.
But whilst men with oio accard secni to l;aT3 retired their
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THE rBESBNT AND THE FUIUBB. S46
Mth from the forma and maxima of belief which giiided their fathers, there is everywhere an extraordinary speculative ac- tivity ! they eeem all waiting to hear some new thing ; or else are' engaged in altering and remodelling ivhat they believed before ; but none are resting tranquilly in that inheritanco of belief to which they were bom ; — with all this, there is perhaps Ic'ss practical faith in the teaching and'ilootrinea extant, than there ever was since Christendom began. It is always thus on the eve of great evsats. At such periode the foundations of the world are out of course, and the fountains of the great deep broken up. All autJtority is superseded [universal authority, we mean). Every man who can get a hearing has the privilege of speaking ; and the world is well disposed to give ear, if eo he it may catch the accents of that "large utterance" which can give unity and intelligibleness to the etanunering and discordant tonea in which individuals etrive to embody the vast unknown thought of God which lies heavy on their souk. In this state of things, where there is no longer a Church, nor a Supreme Teacher, the " powEH op THE KEYS," as it is called, that mysterious authority derived from no human source, is removed, and every individual is invested with an importance he could not have iu old and more settled times. These ore days of general disorganisation, when no one mode of religion or bdief " holds solely sovereign sway and masterdom." Any man who will sincerely and simply utter his own eiperienee, his own earnest idea of what it is right or desirable to do, and to believe, becomes a hope, and an oracle, to his fellows ; and a man who can utter in sincerity what he finds in his own heart, is " a light shining in a dark place." In every man is lodged an oracle of the Deity, which has been opened to no other ; for though he may stand close beside us, touching us, yet is he separated from us by an impenetrable veil of flesh, as much as if he belonged to an unknown world : we know not for a certainty whether the visible objects on which we gaze at the same moment, present the same aspect to him,— the things that please us, are indifferent to him, — the same things do not affright him, — the words that move us to joy or sorrow, do not touch him j whilst, again, he is Moved by things which take no effect on us. He baa his own soul, and his own organisation, through which it is made manifest ; but, though he may stand beside us, though we may call him brother, and the same mother may have brought us forth, yet is he a mystery to us, — we can know nothing of what appears
NO. XTIII. TOt. in. N N
£46 THE PKES^NT ASD THE FUTDRE.
to hhu, except as he reveals it to ub ; and therefoi'e it is tliat in timea like these, the indiTidual becomea of importanee, and we are willing to listen to all, because we cannot know of a surety whether they maj not see points hidden from our eyes. — We know how badlj we ourGclves decide, we know our own weakness, but we inow only the apparent strength of anotbw,
A t/mth to take bold of men, must have an affinity to their mode of thought, — to their bias of feeling, — otherwise it is not a truth to tbem ; it is nothing. When a faet, however true, has ceased to he in sympathy with those who benr it, it dies out of their heart, unlesB it be connected with them by the links of their deaires or their interests. They cease tobelieyo it ; flieir heart is hard«ied against it, and it cannot influence them ; it must appear to them in a new shape. Tqex, if <me will arise and uttor the thought of his own heart, it is like a new revelation, and it works like leaven in the whide mass.
The innate, indeBtructible reverenoe we have for onr brethren at the bottom of our souls, makes ns believe oar own thoughts more readily, if uttered by another, than when presented in our own mind : we may think by the mere force of our own intellect, but vo only truly believe when we find another in the same mind as ourselves.
Men are ever yearning after reposeand nnity of belief ; they cannot bear to be out of sympathy with their fellows ; they would constram all to swim in their own element ; hence, tliey who are in advance of their age, who are the first to feel the insuffi- ciency of the existing order of things, excite anger, uneaaneas — " seem despisers of that which is good." They are railed against ; put down aa far as may be with a strong arm. They are thrown down to make a bridge and a high-way for those who come after to pass over. They ate the martyrs who Heeds must perish,
" Like wilher'd leaves to quicken a new birtfi ; " but the word they have spoken has struck an answering chord in tie hearts of a few ; the spectacle of seeing men so fully per- suaded of the reality of that which is iuvisible, has a metaphysical influence, which no truth, however logically detached from the great rock of that which is unknown, can ever haveVithout this quickening impulse, this sympathetic faith.
They who can so far believe the thing they profess, who have faith enough in it to "eudure as seeing that which is invisible," may lay hold of this assurance, that in proportion as that is a
THE PRESENT ASD THE FnTCREE. 647
trvth which has led them, that has its root io the everlasting life of mao, and does not deal with fleeting appearance, but goea down deep into the real wants and aspirations which lio dormant in men'a hearts, awakening them, and giring them utterance, their words will go forth to the whole earth ; there will be nei^er speech nor langnage where theirawords will not find an echo. It is a mission, for which it is a privilege to be allowed to suffer, that of rousing men to " press onwards towards the marls of their high oalling, — to forget those things which arc behind, and to reai^ for- ward to those which are before."
But in no one form or mode of belief can truth he long im- prisoned ; no scheme nor theory for human g^dance can last for erer. They who have been the first in the career of progress, become in time the last, — are over-passed by their followers ; the peculiar form in which they shaped their doctrines, — the burning words hy which once
" The world was wrouriit To eympnthy witli bopes and fears it heeded not," will in time become cold and obsolete, the meaning wIU fade out of them. Then is their mission ended ; well and bravely have they done ; " they rest irom their labours, and their works do follow them."
Men are always frightened and displeased at being turned ont of the spell which has given shape to their life, and in ^e defence of which they would have " dared to die." They endeavour to Ungerin it long a^er it has become too strait for them, endeavouring to compress the life withb them rather than go forth with their souls naked and unfenced into he " wildemesfl where no man dwellcth. " They require one to arise able to he their leader and guide, — to say, " Arise, let us depart hence."
In times of need, such a leader has always' been sent: the " transparent prison of the Fast " enlarges not its bonds with the growth and progress of men ; they re<juire one to set them free from it. There is an indestructible veracity in human nature, which prevents its continuing long in a Bystem of belief which has fallen into a ruin of words which convey no meaning. A state of general disbelief and deadness to the vital significance of pro- fessed principle cannot continue long ; for this is not the world of tho dead, but of the living.
Why should we of the present day fancy that there is no spiritual fixture for us ? Why suppose that we alone of sllj^ges from the beginning of time are to be stereotyped into the i=rm to rapve N N 2
Jt48 TIIi: ntESEXT AND TIIE FUTUBE.
the impress of that which ia past 9 The men of to-day are as truly livine bouIb as the men who eiisted two thousand jears ago ; and hare as much need to be guided, — chat which the; haTc ' does not guide them. When men hecome ahle to use their private jadgmeat about their religion and the belief by irhich they ought to Uve, it has ceased to &e a uligion ; it bos lost its hold, its grasp on the hearts and minds of men ;'— the need of a dominant power is making iteelf felt. That which ought to be a grand unity is breaking up into fragments, and every man has to build himself bis own shelter from the ruins as he can ; but, because we are deprived of the beautiful temple in which our fathers wor- shipped, are we to dvrell amid the wrecks for ever ? £ut certain periods, ever since the beginning of things, times not unlike those in which we now live, have occurred, — when nations have been sitting amid the ruins of their gods in desolate expectation of that which shah he, — and in the time of deepest need a messenger, a teacher, has always arisen amongst ^em. Teachers of the highest nature hare been of very rare advent in the cycle of eternity, who have had a grasp strong and firm on humanity, — their own nature deep and wide enough to comprehend and articulate the world-wide wants and aspirations of all men, to whom the people have willingly submitted themselves. Leaders ■ and teachers, so far exalted in their nature above their fellows as to seem like gods on earth, have not often appeared ; nevertheless, when the world required a mighty impulse to carry it forward, they have appeared, and gone before, making a path towards the future, into the Pnltiowft, in which the ages that followed have walked. It is written, " The people that sat in darkness have seen a great light, and to them that sat in the valley of the shadow of death, upon them bath the light shined." And why should not that light shine into o.iu' hearts also? Why should we, of all the ages which have preceded us, eipect to be left desolate? Why are. we to be condemned to juggle with our own souls, striving to persuade ourselves that we believe— wAat toe do not ? Instead of trembling and crouching to the past, let us have faith in the Future ; for it is to the fotdrb that our faces are set. Forwards mankind must of necessity go, so long as the generations of men continue on the earth. There is no return possible into the Past. The Arabs have a proverb which signifies that the most distant event in futurity lies nearer to ua than the transaction that hap- pened an hour ago. It is in the Future we must hope— the Past is barred against us.
A STAR IN THE DARK.
e to repent, and the energjr
" Tou may call it foolish and romantic, if jou like, but I repeat, that I could more easily forgive one great fault, committed under Btrong temptation, and. foreign to the natural disposition, than a series of petty meanneBsea springing from and belonging to the character."
Thus apoke Helen Traveratoher sister, Mrs. Cunningham, and the thread of their discourse is taken up where first it was over- heard. It was a strange spot for anything hke a '.' confidential " or " sentimental " conversation to have taken place ; but every one must bave observed, that sii1>jects of interest often arise in the most unexpected manner. The two ladies had miataken the hour at which a morning concert was to commence, had arrived somewhat too early, and had consequently taken their seats before any others were occupied. Perhaps, warming with the subject under discussion, they had not observed the few stragglers who from time to time dropped iu, and certainly had not heard the footfall of a gentleman who entered, and seated himself imme- diately bell ind them, just at the moment when some of the attend- ants were making a prodigious din in their re-arrangement of the benchea near the orchestra.
" 7 could not have married a man in whom I did not take pride," replied Mrs. Cunningham; "I am very sorry for people who have ever been led away to do anything wrong, but they must take the consequences of their own conduct ; certainly anything like disgrace, or tie world's censure, falling upon mj husband would crush mo to the earth."
" Not if his fault were the ono Tault of a life," resumed Helen j " not if you loved him very dearly. Nay, I think his very suffer- ing would draw you more together. I have a theory, that the Very happy do not love half so deeply as those who have known sorrow. '
" I call such ideas perfect nonsense."
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660 A STAR IN THE DARK.
" I know you do," replied tier slater with a f^nt smite, and playing BB Ehe epoke with the frioge of her shawl.
" An; ono would thiDk, to hear you talk, that jou had fallen in lovo with some scapegrace or another, and were seeking to eicuse your folly."
" Susan ! you know there is nothing of the kind. You know I have never felt anything more lasting than a passing fancy, which one shakes off, juBi as waking breaks up a dream."
" How should I fowtc ? "
" Then believe, — I would not deceive you. Though tliree-and- twcnty, indeed I dread old-maidism far less tlian an ill-assorted
Helen Travers turned her head as she spoke, and though she did not perceive the stranger, he caught the profile of her animated countenance. But the audience were by this time arriving, and the sisters drew nearer together to make room for new comers. There was on end to their conversation of course.
Notwithstanding a certain family likeness, a look that vas caught now and then, the sisters were very different. The elder, Mrs. Cunningham, was far the more beautiful, if exquisitely chiselled features and a brilliant complexion could make her so. But though quick and clever, even witty and accomplished, she was deficient in sentiment ond the powers of imagination ; was a lover of detail ; and therefore despised, because it was to her incomprehensible, the higher and generalising mind. A thoroughly worldly education had completed her character, and rendered her acold-heorted, selfish woman of the world ; without enough of heart to feel the necessity of affection, and yet possessing an insatiable Tanity that fed on universal admiration ! Her sister formed a perfect contrast. With features less regular, her countenance was as changeful as the sea ; for it min'ored eveir thought and feeling, as they welled up from her woman's heart. Early removed from the infiuence of worldly-minded parents, she had been reared by a widowed aunt, a high-mindi?d being, who had sought and found the sweetest solace for her own early bereavement, in the artless nature of her young relative. Although by no means a stranger to the Metropolis, or to society, the country had been Helen's home. Her young heart bad eiponded beneath the influ- ences of nature ; her taste had been refined, her fancy quickened hy it"; and though she had read much, she had had time and leburo to think more.
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A STAR ].V THE DARE. fifil
In short, she was a £ne natural character, as little warped aa poBsible, by the prejudices of theeelfiehand thecQurentiooalitJeaof society. Death had, a year before, deprived her of her more thaa mother, and tbe independence which this beloved relative had bequeathed to her, while it rendered her an object of envy to her uomamed sisters, seemed to her own heart no consolation for her irreparable loss.
But the stranger who had overheard those few aeutencea which, to a thoughtful mind, revealed a world of knowledge, what of himi? He had come to that morning concert simply to enjoy music in which he delighted ; yet so absorbed did he become in some all engrossing thoughts, that the sweet sounds which he bad sought to heU', fell upon his soul only, from time to time, as chimes that harmonised with his reflections, whatever tliey mighthe, and were only remembered oftenvards by the power of association which, linked some peculiar cadence with a. thought, a dream, a memory : or vrith a moment where his attention had been roused by some e^cpression of pleamre or admiration in the swceteet Toice he had ever heard — the vmee of Helen Travers. He was not what boatd- jng-school girk and youths in their teens call yonng, for he must have reached five w six and thirty ; and, according to such high authority, he had passed the age of romance aad the capability of a sudden love, and yet, in those two hours he drank as deeply of the draiight as ever did mortal man. A strange and awfiil Youth ha.d checked and driven back the tide of emotions which belonged to its epoch ; ouly that it might swell now with the con- centcated might of a loftier sentiment, a chastened tenderness, and restrained passion. He would — ere half that time had expired— have perilled life to have touched her ungloved hand, or to have caressed the light ringlet which floated A:om time to time beyond lier bonnot !
It seemed, too, that fortune was to favour him, for &iends came up, and addressed Mrs. Cunningham by name ; mutual in- troductions elicited that of Helen. He had but to follow them to their door ; and now he knew who she was, and where she lived. This he did with wonderful calmness. People always are calm on really great occasions ; except, indeed, people who are themeelTes too ^rnall ever to make or understand them.
Well — the pigmy of soul escape tbroogh the entangli)% meshes which Fate weaves for monkind, into the outer void (rf mere animal existence ; they are the strong of heart and quick of sense who are
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AS2 A BTAB IS THE DAKK.
retained to play great parts in the struggle of life and the war of the passions. And yet, and yet oh mystery of humanity ! who that has suffered deeply, has not felt that in the deepest deptlis of anguish there is a pulse which vibrates not with pain ! Feebly, and rather as the first faint promise of a future joy, than the flicker of an expiring power, but still to console, still to whisper, " Peace, peace ; better thus, than not to feel ! "
So felt William Johnson — for by that common name must tlic stranger be known — so felt he in the hour of endurance, when that strong man writhed in silent lonely agony on the floor of the gorgeous apartment of which be was master.
Life is either one long chapter of accidents, or there is no sneh thing as an accident in the world ! Three days afterwards the stranger of the concert-room was formally introduced to Helen Travers at the bouse of a mutual friend. Three months from that day let us listen to their words ; they hnd been betrothed for weeks. The scene was a drawing-room in Hn antique country house. Both were the guests of Mr, and Mrs, Cunningham.
" I have but one care, William, one sorrow in the world," ex- claimed Helen, pressing the hand which hod fondly clasped hers between both her own ; " oh, why this mystery, why this conceal- ment .' You are free to do as you will, and so am I ; though good, and generous, and true ; and rich," she added with a amile ; " as you are, my family, you well know, would receive you with
"The time is come ; be seated," he replied in a tremulous voice, and releasing his hand with a gesture that might have been, but was not, mistaken for coldness. And while Helen Hank on a neighbouring couch, he leaned his arm for support on the opposite side of the mantel-piece. His countenance was pale as ashes, but his voice grew more steady as he4>roceeded.
" The first time I saw you," he continued, " I heard you say you could more readily forgive the one great fault of a life, than habitual meanness of character. I have two sins to confess ere I would wed you — as I might do, and you never, never know them j you see if I am my own accuser, 1 also make the most of my virtues ; therefore do 1 take some credit for enforcing secresy till I had summoned strength for the confession. For if you reject me, and^sorrow in the act, I believe you would rather not take the cold world into your confidence. And yet, Helen, if there be solace in revealing what 1 tell you, be free as air to do so if you
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A SIAH IN THE DARK. 6S3
will. Life would be so worthless, the betmjol of my secret would be but as a feather, weighed against the sweet thtnight of nBSUag- ing your sorrow."
" Yoafrightenme," murmured Helen, struggling with emotion.
" In mercy," he exclaimed, " not tears, — yet. I will be brief. One of my uns has been wooing you, Tritb,ttie dark knowledge in my breast that a crime of my early life and its consequences might well he considered an insuperable obstacle to our union. Oh ! forgive me this — this at least.'' And he flung himself on his knees befwe her, and buried his face in her garments.
" What terror is to come ? Quick — quick ; in pity tdl me."
" No ; forgive me this last fault first."
" Yes, yes," she murmured, and her hand leaned heavily on his shoulder. The act unuervod him, and a shower of tetu^ rained from his eyes, " Tell me," again she whispered.
" I cannot yet. Bear with me."
" Then I will guesB."
"Ay, do."
With a shudder as she pnt each fearful question, she began — " Hare you shed human blood, protected by the laws of honour, and feel that now you are a murderer ? "
" I never raised my arm in anger against aught that has breath ; I never so much as kicked a snarling cur from my path."
"Have you been a falae friend, deceiving where you were trusted ? "
" I cannot reeal to mind a lie I ever told,"
Once more Helen's hand sought that of her lover ; but she withdrew it as a terrible thought rushed to her mind. She paused ere she could give it words. At last she said, " Have yon been guided by the code of man's moralities, and won a heart only to fling it from you ? or — or been guilty of the deeper, darker wrong
stiu ? "
" My conscience is singularly free from all such stains. They who do these things speak not of them as crimes." And he looked up and met the tearful gaze of Helen Travers, without his own lids drooping.
"Then I will wed you," she exclaimed, after a moment's pause, " and only as your wife will learn this dreadful secret."
" You will ? " and William Johnson started to his feet as one who had received an electric shock.
" I wiU."
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AU A. STAR IN THE DARK.
For a moment she 5lelded to lila embrace, but be relensed her qnickly. " You would bo wed me," he exclaimed, " but you shall not. The dear memory of your words is a happiness Fate cannot take from me ; it givee me strength to complete the tragedy. Listen. These liml« have borne the manacles the lav furnishes to the coniicted thief; this form has qiuuled in the felon's dock beneath the callous stare of the stranger multitude ; but eren then I did not lie. I owned that I had stolen the means to purchase ibod for a famishing mother. The name which I have dared to asit you to bear, is for ever enrolled in the chronicles of crime. The conviet crossed the seas, and was a slave for the seven brightest years of liis youth. Helen — Miss Travers, you do not scream, or faint, or wither me with a look. Only tears, quiet, common tears ! Are you woman or aagcl 1 "
" Be calm, and tell me alL"
" You will believe I meant to replace the note I — I — stole, though the judge would not credit my story. This is all I have to tell ; for why should I picture the haunting presence of i^ memory, andtbeworljilessnessof^at wealth which descended tome irom the relative who exposed mj youth to temptation, and left my mother to perish? "
■' The future ; the happy future. May it make you forgot the past ! — William ! "
" Helm ! "
At her feet once more ; but now with ehildJile sobs, and breathing passionate exclamations, and fervent blessings.
It was tiie next day ; and that burst of wild tumultuous joy had ^ven place to a sercner happiness on the part of William Johnson, while a softer and more thoughtful expression reigned on the face of Helen.
" I have a compact to propose," said she, laying her hand upon his arm, nndiooking up calmly, yet affectionately in his face; "let us for the future speak not of this dark thing, except indeed there be just necessity and occasion for renewing the subject. Let it he a sacred deport, of which each has the key, but do not suffer it to belong to our lives by frequent discourse or thought of it. Thus may time heap bright realities to hide and sti9e these smouldering ashes. You tell me that your common name has been to you a shelter from suspicion ; that your secret rests with one tried and trusted friend ; and that the world among its common blmiders deems your love ofretirement the spirit of pride and exclusireness.
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"THE eOSG OF THE SHIRT, ' 6fi5
/ mil but look at the reault of tlie leisure that retirement ^as afforded, the cultivated intellect, and the hahita of simple enjoy- ment. Yet whence came your enlarged sjnipatliies with humanity? These are not foBtered by hermit-like retirement.
" Can you ask ? Ton are silent. I need not tell you how much is known intuitively hy one who has erred ftnd Buffered."
"And e.ipiated ! "
Ah, deep the meaning of that word which burst spontaneously from the heart which felt aright ! Deeper and higher, more world-embracing such Wisdom than aught that was ever extracted by the casuistry of the schools. The Merciful God by His instru- ments, the mysteries of ine^ihaustible nature, heals the wounds and lesser ills of the body until it b«comes whde again. And muat the wounds of the Soul fester for ever ? What is Man that he dares pluck Hope from the breast of his fellow ? And is not the punishment he inflicts for crime but Satan's work on earth, escept so far as it prevents, amends — and through the suffering a,nd amendment expiates ? The poet paints what should be, rather than what is, when he declares "there is a Future for all who have the virtue to repent and the energy to atone." May he prove the Poet Prophet !
Of the myriad real tragedies which are hidden behind the veil of conventional life, not a few are there in which woman plays & ministering angel ; and builds, amid tlie wreck of happiness, a saving ark hy the spell of her trusting faith, and a Wisdom that is of the Heart! C. T.
" THE SONG OF THE SHIRT."
WjiiT ! naked Truth ) Ay, let Truth stand confess'd, Bright lovely Truth ftliy nakedness thy boait, " Beauty when unadom'd adom'd the most 1 " Who blesseth thee ia in himself most bless'd : View Falsehood in her garb of tinsel dress'd. Like some vain conjurer on the mimic stage Misleading man in eveiy clime and nee. Making poor Virtue virtaonsly dislress'd : Sin boasts a cloak to hide her form uncouth,
Flattery a veil, Deceit a mask can find, " Whv should not I," half jeitingly said Truth, " ifave for myself a somethinE of the kind 1" And then Tralh glorions in her beauty stood And said, " Behold ! I 've my immortal Hood." R,
.Coo'jic
THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS.
HE OPIMIods
LONDON ; IDD WKITTEN lO BIS BBUtlVES IND ICQUAINUNCB, r TABIOUa PIBTS OF THE WOULD.
LETTER XXIX.— To Lord Ndokbt.
Mt Lohd, — I hope you'll excuac this freedom in jne who am only a cabman. But tlie trutliis, as I've somewhere said before, I caa't belp looking on any of my fare but as in the light of aa acquaintance. And in this way I reckon, I know, a lot of peers, and lords, aod judges, and bishops. In fact, who is there so great that some time iti his life be doesn't ride in a cab — that is, when he rides by himself ? — for Ihave known parties who've been so ashamed of the thing, that they've made me set 'cm down half a street off. Very poor, twopenny-halfpenny pride this ! But if in this jolly England we were to build hospitals for all the bold Britons that were sick with it, — wouldn't there bo rare work for the bricklayers !
As I had the pleasure of taking up your lordship at Exeter Hall from the great meeting for doing away with public killing by the hangman, I can't help writing you these few lines on what has been said and hinted upon that matter. There *s no doubt that a good many folks stickle for hanging as they'd stickle for good, strong, thick, stupifying port, — something fine and fruity ; to show the hardness of their heads and the strength of their stomachs. And so they call o dislike to Jack Ketcb nothing less than " sickly Beutiraentolity," Once it was " morbid sympathy ;" but that 's gone out. Now, not to like the halter is to be sickly and sentimental ; whilst to enjoy the Old Bailey use of hemp is to show our manhood. The Britisli Lion, these folks think, would he no more than a milk-lapping puppy-dog, if now and then, there wasn't given to him a live murderer. Then he wags hia tail ; then he roars, and shows what is called the majesty of the law (tho' sometimes, I must say it, its majesty is of a very Bortiemy-fair sort, indeed) ; then he proves that law must be
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carnivoi'OUB, T think Ihey cull it, h> live at all. And we've only to think a while of the old times to remember the judges and grave folks who declared that if the majesty of the law l|that is, the British Lion from the Royal Arms) didn't feed upon men for doing fifty other things besides blood-shedding, — he'd mope, fall sick, take the mange, and die. Nevertheless, one hy one the British Lion lost bis meals of bmnan flesh — and though certain folks swore he must sink under it, be 's as strong as ever on a less bloody diot.
The fact is, everybody bad hia own hobby about hanging ; every- body thought his own particular bit of property the bit of all bits to be protected by Jack Ketch ; otherwise what sheep would he stole — what horses run away with ! Could women — the dear little doves ! — think themselves safe, if bigamy didn't lead to Tyburn ? Wouldn't every other man buy two wedding rings, just as men went sporting witli double-barrelled guns to hit two birds one after the other ? Well, they didn't hang any longerfor sheep and horaea, and still their owners sleep in their beds, while the bcaats are oot in the fields. Thej didn't hang for bigamy — and thongh for some ' time DO woman would accept a man afore all the parish registers bad been searched to know if he ivas really single or not, npw we find that they are cajoled to go to chureh, quite content to take the man' s word upon the matter. Yet there was a time when no woman thought herself aafe if she wasn't protected by a halter.
It 's the some thing, mind, with a good many people who 'd hang for murder. They think — I know it — that there 's a crowd of folka who 're only waiting for the putting down of the hangman, to run out like mad Malays, and cut and thrust at their neighbours. " I tell you what," said my friend Jack Blackgang to me the other day — " I tell you what ; if they wasn't to hang a man for murder, I shouldn't sleep peaceably in my bed." Now, at the very time Jack said this, I 'm sure he quite forgot that burglary was no longer capital ; and that therefore he 'd been quietly sleeping, safe in the thought that his door-post was guarded by the hangman.
'Twouldbe looked upon as a shocking matter 'now — in fact, New- gate stones would he torn up against it — to hang a little boy of fifteen for passing a forged twenty-shilling hank rag, — and yet Buch child murder bos been done ; otherwise would the gentlemen of the Bank parlour have thought their gold safe even in tfaeir very cellars ? The Lion Majesty of the Law was to be satisfied ; and therefore be made hia Newgate breakfaats off men and chil-
iISS THE HEDQEHOQ LETTEBS.*
dren. And then wasn't the Lion full fed, and isasn't his coat sleek vefi gloHsj with hie good living ? Foor beast ! he has since been deprived of bte breakfasts of babies, — and yet, my lord, wb^i I saw bim last be looked as fresb as a four-year old, and roared as loud as any average clap of thunder. But I repeat it ; almost every man wbo would hang for murder, thinks without that hanpng there 'd be somebody ready to uiurder him : and therefore he respects and prMses Jack Ketch as the scarecrow that keeps the asaas^ from his own particular throat. Ilis sheep are safe enough, although Jack Ketch is no longer their shepherd ; but he himself deprived of such a fiiiend to take a proper vengeance, would be the mark for every other kriife^the target for every bullet. " No," says Bill Diion, that drives 942 — " No," says he, " don't hang for nothing but taking life ; for life," says ho, " is a holy thing ! " " 'Xactly so," says I ; " and being so holy, are we taught to think it BO, when we see one man in cold blood— paid for tie work, too — strangle another ? Life, that Jack Ketch takes for so much money — for mind, man-killing is a matter of trade to him ; every- thing he cats is seasoned with the halter — can 't be preached up as a very holy thing — (no, not though there's a parson of the 'Sta- hlished Ctarch on the gallows to preach it). What one man does for a s(Jary, it may be thought by some can 't be so very horrible to do when the blood 's up to have revenge ! " And after this fashion, my lord, do they preach the holiness of Ufe; and folks are found to cry " Amen " to the preaching.
" But I Tl teD you what," said Bill Wigram to me ; BiU drives chariot 7'2 — " I'll tell you what. If you didn't hang for murder, you 'd have people take the law themselves. ' I hope I 'm a peace- able man," said Bill — and he is, I must own that — " but if any- body was to kill anybody as belonged to me, and the law wouldn't kill him, I would ! " " But William," says I, " the law wouldn't let you have that pleasure. The law, if it was worth anything, would itself lay fast hold of the murderer, and keep him from doing further mischief. And when you talk about following a man through the world " — for he did—" that wouldn't be called for at all, since he'd be found on Norfolk Island or some such pleasant resting-place. But the fact is, you 're one of the folk* that think murder not much unlike French brandy ; take away the halter from one, and all the duty from the other, and all the world would sud- denly be wanting their bellyful of both."
And when we think of the murders Jack Ketch has coraniittod.
rns BBOOEHOQ LETTERS. 569
— hanging innoceut folks ! And I should like to know if a man mayn't still be hung innocent of murder, aa men hare been killed ionoeeut of houHe-breaking and sheep-stealing. I read a pretty cose in the papers a day or two ago. Perhaps, mj lord, yoa sair it. It was about one Joseph Mason, " late of Clifton, Yorkshire, who was at the York Lent Assises, 1843, unjustly sentenced to twenty years' tranapertation." Well, the man was found out to be innocent ; and Mr. H. E. Yorke, M.P., doing his best for hJm — he wad brought back from chains and slavery to his poor wife and children. " lie arrived in London on the 29th of April," and would yon thinlc it ? The man went to the Home Office, where they gave him money — at least eonje forty sbiUings — to take him home. And the innocent man went down to York, and his friends made a little feast for him — though I haven't heard that the Mayor was at the party, or that the jury that tried him, or the judge that sentenced him, sent to wish lum joy of his happy return. He was robbed of only three years' time and labour — he was chained and made a slave of for three years, and the head (and heart) of the Home Office making capital reparation, ptud Joseph Mason's fare (first class, of course) down to York ! Well, all this is bad enough — but suppose Joseph Mason had been hanged ; and a twenty years' sentence of our day would certainly have been hanging a few years back ; the kind "unwearied exertions " of all the House of Commons could not have brought back to the world Joseph Mason, murdered by Jack Ketch ! The Home Office might have offered even more than fifty or sixty shilhngs, — and poor Joseph must have BtiU slept in his grave — his wife robbed of her husbaiid — ^his children of then; father. And yet, my lord, b it not hor- rible to think and to know that many a Joseph Mason has been tilled — innocendy killed — in cold blood by the hangman, for " the protection of property" and the cannibal " majesty of the law ?"
I know, mv lord, I am but a cabman, and not at all fit to dot the Vs or stroke the t's of the writers in 7%e Times; etiU I must have a little say upon this hanging matter. The Timet, for the most part, had a nuld, good-tempered piece of writing enough on the meeting at Exeter Hall ; nevertheless, here's a litde bit that I don't think quite fair.
" The other altei-uative is imprisonment. The sentence, we presume, must be for life. The confinement, tne also prestime, will be, in part at leasl, solitary. The substitute, then, for death is to be solitary con- finement, For a quick and painless execntion we are to have a tedious life-long tortnre. The effects of this kind of punishment are now well
AOO TUB HXDQEH06 u:tters.
known — idiocy, madness, incoisble weaknega of mind and bodj. To tave a man's lift you conttri him into a btoit. To give hie soul time for repentance, you debase it until it ceaiet to be a human goul, and be- comes a mere animating spirit of so mach worthless clay. And this is J'onr notable scheme of criminal refonnation, yonr notable snbstitute or capital punishment!, ye speech-making philanthropists, ye trans- cendental moralists ! You say that the image of man is sacred, that it ihall not be defaced on a icaffuld, and hung up on a gibbet. But is ■ne€ hii mind mwe sacred still, and shall that be destroyed /or the benefit of Attmanity? You call an execution judicial murder, but we call solitary confinement a life-long torture. You stigmatise the law of the land aa sanguinaiy and opposed to the genius of Chriatianity ; we say that your law is iBorse than sanfftanary, and oppoted to that spirit of mercy for which you so ostentatiously contend."
Now, my lord, if I've properly attended to jour speeches and writings, and the speeches and writings of others on this matter of nion-killing, I have never understood that it was proposed to convert the mnrderer "into a lieast," — to debase his ho«1 " until it ceases to be a human soul," — to destroy his " sacred " mind " for the benefit of humanity." I may he wrong ; but I have always thought that the murderer, whilst he was prevented from, doing farther mischief — whilst, indeed, he was kept apart like a human rattle-snake — should not be debased into a beast ; it was never thought of, if his life was saved from the hangman, that his spirit should be murdered by his gaoler. — Certainly, ho was to be made a alave for life j but the slavery was not to be made so dark, so lonely, that the wretch was not to catch glimpses of heaven through it. What say you, my lord ?
But the great point ia this ; the great bungling is to teach gentleness and mercy and kindness towards man and man by public killing ! To make the hangman the schoolmaster ! What should we say of a father who, to teach his children the sin of picking pockets, did nothing but what is called, I think, — for as I once heard one great author say of another, my " knowledge of j?asA is very superficial," — what is called "draw the salt-box?" — that is, pull a handkerchief out, without letting the lid be heard. 1 think this would he about as wise a plan to teach & respect for other people's pockets, as it is wise in the employers of Jack Ketch to teach a respect for other people's throats. I think bo. But then, as I often say, I'm only an ignorant cabman.
But to go back a little to their " sickly sentimentality." Depend upon it, somo folks, if they 'd have bad the words would have used 'em to any chicken heart who 'd turned pale when the
THE HESGEHOG LEITEKa. Ml
rock, cracked the bones of the criminal — or the thumb-aerew made the blood spirt from under the nails. He'd have been "aicLl/ Bentimental " then, as the enemies of hanging are now. The Morning Post leaves its flounces and its frills, and opena its book' muslin mouth against "sickly seatimeutahtj ; " and even the Gardener turns from his carnations and his roses, to squirt at the vrhite-faced weahacss. Ho says,
"We have not vet heard of any jihilouthropic persona having taken these marauders ^iceapt] under Uieir protection. That is a stage of civilisation at which we have not at present arrived : though, consider' ing how far tieify tentintentalily is going just now, there is no kuowmg 'what may happen. In the meanwhile, antil wasp'Catcbing becomes penal, either legally or socially, we would advise those who aie likely to have anything eatable next antumn, to look sharp now." — Gardtatr's Chronicle.
Mr. Gardener, without ever dreaming it, has ranged himself along with the rope party of all times. For they have always pmiished criminals as if they were mere waapa ; as if they were altogether different things from the working bees of the hive ; as if they were sent here, with their stinga ready made, to seise upon the honey, to kill the honey-makers, — and for such reason were to bo got rid of by steel or rope.
At this very moment, my lord, writing here at the Goat and Compasses — for I'm obliged, hke other writers I've heard of, to scribble in all sorts of pot-houses wherever my stand may he — at this moment, Jem Davis haa read an aceount of the Old Ba'.'-e^. Here it ia ; —
" The grand jnry, among many similar instances, have had before them the case of Thomas Miller ^No. 34, Middlesex) a 'itild of eight years of age, for stealing lead to tne value of , with a former con- viction, and the case of two boys, of the age of sixteen (No. 119, Middlesex), for stealing to the value of one shilling, with a former conviction against one of them for stealing to the value of sixpence. The irrationality of moving the complicated and costly machinery of law for th* leg^ pnniahment (and for such acts) of children, neglected and tmlaugkt, forcibly impressed itself on the minds of the grand jury."
Now Thomas UUler, a few years ago, would have been looked upon as a bora wasp ; and after a few years' stealing about the town would have been killed, not by Mr. Gardener's " pair of entomolo- gical forceps," but by Mr. Ketch's rope. And what "wasps" have not been killed ! Wasps of courts, and alleys ; waspa hatched to pilfer and sting ; wasps especially brought into the world to rob
so. XVIII, — ^VOL. ui. 0 0
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Ua THE HESSEHOO LBTIEBS.
and murder the honest, Wd-vorklug creatures of the hire I Bumaninsectii,«a different frotD decent people asV«sp from honey- bee 1 But now, my lord, we are beginning to find oat our miatake ; to diacover the " irrationalitj " of punishing the growth of our owa Delect. And therefore, I say, "sickly sentimentality" must protect these wasps ; seeing it is not their fault if they are not turned into working-bees.
Mr. Carljle, however, is of a different mind. I Ve been readbg bits of his Oliver CromweU in the Timet, and oh ! how ha does lay abont the men of your party, my lord, the abc^tionista !.
" But in OUrer'a time, as 1 say, there was stdtl beli^ in the jndnnenta of Qod i in Olivw's time, Ibere wa« yet no distmcted jargm ol ' BDoliih- ing coital {nurishments, <tf lean Jacques ptnlanQin^y, and nniT««Bl roeewater, in this wwld, S&i so full (tf an.
Mr. Carlyle is a ^eat writer for certain ; neTorthelesfi — bat then, I *m only a cabman — some of his passagee remind me of a basket of eels ; you can see there 's wriggling and life in what 's before yon ; but for all that, you are sometimeB plaguily puzzled to make out the proper heads and the proper Hula.
So, according to Mr. Carlyle, these judgments of God oug^t to continue to be octod by Jack Ketch. With Cwlyle to hang is —
" Only in late decadent geunations, &st hastening towards radical change, or Jbud perdition, can such indiscriminate mashlng-ap of good and evil into one Dniversa] patent-trGScle, and most unmedical electuary of RoDsseau soitimentalinn, uiiversal Pardon and Benevolence, witb dinner and drink, and one cheer more, take efFect in our earth. Elec- tnaiy very poisonous, as sweet as it is, and very nauseous ; of which Oliver, happier than tee, had not yet heard the slightest intimation, l^the author tnoioii this} even in dreams."
When I read thia, Sam Biggs called it " very startling ; " and so ibe sound of it — jnst the sound — is very starUing ; in the same way that any man would be very startling, if he walked about the world with a speaking trampet to his mouth, making a row with "how d'ye do?" "jt'safine day," "what's o'clock?". — things common-place enough when uttered like a Christian, but to some folks very startling, when turned inside out, and bellowed as though every syllable hud been fished up from the well of truth, and was as great a discovery as North and South America. And so, my lord, I remain.
Your obedient bumble Servant,
JvsaxBi Hedqehog.
Amkbiu : lis RcaunK and BeMuzcn : eomptiaiiig drnpoiiant Aettna
coMiected ^Mi the present soci*l, political, agriciiltitnl, onmnerd&l, and
financial Btata of the ooBBtrj, its lairs and cnetoma, tt^e^ier with a rerieir
of the policy oF the United States, that led to the itar of 1812, and peace
. of 1814. The » B^t «f Search "—The T«xaH and Oregon QueMione, &C.,
&c. By Francis Wtse, Esq. 3 vols. 8™. London : T, C. Ncwby.
If any truth be allowed to phjaiogDoinj as regarda man, aarelj' the
same shonld be aillawed to books ; and conaideriiig the title page of a
book as its face, we msj be allowed to predicate of its contents and
style therefront. We are not aboat to enter opon the defence of what
has been aaid to be a common mode of criticising books, but merely on a
little theorismg of oar own. A plathtnic countenance bespeaks a
plethoric habit of body, and a stuSed title-page indicates a tendency
to rednndancy in the book. And we thiiu this is verified in Mr.
Wyee's ; there is a great deal of Talaable matter in his book, but it vaay
be questioned if it would not have been more serviceable if it had been
more cconpressed i if it bad been leQs abounding in dissertation and
detoil, and more pregnant with obaervaticot and iadgment. We must
however take it as it is, and we are very glad to do so. It contains an
immense deal of infonnation collected during a long residence, and must
be received as one of the fairest, as it is one of the fullest, accounts of
the actual state of the great western nation.
' We regret to bot that it is not on the whole very favoniable to the Americana ; and althoogh there is nothing in it that will strengthen the aristocratic theory, yet there is much that wiH prove there may be a very close approach to pure democracy, without producing (hat perfection of character which has ever been the aim of demociatic philosophy. Ac- cording to Mr. Wyse'i testimony, there is an amotmt of open and fiagi- tioQS corruption in pnblic functionaries, which we had hitherto been led to suppose conld be the result only of the noxious influence of a decaying monarchy. And the cbargs thus made receives a kind of indirect con- Armalion, from the threats lately used in CongresB as to the eomiptioa of the President himself, — a charge which, if ever made here by any crack-brained opponent, would not find the slightest echo in the bitterest enemy of the minister. There appears also to be a tricking and chicaneiy, and looseness in the morality of all classes, painAil to contemplate, and which should be narrowly weighed and attentively con* sidered by those who maintain that public morality is the effect and not the origin of the law. Let as hope, however, that this ia not more the case than in other commeroal countries : and that if it is, that it resalla oo2
£6< KBW BOOXS.
mtlieT fiom a Btrngglmg uid ill-coDditioned jouth tK^m from anj ten- dency of free institDtioDS to cause it. The extraordinary stimnlus given to enterpriie and ^>eciilation by their particular territorial porition has donbtlesa mnch to do with it. We have an example amongst ourselves, in the Jews, what a peculiar character will be produced by circumstances driving the energies into one channel. We place implicit confidence in the generous tendencies of mankind, and trust that the enlightenment of genins, developing a true reli^on, will breed in this ^reat nation a sense of right and goodness, for their own sakes, that will ultimately make them foremost amount the regenerated races of mankind. They have no hereditary prejudices to contend with, they Eire not encumbered with the dead weight of ancient notions, preventing their pursuing the right way, when they find it.
Mr. Wyse has written his book principally as * gnide to the emigrant, and is exceedingly full in all information telatinx to the subject. His style is remarkably plain and distinct, and at me same tune is not destitnte of a certain charm, arising from earnestness of purpose, and good clear sense. He poseesses also descriptive powers that will afford entertainment to the mere literary reader. Notwithstanding tiie vast nnmfaer of works by residents and travellers in America, we do not know of one so comprehensive in its view, so abundant in its details, and on the whole so temperate and conclusive in its observations. It is a book that it will profit every emigrant and trader to America to be acquainted with : and mnat deeply interest every intelligent reader taking interest either in the great political questions connected with the Oregon or Texas territories, or in the condition of a race on whose development the solution of so many political problems depend.
Lives of the Kinos of Ekblind, from tbb Noeuin Conquest, with Anecdotes of Iheir Courts, now first published from official records and other authentic docomeots. By TnoNU Rycos:, Esq. Vol. I. Post 6vo. London : H. Colbunt.
It might very well bo concluded, on the first sight of this volume, that we already knew enough of the subject, and that the labours of ihe illustrious historians we possess, from Carte to Thierry, must have exhausted it. Of the public life and political effects it is probable that we have already a sufficiency of narratives, but of the private it is equally true we possess none. Whoever has read attentively the great historians must lie aware that they have left behind a vast mass of details unsuitable to their views, and which history, proper, could never introduce. Chartularies, chronicles, letters, and mdirect evidences of all kinds, they must and have searched, bnt only for the details or pur- poses of political events. It is therefore yeiy serviceable as well as interesting to have such works as the one, lately reviewed, by Mr. Wright, and the present as illustrations of chdracter and manners that could never otherwise reach the general reader.
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The public is more particularlj indebted for the piesent series to the SDCcess oF Mies Stricldand's "Lives of the Qaeeus of Gnglandj" & work written with great taste and research. It camiot, however, be termed a servile following out of that lady's idea, because it is extremely desirable that there shonld be Bubatantive and separate biographie* of the kings, as an aid and addition to auy History of En^and. All biography must be instructive if properly executed, and these will be particularly ao, as not only developing character, but aa opening new stores of information relative toancient manners and customs; affording thus not only a biography of the kings, but indirectly, if it may be bo termed, a biography of the nation,
Mr. Roscoe's long apprenticeship to literature, and his devotion to liler- atnre of a kindred nature, admirably fit him for the task. It would appear that atthongh not aprofessed antiquary, he hati possessed himself □f documents either not accessible to, or neglected by previoQS writers ; and it is certainly evident that of all the known sources he has amply availed himself. We could have wished that his style had been less ornate and fluent ; that it had a deeper shade, even of rust, and that it had not glittered with so modern a burnish. A staider and stifTer style would better have become this dim and remote period. A too great familiarity bf style produces a confusion of ideas; and although we have nottung quite so outrageous as we once met with in a translation of Plutarch's Lives, namely, that " Julius Csesar leaving the forum, took a hackney-coach and proceeded to Pompey'a house ; " yet there is so completely a modem air thrown into the narrative, that we feel inclined to say," that Conqueror was a very pretty fellow." Undoubt- edly matters and things were as fresh and new in the Conqaeror's days as now, but still it was not jn the same kind of fashion ; and we cannot conceive him in Wellington boots and strapped trousers, with a field- maishal's hat and epaulettes. Whatever may be thought on this point, the work is never dull, and to those not very deeply vensed in the subject is an indispensable adjunct to a History of England.
Emilia Wtndh*)*. By the Author of " Two Old Men's Talcs," " Mount Sorel," &e. 3 vols. Post 8vo. London ; H. Colburn. Tbe authoress of this romance (for that it is ,a lady's writing we are quite convinced, despite the thin pretences interspersed through its pages to the contrary), — this authoress, we say,has gained a considerable repu- tation by the publication of her first novel, " Two Old Men's Tales," a, tale of adultery, detailed so as to poartray all the melodramatic horrors possibly attendant on that crime. Having gained this reputation in the circulating library, and having also gwned a confirmation of it from other dispenaera of "immortality," we think ourselves boond to examine into me validity of these judgments. We cannot say we agree witli them, although it is not to be denied Ibat the inthoress has
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a kind of lalnt tiut nue* hsr ptidnctioiu mmewhat above th« general ran of norel writ«n. But that aha is wise, paBaianate, or natttr&l, we mnst denr- She hu a coramoB'^ace kind of good seow, ii extreraelj •BDtimentAl, aad oocasioealt^ veiy real. How fox these qaalifieatioDB are trota true genitu let any reader judge bf reading ane of her senti- nental Boeaea, and then perming any tml;' passionate one ; for instance, let him open anywhere m Shakespeare, and he will immediately detect tfieblae from the tnw: notonlyin form of langaage, imagination, orillnB- 'bvtioB — for of cODiae in thoae paiticnlars there maid not be a fair eottt- narison with any wiit«T — batin Uie pare development of haman emotion. Let him make the same comparison as regards tbe JTutnen of her tm«oning, or the strength of her observation, withlrvingor Hood, or tiie unknown author of " Tales of a Voyage," and he will immediately perceive how deficient in (ffigin^ity op aciit«ne«8 the authoress of ''Emilia Wyndham" is. Let the sameproeesa, as regards what is Somewhat cnriondy termed her " natural " power, be tested by Fieldins orMiss Austen, or even Mr8.0oTe, and it will be. immediately perceived that her power of desoibing the real is on a par with hei wisdom aod
" Emilia Wysdham " is a popular novel becanae it is an exciting novel : hut it is by no means, therefore, a work of genios, or to be ranked with works of geUDB, any more than the " Castle Spectre" ahonld be with " Hamlet," or the " Man of Feeling" with " Don Quixote." It is hnt a mere novel, and aa such rather injnrione than otberwiae : inasmuch as it &]se!y stimulates the emotions by combinations and aitnations which are improbable thoneh perhaps not actually impossible, anA which are introdneed and heightened for tiija purpose of working on ths leelinga. All workB_ that merely stimulate the appetite for sensation have Bneviltendeney,becaaBetheyexcitetbefeeliBgBuniieceesarily,andDatnr« always avenges this proceeding by a reaction. It is well known thai persons particularly sensitive to fictitious woea, are by no means so to Teal ones. The man who conld rioquently descant upon and jlelight to picture in all its horror the distresEee of Chatterton with the pen wet in his hand, refused the amplest assistance to a brother author similarly situated. And why so ) Because the picture raised by the one object did not affect him as the other did, and becanse sentimentality has nothigg to do vrith real feeling. It is a mere mirage arising from " the heat- oppressed brain," and totally different from the spontaneous o^pring of genuine philanthropy. To excite the emotions is a very common-
Slace art : bnt to correct the feelings by the Tevealment of tme wia- om is the office of genius. More teats have been shed at " Venice Preserved" and "Isabella" than perhaps at any of Shakspeare's or the great dramatists* plays ; but the latter do more than fulfil the missiim of Holcroft or Fitzbail : they inform, enlarge, and elevate the soul. We learn to contemplate humanity witii their eyea ; and onr vision ia . informed with an intensity of which we had no previona idea.
"EmiliaWyndham"haanoBachobject, and the authoress has no idea
HST BOOKS. ml
of SDj sacti unl. E9ie cloea ^ that clevemesg eaa. She is aware of her own tendency t« the Beatimental and the melodramatic, and coh- tinually restrains with a consoiauBnesa unpleasantly obyiotts, and with a ptosaicnesi diseorduii to her temperameiLt, the vehemence of h^ deUneatiooa. Sh« appears like a fonnalist of the eeverest kind Biiper- indnced on a charactei of great impulsiveness : a Qnakeress with a most volatile di^ioidtion. The conseqaenca is, we have scenes of a vehauent kind interlarded with gravest proprietiea : the utmost deference to establi^ed and conventional proprieties, with a continued ^niKgle to escape from them. This antagonism of the real and the ideal, this making characters to pattern, and this endeavour to inform them with a. will and idiosyncrooy ef their own, pTodnces certainly book- creatnres with names and actions, but not hnman beings, and must not be taken for delineation of human character. Common-place readers take a great deal on tmat ; thev have only to have here and there a bit of reality, and the^ t>k« all the rest for granted. They easily are led to imasine the possibility of the scene, and the writer has then nothing to do bat to "pile the agony,"- and the enction is nused : the tears &I1, and the writer's power being felt in one particular, is pronounced a, gemos. Of the utility of SBch a process we have already expressed our opinion. It ia tlw resnlt of a trick, and, like all snch resulls, in the long run hardens instead of softens, misl^tds instead of instructs. Tma tragic power lies much deeper than this, and never mores the emotions without expanding the understanding. Talent is abundant, genins ia rare ; to the latt^ we cannot devote toe much attention, of tba former w:e cannot be too careful. The one has civilised mankind ; it may be doubtful if the other works not for as much evil as good. M all events, it is the duty of e^eir one to take care that the authority of genius is not given Msely to products not entitled to it; and it is because this has been done, that we are more careful to record our opinion of " Emilia Wyndham."
UlSTORF o
M.P. In 5
mans. 1816.
Tas idea was a hajtp^ one of selecting public opinion to serre as the thermometer of civilisation, and this alone wonld entitle Mr. Mackinnon's work to an attentive perusal. But it is not the original idea alone that is ingenious : its development exhibits much ability, and the truths it teaches are conveyed in a terse and elegant style. Not that we can adopt all Mr. Maclunnon's views ; on several points he appears t^ us to decide upon insufiicient data, and to reach his con- elusioni per ialCura. He d^ls too harshly with all the inferior forms of civilisation, and exaggerates the benefit conferred on the world by the existing phasis of it. With him, however, we acknowledge that great progress has been made, and that although we have not at yet at
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068 KEW B0OK8.
oat conunsnd Etll the advantages wHicli he regards as the neoenary retmU of oni ^atem, it Is not to be denied that ve are at least in a bir ynj of attaining them. This work necessarily leads him to take a comptehenaive view of the fortunes of human society — to glance at Eg^t, and Greece, and Rome, and pnrsne the thread of events, aa knotted and tangled it finds its way through tb* maies of the middle ages, and conducts us up to (he loftv platfoim on which we at present ■bmd. In paiaaing this compound series of discnssion and nairative, the author displays much reading and ability, and putsforward many sound remarks ana enli^tened opinions. But, thoroughly to compre- hend modem civilisation, it is necessary to investigate tai more minutely the older cycles out of whioh it has proceeded. What we think and know, and possess now, wonld not be what it is, were it not for what was thought and known and possessed formerly. Fully to comprehend, therefore, the history of civilisation, it is necessary to lift the veil from antiquity, to Etady the early workings of the springs that move US still ; not merely in the roogh realisations presented by the forms of ancient society, bat in the recondite and profound speculationa of philosophers, the first ideal shadowings forth of what was afterwards converted into practice. Hereafter Mr. Mackinnon may bestow more attention on this part of his work. In the modem divisions there is very considerable development. The author undertakes to interpret the histories of England and France, and of the other great kingdoms on the Continent, and even extends his euunination to the antique despotisms of Aaia. . Over so vast a field he could only be expected to glance. To descend into taiauli(E, to study particulars, to enter into all the wild and almost infinitely varied opinions which have exercised a forming influence on socie^, would ha^ve heen a task too Herculean perhaps for any one. Mr. Mackinnon has done what he could, and tie raintt ia an interesting and useful work, interajfersed with quota- tions from the ablest autnors, and enlivened more especially by paa- HBges from the poets. The writer has displayed much judgment in thus having reconrse to the earliest and mo^t popular teachers of mankind. There is often, moreover, a philosophy in poetry which proae can seldom reach. The poet walks over the summits of things, and yet we may discern from hia gait that be has sometime or another inspected their foundations. We highly approve, therefore, of Mr. Mackinnon's plan of calling in their vaticinations to his aid. The moat elaborate por- tions of his work are those which treat of the histories and institutions of England and France, in which, though we might find matter Tor controversy, we likewise discover a great deal to approve. It is quite light to call old notions in question, and at every step we take in civilisation to cast our eyes, backwards, and see how the old landma As look fto'm our novel position, fhe result must always be beneficial upon the whole, -Here and there proofa are given of curious reading, as in the chapter on witchcraft, where the author undertakes to lay open some of the sad lapses of our forefathers. The remarks on the
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history of Fr&nce are particularly valvable, as they Beem to explain « series of political events, which have generally been misrepresented by historians. We behold sown broadcast over the face of the past, the seeds of eveata and disastei^ which have grown np and borne froit beneath our eyes, and Mr. Mackinnoii seems generally anxious to draw liberal inferences ham the facts under his view.
DiacovEBiES IK Australia : with an account of the Coast and TUveis explored and surveyed during the voj'age of H.M.S. " Beagle," in the years 1837-
33-39-40-41-42-43. By commaBd of the Lords Coromieaioners of the Admiral^. Also a narrative of Captun Owen Stanlei's visits to the Islands in the Anifura Sea. By T. Lost Stokes, Commander, R.N. _ London ; T. and W. Boone. 1846,
We generally entertain extremely false notions respecting the amount of knowledge possessed by the present age. Commerce aad -navigation are supposed to have rendered us familiar with the surface of our own planet, at least in all its .broad And chuacteristic features ; and yet there are whole continents, onr acquaintance with which extends little beyond the sea-coast. Au^k^alia, for example, previously to the last snrveying voyage of the " Beagle," was in nearly all parts a Urra iniMgjiita at the distance of a very few miles inland, and in many places the shore line was unknown. Considering that we have been settled on one point at least of the Continent for nearly sixty years, that out of the great original colony several smaller ones have sprung up, that communication is perpetually maintained between them and the mother country, that fact might at first appear incredible, liut "being a trading nation, we are chiefly guided in our undertakings by the principle oi utility, and would not be at the expense of long and laborions surveys until the safety of our shipping engaged in the Australian trade peremp- torilv required it. •
The necessity for the surveys to which we have alluded was folly recognised in 1837, when, under the command of Captain Wickham, the " Beagle " was sent out to complete the work commenced several years before. When a portion of the survey had been accomplished, Capliun Wickham returned, through bad health, to England, and was sncceeded by Captwn Lort Stokes^ who, having effected the purpose of the expedi- tion, returned home also, to present the public with the history ef it. This he has now very ably and satisfactorily done in the two volumes before ns, in which he throws much light on the geological structure of the Australian continent, on the character and manners of the aboriginal inhabitants by whom it is peopled, and on the progress and prospects of our own colonies, which may soon be expected to belt it entirely
Captain Stokes has selected the popular form of a discursive and mis- cellaneous narrative in which to embody his information, and will thns,
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In all likelihood, be extenBivelr read. By the same piocesg, howerar, he haB greatly increased the difficulty of the reviewer, who haa to enter into many calcnl&tioiu and compariBons, and to institute, ai it were,- original inqniiiea for himtelf, before lie liecomea maiter of the viewa which the woili is calcalated to give birth to. Sometimet onr attention is solicited by the condition of the natiTes, whom we deeply cpmmiaerate, brought suddenly into contact with a coloniang and conqaering race, too impetnous, practical, and calcnlatjcg, to_ reSect maturely on their moral reapoiiBibilities, or conscientiously to perform their duties towards the piimary poflMssora of the soiL {^ptain Stokes affpeaiH, however, to be eoDTineed that by a jadieione and hnmane system of policy the natives mi^t be civilised and presened ; and It would therefore afford US much satisfaction to see him promoted to same pasitian it! Northern Australia which woald enable him to redoce bis theory to practice. Others may take the commercial view of colonies ; but to as the para-- monnt dnty of all who make new settlements in lands already peopled Beems to be not merely to attempt, bnt to achieve, the civilisation of the first occupants. The task, no doubt, is a dilficalt one, bat that it may be accomplished we f«el permaded ; and that which with any degree of pains is practicaUe oi^t, most assuredly, to be done. In taking this view of the matter we are strAg^ supported by the ^ts and reasonings contwned in the last voyage of the "Beagle." AgMn and again were our countrymen brought face to hce with the sftvages,' under eircnmstances the most likely to give rise to hostilities, and y«t through the judgment, forbearance, and humanity disj^yed both by officers and crew, the impression left ultimately on the minds of the Anstralians mnat have been highly favourable to their white visitors. And this is the more praiseworthy in that some few ineidenta occnrred which mi^t, under leas skilful management, have led to the most deadly feuds. Escited and bewildered by the novel eircnmstances in which the arrival in their country of a strange race placed them, the natives yielded to the lirst impulse of man, and Sought to deliver them- selves from the intruders by the employment of whatever force was at theii command. This arged them, among other things, to the spearing of Captain Stokes himself. Bat when it certainly appeared from expe- rience that the new comers .were friends and not enemies, the natives, in nearly all inatsuces, relinquished their hostile designs, and gave evi- dent tokens of a wish to enter into friendly relations with them. Whether our future intercourse with the race shall correspond -or not to this angpicious beginning will depend very much on the character of the men who may be selected to watch over and develop the resources of onr multiplying and growing settlement. Hitherto tiiere has been, we believe, no instance of the appointment of a statesman to be governor of an infant colony, and yet no jiolitical operation is more delicate or difficult than that which ia mtrusted to the leader of such a colony. The spread of our external empire has rather been invnght about by a combination of circumstances and the daring enter-
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pRMof incKridiiab, tlian by any Bobtle o_
policy. A rough, rnde, good sense baa no doubt Iwen v carry the system to pertectiou we most have recoone to prmciples which TBDge higfaer than mere good sense, and bring into play that enlarged and gMietons statesmanship which is based excluiiTeiy on goodwill towards men. We refer to the Tolmnes of Captain Stokes lor innom^iable practical illustrations of the troths we have been advancing. They are especially rich in details, though the author has slightly and caatiotslj' shadowed forth many theories which he pro- bably did not think rt pradent to develop rnlly. On the subject of steam navigation from Smgapore to Sydney, by way of Port Esdnton and Torres Straits, he sopplies exceedingly usetnl information ; and when that scheme is thoronrfily carried out, his work will probably become the manual of those Mio andertake the voyage. It is furnished with several very correct charts, and iUustratei by graceful engravings and woodcDfs.
^BB Life op tbe Risbt HoKoimAra^ Gbokoe Cannino. By Robkbi Bell, Author ol " The History of Russia," " IJves of Eu^idi Poets," &c, . post 8td. London -. Chapman & Hall,
A LiFB of Canning was a desideratum la our lil^ntare. He is every way entitled to a distinct biography. He was the means, if not the cause, of many legislative enactments, and bore a prominent part in the business of the state during an eventful period. 3nt he had a still greater claim to a separate record and development of his character. He may be esteemed the first man of a class that undoubtedly is fast advancing to its proper importance in the social scale. He was the first pnrely lilerary. and mteilectual man that became, solely by the -esercise of these means, prime minister of the most practical and bnsiness-iike foveniraent in the world. It may be said that WoJsey and Wentworth wid others advanced to that position by their talents ; but they were the tools of the favourites of kings. Lord Chatham and Sheridim may also be cited as instances of the same kind. But the elder Pitt advanced entirely by his oratory and his political powers, and Sheridan received only an inferior appointment in the short ministry of his party ; Can- ning alone by his literary powers, for his oratoty consisted more of literary graces than any profound political feeling or knowledge. He was the first faint dawning of that kind of rule which will doubtless hereafter have as great effect in other states as it has in France. He was the representative, or rather the oatward symbol, of the literary and inteilMtual class ; and loomed forth a strange monstrosity to the old nobility and landed and even monied inUrests of the country. In his advancement might be traced, and it was felt with an instinctive horror by the old powers, the destrnction of the borough influence, the commencement of the real power of the many, and the ultimate obUtOI»-
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tion of that remntuit of mere enteni&l power which had gntdoslly dwindled from the possassioii of collared aetfs to aubservient voters.
In thia point of view the " Life of Canning " is of real importance, althoQgh Uie present biographer has taten it ap with na sneh idea ; on the contrary, the earlier pMt of his narrative is occupied with a very needless dissertation on the legitimacy of his birth and his hereditary connexion with tho aristocracy. With Mr. Bell's liberal views it is suipriiing he did not at once cMm for him the diploma of genius, Mid cast Slide all factitious endeavours to elevate his heio. His conduct to his mother was an honour to him, not because she was so high in the socid scale, but because she was so low. A country actress of the lajt centory,who had failed in London, and, after two or three equivocal marriages, became the wife of a bankrupt country tradesman, can, by no force of argument, be converted into a connexion of the aristocrjicy. The only weakness is the refusal to give Canning the full benefit of his own talents. And here, by the way, we must say, we can hardly think Kir. Bell has been rightlv informed when he assures ns that s grejt statesman could divulge his political plans to any mother, much more such a one. Gracchus mivht to Cornelia, but hardly Cannius to Mr«. Beddish ; of whom Mrs. Hannah More said, it is reported, " Shje is married, but it seems there are a bunch of Reddiahes."
Mr. Bell's peculiarly easy and agreeable style are well known, and are ably manifested in the present volume. He has been diligent in collecting illustrative anecdotes ; has himself moved in political circles ; and mast have had a personal glimpse of Canning in his later career : or if not petsoually, at all events is familiar with his compeers and contemporaries. He is intimately acquainted with the politics, litera- ture, and sentiments of the last lialf century, and indeed has a smack and flavour of the old and really the past school, that we should not have eipected. Whatever opinions there may be of its political parti- alities, or its philosophical tendencies, every one will rejoice that it is written in the easiest and most readable of styles, and that it gives a clear view of the man as well as the legislator ; and above all, that it is a compact volume, and not a ponderous quarto stuffed with slqte papers and political dissertations. We believe there ia not any other Life of Canning extant, and are quite snre there is none other so suitable as Mr. Bell's to the times and to the modern reader.
LivoNiAH TiLES. By the Author o( " Letters from ^e Bsltic." Murraj's
Colonial Library, Sqr. ISmo. London : J. Murray. * Wk perfectly rememiiet the sensation caused by the " Letters from the Baltic," by the authoress of this volume ; revealing as thev did a picture of middle-age barbarism still to be witnessed in a secluded nook of Northern Europe. The same observant touches of character, the same good sense and good feeling, are apparent in the present Tales. Exhausted as the other parts of Europe are by travellers, tourists, and
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noveligbr, we should think readem of light KUratnre would ruBh to
these Tales for a little novelty. The places and penonagea are drawn evidently from actnal observation, and have a. freshness and vigoor, the reeult of each direct commanication.
The grand subject of interest in this eountiy seems to be the wolf, and the poor peasant appears to pass his life in fulfilling both the literal and metaphorical truth of keeping the wolf from the door.
We shonld for ounelves have preferred some more " Letters from Livonia," that we might have felt certain where fccts ended and imaginatian began; and we think the lady's talents are better dis- played in the nan-ation of real occurrences than in imaginative scenes. She is not without the artifice of profeasional Btory-tellers, but shines much more in her own clear and vivid narrations. The details, however, interwoven with the fictions, are exceedingly interest- ing. We read the following several times over, scarcely believing out eye-sight, and thinking that the date must be a misprint for 1610. We give it, however, as it stands in the book at page 139,
" Two warlocks were executed in tlie year 1810, at Liege, for having under the form of ware wolves, killed several children. They had a hoy of twelve years of age with them, who completed the Satanic tne, and under the fonu of a raven,' consumed those portions of the prey which the warlocks left." — Qrimu's Deutsche Sagen.
Bells add Fouboka nates. No. VIII. and Last. Lubia ; and a Soul's Thaoedt. By Robebt Bkowhinq, Author of " Paracelsus." Medium 8vo. Londrai: E.Moxon.
Mr. Browniko is, in onr opinion, a great poet, and it is probable he is also a great man. We say this, because there seems to be in him a* thorough hatred and scorn of the ad cat^ndum school. He has great perceptions and conceptions, and his delight is in his own might, not in the vain plaudits of those who mistake skill for genius, and smartness for originality. If the comparative neglect of the many is displeasing to him, at all events, Coriolanus-like, he will not show bis scars ; he cannot
" Pat on the gown, aland lalffd and entreat them."
He may perchance have a touch too much, with the piond Roman, of resting on bis own powers, and if not despising, disregarding his reaaer. He nnderstands character and human emotion profoundly, and delineates it powerfully. He never aids the reader by narrative or obtrusion of himself, lliere ore character, passion, and poetry, Sung down on the paper, and it is certainly the reader's fault or misfortune if he does not perceive them. The great secret of his strength and of his hardness is nia utter want of sentimentality. He pourtrays the characters of men in all the nakedness and hideousness of true passion. He has chosen an age andaconntry where these kind of developments have been most, or at all events, best recorded, and we are present, by his art, with the
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real and terrific men thai hare been the eUves of intenae liatred, aiobl- tios, lust, and of all the impolMS of nnrestrained human natoie. When goodneu dees sppeu amongst such a crew, it ia of the genuine and angelic hind, aa it must be.
In hiatotj one reada of the actions of snch men, and with but a halt belief in the truth of the narration ; but the dramatist prorea its existeiice with ^polling force. Mr. Browning is deeplj imbued and informed with the spirit of the middle age ; uui he has a great idea, which, in the play of " Luiia," he uobi; reuses. It is the conflict of mind and matter, of will and intellect.
" Brute force shall not rule Florence 1 Intellect Mftj rale her, bad or good, as chance supplies j Bat intellect it shall be, pure if bad."
The " Soul's Tragedy" is one of the most intensely drunatic worki ever penned. The deepest emotions and the nicest traits of character
are developed by the mere external conduct and espression. The villain of the piece is a thorongh human villain, and the unfolding his villany is a masteiiy exposition of the degradations and weaknen of human nature. The truly good and the noble are equally powerfnliy pourtrayed, and Mr. Browning baa fulfilled the mission of the poet and the drama- tist by giving new and valuable illYutratioua of onr hnman nature. The theatre and Jlr. Browning's dramas are never likely to come ia con- tact ; not at all events until, as in the early days of ODr true drama, the most refined minds, and tlin^fwe the comparativety few, again visit the playhouse as a place to study nature and philosophy. The high drama was always played in its entirety, and always must be, to the reflecting few. When we have another "Globe" or " Blackfriars," containing a few hundred cultivated spectators, Mr. Browning's diamas may ba performed.
Thbsb two volnmea are a strange mixture of Italian and American life ; and wo can only solve the mystery by supposing that an Italian emigrated to America, and so fathered observations in both coun- tries. It wodM not be hazardingmnch to snapect that political reasons had induced the author to travel, for we find a continued run of sly sarcasm on the state of affairs in Italy, and an activity and energy of thought that seem exceedingly likely to arise bora political feeling. Whatever may have giv^t rise to the present tales, they seran to present very truthful and ehj^acteristic illustrations of Italy aa it really tt • and a very different Italy does it show from that presented by our antiqua- rian tntrellers or romantie young ladies. Priest>ridden, soldier-ridden, mid stateanan-riddeu, it seema irredaemably sunk as a natioii. Who- ever takes an internt in it vnll not find his time thrown swny in
Ung into these illustrations of iU pretent conditioti.
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it WeBtmlnateF School, &c CbbtjUblt, the Flinch, of ftU languagee, eitiier living <s' dead, ii either tiie moat embaTrauiiig, or the most accominod&tuig ; tnvrj teochn ai it haying a eniomar of his ovn, and declaring tht impoMi- hHity of teaching it bom anr other. The only novelty that Mr. Tourrier aims at, is taachiiig ttf inatalmenta, — hie work being teiial, each port of speech claiiBiDg a separate txtrf. * Jndging from the un^a spectmen before ns, the work is well coDceived, and its execntion betray a perfect mastery of Ihe aabject, and will, we haTe no donbt, when completed, be a Btock-book. We, however, qnestion the utility of its pieoe-meal publicaliou, for in the port before as, profeuing to treat tscclmtive^ of articles, one of the exercises commences, "J'aieerit," &c. Now, to find these words with a knowledge of theii import, it is obvionsly ueceBaarv that the pupil ahonld know something of verb* besides articles ; therefore parts 6 and 6, which treat on " the vrab," are, in contradiction to Mr. Toonier's own theory, neeessaiy for the onderBtjuBding of part 1. The same objection applies to sdjecliTM, which are introduced befora the pnpil has foand out tcJiat an adjeclive is.
Hints oh the Stcdt of the
and unarticted Clerks.
Crookford.
Tbese " Hints " are intended to stir np the juvenile ambition of the young attorney's clerk, by stimnlatiug him to methodical study, and Dnremitting application to his duties. The author instances six (and he might with very little research have trebled Ids list) attorneys' clerks, " humble servers of writs and engrossers of deeds, including the ancestors of Lords Kenyon, Tenterden, AEhbnrton, and Haidwicke, who have achieved the highest honours from so low a commencement ; and paints to the names of Denman and Brougham, who have from a comparatively bumble origin "soared aloft into the brightest circles of nobflity," All this is very well, and the object of the writer no doubt praiseworthy, and if it will only persuade the ypung gentlemen to ^ttend to their badness, we may forgive them the delusion of e^Ectianging some of these days their hard stools, for the comfortable woolsack of the Lord Cbancellar.
While on the snbiect of " Lawyers' Clerks," we should be sorry to let an opportunity slip of speaking a word in season for an intelligent and, takmg all things mto account, adeservingbody of men. Of all the " working " (and well do they merit thai distinction) classes, they are the worst paid, and hardest worked. With more confidence reposed in them than other operatives, they have stronger inducement and more frequent opportunities to betray their employers' interests ; and yet, as a class they are neither dishonest nor unfaithful ; while they are expected to keep up the appearance of gentlemen, tjieir meaiu of
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