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ifbrar?

of tbe

of Toronto

Bertram 1R. Bavie

from tbe books of

the late Xionel 2>a\>f0, I

THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS

IN 36 VOLUMES

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

VOLUME I

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

The ' Miscellaneous Papers ' comprised in these volumes cover
a period from 1838-1869, and include Dickens's contributions
to ' The Morning Chronicle,' ' The Daily News,' ' The Times,'
'Hood's Magazine,' ' Douglas Jer raid's Magazine,' 'The Corn-
hill Magazine,' 'The Examiner,' 'Household Words,' 'All the
Year Round/ his introductions to other writers' books, etc.
The source and date of publication is given in every case.

Of the six Plays included in this Edition, the first three were
written by Dickens for the St. James's Theatre, London, under
Braham's management. 'The Strange Gentleman,' 'The Village
Coquettes,' and ' Is she his Wife ? ' were first performed in that
theatre on September 29, 1836, December 6, 1836, and March 6,
1837 respectively, and were, soon after each performance, pub
lished in pamphlet form. ' The Lamplighter' was written in 1838,
but not meeting with the approval of Macready and his company
for whom it was written, was withdrawn and afterwards con
verted into the story with the same name, and is included in
the volume of ' Reprinted Pieces' ; the Play is reprinted from the
manuscript in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert
Museum. 'Mr. Nightingale's Diary' was written by Dickens
and Mark Lemon, and was first performed in Devonshire House
on May 27, 1851, and printed as a pamphlet in that year. ' No
Thoroughfare ' was written by Dickens and Wilkie Collins, and
was first performed at the New Royal Adelphi Theatre, London,
on December 26, 1867, and published in pamphlet form in the
same year.

' The Poems ' were collected from various sources In 1903, and
edited with bibliographical notes by F. G. Kitton, whose work is
retained in the present Edition.

Further bibliographical details are given in the introduction.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

FROM

'THE MORNING CHRONICLE,' <THE DAILY NEWS'

'THE EXAMINER,' 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

<ALL THE YEAR ROUND,' ETC.

AND

PLAYS AND POEMS

CHARLES DICKENS

WITH 19 ILLUSTRATIONS BY

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, E. M. WARD, R.A. ; T. W. BROWN

LOUIS HAGHE, PH. BENOIST, JOHN LEECH, EUGENE LAMI

PHIZ, H. C. MAGUIRE, CLARKSON STANFIELD, R.A.

AND FROM CONTEMPORARY PRINTS ; AND

AN INTRODUCTION BY B. W. MATZ

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1911

H550

F/i

INTRODUCTION

THE contents of these two volumes of * Miscellanies * were first
included in Dickens's collected works in the * National Edition.1
Before that time the majority of the articles had never been known
or identified as the work of the novelist. How they came to be
discovered after so many years is referred to later.

The series is divided into five parts — viz., ' Miscellaneous Papers,1
comprising articles and sketches from The Morning Chronicle^ The
Daily News, The Times, contributions to certain periodicals, and
introductions to other writers1 books ; Miscellanies from Household
Words; Miscellanies from All the Year Round; Plays; and Poems.
Against every item the source and date is given, and explanatory
notes are added where necessary ; but it may be well to furnish here
some general bibliographical particulars.

Dickens was probably a frequent contributor to the pages of
The Examiner during the editorship of his friend John Forster, but
beyond the statements made by his biographer, there is no means
of identifying his contributions. In the following pages everything
is reprinted that can be traced under Forster's guidance, and in
hunting these out from the files of his old paper, we have been
a little more fortunate than previous searchers. Richard Herne
Shepherd was probably the first to place on record some of the
dates of the publication of these articles. More recently Frederic
G. Kitton devoted much time and energy to amplifying the list,
and reprinted many of them, with others from different sources, in
4 volume entitled To be Read at Dusk „• and other Stories, Sketches,

vi INTRODUCTION

and Essays, by Charles Dickens, published by George Redway in
1898. But both he and Mr. Shepherd were unable to trace the
following articles, the MSS. of which are in the Forster Collec
tion in the Victoria and Albert Museum. (1) 'London Crime,1
(2) ' Judicial Special Pleading,' (3) ' Edinburgh Apprentice School
Association,1 (4) ' Macready as " King Lear," ' (5) * Latour's
"Virginie" and Douglas Jerrold's "Black-Eyed Susan,"' (6) 'The
Tooting Farm,' and (7) ' The Paradise of Tooting.'

We have, however, been more successful, and these articles now
appear, in chronological order, with the rest. The title of the first
of these was altered in the pages of The Examiner to ' Ignorance and
Crime,' and the fourth appeared under the heading of ' Restoration
of Shakespeare's Lear to the Stage.' There is also a third article,
noted in Thomson's Bibliography, on the Tooting Farm scandal
entitled 'The Verdict for Drouet,' and although Forster does not
mention it, it is included here, as there seems no doubt from internal
evidence that Dickens wrote it. Besides this, it completes the story
of the scandal. It is interesting to note in regard to these Drouet
articles, that Dickens refers to the subject of them more than once
in his Household Words articles, and more pointedly in 'A walk
in a Workhouse' in Reprinted Pieces, wherein he speaks of the
scandal as ' that most infamous and atrocious enormity committed
at Tooting — an enormity which, a hundred years hence, will still be
vividly remembered in the bye-ways of English life, and which has
done more to engender a gloomy discontent and suspicion among
many thousands of the people than all the Chartist leaders could
have done in all their lives.'

Possibly this was the establishment from which Gustcr, Snagsby's
servant, originally emerged. Dickens tells us it was at Tooting. '
and that she went about in mortal fear of being sent back there.

The only article in The Examiner referred to by Forster thai

INTRODUCTION vii

we have been unable to trace is the notice of Hood's 'Up the
Khine,' which Dickens had alluded to privately as ' rather poor, but
I have not said so, because Hood is too, and ill besides.' Probably
it did not appear in print for these reasons.

The novelist's political squibs and other verses find a place in the
section devoted to Poems.

Dickens's own periodical Household Words contained numerous
contributions from his own pen, and in 1858 he collected and
published some of them under the title of Reprinted Pieces. It can
not reasonably be supposed, however, that he considered those he
selected as alone worthy of preservation, or of his genius. It was
more likely that he was content to gather together just sufficient
material to fill a volume. Or on the other hand, it may be reason
ably inferred that most of those now discovered for the first time,
dealing as they do with political and social matters of the day,
were not thought by the novelist to be suitable for inclusion in the
collected works of one whose fame rested upon his works of fiction.
But they are valuable to-day not only as definitely indicating his
political opinions, but as vital contributions showing how anxious
he always was to help towards the reformation of what he thought
the political and social wrongs of his day.

As is well known, all contributions to his paper were anony
mous ; hence the difficulty of discovering his or any one else's work.
This has not, however, debarred many from making the attempt,
the most notable effort being made at the time when Frederic
G. Kitton and Charles Dickens the younger read through the
volumes of the periodical with that object in view. But the fact
that Dickens so thoroughly ' edited ' all the articles and often re
wrote many, and the knowledge that his ' brilliant young men,' as
a»is staff was called, soon fell in with, and emulated their 'chiefs'
Style, made that means of identification not only very troublesome,

viii

INTRODUCTION

but practically impossible of success. In any case the outcome of
all this research, fruitful as it was in some particulars, left many of
nis minor writings hidden away in the pages of his journal, whilst in
several instances it was the means of attributing to Dickens the
work of other pens. These we note hereafter.

There is now no longer any doubt existing concerning the
identity of Dickens's own work (or the work of any contributor

to his paper, for the matter of that), and his contributions are here
reprinted on the following authority.

Like all well-conducted periodicals, Household Words possessed
what is known as a 'Contributors' Book,' wherein were tabulated
in manuscript, the titles of all articles, the names of their writers,
the length, the price paid for same, and other particulars, under
the date of each weekly issue. This book exists to-day in the pos
session of Mr. R. C. Lehmann, M.P., who very courteously placed
it at the disposal of the present writer, when he was editing th«?

INTRODUCTION ix

'National' Edition of the novelist's works, in order, as he put it,
* to help carry out the " National " undertaking in hand of making
a complete edition of the works of England's national novelist.'
A photographic reproduction of one of its pages is given here.

After careful examination of the contents of the volume, the
identity of some eighty or so hitherto unknown writings of Dickens
is revealed to the reading world, which now form part of his
acknowledged works.

As we have noted above, some of these contributions have been
identified before by Frederic G. Kitton and other bibliographers,
and were published in the volume To be Read at Dusk already
referred to. This volume, however, contained an article entitled
4 By Rail to Parnassus ' as being from the pen of Dickens ; but the
' Contributors' Book ' shows it to have been written by Henry
Morley. There is also another, * Rochester and Chatham,' which is
an excerpt from ' One Man in a Dockyard,' written by Dickens and
R. H. Home. This of course may be a ' good shot,' to pick out
the Rochester and Chatham portions of it as the work of Dickens,
but it is not authoritative.

Other articles have also been attributed to Dickens by biblio
graphers which were not written by him, and we append here the
titles of them with the rightful authors' names attached.

* Foreign Portraits of Englishmen,' by W. H. Wills and
E. Murray (September 21, 1850).

« Household Words and English Wills,' by W. H. Wills
(November 16, 1850).

•Epsom,' by W. H. Wills (June 7, 1851).

' Douglas Jerrold,' by Wilkie Collins (February 5, 1859).
It was not an uncommon occurrence after Dickens's death to select
articles and sketches from his famous paper which read like his
work, and reprint them with his name as author. We can recall

x INTRODUCTION

American instances of this. Both ' A Suburban Romance ' (W. H.
Wills), and 'Lizzie Leigh' (Mrs. Gaskell's famous story), found
places in literary annuals of the Keepsake pattern, and were ascribed
to Dickens, whose name at the time was of course a one to conjure
with. Whilst in a volume entitled ' Confessions of a Lawyer,'
published in America, several articles are reprinted from Household
Words, as being by Dickens, whereas in the case of one only was he
even part author. See The Diclccnsian, vol. v. p. 257. There is
also a similar case in this country in 'A Curious Dance round a
Curious Tree,' an article relating to St. Luke's Lunatic Asylum and
written by W. H. Wills and Dickens, which has been frequently
reprinted in pamphlet form by that institution. This has been
generally accepted by bibliographers as written by Dickens, although
it appears in Old Leaves gathered from ' Household Words? by
W. H. Wills, published in 1860, wherein it is acknowledged as one of
those articles which owed much to the collaboration of Dickens, 'whose
masterly touches gave to the Old Leaves . . . their brightest tints.'

Throughout the pages of his periodical Dickens contributed many
articles in collaboration with various authors in this way, and these
would easily fill more volumes if reprinted. But we have only pre
served those written entirely by Dickens himself.

There is a curious point, however, in regard to one of these. In
Reprinted Pieces there is a chapter entitled ' A Plated Article,5
and as the contents of the volume were collected during Dickens's
lifetime, there cannot be any doubt that he considered the article
was his. Yet we find in the ' Contributors' Book ' that it was by
' C. D. and W. H. W/ (W. H. Wills), and Wills evidently took
some credit to himself for it, as he included it in his volume of Old
Leaves with his usual acknowledgment to his Editor's assistance.
The question as to who was the rightful author of it cannot, under
the circumstances, be decided at this late date.

INTRODUCTION xi

These facts having been recorded, it is only necessary to state in
regard to the Household Words section of these volumes, that the
material has been arranged in chronological order, except in certain
cases where articles forming a series appeared at intervals. In
those cases they have been allowed to follow each other in proper
sequence, and comprise 'The Amusements of the People,' the
sketches dealing with 'Mr. Bull1 and with 'Mr. Booley,' and the
series of articles entitled ' From the Raven in the Happy Family.1
The first chapter of the latter was called ' A Perfect Felicity in a
Bird's Eye View,' whilst 'The Good Hippopotamus/ added later,
was also of the series.

There were two other features in the periodical, consisting of
paragraphs of varying length by various writers, grouped under
the general subject headings of 'Supposing' and 'Chips.1 Those
written by Dickens have been arranged together under these general
headings and placed at the end of the section.

Dickens's contributions to All the Year Round are here included
on the authority of Frederic G. Kitton, who identified them by
means of the ' office ' set of that periodical, in which each article
had appended the name of the author, written by a member of the
staff. As in the case of Household Words, only the articles wholly
written by Dickens have been included.

Of the six Plays in these volumes, it should be noted that
'Mr. Nightingale's Diary' was written by Charles Dickens and
Mark Lemon, and 'No Thoroughfare' by Charles Dickens and
Wilkie Collins. They are included here, as being inseparably con
nected with Dickens's fame both as a writer and as an actor. Indeed,
no collection of his works could be said to be complete without
them. "The Lamplighter' is printed from the manuscript in the
Forster collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

In 1903 the Poems of Dickens, scattered throughout newspapers,

«i! INTRODUCTION

periodicals, and his novels, were collected and published in a small
volume with bibliographical notes by Frederic G. Kitton. The
text and arrangement of this little volume have been followed in
the present instance, with the exception of the songs, etc., from
* The Village Coquettes' and 'The Lamplighter,' which, of course,
will be found in their proper places in these plays. The
publishers have deemed it wise to retain Mr. Kitten's valuable
bibliographical notes.

B. W. MATZ.
January 1911.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I

PAGE

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE jj

INTRODUCTION. By B. W. Matz . ..... v

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

"Joseph Grimaldi 3

''The Agricultural Interest 7

Threatening Letter to Thomas Hood, from an Ancient Gentleman . . 9

John Overs ........ .... 16

The Spirit of Chivalry 20

x Crime and Education .......... 25

„ Capital Punishment 30

In Memoriam : W. M.Thackeray 51

Adelaide Anne Procter 65

The Great International Walking-Match 62

Chauncy Hare Townshend 67

On Mr. Fechter's Acting 68

MISCELLANIES FROM 'THE EXAMINER'
1838-1849

igs that , fioQ of shakespeare'6 < Lear • to the stage .... 77
i and Sn

Strike .

Oe and Snow . , ,. ,

hshers — i 82

ii 94

,. he Late Mr. Justice Tai M

VOL. 1 : 6 rill

xiv CONTENTS

PACK

'MacreaAy as 'Benedick* .......... 99

Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Condition of

the Persons variously engaged in the University of Oxford . .103

--•Ignorance and Crime . . . . . . . ~ . . . 107

The Chinese Junk 110

f Cruikshank's "The Drunkard's Children ' 113

The Niger Expedition 117

The Poetry of Science 135

The American Panorama 139

Judicial Special Pleading 141

" Edinburgh Apprentice School Association 146

Leech's ' The Rising Generation ' 147

The Paradise at Tooting 150

The Tooting Farm 157

The Verdict for Drouet 160

' Virginie ' and ' Black-Eyed Susan ' ,163

An American in Europe . . . . . . . . . .165

Court Ceremonies 174

MISCELLANIES FROM 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS *
1850-1859

Address in the First Number of ' Household Words ' 181

Announcement in 'Household Words' of the Approaching Publication

of ' All the Year Round ' 183

Address in ' Household Words ' 185

/The Amusements of the People — i ....... 186

„ n .... . 192

Perfect Felicity \ . 199

From the Raven in the Happy Family — i . . . . \ . 203

n .... ?07

yt » » »t in •

The 'Good' Hippopotamus 7

CONTENTS xv

PAGE

Some Account of an Extraordinary Traveller 222

A Card from Mr. Booley 233

Mr. Booley's View of the Last Lord Mayor's Show 233

^""TPet Prisoners 239

Old Lamps for New Ones 254

The Sunday Screw 269

Lively Turtle 267

A Crisis in the Affairs of Mr. John Bull . 274

Mr. Bull's Somnambulist . 281

Our Commission 287

Proposals for a National Jest-Book 293

A December Vision 300

The Last Words of the Old Year 304

-"Railway Strikes 310

^iled Tape 317

The Guild of Literature and Art 324

The Finishing Schoolmaster ... . . . . • • 329

A Few Conventionalities 335

IA Narrative of Extraordinary Suffering ....... 340

Whole Hogs 346

Sucking Pigs ....,....•>• 353

A Sleep to StartU us 358

Betting-Shops 366

trading in Death 374

Where we Stopped Growing • 385

Proposals for Amusing Posterity 390

.-Home for Homeless Women 395

The Spirit Business . . 41°

A Haunted House 417

-Gone Astray 424

Frauds on the Fairies 4**>

Things that Cannot be Done 442

Fire and Snow 44'

.On Strike 4BS

The Late Mr. Justice Talfourd 4fi?

TOL. I : b

xvi CONTENTS

PAXfe

It is not Generally Known . . . 459

-"Legal and Equitable Jokes 475

'•"To Working Men ••••.., 484

An Unsettled Neighbourhood ...... 487

Reflections of a Lord Mayor 494

The Lost Arctic Voyagers — i % 499

» » » u 609

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME I

THE ROYAL CHINESE JUNK, Keying . . From a Contemporary

Lithograph . 1

THE WRETCHED CONVICT DROOPS AND DJES George Cruikshank . . 116

DROUET'S FARMING ESTABLISHMENT FOR

PAUPER CHILDREN AT TOOTING . From a Contemporary Print 152

THB HAPPY FAMILY „ „ 200

THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW, 1850 . „ „ 236

THE GUILD OF LITERATURE AND ART:

ADMISSION TICKET . . . . E. M. Ward, A. It. A. . 324

MRS. AMELIA BLOOMER . . . . T. W. Brown . . . 354
FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON . Louis Haghe . . . 384

EXHIBITION OF CARTOONS IN WESTMINSTER

HALL From a Contemporary Print 418

BUILDING THE STATIONARY ENGINE HOUSE, ) From a Contemporary Litho-

CAMDEN TOWN . . . . } graph . . . 490

irii

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

VOL. I : A

JOSEPH GRIMALDI

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER TO * MEMOIRS OF
JOSEPH GRIMALDI '

[1838]

IT is some years now since we first conceived a strong veneration for
Clowns, and an intense anxiety to know what they did with them
selves out of pantomime time, and off the stage. As a child, we
were accustomed to pester our relations and friends with questions
out of number concerning these gentry ; — whether their appetite for
sausages and such-like wares was always the same, and if so, at
whose expense they were maintained ; whether they were ever taken
up for pilfering other people's goods, or were forgiven by everybody
because it was only done in fun ; how it was they got such beautiful
complexions, and where they lived ; and whether they were born
Clowns, or.gradually turned into Clowns as they grew up. On these
and a thousand other points our curiosity was insatiable. Nor
were our speculations confined to Clowns alone ; they extended to
Harlequins, Pantaloons, and Columbines, all of whom we believed to
be real and veritable personages, existing in the same forms and
characters all the year round. How often have we wished that the
Pantaloon were our godfather ! and how often thought that to
marry a Columbine would be to attain the highest pitch of all
human felicity !

The delights — the ten thousand million delights of a pantomime
-7-come streaming upon us now, — even of the pantomime which came
lumbering down in Richardson^s waggons at fair time to the dull
little town in which we had the honour to be brought up, and which
a long row of small boys, with frills as white as they could be washed,
and hands as clean as they would come, were taken to behold the
glories of, in fair daylight.

We feel again all the pride of standing in a body on the platform,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

the observed of all observers in the crowd below, while the junior
usher pays away twenty-four ninepences to a stout gentleman under
a Gothic arch, with a hoop of variegated lamps swinging over his
head. Again we catch a glimpse (too brief, alas !) of the lady with
a green parasol in her hand, on the outside stage of the next show
but one, who supports herself on one foot, on the back of a majestic
horse, blotting-paper coloured and white ; and once again our eyes
open wide with wonder, and our hearts throb with emotion, as we
deliver our cardboard check into the very hands of the Harlequin
himself, who, all glittering with spangles, and dazzling with many
colours, deigns to give us a word of encouragement and commenda
tion as we pass into the booth !

But what was this — even this — to the glories of the inside, where,
amid the smell of sawdust, and orange-peel, sweeter far than violets
to youthful noses, the first play being over, the lovers united, the
ghost appeased, the Baron killed, and everything made comfortable
and pleasant, — the pantomime itself began ! What words can describe
the deep gloom of the opening scene, where a crafty Magician holding
a young lady in bondage was discovered, studying an enchanted book
to the soft music of a gong ! — or in what terms can we express the
thrill of ecstasy with which, his magic power opposed by superior
art, we beheld the monster himself converted into Clown ! What
mattered it that the stage was three yards wide, and four deep ? we
never saw it. We had no eyes, ears, or corporeal senses but for the
pantomime. And when its short career was run, and the Baron
previously slaughtered, coming forward with his hand upon his
heart, announced that for that favour Mr. Richardson returned his
most sincere thanks, and the performances would commence again in
a quarter of an hour, what jest could equal the effects of the Baron's
indignation and surprise, when the Clown, unexpectedly peeping from
behind the curtain, requested the audience * not to believe it, for it
was all gammon ! ' Who but a Clown could have called forth the
roar of laughter that succeeded ; and what witchery but a Clown's
could have caused the junior usher himself to declare aloud, as he
shook his sides and smote his knee in a moment of irrepressible joy,
that that was the very best thing he had ever heard said !

We have lost that Clown now ; he is still alive though, for we saw
him only the day before last Bartholomew Fair, eating a real saveloy,
and we are sorry to say he had deserted to the illegitimate drama,
4

JOSEPH GRIMALDI

for he was seated on one of * Clark's Circus ' waggons ; — we have lost
that Clown and that pantomime, but our relish for the entertainment
still remains unimpaired. Each successive Boxing-day finds us in
the same state of high excitement and expectation. On that event
ful day, when new pantomimes are played for the first time at the
two great theatres, and at twenty or thirty of the little ones, we still
gloat as formerly upon the bills which set forth tempting descrip
tions of the scenery in staring red and black letters, and still fall
down upon our knees, with other men and boys, upon the pavement
by shop-doors, to read them down to the very last line. Nay, we
still peruse with all eagerness and avidity the exclusive accounts of
the coming wonders in the theatrical newspapers of the Sunday
before, and still believe them as devoutly as we did before twenty
years' experience had shown us that they are always wrong.

With these feelings upon the subject of pantomimes, it is no
matter of surprise that when we first heard that Grimaldi had left
some memoirs of his life behind him, we were in a perfect fever until
we had perused the manuscript. It was no sooner placed in our
hands by * the adventurous and spirited Publisher1 — {if our recol
lection serve us, this is the customary style of the complimentary
little paragraphs regarding new books which usually precede adver
tisements about Savory's clocks in the newspapers), — than we sat
down at once and read it every word.

See how pleasantly things come about, if you let them take their
own course ! This mention of the manuscript brings us at once to
the very point we are anxious to reach, and which we should have
gained long ago, if we had not travelled into those irrelevant
remarks concerning Pantomimic representations.

For about a year before his death, Grimaldi was employed in
writing a full account of his life and adventures. It was his chief
occupation and amusement; and as people who write their own lives,
even in the midst of very many occupations, often find time to
extend them to a most inordinate length, it is no wonder that his
account of himself was exceedingly voluminous.

This manuscript was confided to Mr. Thomas Egerton Wilks, to
alter and revise, with a view to its publication. Mr. Wilks, who was
well acquainted with Grimaldi and his connexions, applied himself
to the task of condensing it throughout, and wholly expunging
considerable portions, which, so far as the public were concerned,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

possessed neither interest nor amusement: he likewise interspersed
here and there the substance of such personal anecdotes as he had
gleaned from the writer in desultory conversation. While he was
thus engaged, Grimaldi died.

Mr. Wilks having by the commencement of September concluded
his labours, offered the manuscript to the present publisher, by
whom it was shortly afterwards purchased unconditionally, with the
full consent and concurrence of Mr. Richard Hughes, Grimaldi's
executor.

The present Editor of these volumes has felt it necessary to say
thus much in explanation of their origin, in order to establish beyond
doubt the unquestionable authenticity of the memoirs they contain.

His own share in them is stated in a few words. Being much
struck by several incidents in the manuscript — such as the descrip
tion of Grimaldi's infancy, the burglary, the brother's return from
sea under the extraordinary circumstances detailed, the adventure
of the man with the two fingers on his left hand, the account of
Mackintosh and his friends, and many other passages, — and thinking
that they might be related in a more attractive manner (they were
at that time told in the first person, as if by Grimaldi himself,
although they had necessarily lost any original manner which his
recital might have imparted to them) ; he accepted a proposal from
the publisher to edit the book, and has edited it to the best of his
ability, altering its form throughout, and making such other altera
tions as he conceived would improve the narration of the facts,
without any departure from the facts themselves.

He has merely to add, that there has been no book-making in this
case. He has not swelled the quantity of matter, but materially
abridged it. The account of Grimaldi's first courtship may appear
lengthy in its present form ; but it has undergone a double and most
comprehensive process of abridgment. The old man was garrulous
upon a subject on which the youth had felt so keenly; and as the
feeling did him honour in both stages of life, the Editor has not had
the heart to reduce it further.

Here is the book, then, at last. After so much pains from so
many hands — including the good right hand of George Cruikshank,
which has seldom been better exercised, — he humbly hopes it may
find favour with the public.

DOUGHTY STUKET, February, 1838.

THE AGRICULTURAL INTEREST

[Leader in the Morning Chronicle , MARCH 9, 1844]

THE present Government, having shown itself to be particularly
clever in its management of Indictments for Conspiracy, cannot do
better, we think (keeping in its administrative eye the pacification
of some of its most influential and most unruly supporters), than
indict the whole manufacturing interest of the country for a con
spiracy against the agricultural interest. As the jury ought to be
beyond impeachment, the panel might be chosen from among the
Duke of Buckingham's tenants, with the Duke of Buckingham him
self as foreman ; and, to the end that the country might be quite
satisfied with the judge, and have ample security beforehand for his
moderation and impartiality, it would be desirable, perhaps, to make
such a slight change in the working of the law (a mere nothing to
a Conservative Government, bent upon its end), as would enable the
question to be tried before an Ecclesiastical Court, with the Bishop
of Exeter presiding. The Attorney-General for Ireland, turning his
sword into a ploughshare, might conduct the prosecution ; and
Mr. Cobden and the other traversers might adopt any ground of
defence they chose, or prove or disprove anything they pleased,
without being embarrassed by the least anxiety or doubt in reference
to the verdict.

That the country in general is in a conspiracy against this sacred
but unhappy agricultural interest, there can be no doubt. It is not
alone within the walls of Covent Garden Theatre, or the Free Trade
Hall at Manchester, or the Town Hall at Birmingham, that the cry
* Repeal the Corn-laws ! ' is raised. It may be heard, moaning at
night, through the straw-littered wards of Refuges for the Destitute ;
it may be read in the gaunt and famished faces which make our
streets terrible; it is muttered in the thankful grace pronounced
by haggard wretches over their felon fare in gaols ; it is inscribed
in dreadful characters upon the walls of Fever Hospitals ; and may
be plainly traced in every record of mortality. All of which proves,
that there is a vast conspiracy afoot, against the unfortunate agri
cultural interest.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

They who run, even upon railroads, may read of this conspiracy.
The old stage-coachman was a farmer's friend. He wore top-boots,
understood cattle, fed his horses upon corn, and had a lively personal
interest in malt. The engine-driver's garb, and sympathies, and
tastes belong to the factory. His fustian dress, besmeared with
coal-dust and begrimed with soot ; his oily hands, his dirty face,
his knowledge of machinery ; all point him out as one devoted to
the manufacturing interest. Fire and smoke, and red-hot cinders
follow in his wake. He has no attachment to the soil, but travels
on a road of iron, furnace wrought. His warning is not conveyed
in the fine old Saxon dialect of our glorious forefathers, but in a
fiendish yell. He never cries ' ya-hip,1 with agricultural lungs ; but
jerks forth a manufactured shriek from a brazen throat.

Where w the agricultural interest represented ? From what phase
of our social life has it not been driven, to the undue setting-up of
its false rival ?

Are the police agricultural ? The watchmen were. They wore
woollen nightcaps to a man ; they encouraged the growth of timber,
by patriotically adhering to staves and rattles of immense size ; they
slept every night in boxes, which were but another form of the cele
brated wooden walls of Old England ; they never woke up till it
was too late — in which respect you might have thought them very
farmers. How is it with the police ? Their buttons are made at
Birmingham ; a dozen of their truncheons would poorly furnish
forth a watchman's staff; they have no wooden walls to repose
between ; and the crowns of their hats are plated with cast-iron.

Are the doctors agricultural ? Let Messrs. Morison and Moat,
of the Hygeian establishment at King's Cross, London, reply. Is
it not, upon the constant showing of those gentlemen, an ascertained
fact that the whole medical profession have united to depreciate
the worth of the Universal Vegetable Medicines ? And is this
opposition to vegetables, and exaltation of steel and iron instead,
on the part of the regular practitioners, capable of any interpreta
tion but one ? Is it not a distinct renouncement of the agricultural
interest, and a setting up of the manufacturing interest instead ?

Do the professors of the law at all fail in their truth to the beauti
ful maid whom they ought to adore ? Inquire of the Attorney-General
for Ireland. Inquire of that honourable and learned gentleman,
whose last public act was to cast aside the grey goose-quill, an
8

article of agricultural produce, and take up the pistol, which, under
the system of percussion locks, has not even a flint to connect it
with farming. Or put the question to a still higher legal func
tionary, who, on the same occasion, when he should have been a
reed, inclining here and there, as adverse gales of evidence disposed
him, was seen to be a manufactured image on the seat of Justice,
cast by Power, in most impenetrable brass.

The world is too much with us in this manufacturing interest,
early and late ; that is the great complaint and the great truth. It
is not so with the agricultural interest, or what passes by that name.
It never thinks of the suffering world, or sees it, or cares to extend
its knowledge of it ; or, so long as it remains a world, cares anything
about it. All those whom Dante placed in the first pit or circle of
the doleful regions, might have represented the agricultural interest
in the present Parliament, or at quarter sessions, or at meetings of
the farmers'* friends, or anywhere else.

But that is not the question now. It is conspired against ; and
we have given a few proofs of the conspiracy, as they shine out of
various classes engaged in it. An indictment against the whole
manufacturing interest need not be longer, surely, than the indict
ment in the case of the Crown against O'Connell and others. Mr.
Cobden may be taken as its representative — as indeed he is, by one
consent already. There may be no evidence; but that is not
required. A judge and jury are all that is needed. And the
Government know where to find them, or they gain experience to
little purpose.

THREATENING LETTER TO THOMAS HOOD,
FROM AN ANCIENT GENTLEMAN

[HoocTs Magazine and Comic Miscellany, MAY 1844]

MR. HOOD. SIR,— The Constitution is going at last ! You needn't
laugh, Mr. Hood. I am aware that it has been going, two or three
times before ; perhaps four times ; but it is on the move now, sir,
and no mistake.

I beg to say, that I use those last expressions advisedly, sir, and
not in the sense in which they are now used by Jackanapeses. There

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

were no Jackanapeses when I was a boy, Mr. Hood. England was
Old England when I was young. I little thought it would ever
come to be Young England when I was old. But everything is
going backward.

Ah ! governments were governments, and judges were judges, in
my day, Mr. Hood. There was no nonsense then. Any of your
seditious complainings, and we were ready with the military on the
shortest notice. We should have charged Covent Garden Theatre,
sir, on a Wednesday night : at the point of the bayonet. Then,
the judges were full of dignity and firmness, and knew how to
administer the law. There is only one judge who knows how to
do his duty, now. He tried that revolutionary female the other
day, who, though she was in full work (making shirts at three-half
pence a piece), had no pride in her country, but treasonably took it
in her head, in the distraction of having been robbed of her easy
earnings, to attempt to drown herself and her young child ; and the
glorious man went out of his way, sir — out of his way — to call her
up for instant sentence of Death ; and to tell her she had no hope
of mercy in this world — as you may see yourself if you look in the
papers of Wednesday the 17th of April. He won't be supported,
sir, I know he won't ; but it is worth remembering that his words
were carried into every manufacturing town of this kingdom, and
read aloud to crowds in every political parlour, beer-shop, news
room, and secret or open place of assembly, frequented by the dis
contented working-men ; and that no milk-and-water weakness on
the part of the executive can ever blot them out. Great things like
that, are caught up, and stored up, in these times, and are not for
gotten, Mr. Hood. The public at large (especially those who wish
for peace and conciliation) are universally obliged to him. If it is
reserved for any man to set the Thames on fire, it is reserved for
him ; and indeed I am told he very nearly did it, once.

But even he won't save the constitution, sir : it is mauled beyond
the power of preservation. Do you know in what foul weather it
will be sacrificed and shipwrecked, Mr. Hood? Do you know on
what rock it will strike, sir ? You don't, I am certain ; for nobody
does know as yet but myself. I will tell you.

The constitution will go down, sir (nautically speaking), in the
degeneration of the human species in England, and its reduction
into a mingled race of savages and pigmies.
IO

THREATENING LETTER TO THOMAS HOOD

That is my proposition. That is my prediction. That is the
event of which I give you warning. I am now going to prove it, sir.

You are a literary man, Mr. Hood, and have written, I am told,
some things worth reading. I say I am told, because I never read
what is written in these days. You '11 excuse me ; but my principle
is, that no man ought to know anything about his own time, except
that it is the worst time that ever was, or is ever likely to be. That
is the only way, sir, to be truly wise and happy.

In your station, as a literary man, Mr. Hood, you are frequently
at the Court of Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. God bless her!
You have reason to know that the three great keys to the royal
palace (after rank and politics) are Science, Literature, Art. I don't
approve of this myself. I think it ungenteel and barbarous, and
quite un-English ; the custom having been a foreign one, ever since
the reigns of the uncivilised sultans in the Arabian Nights, who
always called the wise men of their time about them. But so it is.
A.nd when you don't dine at the royal table, there is always a knife
and fork for you at the equerries' table: where, I understand, all
gifted men are made particularly welcome.

But all men can't be gifted, Mr. Hood. Neither scientific,
literary, nor artistical powers are any more to be inherited than the
property arising from scientific, literary, or artistic productions,
which the law, with a beautiful imitation of nature, declines to
protect in the second generation. Very good, sir. Then, people are
naturally very prone to cast about in their minds for other means of
getting at Court Favour ; and, watching the signs of the times, to
hew out for themselves, or their descendants, the likeliest roads to
that distinguished goal.

Mr. Hood, it is pretty clear, from recent records in the Court
Circular, that if a father wish to train up his son in the way he
should go, to go to Court: and cannot indenture him to be a
scientific man, an author, or an artist, three courses are open to him.
He must endeavour by artificial means to make him a dwarf, a wild
man, or a Boy Jones.1

Now, sir, this is the shoal and quicksand on which the constitu
tion will go to pieces.

I have made inquiry, Mr. Hood, and find that in my neighhour-

1 A reference to the then recent visit of ' General ' Tom Thumb to Her Majesty the
Queen and Court.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

hood two families and a fraction out of every four, in the lower and
middle classes of society, are studying and practising all conceivable
arts to keep their infant children down. Understand me. I do
not mean down in their numbers, or down in their precocity, but
down in their growth, sir. A destructive and subduing drink, com
pounded of gin and milk in equal quantities, such as is given to
puppies to retard their growth : not something short, but something
shortening : is administered to these young creatures many times a
day. An unnatural and artificial thirst is first awakened in these
infants by meals of salt beef, bacon, anchovies, sardines, red herrings,
shrimps, olives, pea-soup, and that description of diet; and when
they screech for drink, in accents that might melt a heart of stone,
which they do constantly (I allude to screeching, not to melting),
this liquid is introduced into their too confiding stomachs. At such
an early age, and to so great an extent, is this custom of provoking
thirst, then quenching it with a stunting drink, observed, that brine
pap has already superseded the use of tops-and-bottoms ; and wet-
nurses, previously free from any kind of reproach, have been seen
to stagger in the streets : owing, sir, to the quantity of gin intro
duced into their systems, with a view to its gradual and natural
conversion into the fluid I have already mentioned.

Upon the best calculation I can make, this is going on, as I have
said, in the proportion of about two families and a fraction in four.
In one more family and a fraction out of the same number, efforts
are being made to reduce the children to a state of nature ; and to
inculcate, at a tender age, the love of raw flesh, train oil, new rum,
and the acquisition of scalps. Wild and outlandish dances are also
in vogue (you will have observed the prevailing rage for the Polka) ;
and savage cries and whoops are much indulged in (as you may
discover, if you doubt it, in the House of Commons any night).
Nay, some persons, Mr. Hood ; and persons of some figure and dis
tinction too; have already succeeded in breeding wild sons; who
have been publicly shown in the Courts of Bankruptcy, and in
police-offices, and in other commodious exhibition-rooms, with great
effect, but who have not yet found favour at court ; in consequencej
as I infer, of the impression made by Mr. Rankin's wild men being
too fresh and recent, to say nothing of Mr. Ranki 1's wild men being
foreigners.

I need not refer you, sir, to the late instance of the Ojibbeway
12

THREATENING LETTER TO THOMAS HOOD

Bride. But I am credibly informed, that she is on the eve of
retiring into a savage fastness, where she may bring forth and
educate a wild family, who shall in course of time, by the dexterous
use of the popularity they are certain to acquire at Windsor and
St. James's, divide with dwarfs the principal offices of state, of
patronage, and power, in the United Kingdom.

Consider the deplorable consequences, Mr. Hood, which must
result from these proceedings, and the encouragement they receive
in the highest quarters.

The dwarf being the favourite, sir, it is certain that the public
mind will run in a great and eminent degree upon the production
of dwarfs. Perhaps the failures only will be brought up, wild.
The imagination goes a long way in these cases ; and all that the
imagination can do, will be done, and is doing. You may convince
yourself of this, by observing the condition of those ladies who take
particular notice of General Tom Thumb at the Egyptian Hall,
during his hours of performance.

The rapid increase of dwarfs, will be first felt in her Majesty's
recruiting department. The standard will, of necessity, be lowered ;
the dwarfs will grow smaller and smaller ; the vulgar expression * a
man of his inches ' will become a figure of fact, instead of a figure
of speech; crack regiments, household-troops especially, will pick
the smallest men from all parts of the country; and in the two
little porticoes at the Horse Guards, two Tom Thumbs will be daily
seen, doing duty, mounted on a pair of Shetland ponies. Each of
them will be relieved (as Tom Thumb is, at this moment, in the
intervals of his performance) by a wild man ; and a British Grenadier
will either go into a quart pot, or be an Old Boy, or Blue Gull, or
Flying Bull, or some other savage chief of that nature.

I will not expatiate upon the number of dwarfs who will be found
representing Grecian statues in all parts of the metropolis ; because
I am inclined to think that this will be a change for the better;
and that the engagement of two or three in Trafalgar Square will
tend to the improvement of the public taste.

The various genteel employments at Court being held by dwarfs,
sir, it will be necessary to alter, in some respects, the present
regulations. It is quite clear that not even General Tom Thumb
himself could preserve a becoming dignity on state occasions, if
required to walk about with a scaffolding -pole under his arm;

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

therefore the gold and silver sticks at present used, must be cut
down into skewers of those precious metals ; a twig of the black
rod will be quite as much as can be conveniently preserved; the
coral and bells of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, will be
used in lieu of the mace at present in existence; and that bauble
(as Oliver Cromwell called it, Mr. Hood), its value being first
calculated by Mr. Finlayson, the government actuary, will be placed
to the credit of the National Debt.

All this, sir, will be the death of the constitution. But this is
not all. The constitution dies hard, perhaps ; but there is enough
disease impending, Mr. Hood, to kill it three times over.

Wild men will get into the House of Commons. Imagine that,
sir ! Imagine Strong Wind in the House of Commons ! It is not
an easy matter to get through a debate now ; but I say, imagine
Strong Wind, speaking for the benefit of his constituents, upon the
floor of the House of Commons ! or imagine (which is pregnant with
more awful consequences still) the ministry having an interpreter in
the House of Commons, to tell the country, in English, what it
really means !

Why, sir, that in itself would be blowing the constitution out of
the mortar in St. James's Park, and leaving nothing of it to be seen
but smoke.

But this, I repeat it, is the state of things to which we are fast
tending, Mr. Hood ; and I inclose my card for your private eye,
that you may be quite certain of it. What the condition of this
country will be, when its standing army is composed of dwarfs, with
here and there a wild man to throw its ranks into confusion, like the
elephants employed in war in former times, I leave you to imagine,
sir. It may be objected by some hopeful jackanapeses, that the
number of impressments in the navy, consequent upon the seizure of
the Boy Joneses, or remaining portion of the population ambitious
of Court Favour, will be in itself sufficient to defend our Island from
foreign invasion. But I tell those jackanapeses, sir, that while I
admit the wisdom of the Boy Jones precedent, of kidnapping such
youths after the expiration of their several terms of imprisonment
as vagabonds ; hurrying them on board ship ; and packing them off
to sea again whenever they venture to take the air on shore ; I deny
the justice of the inference; inasmuch as it appears to me, that the
inquiring minds of those young outlaws must naturally lead to their
14

THREATENING LETTER TO THOMAS HOOD

being hanged by the enemy as spies, early in their career; and before
they shall have been rated on the books of our fleet as able seamen.

Such, Mr. Hood, sir, is the prospect before us ! And unless you,
and some of your friends who have influence at Court, can get up a
giant as a forlorn hope, it is all over with this ill-fated land.

In reference to your own affairs, sir, you will take whatever course
may seem to you most prudent and advisable after this warning. It
is not a warning to be slighted: that I happen to know. I am
informed by the gentleman who favours this, that you have recently
been making some changes and improvements in your Magazine, and
are, in point of fact, starting afresh. If I be well informed, and
this be really so, rely upon it that you cannot start too small, sir.
Come down to the duodecimo size instantly, Mr. Hood. Take time
by the forelock ; and, reducing the stature of your Magazine every
month, bring it at last to the dimensions of the little almanack no
longer issued, I regret to say, by the ingenious Mr. Schloss : which
was invisible to the naked eye until examined through a little eye
glass.

You project, I am told, the publication of a new novel, by your
self, in the pages of your Magazine. . A word in your ear. I am not
a young man, sir, and have had some experience. Don't put your
own name on the title-page ; it would be suicide and madness.
Treat with General Tom Thumb, Mr. Hood, for the use of his name
on any terms. If the gallant general should decline to treat with
you, get Mr. Barnum's name, which is the next best in the market.
And when, through this politic course, you shall have received,
in presents, a richly jewelled set of tablets from Buckingham Palace,
and a gold watch and appendages from Marlborough House; and
when those valuable trinkets shall be left under a glass case at your
publisher's for inspection by your friends and the public in general ;
— then, sir, you will do me the justice of remembering this com
munication.

It is unnecessary for me to add, after what I have observed in the
course of this letter, that I am not, sir, ever your

Tuetday, 23rd April, 1844. CONSTANT READEB.

P.S. — Impress it upon your contributors that they cannot be too
short ; and that if not dwarfish, they must be wild — or at all events
Dot tame.

JOHN OVERS

PREFACE TO * EVENINGS OF A WORKING MAN*
[1844]

THE indulgent reader of this little book1 — not called indulgent, I
may hope, by courtesy alone, but with some reference also to its
title and pretensions — may very naturally inquire how it comes to
have a preface to which my name is attached, nor is the reader's
right or inclination to be satisfied on this head, likely to be much
diminished, when I state in the outset, that I do not recommend it
as a book of surpassing originality or transcendent merit. That I
do not claim to have discovered, in humble life, an extraordinary
and brilliant genius. That I cannot charge mankind in general,
with having entered into a conspiracy to neglect the author of this
volume, or to leave him pining in obscurity. That I have not the
smallest intention of comparing him with Burns, the exciseman ; or
with Bloomfield, the shoemaker ; or with Ebenezer Elliott, the
worker in iron; or with James Hogg, the shepherd. That I see
no reason to be hot, or bitter, or lowering, or sarcastic, or indignant,
or fierce, or sour, or sharp, in his behalf. That I have nothing to
rail at ; nothing to exalt ; nothing to flourish in the face of a stony
hearted world ; and have but a very short and simple tale to tell.

But, such as it is, it has interested me : and I hope it may in
terest the reader too, if I state it, unaffectedly and plainly.

John Overs, the writer of the following pages, is, as is set forth in
the title-page, a working man. A man who earns his weekly wages
(or who did when he was strong enough) by plying of the hammer,
plane, and chisel. He became known to me, to the best of my
recollection, nearly six years ago, when he sent me some songs,
appropriate to the different months of the year, with a letter, stating
under what circumstances they had been composed, and in what
manner he was occupied from morning until night. I was, just
then) relinquishing the conduct of a monthly periodical : or I would

1 ' Evenings of a Working Man ' : being the occupation of his scanty leisure,
By John Overs.

JOHN OVERS

gladly have published them. As it was, I returned them to him,
with a private expression of the interest I felt in sucli productions.
They were afterwards accepted, with much readiness and considera
tion, by Mr. Tait, of Edinburgh ; and were printed in his Magazine.

Finding, after some further correspondence with my new friend,
that his authorship had not ceased with these verses, but that he
still occupied his leisure moments in writing, I took occasion to
remonstrate with him seriously against his pursuing that course. I
pointed out to him a few of the uncertainties, anxieties, and diffi
culties of such a life, at the best. I entreated him to remember the
position of heavy disadvantage in which he stood, by reason of his
self education, and imperfect attainments ; and I besought him to
consider whether, having one or two of his pieces accepted occasion
ally, here and there, after long suspense and many refusals, it was
probable that he would find himself, in the end, a happier or a more
contented man. On all these grounds, I told him, his persistence in
his new calling made me uneasy ; and I advised him to abandon it,
as strongly as I could.

In answer to this dissuasion of mine, he wrote me as manly and
straightforward, but withal, as modest a letter, as ever I read in my
life. He explained to me how limited his ambition was: soaring
no higher than the establishment of his wife in some light business,
and the better education of his children. He set before me, the
difference between his evening and holiday studies, such as they
were; and the having no better resource than an alehouse or a
skittle-ground. He told me, how every small addition to his stock
of knowledge, made his Sunday walks the pleasanter ; the hedge-
flowers sweeter; everything more full of interest and meaning to
him. He assured me, that his daily work was not neglected for
his self-imposed pursuits ; but was faithfully and honestly performed ;
and so, indeed, it was. He hinted to me, that his greater self-
respect was some inducement and reward ; supposing every other to
elude his grasp ; and showed me, how the fancy that he would turn
this or that acquisition from his books to account, by and by, in
writing, made him more fresh and eager to peruse and profit by
them, when his long day's work was done.

I would not, if I could, have offered one solitary objection more,
to arguments so unpretending and so true.

From that time to the present, I have seen him frequently. It
VOL. I : B 17

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

has been a pleasure to me to put a few books in his way ; to give
him a word or two of counsel in his little projects and difficulties;
and to read his compositions with him, when he has had an hour,
or so, to spare. I have never altered them, otherwise than by re
commending condensation now and then; nor have I, in looking
over these sheets, made any emendation in them, beyond the ordinary
corrections of the press ; desiring them to be his genuine work, as
they have been his sober and rational amusement.

The latter observation brings me to the origin of the present
volume, and of this my slight share in it. The reader will soon
comprehend why I touch the subject lightly, and with a sorrowful
and faltering hand.

In all the knowledge I have had of John Overs, and in all the
many conversations I have held with him, I have invariably found
him, in every essential particular, but one, the same. I have found
him from first to last a simple, frugal, steady, upright, honourable
man ; especially to be noted for the unobtrusive independence of
his character, the instinctive propriety of his manner, and the perfect
neatness of his appearance. The extent of his information : regard
being had to his opportunities of acquiring it : is very remarkable ;
and the discrimination with which he has risen superior to the mere
prejudices of the class with which he is associated, without losing his
sympathy for all their real wrongs and grievances — they have a few —
impressed me, in the beginning of our acquaintance, strongly in his
favour.

The one respect in which he is not what he was, is in his hold
on life.

He is very ill ; the faintest shadow of the man who came into
my little study for the first time half a dozen years ago, after the
correspondence I have mentioned. He has been very ill for a long,
long period ; his disease is a severe and wasting affection of the
lungs, which has incapacitated him, these many months, for every
kind of occupation. * If I could only do a hard day's work," he said
to me the other day, ' how happy I should be ! '

Having these papers by him, amongst others, he bethought him
self that if he could get a bookseller to purchase them for publica
tion in a volume, they would enable him to make some temporary
provision for his sick wife and very young family. We talked the
matter over together, and that it might be easier of accomplish-
iS

JOHN OVERS

merit, I promised him that I would write an introduction to his
book.

I would to Heaven that I could do him better service ! I would
to Heaven it were an introduction to a long, and vigorous, and
useful life ! But Hope will not trim her lamp the less brightly for
him and his, because of this impulse to their struggling fortunes;
and trust me, reader, they deserve her light, and need it sorely.

He has inscribed this book to one whose skill will help him, under
Providence, in all that human skill can do. To one who never
could have recognised in any potentate on earth, a higher claim to
constant kindness and attention, than he has recognised in him.

I have little more to say of it. While I do not commend it, on
the one hand, as a prodigy, I do sincerely believe it, on the other,
to possess some points of real interest, however considered ; but
which, if considered with reference to its title and origin, are of
great interest.

If any delicate readers should approach the perusal of these ' Even
ings of a Working Man,' with a genteel distaste to the principle of
a working-man turning author at all, I may perhaps be permitted
to suggest that the best protection against such an offence will be
found in the Universal Education of the people ; for the enlighten
ment of the many will effectually swamp any interest that may now
attach in vulgar minds, to the few among them who are enabled, in
any degree, to overcome the great difficulties of their position.

And if such readers should deny the immense importance of
communicating to this class, at this time, every possible means of
knowledge, refinement and recreation ; or the cause we have to hail
with delight the least token that may arise among them of a desire
to be wiser, better, and more gentle ; I earnestly entreat them to
educate themselves in this neglected branch of their own learning
without delay ; promising them that it is the easiest in its acquisi
tion of any : requiring only open eyes and ears, and six easy lessons
of an hour each in a working town. Which will render them perfect
for the rest of their lives.

LONDON, June, 1844.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

THE SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY1

IN WESTMINSTER HALL
[Douglas JerrolcTs Shilling Magazine, AUGUST 1845]

*OF all the Cants that are canted in this canting world,1 wrote Sterne,
' kind Heaven defend me from the cant of Art ! ' We have no inten
tion of tapping our little cask of cant, soured by the thunder of great
men's fame, for the refreshment of our readers : its freest draught
would be unreasonably dear at a shilling, when the same small liquor
may be had for nothing, at innumerable ready pipes and conduits ;
and may even be drawn off, sparkling, from the fountain-head, on
application to Mr. Eastlake, secretary to the Fine Arts1 Commission,
who is obligingly ready to dispense it, ex officio, wholesale or retail,
in any quantity.

But it is a main part of the design of this magazine to sympathise
with what is truly great and good ; to hail the bright nobility of
genius, though it shine out through the clouds of Diletanti lords and
bargain-driving princes ; to scout the miserable discouragements that
beset, especially in England, the upward path of men of high desert ;
and gladly to give honour where it is due, in right of Something
achieved, tending to elevate the tastes and thoughts of all who con
template it, and prove a lasting credit to the country of its birth.

Upon the walls of Westminster Hall, there hangs, at this time,
sucli a Something. A composition of such marvellous beauty, of
such infinite variety, of such masterly design, of such vigorous and
skilful drawing, of such thought and fancy, of such surprising and
delicate accuracy of detail, subserving one grand harmony, and one
plain purpose, that it may be questioned whether the Fine Arts
in any period of their history, have known a more remarkable
performance.

1 [This Article is set from the galley proof in the Dyce and Forster Collection in the
Victoria and Albert Museum. In Douglas Jtrrold 'j Magazine certain portions of it »re
deleted.— ED.]
20

THE SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY

It is the cartoon of Daniel Maclise, ' executed by order of the
Commissioners,' and called The Spirit of Chivalry. It is so many
feet and inches high, by order of the Commissioners ; and so many
feet and inches broad, by order of the Commissioners. Its pro
portions are exceedingly difficult of management, by order of the
Commissioners ; and its subject and title were an order of the Com
missioners. It may be left an open question, whether or no this
allegorical bespeak on the part of the Commissioners, displays any
uncommon felicity of idea. We rather think not; and are free to
confess that we should like to have seen the Commissioners1 notion
of the Spirit of Chivalry stated by themselves, in the first instance,
on a sheet of foolscap, as the ground-plan of a model cartoon. That
the treatment of such an abstraction, for the purposes of Art, in
volves great and peculiar difficulties, no one who considers the
subject for a moment can doubt. That nothing is easier to render
it absurd and monstrous, is a position as little capable of dispute
by anybody who has beheld another cartoon on the same subject in
the same Hall, representing a Ghoule in a state of raving madness,
dancing on a body in a very high wind, to the great astonishment
of John the Baptist's head, which is looking on from a corner.

Mr. Maclise's handling of the subject has by this time sunk into
the hearts of thousands upon thousands of people. It is familiar
knowledge among all classes and conditions of men. It is the great
feature within the Hall, and the constant topic of discourse else
where. It has awakened in the great body of society a new interest
in, and a new perception, and a new love of, Art. Students of art
have sat before it, hour by hour, perusing in its many forms of
Beauty, lessons to delight the world, and raise themselves, its future
teachers, in its better estimation. Eyes well accustomed to the
glories of the Vatican, the galleries of Florence, all the mightiest
works of art in Europe, have grown dim before it with the strong
emotions it inspires ; ignorant, unlettered, drudging men, mere hewers
and drawers, have gathered in a knot about it (as at our back a
week ago), and read it, in their homely language, as it were a Book.
In minds, the roughest and the most refined, it has alike found
quick response ; and will, and must, so long as it shall hold together.

For how can it be otherwise ? Look up, upon the pressing throng
who strive to win distinction from the Guardian Genius of all noble
deeds and honourable renown : a gentle Spirit, holding her fair state

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for their reward and recognition (do not be alarmed, my Lord
Chamberlain ; this is only in a picture) ; and say what young and
Ardent heart may not find one to beat in unison with it — beat high
with generous aspiration like its own — in following their onward
course, as it is traced by this great pencil ! Is it the Love of Woman,
in its truth and deep devotion, that inspires you ? See it here ! Is
it Glory, as the world has learned to call the pomp and circumstance
of arms? Behold it at the summit of its exaltation, with its mailed
hand resting on the altar where the Spirit ministers. The Poet's
laurel-crown, which they who sit on thrones can neither twine or
wither — is that the aim of thy ambition ? It is there, upon his brow ;
it wreathes his stately forehead, as he walks apart and holds com
munion with himself. The Palmer and the Bard are there; no
solitary wayfarers, now; but two of a great company of pilgrims,
climbing up to honour by the different paths that lead to the great
end. And sure, amidst the gravity and beauty of them all — unseen
in his own form, but shining in his spirit, out of every gallant shape
and earnest thought — the Painter goes triumphant !

Or say that you who look upon this work, be old, and bring to it
grey hairs, a head bowed down, a mind in which the day of life has
spent itself, and the calm evening closes gently in. Is its appeal to
you confined to its presentment of the Past ? Have you no share in
this, but while the grace of youth and the strong resolve of maturity
are yours to aid you ? Look up again. Look up where the spirit
is enthroned ; and see about her, reverend men, whose task is done ;
whose struggle is no more ; who cluster round her as her train and
council; who have lost no share or interest in that great rising up
and progress, but, true in Autumn to the purposes of Spring, are
there to stimulate the race who follow in their steps; to con
template with hearts grown serious, not cold or sad, the striving in
which they once had part ; to die in that great Presence, which is
Truth and Bravery, and Mercy to the Weak : beyond all power of
separation.

It would be idle to observe of this last group that, both in execu
tion and idea, they are of the very highest order of Art, and wonder
fully serve the purpose of the picture. There is not one among its
three and twenty heads of which the same remark might not be
made. Neither will we treat of great effects produced by means
quite powerless in other hands for such an end, or of the prodigious
22

THE SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY

force and colour which so separate this work from all the rest
exhibited, that it would scarcely appear to be produced upon the
same kind of surface by the same description of instrument. The
bricks, and stones, and timbers of the Hall itself are not facts more
indisputable than these.

It has been objected to this extraordinary work, that it is too
elaborately finished : too complete in its several parts. And Heaven
knows, if it be judged in this respect by any standard in the Hall
about it, it vill find no parallel, nor anything approaching it. But
it is a design, intended to be afterwards copied and painted in
fresco ; and certain finish must be had at last, if not at first. It is
very well to take it for granted in a Cartoon that a series of cross-
lines, almost as rough and apart as the lattice-work of a garden
summer-house, represents the texture of the human face; but the
face cannot be painted so. A smear upon the paper may be under
stood, by virtue of the context gained from what surrounds it, to
stand for a limb, or a body, or a cuirass, or a hat and feathers, or a
flag, or a boot, or an angel. But when the time arrives for render
ing these things in colours on a wall, they must be grappled with,
and cannot be slurred over in this wise. Great misapprehension on
this head seems to have been engendered in the minds of some
observers, by the famous cartoons of Raphael ; but they forget that
these were never intended as designs for fresco painting. They were
designed for tapestry-work, which is susceptible of only certain
broad and general effects, as no one better knew than the Great
Master. Utterly detestable and vile as the tapestry is, compared
with the immortal Cartoons from which it is worked, it is impossible
for any man who casts his eyes upon it where it hangs at Rome, not
to see, immediately, the special adaptation of the drawings to that
end, and for that purpose. The aim of these Cartoons being wholly
different, Mr. Maclise's object, if we understand it, was to show pre
cisely what he meant to do, and knew he could perform, in fresco,
on a wall. And here his meaning is ; worked out ; without a com
promise of any difficulty ; without the avoidance of any disconcerting
truth ; expressed in all its beauty, strength, and power.

To what end ? To be perpetuated hereafter in the high place of
the chief Senate-House of England ? To be wrought, as it were,
into the very elements of which that Temple is composed ; to
co-endure with it, and still present, perhaps, some lingering traces

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of its ancient Beauty, when London shall have sunk into a grave of
grass-grown ruin ; and the whole circle of the Arts, another revolu
tion of the mighty wheel completed, shall be wrecked and broken?

Let us suppose no such reward in store for the great English
artist who has set his genius on this English stake. Let us go
further; and putting a hypothetical case founded on certain rumours,
which have already made their way into print, or into pretty general
discussion with some aspect of authority, endeavour to explain to
two or three of the Commissioners our own idea of what the spirit
of chivalry in them, would be. We do not exactly contemplate the
likelihood of the manifestation of their own subject in all of them;
that were mere midsummer madness as Commissioners go ; but we
have heard of there being among them men of letters : men devoted
to pursuits and tastes not altogether removed from, nay, somewhat
closely leading to, the just appreciation and the manly championship
of such a Work ; as Poets, Writers of History, Orators and Scholars,
who have words enough at their command when they see fit to use
them. Now we should deem it no inappropriate illustration of the
Spirit of Chivalry in one of these, if, rising in his place among the
rest, he told them a few wholesome truths, and, speaking after what
flourish his nature would, shaped out this matter thus :

4 What, my Lords and Gentlemen ! Reserve for another, the
Post of Honour, the conspicuous place behind the Throne ; and
offer to the man who has set this before you, an inferior place in an
inferior room ; an ante-chamber of the House of Commons, where he
may try his hand like some poor journeyman in Art ! Is this the
true performance of your trust ? Is this the British recognition of
a claim which any little sovereign in Europe would have been proud
to honour and reward ? Hath not a commissioner eyes ? hath not a
commissioner hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ?
Does he lose them all in the Commission Room, and dwindle down
into a mere polite machine : a deferential and obsequious instrument ?

* Oh your royal Highness, look upon this work again ! Have
some regard for its originality: its execution, its design, its com
bination of high qualities so rare, that any One of them has often
furnished forth a Painter ! I do not question the ability of the artist
whom you raise above this lofty head: I have ever done it justice,
and I do so now. Nor do I venture to dispute that it is natural
and amiable in you to love the German school of art, even at second-
24

CRIME AND EDUCATION

hand. But there is Justice to be done ! The object of this com
petition was encouragement and exaltation of English art ; and in
this work, albeit done on paper which soon rots, the Art of England
will survive, assert itself, and triumph, when the stronger seeming
bones and sinews of your royal Highness and the rest, shall be but
so much Dust. A breath from princely lungs may blow it, light as
thistle-down, into a disregarded corner of the pile now rearing, but
when that breath has been puffed out, and stopped for scores upon
scores of years, the frail thing now discouraged, will wax strong
against you ! '

In the hypothetical case we have put, this is our notion of the
Spirit of Chivalry in any one of the Commissioners. In the same
hypothetical case, we will conclude by observing that anything short
of this, is the exact realisation of our notion of the innermost Spirit
of Meanness and Injustice.

CRIME AND EDUCATION

[Letter to the Daily News, FEBRUARY 4, 1846]

I OFFER no apology for entreating the attention of the readers of
the Daily News to an effort which has been making for some three
years and a half, and which is making now, to introduce among the
most miserable and neglected outcasts in London, some knowledge of
the commonest principles of morality and religion ; to commence
their recognition as immortal human creatures, before the Gaol
Chaplain becomes their only schoolmaster; to suggest to Society
that its duty to this wretched throng, foredoomed to crime and
punishment, rightfully begins at some distance from the police office;
and that the careless maintenance from year to year, in this the
capital city of the world, of a vast hopeless nursery of ignorance,
misery, and vice ; a breeding place for the hulks and jails : is horrible
to contemplate.

This attempt is being made, in certain of the most obscure and
squalid parts of the Metropolis ; where rooms are opened, at night,
for the gratuitous instruction of all comers, children or adults, under
the title of RAGGED SCHOOLS. The name implies the purpose. They
who are too ragged, wretched, filthy, and forlorn, to enter any other

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place : who could gain admission into no charity school, and who
would be driven from any church door ; are invited to come in here,
and find some people not depraved, willing to teach them something,
And show them some sympathy, and stretch a hand out, which is not
the iron hand of Law, for their correction.

Before I describe a visit of my own to a Ragged School, and urge
the readers of this letter for God's sake to visit one themselves, and
think of it (which is my main object), let me say, that I know the
prisons of London well. That I have visited the largest of them, more
times than I could count ; and that the children in them are enough
to break the heart and hope of any man. I have never taken a
foreigner or a stranger of any kind, to one of these establishments, but
I have seen him so moved at sight of the child offenders, and so
affected by the contemplation of their utter renouncement and
desolation outside the prison walls, that he has been as little able to
disguise his emotion, as if some great grief had suddenly burst upon
him. Mr. Chesterton and Lieutenant Tracey (than whom more
intelligent and humane Governors of Prisons it would be hard, if not
impossible, to find, know, perfectly well, that these children pass and
repass through the prisons all their lives ; that they are never taught ;
that the first distinctions between right and wrong are, from their
cradles, perfectly confounded and perverted in their minds; that
they come of untaught parents, and will give birth to another
untaught generation; that in exact proportion to their natural
abilities, is the extent and scope of their depravity ; and that there
is no escape or chance for them in any ordinary revolution of
human affairs. Happily, there are schools in these prisons now. If
any readers doubt how ignorant the children are, let them visit those
schools, and see them at their tasks, and hear how much they knew
when they were sent there. If they would know the produce of this
seed, let them see a class of men and boys together, at their books
(as I have seen them in the House of Correction for this county of
Middlesex), and mark how painfully the full grown felons toil at the
very shape and form of letters ; their ignorance being so confirmed
and solid. The contrast of this labour in the men, with the less
blunted quickness of the boys ; the latent shame and sense of de
gradation struggling through their dull attempts at infant lessons ;
and the universal eagerness to learn, impress me, in this passing
retrospect, more painfully than I can tell.
26

For the instruction, and as a first step in the reformation, of such
onhappy beings, the Ragged Schools were founded. I was first
attracted to the subject, and indeed was first made conscious of their
existence, about two years ago, or more, by seeing an advertisement
in the papers dated from West Street, Saffron Hill, stating ' That a
room had been opened and supported in that wretched neighbour
hood for upwards of twelve months, where religious instruction had
been imparted to the poor,' and explaining in a few words what was
meant by Ragged Schools as a generic term, including, then, four
or five similar places of instruction. I wrote to the masters of this
particular school to make some further inquiries, and went myself
soon afterwards.

It was a hot summer night; and the air of Field Lane and Saffron
Hill was not improved by such weather, nor were the people in those
streets very sober or honest company. Being unacquainted with
the exact locality of the school, I was fain to make some inquiries
about it. These were very jocosely received in general ; but every
body knew where it was, and gave the right direction to it. The
prevailing idea among the loungers (the greater part of them the
very sweepings of the streets and station houses) seemed to be, that
the teachers were quixotic, and the school upon the whole ' a lark.1
But there was certainly a kind of rough respect for the intention,
and (as I have said) nobody denied the school or its whereabouts,
or refused assistance in directing to it.

It consisted at that time of either two or three — I forget which —
miserable rooms, upstairs in a miserable house. In the best of these,
the pupils in the female school were being taught to read and write ;
and though there were among the number, many wretched creatures
steeped in degradation to the lips, they were tolerably quiet, and
listened with apparent earnestness and patience to their instructors.
The appearance of this room was sad and melancholy, of course —
how could it be otherwise ! — but, on the whole, encouraging.

The close, low, chamber at the back, in which the boys were
crowded, was so foul and stifling as to be, at first, almost insupport
able. But its moral aspect was so far worse than its physical, that
this was soon forgotten. Huddled together on a bench about the
room, and shown out by some flaring candles stuck against the
walls, were a crowd of boys, varying from mere infants to young
men; sellers of fruit, herbs, lucifer-matches, flints; sleepers under

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the dry arches of bridges ; young thieves and beggars — with nothing
natural to youth about them : with nothing frank, ingenuous, or
pleasant in their faces ; low - browed, vicious, cunning, wicked ;
abandoned of all help but this ; speeding downward to destruction ;
and UNUTTERABLY IGNORANT.

This, Reader, was one room as full as it could hold ; but these
were only grains in sample of a Multitude that are perpetually
sifting through these schools ; in sample of a Multitude who had
within them once, and perhaps have now, the elements of men as
good as you or I, and maybe infinitely better ; in sample of a
Multitude among whose doomed and sinful ranks (oh, think of this,
and think of them !) the child of any man upon this earth, however
lofty his degree, must, as by Destiny and Fate, be found, if, at its

birth, it were consigned to such an infancy and nurture, as these

f 11 i- j I

fallen creatures had !

This was the Class I saw at the Ragged School. They could not
be trusted with books ; they could only be instructed orally ; they
were difficult of reduction to anything like attention, obedience, or
decent behaviour ; their benighted ignorance in reference to the
Deity, or to any social duty (how could they guess at any social
duty, being so discarded by all social teachers but the gaoler and the
hangman !) was terrible to see. Yet, even here, and among these,
something had been done already. The Ragged School was of
recent date and very poor; but it had inculcated some associa
tion with the name of the Almighty, which was not an oath, and
had taught them to look forward in a hymn (they sang it) to
another life, which would correct the miseries and woes of this.

The new exposition I found in this Ragged School, of the fright
ful neglect by the State of those whom it punishes so constantly,
and whom it might, as easily and less expensively, instruct and save ;
together with the sight I had seen there, in the heart of London ;
haunted me, and finally impelled me to an endeavour to bring these
Institutions under the notice of the Government; with some faint
hope that the vastness of the question would supersede the Theology
of the schools, and that the Bench of Bishops might adjust the
latter question, after some small grant had been conceded. I made
the attempt ; and have heard no more of the subject, from that hour.

The perusal of an advertisement in yesterday's paper, announcing
a lecture on the Ragged Schools last night, has led me into these
28

CRIME AND EDUCATION

remarks. I might easily have given them another form; but I
address this letter to you, in the hope that some few readers in
whom I have awakened an interest, as a writer of fiction, may be,
by that means, attracted to the subject, who might otherwise, unin
tentionally, pass it over.

I have no desire to praise the system pursued in the Ragged
Schools ; which is necessarily very imperfect, if indeed there be one.
So far as I have any means of judging of what is taught there, I
should individually object to it, as not being sufficiently secular, and
as presenting too many religious mysteries and difficulties, to minds
not sufficiently prepared for their reception. But I should very
imperfectly discharge in myself the duty I wish to urge and impress
on others, if I allowed any such doubt of mine to interfere with my
appreciation of the efforts of these teachers, or my true wish t<
promote them by any slight means in my power. Irritating topics,
of all kinds, are equally far removed from my purpose and intention.
But, I adjure those excellent persons who aid, munificently, in the
building of New Churches, to think of these Ragged Schools ; to
reflect whether some portion of their rich endowments might not be
spared for such a purpose ; to contemplate, calmly, the necessity of
beginning at the, beginning ; to consider for themselves where the
Christian Religion most needs and most suggests immediate help
and illustration ; and not to decide on any theory or hearsay, but to
go themselves into the Prisons and the Ragged Schools, and form
their own conclusions. They will be shocked, pained, and repelled,
by much that they learn there ; but nothing they can learn, will be
one-thousandth part so shocking, painful, and repulsive, as the con
tinuance for one year more of these things as they have been for too
many years already.

Anticipating that some of the more prominent facts connected
with the history of the Ragged Schools, may become known to the
readers of the Daily News through your account of the lecture in
question, I abstain (though in possession of some such information)
from pursuing the question further, at this time. But if I should
see occasion, I will take leave to return to it.

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CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

[Three Letters to the Daily News, MARCH 9, 13, and 16, 1846]

I WILL take for the subject of this letter, the effect of Capital Punish
ment on the commission of crime, or rather of murder ; the only
crime with one exception (and that a rare one) to which it is now
applied. Its effect in preventing crime, I will reserve for another
letter : and a few of the more striking illustrations of each aspect of
the subject, for a concluding one.

THE EFFECT OF CAPITAL PUNISHMENT ON THE
COMMISSION OF MURDER.

Some murders are committed in hot blood and furious rage ; some,
in deliberate revenge ; some, in terrible despair ; some (but not
many) for mere gain ; some, for the removal of an object dangerous
to the murderer's peace or good name ; some, to win a monstrous
notoriety.

On murders committed in rage, in the despair of strong affection
(as when a starving child is murdered by its parent) or for gain,
I believe the punishment of death to have no effect in the least. In
the two first cases, the impulse is a blind and wild one, infinitely
beyond the reach of any reference to the punishment. In the last,
there is little calculation beyond the absorbing greed of the money
to be got. Courvoisier, for example, might have robbed his master
with greater safety and with fewer chances of detection, if he had
not murdered him. But, his calculations going to the gain and not
to the loss, he had no balance for the consequences of what he did.
So, it would have been more safe and prudent in the woman who
was hanged a few weeks since, for the murder in Westminster, to
have simply robbed her old companion in an unguarded moment, as
in her sleep. But, her calculation going to the gain of what she
took to be a Bank note ; and the poor old woman living between
her and the gain ; she murdered her.

On murders committed in deliberate revenge, or to remove a
stumbling block in the murderer's path, or in an insatiate craying
30

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

for notoriety, is there reason to suppose that the punishment of
death has the direct effect of an incentive and an impulse ?

A murder is committed in deliberate revenge. The murderer is
at no trouble to prepare his train of circumstances, takes little or no
pains to escape, is quite cool and collected, perfectly content to
deliver himself up to the Police, makes no secret of his guilt, but
boldly says, ' 1 killed him. I 'm glad of it. I meant to do it. I
am ready to die.' There was such a case the other day. There was
such another case not long ago. There are such cases frequently.
It is the commonest first exclamation on being seized. Now, what
is this but a false arguing of the question, announcing a foregone
conclusion, expressly leading to the crime, and inseparably arising
out of the Punishment of Death ? ' I took his life. I give up mine
to pay for it. Life for life ; blood for blood. I have done the
crime. I am ready with the atonement. I know all about it; it's
a fair bargain between me and the law. Here am I to execute my
part of it ; and what more is to be said or done ? ' It is the very
essence of the maintenance of this punishment for murder, that it
does set life against life. It is in the essence of a stupid, weak, or
otherwise ill-regulated mind (of such a murderer's mind, in short),
to recognise in this set off, a something that diminishes the base and
coward character of murder. In a pitched battle, I, a common man,
may kill my adversary, but he may kill me. In a duel, a gentleman
may shoot his opponent through the head, but the opponent may
shoot him too, and this makes it fair. Very well. I take this man's
life for a reason I have, or choose to think I have, and the law takes
mine. The law says, and the clergyman says, there must be blood
for blood and life for life. Here it is. I pay the penalty.'

A mind incapable, or confounded in its perceptions — and you
must argue with reference to such a mind, or you could not have
such a murder — may not only establish on these grounds an idea
of strict justice and fair reparation, but a stubborn and dogged
fortitude and foresight that satisfy it hugely. Whether the fact be
really so, or not, is a question I would be content to rest, alone, on
the number of cases of revengeful murder in which this is well
known, without dispute, to have been the prevailing demeanour of
the criminal : and in which such speeches and such absurd reasoning
have been constantly uppermost with him. ' Blood for blood,' and
* life for life,' and such like balanced jingles, have passed current in

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people's mouths, from legislators downwards, until they have been
corrupted into ' tit for tat,' and acted on.

Next, come the murders done, to sweep out of the way a dreaded
or detested object. At the bottom of this class of crimes, there is a
slow, corroding, growing hate. Violent quarrels are commonly found
to have taken place between the murdered person and the murderer :
usually of opposite sexes. There are witnesses to old scenes of
reproach and recrimination, in which they were the actors ; and the
murderer has been heard to say, in this or that coarse phrase, ' that
he wouldn't mind killing her, though he should be hanged for it ' —
in these cases, the commonest avowal.

It seems to me, that in this well-known scrap of evidence, there is
a deeper meaning than is usually attached to it. I do not know,
but it may be — I have a strong suspicion that it is — a clue to the
slow growth of the crime, and its gradual development in the mind.
More than this ; a clue to the mental connection of the deed, with
the punishment to which the doer of that deed is liable, until the
two, conjoined, give birth to monstrous and mis-shapen Murder.

The idea of murder, in such a case, like that of self-destruction in
the great majority of instances, is not a new one. It may have pre
sented itself to the disturbed mind in a dim shape and afar off; but
it has been there. After a quarrel, or with some strong sense upon
him of irritation or discomfort arising out of the continuance of this
life in his path, the man has brooded over the unformed desire to
take it. ' Though he should be hanged for it.' With the entrance
of the Punishment into his thoughts, the shadow of the fatal beam
begins to attend — not on himself, but on the object of his hate. At
every new temptation, it is there, stronger and blacker yet, trying to
terrify him. When she defies or threatens him, the scaffold seems to
be her strength and * vantage ground.' Let her not be too sure
of that ; ' though he should be hanged for it.'

Thus, he begins to raise up, in the contemplation of this death by
hanging, a new and violent enemy to brave. The prospect of a slow
and solitary expiation would have no congeniality with his wicked
thoughts, but this throttling and strangling has. There is always
before him, an ugly, bloody, scarecrow phantom, that champions her,
as it were, and yet shows him, in a ghastly way, the example of
murder. Is she very weak, or very trustful in him, or infirm, or old ?
It gives a hideous courage to what would be mere slaughter other-
32

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

wise ; for there it is, a presence always about her, darkly menacing
him with that penalty whose murky secret has a fascination for all
secret and unwholesome thoughts. And when he struggles with his
victim at the last, ' though he should be hanged for it,' it is a merci
less wrestle, not with one weak life only, but with that ever-haunt
ing, ever-beckoning shadow of the gallows, too ; and with a fierce
defiance to it, after their long survey of each other, to come on and
do its worst.

Present this black idea of violence to a bad mind contemplating
violence ; hold up before a man remotely compassing the death of
another person, the spectacle of his own ghastly and untimely death
by man's hands ; and out of the depths of his own nature you shall
assuredly raise up that which lures and tempts him on. The laws
which regulate those mysteries have not been studied or cared for,
by the maintainers of this law; but they are paramount and will
always assert their power.

Out of one hundred and sixty-seven persons under sentence of
Death in England, questioned at different times, in the course of
years, by an English clergyman in the performance of his duty, there
were only three who had not been spectators of executions.

We come, now, to the consideration of those murders which are
committed, or attempted, with no other object than the attainment
of an infamous notoriety. That this class of crimes has its origin
in the Punishment of Death, we cannot question; because (as we
have already seen, and shall presently establish by another proof)
great notoriety and interest attach, and are generally understood to
attach, only to those criminals who are in danger of being executed.

One of the most remarkable instances of murder originating in
mad self-conceit ; and of the murderer's part in the repulsive drama,
in which the law appears at such great disadvantage to itself and to
society, being acted almost to the last with a self-complacency that
would be horribly ludicrous if it were not utterly revolting; is pre
sented in the case of Hocker.

Here is an insolent, flippant, dissolute youth : aping the man of
intrigue and levity: over-dressed, over-confident, inordinately vain
of his personal appearance : distinguished as to his hair, cane, snuff
box, and singing-voice : and unhappily the son of a working shoe
maker. Bent on loftier flights than such a poor house-swallow as a
,eacher in a Sunday-school can take ; and having no truth, industry,
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perseverance, or other dull work-a-day quality, to plume his wings
withal ; he casts about him, in his jaunty way, for some mode of
distinguishing himself — some means of getting that head of hair
into the print-shops; of having something like justice done to his
singing-voice and fine intellect ; of making the life and adventures
of Thomas Hocker remarkable ; and of getting up some excitement
in connection with that slighted piece of biography. The Stage?
No. Not feasible. There has always been a conspiracy against the
Thomas Hockers, in that kind of effort. It has been the same with
Authorship in prose and poetry. Is there nothing else ? A Murder,
now, would make a noise in the papers ! There is the gallows to be
sure; but without that, it would be nothing. Short of that, it
wouldn't be fame. Well ! We must all die at one time or other ;
and to die game, and have it in print, is just the thing for a man
of spirit. They always die game at the Minor Theatres and the
Saloons, and the people like it very much. Thurtell, too, died very
game, and made a capital speech when he was tried. There's all
about it in a book at the cigar-shop now. Come, Tom, get youi
name up ! Let it be a dashing murder that shall keep the wood-
engravers at it for the next two months. You are the boy to go
through with it, and interest the town !

The miserable wretch, inflated by this lunatic conceit, arranges
his whole plan for publication and effect. It is quite an epitome of
his experience of the domestic melodrama or penny novel. There is
the Victim Friend ; the mysterious letter of the injured Female tG
the Victim Friend; the romantic spot for the Death-Struggle by
night ; the unexpected appearance of Thomas Hocker to the Police
man ; the parlour of the Public House, with Thomas Hocker read
ing the paper to a strange gentleman ; the Family Apartment, with
a song by Thomas Hocker ; the Inquest Room, with Thomas Hocker
boldly looking on; the interior of the Marylebone Theatre, with
Thomas Hocker taken into custody ; the Police Office with Thomas
Hocker 'affable' to the spectators; the interior of Newgate, with
Thomas Hocker preparing his defence ; the Court, where Thomas
Hocker, with his dancing-master airs, is put upon his trial, and com
plimented by the Judge ; the Prosecution, the Defence, the Verdict,
the Black Cap, the Sentence — each of them a line in any Playbill,
and how bold a line in Thomas Hocker's life !

It is worthy of remark, that the nearer he approaches to the
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gallows — the great last scene to which the whole of these effects
have been working up — the more the over-weening conceit of the
poor wretch shows itself; the more he feels that he is the hero of
the hour; the more audaciously and recklessly he lies, in supporting
the character. In public — at the condemned sermon — he deports
himself as becomes the man whose autographs are precious, whose
portraits are innumerable; in memory of whom, whole fences and
gates have been borne away, in splinters, from the scene of murder.
He knows that the eyes of Europe are upon him ; but he is not
proud — only graceful. He bows, like the first gentleman in Europe,
to the turnkey who brings him a glass of water ; and composes his
clothes and hassock, as carefully as good Madame Blaize could do.
In private — within the walls of the condemned cell — every word and
action of his waning life, is a lie. His whole time is divided between
telling lies and writing them. If he ever have another thought, it is
for his genteel appearance on the scaffold ; as when he begs the
barber ' not to cut his hair too short, or they won't know him when
he comes out.' His last proceeding but one is to write two romantic
love letters to women who have no existence. His last proceeding of
all (but less characteristic, though the only true one) is to swoon
away, miserably, in the arms of the attendants, and be hanged up
like a craven dog.

Is not such a history, from first to last, a most revolting and dis
graceful one ; and can the student of it bring himself to believe that
it ever could have place in any record of facts, or that the miserable
chief-actor in it could have ever had a motive for his arrogant
wickedness, but for the comment and the explanation which the
Punishment of Death supplies !

It is not a solitary case, nor is it a prodigy, but a mere specimen
of a class. The case of Oxford, who fired at Her Majesty in the
Park, will be found, on examination, to resemble it very nearly, in
the essential feature. There is no proved pretence whatever for
regarding him as mad ; other than that he was like this malefactor,
brimful of conceit and a desire to become, even at the cost of the
gallows (the only cost within his reach) the talk Af the town. He
had less invention than Hocker, and perhaps was not so deliberately
bad ; but his attempt was a branch of the same tre<L and it has its
root in the ground where the scaffold is erected. \

Oxford had his imitators. Let it never be forgotten in the con-

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sideration of this part of the subject, how they were stopped. So
long as their attempts invested them with the distinction of being
in danger of death at the hangman's hands, so long did they spring
up. When the penalty of death was removed, and a mean and
humiliating punishment substituted in its place, the race was at an
end, and ceased to be.

WE come, now, to consider the effect of Capital Punishment in
the prevention of crime.

Does it prevent crime in those who attend executions ?

There never is (and there never was) an execution at the Old
Bailey in London, but the spectators include two large classes of
thieves — one class who go there as they would go to a dog-fight,
or any other brutal sport, for the attraction and excitement of the
spectacle ; the other who make it a dry matter of business, and mix
with the crowd, solely to pick pockets. Add to these, the dissolute,
the drunken, the most idle, profligate, and abandoned of both sexes
— some moody, ill-conditioned minds, drawn thither by a fearful
interest — and some impelled by curiosity ; of whom the greater part
are of an age and temperament rendering the gratification of that
curiosity highly dangerous to themselves and to society — and the
great elements of the concourse are stated.

Nor is this assemblage peculiar to London. It is the same in
country towns, allowing for the different statistics of the population.
It is the same in America. I was present at an execution in Rome,
for a most treacherous and wicked murder, and not only saw the
same kind of assemblage there, but, wearing what is called a shoot
ing-coat, with a great many pockets in it, felt innumerable hands
busy in every one of them, close to the scaffold.

I have already mentioned that out of one hundred and sixty-seven
convicts under sentence of death, questioned at different times in the
performance of his duty by an English clergyman, there were only
three who had not been spectators of executions. Mr. Wakefield,
in his Facts relating to the Punishment of Death, goes into the work
ing, as it were, of this sum. His testimony is extremely valuable,
because it is the evidence of an educated and observing man, who,
before having personal knowledge of the subject and of Newgate,
was quite satisfied that the Punishment of Death should continue,
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CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

but who, when he gained that experience, exerted himself to the
utmost for its abolition, even at the pain of constant public refer
ence in his own person to his own imprisonment. * It cannot be
egotism,' he reasonably observes, * that prompts a man to speak of
himself in connection with Newgate.'

'Whoever will undergo the pain,1 says Mr. Wakefield, 'of witness
ing the public destruction of a fellow-creature's life, in London, must
be perfectly satisfied that in the great mass of spectators, the effect
of the punishment is to excite sympathy for the criminal and hatred
of the law. * * * I am inclined to believe that the criminals of
London, spoken of as a class and allowing for exceptions, take the
same sort of delight in witnessing executions, as the sportsman and
soldier find in the dangers of hunting and war. * * * I am confident
that few Old Bailey Sessions pass without the trial of a boy, whose
first thought of crime occurred whilst he was witnessing an execu
tion. * * * And one grown man, of great mental powers and superior
education, who was acquitted of a charge of forgery, assured me that
the first idea of committing a forgery occurred to him at the moment
when he was accidentally witnessing the execution of Fauntleroy.
To which it may be added, that Fauntleroy is said to have made
precisely the same declaration in reference to the origin of his own
criminality.

But one convict * who was within an ace of being hanged,' among
the many with whom Mr. Wakefield conversed, seems to me to have
unconsciously put a question which the advocates of Capital Punish
ment would find it very difficult indeed to answer. * Have you often
seen an execution?' asked Mr. Wakefield. 'Yes, often.' 'Did it
not frighten you ? ' ' No. Why should it ? '

It is very easy and very natural to turn from this ruffian, shocked
by the hardened retort ; but answer his question, why should it ?
Should he be frightened by the sight of a dead man ? We are born
to die, he says, with a careless triumph. We are not born to the
treadmill, or to servitude and slavery, or to banishment; but the
executioner has done no more for that criminal than nature may do
to-morrow for the judge, and will certainly do, in her own good
time, for judge and jury, counsel and witnesses, turnkeys, hangman,
and all. Should he be frightened by the manner of the death ?
It is horrible, truly, so horrible, that the law, afraid or ashamed of
its own deed, hides the face of the struggling wretch it slays ; but

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does this fact naturally awaken in such a man, terror — or defiance ?
Let the same man speak. ' What did you think then ? ' asked Mr.
Wakefield. * Think ? Why, I thought it was a — shame.'

Disgust and indignation, or recklessness and indifference, or a
morbid tendency to brood over the sight until temptation is
engendered by it, are the inevitable consequences of the spectacle,
according to the difference of habit and disposition in those who
behold it. Why should it frighten or deter ? We know it does not.
We know it from the police reports, and from the testimony of those
who have experience of prisons and prisoners, and we may know it,
on the occasion of an execution, by the evidence of our own senses ;
if we will be at the misery of using them for such a purpose. But
why should it? Who would send his child or his apprentice, or
what tutor would send his scholars, or what master would send his
servants, to be deterred from vice by the spectacle of an execution ?
If it be an example to criminals, and to criminals only, why are not
the prisoners in Newgate brought out to see the show before the
debtors' door ? Why, while they are made parties to the condemned
sermon, are they rigidly excluded from the improving postscript of
the gallows ? Because an execution is well known to be an utterly
useless, barbarous, and brutalising sight, and because the sympathy
of all beholders, who have any sympathy at all, is certain to be
always with the criminal, and never with the law.

I learn from the newspaper accounts of every execution, how
Mr. So-and-so, and Mr. Somebody else, and Mr. So-forth shook
hands with the culprit, but I never find them shaking hands with
the hangman. All kinds of attention and consideration are lavished
on the one ; but the other is universally avoided, like a pestilence.
I want to know why so much sympathy is expended on the man who
kills another in the vehemence of his own bad passions, and why the
man who kills him in the name of the law is shunned and fled from ?
Is it because the murderer is going to die ? Then by no means put
him to death. Is it because the hangman executes a law, which,
when they once come near it face to face, all men instinctively revolt
from ? Then by all means change it. There is, there can be, no
prevention in such a law.

It may be urged that Public Executions are not intended for the
benefit of those dregs of society who habitually attend them. This
ie an absurdity, to which the obvious answer is, So much the worse.
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CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

If they be not considered with reference to that class of persons,
comprehending a great host of criminals in various stages of develop
ment they ought to be, and must be. To lose sight of that considera
tion is to be irrational, unjust, and cruel. All other punishments
are especially devised, with a reference to the rooted habits, pro
pensities, and antipathies of criminals. And shall it be said, out
of Bedlam, that this last punishment of all, is alone to be made an
exception from the rule, even where it is shown to be a means of
propagating vice and crime ?

But there may be people who do not attend executions, to whom
the general fame and rumour of such scenes is an example, and a
means of deterring from crime.

Who are they ? We have seen, that around Capital Punishment
there lingers a fascination, urging weak and bad people towards it,
and imparting an interest to details connected with it, and with
malefactors awaiting it or suffering it, which even good and well-dis
posed people cannot withstand. We know that last dying speeches
and Newgate calendars, are the favourite literature of very low
intellects. The gallows is not appealed to, as an example in the
instruction of youth (unless they are training for it) ; nor are there
condensed accounts of celebrated executions for the use of national
schools. There is a story in an old spelling-book, of a certain Don't
Care, who was hanged at last, but it is not understood to have had
any remarkable effect on crimes or executions in the generation to
which it belonged, and with which it has passed away. Hogarth's
idle apprentice is hanged ; but the whole scene — with the unmis-
takeable stout lady, drunk and pious, in the cast; the quarrelling,
blasphemy, lewdness, and uproar; Tiddy Doll vending his ginger
bread, and the boys picking his pocket — is a bitter satire on the
great example ; as efficient then, as now.

Is it efficient to prevent crime ? The parliamentary returns
demonstrate that it is not. I was engaged in making some extracts
from these documents, when I found them so well abstracted in one
of the papers published by the committee on this subject established
at Aylesbury last year, by the humane exertions of Lord Nugent,
that I am glad to quote the general results from its pages :

' In 1843, a return was laid on the table of the House of the commit
ments and executions for murder in England and Wales, during the

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thirty years ending with December 1842; divided into five periods of
six years each. It shows that in the last six years, from 1836 to 1842,
during which there were only 50 executions, the commitments for
murder were fewer by 6l than in the six years preceding with 74
executions; fewer by 63 than in the six years ending 1830 with 75
executions; fewer by 56 than in the six years ending 1824 with Q4<
executions; and fewer by 93 than in the six years ending 1818, when
there was no less a number of executions than 122. But it may be
said, perhaps, that, in the inference we draw from this return, we are
substituting cause for effect, and that, in each successive cycle, the
number of murders decreased in consequence of the example of public
executions in the cycle immediately preceding, and that it was for that
reason there were fewer commitments. This might be said with some
colour of truth, if the example had been taken from two successive
cycles only. But when the comparative examples adduced are of no
less than Jive successive cycles, and the result gradually and constantly
progressive in the same direction, the relation of facts to each other is
determined beyond all ground for dispute, namely, that the number of
these crimes has diminished in consequence of the diminution of the
number of executions. More especially when it is also remembered
that it was immediately after the first of these cycles of five years, when
there had been the greatest number of executions and the greatest
number of murders, that the greatest number of persons were suddenly
cast loose upon the country, without employ, by the reduction of the
Army and Navy ; that then came periods of great distress and great
disturbance in the agricultural and manufacturing districts; and above
all, that it was during the subsequent cycles that the most important
mitigations were effected in the law, and that the Punishment of Death
was taken away not only for crimes of stealth, such as cattle and horse
stealing, and forgery, of which crimes corresponding statistics show
likewise a corresponding decrease, but for the crimes of violence too,
tending to murder, such as are many of the incendiary offences, and such
as are highway robbery and burglary. But another return, laid before
the House at the same time, bears upon our argument, if possible, still
more conclusively. In table 11, we have only the years which have
occurred since 1810, in which all persons convicted of murder suffered
death ; and, compared with these an equal number of years in which
the smallest proportion of persons convicted were executed. In the
first case there were 66 persons convicted, all of whom underwent the
penalty of death; in the second 83 were convicted, of whom 31 only
were executed. Now see how these two very different methods of

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dealing with the crime of murder affected the commission of it in the
years immediately following. The number of commitments for murder,
in the four years immediately following those in which all persons
convicted were executed, was 270.

' In the four years immediately following those in which little more
than one third of the persons convicted were executed, there were but
222, being 48 less. If we compare the commitments in the following
years with those in the first years, we shall find that immediately after
the examples of unsparing execution, the crime increased nearly 13 per
cent., and that after commutation was the practice and capital punish
ment the exception, it decreased 17 per cent.

' In the same parliamentary return is an account of the commitments
and executions in London and Middlesex, spread over a space of thirty-two
years, ending in 1842, divided into two cycles of sixteen years each. In
the first of these, 34 persons were convicted of murder, all of ivhom were
executed. In the second, 27 were convicted, and only 17 executed. The
commitments for murder during the latter long period, with 17 executions,
were more than one half fewer than they had been in the former long
period with exactly double the number of executions. This appears to us
to be as conclusive upon our argument as any statistical illustration can
be upon any argument professing to place successive events in the
relation of cause and effect to each other. How justly then is it said
in that able and useful periodical work, now in the course of publication
at Glasgow, under the name of the Magazine of Popular Information on
Capital and Secondary Punishment ; " the greater the number of executions,
the greater the number of murders ; the smaller the number of execu
tions, the smaller the number of murders. The lives of her Majesty's
subjects are less safe with a hundred executions a year than with fifty ;
less safe with fifty than with twenty-five." '

Similar results have followed from rendering public executions
more and more infrequent, in Tuscany, in Prussia, in France, in
Belgium. Wherever capital punishments are diminished in their
number, there, crimes diminish in their number too.

But the very same advocates of the Punishment of Death who
contend, in the teeth of all facts and figures, that it does prevent
crime, contend in the same breath against its abolition because it
does not ! * There are so many bad murders,' say they, ' and they
follow in such quick succession, that the Punishment must not be
repealed.' Why, is not this a reason, among others, for repealing
it? Does it not go to show that it is ineffective as an example;

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that it fails to prevent crime ; and that it is wholly inefficient to
stay that imitation, or contagion, call it what you please, which
brings one murder on the heels of another ?

One forgery came crowding on another's heels in the same way,
when the same punishment attached to that crime. Since it has
been removed, forgeries have diminished in a most remarkable
degree. Yet within five-and-thirty years, Lord Eldon, with tearful
solemnity, imagined in the House of Lords as a possibility for their
Lordships to shudder at, that the time might come when some
visionary and morbid person might even propose the abolition of
the punishment of Death for forgery. And when it was proposed,
Lords Lyndhurst, Wynford, Tenterden,1 and Eldon — all Law Lords
— opposed it.

The same Lord Tenterden1 manfully said, on another occasion
and another question, that he was glad the subject of the amend
ment of the laws had been taken up by Mr. Peel, ' who had not
been bred to the law ; for those who were, were rendered dull, by
habit, to many of its defects ! ' I would respectfully submit, in
extension of this text, that a criminal judge is an excellent witness
against the Punishment of Death, but a bad witness in its favour ;
and I will reserve this point for a few remarks in the next, concluding,
Letter.

Ill

THE last English Judge, I believe, who gave expression to a public
and judicial opinion in favour of the Punishment of Death, is Mr.
Justice Coleridge, who, in charging the Grand Jury at Hertford
last year, took occasion to lament the presence of serious crimes in
the calendar, and to say that he feared that they were referable to
the comparative infrequency of Capital Punishment.

It is not incompatible with the utmost deference and respect for
an authority so eminent, to say that, in this, Mr. Justice Coleridge
was not supported by facts, but quite the reverse. He went out of
his way to found a general assumption on certain very limited and
partial grounds, and even on those grounds was wrong. For among
the few crimes which he instanced, murder stood prominently forth.
Now persons found guilty of murder are more certainly and un
sparingly hanged at this time, as the Parliamentary Returns de-

1 Printed ' Tenderden ' in the Daily News, in error.
42

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monstrate than such criminals ever were. So how can the decline
of public executions affect that class of crimes ? As to persons
committing murder, and yet not found guilty of it by juries, they
escape solely because there are many public executions — not because
there are none or few.

But when I submit that a criminal judge is an excellent witness
against Capital Punishment, but a bad witness in its favour, I do
so on more broad and general grounds than apply to this error in
fact and deduction (so I presume to consider it) on the part of the
distinguished judge in question. And they are grounds which do
not apply offensively to judges, as a class ; than whom there are no
authorities in England so deserving of general respect and confidence,
or so possessed of it ; but which apply alike to all men in their
several degrees and pursuits.

It is certain that men contract a general liking for those things
which they have studied at great cost of time and intellect, and
their proficiency in which has led to their becoming distinguished
and successful. It is certain that out of this feeling arises, not only
that passive blindness to their defects of which the example given by
my Lord Tenterden was quoted in the last letter, but an active
disposition to advocate and defend them. If it were otherwise ; if
it were not for this spirit of interest and partisanship ; no single
pursuit could have that attraction for its votaries which most pur
suits in course of time establish. Thus legal authorities are usually
jealous of innovations on legal principles. Thus it is described of
the lawyer in the Introductory Discourse to the Description of
Utopia, that he said of a proposal against Capital Punishment,
* " this could never be so established in England but that it must
needs bring the weal-public into great jeopardy and hazard," and
as he was thus saying, he shaked his head, and made a wry mouth,
and so he held his peace.1 Thus the Recorder of London, in 1811,
objected to 'the capital part being taken off' from the offence of
picking pockets. Thus the Lord Chancellor, in 1813, objected to
the removal of the penalty of death from the offence of stealing to
the amount of five shillings from a shop. Thus, Lord Ellenborough,
in 1820, anticipated the worst effects from there being no punish
ment of death for stealing five shillings' worth of wet linen from a
bleaching ground. Thus the Solicitor General, in 1830, advocated
the punishment of death for forgery, and ' the satisfaction of think-

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ing ' in the teeth of mountains of evidence from bankers and other
inj ured parties (one thousand bankers alone !) ' that he was deterring
persons from the commission of crime, by the severity of the law.1
Thus, Mr. Justice Coleridge delivered his charge at Hertford in
1845. Thus there were in the criminal code of England, in 1790,
one hundred and sixty crimes punishable with death. Thus the
lawyer has said, again and again, in his generation, that any change
in such a state of things ' must needs bring the weal-public into
jeopardy and hazard.' And thus he has, all through the dismal
history, 'shaked his head, and made a wry mouth, and held his
peace.' Except — a glorious exception! — when such lawyers as
Bacon, More, Blackstone, Romilly? and — let us ever gratefully
remember — in later times Mr. Basil Montagu, have striven, each
in his day, within the utmost limits of the endurance of the mistaken
feeling of the people or the legislature of the time, to champion and
maintain the truth.

There is another and a stronger reason still, why a criminal judge
is a bad witness in favour of the Punishment of Death. He is a
chief actor in the terrible drama of a trial, where the life or death of
a fellow creature is at issue. No one who has seen such a trial can
fail to know, or can ever forget, its intense interest. I care not how
painful this interest is, to the good, wise judge upon the bench. I
admit its painful nature, and the judge's goodness and wisdom to
the fullest extent — but I submit that his prominent share in the
excitement of such a trial, and the dread mystery involved, has a
tendency to bewilder and confuse the judge upon the general subject
of that penalty. I know the solemn pause before the verdict, the
hush and stilling of the fever in the court, the solitary figure brought
back to the bar, and standing there, observed of all the outstretched
heads and gleaming eyes, to be, next minute, stricken dead, as one
may say, among them. I know the thrill that goes round when the
black cap is put on, and how there will be shrieks among the women,
and a taking out of some one in a swoon ; and, when the judge's
faltering voice delivers sentence, how awfully the prisoner and he
confront each other ; two mere men, destined one day, however far
removed from one another at this time, to stand alike as suppliants
at the bar of God. I know all this ; I can imagine what the office of
the judge costs, in this execution of it; but I say that in these
strong sensations he is lost, and is unable to abstract the penalty as
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a preventive or example, from an experience of it, and from associa
tions surrounding it, which are and can be, only his, and his alone.

Not to contend that there is no amount of wig or ermine that can
change the nature of the man inside ; not to say that the nature of
a judge may be, like the dyer's hand, subdued to what it works in,
and may become too used to this punishment of death, to consider it
quite dispassionately ; not to say that it may possibly be inconsistent
to have, deciding as calm authorities in favour of death, judges who
have been constantly sentencing to death ; — I contend that for the
reasons I have stated, alone, a judge, and especially a criminal j udge,
is a bad witness for the punishment but an excellent witness against
it, inasmuch as in the latter case his conviction of its inutility has
been so strong and paramount as utterly to beat down and conquer
these adverse incidents. I have no scruple in stating this position,
because, for anything I know, the majority of excellent judges now
on the bench may have overcome them, and may be opposed to the
Punishment of Death under any circumstances.

I mentioned that I would devote a portion of this letter to a few
prominent illustrations of each head of objection to the Punishment
of Death. Those on record are so very numerous that selection is
extremely difficult; but in reference to the possibility of mistake,
and the impossibility of reparation, one case is as good (I should
rather say as bad) as a hundred ; and if there were none but Eliza
Fenning's, that would be sufficient. Nay, if there were none at all,
it would be enough to sustain this objection, that men of finite and
limited judgment do inflict, on testimony which admits of doubt, an
infinite and irreparable punishment. But there are on record
numerous instances of mistake ; many of them very generally known
and immediately recognisable in the following summary, which I
copy from the New York Report already referred to.

'There have been cases in which groans have been heard in the
apartment of the crime, which have attracted the steps of those on
whose testimony the case has turned — when, on proceeding to the spot,
they have found a man bending over the murdered body, a lantern in
the left hand, and the knife yet dripping with the warm current in the
blood-stained right, with horror-stricken countenance, and lips which,
in the presence of the dead, seem to refuse to deny the crime in the
very act of which he is thus surprised — and yet the man has been, many
years after, when his memory alone could be benefited by the discovery,

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ascertained not to have been the real murderer ! l There have been
cases in which, in a house in which were two persons alone, a murder
has been committed on one of them — when many additional circum
stances have fastened the imputation upon the other — and when, all
apparent modes of access from without, being closed inward, the demon
stration has seemed complete of the guilt for which that other has
suffered the doom of the law — yet suffered innocently I There have been
cases in which a father has been found murdered in an outhouse, the
only person at home being a son, sworn by a sister to have been dissolute
and undutiful, and anxious for the death of the father, and succession to
the family property — when the track of his shoes in the snow is found
from the house to the spot of the murder, and the hammer with which
it was committed (known as his own), found, on a search, in the corner
of one of his private drawers, with the bloody evidence of the deed only
imperfectly effaced from it — and yet the son has been innocent ! — the
sister, years after, on her death-bed, confessing herself the fratricide as
well as the parricide. There have been cases in which men have been
hung on the most positive testimony to identity (aided by many suspi
cious circumstances), by persons familiar with their appearance, which
have afterwards proved grievous mistakes, growing out of remarkable
personal resemblance. There have been cases in which two men have
been seen fighting in a field — an old enmity existing between them —
the one found dead, killed by a stab from a pitch-fork, known as belong
ing to the other, and which that other had been carrying, the pitch-fork
lying by the side of the murdered man — and yet its owner has been
afterwards found not to have been the author of the murder of which
it had been the instrument, the true murderer sitting on the jury that
tried him. There have been cases in which an innkeeper has been
charged by one of his servants with the murder of a traveller, the
servant deposing to having seen his master on the stranger's bed,
strangling him, and afterwards rifling his pockets — another servant
deposing that she saw him come down at that time at a very early hour
in the morning, steal into the garden, take gold from his pocket, and
carefully wrapping it up bury it in a designated spot — on the search
of which the ground is found loose and freshly dug, and a sum of thirty
pounds in gold found buried according to the description — the master,
who confessed the burying of the money, with many evidences of guilt
in his hesitation and confusion, has been hung of course, and proved
innocent only too late. There have been cases in which a traveller has
been robbed on the highway, of twenty guineas which he had taken the

1 Printed ' murdered ' in the Daily News*

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

precaution to mark — one of these is found to have been paid away or
changed by one of the servants of the inn which the traveller reaches
the same evening — the servant is about the height of the robber, who
had been cloaked and disguised — his master deposes to his having been
recently unaccountably extravagant and flush of gold — and on his trunk
being searched the other nineteen marked guineas and the traveller's
purse are found there, the servant being asleep at the time, half-drunk
— he is of course convicted and hung, for the crime of which his master
was the author ! There have been cases in which a father and daughter
have been overheard in violent dispute — the words "barbarity" "cruelty,"
and ' ' death " being heard frequently to proceed from the latter — the
former goes out, locking the door behind him — groans are overheard,
and the words, " cruel father, thou art the cause of my death ! " — on the
room being opened, she is found on the point of death from a wound in
her side, and near her the knife with which it had been inflicted — and
on being questioned as to her owing her death to her father, her last
motion, before expiring, is an expression of assent — the father, on return
ing to the room exhibits the usual evidences of guilt — he, too, is of
course hung — and it is not till nearly a year afterwards that, on the
discovery of conclusive evidence that it was a suicide, the vain repara
tion is made to his memory by the public authorities, of — waving a pair
of colours over his grave in token of the recognition of his innocence.'

More than a hundred such cases are known, it is said in this
Report, in English criminal jurisprudence. The same Report con
tains three striking cases of supposed criminals being unjustly
hanged in America ; and also five more in which people whose
innocence was not afterwards established were put to death on
evidence as purely circumstantial and as doubtful, to say the least
of it, as any that was held to be sufficient in this general summary
of legal murders. Mr. CTConnell defended, in Ireland, within five-
and-twenty years, three brothers who were hanged for a murder of
which they were afterwards shown to have been innocent. I cannot
find the reference at this moment, but I have seen it stated on good
authority, that but for the exertions, I think of the present Lord
Chief Baron, six or seven innocent men would certainly have been
hanged. Such are the instances of wrong judgment which are known
to us. How many more there may be, in which the real murderers
never disclosed their guilt, or were never discovered, and where the
odium of great crimes still rests on guiltless people long since
resolved to dust in their untimely graves, no human power can tell.

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The effect of public executions on those who witness them, requires
no better illustration, and can have none, than the scene which any
execution in itself presents, and the general Police-office knowledge
of the offences arising out of them. I have stated my belief that
the study of rude scenes leads to the disregard of human life, and
to murder. Referring since that expression of opinion to the very
last trial' for murder in London, I have made inquiry, and am
assured that the youth now under sentence of death in Newgate for
the murder of his master in Drury Lane, was a vigilant spectator of
the three last public executions in this City. What effects a daily
increasing familiarity with the scaffold, and with death upon it,
wrought in France in the Great Revolution, everybody knows. In
reference to this very question of Capital Punishment, Robespierre
himself, before he was

' in blood stept in so far,'

warned the National Assembly that in taking human life, and in
displaying before the eyes of the people scenes of cruelty and the
bodies of murdered men, the law awakened ferocious prejudices,
which gave birth to a long and growing train of their own kind.
With how much reason this was said, let his own detestable name
bear witness ! If we would know how callous and hardened society,
even in a peaceful and settled state, becomes to public executions
when they are frequent, let us recollect how few they were who made
the last attempt to stay the dreadful Monday-morning spectacles of
men and women strung up in a row for crimes as different in their
degree as our whole social scheme is different in its component parts,
which, within some fifteen years or so, made human shambles of the
Old Bailey.

There is no better way of testing the effect of public executions
on those who do not actually behold them, but who read of them
and know of them, than by inquiring into their efficiency in prevent
ing crime. In this respect they have always, and in all countries,
failed. According to all facts and figures, failed. In Russia, in
Spain, in France, in Italy, in Belgium, in Sweden, in England, there
has been, one result. In Bombay, during the Recordership of Sir
James Macintosh, there were fewer crimes in seven years without
one execution, than in the preceding seven years with forty-seven
executions ; notwithstanding that in the seven years without capital

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

punishment, the population had greatly increased, and there had
been a large accession to the numbers of the ignorant and licentious
soldiery, with whom the more violent offences originated. During
the four wickedest years of the Bank of England (from 1814 to
1817, inclusive), when the one-pound note capital prosecutions were
most numerous and shocking, the number of forged one-pound notes
discovered by the Bank steadily increased, from the gross amount
in the first year of .£10,342, to the gross amount in the last of
^28,412. But in every branch of this part of the subject — the
inefficiency of capital punishment to prevent crime, and its efficiency
to produce it — the body of evidence (if there were space to quote or
analyse it here) is overpowering and resistless.

I have purposely deferred until now any reference to one objec
tion which is urged against the abolition of capital punishment : I
mean that objection which claims to rest on Scriptural authority.

It was excellently well said by Lord Melbourne, that no class of
persons can be shown to be very miserable and oppressed, but some
supporters of things as they are will immediately rise up and assert
— not that those persons are moderately well to do, or that their
lot in life has a reasonably bright side — but that they are, of all
sorts and conditions of men, the happiest. In like manner, when a
certain proceeding or institution is shown to be very wrong indeed,
there is a class of people who rush to the fountain-head at once, and
will have no less an authority for it than the Bible, on any terms.

So, we have the Bible appealed to in behalf of Capital Punish
ment. So, we have the Bible produced as a distinct authority for
Slavery. So, American representatives find the title of their country
to the Oregon territory distinctly laid down in the Book of Genesis.
So, in course of time, we shall find Repudiation, perhaps, expressly
commanded in the Sacred Writings.

It is enough for me to be satisfied, on calm inquiry and with
reason, that an Institution or Custom is wrong and bad ; and thence
to feel assured that IT CANNOT BE a part of the law laid down by the
Divinity who walked the earth. Though every other man who wields
a pen should turn himself into a commentator on the Scriptures —
not all their united efforts, pursued through our united lives, could
ever persuade me that Slavery is a Christian law ; nor, with one of
these objections to an execution in my certain knowledge, that
Executions are a Christian law, my will is not concerned. I could
VOL. I : D 49

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not, in my veneration for the life and lessons of Our Lord, believe
it. If any text appeared to justify the claim, I would reject that
limited appeal, and rest upon the character of the Redeemer, and
the great scheme of His Religion, where, in its broad spirit, made
so plain — and not this or that disputed letter — we all put our trust.
But, happily, such doubts do not exist. The case is far too plain.
The Rev. Henry Christmas, in a recent pamphlet on this subject,
shows clearly that in five important versions of the Old Testament
(to say nothing of versions of less note) the words, 'by man,' in the
often-quoted text, ' Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his
blood be shed,' do not appear at all. We know that the law of
Moses was delivered to certain wandering tribes, in a peculiar and
perfectly different social condition from that which prevails among
us at this time. We know that the Christian Dispensation did dis
tinctly repeal and annul certain portions of that law. We know
that the doctrine of retributive justice or vengeance, was plainly
disavowed by the Saviour. We know that on the only occasion of
an offender, liable by the law to death, being brought before Him
for His judgment, it was not death. We know that He said, * Thou
shalt not kill.' And if we are still to inflict capital punishment
because of the Mosaic law (under which it was not the consequence
of a legal proceeding, but an act of vengeance from the next of kin,
which would surely be discouraged by our later laws if it were re
vived among the Jews just now), it would be equally reasonable to
establish the lawfulness of a plurality of wives on the same authority.

Here I will leave this aspect of the question. I should not have
treated of it at all, in the columns of a newspaper, but for the
possibility of being unjustly supposed to have given it no considera
tion in my own mind.

In bringing to a close these letters on a subject, in connection
with which there is happily very little that is new to be said or
written, I beg to be understood as advocating the total abolition of
the Punishment of Death, as a general principle, for the advantage
of society, for the prevention of crime, and without the least refer
ence to, or tenderness for any individual malefactor whomsoever.
Indeed, in most cases of murder, my feeling towards the culprit is
very strongly and violently the reverse. I am the more desirous to
be so understood, after reading a speech made by Mr. Macaulay in
the House of Commons last Tuesday night, in which that accom-
50

IN MEMORIAM: W. M. THACKERAY

plished gentleman hardly seemed to recognise the possibility of any
body entertaining an honest conviction of the inutility and bad
effects of Capital Punishment in the abstract, founded on inquiry
and reflection, without being the victim of 'a kind of effeminate
feeling.' Without staying to inquire what there may be that is
especially manly and heroic in the advocacy of the gallows, or to
express my admiration of Mr. Calcraft, the hangman, as doubtless
one of the most manly specimens now in existence, I would simply
hint a doubt, in all good humour, whether this be the true Macaulay
way of meeting a great question ? One of the instances of effem
inacy of feeling quoted by Mr. Macaulay, I have reason to think
was not quite fairly stated. I allude to the petition in TawelFs
case. I had neither hand nor part in it myself; but, unless I am
greatly mistaken, it did pretty clearly set forth that Tawell was a
most abhorred villain, and that the House might conclude how
strongly the petitioners were opposed to the Punishment of Death,
when they prayed for its non-infliction even in such a case.

IN MEMORIAM: W. M. THACKERAY

[The Cornhill Magazine, FEBRUARY 1864]

IT has been desired by some of the personal friends of the great
English writer who established this magazine, that its brief record
of his having been stricken from among men should be written
by the old comrade and brother in arms who pens these lines,
and of whom he often wrote himself, and always with the warmest
generosity.

I saw him first, nearly twenty-eight years ago, when he proposed
to become the illustrator of my earliest book. I saw him last,
shortly before Christmas, at the Athenaeum Club, when he told me
that he had been in bed three days — that, after these attacks, he
was troubled with cold shiverings, ' which quite took the power of
work out of him ' — and that he had it in his mind to try a new
remedy which he laughingly described. He was very cheerful, and
looked very bright. In the night of that day week, he died.

The long interval between those two periods is marked in my
remembrance of him by many occasions when he was supremely

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humorous, when he was irresistibly extravagant, when he was softened
and serious, when he was charming with children. But, by none do
I recall him more tenderly than by two or three that start out of
the crowd, when he unexpectedly presented himself in my room,
announcing how that some passage in a certain book had made him
cry yesterday, and how that he had come to dinner, ' because he
couldn't help it,1 and must talk such passage over. No one can ever
have seen him more genial, natural, cordial, fresh, and honestly
impulsive, than I have seen him at those times. No one can be
surer than I, of the greatness and the goodness of the heart that
then disclosed itself.

We had our differences of opinion. I thought that he too much
feigned a want of earnestness, and that he made a pretence of under
valuing his art, which was not good for the art that he held in trust.
But, when we fell upon these topics, it was never very gravely, and
I have a lively image of him in my mind, twisting both his hands in
his hair, and stamping about, laughing, to make an end of the
discussion.

When we were associated in remembrance of the late Mr. Douglas
Jerrold, he delivered a public lecture in London, in the course of
which, he read his very best contribution to Punch, describing the
grown-up cares of a poor family of young children. No one hearing
him could have doubted his natural gentleness, or his thoroughly
unaffected manly sympathy with the weak and lowly. He read the
paper most pathetically, and with a simplicity of tenderness that
certainly moved one of his audience to tears. This was presently
after his standing for Oxford, from which place he had dispatched
his agent to me, with a droll note (to which he afterwards added a
verbal postscript), urging me to ' come down and make a speech, and
tell them who he was, for he doubted whether more than two of the
electors had ever heard of him, and he thought there might be as
many as six or eight who had heard of me.' He introduced the
lecture just mentioned, with a reference to his late electioneering
failure, which was full of good sense, good spirits, and good humour.

He had a particular delight in boys, and an excellent way with
them. I remember his once asking me with fantastic gravity, when
he had been to Eton where my eldest son then was, whether I felt
as he did in regard of never seeing a boy without wanting instantly
to give him a sovereign ? I thought of this when I looked down
52

IN MEMORIAM: W. M. THACKERAY

into his grave, after he was laid there, for I looked down into it
over the shoulder of a boy to whom he had been kind.

These are slight remembrances ; but it is to little familiar things
suggestive of the voice, look, manner, never, never more to be
encountered on this earth, that the mind first turns in a bereave
ment. And greater things that are known of him, in the way of his
warm affections, his quiet endurance, his unselfish thoughtfulness
for others, and his munificent hand, may not be told.

If, in the reckless vivacity of his youth, his satirical pen had ever
gone astray or done amiss, he had caused it to prefer its own petition
for forgiveness, long before :

I 've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ;

The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain;

The idle word that he'd wish back again.

In no pages should I take it upon myself at this time to discourse
of his books, of his refined knowledge of character, of his subtle
acquaintance with the weaknesses of human nature, of his delightful
playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint and touching ballads, of his
mastery over the English language. Least of all, in these pages,
enriched by his brilliant qualities from the first of the series, and
beforehand accepted by the Public through the strength of his great
name.

But, on the table before me, there lies all that he had written of
his latest and last story. That it would be very sad to any one —
that it is inexpressibly so to a writer — in its evidences of matured
designs never to be accomplished, of intentions begun to be executed
and destined never to be completed, of careful preparation for long
roads of thought that he was never to traverse, and for shining goals
that he was never to reach, will be readily believed. The pain, how
ever, that I have felt in perusing it, has not been deeper than the
conviction that he was in the healthiest vigour of his powers when
he wrought on this last labour. In respect of earnest feeling, far-
seeing purpose, character, incident, and a certain loving pictur-
esqueness blending the whole, I believe it to be much the best of all
his works. That he fully meant it to be so, that he had become
strongly attached to it, and that he bestowed great pains upon it, I
trace in almost every page. It contains one picture which must
have cost him extreme distress, and which is a masterpiece. There

are two children in it, touched with a hand as loving and tender as
ever a father caressed his little child with. There is some young
love, as pure and innocent and pretty as the truth. And it is very
remarkable that, by reason of the singular construction of the story,
more than one main incident usually belonging to the end of such a
fiction is anticipated in the beginning, and thus there is an approach
to completeness in the fragment, as to the satisfaction of the
reader's mind concerning the most interesting persons, which could
hardly have been better attained if the writer's breaking-off had
been foreseen.

The last line he wrote, and the last proof he corrected, are among
these papers through which I have so sorrowfully made my way.
The condition of the little pages of manuscript where Death stopped
his hand, shows that he had carried them about, and often taken
them out of his pocket here and there, for patient revision and
interlineation. The last words he corrected in print, were, * And my
heart throbbed with an exquisite bliss.' GOD grant that on that
Christmas Eve when he laid his head back on his pillow and threw
up his arms as he had been wont to do when very weary, some con
sciousness of duty done and Christian hope throughout life humbly
cherished, may have caused his own heart so to throb, when he passed
away to his Redeemer's rest !

He was found peacefully lying as above described, composed, un
disturbed, and to all appearance asleep, on the twenty-fourth of
December, 1863. He was only in his fifty-third year ; so young a
man, that the mother who blessed him in his first sleep, blessed him
in his last. Twenty years before, he had written, after being in a

white squall :

And when, its force expended,
The harmless storm was ended,
And, as the sunrise splendid

Came blushing o'er the sea ;
I thought, as day was breaking,
My little girls were waking,
And smiling, and making

A prayer at home for me.

Those little girls had grown to be women when the mournful day
broke that saw their father lying dead. In those twenty years of
companionship with him, they had learned much from him ; and one
of them has a literary course before her, worthy of her famous name,

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

On the bright wintry day, the last but one of the old year, he was
laid in his grave at Kensal Green, there to mingle the dust to which
the mortal part of him had returned, with that of a third child, lost
in her infancy, years ago. The heads of a great concourse of his
fellow- workers in the Arts, were bowed around his tomb.

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

INTRODUCTION TO HER 'LEGENDS AND LYRICS '

[1866]

IN the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the
Weekly Journal Household Words, a short poem among the proffered
contributions, very different, as I thought, from the shoal of verses
perpetually setting through the office of such a Periodical, and
possessing much more merit. Its authoress was quite unknown to
me. She was one Miss Mary Berwick, whom I had never heard of;
and she was to be addressed by letter, if addressed at all, at a circu
lating library in the western district of London. Through this
channel, Miss Berwick was informed that her poem was accepted,
and was invited to send another. She complied, and became a
regular and frequent contributor. Many letters passed between the
Journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick herself was never seen.

How we came gradually to establish, at the office of Household
Words, that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never dis
covered. But, we settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction,
that she was governess in a family ; that she went to Italy in that
capacity, and returned; and that she had long been in the same
family. We really knew nothing whatever of her, except that she
was remarkably business-like, punctual, self-reliant, and reliable : so
I suppose we insensibly invented the rest. For myself, my mother
was not a more real personage to me, than Miss Berwick the
governess became.

This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas Number,
entitled The Seven Poor Travellers, was sent to press. Happening
to be going to dine that day with an old and dear friend, distin
guished in literature as Barry Cornwall, I took with me an early
proof of that Number, and remarked, as I laid it on the drawing-

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room table, that it contained a very pretty poem, written by a
certain Miss Berwick. Next day brought me the disclosure that
I had so spoken of the poem to the mother of its writer, in its
writer's presence; that I had no such correspondent in existence
as Miss Berwick ; and that the name had been assumed by Barry
Cornwall's eldest daughter, Miss Adelaide Anne Procter.

The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain
why the parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for
these poor words of remembrance of their lamented child, strikingly
illustrates the honesty, independence, and quiet dignity, of the lady's
character. I had known her when she was very young ; I had been
honoured with her father's friendship when I was myself a young
aspirant ; and she had said at home, * If I send him, in my own
name, verses that he does not honestly like, either it will be very
painful to him to return them, or he will print them for papa's
sake, and not for their own. So I have made up my mind to take
my chance fairly with the unknown volunteers.'

Perhaps it requires an Editor's experience of the profoundly un
reasonable grounds on which he is often urged to accept unsuit
able articles — such as having been to school with the writer's
husband's brother-in-law, or having lent an alpenstock in Switzer
land to the writer's wife's nephew, when that interesting stranger
had broken his own — fully to appreciate the delicacy and the self-
respect of this resolution.

Some verses by Miss Procter had been published in the Book of
Beauty, ten years before she became Miss Berwick. With the
exception of two poems in the CornhiU Magazine, two in Good
Words, and others in a little book called A Chaplet of Verses (issued
in 1862 for the benefit of a Night Refuge), her published writings
first appeared in Household Words, or All the Year Round. The
present Edition contains the whole of her Legends and Lyrics, and
originates in the great favour with which they have been received
by the public.

Miss Procter was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th
of October, 1825. Her love of poetry was conspicuous at so early
an age, that I have before me a tiny album made of small note-
paper, into which our favourite passages were copied for her by her
mother's hand before she herself could write. It looks as if she had
carried it about, as another little girl might have carried a doll.
56

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

She soon displayed a remarkable memory, and great quickness of
apprehension. When she was quite a young child, she learnt with
facility several of the problems of Euclid. As she grew older, she
acquired the French, Italian, and German languages ; became a
clever pianoforte player ; and showed a true taste and sentiment
in drawing. But, as soon as she had completely vanquished the diffi
culties of any one branch of study, it was her way to lose interest
in it, and pass to another. While her mental resources were being
trained, it was not at all suspected in her family that she had any
gift of authorship, or any ambition to become a writer. Her father
had no idea of her having ever attempted to turn a rhyme, until her
first little poem saw the light in print.

When she attained to womanhood, she had read an extraordinary
number of books, and throughout her life she was always largely
adding to the number. In 1853 she went to Turin and its neigh
bourhood, on a visit to her aunt, a Roman Catholic lady. As Miss
Procter had herself professed the Roman Catholic Faith two years
before, she entered with the greater ardour on the study of the
Piedmontese dialect, and the observation of the habits and manners
of the peasantry. In the former, she soon became a proficient. On
the latter head, I extract from her familiar letters written home to
England at the time, two pleasant pieces of description.

A BETROTHAL

' We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description.
Last Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped out
into the balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind the moun
tains, when we heard very distinctly a band of music, which rather
excited my astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost that toils
up here. I went out of the room for a few minutes, and, on my re
turning, Emily said, " Oh ! That band is playing at the farmer's near
here. The daughter isflancee to-day, and they have a ball." I said, " I
wish I was going!" "Well," replied she, "the farmer's wife did call
to invite us." " Then, I shall certainly go," I exclaimed. I applied to
Madame B., who said she would like it very much, and we had better
go, children and all. Some of the servants were already gone. We
rushed away to put on some shawls, and put off any shred of black we
might have about us (as the people would have been quite annoyed if
we had appeared on such an occasion with any black), and we started.

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When we reached the farmer's, which is a stone's throw above our
house, we were received with great enthusiasm ; the only drawback
being, that no one spoke French, and we did not yet speak Piedmontese.
We were placed on a bench against the wall, and the people went on
dancing. The room was a large, whitewashed kitchen (I suppose),
with several large pictures in black frames, and very smoky. I distin
guished the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and the others appeared
equally lively and appropriate subjects. Whether they were Old Masters
or not, and if so, by whom, I could not ascertain. The band were seated
opposite us. Five men, with wind instruments, part of the band of the
National Guard, to which the farmer's sons belong. They played really
admirably, and I began to be afraid that some idea of our dignity would
prevent my getting a partner ; so, by Madame B.'s advice, I went up to
the bride, and offered to dance with her. Such a handsome young
woman ! Like one of Uwins's pictures. Very dark, with a quantity of
black hair, and on an immense scale. The children were already danc
ing, as well as the maids. After we came to an end of our dance,
which was what they call a Polka-Mazourka, I saw the bride trying to
screw up the courage of her Jianct to ask me to dance, which after a
little hesitation he did. And admirably he danced, as indeed they all
did — in excellent time, and with a little more spirit than one sees in a
ball-room. In fact, they were very like one's ordinary partners, except
that they wore earrings and were in their shirt -sleeves, and truth
compels me to state that they decidedly smelt of garlic. Some of them
had been smoking, but threw away their cigars when we came in. The
only thing that did not look cheerful was, that the room was only
lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that there seemed to be no
preparation for refreshments. Madame B., seeing this, whispered to her
maid, who disengaged herself from her partner, and ran off to the house ;
she and the kitchenmaid presently returning with a large tray covered
with all kinds of cakes (of which we are great consumers and always
have a stock), and a large hamper full of bottles of wine, with coffee and
sugar. This seemed all very acceptable. The fiancee was requested to
distribute the eatables, and a bucket of water being produced to wash
the glasses in, the wine disappeared very quickly — as fast as they could
open the bottles. But, elated I suppose by this, the floor was sprinkled
with water, and the musicians played a Monferrino, which is a Pied
montese dance. Madame B. danced with the farmer's son, and Emily
with another distinguished member of the company. It was very
fatiguing — something like a Scotch reel. My partner was a little man,
like Perrot, and very proud of his dancing. He cut in the air and

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

twisted about, until I was out of breath, though my attempts to imitate
him were feeble in the extreme. At last, after seven or eight dances,
I was obliged to sit down. We stayed till nine, and I was so dead beat
with the heat that I could hardly crawl about the house, and in an
agony with the cramp, it is so long since I have danced.'

A MARRIAGE

'The wedding of the farmer's daughter has taken place. We had
hoped it would have been in the little chapel of our house, but it seems
some special permission was necessary, and they applied for it too late.
They all said, " This is the Constitution. There would have been no
difficulty before ! " the lower classes making the poor Constitution the
scapegoat for everything they don't like. So as it was impossible for us
to climb up to the church where the wedding was to be, we contented
ourselves with seeing the procession pass. It was not a very large one,
for, it requiring some activity to go up, all the old people remained at
home. It is not etiquette for the bride's mother to go, and no un
married woman can go to a wedding — I suppose for fear of its making
her discontented with her own position. The procession stopped at our
door, for the bride to receive our congratulations. She was dressed in
a shot silk, with a yellow handkerchief, and rows of a large gold chain.
In the afternoon they sent to request us to go there. On our arrival we
found them dancing out of doors, and a most melancholy affair it was.
All the bride's sisters were not to be recognised, they had cried so. The
mother sat in the house, and could not appear. And the bride was
sobbing so, she could hardly stand ! The most melancholy spectacle of
all to my mind was, that the bridegroom was decidedly tipsy. He
seemed rather affronted at all the distress. We danced a Monferrino ;
I with the bridegroom; and the bride crying the whole time. The
company did their utmost to enliven her by firing pistols, but without
success, and at last they began a series of yells, which reminded me of
a set of savages. But even this delicate method of consolation failed,
and the wishing good-bye began. It was altogether so melancholy an
affair that Madame B. dropped a few tears, and I was very near it, par
ticularly when the poor mother came out to see the last of her daughter,
who was finally dragged off between her brother and uncle, with a last
explosion of pistols. As she lives quite near, makes an excellent match*
and is one of nine children, it really was a most desirable marriage, in
spite of all the show of distress. Albert was so discomfited by it, that
he forgot to kiss the bride as he had intended to do, and therefore went
to call upon her yesterday, and found her very smiling in her new house,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

and supplied the omission. The cook came home from the wedding,
declaring she was cured of any wish to marry — but I would not recom
mend any man to act upon that threat and make her an offer. In a
couple of days we had some rolls of the bride's first baking, which they
call Madonnas. The musicians, it seems, were in the same state as the
bridegroom, for, in escorting her home, they all fell down in the mud.
My wrath against the bridegroom is somewhat calmed by finding that it
is considered bad luck if he does not get tipsy at his wedding.'

Those readers of Miss Procter's poems who should suppose from
their tone that her mind was of a gloomy or despondent cast,
would be curiously mistaken. She was exceedingly humorous, and
had a great delight in humour. Cheerfulness was habitual with her,
she was very ready at a sally or a reply, and in her laugh (as I
remember well) there was an unusual vivacity, enjoyment, and sense
of drollery. She was perfectly unconstrained and unaffected: as
modestly silent about her productions, as she was generous with
their pecuniary results. She was a friend who inspired the strongest
attachments; she was a finely sympathetic woman, with a great
accordant heart and a sterling noble nature. No claim can be set
up for her, thank God, to the possession of any of the conventional
poetical qualities. She never by any means held the opinion that
she was among the greatest of human beings ; she never suspected
the existence of a conspiracy on the part of mankind against her;
she never recognised in her best friends, her worst enemies ; she
never cultivated the luxury of being misunderstood and unappre
ciated ; she would far rather have died without seeing a line of her
composition in print, than that I should have maundered about her,
here, as * the Poet,' or ' the Poetess.'

With the recollection of Miss Procter as a mere child and as a
woman, fresh upon me, it is natural that I should linger on my way
to the close of this brief record, avoiding its end. But, even as the
close came upon her, so must it come here.

Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not
be dreamed away, and that her indulgence in her favourite pursuits
must be balanced by action in the real world around her, she was
indefatigable in her endeavours to do some good. Naturally enthusi
astic, and conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of her Christian
duty to her neighbour, she devoted herself to a variety of benevolent
objects. Now, it was the visitation of the sick, that had possession
60

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

of her; now, it was the sheltering of the houseless; now, it was the
elementary teaching of the densely ignorant ; now, it was the raising
up of those who had wandered and got trodden under foot ; now, it
was the wider employment of her own sex in the general business of
life; now, it was all these things at once. Perfectly unselfish,
swift to sympathise and eager to relieve, she wrought at such designs
with a flushed earnestness that disregarded season, weather, time of
day or night, food, rest. Under such a hurry of the spirits, and
such incessant occupation, the strongest constitution will commonly
go down. Hers, neither of the strongest nor the weakest, yielded to
the burden, and began to sink.

To have saved her life, then, by taking action on the warning that
shone in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been impos
sible, without changing her nature. As long as the power of moving
about in the old way was left to her, she must exercise it, or be
killed by the restraint. And so the time came when she could move
about no longer, and took to her bed.

All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her
natural disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she lay
upon her bed through the whole round of changes of the seasons.
She lay upon her bed through fifteen months. In all that time, her
old cheerfulness never quitted her. In all that time, not an im
patient or a querulous minute can be remembered.

At length, at midnight on the second of February, 1864, she
turned down a leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up.

The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny
album was soon around her neck, and she quietly asked, as the clock
was on the stroke of one :

' Do you think I am dying, mamma ?'
* I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear ! '
4 Send for my sister. My feet are so cold. Lift me up ! '
Her sister entering as they raised her, she said : * It has come at
last ! ' And with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, and
departed.

Well had she written :

Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death,
Who waits thee at the portals of the skies,
Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath ,
Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?

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Oh what were life, if life were all ? Thine eyes
Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see
Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,
And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.

THE GREAT INTERNATIONAL
WALKING-MATCH

[FEBRUARY 29, 1868]

ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT entered into at Baltimore in the United
States of America, this third day of February in the year
of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty - eight,
between George Dolby (British subject), alias the 'Man of
Ross,' and James Ripley Osgood (American citizen), alias the
* Boston Bantam.'

WHEREAS some bounce having arisen between the above men in
reference to feats of pedestrianism and agility, they have agreed to
settle their differences and prove who is the better man by means of
a walking match for two hats a side and the glory of their respective
countries ; and whereas they agree that the said match shall come
off, whatsoever the weather, on the Mill Dam Road, outside Boston,
on Saturday, the 29th of the present month, and whereas they agree
that the personal attendants on themselves during the whole walk,
and also the umpires and starters and declarers of victory in the
match shall be James T. Fields of Boston, known in sporting circles
as Massachusetts Jemmy, and Charles Dickens, of * FalstafFs,' Gad's
Hill, whose surprising performances (without the least variation),
on that truly national instrument, the American Catarrh, have won
for him the well-merited title of the Gad's Hill Gasper. Now these
are to be the articles of the match : —

1. The men are to be started on the day appointed by Massa
chusetts Jemmy and the Gasper.

2. Jemmy and the Gasper are, on some previous day, to walk out
at the rate of not less than four miles an hour by the Gasper's watch
for one hour and a half. At the expiration of that one hour and a
half they are to carefully note the place at which they halt. On the
match coming olf they are to station themselves in the middle of the

INTERNATIONAL WALKING-MATCH

road at that precise point, and the men (keeping clear of them and
of each other) are to turn round them, right shoulder inward, and
walk back to the starting point. The man declared by them to pass
the starting point first is to be the victor and the winner of the
match.

3. No jostling or fouling allowed.

4. All cautions and orders issued to the men by the umpires,
starters, and declarers of victory to be considered final and admitting
of no appeal.

5. A sporting narrative of the match to be written by the Gasper
within one week after its coming off, and the same to be duly printed
(at the expense of the subscribers to these articles) on a broadside.
The said broadside to be framed and glazed, and one copy of the
same to be carefully preserved by each of the subscribers to these
articles.

6. The men to show on the evening of the day of walking at six
o'clock precisely at the Parker House, Boston, when and where a
dinner will be given them by the Gasper. The Gasper to occupy
the chair, faced by Massachusetts Jemmy. The latter promptly
and formally to invite, as soon as may be after the date of these
presents, the following guests to honour the said dinner with their
presence, that is to say —

Mistress Annie Fields, Mr. Charles Eliot Norton and Mrs.
Norton, Professor James Russell Lowell and Mrs. Lowell, and
Miss Lowell, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes and Mrs. Holmes, Mr.
Howard Malcolm Ticknor and Mrs. Ticknor, Mr. Aldrich and
Mrs. Aldrich, Mr. Schlesinger, and an obscure poet named
Longfellow (if discoverable), and Miss Longfellow.
Now lastly. In token of their accepting the trusts and offices by

these articles conferred upon them, these articles are solemnly and

formally signed by Massachusetts Jemmy and by the Gad's Hill

Gasper, as well as by the men themselves.

Signed by the Man of Ross, otherwise George Dolby.
Signed by the Boston Bantam, otherwise James R. Osgood.
Signed by Massachusetts Jemmy, otherwise James T. Fields.
Signed by the Gad" s Hill Gasper, otherwise Charles Dickens.

Witness to the signatures, William S. Anthony.

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THE SPORTING NARRATIVE

THE MEN

The Boston Bantam (alias Bright Chanticleer), is a young bird,
though too old to be caught with chaff. He comes of a thorough
game breed, and has a clear though modest crow. He pulls down
the scale at ten stone and a half and add a pound or two. His
previous performances in the pedestrian line have not been numer
ous. He once achieved a neat little match against time in two left
boots at Philadelphia ; but this must be considered as a pedestrian
eccentricity, and cannot be accepted by the rigid chronicler as
high art.

The old mower with the scythe and hour-glass has not yet laid his
mawler heavily on the Bantam's frontispiece, but he has had a grip
at the Bantam's top feathers, and in plucking out a handful was
very near making him like the great Napoleon Buonaparte (with the
exception of the victualling department), when the ancient one
found himself too much occupied to carry out the idea, and had to
give it up.

The Man of Ross (alias old Alick Pope, alias All-our-praises-why-
should-lords, etc.), is a thought and a half too fleshy, and if he
accidentally sat down upon his baby would do it to the tune of fourteen
stone. This popular codger is of the rubicund and jovial sort, and
has long been known as a piscatorial pedestrian on the banks of the
Wye. But Izaak Walton hadn't pace — look at his book and you'll
find it slow — and when that article comes into question, the fishing-
rod may prove to some of his disciples a rod in pickle. Howbeit the
Man of Ross is a lively ambler, and has a sweet stride of his own.

THE TRAINING

If vigorous attention to diet could have brought both men up to
the post in tip-top feather, their condition would have left nothing
to be desired. But both men might have had more daily practice in
the poetry of motion. Their breathings were confined to an occa
sional Baltimore burst under the guidance of the Gasper, and to an
amicable toddle between themselves at Washington.
64

INTERNATIONAL WALKING-MATCH

THE COUKSE

Six miles and a half, good measure, from the first tree in the Mill
Dam Road lies the little village (with no refreshments in it but five
oranges and a bottle of blacking), of Newton Centre. Here Massa
chusetts Jemmy and the Gasper had established the turning-point.
The road comprehended every variety of inconvenience to test the
mettle of the men, and nearly the whole of it was covered with snow.

THE START

was effected beautifully. The men taking their stand in exact line
at the starting-post, the first tree aforesaid, received from the
Gasper the warning, ' Are you ready ? ' and then the signal, ' One,
two, three — go ! ' They got away exactly together, and at a spinning
speed, waited on by Massachusetts Jemmy and the Gasper.

THE KACE

In the teeth of an intensely cold and bitter wind, before which the
snow flew fast and furious across the road from right to left, the
Bantam slightly led. But the Man responded to the challenge, and
soon breasted him. For the first three miles each led by a yard or
BO alternately, but the walking was very even. On four miles being
called by the Gasper, the men were side by side, and then ensued
one of the best periods of the race, the same splitting pace being
held by both through a heavy snow wreath and up a dragging hill.
At this point it was anybody's game, a dollar on Rossius and two
half-dollars on the member of the feathery tribe. When five miles
were called the men were still shoulder to shoulder. At about six
miles the Gasper put on a tremendous spurt to leave the men behind
and establish himself at the turning-point at the entrance of the
village. He afterwards declared he had received a mental knock-
downer in taking his station and facing about to find Bright Chanti
cleer close in upon him, and Rossius steaming up like a locomotive.
The Bantam rounded first ; Rossius rounded wide ; and from that
moment the Bantam steadily shot ahead. Though both were
breathed at the turn, the Bantam quickly got his bellows into
obedient condition, and blew away like an orderly blacksmith in
full work. The forcing pumps of Rossius likewise proved themselves
VOL. I : E 6\

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

tough and true, and warranted first-rate, but he fell off in pace;
whereas the Bantam pegged away with his little drum-sticks as if he
saw his wives and a peck of barley waiting for him at the family
perch. Continually gaining upon him of Ross, Chanticleer gradually
drew ahead within a few yards of half a mile, finally doing the whole
distance in two hours and forty-eight minutes. Ross had ceased to
compete three miles short of the winning-post, but bravely walked
it out, and came in seven minutes later.

REMARKS

The difficulties under which this plucky match was walked can
only be appreciated by those who were on the ground. To the
excessive rigour of the icy blast and the depth and state of the snow,
must be added the constant scattering of the latter into the air and
into the eyes of the men, while heads of hair, beards, eyelashes, and
eyebrows were frozen into icicles. To breathe at all in such a rarefied
and disturbed atmosphere was not easy, but to breathe up to the
required mark was genuine, slogging, ding-dong hard labour. That
both competitors were game to the backbone, doing what they did
under such conditions, was evident to all ; but to his gameness the
courageous Bantam added unexpected endurance, and (like the
sailor's watch that did three hours to the cathedral clock's one)
unexpected powers of going when wound up. The knowing eye
could not fail to detect considerable disparity between the lads,
Chanticleer being, as Mrs. Cratchit said of Tiny Tim, * very light to
carry,' and Rossius promising fair to attain the rotundity of the
anonymous cove in the epigram —

' And when he walks the streets the paviors cry,
•''God bless you, sir ! " — and lay their rammers by.'

CHAUNCY HARE TOWNSHEND

EXPLANATORY INTRODUCTION TO * RELIGIOUS OPINIONS
BY THE LATE REVEREND CHAUNCY HARE TOWNSHEND

[1869]

MR. CHAUNCY HARE TOWNSHEND died in London, on the 25th of
February, 1868. His will contained the following passage :

' I appoint my friend Charles Dickens, of Gad's Hill Place, in the
County of Kent, Esquire, my literary executor; and beg of him to
publish without alteration as much of my notes and reflections as may
make known my opinions on religious matters, they being such as I
verily believe would be conducive to the happiness of mankind.'

In pursuance of the foregoing injunction, the Literary Executor
so appointed (not previously aware that the publication of any
Religious Opinions would be enjoined upon him), applied himself
to the examination of the numerous papers left by his deceased
friend. Some of these were in Lausanne, and some were in London.
Considerable delay occurred before they could be got together,
arising out of certain claims preferred, and formalities insisted on,
by the authorities of the Canton de Vaud. When at length the
whole of his late friend's papers passed into the Literary Executor's
hands, it was found that Religious Opinions were scattered up and
down through a variety of memoranda and note-books, the gradual
accumulation of years and years. Many of the following pages were
carefully transcribed, numbered, connected, and prepared for the
press ; but many more were dispersed fragments, originally written
in pencil, afterwards inked over, the intended sequence of which, in
the writer's mind, it was extremely difficult to follow. These again
were intermixed with journals of travel, fragments of poems, critical
essays, voluminous correspondence, and old school-exercises and
college themes, having no kind of connection with them.

To publish such materials * without alteration,' was simply
impossible. But finding everywhere internal evidence that Mr.
Townshend's Religious Opinions had been constantly meditated and

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

reconsidered with great pains and sincerity throughout his life, the
Literary Executor carefully compiled them (always in the writer's
exact words), and endeavoured in piecing them together to avoid
needless repetition. He does not doubt that Mr. Townshend held
the clue to a precise plan, which could have greatly simplified the
presentation of these views; and he has devoted the first section of
this volume to Mr. Townshend's own notes of his comprehensive
intentions. Proofs of the devout spirit in which they were conceived,
and of the sense of responsibility with which he worked at them,
abound through the whole mass of papers. Mr. Townshend's varied
attainments, delicate tastes, and amiable and gentle nature, caused
him to be beloved through life by the variously distinguished men
who were his compeers at Cambridge long ago. To his Literary
Executor, he was always a warmly-attached and sympathetic friend.
To the public, he has been a most generous benefactor, both in his
munificent bequest of his collection of precious stones in the South
Kensington Museum, and in the devotion of the bulk of his property
to the education of poor children.

ON MR. FECHTER'S ACTING

[Atlantic Monthly, AUGUST 1869]

THE distinguished artist whose name is prefixed to these remarks
purposes to leave England for a professional tour in the United
States. A few words from me, in reference to his merits as an actor,
I hope may not be uninteresting to some readers, in advance of his
publicly proving them before an American audience, and I know
will not be unacceptable to my intimate friend. I state at once
that Mr. Fechter holds that relation towards me ; not only because
it is the fact, but also because our friendship originated in my public
appreciation of him. I had studied his acting closely, and had
admired it highly, both in Paris and in London, years before we
exchanged a word. Consequently, my appreciation is not the result
of personal regard, but personal regard has sprung out of my
appreciation.

The first quality observable in Mr. Fechter's acting is, that it is
in the highest degree romantic. However elaborated in minute
68

ON MR. FECHTER'S ACTING

details, there is always a peculiar dash and vigour in it, like the
fresh atmosphere of the story whereof it is a part. When he is on
the stage, it seems to me as though the story were transpiring before
me for the first and last time. Thus there is a fervour in his love-
making — a suffusion of his whole being with the rapture of his
passion — that sheds a glory on its object, and raises her, before the
eyes of the audience, into the light in which he sees her. It was
this remarkable power that took Paris by storm when he became
famous in the lover's part in the Dame aux Camillas. It is a short
part, really comprised in two scenes, but, as he acted it (he was its
original representative), it left its poetic and exalting influence on
the heroine throughout the play. A woman who could be so loved
— who could be so devotedly and romantically adored — had a hold
upon the general sympathy with which nothing less absorbing and
complete could have invested her. When I first saw this play and
this actor, I could not, in forming my lenient judgment of the
heroine, forget that she had been the inspiration of a passion of
which I had beheld such profound and affecting marks. I said
to myself, as a child might have said : * A bad woman could not
have been the object of that wonderful tenderness, could not have
so subdued that worshipping heart, could not have drawn such tears
from such a lover.' I am persuaded that the same effect was wrought
upon the Parisian audiences, both) consciously and unconsciously,
to a very great extent, and that what was morally disagreeable in
the Dame aux Camelias first got lost in this brilliant halo of romance.
I have seen the same play with the same part otherwise acted, and in
exact degree as the love became dull and earthy, the heroine de
scended from her pedestal.

In Ruy Bias, in the Master of Ravenswood, and in the Lady of
Lyons, — three dramas in which Mr. Fechter especially shines as a
lover, but notably in the first, — this remarkable power of surround
ing the beloved creature, in the eyes of the audience, with the fascina
tion that she has for him, is strikingly displayed. That observer
must be cold indeed who does not feel, when Ruy Bias stands in the
presence of the young unwedded Queen of Spain, that the air is
enchanted; or, when she bends over him, laying her tender touch
upon his bloody breast, that it is better so to die than to live apart
from her, and that she is worthy to be so died for. When the
Master of Ravenswood declares his lore to Lucy Ashton, and she

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hers to him, and when in a burst of rapture, he kisses the skirt
of her dress, we feel as though we touched it with our lips to stay
our goddess from soaring away into the very heavens. And when
they plight their troth and break the piece of gold, it is we — not
Edgar — who quickly exchange our half for the half she was about
to hang about her neck, solely because the latter has for an instant
touched the bosom we so dearly love. Again, in the Lady of Lyons :
the picture on the easel in the poor cottage studio is not the un
finished portrait of a vain and arrogant girl, but becomes the sketch
of a Soul's high ambition and aspiration here and hereafter.

Picturesqueness is a quality above all others pervading Mr.
Fechter's assumptions. Himself a skilled painter and sculptor,
learned in the history of costume, and informing those accomplish
ments and that knowledge with a similar infusion of romance (for
romance is inseparable from the man), he is always a picture, — always
a picture in its right place in the group, always in true composition
with the background of the scene. For picturesqueness of manner,
note so trivial a thing as the turn of his hand in beckoning from
a window, in Ruy Bias, to a personage down in an outer courtyard
to come up ; or his assumption of the Duke's livery in the same
scene ; or his writing a letter from dictation. In the last scene of
Victor Hugo's noble drama, his bearing becomes positively inspired ;
and his sudden assumption of the attitude of the headsman, in his
denunciation of the Duke and threat to be his executioner, is, so
far as I know, one of the most ferociously picturesque things con
ceivable on the stage.

The foregoing use of the word * ferociously ' reminds me to remark
that this artist is a master of passionate vehemence ; in which aspect
he appears to me to represent, perhaps more than in any other, an
interesting union of characteristics of two great nations, — the French
and the Anglo-Saxon. Born in London of a French mother, by a
German father, but reared entirely in England and in France, there
is, in his fury, a combination of French suddenness and impressibility
with our more slowly demonstrative Anglo-Saxon way when we get,
as we say, * our blood up,' that produces an intensely fiery result.
The fusion of two races is in it, and one cannot decidedly say that
it belongs to either ; but one can most decidedly say that it belongs
to a powerful concentration of human passion and emotion, and to
human nature.
70

ON MR. FECHTER'S ACTING

Mr. Fechter has been in the main more accustomed to speak
French than to speak English, and therefore he speaks our language
with a French accent. But whosoever should suppose that he does
not speak English fluently, plainly, distinctly, and with a perfect
understanding of the meaning, weight, and value of every word,
would be greatly mistaken. Not only is his knowledge of English —
extending to the most subtle idiom, or the most recondite cant
phrase — more extensive than that of many of us who have English
for our mother-tongue, but his delivery of Shakespeare's blank verse
is remarkably facile, musical, and intelligent. To be in a sort of
pain for him, as one sometimes is for a foreigner speaking English,
or to be in any doubt of his having twenty synonymes at his tongue's
end if he should want one, is out of the question after having been
of his audience.

A few words on two of his Shakespearian impersonations, and I
shall have indicated enough, in advance of Mr. Fechter's presentation
of himself. That quality of picturesqueness, on which I have already
laid stress, is strikingly developed in his lago, and yet it is so judi
ciously governed that his lago is not in the least picturesque according
to the conventional ways of frowning, sneering, diabolically grinning,
and elaborately doing everything else that would induce Othello to
run him through the body very early in the play. Mr. Fechter's is
the lago who could, and did, make friends ; who could dissect his
master's soul, without flourishing his scalpel as if it were a walking-
stick ; who could overpower Emilia by other arts than a sign-of-the-
Saracen's-Head grimness ; who could be a boon companion without
ipso facto warning all beholder* off by the portentous phenomenon ;
who could sing a song and clink a can naturally enough, and stab
men really in the dark, — not in a transparent notification of himself as
going about seeking whom to stab. Mr. Fechter's lago is no more
in the conventional psychological mode than in the coventional hussar
pantaloons and boots ; and you shall see the picturesqueness of his
wearing borne out in his bearing all through the tragedy down to
the moment when he becomes invincibly and consistently dumb.

Perhaps no innovation in Art was ever accepted with so much
favour by so many intellectual persons pre-committed to, and pre
occupied by, another system, as Mr. Fechter's Hamlet. I take this
to have been the case (as it unquestionably was in London), not
because of its picturesqueness, not because of its novelty, not because

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

of its many scattered beauties, but because of its perfect consistency
with itself. As the animal-painter said of his favourite picture of
rabbits that there was more nature about those rabbits than you
usually found in rabbits, so it may be said of Mr. Fechter's Hamlet,
that there was more consistency about that Hamlet than you usually
found in Hamlets. Its great and satisfying originality was in its
possessing the merit of a distinctly conceived and executed idea.
From the first appearance of the broken glass of fashion and mould
of form, pale and worn with weeping for his father's death, and
remotely suspicious of its cause, to his final struggle with Horatio
for the fatal cup, there were cohesion and coherence in Mr. Fechter's
view of the character. Devrient, the German actor, had, some years
before in London, fluttered the theatrical doves considerably, by
such changes as being seated when instructing the players, and like
mild departures from established usage; but he had worn, in the
main, the old nondescript dress, and had held forth, in the main,
in the old way, hovering between sanity and madness. I do not
remember whether he wore his hair crisply curled short, as if he
were going to an everlasting dancing-master's party at the Danish
court ; but I do remember that most other Hamlets since the great
Kemble had been bound to do so. Mr. Fechter's Hamlet, a pale,
woe-begone Norseman with long flaxen hair, wearing a strange garb
never associated with the part upon the English stage (if ever seen
there at all) and making a piratical swoop upon the whole fleet of
little theatrical prescriptions without meaning, or, like Dr. Johnson's
celebrated friend, with only one idea in them, and that a wrong one,
never could have achieved its extraordinary success but for its
animation by one pervading purpose, to which all changes were
made intelligently subservient. The bearing of this purpose on the
treatment of Ophelia, on the death of Polonius, and on the old
student fellowship between Hamlet and Horatio, was exceedingly
striking; and the difference between picturesqueness of stage arrange
ment for mere stage effect, and for the elucidation of a meaning, was
well displayed in there having been a gallery of musicians at the
Play, and in one of them passing on his way out, with his instrument
in his hand, when Hamlet, seeing it, took it from him to point his
talk with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

This leads me to the observation with which I have all along
desired to conclude : that Mr. Fechter's romance and picturesqueness

ON MR. FECHTER'S ACTING

are always united to a true artist's intelligence, and a true artist's
training in a true artist's spirit. He became one of the company of
the Theatre Fra^ais when he was a very young man, and he hag
cultivated his natural gifts in the best schools. I cannot wish my
friend a better audience than he will have in the American people,
and I cannot wish them a better actor than they will have in my
friend.

MISCELLANIES

FROM

'THE EXAMINER'

1838-1849

THE RESTORATION OF SHAKESPEARE'S
4 LEAR' TO THE STAGE

[FEBRUARY 4, 1838]

WHAT we ventured to anticipate when Mr. Macready assumed the
management of Covent Garden Theatre, has been every way realised.
But the last of his well-directed efforts to vindicate the higher
objects and uses of the drama has proved the most brilliant and the
most successful. He has restored to the stage Shakespeare's true
Lear, banished from it, by impudent ignorance, for upwards of a
hundred and fifty years.

A person of the name of Boteler has the infamous repute of
having recommended to a notorious poet-laureate, Mr. Nahum Tate,
the * new modelling ' of Lear. * I found the whole,' quoth Mr. Tate,
addressing the aforesaid Boteler in his dedication, ' to answer your
account of it; a heap of jewels unstrung and unpolished, yet so
dazzling in their disorder, that I soon perceived I had seized a
treasure.' And accordingly to work set Nahum very busily indeed :
strung the jewels and polished them with a vengeance; omitted the
grandest things, the Fool among them ; polished all that remained
into commonplace ; interlarded love-scenes ; sent Cordelia into a
comfortable cave with her lover, to dry her clothes and get warm,
while her distracted and homeless old father was still left wandering
without, amid all the pelting of the pitiless storm ; and finally,
rewarded the poor old man in his turn, and repaid him for all his
suffering, by giving him back again his gilt robes and tinsel sceptre !

Betterton was the last great actor who played Lear before the
commission of this outrage. His performances of it between the
years 1663 and 1671 are recorded to have been the greatest efforts
of his genius. Ten years after the latter date, Mr. Tate published
his disgusting version, and this was adopted successively by Boheme.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Quin, Booth, Barry, Garrick, Henderson, Kemble, Kean. Mr. Mac-
ready has now, to his lasting honour, restored the text of Shakespeare,
and we shall be glad to hear of the actor foolhardy enough to attempt
another restoration of the text of Mr. Tate ! Mr. Macready's success
has banished that disgrace from the stage for ever.

The Fool in the tragedy of Lear is one of the most wonderful
creations of Shakespeare's genius. The picture of his quick and
pregnant sarcasm, of his loving devotion, of his acute sensibility, of
his despairing mirth, of his heartbroken silence — contrasted with the
rigid sublimity of Lear's suffering, with the huge desolation of Lear's
sorrow, with the vast and outraged image of Lear's madness — is the
noblest thought that ever entered into the heart and mind of man.
Nor is it a noble thought alone. Three crowded houses in Covent
Garden Theatre have now proved by something better than even the
deepest attention that it is for action, for representation ; that it is
necessary to an audience as tears are to an overcharged heart ; and
necessary to Lear himself as the recollections of his kingdom, or as
the worn and faded garments of his power. We predicted some
years since that this would be felt, and we have the better right to
repeat it now. We take leave again to say that Shakespeare would
have as soon consented to the banishment of Lear from the tragedy
as to the banishment of his Fool. We may fancy him, while plan
ning his immortal work, feeling suddenly, with an instinct of divinest
genius, that its gigantic sorrows could never be presented on the
stage without a suffering too frightful, a sublimity too remote, a
grandeur too terrible — unless relieved by quiet pathos, and in some
way brought home to the apprehensions of the audience by homely
and familiar illustration. At such a moment that Fool rose to his
mind, and not till then could he have contemplated his marvellous
work in the greatness and beauty of its final completion.

The Fool in Lear is the solitary instance of such a character, in
all the writings of Shakespeare, being identified with the pathos and
passion of the scene. He is interwoven with Lear, he is the link that
still associates him with Cordelia's love, and the presence of the regal
estate he has surrendered. The rage of the wolf Goneril is first
stirred by a report that her favourite gentleman had been struck by
her father ' for chiding of his fool,' — and the first impatient questions
we hear from the dethroned old man are : ' Where's my knave — my
fool ? Go you and call my fool hither.' — * Where 's my fool ? Ho I

RESTORATION OF SHAKESPEARE'S 'LEAR'

I think the world 's asleep.' — ' But where 's my fool ? I have not seen
him these two days.1 — ' Go you and call hither my fool,' — all which
prepare us for that affecting answer stammered forth at last by the
knight in attendance : ' Since my young lady's going into France,
sir, the fool hath much pined away.' Mr. Macready's manner of
turning off at this with an expression of half impatience, half ill-
repressed emotion — 'No more of that, I have noted it weir — was
inexpressibly touching. We saw him, in the secret corner of his
heart, still clinging to the memory of her who was used to be his
best object, the argument of his praise, balm of his age, ' most best,
most dearest.' And in the same noble and affecting spirit was his
manner of fondling the Fool when he sees him first, and asks him
with earnest care, * How now, my pretty knave ? How dost thou ? '
Can there be a doubt, after this, that his love for the Fool is
associated with Cordelia, who had been kind to the poor boy, and
for the loss of whom he pines away ? And are we not even then
prepared for the sublime pathos of the close, when Lear, bending
over the dead body of all he had left to love upon the earth,
connects with her the memory of that other gentle, faithful, and
loving being who had passed from his side — unites, in that moment
of final agony, the two hearts that had been broken in his service,
and exclaims, ' And my poor fool is hanged ! '

Mr. Macready's Lear, remarkable before for a masterly complete
ness of conception, is heightened by this introduction of the Fool to
a surprising degree. It accords exactly with the view he seeks to
present of Lear's character. The passages we have named, for
instance, had even received illustration in the first scene, where
something beyond the turbulent greatness or royal impatience of
Lear had been presented — something to redeem him from his treat
ment of Cordelia. The bewildered pause after giving his ' father's
heart ' away — the hurry yet hesitation of his manner as he orders
France to be called — * Who stirs ? Call Burgundy ' — had told us at
once how much consideration he needed, how much pity, of how
little of himself he was indeed the master, how crushing and irre
pressible was the strength of his sharp impatience. We saw no
material change in his style of playing the first great scene with
Gonm/, which fills the stage with true and appalling touches of
nature. In that scene he ascends indeed with the heights of Lear's
passion ; through all its changes of agony, of anger, of impatience,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

of turbulent assertion, of despair, and mighty grief, till on his knees,
with arras upraised and head thrown back, the tremendous Curse
bursts from him amid heaving and reluctant throes of suffering and
anguish. The great scene of the second act had also its great
passages of power and beauty : his self-persuading utterance of
' hysterias passio ' — his anxious and fearful tenderness to Regan — the
elevated grandeur of his appeal to the heavens — his terrible sup
pressed efforts, his pauses, his reluctant pangs of passion, in the
speech ' I will not trouble thee, my child,1 — and surpassing the whole,
as we think, in deep simplicity as well as agony of pathos, that noble
conception of shame as he hides his face on the arm of Goneril and
says —

' 1 '11 go with tbec ;

Thy fifty yet doth double live and twenty,
And thou art twice her love ! '

The FooTs presence then enabled him to give an effect, unattempted
before, to those little words which close the scene, when, in the effort
of bewildering passion with which he strives to burst through the
phalanx of amazed horrors that have closed him round, he feels that
his intellect is shaking, and suddenly exclaims, CO Fool! I shall go
mad ! ' This is better than hitting the forehead and ranting out a
self-reproach.

But the presence of the Fool in the storm-scene ! The reader
must witness this to judge its power and observe the deep impression
with which it affects the audience. Every resource that the art of
the painter and the mechanist can afford is called in aid of this
scene — every illustration is thrown on it of which the great actor of
I^ear is capable, but these are nothing to that simple presence of the
Fool ! He has changed his character there. So long as hope existed
he had sought by his hectic merriment and sarcasms to win Lear
back to love and reason, but that half of his work is now over, and
all that remains for him is to soothe and lessen the certainty of the
worst. Kent asks who is with l^ear in the storm, and is answered —

* None but the Fool, who labours to outjest
His heart-struck injuries ! '

When all his attempts have failed, either to soothe or to outjest
these injuries, he sings, in the shivering cold, about the necessity of
So

RESTORATION OF SHAKESPEARE'S 'LEAR'

' going to bed at noon." He leaves the stage to die in his youth,
and we hear of him no more till we hear the sublime touch of pathos
over the dead body of the hanged Cordelia.

The finest passage of Mr. Macready's scenes upon the heath is
his remembrance of the ' poor naked wretches,' wherein a new world
seems indeed to have broken upon his mind. Other parts of these
scenes wanted more of tumultuous extravagance, more of a preter
natural cast of wildness. We should always be made to feel some
thing beyond physical distress predominant here. His colloquy
with Mad Tom, however, was touching in the last degree, and so
were the two last scenes, the recognition of Cordelia and the death,
which elicited from the audience the truest and best of all tributes
to their beauty and pathos. Mr. Macready's representation of the
father at the end, broken down to his last despairing struggle, his
heart swelling gradually upwards till it bursts in its closing sigh,
completed the only perfect picture that we have had of Lear since
the age of Betterton.

We never saw any tragedy, in so far as we could judge, affect an
audience more deeply than the manner of the whole management of
this tragedy of Lear. It was, indeed, a triumph for the stage, in an
assertion of its highest uses. The performers generally exerted
themselves to the utmost. Mr. Bartley's Kent was every way
masterly, and Miss P. Horton's Fool as exquisite a performance
as the stage has ever boasted. Mr. Elton's Edgar is the best we
have seen, excepting that of Mr. Charles Kemble; Miss Huddart's
Regan contributed much to the general effect ; and Mr. Anderson's
Edmund was energetic and graceful. Of the other resources called
in aid with such knowledge, taste, and care, we cannot do better
than speak in the language of an excellent critic in the John Bull.

[Here follows a somewhat lengthy extract from John Bull dealing
only with the scenery and staging of the piece.]

VOL. I:F 8l

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

[MARCH 81, 1839]

WHEN the Refutation, to which this pamphlet l is a reply, was put
forth, we took occasion to examine into the nature of the charges
of misstatement and misrepresentation which were therein brought
against Mr. Lockhart, to point out how very slight and unimportant
they appeared to be, even upon the refuter's own showing, and to
express our opinion that the refutation originated in the overweening
vanity of the Ballantyne family, who, confounding their own
importance with that of the great man who condescended (to his
cost) to patronise them, sought to magnify and exalt themselves with
a degree of presumption and conceit which leaves the fly on the
wheel, the organ bellows-blower, and the aspiring frog of the fable
all at an immeasurable distance behind.

Much as we may wonder, after an attentive perusal of the
pamphlet before us, how the lad, James Ballantyne's son, can have
been permitted by those who must have known from the commence
ment what facts were in reserve, to force on this exposure of the
most culpable negligence and recklessness on the part of the men
who have been paraded as the victims of erring and ambitious
genius, it is impossible to regard the circumstance in any other
light than as a most fortunate and happy one for the memory of
Sir Walter Scott. If ever engineer were * hoist with his own petard,'
if ever accusations recoiled upon the heads of those who made them,
if ever the parties in the witness-box and the dock changed places,
it is in this case of the Ballantynes and Sir Walter Scott. And the
proof, be it remembered, is to be found — not in the unsupported
assertions of Mr. Lockhart or his ingenious reasoning from assumed
facts, but in the letters, accounts, and statements of the Ballantynes
themselves.

Premising that Mr. Lockhart, in glancing at the ' unanswerable

1 The Ballantyne Humbug Handled ; in a letter to Sir Adam Fergusson. By the
Author of Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott. Cadell, Edinburgh ; Murray,
London.

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

refutation ' and ' the overwhelming exposure ' notices of the Ballan-
tyne pamphlet in other journals, might fairly and justly have noticed
this journal l as an exception (in whose columns more than one head
of his reply was anticipated long ago), we will proceed to quote —
first, Mr. Lockhart's statement of his reasons for introducing in the
biography detailed descriptions of the habits and manners of the
Ballantynes, which we take to have been the head and front of his
offence ; and secondly, such scraps of evidence bearing upon the
allegation that the Ballantyues were ruined by the improvidence and
lavish expenditure of Scott, as we can afford space for, in a very
brief analysis of the whole.

With regard to the first point, Mr. Lockhart writes thus: —
' The most curious problem in the life of Scott could receive no
fair attempt at solution, unless the inquirer were made acquainted,
in as far as the biographer could make him so, with the nature, and
habits, and manners of Scott's partners and agents. Had the reader
been left to take his ideas of those men from the eloquence of
epitaphs — to conceive of them as having been capitalists instead of
penniless adventurers — men regularly and fitly trained for the call
ings in which they were employed by Scott, in place of being the
one and the other entirely unacquainted with the prime requisites
for success in such callings — men exact and diligent in their proper
business, careful and moderate in their personal expenditure, instead
of the reverse ; had such hallucinations been left undisturbed, where
was the clue of extrication from the mysterious labyrinth of Sir
Walter's fatal entanglements in commerce? It was necessary, in
truth and justice, to show — not that he was without blame in the
conduct of his pecuniary affairs — (I surely made no such ridiculous
attempt) — but that he could not have been ruined by commerce,
had his partners been good men of business. It was necessary to
show that he was in the main the victim of his own blind over-
confidence in the management of the two Ballantynes. In order to
show how excessive was the kindness that prompted such over- con
fidence, it was necessary to bring out the follies and foibles, as well
as the better qualities, of the men.'

Does any reasonable and dispassionate man doubt this ? Is there
any man who does not know that the titles of a hundred biographies
might be jotted down in half an hour, in each and every of which

1 The Examiner,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

there shall be found a hundred personal sketches of a hundred men,
a hundred times more important, clever, excellent, and worthy, than
Mr. James Ballantyne, the Printer of Edinburgh, and whilom of
Kelso, regarding which the world has never heard one syllable of
remonstrance or complaint ?

Of Mr. John Ballantyne, the less said the better. If he were an
honest, upright, honourable man, it is a comfort to know that there
are plentiful store of such characters living at this moment in the
rules of our Debtors1 Prison, and passing through the Insolvent
Court by dozens every day. As an instance of Mr. Lockhart's easy
mode of assertion, we were given to understand in the Refutation
that Mr. John Ballantyne had never been a banker's clerk. Mr.
Cadell and another gentleman bear testimony that he used to say
he had been (which seems by no means conclusive evidence that he
ever was), and if he were, as Mr. Lockhart tells us he has since
learnt, a tailor, or superintendent of the tailoring department of the
father's general shop at Kelso, a previously unintelligible fragment
in one of Scott's letters becomes susceptible of a very startling and
simple solution. * If it takes nine tailors to make a man, how many
will it take to ruin one ? '

The descendants of Mr. James Ballantyne charge Sir Walter
Scott with having ruined him by his profuse expenditure, and the
tremendous responsibilities which he cast upon the printing concern.
Mr. Lockhart charges Mr. James Ballantyne with having ruined the
business by his own negligence, extravagance, and inattention. Let
us see which of these charges is the best supported by facts.

Scott entered into partnership with James Ballantyne in May
1805. James Ballantyne's brother John (being then the bookkeeper)
enters the amount of capital which James had invested in the
concern, at ^3694, 16s. lid. ; but of these figures no less than
.£2090 represents * stock in trade,' which it appears from other
statements that the same John Ballantyne was in the habit of valuing
at most preposterous and exaggerated sums; and the balance of
.£1604, 16s. lid. is represented by * book debts ' to that amount.
Scott came in as the monied partner — as the man to prop up the
concern ; even then his patrimonial fortune was .£10,000 or .£12,000 ;
he possessed at the time, independently of all literary exertions, an
income of ,£1000 per annum ; he advanced for the business ,£2008,
'including in the said advance the sum of .£500 contained in

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

Mr. Ballantyne's promissory note, dated 1st February last * — from
which it would seem pretty clear that the affluent Mr. James Ballan-
tyne ran rather short of money about this time — and ^40 more,
also advanced to Mr. Ballantyne previous to the execution of the
deed. Scott, in consideration of this payment, was to have one-
third of the business, and James Ballantyne two ; his extra third
being specially in consideration of his undertaking those duties of
management, for the neglect and omission of which, throughout
the long correspondence of a long term of years, we find him
apologising to Scott himself in every variety of humble, maudlin,
abject, and whining prostration.

The very first entry in the very first * State,' or statement of the
partnership accounts, is a payment on behalf of James Ballantyne
for 'an acceptance at Kelso J — at Kelso, observe, in his original
obscurity and small way of business — ' ,£200.' There are advances
to his father to the amount of ,£270, 19s. 5d., there are his own
drafts during the first year of the partnership to the enormous
amount of .£2378, 4s. 9d., his share of the profits being only
,£786, 10s. 3d. ; Scott's drafts for the same period being ,£100 and
his share ,£393, 5s. Id. ! At the expiration of five years and a half,
the injured and oppressed Mr. James Ballantyne had overdrawn his
share of the profits to the amount of .£2027, 2s. 5d., while Scott had
underdrawn his share by the sum of ,£577, 2s. 8d. Now let any
man of common practical sense, from Mr. Rothschild's successor,
whoever he may be, down to the commonest light-porter and ware
houseman who can read and write and cast accounts, say, upon such
a statement of figures as this, who was the gainer by the partnership,
who may be supposed to have had objects and designs of his -own
to serve in forming it, and in what pecuniary situation Mr. James
Ballantyne — the needy and embarrassed printer of Kelso — must have
been placed, when Scott first shed upon him the light of his
countenance.

* Scott, in those days,' says Mr. Lockhart, ' had neither bought
land, nor indulged in any private habits likely to hamper his
pecuniary condition. He had a handsome income, nowise derived
from commerce. He was already a highly popular author, and had
received from the booksellers copy-monies of then unprecedented
magnitude. With him the only speculation and the only source of
embarrassment was this printing concern ; and how, had the other

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

partner conducted himself in reference to it as Scott did, could it
have been any source of embarrassment at all ? He was, I cannot
but think, imperfectly acquainted with James Ballantyne's pecuniary
means, as well as with his habits and tastes, when the firm was set up.
He was deeply injured by his partner's want of skill and care in the
conduct of the concern, and not less so by that partner's irreclaim
able personal extravagance ; and he was systematically mystified by
the States, etc., prepared by Mr. John. In fact, every balance-sheet
that has been preserved, or made accessible to me, seems to be
fallacious. They are not of the company's entire affairs, but of one
particular account in their books only — viz. the expenditure on the
printing work done, and the produce of that work. This delusive
system appears to have continued till the end of 1823, after which
date the books are not even added or written up.'

In 1809 the bookselling firm started, Scott having one moiety for
his share, and the two brothers the remaining moiety for theirs. He
put down £1000 for his share, and LENT Mr. James Ballantyne £500
for his (!), and by the month of June 1810 he had embarked £9000
in the two concerns. Mr. James Ballantyne, even now, had no
capital; he borrowed capital from Scott to form the bookselling
establishment; he rendered the system of accommodation bills
necessary by so egregiously overdrawing so small a capital as they
started with ; and not satisfied with this, he grossly neglected and
mismanaged the business (by his own confession) during the whole
time of its superintendence being entrusted to him.

In 1815 (the year of Mr. James Ballantyne's marriage) the book
selling business was abandoned ; there were no resources with which
to meet its obligations but those of the printing company, and Scott,
in January 1816, writes thus to him —

* The burthen must be upon you and me — that is, on the print
ing office. If you will agree to conduct this business henceforth with
steadiness and care, and to content yourself with ^400 a year from
it for your private purposes, its profits will ultimately set us free.
I agree that we should grant mutual discharges as booksellers, and
consider the whole debt as attaching to you and me as printers. I
agree, farther, that the responsibility of the whole debt should be
assumed by myself alone for the present — provided you, on your
part, never interfere with the printing profits, beyond your allow
ance, until the debt has been obliterated, or put into such a train of
86

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

liquidation that you see your way clear, and voluntarily reassume
your station as my partner, instead of continuing to be, as you now
must consider yourself, merely my steward, book-keeper, and manager
in the Canongate.'

Now, could the dullest and most addle-headed man alive be
brought to believe — is it in human nature, in common sense, or
common reason — that if Mr. James Ballantyne had the smallest
ground of just complaint against Scott at this time, he would have
listened to such a proposition ? But he did listen to it, and eagerly
embraced it ; and in the October of that very year this same Mr.
James Ballantyne, whose besotted trustees have dragged the cir
cumstance to light from the concealment in which Mr. Lockhart
mercifully left it — this same Mr. James Ballantyne, the plundered
and deluded victim of Scott, announces to him that, being pressed
by a younger brother at Kelso for a personal debt — not a partner
ship liability — a personal debt of £500, he had paid away to him
a bill of the company, and, but for this bill being dishonoured by
an accidental circumstance, Scott would, in all human probability,
have never heard one word of the matter down to the day of his
death.

Does Mr. James Ballantyne brazen this proceeding out, and
retort upon Scott, ' I have been your tool and instrument. But
for you I should have been by this time a man in affluent circum
stances, and well able to pay this money. You brought me to this
pass by your misconduct; it was your bounden duty to extricate
me, and I had a right to extricate myself by the use of your name
for my own purposes, when you have so often used mine for
yours ' ? Judge from the following extracts from his letters on the
subject: —

* It is needless for me to dwell on my deep regret at the discredit
able incident which has taken place. . . . / was not aware of the
terrible consequences arising from one acting partner's using the
copartnery signature for his personal purposes. I assure you, Sir,
I should very nearly as soon FORGE your own signature as use one
which implicated your credit and property for what belonged to me
personally.'1

And then he goes on in a tone of great humility, endeavouring
to excuse himself thus : —

* I respectfully beg leave to call to your recollection a very long

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

and not very pleasant correspondence two years ago, on the subject
of the debts due to my brother Alexander, and I may now shortly
re-state, that the money advanced by him went into the funds of
the business, and at periods when it was imperiously wanted. No
doubt it went in in my name, to help up my share of stock equal to
yours ; but I honestly confess to you, that this consideration never
went into my calculation, and that when I agreed that the name of
James B. and Co. should be given to the bills for that money, I had
no other idea than that it was an easy mode of procuring money, at
a very serious crisis, when money was greatly wanted ; nor did I see
that I should refuse it because the lender was my brother. Hi?
cash was as good as another's. Personally, I never received a six
pence of it/

Personally he never received a sixpence of it ! Oh, certainly not.
That is to say, Mr. James Ballantyne paid the money to the partner
ship banking account towards his share of the joint capital, and
immediately set about drawing private cheques as fast as he could
draw for three times the sum.

In 1 821 Mr. John Ballantyne died, and Mr. James Ballantyne,
petitioning Scott that a termination might be put to his steward
ship, and that he might be admitted to a new share in the business,
he becomes, under a deed bearing date on the 1st of April 1822
(the missive letter, in Scott's handwriting, laying down the heads
of which, is given by Mr. Lockhart at length), once more a partner in
the business. The circumstances under which his stewardship had
been undertaken — and this request for a new partnership was con
ceded by Scott — are thus stated by Mr. Lockhart ; and the state
ment is, in every respect in which we have been able to examine it,
borne out by facts : —

* For the preparation of the formal contract of 1822, Sir Walter
selected Mrs. James Ballantyne's brother. We have seen that this
Mr. George Hogarth, a man of business, a Writer to the Signet, a
gentleman whose ability and intelligence no one can dispute, was
privy to all the transactions between Scott and James, whereupon
the matrimonial negotiation proceeded to its close ; — and that Mr.
Hogarth approved of, and Mr. Ballantyne expressed deep gratitude
for, the arrangements then dictated by Sir Walter Scott. Must
not these Trustees themselves, when confronted with the evidence
now given, admit that these arrangements were most liberal and
88

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

generous? Scott, "the business being in difficulties,'1 takes the
whole of these difficulties upon himself. He assumes, for a pro
spective series of five or six years, the whole responsibility of its
debts and its expenditure, including a liberal salary to James as
manager. In order to provide him with the means of paying a
personal debt of £3000 due to himself — and wholly distinct from
copartnery debts — Scott agrees to secure for him a certain part
of the proceeds of every novel that shall be written during the
continuance of this arrangement. With the publishing of these
novels James was to have no trouble — there was no risk about
them — the gain on each was clear and certain, — and of every sum
thus produced by the exertion of Scott's genius and industry, James
Ballantyne was to have a sixth, as a mere bonus to help him in
paying off his debt of £3000, upon which debt, moreover, no
interest was to be charged. In what respect did this differ from
drawing the pen, every five or six months, through a very con
siderable portion of the debt? Scott was undertaking neither
more nor less than to take the money out of his own pocket, and
pay it regularly into James's, who had no more risk or trouble
in the publication of those immortal works than any printer in
Westminster. The Pamphleteers must admit that James, pending
this arrangement, was not the partner, but literally the paid servant
of his benefactor, and that while " the total responsibility of the
debts and expenditure of the business" lay on Scott, Scott had
the perfect right to make any use he pleased of its profits and
credit. They must admit, that after the arrangement had con
tinued for five years, James examined the state of the concern,
and petitioned Scott to replace him as a partner ; that so far from
finding any reason to complain of what Scott had done with the
business while it was solely his, without one word of complaint
as to this large amount of floating bills so boldly averred in the
Pamphlet to have been drawn for Scott's personal accommodation,
James, in praying for readmission, acknowledged that down to the
close of that period (June 1821) he had grossly neglected the most
important parts of the business whereof he had had charge as
Scott's stipendiary servant; — acknowledged, that notwithstanding
his salary as manager of the printing-office, another salary of £%QO
a year as editor of a newspaper, and the large sums he derived
from novel-copyrights given to him ex merd gratid, — he had so

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

misconducted his own private affairs, that having begun his steward
ship as debtor to Scott for £2000, he, when he wished the steward
ship to terminate, owed Scott much more than £2000 ; but that,
acknowledging all this, he made at the same time such solemn
promises of amendment for the future, that Scott consented to do
as he prayed ; only stipulating, that until the whole affairs of the
printing business should be reduced to perfect order, debts dis
charged, its stock and disposable funds increased, each partner
should limit himself to drawing ,£?500 per annum for his personal
use. They must admit that James made all these acknowledg
ments and promises; that Scott accepted them graciously; and
that the moment before the final copartnership was signed, James
Ballantyne was Sir Walter Scott^s debtor, entirely at his mercy;
that down to that moment, by James's own clear confession, Scott,
as connected with this printing establishment, had been sinned
against, not sinning.

* The contract prepared and written by Mr. Hogarth was signed
on the 1st of April 1822. It bears express reference to the " missive
letter dated the 15th and 22nd of June last," by which the parties
had "concluded an agreement for the settlement of the accounts
and transactions subsisting between them, and also for the terms
of the said new copartnery, and agreed to execute a regular deed
in implement of said agreement " ; and " therefore and for the
reasons more particularly specified in the said missive letters, which
are here specially referred to, and held as repeated, they have
agreed, and hereby agree, to the following articles.1" Then follow
the articles of agreement, embodying the substance of the missive.
Scott is to draw the whole profits of the business prior to Whit
sunday 1822, in respect of the responsibility he had undertaken.
Ballantyne acknowledges a personal debt of ^?1800 as at Whit
sunday 1821, which was to be paid out of the funds specified in
the missives, no interest being due until after Whitsunday 1822.
Sir Walter having advanced ^2575 for buildings in the Canongate,
new types, etc., James is to grant a bond for the half of that sum.
It further appears by the only cashbook exhibited to me, that
James, notwithstanding his frugal mode of living, had quietly
drawn «£)1629 more than his allowance between 1816 and 1822,
but of this, as it is stated, as a balance of cash, due by James at
Whitsunday 1822, Scott could not have been aware when with
90

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

his own hand he wrote the missive letter. Sir Walter, I have
said, was to be liable for all the debts contracted between 1816
and 1822, but to have the exclusive right of property in all the
current funds, to enable him to pay off these debts, and as the
deed bears, "to indemnify him for his advances on account of
the copartnery" — i.e. from 1816 to 1822. Finally, JAMES BECOMES

BOUND TO KEEP REGULAR AND DISTINCT BOOKS, WHICH ARE TO BE

BALANCED ANNUALLY. Now, on looking at the import of this legal
instrument, as well as the missive which it corroborated, and the
prior communications between the parties, whom would an unbiassed
reader suppose to have been the partner most benefited by this
concern in time past, — whom to be the person most likely to have
trespassed upon its credit, and embarrassed its resources ? '

How did Mr. James Ballantyne perform his part of this contract ?
From January 1822 to May 1826, when the affairs were wound up,
he was entitled to have drawn in all about £1150. He drew in all
£7581, 15s. 5d. Of whose money? Assuredly not his own.

For Mr. Lockhart's explanation of the Vidimus^ and of the
refuter's construction and distortion of certain important items
which go a long way towards accounting for the great increase in
the accommodation bills, and show how improperly, and with what
an appearance of wilful error, certain receipts and charges have been
fixed upon Scott, which might with as much justice have been fixed
upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or the Bank of Scotland, we
must refer our readers to the pamphlet itself, and merely state these
general results : That in 1823, the accommodations of James Ballan
tyne and Co. amounted to £36,000 ; that there is no shadow or
scrap of evidence to show that any of these accommodation bills had
been issued for Scott's private purposes ; that it is made a matter of
charge in the Refutation pamphlet that in 1826 they had increased
to £46,000; that we now find that of this additional £10,000
Mr. James Ballantyne himself pocketed (calculating interest) more
than £8000, and that all the expenses of stamps and renewals have
to be charged against the remaining £2000 ; finally, that Scott, who
is asserted to have ruined these Ballantynes by his ambition to
become a landed proprietor, invested in all, up to June 1821,
£29,083 in the purchase of land, having received since 1811 an
official income of £1600 per annum, and gained, as an author,
£80,000. Let any plain, unprejudiced man, who has learnt that

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

two and two make four, and who has moved in the world in the
ordinary pursuits of life, put these facts together, read this corre
spondence with acknowledgments of error and misconduct on the
part of the Messrs. Ballantyne repeated from day to day and urged
from year to year — let him examine these transactions, and find that
in every one which is capable of explanation now the parties are in
their graves, the extravagance, thoughtlessness, recklessness, and
wrong have been upon the part of these pigmies, and the truest
magnanimity and forbearance on the side of the giant who upheld
them, and under the shadow of whose protection they gradually
came to lose sight of their own stature, and to imagine themselves
as great as he — let any man divest himself of that lurking desire to
carp and cavil over the actions of men who have raised themselves
high above their fellows, which unhappily seems inherent in human
nature, and bring to this subject but the calmest and most plodding
consideration of facts and probabilities —and say whether it is possible
to arrive at any conclusion but that Messrs. Ballantyne and the
Messrs. Ballantyne's descendants owe a deep and lasting debt of
gratitude to Sir Walter Scott as the originator of all the name,
fame, and fortune they may possess, or to which they can ever
aspire — and that this attempt to blacken the memory of the dead
benefactor of their house would be an act of the basest and most
despicable ingratitude, were it not one of the most puling and
drivelling folly.

That Mr. James Ballantyne did not know at what time Abbots-
ford had ceased to stand * between him and ruin,1 — that he did not
know, and well know, that Sir Walter Scott had made the settlement
of it which he did upon his son's marriage, is next to impossible. All
Edinburgh rung with it for days ; the topic was canvassed in every
bookseller's shop and discussed at every street corner ; gossips carried
it from door to door; advocates discoursed upon it in loquacious
groups in the outer house; and the very boys at the High School
bandied it from mouth to mouth. To Professor Wilson, Mr. Sheriff
Cay, Mr. Peter Robertson, all the known men and women of Edin
burgh, and all the unknown men and women also, it was notorious
as the existence of Arthur's Seat or Holyrood. Is it to be believed
that Mr. James Ballantyne alone, shut up in his printing-office in
solitary admiration of his old critiques on Mrs. Siddons or his
improvements in Scott's romances, was in ignorance of the fact while
92

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

it resounded through the city from end to end, or that he could have
remained so for the space of nine long months ? The insinuations
put forth by the trustees and son of the late Mr. James Ballantyne
respecting his marriage, and his throwing his wife's portion into the
partnership fund at Scott's command, are no less monstrous. How
stands this fact ? Why, that but for Scott's kindness and goodness
he never could have contracted it. — ' I fear I am in debt for more
than all I possess — to a lenient creditor, no doubt ; but still the debt
exists.' — ' I am, dejure et de facto, wholly dependent on you.' — * All,
and more than all, belonging ostensibly to me, is, I presume, yours.'
— ' God be praised that, after all your cruel vexations, you know the
extent of your loss. It has been great, but few men have such resources."1
Such are the terms in which Mr. James Ballantyne addresses his
' dear friend and benefactor ' when, being deep in love as well as in
debt, he solicits that aid from his lenient creditor, which, after all
the cruel loss and vexation, the latter did not withhold.

Ruin ! ruin brought upon the Ballantynes by Scott — by Scott,
who aided and assisted them at every turn, from the first hour when
he found Mr. James Ballantyne, a poor and struggling tradesman in
a small Scotch town, down to those later days when the same
patronage and notice enabled him to affect criticism and taste,
Shakespeare and the Musical Glasses, and to get a good business —
which would have been a better one if he had minded it — and to
leave it to this very son, who is made to talk about his father having
cast his bread upon the waters, and so forth, in a style not unworthy
of Mr. James Ballantyne's own extravagant solemnity ! Ruin !
Where are the signs and tokens of this ruin ? Are they discernible
in the position of Mr. James Ballantyne at any one time after he
had fluttered, butterfly-like, into Edinburgh notoriety through the
influence of Scott, but for whom he would have lived and died a grub
at Kelso ? Are they manifest in the present condition of his son,
who has acquired and inherited an honourable trade which he will do
well to stick to, disregarding the promptings of weak and foolish
friends ? Good God ! How much of the profits of the last edition
of the Waverley Novels has gone to the schooling, apprenticing,
boarding, lodging, washing, clothing, and feeding of this very young
man, and in how different a manner would he have been schooled,
apprenticed, boarded, lodged, washed, clothed, and fed, without
them!

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

There is nothing in the whole of these transactions, which, to our
mind, casts the smallest doubt or suspicion upon Sir Walter Scott,
save in one single particular. His repeated forgiveness of his careless
partners, and his constant and familiar association with persons so
much beneath a man of his transcendent abilities and elevated
station, lead us to fear that he turned a readier ear than became him
to a little knot of toad-eaters and flatterers.

[SEPTEMBER 29, 1839]

IT is not our intention to administer to the diseased craving
after notoriety so conspicuous in * the trustees and son of the late
Mr. James Ballantyne,' by noticing this pamphlet l of theirs at any
length, or entering into a minute examination of its details. Its
general character may be described in a very few words.

From first to last there is visible throughout it, the same want
of understanding of their own position, the same confounding of
Mr. James Ballantyne with Sir Walter Scott, the same preposterous
and inflated notions that the Ballantynes are great public characters,
the same stilted imitation of the man who played the cock to
Garrick's Hamlet, which these gentlemen have before displayed, and
upon which we have already had occasion to observe. The major
part of the contradictions which are given to Mr. Lockhart are
founded upon partial statements of documents to which the contra
dicting parties only have access, and which may very possibly be
susceptible of different or wider construction ; other contradictions
are based upon mere inferences and assumptions, than which none
of Mr. Lockharts are less probable, while many are more so ; on
other points loose denials are hazarded, or pretended indifference

1 Reply to Mr. Lockhart' s Pamphlet, entitltd ' The Ballantytic Humbug Handled.''
By the authors of a ' Refutation of the Misstatements and Calumnies contained in
Mr. Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott, JBart., respecting the Messrs. Ballantyne.'
Longman and Co.

SCOTT AND HIS PUBLISHERS

shown, when there are, both living and accessible, parties whose
evidence might be of great importance, and who — carefully sought
out and canvassed when they have a word to say or write which
will tell in favour of the pamphleteers — are kept most scrupulously
at a distance when their testimony might prove unfavourable.

It still remains, untouched and unquestioned by any of the lengthy
and grandiloquent statements of this bulky pamphlet, a clear and
indisputable fact that Sir Walter Scott was the architect of the
Ballantyne fortunes ; that he raised Messrs. James and John from
obscurity, brought them into notice and established for them good
connexions ; and finally, that Mr. James did at last and after all his
alleged misfortunes leave to his son, for a sufficient support and
maintenance, that creditable business to which he has succeeded,
and which was founded and altogether made by Sir Walter Scott.
He left to his children beside what this very lofty and aspiring
young gentleman, the son of Mr. James aforesaid, calls 'an in
heritance of four or five thousand pounds,' and which we — taking
into consideration that Mr. James had always lived pretty gaily and
close upon his means — would humbly suggest was rather more than
they might have expected, and quite enough to have made all his
sons, heirs, trustees, and descendants, contented and grateful.

We should not have bestowed so many words upon this * reply'
but for certain documents which appear in the appendix ; and we
have sufficient faith in the manly feeling of the deceased Mr. James
Ballantyne — who, notwithstanding his solemn conceit and very
laughable exaggeration of his intellectual and social position, seems
to have been on the whole an estimable person — we place credit
enough in his love and reverence for Sir Walter Scott, in his
gratitude and esteem for that true benefactor and most condescend
ing friend, to believe he would rather have submitted to be burnt
alive than have his name disgraced, and every feeling of honourable
confidence violated, by their publication.

In this appendix there are set forth — wholly unconnected with
the text of the reply — not referred to — not called for in any way —
the following, among other letters from Sir Walter Scott to Mr.
James Ballantyne ; printed and published now, to show Mr. James
Ballantyne the printer as the great patron of Sir Walter Scott the
author, the dispenser to him and his family of bread and cheese and
clothing while he worked at his death !

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

DEAR SIR, — Please to settle the enclosed accompt, Falkner and Co., for
£94 odds, and place the same to my debit in accompt. — Your obedient
Servant, WALTER SCOTT.

EDINBURGH, 29th June.
Mr. JAMBS BALLANTYNE, Printer,
Edinburgh, Canongate.

DEAR JAMES, — I will be obliged to you for twenty-four pounds sterling,
being for a fortnight's support for my family. — Yours truly,

WALTER SCOTT.
CASTLE STREET, 23rd January.
Mr. JAMES BALLANTYNE.

October 15, 1820.

SIR, — You will find beneath an order on Mr. James Ballantyne to
settle your account by payment or acceptance, which will be the same
as if I did so myself. I could wish to be furnished with these bills
before they exceed £50, for your convenience as well as mine. — I am,
Sir, Your obedient Servant, WALTER SCOTT.

ABBOTS FORD, 13th October.
Mr. BLACKWOOD, etc.

SIR, — Be pleased to settle with Messrs. Blackwood, mercers, etc.s
Edinburgh, an accompt due by my family to them, amounting in sum
to £218 sterling, and this by payment, or a bill at short date, as most
convenient, and place the amount to my debit in accompting. — I am,
Sir, Your obedient Servant, WALTER SCOTT.

ABBOTSFORD, 13th October 1820.

If Mr. Thompson will take the trouble to call on Mr. James Ballan
tyne, printer, Paul's Work, Canongate, and show Mr. Ballantyne this
note, he will receive payment of his accompt of thirty-three pounds odds,
for hay and corn due by Sir Walter Scott. WALTER SCOTT.

CASTLE STREET, 8th July.

July 13, 1825.

Lady Scott, with best compliments to Mr. Ballantyne, takes the
liberty of enclosing him two of Miss Scott's bills, which have been
omitted being added with her own, and might occasion some difficulty
in the settling of them, as Misses Jollie and Brown are giving up
business. Lady Scott has many apologies to make for giving all thif
trouble, and having also to request that, when he is so obliging to settle
her account with Mr. Pringle the butcher, that he would also settle her
last account with him, that she may be quite clear with him. Lady
Scott thinks that her second account will amount nearly to £40.
CASTLE STREET, Saturday morning.
96

INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT

Now, we ask all those who have been cheered and delighted by
the labours of this great man, who have hearts to feel or heads to
understand his works, and in whose mouths the creations of his
brain are familiar as household words — we ask all those who, in the
ordinary transactions of common life, have respect for delicacy and
honour, — What sympathy are they prepared to show to the trustees
and son of the late Mr. James Ballantyne, who, unable sufficiently
to revenge their quarrel with Mr. Lockhart upon Mr. Lockhart
himself, presume to turn upon the subjects of his biography, and
seek a retaliation in means so pitiful and disgusting as these?

INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT1

[JULY 16, 1842]

You may perhaps be aware that during my stay in America I lost no
opportunity of endeavouring to awaken the public mind to a sense of
the unjust and iniquitous state of the law in that country, in refer
ence to the wholesale piracy of British works.

Having been successful in making the subject one of general dis
cussion in the United States, I carried to Washington, for presenta
tion to Congress by Mr. Clay, a petition from the whole body
of American authors, earnestly praying for the enactment of an
international copyright law. It was signed by Mr. Washington
Irving, Mr. Prescott, Mr. Cooper, and every man who has distinguished
himself in the literature of America ; and has since been referred to
a select committee of the House of Representatives.

To counteract any effect which might be produced by that peti
tion, a meeting was held in Boston — which, you will remember, is
the seat and stronghold of learning in the United States — at which
a memorial against any change in the existing state of things in this
respect was agreed to, with but one dissentient voice. This document,
which, incredible as it may appear to you, was actually forwarded to
Congress, and received, deliberately stated that if English authors
were invested with any control over the republication of their own
books, it would be no longer possible for American editors to alter
and adapt them (as they do now) to the American taste !

1 Appeared also in the Atheruntm and other papers.
VOL. I : G 97

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

This memorial was, without loss of time, replied to by Mr.
Prescott, who commented, with the natural indignation of a gentle
man and a man of letters, upon its extraordinary dishonesty. I am
satisfied that this brief mention of its tone and spirit is sufficient to
impress you with the conviction, that it becomes all those who are in
any way connected with the literature of England to take that high
stand to which the nature of their pursuits and the extent of their
sphere and usefulness justly entitle them ; to discourage the up
holders of such doctrines by every means in their power, and to
hold themselves aloof from the remotest participation in a system,
from which the moral sense and honourable feeling of all just men
must instinctively recoil.

For myself, I have resolved that I will never from this time enter
into any negotiation with any person for the transmission, across the
Atlantic, of early proofs of anything I may write, and that I will
forego all profit derivable from such a source. I do not venture to
urge this line of proceeding upon you, but I would beg to suggest,
and to lay great stress upon the necessity of observing, one other
course of action, to which I cannot too emphatically call your atten
tion.

The persons who exert themselves to mislead the American
public on this question, to put down its discussion, and to suppress
and distort the truth in reference to it in every possible way, are (as
you may easily suppose) those who have a strong interest in the
existing system of piracy and plunder ; inasmuch as, so long as it
continues, they can gain a very comfortable living out of the brains
of other men, while they would find it very difficult to earn bread by
the exercise of their own. These are the editors and proprietors of
newspapers almost exclusively devoted to the republication of popular
English works. They are, for the most part, men of very low attain
ments, and of more than indifferent reputation; and I have
frequently seen them, in the same sheet in which they boast of the
rapid sale of many thousand copies of an English reprint, coarsely
and insolently attacking the author of that very book, and heaping
scurrility and slander upon his head.

I would therefore entreat you, in the name of the honourable

pursuit with which you are so intimately connected, never to hold

correspondence with any of these men, and never to negotiate with

them for the sale of early proofs of any work over which you have

MACREADY AS 'BENEDICK'

control ; but to treat, on all occasions, with some respectable
American publishing house, and with such an establishment only.

Our common interest in this subject, and my advocacy of it,
single-handed, on every occasion that has presented itself during my
absence from Europe, form my excuse for addressing you.

And I am, faithfully yours.

1 DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE,
REGENT'S PARK,
1th July 1842.

MACREADY AS 'BENEDICK'

[MARCH 4, 1843J

Much Ado about Nothing and Comus were repeated on Tuesday to a
crowded house.1 They were received with no less enthusiasm than on
the night of Mr. Macready's benefit, and are announced for repetition
twice a week.

We are desirous to say a few words of Mr. Macready's perform
ance of Benedick ; not because its striking merits require any com
mendation to those who witness it — as is sufficiently shown by its
reception — but because justice is scarcely done to his impersonation
of the character, as we think, by some of those who have reported
upon it for the nobility and gentry (not quite so limited a one as
could be desired, perhaps), who seldom enter a theatre unless it be a
foreign one ; or who, when they do repair to an English temple of
the drama, would seem to be attracted thither solely by an amiable
desire to purify, by their presence, a scene of vice and indecorum ;
and who select their place of entertainment accordingly.

There are many reasons why a tragic actor incurs considerable
risk of failing to enlist the sympathies of his audience when he
appears in comedy. In the first place, some people are rather dis
posed to take it ill that he should make them laugh who has so often
made them cry. In the second, he has not only to make the im
pression which he seeks to produce in that particular character, but
has to render it, at once, so obvious and distinct, as to cast into

1 Drury Lane Theatre.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

oblivion for the time all the host of grave associations with which
he is identified. Lastly, there is a very general feeling abroad in
reference to all the arts, and every phase of public life, that the path
which a man has trodden for many years — even though it should be
the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire — must be of necessity
his allotted one, and that it is, as a matter of course, the only one
in which he is qualified to walk.

First impressions, too, even with persons of a cultivated under
standing, have an immense effect in settling their notions of a
character ; and it is no heresy to say that many people unconsciously
form their opinion of such a creation as Benedick, not so much from
the exercise of their own judgment in reading the play, as from what
they have seen bodily presented to them on the stage. Thus, when
they call to mind that in such a place Mr. A. or Mr. B. used to stick
his arms akimbo and shake his head knowingly; or that in such another
place he gave the pit to understand, by certain confidential nods and
winks, that in good time they should see what they should see ; or in
such another place, swaggered ; or in such another place, with one
hand clasping each of his sides, heaved his shoulders as with laughter ;
they recall his image, not as the Mr. A. or B. aforesaid, but as
Shakespeare's Benedick — the real Benedick of the book, not the con
ventional Benedick of the boards — and missing any familiar action,
miss, as it were, something of right belonging to the part.

Against all these difficulties Mr. Macready has had to contend,
as any such man must, in his performance of Benedick, and yet before
his very first scene was over on the first night of the revival, the
whole house felt that there was before them a presentment of the
character so fresh, distinct, vigorous, and enjoyable, as they could
not choose but relish, and go along with, delightedly, to the fall of
the curtain.

If it be beyond the province of what we call genteel comedy — a
term which Shakespeare would have had some difficulty in under
standing, perhaps — to make people laugh, then, assuredly, Mr.
Macready is far from being a genteelly comic Benedick. But as we
find him — Signior Benedick of Padua, that is, not the Benedick of
this or that theatrical company — the constant occasion of merriment
among the persons represented in Much Ado about Nothing, 'all
mirth,' as Don Pedro has it, ' from the crown of his head to the sole
of his foot1; and as we find him, in particular, constantly moving to
100

MACREADY AS 'BENEDICK*

laughter both the Prince and Claudio, who may be reasonably sup
posed to possess their share of refined and courtier-like behaviour ;
we venture to think that those who sit below the salt, or f other
side the lamps, should laugh also. And that they did and do, both
loud and long, let the ringing walls of Drury Lane bear witness.

Judging of it by analogy ; by comparison with anything we know
in nature, literature, art ; by any test we can apply to it, from within
us or without, we can imagine no purer or higher piece of genuine
comedy than Mr. Macready's performance of the scene in the orchard
after emerging from the arbour. As he sat, uneasily cross-legged,
on the garden chair, with that face of grave bewilderment and
puzzled contemplation, we seemed to be looking on a picture by
Leslie. It was just such a figure as that excellent artist, in his
fine appreciation of the finest humour, might have delighted to
produce. Those who consider it broad, or farcical, or overstrained,
cannot surely have considered all the train and course of circum
stances leading up to that place. If they take them into reasonable
account, and try to imagine for a moment how any master of fiction
would have described Benedicts behaviour at that crisis — supposing
it had been impossible to contemplate the appearance of a living
man in the part, and therefore necessary to describe it at all — can
they arrive at any other conclusion than that such ideas as are here
presented by Mr. Macready would have been written down ? Refer
to any passage in any play of Shakespeare's, where it has been neces
sary to describe, as occurring beyond the scene, the behaviour of a
man in a situation of ludicrous perplexity ; and by that standard
alone (to say nothing of any mistaken notion of natural behaviour
that may have suggested itself at any time to Goldsmith, Swift,
Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, Scott, or other such unenlightened journey
men) criticise, if you please, this portion of Mr. Macready's admirable
performance.

The nice distinction between such an aspect of the character as
this, and the after love scenes with Beatrice, the challenging of
ClaudiOy or the gay endurance and return of the Princess jests at last,
was such as none but a master could have expressed, though the
veriest tyro in the house might feel its truth when presented to him.
It occurred to us that Mr. Macready 's avoidance of Beatrice in the
second act was a little too earnest and real ; but it is hard dealing
to find so slight a blemish in such a finished and exquisite per-

101

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

formance. For such, in calm reflection, and not in the excitement
of having recently witnessed it, we unaffectedly and impartially
believe it to be.

The other characters are, for the most part, exceedingly well
played. Claudia, in the gay and gallant scenes, has an efficient
representative in Mr. Anderson ; but his perfect indifference to
Hero's supposed death is an imputation on his good sense, and a
disagreeable circumstance in the representation of the play, which
we should be heartily glad to see removed. Mr. Compton has
glimpses of Dogberry, though iron was never harder than he. If
he could but derive a little oil from his contact with Keeley (whose
utter absorption in his learned neighbour is amazing), he would be
come an infinitely better leader of the Prince's Watch. Mrs. Nisbett
is no less charming than at first, and Miss Fortescue is more so,
from having a greater share of confidence in her bearing, and a
somewhat smaller nosegay in her breast. Both Mr. Phelps and
Mr. W. Bennett deserve especial notice, as acting at once with great
spirit and great discretion.

Let those who still cling to the opinion that the Senate of ancient
Rome represented by five-shillings' worth of supernumerary assistance
huddled together at a rickety table, with togas above the cloth and
corduroys below, is more gratifying and instructive to behold than
the living Truth presented to them in Coriolanus during Mr. Mac-
ready's management of Covent Garden, — let such admirers of the
theatre track the mazes of the wild wood in Comus, as it is now
produced ; let them look upon the stage, what time

' He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl,
Like stabbed wolves, or tigers at their prey,
Doing abhorred rights to Hecate
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers,'

— and reconcile their previous notions with any principle of human
reason, if they can.

102

THE OXFORD COMMISSION

REPORT OF THE COMMISSIONERS AP
POINTED TO INQUIRE INTO THE CON
DITION OF THE PERSONS VARIOUSLY
ENGAGED IN THE UNIVERSITY OF
OXFORD

[JUNE 3, 1843]

IT can scarcely be necessary for us to remind our readers that a
Commission under the Great Seal was appointed some months since,
to inquire into the deplorable amount of ignorance and superstition
alleged to prevail in the University of Oxford; concerning which,
the representatives of that learned body in the Commons' House of
Parliament, had then, and have since, at divers times, publicly
volunteered the most alarming and astounding evidence. The Com
mission was addressed to those gentlemen who had investigated the
moral condition of the Children and Young Persons employed in
Mines and Manufactories; it being wisely considered that their
opportunities of reporting on the darkness of Colleges as compared
with Mines, and on the prejudicial atmosphere of Seats of Learning
as compared with Seats of Labour, would be highly advantageous to
the public interest, and might possibly open the public eyes.

The Commissioners have ever since been actively engaged in
pursuing their inquiries into this subject, and deducing from the
mass of evidence such conclusions as appeared to them to be
warranted by the facts. Their Report is now before us, and though
it has not yet been presented to Parliament, we venture to give it
entire.

The Commissioners find :

First, with regard to EMPLOYMENT —

That the intellectual works in the University of Oxford are, in
all essential particulars, precisely what they were when it was first
established for the Manufacture of Clergymen. That they alone
have stood still (or, in the very few instances in which they have
moved at all, have moved backward), when all other works have

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

advanced and improved. That the nature of the employment in
which the young persons are engaged is, by reason of its excessive
dust and rust, extremely pernicious and destructive. That they all
become short-sighted in a most remarkable degree ; that, for the
most part, they lose the use of their reason at a very early age, and
are seldom known to recover it. That the most hopeless and painful
extremes of deafness and blindness are .frequent among them. That
they are reduced to such a melancholy state of apathy and indiffer
ence as to be willing to sign anything, without asking what it is, or
knowing what it means; which is a common custom with these
unhappy persons, even to the extent of nine-and -thirty articles at
once. That, from the monotonous nature of their employment, and
the dull routine of their unvarying drudgery (which requires no
exercise of original intellectual power, but is a mere parrot-like per
formance), they become painfully uniform in character and percep
tion, and are reduced to one dead level (a very dead one, as your
Commissioners believe) of mental imbecility. That cramps and
paralysis of all the higher faculties of the brain are the ordinary
results of this system of labour. And your Commissioners can truly
add, that they found nothing in the avocations of the miners of
Scotland, the knife-grinders of Sheffield, or the workers in iron of
Wolverhampton, one-half so prejudicial to the persons engaged
therein, or one-half so injurious to society, as this fatal system of
employment in the University of Oxford.

Secondly, with regard to the PREVAILIKG IGNORANCE —
That the condition of the University of Oxford, under this head,
is of the most appalling kind ; insomuch that your Commissioners
are firmly of opinion that, taking all the attendant circumstances
into consideration, the Young Persons employed in Mines and
Manufactories are enlightened beings, radiant with intelligence, and
overflowing with the best results of knowledge, when compared with
the persons, young and old, employed in the Manufacture of Clergy
men at Oxford. And your Commissioners have been led to this
conclusion : not so much by the perusal of prize poems, and a due
regard to the very small number of Young Persons accustomed to
University Employment who distinguish themselves in after life, or
become in any way healthy and wholesome ; as by immediate refer
ence to the evidence taken on the two Commissions, and an impartial
consideration of the two classes of testimony, side by side.
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THE OXFORD COMMISSION

That it is unquestionably true that a boy was examined under
the Children's Employment Commission, at Brinsley, in Derbyshire,
who had been three years at school, and could not spell * Church ' ;
whereas there is no doubt that the persons employed in the University
of Oxford can all spell Church with great readiness, and, indeed,
very seldom spell anything else. But, on the other hand, it must
not be forgotten that, in the minds of the persons employed in the
University of Oxford, such comprehensive words as justice, mercy,
charity, kindness, brotherly love, forbearance, gentleness, and Good
Works, awaken no ideas whatever ; while the evidence shows that
the most preposterous notions are attached to the mere terms Priest
and Faith. One young person, employed in a Mine, had no other
idea of a Supreme Being than ' that he had heard him constantly
damned at'; but use the verb to damn, in this horrible connection,
with the Fountain Head of Mercy, in the active sense, instead of in the
passive one; and make the Deity the nominative case instead of the
objective; and how many persons employed in the University of
Oxford have their whole faith in, and whole knowledge of, the
Maker of the World, presented in a worse and far more impious
sentence !

That the answers of persons employed in the said University, to
questions put to them by the Sub-Commissioners in the progress of
this inquiry, bespoke a moral degradation infinitely lower than any
brought to light in Mines and Factories, as may be gathered from
the following examples. A vast number of witnesses being interro
gated as to what they understood by the words Religion and Salva
tion, answered Lighted Candles. Some said water; some, bread;
others, little boys ; others mixed the water, lighted candles, bread,
and little boys all up together, and called the compound, Faith.
Others again, being asked if they deemed it to be matter of great
interest in Heaven, and of high moment in the vast scale of creation,
whether a poor human priest should put on, at a certain time, a
white robe or a black one ; or should turn his face to the East or to
the West ; or should bend his knees of clay ; or stand, or worm on end
upon the earth, said ' Yes, they did' : and being further questioned,
whether a man could hold such mummeries in his contempt, and pass
to everlasting rest, said boldly, * No.' {See evidence of Pusey and
others.)

And one boy (quite an old boy, too, who might have known

105

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

better) being interrogated in a public class, as to whether it was his
opinion that a man who professed to go to church was of necessity a
better man than one who went to chapel, also answered 'Yes';
which your Commissioners submit, is an example of ignorance,
besotted dulness, and obstinacy, wholly without precedent in the
inquiry limited to Mines and Factories ; and is such as the system
of labour adopted in the University of Oxford could alone produce.
(See evidence of Inglis.) In the former Commission, one boy
anticipated all examination by volunteering the remark, * that he
warn't no judge of nuffin'; but the persons employed in the
University of Oxford, almost to a man, concur in saying * that they
ain't no j udges of nuffin ' (with the unimportant exception of other
men's souls); and that, believing in the divine ordination of any
minister to whom they may take a fancy, * they ain't answerable for
nuffin to nobody'; which your Commissioners again submit is an
infinitely worse case, and is fraught with much greater mischief to
the general welfare. (See the evidence in general.)

We humbly represent to your Majesty that the persons who give
these answers, and hold these opinions, and are in this alarming state
of ignorance and bigotry, have it in their power to do much more
evil than the other ill-qualified teachers of Young Persons employed
in Mines and Factories, inasmuch as those were voluntary in
structors of youth, who can be removed at will, and as the public
improvement demands, whereas these are the appointed Sunday
teachers of the empire, forced by law upon your Majesty's subjects,
and not removable for incompetence or misconduct otherwise than
by certain overseers called Bishops, who are, in general, more
incompetent and worse conducted than themselves. Wherefore it is
our loyal duty to recommend to your Majesty that the pecuniary,
social, and political privileges now arising from the degradation and
debasement of the minds and morals of your Majesty's subjects, be
no longer granted to these persons ; or at least that if they continue
to exercise an exclusive power of conferring Learned degrees and dis
tinctions, the titles of the same be so changed and altered, that
they may in some degree express the tenets in right of which they
are bestowed. And this, we suggest to your Majesty, may be done
without any great violation of the true Conservative principle:
inasmuch as the initial letters of the present degrees (not by any
means the least important parts of them) may still be retained as
1 06

IGNORANCE AND CRIME

Bachelor of Absurdity, Master of Arrogance, Doctor of Church
Lunacy, and the like.

All which we humbly certify to your Majesty.

THOMAS TOOKE (L.S.)
T. SOUTHWOOD SMITH (L.S.)
LEONAKD HORNEK (L.S.)
ROBT. J. SAUXDERS (L.S.)
WESTMINSTER, June I, 1843.

IGNORANCE AND CRIME1

[APRIL 22, 1848]

A REMARKABLE document, and one suggesting many weighty con
siderations and supplying much important evidence in reference to
the alliance of crime with ignorance, has been recently published by
the Government. It is a statement of the number of persons taken
into custody by the Metropolitan Police, summarily disposed of, and
tried and convicted in the year 1847 ; to which are appended certain
comparative statements from the years 1831 to 1847 inclusive.

In one part of this return the various trades and professions of
the various persons taken into custody in the course of the year,
are set forth in detail. Although this information is necessarily
imperfect, in the absence of an accurate statistical return, set forth
side by side with it, of the gross number of persons pursuing each
of such trades or professions in the metropolis, it is very curious.
Out of a total of between forty-one and forty-two thousand male
offenders distributed over seventy-nine trades, twelve thousand four
hundred and ten are labourers, of whom one-twelfth offended against
the vagrant laws. Next in point of number come sailors, who exceed
eighteen hundred. Next, the carpenters, who are about a hundred
below the sailors. Next, the shoemakers, who muster some six
hundred weaker than the carpenters. Next, the tailors, who are
about a hundred in the rear of the shoemakers. Next, the brick
layers, who are again about a hundred below the tailors. And so
on down to four sheriff's officers, three clergymen, and one umbrella-

1 The Manuscript of this article is in the Dyce and Forster Collection in the Victoria
and Albert Museum, and bears the title of ' London Crime.' It is here printed from
the MS.

107

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

maker. Nor are the offences of each class less notable. Thus, of
the three clergymen, one is drunk, one disorderly, and one pugilistic ;
which is exactly the case with the sheriff's officers. The solitary
umbrella-maker figures as a murderer. Of five parish officers, one
is a suspicious character, one a horse stealer, and three commit
assaults. Of sixteen postmen, seven steal money from letters, and
six get drunk. Butchers are more disposed to common assaults
than to any other class of offence. The chief weakness of carpenters
is drunkenness ; after that, a disposition to assault the lieges ; after
that, a tendency to petty larceny. Tailors, as we all know, are
disorderly in their drink, and pot-valiant. Female servants are
greatly tempted into theft. Ill-paid milliners and dressmakers
would seem to lapse the most into such offences as may be supposed
to arise from, or to lead to, prostitution.

One extraordinary feature of the tables, is the immense number
of persons who have no trade or occupation, which may be stated,
in round numbers, as amounting to eleven thousand one hundred out
of forty-one thousand men, and to seventeen thousand one hundred
out of twenty thousand five hundred women. Of this last-men
tioned number of women, nine thousand can neither read nor write,
eleven thousand can only read, or read and write imperfectly, and
only fourteen can read and write well ! The proportion of total
ignorance, among the men, is as thirteen thousand out of forty-one
thousand ; only one hundred and fifty out of all that forty-one
thousand can read and write well ; and no more knowledge than
the mere ability to blunder over a book like a little child, or to
read and write imperfectly, is possessed by the rest. This state of
mental comparison is what has been commonly called * education '
in England for a good many years. And that ill-used word might,
quite as reasonably, be employed to express a teapot.

It should be remembered that the very best aspect of this widely
diffused ignorance among criminals, is presented through the
medium of these returns, and that they are probably unduly favour
able to the attainments of these wretched persons. It is one of the
properties of ignorance to believe itself wiser than it is. Striking
instances are within our knowledge in which this alleged ability to
read well, and write a little — appearing to be claimed by offenders
in perfect good faith — has proved, on examination, scarcely to
include the lowest rudiments of a child's first primer. Of this vast
108

IGNORANCE AND CRIME

number of women who have no trade or occupation — seventeen
thousand out of twenty thousand — it is pretty certain that an
immense majority have never been instructed in the commonest
household duties, or the plainest use of needle and thread. Every
day's experience in our great prisons shows the prevailing ignorance
in these respects among the women who are constantly passing and
repassing through them, to be scarcely less than their real ignorance
of the arts of reading and writing and the moral ends to which they
conduce. And in the face of such prodigious facts, sects and
denominations of Christians quarrel with each other and leave the
prisons full up and ever filling with people who begin to be educated
within the prison walls !

The notion that education for the general people is comprised in
the faculty of tumbling over words, letter by letter, and syllable by
syllable, like the learned pig, or of making staggering pothooks and
hangers inclining to the right, has surely had its day by this time,
and a long day too. The comfortable conviction that a parrot
acquaintance with the Church Catechism and the Commandments
is enough shoe-leather for poor pilgrims by the Slough of Despond,
sufficient armour against the Giants Slay-Good and Despair, and a
sort of Parliamentary train for third-class passengers to the beautiful
Gate of the City, must be pulled up by the roots, as its growth will
overshadow this land. Side by side with Crime, Disease, and
Misery in England, Ignorance is always brooding, and is always
certain to be found. The union of Night with Darkness is not more
certain and indisputable. Schools of Industry, schools where the
simple knowledge learned from books is made pointedly useful, and
immediately applicable to the duties and business of life, directly
conducive to order, cleanliness, punctuality, and economy — schools
where the sublime lessons of the New Testament are made the super
structure to be reared, enduringly, on such foundations ; not
frittered away piece-meal into harassing intelligibilities, and associ
ated with weariness, languor, and distaste, by the use of the Gospel
as a dog's-eared spelling-book, than which nothing in what is called
instruction is more common, and nothing more to be condemned —
schools on such principles, deep as the lowest depth of Society, and
leaving none of its dregs untouched, are the only means of removing
the scandal and the danger that beset us in this nineteenth century
of our Lord. Their motto they may take from MORE : * Let the

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

State prevent vices, and take away the occasions for offences by
well ordering its subjects, and not by suffering wickedness to increase,
afterward to be punished.'

Old Sir Peter Laurie's sagacity does not appear by these returns
to have quite ' put down ' suicide yet. It has remained almost as
steady, indeed, as if the world rejoiced in no such magnate. Four
years ago, the number of metropolitan suicides committed in a
twelvemonth was one hundred and fifty-five ; last year it was one
hundred and fifty-two : not to mention two thousand persons
reported last year to the police as lost or missing, of whom only
half were found again.

THE CHINESE JUNK

[JUNE 24, 1848]

THE shortest road to the Celestial Empire is by the Black wall
railway. You may take a ticket, through and back, for a matter
of- eighteen pence. With every carriage that is cast off on the
road — at Stepney, Limehouse, Poplar, West India docks — thou
sands of miles of space are cast off too, the flying dream of tiles
and chimney-pots, backs of squalid houses, frowzy pieces of waste
ground, narrow courts and streets, swamps, ditches, masts of ships,
gardens of dock-weed, and unwholesome little bowers of scarlet
beans, whirls away in half a score of minutes. Nothing is left but
China.

How the flowery region ever got, in the form of the junk
Keying, into the latitude and longitude where it is now to be
found, is not the least part of the marvel. The crew of Chinamen
aboard the Keying devoutly believed that their good ship would
arrive quite safe, at the desired port, if they only tied red rags
enough upon the mast, rudder, and cable. Perhaps they ran short
of rag, through bad provision of stores; certain it is, that they
had not enough on board to keep them from the bottom, and
would most indubitably have gone there, but for such poor aid
as could be rendered by the skill and coolness of a dozen English
sailors, who brought this extraordinary craft in safety over the
wide ocean.
IIO

THE CHINESE JUNK

If there be any one thing in the world that it is not at all like,
that thing is a ship of any kind. So narrow, so long, so grotesque,
so low in the middle, so high at each end (like a China pen-tray),
with no rigging, with nowhere to go to aloft, with mats for sails,
great warped cigars for masts, gaudy dragons and sea monsters
disporting themselves from stem to stern, and, on the stern, a
gigantic cock of impossible aspect, defying the world (as well he
may) to produce his equal — it would look more at home at the
top of a public building, at the top of a mountain, in an avenue
of trees, or down in a mine, than afloat on the water. Of all
unlikely callings with which imagination could connect the Chinese
lounging on the deck, the most unlikely and the last would be the
mariner's craft. Imagine a ship's crew, without a profile among
them, in gauze pinafores and plaited hair; wearing stiff clogs, a
quarter of a foot thick in the sole; and lying at night in little
scented boxes, like backgammon men or chess pieces, or mother of
pearl counters !

The most perplexing considerations obtrude themselves on your
mind when you go down in the cabin. As, what became of all
those lanterns hanging to the roof, when the j unk was out at sea ?
Whether they dangled there, banging and beating against each
other, like so many jesters' baubles? Whether the idol, Chin
Tee, of the eighteen arms, enshrined in a celestial Puppet Show,
in the place of honour, ever tumbled out in heavy weather?
Whether the incense and the joss-stick still burnt before her
with a faint perfume and a little thread of smoke, while the
mighty waves were roaring all around ? Whether that preposterous
umbrella in the corner was always spread, as being a convenient
maritime instrument for walking about the decks with, in a storm ?
Whether all the cool and shiny little chairs and tables were con
tinually sliding about and bruising each other, and if not, why
not ? Whether anybody, on the voyage, ever read those two books
printed in characters like bird-cages and fly-traps? Whether the
Mandarin passenger, He Sing, who had never been ten miles from
home in his life before, lying sick on a bamboo couch in a private
China closet of his own (where he is now perpetually writing auto
graphs for inquisitire barbarians), ever began to doubt the potency
of the goddess of the sea, whose counterfeit presentment, like a
flowery monthly nurse, occupies the sailors' joss-house in the second

ill

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

gallery? Whether it is possible that the said Mandarin, or the
artist of the ship, Sam Sing, Esquire, R.A., of Canton, can ever
go ashore without a walking staff of cinnamon, agreeably to the
usage of their likenesses in British tea-shops ? Above all, whether
the hoarse old ocean can ever have been seriously in earnest with
this floating toy shop, or merely played with it in lightness of spirit
— roughly, but meaning no harm — as the bull did with the china-
shop, on St. Patrick's day in the morning?

Here, at any rate, is the doctrine of finality beautifully worked
out, and shut up in a corner of a dock near the Whitebait-house
at Blackwall, for the edification of men. Thousands of years have
passed away since the first Chinese junk was constructed on this
model; and the last Chinese junk that was ever launched was none
the better for that waste and desert of time. In all that interval,
through all the immense extent of the strange kingdom of China —
in the midst of its patient and ingenious, but never advancing art,
and its diligent agricultural cultivation — not one new twist or curve
has been given to a ball of ivory ; not one blade of experience has
been grown.

The general eye has opened no wider, and seen no farther, than
the mimic eye upon this vessel's prow, by means of which she is sup
posed to find her way ; or has been set in the flowery-head to as
little purpose, for thousands of years. Sir Robert Inglis, member
for the University of Oxford, ought to become Ty Kong or managing
man of the Keying, and nail the red rag of his party to the mast for
ever.

There is no doubt, it appears, that if any alteration took place,
in this junk or any other, the Chinese form of government would
be destroyed. It has been clearly ascertained by the wise men and
lawgivers that to make the cock upon the stern (the Grand Falcon
of China) by a feather's breadth a less startling phenomenon, or to
bring him within the remotest verge of ornithological possibility,
would be to endanger the noblest institutions of the country. For
it is a remarkable circumstance in China (which is found to obtain
nowhere else) that although its institutions are the perfection of
human wisdom, and are the wonder and envy of the world by reason
of their stability, they are constantly imperilled in the last degree
by very slight occurrences. So, such wonderful contradictions as
the neatness of the Keymg's cups and saucers, and the ridiculous
112

'THE DRUNKARD'S CHILDREN'

rudeness of her guns and rudder, continue to exist. If any Chinese
maritime generation were the wiser for the wisdom of the genera •
tion gone before, it is agreed upon by all the Ty Kongs in the
navy that the Chinese constitution would immediately go by the
board, and that the church of the Chinese Bonzes would be effectually
done for.

It is pleasant, coming out from behind the wooden screen that
encloses this interesting and remarkable sight (which all who can,
should see), to glance upon the mighty signs of life, enterprise, and
progress that the great river and its busy banks present. It is
pleasant, coming back from China by the Blackwall railway, to
think that WE trust no red rags in storms, and burn no joss-sticks
before idols ; that WE never grope our way by the aid of conven
tional eyes which have no sight in them ; and that, in our civilisation,
we sacrifice absurd forms to substantial facts. The ignorant crew
of the Keying refused to enter on the ship's books, until * a consider
able amount of silvered paper, tinfoil, and joss-sticks' had been laid
in, by the owners, for the purposes of their worship ; but OUR seamen
— far less our bishops, priests, and deacons — never stand out upon
points of silvered paper and tinfoil, or the lighting up of joss-sticks
upon altars ! Christianity is not Chin-Teeism ; and therein all in
significant quarrels as to means, are lost sight of in remembrance of
the end.

There is matter for reflection aboard the Keying to last the
voyage home to England again.

CRUIKSHANK'S 'THE DRUNKARD'S
CHILDREN '

[JULY 8, 1848]

A ' SEQUEL TO THE BOTTLE ' x seems to us to demand a few words by
way of gentle protest. Few men have a better right to erect them
selves into teachers of the people than Mr. George Cruikshank.
Few men have observed the people as he has done, or know them

1 The Drunkard's Children. A Sequel to the Bottle. In eight Plates. By George
Cruikshank.

VOL. I:H 113

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

better; few are more earnestly and honestly disposed to leach them
for their good ; and there are very, very few artists, in England or
abroad, who can approach him in his peculiar and remarkable
power.

But this teaching, to last, must be fairly conducted. It must
not be all on one side. When Mr. Cruikshank shows us, and shows
us so forcibly and vigorously, that side of the medal on which
the people in their crimes and faults are stamped, he is bound
to help us to a glance at that other side on which the govern
ment that forms the people, with all its faults and vices, is no less
plainly impressed. Drunkenness, as a national horror, is the effect
of many causes. Foul smells, disgusting habitations, bad workshops
and workshop customs, want of light, air, and water, the absence of
all easy means of decency and health, are commonest among its
common, everyday, physical causes. The mental weariness and
languor so induced, the want of wholesome relaxation, the craving
for some stimulus and excitement, which is as much a part of such
lives as the sun is ; and, last and inclusive of all the rest, ignorance,
and the need there is amongst the English people of reasonable,
rational training, in lieu of mere parrot-education, or none at all ;
are its most obvious moral causes. It would be as sound philosophy
to issue a series of plates under the title of The Physic Bottle, or
the Saline Mixture, and, tracing the history of typhus fever by
such means, to refer it all to the gin-shop, as it is to refer Drunken
ness thither and to stop there. Drunkenness does not begin there.
It has a teeming and reproachful history anterior to that stage ; and
at the remediable evil in that history, it is the duty of the moralist,
if he strikes at all, to strike deep and spare not.

Hogarth avoided the Drunkard's Progress, we conceive, precisely
because the causes of drunkenness among the poor were so numerous
and widely spread, and lurked so sorrowfully deep and far down in
all human misery, neglect, and despair, that even his pencil could not
bring them fairly and justly into the light. That he was never con
tented with beginning at the effect, witness the Miser (his shoe new-
soled with the binding of his Bible) dead before the Young Rake
begins his career ; the worldly father, listless daughter, impoverished
nobleman, and crafty lawyer in the first plate of the Mariage a la
Mode; the detestable advances in the Stages of Cruelty; and the
progress downward of Thomas Idle! That he did not spare that
114,

'THE DRUNKARD'S CHILDREN*

kind of drunkenness which was of more 'respectable' engenderment,
his midnight modern conversation, the election plates, and a crowd
of stupid aldermen and other guzzlers, amply testify. But after one
immortal journey down Gin Lane, he turned away in grief and
sorrow — perhaps in hope of better things one day, from better laws,
and schools, and poor men's homes — and went back no more. It is
remarkable of that picture, that while it exhibits drunkenness in its
most appalling forms, it forces on the attention of the spectator a
most neglected, wretched neighbourhood (the same that is only just
now cleared away for the extension of Oxford Street) and an un
wholesome, indecent, abject condition of life, worthy to be a Frontis
piece to the late Report of the Sanitary Commissioners, made nearly
one hundred years afterwards. We have always been inclined to
think the purpose of this piece not adequately stated, even by
Charles Lamb. 'The very houses seem absolutely reeling,' it is
true; but they quite as powerfully indicate some of the more
prominent causes of intoxication among the neglected orders of
society, as any of its effects. There is no evidence that any of the
actors in the dreary scene have ever been much better off than we
find them. The best are pawning the commonest necessaries, and
tools of their trades, and the worst are homeless vagrants who give
us no clue to their having been otherwise in bygone days. All are
living and dying miserably. Nobody is interfering for prevention or
for cure in the generation going out before us, or the generation
coming in. The beadle (the only sober man in the composition
except the pawnbroker) is mightily indifferent to the orphan-child
crying beside its parent's coffin. The little charity-girls are not so
well taught or looked after, but that they can take to dram-drinking
already. The church is very prominent and handsome, but coldly
surveys these things, in progress underneath the shadow of its tower
(it was in the year of grace eighteen hundred and forty-eight that a
Bishop of London first came out respecting something wrong in poor
men's social accommodations), and is passive in the picture. We take
all this to have a meaning, and to the best of our knowledge it has
not grown obsolete in a century.

Whereas, to all such considerations Mr. Cruikshank gives the go
by. The hero of the Bottle, and father of these children, lived in
undoubted comfort and good esteem until he was some five-and-
thirty years of age, when, happening, unluckily, to have a goose for

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

dinner one day, in the bosom of his thriving family, he jocularly
sent out for a bottle of gin, and persuaded his wife (until then a
pattern of neatness and good housewifery) to take a little drop, after
the stuffing, from which moment the family never left off drinking
gin, and rushed downhill to destruction, very fast.

Entertaining the highest respect for Mr. Cruikshank's great
genius, and no less respect for his motives in these publications,
we deem it right on the appearance of a sequel to the Bottle, to
protest against this. First, because it is a compromising of a very
serious and pressing truth ; secondly, because it will, in time, defeat
the end these pictures are designed to bring about. There is no
class of society so certain to find out their weak place, as the class to
which they are especially addressed. It is particularly within their
knowledge and experience.

In the present series we trace the brother and sister whom we
left in that terrible representation of the father's madness with which
the first series closed, through the career of vice and crime then
lowering before them. The gin-shop, beer-shop, and dancing-rooms
receive them in turn. They are tried for a robbery. The boy is
convicted, and sentenced to transportation; the girl acquitted. He
dies, prematurely, on board the hulks; and she, desolate and mad,
flings herself from London Bridge into the night-darkened river.

The power of this closing scene is extraordinary. It haunts the
remembrance, like an awful reality. It is full of passion and terror,
and we question whether any other hand could so have rendered it.
Nor, although far exceeding all that has gone before, as such a
catastrophe should, is it without the strongest support all through
the story. The death-bed scene on board the hulks — the convict
who is composing the face — and the other who is drawing the screen
round the bed's head — are masterpieces, worthy of the greatest
painter. The reality of the place, and the fidelity with which every
minute object illustrative of it is presented, are quite surprising.
But the same feature is remarkable throughout. In the trial scene
at the Old Bailey the eye may wander round the court, and observe
everything that is a part of the place. The very light and atmo
sphere of the reality are reproduced with astonishing truth. So in
the gin-shop and the beer-shop ; no fragment of the fact is indicated
and slurred over, but every shred of it is honestly made out. It is
curious, in closing the book, to recall the number of faces we have
II*

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

seen that have as much individual character and identity in our
remembrance as if we had been looking at so many living people of
flesh and blood. The man behind the bar in the gin-shop, the
barristers round the table in court, the convicts already mentioned,
will be, like the figures in the pictures of which the Spanish Friar
spoke to Wilkie, realities, when thousands of living shadows shall
have passed away. May Mr. Cruikshank linger long behind to give
us many more of such realities, and to do with simple means, such as
are used here, what the whole paraphernalia and resources of Art
could not effect, without a master hand !

The Sequel to the Bottle is published at the same price as its pre
decessor. The eight large plates may be bought for a shilling !

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

[AUGUST 19, 1848]

IT might be laid down as a very good general rule of social and
political guidance, that whatever Exeter Hall champions, is the thing
by no means to be done. If it were harmless on a cursory view,
if it even appeared to have some latent grain of common-sense at
the bottom of it — which is a very rare ingredient in any of the
varieties of gruel that are made thick and slab by the weird old
women who go about, and exceedingly roundabout, on the Exeter
Hall platform — such advocacy might be held to be a final and fatal
objection to it, and to any project capable of origination in the
wisdom or folly of man.

The African Expedition, of which these volumes l contain the
melancholy history, is in no respect an exception to the rule.
Exeter Hall was hot in its behalf, and it failed. Exeter Hall was
hottest on its weakest and most hopeless objects, and in those it
failed (of course) most signally. Not, as Captain Allen justly claims

1 'Narrative of the Expedition sent by Her Majesty's Government to the River
Niger in 1841, under the command of Captain H. D. Trotter, R.N.' By Captain
William Allen, R.N., Commander of H.M.S. Wilberforce, and T. R. H. Thomson,
M.D., one of the medical officers of the Expedition. Published with the sanction of
the Colonial Office and the Admiralty, Two volt. Bcntky.

I!/

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for himself and his gallant comrades, not through any want of
courage and self-devotion on the part of those to whom it was
entrusted — the sufferings of all, the deaths of many, the dismal wear
and tear of stout frames and brave spirits, sadly attest the fact ; —
but because, if the ends sought to be attained are to be won, they
must be won by other means than the exposure of inestimable British
lives to certain destruction by an enemy against which no gallantry
can contend, and the enactment of a few broad farces for the
entertainment of a King Obi, King Boy, and other such potentates,
whose respect for the British force is, doubtless, likely to be very
much enhanced by their relishing experience of British credulity in
such representations, and our perfect impotency in opposition to
their climate, their falsehood, and deceit.

The main ends to be attained by the Expedition were these :
The abolition, in great part, of the Slave-Trade, by means of treaties
with native chiefs, to whom were to be explained the immense
advantages of general unrestricted commerce with Great Britain
in lieu thereof; the substitution of free for slave labour in the
dominions of those chiefs; the introduction into Africa of an
improved system of agricultural cultivation ; the abolition of human
sacrifices ; the diffusion among those Pagans of the true doctrines of
Christianity ; and a few other trifling points, no less easy of attain
ment. A glance at this short list, and a retrospective glance at
the great number of generations during which they have all been
comfortably settled in our own civilised land, never more to be the
subjects of dispute, will tend to materially remove any aspect of
slight difficulty they may present. To make the treaties, certain
officers of the Expedition were constituted her Majesty's Commis
sioners. To render them attractive to the native chiefs, a store of
presents was provided. And to enforce them, ' one or more small
forts ' were to be built, on land to be bought for the purpose on the
banks of the Niger; which forts were 'to assist in the abolition of
the Slave-Trade, and further the innocent trade of her Majesty's
subjects.' The Niger was to be explored, the resources and pro
ductions of the country were to be inquired into and reported on,
and various important and scientific observations, astronomical,
geographical, and otherwise, were to be made ; but these were by
the way. A Model Farm was to be established by an agricultural
society at home ; and besides allowing stowage-room on board the

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

ship for its various stores, implements, etc., the Admiralty granted
a free passage to Mr. Alfred Carr, a West Indian gentleman of
colour, engaged as its superintendent. By all these means com
bined, as Dr. Lushington and Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton wrote to
Lord John Russell, who was then Colonial Secretary, the people of
Africa were 'to be awakened to a proper sense of their own
degradation.'

On this awakening mission three vessels were appointed. They
were flat-bottomed iron steam vessels, built for the purpose. The
Albert and the Wilberforce, each 139 feet 4 inches in length,
and 27 feet in breadth of beam, and drawing 6 feet water, were
in all respects exactly alike. The Soudan, intended for detached
service, was much smaller, and drew a foot and a half less water.
They were very ingeniously conceived, with certain rudder-tails and
sliding keels for sea service ; but they performed most unaccountable
antics in bad weather, and had a perverse tendency to go to leeward,
which nothing would conquer. Dr. Reid fitted them up with what
' My Lords ' describe as an ingenious and costly ventilating ap
paratus, the preparation of which occasioned a loss of much valuable
time, and the practical effect of which was to suffocate the crews.
' That truly amiable Prince,' the Prince Consort, came on board at
Woolwich, and gave a handsome gold chronometer to each of the
three captains. The African Civilisation Society came down with a
thousand pounds. The Church of England Missionary Society
provided a missionary and a catechist. Exeter Hall, in a ferment,
was for ever blocking up the gangway. At last, on the 12th of
May 1841, at half-past six in the morning, the line of battleships
anchored in Plymouth Sound gave three cheers to the Expedition
as it steamed away, unknowing, for 'the Gate of the Cemetery.'
Such was the sailors' name, thereafter, for the entrance to the fatal
river whither they were bound.

At Sierra Leone, in the middle of June following, the inter
preters were taken on board, together with some liberated Africans,
their wives and children, who were engaged there by Mr. Carr, as
labourers on the Model Farm. Also a large gang of Krumen to
assist in working the vessels, and to save the white men as much as
possible from exposure to the sun and heavy rains. Of these negroes
— a faithful, cheerful, active, affectionate race — a very interesting
account is given ; which seems to render it clear that they, under

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civilised direction, are the only hopeful human agents to whom
recourse can ultimately be had for aid in working out the slow
and gradual raising up of Africa. Those eminent Krumen, Jack
Frying Pan, King George, Prince Albert, Jack Sprat, Bottle-of-
Beer, Tom Tea Kettle, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York,
and some four-score others, enrolled themselves on the ships' books,
here, under Jack Andrews, their head man ; and these being joined,
at Cape Palmas, by Jack Smoke, Captain Allen's faithful servant
and attendant in sickness in his former African expedition, the
complement was complete. Thence the Expedition made for Cape
Coast Castle, where much valuable assistance was derived from
Governor MacLean ; and thence for the Nun branch of the Niger
— the Gate of the Cemetery.1

After a fortnight's voyage up the river the royal residence of
King Obi was reached. A solemn conference with this sovereign
was soon afterwards held on board the Albert. His Majesty was
dressed in a sergeant-major's coat, given him by Lander, and a
loose pair of scarlet trousers, presented to him on the same occasion,

1 Most English readers will be as unwilling as the manly writers of these volumes,
to leave one spot at Cape Coast Castle without a word of remembrance.

1 In passing across the square within the walls, an object of deep interest presents
itself in the little space containing all that was mortal of the late Mrs. McLean ; the
once well-known, amiable, and accomplished L. E. L. A plain marble slab, bearing
the following inscription, is placed over the spot :

Hie jacet sepultum,

Omne quod mortale fuit

LKTITI/B ELIZABETH.* MCLEAN,

Quam egregia ornatam indole, Musis

Unice amatam. Omniumque amores

Secum trahentem ; in ipso etatis flore,

Mors immatura rapuit.

Die Octobris xv., MDCCCXXXVin. Etatis xxxvi.
Quod spectas viator marmor vanum
Heu doloris monumentum
Conjux maerens erexit.

' The beams of the setting sun throw a rich but subdued colouring over the place,
and as we stood in sad reflection on the fate of the gifted poetess, some fine specimens
of the Hirundo Senegalensis, or African swallow, fluttered gracefully about, as if to keep
watch over a spot sacred indeed to the Muses ; while the noise of the surf, breaking on
the not distant shore, seemed to murmur a requiem over departed genius.'
I2O

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

and a conical black velvet cap was stuck on his head in a slanting
manner. The following extracts describe the process of

TREATY-MAKING WITH OBI.

On being shown to the after-part of the quarter-deck, where seats
were provided for himself and the Commissioners, he sat down to collect
bis scattered ideas, which appeared to be somewhat bewildered; and
after a few complimentary remarks from Captain Trotter and the other
Commissioners, the conference was opened.

Captain Trotter, Senior Commissioner, explained to Obi Osal, that her
Majesty the Queen of Great Britain had sent him and the three other
gentlemen composing the Commission, to endeavour to enter into treaties
with African chiefs for the abolition of the trade in human beings,
which her Majesty and all the British nation held to be an injustice to
their fellow-creatures, and repugnant to the laws of God; that the
vessels which he saw were not trading-ships, but belonging to our Queen,
and were sent, at great expense, expressly to convey the Commissioners
appointed by her Majesty, for the purpose of carrying out her benevolent
intentions, for the benefit of Africa. Captain Trotter therefore requested
the King to give a patient hearing to what the Commissioners had to
say to him on the subject.

Obi expressed himself through his interpreter, or 'mouth,' much
gratified at our visit ; that he understood what was said, and would pay
attention.

The Commissioners then explained that the principal object in invit
ing him to a conference was, to point out the injurious effects to himself
and to his people of the practice of selling their slaves, thus depriving
themselves of their services for ever, for a trifling sum ; whereas, if these
slaves were kept at home, and employed in the cultivation of the land,
in collecting palm oil, or other productions of the country for commerce,
they would prove a permanent source of revenue. Obi replied, that he
was very willing to do away with the slave-trade if a better traffic could
be substituted.

COMMISSIONERS. — Does Obi sell slaves from his own dominions ?

OBI. — No ; they come from countries far away.

COMMISSIONERS.— Does Obi make war to procure slaves ?

OBI. — When other chiefs quarrel with me and make war, I take all
I can as slaves.

COMMISSIONERS. — What articles of trade are best suited to your people,
or what would you like to be brought to your country ?

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OBI. — Cowries, cloth, muskets, powder, handkerchiefs, coral beads,
hats — anything from the white man's country will please.

COMMISSIONERS. — You are the King of this country, as our Queen is
the sovereign of Great Britain ; but she does not wish to trade with you ;
she only desires that her subjects may trade fairly with yours. Would
they buy salt ?

OBI.— Yes.

COMMISSIONERS. — The Queen of England's subjects would be glad to
trade for raw cotton, indigo, ivory, gums, camwood. Now have your
people these things to offer in return for English trade goods ?

OBI.— Yes.

COMMISSIONERS. — Englishmen will bring everything to trade but rum
or spirits, which are injurious. If you induce your subjects to cultivate
the ground, you will all become rich ; but if you sell slaves, the land
will not be cultivated, and you will become poorer by the traffic. If you
do all these things which we advise you for your own benefit, our Queen
will grant you, for your own profit and revenue, one out of every twenty
articles sold by British subjects in the Ab6h territory ; so that the more
you persuade your people to exchange native produce for British goods,
the richer you will become. You will then have a regular profit, enforced
by treaty, instead of trusting to a ' dash ' or present, which depends on
the willingness of the traders.

OBI. — I will agree to discontinue the slave-trade, but I expect the
English to bring goods for traffic.

COMMISSIONERS. — The Queen's subjects cannot come here to trade,
unless they are certain of a proper supply of your produce.

OBI. — I have plenty of palm oil.

COMMISSIONERS. — Mr. Schon, missionary, will explain to you in the
Ibu language what the Queen wishes, and if you do not understand, it
shall be repeated.

Mr. Schon began to read the address drawn up for the purpose of
showing the different tribes what the views of the Expedition were ; but
Obi soon appeared to be tired of a palaver which lasted so much longer
than those to which he was accustomed. He manifested some impatience,
and at last said : ' I have made you a promise to drop this slave-trade,
and do not wish to hear anything more about it.'

COMMISSIONERS. — Our Queen will be much pleased if you do, and you
will receive the presents which she sent for you. When people in the
white man's country sign a treaty or agreement, they always abide by it.
The Queen cannot come to speak to you, Obi Osai', but she sends us to
make the treaty for her.
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THE NIGER EXPEDITION

OBI. — I can only engage my word for my own country.

COMMISSIONERS. — You cannot sell your slaves if you wish, for our
Queen has many warships at the mouth of the river, and Spaniards are
afraid to come and buy there.

OBI. — I understand.

He seemed to be highly amused on our describing the difficulties the
slave-dealers have to encounter in the prosecution of the trade ; and on
one occasion he laughed immoderately when told that our cruisers often
captured slave-ships, with the cargo on board. We suspected, however,
that much of his amusement arose from his knowing that slaves were
shipped off at parts of the coast little thought of by us. The abundance
of Brazilian rum in Ab6h showed that they often traded with nations
who have avowedly no other object.

It is not difficult to imagine that Obi was ' highly amused ' with
the whole ' palaver,' except when the recollection of its interposing
between him and the presents made him restless. For nobody knew
better than Obi what a joke it all was, as the result very plainly
showed.

Some of the presents were now brought in, which Obi looked at with
evident pleasure. His anxiety to examine them completed his inatten
tion to the rest of the palaver.

COMMISSIONERS. — These are not all the presents that will be given to
you. We wish to know if you are willing to stop boats carrying slaves
through the waters of your dominions ?

OBI. — Yes, very willing ; except those I do not see.

COMMISSIONERS. — Also to prevent slaves being carried over your land ?

OBI. — Certainly ; but the English must furnish me and my people with
arms, as my doing so will involve me in war with my neighbours.

Obi then retired for a short time to consult with his headmen.

COMMISSIONERS (on his return). — Have you power to make an agree
ment with the Commissioners in the name of all your subjects?

OBI. — I am the King. What I say is law. Are there two Kings in
England ? There is only one here.

COMMISSIONERS. — Understanding you have sovereign power, can you
seize slaves on the river ?

OBI.— Yes.

COMMISSIONERS. — You must set them free.

OBI. — Yes (mapping hisjingers several times).

COMMISSIONERS. — The boats must be destroyed.

OBI. — I will break the canoe, but kill no one.

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

COMMISSIONERS. — Suppose a man of war takes a canoe, and it is proved
to be a slaver, the officer's word must be taken by the King. You, Obi,
or some one for you, can be present to see justice done.

OBI. — I understand.

COMMISSIONERS. — Any new men coming henceforth to Ab6h are not
to be made slaves.

OBI. — Very good.

COMMISSIONERS. — If any King, or other person, sends down slaves,
Obi must not buy them.

OBI. — I will not go to market to sell slaves.

COMMISSIONERS. — Any white men that are enslaved are to be made free.

The Commissioners here alluded to the case of the Landers, and
asked Obi if he did not remember the circumstance of their being
detained some time as slaves. Obi, turning round to his sons and head
men, appealed to them, and then denied all knowledge of Lander's
detention.

COMMISSIONERS. — British people who settle in Ab6h must be treated
as friends, in the same way as Obi's subjects would be if they were in
England.

OBI. — What you say to me I will hold fast and perform.

COMMISSIONERS. — People may come here, and follow their own religion
without annoyance ? Our countrymen will be happy to teach our religion,
without which blessing we should not be prosperous as a nation as we
now are.

OBI. — Yes, let them come ; we shall be glad to hear them.

COMMISSIONERS. — British people may trade with your people; but
whenever it may be in Ab6h, one-twentieth part of the goods sold is to
be given to the King. Are you pleased with this ?

OBI. — Yes — 'makka.' — It is good (snapping hisjingers).

COMMISSIONERS. — Is there any road from Ab6h to Benin ?

OBI.— Yes.

COMMISSIONERS. — They must all be open to the English.

OBI.— Yes.

COMMISSIONERS. — All the roads in England are open alike to all
foreigners.

OBI. — In this way of trade I am agreeable.

COMMISSIONERS. — Will Obi let the English build, cultivate, buy and
sell, without annoyance ?

OBI. — Certainly.

COMMISSIONERS. — If your people do wrong to them, will you punish
them?

1*4

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

OBI. — They shall be judged, and if guilty, punished.

COMMISSIONERS. — When the English do wrong, Obi must send word
to an English officer, who will come and hold a palaver. You must not
punish white people.

OBI. — I assent to this. (He now became restless and impatient.}

COMMISSIONERS. — If your people contract debts with the English, they
must be made to pay them.

OBI. — They shall be punished if they do not.

COMMISSIONERS. — The Queen may send an agent?

OBI. — If any Englishman comes to reside, I will show him the best
place to build a house and render him every assistance.

COMMISSIONERS. — Obi must also give every facility for forwarding
tetters, etc., down the river, so that the English officer who receives
them may give a receipt, and also a reward for sending them.

OBI. — Very good (snapping hisjingers).

COMMISSIONERS. — Have you any opportunity of sending to Bonny ?

OBI. — I have some misunderstanding with the people intermediate
between Ab6h and Bonny ; but I can do it through the Brass people.

COMMISSIONERS. — Will you agree to supply men of war with firewood,
provisions, etc. etc., at a fair and reasonable price ?

OBI. — Yes, certainly.

The Commissioners requested Mr. Schon, the respected missionary,
to state to King Obi, in a concise manner, the difference between the Christian
religion and heathenism, together with some description of the settlement
at Sierra Leone.

MR. SCHON. — There is but one God.

OBI. — / always understood there were two.1

Mr. Schon recapitulated the Decalogue and the leading truths
of the Christian faith, and then asked Obi if this was not a good
religion, to which he replied, with a snap of his fingers, * Yes, very
good ' (makka).

Obi concluded the conference by remarking very emphatically
' that he wanted this palaver settled ; that he was tired of so much
talking, and that he wished to go on shore.1 He finally said, with
great impatience, * that this Slave Palaver was all over now, and he
didn't wish to hear anything more of it.'

1 Some former traveller— Lander, perhaps— had possibly bewildered Obi with the
Athanasian Creed.

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

The upshot of the Slave Palaver was, that Obi agreed to every
article of the proposed treaty, and plighted his troth to it then
and there amidst a prodigious heating of tom-toms, which lasted
all night. Of course he broke the treaty on the first opportunity
(being one of the falsest rascals in Africa), and went on slave-
dealing vigorously. When the expedition became helpless and
disabled, newly captured slaves, chained down to the bottoms of
canoes, were seen passing along the river in the heart of this same
Obi's dominions.

The following is curious : —

OBI ON CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

98th. Agreeably to his promise, Obi Osa'i went on board the Albert
this morning, where he was received by Captain Trotter and the Com
missioners, with whom he breakfasted. His dress was not so gay as
on his visit of yesterday, being merely a cotton jacket and trousers,
much in want of a laundress, a red cap on his head, and some strings
of coral, and teeth of wild beasts, round his neck, wrists, and ankles.
He entered frankly into the views previously explained to him, and
assented unhesitatingly to all required from him. It was, however,
necessary that the Treaty, which had been drawn upon the basis of
the draft furnished by Lord John Russell, with the addition of some
articles relating especially to the free navigation of the river, should
be again read and explained to Obi and his principal headmen,
especially the heir-presumptive and the chief Ju-juman, much to
their annoyance ; and as all this occupied a long while, apparently to
very little purpose, he completely turned against ourselves the charge
we made against the black people — of not knowing the value of time.
In agreeing to the additional article, binding the Chief and his people
to the discontinuance of the horrid custom of sacrificing human beings,
Obi very reasonably inquired what should be done with those who
might deserve death as punishment for the commission of great
crimes.

Something very like this question of Obi's has been asked, once
or twice, by the very Government which sent out these ' devil-ships,"1
or steamers, to remodel his affairs for him ; and the point has not
been settled yet.

Now let us review this Diplomacy for a moment. Obi, though
a savage in a sergeant-major's coat, may claim with Master Slender,
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THE NIGER EXPEDITION

and perhaps with better reason, to be not altogether an ass. Obi
knows, to begin with, that the English Government maintains a
blockade, the object of which is to prevent the exportation of
slaves from his native coasts, and which is inefficient and absurd.
The very mention of it sets him a-laughing. Obi, sitting on the
quarter-deck of the Albert, looking slyly out from under his savage
forehead and his conical cap, sees before him her Majesty's white
Commissioners from the distant blockade-country gravely pro
pounding, at one sitting, a change in the character of his people
(formed, essentially, in the inscrutable wisdom of God, by the soil
they work on and the air they breathe) — the substitution of a
religion it is utterly impossible he can appreciate or understand,
be the mutual interpretation never so ezact and never so miracu
lously free from confusion, for that in which he has been bred,
and with which his priest and jugglers subdue his subjects, the
entire subversion of his whole barbarous system of trade and
revenue — and the uprooting, in a word, of all his, and his nation's,
preconceived ideas, methods, and customs. In return for this, the
white men are to trade with him by means of ships that are to
come there one day or other ; and are to quell infractions of the
treaty by means of other white men, who are to learn how to draw
the breath of life there, by some strong charm they certainly have
not discovered yet. Can it be supposed that on this earth there
lives a man who better knows than Obi, leering round upon the
river's banks, the dull dead mangrove trees, the slimy and decaying
earth, the rotting vegetation, that these are shadowy promises and
shadowy threats, which he may give to the hot vjnds? In any
breast in the white group about him, is there a dark presentiment
of death (the pestilential air is heavier already with such whispers,
to some noble hearts) half so certain as this savage's foreknowledge
of the fate fast closing in? In the mind's eye of any officer or
seaman looking on, is there a picture of the bones of white men
bleaching in a pestilential land, and of the timbers of their poor,
abandoned, pillaged ships, showing, on the shore, like gigantic
skeletons, half so vivid as Obi's? 'Too much palaver,' says Obi,
with good reason. * Give me the presents and let me go home, and
beat my tom-toms all night long, for joy!'

Yet these were the means by which the African people were to
be awakened to a proper sense of their own degradation. For the

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

conclusion of such treaties with such powers, the useful lives of
scholars, students, mariners, and officers — more precious than a
wilderness of Africans — were thrown away !

There was another monarch at another place on the Niger, a
certain Attah of Iddah, ' whose feet, enclosed in very large red leather
boots, surrounded with little bells, dangled carelessly over the side
of the throne,' who spoke through a State functionary, called the
King's mouth, and who had this very orthodox notion of the Divine
right : ' God made me after His image ; I am all the same as God ;
and He appointed me a King.' With this good old sovereign a
similar scene was enacted ; and he, too, promised everything that
was asked, and was particularly importunate to see the presents.
He also was very much amused by the missionary's spectacles,
it was supposed ; and as royalty in these parts must not smile
in public, the fan-bearers found it necessary to hide his face very
often. The Attah dines alone — like the Pope — and is equally in
fallible. Some land for the Model Farm was purchased of him,
and the settlement established. The reading of the deed was very
patiently attended to, ' unless,' say the writers of these volumes, with
the frankness which distinguishes them — ' unless we mistook apathy
for such a laudable bearing.'

So much is done towards the great awakening of the African
people. By this time the Expedition has been in the river five
weeks ; fever has appeared on board of all the ships in the river ;
for the last three days especially it has progressed with terrible
rapidity. On board the Soudan only six persons can move about.
On board the Albert the assistant surgeon lies at the point of
death. On board the Wilberforce several are nearly at the same
pass. Another day, and sixty in all are sick, and thirteen dead.
' Nothing but muttering delirium or suppressed groans are heard on
every side on board the vessels.' Energy of character and strength
of hope are lost, even among those not yet attacked. One officer,
remarkable for fortitude and resignation, burst into tears on being
addressed, and being asked the reason, replies that it is involuntary
weakness produced by the climate ; though it afterwards appears
that, * in addition to this cause, he has been disheartened, during a
little repose snatched from his duties, by a feverish dream of home
and family.' An anxious consultation is held. Captain Trotter
decides to send the sick back to the se», in the Soudan, but Captain
128

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

Allen knows the river will begin to fall straightway, and that the
most unhealthy season will set in, and places his opinion on record
that the ships had better all return, and make no further effort at
that time to ascend the river.

DEPARTURE OF THE SICK

The Soudan was accordingly got ready with the utmost possible
despatch to receive her melancholy cargo, and Commander W. Allen
was directed to send his sick on board. That officer, however, feeling
perfectly convinced from his former experience of the river, that in
a very short time H.M.S. Wilberforce would be reduced to the neces
sity of following the Soudan, requested permission to send such only
of the sick as might desire to go; especially as he considered — in
which his surgeon, Dr. Pritchett, concurred — that the removal of the
men in the state in which they were would be attended with great
risk. Only six expressed a wish to leave ; the others, sixteen in
number, preferred to remain by their ship. One man, on being asked
whether he would like to go, said he thought we had got into a very
bad place, and the sooner we were out of it the better, but he would
stay by his ship.

In order to have as much air as possible for the sufferers, and to
keep them from the other men, Commander W. Allen had a large
screened berth fitted on the upper deck, in the middle of the vessel,
well protected from the sun and the dews at night, by thick awnings,
from which was suspended a large punkah.

Sunday, \Qth. — The Soudan came alongside the Wilberforce to
receive our invalids, who took a melancholy farewell of their officers
and messmates.

Prayers were read to the crews of both vessels. It was an affect
ing scene. The whole of one side of the little vessel was covered
with invalids, and the cabins were full of officers ; there was, indeed,
no room for more.

The separation from so many of our companions under such circum
stances could not be otherwise than painful to all ; — the only cheering
feature was in the hope that the attenuated beings who now departed
would soon be within the influence of a more favourable climate, and
that we might meet under happier auspices.

In a short time the steam was got up, and our little consort — watched
by many commiserating eyes — rapidly glided out of view.

Only two or three days have elapsed since this change was
VOL. 1:1 129

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

effected, and now the Wilberforce has thirty-two men sick of the
fever, leaving only thirteen, officers and seamen, capable of duty.
She, too, returns to the sea, on Captain Allen's renewed protest
and another council ; and the Albert goes on up the melancholy
river alone.

THE ' WILBERFORCE ON HER RETURN

We proceeded through these narrow and winding reaches with
feelings very different to those we experienced in ascending the river.
Then the elasticity of health and hope gave to the scenery a colouring
of exceeding loveliness. The very silence and solitude had a soothing
influence which invited to meditation and pleasing anticipations for
the future. Now it was the stillness of death, — broken only by the
strokes and echoes of our paddle-wheels and the melancholy song of
the leadsmen, which seemed the knell and dirge of our dying comrades.
The palm-trees, erst so graceful in their drooping leaves, were now
gigantic hearse-like plumes.

So she drops down to Fernando Po, where the Soudan is lying,
on whose small and crowded decks death has been, and is still, busy.
Commanding-officer, surgeons, seamen, engineers, marines, all sick,
many dead. Captain Allen, with the sick on board the Wilberforce^
sails for Ascension, as a last hope of restoring the sick; and the
Soudan is sent back to assist the Albert. She meets her coming
out of the Gate of the Cemetery ; thus :

THE 'ALBERT' ON HER RETURN

It was a lovely morning, and the scenery about the river looked verj
beautiful, affording a sad contrast to the dingy and deserted look of the
Albert.

Many were, of course, the painful surmises as to the fate of those on
board. On approaching, however, the melancholy truth was soon told.
The fever had been doing its direst work; several were dead, many
dying, and of all the officers, but two, Drs. McWilliam and Stanger,
were able to move about. The former presented himself and waved his
hand, and one emaciated figure was seen to be raised up for a second.
This was Captain Trotter, who in his anxiety to look at the Soudan
again, had been lifted out of his cot.

A spectacle more full of painful contemplation could scarcely have
been witnessed. Slowly and portentously, like a plague-ship filled with
130

THE NIGER EXPEDITION

fts dead and dying, onwards she moved in charge of her generous pilot,
Mr. Beecroft. Who would have thought that little more than two months
previously she had entered that same river with an enterprising crew, full
of life, and buoyant with bright hopes of accomplishing the objects on
which all had so ardently entered ?

The narrative of the Albert's solitary voyage, which occupied
about a month, is given from the journal of Dr. Me William, and
furnishes, to our thinking, one of the most remarkable instances of
quiet courage and unflinching constancy of purpose that is to be
found in any book of travel ever written. The sickness spreading,
Captain Trotter falling very ill, officers, engineers, and men lying
alike disabled, and the Albert's head turned, in the necessity of
despair, once more towards the sea, the two doctors on board, Dr.
Me William and Dr. Stanger — names that should ever be memorable
and honoured in the history of truly heroic enterprise — took upon
themselves, in addition to the duty of attending the sick, the task of
navigating the ship down the river. The former took charge of her,
the latter worked the engines, and, both persevering by day and night
— through all the horrors of such a voyage, with their friends raving
and dying around them, and some, in the madness of the fever, leap
ing overboard — brought her in safety to the sea. We would fain
hope this feat would live, in Dr. Me William's few, plain, and modest
words ; and, better yet, in the grateful remembrance handed down
by the survivors of this fatal expedition; when the desperate and
cruel of whole generations of the world shall have fallen into
oblivion.

Calling at the Model Farm as they came down the Niger, they
found the superintendent, Mr. Carr, and the schoolmaster and
gardener — both Europeans — lying prostrate with fever. These
were taken on board the Albert and brought away for the restoration
of their health; and the settlement — now mustering about forty
natives, in addition to the people brought from Sierra Leone —
was left in the charge of one Ralph Moore, an American negro
emigrant.

The rest of the sad story is soon told. The sea-breeze blew too
late on many wasted forms, to shed its freshness on them for their
restoration, and Death, Death, Death was aboard the Albert day
and night. Captain Trotter, as the only means of saving his life,

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

tfas with difficulty prevailed on to return to England ; and after a
long delay at Ascension and in the Bay of Amboises (in the absence
of instructions from the Colonial Office), and when the Expedition,
under Captain Allen, was on the eve of another hopeless attempt to
ascend the Niger, it was ordered home. It being necessary to revisit
the Model Farm, in obedience to orders, Lieutenant Webb, Captain
Allen's first officer, immediately volunteered for that service ; and
with the requisite number of officers, and a black crew, took command
of the Wilberforce, and once again went boldly up the fatal Niger.
Disunion and dismay were rife at the Model Farm, on their arrival
there ; Mr. Carr, who had returned from Fernando Po when restored
to health, had been murdered — by direction of ' King Boy,1 it would
appear, and not without strong suspicion of co-operation on the part
of our friend Obi — and the settlement was abandoned. Obi (though
he is somewhat unaccountably complimented by Dr. McWilliam)
came out in his true colours on the Wilberforce's return, and, not
being by any means awakened to a proper sense of his own degrada
tion, appears to have evinced an amiable intention of destroying the
crew and seizing the ship. Being baffled in this design, however, by
the coolness and promptitude of Lieutenant Webb and his officers,
the white men happily left him behind in his own country, where he
is no doubt ready at this moment, if still alive, to enter into any
treaty that may be proposed to him, with presents to follow ; and to
be highly amused again on the subject of the slave-trade, and to
beat his tom-toms all night long for joy.

The fever, which wrought such terrible desolation in this and the
preceding Expedition, becomes a subject of painful interest to the
readers of these volumes. The length to which our notice has already
extended, prevents our extracting, as we had purposed, the account
of it which is given in the present narrative. Of the predisposing
causes, little can be positively stated ; for the most delicate chemical
tests failed to detect, in the air or water, the presence of those
deleterious gases which were very confidently supposed to exist in
both. It is preceded either by a state of great prostration, or
great excitement, and unnatural indifference; it develops itself on
board ship about the fifteenth day after the ascent of the river is
commenced ; a close and sultry atmosphere without any breeze stir
ring, is the atmosphere most unfavourable to it ; it appears to yield to
calomel in the first instance, and strong doses of quinine afterwards,
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THE NIGER EXPEDITION

more than to any other remedies ; and it is remarkable that in cases
of ' total abstinence ' patients, it seems from the first to be hopelessly
and surely fatal.

The history of this Expedition is the history of the Past, in
reference to the heated visions of philanthropists for the railroad
Christianisation of Africa and the abolition of the Slave-Trade.
May no popular cry, from Exeter Hall or elsewhere, ever make it, as
to one single ship, the history of the Future ! Such means are use
less, futile, and we will venture to add — in despite of hats broad-
brimmed or shovel-shaped, and coats of drab or black, with collars
or without — wicked. No amount of philanthropy has a right to
waste such valuable life as was squandered here, in the teeth of all
experience and feasible pretence of hope. Between the civilised
European and the barbarous African there is a great gulf set.

The air that brings life to the latter brings death to the former.
In the mighty revolutions of the wheel of time, some change in this
regard may come about ; but in this age of the world, all the white
armies and white missionaries of the world would fall, as withered
reeds, before the rolling of one African river. To change the
customs even of civilised and educated men, and impress them with
new ideas, is — we have good need to know it — a most difficult and
slow proceeding ; but to do this by ignorant and savage races, is a
work which, like the progressive changes of the globe itself, requires
a stretch of years that dazzles in the looking at. It is not, we con
ceive, within the likely providence of God, that Christianity shall
start to the banks of the Niger, until it shall have overflowed all
intervening space. The stone that is dropped into the ocean of
ignorance at Exeter Hall, must make its widening circles, one beyond
another, until they reach the negro's country in their natural expan
sion. There is a broad, dark sea between the Strand in London and
the Niger, where those rings are not yet shining ; and through all
that space they must appear, before the last one breaks upon the
shore of Africa. Gently and imperceptibly the widening circle of
enlightenment must stretch and stretch, from man to man, from
people on to people, until there is a girdle round the earth ; but no
convulsive effort, or far-off aim, can make the last great outer circle
first, and then come home at leisure to trace out the inner one.
Believe it, African Civilisation, Church of England Missionary, and
all other Missionary Societies! The work at home must be com-

133

pleted thoroughly, or there is no hope abroad. To your tents, O
Israel ! but see they are your own tents ! Set them in order ; leave
nothing to be done there ; and outpost will convey your lesson on to
outpost, until the naked armies of King Obi and King Boy are
reached and taught. Let a knowledge of the duty that man owes
to man, and to his God, spread thus, by natural degrees and growth
of example, to the outer shores of Africa, and it will float in safety
up the rivers, never fear !

We will not do injustice to Captain Allen's scheme of future
operations, by reproducing it, shorn of its fair proportions. As a
most distinguished officer and a highly accomplished gentleman,
than whom there is no one living so well entitled to be heard on all
that relates to Africa, it merits, and assuredly will receive, great
attention. We are not, on the ground we have just now indicated,
so sanguine as he ; but there is sound wisdom in his idea of approach
ing the black man through the black man, and in his conviction that
he can only be successfully approached by a studied reference to the
current of his own opinions and customs instead of ours. So true is
this, that it is doubtful whether any European save Bruce — who had
a perfectly marvellous genius for accommodating himself, not only to
the African character, but to every variety of character with which
he came in contact — has ever truly won to himself a mingled senti
ment of confidence, respect, and fear in that country. So little has
our Government profited by his example, that one of the foremost
objects of this very Expedition is to repeat the self-same mistake
with which Clapperton so astonished the King Boy and King Obi of
his time, by running head foremost at the abolition of the Slave-
Trade; which, of all possible objects, is the most inconceivable,
unpalatable, and astounding to these barbarians !

Captain Allen need be under no apprehension that the failure of
the Expedition will involve his readers in any confusion as to the
sufferings and deserts of those who sacrificed themselves to achieve
its unattainable objects. No generous mind can peruse this narrative
without a glow of admiration and sympathy for himself and all con
cerned. The quiet spot by Lander's tomb, lying beyond the paths
of guava and the dark-leaved trees, where old companions dear to his
heart lie buried side by side beneath the sombre and almost impene
trable brushwood, is not to be ungratefully remembered, or lightly
forgotten. Though the African is not yet awakened to a proper
134

THE POETRY OF SCIENCE

sense of his degradation, the resting-place of those brave men is
sacred, and their history a solemn truth.

THE POETRY OF SCIENCE

[DECEMBER 9, 1848]

JUDGING from certain indications scattered here and there in this
book,1 we presume that its author would not consider himself com
plimented by the remark that we are perhaps indebted for the
publication of such a work to the author of the Vestiges of the
Natural History of Creation, who, by rendering the general subject
popular, and awakening an interest and spirit of inquiry in many
minds, where these had previously lain dormant, has created a
reading public — not exclusively scientific or philosophical — to whom
such offerings can be hopefully addressed. This, however, we believe
to be the case; and in this, as we conceive, the writer of that
remarkable and well-abused book has not rendered his least
important service to his own time.

The design of Mr. Hunt's volume is striking and good. To
show that the facts of science are at least as full of poetry, as the
most poetical fancies ever founded on an imperfect observation and
a distant suspicion of them (as, for example, among the ancient
Greeks) ; to show that if the Dryades no longer haunt the woods,
there is, in every forest, in every tree, in every leaf, and in every
ring on every sturdy trunk, a beautiful and wonderful creation,
always changing, always going on, always bearing testimony to the
stupendous workings of Almighty Wisdom, and always leading the
student's mind from wonder on to wonder, until he is wrapt and lost
in the vast worlds of wonder by which he is surrounded from his
cradle to his grave ; it is a purpose worthy of the natural philo
sopher, and salutary to the spirit of the age. To show that Science,
truly expounding Nature, can, like Nature herself, restore in some
new form whatever she destroys ; that, instead of binding us, as
some would have it, in stern utilitarian chains, when she has freed

1 The Poetry of Science, or Studies of the Physical Phenomena of Nature. By
Robert Hunt. Reeve, Benham, and Reeve.

135

us from a harmless superstition, she offers to our contemplation
something better and more beautiful, something which, rightly
considered, is more elevating to the soul, nobler and more stimulat
ing to the soaring fancy ; is a sound, wise, wholesome object. If
more of the learned men who have written on these themes had
had it in their minds, they would have done more good, and gathered
upon their track many followers on whom its feeblest and most
distant trace has only now begun to shine.

Science has gone down into the mines and coal-pits, and before
the safety-lamp the Gnomes and Genii of those dark regions have
disappeared. But in their stead, the process by which metals are
engendered in the course of ages; the growth of plants which,
hundreds of fathoms underground, and in black darkness, have still
a sense of the sun's presence in the sky, and derive some portion of
the subtle essence of their life from his influence ; the histories of
mighty forests and great tracts of land carried down into the sea,
by the same process which is active in the Mississippi and such great
rivers at this hour ; are made familiar to us. Sirens, mermaids,
shining cities glittering at the bottom of the quiet seas and in
deep lakes, exist no longer; but in their place, Science, their
destroyer, shows us whole coasts of coral reef constructed by
the labours of minute creatures, points to our own chalk cliffs and
limestone rocks as made of the dust of myriads of generations of
infinitesimal beings that have passed away ; reduces the very element
of water into its constituent airs, and re-creates it at her pleasure.
Caverns in rocks, choked with rich treasures shut up from all but
the enchanted hand, Science has blown to atoms, as she can rend
and rive the rocks themselves ; but in those rocks she has found,
and read aloud, the great stone book which is the history of the
earth, even when darkness sat upon the face of the deep. Along
their craggy sides she has traced the footprints of birds and beasts,
whose shapes were never seen by man. From within them she has
brought the bones, and pieced together the skeletons, of monsters
that would have crushed the noted dragons of the fables at a blow.
The stars that stud the firmament by night are watched no more
from lonely towers by enthusiasts or impostors, believing, or feigning
to believe, those great worlds to be charged with the small destinies
of individual men down here ; but two astronomers, far apart, each
looking from his solitary study up into the sky, observe, in a known
136

THE POETRY OF SCIENCE

star, a trembling which forewarns them of the coming of some
unknown body through the realms of space, whose attraction at a
certain period of its mighty journey causes that disturbance. In
due time it comes, and passes out of the disturbing path ; the old
star shines at peace again ; and the new one, evermore to be associ
ated with the honoured names of Le Verrier and Adams, is called
Neptune ! The astrologer has faded out of the castle turret-room
(which overlooks a railroad now), and forebodes no longer that
because the light of yonder planet is diminishing, my lord will
shortly die ; but the professor of an exact science has arisen in his
stead, to prove that a ray of light must occupy a period of six
years in travelling to the earth from the nearest of the fixed stars ;
and that if one of the remote fixed stars were 'blotted out of
heaven1 to-day, several generations of the mortal inhabitants of
this earth must perish out of time, before the fact of its obliteration
could be known to man !

This ample compensation, in respect of poetry alone, that Science
has given us in return for what she has taken away, it is the main
object of Mr. Hunt's book to elucidate. The subject is very ably
dealt with, and the object very well attained. We might object to
an occasional discursiveness, and sometimes we could have desired to
be addressed in a plainer form of words. Nor do we quite perceive
the force of Mr. Hunt's objection (at p. 307) to certain geological
speculations ; which we must be permitted to believe many in
telligent men to be capable of making, and reasonably sustaining,
on a knowledge of certain geological facts ; albeit they are neither
practical chemists nor palaeontologists. But the book displays a
fund of knowledge, and is the work of an eloquent and earnest man ;
and, as such, we are too content and happy to receive it, to enlarge
on these points. We subjoin a few short extracts.

HOW WE ' COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO DEPART '

A plant exposed to the action of natural or artificial decomposition
passes into air, leaving but a few grains of solid matter behind it. An
animal, in like manner, is gradually resolved into ' thin air.' Muscle,
and blood, and bones having undergone the change, are found to have
escaped as gases, ' leaving only a pinch of dust,' which belongs to the
more stable mineral world. Our dependency on the atmosphere is there
fore evident. We derive our substance from it — we are, after death

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

resolved again into it. We are really but fleeting shadows. Animal and
vegetable forms are little more than consolidated masses of the atmo
sphere. The sublime creations of the most gifted bard cannot rival the
beauty of this, the highest and the truest poetry of science. Man has
divined such changes by the unaided powers of reason, arguing from
the phenomena which Science reveals in unceasing action around him.
The Grecian sage's doubts of his own identity was only an extension
of a great truth beyond the limits of our reason. Romance and supersti
tion resolve the spiritual man into a visible form of extreme ethereality
in the spectral creations, ' clothed in their own horror/ by which their
reigns have been perpetuated.

When Shakespeare made his charming Ariel sing —

' Full fathom five thy father lies,

Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes,

Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change,
Into something rich and strange '

he little thought how correctly he painted the chemical changes, by
which decomposing animal matter is replaced by a siliceous or calcareous
formation.

Why Mr. Hunt should be of opinion that Shakespeare ' little
thought ' how wise he was, we do not altogether understand. Per
haps he founds the supposition on Shakespeare's not having been
recognised as a practical chemist or palaeontologist.

We conclude with the following passage, which seems to us
strikingly suggestive of the shortness and hurry of our little life
which is rounded with a sleep, and the calm majesty of Nature.

RELATIVE IMPORTANCE OF TIME TO MAN AND NATURE

All things on the earth are the result of chemical combination. The
operation by which the commingling of molecules and the interchange
of atoms take place, we can imitate in our laboratories ; but in Nature
they proceed by slow degrees, and, in general, in our hands they are
distinguished by suddenness of action. In Nature chemical power is
distributed over a long period of time, and the process of change is
scarcely to be observed. By arts we concentrate chemical force, and
expend it in producing a change which occupies but a few hours
at most.

138

THE AMERICAN PANORAMA
THE AMERICAN PANORAMA

[DECEMBER 16, 1848]

A VERY extraordinary exhibition is open at the Egyptian Hall,
Piccadilly, under the title of ' Banvard's Geographical Panorama of
the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers.1 With one or two exceptions,
its remarkable claims to public notice seem scarcely to have been
recognised as they deserve. We recommend them to the considera
tion of all holiday-makers and sight-seers this Christmas.

It may be well to say what the panorama is not. It is not a
refined work of art (nor does it claim to be, in Mr. Banvard's modest
description) ; it is not remarkable for accuracy of drawing, or for
brilliancy of colour, or for subtle effects of light and shade, or for
any approach to any of the qualities of those delicate and beautiful
pictures by Mr. Stanfield which used, once upon a time, to pass
before our eyes in like manner. It is not very skilfully set off by
the disposition of the artificial light ; it is not assisted by anything
but a pianoforte and a seraphine.

But it is a picture three miles long, which occupies two hours
in its passage before the audience. It is a picture of one of the
greatest streams in the known world, whose course it follows for
upwards of three thousand miles. It is a picture irresistibly im
pressing the spectator with a conviction of its plain and simple
truthfulness, even though that were not guaranteed by the best
testimonials. It is an easy means of travelling, night and day,
without any inconvenience from climate, steamboat company, or
fatigue, from New Orleans to the Yellow Stone Bluffs (or from
the Yellow Stone Bluffs to New Orleans, as the case may be), and
seeing every town and settlement upon the river's banks, and all
the strange wild ways of life that are afloat upon its waters. To
see this painting is, in a word, to have a thorough understanding
of what the great American river is — except, we believe, in the
colour of its water — and to acquire a new power of testing the
descriptive accuracy of its best describers.

These three miles of canvas have been painted by one man,
and there he is, present, pointing out what he deems most worthy
of notice. This is history. Poor, untaught, wholly unassisted,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

he conceives the idea — a truly American idea — of painting ' the
largest picture in the world.' Some capital must be got for the
materials, and the acquisition of that is his primary object. First,
he starts ' a floating diorama ' on the Wabash river, which topples
over when people come to see it, and keeps all the company at the
pumps for dear life. This entertainment drawing more water than
money, and being set upon, besides, by robbers armed with bowie
knives and rifles, is abandoned. Then he paints a panorama of
Venice, and exhibits it in the West successfully, until it goes down
in a steamer on the Western waters. Then he sets up a museum
at St. Louis, which fails. Then he comes down to Cincinnati, where
he does no better. Then, without a farthing, he rows away on the
Ohio in a small boat, and lives, like a wild man, upon nuts ; until
he sells a revolving pistol which cost him twelve dollars, for five-and-
twenty. With the proceeds of this commercial transaction he buys
a larger boat, lays in a little store of calicoes and cottons, and rows
away again among the solitary settlers along-shore, bartering his
goods for bee's wax. Thus, in course of time, he earns enough to
buy a little skiff, and go to work upon the largest picture in the
world !

In his little skiff he travels thousands of miles, with no com
panions but his pencil, rifle, and dog, making the preparatory
sketches for the largest picture in the world. Those completed, he
erects a temporary building at Louisville, Kentucky, in which to
paint the largest picture in the world. Without the least help,
even in the grinding of his colours or the splitting of the wood for
his machinery, he falls to work, and keeps at work ; maintaining
himself meanwhile, and buying more colours, wood, and canvas, by
doing odd jobs in the decorative way. At last he finishes the
largest picture in the world, and opens it for exhibition on a stormy
night, when not a single ' human ' comes to see it. Not discouraged
yet, he goes about among the boatmen, who are well acquainted
with the river, and gives them free admissions to the largest picture
in the world. The boatmen come to see it, are astonished at it,
talk about it. * Our country ' wakes up from a rather sullen doze
at Louisville, and comes to see it too. The upshot is, that it
succeeds ; and here it is in London, with its painter standing on a
little platform by its side explaining it ; and probably, by this time
next year, it and he may be in Timbuctoo.
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JUDICIAL SPECIAL PLEADING

Few can fail to have some interest in such an adventure and in
such an adventurer, and they will both repay it amply. There is a
mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in the latter, which is very
prepossessing ; a modesty, and honesty, and an odd original humour,
in his manner of telling what he has to tell, that give it a peculiar
relish. The picture itself, as an indisputably true and faithful
representation of a wonderful region — wood and water, river and
prairie, lonely log hut and clustered city rising in the forest — is
replete with interest throughout. Its incidental revelations of the
different states of society, yet in transition, prevailing at different
points of these three thousand miles — slaves and free republicans,
French and Southerners; immigrants from abroad, and restless
Yankees and Down-Easters ever steaming somewhere; alligators,
store-boats, show-boats, theatre-boats, Indians, buffaloes, deserted
tents of extinct tribes, and bodies of dead Braves, with their pale
faces turned up to the night sky, lying still and solitary in the
wilderness, nearer and nearer to which the outposts of civilisation
are approaching with gigantic strides to tread their people down,
and erase their very track from the earth's face — teem with
suggestive matter. We are not disposed to think less kindly of a
country when we see so much of it, although our sense of its
immense responsibility may be increased.

It would be well to have a panorama, three miles long, of
England. There might be places in it worth looking at, a little
closer than we see them now ; and worth the thinking of, a little
more profoundly. It would be hopeful, too, to see some things in
England, part and parcel of a moving panorama ; and not of one
that stood still, or had a disposition to go backward.

JUDICIAL SPECIAL PLEADING

[DECEMBEB 23, 1848]

IT is unnecessary for us to observe that we have not the least
sympathy with physical-force chartism in the abstract, or with the
tried and convicted physical-force chartists in particular. Apart
from the atrocious designs to which these men, beyond all question,
willingly and easily subscribed, even if it be granted that such

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extremes of wickedness were mainly suggested by the spies in whom
their dense ignorance confided, they have done too much damage to
the cause of rational liberty and freedom all over the world to be
regarded in any other light than as enemies of the common weal,
and the worst foes of the common people.

But, for all this, we would have the language of common-sense
and knowledge addressed to these offenders — especially from the
Bench. They need it very much ; and besides that the truth should
be spoken at all times, it is desirable that it should always appear
in conjunction with the gravity and authority of the judicial
ermine.

Mr. Baron Alderson, we regret to observe, opened the late
special commission for the county of Chester with a kind of judicial
special-constableism by no means edifying. In sporting phrase, he
'went in' upon the general subject of Revolution with a determina
tion to win ; and as nothing is easier than for a man, wigged or
unwigged, to say what he pleases when he has all the talk to himself
and there is nobody to answer him, he improved the occasion after
a somewhat startling manner. It is important that it should not be
left wholly unnoticed. On Mr. Isaac BickerstafFs magic thermometer,
at his apartment in Shoe Lane, the Church was placed between zeal
and moderation ; and Mr. Bickerstaff observed that if the enchanted
liquor rose from the central point, Church, too high in zeal, it was
in danger of going up to wrath, and from wrath to persecution.
The substitution of ' Bench " for * Church ' by the wise old censor of
Great Britain, would no doubt have been attended with the same
result.

Mr. Baron Alderson informed the grand jury, for their edifica
tion, that 'previous to the Revolution in France, of 1790, the
physical comforts possessed by the poor greatly exceeded those
possessed by them subsequent to that event.' Before we pass to
Mr. Baron Alderson's proof in support of this allegation, we would
inquire whether, at this time of day, any rational man supposes that
the first Revolution in France was an event that could have been
avoided, or that is difficult to be accounted for, on looking back ?
Whether it was not the horrible catastrophe of a drama, which had
already passed through every scene and shade of progress, inevitably
leading on to that fearful conclusion ? Whether there is any record,
in the world's history, of a people among whom the arts and sciences,
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JUDICIAL SPECIAL PLEADING

and the refinements of civilised life existed, so oppressed, degraded,
and utterly miserable, as the mass of the French population were
before that Revolution? Physical comforts! No such thing was
known among the French people — among the people — for years
before the Revolution. They had died of sheer want and famine,
in numbers. The hunting-trains of their kings had ridden over their
bodies in the royal forests. Multitudes had gone about, crying and
howling for bread, in the streets of Paris. The line of road from
Versailles to the capital had been blocked up by starvation and
nakedness pouring in from the departments. The tables spread by
Egalite Orleans in the public streets had been besieged by the fore
most stragglers of a whole nation of paupers, on the face of every
one of whom the shadow of the coming guillotine was black. An
infamous feudality and a corrupt government had plundered and
ground them down, year after year, until they were reduced to a
condition of distress which has no parallel. As their wretchedness
deepened, the wantonness and luxury of their oppressors heightened,
until the very fashions and customs of the upper classes ran mad
from being unrestrained, and became monstrous.

* All,' says Thiers, ' was monopolised by a few hands, and the
burdens bore upon a single class. The nobility and the clergy
possessed nearly two-thirds of the landed property. The other
third, belonging to the people, paid taxes to the king, a multitude
of feudal dues to the nobility, the tithe to the clergy, and was, more
over, liable to the devastations of noble sportsmen and their game.
The taxes on consumption weighed heavily on the great mass, and
consequently on the people. The mode in which they were levied
was vexatious. The gentry might be in arrear with impunity ; the
people, on the other hand, ill-treated and imprisoned, were doomed
to suffer in body, in default of goods. They defended with their
blood the upper classes of society, without being able to subsist
themselves.'

Bad as the state of things was which succeeded to the Revolution,
and must always follow any such dire convulsion, if there be any
thing in history that is certain, it is certain that the French people
had NO physical comforts when the Revolution occurred. And when
Mr. Baron Alderson talks to the grand jury of that Revolution
being a mere struggle for * political rights,' he talks (with due sub
mission to him) nonsense, and loses an opportunity of pointing his

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discourse to the instruction of the chartists. It was a struggle on
the part of the people for social recognition and existence. It was
a struggle for vengeance against intolerable oppressors. It was a
struggle for the overthrow of a system of oppression, which in its
contempt of all humanity, decency, and natural rights, and in its
systematic degradation of the people, had trained them to be the
demons that they showed themselves, when they rose up and cast it
down for ever.

Mr. Baron Alderson's proof of his position would be a strange
one, by whomsoever addressed, but is an especially strange one to be
put forward by a high functionary, one of whose most important
duties is the examination and sifting of evidence, with a view to its
being better understood by minds unaccustomed to such investiga
tions.

' It had been assumed, on very competent authority, that the physical
comforts of the poor might be safely judged of by the quantity of meat
consumed by the population ; and, taking this as the criterion, the
statistics of Paris gave the following results: In 1789, during the period
of the old monarchy, the quantity of meat consumed was 147 Ibs. per
man; in 1817, after the Bourbon dynasty had been restored to the
throne, subsequent to the Revolution, it was 110 Ibs. 2 ozs. per man ; and
in 1827, the medium period between the restoration of the Bourbons
and the present time, the average was still about 110 Ibs. ; while, after
the Revolution of 1830, it fell to 98 Ibs. 11 ozs., and at this period it was
in all probability still less.'

The statistics, of Paris, in 1789 ! When the Court, displaying
extraordinary magnificence, was in Paris ; when the three orders, all
the great dignitaries of the State, and all their immense train of
followers and dependants, were in Paris ; when the aristocracy,
making their last effort at accommodation with the king, were in
Paris, and remained there until the close of the year ; when there
was the great procession to the church of Notre Dame, in Paris;
when the opening of the States- General took place, in Paris ; when
the Commons constituted themselves the National Assembly, in
Paris ; when the electors, assembled from sixty districts, refused to
depart from Paris ; when the garden of the Palais Royal was the
scene of the nightly assemblage of more foreigners, debauchees, and
loungers, than had ever been seen in Paris ; when people came into
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JUDICIAL SPECIAL PLEADING

Paris from all parts of France ; when there was all the agitation,
uproar, revelling, banqueting, and delirium in Paris, which dis
tinguished that year of great events ; — when, in short, the meat-
eating classes were all in Paris, and all at high -feasting in the whirl
and fury of such a time !

Mr. Baron Alderson takes this very year of 1789, and dividing
the quantity of meat consumed by the population of Paris, sets
before the grand jury the childish absurdity of there having been
147 Ibs. of meat per man, as a proof of the physical comforts of the
people ! This year of 1789 being on record as the hardest ever
known by the French people since the disasters of Louis xiv., and the
immortal charity of Fenelon ! This year of 1789 being the year
when Mirabeau was speaking in the Assembly of * famished Paris ' ;
when the king was forced to receive deputations of women who
demanded bread ; and when they rang out to all Paris, ' Bread ! rise
up for bread ! ' with the great bell of the Hotel de Ville !

It would be idle to dissect such evidence more minutely. It is
too gross and palpable. We will conclude with a final and grave
reason, as it seems to us, for noticing this serious mistake on the
part of Baron Alderson.

That learned judge is much deceived if he imagines that there
are not, among the chartists, men possessed of sufficient information
to detect such juggling, and make the most of it. Those active and
mischievous agents of the chartists who live by lecturing will do
more with such a charge as this, than they could do with all the
misery in England for the next twelve months. In any common
history of the French Revolution, they have the proof against
Mr. Baron Alderson under their hands. The grade of education
and intellect they address, is particularly prone to accept a brick as
a specimen of a house, and its ready conclusion from such an exposi
tion as this is, that the whole system which rules and restrains it is
a falsehood and a cheat.

It was but the other day that Mr. Baron Alderson stated to
some chartist prisoners, as a fact which everybody knew, that any
man in England who was industrious and persevering could obtain
political power. Are there no industrious and persevering men in
England on whom this comfortable doctrine casts a slur? We
rather think the chartist lecturers might find out some.

VOL. I : K 145

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

[DECEMBER 30, 1848]

WE cannot allow the annual report of this excellent educational
society to appear, without a word of notice and approval. It records
the interesting success of the apprentice schools during four years,
and records, too, some of those impressive instances of individual
perseverance and ardour in the pursuit of knowledge which any such
undertaking, properly directed, is sure to bring to light.

These schools were established for the instruction of workmen
and apprentices ; a class of persons who have no such claim upon
the public as is recognised (and righteously) in crime and social
degradation, but who, having begun to labour for their daily bread
early in life, and being usually at work when other schools were
open, stood grievously in need of such assistance. Instruction is
furnished from eight to ten o'clock in the evening, for the charge of
fifteen pence monthly to each student ; and although this is a far
higher charge, we believe, than is made at the school in connexion
with the Liverpool Mechanics' Institution for similar instruction to
the apprentices of member s^ it cannot but be regarded as a very
small one in the circumstances of the Edinburgh Association.

The usual results have followed this useful undertaking. 'The
success of the Society's scheme,' says the report, ' has amply shown
how truly such opportunities were wanted, and how gladly they have
been received by the parties for whom they were designed. A steady
increase has taken place in the numbers attending the classes, a
marked improvement in the order and discipline of the scholars, and
a decided advancement in the interest taken in their success, by all
ranks of society/

Mr. Sheriff Gordon, at the annual meeting some days ago, made
these wise remarks : —

' I have not any perplexity or any hesitation about the Apprentice
Schools. They cannot possibly do any harm, while their capability of
doing good is not to be calculated by any single generation of men
There is no work so absolutely certain to remunerate in some way the
146

EDINBURGH APPRENTICE SCHOOL

workman as the work laid out on the improvement of the human mind.
It does not, of course, ensure anybody success, but it may make him con
tented and merry while he toils ; it will not, perhaps, make the pot boil
to-day, but by prompting quick thoughts for a sound head, it may keep
alive hope and courage for the happier efforts of to-morrow ; it may not
in any worldly sense enrich a man at all, but it shall bestow such enjoy
ment on the hours of leisure — it shall impart such a relish to the inter
vals of friendship — it shall spread such a glow round the fireside at home,
as we know that the miser cannot buy with all his hoards. (Applause.)
. . . These are occupations which, if our working classes cling to them
faithfully, are not only productive of present tranquillity, but are big
with the largest interests of our future prosperity. I may feel as a
magistrate even a selfish satisfaction in knowing that the working men
of this city are being imbued with a thirst that has no affinity to the
pernicious draught of intemperance, and that large numbers of them
rather listen to the serene and sure-footed lessons of science than to the
slippery clamours of a rash hesitation. But I am more glad as an humble
individual member of this great commonwealth of Britain to hail and
encourage the widest diffusion of knowledge. I see no peril in that
whatever. For the effect of this movement will be that while the
working classes are educating themselves in their leisure hours, the
higher classes must take care that their education, to which they can
devote so much more time, shall practically manifest its superiority, by
an increasing vigour and an increasing wisdom in guiding the destinies
and wielding the power of a community so enlightened.'

If we had had a few sheriffs like Mr. Sheriff Gordon on this side of
the Tweed, years ago, our sheriffs would have had less to do at the
foot of the gallows. He is a good and earnest man, and his earnest
ness begins at the right end. We have no fear but that Edinburgh,
of all cities in the world, will support her sheriff in such views as
these, and continue to maintain societies like these.

LEECH'S 'THE RISING GENERATION'

[DECEMBER 30, 1848]

THESE are not stray crumbs that have fallen from Mr. Punch's well-
provided table, but a careful reproduction by Mr. Leech, in a very
graceful and cheerful manner, of one of his best series of designs.

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Admirable as the ' Rising Generation ' is in Mr. Punch's gallery, it
shows to infinitely greater advantage in the present enlarged and
separate form of publication.1

It is to be remarked of Mr. Leech that he is the very first
English caricaturist (we use the word for want of a better) who has
considered beauty as being perfectly compatible with his art. He
almost always introduces into his graphic sketches some beautiful
faces or agreeable forms ; and in striking out this course and setting
this example, we really believe he does a great deal to refine and
elevate that popular branch of art which the facilities of steam
printing and wood -engraving are rendering more popular every
day.

If we turn back to a collection of the works of Rowlandson or
Gilray, we shall find, in spite of the great humour displayed in many
of them, that they are rendered wearisome and unpleasant by a vast
amount of personal ugliness. Now, besides that it is a poor device
to represent what is satirised as being necessarily ugly — which is
but the resource of an angry child or a jealous woman — it serves no
purpose but to produce a disagreeable result. There is no reason
why the farmer's daughter in the old caricature who is squalling at
the harpsichord (to the intense delight, by the bye, of her worthy
father, the farmer, whom it is her duty to please) should be squab
and hideous. The satire on the manner of her education, if there
be any in the thing at all, would be just as good if she were pretty.
Mr. Leech would have made her so. The average of farmers' daughters
in England are not impossible lumps of fat. One is quite as likely
to find a pretty girl in a farmhouse as to find an ugly one ; and we
think, with Mr. Leech, that the business of this style of art is with
the pretty one. She is not only a pleasanter object in our
portfolio, but we have more interest in her. We care more about
what does become her, and does not become her. In Mr.
Punch's Almanack for the new year, there is one illustration by
Mr. Leech representing certain delicate creatures with bewitching
countenances, encased in several varieties of that amazing garment,
the ladies' paletot. Formerly these fair creatures would have been
made as ugly and ungainly as possible, and there the point would have
been lost, and the spectator, with a laugh at the absurdity of the

1 The Rising Generation, a series of twelve Drawings on Stone. By John Leech.
From his Original Designs in the Gallery of Mr. Punch. Punch Office.
148

•THE RISING GENERATION'

whole group, would not have cared one farthing how such uncouth
creatures disguised themselves, or how ridiculous they became.

But to represent female beauty as Mr. Leech represents it, an
artist must have a most delicate perception of it, and the gift of
being able to realise it to us with two or three slight, sure touches
of his pencil. This power Mr. Leech possesses in an extraordinary
degree.

For this reason, we enter our protest against those of the * rising
generation ' who are precociously in love, being made the subject of
merriment by a pitiless and unsympathising world. We never saw
a boy more distinctly in the right than the young gentleman
kneeling on the chair to beg a lock of hair from his pretty cousin,
to take back to school. Madness is in her apron, and Virgil, dog's-
eared and defaced, is in her ringlets. Doubts may suggest them
selves of the perfect disinterestedness of this other young gentleman
contemplating the fair girl at the piano — doubts engendered by his
worldly allusion to ' tin ' (though even that may arise in his modest
consciousness of his own inability to support an establishment) ; but
that he should be ' deucedly inclined to go and cut that fellow out,'
appears to us one of the most natural emotions of the human breast.
The young gentleman with the dishevelled hair and clasped hands,
who loves the transcendent beauty with the bouquet, and can't be
happy without her, is, to us, a withering and desolate spectacle.
Who could be happy without her ?

The growing boys, or the rising generation, are not less happily
observed and agreeably depicted than the grown women. The
languid little creature who * hasn't danced since he was quite a boy,'
is perfect, and the eagerness of the little girl whom he declines to
receive for a partner at the hands of the glorious old lady of the
house — her feet quite ready for the first position — her whole heart
projected into the quadrille — and her glance peeping timidly at him
out of her flutter of hope and doubt — is quite delightful to look at.
The intellectual juvenile who awakens the tremendous wrath of a
Norma of private life, by considering woman an inferior animal, is
lecturing, this present Christmas, we understand, on the Concrete in
connection with the Will. We recognise the legs of the philosopher
who considers Shakespeare an over-rated man, dangling over the
side of an omnibus last Tuesday. The scowling young gentleman
who is clear that ' if his governor don't like the way he goes on in,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

why, he must have chambers and so much a week,* is not of our
acquaintance ; but we trust he is by this time in Van Diemen'sLand,
or he will certainly come to Newgate. We should be exceedingly
unwilling to stand possessed of personal property in a strong box,
and be in the relation of bachelor-uncle to that youth. We would on
no account reside at that suburb of ill omen, Camberwell, under
such circumstances, remembering the Barnwell case.

In all his drawings, whatever Mr. Leech desires to do, he does.
The expression indicated, though indicated by the simplest means,
is exactly the natural expression, and is recognised as such im
mediately. His wit is good-natured, and always the wit of a true
gentleman. He has a becoming sense of responsibility and self-
restraint ; he delights in pleasant things ; he imparts some pleasant
air of his own to things not pleasant in themselves ; he is suggestive
and full of matter, and he is always improving. Into the tone, as
well as into the execution of what he does, he has brought a certain
elegance which is altogether new, without involving any compromise
of what is true. He is an acquisition to popular art in England
who has already done great service, and will, we doubt not, do a
great deal more. Our best wishes for the future, and our cordial
feeling towards him for the past, attend him in his career.

It is eight or ten years ago since a writer in the Quarterly
Review, making mention of Mr. George Cruikshank, commented, in
a few words, on the absurdity of excluding such a man from the
Royal Academy, because his works were not produced in certain
materials, and did not occupy a certain space annually on its walls.
Will no Members and Associates be found upon its books, one of
these days, the labours of whose oils and brushes will have sunk into
the profoundest obscurity, when the many pencil-marks of Mr.
Cruikshank and of Mr. Leech will still be fresh in half the houses
i n the land ?

THE PARADISE AT TOOTING

[JANUARY 20, 1849]

WHEN it first became known that a virulent and fatal epidemic had
broken out in Mr. Drouet's farming establishment for pauper
children at Tooting, the comfortable flourish of trumpets usual on
such occasions (Sydney Smith's admirable description of it will be
150

THE PARADISE AT TOOTING

fresh in the minds of many of our readers) was performed as a matter
of course. Of all similar establishments on earth, that at Tooting
was the most admirable. Of all similar contractors on earth, Mr.
Drouet was the most disinterested, zealous, and unimpeachable. Of
all the wonders ever wondered at, nothing perhaps had ever occurred
more wonderful than the outbreak and rapid increase of a disorder
so horrible, in a place so perfectly regulated. There was no warning
of its approach. Nothing was less to be expected. The farmed
children were slumbering in the lap of peace and plenty ; Mr. Drouet,
the farmer, was slumbering with an easy conscience, but with one
eye perpetually open, to keep watch upon the blessings he diffused,
and upon the happy infants under his paternal charge; when, in
a moment, the destroyer was upon them, and Tooting churchyard
became too small for the piles of children's coffins that were carried
out of this Elysium every day.

The learned coroner for the county of Surrey deemed it quite
unnecessary to hold any inquests on these dead children, being
as perfectly satisfied in his own mind that Mr. Drouet's farm was
the best of all possible farms, as ever the innocent Candide was
that the great chateau of the great Baron Thunder-ten Trouekh was
the best of all possible chateaux. Presuming that this learned
functionary is amenable to some authority or other, and that he will
be duly complimented on his sagacity, we will refer to the proceed
ings before a very different kind of coroner, Mr. Wakley, and his
deputy Mr. Mills. But that certain of the miserable little creatures
removed from Tooting happened to die within Mr. Wakley 's juris
diction, it is by no means unlikely that a committee might have
sprung into existence by this time, for presenting Mr. Drouet with
some magnificent testimonial, as a mark of public respect and
sympathy.

Mr. Wakley, however, being of little faith, holds inquests, and
even manifests a disposition to institute a very searching inquiry into
the causes of these horrors ; rather thinking that such grievous effects
must have some grievous causes. Remembering that there is a public
institution called the * Board of Health,' Mr. Wakley summons
before him Dr. Grainger, an inspector acting under that board, who
has examined Mr. Drouet's Elysium, and has drawn up a report con
cerning it.

It then comes out — truth is so perverse — that Mr. Drouet is not

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

altogether that golden farmer he was supposed to be. It appears
that there is a little alloy in his composition. The ' extreme close
ness, oppression, and foulness of air ' in that supposed heaven upon
earth over which he presides, ' exceeds in offensiveness anything ever
yet witnessed by the inspector, in apartments in hospitals, or else
where, occupied by the sick.' He has a bad habit of putting four
cholera patients in one bed. He has a weakness in respect of leaving
the sick to take care of themselves, surrounded by every offensive,
indecent, and barbarous circumstance that can aggravate the horrors
of their condition and increase the dangers of infection. He is so
ignorant, or so criminally careless, that he has taken none of the
easy precautions, and provided himself with none of the simple
remedies, expressly enjoined by the Board of Health in their official
announcement published in the Gazette, and distributed all over the
country. The experience of all the medical observers of cholera, in
all parts of the world, is not in an instant overthrown by Mr.
Drouet's purity, for he had unfortunately one fortnight's warning of
the impending danger, which he utterly disregarded. He has been
admonished by the authorities to take only a certain number of un
fortunates into his farm, and he increases that number immensely at
his own pleasure, for his own profit. His establishment is crammed.
It is in no respect a fit place for the reception of the throng shut up
in it. The dietary of the children is so unwholesome and insufficient,
that they climb secretly over palings, and pick out scraps of susten
ance from the tubs of hog-wash. Their clothing by day, and their
covering by night, are shamefully defective. Their rooms are cold,
damp, dirty, and rotten. In a word, the age of miracles is past, and
of all conceivable places in which pestilence might — or rather must —
be expected to break out, and to make direful ravages, Mr. Drouefs
model farm stands foremost.

In addition to these various proofs of his mortal fallibility, Mr.
Drouet, even when he is told what to do to save life, has an awkward
habit of prevaricating, and not doing it. He also bullies his assist
ants, in the inspectors' presence, when they show an inclination to
reveal disagreeable truths. He has a pleasant brother — a man of
an amiable eccentricity — who besides being active, for all improper
purposes, in the farm, is ' with difficulty restrained ' from going to
Kensington * to thrash the guardians ' of that Union for proposing
to remove their children ! The boys under Mr. Drouet's fostering

mbm\-

THE PARADISE AT TOOTING

protection are habitually knocked down, beaten, and brutally used.
They are put on short diet if they complain. They are * very lean
and emaciated.' Mr. Drouet's system is admirable, but it entails upon
them such slight evils as ' wasting of the limbs, debility, boils, etc.,'
and a more dreadful aggravation of the itch than a medical witness
of great experience has ever beheld in thirty years' practice. A kick,
which would be nothing to a child in sound health, becomes, under
Mr. Drouet's course of management, a serious wound. Boys who
were intelligent before going to Mr. Drouet, lose their animation
afterwards (so swears a Guardian) and become fools. The surgeon
of St. Pancras reported, five months ago, of the excellent Mr. Drouet,
' that a great deal of severity, not to use a harsh term,' — but why
not a harsh term, surgeon, if the occasion require it ? — ' has been
exercised by the masters in authority, as well as some out of author
ity,' meaning, we presume, the amiably eccentric brother. Every
thing, in short, that Mr. Drouet does, or causes to be done, or
suffers to be done, is vile, vicious, and cruel. All this is distinctly in
proof before the coroner's jury, and therefore we see no reason to
abstain from summing it up.

But there is blame elsewhere ; and though it cannot diminish the
heavy amount of blame that rests on this sordid contractor's head,
there is great blame elsewhere. The parish authorities who sent
these children to such a place, and, seeing them in it, left them there,
and showed no resolute determination to reform it altogether, are
culpable in the highest degree. The Poor-Law Inspector who visited
this place, and did not in the strongest terms condemn it, is not less
culpable. The Poor-Law Commissioners, if they had the power to
issue positive orders for its better management (a point which is,
however, in question), were as culpable as any of the rest.

It is wonderful to see how those who, by slurring the matter
when they should have been active in it, have become, in some sort,
participes criminis, desire to make the best of it, even now. The
Poor-Law Inspector thinks that the issuing of an order by the Poor-
Law Commissioners, prohibiting boards of guardians from sending
children to such an institution, would have been 'a very strong
measure.' As if very strong cases required very weak measures, or
there were no natural affinity between the measure and the case !
He certainly did object to the children sleeping three in a bed, and
Mr. Drouet afterwards told him he had reduced the number to two

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— its increase to four when the disease was raging being, we suppose,
a special sanitary arrangement. He did not make any recommenda
tion as to ventilation. He did not call the children privately before
him, to inquire how they were treated. He considers the dietary
a fair dietary — IF proper quantities were given where no precise
quantity is specified. He thinks that, with care, the premises might
have been occupied without injury to health, IF all the accom
modation on the premises had been judiciously applied. As though
a man should say he felt convinced he could live pretty comfort
ably on the top of the monument, IF a handsome suite of furnished
apartments were constructed there expressly for him, and a select
circle came up to dinner every day !

These children were farmed to Mr. Drouet at four shillings and
sixpence a week each ; and some of the officials seem to set store by
its being a great deal of money, and to think exoneration lies in
that. It may be a very sufficient sum, considering that Mr. Drouet
was entitled to the profits of the children's work besides ; but this
seems to us to be no part of the question. If the payment had been
fourteen and sixpence a week each, the blame of leaving the children
to Mr. Drouet's tender mercies without sufficient protection, and of
leaving Mr. Drouet to make his utmost profit without sufficient
check, would have been exactly the same. When a man keeps his
horse at livery, he does not take the corn for granted, because he
pays five -and -twenty shillings a week. In the history of this
calamity, one undoubted predisposing cause was insufficient cloth
ing. What says Mr. William Robert James, solicitor and clerk to
the Board of Guardians of the Holborn Union, on that head ? Mr.
Drouet * told him in conversation (!) that the four and sixpence a
week would include clothing. No particular description of clothing
was mentioned."1 Is it any wonder that the flannel petticoats worn by
the miserable female children, in the severest weather of this winter,
could be — as was publicly stated in another metropolitan union a
few days ago — * read through ' ?

This same Mr. James produces minutes of visits made by deputa
tions of guardians to the Tooting Paradise. Thus : —

' As regards the complaint of Hannah Sleight, as to the insufficiency
of food, we believe it to be unfounded. Elizabeth Male having com
plained that on her recent visit she found her children in a dirty state,

154

THE PARADISE AT TOOTING

her children had our particular attention, and we beg to state that there
was no just cause of complaint on her part.'

It being clear to the meanest capacity that Elizabeth Male's
children not being dirty then, never could by possibility have
been dirty at any antecedent time.

But it appears that this identical James, solicitor and clerk to
the Board of Guardians of the Holborn Union, had a valuable
system of his own for eliciting the truth, which was, to ask the boys
in Mr. Drouefs presence if they had anything to complain of, and
when they answered ' Yes,' to recommend that they should be in
stantly horsewhipped. We learn this from the following extra
ordinary minute of one of these official visits : —

' We beg to report to the board our having on Tuesday, the 9th of
May, visited Mr. Drouet's establishment to ascertain the state of the
children belonging to this union. We were there at the time of dinner
being supplied, and in our opinion the meat provided was good, but the
potatoes were bad. We visited the schoolrooms, dormitories, and work
shops. Everything appeared clean and comfortable, yet we are of opinion that
the new sleeping rooms for infants on the ground floor have a very unhealthy
smell. The girls belonging to the union looked very well. The boys
appeared sickly, which induced us to question them as to whether they
had any cause of complaint as to supply of food or otherwise. About
forty of them held up their hands to intimate their dissatisfaction, upon
which Mr. Drouet's conduct became violent. He called the boys liars,
described some that had held up their hands as the worst boys in the
school, and said that if he had done them justice, he would have followed
out the suggestion of Mr. James, and well thrashed them. (Laughter.)
We then began to question the boys individually, and some of them com
plained of not having sufficient bread at their breakfast. Whilst pressing
the inquiry, Mr. Drouet's conduct became more violent. He said we
were acting unfairly in the mode of inquiry, that we ought to be satisfied
of his character without such proceedings, and that we had no right to
pursue the inquiry in the way we were doing, and that he would be glad
to get rid of the children. To avoid further altercation we left, not
having fully completed the object of our visit.'

If Mr. Drouet were sincere in saying he would be glad to get rid
of the children, he must be in a very complacent frame of mind at
present when be has succeeded in getting rid, for ever, of so many.

"55

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

But the general complacency, on the occasions of these visits, is
marvellous. Hear Mr. Winch, one of the guardians of the poor for
the Holborn Union, who was one of the visiting party at the Tooting
Paradise on this 9th of May : —

' I was in company with Mr. Mayes and Mr. Rebbeck. The children
were at dinner. They were all standing ; I was informed they never sit
at their meals. I tasted the meat, and I cut open about 100 potatoes at
different tables, none of which were fit to eat. They were black and diseased.
I told Mr. Drouet the potatoes were very bad. He replied that they cost
him £7 a ton. The children had no other vegetables. / told Mr. Drouet
I should give them other food. He made no reply. I also told Mr. Drouet I
thought the newly erected rooms smelt unhealthy. Mr. Mayes said it was a pity
when he was building he had not made the rooms higher; when Mr. Drouel
said he would have enough to do if he paid attention to everybody. We went
through some of the sleeping-rooms, which appeared very clean. The
girls looked well ; but the boys, who were mustered in the schoolroom,
appeared very sickly and unhealthy. Mr. Drouet, his brother, and the
schoolmaster mere present. Mr. Rebbeck said to the boys : " Now, if you
have anything to complain of — want of food, or anything else — hold up
your hands " ; and from thirty to forty held up their hands. Mr. Drouet
became very violent, and said we were treating him in an ungentlemanly
manner ; he said that some of the boys who had held up their hands
were liars, and scoundrels, and rascals. He said we were using him
very unfairly ; that his character was at stake ; and if we had anything to
complain of, that was not the way to proceed. One of the boys whom I
questioned told me they had not bread enough either for breakfast or supper;
and, on comparing their dietary with that in the workhouse, I think such is the
case. In consequence of the confusion, we left Mr. Drouet's without
signing the visitors' book. I did not make any motion in the Board of
Guardians for the removal of the children. I again visited Mr. Drouet's
establishment on the 30th of May. The potatoes were then of excellent
quality / went into the pantry, and was surprised to find the bread was not
weighed out. We weigh it out in the union, as we find that is the only way to
give satisfaction. The loaves at Mr. Drouet's were cut into sixteen pieces
without being weighed. I saw no supply of salt in the dining-room, but
some of the boys who had salt in bags were bartering their salt for
potatoes. / did not ask the children whether they had been punished in con
sequence of what had taken place at my previous visit. We were in the
establishment for an hour and a half or two hours on the 30th. We then
expressed our satisfaction at what we witnessed. We made no further inquiry

15$

THE TOOTING FARM

RS to what had occurred on our previous visit. I made no suggestion to
the board for the improvement of the dietary. We had no means of
ascertaining that the children received the amount of food mentioned in the diet-
table.'

But we expressed our satisfaction at what we witnessed. Oh
dear, yes ! Our unanimity was delightful. Nobody complained.
The boys had had ample encouragement to complain. They had
seen Mr. Drouet standing glowering by, on the previous occasion.
They had heard him break out about liars, and scoundrels, and
rascals. They had understood that his precious character — im
measurably more precious than the existence of any number of
pauper children — was at stake. They had had the benefit of a
little fatherly advice and caution from him, in the interval. They
were in a position, moral and physical, to be high-spirited, bold
and open. Yet not a boy complained. We went home to our
Holborn Union, rejoicing. Our clerk was in tip-top spirits about
the thrashing joke. Everything was comfortable and pleasant. Of
all places in the world, how could the cholera ever break out, after
this, in Mr. Drouet's Paradise at Tooting !

If we had been left to the so-much vaunted self-government, it
might have been unanswered still, and the Drouet testimonial might
have been in full vigour. But the Board of Health — an institution
of which every day^s experience attests in some new form the
value and importance — has settled the question. Plainly thus: —
The cholera, or some unusually malignant form of typhus assimi
lating itself to that disease, broke out in Mr. Drouet's farm for
children, because it was brutally conducted, vilely kept, preposter
ously inspected, dishonestly defended, a disgrace to a Christian
community, and a stain upon a civilised laud.

THE TOOTING FARM

[JANUARY 27, 1849]

ON Tuesday last the coroner's j ury, after a long inquiry before Mr.
Wakley, returned a verdict of manslaughter against the Tooting
Farmer, coupled with an expression of their regret at the defects

157

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

of the Poor-Law Act, and of their hope that establishments similar
to that at Tooting would soon cease to exist.

Nothing came out in the further progress of the inquiry to soften
those results of evidence which we summed up generally last week.
The new testimony did anything but weaken the case against the
person now criminally inculpated. On the* contrary, the physical
deterioration of the surviving children, as a body, was more
affectingly and convincingly shown than before. What good legal
assistance could do for the defence, was done, but it could do
nothing. What deplorable shifts and attempts at evasion on the
part of an educated witness could do on the same side, was also
done. But it could do nothing either.

We observe that one metropolitan Board of Guardians considers
itself ill-used by the public comments that have been made on this
case, and is about to enter on a voluntary defence of itself. Any
individual or body of individuals made the subject of uncompli
mentary newspaper remark, is ill-used as a matter of course. It
never was otherwise. The precedents are numerous. Mr. Thurtell
was very bitter on this point, and so was Mr. Greenacre. But while
we recognise a broad distinction between the culpability of those
who consigned hundreds of children to this hateful place, too easily
satisfied by formal, periodical visitation of it — and the guilt of its
administrator, who knew it at all hours and times, at its worst as
well as at its best, and who drove a dangerous and cruel traffic, for
his own profit, at his own peril, — we must take leave to repeat that
the Board of Guardians concerned are grossly in the wrong. The
plain truth is, that they took for granted what they should have
thoroughly sifted and ascertained. A certain establishment for
the reception of pauper children exists. One Board of Guardians
sends its children there: other Boards of Guardians follow one
another in its wake, like sheep. We will assume that the existing
accommodation in their Unions was insufficient for the reception of
these children. For aught we know, it may, in the case of the
St. Pancras workhouse, for example, have been perfectly inadequate.
But that is no reason for sending them to Tooting, and no ground
of defence for having sent them there. The sending them to
Norfolk Island, on the banks of the Niger, might be justified as
well, by the same logic.

We have no intention of prejudging a case which is now to be
158

THE TOOTING FARM

brought to issue before a criminal court. It will be decided upon
the law, and upon the evidence, and there is not the least fear that
the general humanity will unjustly prejudice the party impeached.
That is not at all a common vice of such a trial in England. What
we desire to do, is to point out in a few words why we hold it to
be particularly desirable that this case, in all its relations, should
be rigidly dealt with upon its own merits; and why that vague
disposition to smooth over the things that be, which sometimes
creeps into the most important English proceedings, should, in
this instance of all others, have no pin's-point of place to rest
upon.

In town and country, for some months past, we have been trying
and punishing with necessary severity certain seditious men who did
their utmost to incite the discontented to disturbance of the public
peace. We have, within the last year, counted our special constables
by tens of thousands, and our loyal addresses to the throne by tens
of scores. All these demonstrations have been necessary, but some
of them have been sad necessities, and, on the subsidence of the
natural indignation of the moment, have not left much occasion for
triumph.

The chartist leaders who are now undergoing their various
sentences in various prisons, found the mass of their audience
among the discontented poor. The foremost of them had not the
plea of want to urge for themselves ; but their misrepresentations
were addressed to the toiling multitudes, on whom social irregu
larities impossible to be avoided, and complicated commercial
circumstances difficult to be explained to them, pressed heavily.
There is no doubt that among this numerous class, chartist
principles are rife ; that wherever the class is found in a large
amount, there, also, is a great intensity of discontent. There are
few poor working-men in the kingdom who might not find them
selves next year, next month, next week, in the position of those
fathers whose children were sent to Tooting ; and there are probably
very few poor working-men who have not thought ' this might be
my child's case, to-morrow.'

No opportunity of doing something towards the education of
such men in the conviction that the State is unfeignedly mindful
of them, and truly anxious to redress their tangible and obvious
wrongs, could be plainer than that which now arises. If the system

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

of farming pauper children cannot exist without the danger of
another Tooting Farm being weeded by the grisly hands of Want,
Disease, and Death, let it be now abolished. If the Poor-Law, as
it stands, be not efficient for the prevention of such inhuman evils,
let it be now rendered more efficient. If it has unfortunately
happened, though by no man's deliberate intention or malignity —
as who can doubt it has ? — that the children of sundry poor men
and women have been carried to untimely graves, who might have
lived and thriven, let there be seen a resolute determination that
the like shall never happen any more. It is not only even-handed
justice, but it is clear, straightforward policy. It is the correction
of widely spread and artfully fomented prejudice, dissatisfaction, and
suspicion. It is to challenge and to win the confidence of the poor
man on his tenderest point, and at his own fireside.

But to waste the occasion in play with foolscap and red tape ;
to bewilder all these listening ears with mere official gabble about
Boards, and Inspectors, and Guardians, and responsibility, and non-
responsibility, and divided responsibility, and powers, and clauses,
and sections, and chapters, until the remedy is crushed to pieces in
a mill of words ; will be to swell the mischief to an extent that is
incalculable. There are scores of heads in the mills of Lancashire
and the shops of Birmingham, sufficiently confused already by some
thing more perplexing than the rattling of looms or the beating of
hammers. Such dazed men must be spoken to distinctly. Thej
will hear then, and hear aright. Let the debtor and creditor
account between the governors and the governed be kept in a
fair, bold hand, that all may read, and the governed will soon read
it for themselves, and dispense with the interpreters who are paid
by chartist clubs.

THE peculiarity of this verdict is that while it has released the
accused from the penalties of the law, it has certainly not released
him from the guilt of the charge. The prosecution, badly as it was
conducted, established what was alleged against Drouet. The
160

THE VERDICT FOR DROUET

hunger and thirst were proved ; the bad food, and the insufficient
clothing ; the cold, the ill-treatment, the uncleanliness ; the diseases
generated by filth and neglect ; the itch (much to Baron Platfs
amusement), the scald heads, the sore eyes, the scrofulous affections,
the pot bellies, and the thin shanks. All were proved. We give
a thousand cubic feet of respirable air to every felon in his prison,
and each child in Drouet's prison had little more than a tenth part
so much. They were half-starved, and more than half-suffocated.
A terrible malady broke out, and a hundred and fifty perished. It
was in evidence that every indecent and revolting incident that could
aggravate the slightest illness, or increase the horrors of the most
dangerous infection, existed in the establishment for which Drouet
was responsible, when disease appeared there. But it was not
satisfactorily proved that the disease might not have killed as many
without such help, and therefore Mr. Baron Platt very properly
told the jury that the case had broken down.

The legal point arose upon that part of the indictment which
charged Drouet with having neglected the duty of a right mode
of treatment to the child named in it ; in support of which the fact
of the constitutional energy of the child having been so reduced by
his management as to render it unable to resist the particular
disease, was relied upon as having brought Drouet within the
penalties of manslaughter. But the judge, setting aside this argu
ment as inapplicable to the case, directed an acquittal on the ground
that there had been no evidence adduced to show that the child was
ever, at any time, in such a state of health as to render it probable
he would have recovered from the malady but for the treatment of
the defendant.

The extent of the wrong, in other words, precluded the remedy.
For who, in such a crowd of children, could have singled out one
poor child at any time, to say whether he was well or ill? The
deputy-matron of the workhouse from which he went to Tooting,
and to which he returned to die, could only say of the whole hundred
and fifty-six that came back to her on the same night, that ' they
were not so strong and healthy as when they went to Mr. Drouet's.1
No — she was certain they were not. * They. were very sore in their
bodies, and had sore feet, and there were wounds on different parts
of their persons,1 and some lived, and some died, and among the
latter was little Andrews. That is the whole humble history.
VOL. I:L 161

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

There was no doctor to examine the children when they left, or
when they returned ; and evidence of half the wickedness of the
' farm ' was rejected, because one wretched little figure could not
always be separated from a crowd exactly like himself, and shown as
he contended with horrors to which all were equally exposed.

Mr. Baron Platt declared himself early. The prosecution being
less strongly represented than the defence, he took the »ery first
opportunity of siding with the stronger. Witnesses that required
encouragement, he brow-beated ; and witnesses that could do without
it, he insulted or ridiculed. Medical men are not famous for the
clearness of their testimony at any time, and such questions from
the bench as whether hunger and the itch were connected, and
whether cholera was producible by the itch, did not put them more
at their ease. Of course there was laughter at the facetiousness.
There was also zealous applause, with which the prisoner signified
his concurrence by tapping with his hand in front of the dock.

Nevertheless the trial cannot be read without much anguish of
heart. The inexpressible sadness of its details is not relieved by
Mr. Baron Platfs jocoseness. One little touch came out in the
evidence of a peculiarly affecting kind, such as the masters of pathos
have rarely excelled in fiction. The learned baron was not moved
by it ; naturally enough, for he had not the least notion what it
meant.

Mary Harris, examined by Mr. Clarkson : — I am a nurse at Holborn
Union Workhouse, and went to the Royal Free Hospital, Gray's Inn
Road. I recollect Andrews coming with the other boys. He was not
well. I gave him some milk and bread.

Mr. Clarkson : Did he eat his bread ? — Witness : No ; he held up his
head, and said, ' Oh, nurse, what a big bit of bread this is ! ' Baron Platt :
// was too much for him, I suppose ? — Witness : He could not eat it.

* Oh, nurse ! ' says the poor little fellow, with an eager sense that
what he had longed for had come too late; 'what a big bit of
bread this is ! ' Yes, Mr. Baron Platt, it is clear that it was too much
for him. His head was lifted up for an instant, but it sank again.
He could not but be full of wonder and pleasure that the big bit
of bread had come, though he could not eat it. An English poet
in the days when poetry and poverty were inseparable companions,
received a bit of bread in somewhat similar circumstances which
162

'VIRGINIE' AND 'BLACK-EYED SUSAN'

proved too much for him, and he died in the act of swallowing it.
The difference is hardly worth pointing out. The pauper child had
not even strength for the effort which choked the pauper poet.

Drouet was ' affected to tears ' as he left the dock. It might be
gratitude for his escape, or it might be grief that his occupation was
put an end to. For no one doubts that the child-farming system is
effectually broken up by this trial. And every one must recognise
that a trade which derived its profits from the deliberate torture
and neglect of a class the most innocent on earth, as well as the most
wretched and defenceless, can never on any pretence be resumed.

'VIRGINIE' AND 'BLACK-EYED SUSAN'

[MAY 12, 1849]

A PLAY in five acts by the Oxenford, founded on the French Virginie,
by M. Latour de St. Ytres, was produced here l on Monday night to
a crowded house, with very great success, thoroughly deserved in
all respects. The English version of the play is most spirited,
scholarly, and elegant ; the principal characters were sustained with
great power; and the getting-up of the piece was quite extra
ordinary in respect of the care, good sense, and good taste bestowed
upon it.

There is sufficient novelty in this version of the great Norman
story, to which the Oxenford has done such delicate poetical justice,
to attract and interest even that portion of the play-going public
who are familiar with the fine tragedy of Mr. Knowles. A much
larger share of the interest is thrown upon the heroine. Icilius, like
Queen Elizabeth in Mr. Puff's Tragedy, is kept in the Green Room
all night, until he is slain through the treachery of Appius Claudius.
And the curtain falls upon the death of Virginia, and the slaying
of Appius Claudius by Virginius on the Judgment Seat.

Virginia was acted by Mrs. Mowatt. Throughout, and especially
in the more quiet scenes, as in the appeal to the Household Gods
before leaving home on the bridal morning, the character was
rendered in a touching, truthful, and womanly manner, that might

1 Marylebone Theatre.

163

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

have furnished a good lesson to some actresses of high pretensions
we could name. There is great merit in all this lady does. She
very rarely oversteps the modesty of nature. She is not a conven
tional performer. She has a true feeling for nature and for her
art; and we question whether any one now upon the stage
could have acted this part better, or have acted it so well. Mr.
Davenport also, as Virginius, played admirably ; with a great deal
of pathos, passion, and dignity. Both were loudly called for at the
close of the play, and heartily greeted.

We have already spoken, in general terms, of the manner in
which this piece was put upon the stage. It would be unjust not to
particularise the last scene of the Roman Forum, which exhibits
quite a wonderful use of the space and resources of the theatre,
and is a most complete and beautiful thing. The same spirit per
vades all that is brought forward here. A fortnight since, we saw
Romeo and Juliet on this stage, really presented in a way that
would do credit to any theatre in the world.

The tragedy was followed by Mr. Jerrold's Black-Eyed Susan,
at which the audience laughed and wept with all their hearts, and
which is a remarkable illustration of what a man of genius may
do with a common-enough thing, and how what he does will remain
a thing apart from all imitation. Of the many nautical dramas
that have come and gone like showers (and not very wholesome
showers either) since Black-Eyed Susan was first produced, there
is probably not one but has had this piece for its model, and has
pillaged and rifled it, according to its (Dramatic) author's taste.
And the whole run of them are as like it, at least, as the Marylebone
Theatre is like St. Paul's or St. Peter's. Acted as it is here, it
should be seen again. Nothing can be better than Mr. Davenport's
William ; Miss Vining, a very clever actress, is excellent in Susan ;
and neither the Court Martial nor the Execution Scene were ever
half so well presented in our remembrance.

It is a pleasant duty to point out the deserts of this theatre as
it is now conducted, and to recommend it honestly. We know what
some minor theatres in London are, and we know what this was
before it became a refuge for the proscribed drama. The influence
of such a place cannot but be beneficial and salutary. It richly
deserves support, and we hope it will be supported.

I64

AN AMERICAN IN EUROPE

[JULY 21, 1849]

WHY an honest republican, coming from the United States to
England on a mission of inquiry into ploughs, turnips, mangel-
wurzel, and live stock, cannot be easy unless he is for ever exhibit
ing himself to his admiring countrymen, with a countess hanging
on each arm, a duke or two walking deferentially behind, and a
few old English barons (all his very particular friends) going on
before, we cannot, to our satisfaction, comprehend. Neither is his
facility of getting into such company quite intelligible; unless
something of the spirit which rushes into print with a record of
these genteel processions, pervades the aristocratic as well as the
republican breast, and tickles the noble fancy with a bird's-eye
view of some thousands of American readers across the water,
poring, with open mouths and goggle-eyes, over descriptions of
its owner's domestic magnificence. We are bound to confess, in
justice to a stranger with Mr. Colman's opportunities, that we are
not altogether free from a suspicion of this kind.

Mr. Colman came here, as we have already intimated, charged
with a mission of inquiry into the general agricultural condition
of the country. In this capacity he wrote some reports very
creditable to his good sense, expressed in plain nervous English,
and testifying to his acquaintance with the rural writings of
Cobbett. It would have been better for Mr. Colman, and more
agreeable, we conceive, to all Americans of good sense and good
taste, if he had contented himself with such authorship; but in
an evil hour he committed the two volumes before us,1 in which

He talks so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of napkins, forks, and spoons (God save the mark !)

— that the dedication of his book to Lady Byron is an obvious
mistake, and an outrage on the rights of Mr. N. P. Willis.

1 European Life and Manners, in Familiar Letters to Friends. By Henry Colman,
author of ' European Agriculture and the Agriculture of France, Holland, and Switzer
land.' 2 vols. Boston: Little, Brown and Co. London: Letherham.

165

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Mr. Colman's letters have one very remarkable feature which
our readers will probably never have observed before in any similar
case. They were not intended for publication. Of this unpre
cedented fact, there is no doubt. He wrote them, without a
twinkle of his eye at the public, to some partial friends ; who were
so delighted with them and talked so much about them, that all
his other friends cried out for copies. They would have copies.
Now these may be excellent friends, but they are bitter bad judges :
still they may be turned to good account ; for if Mr. Colman should
ever, in future, write anything that is particularly agreeable to this
audience, he may rely upon it that the nearest fire will be its fittest
destination.

We do not say but that there are parts of these letters which
exhibit the writer in the character of a good-natured, kind-hearted
private individual, though of a somewhat cumbrous and elephantine
jocularity, and of a rather startling sentimentality — as when he goes
to see the charity children assembled at St. Paul's, and has impulses,
on account of their extraordinary beauty, to pitch himself out of
the whispering-gallery head foremost into the midst of those young
Christians ; a homage to youth and innocence necessarily involving
the annihilation of the wearers of several undersized pairs of leather-
breeches. But what Mr. Colman may choose to write, in this private
aspect of himself, to his friends, is a very different thing from what
he is justified in calling upon the public to read. A man may play
at horses with his children, in his own parlour, and give nobody
offence ; but if he should hire the Opera House in London, or the
Theatre Francais in Paris, for the exhibition of that performance
at so much a head, he would challenge criticism, and might very
justly be hissed.

The one great impression on our letter- writer's mind, of which
it does not appear at all probable that he will ever completely
relieve himself, is made by the internal economy of an English
nobleman's country house.

MR. COLMAN AT A GREAT COUNTRY MANSION

As soon as you arrive at the house, your name is announced, your

portmanteau is immediately taken into your chamber, which the servant

shows you, with every requisite convenience and comfort. At Lord

Spencer's the watch opens your door in the night to see if all is safe,

166

as his house was once endangered by a gentleman's reading in bed,
and if he should find your light burning after you had retired, excepting
the night taper, or you reading in bed, without a single word, he would
stretch out a long extinguisher, and put it out. In the morning, a
servant comes in to let you know the time in season for you to dress
for breakfast. At half-past nine you go in to family prayers, if you
find out the time. They are happy to have the guests attend, but
they are never asked. The servants are all assembled in the room
fitted for a chapel. They all kneel, and the master of the house, or
a chaplain, reads the morning service. As soon as it is over they all
wait until he and his guests retire, and then the breakfast is served.
At breakfast there is no ceremony whatever. You are asked by the
servant what you will have, tea or coffee, or you get up and help
yourself. Dry toast, boiled eggs, and bread and butter are on the
table, and on the side table you will find cold ham, tongue, beef, etc.,
to which you carry your own plate and help yourself, and come back
to the breakfast table and sit as long as you please. All letters or
notes addressed to you are laid by your plate, and letters to be sent
by mail are put in the post-box in the entry, and are sure to go. The
arrangements for the day are then made, and parties are formed, horses
and carriages for all the guests are found at the stables, and each one
follows the bent of his inclination. When he returns, if at noon, he finds
a side table with an abundant lunch upon it if he chooses, and when he
goes to his chamber for preparation for dinner, he finds his dress clothes
brushed and folded in the nicest manner, and cold water, and hot water,
and clean napkins in the greatest abundance.

One would think this sufficiently explicit, but here, a few pages
further on, is

MR. COLMAN AGAIN AT A GREAT COUNTRY MANSION

In most families the hour of breakfast is announced to you before
retiring, and the breakfast is entirely without ceremony. Your letters
are brought to you in the morning, and the mail goes out every day.
The postage of letters is always prepaid by those who write them,
who paste double or single stamps upon them; and it is considered
an indecorum to send a letter unpaid, or sealed with a wafer. Any
expense incurred for you, if it be only a penny upon a letter, is at
once mentioned to you, and you of course pay it. At breakfast the
arrangements are made for the day; you are generally left to choose
what you will do, and horses and carriages are always at the service

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of the guests, or guns and implements for sporting, if those are their
habits. There is your chamber, or the library, the billiard room, or
the garden, the park, or the village. You are not looked for again,
unless you make one of some party, until dinner time, which is gener
ally in a nobleman's house, seven o'clock. Breakfast from nine to ten.
Lunch, to which you go if you choose, which in truth is a dinner, though
most things are cold, at half-past one ; coffee immediately after dinner,
and tea and cake immediately after coffee. At eleven o'clock there is
always a candle for each guest, placed on the sideboard or in the entry,
with allumettes alongside of them, and at your pleasure you light your
own candle, and bid good night. In a Scotch family you are expected
to shake hands on retiring, with all the party, and on meeting in the
morning. The English are a little more reserved, though in general,
the master of the house shakes hands with you. On a first introduc
tion, no gentlemen shake hands, but simply bow to each other. In
the morning you come down in undress, with boots, trousers of any
colour, frock coat, etc. At dinner, you are always expected to be in
full dress ; straight coat, black satin, or white waistcoat, silk stockings
and pumps, but not gloves ; and if you dine abroad in London, you
keep your hat in your hand until you go in to dinner, when you give
it to a servant, or leave it in an ante-room. The lady of the house
generally claims the arm of the principal stranger, or the gentleman
of the highest rank ; she then assigns the other ladies and gentlemen
by name, and commonly waits until all her guests precede her in to
dinner, though this is not invariable. The gentleman is expected to
sit near the lady whom he hands in. Grace is almost always said by
the master, and it is done in the shortest possible way. Sometimes no
dishes are put upon the table until the soup is done with, but at other
times there are two covers besides the soup. The soup is various ; in
Scotland it is usually what they call hodge-podge, a mixture of vege
tables with some meat. After soup, the fish cover is removed, and this
is commonly served round without any vegetables, but certainly not
more than one kind. After fish, come the plain joints, roast or boiled,
with potatoes, peas or beans, and cauliflowers. Then sherry wine is
handed by the servant to every one. German wine is offered to those
who prefer it; this is always drunk in green glasses; then come the
entrees, which are a variety of French dishes, and hashes ; then cham
pagne is offered ; after this remove, come ducks, or partridges, or other
game ; after this the bonbons, puddings, tarts, sweetmeats, blancmange ;
then cheese and bread, and a glass of strong ale is handed round ; then
the removal of the upper cloth, and oftentimes the most delicious fruits

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AN AMERICAN IN EUROPE

and confectionery follow, such as grapes, peaches, melons, apples, dried
fruits, etc. etc. After this is put upon the table a small bottle of Con-
stantia wine, which is deemed very precious, and handed round in small
wine glasses, or noyeau, or some other cordial. Finger glasses are always
furnished, though in some cases I have seen a deep silver plate filled
with rose-water presented to each guest in which he dips the corner
of his napkin, to wipe his lips or his fingers. No cigars or pipes are
ever offered, and soon after the removal of the cloth, the ladies retire
to the drawing-room, the gentlemen close up at the table, and after
sitting as long as you please, you go into the drawing-room to have
coffee and then tea. The wines at table are generally of the most
expensive quality; port, sherry, claret, seldom madeira; but I have
never heard any discussion about the character of wines, excepting
that I have been repeatedly asked what wine we usually drank in
America.

In connection with this same establishment, we have the happi
ness of learning that the butler ' takes care of all the wines, fruit,
glasses, candlesticks, lamps, and plate ' ; also that he has an under-
butler 'for his adjunct.' The ladies, it seems, ' never wear a pair
of white satin shoes or white gloves more than once.' And we have
a dim vision of the agitation of the tremendous depths of this social
sea which looks so smooth at top, when we are informed that ' some
of them (the ladies) if they find, on going into society, another person
of inferior rank wearing the same dress as themselves ' — which would
certainly appear an inconvenient proceeding — ' the dress, upon being
taken off, is at once thrown aside, and the lady's maid perfectly under
stands her perquisite.'

Having recovered our breath, impeded in the contemplation of
this awful picture, and the mysterious shadow thrown around the
lady's maid, we expect to find our American friend in some new
scene ; and, indeed, we do find him, for a little time, in the company
of Scotch gentlemen, who keep small ivory spoons in their pockets
' to shove their snuff up their noses,' and who likewise carry small
brushes in their pockets to sweep their noses and upper lips with
afterwards — which is well known to be a practice universal with the
bench and bar of Scotland, and with the principal members of the
Scottish Universities, whose snuff is for the most part carried after
them in coal-scuttles by Highlanders, who cannot be made to
sneeze by any artificial process whatever. But our traveller's foot

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is not upon his native heath in this society, and he is back again
in no time.

MR. COLMAN AGAIN AT A GREAT COUNTRY MANSION

The house is one of the most magnificent and ancient in the country,
having been long in the possession of the family. It was once the
property of the Marquis of Rockingham, one of the most distinguished
ministers of the crown in the war of the revolution, and always an
ardent friend of America. I think, upon the whole, it is upon the
largest scale of anything I have yet seen. The house itself is six
hundred and ten feet in length, and the width proportionate. I was
forewarned that I should lose my way in it, and so I have done two or
three times, until, at last, I have made sure of my own bedroom. The
house is elegantly furnished, parts of it superbly, and the style of living
is in keeping. I arrived about six, and after a short walk with my noble
host, the dressing bell rung, and I was shown at once to my chamber.
The chamber is a large and superb room, called the blue-room, because
papered with elegant blue satin paper, and the bed and the windows
hung with superb blue silk curtains. My portmanteau had already
been carried there, and the straps untied for opening ; a large coal
fire was blazing ; candles were burning on the table, and water and
everything else necessary for ablution and comfort. There was, like
wise, what is always to be found in an English house, a writing-table,
letter paper, note paper, new pens, ink, sealing wax, and wax-taper,
and a letter-box is kept in the house, and notice given to the guests
always at what time the post will leave.

Nor is his mind yet discharged of the mere froth and foam of
that one idea, which must work henceforth with him while memory
lasts ; for, after travelling a few pages, we find

MR. COLMAN AGAIN AT A GREAT COUNTRY MANSION

Imagine an elegant dining-room, the table covered with the richest
plate, and this plate filled with the richest viands which the culinary
art and the vintage and the fruit-garden can supply ; imagine a horse
at your disposal, a servant at your command to anticipate every want ;
imagine an elegant bed-chamber, a bright coal fire, fresh water in
basins, in goblets, in tubs, napkins without stint as white as snow, a
double mattress, a French bed, sheets of the finest linen, a canopy of
the richest silk, a table portfolio, writing apparatus and stationery,
I7O

AN AMERICAN IN EUROPE

allumettes, a night lamp, candles, and silver candlesticks, and beautiful
paintings and exquisite statuary, and every kind of chair or sofa but a
rocking-chair, and then you will have some little notion of the place
where I now am.

And yet a few pages more and here is

MR. COLMAN AT THE GREATEST COUNTRY MANSION OF ALL

I asked, when I retired, what time do you breakfast ? The Duke
replied, 'just what time you please, from nine to twelve.' I always
came down at nine precisely, and found the Duchess at her breakfast.
About half-past nine the Duke would come in, and the ladies, one by
one, soon after. At breakfast, the side table would have on it cold ham,
cold chicken, cold pheasant or partridge, which you ask for, or to which,
as is most common, you get up and help yourself. On the breakfast
table were several kinds of the best bread possible, butter always fresh,
made that morning, as I have found at all these houses, and if you ask
for coffee or chocolate, it would be brought to you in a silver coffee-pot,
and you help yourself; if for tea, you would have a silver urn to each
guest, heated by alcohol, placed by you, a small teapot, and a small
caddie of black and green tea to make for yourself, or the servant for
you. The papers of the morning, from London (for a country paper is
rarely seen) were then brought to you, and your letters, if any. At
breakfast, the arrangements were made for the day, and if you were to
ride, choose your mode, and at the minute the horses and servants
would be at the door.

At two o'clock is the lunch, which I was not at home to take, and
very rarely do take. A lunch at such houses, is in fact a dinner ; the
table is set at half-past one, not quite so large as for dinner. Commonly,
there is roast meat, warm, birds, warm or cold, cold chicken, cold beef,
cold ham, bread, butter, cheese, fruit, beer, ale, and wines, and every
one takes it as he pleases, standing, sitting, waiting for the rest, or not,
and going away when he pleases ; dinner at seven, sometimes at eight,
when all are congregated in the drawing-room, five minutes before the
hour, in full dress. I have already told you the course at dinner, but
at many houses, there is always a bill of fare — in this case written, I
had almost said engraved, on the most elegant embossed and coloured
paper ; always in French, and passed round to the guests.

* The Duke ' meantime, it is to be presumed, keeping his noble
eyes on Mr. Colman's waistcoat, until he satisfies his noble mind

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that it is not a waistcoat, like his waistcoat ; which would render It
indispensable for his Grace instantly to depart from table, take it
off in desperation, and bestow it on his valet.

But there is one phase of the national character which impresses
our good traveller more than any other. It is remarkable that the
guests at a gentleman's house do not dash at the dishes, and contend
with one another for * the fixings ' they contain, but put their trust
in Providence, and in the servants, and in the good time coming if
they wait a little longer ; — it is a grave consideration that they have
water to wash in, sheets to sleep in, paper to write letters on,
and allumettes to light their sealing-wax by; — it is matter for a
philosopher's reflection that at breakfast you find the cold beef on
the sideboard, and at night the chamber candlestick in the entry ; —
but the distinctive mark of the national character, the centre prong
in the trident of Britannia, the strong tuft in the mane of the
British lion, is the national propensity to perform that humble
household service which is familiarly called * emptying the slops.'
This, and the kindred national propensity to brush a man's clothes
and polish his boots, whensoever and wheresoever the clothes and
boots can be seized without the man, are the noteworthy things
that can never be effaced from an observant traveller's remembrance.

Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,

— even 'the Duke,' with his four-and- twenty silver tea-caddies all
of a row, may be made hay of by the inexorable getter-in of human
grass — but the ducal housemaid and the ducal bootsboy will flourish
in immortal freshness.

'I forgot to say,' writes Mr. Colman, and strange it is indeed
that any man should forget the having such a thing to say — * I
forgot to say, if you leave your chamber twenty times a day, after
using your basin, you would find it clean, and the pitcher re
plenished on your return ; and that you cannot take your clothes
off, but they are taken away, brushed, folded, pressed, and placed in
the bureau; and at the dressing hour, before dinner, you find your
candles lighted, your clothes laid out, your shoes cleaned, and
everything arranged for use.'

By and by he expiates on the bell-rope being always within
reach; on *a worked night-cap' being 'not unfrequently ' placed
ready for you (though we suspect the Duchess of a personal attention
172

AN AMERICAN IN EUROPE

to this article) ; on the unwonted luxury of a bootjack ; on the
high civilisation of a little copper tea-kettle; on the imposing
solemnity of that complicated Institution known as dinner napkins
— which, we are told, 'are never left upon the table, but either
thrown into your chair, or on the floor under the table,' — but
faithful to the one great trait of Britain, he falls back on the boots
and clothes for ever ' brushed and folded and laid out for use.'

Again and again we find Mr. Colman again at a great country
mansion — those to which we have followed him having numerous
successors. And again and again, after simmering in his ' copper-
kettle of hot- water,' and floundering in his 'tub of cold,' he sinks
into a gentle trance of admiration at the brushing of his clothes
and cleaning of his boots. We could desire to have known whose
blacking the Duke uses, and we must regard the maker's name as
unaccountably omitted. It is one of the few such things Mr.
Colman has ' forgotten to say.'

Much as we admire Mr. Colman in private life, we must confess
to being a little staggered by his appearances in public. They
are rare, but marvellous. His singular emotions at St. Paul's we
have already referred to, but his experience of another public
occasion is still more remarkable.

MR. COLMAN AT THE OLD BAILEY

The judge, again and again, passed dreadful and heart-rending sen
tences upon some wretched boy, or some poor, miserable, affrighted
woman; and, after telling them, in the harshest manner, that they
might congratulate themselves upon escaping so lightly, turned round and
laughed heartily at the concern of the compassionate alderman, who sat at his
side and did nhat he could to stay his violence, and at. the surprise and anguish
of the poor convicts,

Next to our curiosity in respect of the Duke's blacking-maker,
and the conflict of our hopes and fears between Warren's blacking,
30 Strand, and Day and Martin's, 97 High Holborn, we confess to
a desire to be favoured with the name of this judge. For we
cannot help thinking that it must be Jeffreys, and that Mr. Colman,
falling into a magnetic slumber one day, when they had taken away
his boots, became clairvoyant as to the Bloody Assize.

With this we think we may conclude. How Mr. Colman could

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espy no beggars on the roads in France, and how he could find out
nothing in Paris, of all the cities upon earth, that had a poverty-
stricken or vagabond aspect, we will not relate. We hope, and
believe, that he writes better about things agricultural than about
the topics of the Court Circular. We are chiefly sorry for the folly
of his letters, because we take him to be a man of better stuff than
their contents would indicate ; and because, in the still increasing
facilities of friendly communication between the two sides of the
Atlantic (long may they continue to increase, and to make the
inhabitants of each shore better acquainted with the other, to their
mutual improvement, forbearance, and advantage !) we feel for the
many American gentlemen with an undoubted claim on the hospi
tality and respect of all classes of English society who stand com
mitted by such very egregious slip-slop.

COURT CEREMONIES

[DECEMBER 15, 1849]

THE late Queen Dowager, whose death has given occasion for many
public tributes to exalted worth, often formally and falsely rendered
on similar occasions, and rarely, if ever, better deserved than on this,
committed to writing eight years ago her wishes in reference to her
funeral. This truly religious and most unaffected document has
been published by her Majesty the Queen's directions. It is more
honourable to the memory of the noble lady deceased than broad
sides upon broadsides of fulsome panegyric, and is full of good
example to all persons in this empire, but particularly, as we think,
to the highest persons of all.

I die in all humility, knowing well that we are all alike before the
throne of God, and I request, therefore, that my mortal remains be con
veyed to the grave without any pomp or state. They are to be moved
to St. George's Chapel, Windsor, where I request to have as private and
quiet a funeral as possible.

I particularly desire not to be laid out in state, and the funeral to
take place by daylight ; no procession ; the coffin to be carried by sailors
to the chapeL
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COURT CEREMONIES

All those of my friends and relations, to a limited number, who wish
to attend maj do so. My nephew, Prince Edward of Saxe Weimar,
Lords Howe, and Denbigh, the Hon. William Ashley, Mr. Wood, Sir
Andrew Barnard, and Sir D. Davies, with my dressers, and those of mj
Ladies who may wish to attend.

I die in peace, and wish to be carried to the tomb in peace, and free
from the vanities and the pomp of this world.

I request not to be dissected, nor embalmed ; and desire to give as
little trouble as possible.

November 1841. ADELAIDE R.

It may be questionable whether the ' Ceremonial for the private
interment of her late Most Excellent Majesty, Adelaide the Queen
Dowager, in the Royal Chapel of St. George at Windsor,1 published
at the same time as this affecting paper, be quite in unison with the
feelings it expresses. Uneasy doubts obtrude themselves upon the
mind whether ' her late Majesty's state carriage drawn by six horses,
in which will be the crown of her late Majesty, borne on a velvet
cushion,' would not have been more in keeping with the funeral
requests of the late Mr. Ducrow. The programme setting forth in
four lines,

THE CHIEF MOURNER,
the Duchess of Norfolk

(veiled)
Attended by a Lady,

is like a bad play-bill. The announcement how 'the Archbishop
having concluded the service, Garter will pronounce near the grave
the style of Her late Majesty ; after which the Lord Chamberlain
and the Vice Chamberlain of Her late Majesty's household will break
their staves of office, and, kneeling, deposit the same in the Royal
Vault,' is more like the announcement outside a booth at a fair,
respecting what the elephant or the conjuror will do within, by and
by, than consists with the simple solemnity of that last Christian
service which is entered upon with the words, * We brought nothing
into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of
the Lord.'

We would not be misunderstood on this point, and we wish
distinctly to express our full belief that the funeral of the good

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Dowager Queen was conducted with a proper absence of conventional
absurdity. We are persuaded that the highest personages in the
country respected the last wishes so modestly expressed, and were
earnest in impressing upon all concerned a desire for their exact
fulfilment. It is not so much because of any inconsistencies on this
particular occasion, as because the Lord Chamberlain's office is the
last stronghold of an enormous amount of tomfoolery, which is
infinitely better done upon the stage in Tom Thumb, which is
cumbrous and burdensome to all outside the office itself, and which
is negative for any good purpose and often positive for much harm,
as making things ridiculous or repulsive which can only exist bene
ficially in the general love and respect, that we take this occasion of
hoping that it is fast on the decline.

This is not the first occasion on which we have observed upon
the preposterous constraints and forms that set a mark upon the
English Court among the nations of Europe, and amaze European
Sovereigns when they first become its guests. In times that are
marked beyond all others by rapidity of change, and by the condensa
tion of centuries into years in respect of great advances, it is in the
nature of things that these constraints and forms should yearly,
daily, hourly, become more preposterous. What was obsolete at
first, is rendered in such circumstances, a thousand times more
obsolete by every new stride that is made in the onward road. A
Court that does not keep pace with a People will look smaller, through
the tube which Mr. Stephenson is throwing across the Menai Straits,
than it looked before.

It is typical of the English Court that its state dresses, though
greatly in advance of its ceremonies, are always behind the time.
We would bring it up to the time, that it may have the greater
share in, and the stronger hold upon, the affections of the time.
The spectacle of a Court going down to Windsor by the Great
Western Railway, to do, from morning to night, what is five hundred
years out of date ; or sending such messages to Garter by electric
telegraph, as Garter might have received in the lists, in the days of
King Richard the First, is not a good one. The example of the
Dowager Queen, reviving and improving on the example of the
late Duke of Sussex, makes the present no unfit occasion for the
utterance of a hope that these things are at last progressing, chang
ing, and resolving themselves into harmony with all other things
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COURT CEREMONIES

around them. It is particularly important that this should be the
case when a new line of Sovereigns is stretching out before us. It is
particularly important that this should be the case when the hopes,
the happiness, the property, the liberties, the lives of innumerable
people may, and in great measure must, depend on Royal Childhood
not being too thickly hedged in, or loftily walled round, from a great
range of human sympathy, access, and knowledge. Therefore we
could desire to have the words of their departed relative, * We are
all alike before the throne of God,1 commended to the earliest under
standing of our rising Princes and Princesses. Therefore we could
desire to bring the chief of the Court ceremonies a little more into
the outer world, and cordially to give him the greeting,

My good Lord Chamberlain,
Well are you welcome to tliis open air t

VOL. I : M 177

MISCELLANIES

FROM

'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

1850-1859

ADDRESS IN THE FIRST NUMBER OF
1 HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

[MAECH 30, 1850]
A PRELIMINARY WORD

THE name that we have chosen for this publication expresses, gener
ally, the desire we have at heart in originating it.

We aspire to live in the Household affections, and to be numbered
among the Household thoughts, of our readers. We hope to be the
comrade and friend of many thousands of people, of both sexes, and
of all ages and conditions, on whose faces we may never look. We
seek to bring into innumerable homes, from the stirring world
around us, the knowledge of many social wonders, good and evil,
that are not calculated to render any of us less ardently persevering
in ourselves, less tolerant of one another, less faithful in the progress
of mankind, less thankful for the privilege of living in the summer-
dawn of time.

No mere utilitarian spirit, no iron binding of the mind to grim
realities, will give a harsh tone to our Household Words. In the
bosoms of the young and old, of the well-to-do and of the poor, we
would tenderly cherish that light of Fancy which is inherent in the
human breast ; which, according to its nurture, burns with an inspir
ing flame, or sinks into a sullen glare, but which (or woe betide that
day !) can never be extinguished. To show to all, that in all
familiar things, even in those which are repellent on the surface,
there is Romance enough, if we will find it out : — to teach the
hardest workers at this whirling wheel of toil, that their lot is not
necessarily a moody, brutal fact, excluded from the sympathies and
graces of imagination ; to bring the greater and the lesser in degree,
together, upon that wide field, and mutually dispose them to a

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

better acquaintance and a kinder understanding — is one main
object of our Household Words.

The mightier inventions of this age are not, to our thinking, all
material, but have a kind of souls in their stupendous bodies which
may find expression in Household Words. The traveller whom we
accompany on his railroad or his steamboat journey, may gain, we
hope, some compensation for incidents which these later generations
have outlived, in new associations with the Power that bears him
onward ; with the habitations and the ways of life of crowds of his
fellow-creatures among whom he passes like the wind ; even with
the towering chimneys he may see, spirting out fire and smoke upon
the prospect. The Swart giants, Slaves of the Lamp of Knowledge,
have their thousand and one tales, no less than the Genii of the
East ; and these, in all their wild, grotesque, and fanciful aspects,
in all their many phases of endurance, in all their many moving
lessons of compassion and consideration, we design to tell.

Our Household Words will not be echoes of the present time
alone, but of the past too. Neither will they treat of the hopes,
the enterprises, triumphs, joys, and sorrows, of this country only,
but, in some degree, of those of every nation upon earth. For
nothing can be a source of real interest in one of them, without con
cerning all the rest.

We have considered what an ambition it is to be admitted into
many homes with affection and confidence; to be regarded as a
friend by children and old people ; to be thought of in affliction and
in happiness ; to people the sick-room with airy shapes ' that give
delight and hurt not,1 and to be associated with the harmless
laughter and the gentle tears of many hearths. We know the
great responsibility of such a privilege ; its vast reward ; the pictures
that it conjures up, in hours of solitary labour, of a multitude
moved by one sympathy ; the solemn hopes which it awakens in the
labourer's breast, that he may be free from self-reproach in looking
back at last upon his work, and that his name may be remembered
in his race in time to come, and borne by the dear objects of his
love with pride. The hand that writes these faltering lines, happily
associated with some Household Words before to-day, has known
enough of such experiences to enter in an earnest spirit upon this
new task, and with an awakened sense of all that it involves.

Some tillers of the field, into which we now come, have been
Iff

ANNOUNCEMENT IN 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

before us, and some are here whose high usefulness we readily
acknowledge, and whose company it i» an honour to join. But
there are others here — Bastards of the Mountain, draggled fringe on
the Red Cap, Panders to the basest passions of the lowest natures —
whose existence is a national reproach. And these we should con
sider it our highest service to displace.

Thus, we begin our career! The adventurer in the old fairy
story, climbing towards the summit of a steep eminence on which
the object of his search was stationed, was surrounded by a roar of
voices, crying to him, from the stones in the way, to turn back. All
the voices we hear, cry Go on ! The stones that call to us have
sermons in them, as the trees have tongues, as there are books in
the running brooks, as there is good in everything ! They, and the
Time, cry out to us Go on ! With a fresh heart, a light step, and a
hopeful courage, we begin the journey. The road is not so rough
that it need daunt our feet : the way is not so steep that we need
stop for breath, and, looking faintly down, be stricken motionless.
Go on, is all we hear, Go on ! In a glow already, with the air
from yonder height upon us, and the inspiriting voices joining in
this acclamation, we echo back the cry, and go on cheerily !

ANNOUNCEMENT IN 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'
OF THE APPROACHING PUBLICATION
OF 'ALL THE YEAR ROUND1

[MAY 28, 1859]

AFTER the appearance of the present concluding Number of House
hold Words, this publication will merge into the new weekly publica
tion, All the Year Round, and the title, Household Words, will form
a part of the title-page of All the Year Round.

The Prospectus of the latter Journal describes it in these words :

« ADDRESS

* Nine years of Household Words, are the best practical assurance
that can be offered to the public, of the spirit and objects of All the
Year Round.

183

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

'In transferring myself, and my strongest energies, from the
publication that is about to be discontinued, to the publication
that is about to be begun, I have the happiness of taking with me
the staff of writers with whom I have laboured, and all the literary
and business co-operation that can make my work a pleasure. In
some important respects, I am now free greatly to advance on past
arrangements. Those, I leave to testify for themselves in due
course.

* That fusion of the graces of the imagination with the realities of
life, which is vital to the welfare of any community, and for which
I have striven from week to week as honestly as I could during the
last nine years, will continue to be striven for " all the year round."
The old weekly cares and duties become things of the Past, merely
to be assumed, with an increased love for them and brighter hopes
springing out of them, in the Present and the Future.

* I look, and plan, for a very much wider circle of readers, and
yet again for a steadily expanding circle of readers, in the projects
I hope to carry through " all the year round." And I feel confident
that this expectation will be realised, if it deserve realisation.

'The task of my new journal is set, and it will steadily try to
work the task out. Its pages shall show to what good purpose their
motto is remembered in them, and with how much of fidelity and
earnestness they tell

' the story of our lives from year to year.

CHARLES DICKENS.'

Since this was issued, the Journal itself has come into existence,
and has spoken for itself five weeks. Its fifth Number is published
to-day, and its circulation, moderately stated, trebles that now
relinquished in Household Words.

In referring our readers, henceforth, to All the Year Round, we
can but assure them afresh, of onr unwearying and faithful service,
in what is at once the work and the chief pleasure of our life.
Through all that we are doing, and through all that we design to
do, our aim is to do our best in sincerity of purpose, and true
devotion of spirit.

We do not for a moment suppose that we may lean on the
character of these pages, and rest contented at the point where they
184

ADDRESS IN 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

stop. We see in that point but a starting-place for our new
journey; and on that journey, with new prospects opening out
before us everywhere, we joyfully proceed, entreating our readers —
without any of the pain of leave-taking incidental to most journeys
— to bear us company All the year round.

ADDRESS IN 'HOUSEHOLD WORDS'

[MAY 28, 1859]
A LAST HOUSEHOLD WORD

THE first page of the first of these Nineteen Volumes, was devoted
to a Preliminary Word from the writer by whom they were pro
jected, under whose constant supervision they have been produced,
and whose name has been (as his pen and himself have been), in
separable from the Publication ever since.

The last page of the last of these Nineteen Volumes, is closed by
the same hand.

He knew perfectly well, knowing his own rights, and his means
of attaining them, that it could not be but that this Work must
stop, if he chose to stop it. He therefore announced, many weeks
ago, that it would be discontinued on the day on which this final
Number bears date. The Public have read a great deal to the con
trary, and will observe that it has not in the least affected the
result.

I85

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PEOPLE

I
[MARCH 30, 1850]

As one half of the world is said not to know how the other half
lives, so it may be affirmed that the upper half of the world neither
knows nor greatly cares how the lower half amuses itself. Believing
that it does not care, mainly because it does not know, we purpose
occasionally recording a few facts on this subject.

The general character of the lower class of dramatic amusements
is a very significant sign of a people, and a very good test of their
intellectual condition. We design to make our readers acquainted
in the first place with a few of our experiences under this head
in the metropolis.

It is probable that nothing will ever root out from among the
common people an innate love they have for dramatic entertainment
in some form or other. It would be a very doubtful benefit to
society, we think, if it could be rooted out. The Polytechnic
Institution in Regent Street, where an infinite variety of ingenious
models are exhibited and explained, and where lectures comprising
a quantity of useful information on many practical subjects are
delivered, is a great public benefit and a wonderful place, but we
think a people formed entirely in their hours of leisure by Poly
technic Institutions would be an uncomfortable community. We
would rather not have to appeal to the generous sympathies of a
man of five-and-twenty, in respect of some affliction of which he
had had no personal experience, who had passed all his holidays,
when a boy, among cranks and cogwheels. We should be more
disposed to trust him if he had been brought into occasional contact
with a Maid and a Magpie ; if he had made one or two diversions
into the Forest of Bondy; or had even gone the length of a
Christmas Pantomime. There is a range of imagination in most
of us, which no amount of steam-engines will satisfy; and which
The-great-exhibition-of-the-works-of-industry-of-all-nations, itself,
will probably leave unappeased. The lower we go, the more
natural it is that the best-relished provision for this should be found
1 86

THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PEOPLE

in dramatic entertainments ; as at once the most obvious, the least
troublesome, and the most real, of all escapes out of the literal
world. Joe Whelks, of the New Cut, Lambeth, is not much of a
reader, has no great store of books, no very commodious room to
read in, no very decided inclination to read, and no power at all
of presenting vividly before his mind's eye what he reads about.
But put Joe in the gallery of the Victoria Theatre; show him
doors and windows in the scene that will open and shut, and that
people can get in and out of ; tell him a story with these aids, and
by the help of live men and women dressed up, confiding to him
their innermost secrets, in voices audible half a mile off; and Joe
will unravel a story through all its entanglements, and sit there
as long after midnight as you have anything left to show him.
Accordingly, the Theatres to which Mr. Whelks resorts, are always
full; and whatever changes of fashion the drama knows elsewhere,
it is always fashionable in the New Cut.

The question, then, might not unnaturally arise, one would
suppose, whether Mr. Whelks's education is at all susceptible of
improvement, through the agency of his theatrical tastes. How
far it is improved at present, our readers shall judge for themselves.

In affording them the means of doing so, we wish to disclaim
any grave imputation on those who are concerned in ministering
to the dramatic gratification of Mr. Whelks. ( Heavily taxed, wholly
unassisted by the State, deserted by the gentry, and quite un
recognised as a means of public instruction, the higher English
Drama has declined. Those who would live to please Mr. Whelks,
must please Mr. Whelks to live. It is not the Manager's province
to hold the Mirror up to Nature, but to Mr. Whelks — the only
person who acknowledges him. If, in like manner, the actor's
nature, like the dyer's hand, becomes subdued to what he works in,
the actor can hardly be blamed for it. He grinds hard at his
vocation, is often steeped in direful poverty, and lives, at the best,
in a little world of mockeries. It is bad enough to give away a
great estate six nights a-week, and want a shilling; to preside at
imaginary banquets, hungry for a mutton chop ; to smack the lips
over a tankard of toast and water, and declaim about the mellow
produce of the sunny vineyard on the banks of the Rhine ; to be
a rattling young lover, with the measles at home; and to paint
sorrow over, with burnt cork and rouge ; without being called upon

I87

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

to despise his vocation too. If he can utter the trash to which
he is condemned, with any relish, so much the better for him,
Heaven knows ; and peace be with him !

A few weeks ago, we went to one of Mr. Whelks's favourite
Theatres, to see an attractive Melo-Drama called May Morning,
or The Mystery of 1715, and the Murder [ We had an idea that
the former of these titles might refer to the month in which either
the mystery or the murder happened, but we found it to be
the name of the heroine, the pride of Keswick Vale; who was
4 called May Morning ' (after a common custom among the English
Peasantry) * from her bright eyes and merry laugh.' Of this young
lady, it may be observed, in passing, that she subsequently sustained
every possible calamity of human existence, in a white muslin
gown with blue tucks; and that she did every conceivable and
inconceivable thing with a pistol, that could anyhow be effected
by that description of fire-arms.

The Theatre was extremely full. The prices of admission were,
to the boxes, a shilling; to the pit, sixpence; to the gallery,
threepence. The gallery was of enormous dimensions (among the
company, in the front row, we observed Mr. Whelks); and over
flowing with occupants. It required no close observation of the
attentive faces, rising one above another, to the very door in the
roof, and squeezed and jammed in, regardless of all discomforts,
even there, to impress a stranger with a sense of its being highly
desirable to lose no possible chance of effecting any mental improve
ment in that great audience.

The company in the pit were not very clean or sweet-savoured,
but there were some good-humoured young mechanics among them,
with their wives. These were generally accompanied by * the baby,"*

insomuch that the pit was a perfect nursery. No effect made on
the stage was so curious, as the looking down on the quiet faces of
these babies fast asleep, after looking up at the staring sea of heads
in the gallery. There were a good many cold fried soles in the
pit, besides; and a variety of flat stone bottles, of all portable
sizes.

The audience in the boxes was of much the same character

(babies and fish excepted) as the audience in the pit. A private in

the Foot Guards sat in the next box ; and a personage who wore

pins on his coat instead of buttons, and was in such a damp habit

1 88

of living as to be quite mouldy, was our nearest neighbour. In
several parts of the house we noticed some young pickpockets of
our acquaintance; but as they were evidently there as private
individuals, and not in their public capacity, we were little disturbed
by their presence. For we consider the hours of idleness passed
by this class of society as so much gain to society at large ; and we
do not join in a whimsical sort of lamentation that is generally A
made over them, when they are found to be unoccupied.

As we made these observations the curtain rose, and we were
presently in possession of the following particulars.

Sir George Elmore, a melancholy Baronet with every appearance
of being in that advanced stage of indigestion in which Mr.
Morrison's patients usually are, when they happen to hear through
Mr. Moat, of the surprising effects of his Vegetable Pills, was
found to be living in a very large castle, in the society of one round
table, two chairs, and Captain George Elmore, ' his supposed son,
the Child of Mystery, and the Man of Crime.' The Captain, in
addition to an undutiful habit of bullying his father on all occasions,
was a prey to many vices : foremost among which may be mentioned
his desertion of his wife, ' Estella de Neva, a Spanish lady,' and his
determination unlawfully to possess himself of May Morning;
M. M. being then on the eve of marriage to Will Stanmore, a
cheerful sailor, with very loose legs.

The strongest evidence, at first, of the Captain's being the
Child of Mystery and the Man of Crime was deducible from his
boots, which, being very high and wide, and apparently made of
sticking-plaister, justified the worst theatrical suspicions to his
disadvantage. And indeed he presently turned out as ill as could
be desired: getting into May Morning's Cottage by the window
after dark ; refusing to * unhand ' May Morning when required to
do so by that lady ; waking May Morning's only surviving parent,
a blind old gentleman with a black ribbon over his eyes, whom we
shall call Mr. Stars, as his name was stated in the bill thus * * *
and showing himself desperately bent on carrying off May Morning
by force of arms. Even this was not the worst of the Captain ;
for, being foiled in his diabolical purpose — temporarily by means
of knives and pistols, providentially caught up and directed at
him by May Morning, and finally, for the time being, by the
advent of Will Stanmore — he caused one Slink, his adherent, to

189

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

denounce Will Stanmore as a rebel, and got that cheerful mariner
carried off, and shut up in prison. At about the same period of
the Captain's career, there suddenly appeared in his father's castle,
a dark complexioned lady of the name of Manuella, *a Zingara
Woman from the Pyrenean Mountains ; the Wild Wanderer of the
Heath, and the Pronouncer of the Prophecy,' who threw the melan
choly baronet, his supposed father, into the greatest confusion by
asking him what he had upon his conscience, and by pronouncing
mysterious rhymes concerning the Child of Mystery and the Man
of Crime, to a low trembling of fiddles. Matters were in this state
when the Theatre resounded with applause, and Mr. Whelks fell
into a fit of unbounded enthusiasm, consequent on the entrance of
' Michael the Mendicant.'

At first we referred something of the cordiality with which
Michael the Mendicant was greeted, to the fact of his being ' made
'up' with an excessively dirty face, which might create a bond of
union between himself and a large majority of the audience. But
it soon came out that Michael the Mendicant had been hired in old
time by Sir George Elmore, to murder his (Sir George Elmore's)
elder brother — which he had done; notwithstanding which little
affair of honour, Michael was in reality a very good fellow ; quite a
tender-hearted man ; who, on hearing of the Captain's determina
tion to settle Will Stanmore, cried out, * What ! more bel-ood ! '
and fell flat — overpowered by his nice sense of humanity. In like
manner, in describing that small error of judgment into which he
had allowed himself to be tempted by money, this gentleman
exclaimed, *I ster-ruck him down, and fel-ed in er-orror!' and
further he remarked, with honest pride, f I have liveder as a beggar
— a roadersider vaigerant, but no ker-rime since then has stained

I these hands ! ' All these sentiments of the worthy man were hailed
with showers of applause; and when, in the excitement of his
feelings on one occasion, after a soliloquy, he * went off' on his back,

| kicking and shuffling along the ground, after the manner of bold
spirits in trouble, who object to be taken to the station-house,
the cheering was tremendous.

And to see how little harm he had done, after all ! Sir George

Elmore's elder brother was NOT dead. Not he ! He recovered, after

this sensitive creature had * fel-ed in er-orror,' and, putting a black

ribbon over his eyes to disguise himself, went and lived in a modest

190

THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PEOPLE

retirement with his only child. In short, Mr. Stars was the identical
individual ! When Will Stanmore turned out to be the wrongful
Sir George Elmore's son, instead of the Child of Mystery and the
Man of Crime, who turned out to be Michael's son (a change
having been effected, in revenge, by the lady from the Pyrenean
Mountains, who became the Wild Wanderer of the Heath, in
consequence of the wrongful Sir George Elmore's perfidy to her and
desertion of her), Mr. Stars went up to the Castle, and mentioned
to his murdering brother how it was. Mr. Stars said it was all
right; he bore no malice; he had kept out of the way, in order
that his murdering brother (to whose numerous virtues he was no
stranger) might enjoy the property ; and now he would propose
that they should make it up and dine together. The murdering
brother immediately consented, embraced the Wild Wanderer, and
it is supposed sent instructions to Doctors' Commons for a license
to marry her. After which, they were all very comfortable indeed.
For it is not much to try to murder your brother for the sake of
his property, if you only suborn such a delicate assassin as Michael
the Mendicant !

All this did not tend to the satisfaction of the Child of Mystery
and Man of Crime, who was so little pleased by the general hap
piness, that he shot Will Stanmore, now joyfully out of prison and
going to be married directly to May Morning, and carried off the
body, and May Morning to boot, to a lone hut. Here, Will
Stanmore, laid out for dead at fifteen minutes past twelve, P.M.,
arose at seventeen minutes past, infinitely fresher than most daisies,
and fought two strong men single-handed. However, the Wild
Wanderer, arriving with a party of male wild wanderers, who were
always at her disposal — and the murdering brother arriving arm-
in-arm with Mr. Stars — stopped the combat, confounded the Child
of Mystery and Man of Crime, and blessed the lovers.

The adventures of Red Riven the Bandit concluded the
moral lesson of the evening. But, feeling by this time a little
fatigued, and believing that we already discerned in the countenance
of Mr. Whelks a sufficient confusion between right and wrong to
last him for one night, we retired : the rather as we intended to
meet him, shortly, at another place of dramatic entertainment for
the people.

191

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

II
[APRIL 30, 1850]

Ma. WHELKS being much in the habit of recreating himself at a
class of theatres called 'Saloons/ we repaired to one of these, not
long ago, on a Monday evening; Monday being a great holiday-
night with Mr. Whelks and his friends.

The Saloon in question is the largest in London (that which is
known as the Eagle, in the City Road, should be excepted from the
generic term, as not presenting by any means the same class of
entertainment), and is situate not far from Shoreditch Church. It
announces ' The People's Theatre,1 as its second name. The prices
of admission are, to the boxes, a shilling ; to the pit, sixpence ; to
the lower gallery, fourpence ; to the upper gallery and back seats,
threepence. There is no half-price. The opening piece on this
occasion was described in the bills as ' The greatest hit of the season,
the grand new legendary and traditionary drama, combining super
natural agencies with historical facts, and identifying extraordinary
superhuman causes with material, terrific, and powerful effects.1
All the queen's horses and all the queen's men could not have drawn
Mr. Whelks into the place like this description. Strengthened by
lithographic representations of the principal superhuman causes,
combined with the most popular of the material, terrific, and
, powerful effects, it became irresistible. Consequently, we had already
\ failed, once, in finding six square inches of room within the walls, to
stand upon ; and when we now paid our money for a little stage
box, like a dry shower-bath, we did so in the midst of a stream of
people who persisted on paying theirs for other parts of the house in
despite of the representations of the Money-taker that it was ' very
full, everywhere.'

The outer avenues and passages of the People's Theatre bore
abundant testimony to the fact of its being frequented by very dirty
people. Within, the atmosphere was far from odoriferous. The
place was crammed to excess, in all parts. Among the audience
were a large number of boys and youths, and a great many very
young girls grown into bold women before they had well ceased to
be children. These last were the worst features of the whole crowd
192

and were more prominent there than in any other sort of public
assembly that we know of, except at a public execution. There was
no drink supplied, beyond the contents of the porter-can (magnified
in its dimensions, perhaps), which may be usually seen traversing
the galleries of the largest Theatres as well as the least, and which
was here seen everywhere. Huge ham sandwiches, piled on trays
like deals in a timber-yard, were handed about for sale to the
hungry ; and there was no stint of oranges, cakes, brandy-balls, or
other similar refreshments. The Theatre was capacious, with a very
large, capable stage, well lighted, well appointed, and managed in a
business-like, orderly manner in all respects ; the performances had
begun so early as a quarter past six, and had been then in progress
for three-quarters of an hour.

It was apparent here, as in the theatre we had previously visited,
that one of the reasons of its great attraction was its being directly
addressed to the common people, in the provision made for their
seeing and hearing. Instead of being put away in a dark gap in the '
roof of an immense building, as in our once National Theatres, they
were here in possession of eligible points of view, and thoroughly
able to take in the whole performance. Instead of being at a great
disadvantage in comparison with the mass of the audience, they were
here the audience, for whose accommodation the place was made.
We believe this to be one great cause of the success of these specula
tions. In whatever way the common people are addressed, whether
in churches, chapels, schools, lecture-rooms, or theatres, to be suc
cessfully addressed they must be directly appealed to. No matter
how good the feast, they will not come to it on mere sufferance. If,
on looking round us, we find that the only things plainly and
personally addressed to them, from quack medicines upwards, be
bad or very defective things, — so much the worse for them and for
all of us, and so much the more unjust and absurd the system which
has haughtily abandoned a strong ground to such occupation.

We will add that we believe these people have a right to be
amused. A great deal that we consider to be unreasonable, is
written and talked about not licensing these places of entertainment.
We have already intimated that we believe a love of dramatic
representations to be an inherent principle in human nature. In
most conditions of human life of which we have any knowledge, from
the Greeks to the Bosjesmen, some form of dramatic representation
VOL. I:N 193

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

has always obtained.1 We have a vast respect for county magis
trates, and for the lord chamberlain ; but we render greater
deference to such extensive and immutable experience, and think it
will outlive the whole existing court and commission. We would
assuredly not bear harder on the fourpenny theatre, than on the
four shilling theatre, or the four guinea theatre; but we would
decidedly interpose to turn to some wholesome account the means of
instruction which it has at command, and we would make that
office of Dramatic Licenser, which, like many other offices, has
become a mere piece of Court favour and dandy conventionality, a
real, responsible, educational trust. We would have it exercise a
sound supervision over the lower drama, instead of stopping the career
of a real work of art, as it did in the case of Mr. Chorley's play at
the Surrey Theatre, but a few weeks since, for a sickly point of form.

To return to Mr. Whelks. The audience, being able to see and
hear, were very attentive. They were so closely packed, that they
took a little time in settling down after any pause ; but otherwise
the general disposition was to lose nothing, and to check (in no
choice language) any disturber of the business of the scene.

On our arrival, Mr. Whelks had already followed Lady Hatton
the Heroine (whom we faintly recognised as a mutilated theme of
the late Thomas Ingoldsby) to the ' Gloomy Dell and Suicide's Tree,'
where Lady H. had encountered the ' apparition of the dark man of
doom,' and heard the ' fearful story of the Suicide.' She had also
' signed the compact in her own Blood ' ; beheld * the Tombs rent
asunder ' ; seen ' skeletons start from their graves, and gibber Mine,
mine, for ever ! ' and undergone all these little experiences (each set
forth in a separate line in the bill) in the compass of one act. It
was not yet over, indeed, for we found a remote king of England
of the name of ' Enerry,' refreshing himself with the spectacle of
a dance in a Garden, which was interrupted by the * thrilling
appearance of the Demon.' This * superhuman cause '(with black

1 In the remote interior of Africa, and among the North American Indians, this
truth is exemplified in an equally striking manner. Who that saw the four grim,
stunted, abject Bush-people at the Egyptian Hall * — with two natural actors among them
out of that number, one a male and the other a female — can forget how something
human and imaginative gradually broke out in the little ugly man, when he was roused
from crouching over the charcoal fire, into giving a dramatic representation of the
tracking of a beast, the shooting of it with poisoned arrows, and the creature's death ?

• See The American Panorama, page 139.
194

eyebrows slanting up into his temples, and red-foil cheekbones,)
brought the Drop-Curtain down as we took possession of our
Shower-Bath.

It seemed, on the curtain's going up again, that Lady Hatton
had sold herself to the Powers of Darkness, on very high terms, and
was now overtaken by remorse, and by jealousy too ; the latter
pas&ion being excited by the beautiful Lady Rodolpha, ward to the
king. It was to urge Lady Hatton on to the murder of this young
female (as well as we could make out, but both we and Mr. Whelks
found the incidents complicated) that the Demon appeared 'once
again in all his terrors.' Lady Hatton had been leading a life of
piety, but the Demon was not to have his bargain declared off, in
right of any such artifices, and now offered a dagger for the destruc
tion of Rodolpha. Lady Hatton hesitating to accept this trifle from
Tartarus, the Demon, for certain subtle reasons of his own, proceeded
to entertain her with a view of the ' gloomy court-yard of a convent,'
and the apparitions of the * Skeleton Monk,' and the ' King of
Terrors.' Against these superhuman causes, another superhuman
cause, to wit, the ghost of Lady H.'s mother came into play, and
greatly confounded the Powers of Darkness, by waving the ' sacred
emblem ' over the head of the else devoted Rodolpha, and causing
her to sink unto the earth. Upon this the Demon, losing his temper,
fiercely invited Lady Hatton to * Be-old the tortures of the damned ! '
and straightway conveyed her to a ' grand and awful view of Pande
monium, and Lake of Transparent Rolling Fire,' whereof, and also
of ' Prometheus chained, and the Vulture gnawing at his liver,'
Mr. Whelks was exceedingly derisive.

The Demon still failing, even there, and still finding the ghost
of the old lady greatly in his way, exclaimed that these vexations
had such a remarkable effect upon his spirit as to ' sear his eyeballs,'
and that he must go 'deeper down,' which he accordingly did. Here
upon it appeared that it was all a dream on Lady Hatton's part,
and that she was newly married and uncommonly happy. This put
an end to the incongruous heap of nonsense, and set Mr. Whelks
applauding mightily ; for, except with the lake of transparent rolling
fire (which was not half infernal enough for him), Mr. Whelks was
infinitely contented with the whole of the proceedings.

Ten thousand people, every week, all the year round, are esti-
t mated to attend this place of amusement. If it were closed to-

195

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

morrow — if there were fifty such, and they were all closed to-morrow
— the only result would be to cause that to be privately and evasively
done, which is now publicly done ; to render the harm of it much
greater, and to exhibit the suppressive power of the law in an.
oppressive and partial light. The people who now resort here, will
be amused somewhere. It is of no use to blink that fact, or to make
pretences to the contrary. We had far better apply ourselves to
improving the character of their amusement. It would not be
exacting much, or exacting anything very difficult, to require that
the pieces represented in these Theatres should have, at least, a
good, plain, healthy purpose in them.

To the end that our experiences might not be supposed to be
partial or unfortunate, we went, the very next night, to the Theatre
where we saw May Morning, and found Mr. Whelks engaged in
the study of an 'Original old English Domestic and Romantic
Drama,' called Eva the Betrayed, or The Ladye of Lambythe.
We proceed to develop the incidents which gradually unfolded
themselves to Mr. Whelks's understanding.

One Geoffrey Thornley the younger, on a certain fine morning,
married his father's ward, Eva the Betrayed, the Ladye of Lambythe.
She had become the betrayed, in right — or in wrong — of designing
Geoffrey's machinations ; for that corrupt individual, knowing her
to be under promise of marriage to Walter More, a young mariner
(of whom he was accustomed to make slighting mention as 'a
minion '), represented the said More to be no more, and obtained
the consent of the too trusting Eva to their immediate union.

Now, it came to pass, by a singular coincidence, that on the
identical morning of the marriage, More came home, and was taking
a walk about the scenes of his boyhood — a little faded since that
time — when he rescued ' Wilbert the Hunchback ' from some very
rough treatment. This misguided person, in return, immediately
fell to abusing his preserver in round terms, giving him to understand
that he (the preserved) hated ' manerkind, wither two eckerceptions,'
one of them being the deceiving Geoffrey, whose retainer he was,
and for whom he felt an unconquerable attachment ; the other, a
relative, whom, in a similar redundancy of emphasis, adapted to the
requirements of Mr. Whelks, he called his ' assister.' This misan
thrope also made the cold-blooded declaration, ' There was a timer
when I loved my fellow keretures, till they deserpised me. Now, I
196

THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PEOPLE

live only to witness man's disergherace and woman's misery!' In
furtherance of this amiable purpose of existence, he directed More
to where the bridal procession was coming home from church, and
Eva recognised More, and More reproached Eva, and there was a
great to-do, and a violent struggling, before certain social villagers who
were celebrating the event with morris-dances. Eva was borne off in
a tearing condition, and the bill very truly observed that the end of
that part of the business was * despair and madness.'

Geoffrey, Geoffrey, why were you already married to another !
Why could you not be true to your lawful wife Katherine, instead
of deserting her, and leaving her to come tumbling into public-
houses (on account of weakness) in search of you! You might have
known what it would end in, Geoffrey Thornley ! You might have
known that she would come up to your house on your wedding day
with her marriage-certificate in her pocket, determined to expose
you. You might have known beforehand, as you now very com
posedly observe, that you would have * but one course to pursue.'
That course clearly is to wind your right hand in Katherine's long
hair, wrestle with her, stab her, throw down the body behind the
door (cheers from Mr. Whelks), and tell the devoted Hunchback to
get rid of it. On the devoted Hunchback's finding that it is the
body of his ' assister,' and taking her marriage-certificate from her
pocket and denouncing you, of course you have still but one course
to pursue, and that is to charge the crime upon him, and have him
carried off with all speed into the 'deep and massive dungeons
beneath Thornley Hall.5

More having, as he was rather given to boast, * a goodly vessel
on the lordly Thames,' had better have gone away with it, weather
permitting, than gone after Eva. Naturally, he got carried down
to the dungeons, too, for lurking about, and got put into the next
dungeon to the Hunchback, then expiring from poison. And there
they were, hard and fast, like two wild beasts in dens, trying to get
glimpses of each other through the bars, to the unutterable interest
of MR. WHELKS.

But when the Hunchback made himself known, and when More
did the same ; and when the Hunchback said he had got the certifi
cate which rendered Eva's marriage illegal ; and when More raved
to have it given to him, and when the Hunchback (as having some
grains of misanthropy in him to the last) persisted in going into his

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dying agonies in a remote corner of his cage, and took unheard-of
trouble not to die anywhere near the bars that were within More's
reach ; Mr. Whelks applauded to the echo. At last the Hunchback
was persuaded to stick the certificate on the point of a dagger, and
hand it in ; and that done, died extremely hard, knocking himself
violently about, to the very last gasp, and certainly making the
most of all the life that was in him.

Still, More had yet to get out of his den before he could turn this
certificate to any account. His first step was to make such a violent
uproar as to bring into his presence a certain ' Norman Free Lance '
who kept watch and ward over him. His second, to inform this
warrior, in the style of the Polite Letter- Writer, that * circumstances
had occurred ' rendering it necessary that he should be immediately
let out. The warrior declining to submit himself to the force of
these circumstances, Mr. More proposed to him, as a gentleman and
A man of honour, to allow him to step out into the gallery, and
there adjust an old feud subsisting between them, by single combat.
The unwary Free Lance, consenting to this reasonable proposal, was
shot from behind by the comic man, whom he bitterly designated as
' a snipe ' for that action, and then died exceedingly game.

All this occurred in one day — the bridal day of the Ladye of
Lambythe ; and now Mr. Whelks concentrated all his energies into
a focus, bent forward, looked straight in front of him, and held his
breath. For, the night of the eventful day being come, Mr. Whelks
was admitted to the ' bridal chamber of the Ladye of Lambythe,1
where he beheld a toilet table, and a particularly large and desolate
four-post bedstead. Here the Ladye, having dismissed her brides
maids, was interrupted in deploring her unhappy fate, by the
entrance of her husband ; and matters, under these circumstances,
were proceeding to very desperate extremities, when the Ladye (by
this time aware of the existence of the certificate) found a dagger on
the dressing-table, and said, * Attempt to enfold me in thy pernicious
embrace, and this poignard — ! ' etc. He did attempt it, however,
for all that, and he and the Ladye were dragging one another about
like wrestlers, when Mr. More broke open the door, and entering
with the whole domestic establishment and a Middlesex magistrate,
took him into custody and claimed his bride.

It is but fair to Mr. Whelks to remark on one curious fact in
this entertainment. When the situations were very strong indeed,
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PERFECT FELICITY

they were very like what some favourite situations in the Italian
Opera would be to a profoundly deaf spectator. The despair and
madness at the end of the first act, the business of the long hair,
and the struggle in the bridal chamber, were as like the conventional
passion of the Italian singers, as the orchestra was unlike the opera
band, or its 'hurries' unlike the music of the great composers. So
do extremes meet ; and so is there some hopeful congeniality between
what will excite Mr. Whelks, and what will rouse a Duchess.

PERFECT FELICITY

IN A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW
[APRIL 6, 1850]

I AM the Raven in the Happy Family — and nobody knows what a
life of misery I lead !

The dog informs me (he was a puppy about town before he
joined us; which was lately) that there is more than one Happy
Family on view in London. Mine, I beg to say, may be known by
being the Family which contains a splendid Raven.

I want to know why I am to be called upon to accommodate my
self to a cat, a mouse, a pigeon, a ringdove, an owl (who is the
greatest ass I have ever known), a guinea-pig, a sparrow, and a
variety of other creatures with whom I have no opinion in common.
Is this national education ? Because, if it is, I object to it. Is our
cage what they call neutral ground, on which all parties may agree?
If so, war to the beak I consider preferable.

What right has any man to require me to look complacently at
a cat on a shelf all day ? It may be all very well for the owl. My
opinion of him is that he blinks and stares himself into a state
of such dense stupidity that he has no idea what company he is
in. I have seen him, with my own eyes, blink himself, for hours,
into the conviction that he was alone in a belfry. But / am not
the owl. It would have been better for me, if I had been born in
that station of life.

I am a Raven. I am, by nature, a sort of collector, or anti
quarian. If I contributed, in my natural state, to any Periodical,
it would be The Gentleman's Magazine. I have a passion for amass
ing things that are of no use to me, and burying them. Supposing

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such a thing — I don't wish it to be known to our proprietor that
I put this case, but I say, supposing such a thing — as that I took
out one of the Guinea-Pig's eyes ; how could I bury it here ? The
floor of the cage is not an inch thick. To be sure, I could dig
through it with my bill (if I dared), but what would be the comfort
of dropping a Guinea- Pig's eye into Regent Street ?

What / want, is privacy. I want to make a collection. I desire
to get a little property together. How can I do it here ? Mr.
Hudson couldn't have done it, under corresponding circumstances.

I want to live by my own abilities, instead of being provided for
in this way. I am stuck in a cage with these incongruous com
panions, and called a member of the Happy Family; but suppose
you took a Queen's Counsel out of Westminster Hall, and settled
him board and lodging free, in Utopia, where there would be no
excuse for ' his quiddits, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his
tricks,' how do you think he 'd like it ? Not at all. Then why do
you expect me to like it, and add insult to injury by calling me a
' Happy 1 Raven !

This is what / say : I want to see men do it. I should like to
get up a Happy Family of men, and show 'em. I should like to
put the Rajah Brooke, the Peace Society, Captain Aaron Smith,
several Malay Pirates, Dr. Wiseman, the Reverend Hugh Stowell,
Mr. Fox of Oldham, the Board of Health, all the London under
takers, some of the Common (very common / think) Council, and
all the vested interests in the filth and misery of the poor into a
good-sized cage, and see how they 'd get on. I should like to look
in at 'em through the bars, after they had undergone the training
I have undergone. You wouldn't find Sir Peter Laurie ' putting
down' Sanitary Reform then, or getting up in that vestry, and
pledging his word and honour to the non-existence of Saint Paul's
Cathedral, I expect ! And very happy he 'd be, wouldn't he, when
he couldn't do that sort of thing ?

I have no idea of you lords of the creation coming staring at
me in this false position. Why don't you look at home ? If you
think I 'm fond of the dove, you 're very much mistaken. If you
imagine there is the least goodwill between me and the pigeon, you
never were more deceived in your lives. If you suppose I wouldn't
demolish the whole Family (myself excepted), and the cage too, if
I had my own way, you don't know what a real Raven is. But if
200

JOHN AUSTIN

Respectfully unites the Nobility (Gentry, and Ihe Public.
to view li'is Collection of

A N I M A L S
OPPOSITE NATURES

LIVING IN ONE CAGE,

^Vnlt.rloo Bridge. Monday*. Ifttlnt.-iilui/s, finil I'riiinys ;
&>tit/r<riirfc Bridge., Tuenlay*, Thursdays, nnd SalurHnys.

PERFECT FELICITY

you do know this, why am / to be picked out as a curiosity ? Why
don't you go and stare at the Bishop of Exeter? 'Ecod, he's one
of our breed, if anybody is !

Do you make me lead this public life because I seem to be what
I ain't ? Why, I don't make half the pretences that are common
among you men ! You never heard me call the sparrow my noble
friend. When did / ever tell the Guinea-Pig that he was my Chris
tian brother? Name the occasion of my making myself a party
to the * sham ' (my friend Mr. Carlyle will lend me his favourite word
for the occasion) that the cat hadn't really her eye upon the mouse !
Can you say as much ? What about the last Court Ball, the next
Debate in the Lords, the last great Ecclesiastical Suit, the next
long assembly in the Court Circular ? I wonder you are not ashamed
to look me in the eye ! I am an independent Member — of the
Happy Family ; and I ought to be let out.

I have only one consolation in my inability to damage anything,
and that is that I hope I am instrumental in propagating a delusion
as to the character of Ravens. I have a strong impression that the
sparrows on our beat are beginning to think they may trust a
Raven. Let 'em try ! There 's an uncle of mine in a stable-yard
down in Yorkshire who will very soon undeceive any small bird that
may favour him with a call.

The dogs too. Ha, ha ! As they go by, they look at me and
this dog, in quite a friendly way. They never suspect how I should
hold on to the tip of his tail, if I consulted my own feelings instead
of our proprietor's. It 's almost worth being here, to think of some
confiding dog who has seen me, going too near a friend of mine
who lives at a hackney-coach stand in Oxford Street. You wouldn't
stop his squeaking in a hurry, if my friend got a chance at him.

It 's the same with the children. There 's a young gentleman with
a hat and feathers, resident in Portland Place, who brings a penny
to our proprietor twice a week. He wears very short white drawers,
and has mottled legs above his socks. He hasn't the least idea what
I should do to his legs, if I consulted my own inclinations. He never
imagines what I am thinking of when we look at one another. May
he only take those legs, in their present juicy state, close to the cage
of my brother-in-law of the Zoological Gardens, Regent's Park !

Call yourselves rational beings, and talk about our being re
claimed ? Why, there isn't one of us who wouldn't astonish you,

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if we could only get out. Let me out, and see whether 7 should
be meek or not. But this is the way you always go on in — you
know you do. Up at Pentonville, the sparrow says — and he ought
to know, for he was born in a stack of chimneys in that prison —
you are spending I am afraid to say how much, every year out of
the rates, to keep men in solitude, where they CAN'T do any harm
(that you know of), and then you sing all sorts of choruses about
their being good. So am I what you call good — here. Why?
Because I can't help it. Try me outside !

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the Magpie says ;
and I agree with him. If you are determined to pet only those
who take things and hide them, why don't you pet the Magpie and
me ? We are interesting enough for you, ain't we ? The Mouse
says you are not half so particular about the honest people. He is
not a bad authority. He was almost starved when he lived in a
workhouse, wasn't he ? He didn't get much fatter, I suppose, when
he moved to a labourer's cottage ? He was thin enough when he
came from that place, here — I know that. And what does the
Mouse (whose word is his bond) declare ? He declares that you
don't take half the care you ought ; of your own young, and don't
teach 'em half enough. Why don't you then? You might give
our proprietor something to do, I should think, in twisting miser
able boys and girls into their proper nature, instead of twisting us
out of ours. You are a nice set of fellows, certainly, to come and
look at Happy Families, as if you had nothing else to look after !

I take the opportunity of our proprietor's pen and ink in the
evening to write this. I shall put it away in a corner — quite sure,
as it 's intended for the Post Office, of Mr. Rowland Hill's getting
hold of it somehow, and sending it to somebody. I understand he
can do anything with a letter. Though the Owl says (but I don't
believe him), that the present prevalence of measles and chicken-pox
among infants in all parts of this country, has been caused by
Mr. Rowland Hill. I hope I needn't add that we Ravens are all
good scholars, but that we keep our secret (as the Indians believe
the Monkeys do, according to a Parrot of my acquaintance) lest our
abilities should be imposed upon. As nothing worse than my
present degradation as a member of the Happy Family can happen
to me, however, I desert the General Freemason's Lodge of Ravens,
and express my disgust in writing.
2O2

FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

[MAY 11, 1850]

I WON'T bear it, and I don't see why I should.

Having begun to commit my grievances to writing, I have made
up my mind to go on. You men have a saying, * I may as well be
hung for a sheep as a lamb.1 Very good, / may as well get into a
false position with our proprietor for a ream of manuscript as a
quire. Here goes !

I want to know who Buffon * was. I '11 take my oath he wasn't a
bird. Then what did he know about birds — especially about
Ravens ? He pretends to know all about Ravens. Who told him ?
Was his authority a Raven ? I should think not. There never was
a Raven yet who committed himself, you '11 find, if you look into the
precedents.

There 's a schoolmaster in dusty black knee-breeches and stock
ings, who comes and stares at our establishment every Saturday,
and brings a lot of boys with him. He is always bothering the boys
about Buffon. That's the way I know what Buffon says. He is
a nice man, Buffon ; and you 're all nice men together, ain't you ?

What do you mean by saying that I am inquisitive and impudent,
that I go everywhere, that I affront and drive off the dogs, that I
play pranks on the poultry, and that I am particularly assiduous in
cultivating the goodwill of the cook ? That 's what your friend
Buffon says, and you adopt him it appears. And what do you mean
by calling me ' a glutton by nature and a thief by habit ' ? Why,
the identical boy who was being told this, on the strength of Buffon,
as he looked through our wires last Saturday, was almost out of his
mind with pudding, and had got another boy's top in his pocket !

I tell you what. I like the idea of you men, writing histories of
MS, and settling what we are, and what we are not, and calling us any
names you like best. What colours do you think you would show in,
yourselves, if some of us were to take it into our heads to write
histories of you ? I know something of Astley's Theatre, I hope ; I
1 Comte de G. L. L. Buffon, Naturalist, 1707-1788.

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was about the stables there, a few years. Ecod ! if you heard the
observations of the Horses after the performance, you 'd have some
of the conceit taken out of you !

I don't mean to say that I admire the Cat. I don't admire her.
On the whole, I have a personal animosity towards her. But being
obliged to lead this life, I condescend to hold communication with
her, and I have asked her what her opinion is. She lived with an
old lady of property before she came here, who had a number of
nephews and nieces.- She says she could show you up to that extent,
after her experience in that situation, that even you would be hardly
brazen enough to talk of cats being sly and selfish any more.

I am particularly assiduous in cultivating the goodwill of the
cook, am I ? Oh ! I suppose you never do anything of this sort,
yourselves ? No politician among you was ever particularly assidu
ous in cultivating the goodwill of a minister, eh ? No clergyman
in cultivating the goodwill of a bishop, humph ? No fortune-seeker
in cultivating the goodwill of a patron, hah ? You have no toad-
eating, no time-serving, no place-hunting, no lacqueyship of gold and
silver sticks, or anything of that sort, I suppose ? You haven't too
many cooks, in short, whom you are all assiduously cultivating, till
you spoil the general broth ? Not you. You leave that to the
Ravens.

Your friend Buffon, and some more of you, are mighty ready, it
seems, to give us characters. Would you like to hear about your
own temper and forbearance? Ask the Dog. About your never
overloading or ill-using a willing creature ? Ask my brother-in-law's
friend, the Camel, up in the Zoological. About your gratitude to,
and your provision for, old servants ? I wish I could refer you to the
last horse I dined off (he was very tough), up at a knacker's yard in
Battle Bridge. About your mildness, and your abstinence from
blows and cudgels ? Wait till the Donkey's book comes out !

You are very fond of laughing at the parrot, I observe. Now, I
don't care for the parrot. I don't admire the parrot's voice — it
wants hoarseness. And I despise the parrot's livery — considering
black the only true wear. I would as soon stick my bill into the
parrot's breast as look at him. Sooner. But if you come to that,
and you laugh at the parrot because the parrot says the same thing
over and over again, don't you think you could get up a laugh at
yourselves ? Did you ever know a Cabinet Minister say of a flagrant
204

FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

job or great abuse, perfectly notorious to the whole country, that he
had never heard a word of it himself, but could assure the honourable
gentleman that every inquiry should be made ? Did you ever hear
a Justice remark, of any extreme example of ignorance, that it was a
most extraordinary case, and he couldn't have believed in the possi
bility of such a case — when there had been, all through his life, ten
thousand such within sight of his chimney-pots ? Did you ever hear,
among yourselves, anything approaching to a parrot repetition of
the words, Constitution, Country, Public Service, Self-Government,
Centralisation, Un-English, Capital, Balance of Power, Vested
Interests, Corn, Rights of Labour, Wages, or so forth ? Did you
ever ? No ! Of course you never !

But to come back to that fellow Buffon. He finds us Ravens to
be most extraordinary creatures. We have properties so remarkable,
that you 'd hardly believe it. ' A piece of money, a teaspoon, or a
ring,' he says, * are always tempting baits to our avarice. These we
will slily seize upon ; and, if not watched, carry to our favourite hole.1
How odd!

Did you ever hear of a place called California ? / have. I
understand there are a number of animals over there, from all parts
of the world, turning up the ground with their bills, grubbing under
the water, sickening, moulting, living in want and fear, starving,
dying, tumbling over on their backs, murdering one another, and
all for what ? Pieces of money that they want to carry to their
favourite holes. Ravens every one of 'em ! Not a man among
'em, bless you !

Did you ever hear of Railway Scrip ? / have. We made a pretty
exhibition of ourselves about that, we feathered creatures ! Lord,
how we went on about that Railway Scrip ! How we fell down, to
a bird, from the Eagle to the Sparrow, before a scarecrow, and
worshipped it for the love of the bits of rag and paper fluttering
from its dirty pockets ! If it hadn't tumbled down in its rottenness,
we should have clapped a title on it within ten years, I '11 be sworn !
— Go along with you, and your Buffon, and don't talk to me !

' The Raven don't confine himself to petty depredations on the
pantry or the larder ' — here you are with your Buffon again — * but
he soars at more magnificent plunder, that he can neither exhibit nor
enjoy/ This must be very strange to you men — more than it is to
the Cat who lived with that old lady, though !

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Now, I am not going to stand this. You shall not have it all
your own way. I am resolved that I won't have Ravens written
about by men, without having men written about by Ravens — at all
events by one Raven, and that 's me. I shall put down my opinions
about you. As leisure and opportunity serve, I shall collect a
natural history of you. You are a good deal given to talk about
your missions. That 's my mission. How do you like it ?

I am open to contributions from any animal except one of your
set ; bird, beast, or fish, may assist me in my mission, if he will. I
have mentioned it to the Cat, intimated it to the Mouse, and pro
posed it to the Dog. The Owl shakes his head when I confide it to
him, and says he doubts. He always did shake his head and doubt.
Whenever he brings himself before the public, he never does any
thing except shake his head and doubt. I should have thought he
had got himself into a sufficient mess by doing that, when he roosted
for a long time in the Court of Chancery. But he can't leave off.
He 's always at it.

Talking of missions, here 's our Proprietor's Wife with a mission
now ! She has found out that she ought to go and vote at elections ;
ought to be competent to sit in Parliament ; ought to be able to
enter the learned professions — the army and navy, too, I believe.
She has made the discovery that she has no business to be the com
fort of our Proprietor's life, and to have the hold upon him of not
being mixed up in all the j anglings and wranglings of men, but is
quite ill-used in being the solace of his home, and wants to go out
speechifying. That 's our Proprietor's Wife's new mission. Why,
you never heard the Dove go on in that ridiculous way. She knows
her true strength better.

You are mighty proud about your language ; but it seems to me
that you don't deserve to have words, if you can't make a better use
of 'em. You know you are always fighting about 'em. Do you never
mean to leave that off, and come to things a little ? I thought you
had high authority for not tearing each other's eyes out, about
words. You respect it, don't you ?

I declare I am stunned with words, on my perch in the Happy
Family. I used to think the cry of a Peacock bad enough, when I
was on sale in a menagerie, but I had rather live in the midst of
twenty peacocks, than one Gorham and a Privy Council. In the
midst of your wordy squabbling, you don't think of the lookers-on.
206

FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

But if you heard what / hear in my public thoroughfare, you 'd stop
a little of that noise, and leave the great bulk of the people some
thing to believe in peace. You are overdoing it, I assure you.

I don't wonder at the Parrot picking words up and occupying
herself with them. She has nothing else to do. There are no desti
tute parrots, no uneducated parrots, no foreign parrots in a con
tagious state of distraction, no parrots in danger of pestilence, no
festering heaps of miserable parrots, no parrots crying to be sent
away beyond the sea for dear life. But among you ! —

Well ! I repeat, I am not going to stand it. Tame submission
to injustice is unworthy of a Raven. I croak the croak of revolt, and
call upon the Happy Family to rally round me. You men have had
it all your own way for a long time. Now, you shall hear a senti
ment or two about yourselves.

I find my last communication gone from the corner where I hid
it. I rather suspect the magpie, but he says, * Upon his honour.' If
Mr. Rowland Hill has got it, he will do me justice — more justice
than you have done him lately, or I am mistaken in my man.

[JUNE 8, 1850]

HALLOA !

You won't let me begin that Natural History of you, eh ? You
will always be doing something or other, to take off my attention ?
Now, you have begun to argue with the Undertakers, have you ?
What next!

Ugh ! you are a nice set of fellows to be discussing, at this time
of day, whether you shall countenance that humbug any longer.
'Performing' funerals, indeed! I have heard of performing dogs
and cats, performing goats and monkeys, performing ponies, white-
mice, and canary-birds ; but performing drunkards at so much a
day, guzzling over your dead, and throwing half of you into debt
for a twelvemonth, beats all I ever heard of. Ha, ha !

The other day there was a person 'went and died' (as our
Proprietor's wife says) close to our establishment. Upon my beak

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I thought I should have fallen off my perch, you made me laugh so,
at the funeral !

Oh my crop and feathers, what a scene it was ! / never saw the
Owl so charmed. It was just the thing for him.

First of all, two dressed-up fellows came — trying to look sober,
but they couldn't do it — and stuck themselves outside the door.
There they stood, for hours, with a couple of crutches covered over
with drapery; cutting their jokes on the company as they went in,
and breathing such strong rum and water into our establishment
over the way, that the Guinea-Pig (who has a poor little head)
was drunk in ten minutes. You are so proud of your humanity.
Ha, ha ! As if a pair of respectable crows wouldn't have done it
much better ?

By and by, there came a hearse and four, and then two carriages
and four ; and on the tops of 'em, and on all the horses' heads, were
plumes of feathers, hired at so much per plume ; and everything,
horses and all, was covered over with black velvet, till you couldn't
see it. Because there were not feathers enough yet, there was a
fellow in the procession carrying a board of 'em on his head, like
Italian images ; and there were about five-and-twenty or thirty
other fellows (all hot and red in the face with eating and drinking)
dressed up in scarves and hat-bands, and carrying — shut-up fishing-
rods, I believe — who went draggling through the mud, in a manner
that I thought would be the death of me ; while the * Black Job
master' — that's what he calls himself — who had let the coaches
and horses to a furnishing undertaker, who had let 'em to a
haberdasher, who had let 'em to a carpenter, who had let 'em to
the parish-clerk, who had let 'em to the sexton, who had let 'em
to the plumber painter and glazier who had got the funeral to do,
looked out of the public-house window at the corner, with his pipe
in his mouth, and said — for I heard him — 'That was the sort of
turn-out to do a gen-teel party credit.' That ! As if any two-and-
sixpenny masquerade, tumbled into a vat of blacking, wouldn't be
quite as solemn, and immeasurably cheaper !

Do you think I don't know you ? You 're mistaken if you think
so. But perhaps you do. Well ! Shall I tell you what I know ?
Can you bear it ? Here it is then. The Black Jobmaster is right.
The root of all this, is the gen-teel party.

You don't mean to deny it, I hope ? You don't mean to tell
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FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

me that this nonsensical mockery isn't owing to your gentility.
Don't I know a Raven in a Cathedral Tower, who has often heard
your service for the Dead ? Don't I know that you always begin
it with the words, * We brought nothing into this world, and it is
certain that we can carry nothing out ' ? Don't I know that in a
monstrous satire on those words, you carry your hired velvets, and
feathers, and scarves, and all the rest of it, to the edge of the grave,
and get plundered (and serve you right !) in every article, because
you WILL be gen-teel parties to the last ?

Eh ? Think a little ! Here 's the plumber painter and glazier
come to take the funeral order which he is going to give to the
sexton, who is going to give it to the clerk, who is going to give
it to the carpenter, who is going to give it to the haberdasher, who
is going to give it to the furnishing undertaker, who is going to
divide it with the Black Jobmaster. ' Hearse and four, Sir ? ' says
he. ' No, a pair will be sufficient.' * I beg your pardon, Sir, but
when we buried Mr. Grundy at number twenty, there was four on
'em, Sir ; I think it right to mention it.' l Well, perhaps there
had better be four.' 'Thank you, Sir. Two coaches and four,
Sir, shall we say ? ' * No. Coaches and pair.' * You '11 excuse my
mentioning it, Sir, but pairs to the coaches, and four to the hearse,
would have a singular appearance to the neighbours. When we
put four to anything, we always carry four right through.' ' Well '
say four ! ' * Thank you, Sir. Feathers of course ? ' ' No. No
feathers. They 're absurd.' * Very good, Sir. No feathers?' 'No.'
* Very good, Sir. We can do fours without feathers, Sir, but it 's
what we never do. When we buried Mr. Grundy, there was
feathers, and — I only throw it out, Sir — Mrs. Grundy might think
it strange.' * Very well ! Feathers ! ' ' Thank you, Sir,' — and
so on.

Is it and so on, or not, through the whole black job of jobs,
because of Mrs. Grundy and the gen-teel party ?

I suppose you 've thought about this ? I suppose you 've reflected
on what you're doing, and what you've done? When you read
about those poisonings for the burial society money, you consider
how it is that burial societies ever came to be, at all? You
perfectly understand — you who are not the poor, and ought to
set 'em an example — that, besides making the whole thing costly,
you've confused their minds about this burying, and have taught
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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

'em to confound expense and show, with respect and affection.
You know all you Ve got to answer for, you gen-teel parties ? I 'm
glad of it.

I believe it 's only the monkeys who are servile imitators, is it ?
You reflect ! To be sure you do. So does Mrs. Grundy — and she
casts reflections — don't she ?

What animals are those who scratch shallow holes in the ground
in crowded places, scarcely hide their dead in 'em, and become un
naturally infected by their dead, and die by thousands ? Vultures,
I suppose. I think you call the Vulture an obscene bird ? I don't
consider him agreeable, but I never caught him misconducting
himself in that way.

My honourable friend, the dog — I call him my honourable friend
in your Parliamentary sense, because I hate him — turns round three
times before he goes to sleep. I ask him why ? He says he don't
know ; but he always does it. Do you know how you ever came
to have that board of feathers carried on a fellow's head ? Come.
You 're a boastful race. Show yourselves superior to the dog, and
tell me !

Now, I don't love many people ; but I do love the undertakers.
I except them from the censure I pass upon you in general. They
know you so well, that I look upon 'em as a sort of Ravens. They
are so certain of your being gen-teel parties, that they stick at
nothing. They are sure they Ve got the upper hand of you. Our
proprietor was reading the paper, only last night, and there was
an advertisement in it from a sensitive and libelled undertaker, to
wit, that the allegation * that funerals were unnecessarily expensive,
was an insult to his professional brethren.' Ha! ha! Why, he
knows he has you on the hip. It's nothing to him that their being
unnecessarily expensive is a fact within the experience of all of you
as glaring as the sun when there 's not a cloud. He is certain that
when you want a funeral ' performed,' he has only to be down upon
you with Mrs. Grundy, to do what he likes with you — and then
he '11 go home, and laugh like a Hyaena.

I declare (supposing I wasn't detained against my will by our
proprietor) that, if I had any arms, I 'd take the undertakers to 'em !
There's another, in the same paper, who says they're libelled, in
the accusation of having disgracefully disturbed the meeting in
favour of what you call your General Interment Bill. Our estab-
210

lishment was in the Strand, that night. There was no crowd of
undertakers' men there, with circulars in their pockets, calling on
'em to come in coloured clothes to make an uproar; it wasn't
undertakers' men who got in with forged orders to yell and screech ;
it wasn't undertakers' men who made a brutal charge at the plat
form, and overturned the ladies like a troop of horse. Of course not.
/ know all about it.

But — and lay this well to heart, you Lords of the creation,
as you call yourselves ! — it is these undertakers' men to whom,
in the last trying, bitter grief of life, you confide the loved and
honoured forms of your sisters, mothers, daughters, wives. It is
to these delicate gentry, and to their solemn remarks, and decorous
behaviour, that you entrust the sacred ashes of all that has been
the purest to you, and the dearest to you, in this world. Don't
improve the breed ! Don't change the custom ! Be true to my
opinion of you, and to Mrs. Grundy !

I nail the black flag of the black Jobmaster to our cage —
figuratively speaking — and I stand up for the gen-teel parties. So
(but from different motives) does the Owl. You 've got a chance,
by means of that bill I 've mentioned — by and by, I call my own a
General Interment Bill, for it buries everything it gets hold of — to
alter the whole system ; to avail yourselves of the results of all
improved European experience ; to separate death from life ; to
surround it with everything that is sacred and solemn, and to dis
sever it from everything that is shocking and sordid. You won't
read the bill ? You won't dream of helping it ? You won't think
of looking at the evidence on which it 's founded — Will you ? No.
That's right!

Gen-teel parties, step forward, if you please, to the rescue of the
black Jobmaster ! The rats are with you. I am informed that they
have unanimously passed a resolution that the closing of the London
churchyards will be an insult to their professional brethren, and will
oblige 'em ' to fight for it.' The Parrots are with you. The Owl
is with you. The Raven is with you. No General Interments.
Carrion for ever !

Ha, ha! Halloa!

sir

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

III

[AUGUST 24, 1850]

I SUPPOSE you thought I was dead ? No such thing. Don't flatter
yourselves that I haven't got my eye upon you. I am wide awake,
and you give me plenty to look at.

I have begun my great work about you. I have been collecting
materials from the Horse, to begin with. You are glad to hear it,
ain't you? Very likely. Oh, he gives you a nice character. He
makes you out a charming set of fellows.

He informs me, by the bye, that he is a distinct relation of the
pony that was taken up in a balloon a few weeks ago ; and that the
pony's account of your going to see him at Vauxhall Gardens, is an
amazing thing. The pony says, that when he looked round on the
assembled crowd, come to see the realisation of the wood-cut in the
bill, he found it impossible to discover which was the real Mister
Green — there were so many Mister Greens — and they were all so

very green !

But that 's the way with you. You know it is. Don't tell me !
You'd go to see anything that other people went to see. And don't
flatter yourselves that I am referring to * the vulgar curiosity,' as you
choose to call it, when you mean some curiosity in which you don't
participate yourselves. The polite curiosity in this country, is as
vulgar as any curiosity in the world.

Of course you '11 tell me, no it isn't, but I say yes it is. What
have you got to say for yourselves about the Nepaulese Princes, I
should like to know ? Why, there has been more crowding, and
pressing, and pushing, and jostling, and struggling, and striving, in
genteel houses this last season, on account of those Nepaulese Princes,
than would take place in vulgar Cremorne Gardens and Greenwich
Park, at Easter time and Whitsuntide ! And what for ? Do you
know anything about 'em ? Have you any idea why they came
here? Can you put your finger on their country in the map?
Have you ever asked yourselves a dozen common questions about its
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FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

climate, natural history, government, productions, customs, religion,
manners ? Not you ! Here are a couple of swarthy Princes
very much out of their element, walking about in wide muslin
trousers, and sprinkled all over with gems (like the clock-work
figure on the old round platform in the street, grown up), and
they're fashionable outlandish monsters, and it's a new excite
ment for you to get a stare at 'em. As to asking 'em to dinner
and seeing 'em sit at table without eating in your company
(unclean animals as you are!), you fall into raptures at that.
Quite delicious, isn't it? Ugh, you dunder-headed boobies !

I wonder what there is, new and strange, that you wouldn't
lionise, as you call it. Can you suggest anything? It's not a
hippopotamus, I suppose. I hear from my brother-in-law in the
Zoological Gardens, that you are always pelting away into the
Regent's Park, by thousands, to see the hippopotamus. Oh, you're
very fond of hippopotami, ain't you ? You study one attentively,
when you do see one, don't you ? You come away, so much wiser
than you went, reflecting so profoundly on the wonders of creation —
eh?

Bah ! You follow one another like wild geese, but you are not
so good to eat !

These, however, are not the observations of my friend the Horse.
He takes you, in another point of view. Would you like to read
his contribution to my Natural History of you ? No ? You shall
then.

He is a Cab-horse now. He wasn't always, but he is now, and
his usual stand is close to our Proprietor's usual stand. That's
the way we have come into communication, we ' dumb animals.'
Ha, ha! Dumb, too! Oh, the conceit of you men, because you
can bother the community out of their five wits, by making
speeches !

Well. I mentioned to this Horse that I should be glad to have
his opinions and experiences of you. Here they are :

'At the request of my honourable friend the Raven, I proceed to
offer a few remarks in reference to the animal called Man. I have had
varied experience of this strange creature for fifteen years, and am now
driven by a man, in the hackney cabriolet, number twelve thousand four
hundred and fifty-two.

'The sense Man entertains of his own inferiority to the nobler

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animals — and I am now more particularly referring to the Horse — has
impressed me forcibly, in the course of my career. If a Man knows a
Horse well, he is prouder of it than of any knowledge of himself, within
the range of his limited capacity. He regards it as the sum of all human
acquisition. If he is learned in a Horse, he has nothing else to learn.
And the same remark applies, with some little abatement, to his ac
quaintance with Dogs. I have seen a good deal of Man in my time,
but I think I have never met a Man who didn't feel it necessary to his
reputation to pretend, on occasion, that he knew something of Horses
and Dogs, though he really knew nothing. As to making us a subject
of conversation, my opinion is that we are more talked about, than
history, philosophy, literature, art, and science, all put together. I
have encountered innumerable gentlemen in the country, who were
totally incapable of interest in anything but Horses and Dogs — except
Cattle. And I have always been given to understand that they were
the flower of the civilised world.

' It is very doubtful, to me, whether there is, upon the whole, any
thing Man is so ambitious to imitate, as an ostler, a jockey, a stage
coachman, a horse-dealer, or a dog-fancier. There may be some other
character which I do not immediately remember, that fires him with
emulation ; but, if there be, I am sure it is connected with Horses, or
Dogs, or both. This is an unconscious compliment, on the part of the
tyrant, to the nobler animals, which I consider to be very remarkable.
I have known Lords, and Baronets, and Members of Parliament, out
of number, who have deserted every other calling, to become but
indifferent stablemen or kennelmen, and be cheated on all hands
by the real aristocracy of those pursuits who were regularly born to
the business.

' All this, I say, is a tribute to our superiority which I consider to
be very remarkable. Yet, still, I can't quite understand it. Man can
hardly devote himself to us, in admiration of our virtues, because he
never imitates them. We Horses are as honest, though I say it, as
animals can be. If, under the pressure of circumstances, we submit to
act at a Circus, for instance, we always show that we are acting. We
never deceive anybody. We would scorn to do it. If we are called
upon to do anything in earnest, we do our best. If we are required to
run a race falsely, and to lose when we could win, we are not to be
relied upon, to commit a fraud ; Man must come in at that point, and
force us to it. And the extraordinary circumstance to me, is, that Man
(whom I take to be a powerful species of Monkey) is always making us
nobler animals the instruments of hii meanness and cupidity. The very

214

FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY

name of our kind has become a byword for all sorts of trickery and
cheating. We are as innocent as counters at a game — and yet this
creature WILL play falsely with us !

' Man's opinion, good or bad, is not worth much, as any rational
Horse knows. But, justice is justice; and what I complain of, is, that
Mankind talks of us as if We had something to do with all this. They
say that such a man was " ruined by Horses." Ruined by Horses !
They can't be open, even in that, and say he was ruined by Men ; but
they lay it at our stable-door ! As if we ever ruined anybody, or were
ever doing anything but being ruined ourselves, in our generous desire
to fulfil the useful purposes of our existence !

' In the same way, we get a bad name as if we were profligate com
pany. "So-and-so got among Horses, and it was all up with him."
Why, roe would have reclaimed him — tve would have made him temperate,
industrious, punctual, steady, sensible, — what harm would he ever have
got from us, I should wish to ask ?

' Upon the whole, speaking of him as I have found him, I should
describe Man as an unmeaning and conceited creature, very seldom to
be trusted, and not likely to make advances towards the honesty of the
nobler animals. I should say that his power of warping the nobler
animals to bad purposes, and damaging their reputation by his com
panionship, is, next to the art of growing oats, hay, carrots, and
clover, one of his principal attributes. He is very unintelligible in
his caprices ; seldom expressing with distinctness what he wants of
us; and relying greatly on our better judgment to find out. He is
cruel, and fond of blood — particularly at a steeple-chase — and is very
ungrateful.

' And yet, so far as I can understand, he worships us too. He sets
up images of us (not particularly like, but meant to be) in the streets,
and calls upon his fellows to admire them, and believe in them. As
well as I can make out, it is not of the least importance what images of
Men are put astride upon these images of Horses, for I don't find any
famous personage among them — except one, and his image seems to
have been contracted for, by the gross. The jockeys who ride our
statues are very queer jockeys, it appears to me, but it is something
to find Man even posthumously sensible of what he owes to us. I
believe that when he has done any great wrong to any very distin
guished Horse, deceased, he gets up a subscription to have an awkward
likeness of him made, and erects it in a public place, to be generally
venerated. I can find no other reason for the statues of us that
abound.

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

' It must be regarded as a part of the inconsistency of Man, that he
erects no statues to the Donkeys — who, though far inferior animals to
ourselves, have great claims upon him. I should think a Donkey oppo
site the Horse at Hyde Park, another in Trafalgar Square, and a group
of Donkeys, in brass, outside the Guildhall of the City of London (for I
believe the Common Council Chamber is inside that building) would be
pleasant and appropriate memorials.

' I am not aware that I can suggest anything more, to my honour
able friend the Raven, which will not already have occurred to his
fine intellect. Like myself, he is the victim of brute force, and must
bear it until the present state of things is changed — as it possibly may
be in the good time which I understand is coming, if I wait a little
longer.'

There ! How do you like that ? That 's the Horse. You shall
have another animal's sentiments, soon. I have communicated with
plenty of 'em, and they are all down upon you. It 's not I alone who
have found you out. You are generally detected, I am happy to say,
and shall be covered with confusion.

Talking about the horse, are you going to set up any more
horses ? Eh ? Think a bit. Come ! You haven't got horses
enough yet, surely ? Couldn't you put somebody else on horse
back, and stick him up, at the cost of a few thousands? You
have already statues to most of the ' benefactors of mankind '
(SEE ADVERTISEMENT) in your principal cities. You walk through
groves of great inventors, instructors, discoverers, assuagers of pain,
preventers of disease, suggesters of purifying thoughts, doers of noble
deeds. Finish the list. Come !

Whom will you hoist into the saddle? Let's have a cardinal
virtue ! Shall it be Faith ? Hope ? Charity ? Aye, Charity 's the
virtue to ride on horseback ! Let 's have Charity !

How shall we represent it ? Eh ? What do you think ? Royal ?
Certainly. Duke ? Of course. Charity always was typified in that
way, from the time of a certain widow, downwards. And there's
nothing less left to put up ; all the commoners who were * bene
factors of mankind ' having had their statues in the public places,
long ago.

How shall we dress it? Rags? Low. Drapery? Common
place. Field-Marshal's uniform? The very thing! Charity in a
Field -Marshal's uniform (none the worse for wear) with thirty thou-
216

THE < GOOD ' HIPPOPOTAMUS

sand pounds a year, public money, in its pocket, and fifteen thousand
more, public money, up behind, will be a piece of plain uncompromis
ing truth in the highways, and an honour to the country and the
time.

Ha, ha, ha ! You can't leave the memory of an unassuming,
honest, good-natured, amiable old Duke alone, without bespatter
ing it with your flunkeyism, can't you ? That 's right — and like
you! Here are three brass buttons in my crop. I'll subscribe
'em all. One, to the statue of Charity ; one, to a statue of Hope ;
one, to a statue of Faith. For Faith, we'll have the Nepaulese
Ambassador on horseback — being a prince. And for Hope, we'll
put the Hippopotamus on horseback, and so make a group.

Let 's have a meeting about it !

THE 'GOOD' HIPPOPOTAMUS

[OCTOBER 12, 1850]

OUK correspondent, the Raven in the Happy Family, suggested in
these pages, not long ago, the propriety of a meeting being held, to
settle the preliminary arrangements for erecting an equestrian statue
to the Hippopotamus. We are happy to have received some ex
clusive information on this interesting subject, and to be authorised
to lay it before our readers.

It appears that Mr. Hamet Safi Cannana, the Arabian gentle
man who acts as Secretary to H. R. H. (His Rolling Hulk) the
Hippopotamus, has been, for some time, reflecting that he is under
great obligations to that distinguished creature. Mr. Hamet Safi
Cannana (who is remarkable for candour) has not hesitated to say
that, but for his accidental public connection with H. R. H., he Mr.
Cannana would no doubt have remained to the end of his days an
obscure individual, perfectly unknown to fame, and possessing no
sort of claim on the public attention. H. R. H. having been the
means of getting Mr. Cannana's name into print on several
occasions, and having afforded Mr. Cannana various opportunities
of plunging into the newspapers, Mr. Cannana has felt himself
under a debt of gratitude to H. R. H., requiring some public

217

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

acknowledgment and return. Mr. Cannana, after much considera
tion, has been able to think of no return, at once so notorious and
so cheap, as a monument to H. R. H., to be erected at the public
expense. We cannot positively state that Mr. Cannana founded
this idea on our Correspondent's suggestion — for, indeed, we have
reason to believe that he promulgated it before our Correspondent's
essay appeared — but, we trust it is not claiming too much for the
authority of our Correspondent to hope that it may have confirmed
Mr. Cannana in a very noble, a very sensible, a very spirited,
undertaking.

We proceed to record its history, as far as it has yet gone.

Mr. Hamet Safi Cannana, having conceived the vast original
idea of erecting a Public Monument to H. R. H., set himself to
consider next, by what adjective H. R. H. could be most attractively
distinguished in the advertisements of that Monument. After much
painful and profound cogitation, Mr. Cannana was suddenly inspired
with the wonderful thought of calling him the 'Good' Hippo
potamus !

This is so obviously an inspiration, — a fancy reserved, through
all the previous ages of the world, for this extraordinary genius,
— that we have been at some pains to trace it, if possible, to its
source. But, as usually happens in such cases, Mr. Cannana can
give no account of the process by which he arrived at the result.
Mr. Cannana's description of himself, rendered into English, would
be, that he was ' bothered ' ; that he had thought of a number of
adjectives, as, the oily Hippopotamus, the bland Hippopotamus,
the bathing Hippopotamus, the expensive Hippopotamus, the
valiant Hippopotamus, the sleepy Hippopotamus, when, in a
moment, as it were in the space of a flash of lightning, he found
he had written down, without knowledge why or wherefore, and
without being at all able to account for it, those enduring words,
the * Good ' Hippopotamus.

Having got the phrase down, in black and white, for speedy
publication, the next step was to explain it to an unimaginative
public. This process Mr. Cannana can describe. He relates, that
when he came to consider the vast quantities of milk of which the
Hippopotamus partook, his amazing consumption of meal, his
unctuous appetite for dates, his jog-trot manner of going, his
majestic power of sleep, he felt that all these qualities pointed him
218

THE 'GOOD' HIPPOPOTAMUS

out emphatically, as the ' Good ' Hippopotamus. He never howled,
like the Hyena ; he never roared, like the Lion ; he never screeched,
like the Parrot ; he never damaged the tops of high trees, like the
Giraffe ; he never put a trunk in people's way, like the Elephant ;
he never hugged anybody, like the Bear ; he never projected a forked
tongue, like the Serpent. He was an easy, basking, jolly, slow,
inoffensive, eating and drinking Hippopotamus. Therefore he was,
supremely, the ' Good ' Hippopotamus.

When Mr. Cannana observed the subject from a closer point of
view, he began to find that H. R. H. was not only the ' Good,' but
a Benefactor to the whole human race. He toiled not, neither did
he spin, truly — but he bathed in cool water when the weather was
hot, he slept when he came out of the bath; and he bathed and
slept, serenely, for the public gratification. People, of all ages and
conditions, rushed to see him bathe, and sleep, and feed; and
H. R. H. had no objection. As H. R. H. lay luxuriously winking
at the striving public, one warm summer day, Mr. Cannana dis
tinctly perceived that the whole of H. R. H.'s time and energy was
devoted to the service of that public. Mr. Cannana's eye, wander
ing round the hall, and observing, there assembled, a number of
persons labouring under the terrible disorder of having nothing
particular to do, and too much time to do it in, moistened, as he
reflected that the whole of H. R. H.'s life, in giving them some
temporary excitement, was an act of charity ; was ' devoted ' (Mr
Cannana has since printed these words) 'to the protection and
affectionate care of the sick and the afflicted.' He perceived, upon
the instant, that H. R. H. was a Hippopotamus of ' unsurpassed
worth,' and he drew up an advertisement so describing him.

Mr. Cannana, having brought his project thus far on its road
to prosperity, without stumbling over any obstacle in the way, now
considered it expedient to impart the great design to some other
person or persons who would go hand in hand with him. He con
cluded (having some knowledge of the world) that those who had
lifted themselves into any degree of notoriety by means of H. R. H.,
would be the most likely (but only as best knowing him) to possess
a knowledge of his unsurpassed worth. It is an instance of Mr.
Cannana's sagacity, that he communicated with the Milkman who
supplies the Zoological Gardens.

The Milkman immediately put down his name for ten pounds,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

his wife's for five pounds, and each of their twin childen for two
pounds ten. He added, in a spirited letter, addressed to Mr.
Cannana, and a copy of which is now before us, ' You may rely on
my assistance in any way, or in every way, that may be useful to
your patriotic project, of erecting a Monument to the "Good"
Hippopotamus. We have not Monuments enough. We want
more. H. R. H.'s consumption of milk has far exceeded, from the
first moment of his unwearied devotion of himself to the happiness
of Mankind, any animal's with which I am acquainted ; and that
nature must be base indeed, that would not vibrate to your appeal.'
Emboldened by this sympathy, Mr. Cannana next addressed
himself to the Mealman, who replied, ' This is as it should be,' and
enclosed a subscription of seven pounds ten — with a request that it
might be stated in the published list that the number of his house
was ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FOUR B, at the right-hand corner ot
High Street and Blue Lion Street, and that it had no connection
with any similar establishments in the same neighbourhood, which
were all impositions.

Mr. Cannana now proceeded to form a Committee. The Milk
man and the Mealman both consented to serve. Also the two
Policemen usually on duty (under Mr. Cannana's auspices), in
H. R. H.'s den ; the principal Money-taker at the gardens ; the
Monkey who, early in the season, was appointed (by Mr. Cannana)
to a post on H. R. H.'s grounds ; and all the artificers employed
(under Mr. Cannana's directions), in constructing the existing
accommodation for H. R. H.'s entire dedication of his life and means
to the consolation of the afflicted. Still, Mr. Cannana deemed it
necessary to his project to unite in one solid phalanx all the leading
professional keepers of Show Animals in and near London ; and this
extensive enterprise he immediately pursued, by circular-letter
signed Hamet Safi Cannana, setting forth the absolute and in
dispensable necessity of ' raising a permanent monument in honour
of the " Good" Hippopotamus, which, while it becomes a record of
gratitude for his self-sacrifices in the cause of charity, shall serve as
a guide and example to all who wish to become the benefactors of
mankind.'

The response to this letter, was of the most gratifying nature.
Mr. Wombwell's keepers joined the Committee; all the keepers at
the Surrey Zoological enrolled themselves without loss of time;
22O

THE 'GOOD' HIPPOPOTAMUS

the exhibitor of the dancing dogs came forward with alacrity ; the
proprietor of ' Punch's Opera, containing the only singing dogs in
Europe,1 became a Committee-man ; and the hoarse gentleman who
trains the birds to draw carriages, and the white mice to climb the
tight rope and go up ladders, gave in his adhesion, in a manner
that did equal honour to his head and heart. The Italian boys were
once thought of, but these Mr. Cannana rejected as low; for all
Mr. Cannana's proceedings are characterised by a delicate gentility.

The Committee, having been thus constituted, and being re
inforced by the purveyors to the different animals (who are observed
to be very strong in the cause) held a meeting of their body, at
which Mr. Cannana explained his general views. Mr. Cannana
said, that he had proposed to the various keepers of Show Animals
then present, to form themselves into that union for the erection of
a Monument to the ' Good ' Hippopotamus, because, laying aside
individual jealousies, it appeared to him that the cause of that
animal of ' unsurpassed worth,' was, in fact, the common cause of all
Show Animals. There was one point of view (Mr. Cannana said)
in which the design they had met to advance appeared to him to be
exceedingly important. Some Show Animals had not done well of
late. Pathetic appeals had been made to the public on their behalf;
but the Public had appeared a little to mistrust the Animals — why,
he could not imagine — and their funds did not bear that proportion
to their expenditure which was to be desired. Now, here were
they, the Representatives of those Show Animals, about, one and all,
to address the Public on the subject of the 'Good' Hippopotamus.
If they took the solid ground they ought to take ; if they united in
telling the Public without any misgiving that he was a creature ' of
unsurpassed worth,' that 'his whole life was devoted to the pro
tection and affectionate care of the sick and the afflicted '; that 'his
self-sacrifices demanded the public admiration and gratitude ' ; and
that he was ' a guide and example to all who wished to become the
benefactors of Mankind ' ; — if they did this, what he, Mr. Cannana,
said, was, that the Public would judge of their representations of
their Show Animals generally, by the self-evident nature of these
statements ; and their Show Animals, whatever they had been in the
past, could not fail to be handsomely supported by the Public in
future, and to win their utmost confidence.

This position was universally applauded, but it was reduced to

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

still plainer terms, by the straight-forward gentleman with the hoarae
voice who trains the birds and mice.

' In short,' said that gentleman, addressing Mr. Cannana, * if we
puts out this here 'Tizement, the Public will know in a minute that
there isn't a morsel of Humbug about us ? '

Mr. Cannana replied, with earnestness, * Exactly so ! My
honourable friend has stated precisely what I mean ! *

This distinct statement of the case was much applauded, and
gave the greatest satisfaction to the assembled company.

It was then suggested by the Secretary, to Mr. Tyler's tiger,
that several thousand circulars, embodying these statements (with a
promise that the collector should shortly call for a subscription)
ought to be immediately signed by Mr. Hamet San* Cannana,
addressed, and posted. This work Mr. Cannana undertook to
superintend, and we understand that some ten thousand of these
letters have since been delivered. The gentleman in waiting on Mr.
Wombwell's Sloth (who is of an ardent temperament) was of opinion
that the company should instantly vote subscriptions towards the
Monument from the funds of their respective establishments : con
sidering the fact, that the funds did not belong to them, of
secondary importance to the erection of a Monument to the ' Good '
Hippopotamus. But, it was resolved to defer this point until the
public feeling on the undertaking should have had an opportunity
of expressing itself.

This, as far as it has yet reached, is the history of the Monument to
the * Good ' Hippopotamus. The collector has called, we understand,
at a great many houses, but has not yet succeeded in getting into
several, in consequence of the entrance being previously occupied by
the collector of the Queen's Taxes, going his rounds for the annuity
to the young Duke of Cambridge. Whom Heaven preserve !

SOME ACCOUNT OF
AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

[APRIL 20, 1850]

No longer ago than this Easter time last past, we became acquainted
with the subject of the present notice. Our knowledge of him is

222

AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

not by any means an intimate one, and is only of a public nature.
We have never interchanged any conversation with him, except on
one occasion when he asked us to have the goodness to take off our
hat, to which we replied ' Certainly.'

Mr. Booley was born (we believe) in Rood Lane, in the City of
London. He is now a gentleman advanced in life, and has for some
'years resided in the neighbourhood of Islington. His father was a
wholesale grocer (perhaps) and he was (possibly) in the same way
of business ; or he may, at an early age, have become a clerk in
the Bank of England or in a private bank, or in the India House.
It will be observed that we make no pretence of having any informa
tion in reference to the private history of this remarkable man,
and that our account of it must be received as rather specula
tive than authentic.

In person Mr. Booley is below the middle size, and corpulent.
His countenance is florid, he is perfectly bald, and soon hot ; and
there is a composure in his gait and manner, calculated to impress
a stranger with the idea of his being, on the whole, an unwieldy
man. It is only in his eye that the adventurous character of
Mr. Booley is seen to shine. It is a moist, bright eye, of a cheerful
expression, and indicative of keen and eager curiosity.

It was not until late in life that Mr. Booley conceived the idea
of entering on the extraordinary amount of travel he has since
accomplished. He had attained the age of sixty-five before he
left England for the first time. In all the immense journeys he has
since performed, he has never laid aside the English dress, nor
departed in the slightest degree from English customs. Neither
does he speak a word of any language but his own.

Mr. Booley "s powers of endurance are wonderful. All climates
are alike to him. Nothing exhausts him ; no alternations of heat
and cold appear to have the least effect upon his hardy frame. His
capacity of travelling, day and night, for thousands of miles, has
never been approached by any traveller of whom we have any
knowledge through the help of books. An intelligent Englishman
may have occasionally pointed out to him objects and scenes of
interest ; but otherwise he has travelled alone and unattended.
Though remarkable for personal cleanliness, he has carried no
luggage ; and his diet has been of the simplest kind. He has often
found a biscuit, or a bun, sufficient for his support over a vast tract

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of country. Frequently, he has travelled hundreds of miles, fasting,
without the least abatement of his natural spirits. It says much for
the Total Abstinence cause, that Mr. Booley has never had recourse
to the artificial stimulus of alcohol, to sustain him under his
fatigues.

His first departure from the sedentary and monotonous life he
had hitherto led, strikingly exemplifies, we think, the energetic
character, long suppressed by that unchanging routine. Without
any communication with any member of his family — Mr. Booley
has never been married, but has many relations — without announcing
his intention to his solicitor, or banker, or any person entrusted with
the management of his affairs, he closed the door of his house behind
him at one o'clock in the afternoon of a certain day, and immedi
ately proceeded to New Orleans, in the United States of America.

His intention was to ascend the Mississippi and Missouri rivers,
to the base of the Rocky Mountains. Taking his passage in a
steamboat without loss of time, he was soon upon the bosom of the
Father of Waters, as the Indians call the mighty stream which, night
and day, is always carrying huge instalments of the vast continent
of the New World down into the sea.

Mr. Booley found it singularly interesting to observe the various
stages of civilisation obtaining on the banks of these mighty rivers.
Leaving the luxury and brightness of New Orleans — a somewhat
feverish luxury and brightness, he observed, as if the swampy soil
were too much enriched in the hot sun with the bodies of dead
slaves — and passing various towns in every stage of progress, it was
very curious to observe the changes of civilisation and of vegetation
too. Here, while the doomed negro race were working in the
plantations, while the republican overseer looked on, whip in hand,
tropical trees were growing, beautiful flowers in bloom ; the alligator,
with his horribly sly face, and his jaws like two great saws, was
basking on the mud ; and the strange moss of the country was
hanging in wreaths and garlands on the trees, like votive offerings.
A little farther towards the west, and the trees and flowers were
changed, the moss was gone, younger infant towns were rising, forests
were slowly disappearing, and the trees, obliged to aid in the destruc
tion of their kind, fed the heavily-breathing monster that came
clanking up those solitudes laden with the pioneers of the advancing
human army. The river itself, that moving highway, showed him
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AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

every kind of floating contrivance, from the lumbering flat-bottomed
boat, and the raft of logs, upward to the steamboat, and downward
to the poor Indian's frail canoe. A winding thread through the
enormous range of country, unrolling itself before the wanderer like
the magic skein in the story, he saw it tracked by wanderers of every
kind, roaming from the more settled world, to those first nests of
men. The floating theatre, dwelling-house, hotel, museum, shop ;
the floating mechanism for screwing the trunks of mighty trees out
of the mud, like antediluvian teeth ; the rapidly-flowing river, and
the blazing woods ; he left them all behind — town, city, and log-
cabin, too ; and floated up into the prairies and savannahs, among
the deserted lodges of tribes of savages, and among their dead,
lying alone on little wooden stages with their stark faces upward
towards the sky. Among the blazing grass, and herds of buffaloes
and wild horses, and among the wigwams of the fast- declining
Indians, he began to consider how, in the eternal current of progress
setting across this globe in one unchangeable direction, like the
unseen agency that points the needle to the Pole, the Chiefs who
only dance the dances of their fathers, and will never have a new
figure for a new tune, and the Medicine men who know no Medicine
but what was Medicine a hundred years ago, must be surely and
inevitably swept from the earth, whether they be Choctawas,
Mandans, Britons, Austrians, or Chinese.

He was struck, too, by the reflection that savage nature was not
by any means such a fine and noble spectacle as some delight to
represent it. He found it a poor, greasy, paint-plastered, miserable
thing enough ; but a very little way above the beasts in most respects ;
in many customs a long way below them. It occurred to him that
the * Big Bird,' or the ' Blue Fish,' or any of the other Braves, was
but a troublesome braggart after all ; making a mighty whooping
and halloaing about nothing particular, doing very little for science,
not much more than the monkeys for art, scarcely anything worth
mentioning for letters, and not often making the world greatly better
than he found it. Civilisation, Mr. Booley concluded, was, on the
whole, with all its blemishes, a more imposing sight, and a far better
thing to stand by.

Mr. Booley's observations of the celestial bodies, on this voyage,
were principally confined to the discovery of the alarming fact, that
light had altogether departed from the moon ; which presented the
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appearance of a white dinuer-plate. The clouds, too, conducted
themselves in an extraordinary manner, and assumed the most
eccentric forms, while the sun rose and set in a very reckless way.
On his return to his native country, however, he had the satisfaction
of finding all these things as usual.

It might have been expected that at his advanced age, retired
from the active duties of life, blessed with a competency, and happy
in the affections of his numerous relations, Mr. Booley would now
have settled himself down, to muse, for the remainder of his days,
over the new stock of experience thus acquired. But travel had
whetted, not satisfied, his appetite ; and remembering that he had
not seen the Ohio River, except at the point of its junction with the
Mississippi, he returned to the United States, after a short interval
of repose, and appearing suddenly at Cincinnati, the queen City of
the West, traversed the clear waters of the Ohio to its Falls. In
this expedition he had the pleasure of encountering a party of
intelligent workmen from Birmingham who were making the same
tour. Also his nephew Septimus, aged only thirteen. This intrepid
boy had started from Peckham, in the old country, with two and
sixpence sterling in his pocket ; and had, when he encountered his
uncle at a point of the Ohio River, called Snaggy Bar, still one
shilling of that sum remaining !

Again at home, Mr. Booley was so pressed by his appetite for
knowledge as to remain at home only one day. At the expiration
of that short period, he actually started for New Zealand.

It is almost incredible that a man in Mr. Booley's station of
life, however adventurous his nature, and however few his artificial
wants, should cast himself on a voyage of thirteen thousand miles
from Great Britain with no other outfit than his watch and purse, and
no arms but his walking-stick. We are, however, assured on the best
authority, that thus he made the passage out, and thus appeared,
in the act of wiping his smoking head with his pocket-handkerchief,
at the entrance to Port Nicholson in Cook's Straits : with the
very spot within his range of vision, where his illustrious predecessor,
Captain Cook, so unhappily slain at Otaheite, once anchored.

After contemplating the swarms of cattle maintained on the

hills in this neighbourhood, and always to be found by the stockmen

when they are wanted, though nobody takes any care of them —

which Mr. Booley considered the more remarkable, as their natural

226

AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

objection to be killed might be supposed to be augmented by the
beauty of the climate — Mr. Booley proceeded to the town of
Wellington. Having minutely examined it in every point, and
made himself perfect master of the whole natural history and process
of manufacture of the flax-plant, with its splendid yellow blossoms,
he repaired to a Native Pa, which, unlike the Native Pa to which
he was accustomed, he found to be a town, and not a parent. Here
he observed a chief with a long spear, making every demonstration
of spitting a visitor, but really giving him the Maori or welcome —
a word Mr. Booley is inclined to derive from the known hospitality
of our English Mayors — and here also he observed some Europeans
rubbing noses, by way of shaking hands, with the aboriginal
inhabitants. After participating in an affray between the natives
and the English soldiers in which the former were defeated with
great loss, he plunged into the Bush, and there camped out for
some months, until he had made a survey of the whole country.

While leading this wild life, encamped by night near a stream
for the convenience of water in a Ware, or hut, built open in the
front, with a roof sloping backward to the ground, and made of
poles, covered and enclosed with bark or fern, it was Mr. Booley's
singular fortune to encounter Miss Creeble, of The Misses Creeble's
Boarding and Day Establishment for Young Ladies, Kennington
Oval, who, accompanied by three of her young ladies in search of
information, had achieved this marvellous journey, and was then
also in the Bush. Miss Creeble having very unsettled opinions on the
subject of gunpowder, was afraid that it entered into the composi
tion of the fire before the tent, and that something would
presently blow up or go off. Mr. Booley, as a more experienced
traveller, assuring her that there was no danger ; and calming the
fears of the young ladies, an acquaintance commenced between them.
They accomplished the rest of their travels in New Zealand together,
and the best understanding prevailed among the little party. They
took notice of the trees, as the Kaikatea, the Kauri, the Ruta, the
Pukatea, the Hinau, and the Tanakaka — names which Miss Creeble
had a bland relish in pronouncing. They admired the beautiful,
aborescent, palm-like fern, abounding everywhere, and frequently
exceeding thirty feet in height. They wondered at the curious owl,
who is supposed to demand * More Pork ! ' wherever he flies, and
whom Miss Creeble termed ' an admonition of Nature against greedi-

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ness ! * And they contemplated some very rampant natives of
cannibal propensities. After many pleasing and instructive vicissi
tudes, they returned to England in company, where the ladies were
safely put into a hackney cabriolet by Mr. Booley, in Leicester
Square, London.

And now, indeed, it might have been imagined that that roving
spirit, tired of rambling about the world, would have settled down
at home in peace and honour. Not so. After repairing to the
tubular bridge across the Menai Straits, and accompanying Her
Majesty on her visit to Ireland (which he characterised as 'a
magnificent Exhibition1), Mr. Booley, with his usual absence of
preparation, departed for Australia.

Here again, he lived out in the Bush, passing his time chiefly
among the working-gangs of convicts who were carrying timber.
He was much impressed by the ferocious mastiffs chained to barrels,
who assist the sentries in keeping guard over those misdoers. But
he observed that the atmosphere in this part of the world, unlike
the descriptions he had read of it, was extremely thick, and that
objects were misty, and difficult to be discerned. From a certain
unsteadiness and trembling, too, which he frequently remarked on
the face of Nature, he was led to conclude that this part of the
globe was subject to convulsive heavings and earthquakes. This
caused him to return with some precipitation.

Again at home, and probably reflecting that the countries he had
hitherto visited were new in the history of man, this extraordinary
traveller resolved to proceed up the Nile to the second cataract. At
the next performance of the great ceremony of ' opening the Nile/
at Cairo, Mr. Booley was present.

Along that wonderful river, associated with such stupendous
fables, and with a history more prodigious than any fancy of man,
in its vast and gorgeous facts ; among temples, palaces, pyramids,
colossal statues, crocodiles, tombs, obelisks, mummies, sand and ruin ;
he proceeded, like an opium-eater in a mighty dream. Thebes rose
before him. An avenue of two hundred sphinxes, with not a head
among them, — one of six or eight, or ten such avenues, all leading
to a common centre — conducted to the Temple of Carnak : its walls,
eighty feet high and twenty-five feet thick, a mile and three-quarters
in circumference ; the interior of its tremendous hall, occupying an
area of forty-seven thousand square feet, large enough to hold four
228

AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

great Christian churches, and yet not more than one-seventh part
of the entire ruin. Obelisks he saw, thousands of years of age, as
sharp as if the chisel had cut their edges yesterday ; colossal statues
fifty-two feet high, with ' little ' fingers five feet and a half long ;
a very world of ruins, that were marvellous old ruins in the days of
Herodotus; tombs cut high up in the rock, where European
travellers live solitary, as in stony crows' nests, burning mummied
Thebans, gentle and simple — of the dried blood-royal maybe — for
their daily fuel, and making articles of furniture of their dusty
coffins. Upon the walls of temples, in colours fresh and bright as
those of yesterday, he read the conquests of great Egyptian monarchs ;
upon the tombs of humbler people in the same blooming symbols,
he saw their ancient way of working at their trades, of riding,
driving, feasting, playing games ; of marrying and burying, and
performing on instruments, and singing songs, and healing by the
power of animal magnetism, and performing all the occupations of
life. He visited the quarries of Silsileh, whence nearly all the red
stone used by the ancient Egyptian architects and sculptors came ;
and there beheld enormous single-stoned colossal figures, nearly
finished — redly snowed up, as it were, and trying hard to break out —
waiting for the finishing touches, never to be given by the mummied
hands of thousands of years ago. In front of the temple of Abou
Simbel, he saw gigantic figures sixty feet in height and twenty-one
across the shoulders, dwarfing live men on camels down to pigmies.
Elsewhere he beheld complacent monsters tumbled down like ill-used
Dolls of a Titanic make, and staring with stupid benignity at the
arid earth whereon their huge faces rested. His last look of that
amazing land was at the Great Sphinx, buried in the sand — sand in
its eyes, sand in its ears, sand drifted on its broken nose, sand lodg
ing, feet deep, in the ledges of its head — struggling out of a wide
sea of sand, as if to look hopelessly forth for the ancient glories once
surrounding it.

In this expedition, Mr. Booley acquired some curious information
in reference to the language of hieroglyphics. He encountered the
Simoon in the Desert, and lay down, with the rest of his caravan
until it had passed over. He also beheld on the horizon some of
those stalking pillars of sand, apparently reaching from earth to
heaven, which, with the red sun shining through them, so terrified
the Arabs attendant on Bruce, that they fell prostrate, crying that

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the Day of Judgment was come. More Copts, Turks, Arabs, Fellahs,
Bedouins, Mosques, Mamelukes, and Moosulmen he saw, than we
have space to tell. His days were all Arabian Nights, and he saw
wonders without end.

This might have satiated any ordinary man, for a time at least.
But Mr. Booley, being no ordinary man, within twenty-four hours
of his arrival at home was making the overland journey to
India.

He has emphatically described this, as ' a beautiful piece of
scenery,' and 'a perfect picture.' The appearance of Malta and
Gibraltar he can never sufficiently commend. In crossing the desert
from Grand Cairo to Suez he was particularly struck by the undula
tions of the Sandscape (he preferred that word to Landscape, as
more expressive of the region), and by the incident of beholding a
caravan upon its line of march ; a spectacle which in the remem
brance always affords him the utmost pleasure. Of the stations on
the desert, and the cinnamon gardens of Ceylon, he likewise enter
tains a lively recollection. Calcutta he praises also ; though he has
been heard to observe that the British military at that seat of
Government were not as well proportioned as he could desire the
soldiers of his country to be ; and that the breed of horses there in
use was susceptible of some improvement.

Once more in his native land, with the vigour of his constitution
unimpaired by the many toils and fatigues he had encountered, what
had Mr. Booley now to do, but, full of years and honour, to recline
upon the grateful appreciation of his Queen and country, always
eager to distinguish peaceful merit ? What had he now to do, but
to receive the decoration ever ready to be bestowed, in England, on
men deservedly distinguished, and to take his place among the best?
He had this to do. He had yet to achieve the most astonishing
enterprise for which he was reserved. In all the countries he had
yet visited, he had seen no frost and snow. He resolved to make a
voyage to the ice-bound arctic regions.

In pursuance of this surprising determination, Mr. Booley
accompanied the expedition under Sir James Ross, consisting of Her
Majesty's ships the Enterprise and Investigator, which sailed from
the River Thames on the 12th of May 1848, and which, on the
llth of September, entered Port Leopold Harbour.

In this inhospitable region, surrounded by eternal ice, cheered
. 230

AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER

by no glimpse of the sun, shrouded in gloom and darkness, Mr.
Booley passed the entire winter. The ships were covered in, and
fortified all round with walls of ice and snow ; the masts were frozen
up ; hoar frost settled on the yards, tops, shrouds, stays, and rig
ging; around, in every direction, lay an interminable waste, on
which only the bright stars, the yellow moon, and the vivid Aurora
Borealis looked, by night or day.

And yet the desolate sublimity of this astounding spectacle was
broken in a pleasant and surprising manner. In the remote solitude
to which he had penetrated, Mr. Booley (who saw no Esquimaux
during his stay, though he looked for them in every direction)
had the happiness of encountering two Scotch gardeners ; several
English compositors, accompanied by their wives ; three brass-
founders from the neighbourhood of Long Acre, London ; two coach
painters, a gold-beater and his only daughter, by trade a staymaker ;
and several other working -people from sundry parts of Great
Britain who had conceived the extraordinary idea of * holiday-
making1 in the frozen wilderness. Hither, too, had Miss Creeble
and her three young ladies penetrated : the latter attired in braided
peacoats of a comparatively light material ; and Miss Creeble
defended from the inclemency of a Polar Winter by no other outer
garment than a wadded Polka-jacket. He found this courageous lady
in the act of explaining, to the youthful sharers of her toils, the
various phases of nature by which they were surrounded. Her
explanations were principally wrong, but her intentions always
admirable.

Cheered by the society of these fellow-adventurers, Mr. Booley
slowly glided on into the summer season. And now, at midnight,
all was bright and shining. Mountains of ice, wedged and broken
into the strangest forms — jagged points, spires, pinnacles, pyramids,
turrets, columns in endless succession and in infinite variety, flashing
and sparkling with ten thousand hues, as though the treasures of
the earth were frozen up in all that water — appeared on every side.
Masses of ice, floating and driving hither and thither, menaced the
hardy voyagers with destruction ; and threatened to crush their
strong ships, like nutshells. But, below those ships was clear sea-
water, now ; the fortifying walls were gone ; the yards, tops, shrouds
and rigging, free from that hoary rust of long inaction, showed like
themselves again; and the sails, bursting from the masts, like foliage

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which the welcome sun at length developed, spread themselves to
the wind, and wafted the travellers away.

In the short interval that has elapsed since his safe return to the
land of his birth, Mr. Booley has decided on no new expedition ;
but he feels that he will yet be called upon to undertake one,
perhaps of greater magnitude than any he has achieved, and
frequently remarks, in his own easy way, that he wonders where the
deuce he will be taken to next ! Possessed of good health and good
spirits, with powers unimpaired by all he has gone through, and
with an increase of appetite still growing with what it feeds on, what
may not be expected yet from this extraordinary man !

It was only at the close of Easter week that, sitting in an
armchair, at a private club called the Social Oysters, assembling at
Highbury Barn, where he is much respected, this indefatigable
traveller expressed himself in the following terms :

* It is very gratifying to me,1 said he, ' to have seen so much at
my time of life, and to have acquired a knowledge of the countries
I have visited, which I could not have* derived from books alone.
When I was a boy, such travelling would have been impossible, as
the gigantic-moving-panorama or diorama mode of conveyance, which
I have principally adopted (all my modes of conveyance have been
pictorial), had then not been attempted. It is a delightful charac
teristic of these times, that new and cheap means are continually
being devised for conveying the results of actual experience to those
who are unable to obtain such experiences for themselves ; and to
bring them within the reach of the people — emphatically of the
people ; for it is they at large who are addressed in these endeavours,
and not exclusive audiences. Hence,1 said Mr. Booley, ' even if I
see a run on an idea, like the panorama one, it awakens no ill-
humour within me, but gives me pleasant thoughts. Some of the
best results of actual travel are suggested by such means to those
whose lot it is to stay at home. New worlds open out to them,
beyond their little worlds, and widen their range of reflection, infor
mation, sympathy, and interest. The more man knows of man, the
better for the common brotherhood among us all. I shall, therefore,'
said Mr. Booley, ' now propose to the Social Oysters, the healths of
Mr. Banvard, Mr. Brees, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Allen, Mr. Prout, Messrs.
Bonomi, Fahey$ and Warren, Mr. Thomas Grieve, and Mr. Burford.
Long life to them all, and more power to their pencils ! '
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A CARD FROM MR. BOOLEY

The Social Oysters having drunk this toast with acclamation,
Mr. Booley proceeded to entertain them with anecdotes of his
travels. This he is in the habit of doing after they have feasted
together, according to the manner of Sinbad the Sailor — except that
he does not bestow upon the Social Oysters the munificent reward
of one hundred sequins per night, for listening.

A CARD FROM MR. BOOLEY

[MAY 18, 1850]

MR. BOOLEY (the great traveller) presents his compliments to the
conductor of Household Words, and begs to call his attention to
an omission in the account given in that delightful journal, of Mr.
Booley's remarks, in addressing the Social Oysters.

Mr. Booley, in proposing the health of Mr. Thomas Grieve,
in connection with the beautiful diorama of the route of the Over
land Mail to India, expressly added (amid much cheering from the
Oysters) the names of Mr. Telbin his distinguished coadjutor; Mr.
Absolon, who painted the figures ; and Mr. Herring, who painted
the animals. Although Mr. Booley 's tribute of praise can be of
little importance to those gentlemen, he is uneasy in finding them
left out of the delightful Journal referred to.

Mr. Booley has taken the liberty of endeavouring to give this
communication an air of novelty, by omitting the words * Now, Sir,'
which are generally supposed to be essential to all letters written to
Editors for publication. It may be interesting to add, in fact, that
the Social Oysters considered it impossible that Mr. Booley could,
by any means, throw off the present communication, without availing
himself of that established form of address.

HIGHBURY BARN, Monday Evening.

MR. BOOLEY'S VIEW
OF THE LAST LORD MAYOR'S SHOW

[NOVEMBER 30, 1850]

ME. BOOLEY having been much excited by the accounts in the
newspapers, informing the public that the eminent Mr. Batty, of

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Astley's Amphitheatre, Westminster Bridge Road, Lambeth, would
invent, arrange, and marshal the Procession on Lord Mayor's Day,
took occasion to announce to the Social Oysters that he intended to
be present at that great national spectacle. Mr. Booley remarked
that into whatever regions he extended his travels, and however
wide the range of his experience became, he still found, on repairing
to Astley's Amphitheatre, that he had much to learn. For, he
always observed within those walls, some extraordinary costume or
curious weapon, or some apparently unaccountable manners and
customs, which he had previously associated with no nation upon
earth. Thus, Mr. Booley said, he had acquired a knowledge of
Tartar Tribes, and also of Wild Indians, and Chinese, which had
greatly enlightened him as to the habits of those singular races of
men, in whom he observed, as peculiarities common to the whole,
that they were always hoarse ; that they took equestrian exercise in
a most irrational manner, riding up staircases and precipices without
the least necessity; that it was impossible for them to dance, on
any joyful occasion, without keeping time with their forefingers,
erect in the neighbourhood of their ears ; and that whenever their
castles were on fire (a calamity to which they were particularly
subject) numbers of them immediately tumbled down dead, without
receiving any wound or blow, while others, previously distinguished
in war, fell an easy prey to the comic coward of the opposite faction,
who was usually armed with a strange instrument resembling an
enormous, supple cigar.

For such reasons alone, Mr. Booley took a lively interest in the
preliminary announcements of the last Lord Mayor's Show; but,
when he understood, besides, that the Show was to be an Allegory,
devised by the ingenious Mr. Batty, in conjunction with the Lord
Mayor, as a kind of practical riddle for all beholders to make
guesses at, he hired a window in the most eligible part of the
line of march, resolved to devote himself to the discovery of its
meaning.

The result of Mr. Booley's meditation on the Allegory which
passed before his eyes on the ninth of the present month, was
given to the Social Oysters, in the form of a report, emanating
directly and personally from himself, their President. We have
been favoured with a copy of the document, and also with permis
sion to make it public ; a permission of which we now proceed to
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MR. BOOLEY'S VIEW

avail ourselves. Those who have any acquaintance with Mr. Booley,
will be prepared to learn that the real intent and meaning of the
Allegory has been entirely missed, except by his sagacious and
original mind. We need scarcely observe that its obviousness and
simplicity must not be allowed to detract from the merit either
of Mr. Booley or of Mr. Batty, or of the Lord Mayor. It is in the
essence of these things that they should be obvious and simple, when
the clue is once found.

' At an early hour of the morning,' says Mr. Booley, — * for I
observe, in the newspapers, that when any public spectacle takes
place, it always begins to take place at an early hour of the morning,
— I stationed myself at the window which had been engaged for
me. I will not attempt to describe my feelings on looking down
Cheapside. I am conscious of having thought of Whittington and
his cat, and of Hogarth's idle and industrious apprentice — also of
the weather, which was extremely fine.

'When the Procession began, with the Tallow Chandlers'
Company, succeeded by the Under Beadle of the Worshipful
Company of Tallow Chandlers, walking alone, as a Being so
removed and awful should, tears of solemn pleasure rose to my
eyes ; but, I am not aware that I then suspected any latent mean
ing in particular. Even when the " Beadle of the Tallow Chandlers'
Company in his gown," caused the vast assemblage to hold its
breath, and sent a thrill through all the multitude, I believe I only
regarded him as the eminent Beadle in question, and not as a
symbol. The appearance of "The Captain and Lieutenant of the
Band of Pensioners," and also of a Band of Pensioners, each carrying
a Javelin and Shield, struck me (though the band was by no means
numerous enough) as a happy idea, emblematic of those bulwarks
of our constitution, the Pension-List, Places, and Sinecures; but,
it was not until " two pages bearing flambeaux filled with burning
incense," preceded a young lady " attired in a white satin robe and
mounted on a white palfrey," that the joint idea of Mr. Batty
and the Lord Mayor burst upon me. I will not expatiate on the
pleasure with which I found my discovery confirmed by every
succeeding object. I will endeavour to state the idea to you in a
tranquil manner, and to do justice to Mr. Batty and the Lord
Mayor.

* The Tallow Chandlers' Company,' Mr. Booley proceeds, ' with

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their Under Beadle and Beadle, I found to be the representatives
of noxious trades and unwholesome smells ; at present very rife
within the City of London, but shortly to disappear before the
penitent exertions of the Corporation. The Band of Pensioners,
with javelins and shields, were clearly the persons interested in the
maintenance of such nuisances, though powerless either for attack
or defence, and only following those sources of disease and death
into oblivion. The burning incense, I need not observe, was used
to purify and disinfect the foul air before the appearance of the
Goddess Hygeia (called Peace in the programme, that the Allegory
might not be too obvious), who was very properly represented with
a spotless dress, and riding on a spotless palfrey. It was a happy
part of this thoughtful fancy, that the civic authorities, and the
Aldermen in their carriages, had gone before; Mr. Batty and
the Lord Mayor being sensible that until those distinguished
functionaries had moved on a little, and been got out of the
way, the appearance of the Goddess of Health could not possibly
be expected.

'The Goddess, that distinguished stranger,' Mr. Booley goes
on to say, ' having been received by the City of London with loud
acclamations, and having been most eagerly and enthusiastically
welcomed by the multitudes, who were to be seen squeezed into
courts, byeways, and cellars, gave place to " The Horse of Europe " ;
in which generous quadruped I perceived a pledge and promise
on the part of the Corporation, that filled me with the liveliest
emotions. For, not to dwell upon the significant fact that the
body, which it is my welcome function to commend so highly,
paraded, on this solemn occasion, a Horse, and not a Donkey —
which is in itself worthy of observation : the City having, very
frequently heretofore, made a surprising show of Donkeys when the
Public Health has been under discussion — I had only to refer to
Buffon, to strengthen my sense of the importance of this beautiful
symbol. " Horses," says he, " are gentle, and their tempers social ;
they seldom show their ardour and strength by any other sign than
emulation. They endeavour to be foremost in the course." And
again, " They renounce their very being for the service of man." And
again, "Their manners almost wholly depend on their education."
And again, " A horse naturally morose, gloomy, or stubborn, pro
duces foals of the same disposition ; and as the defects of confirma-

V*A

MR. BOOLEY'S VIEW

tion, as well as the vices of the humours, perpetuate with still more
certainty than the natural qualities, great care should be taken to
exclude from the stud all deformed, vicious, glandered, broken-
winded, or mad horses." No animal could have better illustrated
the united meaning of Mr. Batty and the Lord Mayor. The City
pledged itself by that token to show its ardour and strength by
emulation in all efforts for the public good, and to abandon all
other considerations to the service of man. Further, it recognised
the great truth, that the manners of a people depend upon their
education; and that gloomy, morose, or otherwise ill-conditioned
parents will perpetuate an ill-conditioned and constantly degenerat
ing race ; irksome to itself and dangerous to all. Hence, it
promised to extend, by all possible means, among the poor, the
blessings of light, air, cleanliness, and instruction ; and no longer
to enforce filth, squalor, ill-health, and ignorance, upon thousands
of God's creatures. I was particularly struck,' Mr. Booley remarks,
'by this beautiful part of the Allegory, and shall ever regard
Mr. Batty and the Lord Mayor with a feeling of personal affection.

' The Horse of Europe was followed by the Camel of Asia. And
difficult, indeed, it would have been,' says Mr. Booley, 'to have
presented, next in order, any animal more felicitously carrying out
the general idea. For, the impossibility of people being healthy
and clean without a good and cheap supply of water, must be as
obvious to the meanest capacity, as even the dearness, bad quality,
and insufficient quantity, of the present supply of water in London.
I therefore consider that anything happier than the exhibition at
this point of an animal who is supplied with a subtle inward
mechanism for storing this first necessary of life — who is furnished,
as I may say, with an inexpensive Water Works of its own — was
one of the most agreeable and pointed illustrations ever presented
to a populace. I consider it a stroke of genius, and beg thus
publicly to tender the poor tribute of my warmest admiration to
Mr. Batty and the Lord Mayor.

' After the Camel of Asia, came the Elephant of Africa. I found
this idea, likewise, very pleasant. The exquisite scent possessed
by the elephant rendered it out of the question that he could
have been produced at an earlier stage of the Procession, or the
Tallow-Chandlers, with their Under Beadles, Beadles, and Band of
Pensioners, might have roused him to a state of fury. Therefore,

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the Civic Dignitaries and Aldermen (whose noses are not keen)
immediately followed that ill-savoured Company, and the Elephant
was reserved until now.

' His capacity of intellectual development under proper training,
his strength and docility, his industry, his many noble qualities,
his patience and attachment under gentle treatment, and his blind
resentment, when provoked too far by ill-usage, rendered him,
besides, a touching symbol of the great English people ; and this
idea was still further expressed by his carrying trophies on his
back, expressive of their enterprise and valour. In parading an
animal so well known for its aversion to carrion, and its liking
for clean provender, the City of London, pleasantly but pointedly,
avowed its determination to seek out and confiscate all improper
human food exposed for sale within its liberties, and particularly
to look, with a searching eye, into the knackers'-yards, and the
sausage trade. I almost fancied,1 Mr. Booley proceeds, * that the
sagacious elephant knew his part in the Allegory, and was conscious
of the whole Castle of meaning on his back, as he proceeded gravely
on, surveying the crowd with his small, but highly intelligent eye.

* The two negroes by whom he was led,1 Mr. Booley goes on
to remark, ' rather perplexed me. Can it be, that they had any
reference to certain estimable, but pig-headed members of the Civic
Parliament, who learn no wisdom from experience and instruction ;
and in humorous reference to whom, Mr. Batty and the Lord
Mayor suggested the impossibility of ever washing the Blackamoor
white ?

1 But now,' he adds, ' appeared what I cannot but consider the
crowning feature of the Allegory : in perfect harmony and keeping
with the rest, and pointing directly at the removal of an absurd,
a monstrous, and cruel nuisance. I allude to the "Two Deer of
America," whose horns I no sooner observed advancing along Cheap-
side, than I immediately felt that an allusion was intended to
Smithfield Market. The little play upon words, in which it was
candidly admitted that that nuisance was Two Dear to the
Corporation generally, might have struck me, perhaps, as rather
too obvious, if I had been disposed to be hypercritical ; but, the
introduction of horned beasts among the crowd was in itself an
Allegory, so pointed and yet so ingenious and complete, that I
think I was never better pleased in my life. On further reflection,
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I discovered a still more profound and delicate meaning in the
exhibition of these animals. Their association with the chase,
typified the constant flight and pursuit going on all over the
City, and, indeed, all over the Metropolis, on market-days; while
their easy connection in the beholder's mind with those periods
of English history when it was a far greater crime to kill a stag
than to kill a man, reflected with just severity on the obsolete
inhumanity and rapacity of the Corporation that cared for the
lives and limbs, neither of beasts nor men, in the tenacity of its
clutch at an old, pestilential, worn out abuse.

'This,1 says Mr. Booley, in conclusion, 'is the Allegory that
was presented to the people last Lord Mayor's Day, and which I
have now had the satisfaction of explaining to the Social Oysters.
I deem it highly honourable to the new Lord Mayor, whom I
cordially wish a prosperous and happy reign ; together with a
vigorous determination to do his utmost to carry out the needful
reforms, and remedy the crying evils, so ably glanced at, by himself,
on this auspicious occasion. As I dined in the Guildhall after the
show, I had the honour of giving utterance to these wishes (but not
within his hearing) after dinner ; when, remembering this Allegory,
I divined a new meaning in the Loving Cup, and was charmed to
find the first City in the universe bravely devoting its charter and
liberties to the welfare of the community, and not poorly sheltering
itself behind them as an immunity from the plainest human responsi
bilities. I had the honour and pleasure of drinking his lordship's
health in a bumper of very excellent wine ; and I should have been
happy to have drunk to Mr. Batty too, if his health had been
proposed, which it was not.'

PET PRISONERS

[APRIL 27, 1850]

THE system of separate confinement first experimented on in England
at the model prison, JrWtonville, London, and now spreading
through the country, appears to us to require a little calm considera
tion and reflection on the part of the public. We purpose, in this
paper, to suggest what we consider some grave objections to this system.

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We shall do this temperately, and without considering it neces
sary to regard every one from whom we differ, as a scoundrel,
actuated by base motives, to whom the most unprincipled conduct
may be recklessly attributed. Our faith in most questions where the
good men are represented to be all pro, and the bad men to be all
con, is very small. There is a hot class of riders of hobby-horses in
the field, in this century, who think they do nothing unless they
make a steeple-chase of their object, throw a vast quantity of mud
about, and spurn every sort of decent restraint and reasonable con
sideration under their horses' heels. This question has not escaped
such championship. It has its steeple-chase riders, who hold the
dangerous principle that the end justifies any means, and to whom
no means, truth and fair-dealing usually excepted, come amiss.

Considering the separate system of imprisonment, here, solely in
reference to England, we discard, for the purpose of this discussion,
the objection founded on its extreme severity, which would immedi
ately arise if we were considering it with any reference to the State
of Pennsylvania in America. For whereas in that State it may be
inflicted for a dozen years, the idea is quite abandoned at home of
extending it usually, beyond a dozen months, or in any case beyond
eighteen months. Besides which, the school and the chapel afford
periods of comparative relief here, which are not afforded in America.

Though it has been represented by the steeple-chase riders as a
most enormous heresy to contemplate the possibility of any prisoner
going mad or idiotic, under the prolonged effects of separate confine
ment ; and although any one who should have the temerity to main
tain such a doubt in Pennsylvania would have a chance of becoming
a profane St. Stephen; Lord Grey, in his very last speech in the
House of Lords on this subject, made in the present session of
Parliament, in praise of this separate system, said of it : * Wherever
it has been fairly tried, one of its great defects has been discovered
to be this, — that it cannot be continued for a sufficient length of
time without danger to the individual, and that human nature
cannot bear it beyond a limited period. The evidence of medical
authorities proves beyond dispute that, if it is protracted beyond
twelve months, the health of the convict, mental and physical, would
require the most close and vigilant superintendence. Eighteen
months is stated to be the maximum time for the continuance of its
infliction, and, as a general rule, it is advised that it never be
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continued for more than twelve months.' This being conceded, and
it being clear that the prisoner's mind, and all the apprehensions
weighing upon it, must be influenced from the first hour of his
imprisonment by the greater or less extent of its duration in per
spective before him, we are content to regard the system as dis
sociated in England from the American objection of too great
severity.

We shall consider it, first in the relation of the extraordinary
contrast it presents, in a country circumstanced as England is,
between the physical condition of the convict in prison, and that of
the hard-working man outside, or the pauper outside. We shall then
inquire, and endeavour to lay before our readers some means of
iudging, whether its proved or probable efficiency in producing a
real, trustworthy, practically repentant state of mind, is such as to
justify the presentation of that extraordinary contrast. If, in the
end, we indicate the conclusion that the associated silent system is
less objectionable, it is not because we consider it in the abstract a
good secondary punishment, but because it is a severe one, capable
of judicious administration, much less expensive, not presenting the
objectionable contrast so strongly, and not calculated to pet and
pamper the mind of the prisoner and swell his sense of his own
importance. We are not acquainted with any system of secondary
punishment that we think reformatory, except the mark system of
Captain Macconnochie, formerly governor of Norfolk Island, which
proceeds upon the principle of obliging the convict to some exercise
of self-denial and resolution in every act of his prison life, and which
would condemn him to a sentence of so much labour and good
conduct instead of so much time. There are details in Captain
Macconnochie's scheme on which we have our doubts (rigid silence
we consider indispensable); but, in the main, we regard it as
embodying sound and wise principles. We infer from the writings
of Archbishop Whateley, that those principles have presented them
selves to his profound and acute mind in a similar light.

We will first contrast the dietary of The Model Prison at
Pentonville, with the dietary of what we take to be the nearest
workhouse, namely, that of Saint Pancras. In the prison, every
man receives twenty-eight ounces of meat weekly. In the workhouse,
every able-bodied adult receives eighteen. In the prison, every man
receives one hundred and forty ounces of bread weekly. In the
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workhouse, every able-bodied adult receives ninety-six. In the
prison, every man receives one hundred and twelve ounces of potatoes
weekly. In the workhouse, every able-bodied adult receives thirty-
six. In the prison, every man receives five pints and a quarter of
liquid cocoa weekly (made of flaked cocoa or cocoa-nibs), with four
teen ounces of milk and forty-two drams of molasses; also seven
pints of gruel weekly, sweetened with forty-two drams of molasses.
In the workhouse, every able-bodied adult receives fourteen pints
and a half of milk-porridge weekly, and no cocoa, and no gruel. In
the prison, every man receives three pints and a half of soup weekly.
In the workhouse, every able-bodied adult male receives four pints
and a half, and a pint of Irish stew. This, with seven pints of table-
beer weekly, and six ounces of cheese, is all the man in the work
house has to set off against the immensely superior advantages of
the prisoner in all the other respects we have stated. His lodging
is very inferior to the prisoner's, the costly nature of whose accom
modation we shall presently show.

Let us reflect upon this contrast in another aspect. We beg the
reader to glance once more at The Model Prison dietary, and con
sider its frightful disproportion to the dietary of the free labourer
in any of the rural parts of England. What shall we take his wages
at ? Will twelve shillings a week do ? It cannot be called a low
average, at all events. Twelve shillings a week make thirty-one
pounds four a year. The cost, in 1848, for the victualling and
management of every prisoner in the Model Prison was within a
little of thirty-six pounds. Consequently, that free labourer, with
young children to support, with cottage-rent to pay, and clothes to
buy, and no advantage of purchasing his food in large amounts by
contract, has, for the whole subsistence of himself and family,
between four and five pounds a year less than the cost of feeding and
overlooking one man in the Model Prison. Surely to his enlightened
mind, and sometimes low morality, this must be an extraordinary
good reason for keeping out of it !

But we will not confine ourselves to the contrast between the
labourer's scanty fare and the prisoner's * flaked cocoa or cocoa-nibs,'
and daily dinner of soup, meat, and potatoes. We will rise a little
higher in the scale. Let us see what advertisers in the Times
newspaper can board the middle classes at, and get a profit out
of, too.

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A LADY, residing in a cottage, with a large garden, in a pleasant
7^ and healthful locality, would be happy to receive one or two
LADIES to BOARD with her. Two ladies occupying the same apart
ment may be accommodated for 12s. a week each. The cottage is
within a quarter of an hour's walk of a good market town, 10 minutes'
of a South- Western Railway Station, and an hour's distance from town.

These two ladies could not be so cheaply boarded in the Model
Prison.

"D OARD and RESIDENCE, at £70 per annum, for a married couple,
•*-^ or in proportion for a single gentleman or lady, with a respectable
family. Rooms large and airy, in an eligible dwelling, at Islington,
about 20 minutes' walk from the Bank. Dinner hour six o'clock. There
are one or two vacancies to complete a small, cheerful, and agreeable
circle.

Still cheaper than the Model Prison !

"DOARD and RESIDENCE.— A lady, keeping a select school, in a
•*-^ town, about 30 miles from London, would be happy to meet with
a LADY to BOARD and RESIDE with her. She would have her own
bedroom and a sitting-room. Any lady wishing for accomplishments
would find this desirable. Terms £30 per annum. References will be
expected and given.

Again, some six pounds a year less than the Model Prison !
And if we were to pursue the contrast through the newspaper file
for a month, or through the advertising pages of two or three
numbers of Bradshaw's Railway Guide, we might probably fill the
present number of this publication with similar examples, many of
them including a decent education into the bargain.

This Model Prison had cost at the close of 1847, under the
heads of ' building ' and ' repairs ' alone, the insignificant sum of
ninety-three thousand pounds — within seven thousand pounds of the
amount of the last Government grant for the Education of the
whole people, and enough to pay for the emigration to Australia of
four thousand, six hundred and fifty poor persons at twenty pounds
per head. Upon the work done by five hundred prisoners in the
Model Prison, in the year 1848 (we collate these figures from the
Reports, and from Mr. Hepworth Dixon's useful work on the London
Prisons}, there was no profit, but an actual loss of upwards of eight

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hundred pounds. The cost of instruction, and the time occupied in
instruction, when the labour is necessarily unskilled and unpro
ductive, may be pleaded in explanation of this astonishing fact. We
are ready to allow all due weight to such considerations, but we put
it to our readers whether the whole system is right or wrong;
whether the money ought or ought not rather to be spent in
instructing the unskilled and neglected outside the prison walls.
It will be urged that it is expended in preparing the convict for
the exile to which he is doomed. We submit to our readers, who
are the jury in this case, that all this should be done outside the
prison, first ; that the first persons to be prepared for emigration
are the miserable children who are consigned to the tender mercies
of a Drouet, or who disgrace our streets ; and that in this beginning
at the wrong end, a spectacle of monstrous inconsistency is presented,
shocking to the mind. Where is our Model House of Youthful
Industry, where is our Model Ragged School, costing, for building
and repairs, from ninety to a hundred thousand pounds, and for
its annual maintenance upwards of twenty thousand pounds a year ?
Would it be a Christian act to build that, first? To breed our
skilful labour there ? To take the hewers of wood and drawers of
water in a strange country from the convict ranks, until those men
by earnest working, zeal, and perseverance, proved themselves, and
raised themselves ? Here are two sets of people in a densely
populated land, always in the balance before the general eye. J[s
Crime for ever to carry it against Poverty, and to have a manifest
advantage? There are the scales before all men. Whirlwinds of
.dust scattered in men's eyes — and there is plenty flying about —
cannot blind them to the real state of the balance.

We now come to inquire into the condition of mind produced
by the seclusion (limited in duration as Lord Grey limits it) which
is purchased at this great cost in money, and this greater cost in
stupendous injustice. That it is a consummation much to be
desired, that a respectable man, lapsing into crime, should expiate
his offence without incurring the liability of being afterwards recog
nised by hardened offenders who were his fellow-prisoners, we most
readily admit. But, that this object, howsoever desirable and
benevolent, is in itself sufficient to outweigh such objections as we
have set forth, we cannot for a moment concede. Nor have we any
sufficient guarantee that even this solitary point is gained. Under
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how many apparently insuperable difficulties, men immured in
solitary cells, will by some means obtain a knowledge of other men
immured in other solitary cells, most of us know from all the
accounts and anecdotes we have read of secret prisons and secret
prisoners from our school-time upwards. That there is a fascina
tion in the desire to know something of the hidden presence
beyond the blank wall of the cell ; that the listening ear is often
laid against that wall ; that there is an overpowering temptation
to respond to the muffled knock, or any other signal which sharpened
ingenuity pondering day after day on one idea can devise : is in
that constitution of human nature which impels mankind to com
munication with one another, and makes solitude a false condition
against which nature strives. That such communication within
the Model Prison, is not only probable, but indisputably proved
to be possible by its actual discovery, we have no hesitation in
stating as a fact. Some pains have been taken to hush the matter,
but the truth is, that when the Prisoners at Pentonville ceased to
be selected Prisoners, especially picked out and chosen for the
purposes of that experiment, an extensive conspiracy was found
out among them, involving, it is needless to say, extensive com
munication. Small pieces of paper with writing upon them, had
been crushed into balls, and shot into the apertures of cell doors,
by prisoners passing along the passages ; false responses had been
made during Divine Service in the chapel, in which responses they
addressed one another ; and armed men were secretly dispersed by
the Governor in various parts of the building, to prevent the
general rising, which was anticipated as the consequence of this
plot. Undiscovered communication, under this system, we assume
to be frequent.

The state of mind into which a man is brought who is the
lonely inhabitant of his own small world, and who is only visited
by certain regular visitors, all addressing themselves to him indi
vidually and personally, as the object of their particular solicitude
— we believe in most cases to have very little promise in it, and
very little of solid foundation. A strange absorbing selfishness —
a spiritual egotism and vanity, real or assumed — is the first result.
It is most remarkable to observe, in the cases of murderers who
become this kind of object of interest, when they are at last con
signed to the condemned cell, how the rule is (of course there are

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exceptions), that the murdered person disappears from the stage of
their thoughts, except as a part of their own important story ;
and how they occupy the whole scene. / did this, / feel that,
/confide in the mercy of Heaven being extended to me; this is the
autograph of me, the unfortunate and unhappy; in my childhood
I was so and so; in my youth I did such a thing, to which I
attribute my downfall — not this thing of basely and barbarously
defacing the image of my Creator, and sending an immortal soul
into eternity without a moment's warning, but something else of a
venial kind that many unpunished people do. I don't want the
forgiveness of this foully murdered person's bereaved wife, husband,
brother, sister, child, friend ; I don't ask for it, I don't care for it.
I make no inquiry of the clergyman concerning the salvation of
that murdered person's soul ; mine is the matter ; and I am almost
happy that I came here, as to the gate of Paradise. ' I never liked
him,' said the repentant Mr. Manning, false of heart to the last,
calling a crowbar by a milder name, to lessen the cowardly horror
of it, 'and I beat in his skull with the ripping chisel.* I am going
to bliss, exclaims the same authority, in effect. Where my victim
went to, is not my business at all. Now, God forbid that we,
unworthily believing in the Redeemer, should shut out hope, or
even humble trustfulness, from any criminal at that dread pass ;
but, it is not in us to call this state of mind repentance.

The present question is with a state of mind analogous to this
(as we conceive) but with a far stronger tendency to hypocrisy ; the
dread of death not being present, and there being every possible
inducement, either to feign contrition, or to set up an unreliable
semblance of it. If I, John Styles, the prisoner, don't do my work,
and outwardly conform to the rules of the prison, I am a mere
fool. There is nothing here to tempt me to do anything else, and
everything to tempt me to do that. The capital dietary (and
every meal is a great event in this lonely life) depends upon it;
the alternative is a pound of bread a day. I should be weary of
myself without occupation. I should be much more dull if I didn't
hold these dialogues with the gentlemen who are so anxious about
me. I shouldn't be half the object of interest I am, if I didn't
make the professions I do. Therefore, I John Styles go in for
what is popular here, and I may mean it, or I may not.

There will always, under any decent system, be certain prisoners
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betrayed into crime by a variety of circumstances, who will do well
in exile, and offend against the laws no more. Upon this class,
we think the Associated Silent System would have quite as good an
influence as this expensive and anomalous one; and we cannot
accept them as evidence of the efficiency of separate confinement.
Assuming John Styles to mean what he professes, for the time
being, we desire to track the workings of his mind, and to try to
test the value of his professions. Where shall we find an account
of John Styles, proceeding from no objector to this system, but
from a staunch supporter of it? We will take it from a work
called ' Prison Discipline, and the advantages of the separate system
of imprisonment,1 written by the Reverend Mr. Field, chaplain of
the new County Gaol at Reading ; pointing out to Mr. Field, in
passing, that the question is not justly, as he would sometimes
make it, a question between this system and the profligate abuses
and customs of the old unreformed gaols, but between it and the
improved gaols of this time, which are not constructed on his
favourite principles.1

1 As Mr. Field condescends to quote some vapouring about the account given by
Mr. Charles Dickens in his American Notes, of the Solitary Prison at Philadelphia,
he may perhaps really wish for some few words of information on the subject. For
this purpose, Mr. Charles Dickens has referred to the entry in his Diary, made at the
close of that day.

He left his hotel for the Prison at twelve o'clock, being waited on, by appointment,
by the gentlemen who showed it to him ; and he returned between seven and eight at
night ; dining in the Prison in the course of that time ; which, according to his calcula
tion, in despite of the Philadelphia Newspaper, rather exceeds two hours. He found
the Prison admirably conducted, extremely clean, and the system administered in a
most intelligent, kind, orderly, tender, and careful manner. He did not consider
(nor should he, if he were to visit Pentonville to-morrow) that the book in which
visitors were expected to record their observation of the place, was intended for the
insertion of criticisms on the system, but for honest testimony to the manner of its
administration ; and to that, he bore, as an impartial visitor, the1 highest testimony in
his power. In returning thanks for his health being drunk, at the dinner within the
walls, he said that what he had seen that day was running in his mind ; that he could
not help reflecting on it ; and that it was an awful punishment. If the American
officer who rode back with him afterwards should ever see these words, he will perhaps
recall his conversation with Mr. Dickens on the road, as to Mr. Dickens having said so
very plainly and strongly. In reference to the ridiculous assertion that Mr. Dickens in
his book termed a woman ' quite beautiful ' who was a Negress, he positively believes
that he was shown no Negress in the Prison, but one who was nursing a woman much
diseased, and to whom no reference whatever is made in his published account. In
describing three young women, 'all convicted at the same time of a conspiracy,' he
may, possibly, among many cases, have substituted in his memory for one of them

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Now, here is John Styles, twenty years of age, in prison for a
felony. He has been there five months, and he writes to his sister,
'Don't fret, my dear sister, about my being here. I cannot help
fretting when I think about my usage to my father and mother :
when I think about it, it makes me quite ill. I hope God will
forgive me ; I pray for it night and day from my heart. Instead
of fretting about imprisonment, I ought to thank God for it, for
before I came here, I was living quite a careless life ; neither was
God in all my thoughts ; all I thought about was ways that led me
towards destruction. Give my respects to my wretched companions,
and I hope they will alter their wicked course, for they don't know
for a day nor an hour but what they may be cut off. I have seen
my folly, and I hope they may see their folly ; but I shouldn't if
I had not been in trouble. It is good for me that I have been in
trouble. Go to church, my sister, every Sunday, and don't give
your mind to going to playhouses and theatres, for that is no good
to you. There are a great many temptations.'

Observe ! John Styles, who has committed the felony, has been
' living quite a careless life.' That is his worst opinion of it,
whereas his companions, who did not commit the felony, are
* wretched companions.' John saw his ' folly,' and sees their * wicked
course.' It is playhouses and theatres which many unfelonious
people go to, that prey upon John's mind — not felony. John is
shut up in that pulpit to lecture his companions and his sister
about the wickedness of the unfelonious world. Always supposing

whom he did not see, some other prisoner, confined for some other crime, whom he
did see ; but he has not the least doubt of having been guilty of the (American)
enormity of detecting beauty in a pensive quadroon or mulatto girl, or of having seen
exactly what he describes ; and he remembers the girl more particularly described in
this connection, perfectly. Can Mr. Field really suppose that Mr. Dickens had any
interest or purpose in misrepresenting the system, or that if he could be guilty of such
unworthy conduct, or desire to do it anything but justice, he would have volunteered
the narrative of a man's having, of his own choice, undergone it for two years ?

We will not notice the objection of Mr. Field (who strengthens the truth of Burns
to nature, by the testimony of Mr. Pitt !) to the discussion of such a topic as the present
in a work of ' mere amusement ' ; though, we had thought we remembered in that book
a word or two about slavery, which, although very amusing, can scarcely be con
sidered an unmitigatedly comic theme. We are quite content to believe, without
seeking to make a convert of the Reverend Mr. Field, that no work need be one of
' mere amusement ' ; and that some works to which he would apply that designation
have done a little good in advancing principles to which, we hope, and will believe,
for the credit of his Christian office, he is not indifferent.
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him to be sincere, is there no exaggeration of himself in this ? Go
to church where I can go, and don't go to theatres where I can't !
Is there any tinge of the fox and the grapes in it ? Is this the kind
of penitence that will wear outside! Put the case that he had
written, of his own mind, * My dear sister, I feel that I have dis
graced you and all who should be dear to me, and if it please God
that I live to be free, I will try hard to repair that, and to be a
credit to you. My dear sister, when I committed this felony, I stole
something — and these pining five months have not put it back —
and I will work my fingers to the bone to make restitution, and oh !
my dear sister, seek out my late companions, and tell Tom Jones,
that poor boy, who was younger and littler than me, that I am
grieved I ever led him so wrong, and I am suffering for it now ! '
Would that be better ? Would it be more like solid truth ?

But no. This is not the pattern penitence. There would seem
to be a pattern penitence, of a particular form, shape, limits, and
dimensions, like the cells. While Mr. Field is correcting his proof-
sheets for the press, another letter is brought to him, and in that
letter too, that man, also a felon, speaks of his ' past folly,' and
lectures his mother about labouring under * strong delusions of the
devil.' Does this overweening readiness to lecture other people,
suggest the suspicion of any parrot-like imitation of Mr. Field, who
lectures him, and any presumptuous confounding of their relative
positions ?

We venture altogether to protest against the citation, in support
of this system, of assumed repentance which has stood no test or
trial in the working world. We consider that it proves nothing, and
is worth nothing, except as a discouraging sign of that spiritual
egotism and presumption of which we have already spoken. It is
not peculiar to the separate system at Reading ; Miss Martineau,
who was on the whole decidedly favourable to the separate prison at
Philadelphia, observed it there. * The cases I became acquainted
with,' says she, ' were not all hopeful. Some of the convicts were
so stupid as not to be relied upon, more or less. Others canted so
detestably, and were (always in connection with their cant) so certain
that they should never sin more, that I have every expectation that
they will find themselves in prison again some day. One fellow, a
sailor, notorious for having taken more lives than probably any man
in the United States, was quite confident that he should be perfectly

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virtuous henceforth. He should never touch anything stronger than
tea, or lift his hand against money or life. I told him I thought
he could not be sure of all this till he was within sight of money
and the smell of strong liquors ; and that he was more confident
than I should like to be. He shook his shock of red hair at me, and
glared with his one ferocious eye, as he said he knew all about it.
He had been the worst of men, and Christ had had mercy on his
poor soul.' (Observe again, as in the general case we have put, that
he is not at all troubled about the souls of the people whom he had
killed.)

Let us submit to our readers another instance from Mr. Field,
of the wholesome state of mind produced by the separate system.
' The 25th of March, in the last year, was the day appointed for a
general fast, on account of the threatened famine. The following
note is in my journal of that day. "During the evening I visited
many prisoners, and found with much satisfaction that a large
proportion of them had observed the day in a manner becoming their
own situation, and the purpose for which it had been set apart.
I think it right to record the following remarkable proof of the
effect of discipline. . . . They were all supplied with their usual
rations. I went first this evening to the cells of the prisoners
recently committed for trial (Ward A. 1), and amongst these
(upwards of twenty) I found that but three had abstained from any
portion of their food. I then visited twenty-one convicted prisoners
who had spent some considerable time in the gaol (Ward C. 1),
and amongst them I found that some had altogether abstained from
food, and of the whole number two-thirds had partially abstained." '
We will take it for granted that this was not because they had more
than they could eat, though we know that with such a dietary even
that sometimes happens, especially in the case of persons long con
fined. * The remark of one prisoner whom I questioned concerning
his abstinence was, I believe, sincere, and was very pleasing. " Sir,
I have not felt able to eat to-day, whilst I have thought of those
poor starving people ; but I hope that I have prayed a good deal
that God will give them something to eat."1

If this were not pattern penitence, and the thought of those

poor starving people had honestly originated with that man, and

were really on his mind, we want to know why he was not uneasy,

every day, in the contemplation of his soup, meat, bread, potatoes,

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cocoa-nibs, milk, molasses, and gruel, and its contrast to the fare of
* those poor starving people ' who, in some form or other, were taxed
to pay for it ?

We do not deem it necessary to comment on the authorities
quoted by Mr. Field to show what a fine thing the separate system
is, for the health of the body ; how it never affects the mind except
for good ; how it is the true preventive of pulmonary disease ; and
so on. The deduction we must draw from such things is, that
Providence was quite mistaken in making us gregarious, and that
we had better all shut ourselves up directly. Neither will we refer
to that ' talented criminal,' Dr. Dodd, whose exceedingly indifferent
verses applied to a system now extinct, in reference to our peniten
tiaries for convicted prisoners. Neither, after what we have quoted
from Lord Grey, need we refer to the likewise quoted report of the
American authorities, who are perfectly sure that no extent of con
finement in the Philadelphia prison has ever affected the intellectual
powers of any prisoner. Mr. Croker cogently observes, in the Good-
Natured Man, that either his hat must be on his head or it must
be off. By a parity of reasoning, we conclude that both Lord Grey
and the American authorities, cannot possibly be right — unless indeed
the notoriously settled habits of the American people, and the
absence of any approach to restlessness in the national character,
render them unusually good subjects for protracted seclusion, and
an exception from the rest of mankind.

In using the term ' pattern penitence ' we beg it to be understood
that we do not apply it to Mr. Field, or to any other chaplain, but
to the system ; which appears to us to make these doubtful converts
all alike. Although Mr. Field has not shown any remarkable
courtesy in the instance we have set forth in a note, it is our wish
to show all courtesy to him, and to his office, and to his sincerity in
the discharge of its duties. In our desire to represent him with
fairness and impartiality, we will not take leave of him without the
following quotation from his book :

' Scarcely sufficient time has yet expired, since the present system
was introduced, for me to report much concerning discharged criminals.
Out of a class so degraded — the very dregs of the community — it can
be no wonder that some, of whose improvement I cherished the hope,
should have relapsed. Disappointed in a few cases I have been, yet by
no means discouraged, since I can with pleasure refer to many whose

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conduct is affording proof of reformation. Gratifying indeed have been
some accounts received from liberated offenders themselves, as well as
from clergymen of parishes to which they have returned. I have also
myself visited the homes of some of our former prisoners, and have been
cheered by the testimony given, and the evident signs of improved
character which I have there observed. Although I do not venture at
present to describe the particular cases of prisoners, concerning whose
reformation I feel much confidence, because, as I have stated, the time
of trial has hitherto been short ; yet I can with pleasure refer to some
public documents which prove the happy effects of similar discipline in
other establishments.'

It should also be stated that the Reverend Mr. Kingsmill, the
chaplain of the Model Prison at Pentonville, in his calm and in
telligent report made to the Commissioners on the first of February
1849, expresses his belief ' that the effects produced here upon the
character of prisoners, have been encouraging in a high degree.1

But, we entreat our readers once again to look at that Model
Prison dietary (which is essential to the system, though the system
is so very healthy of itself) ; to remember the other enormous
expenses of the establishment ; to consider the circumstances of this
old country, witb the inevitable anomalies and contrasts it must
present ; and to decide, on temperate reflection, whether there are
any sufficient reasons for adding this monstrous contrast to the rest.
Let us impress upon our readers that the existing question is, not
between this system and the old abuses of the old profligate gaols
(with which, thank Heaven, we have nothing to do), but between
this system, and the associated silent system, where the dietary is
much lower, where the annual cost of provision, management, repairs,
clothing, etc., does not exceed, on a liberal average, £25 for each
prisoner ; where many prisoners are, and every prisoner would be
(if due accommodation were provided in some overcrowded prisons),
locked up alone, for twelve hours out of every twenty-four, and
where, while preserved from contamination, he is still one of a
society of men, and not an isolated being, filling his whole sphere
of view with a diseased dilation of himself. We hear that the
associated silent system is objectionable, because of the number of
punishments it involves for breaches of the prison discipline ; but
how can we, in the same breath, be told that the resolutions of
prisoners for the misty future are to be trusted, and that, on the
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least temptation, they are so little to be relied on, as to the solid
present ? How can I set the pattern penitence against the career
that preceded it, when I am told that if I put that man with other
men, and lay a solemn charge upon him not to address them by
word or sign, there are such and such great chances that he will want
the resolution to obey ?

Remember that this separate system, though commended in the
English Parliament and spreading in England, has not spread in
America, despite of all the steeplechase riders in the United States.
Remember that it has never reached the State most distinguished
for its learning, for its moderation, for its remarkable men of
European reputation, for the excellence of its public Institutions.
Let it be tried here, on a limited scale, if you will, with fair repre
sentatives of all classes of prisoners : let Captain Macconnochie's
system be tried : let anything with a ray of hope in it be tried : but,
only as a part of some general system for raising up the prostrate
portion of the people of this country, and not as an exhibition of
such astonishing consideration for crime, in comparison with want
and work. Any prison built, at a great expenditure, for this system,
is comparatively useless for any other ; and the ratepayers will do
well to think of this, before they take it for granted that it is a
proved boon to the country which will be enduring.

Under the separate system, the prisoners work at trades. Under
the associated silent system, the Magistrates of Middlesex have
almost abolished the treadmill. Is it no part of the legitimate
consideration of this important point of work, to discover what kind
of work the people always filtering through the gaols of large
towns — the pickpocket, the sturdy vagrant, the habitual drunkard,
and the begging- letter impostor — like least, and to give them that
work to do in preference to any other ? It is out of fashion with
the steeplechase riders we know ; but we would have, for all such
characters, a kind of work in gaols, badged and degraded as belong
ing to gaols only, and never done elsewhere. And we must avow
that, in a country circumstanced as England is, with respect to
labour and labourers, we have strong doubts of the propriety of
bringing the results of prison labour into the overstocked market.
On this subject some public remonstrances have recently been made
by tradesmen ; and we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that they are
well founded.

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OLD LAMPS FOR NEW ONES

[JUNE 15, 1850]

THE magician in Aladdin may possibly have neglected the study of
men, for the study of alchemical books ; but it is certain that in
spite of his profession he was no conjuror. He knew nothing of
human nature, or the everlasting set of the current of human affairs.
If, when he fraudulently sought to obtain possession of the wonder
ful Lamp, and went up and down, disguised, before the flying-palace,
crying New Lamps for Old ones, he had reversed his cry, and made
it Old Lamps for New ones, he would have been so far before his time
as to have projected himself into the nineteenth century of our
Christian Era.

This age is so perverse, and is so very short of faith — in conse
quence, as some suppose, of there having been a run on that bank
for a few generations — that a parallel and beautiful idea, generally
known among the ignorant as the young England hallucination,
unhappily expired before it could run alone, to the great grief of a
small but a very select circle of mourners. There is something so
fascinating, to a mind capable of any serious reflection, in the notion
of ignoring all that has been done for the happiness and elevation
of mankind during three or four centuries of slow and dearly-
bought amelioration, that we have always thought it would tend
soundly to the improvement of the general public, if any tangible
symbol, any outward and visible sign, expressive of that admirable
conception, could be held up before them. We are happy to have
found such a sign at last ; and although it would make a very
indifferent sign, indeed, in the Licensed Victualling sense of the
word, and would probably be rejected with contempt and horror
by any Christian publican, it has our warmest philosophical
appreciation.

In the fifteenth century, a certain feeble lamp of art arose in the
Italian town of Urbino. This poor light, Raphael Sanzio by name,
better known to a few miserably mistaken wretches in these later
days, as Raphael (another burned at the same time called Titian),
was fed with a preposterous idea of Beauty — with a ridiculous power
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OLD LAMPS FOR NEW ONES

of etherealising, and exalting to the very Heaven of Heavens, what
was most sublime and lovely in the expression of the human face
divine on Earth — with the truly contemptible conceit of finding in
poor humanity the fallen likeness of the angels of God, and raising
it up again to their pure spiritual condition. This very fantastic
whim effected a low revolution in Art, in this wise, that Beauty
came to be regarded as one of its indispensable elements. In this
very poor delusion, artists have continued until this present nine
teenth century, when it was reserved for some bold aspirants to ' put
it down.'

The pre-Raphael Brotherhood, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the
dread Tribunal which is to set this matter right. Walk up, walk
up ; and here, conspicuous on the wall of the Royal Academy of
Art in England, in the eighty-second year of their annual exhibition,
you shall see what this new Holy Brotherhood, this terrible Police
that is to disperse all Post-Raphael offenders, has been and done !

You come — in this Royal Academy Exhibition, which is familiar
with the works of Wilkie, Collins, Etty, Eastlake, Mulready,
Leslie, Maclise, Turner, Stanfield, Landseer, Roberts, Danby,
Creswick, Lee, Webster, Herbert, Dyce, Cope, and others who
would have been renowned as great masters in any age or country —
you come, in this place, to the contemplation of a Holy Family.
You will have the goodness to discharge from your minds all Post-
Raphael ideas, all religious aspirations, all elevating thoughts ; all
tender, awful, sorrowful, ennobling, sacred, graceful, or beautiful
associations ; and to prepare yourselves, as befits such a subject —
pre-Raphaelly considered — for the lowest depths of what is mean,
odious, repulsive, and revolting.

You behold the interior of a carpenter's shop. In the foreground
of that carpenter's shop is a hideous, wry-necked, blubbering red
headed boy, in a bed-gown, who appears to have received a poke in
the hand from the stick of another boy with whom he has been
playing in an adjacent gutter, and to be holding it up for the
contemplation of a kneeling woman, so horrible in her ugliness, that
(supposing it were possible for any human creature to exist for a
moment with that dislocated throat) she would stand out from the
rest of the company as a Monster, in the vilest cabaret in France,
or the lowest gin-shop in England. Two almost naked carpenters,
master and journeyman, worthy companions of this agreeable female,

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are working at their trade ; a boy, with some small flavour of
humanity in him, is entering with a vessel of water ; and nobody
is paying any attention to a snuffy old woman who seems to have
mistaken that shop for the tobacconist's next door, and to be
hopelessly waiting at the counter to be served with half an ounce
of her favourite mixture. Wherever it is possible to express ugliness
of feature, limb, or attitude, you have it expressed. Such men as
the carpenters might be undressed in any hospital where dirty
drunkards, in a high state of varicose veins are received. Their very
toes have walked out of Saint Giles's.

This, in the nineteenth century, and in the eighty-second year
of the annual exhibition of the National Academy of Art, is the
Pre-Raphael representation to us, Ladies and Gentlemen, of the
most solemn passage which our minds can ever approach. This, in
the nineteenth century, and in the eighty-second year of the annual
exhibition of the National Academy of Art, is what Pre-Raphael
Art can do to render reverence and homage to the faith in which we
live and die ! Consider this picture well. Consider the pleasure we
should have in a similar Pre-Raphael rendering of a favourite
horse, or dog, or cat ; and, coming fresh from a pretty considerable
turmoil about * desecration ' in connection with the National Post
Office, let us extol this great achievement, and commend the
National Academy.

In further considering this symbol of the great retrogressive
principle, it is particularly gratifying to observe that such objects
as the shavings which are strewn on the carpenter's floor are admir
ably painted; and that the Pre-Raphael Brother is indisputably
accomplished in the manipulation of his art. It is gratifying to
observe this, because the fact involves no low effort at notoriety ;
everybody knowing that it is by no means easier to call attention to
a very indifferent pig with five legs than to a symmetrical pig with
four. Also, because it is good to know that the National Academy
thoroughly feels and comprehends the high range and exalted
purposes of art ; distinctly perceives that art includes something
more than the faithful portraiture of shavings, or the skilful colour
ing of drapery — imperatively requires, in short, that it shall be
informed with mind and sentiment ; will on no account reduce it to
a narrow question of trade-juggling with a palette, palette-knife,
and paint-box. It is likewise pleasing to reflect that the great
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educational establishment foresees the difficulty into which it would
be led, by attaching greater weight to mere handicraft, than to any
other consideration — even to considerations of common reverence or
decency ; which absurd principle in the event of a skilful painter of
the figure becoming a very little more perverted in his taste, than
certain skilful painters are just now, might place Her Gracious
Majesty in a very painful position, one of these fine Private View
Days.

Would it were in our power to congratulate our readers on the
hopeful prospects of the great retrogressive principle, of which this
thoughtful picture is the sign and emblem ! Would that we could
give our readers encouraging assurance of a healthy demand for
Old Lamps in exchange for New ones, and a steady improvement in
the Old Lamp Market ! The perversity of mankind is such, and
the untoward arrangements of Providence are such, that we cannot
lay that flattering unction to their souls. We can only report what
Brotherhoods, stimulated by this sign, are forming; and what
opportunities will be presented to the people, if the people will but
accept them.

In the first place, the Pre-Perspective Brotherhood will be
presently incorporated, for the subversion of all known rules and
principles of perspective. It is intended to swear every P.P.B.
to a solemn renunciation of the art of perspective on a soup-plate
of the willow pattern ; and we may expect, on the occasion of
the eighty-third annual exhibition of the Royal Academy of Art in
England, to see some pictures by this pious Brotherhood, realising
Hogarth's idea of a man on a mountain several miles off, lighting
his pipe at the upper window of a house in the foreground. But we
are informed that every brick in the house will be a portrait ; that
the man's boots will be copied with the utmost fidelity from a pair
of Bluchers sent up out of Northamptonshire for the purpose ; and
that the texture of his hands (including four chilblains, a whitlow,
and ten dirty nails) will be a triumph of the painter's art.

A Society, to be called the Pre-Newtonian Brotherhood, was
lately projected by a young gentleman, under articles to a Civil
Engineer, who objected to being considered bound to conduct him
self according to the laws of gravitation. But this young gentleman,
being reproached by some aspiring companions with the timidity
of his conception, has abrogated that idea in favour of a Pre-Galileo
VOL. I : R 257

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Brotherhood now flourishing, who distinctly refuse to perform any
annual revolution round the sun, and have arranged that the world
shall not do so any more. The course to be taken by the Royal
Academy of Art in reference to this Brotherhood is not yet decided
upon ; but it is whispered that some other large educational Institu
tions in the neighbourhood of Oxford are nearly ready to pronounce
in favour of it.

Several promising students connected with. the Royal College of
Surgeons have held a meeting, to protest against the circulation of
the blood, and to pledge themselves to treat all the patients they
can get, on principles condemnatory of that innovation. A Pre-
Harvey Brotherhood is the result, from which a great deal may be
expected — by the undertakers.

In Literature, a very spirited effort has been made, which is no
less than the formation of a P.G.A.P.C.B., or Pre-Gower and
Pre-Chaucer Brotherhood, for the restoration of the ancient English
style of spelling, and the weeding out from all libraries, public and
private, of those and all later pretenders, particularly a person of
loose character named Shakespeare. It having been suggested,
however, that this happy idea could scarcely be considered complete
while the art of printing was permitted to remain unmolested,
another society, under the name of the Pre-Laurentius Brotherhood,
has been established in connection with it, for the abolition of all but
manuscript books. These Mr. Pugin has engaged to supply, in
characters that nobody on earth shall be able to read. And it is
confidently expected by those who have seen the House of Lords,
that he will faithfully redeem his pledge.

In Music, a retrogressive step, in which there is much hope,
has been taken. The P.A.B., or Pre-Agincourt Brotherhood has
arisen, nobly devoted to consign to oblivion Mozart, Beethoven,
Handel, and every other such ridiculous reputation, and to fix its
Millennium (as its name implies) before the date of the first regular
musical composition known to have been achieved in England. As
this Institution has not yet commenced active operations, it remains
to be seen whether the Royal Academy of Music will be a worthy
sister of the Royal Academy of Art, and admit this enterprising
body to its orchestra. We have it on the best authority, that its
compositions will be quite as rough and discordant as the real old
original — that it will be, in a word, exactly suited to the pictorial
2S8

THE SUNDAY SCREW

Art we have endeavoured to describe. We have strong hopes,
therefore, that the Royal Academy of Music, not wanting an
example, may not want courage.

The regulation of social matters, as separated from the Fine
Arts, has been undertaken by the Pre-Henry-the-Seventh Brother
hood, who date from the same period as the Pre-Raphael Brother
hood. This Society, as cancelling all the advances of nearly four
hundred years, and reverting to one of the most disagreeable periods
of English History, when the Nation was yet very slowly emerging
from barbarism, and when gentle female foreigners, come over to be
the wives of Scottish Kings, wept bitterly (as well they might) at
being left alone among the savage Court, must be regarded with
peculiar favour. As the time of ugly religious caricatures (called
mysteries), it is thoroughly Pre-Raphael in its spirit ; and may be
deemed the twin brother to that great society. We should be
certain of the Plague among many other advantages, if this Brother
hood were properly encouraged.

All these Brotherhoods, and any other society of the like kind,
now in being or yet to be, have at once a guiding star, and a reduc
tion of their great ideas to something palpable and obvious to the
senses, in the sign to which we take the liberty of directing their
attention. We understand that it is in the contemplation of each
Society to become possessed, with all convenient speed, of a collec
tion of such pictures ; and that once, every year, to wit, upon the
first of April, the whole intend to amalgamate in a high festival, to
be called the Convocation of Eternal Boobies.

THE SUNDAY SCREW

[JUNE 22, 1850]

THIS little instrument, remarkable for its curious twist, has been at
work again. A small portion of the collective wisdom of the nation
has affirmed the principle that there must be no collection or delivery
of posted letters on a Sunday. The principle was discussed by
something less than a fourth of the House of Commons, and affirmed
by something less than a seventh.

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Having no doubt whatever that this brilliant victory is, in effect,
the affirmation of the principle that there ought to be No Anything
but churches and chapels on a Sunday ; or, that it is the beginning
of a Sabbatarian Crusade, outrageous to the spirit of Christianity,
irreconcilable with the health, the rational enjoyments, and the true
religious feeling, of the community ; and certain to result, if success
ful, in a violent reaction, threatening contempt and hatred of that
seventh day which it is a great religious and social object to maintain
in the popular affection ; it would ill become us to be deterred from
speaking out upon the subject, by any fear of being misunderstood,
or by any certainty of being misrepresented.

Confident in the sense of the country, and not unacquainted with
the habits and exigencies of the people, we approach the Sunday
question, quite undiscomposed by the late storm of mad misstate-
ment and all uncharitableness, which cleared the way for Lord
Ashley's motion. The preparation may be likened to that which is
usually described in the case of the Egyptian Sorcerer and the boy
who has some dark liquid poured into the palm of his hand, which
is presently to become a magic mirror. * Look for Lord Ashley.
What do you see ? ' ' Oh, here 's some one with a broom ! ' * Well !
what is he doing?1 'Oh, he's sweeping away Mr. Rowland Hill!
Now, there is a great crowd of people all sweeping Mr. Rowland
Hill away ; and now, there is a red flag with Intolerance on it ; and
now, they are pitching a great many Tents called Meetings. Now,
the tents are all upset, and Mr. Rowland Hill has swept everybody
else away. And oh ! now, here 's Lord Ashley, with a Resolution in
his hand ! '

One Christian sentence is all-sufficient with us, on the theological
part of this subject. 'The Sabbath was made for man, and not
man for the Sabbath.' No amount of signatures to petitions can
ever sign away the meaning of those words ; no end of volumes of
Hansard's Parliamentary Debates can ever affect them in the least.
Move and carry resolutions, bring in bills, have committees, upstairs,
downstairs, and in my lady's chamber; read a first time, read a
second time, read a third time, read thirty thousand times ; the
declared authority of the Christian dispensation over the letter of
the Jewish Law, particularly in this especial instance, cannot be
petitioned, resolved, read, or committee'd away.

It is important in such a case as this affirmation of s\ principle,
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to know what amount of practical sense and logic entered into its
assertion. We will inquire.

Lord Ashley (who has done much good, and whom we mention
with every sentiment of sincere respect, though we believe him to be
most mischievously deluded on this question), speaks of the people
employed in the Country Post-Offices on Sunday, as though they
were continually at work, all the livelong day. He asks whether
they are to be 'a Pariah race, excluded from the enjoyments of the
rest of the community ? ' He presents to our mind's eye, rows of
Post-Office clerks, sitting, with dishevelled hair and dirty linen,
behind small shutters, all Sunday long, keeping time with their
sighs to the ringing of the church bells, and watering bushels of
letters, incessantly passing through their hands, with their tears.
Is this exactly the reality ? The Upas tree is a figure of speech
almost as ancient as our lachrymose friend the Pariah, in whom most
of us recognise a respectable old acquaintance. Supposing we were
to take it into our heads to declare in these Household Words, that
every Post-Office clerk employed on Sunday in the country, is com
pelled to sit under his own particular sprig of Upas, planted in a
flower-pot beside him for the express purpose of blighting him with
its baneful shade, should we be much more beyond the mark than
Lord Ashley himself? Did any of our readers ever happen to post
letters in the Country on a Sunday? Did they ever see a notice
outside a provincial Post-Office, to the effect that the presiding
Pariah would be in attendance at such an hour on Sunday, and not
before ? Did they ever wait for the Pariah, at some inconvenience,
until the hour arrived, and observe him come to the office in an
extremely spruce condition as to his shirt collar, and do a little
sprinkling of business in a very easy off-hand manner? We have
such recollections ourselves. We have posted and received letters
in most parts of this kingdom on a Sunday, and we never yet
observed the Pariah to be quite crushed. On the contrary, we have
seen him at church, apparently in the best health and spirits (not
withstanding an hour or so of sorting, earlier in the morning), and
we have met him out a-walking with the young lady to whom he is
engaged, and we have known him meet her again with her
cousin, after the dispatch of the Mails, and really conduct himself
as if he were not particularly exhausted or afflicted. Indeed, how
could he be so, on Lord Ashley's own showing ? There is a Saturday

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before the Sunday. We are a people indisposed, he says, to business
on a Sunday. More than a million of people are known, from their
petitions, to be too scrupulous to hear of such a thing. Few
counting-houses or offices are ever opened on a Sunday. The
Merchants and Bankers write by Saturday night's post. The Sunday
night's post may be presumed to be chiefly limited to letters of
necessity and emergency. Lord Ashley's whole case would break
down, if it were probable that the Post-Office Pariah had half as
much confinement on Sunday, as the He-Pariah who opens my
Lord's street door when anybody knocks, or the She-Pariah who
nurses my Lady's baby.

If the London Post-Office be not opened on a Sunday, says Lord
Ashley, why should the Post-Offices of provincial towns be opened
on a Sunday? Precisely because the provincial towns are NOT
London, we apprehend. Because London is the great capital, mart,
and business-centre of the world ; because in London there are
hundreds of thousands of people, young and old, away from their
families and friends; because the stoppage of the Monday's Post
Delivery in London would stop, for many precious hours, the natural
flow of the blood from every vein and artery in the world to the
heart of the world, and its return from the heart through all those
tributary channels. Because the broad difference between London
and every other place in England, necessitated this distinction, and
has perpetuated it.

But, to say nothing of petitioners elsewhere, it seems that two
hundred merchants and bankers in Liverpool 'formed themselves
into a committee, to forward the object of this motion.' In the
name of all the Pharisees of Jerusalem, could not the two hundred
merchants and bankers form themselves into a committee to write or
read no business-letters themselves on a Sunday — and let the Post-
Office alone ? The Government establishes a monopoly in the Post-
Office, and makes it not only difficult and expensive for me to send
a letter by any other means, but illegal. What right has any
merchant or banker to stop the course of any letter that I may have
sore necessity to post, or may choose to post ? If any one of the
two hundred merchants and bankers lay at the point of death, on
Sunday, would he desire his absent child to be written to — the
Sunday Post being yet in existence ? And how do they take upon
themselves to tell us that the Sunday Post is not a ' necessity,' when
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they know, every man of them, every Sunday morning, that before
the clock strikes next, they and theirs may be visited by any one of
incalculable millions of accidents, to make it a dire need ? Not a
necessity ? Is it possible that these merchants and bankers suppose
there is any Sunday Post, from any large town, which is not a very
agony of necessity to some one ? I might as well say, in my pride
of strength, that a knowledge of bone-setting in surgeons is not a
necessity, because I have not broken my leg.

There is a Sage of this sort in the House of Commons. He is of
opinion that the Sunday Police is a necessity, but the Sunday Post
is not. That is to say, in a certain house in London or Westminster,
there are certain silver spoons, engraved with the family crest — a
Bigot rampant — which would be pretty sure to disappear, on an
early Sunday, if there were no Policemen on duty ; whereas the Sage
sees no present probability of his requiring to write a letter into the
country on a Saturday night — and, if it should arise, he can use the
Electric Telegraph. Such is the sordid balance some professing
Heathens hold of their own pounds against other men's pennies, and
their own selfish wants against those of the community at large !
Even the Member for Birmingham, of all the towns in England,
is afflicted by this selfish blindness, and, because he is 'tired of
reading and answering letters on a Sunday,' cannot conceive the
possibility of there being other people not so situated, to whom
the Sunday Post may, under many circumstances, be an unspeakable
blessing.

The inconsequential nature of Lord Ashley's positions, cannot
be better shown, than by one brief passage from his speech. ' When
he said the transmission of the Mail, he meant the Mail-bags ; he
did not propose to interfere with the passengers.' No? Think
again, Lord Ashley.

When the Honourable Member for Whitened Sepulchres moves
his resolution for the stoppage of Mail Trains — in a word, of all
Railway travelling — on Sunday ; and when that Honourable Gentle
man talks about the Pariah clerks who take the money and give the
tickets, the Pariah engine-drivers, the Pariah stokers, the Pariah
porters, the Pariah police along the line, and the Pariah flys waiting
at the Pariah stations to take the Pariah passengers, to be attended
by Pariah servants at the Pariah Arms and other Pariah Hotels;
what will Lord Ashley do then ? Envy insinuated that Tom Thumb

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made his giants first, and then killed them, but you cannot do the
like by your Pariahs. You cannot get an exclusive patent for the
manufacture and destruction of Pariah dolls. Other Honourable
Gentlemen are certain to engage in the trade; and when the
Honourable Member for Whitened Sepulchres makes his Pariahs
of all these people, you cannot refuse to recognise them as being
of the genuine sort, Lord Ashley. Railway and all other Sunday
Travelling, suppressed, by the Honourable Member for Whitened
Sepulchres, the same honourable gentleman, who will not have been
particularly complimented in the course of that achievement by the
Times Newspaper, will discover that a good deal is done towards the
Times of Monday, on a Sunday night, and will Pariah the whole of
that immense establishment. For, this is the great inconvenience of
Pariah-making, that when you begin, they spring up like mush
rooms : insomuch, that it is very doubtful whether we shall have a
house in all this land, from the Queen's Palace downward, which will
not be found, on inspection, to be swarming with Pariahs. Not
touch the Mails, and yet abolish the Mail-bags? Stop all those
silent messengers of affection and anxiety, yet let the talking
traveller, who is the cause of infinitely more employment, go ? Why,
this were to suppose all men Fools, and the Honourable Member for
Whitened Sepulchres even a greater Noodle than he is !

Lord Ashley supports his motion by reading some perilous
bombast, said to be written by a working-man — of whom the
intelligent body of working-men have no great reason, to our
thinking, to be proud — in which there is much about not being
robbed of the boon of the day of rest ; but, with all Lord Ashley's
indisputably humane and benevolent impulses, we grieve to say we
know no robber whom the working-man, really desirous to preserve
his Sunday, has so much to dread, as Lord Ashley himself. He is
weakly lending the influence of his good intentions to a movement
which would make that day no day of rest — rest to those who are
overwrought, includes recreation, fresh air, change — but a day of
mortification and gloom. And this not to one class only, be it
understood. This is not a class question. If there be no gentle
man of spirit in the House of Commons to remind Lord Ashley
that the high-flown nonsense he quoted, concerning labour, is but
another form of the stupidest socialist dogma, which seeks to
represent that there is only one class of labourers on earth, it is well
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that the truth should be stated somewhere. And it is indisput
able, that three-fourths of us are labourers who work hard for our
living; and that the condition of what we call the working-man,
has its parallel, at a remove of certain degrees, in almost all pro
fessions and pursuits. Running through the middle classes, is a
broad deep vein of constant, compulsory, indispensable work. There
are innumerable gentlemen, and sons and daughters of gentlemen,
constantly at work, who have no more hope of making fortunes in
their vocation, than the working-man has in his. There are in
numerable families in which the day of rest is the only day out of
the seven where innocent domestic recreations and enjoyments are
very feasible. In our mean gentility, which is the cause of so much
social mischief, we may try to separate ourselves, as to this question,
from the working-man ; and may very complacently resolve that
there is no occasion for his excursion trains and tea gardens, because
we don't use them ; but we had better not deceive ourselves. It is
impossible that we can cramp his means of needful recreation and
refreshment, without cramping our own, or basely cheating him.
We cannot leave him to the Christian patronage of the Honourable
Member for Whitened Sepulchres, and take ourselves off. We
cannot restrain him and leave ourselves free. Our Sunday wants
are pretty much the same as his, though his are far more easily
satisfied; our inclinations and our feelings are pretty much the
same; and it will be no less wise than honest in us, the middle
classes, not to be Janus-faced about the matter.

What is it that the Honourable Member for Whitened Sepul
chres, for whom Lord Ashley clears the way, wants to do? He
sees on a Sunday morning, in the large towns of England, when
the bells are ringing for church and chapel, certain unwashed, dim-
eyed, dissipated loungers, hanging about the doors of public-houses,
and loitering at the street corners, to whom the day of rest appeals
in much the same degree as a sunny summer day does to so many
pigs. Does he believe that any weight of handcuffs on the Post-
Office, or any amount of restriction imposed on decent people, will
bring Sunday home to these ? Let him go, any Sunday morning,
from the new town of Edinburgh where the sound of a piano would
be profanation, to the old Town, and see what Sunday is in the
Canongate. Or let him get up some statistics of the drunken people
in Glasgow, while the churches are full — and work out the amount

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of Sabbath observance which is carried downward, by rigid shows
and sad-coloured forms.

But, there is another class of people, those who take little jaunts,
and mingle in social little assemblages, on a Sunday, concerning whom
the whole constituency of Whitened Sepulchres, with their Honour
able Member in the chair, find their lank hair standing on end with
horror, and pointing, as if they were all electrified, straight up to
the skylights of Exeter Hall. In reference to this class, we would
whisper in the ears of the disturbed assemblage, three short words,
* Let well alone ! "*

The English people have long been remarkable for their domestic
habits, and their household virtues and affections. They are, now,
beginning to be universally respected by intelligent foreigners who
visit this country, for their unobtrusive politeness, their good-
humour, and their cheerful recognition of all restraints that really
originate in consideration for the general good. They deserve this
testimony (which we have often heard, of late, with pride) most
honourably. Long maligned and mistrusted, they proved their case
from the very first moment of having it in their power to do so ; and
have never, on any single occasion within our knowledge, abused any
public confidence that has been reposed in them. It is an extra
ordinary thing to know of a people, systematically excluded from
galleries and museums for years, that their respect for such places,
and for themselves as visitors to them, dates, without any period of
transition, from the very day when their doors were freely opened.
The national vices are surprisingly few. The people in general are
not gluttons, nor drunkards, nor gamblers, nor addicted to cruel
sports, nor to the pushing of any amusement to furious and wild
extremes. They are moderate, and easily pleased, and very sensible
to all affectionate influences. Any knot of holiday-makers, without
a large proportion of women and children among them, would be a
perfect phenomenon. Let us go into any place of Sunday enjoy
ment where any fair representation of the people resort, and we shall
find them decent, orderly, quiet, sociable among their families and
neighbours. There is a general feeling of respect for religion, and
for religious observances. The churches and chapels are well filled.
Very few people who keep servants or apprentices leave out of con
sideration their opportunities of attending church or chapel; the
general demeanour within those edifices, is particularly grave and
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decorous ; and the general recreations without, arc of a harmless
and simple kind. Lord Brougham never did Henry Brougham
more justice, than in declaring to the House of Lords, after the
success of this motion in the House of Commons, that there is no
country where the Sabbath is, on the whole, better observed than in
England. Let the constituency of Whitened Sepulchres ponder, in a
Christian spirit, on these things ; take care of their own consciences ;
leave their Honourable Member to take care of his ; and let well
alone.

For, it is in nations as in families. Too tight a hand in these
respects, is certain to engender a disposition to break loose, and
to run riot. If the private experience of any reader, pausing on
this sentence, cannot furnish many unhappy illustrations of its
truth, it is a very fortunate experience indeed. Our most notable
public example of it, in England, is just two hundred years old.

Lord Ashley had better merge his Pariahs into the body politic ;
and the Honourable Member for Whitened Sepulchres had better
accustom his jaundiced eyes to the Sunday sight of dwellers in
towns, roaming in green fields, and gazing upon country prospects.
If he will look a little beyond them, and lift up the eyes of his
mind, perhaps he may observe a mild, majestic figure in the dis
tance, going through a field of corn, attended by some common
men who pluck the grain as they pass along, and whom their
Divine Master teaches that he is the Lord, even of the Sabbath-
Day.

LIVELY TURTLE

[OCTOBER 26, 1850]

I HAVE a comfortable property. What I spend, I spend upon
myself; and what I don't spend I save. Those are my principles.
I am warmly attached to my principles, and stick to them on all
occasions.

I am not, as some people have represented, a mean man. I
never denied myself anything that I thought I should like to have.
I may have said to myself ' Snoady ' — that is my name — ' you will

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get those peaches cheaper if you wait till next week ' ; or, I may
have said to myself, ' Snoady, you will get that wine for nothing,
if you wait till you are asked out to dine ' ; but I never deny myself
anything. If I can't get what I want without buying it, and paying
its price for it, I do buy it and pay its price for it. I have an appetite
bestowed upon me ; and, if I baulked it, I should consider that I was
flying in the face of Providence.

I have no near relation but a brother. If he wants anything of
me, he don't get it. All men are my brothers ; and I see no reason
why I should make his, an exceptional case.

I live at a cathedral town where there is an old corporation. I
am not in the Church, but it may be that I hold a little place of
some sort. Never mind. It may be profitable. Perhaps yes, per
haps no. It may, or it may not, be a sinecure. I don't choose to
say. I never enlightened my brother on these subjects, and I con
sider all men my brothers. The Negro is a man and a brother —
should I hold myself accountable for my position in life, to him ?
Certainly not.

I often run up to London. I like London. The way I look at
it, is this. London is not a cheap place, but, on the whole, you can
get more of the real thing for your money there — I mean the best
thing, whatever it is — than you can get in most places. Therefore,
I say to the man who has got the money, and wants the thing, * Go
to London for it, and treat yourself.'

When / go, I do it in this manner. I go to Mrs. Skim's Private
Hotel and Commercial Lodging House, near Aldersgate Street, City,
(it is advertised in Bradshaw's Railway Guide, where I first found
it), and there I pay, * for bed and breakfast, with meat, two and
ninepence per day, including servants.' Now, I have made a calcula
tion, and I am satisfied that Mrs. Skim cannot possibly make much
profit out of me. In fact, if all her patrons were like me, my opinion
is, the woman would be in the Gazette next month.

Why do I go to Mrs. Skim's when I could go to the Clarendon,
you may ask ? Let us argue that point. If I went to the Clarendon
I could get nothing in bed but sleep ; could I ? No. Now, sleep
at the Clarendon is an expensive article; whereas sleep, at Mrs.
Skim's, is decidedly cheap. I have made a calculation, and I don't
hesitate to say, all things considered, that it's cheap. Is it an
inferior article, as compared with the Clarendon sleep, or is it of
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the same quality? I am a heavy sleeper, and it is of the same
quality. Then why should I go to the Clarendon ?

But as to breakfast ? you may say. — Very well. As to breakfast.
I could get a variety of delicacies for breakfast at the Clarendon,
that are out of the question at Mrs. Skim's. Granted. But I don't
want to have them ! My opinion is, that we are not entirely animal
and sensual. Man has an intellect bestowed upon him. If he clogs
that intellect by too good a breakfast, how can he properly exert
that intellect in meditation, during the day, upon his dinner ? That 's
the point. We are not to enchain the soul. We are to let it soar.
It is expected of us.

At Mrs. Skim's, I get enough for breakfast (there is no limita
tion to the bread and butter, though there is to the meat) and not
too much. I have all my faculties about me, to concentrate upon
the object I have mentioned, and I can say to myself besides, * Snoady,
you have saved six, eight, ten, fifteen, shillings, already to-day. If
there is anything you fancy for your dinner, have it. Snoady, you
have earned your reward.1

My objection to London, is, that it is the headquarters of the
worst radical sentiments that are broached in England. I consider
that it has a great many dangerous people in it. I consider the
present publication (if it's Household Words) very dangerous,
and I write this with the view of neutralising some of its bad
effects. My political creed is, let us be comfortable. We are all
very comfortable as we are — / am very comfortable as I am — leave
us alone !

All mankind are my brothers, and I don't think it Christian —
if you come to that — to tell my brother that he is ignorant, or
degraded, or dirty, or anything of the kind. I think it's abusive
and low. You meet me with the observation that I am required
to love my brother. I reply, ' I do.' I am sure I am always will
ing to say to my brother, ' My good fellow, I love you very much ;
go along with you ; keep to your own road ; leave me to mine ; what
ever is, is right ; whatever isn't, is wrong ; don't make a disturbance ! '
It seems to me, that this is at once the whole duty of man, and the
only temper to go to dinner in.

Going to dinner in this temper in the City of London, one day
not long ago, after a bed at Mrs. Skim's, with meat-breakfast and
servants included, I was reminded of the observation which, if my

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memory does not deceive me, was formerly made by somebody on
some occasion, that man may learn wisdom from the lower animals.
It is a beautiful fact, in my opinion, that great wisdom is to be learnt
from that noble animal the Turtle.

I had made up my mind, in the course of the day I speak of, to
have a Turtle dinner. I mean a dinner mainly composed of Turtle
Just a comfortable tureen of soup, with a pint of punch ; and no
thing solid to follow, but a tender juicy steak. I like a tender juicy
steak. I generally say to myself when I order one, ' Snoady, you
have done right.'

When I make up my mind to have a delicacy, expense is no
consideration. The question resolves itself, then, into a question
of the very best. I went to a friend of mine who is a Member of
the Common Council, and with that friend I held the following
conversation.

Said I to him, * Mr. Groggles, the best Turtle is where ? *

Says he, * If you want a basin for lunch, my opinion is, you can't
do better than drop into Birch's.'

Said I, 'Mr. Groggles, I thought you had known me better,
than to suppose me capable of a basin. My intention is to dine.
A tureen.'

Says Mr. Groggles, without a moment's consideration, and in a
determined voice, * Right opposite the India House, Leadenhall
Street.'

We parted. My mind was not inactive during the day, and
at six in the afternoon I repaired to the house of Mr. Groggles's
recommendation. At the end of the passage, leading from the
street into the coffee-room, I observed a vast and solid chest, in
which I then supposed that a Turtle of unusual size might be
deposited. But, the correspondence between its bulk and that of
the charge made for my dinner, afterwards satisfied me that it must
be the till of the establishment.

I stated to the waiter what had brought me there, and I
mentioned Mr. Groggles's name. He feelingly repeated after me,
'A tureen of Turtle, and a tender juicy steak.' His manner, added
to the manner of Mr. Groggles in the morning, satisfied me that
all was well. The atmosphere of the coffee-room was odoriferous
with Turtle, and the steams of thousands of gallons, consumed
within its walls, hung, in savoury grease, upon their surface. I
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could have inscribed my name with a penknife, if I had been so
disposed, in the essence of innumerable Turtles. I preferred to
fall into a hungry reverie, brought on by the warm breath of
the place, and to think of the West Indies and the Island of
Ascension.

My dinner came — and went. I will draw a veil over the meal, I
will put the cover on the empty tureen, and merely say that it was
wonderful — and that I paid for it.

I sat meditating, when all was over, on the imperfect nature of
our present existence, in which we can eat only for a limited time,
when the waiter roused me with these words.

Said he to me, as he brushed the crumbs off the table, ' Would
you like to see the Turtle, Sir ? '

* To see what Turtle, waiter ? ' said I (calmly) to him.

* The tanks of Turtle below, Sir,' said he to me.
Tanks of Turtle ! Good Gracious ! « Yes ! '

The waiter lighted a candle, and conducted me downstairs to a
range of vaulted apartments, cleanly whitewashed and illuminated
with gas, where I saw a sight of the most astonishing and gratify
ing description, illustrative of the greatness of my native country.
'Snoady,1 was my first observation to myself, 'Rule Britannia,
Britannia rules the waves ! '

There were two or three hundred Turtle in the vaulted apart
ments — all alive. Some in tanks, and some taking the air in long
dry walks littered down with straw. They were of all sizes ; many
of them enormous. Some of the enormous ones had entangled them
selves with the smaller ones, and pushed and squeezed themselves
into corners, with their fins over water-pipes, and their heads down
wards, where they were apoplectically struggling and splashing,
apparently in the last extremity. Others were calm at the bottom
of the tanks ; others languidly rising to the surface. The Turtle
in the walks littered down with straw, were calm and motionless.
It was a thrilling sight. I admire such a sight. It rouses my
imagination. If you wish to try its effect on yours, make a call
right opposite the India House any day you please — dine — pay —
and ask to be taken below.

Two athletic young men, without coats, and with the sleeves of
their shirts tucked up to the shoulders, were in attendance on these
noble animals. One of them, wrestling with the most enormous

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Turtle in company, and dragging him up to the edge of the tank,
for me to look at, presented an idea to me which I never had before.
I ought to observe that I like an idea. I say, when I get a new one,
* Snoady, book that ! '

My idea, on the present occasion, was, — Mr. Groggles ! It was
not a Turtle that I saw, but Mr. Groggles. It was the dead image
of Mr. Groggles. He was dragged up to confront me, with his
waistcoat — if I may be allowed the expression — towards me ; and it
was identically the waistcoat of Mr. Groggles. It was the same
shape, very nearly the same colour, only wanted a gold watch-chain
and a bunch of seals, to BE the waistcoat of Mr. Groggles. There
was what I should call a bursting expression about him in general,
which was accurately the expression of Mr. Groggles. I had never
closely observed a Turtle's throat before. The folds of his loose
cravat, I found to be precisely those of Mr. Groggles's cravat. Even
the intelligent eye — I mean to say, intelligent enough for a person
of correct principles, and not dangerously so — was the eye of Mr.
Groggles. When the athletic young man let him go, and, with a
roll of his head, he flopped heavily down into the tank, it was
exactly the manner of Mr. Groggles as I have seen him ooze away
into his seat, after opposing a sanitary motion in the Court of
Common Council !

* Snoady,' I couldn't help saying to myself, ' you have done it.
You have got an idea, Snoady, in which a great principle is in
volved. I congratulate you ! ' I followed the young man, who
dragged up several Turtle to the brinks of the various tanks. I
found them all the same — all varieties of Mr. Groggles — all extra
ordinarily like the gentlemen who usually eat them. ' Now, Snoady,'
was my next remark, ' what do you deduce from this ? '

' Sir,' said I, ' what I deduce from this, is, confusion to those
Radicals and other Revolutionists who talk about improvement.
Sir,' said I, ' what I deduce from this, is, that there isn't this
resemblance between the Turtles and the Groggleses for nothing. It 's
meant to show mankind that the proper model for a Groggles, is a
Turtle ; and that the liveliness we want in a Groggles, is the liveli
ness of a Turtle, and no more.' * Snoady,' was my reply to this,
' You have hit it. You are right ! '

I admired the idea very much, because, if I hate anything in the
world, it's change. Change has evidently no business in the world,
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LIVELY TURTLE

has nothing to do with it, and isn't intended. What we want is (as
I think I have mentioned) to be comfortable. I look at it that way.
Let us be comfortable, and leave us alone. Now, when the young
man dragged a Groggles — I mean a Turtle — out of his tank, this
was exactly what the noble animal expressed as he floundered back
again.

I have several friends besides Mr. Groggles in the Common
Council, and it might be a week after this, when I said, ' Snoady, if
I was you, I would go to that court, and hear the debate to-day.' I
went. A good deal of it was what I call a sound, old English dis
cussion. One eloquent speaker objected to the French as wearing
wooden shoes ; and a friend of his reminded him of another objection
to that foreign people, namely, that they eat frogs. I had feared,
for many years, I am sorry to say, that these wholesale principles
were gone out. How delightful to find them still remaining among
the great men of the City of London, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty ! It made me think of the Lively Turtle.

But, I soon thought more of the Lively Turtle. Some Radicals
and Revolutionists have penetrated even to the Common Council —
which otherwise I regard as one of the last strongholds of our
afflicted constitution ; and speeches were made, about removing
Smithfield Market — which I consider to be a part of that Constitu
tion — and about appointing a Medical Officer for the City, and
about preserving the public health ; and other treasonable practices,
opposed to Church and State. These proposals Mr. Groggles, as
might have been expected of such a man, resisted ; so warmly, that,
as I afterwards understood from Mrs. Groggles, he had rather a sharp
attack of blood to the head that night. All the Groggles party
resisted them too, and it was a fine constitutional sight to see waist
coat after waistcoat rise up in resistance of them and subside. But
what struck me in the sight was this, ' Snoady,' said I, ' here is your
idea carried out, Sir ! These Radicals and Revolutionists are the
athletic young men in shirt sleeves, dragging the Lively Turtle to
the edges of the tank. The Groggleses are the Turtle, looking out
for a moment, and flopping down again. Honour to the Groggleses !
Honour to the Court of Lively Turtle ! The wisdom of the Turtle
is the hope of England ! '

There are three heads in the moral of what I had to say. First,
Turtle and Groggles are identical ; wonderfully alike externally,
VOL. I : S 273

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wonderfully alike mentally. Secondly, Turtle is a good thing every
way, and the liveliness of the Turtle is intended as an example for
the liveliness of man ; you are not to go beyond that. Thirdly, we
are all quite comfortable. Leave us alone !

A CRISIS IN THE AFFAIRS OF
MR. JOHN BULL

AS RELATED BY MRS. BULL TO THE CHILDREN1
[NOVEMBER 23, 1850]

MRS. BULL and her rising family were seated round the fire, one
November evening at dusk, when all was mud, mist, and darkness,
out of doors, and a good deal of fog had even got into the family
parlour. To say the truth, the parlour was on no occasion fog-
proof, and had, at divers notable times, been so misty as to cause
the whole Bull family to grope about, in a most confused manner,
and make the strangest mistakes. But, there was an excellent
ventilator over the family fireplace (not one of Dr. Arnott's, though
it was of the same class, being an excellent invention, called Common
Sense), and hence, though the fog was apt to get into the parlour
through a variety of chinks, it soon got out again, and left the Bulls
at liberty to see what o'clock it was, by the solid, steady-going,
family time-piece : which went remarkably well in the long run,
though it was apt, at times, to be a trifle too slow.

Mr. Bull was dozing in his easy-chair, with his pocket-handkerchief
drawn over his head. Mrs. Bull, always industrious, was hard at
work, knitting. The children were grouped in various attitudes
around the blazing fire. Master C. J. London (called after his
Godfather), who had been rather late at his exercise, sat with his
chin resting, in something of a thoughtful and penitential manner,
on his slate, and his slate resting on his knees. Young Jonathan — a
cousin of the little Bulls, and a noisy, overgrown lad — was making a
tremendous uproar across the yard, with a new plaything. Occasion-

1 Readers will easily detect the references to the ' No Popery ' controversies of
1850, to Cardinal Wiseman, Dr. Pusey, and other theologians of the time. Dickens's
antipathy to anything Roman is well known, and may be illustrated in abundance from
the Child's History of England.
274

THE AFFAIRS OF MR. JOHN BULL

ally, when his noise reached the ears of Mr. Bull, the good gentleman
moved impatiently in his chair, and muttered ' Con — found that boy
in the stripes, I wish he wouldn't make such a fool of himself !'

* He '11 quarrel with his new toy soon, I know/ observed the
discreet Mrs. Bull, * and then he '11 begin to knock it about. But
we mustn't expect to find old heads on young shoulders.'

* That can't be, Ma,' said Master C. J. London, who was a sleek,
shining-faced boy.

* And why, then, did you expect to find an old head on Young
England's shoulders?' retorted Mrs. Bull, turning quickly on him.

' I didn't expect to find an old head on Young England's
shoulders ! ' cried Master C. J. London, putting his left-hand
knuckles to his right eye.

* You didn't expect it, you naughty boy ? ' said Mrs. Bull.

* No ! ' whimpered Master C. J. London. * I am sure I never
did. Oh, oh, oh ! '

' Don't go on in that way, don't ! ' said Mrs. Bull, ' but behave
better in future. What did you mean by playing with Young
England at all ? '

* I didn't mean any harm ! ' cried Master C. J. London, applying,
in his increased distress, the knuckles of his right hand to his right
eye, and the knuckles of his left hand to his left eye.

' I dare say you didn't ! ' returned Mrs. Bull. ' Hadn't you had
warning enough about playing with candles and candlesticks ? How
often had you been told that your poor father's house, long before
you were born, was in danger of being reduced to ashes by candles
and candlesticks ? And when Young England and his companions
began to put their shirts on, over their clothes, and to play all sorts
of fantastic tricks in them, why didn't you come and tell your poor
father and me, like a dutiful C. J. London ? '

' Because the rubric ' Master C. J. London was beginning,

when Mrs. Bull took him up short.

' Don't talk to me about the Rubric, or you '11 make it worse ! '
said Mrs. Bull, shaking her head at him. ' Just exactly what the
Rubric meant then, it means now; and just exactly what it didn't
mean then, it don't mean now. You are taught to act, according to
the spirit, not the letter ; and you know what its spirit must be, or
you wouldn't be. No, C. J. London ! ' said Mrs. Bull, emphatically.
'If there were any candles or candlesticks in the spirit of your

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lesson-book, Master Wiseman would have been my boy, and not
you !'

Here, Master C. J. London fell a-crying more grievously than
before, sobbing, * Oh, Ma, Master Wiseman with his red legs, your
boy ! Oh, oh, oh ! '

' Will you be quiet,' returned Mrs. Bull, ' and let your poor father
rest ? I am ashamed of you. You to go and play with a parcel of
sentimental girls, and dandy boys ! Is that your bringing up ? '

' I didn't know they were fond of Master Wiseman,1 protested
Master C. J. London, still crying.

'You didn't know, Sir!' retorted Mrs. Bull. 'Don't tell me!
Then you ought to have known. Other people knew. You were
told often enough, at the time, what it would come to. You didn't
want a ghost, I suppose, to warn you that when they got to candle
sticks, they 'd get to candles ; and that when they got to candles,
they 'd get to lighting 'em ; and that when they began to put their
shirts on outside, and to play at monks and friars, it was as natural that
Master Wiseman should be encouraged to put on a pair of red-
stockings, and a red hat, and to commit I don't know what other
Tom-fooleries and make a perfect Guy Fawkes of himself in more
ways than one. Is it because you are a Bull, that you are not to be
roused till they shake scarlet close to your very eyes?' said Mrs.
Bull indignantly.

Master C. J. London, still repeating ' Oh, oh, oh ! ' in a very
plaintive manner, screwed his knuckles into his eyes until there
appeared considerable danger of his screwing his eyes out of his
head. But, little John (who though of a spare figure was a very
spirited boy), started up from the little bench on which he sat;
gave Master C. J. London a hearty pat on the back (accompanied,
however, with a slight poke in the ribs); and told him that if
Master Wiseman, or Young England, or any of those fellows, wanted
anything for himself, he (little John) was the boy to give it him.
Hereupon, Mrs. Bull, who was always proud of the child, and
always had been, since his measure was first taken for an entirely
new suit of clothes, to wear in Common, could not refrain from catch
ing him up on her knee and kissing him with great affection, while
the whole family expressed their delight in various significant ways.

' You are a noble boy, little John,' said Mrs. Bull, with a mother's
pride, * and that 's the fact, after everything is said and done ! '
276

THE AFFAIRS OF MR. JOHN BULL

* I don't know about that, Ma ' ; quoth little John, whose blood
was evidently up ; * but if these chaps and their backers, the Bulls
of Rome '

Here Mr. Bull, who was only half asleep, kicked out in such an
alarming manner, that for some seconds, his boots gyrated fitfully
all over the family hearth, filling the whole circle with consternation.
For, when Mr. Bull did kick, his kick was tremendous. And he
always kicked, when the Bulls of Rome were mentioned.

Mrs. Bull, holding up her finger as an injunction to the children
to keep quiet, sagely observed Mr. Bull from the opposite side of
the fireplace, until he calmly dozed again, when she recalled the
scattered family to their former positions, and spoke in a low tone.

* You must be very careful,' said the worthy lady, * how you
mention that name ; for your poor father has so many unpleasant
experiences of those Bulls of Rome — Bless the man ! he '11 do some
body a mischief.'

Mr. Bull, lashing out again more violently than before, upset the
fender, knocked down the fire-irons, kicked over the brass footman,
and, whisking his silk handkerchief off his head, chased the Pussy
on the rug clean out of the room into the passage, and so out of the
street-door into the night ; the Pussy having (as was well-known to
the children in general) originally strayed from the Bulls of Rome
into Mr. Bull's assembled family. After the achievement of this
crowning feat, Mr. Bull came back, and in a highly excited state
performed a sort of war-dance in his top-boots, all over the parlour.
Finally, he sank into his arm-chair, and covered himself up again.

Master C. J. London, who was by no means sure that Mr. Bull
in his heat would not come down upon him for the lateness of his
exercise, took refuge behind his slate and behind little John, who
was a perfect gamecock. But, Mr. Bull having concluded his war-
dance without injury to any one, the boy crept out, with the rest of
the family, to the knees of Mrs. Bull, who thus addressed them,
taking little John into her lap before she began :

4 The B.'s of R.,' said Mrs. Bull, getting, by this prudent device,
over the obnoxious words, 'caused your poor father a world of
trouble, before any one of you were born. They pretended to be
related to us, and to have some influence in our family ; but it can't
be allowed for a single moment — nothing will ever induce your
poor father to hear of it ; let them disguise or constrain themselves

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now and then, as they will, they are, by nature, an insolent,
audacious, oppressive, intolerable race.'

Here little John doubled his fists, and began squaring at the
Bulls of Rome, as he saw those pretenders with his mind's eye.
Master C. J. London, after some considerable reflection, made a show
of squaring, likewise.

* In the days of your great, great, great, great grandfather,' said
Mrs. Bull, dropping her voice still lower, as she glanced at Mr. Bull
in his repose, ' the Bulls of Rome were not so utterly hateful to our
family as they are at present. We didn't know them so well, and
our family were very ignorant and low in the world. But we have
gone on advancing in every generation since then ; and now we are
taught by all our family history and experience, and by the most
limited exercise of our national faculties, That our knowledge,
liberty, progress, social welfare and happiness, are wholly irrecon
cilable and inconsistent with them. That the Bulls of Rome are not
only the enemies of our family, but of the whole human race. That
wherever they go, they perpetuate misery, oppression, darkness, and
ignorance. That they are easily made the tools of the worst of men
for the worst of purposes ; and that they cannot be endured by your
poor father, or by any man, woman, or child, of common sense, who
has the least connection with us.'

Little John, who had gradually left off squaring, looked hard at
his aunt, Miss Eringobragh, Mr. Bull's sister, who was grovelling on
the ground, with her head in the ashes. This unfortunate lady had
been, for a length of time, in a horrible condition of mind and body,
and presented a most lamentable spectacle of disease, dirt, rags,
superstition, and degradation.

Mrs. Bull, observing the direction of the child's glance, smoothed
little John's hair, and directed her next observations to him.

* Ah ! You may well look at the poor thing, John ! ' said Mrs.
Bull ; ' for the Bulls of Rome have had far too much to do with her
present state. There have been many other causes at work to destroy
the strength of her constitution, but the Bulls of Rome have been at
the bottom of it ; and, depend upon it, wherever you see a condition
at all resembling hers, you will find, on inquiry, that the sufferer has
allowed herself to be dealt with by the Bulls of Rome. The cases of
squalor and ignorance, in all the world most like your aunt's, are to
be found in their own household ; on the steps of their doors ; in

THE AFFAIRS OF MR. JOHN BULL

the heart of their homes. In Switzerland, you may cross a line, no
broader than a bridge or a hedge, and know, in an instant, where
the Bulls of Rome have been received, by the condition of the
family. Wherever the Bulls of Rome have the most influence, the
family is sure to be the most abject. Put your trust in those Bulls,
John, and it 's in the inevitable order and sequence of things, that
you must come to be something like your Aunt, sooner or later/

4 1 thought the Bulls of Rome had got into difficulties, and run
away, Ma?' said little John, looking up into his mother's face
inquiringly.

' Why, so they did get into difficulties, to be sure, John,' returned
Mrs. Bull, * and so they did run away ; but, even the Italians, who
had got thoroughly used to them, found them out, and they were
obliged to go and hide in a cupboard, where they still talked big
through the key-hole, and presented one of the most contemptible
and ridiculous exhibitions that ever were seen on earth. However,
they were taken out of the cupboard by some friends of theirs —
friends, indeed ! who care as much about them as I do for the sea-
serpent ; but who happened, at the moment, to find it necessary to
play at soldiers, to amuse their fretful children, who didn't know
what they wanted, and, what was worse, would have it — and so the
Bulls got back to Rome. And at Rome they are anything but safe
to stay, as you '11 find, my dear, one of these odd mornings.'

' Then, if they are so unsafe, and so found out, Ma,' said Master
C. J. London, * how come they to interfere with us, now ? '

' Oh, C. J. London ! ' returned Mrs. Bull, * what a sleepy child
you must be, to put «uch a question ! Don't you know that the
more they are found out, and the weaker they are, the more im
portant it must be to them to impose upon the ignorant people near
them, by pretending to be closely connected with a person so much
looked up to as your poor father ? '

' Why, of course ! ' cried little John to his brother. * Oh, you
stupid ! '

' And I am ashamed to have to repeat, C. J. London,' said Mrs.
Bull, ' that, but for your friend, Young England, and the encourage
ment you gave to that mewling little Pussy, when it strayed here —
don't say you didn't, you naughty boy, for you did ! ' —

* You know you did ! ' said little John.

Master C. J. London began to cry again.

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* Don't do that,' said Mrs. Bull, sharply, * but be a better boy in
future ! I say, I am ashamed to have to repeat that, but for that,
the Bulls of Rome would never have had the audacity to call their
connection, Master Wiseman, your poor father's child, and to appoint
him, with his red hat and stockings, and his mummery and flummery,
to a portion of your father's estates — though, for the matter of that,
there is nothing to prevent their appointing him to the Moon, except
the difficulty of getting him there! And so, your poor father's
affairs have been brought to this crisis : that he has to deal with an
insult which is perfectly absurd, and yet which he must, for the sake
of his family, in all time to come, decisively and seriously deal with, in
order to detach himself, once and for ever, from these Bulls of Rome ;
and show how impotent they are. There's difficulty and vexation,
you have helped to bring upon your father, you bad child '

' Oh, oh, oh ! ' cried Master C. J. London. * Oh, I never went
to do it. Oh, oh, oh ! '

* Hold your tongue ! ' said Mrs. Bull, ' and do a good exercise !
Now that your father has turned that Pussy out of doors, go on with
your exercise like a man ; and let us have no more playing with any
one connected with those Bulls of Rome ; between whom and you
there is a great gulf fixed, as you ought to have known in the
beginning. Take your fingers out of your eyes, Sir, and do your
exercise ! '

* — Or I '11 come and pinch you ! ' said little John.

'John,' said Mrs. Bull, 'you leave him alone. Keep your eye
upon him, and, if you find him relapsing, tell your father.'

* Oh, won't I neither ! ' cried little John.

* Don't be vulgar,' said Mrs. Bull. ' Now, John, I can trust you.
Whatever you do, I know you won't wake your father unnecessarily.
You are a bold, brave child, and I highly approve of your erecting
yourself against Master Wiseman and all that bad set. But, be
wary, John ; and as you have, and deserve to have, great influence
with your father, I am sure you will be careful how you wake him.
If he was to make a wild rush, and begin to dance about, on the
Platform in the Hall, I don't know where he 'd stop.'

Little John, getting on his legs, began buttoning his jacket with
great firmness and vigour, preparatory to action. Master C. J.
London, with a dejected aspect and an occasional sob, went on with
his exercise
280

MR. BULL'S SOMNAMBULIST

[NOVEMBER 25, 1854]

AN extremely difficult case of somnambulism, occurring in the family
of that respected gentleman Mr. Bull, and at the present time
developing itself without any mitigation of its apparently hopeless
symptoms, will furnish the subject of the present paper. Apart
from its curious psychological interest, it is worth investigation, as
having caused and still causing Mr. Bull great anxiety of mind when
he falls into low spirits. I may observe, as one of the medical
attendants of the family, that this is not very often the case, all
things considered : Mr. Bull being of a sanguine temperament, good-
natured to a fault, and highly confident in the strength of his
constitution. This confidence, I regret to add, makes him too
frequently neglect himself when there is an urgent necessity for his
being careful.

The patient in whom are manifested the distressing symptoms of
somnambulism I shall describe, is an old woman — Mrs. Abigail
Dean. The recognised abbreviation of her almost obsolete Christian
name is used for brevity's sake in Mr. Bull's family, and she is always
known in the House as Abby Dean.1 By that name I shall call her,
therefore, in recording her symptoms.

As if everything about this old woman were destined to be
strange and exceptional, it is remarkable that although Abby Dean
is at the head of the Upper Servants' Hall, and occupies the post of
housekeeper in Mr. Bull's family, nobody has the least confidence in
her, and even Mr. Bull himself has not the slightest idea how she got
into the situation. When pressed upon the subject, as I have some
times taken the liberty of pressing him, he scratches his head, stares,
and is unable to give any other explanation than ' Well ! There she
is. That 's all / know ! ' On these occasions he is so exceedingly
disconcerted and ashamed, that I have forborne to point out to him
the absurdity of his taking her without a character, or ever having
supposed (as I assume he must have supposed) that such a super
annuated person could be worth her wages.

1 Earl of Aberdeen, and it will be seen that the whole of this paper deals with the
affairs of his administration and the members of his ministry.

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The following extracts from my notes of the case will describe
her in her normal condition : ' Abby Dean. Phlegmatic tempera
ment. Bilious habit. Circulation, very sluggish. Speech, drowsy,
indistinct, and confused. Senses, feeble. Memory, short. Pulse,
very languid. A remarkably slow goer. At all times a heavy
sleeper, and difficult to awaken. When awakened, peevish. Earlier
in life had fits, and was much contorted — first on one side, and then
on the other.1

It was within a few weeks of her inexplicable appearance at the
head of Mr. Bull's family, that this ancient female fell into a state
of somnambulism. Mr. Bull observed her — I quote his own words —
' eternally mooning about the House,' and putting some questions to
her, and finding that her replies were mere gibberish, sent for me.
I found her on a bench in the Upper Servants' Hall, evidently fast
asleep (though her eyelids were open), and breathing stertorously.
After shaking her for some time with Mr. Bull's assistance, I
inquired, ' Do you know who you are ? ' She replied, ' Lord ! Abby
Dean, to be sure ! ' I said, ' Do you know where you are ? ' She
answered, with a sort of fretful defiance, * At the head of Mr. Bull's
establishment.' I put the question, ' Do you know what you have to
do there ? ' Her reply was, ' Yes — nothing.' Mr. Bull then inter
posed, and informed me, with some heat, that this was the utmost
satisfaction he had been able to elicit 'from the confounded old
woman,' since she first brought her boxes into the family mansion.

She was smartly blistered, daily, for a considerable time. Mustard
poultices were freely applied ; caustic was used as a counter-irritant ;
setons were inserted in her neck ; and she was trotted about, and
poked, and pinched, almost unremittingly, by certain servants very
zealous in their attachment to Mr. Bull. I regret to state that
under this treatment, sharply continued at intervals from that
period to the present, she has become worse instead of better. She
has now subsided into a state of constant and confirmed somnam
bulism, from which there is no human hope of her recovery.

The case, being one of a comatose nature, is chiefly interesting
for its obstinacy. Its phenomena are not generally attractive to the
imagination. Indeed, I am of opinion that at no period of her
invalided career has any moment of brilliancy irradiated the lethargic
state of this unfortunate female. Her proceedings are in accordance
with those of most of the dreariest somnambulists of whom we have
282

MR. BULL'S SOMNAMBULIST

a reliable record. She will get up and dress herself, and go to Mr.
Bull's Treasury, or take her seat on her usual Bench in the Upper
Servants' Hall, avoiding on the way the knocking of her head against
walls and doors, but giving no other sign of intellectual vigour.
She will sometimes sit up very late at night, moaning and muttering,
and occasionally rising on her legs to complain of being attacked by
enemies. (The common delusion that people are conspiring against
her, is, as might naturally be expected, a feature of her disease.)
She will frequently cram into her pockets a large accumulation of
Mr. Bull's bills, plans for the improvement of his estate, and other
documents of importance, and will drop the same without any reason,
and refuse to take them up again when they are offered to her. Other
similar papers she will hide in holes and corners, quickly forgetting
what she has done with them. Sometimes, she will fall to wringing
her hands in the course of her wanderings in the House, and to
declaring that unless she is treated with greater deference she will * go
out.' But, it is a curious illustration of the cunning often mingled
with this disorder that she has never stirred an inch beyond the door;
having, evidently, some latent consciousness in the midst of her stupor,
that if she once went out, no earthly consideration would prevail on
Mr. Bull to let her in again.

Her eyes are invariably open in the sleep- waking state, but their
power of vision is much contracted. It has long been evident to all
observers of her melancholy case, that she is blind to what most people
can easily see.

The circumstance which I consider special to the case of Abby
Dean, and greatly augmentive of its alarming character, I now pro
ceed to mention. Mr. Bull has in his possession a Cabinet, of modern
manufacture and curious workmanship, composed of various pieces
of various woods, inlaid and dovetailed with tolerable ingenuity
considering their great differences of grain and growth ; but, it must
be admitted, clumsily put together on the whole, and liable, at any
time, to fall to pieces. It contains, however, some excellent speci
mens of English timber, that have, in previous pieces of furniture,
been highly serviceable to Mr. Bull : among which may be mentioned
a small though tough and sound specimen of genuine pollard oak,
which Mr. Bull is accustomed to point out to his friends by the play
ful name of ' Johnnv.' 1 This Cabinet has never been altogether

1 Lord John Russell

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pleasing to Mr. Bull; but when it was sent home by the manu
facturer, he consented to make use of it in default of a better.
With a little grumbling he entrusted his choicest possessions to its
safe-keeping, and placed it, in common with the rest of his worldly
goods, under the care of Abby Dean. Now, I am not at the present
moment prepared with a theory of the means by which this ill-starred
female is enabled to exercise a subtle influence on inert matter ; but,
it is unquestionably a fact, known to many thousands of credible
persons who have watched the case, that she has paralysed the whole
Cabinet! Miraculous as it may appear, the Cabinet has derived
infection from her somnambulistic guardianship. It is covered with
dust, full of moth, gone to decay, and all but useless. The hinges
are rusty, the locks are stiff, the creaking doors and drawers will
neither open nor shut, Mr. Bull can insinuate nothing into it, and
can get nothing out of it but office paper and red tape — of which
article he is in no need whatever, having a vast supply on hand.
Even Johnny is not distinguishable, in the general shrinking and
warping of its ill-fitted materials ; and I doubt if there ever were
such a rickety piece of furniture beheld in the world !

Mr. BulFs distress of mind is so difficult to separate from his
housekeeper's somnambulism, that I cannot present anything like a
popular account of the old woman's disorder, without frequently
naming her unfortunate master. Mr. Bull, then, has fallen into
great trouble of late, the growth of which he finds it difficult to
separate from his somnambulist. Thus. One Nick,1 a mortal enemy
of Mr. Bull's — and possessing so much family resemblance to his
spiritual enemy of the same name, that if that Nick be the father
of lies, this Nick is at least the uncle — became extremely overbearing
and aggressive, and, among other lawless proceedings, seized a Turkey
which was kept in a Crescent in Mr. Bull's neighbourhood. Now,
Mr. Bull, sensible that if the plain rules of right and wrong were
once overborne, the security of his own possessions was at an end,
joined the Crescent in demanding that the Turkey should be
restored. Not that he cared particularly about the bird itself,
which was quite unfit for Christmas purposes, but, because Nick's
principles were of vital importance to his peace. He therefore
instructed Abby Dean to represent, with patience, but with the
utmost resolution and firmness, that there must be no stealing of

1 The Emperor of Russia.
284

MR. BULL'S SOMNAMBULIST

Turkeys, or anything else, without punishment ; and that if this
Nick conducted himself in a felonious way, he (Mr. Bull) would feel
constrained to chastise him. What does the old woman in pur
suance of these instructions, but begin gabbling in a manner so
drowsy, heavy, halting, and feeble, that the more Nick treats with
her, the more persuaded he becomes — and naturally too — that Mr.
Bull is a coward, who has no earnestness in him ! Consequently, he
sticks to his wicked intents, which there is a great probability he
might otherwise have abandoned, and Mr. Bull is obliged to send
his beloved children out to fight him.

The family of Mr. Bull is so brave, their nature is so astonishingly
firm under difficulties, and they are a race so unsubduable in the
might of their valour, that Mr. Bull cannot hear of their great
exploits against his enemy, without enthusiastic emotions of pride
and pleasure. But, he has a real tenderness for his children's lives
in time of war — unhappily he is less sensible of the value of life in
time of peace — and the good old man often weeps in private when
he thinks of the gallant blood inexpressibly dear to him, that is shed,
and is yet to be shed, in this cause. An exasperating part of Abby
Dean's somnambulism is, that at this momentous and painful crisis
in Mr. Bull's life, she still goes on ' mooning about ' (I again quote
the worthy gentleman's words), in her old heavy way ; presenting a
contrast to the energy of his children, which is so extremely disagree
able, that Mr. Bull, though not a violent man, is sometimes almost
goaded into knocking her on the head.

Another feature in this case — which we find to obtain in other
cases of somnambulism in the books — is, that the patient often be
comes confused, touching her own identity. She is observed to con
found herself with those noble children of Mr. Bull whom I have just
mentioned, and to take to herself more or less of the soaring reputa
tion of their deeds. I clearly foresee, on an attentive examination
of the latest symptoms, that this delusion will increase, and that
within a few months she will be found sleepily insinuating to all the
House that she has some real share in the glory those faithful
sons have won. I am of opinion also, that this is a part of her
disease which she will be capable of mysteriously communicating to
the Cabinet, and that we shall find the whole of that lumbering
piece of furniture, at about the same time, similarly afflicted.

It is further to be observed, as an incident of this perplexed case

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of sleep-waking, that the patient has sufficient consciousness to excuse
herself from the performance of every duty she undertook to discharge
in entering Mr. Bull's service, by one unvarying reference to the fight
in which his children are engaged. The House is neglected, the
estate is ill managed, the necessities and complaints of the people
are unheeded, everything is put off and left undone, for this no-
reason. ' Whereas,' as Mr. Bull observes — and there is no gainsaying
it — ' if I be unhappily involved in all this trouble at a distance, let
me at least do some slight good at home. Let me have some com
pensating balance, here, for all my domestic loss and sorrow there.
If my precious children be slain upon my right hand, let me, for God's
sake, the better teach and nurture those now growing up upon my
left.1 But where is the use of saying this, or of saying anything, to
a somnambulist ? Further still, than this. — Abby, in her mooning
about (for I again quote the words of Mr. Bull), is frequently over
heard to mumble that if anybody touches her, it will be at the peril
of Mr. Bull's brave children afar off, who will, in that event, suffer
some mysterious damage. Now, although the meanest hind, within
or without the House, might know better than to suppose this true
or possible, I grieve to relate that it has a powerful effect in prevent
ing efforts to awake her ; and that many persons in the establishment
who are capable of administering powerful shakes or wholesome
wringings of the nose are restrained hereby from offering their
salutary aid. I should observe, as the closing feature of the case,
that these mumblings are echoed in an ominous tone, by the Cabinet ;
and I am of opinion, from what I observe, that its echoes will become
louder in about January or February next, if it should hang together
so long.

This is the patient's state. The question to be resolved is, Can
she be awakened? It is highly important that she should be, if
Science can devise a way ; for, until she can be roused to some sense
of her condition in reference to Mr. Bull and his affairs, Mr. Bull can
by no humane means rid himself of her. That she should be got into
a state to receive warning, I agree with Mr. Bull in deeming of the
highest importance. Although I wish him to avoid undue excitement,
I never can remonstrate with him when he represents to me (as he
does very often) that, in this eventful time what he requires to have
at the head of his establishment, is — emphatically, a Man.

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[AUGUST 11, 1855]

THE disclosures in reference to the adulteration of Food, Drinks,
and Drugs, for which the public are indebted to the vigour and spirit
of our contemporary The Lancet, lately inspired us with the idea of
originating a Commission to inquire into the extensive adulteration
of certain other articles which it is of the last importance that the
country should possess in a genuine state. Every class of the general
public was included in this large Commission ; and the whole of the
analyses, tests, observations, and experiments, were made by that
accomplished practical chemist, Mr. Bull.

The first subject of inquiry was that article of universal con
sumption familiarly known in England as ' Government.' Mr. Bull
produced a sample of this commodity, purchased about the middle
of July in the present year, at a wholesale establishment in Downing
Street. The first remark to be made on the sample before the
Commission, Mr. Bull observed, was its excessive dearness. There
was little doubt that the genuine article could be furnished to the
public, at a fairer profit to the real producers, for about fifty per
cent, less than the cost price of the specimen under consideration.
In quality, the specimen was of an exceedingly poor and low
description ; being deficient in flavour, character, clearness, bright
ness, and almost every other requisite. It was what would be
popularly termed wishy-washy, muddled, and flat. Mr. Bull pointed
out to the Commission, floating on the top of this sample, a volatile
ingredient, which he considered had no business there. It might be
harmless enough, taken into the system at a debating-society, or
after a public dinner, or a comic song ; but in its present connection,
it was dangerous. It had not improved with keeping. It had come
into use as a ready means of making froth, but froth was exactly
what ought not to be found at the top of this article, or indeed in
any part of it. The sample before the Commission, was frightfully
adulterated with immense infusions of the common weed called Talk.
Talk, in such combination, was a rank Poison. He had obtained a
precipitate of Corruption from this purchase. He did not mean
metallic corruption, as deposits of gold, silver, or copper ; but, that

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species of corruption which, on the proper tests being applied, turned
white into black, and black into white, and likewise engendered
quantities of parasite vermin. He had tested the strength of the
sample, and found it not nearly up to the mark. He had detected
the presence of a Grey deposit in one large Department, which pro
duced vacillation and weakness ; indisposition to action to-day, and
action upon compulsion to-morrow. He considered the sample, on
the whole, decidedly unfit for use. Mr. Bull went on to say, that he
had purchased another specimen of the same commodity at an opposi
tion establishment over the way, which bore the sign of the British
Lion, and proclaimed itself, with the aid of a Brass Band, as * The
only genuine and patriotic shop ' ; but, that he had found it equally
deleterious ; and that he had not succeeded in discovering any dealer
in the commodity under consideration who sold it in a genuine or
wholesome state.

The bitter drug called Public Offices, formed the next subject of
inquiry. Mr. Bull produced an immense number of samples of this
drug, obtained from shops in Downing Street, Whitehall, Palace
Yard, the Strand, and elsewhere. Analysis had detected in every
one of them, from seventy-five to ninety-eight per cent, of Noodle-
dom. Noodledom was a deadly poison. An over-dose of it would
destroy a whole nation, and he had known a recent case where it had
caused the death of many thousand men. It was sometimes called
Routine, sometimes Gentlemanly Business, sometimes The Best
Intentions, and sometimes Amiable Incapacity; but, call it what
you would, analysis always resolved it into Noodledom. There was
nothing in the whole united domains of the animal, vegetable, and
mineral kingdoms, so incompatible with all the functions of life as
Noodledom. It was producible with most unfortunate ease. Trans
plant anything from soil and conditions it was fit for, to soil and
conditions it was not fit for, and you immediately had Noodledom.
The germs of self-propagation contained within this baleful poison,
were incalculable : Noodledom uniformly and constantly engendering
Noodledom, until every available inch of space was over-run by it.
The history of the adulteration of the drug now before the Commis
sion, he conceived to be this : — Every wholesale dealer in that drug
was sure to have on hand, in beginning business, a large stock of
Noodledom ; which was extremely cheap, and lamentably abundant.
He immediately mixed the drug with the poison. Now, it was the
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peculiarity of the Public Office trade that the wholesale dealers were
constantly retiring from business, and having successors. A new
dealer came into possession of the already adulterated stock, and he,
in his turn, infused into it a fresh quantity of Noodledom from his
own private store. Then, on his retirement, came another dealer
who did the same ; then, on his retirement, another dealer who did the
same ; and so on. Thus, many of the samples before the Commission,
positively contained nothing but Noodledom — enough, in short, to
paralyse the whole country. To the question, whether the useful
properties of the drug before the Commission were not of necessity
impaired by these malpractices, Mr. Bull replied, that all the samples
were perniciously weakened, and that half of them were good for
nothing. To the question, how he would remedy a state of things
so much to be deplored, Mr. Bull replied, that he would take the
drug out of the hands of mercenary dealers altogether.

Mr. Bull next exhibited three or four samples of Lawn-sleeves,
warranted at the various establishments from which they had been
procured, to be fine and spotless, but evidently soiled and composed
of inferior materials ill made up. On one pair, he pointed out
extensive stains of printer's-ink, of a very foul kind ; also a coarse
inter-weaving, which on examination clearly betrayed, without the
aid of the microscope, the fibres of the thistle, Old Bailey Attorney-
ism. A third pair of these sleeves, though sold as white, were really
nothing but the ordinary Mammon pattern, chalked over — a fact
which Mr. Bull showed to be beyond dispute, by merely holding
them up to the light. He represented this branch of industry as
overstocked, and in an unhealthy condition.

There were then placed upon the table, several samples of British
Peasant, to which Mr. Bull expressed himself as particularly solicitous
to draw the attention of the Commission, with one plain object: the
good of his beloved country. He remarked that with that object
before him, he would not inquire into the general condition, whether
perfectly healthy or otherwise, of any of the samples now produced.
He would not ask, whether this specimen or that specimen might
have been stronger, larger, better fitted for wear and tear, and less
liable to early decay, if the human creature were reared with a little
more of such care, study, and attention, as were rightfully bestowed
on the vegetable world around it. But, the samples before the Com
mission had been obtained from every county in England, and,
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though brought from opposite parts of the kingdom, were alike
deficient in the ability to defend their country by handling a gun or
a sword, or by uniting in any mode of action, as a disciplined body.
It was said in a breath, that the English were not a military people,
and that they made (equally on the testimony of their friends and
enemies), the best soldiers in the world. He hoped that in a time of
war and common danger he might take the liberty of putting those
opposite assertions into the crucible of Common Sense, consuming
the Humbug, and producing the Truth — at any rate he would,
whether or no. Now, he begged to inform the Commission that, in
the samples before them and thousands of others, he had carefully
analysed and tested the British Peasant, and had found him to hold
in combination j ust the same qualities that he always had possessed.
Analysing and testing, however, as a part of the inquiry, certain
other matters not fairly to be separated from it, he (Mr. Bull) had
found the said Peasant to have been some time ago disarmed by
lords and gentlemen who were jealous of their game, and by admini
strations — hirers of spies and suborners of false witnesses — who
were jealous of their power. 'So, if you wish to restore to these
samples,' said Mr. Bull, 'the serviceable quality that I find to be
wanting in them, and the absence of which so much surprises you,
be a little more patriotic and a little less timorously selfish ; trust
your Peasant a little more ; instruct him a little better in a free
man's knowledge — not in a good child's merely ; and you will soon
have your Saxon Bowmen with percussion rifles, and may save the
charges of your Foreign Legion.'

Having withdrawn the samples to which his observations referred
— the production whereof, in connection with Mr. Bull's remarks,
had powerfully impressed the assembled Commission, some of whom
even went so far as to register vows on the spot that they would
look into this matter some day — Mr. Bull laid before the Commis
sion a great variety of extremely fine specimens of genuine British
Job. He expressed his opinion that these thriving Plants upon the
public property, were absolutely immortal : so surprisingly did they
flourish, and so perseveringly were they cultivated. Job was the
only article he had found in England, in a perfectly unadulterated
state. He congratulated the Commission on there being at least one
commodity enjoyed by Great Britain, with which nobody successfully
meddled, and of which the Public always had an ample supply,
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unattended by the smallest prospect of failure in the perennial
crop.

On the subsidence of the sensation of pleasure with which this
gratifying announcement was received, Mr. Bull informed the Com
mission, that he now approached the most serious and the most dis
couraging part of his task. He would not shrink from a faithful
description of the laborious and painful analysis which formed the
crown of his labours, but he would prepare the Commission to be
shocked by it. With these introductory words, he laid before them
a specimen of Representative Chamber.

When the Commission had examined, obviously with emotions of
the most poignant and painful nature, the miserable sample pro
duced, Mr. Bull proceeded with his description. The specimen of
Representative Chamber to which he invited their anxious attention,
was brought from Westminster Market. It had been collected there
in the month of July in the present year. No particular counter
had been resorted to more than another, but the whole market had
been laid under contribution to furnish the sample. Its diseased
condition would be apparent, without any scientific aids, to the most
short-sighted individual. It was fearfully adulterated with Talk,
stained with Job, and diluted with large quantities of colouring
matter of a false and deceptive nature. It was thickly overlaid with
a varnish which he had resolved into its component parts, and had
found to be made of Trash (both maudlin and defiant), boiled up
with large quantities of Party Turpitude, and a heap of Cant.
Cant, he need not tell the Commission, was the worst of poisons. It
was almost inconceivable to him how an article in itself so whole
some as Representative Chamber, could have been got into this
disgraceful state. It was mere Carrion, wholly unfit for human
consumption, and calculated to produce nausea and vomiting.

On being questioned by the Commission, whether, in addition to
the deleterious substances already mentioned, he had detected the
presence of Humbug in the sample before them, Mr. Bull replied,
' Humbug ? Rank Humbug, in one form or another, pervades the
entire mass.' He went on to say, that he thought it scarcely in
human nature to endure, for any length of time, the close contempla
tion of this specimen : so revolting was it to all the senses. Mr.
Bull was asked, whether he could account ; first, for this alarming
degeneracy in an article so important to the Public ; and secondly,

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for its acceptance by the Public ? The Commission observing that
however the stomachs of the people might revolt at it — and justly —
itill they did endure it, and did look on at the Market in which it
was exposed. In answer to these inquiries, Mr. Bull offered the
following explanation.

In respect of the wretched condition of the article itself (he said),
he attributed that result, chiefly, to its being in the hands of those
unprincipled wholesale dealers to whom he had already referred.
When one of those dealers succeeded to a business — or 'came in,'
according to the slang of the trade — his first proceeding, after the
adulteration of Public Office with Noodledom, was to consider how
he could adulterate and lower his Representative Chamber. This
he did by a variety of arts, recklessly employing the dirtiest agents.
Now, the trade had been so long in the hands of these men, and one
of them had so uniformly imitated another (however violent their
trade-opposition might be among themselves), in adulterating this
commodity, that respectable persons who wished to do business
fairly, had been prevented from investing their capital, whatever it
might be, in this branch of commerce, and had indeed been heard to
declare in many instances that they would prefer the calling of an
honest scavenger. Again, it was to be observed, that the before-
mentioned dealers, being for the most part in a large way, had
numbers of retainers, tenants, tradesmen, and workpeople, upon whom
they put off their bad Representative Chamber, by compelling them
to take it whether they liked it or not. In respect of the acceptance
of this dreadful commodity by the Public, Mr. Bull observed, that
it was not to be denied that the Public had been much too prone to
accept the colouring matter in preference to the genuine article.
Sometimes it was Blood, and sometimes it was Beer; sometimes it
was Talk, and sometimes it was Cant; but, mere colouring-matter
they certainly had too often looked for, when they should have
looked for bone and sinew. They suffered heavily for it now, and he
believed were penitent; there was no doubt whatever in his mind
that they had arrived at the mute stage of indignation, and had
thoroughly found this article out.

One further question was put by the Commission : namely, what

hope had the witness of seeing this necessary of English life, restored

to a genuine and wholesome state ? Mr. Bull returned, that his sole

hope was in the Public's resolutely rejecting all colouring matter

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PROPOSALS FOR A NATIONAL JEST-BOOK

whatsoever — in their being equally inexorable with the dealers,
whether they threatened or cajoled — and in their steadily insisting
on being provided with the commodity in a pure and useful form.
The Commission then adjourned, in exceedingly low spirits, sine die.

PROPOSALS FOR A NATIONAL JEST-BOOK

[MAY 3, 1856]

IT has been ascertained, within the last two years, that Britannia is
in want of nothing but an official joker. Having such exalted
officer to poke her in the ribs when she considers her condition
serious, and to put her off with a wink when she utters a groan, she
must certainly be flourishing and it shall be heresy to doubt the
fact. By this sign ye shall know it.

My patriotism and my national pride have been so warmed by
the discovery, that, following out the great idea, I have reduced to
writing a scheme for the re-establishment of the obsolete office of
Court Joker. It would be less expensive to maintain than a First
Lord of the Jokery, and might lead to the discovery of better jokes
than issue from that Department. My scheme is an adaptation of
a plan I matured some years ago, for the revival of the office of Lord
Mayor's Fool ; a design which, I am authorised to mention, would
have been adopted by the City of London, but for that eminent
body, the Common Council, agreeing to hold the office in Commission,
and to satisfy the public, in all their Addresses to great personages,
that they are never unmindful of its comic duties.

It is not, however, of either of these ingenious proposals (if I
may be permitted to call them so) that I now desire to treat. It is
of another and far more comprehensive project for the compilation
of a National Jest-Book.

Few people, I submit, can fail to have observed what rich
materials for such a collection are constantly being strewn about.
The Parliamentary debates, the audiences given to deputations at
the public offices, the proceedings of Courts of Enquiry, the published
correspondence of distinguished personages, teem with the richest
humour. Is it not a reproach to us, as a humorous nation, that we

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have no recognised Encyclopaedia of these facetious treasures, which
may be preserved, and (in course of time), catalogued, by Signor
Panizzi in the British Museum ?

What I propose is, that a learned body of not fewer than forty
members, each to receive two thousand five hundred pounds per annum,
free of Income Tax, and the whole to be chosen from the younger
sons, nephews, cousins and cousin-germans, of the Aristocracy, be im
mediately appointed in perpetuity for the compilation of a National
Jest-Book . That, in these appointments, the preference shall be
given to those young noblemen and gentlemen who know the least
of the subject, and that every care shall be taken to exclude qualified
persons. That, the First Lord of the Jokery be, in right of his
office, the President of this Board, and that in his patronage the
appointments shall rest. That, it shall meet as seldom as it thinks
proper. That, no one shall be a quorum. That, on the first of
April in every year, this learned society shall publish an annual
volume, in imperial quarto, of the National Jest-Book, price Ten
Pounds.

I foresee that I shall be met at this point by the objection that
the proposed price is high, and that the sale of the National Jest-
Book will not remunerate the country for the cost of its production.
But, this objection will instantly vanish when I proceed to state
that it is one of my leading ideas to make this gem of books the
source of an immense addition to the public revenue, by passing an
act of Parliament to render it compulsory on all householders rated
to the relief of the poor in the annual value of twenty-five pounds,
to take a copy. The care of this measure I would entrust to Mr.
Frederick Peel, the distinguished Under-Secretary for War, whose
modest talents, conciliatory demeanour, and remarkable success in
quartering soldiers on all the private families of Scotland, par
ticularly point him out as the Statesman for the purpose.

As the living languages are not much esteemed in the public
schools frequented by the superior classes, and as it might be on the
whole expedient to publish a National collection in the National
tongue (though too common and accessible), it is probable that
some revision of the labours of the learned Board would be necessary
before any volume should be finally committed to the press. Such
revision I would entrust to the Royal Literary Fund, finding it to
have one professor of literature a member of its managing committee.
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PROPOSALS FOR A NATIONAL JEST-BOOK

It might not be amiss to embellish the first volume of the National
Jest-Book with a view of that wealthy institution, and with explana
tory letterpress descriptive of its spending forty pounds in giving
away a hundred ; of its being governed by a council which can never
meet nor be by any earthly power called together, of its boasted
secrets touching the distresses of authors being officially accessible at
all times, to more than one publisher ; and of its being a neat
example of a practical joke.

The style of the National Jest-Book, in narrating those choice
pieces of wit and humour of which it will be the storehouse, to be
strictly limited (as everything in the United Kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland ought to be), by precedent. No departure from the estab
lished Jest-Book method, to be sanctioned on any account. If the
good old style were sufficient for our forefathers, it is sufficient for
the present and all future generations. In my desire to render these
proposals, plain, complete, and practical, I proceed to offer some
specimens of the manner in which the National Jest-Book will
require to be conducted.

As, in the precedents, there is a supposititious personage, by
name Tom Brown, upon whom witty observations are fathered
which there is a difficulty in fastening on any one else, so, in the
National Collection, it will be indispensable to introduce a similar
fiction. I propose that a certain imaginary Mr. Bull be established
as the Tom Brown of the National collection.

Let us suppose, for example, that the learned Board, in pursuing
their labours for the present year one thousand eight hundred and
fifty-six, were reducing to writing the National jests of the month of
April. They would proceed according to the following example.

BULL AND THE M.P.

A waggish member of Parliament, when vaccination had been
introduced by Dr. Jenner upwards of half a century, and had saved
innumerable thousands of people from premature death, from suffer
ing, and from disfigurement — as, down to that time, had been
equally well-known to wise men and fools — rose in his place in the
House of Commons and denounced it forsooth. * For,"1 says he, ' it
is a failure, and the cause of death.' One meeting Mr. Bull, and
telling him of this pretty speech, and further of its eliciting from

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that astonishing assembly no demonstration. * Aye,1 cries Bull,
looking mighty grave, ' but if the Member for Nineveh had mistaken,
in that same place, the Christian name of a Cornet in the Guards,
you should have had howling enough ! '
Again, another example.

BULL AND THE BISHOP

A certain Bishop who was officially a learned priest and a devout,
but who was individually either imbecile or an abusive and indecent
common fellow, printed foul letters wherein he called folks by bad
names, as Devils, Liars, and the like. A Cambridge man, meeting
Bull, asked him of what family this Bishop was and to whom he was
related ? ' Nay, I know not,' cries Bull, ' but I take my oath he is
neither of the line of the apostles, nor descends from their Master.'
' How, now,' quoth the Cambridge man, * hath he no connection with
the Fishermen ? ' * He hath the connection that Billingsgate hath
with Fishermen, and no other,' says Bull. * But,' quoth the Cambridge
man again, ' I understand him to be great in the dead tongues.' * He
may be that too,' says Bull, * and yet be small in the living ones,
for he can neither write his own tongue nor yet hold it.'

Sometimes it would be necessary, as in the Tom Brown pre
cedents, to represent Bull in the light of being innocently victimised,
and as not possessing that readiness which characterises him in the
foregoing models. The learned body forming the National Collection
would then adopt the following plan.

BULL GOT THE BETTER OF

Bull, riding once from market on a stout Galloway nag, was met
upon the Tiverton highway by a footpad in a soldier's coat (an old
hand), who rifled him of all he carried and jeered him besides, saying,
* A fig for you. I can wind you round my finger, I can pull your
nose any day,' — and doing it, too, contemptuously, while he spoke,
so that he brought the blood mounting into Bull's cheeks. * Prithee
tell me,' says Bull, pacifically, * why do you want my money ? '
' For the vigorous prosecution of your war against the birds of prey,'
replies the fellow with his tongue in his cheek, — who indeed had
been hired by Bull to scare those vermin, just when the farm-traps
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PROPOSALS FOR A NATIONAL JEST-BOOK

and blunderbusses had been found to be horribly out of order, and
were beginning to be put right. For which he now took all the
credit. 'But what have you done ?' asks Bull. ' Never you mind,1
says the fellow, tweaking him by the nose again. ' You have not
made one good shot in any direction that I know of,1 cries Bull ; * is
that vigorous prosecution ? ' * Yes,1 cries the fellow, tweaking him
by the nose again. * You have discomfited me the best and bravest
boys I sent into the field,1 says Bull ; ' is that vigorous prosecution ?'
4 Yes,' cries the fellow, tweaking him by the nose again. * You have
brought down upon my head the heaviest and shamefullest book
with a blue cover (called the Fall of Kars) in all my library,' says
Bull ; ' is that vigorous prosecution ? ' ' Yes,' says the fellow, tweak
ing him by the nose again. . ' Then,1 whispers Bull to his Galloway
nag, as he gave him the rein, ' you and I had better jog along feebly,
for it should seem to be the only true way of prospering.' And so
sneaked off.

Occasionally, the learned body would resort to the dialogue form,
for variety's sake. As thus; — throughout these instances, I suppose
them engaged with the compilation for the month of April in the
present year.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN BULL AND A PERSON OF QUALITY

PERSON OF Q. So, Bull, how dost ?

BULL. My humble duty and service to your lordship, with your
lordship's gracious leave — I am tolerable.

PERSON OF Q. The better for a firm, and durable, and glorious
peace ; eh, Bull ?

BULL. Humph !

PERSON OF Q. Why, what a curmudgeon art thou, Bull ! Dost
thou begrudge the peace !

BULL. The Lord forbid, my humble duty and service to your
noble lordship. But I was thinking (by your lordship's favour) how
best to keep it.

PERSON OF Q. Be easy on that point. There shall be a great
standing-army, and a great navy, and your relations and friends
shall have more than their share of the bad, doubtful, and indifferent
posts in both.

BULL. How as to the good posts, your honourable lordship ?

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PERSON OF Q. Humph ! (laughing).

BULL. Will your noble honour vouchsafe me a word ?

PERSON OF Q. Quickly then, Bull, and don't be prosy. I can't
abide being bored.

BULL. I humbly thank your noble honourable lordship for your
noble honour's kind permission. Army and navy, I know, will both be
necessary ; but, I was thinking (saving your noble lordship's gracious
presence) that my good friends and allies the people of France can
move in concert in large bodies, and are accustomed to the use
of arms.

PERSON OF Q. (frowning). A military nation. None of that here,
Bull, none of that here !

BULL. With your noble lordship's magnificent toleration, I would
respectfully crave leave to scatter a few deferential syllables in the
radiancy of your noble countenance. I find that this characteristic
is not peculiar to my friends the French, but belongs, more or less,
to all the peoples of Europe: whereof the English are the only
people possessing the peculiarity of being quite untrained in the
power of associating to defend themselves, their children, their
women, and their native land. Will your noble honour's magna
nimity bear with me if I represent that your noble lordship has
for some years now, discouraged the old British spirit, and disarmed
the British hand? Your noble honour's Game Preserves, and
political sentiments, have been the cause of

PERSON OF Q. (interrupting). 'Sdeath, Bull, I am bored. Make
an end of this.

BULL. With your honour's gracious attention, I will finish this
minute. I was about to represent, with my humblest duty to your
noble lordship, that if your honourable grace could find it in your
benignity to take the occasion of this Peace to trust your country
men a little — to show some greater confidence in their love of their
country and their loyalty to their sovereign — to think more of the
peasants and less of the pheasants — and if your worship's loftiness
could deign to encourage the common English clay to become
moulded into so much of a soldierly shape as would make it a
rampart for the whole empire, and place the Englishman on an
equality with the Frenchmen, the Piedmontese, the German, the
American, the Swiss, your noble honour would therein do a great
right, timely, which you will otherwise, as certain as Death, (if your
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PROPOSALS FOft A NATIONAL JEST-BOOK

noble lordship will excuse that levelling word), at last condescend
to try to do in a hurry when it shall be too late.

PERSON OF Q. (yawning). Prithee, get out, Bull. This is revolu
tionary, and what not ; and I am bored.

BULL. I humbly thank your noble lordship for your gracious
attention. (And so, bowing low, retires, expressing his high sense
of the courtesy and patience with which he has had the distinguished
honour of being received.)

I shall conclude by offering one other example for the guidance
of the learned Commission of forty compilers, which I have no doubt
will be appointed within a short time after the publication of these
suggestions. It is important, as introducing Mrs. Bull, and showing
how she may be discreetly admitted into the National Jest-Book,
on occasions, with the conjugal object of eliciting Mr. Bull's best
points.

Example.

MRS. BULL'S CURLPAPERS

Bull, in this same month of April, takes it into his head that
he will make a trip to France. So away he goes, after first repair
ing to the warehouse of honest Murray in Albemarle Street,
Piccadilly, to buy a guide-book, and travels with all diligence
both to Paris and Bordeaux. Suddenly, and while Mrs. Bull
supposeth him to be sojourning in the wine-growing countries, not
drinking water there you may be sure, lo, he reappeareth at his own
house in London, attended by a great wagon filled with news
papers ! Mrs. Bull, admiring to see so many newspapers and those
foreign, asks him why he hath returned so soon and with that cargo ?
Saith Bull, ' They are French curlpapers for thy head, my dear.'
Mrs. Bull protests that in all her life she never can have need of a
hundredth part of that store. 'Anyhow,' saith Bull, 'put them
away in the dark, housewife, for I am heartily ashamed of them.'
4 Ashamed of them ! ' says she. * Yes,' retorts Bull, ' and thus it is.
While I was in France, sweetheart, a deputation waited on the
Government in England, touching the duties on foreign wines. And
the French newspapers were so astounded by the jokery with which
the deputation was received, and by the ignorance of the Govern
ment, which was wrong in all its statements (one of the best
informed among them computes to the extent, in one calculation,

299

of seventeen hundred and fifty per cent.), that I was ashamed to see
those journals lying about, and bought up all I could find !'

My project for a National Jest-Book is now before the Public.
I would merely remark, in conclusion, that if the revenue arising
from the compulsory purchase of the collection should enable our
enlightened Government to dispense with the Income Tax, the
Public will be the gainers : inasmuch as the new impost will provide
them with something tangible to show for their money.

A DECEMBER VISION

[DECEMBER 14, 1850]

I SAW a mighty Spirit, traversing the world without any rest or
pause. It was omnipresent, it was all powerful, it had no com
punction, no pity, no relenting sense that any appeal from any of
the race of men could reach. It was invisible to every creature born
upon the earth, save once to each. It turned its shaded face on
whatsoever living thing, one time ; and straight the end of that
thing was come. It passed through the forest, and the vigorous
tree it looked on shrunk away ; through the garden, and the leaves
perished and the flowers withered ; through the air, and the eagles
flagged upon the wing and dropped; through the sea, and the
monsters of the deep floated, great wrecks, upon the waters. It
met the eyes of lions in their lairs, and they were dust ; its shadow
darkened the faces of young children lying asleep, and they awoke
no more.

It had its work appointed ; it inexorably did what was appointed
to it to do; and neither sped nor slackened. Called to, it went on
unmoved, and did not come. Besought, by some who felt that it
was drawing near, to change its course, it turned its shaded face
upon them, even while they cried, and they were dumb. It passed
into the midst of palace chambers, where there were lights and
music, pictures, diamonds, gold and silver; crossed the wrinkled
and the grey, regardless of them ; looked into the eyes of a bright
bride; and vanished. It revealed itself to the baby on the old
crone's knee, and left the old crone wailing by the fire. But,
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A DECEMBER VISION

whether the beholder of its face were, now a king, or now a labourer,
now a queen, or now a seamstress ; let the hand it palsied be on
the sceptre, or the plough, or yet too small and nerveless to grasp
anything : the Spirit never paused in its appointed work, and sooner
or later turned its impartial face on all.

I saw a Minister of State, sitting in his Closet ; and round about
him, rising from the country which he governed, up to the Eternal
Heavens, was a low dull howl of Ignorance. It was a wild, inexplic
able mutter, confused, but full of threatening, and it made all
hearers1 hearts to quake within them. But, few heard. In the
single city where this Minister of State was seated, I saw Thirty
Thousand children, hunted, flogged, imprisoned, but not taught —
who might have been nurtured by the wolf or bear, so little of
humanity had they within them or without — all joining in this
doleful cry. And, ever among them, as among all ranks and grades
of mortals, in all parts of the globe, the Spirit went ; and ever by
thousands, in their brutish state, with all the gifts of God perverted
in their breasts or trampled out, they died.

The Minister of State, whose heart was pierced by even the little
he could hear of these terrible voices, day and night rising to
Heaven, went among the Priests and Teachers of all denominations,
and faintly said :

* Hearken to this dreadful cry ! What shall we do to stay it ? '
One body of respondents answered, ' Teach this ! '

Another said, * Teach that ! '

Another said, ' Teach neither this nor that, but t1 other ! '

Another quarrelled with all the three ; twenty others quarrelled
with all the four, and quarrelled no less bitterly among themselves.
The voices, not stayed by this, cried out day and night ; and still,
among those many thousands, as among all mankind, went the Spirit,
who never rested from its labour ; and still, in brutish sort, they died.

Then, a whisper murmured to the Minister of State :

* Correct this for thyself. Be bold ! Silence these voices, or
virtuously lose thy power in the attempt to do it. Thou canst not
sow a grain of good seed in vain. Thou knowest it well. Be bold,
and do thy duty ! '

The Minister shrugged his shoulders, and replied 'It is a great
wrong — BUT IT WILL LAST MY TIME.' And so he put it from him.
Then, the whisper went among the Priests and Teachers, saying

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to each, ' In thy soul thou knowest it is a truth, O man, that there
are good things to be taught, on which all men may agree. Teach
those, and stay this cry.'

To which, each answered in like manner, * It is a great wrong —
BUT IT WILL LAST MY TIME.' And so he put it from him.

I saw a poisoned air, in which Life drooped. I saw Disease,
arrayed in all its store of hideous aspects and appalling shapes,
triumphant in every alley, by-way, court, back-street, and poor
abode, in every place where human beings congregated — in the
proudest and most boastful places, most of all. I saw innumerable
hosts foredoomed to darkness, dirt, pestilence, obscenity, misery,
and early death. I saw, wheresoever I looked, cunning preparations
made for defacing the Creator's Image, from the moment of its
appearance here on earth, and stamping over it the image of the
Devil. I saw, from those reeking and pernicious stews, the aveng
ing consequences of such Sin issuing forth, and penetrating to the
highest places. I saw the rich struck down in their strength, their
darling children weakened and withered, their marriageable sons and
daughters perish in their prime. I saw that not one miserable
wretch breathed out his poisoned life in the deepest cellar of the
most neglected town, but, from the surrounding atmosphere, some
particles of his infection were borne away, charged with heavy
retribution on the general guilt.

There were many attentive and alarmed persons looking on, who
saw these things too. They were well clothed, and had purses in
their pockets ; they were educated, full of kindness, and loved mercy.
They said to one another, * This is horrible, and shall not be ! '
and there was a stir among them to set it right. But, opposed to
these, came a small multitude of noisy fools and greedy knaves,
whose harvest was in such horrors ; and they, with impudence and
turmoil, and with scurrilous jests at misery and death, repelled the
better lookers-on, who soon fell back, and stood aloof.

Then, the whisper went among those better lookers-on, saying,

* Over the bodies of those fellows, to the remedy ! '

But, each of them moodily shrugged his shoulders, and replied,

* It is a great wrong — BUT IT WILL LAST MY TIME ! ' And so they put
it from them.

I saw a great library of laws and law-proceedings, so complicated,
costly, and unintelligible, that, although numbers of lawyers united
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A DECEMBER VISION

in a public fiction that these were wonderfully just and equal, there
was scarcely an honest man among them, but who said to his friend,
privately consulting him, ' Better put up with a fraud or other
injury than grope for redress through the manifold blind turnings
and strange chances of this system.'

I saw a portion of the system, called (of all things) Equity,
which was ruin to suitors, ruin to property, a shield for wrong
doers having money, a rack for right-doers having none: a by
word for delay, slow agony of mind, despair, impoverishment,
trickery, confusion, insupportable injustice. A main part of it,
I saw prisoners wasting in gaol ; mad people babbling in hospitals ;
suicides chronicled in the yearly records; orphans robbed of their
inheritance ; infants righted (perhaps) when they were grey.

Certain lawyers and laymen came together, and said to one
another, ' In only one of these our Courts of Equity, there are years
of this dark perspective before us at the present moment. We must
change this.'

Uprose, immediately, a throng of others, Secretaries, Petty Bags,
Hanapers, Chaff- waxes, and what not, singing (in answer) * Rule
Britannia,' and ' God save the Queen ' ; making flourishing speeches,
pronouncing hard names, demanding committees, commissions, com
missioners, and other scarecrows, and terrifying the little band of
innovators out of their five wits.

Then, the whisper went among the latter, as they shrunk back,
saying, 'If there is any wrong within the universal knowledge,
this wrong is. Go on ! Set it right ! '

Whereon, each of them sorrowfully thrust his hands in his
pockets, and replied, ' It is indeed a great wrong — BUT IT WILL
LAST MY TIME ! ' — and so they put it from them.

The Spirit, with its face concealed, summoned all the people who
had used this phrase about their Time, into its presence. Then, it
said, beginning with the Minister of State :

* Of what duration is your Time ? '

The Minister of State replied, ' My ancient family has always
been long-lived. My father died at eighty-four ; my grandfather,
at ninety-two. We have the gout, but bear it (like our honours)
many years.'

* And you,' said the Spirit to the Priests and Teachers, * What
may your time be ? '

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Some, believed they were so strong, as that they should number
many more years than threescore and ten ; others, were the sons of
old incumbents who had long outlived youthful expectants. Others,
for any means they had of calculating, might be long-lived or short
lived — generally (they had a strong persuasion) long. So, among
the well-clothed lookers-on. So among the lawyers and laymen.

'But, every man, as I understand you, one and all,' said the
Spirit, ' has his time ? '

* Yes ! ' they exclaimed together.

' Yes,' said the Spirit : ' and it is — ETERNITY ! Whosoever is a
consenting party to a wrong, comforting himself with the base
reflection that it will last his time, shall bear his portion of that wrong
throughout ALL TIME. And, in the hour when he and I stand face
to face, he shall surely know it, as my name is Death ! '

It departed, turning its shaded face hither and thither as it
passed along upon its ceaseless work, and blighting all on whom it
looked.

Then went among many trembling hearers the whisper, say
ing, ' See, each of you, before you take your ease, O wicked, selfish
men, that what will " last your time," be Just enough to last for
ever ! '

THE LAST WORDS OF THE OLD YEAR

[JANUARY 4, 1851]

THIS venerable gentleman, christened (in the Church of England)
by the names One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty, who had
attained the great age of three hundred and sixty-five (days),
breathed his last, at midnight, on the thirty-first of December, in
the presence of his confidential business-agents, the Chief of the
Grave Diggers, and the Head Registrar of Births. The melancholy
event took place at the residence of the deceased, on the confines of
Time ; and it is understood that his ashes will rest in the family
vault, situated within the quiet precincts of Chronology.

For some weeks, it had been manifest that the venerable gentle
man was rapidly sinking. He was well aware of his approaching
end, and often predicted that he would expire at twelve at night, as
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THE LAST WORDS OF THE OLD YEAR

the whole of his ancestors had done. The result proved him to be
correct, for he kept his time to the moment.

He had always evinced a talkative disposition, and latterly
became extremely garrulous. Occasionally, in the months of
November and December, he exclaimed, 'No Popery!' with some
symptoms of a disordered mind ; but, generally speaking, was in
the full possession of his faculties, and very sensible.

On the night of his death, being then perfectly collected, he
delivered himself in the following terms, to his friends already
mentioned, the Chief of the Grave Diggers and the Head Registrar
of Births :

1 We have done, my friends, a good deal of business together,
and you are now about to enter into the service of my successor.
May you give every satisfaction to him and his !

* I have been,"1 said the good old gentleman, penitently, * a Year
of Ruin. I have blighted all the farmers, destroyed the land, given
the final blow to the Agricultural Interest, and smashed the Country.
It is true, I have been a Year of Commercial Prosperity, and re
markable for the steadiness of my English Funds, which have never
been lower than ninety-four, or higher than ninety-seven and three-
quarters. But you will pardon the inconsistencies of a weak old
man.

' I had fondly hoped,' he pursued, with much feeling, addressing
the Chief of the Grave Diggers, ' that, before my decease, you would
have finally adjusted the turf over the ashes of the Honourable
Board of Commissioners of Sewers ; the most feeble and incompetent
Body that ever did outrage to the common sense of any community,
or was ever beheld by any member of my family. But, as this was
not to be, I charge you, do your duty by them in the days of my
successor ! '

The Chief of the Grave Diggers solemnly pledged himself to
observe this request. The Abortion of Incapables referred to, had
(he said) done much for him, in the way of preserving his business,
endangered by the recommendations of the Board of Health ; but,
regardless of all personal obligations, he thereby undertook to lay
them low. Deeper than they were already buried in the contempt
of the public (this he swore upon his spade) he would shovel the earth
over their preposterous heads !

The venerable gentleman, whose mind appeared to be relieved of
VOL. I : U 305

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

an enormous load by this promise, stretched out his hand, and
tranquilly returned, * Thank you ! Bless you ! '

* I have been,1 he said, resuming his last discourse, after a short
interval of silent satisfaction, ' doomed to witness the sacrifice of
many valuable and dear lives, in steamboats, because of the want of
commonest and easiest precautions for the prevention of those legal
murders. In the days of my great-grandfather, there yet existed an
invention called Paddle-box Boats. Can either of you gild the few
remaining sands fast running through my glass, with the hope that
my great-grandson may see its adoption made compulsory on the
owners of passenger steamships ? "

After a despondent pause, the Head Registrar of Births gently
observed that, in England, the recognition of any such invention by
the legislature — particularly if simple, and of proved necessity — could
scarcely be expected under a hundred years. In China, such a result
might follow in fifty, but in England (he considered), in not less than
a hundred. The venerable invalid replied, ' True, true ! ' and for
some minutes appeared faint, but afterwards rallied.

* A stupendous material work ' ; these were his next words ; * has
been. accomplished in my time. Do I, who have witnessed the open
ing of the Britannia Bridge across the Menai Straits, and who claim
the man who made that bridge for one of my distinguished children,
see through the Tube, as through a mighty telescope, the Education
of the people coming nearer ? '

He sat up in his bed, as he spoke, and a great light seemed to
shine from his eyes.

* Do I,' he said, ' who have been deafened by a whirlwind of sound
and fury, consequent on a demand for Secular Education, see any
Education through the opening years, for those who need it most?1

A film gradually came over his eyes, and he sunk back on his
pillow. Presently, directing his weakened glance towards the Head
Registrar of Births, he asked that personage :

' How many of those whom Nature brings within your province,
in the spot of earth called England, can neither read nor write in
after years ? '

The Registrar answered (referring to the last number of the
present publication 1), * about forty-five in every hundred.'

* And in my history for the month of May,1 said the old year

1 Household Wordi.
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THE LAST WORDS OF THE OLD YEAR

with a heavy groan, ' I find it written : " Two little children whose
heads scarcely reached the top of the dock, were charged at Bow
Street on the seventh, with stealing a loaf out of a baker's shop.
They said, in defence, that they were starving, and their appearance
showed that they spoke the truth. They were sentenced to be
whipped in the House of Correction." To be whipped ! Woe, woe !
can the State devise no better sentence for its little children ! Will
it never sentence them to be taught ! '

The venerable gentleman became extremely discomposed in his
mind, and would have torn his white hair from his head, but for the
soothing attentions of his friends.

* In the same month,' he observed, when he became more calm,
'and within a week, an English Prince was born. Suppose him
taken from his Princely home (Heaven's blessing on it !), cast like
these wretched babies on the streets, and sentenced to be left in
ignorance ; what difference, soon, between him, and the little children
sentenced to be whipped ? Think of it, Great Queen, and become
the Royal Mother of them all ! '

The Head Registrar of Births and the Chief of the Grave Diggers,
both of whom have great experience of infancy, predestined (they do not
blasphemously suppose, by God, but know, by man) to vice and shame,
were greatly overcome by the earnestness of their departing friend.

'I have seen,' he presently said, 'a project carried into execution
for a great assemblage of the peaceful glories of the world. I have
seen a wonderful structure, reared in glass, by the energy and skill of
a great natural genius, self-improved : worthy descendant of my
Saxon ancestors : worthy type of industry and ingenuity triumphant !
Which of my children shall behold the Princes, Prelates, Nobles,
Merchants, of England, equally united, for another Exhibition — for
a great display of England's sins and negligences, to be, by steady
contemplation of all eyes, and steady union of all hearts and hands,
set right ? Come hither my Right Reverend Brothers, to whom an
English tragedy presented in the theatre is contamination, but who
art a Bishop, none the less, in right of the translation of Greek
Plays ; come hither, from a life of Latin Verses and Quantities, and
study the Humanities through these transparent windows ! Wake,
Colleges of Oxford, from day-dreams of ecclesiastical melodrama,
and look in on these realities in the daylight, for the night cometh
when no man can work ! Listen, my Lords and Gentlemen, to the

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

roar within, so deep, so real, so low down, so incessant and accumula
tive ! Not all the reedy pipes of all the shepherds that eternally play
one little tune — not twice as many feet of Latin verses as would
reach from this globe to the Moon and back — not all the Quantities
that are, or ever were, or will be, in the world — Quantities of
Prosody, or Law, or State, or Church, or Quantities of anything but
work in the right spirit, will quiet it for a second, or clear an inch of
space in this dark Exhibition of the bad results of our doings ! Where
shall we hold it ? When shall we open it ? What courtier speaks ? '

After the foregoing rhapsody, the venerable gentleman became,
for a time, much enfeebled ; and the Chief of the Grave Diggers took
a few minutes' repose.

As the hands of the clock were now rapidly advancing towards
the hour which the invalid had predicted would be his last, his
attendants considered it expedient to sound him as to his arrange
ments in connection with his worldly affairs ; both being in doubt
whether these were completed, or, indeed, whether he had anything
to leave. The Chief of the Grave Diggers, as the fittest person for
such an office, undertook it. He delicately inquired, whether his
friend and master had any testamentary wishes to express ? If so, they
should be faithfully observed.

' Thank you,' returned the old gentleman, with a smile, for he was
once more composed ; ' I have Something to bequeath to my succes
sor ; but not so much (I am happy to say) as I might have had. The
Sunday Postage question, thank God, I have got rid of; and the
Nepaulese Ambassadors are gone home. May they stay there ! '

This pious'aspiration was responded to, with great fervour, by both
the attendants.

* I have seen you,1 said the venerable Testator, addressing the
Chief of the Grave Diggers, * lay beneath the ground, a great States
man and a fallen King of France.'

The Chief of the Grave Diggers replied, ' It is true.'

' I desire,' said the Testator, in a distinct voice, ' to entail the
remembrance of them on my successors for ever. Of the Statesman,
as an Englishman who rejected an adventitious nobility, and com
posedly knew his' own. Of the King, as a great example that the
monarch who addresses himself to the meaner passions of humanity,
and governs by cunning and corruption, makes his bed of thorns, and
sets his throne on shifting sand.1
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THE LAST WORDS OF THE OLD YEAR

The Head Registrar of Births took a note of the bequest.

' Is there any other wish, 'inquired the Chief of the Grave Diggers,
observing that his patron closed his eyes.

' I bequeath to my successor,' said the aged gentleman, open
ing them again, 'a vast inheritance of degradation and neglect in
England; and I charge him, if he be wise, to get speedily through
it. I do hereby give and bequeath to him, also, Ireland. And I
admonish him to leave it to his successor in a better condition than
he will find it. Pie can hardly leave it in a worse.'

The scratching of the pen used by the Head Registrar of Births,
was the only sound that broke the ensuing silence.

' I do give and bequeath to him, likewise,' said the Testator,
rousing himself by a vigorous effort, * the Court of Chancery. The
less he leaves of it to his successor, the better for mankind.'

The Head Registrar of Births wrote as expeditiously as possible,
for the clock showed that it was within five minutes of midnight.

* Also, I do give and bequeath to him,' said the Testator, ' the
costly complications of the English law in general. With which I
do hereby couple the same advice.'

The Registrar, coming to the end of his note, repeated, ' The
same advice.'

' Also, I do give and bequeath to him,' said the Testator,
'the Window Tax. Also, a general mismanagement of all public
expenditure, revenues, and property, in Great Britain and its pos
sessions.'

The anxious Registrar, with a glance at the clock, repeated,
1 And its possessions.'

' Also, I do give and bequeath to him,' said the Testator, collect
ing his strength once more, by a surprising effort, * Nicholas Wiseman
and the Pope of Rome.'

The two attendants breathlessly inquired together, ' With what
injunctions?'

* To study well,' said the Testator, * the speech of the Dean of
Bristol, made at Bristol aforesaid ; and to deal with them and the
whole vexed question, according to that speech. And I do hereby
give and bequeath to my successor the said speech and the said
faithful Dean, as great possessions and good guides. And I wish,
with all my heart, the said faithful Dean were removed a little
farther to the West of England and made Bishop of Exeter ! '

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With this, the Old Year turned serenely on his side, and breathed
his last in peace. Whereon,

' With twelve great shocks of sound,

Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers,
One after one/

the coming of the New Year. He came on, joyfully. The Head
Registrar, making, from mere force of habit, an entry of his birth,
while the Chief of the Grave Diggers took charge of his predecessor ;
added these words in Letters of Gold. MAY IT BE A WISE AND HAPPY
YEAH, FOR ALL OF us !

RAILWAY STRIKES

[JANUARY 11, 1851]

EVERYTHING that has a direct bearing on the prosperity, happiness,
and reputation of the working-men of England should be a House
hold Word.

We offer a few remarks on a subject which has recently attracted
their attention, and on which one particular and important branch
of industry has made a demonstration, affecting, more or less, every
other branch of industry, and the whole community ; in the hope
that there are few among the intelligent body of skilled mechanics
who will suspect us of entertaining any other than friendly feelings
towards them, or of regarding them with any sentiment but one of
esteem and confidence.

The Engine Drivers and Firemen on the North Western line of
Railway — the great iron high-road of the Kingdom, by which
communication is maintained with Ireland, Scotland, Wales, the
chief manufacturing towns of Great Britain, and the port which is
the main artery of her commerce with the world — have threatened,
for the second time, a simultaneous abandonment of their work, and
relinquishment of their engagements with the Company they have
contracted to serve.

We dismiss from consideration the merits of the case. It would
be easy, we conceive, to show, that the complaints of the men, even
assuming them to be beyond dispute, were not, from the beginning
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RAILWAY STRIKES

of the manifestation, of a grave character, or by any means hopeless
of fair adjustment. But we purposely dismiss that question. We
purposely dismiss, also, the character of the Company, for careful,
business-like, generous, and honourable management. We are con
tent to assume that it stands no higher than the level of the very
worst public servant bearing the name of railway, that the public
possesses. We will suppose Mr. Glyn's communications with the
men, to have been characterised by overbearing evasion, and not
(as they undoubtedly have been) by courtesy, good temper, self-
command, and the perfect spirit of a gentleman. We will suppose
the case of the Company to be the worst that such a case could be,
in this country, and in these times. Even with such a reduction of
it to its lowest possible point, and a corresponding elevation of the
case of the skilled Railway servants to its highest, we must deny the
morals right or justification of the latter to exert the immense power
they accidentally possess, to the public detriment and danger.

We say, accidentally possess, because this power has not been
raised up by themselves. If there be ill-conditioned spirits among
them who represent that it has been, they represent what is not
true, and what a minute's rational consideration will show to be
false. It is the result of a vast system of skilful combination, and a
vast expenditure of wealth. The construction of the line, alone,
against all the engineering difficulties it presented, involved an
amount of outlay that was wonderful, even in England. To bring
it to its present state of working efficiency, a thousand ingenious
problems have been studied and solved, stupendous machines have
been constructed, a variety of plans and schemes have been matured
with incredible labour : a great whole has been pieced together by
numerous capacities and appliances, and kept incessantly in motion.
Even the character of the men, which stands deservedly high, has
not been set up by themselves alone, but has been assisted by large
contributions from these various sources. Without a good per
manent way, and good engine power, they could not have established
themselves in the public confidence as good drivers. Without good
business-management in the complicated arrangements of trains for
goods and passengers, they could not possibly have avoided accidents.
They have done their part manfully ; but they could not have done
it, without efficient aid in like manful sort, from every department
pf the great executive staff. And because it happens that the whole

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machine is dependent upon them in one important stage, and is
delivered necessarily into their control — and because it happens that
Railway accidents, when they do occur, are of a f right ftil nature,
attended with horrible mutilation and loss of life — and because
such accidents, with the best precautions, probably must occur, in
the event of their resignation in a body — is it, therefore, defensible
to strike ?

To that, the question comes. It is just so narrow, and no
broader. We all know, perfectly well, that there would be no
strike, but for the extent of the power possessed. Can such an
exercise of it be defended, after due consideration, by any honest
man?

We firmly believe that these are honest men — as honest men as
the world can produce. But, we believe, also, that they have not
well considered what it is that they do. They are laboriously and
constantly employed ; and it is the habit of many men, so engaged,
to allow other men to think for them. These deputy-thinkers are
not the most judicious order of intellects. They are something
quick at grievances. They drive Express Trains to that point, and
Parliamentary to all other points. They are not always, perhaps,
the best workmen. They are, sometimes, not workmen at all, but
designing persons, who have, for their own base purposes, immeshed
the workmen in a system of tyranny and oppression. Through
these, on the one hand, and through an imperfect or misguided view
of the details of a case on the other, a strike (always supposing this
great power in the strikers) may be easily set a-going. Once begun,
there is aroused a chivalrous spirit — much to be respected, however
mistaken its manifestation — which forbids all reasoning. 'I will
stand by my order, and do as the rest do. I never flinch from my
fellow-workmen. I should not have thought of this myself; but I
wish to be true to the backbone, and here I put my name among the
others.' Perhaps in no class of society, in any country, is this
principle of honour so strong, as among most great bodies of English
artisans.

But there is a higher principle of honour yet ; and it is that, we
suggest to our friends the Engine Drivers and Firemen on the North
Western Railway, which would lead to these greater considerations.
First, what is my duty to the public, who are, after all, my chief
employers ? Secondly, what is my duty to my fellow-workmen of
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RAILWAY STRIKES

all denominations : not only here, upon this Railway, but all over
England ?

We will suppose Engine Driver, John Safe, entering upon these
considerations with his Fireman, Thomas Sparks. Sparks is one of
the best of men, but he has a great belief in Caleb Coke of Wolver-
hampton, and Coke says (because somebody else has said so, to him)
1 Strike ! '

' But, Sparks,' argues John Safe, sitting on the side of the tender,
waiting for the Down Express, * to look at it in these two ways
before we take any measures. — Here we are, a body of men with a
great public charge; hundreds and thousands of lives every day.
Individuals among us may, of course, and of course do, every now
and again give up their part of that charge, for one reason or another
— and right too! But I'm not so sure that we can all turn our
backs upon it at once, and do right.'

Thomas Sparks inquires 'Why not?'

* Why, it seems to me, Sparks,' says John Safe, * rather a murder
ous mode of action.'

Sparks, to whom the question has never presented itself in this
light, turns pale.

' You see,' John Safe pursues, * when I first came upon this line,
I didn't know — how could I ? — where there was a bridge and where a
tunnel — where we took the turnpike road — where there was a cutting
— where there was an embankment — where there was an incline —
when full speed, when half, when slacken, when shut off, when your
whistle going, when not. I got to know all such, by degrees;
first, from them that was used to it; then, from my own use,
Sparks.'

' So you did, John,' said Sparks.

4 Well, Sparks ! When we and all the rest that are used to it,
Engine Drivers and Firemen, all down the line and up again, lay our
heads together, and say to the public, " if you don't back us up in
what we want, we'll all go to the right-about, such-a-day, so that
Nobody shall know all such " — that 's rather a murderous mode of
action, it appears to me.'

Thomas Sparks, still uncomfortably pale, wishes Coke of Wolver-
hampton were present to reply.

' Because, it 's saying to the public, " If you don't back us up,
we '11 do our united best towards your being run away with, and run

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into, and smashed, and jammed, and dislocated, and having your
heads took off, and your bodies gleaned for, in small pieces — and we
hope you may ! " Now, you know, that has a murdering appearance,
Sparks, upon the whole ! ' says John Safe.

Sparks, much shocked, suggests that ' it mightn't happen/

* True. But it might,' returns John Safe, * and we know it
might, no men better. We threaten that it might. Now, when we
entered into this employment, Sparks, I doubt if it was any part of
our fair bargain, that we should have a monopoly of this line, and a
manslaughtering sort of a power over the public. What do you
think?'

Thomas Sparks thinks certainly not. But, Coke of Wolver-
hampton said, last Wednesday (as somebody else had said to him),
that every man worthy of the name of Briton must stick up for his
rights.

' There again ! ' says John Safe. ' To my mind, Sparks, it 's not
at all clear that any person's rights can be another person's wrongs.
And, that our strike must be a wrong to the persons we strike
against, call 'em Company or Public, seems pretty plain.'

' What do they go and unite against us for, then ? ' demands
Thomas Sparks.

'I don't know what they do,' replies John Safe. 'We took
service with this company as Individuals, ourselves, and not as a
body ; and you know very well we no more ever thought of turning
them off, as one man, than they ever thought of turning us off as
one man. If the Company is a body, now, it was a body all the
same when we came into its employment with our eyes wide open,
Sparks/

'Why do they make aggravating rules then, respecting the
Locomotives ? ' demands Mr. Sparks, ' which, Coke of Wolverhamp-
ton says, is Despotism ! '

'Well, anyways they're made for the public safety, Sparks,'
returns John Safe ; ' and what 's for the public safety, is for yours
and mine. The first things to go, in a smash, is, generally, the
Engine and Tender.'

' / don't want to be made more safe,' growls Thomas Sparks. ' /
am safe enough, I am.'

'But, it don't signify a cinder whether you want it or don't
want it,' returns his companion. * You must be made safe, Sparks,
3T4

RAILWAY STRIKES

whether you like or not, — if not on your own account, on other
people's.'

' Coke of Wolverhampton says, Justice ! That '» what Coke
says ! ' observes Mr. Sparks, after a little deliberation.

* And a very good thing it is to say,1 returns John Safe. ' A
better thing to do. But, let 's be sure we do it. I can't see that
we good workmen do it to ourselves and families, by letting in bad
un's that are out of employment. That's as to ourselves. I am
sure we don't do it to the Company or Public, by conspiring together,
to turn an accidental advantage against 'em. Look at other people !
Gentlemen don't strike. Union doctors are bad enough paid (which
we are not), but they don't strike. Many dispensary and hospital-
doctors are not over well treated, but they don't strike, and leave the
sick a-groaning in their beds. So much for the use of power. Then
for taste. The respectable young men and women that serve in the
shops, they didn't strike, when they wanted early closing.'

' All the world wasn't against them,'' Thomas Sparks puts in.

* No ; if it had been, a man might have begun to doubt their being
in the right,' returns John Safe.

' Why, you don't doubt our being in the right, I hope ? ' says
Sparks.

* If I do, I an't alone in it. You know there are scores and
scores of us that, of their own accord, don't want no striking, nor
anything of the kind.'

* Suppose we all agreed that we was a prey to despotism, what
then ? ' asks Sparks.

' Why, even then, I should recommend our doing our work, true
to the public, and appealing to the public feeling against the same,'
replies John Safe. ' It would very soon act on the Company. As to
the Company and the Public siding together against us, I don't find
the Public too apt to go along with the Company when it can help it.'

* Don't we owe nothing to our order?' inquires Thomas Sparks.
*A good deal. And when we enter on a strike like this, we

don't appear to me to pay it. We are rather of the upper sort of
our order ; and what we owe to other workmen, is, to set 'em a good
example, and to represent them well. Now, there is, at present, a
deal of general talk (here and there, with a great deal of truth in
it) of combinations of capital, and one power and another, against
workmen. I leave you to judge how it serves the workman's case,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

at such a time, to show a small body of his order, combined, in a
misuse of power, against the whole community ! '

It appears to us, not only that John Safe might reasonably urge
these arguments and facts ; but, that John Safe did actually present
many of them, and not remotely suggest the rest, to the consideration
of an aggregate meeting of the Engine Drivers and Firemen engaged
on the Southern Division of the line, which was held at Camden Town
on the day after Christmas Day. The sensible, moderate, and upright
tone of some men who spoke at that meeting, as we find them reported
in the Times, commands our admiration and respect, though it by no
means surprises us. We would especially commend to the attention
of our readers, the speech of an Engine Driver on the Great Western
Railway, and the letter of the Enginemen and Firemen at the Bedford
Station. Writing, in submission to the necessities of this publica
tion, immediately after that meeting was held, we are, of course, in
ignorance of the issue of the question, though it will probably have
transpired before the present number appears. It can, however, in
no wise affect the observations we have made, or those with which
we will conclude.

To the men, we would submit, that if they fail in adjusting the
difference to their complete satisfaction, the failure will be principally
their own fault, as inseparable, in a great measure, from the injudi
cious and unjustifiable threat into which the more sensible portion of
them have allowed themselves to be betrayed. What the Directors
might have conceded to temperate remonstrance, it is easy to under
stand they may deem it culpable weakness to yield to so alarming a
combination against the public service and safety.

To the public, we would submit, that the steadiness and patriotism
of English workmen may, in the long run, be safely trusted ; and that
this mistake, once remedied, may be calmly dismissed. It is natural,
in the first hot reception of such a menace, to write letters to news
papers, urging strong-handed legislation, or the enforcement of pains
and penalties, past, present, or to come, on such deserters from their
posts. But, it is not agreeable, on calmer reflection, to contemplate
the English artisan as working under a curb or yoke, or even as
being supposed to require one. His spirit is of the highest; his
nature is of the best. He comes of a great race, and his character
is famous in the world. If a false step on the part of any man
should be generously forgotten, it should be forgotten in him

31$

RED TAPE
RED TAPE

[FEBRUARY 15, 1851]

YOUR public functionary who delights in Red Tape — the purpose of
whose existence is to tie up public questions, great and small, in an
abundance of this official article — to make the neatest possible
parcels of them, ticket them, and carefully put them away on a
top shelf out of human reach — is the peculiar curse and nuisance of
England. Iron, steel, adamant, can make no such drag-chain as
Red Tape. An invasion of Red Ants in innumerable millions,
would not be half so prejudicial to Great Britain, as its intolerable
Red Tape.

Your Red Tapist is everywhere. He is always at hand, with a
coil of Red Tape, prepared to make a small official parcel of the
largest subject. In the reception-room of a Government Office, he
will wind Red Tape round and round the sternest deputation that
the country can send to him. In either House of Parliament, he
will pull more Red Tape out of his mouth, at a moment's notice, than
a conjuror at a Fair. In letters, memoranda, and dispatches, he will
spin himself into Red Tape, by the thousand yards. He will bind
you up vast colonies, in Red Tape, like cold roast chickens at a rout-
supper ; and when the most valuable of them break it (a mere
question of time), he will be amazed to find that they were too
expansive for his favourite commodity. He will put a girdle of Red
Tape round the earth, in quicker time than Ariel. He will measure,
from Downing Street to the North Pole, or the heart of New Zealand,
or the highest summit of the Himalaya Mountains, by inches of Red
Tape. He will rig all the ships in the British Navy with it, weave
all the colours in the British Army from it, completely equip and fit
out the officers and men of both services in it. He bound Nelson
and Wellington hand and foot with it — ornamented them, all over,
with bunches of it — and sent them forth to do impossibilities. He
will stand over the side of the steamship of the state, sounding
with Red Tape, for imaginary obstacles ; and when the office-seal at
the end of his pet line touches a floating weed, will cry majestically,
' Back her ! Stop her ! ' He hangs great social efforts, in Red Tape,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

about the public offices, to terrify like evil-minded reformers, as great
highwaymen used to be hanged in chains on Hounslow Heath. He
has but one answer to every demonstration of right, or exposition of
wrong ; and it is, { My good Sir, this is a question of Tape.'

He is the most gentlemanly of men. He is mysterious ; but not
more so than a man who is cognisant of so much Tape ought to be.
Butterflies and gadflies who disport themselves, unconscious of the
amount of Red Tape required to keep Creation together, may wear
their hearts upon their sleeves ; but he is another sort of person.
Not that he is wanting in conversation. By no means. Every
question mooted, he has to tie up according to form, and put away.
Church, state, territory native and foreign, ignorance, poverty, crime,
punishment, popes, cardinals, Jesuits, taxes, agriculture and com
merce, land and sea — all Tape. * Nothing but Tape, Sir, I assure
you. Will you allow me to tie this subject up, with a few yards,
according to the official form ? Thank you. Thus, you see. A knot
here ; the end cut off there ; a twist in this place ; a loop in that.
Nothing can be more complete. Quite compact, you observe. I
ticket it, you perceive, and put it on the shelf. It is now disposed
of. What is the next article ? '

The quantity of Red Tape officially employed in the defence of
such an imposition (in more senses than one) as the Window Tax ;
the array of Red Tapists and the amount of Red Taping employed
in its behalf, within the last six or seven years, is something so
astounding in itself, and so illustrative of the enormous quantities of
Tape devoted to the public confusion, that we take the liberty, at
this appropriate time, of disentangling an odd thousand fathoms or
so, as a sample of the commodity.

The Window Tax is a tax of that just and equitable description,
that it charges a house with twenty windows at the rate of six
shillings and twopence farthing a window ; and houses with nine
times as many windows, to wit a hundred and eighty, at the rate of
eightpence a window, less. It is a beautiful feature in this tax (and
a mighty convenient one for large country-houses) that, after pro
gressing in a gradually ascending scale or charge, from eight windows
to seventy-nine, it then begins to descend again, and charges a house
with five hundred windows, just a farthing a window more than a
house with nine. This has been, for so many years, proved — by Red
Tape — to be the perfection of human reason, that we merely remark

RED TAPE

upon the circumstance, and there leave it, for another ornamental
branch of the subject.

Light and air are the first essentials of our being. Among the
facts demonstrated by Physical Science, there is not one more indis
putable, than that a large amount of Solar Light is necessary to
the development of the nervous system. Lettuces, and some other
vegetables, may be grown in the dark, at no greater disadvantage
than a change in their natural colour; but, the nervous system of
Animals must be developed by Light. The higher the Animal,
the more stringent and absolute the necessity of a free admission
to it of the Sun's bright rays. All human creatures bred in
darkness, droop, and become degenerate. Among the diseases dis
tinctly known to be engendered and propagated by the want of
Light, and by its necessary concomitant, the want of free Air,
those dreadful maladies, Scrofula and Consumption, occupy the
foremost place.

At this time of day, and when the labours of Sanitary Reformers
and Boards of Health have educated the general mind in the know
ledge of such truths, we almost hesitate to recapitulate these simple
facts : which are as palpable and certain as the growth of a tree, or
the curling of a wave. But, within a few years, it was a main fault
of practical Philosophy, to hold too much herself apart from the
daily business and concerns of life. Consequently, within a few
years, even these truths were imperfectly and narrowly known. Red
Tape, as a great institution quite superior to Nature, positively re
fused to receive them — strangled them, out of hand — labelled them
Impositions, and shelved them with great resentment.

This is so incredible, that our readers will naturally inquire, when,
where, and how? Thus. In the Spring of 1844,there sat enthroned, in
the office of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Downing Street, London,
the Incarnation of Red Tape. There waited upon this enshrinement
of Red Tape in the body and flesh of man, a Deputation from the
Master Carpenters' Society, and another from the Metropolitan Im
provement Society : which latter, comprising among its members
some distinguished students of Natural Philosophy, took the liberty
of representing the before-mentioned fact in connection with Light,
as a small result of Infinite Wisdom, eternally established before
Tape was. And, forasmuch as the Window Tax excluded light
from the dwellings of the poor in large towns, where the poor lived,

319

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

crowded together in large old houses ; by tempting the landlords of
those houses to block up windows and save themselves the payment
of duty, which they notoriously did — and, forasmuch, as in every
room and corner thus made dark and airless, the poor, for want of
space, were fain to huddle beds — and, forasmuch, as a large and a
most unnatural percentage of them, were, in consequence, scrofu
lous, and consumptive, and always sliding downwards into Pauperism
— the Deputation prayed the Right Honourable Red Tape, M.P.,
at least so to modify this tax, as to modify that inhuman and
expensive wrong. To which, the Right Honourable Red Tape,
M.P., made reply, that he didn't believe that the Tax had anything
to do with scrofula ; * for,1 said he, ' the window-duties don't affect
the cottager ; and I have seen numerous instances of scrofula in
my own neighbourhood, among the families of the agricultural
peasantry.1 Now, this was the perfection of what may be called
Red Tapeosophy. For, not to mention the fact, well known to
every traveller about England, that the cottages of agricultural
labourers, in general, are a perfect model of sanitary arrangement,
and are, in particular remarkable for the capacious dimensions of
their windows (which are usually of the bay or oriel form : never less
than six feet high, commonly fitted with plate glass, and always
capable of being opened freely), it is to be carefully noticed that
such cottages always contain a superabundance of room, and
especially of sleeping -room : also, that nothing can be farther
from the custom of a cottager than to let a sleeping-room to a
single man, to diminish his rent : and to crowd himself and family
into one small chamber, where by reason of the dearness of fuel he
stops up crevices, and shuts out air. These being things which no
English landlord, dead or alive, ever heard of, it is clear — as clear
as the agricultural labourer's cottage is light and airy — that the
exclusion of light and air can have nothing to do with Scrofula. So.
the Right Honourable Red Tape, M.P., gave the lie (politely) to the
Deputation, and proved his case against Nature, to the great admira
tion of the office Messengers !

Well ! But, on the same occasion, there was more Red Tape
yet, in the background, ready, in nautical phrase, to be paid out.
The Deputation, rather pertinaciously dwelling on the murderous
effects of a prohibition of ventilation in the thickly-peopled habita
tions of the poor, the same authority returned, * You can ventilate
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RED TAPE

them, if you choose. Here is Deputy Red Tape, from the Stamp
Office, at my elbow ; and he tells you, that perforated plates of zinc,
may be placed in the external walls of houses, without becoming
liable to duty.' Now, the Deputation were very glad to hear this,
because they knew it to be a part of the perfect wisdom of the Acts
of Parliament establishing the Window Tax, that they required all
stopped-up windows to be stopped up with precisely the same sub
stance as that of which the external walls of a house were made ;
and that, in a variety of cases, where such walls were of stone, for
example, and such windows were stopped up with wood, they were
held to be chargeable with duty : though they admitted no ray of
light through that usually opaque material. Besides which, the
Deputation knew, from the Government Returns, that, under the
same Acts of Parliament, a little unglazed hole in a wall, made for
a cat to creep through, and a little trap in a cellar to shoot coals
down, had been solemnly decided to be windows. Therefore, they
were so much relieved by this perforated-zinc discovery, that the good
and indefatigable Doctor Southwood Smith (who was one of the de
putation) was seen, by Private John Towler of the Second Grenadier
Guards, sentry on duty at the Treasury, to fall upon the neck of
Mr. Toynbee (who was another of the deputation) and shed tears of
joy in Parliament Street.

But, the President of the Carpenters' Society, a man of rule and
compasses, whose organ of veneration appears (in respect of Red
Tape) to have been imperfectly developed, doubted. And he,
writing to the Stamp Office on the point, caused more Red Tape
to be spun into this piece of information, ' that perforated plates of
zinc would be chargeable if so perforated as to afford light, but not
if so as to serve the purpose of ventilation only ! ' It not being
within the knowledge of the Carpenters' Society (which was a merely
practical body) how to construct perforations of such a peculiar
double-barrelled action as at once to let in air and shut out light,
the Right Honourable Red Tape, M.P., himself, was referred to for
an explanation. This, he gave in the following skein, which has
justly been considered the highest specimen of the manufacture.
'There has been no mistake, as the parties suppose, in stating that
openings for ventilation might be made which would not be charge
able as windows, and I cannot think it at all inconsistent with such a
statement to decline expressing, beforehand, a general opinion as to
VOL. I:X 321

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

whether certain openings when made would or would not be considered
as windows, and as such liable to charge.'

To crown all, with a wreath of blushing Tape of the first official
quality, it may be briefly mentioned, that no existing Act of Parlia
ment made any such exception, and that it had no existence out of
Tape. For, a local act, for Liverpool only, was afterwards passed,
exempting from the Window Tax circular ventilating apertures, not
exceeding seven inches in diameter ; provided, that if they were made
in a direct line, they should be protected by a grating of cast-iron,
the interstices thereof not exceeding one quarter of an inch in
width.

One other choice sample of the best Red TSape presents itself in
the nefarious history of the Window Tax. In July of the same year,
Lord Al thorp — whose name is ever to be respected, as having, per
haps, less association with Red Tape than that of any Minister whom
soever — made a short speech in the House of Commons, descriptive
of an enactment he then introduced, for allaying something of the
indignation which this tax had raised. It was, he said, ' a clause,
enabling persons to open fresh windows in houses at present existing,
without any additional charge. Its only effect is, to prevent an
increase of the revenue, in the case of houses already existing.' On
the faith of this statement, numbers of house-occupiers opened new
windows. The instant the clause got into the Government offices, it
was immeshed in a very net of Red Tape. The Stamp Office, in its
construction of it, substituted existing occupiers, for existing houses ;
into the clause itself were introduced, before it became law, words,
confining this privilege to persons ' duly assessed for the year ending
5th April 1835.' What followed ? Red Tape made the discovery
that no one who took advantage of that clause, and opened new
windows, WAS duly assessed in 1835 — the whole Government Assess
ment: made, be it remembered, by Government Assessors: having been
loosely and carelessly made — and all those openers of new windows,
upon the faith of that plain speech of a plain gentleman, were sur
charged ; to the increase of the revenue, the dishonour of the public
character of the country, and the very canonisation of Red Tape.

For the collection and clear statement of these facts, we are
indebted to an excellent pamphlet reprinted, at the time, from the
Westminster Review. The facts and the subject are worthy of
one another.
322

RED TAPE

O give your public functionary, who delights in Red Tape, a good
social improvement to deal with ! Let him come back to his Tape-
wits, after being frightened out of them, for a little while, by the
ravages of a Plague ; and count, if you can, the miles of Red Tape
he will pile into barriers, against — a General Interment Bill, say, or
a Law for the suppression of infectious and disgusting nuisances !
O the cables of Red Tape he will coil away in dispatch boxes, the
handcuffs he will make of Red Tape to fetter useful hands; the
interminable perspectives of Exchequers, Woods arid Forests, and
what not, all hung with Red Tape, up and down which he will
languidly wander, to the weariness of all whose hard fate it is, to
have to pursue him !

But, give him something to play with — give him a park to slice
away — a hideous scarecrow to set up in a public place, where it may
become the ludicrous horror of the civilised earth — a marble arch to
move — and who so brisk as he ! He will rig you up a scaffolding
with Red Tape, and fall to, joyfully. These are the things in which
he finds relief from unlucky Acts of Parliament that are more trouble
some improvements than they were meant to be. Across and across
them, he can spin his little webs of Red Tape, and catch summer
flies : or, near them, litter down official dozing-places, and roll himself
over and over in Red Tape, like the Hippopotamus wallowing in his
bath.

Once upon a time, there was a dusty dry old shop in Long Acre,
London, where, displayed in the windows, in tall slim bottles, were
numerous preparations, looking, at first sight, like unhealthy macca-
roni. On a nearer inspection these were found to be Tapeworms,
extracted from the internal mechanism of certain ladies and gentle
men who were delicately referred to, on the bottles, by initial letters.
Doctor Gardner's medicine had effected these wonderful results;
but, the Doctor, probably apprehensive that his patients might
* blush to find it fame,' enshrined them in his museum, under a thin
cloud of mystery. We have a lively remembrance of a white basin,
which, in the days of our boyhood, remained, for eight or ten years,
in a conspicuous part of the museum, and was supposed to contain a
specimen so recent that there had not yet been time for its more
elaborate preservation. It bore, as we remember, the label, 'This
singular creature, with ears like a mouse, was last week found
destroying the inside of Mr. O — in the City Road.' But, this

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

was an encroachment on the province of the legitimate Tapeworms.
That species were all alike except in length. The smallest, accord
ing to the labels, measured, to the best of our recollection, about two
hundred yards.

If, in any convenient part of the United Kingdom (we suggest
the capital as the centre of resort), a similar museum could be
established, for the destruction and exhibition of the Red Tape
worms with which the British public are so sorely afflicted, there
can be no doubt that it would be, at once, a vast national benefit,
and a curious national spectacle. Nor can there be a doubt that
the people in general would cheerfully contribute to the support of
such an establishment. The labels might be neatly and legibly
written, according to the precedent we have mentioned. 'The
Right Honourable Mr. X — from the Exchequer. Seven thousand
yards.1 'Earl Y — from the Colonial Office. Half as long again.1
' Lord Z — from the Woods and Forests. The longest ever known.'
' This singular creature,1 — not mentioning its ears — ' was found
destroying the patience of Mr. John B — in the House of Com
mons.1 If it were practicable to open such an Institution before the
departure of All Nations (which can scarcely be hoped) it might be
desirable to translate these abstracts into a variety of languages, for
the wider understanding of one of our most agreeable and improving
sights.

THE GUILD OF LITERATURE AND ART

[MAY 10, 1851]

THERE are reasons, sufficiently obvious to our readers without
explanation, which render the present a fitting place for a few
words of remark on the proposed Institution bearing this name.

Its objects, as stated in the public advertisement, are, 'to
encourage life assurance and other provident habits among authors
and artists ; to render such assistance to both, as shall never com
promise their independence ; and to found a new Institution where
honourable rest from arduous labour shall still be associated with
the discharge of congenial duties.1
324

THE GUILD OF LITERATURE AND ART

The authors and artists associated in this endeavour would be
but indifferent students of human nature, and would be but poorly
qualified for the pursuit of their art, if they supposed it possible
to originate any scheme that would be free from objection. They
have neither the right, nor the desire, to take offence at any
discussion of the details of their plan. All that they claim, is,
such consideration for it as their character and position may justly
demand, and such moderate restraint in regard of misconception or
misrepresentation as is due to any body of gentlemen disinterestedly
associated for an honourable purpose.

It is proposed to form a Society of Authors and Artists by
profession, who shall all effect some kind of Insurance on their
lives ; — whether for a hundred pounds or a thousand pounds —
whether on high premiums terminable at a certain age, or on
premiums payable through the whole of life — whether for deferred
annuities, or for pensions to widows, or for the accumulation of
sums destined to the education or portioning of children — is in this,
as in all other cases, at the discretion of the individual insuring.
The foundation of a New Life Insurance Office, expressly for these
purposes, would be, obviously, a rash proceeding, wholly unjustifiable
in the infancy of such a design. Therefore its proposers recommend
one existing Insurance Office — firstly, because its constitution appears
to secure to its insurers better terms than they can meet with
elsewhere; secondly, because in Life Insurance, as in most other
things, a body of persons can obtain advantages which individuals
cannot. The chief advantage thus obtained in this instance, is
stated in the printed Prospectus as a deduction of five per cent,
from all the premiums paid by Members of the Society to that
particular office. It is needless to add, that if an author or an
artist be already insured in another office, or if he have any peculiar
liking, in effecting a new insurance, for paying five per cent, more
than he need, he is at perfect liberty to insure where he pleases,
and in right of any insurance whatever to become a Member of the
Society if he will.

But, there may be cases in which, on account of impaired health
or of advanced age at the present time, individuals desirous of
joining the Society, may be quite unable to obtain acceptance
at any Life Office. In such instances the required qualification
of Life Insurance will be dispensed with. In cases of proved

325

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

temporary inability to meet a periodical payment due on an Insur
ance, the Society proposes to assist the insurer from its funds.

* In connection with this Society,' the Prospectus proceeds, ' by
which it is intended to commend and enforce the duties of prudence
and foresight, especially incumbent on those whose income is wholly,
or mainly, derived from the precarious profit of a profession, it is
proposed to establish and endow an Institute, having at its disposal
certain salaries, to which certain duties will be attached ; together
with a limited number of free residences, which, though sufficiently
small to be adapted to a very moderate income, will be completed
with due regard to the ordinary habits and necessary comforts of
gentlemen. The offices of Endowment will consist :

' First, — Of a Warden, with a house and a salary of two hundred
pounds a year ;

'Second, — Of Members, with a house and one hundred and
seventy pounds, or, without a house, two hundred pounds a year ;

' Third, — Of Associates, with a salary of one hundred pounds
a year.

'For these offices all who are Insurers in the Society above
mentioned are qualified to offer themselves as Candidates. Such
Insurance is to be considered an indispensable qualification, saving
in exceptional cases (should any such arise) where an individual
can prove that he has made every effort to insure his life, but
cannot find acceptance at any Life Office, by reason of impaired
health, or of advanced age, at the date of this prospectus.

* Each Member will be required to give, either personally or by
a proxy selected from the Associates, with the approval of the
Warden, three lectures in each year — one in London, the others at
the Mechanics' Institutes, or some public building suited for the
purpose, in the principal provincial towns. Considering the many
duties exacting time and attention that will devolve on the Warden,
he will not be required to give more than one lecture annually
(which, if delivered by a proxy, he will, health permitting, be
expected to compose himself), and that in the Metropolis.

'These lectures will be subject to the direction and control of
the managing body of the Endowment. They will usually relate
to Letters or Art, and will invariably avoid all debatable ground
of Politics or Theology. It will be the endeavour of the Committee
to address them to points on which the public may be presumed
326

THE GUILD OF LITERATURE AND ART

to be interested, and to require dispassionate and reliable informa
tion — to make them, in short, an educational and improving feature
of the time.

' The duties of Associates will be defined and fixed by the Council
(consisting of the Warden, the Members, and a certain number of
the Associates themselves), according to the previous studies and
peculiar talent of each — whether in gratuitous assistance to any
learned bodies, societies for the diffusion of knowledge, etc., or, as
funds increase, and the utilities of the Institution develop them
selves, in co-operating towards works of national interest and im
portance, but on subjects of a nature more popular, and at a price
more accessible, than those which usually emanate from professed
academies. It is well to add, that while, on every account, it is
deemed desirable to annex to the receipt of a salary the performance
of a duty, it is not intended that such duty should make so great
a demand upon the time and labour, either of Member or Associate,
as to deprive the public of their services in those departments in
which they have gained distinction, or to divert their own efforts
for independence from their accustomed professional pursuits.

'The design of the Institution proposed, is, to select for the
appointment of Members (who will be elected for life) those Writers
and Artists of established reputation, and generally of mature years
(or, if young, in failing health), to whom the income attached to
the appointment may be an object of honourable desire ; while the
office of Associate is intended partly for those whose toils or merits
are less known to the general public than their professional brethren,
and partly for those, in earlier life, who give promise of future
eminence, and to whom a temporary income of one hundred pounds
a year may be of essential and permanent service. There are few
men professionally engaged in Art or Letters, even though their
labours may have raised them into comparative wealth, who cannot
look back to some period of struggle in which an income so humble
would have saved them from many a pang, and, perhaps, from the
necessity of stooping their ambition to occupations at variance with
the higher aims of their career.

* An Associate may, therefore, be chosen for life, or for one or
more years, according to the nature of his claims, and the discretion
of the Electors.'*

With the view of bringing this project into general notice,

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton (besides a gift of land) has written a
new comedy,1 and presented it to the friends associated with him in
the origination of the scheme. They will act it, first, before Her
Majesty at Devonshire House, and afterwards publicly. Over and
above the profits that may arise from these dramatic representations,
the copyright of the comedy, both for acting and publishing, being
unconditionally given to the Association, has already enabled it to
realise a handsome sum of money.

Many of our readers are aware that this company of amateur
actors has been for some time in existence. Its public existence
was accidental. It was originally formed for the private amusement
of a leisure hour. Yielding to urgent entreaty, it then had the
good fortune to render service to the Sanatorium, one of the most
useful and most necessary Institutions ever founded in this country.
It was subsequently enabled to yield timely assistance to three
distinguished literary men, all of whom Her Majesty has since
placed on the Pension List, and entirely to support one of them
for nearly three years. It is now about to renew its exertions for
the cause we have set forth. To say that its members do not
merely seek their own entertainment and display (easily attainable
by far less troublesome and responsible means) is to award them
the not very exalted praise of being neither fools nor impostors.

The Guild of Literature and Art may be a good name or a bad
name ; the details of this endowment — mere suggestions at present,
and not to be proceeded with, until much work shall have been
patiently done — may be perfect or most imperfect ; the retirement
proposed, may be taken for granted to be everything that it is
not intended to be; and still we conceive the real question to
remain untouched. It is, whether Literature shall continue to be
an exception from all other professions and pursuits, in having no
resource for its distressed and divided followers but in eleemosynary
aid ; or, whether it is good that they should be provident, united,
helpful of one another, and independent.

No child can suppose that the profits of the comedy alone will
be sufficient for such an Endowment as is sought to be established.
It is expressly stated in the Prospectus that 'for farther support
to the Endowment by subscription, and especially by annual sub
scription, it is intended to appeal to the Public.' If the Public

1 Not so Bad as we Seem.
328

THE FINISHING SCHOOLMASTER

will disembarrass the question of any little cobwebs that may be
spun about it, and will confine it to this, it will be faithful to its
ever generous and honest nature.

There is no reason for affecting to conceal that the writer of
these few remarks is active in the project, and is impelled by a
zealous desire to advance what he knows to be a worthy object.
He would be false to the trust placed in him by the friends with
whom he is associated, and to the secret experience of his daily life,
and of the calling to which he belongs, if he had any dainty reserve
in such a matter. He is one of an order beyond which he affects
to be nothing, and aspires to be nothing. He knows — few men can
know, he thinks, with better reason — that he does his duty to it in
taking this part ; and he wishes his personal testimony to tell for
what it is worth.

THE FINISHING SCHOOLMASTER

[MAY 17, 1851]

IT was recently supposed and feared that a vacancy had occurred in
this great national office. One of the very few public instructors —
we had almost written the only one — as to whose moral lessons all
sorts of Administrations and Cabinets are united in having no kind
of doubt, was so much engaged in enlightening the people of England,
that an occasion for his services arose, when it was dreaded they could
not be rendered. It is scarcely necessary to say who this special
public instructor is. Our administrative legislators cannot agree on
the teaching of The Lord^ Prayer, the Sermon on the Mount, the
Christian History ; but they are all quite clear as to the public teach
ing of the Hangman. The scaffold is the blessed neutral ground on
which conflicting Governments may all accord, and Mr. John Ketch
is the great state Schoolmaster.

Maria Clarke was left for execution at Ipswich, Suffolk, on
Tuesday the 22nd of April. It was Easter Tuesday ; and besides
the decent compliment to the Festival of Easter that may be sup
posed to be involved in a Public Execution at that time, it was
important that the woman should be hanged upon a holiday, as

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

so many country people were then at leisure to profit by the im
proving spectacle. It happened, however, that the great finishing
Schoolmaster was pre-engaged to lecture, that morning, to other
pupils in another part of the country, and thus a paragraph found
its way into the newspapers announcing that his humanising office
might, perhaps, be open for the nonce to competition.

A gentleman of the country, distinguished for his truth and
goodness, has placed in our hands copies of the letters addressed to"
the Sheriff by the various candidates for this post of instruction.
We proceed to lay them before our readers, as we have received
them, without names or addresses. In all other respects they are
exact copies from the originals. This is no jest, we beg it to be
understood. The letters we present, are literal transcripts of the
letters written to the High Sheriff of Suffolk, on the occasion in
question.

The first, is in the form of a polite note, and has an air of
genteel commonplace — like an invitation, or an answer to one.

Mr. residing at Southwark will accept the

office unavoidably declined by Calcraft on Wednesday next viz to
execute Maria Clarke a speedy answer will oblige stating terms say
not less than £20.

To the High Sheriff of Suffolk.

The second, has a Pecksniffian morality in it, which is very
edifying.

Sir 20 April

This day i Was Reading the newspaper When i saw the
advertise for A hangman for that unfortunate Woman if there is
not A person come fored and and that you cannot Get no one by
the time i Will come as A suBstitute to finish that wich the law
require

Yours respect
fully

for the Govener of the

prepaid ipsWich Goal

Suffolk

The third, is respectful towards the great finishing Schoolmaster,
33°

THE FINISHING SCHOOLMASTER

though — such is fame ! — it mis-spells a name, with which (as we have
elsewhere observed) the public has become familiarised.

Sir Saturday April 19/51

Seeing a statement in the Times of this day that you wanted
a person to execute Maria Clarke & you could not get a substitute as
Mr. Calcroft was engaged on Wednesday next if well Paid I am Redey
to do it myself an early communication will oblige yours &c

P S. You must pay all expences Down as I am in Desperate Cir
cumstances hoping this is in secreecy I am

In the fourth, the writer modestly recommends himself as a self-
reliant trustworthy person.

Sir AprilthZl/Sl

having understood you Want a Man on Wednesday Morning
to Perform the Office Of hangman i beg most respectfully To Offer
Myself to your Notice feeling Confident i Am Abel to undertake it.

From your obedient
Servant No

Street Square

White Chappel

The fifth, appears to know his value as Public Instructor, and
Head of the National System of Education, if elected.

Southrvark London
Mr. Sherriff April 20th 1851

Sir I will perform the duties of Hangman for the execution
of Maria Clarke on Wednesday in consideration of sixty pounds for my
services

Yours respectfully
to the High Sheriff of
Suffolk
on haste
to the

High Sheriff for the
County of Suffolk
p. paid Ipswhich

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

The sixth, is workmanlike.

Honoured Sir Deal. April 21/51

Understanding that you cannot get a man to take the job
of hanging the Woman on Wednesday next I will volunteer to do the
business if the terms are liberal and suit me

I remain your respected
Servant

The seventh, is also business-like, and is more particular. The
writer's mention of himself as a married man shows considerable
delicacy.

Sir Manchester April 19/51

Seeing the enclosed printed paper in the Newspaper if it is a
facte I am your man if your trams will suit me that is what am I to have
for the work and how am I to get there

I am yours &c

P S. my height is 5 feet 5 and my age is 32 years — and I am a
married man

The writer of the eighth is, we may infer from his tone respecting
the eminent * Calcraft,' a Constant Reader.

To the Sheriff of Ipswitch

Sir April 20

Hearing that Calcraft is unable to attend on Wednesday next
to execute Maria Clarke I offer myself as a substitute being able and com
petent to fulfill his place on this occasion upon the same terms as Calcraft
if you think proper to engage me a note addressed to me
will meet with immediate attention

Your humble Servant

The ninth, is cautious and decisive, though it evidently proceeds
from a Saxon, and is characteristically unjust toward the only part
of the earth which is in no way responsible for its own doings.

Honor'd Sir April 20/A/51.

Seeing that you ware at present in some difficulty to find an
Executioner to perform your Duties on the person of Maria Clarke whose
execution is fixed for Wednesday next I beg to offer to perform the office

333

THE FINISHING SCHOOLMASTER

of hangsman on that occasion for the sum of £50 to be paid on the com
pletion of the same In order to prevent the public from Knowing my
real name and address I shall request you to address to M. B. care of

should you accede to

my proposal an answer per return of Post will reach me on Tuesday
morning which will afford me time to make the Journey per Rail

I of course shall expect my expences paid in addition to the sum
named

This is no idle offer as I shall most Certainly attend to perform
the duties imposed on you, at the time required Should you accept
this offer

I have the Honor to be
Honord Sir

Your Obdt Servt
To the High Sheriff
of the County of Suffolk

P. S I of course expect the name to be kept a secret should you not
accept the offer And if the offer be accepted I shall assume the name of
Patrick Keley of Kildare Ireland

The tenth, as proceeding from an individual who is honoured
with the acquaintance of the real finishing Schoolmaster, and who
even aspires to succeed him, claims great respect. If we selected
any particular beauty from the rest, it would be his mention of the
post as a ' birth.'

Gentlemen April IQth 1851

Seeing a paragraph in the paper of this day that you are in
want of an executioner in the place of Calcraft I have taken the liberty
to inform you that you can have me the writer of this note I have been
for some time after the birth and am well acquainted with calcraft and
I wonder he did not mention my name when you dispatched a messenger
to him I made application at horsemonger lane for the last job there
but Calcraft attended himself Gentlemen if you should think fit to
nominate me for the job, you will find me a fitt and proper person to
fulfill it

An Answer to this application
will oblidge

Your most Humble Servant

And will meet with immediate attention

333

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Gent«n

Should this meet your approbation you will oblidge by send
ing me instructions when and how to come down

You will be Kind enough to communicate this to the High Sheriff
as soon as Convenient
To the Governer

of Ipswich Gaol

The connection of 'the sad office/ in the eleventh, with 'the
amount,' unites a heart of sentiment with an eye to business.

Cockermoutk A pi 21 1851

Sir having seen in the paper that Calcraft cannot come up.
will undertake the sad Office if well remunerated and as time is short
please to say the amount and I will come by return of Post you may
depend on me Yours.

This is the twelfth and last — from a plain man accustomed to
job-work.

Sir Wigan April 20 1851

Having seen in the Newspaper that you was in want of a
Man to oficiate in the place of Calcraft at the execution of Maria Clarke
if you will pay my expences from Wigan & Back & 5 pounds for the
job Please to send my expences from Wigan to Ipswich & direct to the

& he will let me Know
Your obedient Servant

These letters, we repeat, are genuine. They may set our readers
thinking. It may be well to think a little now and then, however
distasteful it be to do so, of this public teaching by the finishing
Schoolmaster ; and to consider how often he has at once begun and
ended — and how long he should continue to begin and end
only State Education the State can adjust to the perfect satisfaction
of its conscience.

334

A FEW CONVENTIONALITIES

[JUNE 28, 1851]

A CHILD inquired of us, the other day, why a gentleman always said
his first prayer in church, in the crown of his hat. We were reduced
to the ignominious necessity of replying that we didn't know — but
it was the custom.

Having dismissed our young friend with a severe countenance
(which we always assume under the like circumstances of discom
fiture) we began to ask ourselves a few questions.

Our first list had a Parliamentary reference.

Why must an honourable gentleman always * come down ' to this
house ? Why can't he sometimes * come up ' — like a horse — or

* come in ' like a man ? What does he mean by invariably coming
down ? Is it indispensable that he should * come down ' to get into
the House of Commons — say, for instance, from Saint Albans ? Or is
that house on a lower level than most other houses ? Why is he
always * free to confess ' ? It is well known that Britons never never
never will be slaves; then why can't he say what he has to say,
without this superfluous assertion of his freedom ? Why must an
Irish Member always * taunt ' the noble Lord with this, that, or the
other ? Can't he tell him of it civilly, or accuse him of it plainly ?
Must he so ruthlessly taunt him ? Why does the Honourable
Member for Groginhole call upon the Secretary of State for the
Home Department to ' lay his hand upon his heart,' and proclaim
to the country such and such a thing ? The Home Secretary is not
in the habit of laying his hand upon his heart. When he has any
thing to proclaim to the country, he generally puts his hands under
his coat-tails. Why is he thus personally and solemnly adjured to
lay one of them on the left side of his waistcoat for any Honourable
Member's gratification ? What makes my Honourable friend, the
Member for Gammonrife, feel so acutely that he is required to

* pin his faith ' upon the measures of Her Majesty's Government ?
Is he always required to attach it in that particular manner only ;

335

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

and are needle and thread, hooks and eyes, buttons, wafers, sealing-
wax, paste, bird-lime, gum, and glue, utterly prohibited to him ?
Who invested the unfortunate Speaker with all the wealth and
poverty of the Empire, that he should be told — * Sir, when you look
around you, and behold your seas swarming with ships of every
variety of tonnage and construction — when you behold your flag
waving over the forts of a territory so vast that the Sun never sets
upon it — when you consider that your storehouses are teeming with
the valuable products of the earth — and when you reflect that
millions of your poor are held in the bonds of pauperism and ignor
ance — can you, I ask, reconcile it to yourself ; can you, I demand,
justify it to your conscience ; can you, I inquire, Sir, stifle the voice
within you, by these selfish, these time-serving, these shallow, hollow,
mockeries of legislation ? ' It is really dreadful to have an innocent
and worthy gentleman bullied in this manner. Again, why do
' I hold in my hand ' all sorts of things ? Can I never lay them
down, or carry them under my arm ? There was a Fairy in the
Arabian Nights who could hold in her hand a pavilion large enough
to shelter the Sultan's army, but she could never have held half the
petitions, blue books, bills, reports, returns, volumes of Hansard,
and other miscellaneous papers, that a very ordinary Member for a
very ordinary place will hold in his hands nowadays. Then again,
how did it come to be necessary to the Constitution that I should
be such a very circuitous and prolix peer as to * take leave to remind
you, my Lords, of what fell from the noble and learned lord on the
opposite side of your Lordships' house, who preceded my noble and
learned friend on the cross Benches when he addressed himself with
so much ability to the observations of the Right Reverend Prelate
near me, in reference to the measure now brought forward by the
Noble Baron ' — when, all this time, I mean, and only want to say, Lord
Brougham ? Is it impossible for my honourable friend the Member
for Drowsyshire, to wander through his few dreary sentences im
mediately before the division, without premising that ' at this late
hour of the night and in this stage of the debate,1 etc. ? Because
if it be not impossible why does he never do it ? And why, why,
above all, in either house of Parliament must the English language
be set to music — bad and conventional beyond any parallel on
earth — and delivered, in a manner barely expressible to the eye as
follows :

336

A FEW CONVENTIONALITIES

night

Sir when I came do thi* house

wn to

•

tera

Minis

ty'n

I found Her jea

Is Parliament included in the Common Prayer-book under the
denomination of * quires and places where they sing ' ? And if so,
wouldn't it be worth a small grant to make some national arrange
ment for instruction in the art by Mr. Hullah ?

Then, consider the theatrical and operatic questions that arise,
likewise admitting of no solution whatever.

No man ever knew yet, no man ever will know, why a stage-
nobleman is bound to go to execution with a stride and a stop
alternately, and cannot proceed to the scaffold on any other terms.
It is not within the range of the loftiest intellect to explain why
a stage-letter, before it can be read by the recipient, must be smartly
rapped back, after being opened, with the knuckles of one hand. It
is utterly unknown why choleric old gentlemen always have a trick
of carrying their canes behind them, between the waist-buttons of
their coat. Several persons are understood to be in Bedlam at the
present time, who went distracted in endeavouring to reconcile the
bran-new appearance of Mr. Cooper, in John Butt bearing a highly
polished surgical instrument-case under his arm, with the fact of
his having been just fished out of the deep sea, in company with the
case in question. Inexplicable phenomena continually arise at the
Italian Opera, where we have ourself beheld (it was in the time of
Robert of Normandy) Nuns buried in garments of that perplexing
nature that the very last thing one could possibly suppose they
had taken, was a veil of any order. Who knows how it came about
that the young Swiss maiden in the ballet should, as an established
custom, revolve, on her nuptial morning, so airily and often, that
at length she stands before us, for some seconds, like a beautiful
VOL. I : Y 337

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

white muslin pen-wiper? Why is her bed-chamber always immedi
ately over the cottage-door ? Why is she always awakened by three
taps of her lover's hands ? Why does her mother always spin ?
Why is her residence invariably near a bridge? In what Swiss
canton do the hardy mountaineers pursue the chamois in silk
stockings, pumps, blue breeches, cherry-coloured bows, and their
shirt-sleeves ? When the Tenor Prince is made more tenor by the
near approach of death from steel or poison ; when the Bass enemy
growls glutted vengeance ; and the Heroine (who was so glad in
the beginning of her story to see the villagers that she had an
irrepressible impulse to be always shaking hands with them) is
rushing to and fro among the living and disturbing the wig of the
dead : why do we always murmur our Bra — a — avo ! or our Bra — a
— ava ! as the case may be, in exactly the same tone, at exactly the
same places, and execute our little audience conventionalities with
the punctuality and mechanism of the stage itself? Why does the
Primo Buffo always rub his hands and tap his nose ? When did
mankind enter into articles of agreement that a most uncompromis
ing and uncomfortable box, with the lid at a certain angle, should
be called a mossy bank ? Who first established an indissoluble
connection between the Demon and the brass instruments ? When
the sailors become Bacchanalian, how do they do it out of such little
mugs, replenished from pitchers that have always been turned
upside down? Granted that the Count must go a-hunting, why
must he therefore wear fur round the tops of his boots, and never
follow the chase with any other weapon than a spear with a large
round knob at the blunt end ?

Then, at public dinners and meetings, why must Mr. Wilson
refer to Mr. Jackson as * my honourable friend, if he will permit me
to call him so'? Has Wilson any doubt about it? Why does
Mr. Smithers say that he is sensible he has already detained you too
long, and why you say, * No, no ; go on ! ' when you know you are
sorry for it directly afterwards? You are not taken by surprise
when the Toastmaster cries, in giving the Army and Navy, ' Up
standing, gentlemen, and good fires ' — then what do you laugh for ?
No man could ever say why he was greatly refreshed and fortified
by forms of words, as * Resolved. That this meeting respectfully
but firmly views with sorrow and apprehension, not unmixed with
abhorrence and dismay ' — but they do invigorate the patient, in
338

A FEW CONVENTIONALITIES

most cases, like a cordial. It is a strange thing that the chairman
is obliged to refer to ' the present occasion ' ; — that there is a
horrible fascination in the phrase which he can't elude. Also, that
there should be an unctuous smack and relish in the enunciation of
titles, as 'And I may be permitted to inform this company that
when I had the honour of waiting on His Royal Highness, to
ask His Royal Highness to be pleased to bestow his gracious
patronage on our excellent Institution, His Royal Highness did me
the honour to reply, with that condescension which is ever His
Royal Highness's most distinguishing characteristic' — and so forth.
As to the singular circumstance that such and such a duty should
not have been entrusted to abler hands than mine, everybody is
familiar with that phenomenon, but it 's very strange that it must
be so !

Again, in social matters. It is all very well to wonder who
invents slang phrases, referential to Mr. Ferguson or any such
mythological personage, but the wonder does not stop there. It
extends into Belgravia. Saint James's has its slang, and a great deal
of it. Nobody knows who first drawled, languidly, that so and so,
or such and such a thing, was ' good fun,' or * capital fun,' or * a —
the best fun in the world, I 'm told ' — but some fine gentleman or
lady did so, and accordingly a thousand do. They don't know why.
We have the same mysterious authority for inquiring, in our faint
way, if Cawberry is a nice person — if he is a superior person — for a
romance being so charmingly horrible, or a woman so charmingly
ugly — for the Hippopotamus being quite charming in his bath, and
the little Elephant so charmingly like its mother — for the glass
palace being (do you know) so charming to me that I absolutely bore
every creature with it — for those horrid sparrows not having built
in the dear gutters, which are so charmingly ingenious — for a great
deal more, to the same very charming purpose.

When the old stage-coaches ran, and overturns took place in
which all the passengers were killed or crippled, why was it invariably
understood that no blame whatever was attributable to the coach
man ? In railway accidents of the present day, why is the coroner
always convinced that a searching inquiry must be made, and that
the railway authorities are affording every possible facility in aid
of the elucidation of this unhappy disaster? When a new build
ing tumbles into a heap of ruins, why are architect, contractor, and

339

materials always the best that could be got for money, with
additional precautions — as if that splendid termination were the
triumph of construction, and all buildings that don't tumble
down were failures ? When a boiler bursts, why was it the very
best of boilers; and why, when somebody thinks that if the
accident were not the boiler's fault it is likely to have been the
engineer's, is the engineer then morally certain to have been the
steadiest and skilfullest of men ? If a public servant be impeached,
how does it happen that there never was such an excellent public
servant as he will be shown to be by Red-Tape-osophy ? If an abuse
be brought to light, how does it come to pass that it is sure to be,
in fact, (if rightly viewed) a blessing ? How can it be, that we
have gone on, for so many years, surrounding the grave with ghastly,
ruinous, incongruous and inexplicable mummeries, and curtaining the
cradle with a thousand ridiculous and prejudicial customs?

All these things are conventionalities. It would be well for us
if there were no more and no worse in common use. But, having
run the gauntlet of so many, in a breath, we must yield to the
unconventional necessity of taking breath, and stop here.

A NARRATIVE OF EXTRAORDINARY
SUFFERING

[JULY 12, 1851]

A GENTLEMAN of credit and of average ability, whose name we have
permission to publish — Mr. Lost, of the Maze, Ware — was recently
desirous to make a certain journey in England. Previous to entering
on this excursion, which we believe had a commercial object (though
Mr. Lost has for some years retired from business as a Woolstapler,
having been succeeded in 1831 by his son who now carries on the
firm of Lost and Lost, in the old-established premises at Stratford
on Avon, Warwickshire, where it may be interesting to our readers
to know that he married, in 1834, a Miss Shakespeare, supposed to
be a lineal descendant of the immortal bard), it was necessary that
Mr. Lost should come to London, to adjust some unsettled accounts
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EXTRAORDINARY SUFFERING

with a merchant in the Borough, arising out of a transaction in
Hops. His Diary originating on the day previous to his leaving
home is before us, and we shall present its rather voluminous informa
tion to our readers in a condensed form : endeavouring to extract
its essence only.

It would appear that Mrs. Lost had a decided objection to her
husband's undertaking the journey in question. She observed, 'that
he had much better stay at home, and not go and make a fool of
himself' — which she seems to have had a strong presentiment that
he would ultimately do. A young person in their employ as con
fidential domestic, also protested against his intention, remarking
' that Master warn't the man as was fit for Railways, and Railways
warn't the spearses as was fit for Master.' Mr. Lost, however,
adhering to his purpose, in spite of these dissuasions, Mrs. Lost
made no effort (as she might easily have done with perfect success)
to restrain him by force. But, she stipulated with Mr. Lost, that
he should purchase an Assurance Ticket of the Railway Passengers'
Assurance Company, entitling his representatives to three thousand
pounds in case of the worst. It was also understood that in the
event of his failing to write home by any single night's post, he
would be advertised in the Times, at full length, next day.

These satisfactory preliminaries concluded, Mr. Lost sent out the
confidential domestic (Mary Anne Mag by name, and born of poor
but honest parents) to purchase a Railway Guide. This document
was the first shock in connection with his extraordinary journey
which Mr. Lost and family received. For, on referring to the Index,
to ascertain how Ware stood in reference to the Railways of the
United Kingdom and the Principality of Wales, they encountered
the following mysterious characters : —

WARETU 6

No farther information could be obtained. They thought of page
six, but there was no such page in the book, which had the sportive
eccentricity of beginning at page eight. In desperate remembrance
of the dark monosyllable Tu, they turned to the 'classification of
Railways,' but found nothing there under the letter T except ' Taff
Vale and Aberdare' — and who (as the confidential domestic said)
could ever want them ! Mr. Lost has placed it on record that his
' brain reeled ' when he glanced down the page, and found himself,

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in search of Ware, wandering among such names as Ravenglass,
Bootle, and Sprouston.

Reduced to the necessity of proceeding to London by turnpike-
road, Mr. Lost made the best of his way to the metropolis in his
own one-horse chaise, which he then dismissed in charge of his man,
George Flay, who had accompanied him for that purpose. Proceed
ing to Southwark, he had the satisfaction of finding that the total of
his loss upon the Hop transaction did not exceed three hundred and
forty-seven pounds, four shillings, and twopence halfpenny. This,
he justly regarded as, on the whole, a success for an amateur in that
promising branch of speculation ; in commemoration of his good
fortune, he gave a plain but substantial dinner to the Hop Merchant
and two friends at Tom's Coffee House on Ludgate Hill.

He did not sleep at that house of entertainment, but repaired
in a hackney cab (No. 482) to the Euston Hotel, adjoining the
terminus of the North-Western Railway. On the following morning
his remarkable adventures may be considered to have commenced.

It appears that with a view to the farther prosecution of his
contemplated journey, it was, in the first place, necessary for Mr.
Lost to make for the ancient city of Worcester. Knowing that
place to be attainable by way of Birmingham, he started by the
train at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and proceeded, pleasantly
and at an even pace, to Leighton. Here he found, to his great amaze
ment, a powerful black bar drawn across the road, hopelessly imped
ing his progress !

After some consideration, during which, as he informs us, his
' brain reeled ' again, Mr. Lost returned to London. Having par
taken of some refreshment, and endeavoured to compose his mind
with sleep (from which, however, he describes himself to have
derived but little comfort, in consequence of being fitfully pursued
by the mystic signs WARE Tu 6), he awoke unrefreshed, and at five
minutes past five in the afternoon once again set forth in quest of
Birmingham. But now, he was even less fortunate than in the
morning; for, on arriving at Tring, some ten miles short of his
former place of stoppage, he suddenly found the dreaded black
barrier across the road, and was thus warned by an insane voice,
which seemed to have something supernatural in its awful sound.
' RUGBY TO LEICESTER, NOTTINGHAM, AND DERBY ! '

With the spirit of an Englishman, Mr. Lost absolutely refused
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EXTRAORDINARY SUFFERING

to proceed to either of those towns. If such were the meaning of
the voice, it fell powerless upon him. Why should he go to Leicester,
Nottingham, and Derby ; and what right had Rugby to interfere
with him at Tring? He again returned to London, and, fearing
that his mind was going, took the precaution of being bled.

When he arose on the following morning, it was with a haggard
countenance, on which the most indifferent observer might have seen
the traces of a corroding anxiety, and where the practised eye might
have easily detected what was really wrong within. Even conscience
does not sear like mystery. Where now were the glowing cheek, the
double chin, the mellow nose, the dancing eye ? Fled. And in
their place

In the silent watches of the night, he had formed the resolution
of endeavouring to reach the object of his pursuit, by Gloucester, on
the Great- Western Railway. Leaving London once more, this time
at half an hour after twelve at noon, he proceeded to Swindon Junction.
Not without difficulty. For, at Didcot, he again found the black
barrier across the road, and was violently conducted to seven places,
with none of which he had the least concern — in particular, to one
dreadful spot with the savage appellation of Aynho. But, escaping
from these hostile towns after undergoing a variety of hardships, he
arrived (as has been said) at Swiridon Junction.

Here, all hope appeared to desert him. It was evident that the
whole country was in a state of barricade, and that the insurgents (who
ever they were) had taken their measures but too well. His imprison
ment was of the severest kind. Tortures were applied, to induce
him to go to Bath, to Bristol, Yatton, Clevedon Junction, Weston-
super-Mare Junction, Exeter, Torquay, Plymouth, Falmouth, and the
remotest fastnesses of West Cornwall. No chance of Gloucester was
held out to him for a moment. Remaining firm, however, and watch
ing his opportunity, he at length escaped — more by the aid of good
fortune, he considers, than through his own exertions — and sliding
underneath the dreaded barrier, departed by way of Cheltenham for
Gloucester.

And now indeed he might have thought that after combating
with so many obstacles, and undergoing perils so extreme, his way at
length lay clear before him, and a ray of sunshine fell upon his
dismal path. The delusive hope, if any such were entertained by
the forlorn man, was soon dispelled. It was his horrible fate to

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depart from Cirencester exactly an hour before he arrived there, and
to leave Gloucester ten minutes before he got to it !

It were vain to endeavour to describe the condition to which Mr.
Lost was reduced by this overwhelming culmination of his many
hardships. It had been no light shock to find his native country in
the hands of a nameless foe, cutting off the communication between
one town and another, and carrying out a system of barricade, little
if at all inferior, in strength and skill, to the fortification of Gibraltar.
It had been no light shock to be addressed by maniac voices urging
him to fly to various remote parts of the kingdom. But, this
tremendous blow, the annihilation of time, the stupendous reversal
of the natural sequence and order of things, was too much for his
endurance — too much, perhaps, for the endurance of humanity. He
quailed beneath it, and became insensible.

When consciousness returned, he found himself again on the
North- Western line of Railway, listlessly travelling anywhere. He
remembers, he says, Four Ashes, Spread Eagle, and Penkridge.
They were black, he thinks, and coaly. He had no business there ;
he didn't care whether he was there or not. He knew where he
wanted to go, and he knew he couldn't go where he wanted. He
was taken to Manchester, Bangor, Liverpool, Windermere, Dundee
and Montrose, Edinburgh and Glasgow. He repeatedly found him
self in the Isle of Man ; believes he was, several times, all over
Wales ; knows he was at Kingstown and Dublin, but has only a
general idea how he got there. Once, when he thought he was
going his own way at last, he was dropped at a North Staffordshire
Station called (he thinks in mockery) Mow Cop. As a general rule
he observed that whatsoever divergence he made, he came to Edin
burgh. But, there were exceptions — as when he was set down on
the extreme verge of land at Holyhead, or put aboard a Steamboat,
and carried by way of Paris into the heart of France. He thinks
the most remarkable journey he was made to take, was from Euston
Square into Northamptonshire ; so, by the fens of Lincolnshire round
to Rugby ; thence, through the whole of the North of England and
a considerable part of Scotland, to Liverpool ; thence, to Douglas in
the Isle of Man ; and back, by way of Ireland, Wales, Great Yar
mouth, and Bishop Stortford, to Windsor Castle. Throughout the
whole of these travels, he observed the black-barrier system in active
operation, and was always stopped when he least expected it. He

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invariably travelled against his will, and found a code of cabalistic
signs in use all over the country.

Anxiety and disappointment had now produced their natural
results. His face was wan, his voice much weakened, his hair scanty
and grey, the whole man expressive of fatigue and endurance. It
is an affecting instance of the influence of uneasiness and depression
on the mind of Mr. Lost, that he now commenced wildly to seek the
object of his journey in the strangest directions. Abandoning the
Railroads on which he had undergone so much, he began to institute
a feverish inquiry for it among a host of boarding-houses and hotels.
' Bed, breakfast, boots, and attendance, two and sixpence per day.' —
'Bed and boots, seven shillings per week.' — * Wines and spirits of
the choicest quality.' — 'Night Porter in constant attendance.' —
* For night arrivals, ring the private door belL' — ' Omnibuses to and
from all parts of London, every minute.' — 'Do not confound this
house with any other of the same name.' Among such addresses to
the public, did Mr. Lost now seek for a way to Worcester. As he
might have anticipated — as he did anticipate in fact, for he was
hopeless now — it was not to be found there. His intellect was
greatly shaken.

Mr. Lost has left, in his Diary, a record so minute of the gradual
deadening of his intelligence and benumbing of his faculties, that he
can be followed downward, as it were step by step. Thus, we find
that when he had exhausted the boarding-houses and hotels, family,
commercial and otherwise (in which he found his intellect much
enfeebled by the constant recurrence of the hieroglyphic ' 1 — 6 — 51
— W. J. A.'), he addressed himself, with the same dismal object, to
Messrs. Moses and Son, and to Mr. Medwin, bootmaker to His
Royal Highness Prince Albert. After them, even to inanimate
things, as the Patent Compendium Portmanteau, the improved
Chaff Machines and Corn Crushers, the Norman Razor, the Bank of
England Sealing Wax, Schweepe's Soda Water, the Extract of Sarsa-
parilla, the Registered Paletot, Rowlands' Kalydor, the Cycloidal
Parasol, the Cough Lozenges, the universal night-light, the poncho,
Allsopp's pale ale, and the patent knife-cleaner. Failing, naturally,
in all these appeals, and in a final address to His Grace the Duke of
Wellington in the gentlemanly summer garment, and to Mr. Burton
of the General Furnishing Ironmongery Warehouse, he sank into a
stupor, and abandoned hope.

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,Mr. Lost is now a ruin. He is at the Euston Square Hotel.
When advised to return home he merely shakes his head and mutters
' Ware Tu . . 6.* No Cabman can be found who will take charge

of him on those instructions. He sits continually turning over the
leaves of a small, dog's-eared quarto volume with a yellow cover,
and babbling in a plaintive voice, ' BRADSHAW, BRADSHAW.'

A few days since, Mrs. Lost, having been cautiously made
acquainted with his condition, arrived at the hotel, accompanied
by the confidential domestic. The first words of the heroic woman
were:

'John Lost, don't make a spectacle of yourself, don't. Who
ami?'

He replied ' BRADSHAW/

'John Lost,' said Mrs. Lost, 'I have no patience with you.
Where have you been to ? '

Fluttering the leaves of the book, he answered ' To BRADSHAW.'

' Stuff and nonsense you tiresome man,' said Mrs. Lost. ' You
put me out of patience. What on earth has brought you to this
stupid state ? '

He feebly answered, ' BRADSHAW.'

No one knows what he means.

WHOLE HOGS

[AUGUST 23, 1851]

THE public market has been of late more than usually remarkable
for transactions on the American principle in Whole and indivisible
Hogs. The market has been heavy — not the least approach to brisk
ness having been observed in any part of it ; but, the transactions,
such as they have been, have been exclusively for Whole Hogs.
Those who may only have had a retail inclination for sides, ribs,
limbs, cheeks, face, trotters, snout, ears, or tail, have been required
to take the Whole Hog, sinking none of the offal, but consenting to
it all — and a good deal of it too.

It has been discovered that mankind at large can only be re
generated by a Teetotal Society, or by a Peace Society, or by always
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WHOLE HOGS

dining on Vegetables. It is to be particularly remarked that either
of these certain means of regeneration is utterly defeated, if so much
as a hairVbreadth of the tip of either ear of that particular Pig be
left out of the bargain. Qualify your water with a teaspoonful of
wine or brandy — we beg pardon — alcohol — and there is no virtue in
Temperance. Maintain a single sentry at the gate of the Queen's
Palace, and it is utterly impossible that you can be peaceful.
Stew so much as the bone of a mutton chop in the pot with
your vegetables, and you will never make another Eden out of
a Kitchen Garden. You must take the Whole Hog, Sir, and
every bristle on him, or you and the rest of mankind will never
be regenerated.

Now, without inquiring at present whether means of regenera
tion that are so easily spoiled, may not a little resemble the pair of
dancing-shoes in the story, which the lady destroyed by walking
across a room in them, we will consider the Whole Hog question
from another point of view.

First, stand aside to see the great Teetotal Procession come by.
It is called a Temperance Procession — which is not an honest use of
a plain word, but never mind that. Hurrah ! hurrah ! The flags
are blue and the letters golden. Hurrah ! hurrah ! Here are a
great many excellent, straightforward, thoroughly well-meaning, and
exemplary people, four and four, or two and two. Hurrah ! hurrah !
Here are a great many children, also four and four, or two and two.
Who are they ? — They, Sir, are the Juvenile Temperance Bands of
Hope. — Lord bless me ! What are the Juvenile Temperance Bands
of Hope? — They are the Infantine Brigade of Regenerators of
Mankind. — Indeed ? Hurrah ! hurrah ! These young citizens being
pledged to total abstinence, and being fully competent to pledge
themselves to anything for life ; and it being the custom of such
ycung citizens' parents, in the existing state of unregenerated society,
to bring them up on ardent spirits and strong beer (both of which
are commonly kept in Barrels, behind the door, on tap, in all large
families, expressly for persons of tender years, of whom it is calculated
that seven-eighths always go to bed drunk) ; this is a grand show. So,
again, Hurrah ! hurrah !

Who are these gentlemen walking two and two, with medals on
their stomachs and bows in their button-holes ? These, Sir, are the
Committee. — Are they ? Hurrah ! hurrah ! One cheer more for the

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Committee ! Hoo-o-o-o-rah ! A cheer for the Reverend Jabez Fire
works — fond of speaking ; a cheer for the gentleman with the stand-
up collar, Mr. Gloss — fond of speaking ; a cheer for the gentleman
with the massive watch-chain, who smiles so sweetly on the surround
ing Fair, Mr. Glib — fond of speaking ; a cheer for the rather dirty
little gentleman who looks like a converted Hyaena, Mr. Scradger —
fond of speaking ; a cheer for the dark-eyed, brown gentleman, the
Dove Delegate from America — fond of speaking; a cheer for the
swarm who follow, blackening the procession, — Regenerators from
everywhere in general — all good men — all fond of speaking ; and all
going to speak.

I have no right to object, I am sure. Hurrah, hurrah !

The Reverend Jabez Fireworks, and the great Mr. Gloss, and
the popular Mr. Glib, and the eminent Mr. Scradger, and the Dove
Delegate from America, and the distinguished swarm from every
where, have ample opportunity (and profit by it, too) for speaking
to their heart's content. For, is there not, to-day, a Grand Demon
stration Meeting ; and to-morrow, another Grand Demonstration
Meeting ; and, the day after to-morrow, a Grand United Regenera
tive Zoological Visitation ; and, the day after that, a Grand Aggregate
General Demonstration ; and, the day after that, a Grand Associated
Regenerative Breakfast ; and, the day after that, a Grand Associated
Regenerative Tea ; and, the day after that, a Final Grand Aggregate
Compounded United and Associated Steamboat River Demonstra
tion ; and do the Regenerators go anywhere without speaking, by
the bushel ? Still, what offence to me ? None. Still, I am content
to cry, Hurrah ! hurrah ! If the Regenerators, though estimable
men, be the most tiresome men (as speakers) under Heaven ; if their
sincerest and best followers cannot, in the infirmity of human nature,
bear the infliction of such oratory, but occupy themselves in prefer
ence with tea and rolls, or resort for comfort to the less terrible
society of Lions, Elephants, and Bears, or drown the Regenerative
eloquence in the clash of brazen Bands ; I think it sensible and right
and still exclaim, Hurrah !

But how, if with the matter of such eloquence, when any of it
happens to be heard, and also happens not to be a singular compound
of references to the Bible, and selections from Joe Miller, I find, on
drawing nearer, that I have some business ? How, if I find that the
distinguished swarm are not of that quiet class of gentlemen whom
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WHOLE HOGS

Mr. Carlyle describes as consuming their own smoke ; but that
they emit a vast amount of smoke, and blacken their neighbours
very considerably ? Then, as a neighbour myself, I have perhaps a
right to speak.

In Bedlam, and in all other madhouses, Society is denounced as
being wrongfully combined against the patient. In Newgate, and
in all other prisons, Society is denounced as being wrongfully com
bined against the criminal. In the speeches of the Reverend
Jabez, and the other Regenerators, Society is denounced as being
wrongfully and wickedly combined against their own particular
Whole Hog — who must be swallowed, every bristle, or there is no
Pork in him.

The proof? Society won't come in and sign the pledge; Society
won't come in and recruit the Juvenile Temperance bands of hope.
Therefore, Society is fond of drunkenness, sees no harm in it, favours
it very much, is a drunkard — a base, worthless, sensual, profligate
brute. Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and
sisters, divines, physicians, lawyers, editors, authors, painters, poets,
musicians, Queen, lords, ladies, and commons, are all in league
against the Regenerators, are all violently attached to drunkenness,
are all the more dangerous if by any chance they be personal
examples of temperance, in the real meaning of the word ! — which
last powerful steam-hammer of logic has become a pet one, and is
constantly to be observed in action.

Against this sweeping misrepresentation, I take the liberty of
entering my feeble protest. With all respect for Jabez, for Gloss,
for Glib, for Dove Delegate, and for Scradger, I must make so bold
as to observe that when a Malay runs amuck he cannot be con
sidered in a temperate state of mind; also, that when a thermo
meter stands at Fever Heat, it cannot claim to indicate Temperate
weather. A man, to be truly temperate, must be temperate in
many respects — in the rejection of strong words no less than of
strong drinks — and I crave leave to assert against my good friends
the Regenerators, that in such gross statements, they set a most
intemperate example. I even doubt whether an equal number of
drunkards, under the excitement of the strongest liquors, could set
a worse example.

And I would beg to put it seriously to the consideration of those
who have sufficient powers of endurance to stand about the platform,

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listening, whether they think of this sufficiently? Whether they
ever knew the like of this before? Whether they have any ex
perience or knowledge of a good cause that was ever promoted by
such bad means ? Whether they ever heard of an association of
people, deliberately, by their chosen vessels, throwing overboard
every effort but their own, made for the amelioration of the con
dition of men; unscrupulously vilifying all other labourers in the
vineyard ; calumniously setting down as aiders and abettors of an
odious vice which they know to be held in general abhorrence, and
consigned to general shame, the great compact mass of the com
munity — of its intelligence, of its morality, of its earnest endeavour
after better things ? If, upon consideration, they know of no such
other case, then the inquiry will perhaps occur to them, whether, in
supporting a so-conducted cause, they really be upholders of Temper
ance, dealing with words, which should be the signs for Truth, accord
ing to the truth that is in them ?

Mankind can only be regenerated, proclaim the fatteners of the
Whole Hog Number Two, by means of a Peace Society. Well ! I
call out of the nearest Peace Society my worthy friend John Bates —
an excellent workman and a sound man, lineally descended from that
sturdy soldier of the same name who spake with King Henry the
Fifth, on the night before the battle of Agincourt. ' Bates,' says
I, * how about this Regeneration ? Why can it only be effected by
means of a Peace Society ? ' Says Bates in answer, * Because War
is frightful, ruinous, and unchristian. Because the details of one
battle, because the horrors of one siege, would so appal you, if you
knew them, that probably you never could be happy afterwards.
Because man was not created in the image of his Maker to be
blasted with gunpowder, or pierced with bayonets, or gashed with
swords, or trampled under iron hoofs of horses, into a puddle of
mire and blood. Because War is a wickedness that always costs us
dear. Because it wastes our treasure, hardens our hearts, paralyses
our industry, cripples our commerce, occasions losses, ills, and devilish
crimes, unspeakable and out of number.' Says I, sadly, ' But have
I not, O Bates, known all this for this many a year ? ' * It may be
so,' says Bates ; * then come into the Peace Society.' Says I, ' Why
come in there, Bates ? ' Says Bates, ' Because we declare we won't
have War or show of War. We won't have armies, navies, camps,
or ships. England shall be disarmed, we say, and all these horrors
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WHOLE HOGS

ended.* Says I, ' How ended, Bates?' Says Bates, 'By arbitration.
We have a Dove Delegate from America, and a Mouse Delegate
from France ; and we are establishing a Bond of Brotherhood, and
that '11 do it.' ' Alas ! It will NOT do it, Bates. I, too, have
thought upon the horrors of war, of the blessings of peace, and of
the fatal distraction of men's minds from seeking them, by the roll
of the drum and the thunder of the inexorable cannon. However,
Bates, the world is not so far upon its course, yet, but that there
are tyrants and oppressors left upon it, watchful to find Freedom
weak that they may strike, and backed by great armies. O John
Bates, look out towards Austria, look out towards Russia, look out
towards Germany, look out towards the purple Sea, that lies so
beautiful and calm beyond the filthy jails of Naples ! Do you see
nothing there?' Says Bates (like the sister in Blue Beard, but
much more triumphantly) *I see nothing there, but dust'; — and
this is one of the inconveniences of a fattened Whole and indivisible
Hog, that it fills up the doorway, and its breeders cannot see beyond
it. ' Dust ! ' says Bates. I tell Bates that it is because there are,
behind that dust, oppressors and oppressed, arrayed against each
other — that it is because there are, beyond his Dove Delegate and
his Mouse Delegate, the wild beasts of the Forest — that it is because
I dread and hate the miseries of tyranny and war — that it is because
I would not be soldier-ridden, nor have other men so — that I am not
for the disarming of England, and cannot be a member of his Peace
Society: admitting all his premises, but denying his conclusion.
Whereupon Bates, otherwise just and sensible, insinuates that not
being for his Whole and indivisible Hog, I can be for no part
of his Hog ; and that I have never felt or thought what his Society
now tells me it, and only it, feels and thinks as a new discovery ;
and that when I am told of the new discovery I don't care for it !

Mankind can only be regenerated by dining on Vegetables.
Why? Certain worthy gentlemen have dined, it seems, on vege
tables for ever so many years, and are none the worse for it.
Straightway, these excellent men, excited to the highest pitch,
announce themselves by public advertisement as * DISTINGUISHED
VEGETARIANS,' vault upon a platform, hold a vegetable festival, and
proceed to show, not without prolixity and weak jokes, that a
vegetable diet is the only true faith, and that, in eating meat,
mankind is wholly mistaken and partially corrupt. Distinguished

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Vegetarians. As the men who wear Nankeen trousers might hold
a similar meeting, and become Distinguished Nankeenarians ! But
am I to have NO meat ? If I take a pledge to eat three cauliflowers
daily in the cauliflower season, a peck of peas daily in the pea time,
a gallon of broad Windsor beans daily when beans are ' in,1 and a
young cabbage or so every morning before breakfast, with perhaps
a little ginger between meals (as a vegetable substance, corrective of
that windy diet), may I not be allowed half an ounce of gravy-beef
to flavour my potatoes ? Not a shred ? Distinguished Vegetarians
can acknowledge no imperfect animal. Their Hog must be a Whole
Hog, according to the fashion of the time.

Now, we would so far renew the custom of sacrificing animals, as
to recommend that an altar be erected to Our Country, at present
sheltering so many of these very inconvenient and unwieldy Hogs,
on which their grosser portions should be ' burnt and purged away.1
The Whole Hog of the Temperance Movement, divested of its
intemperate assumption of infallibility and of its intemperate
determination to run grunting at the legs of the general popula
tion of this empire, would be a far less unclean and a far more
serviceable creature than at present. The Whole Hog of the Peace
Society, acquiring the recognition of a community of feeling between
itself and many who hold war in no less abhorrence, but who yet
believe, that, in the present era of the world, some preparation
against it is a preservative of peace and a restraint upon despotism,
would become as much enlightened as its learned predecessor Toby,
of Immortal Memory. And if distinguished Vegetarians, of all
kinds, would only allow a little meat; and if distinguished Flesh-
meatarians, of all kinds, would only yield a little vegetable ; if the
former, quietly devouring the fruits of the earth to any extent,
would admit the possible morality of mashed potatoes with beef —
and if the latter would concede a little spinach with gammon ; and
if both could manage to get on with a little less platforming — there
being at present rather an undue preponderance of cry over wool —
if all of us, in short, were to yield up something of our whole and
entire animals, it might be very much the better in the end, both for
us and for them.

After all, my friends and brothers, even the best Whole and
indivisible Hog may be but a small fragment of the higher and
greater work, called Education !
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SUCKING PIGS

[NOVEMBER 8, 1851]

As we both preach and practise Temperance according to the
English signification of the word, and as we have lately observed
with ashes on our head that one or two respected models of that
virtue have been thrown into an ill-humour by our paper on Whole
Hogs, we trust they will be soothed by their present reference to
the milder and gentler class of swine : which may become Whole
Hogs if they live, but which we fear are but a measly description of
Pork, extremely likely to be cut off in their Bloom.

The accidental use of the foregoing flowery expression, brings
us to the subject of our present observations : namely, that last
tender and innocent offspring of Whole Hogs, on which has been
bestowed the name of BLOOMERISM.

It is a confession of our ignorance which we make with feelings
of humiliation, but when the existence of this little porker first
became known to us, we supposed its name to have been conferred
upon it in right of its fresh and gushing nature. We have since
learnt, not without impressions of solemnity, that it is admiration's
tribute to ' Mrs. Colonel Bloomer,' of the United States of America.
What visions rise upon our mind's eye, as our fancy contemplates
that eminent lady, and the Colonel in whose home she is a well-
spring of joy, we will here make no ineffectual endeavour to
describe.

Neither will we enter upon the great question of the Rights of
Women; whether Majors, Captains, Lieutenants, Ensigns, Non
commissioned Officers, or Privates, under Mrs. Colonel Bloomer;
or members of any other corps. Personally, we admit that our
mind would be disturbed, if our own domestic well-spring were to
consider it necessary to entrench herself behind a small table
ornamented with a water-bottle and tumbler, and from that
fortified position to hold forth to the public. Similarly, we should
doubt the expediency of her putting up for Marylebone, or being
one of the Board of Guardians for St. Pancras, or serving on a
Grand Jury for Middlesex, or acting as High Sheriff of any county,
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or taking the chair at a Meeting on the subject of the Income-
Tax. We think it likely that we might be a little discomfited, if
we found her appealing to her sex through the advertising columns
of the Times, in such terms as, ' Women of the Borough and of
Tooley Street, it is for your good that I come among you ! ' or,
' Hereditary bondswomen of Liverpool, know you not, who would
be free, themselves must strike the blow ! ' Assuming (for the sake
of argument) our name to be Bellows, we would rather that no
original proceeding, however striking, on the part of Mrs. Bellows,
led to the adoption, at the various minor theatres and in the
Christmas pantomimes, of the Bellows Costume ; or to the holding
at any public assembly-rooms of a Bellows Ball ; or to the com
position of countless Bellows Polkas; or to the publication of a
ballad (though a pleasing melody with charming words, and certain
to become a favourite) entitled, * I should like to be a Bellows ! ' In
a word, if there were anything that we could dispense with in Mrs.
Bellows above all other things, we believe it would be a Mission.
We should put the question thus to Mrs. Bellows. ' Apple of our
eye, we will freely admit your inalienable right to step out of your
domestic path into any phase of public appearance and palaver
that pleases you best; but we doubt the wisdom of such a sally.
Beloved one, does your sex seek influence in the civilised world ?
Surely it possesses influence therein to no mean extent, and has
possessed it since the civilised world was. Should we love our Julia
(assuming, for the sake of argument, the Christian name of Mrs.
Bellows to be Julia), — should we love our Julia better, if she were
a Member of Parliament, a Parochial Guardian, a High Sheriff,
a Grand Juror, or a woman distinguished for her able conduct in
the chair ? Do we not, on the contrary, rather seek in the society of
our Julia, a haven of refuge from Members of Parliament, Parochial
Guardians, High Sheriffs, Grand Jurors, and able chairmen ? Is not
the home- voice of our Julia as the song of a bird, after considerable
bow-wowing out of doors ? And is our Julia certain that she has
a small table and water-bottle Mission round the corner, when here
are nine (say, for the sake of argument, nine) little Bellowses to
mend, or mar, at home? Does our heart's best treasure refer us
to the land across the Atlantic for a precedent? Then let us
remind our Julia, with all respect for the true greatness of that
great country, that it is not generally renowned for its domestic

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rest, and that it may have yet to form itself for its best happiness
on the domestic patterns of other lands.' Such would be, in a
general way, the nature of our ground in reasoning the point
with Mrs. Bellows ; but we freely admit all this to be a question
of taste.

To return to the sucking pig, Bloomerism. The porcine likeness
is remarkable in many particulars. In the first place, it will not do
for Mrs. Bellows to be a Budder or a Blower. She must come out
of that altogether, and be a Bloomer. It is not enough for Mrs.
Bellows to understand that the Bloomer costume is the perfection of
delicacy. She must further distinctly comprehend that the ordinary
evening dress of herself and her two eldest girls (as innocent and good
girls as can be) is the perfection of indelicacy. She must not content
herself with defending the Bloomer modesty. She must run amuck,
and slander in the new light of her advanced refinement, customs
that to our coarse minds are harmless and beautiful. What is not
indicated (in something of the fashion of a ship's figurehead) through
the tight medium of a Bloomer waistcoat, must be distinctly under
stood to be, under any other circumstances, absolutely shocking to
persons of true refinement.

What is the next reason for which Mrs. Bellows is called upon,
in a strong-minded way, to enroll herself a Bloomer ? Tight lacing
has done a deal of harm in the world ; and Mrs. Bellows cannot by
any possibility leave off her stays, or lace them loosely, without
Blooming all over, from head to foot. In this will be observed
the true Whole Hog philosophy. Admitting (what, of course, is
obvious to every one) that there can be no kind of question as to the
universality among us of this custom of tight lacing ; admitting that
there has been no improvement since the days of the now venerable
caricatures, in which a lady's figure was always represented like
an hour-glass or a wasp ; admitting that there has been no ray
of enlightenment on this subject; that marriageable Englishmen
invariably choose their wives for the snaallness of their waists,
as Chinese husbands choose theirs for the smallness of their feet ;
that portrait painters always represent their beauties in the old
conventional stays ; and that the murderous custom of tight whale-
boning and lacing is not confined to a few ignorant girls here and
there, probably under the direction of some dense old woman in
velvet, the weight of whose gorgeous turban would seem to have

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settled on her brain and addled her understanding ; — admitting all
this, which is so self-evident and clear, the next triumphant pro
position is, that Mrs. Bellows cannot come out of a pair of stays,
without instantly going into a waistcoat, and can by no human
ingenuity be set right about the waist, without standing pledged
to pantaloons gathered and tied about the ankles.

It further appears, that when Mrs. Bellows goes out for a walk
in dirty weather, she splashes her long dress and spoils it, or raises
it with one hand and wounds the feelings of Mrs. Colonel Bloomer
to an insupportable extent. Now, Mrs. Bellows may not, must not,
cannot, will not, shall not, shorten her long dress, or adopt any other
mode that her own ingenuity (and she is a very ingenious woman)
may suggest to her of remedying the inconvenience ; but she must
be a Bloomer, a whole Bloomer, and nothing but a Bloomer, or
remain for ever a Slave and a Pariah.

And it is a similar feature in this little pig, that even if
Mrs. Bellows chooses to become, of her own free will and liking,
a Bloomer, that won't do. She must agitate, agitate, agitate.
She must take to the little table and water-bottle. She must go
in to be a public character. She must work away at a Mission.
It is not enough to do right for right's sake. There can be no
satisfaction for Mrs. Bellows, in satisfying her mind after due
reflection that the thing she contemplates is right, and therefore
ought to be done, and so in calmly and quietly doing it, conscious
that therein she sets a righteous example which never can in the
nature of things be lost and thrown away. Mrs. Bellows has no
business to be self-dependent, and to preserve a quiet little avenue
of her own in the world, begirt with her own influences and duties.
She must discharge herself of a vast amount of words, she must
enlist into an Army composed entirely of Trumpeters, she must
come (with the Misses Bellows) into a resounding Spartan Hall for
the purpose. To be sure, however, it is to be remarked, that this
is the noisy manner in which all great social deeds have been done.
Mr. Howard, for example, put on a shovel hat turned up with sky-
blue fringe, the moment he conceived the humane idea of his life,
and (instead of calmly executing it) ever afterwards perpetually
wandered about, calling upon all other men to put on shovel hats
with sky-blue fringe, and declare themselves Howardians. Mrs.
Fry, in like manner, did not tamely pass her time in Jails, devoted
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SUCKING PIGS

with unwavering steadiness, to one good purpose, sustained by that
good purpose, by her strong conscience, and her upright heart, but
restlessy went up and down the earth, requiring all women to come
forward and be Fryars. Grace Darling, her heroic action done,
never retired (as the vulgar suppose) into the solitary Lighthouse
which her father kept, content to pass her life there in the discharge
of ordinary unexciting duties, unless the similar peril of a fellow-
creature should rouse her to similar generous daring ; but instantly
got a Darling medal struck and made a tour through the Provinces,
accompanied by several bushels of the same, by a table, water-bottle,
tumbler, and money-taker, and delivered lectures calling on her sex
to mount the medal — pledge themselves, with three times three,
never to behold a human being in danger of drowning without
putting off in a boat to that human being's aid — and enroll
themselves Darlings, one and all.

We had in our contemplation, in beginning these remarks, to
suggest to the troops under the command of Mrs. Colonel Bloomer,
that their prowess might be usefully directed to the checking, rather
than to the encouragement, of masquerade attire. As for example,
we observe a certain sanctimonious waistcoat breaking out among
the junior clergy of this realm, which we take the liberty to consider
by far the most incensing garment ever cut : calculated to lead to
breaches of the peace, as moving persons of a temperament open to
aggravating influences, to seize the collar and shake off the buttons.
Again, we cannot be unmindful of the popularity, among others of
the junior clergy, of a meek, spare, large-buttoned, long-skirted,
black frock coat, curiously fastened at the neck round a smooth
white band ; two ordinary wearers of which cassock we beheld, but
the other day, at a Marriage Ceremony whereunto we had the
honour to be bidden, mysteriously and gratuitously emerge during
the proceedings from a stage-door near the altar, and grimly make
motions at the marriage-party with certain of their right-hand
fingers, resembling those which issued from the last live Guy Fawkes
whom we saw carried in procession round a certain public place at
Rome. Again, some clerical dignitaries are compelled (therefore
they are to be sympathised with, and not condemned) to wear an
apron : which few unaccustomed persons can behold with gravity.
Further, Her Majesty's Judges at law, than whom a class more
worthy of all respect and honour does not live, are required on most

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public occasions, but especially on the first day of term, to maintain an
elevated position behind little desks, with the irksome consciousness
of being grinned at in the Cheshire manner (on account of their
extraordinary attire) by all comers.

Hence it was that we intended to throw out that suggestion of
possible usefulness to the Bloomer forces at which we have sufficiently
hinted. But on second thoughts we feel no need to do so, being
convinced that they already have, as all things in the world are
said to have, their use. They serve

To point the moral and adorn the tail

of Whole Hogs. In the lineaments of the Sucking Pig, Bloomerism,
we observe a kind of miniature, with a new and pleasant absurdity
in it, of that family. The service it may help to do, is, to divest
the family of what is unreasonable and groundlessly antagonistic in
its character — which never can be profitable — and so to strengthen
the good that is in it — which is very great.

A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

[MARCH 13, 1852]

Ax the top of Farringdon Street in the City of London, once adorned
by the Fleet Prison and by a diabolical jumble of nuisances in the
middle of the road called Fleet Market, is a broad new thorough
fare in a state of transition. A few years hence, and we of the
present generation will find it not an easy task to recall, in the
thriving street which will arise upon this spot, the wooden barriers
and hoardings — the passages that lead to nothing — the glimpses of
obscene Field Lane and Saffron Hill — the mounds of earth, old
bricks, and oyster-shells — the arched foundations of unbuilt houses —
the backs of miserable tenements with patched windows — the
odds and ends of fever-stricken courts and alleys — which are the
present features of the place. Not less perplexing do I find it now,
to reckon how many years have passed since I traversed these byways
one night before they were laid bare, to find out the first Ragged
School.

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A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

If I say it is ten years ago, I leave a handsome margin. The
discovery was then newly made, that to talk soundingly in Parlia
ment, and cheer for Church and State, or to consecrate and confirm
without end, or to perorate to any extent in a thousand market
places about all the ordinary topics of patriotic songs and sentiments,
was merely to embellish England on a great scale with whited
sepulchres, while there was, in every corner of the land where its
people were closely accumulated, profound ignorance and perfect
barbarism. It was also newly discovered, that out of these noxious
sinks where they were born to perish, and where the general ruin
was hatching day and night, the people would not come to be
improved. The gulf between them and all wholesome humanity
had swollen to such a depth and breadth, that they were separated
from it as by impassable seas or deserts ; and so they lived, and so
they died : an always increasing band of outlaws in body and soul,
against whom it were to suppose the reversal of all laws, human and
divine, to believe that Society could at last prevail.

In this condition of things, a few unaccredited messengers of
Christianity, whom no Bishop had ever heard of, and no Govern
ment-office Porter had ever seen, resolved to go to the miserable
wretches who had lost the way to them ; and to set up places of
instruction in their own degraded haunts. I found my first Ragged
School, in an obscure place called West Street, Saffron Hill, pitifully
struggling for life, under every disadvantage. It had no means,
it had no suitable rooms, it derived no power or protection from
being recognised by any authority, it attracted within its wretched
walls a fluctuating swarm of faces — young in years but youthful in
nothing else — that scowled Hope out of countenance. It was held
in a low-roofed den, in a sickening atmosphere, in the midst of
taint and dirt and pestilence : with all the deadly sins let loose,
howling and shrieking at the doors. Zeal did not supply the place
of method and training ; the teachers knew little of their office ;
the pupils with an evil sharpness, found them out, got the better
of them, derided them, made blasphemous answers to scriptural
questions, sang, fought, danced, robbed each other ; seemed possessed
by legions of devils. The place was stormed and carried, over and
over again ; the lights were blown out, the books strewn in the
gutters, and the female scholars carried off triumphantly to their
old wickedness. With no strength in it but its purpose, the school

359

stood it all out and made its way. Some two years since, I found
it, one of many such, in a large convenient loft in this transi
tion part of Farringdon Street — quiet and orderly, full, lighted
with gas, well whitewashed, numerously attended, and thoroughly
established.

The number of houseless creatures who resorted to it, and who
were necessarily turned out when it closed, to hide where they could
in heaps of moral and physical pollution, filled the managers with
pity. To relieve some of the more constant and deserving scholars,
they rented a wretched house, where a few common beds — a dozen
or a dozen-and-a-half perhaps— were made upon the floor. This
was the Ragged School Dormitory ; and when I found the School
in Farringdon Street, I found the Dormitory in a court hard by,
which in the time of the Cholera had acquired a dismal fame. The
Dormitory was, in all respects, save as a small beginning, a very
discouraging Institution. The air was bad ; the dark and ruinous
building, with its small close rooms, was quite unsuited to the
purpose ; and a general supervision of the scattered sleepers was
impossible. I had great doubts at the time whether, excepting that
they found a crazy shelter for their heads, they were better there
than in the streets.

Having heard, in the course of last month, that this Dormitory
(there are others elsewhere) had grown as the School had grown,
I went the other night to make another visit to it. I found the
School in the same place, still advancing. It was now an Industrial
School too ; and besides the men and boys who were learning — some,
aptly enough ; some, with painful difficulty ; some, sluggishly and
wearily ; some, not at all — to read and write and cipher ; there were
two groups, one of shoemakers, and one (in a gallery) of tailors,
working with great industry and satisfaction. Each was taught and
superintended by a regular workman engaged for the purpose, who
delivered out the necessary means and implements. All were
employed in mending, either their own dilapidated clothes or shoes,
or the dilapidated clothes or shoes of some of the other pupils.
They were of all ages, from young boys to old men. They were
quiet, and intent upon their work. Some of them were almost as
unused to it as I should have shown myself to be if I had tried my
hand, but all were deeply interested and profoundly anxious to do
it somehow or other. They presented a very remarkable instance
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A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

of the general desire there is, after all, even in the vagabond breast,
to know something useful. One shock-headed man when he had
mended his own scrap of a coat, drew it on with such an air of
satisfaction, and put himself to so much inconvenience to look at
the elbow he had darned, that I thought a new coat (and the mind
could not imagine a period when that coat of his was new !) would
not have pleased him better. In the other part of the School,
where each class was partitioned off by screens adjusted like the
boxes in a coffee-room, was some very good writing, and some singing
of the multiplication -table — the latter, on a principle much too
juvenile and innocent for some of the singers. There was also a
ciphering-class, where a young pupil teacher out of the streets, who
refreshed himself by spitting every half-minute, had written a legible
sum in compound addition, on a broken slate, and was walking
backward and forward before it, as he worked it, for the instruction
of his class, in this way :

Now then ! Look here, all on you ! Seven and five, how many ?

SHARP BOY (in no particular clothes). Twelve !

PUPIL TEACHER. Twelve — and eight ?

DULL YOUNG MAN (with water on the brain). Forty-five !

SHARP BOY. Twenty !

PUPIL TEACHER. Twenty. You 're right. And nine ?

DULL YOUNG MAN (after great consideration). Twenty-nine !

PUPIL TEACHER. Twenty-nine it is. And nine ?

RECKLESS GUESSER. Seventy-four !

PUPIL TEACHER (drawing nine strokes). How can that be ?
Here's nine on 'em! Look! Twenty-nine, and one's thirty,
and one 's thirty-one, and one 's thirty-two, and one 's thirty-
three, and one's thirty-four, and one's thirty-five, and one's thirty-
six, and one 's thirty-seven, and one 's what ?

RECKLESS GUESSER. Four-and-two-pence farden !

DULL YOUNG MAN (who has been absorbed in the demonstration).
Thirty-eight !

PUPIL TEACHER (restraining sharp boy's ardour). Of course it
is ! Thirty-eight pence. There they are ! (writing 38 in slate-
corner). Now what do you make of thirty-eight pence ? Thirty-
eight pence, how much ? (Dull young man slowly considers and
gives it up, under a week.) How much you ? (to sleepy boy, who
stares and says nothing). How much, you ?

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SHARP BOY. Three-and-twopence !

PUPIL TEACHER. Three-and-twopence. How do I put down
three-and-twopence ?

SHARP Boy. You puts down the two, and you carries the three.

PUPIL TEACHER. Very good. Where do I carry the three ?

RECKLESS GUESSER. T* other side the slate !

SHARP BOY. You carries him to the next column on the left
hand, and adds him on !

PUPIL TEACHER. And adds him on ! and eight and three 's
eleven, and eight 's nineteen, and seven 's what ?

And so on.

The best and most spirited teacher was a young man, himself
reclaimed through the agency of this School from the lowest depths
of misery and debasement, whom the Committee were about to send -
out to Australia. He appeared quite to deserve the interest they
took in him, and his appearance and manner were a strong testimony
to the merits of the establishment.

All this was not the Dormitory, but it was the preparation foi
it. No man or boy is admitted to the Dormitory, unless he is a
regular attendant at the school, and unless he has been in the school
two hours before the time of opening the Dormitory. If there be
reason to suppose that he can get any work to do and will not do
it, he is admitted no more, and his place is assigned to some other
candidate for the nightly refuge : of whom there are always plenty.
There is very little to tempt the idle and profligate. A scanty""
supper and a scanty breakfast, each of six ounces of bread and
nothing else (this quantity is less than the present penny-loaf),
would scarcely be regarded by Mr. Chad wick himself as a festive
or uproarious entertainment.

I found the Dormitory below the School: with its bare walls
and rafters, and bare floor, the building looked rather like an
extensive coach-house, well lighted with gas. A wooden gallery
had been recently erected on three sides of it ; and, abutting from
the centre of the wall on the fourth side, was a kind of glazed
meat-safe, accessible by a ladder; in which the presiding officer
is posted every night, and all night. In the centre of the room,
which was very cool, and perfectly sweet, stood a small fixed stove ;
on two sides, there were windows; on all sides, simple means of
admitting fresh air, and releasing foul air. The ventilation of the
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A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

place, devised by Doctor Arnott, and particularly the expedient for
relieving the sleepers in the galleries from receiving the breath of the
sleepers below, is a wonder of simplicity, cheapness, efficiency, and
practical good sense. If it had cost five or ten thousand pounds, it
would have been famous.

The whole floor of the building, with the exception of a few
narrow pathways, was partitioned off into wooden troughs, or
shallow boxes without lids — not unlike the fittings in the shop
of a dealer in corn and flour, and seeds. The galleries were
parcelled out in the same way. Some of these berths were very
short — for boys; some, longer — for men. The largest were of
very contracted limits ; all were composed of the bare boards ;
each was furnished only with one coarse rug, rolled up. In the
brick pathways were iron gratings communicating with trapped
drains, enabling the entire surface of these sleeping-places to be
soused and flooded with water every morning. The floor of the
galleries was cased with zinc, and fitted with gutters and escape-
pipes, for the same reason. A supply of water, both for drinking
and for washing, and some tin vessels for either purpose, were at
hand. A little shed, used by one of the industrial classes, for the
chopping up of firewood, did not occupy the whole of the spare
space in that corner; and the remainder was devoted to some
excellent baths, available also as washing troughs, in order that
those who have any rags of linen may clean them once a-week.
In aid of this object, a drying-closet, charged with hot-air, was
about to be erected in the wood-chopping shed. All these appliances
were constructed in the simplest manner, with the commonest means,
in the narrowest space, at the lowest cost ; but were perfectly adapted
to their respective purposes.

I had scarcely made the round of the Dormitory, and looked at
all these things, when a moving of feet overhead announced that the
School was breaking up for the night. It was succeeded by pro
found silence, and then by a hymn, sung in a subdued tone, and
in very good time and tune, by the learners we had lately seen.
Separated from their miserable bodies, the effect of their voices, united
in this strain, was infinitely solemn. It was as if their souls were
singing — as if the outward differences that parted us had fallen away,
and the time was come when all the perverted good that was in them,
or that ever might have been in them, arose imploringly to Heaven.

363

The baker who had brought the bread, and who leaned against
a pillar while the singing was in progress, meditating in his way,
whatever his way was, now shouldered his basket and retired. The
two half-starved attendants (rewarded with a double portion for
their pains) heaped the six-ounce loaves into other baskets, and made
ready to distribute them. The night-officer arrived, mounted to
his meat-safe, unlocked it, hung up his hat, and prepared to spend
the evening. I found him to be a very respectable-looking person
in black, with a wife and family ; engaged in an office all day, and
passing his spare time here, from half- past nine every night to six
every morning, for a pound a-week. He had carried the post against
two hundred competitors.

The door was now opened, and the men and boys who were to
pass that night in the Dormitory, in number one hundred and sixty-
seven (including a man for whom there was no trough, but who was
allowed to rest in the seat by the stove, once occupied by the night-
officer before the meat-safe was), came in. They passed to their
different sleeping-places, quietly and in good order. Every one sat
down in his own crib, where he became presented in a curiously
foreshortened manner ; and those who had shoes took them off, and
placed them in the adjoining path. There were, in the assembly,
thieves, cadgers, trampers, vagrants, common outcasts of all sorts.
In casual wards and many other Refuges, they would have been
very difficult to deal with ; but they were restrained here by the
law of kindness, and had long since arrived at the knowledge that
those who gave him that shelter could have no possible induce
ment save to do them good. Neighbours spoke little together —
they were almost as uncompanionable as mad people — but every
body took his small loaf when the baskets went round, with a
thankfulness more or less cheerful, and immediately ate it up.

There was some excitement in consequence of one man being
missing ; ' the lame old man.' Everybody had seen the lame old
man upstairs asleep, but he had unaccountably disappeared. What
he had been doing with himself was a mystery, but, when the inquiry
was at its height, he came shuffling and tumbling in, with his palsied
head hanging on his breast — an emaciated drunkard, once a com
positor, dying of starvation and decay. He was so near death, that
he could not be kept there, lest he should die in the night ; and,
while it was under deliberation what to do with him, and while his
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A SLEEP TO STARTLE US

dull lips tried to shape out answers to what was said to him, he
was held up by two men. Beside this wreck, but all unconnected
with it and with the whole world, was an orphan boy with burning
cheeks and great gaunt eager eyes, who was in pressing peril of death,
too, and who had no possession under the broad sky but a bottle of
physic and a scrap of writing. He brought both from the house-
surgeon of a Hospital that was too full to admit him, and stood,
giddily staggering in one of the little pathways, while the Chief
Samaritan read, in hasty characters underlined, how momentous his
necessities were. He held the bottle of physic in his claw of a hand,
and stood, apparently unconscious of it, staggering, and staring with
his bright glazed eyes ; a creature, surely, as forlorn and desolate as
Mother Earth can have supported on her breast that night. He was
gently taken away, along with the dying man, to the workhouse ; and
he passed into the darkness with his physic-bottle as if he were going
into his grave.

The bread eaten to the last crumb ; and some drinking of water
and washing in water having taken place, with very little stir or noise
indeed ; preparations were made for passing the night. Some, took
off their rags of smock frocks ; some, their rags of coats or jackets,
and spread them out within their narrow bounds for beds : design
ing to lie upon them, and use their rugs as a covering. Some, sat
up, pondering, on the edges of their troughs ; others, who were very
tired, rested their unkempt heads upon their hands and their elbows
on their knees, and dozed. When there were no more who desired
to drink or wash, and all were in their places, the night officer,
standing below the meat-safe, read a short evening service, including
perhaps as inappropriate a prayer as could possibly be read (as
though the Lord's Prayer stood in need of it by way of Rider),
and a portion of a chapter from the New Testament. Then,
they all sang the Evening Hymn, and then they all lay down
to sleep.

It was an awful thing, looking round upon those one hundred
and sixty-seven representatives of many thousands, to reflect that
a Government, unable, with the least regard to truth, to plead
ignorance of the existence of such a place, should proceed as if the
sleepers never were to wake again. I do not hesitate to say — why
should I, for I know it to be true ! — that an annual sum of money,
contemptible in amount as compared with any charges upon any

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list, freely granted in behalf of these Schools, and shackled with
no preposterous Red Tape conditions, would relieve the prisons,
diminish county rates, clear loads of shame and guilt out of the
streets, recruit the army and navy, waft to new countries, Fleets
full of useful labour, for which their inhabitants would be thankful
and beholden to us. It is no depreciation of the devoted people
whom I found presiding here, to add, that with such assistance as
a trained knowledge of the business of instruction, and a sound
system adjusted to the peculiar difficulties and conditions of this
sphere of action, their usefulness could be increased fifty-fold in a
few months.

My Lords and Gentlemen, can you, at the present time, con
sider this at last, and agree to do some little easy thing ! Dearly
beloved brethren elsewhere, do you know that between Gorham
controversies, and Pusey controversies, and Newman controversies,
and twenty other edifying controversies, a certain large class of
minds in the community is gradually being driven out of all
religion ? Would it be well, do you think, to come out of the
controversies for a little while, and be simply Apostolic thus low
down!

BETTING-SHOPS

[JUNE 26, 1852]

IN one sporting newspaper for Sunday, June the fourteenth, there
are nine-and-twenty advertisements from Prophets, who have
wonderful information to give — for a consideration ranging from one
pound one, to two-and-sixpence — concerning every * event ' that is
to come off upon the Turf. Each of these Prophets has an un
rivalled and unchallengeable * Tip,' founded on amazing intelligence
communicated to him by illustrious unknowns (traitors of course,
but that is nobody's business) in all the racing stables. Each, is
perfectly clear that his enlightened patrons and correspondents must
win ; and each, begs to guard a too-confiding world against relying
on the other. They are all philanthropists. One Sage announces
*that when he casts his practised eye on the broad surface of
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BETTING-SHOPS

struggling society, and witnesses the slow and enduring perseverance
of some, and the infatuous rush of the many who are grappling with
a cloud, he is led with more intense desire to hold up the lamp of
light to all.' He is also much afflicted, because ' not a day passes,
without his witnessing the public squandering away their money on
worthless rubbish.' Another, heralds his re-appearance among the
lesser stars of the firmament with the announcement, * Again the
Conquering Prophet comes ! ' Another moralist intermingles with
his 'Pick,' and 'Tip,' the great Christian precept of the New Testa
ment. Another, confesses to a small recent mistake which has made
it ' a disastrous meeting for us,' but considers that excuses are un
necessary (after making them), for, ' surely, after the unprecedented
success of the proofs he has lately afforded of his capabilities in fish
ing out the most carefully-hidden turf secrets, he may readily be
excused one blunder.' All the Prophets write in a rapid manner, as
receiving their inspiration on horseback, and noting it down, hot
and hot, in the saddle, for the enlightenment of mankind and the
restoration of the golden age.

This flourishing trade is a melancholy index to the round
numbers of human donkeys who are everywhere browzing about.
And it is worthy of remark that the great mass of disciples were, at
first, undoubtedly to be found among those fast young gentlemen,
who are so excruciatingly knowing that they are not by any means
to be taken in by Shakespeare, or any sentimental gammon of that
sort. To us, the idea of this would-be keen race being preyed upon
by the whole Betting-Book of Prophets, is one of the most ludicrous
pictures the mind can imagine; while there is a just and pleasant
retribution in it which would awaken in us anything but animosity
towards the Prophets, if the mischief ended here.

But, the mischief has the drawback that it does not end here.
When there are so many Picks and Tips to be had, which will, of a
surety, pick and tip their happy owners into the lap of Fortune, it
becomes the duty of every butcher's boy and errand lad who is
sensible of what is due to himself, immediately to secure a Pick and
Tip of the cheaper sort, and to go in and win. Having purchased
the talisman from the Conquering Prophet, it is necessary that the
noble sportsman should have a handy place provided for him, where
lists of the running horses and of the latest state of the odds, are
kept, and where he can lay out his money (or somebody else's) on

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

the happy animals at whom the Prophetic eye has cast a knowing
wink. Presto ! Betting-shops spring up in every street ! There is
a demand at all the brokers1 shops for old, fly-blown, coloured prints
of race-horses, and for any odd folio volumes that have the appear
ance of Ledgers. Two such prints in any shop- window, and one such
book on any shop-counter, will make a complete Betting-office, bank,
and all.

The Betting-shop may be a Tobacconist's, thus suddenly trans
formed ; or it may be nothing but a Betting-shop. It may be got
up cheaply, for the purposes of Pick and Tip investment, by the
removal of the legitimate counter, and the erection of an official
partition and desk in one corner ; or, it may be wealthy in mahogany
fittings, French polish, and office furniture. The presiding officer,
in an advanced stage of shabbiness, may be accidentally beheld
through the little window — whence from the inner mysteries of the
Temple, he surveys the devotees before entering on business — drink
ing gin with an admiring client; or he may be a serenely con
descending gentleman of Government Office appearance, who keeps
the books of the establishment with his glass in his eye. The
Institution may stoop to bets of single shillings, or may reject lower
ventures than half-crowns, or may draw the line of demarcation
between itself and the snobs at five shillings, or seven-and-sixpence,
or half-a-sovereign, or even (but very rarely indeed), at a pound.
Its note of the little transaction may be a miserable scrap of limp
pasteboard with a wretchedly printed form, worse filled up ; or, it
may be a genteelly tinted card, addressed ' To the Cashier of the
Aristocratic Club,' and authorising that important officer to pay the
bearer two pounds fifteen shillings, if Greenhorn wins the Fortuna-
tus's Cup ; and to be very particular to pay it the day after the
race. But, whatever the Betting-shop be, it has only to be some
where — anywhere, so people pass and repass — and the rapid youth
of England, with its slang intelligence perpetually broad awake and
its weather eye continually open, will walk in and deliver up its
money, like the helpless Innocent that it is.

' Pleased to the last, it thinks its wager won,
And licks the hand by which it's surely Done !'

We cannot represent the headquarters of Household Words as
being situated peculiarly in the midst of these establishments, for,
368

BETTING-SHOPS

they prevade the whole of London and its suburbs. But, our
neighbourhood yields an abundant crop of Betting-shops, and we
have not to go far to know something about them. Passing the
other day, through a dirty thoroughfare, much frequented, near
Drury Lane Theatre, we found that a new Betting-shop had suddenly
been added to the number under the auspices of Mr Cheerful.

Mr. Cheerful's small establishment was so very like that of the
apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, unfurnished, and hastily adapted
to the requirements of secure and profitable investment, that it
attracted our particular notice. It burst into bloom, too, so very
shortly before the Ascot Meeting, that we had our suspicions con
cerning the possibility of Mr. Cheerful having devised the ingenious
speculation of getting what money he could, up to the day of the
race, and then — if we may be allowed the harsh expression — bolt
ing. We had no doubt that investments would be made with Mr.
Cheerful, notwithstanding the very unpromising appearance of his
establishment ; for, even as we were considering its exterior from
the opposite side of the way (it may have been opened that very
morning), we saw two newsboys, an incipient baker, a clerk, and a
young butcher, go in, and transact business with Mr. Cheerful in a
most confiding manner.

We resolved to lay a bet with Mr. Cheerful, and see what came
of it. So we stepped across the road into Mr. Cheerful's Betting-
shop, and, having glanced at the lists hanging up therein, while
another noble sportsman (a boy with a blue bag) laid another bet
with Mr. Cheerful, we expressed our desire to back Tophana for the
Western Handicap, to the spirited amount of half-a-crown. In
making this advance to Mr. Cheerful, we looked as knowing on the
subject, both of Tophana and the Western Handicap, as it was in
us to do : though, to confess the humiliating truth, we neither had,
nor have, the least idea in connection with those proper names,
otherwise than as we suppose Tophana to be a horse, and the
Western Handicap an aggregate of stakes. It being Mr.
CheerfuFs business to be grave and ask no questions, he accepted
our wager, booked it, and handed us over his railed desk the dirty
scrap of pasteboard, in right of which we were to claim — the
day after the race; we were to be very particular about that —
seven-and-sixpence sterling, if Tophana won. Some demon whisper
ing us that here was an opportunity of discovering whether Mr.
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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Cheerful had a good bank of silver in the cash-box, we handed in a
sovereign. Mr. Cheerful's head immediately slipped down behind
the partition, investigating imaginary drawers ; and Mr. Cheerful's
voice was presently heard to remark, in a stifled manner, that all the
silver had been changed for gold that morning. After which,
Mr. Cheerful reappeared in the twinkling of an eye, called in from a
parlour the sharpest small boy ever beheld by human vision, and
dispatched him for change. We remarked to Mr. Cheerful that if
he would obligingly produce half-a-sovereign (having so much gold
by him) we would increase our bet, and save him trouble. But, Mr.
Cheerful, sliding down behind the partition again, answered that
the boy was gone, now — trust him for that ; he had vanished the
instant he was spoken to — and it was no trouble at all. Therefore,
we remained until the boy came back, in the society of Mr. Cheer
ful, and of an inscrutable woman who stared out resolutely into the
street, and was probably Mrs. Cheerful. When the boy returned,
we thought we once saw him faintly twitch his nose while we
received our change, as if he exulted over a victim ; but, he was so
miraculously sharp, that it was impossible to be certain.

The day after the race, arriving, we returned with our document
to Mr. Cheerful's establishment, and found it in great confusion.
It was filled by a crowd of boys, mostly greasy, dirty, and dissipated ;
and all clamouring for Mr. Cheerful. Occupying Mr. CheerfuPs
place, was the miraculous boy ; all alone, and unsupported, but not
at all disconcerted. Mr. Cheerful, he said, had gone out on
4 "tickler bizniz ' at ten o'clock in the morning, and wouldn't be back
till late at night. Mrs. Cheerful was gone out of town for her
health, till the winter. Would Mr. Cheerful be back to-morrow ?
cried the crowd. * He won't be here, to-morrow,1 said the miraculous
boy. ' Coz it 's Sunday, and he always goes to church, a1 Sunday.'
At this, even the losers laughed. ' Will he be here a' Monday,
then?' asked a desperate young green-grocer. 'A' Monday?' said
the miracle, reflecting. ' No, I don't think he '11 be here, a' Monday,
coz he 's going to a sale a' Monday.' At this, some of the boys
taunted the unmoved miracle with meaning ' a sell instead of a sale,'
and others swarmed over the whole place, and some laughed, and
some swore, and one errand boy, discovering the book — the only
thing Mr. Cheerful had left behind him — declared it to be a ' stun
ning good 'un.' We took the liberty of looking over it, and found
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BETTING-SHOPS

it so. Mr. Cheerful had received about seventeen pounds, and, even
if he had paid his losses, would have made a profit of between eleven
and twelve pounds. It is scarcely necessary to add that Mr. Cheer
ful has been so long detained at the sale that he has never come
back. The last time we loitered past his late establishment (over
which is inscribed Boot and Shoe Manufactory), the dusk of evening
was closing in, and a young gentleman from New Inn was making
some rather particular enquiries after him of a dim and dusty man
who held the door a very little way open, and knew nothing about
anybody, and less than nothing (if possible) about Mr. Cheerful.
The handle of the lower door-bell was most significantly pulled out
to its utmost extent, and left so, like an Organ stop in full action.
It is to be hoped that the poor gull who had so frantically rung for
Mr. Cheerful, derived some gratification from that expenditure of
emphasis. He will never get any other, for his money.

But the public in general are not to be left a prey to such
fellows as Cheerful. O, dear no ! We have better neighbours than
that, in the Betting-shop way. Expressly for the correction of such
evils, we have The Tradesmen's Moral Associative Betting Club ;
the Prospectus of which Institution for the benefit of tradesmen
(headed in the original with a racing woodcut), we here faithfully
present without the alteration of a word.

* The Projectors of the Tradesmen's Moral Associative Betting
Club, in announcing an addition to the number of Betting Houses
in the Metropolis, beg most distinctly to state that they are not
actuated by a feeling of rivalry towards old established and honour
ably conducted places of a similar nature, but in a spirit of fair
competition, ask for the support of the public, guaranteeing to
them more solid security for the investment of their monies, than
has hitherto been offered.

'The Tradesmen's Moral Associative Betting Club is really what
its name imports, viz., an Association of Tradesmen, persons in
business, who witnessing the robberies hourly inflicted upon the
humbler portion of the sporting public, by parties bankrupts alike
in character and property, have come to the conclusion that the
establishment of a club wherein their fellow-tradesmen, and the
speculator of a few shillings, may invest their money with assured
consciousness of a fair and honourable dealing, will be deemed
worthy of public support.

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'The Directors of this establishment feel that much of the
odium attached to Betting Houses, (acting to the prejudice of those
which have striven hard by honourable means to secure public
confidence) has arisen from the circumstance, that many offices have
been fitted up in a style of gaudy imitative magnificence, accom
panied by an expense, which, if defrayed, is obviously out of keeping
with the profits of a legitimate concern. Whilst, in singular
contrast, others have presented such a poverty stricken appearance,
that it is evident the design of the occupant was only to receive
money of a/7, and terminate in paying none.

' Avoiding these extremes of appearance, and with a determina
tion never to be induced to speculate to an extent, that may render
it even probable that we shall be unable " to pay the day after
the race."

' The business of the club will be carried on at the house of a
highly respectable and well-known tradesman, situate in a central
locality, the existence of an agreement with whom, on the part of
the directors, forms the strongest possible guarantee of our intention
to keep faith with the public.

* The market odds will be laid on all events, and every ticket
issued be signed by the director only, the monies being in
vested,' etc. etc.

After this, Tradesmen are quite safe in laying out their money
on their favourite horses. And their families, like the people in old
fireside stories, will no doubt live happy ever afterwards!

Now, it is unquestionable that this evil has risen to a great
height, and that it involves some very serious social considerations.
But, with all respect for opinions which we do not hold, we think it
a mistake to cry for legislative interference in such a case. In the
first place, we do not think it wise to exhibit a legislature which has
always cared so little for the amusements of the people, in repressive
action only. If it had been an educational legislature, considerate
of the popular enjoyments, and sincerely desirous to advance and
extend them during as long a period as it has been exactly the
reverse, the question might assume a different shape ; though, even
then, we should greatly doubt whether the same notion were not a
shifting of the real responsibility. In the second place, although
it is very edifying to have honourable members, and right honour
able members, and honourable and learned members, and what not,
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BETTING-SHOPS

holding forth in their places upon what is right, and what is wrong,
and what is true, and what is false — among the people — we have
that audacity in us that we do not admire the present Parliamentary
standard and balance of such questions ; and we believe that if
those be not scrupulously j ust, Parliament cannot invest itself with
much moral authority. Surely the whole country knows that
certain chivalrous public Prophets have been, for a pretty long time
past, advertising their Pick and Tip in all directions, pointing out
the horse which was to ruin all backers, and swearing by the horse
which was to make everybody's fortune ! Surely we all know, how
soever our political opinions may differ, that more than one of
them 'casting his practised eye,' exactly like the Prophet in the
sporting paper, ' on the broad surface of struggling society,' has
been possessed by the same 'intense desire to hold up the lamp
of light to all,' and has solemnly known by the lamp of light that
Black was the winning horse — until his Pick and Tip was purchased ;
when he suddenly began to think it might be White, or even Brown,
or very possibly Grey. Surely, we all know, however reluctant we
may be to admit it, that this has tainted and confused political
honesty ; that the Elections before us, and the whole Government
of the country, are at present a great reckless Betting-shop, where
the Prophets have pocketed their own predictions after playing fast
and loose with their patrons as long as they could ; and where,
casting their practised eyes over things in general, they are now
backing anything and everything for a chance of winning !

No. If the legislature took the subject in hand it would make
a virtuous demonstration, we have no doubt, but it would not
present an edifying spectacle. Parents and employers must do more
for themselves. Every man should know something of the habits
and frequentings of those who are placed under him ; and should
know much, when a new class of temptation thus presents itself.
Apprentices are, by the terms of their indentures, punishable for
gaming; it would do a world of good, to get a few score of that
class of noble sportsmen convicted before magistrates, and shut up
in the House of Correction, to Pick a little oakum, and Tip a
little gruel into their silly stomachs. Betting clerks, and betting
servants of all grades, once detected after a grave warning, should
be firmly dismissed. There are plenty of industrious and steady
young men to supply their places. The police should receive

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

instructions by no means to overlook any gentleman of established
bad reputation — whether ' wanted ' or not — who is to be found
connected with a Betting-shop. It is our belief that several
eminent characters could be so discovered. These precautions ;
always supposing parents and employers resolute to discharge their
own duties instead of vaguely delegating them to a legislature they
have no reliance on ; would probably be sufficient. Some fools who
are under no control, will always be found wandering away to ruin ;
but, the greater part of that extensive department of the common
alty are under some control, and the great need is, that it be better
exercised.

TRADING IN DEATH

[NOVEMBER 27, 1852]

SEVERAL years have now elapsed since it began to be clear to the
comprehension of most rational men, that the English people had
fallen into a condition much to be regretted, in respect of their
Funeral customs. A system of barbarous show and expense was
found to have gradually erected itself above the grave, which, while
it could possibly do no honour to the memory of the dead, did
great dishonour to the living, as inducing them to associate the
most solemn of human occasions with unmeaning mummeries, dis
honest debt, profuse waste, and bad example in an utter oblivion
of responsibility. The more the subject was examined, and the
lower the investigation was carried, the more monstrous (as was
natural) these usages appeared to be, both in themselves and in
their consequences. No class of society escaped. The competition
among the middle classes for superior gentility in Funerals — the
gentility being estimated by the amount of ghastly folly in which
the undertaker was permitted to run riot — descended even to the
very poor : to whom the cost of funeral customs was so ruinous and
so disproportionate to their means, that they formed Clubs among
themselves to defray such charges. Many of these Clubs, conducted
by designing villains who preyed upon the general infirmity, cheated
and wronged the poor, most cruelly ; others, by presenting a new
class of temptations to the wickedest natures among them, led to
a new class of mercenary murders, so abominable in their iniquity,
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TRADING IN DEATH

that language cannot stigmatise them with sufficient severity. That
nothing might be wanting to complete the general depravity, hollow-
ness, and falsehood, of this state of things, the absurd fact came to
light, that innumerable harpies assumed the titles of furnishers of
Funerals, who possessed no Funeral furniture whatever, but who
formed a long file of middlemen between the chief mourner and
the real tradesman, and who hired out the trappings from one to
another — passing them on like water-buckets at a fire — every one
of them charging his enormous percentage on his share of the
* black job.' Add to all this, the demonstration, by the simplest
and plainest practical science, of the terrible consequences to the
living, inevitably resulting from the practice of burying the dead
in the midst of crowded towns ; and the exposition of a system of
indecent horror, revolting to our nature and disgraceful to our age
and nation, arising out of the confined limits of such burial-grounds,
and the avarice of their proprietors ; and the culminating point of
this gigantic mockery is at last arrived at.

Out of such almost incredible degradation, saving that the proof
of it is too easy, we are still very slowly and feebly emerging. There
are now, we confidently hope, among the middle classes, many, who
having made themselves acquainted with these evils through the
parliamentary papers in which they are described, would be moved
by no human consideration to perpetuate the old bad example ; but
who will leave it as their solemn injunction on their nearest and
dearest survivors, that they shall not, in their death, be made the
instruments of infecting, either the minds or the bodies of their
fellow-creatures. Among persons of note, such examples have not
been wanting. The late Duke of Sussex did a national service when
he desired to be laid, in the equality of death, in the cemetery of
Kensal Green, and not with the pageantry of a State Funeral in the
Royal vault at Windsor. Sir Robert Peel requested to be buried at
Drayton. The late Queen Dowager left a pattern to every rank in
these touching and admirable words. * I die in all humility, knowing
well that we are all alike before the Throne of God ; and I request,
therefore, that my mortal remains be conveyed to the grave without
any pomp or state. They are to be removed to St. George's Chapel,
Windsor, where I request to have as private and quiet a funeral as
possible. I particularly desire not to be laid out in state. I die in
peace and wish to be carried to the tomb in peace, and free from

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

the vanities and pomp of this world. I request not to be dissected
or embalmed, and desire to give as little trouble as possible.1

With such precedents and such facts fresh in the general know
ledge, and at this transition-time in so serious a chapter of our social
history, the obsolete custom of a State Funeral has been revived,
in miscalled ' honour ' of the late Duke of Wellington. To whose
glorious memory be all true honour while England lasts !

We earnestly sumbit to our readers that there is, and that there
can be, no kind of honour in such a revival ; that the more truly
great the man, the more truly little the ceremony ; and that it has
been, from first to last, a pernicious instance and encouragement of
the demoralising practice of trading in Death.

It is within the knowledge of the whole public, of all diversities
of political opinion, whether or no any of the Powers that be, have
traded in this Death — have saved it up, and petted it, and made
the most of it, and reluctantly let it go. On that aspect of the
question we offer no further remark.

But, of the general trading spirit which, in its inherent empti
ness and want of consistency and reality, the long-deferred State
Funeral has appropriately awakened, we will proceed to furnish a
few instances all faithfully copied from the advertising columns of
the Times.

First, of seats and refreshments. Passing over that desirable
first-floor where a party could be accommodated with * the use of a
piano'; and merely glancing at the decorous daily announcement
of 'The Duke of Wellington Funeral Wine,1 which was in such
high demand that immediate orders were necessary ; and also * The
Duke of Wellington Funeral Cake,1 which ' delicious article 1 could
only be had of such a baker ; and likewise ' The Funeral Life
Preserver,1 which could only be had of such a tailor; and further
'the celebrated lemon biscuits,1 at one and fourpence per pound,
which were considered by the manufacturer as the only infallible
assuagers of the national grief; let us pass in review some dozen
of the more eligible opportunities the public had of profiting by
the occasion.

T UDGATE HILL. — The fittings and arrangements for viewing this
•"-^ grand and solemnly imposing procession are now completed at
this establishment, and those who are desirous of obtaining a fine and

376

TRADING IN DEATH

extensive view, combined with every personal convenience and comfort,
will do well to make immediate inspection of the SEATS now remaining
on hand.

"FUNERAL, including Beds the night previous.— To be LET, a
SECOND FLOOR, of three rooms, two windows, having a good
view of the procession. Terms, including refreshment, 10 guineas.
Single places, including bed and breakfast, from 1 5*.

DUKE'S FUNERAL.— A first-rate VIEW for 15 persons, also
good clean beds and a sitting-room on reasonable terms.

EATS and WINDOWS to be LET, in the best part of the Strand,
a few doors from Coutts's banking-house. First floor windows,
£8 each; second floor, £5 Ws. each; third floor, £3 10s. each; two
plate-glass shop windows, £7 each.

OEATS to VIEW the DUKE of WELLINGTON'S FUNERAL.
**-* Best position of all the route, no obstruction to the view. Apply
Old Bailey. N.B. From the above position you can nearly see to
St. Paul's and to Temple Bar.

pUNERAL of the late Duke of WELLINGTON.— To be LET, a
SECOND FLOOR, two windows, firing and every convenience.
Terms moderate for a party. Also a few seats in front, one guinea each.
Commanding a view from Piccadilly to Pall Mall.

•CUNERAL of the DUKE of WELLINGTON.— The FIRST and
SECOND FLOORS to be LET, either by the room or window,
suited to gentlemen's families, for whom every comfort and accommodation
will be provided, and commanding the very best view of this imposing
spectacle. The ground floor is also fitted up with commodious seats,
ranging in price from one guinea. Apply on the premises.

DUKE'S FUNERAL.— Terms very moderate.— TWO FIRST
r* FLOOR ROOMS, with balcony and private entrance out of the
Strand. The larger room capable of holding 15 persons. The small
room to be let for eight guineas.

DUKE'S FUNERAL.— To be LET, a SHOP WINDOW, with
seats erected for about 30, for 25 guineas. Also a Furnished
First Floor, with two large windows. One of the best views in the

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whole range from Temple Bar to St. Paul's. Price 35 guineas. A few
single seats one guinea each.

E FUNERAL PROCESSION of the DUKE of WELLINGTON.

— Cockspur Street, Charing Cross, decidedly the best position in
the whole route, a few SEATS still DISENGAGED, which will be
offered at reasonable prices. An early application is requisite, as they
are fast filling up. Also a few places on the roof. A most excellent
view.

T7UNERAL of the Late DUKE of WELLINGTON.— To be LET,
in the best part of the Strand, a SECOND FLOOR, for £10 ; a
Third Floor, £7 10s., containing two windows in each; front seats in
shop, at one guinea.

HTHE DUKE'S FUNERAL.— To be LET, for 25 guineas to a genteel
-*- family, in one of the most commanding situations in the line of
route, a FIRST FLOOR, with safe balcony, and ante-room. Will
accommodate 20 persons, with an uninterrupted and extensive view for
all. For a family of less number a reduction will be made. Every
accommodation will be afforded.

But above all let us not forget the

•VT OTICE TO CLERGYMEN.— T. C. Fleet Street, has reserved for
* ~ clergymen exclusively, upon condition only that they appear in their
surplices, FOUR FRONT SEATS, at £l each; four second tier, at 15*.
each; four third tier, at 12*. 6d, ; four fourth tier, at 10s.; four fifth
tier, at 7*. 6d. ; and four sixth tier, at 5$. All the other seats are
respectively 4>0s., 30s., 20s., 15s., 10s.

The anxiety of this enterprising tradesman to get up a reverend
tableau in his shop-window of four-and-twenty clergymen all on six
rows, is particularly commendable, and appears to us to shed a
remarkable grace on the solemnity.

These few specimens are collected at random from scores upon
scores of such advertisements, mingled with descriptions of non
existent ranges of view, and with invitations to a few agreeable
gentlemen who are wanted to complete a little assembly of kindred
souls, who have laid in abundance of ' refreshments, wines, spirits,
provisions, fruit, plate, glass, china,1 and other light matters too
378

TRADING IN DEATH

numerous to mention, and who keep ' good fires.' On looking over
them we are constantly startled by the words in large capitals,
* WOULD TO GOD NIGHT OR BLUCHER WERE COME ! ' which, referring
to a work of art, are relieved by a legend setting forth how the
lamented hero observed of it, ' in his characteristic manner, " Very
good ; very good indeed." ' O Art ! You too trading in Death !

Then, autographs fall into their place in the State Funeral
train. The sanctity of a seal, or the confidence of a letter, is a
meaningless phrase that has no place in the vocabulary of the
Traders in Death. Stop, trumpets, in the Dead March, and blow
to the world how characteristic we autographs are !

TXTELLINGTON AUTOGRAPHS.— TWO consecutive LETTERS
* * of the DUKE'S (1843) highly characteristic and authentic, with
the Correspondence, etc. that elicited them, the whole forming quite
a literary curiosity, for £15.

\ T /"ELLINGTON AUTOGRAPHS. — To be DISPOSED OF,
VV TWO AUTOGRAPH LETTERS of the DUKE of WELL
INGTON, one dated Walmer Castle, 9th October, 1834, the other
London, 17th May, 1843, with their post-marks and seals.

ELLINGTON.— THREE original NOTES, averaging 2£ pages
each, (not lithographs), seal, and envelopes, to be SOLD.
Supposed to be the most characteristic of his Grace yet published. The
highest sum above £30 for the two, or £20 for the one, which is distinct,
will be accepted.

*T»O BE DISPOSED OF, by a retired officer, FIVE LETTERS and
NOTES of the late HERO— three when Sir A. Wellesley. Also
a large Envelope. All with seals. Apply personally, or by letter.

HTHE DUKE'S LETTERS.— TWO highly interesting LETTERS,
-*• authentic, and relating to a most amusing and characteristic
circumstance, to be SOLD.

HTHE DUKE of WELLINGTON.— AUTOGRAPH LETTER to a
•*• lady, with seal and envelope. This is quite in the Duke's
peculiar style, and will be parted with for the highest offer Apply
where the letter can be secu.

379

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

M. the DUKE of WELLINGTON.— To be SOLD, by a member
of the family, to whom it was written, an ORIGINAL AUTO
GRAPH LETTER of the late Duke of Wellington, on military affairs,
six pages long, in the best preservation. Price £30.

•pIELD-MARSHAL the DUKE of WELLINGTON'S AUTO
GRAPH.— A highly characteristic LETTER of the DUKE'S for
DISPOSAL, wherein he alludes to his living 100 years, date 184-7, with
envelope. Seal, with crest perfect. £10 will be taken

T^UKE of WELLINGTON.— An AUTOGRAPH LETTER of the
•*-^ DUKE, written immediately after the death of the Duchess in
1831, is for SALE ; also Two Autograph Envelopes franked and sealed.

of WELLINGTON.— AUTOGRAPH BUSINESS LETTER,
envelope, seal, post-mark, etc. complete. Style courteous and
highly characteristic. Will be shown by the party and at the place
addressed. Price £15.

FIELD-MARSHAL the DUKE of WELLINGTON.— TWO AUTO
GRAPH LETTERS of His Grace, one written in his 6lst, the
other in his 72d year, both first-rate specimens of his characteristic
graphic style, and on an important subject, to be SOLD. Their genuine
ness can be fully proved.

HTHE DUKE of WELLINGTON.— A very curious DOCUMENT,
•*• partly printed, and the rest written by His Grace to a lady. This
is well worthy of a place in the cabinet of the curious. There is nothing
like it. Highest offer will be taken.

TO be SOLD, SIX AUTOGRAPH LETTERS from F.M. the Duke
of WELLINGTON, with envelopes and seals, which have been
most generously given to aid a lady in distressed circumstances.

E DUKE of WELLINGTON.— A lady has in her possession a
-*• LETTER, written by his Grace on the 18th of June, in the present
year, and will be happy to DISPOSE OF the same. The letter is rendered
more valuable by its being written on the last anniversary which his Grace
was spared to celebrate. The letter bears date from Apsley House,
with perfect envelope and seal.

TRADING IN DEATH

A CLERGYMAN has TWO LETTERS, with Envelopes, addressed to
**• him by the late DUKE, and bearing striking testimony to the
extent of his Grace's private charities, to be DISPOSED OF at the
highest offer (for one or both), received by the 18th instant. The offers
may be contingent on further particulars being satisfactory.

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.— A widow, in deep distress, has
in her possession an AUTOGRAPH LETTER of his Grace the
Duke of WELLINGTON, written in 1830, enclosed and directed in an
envelope, and sealed with his ducal coronet, which she would be happy
to PART WITH for a trifle.

A VALUABLE AUTOGRAPH NOTE of the late Duke of WELLING-
* TON, dated March 27, 1850, to be SOLD, for £20, by the
gentleman to whom it was addressed, together with envelope, perfect
impression of Ducal seal, and Knightsbridge post-mark distinct. The
whole in excellent preservation. A better specimen of the noble
Duke's handwriting and highly characteristic style cannot be seen.

ONE of the last LETTERS of the DUKE of WELLINGTON for
DISPOSAL, dated from Walmer Castle within a day or two of
his death, highly characteristic, with seal and post-marks distinct. This
being probably the last letter written by the late Duke its interest as
a relic must be greatly enhanced. The highest offer accepted. May be
seen on application.

HTHE GREAT DUKE.— A LETTER of the GREAT HERO, dated
•*• March 27, 1851, to be SOLD. Also a beautiful Letter from Jenny
Lind, dated June 20, 1852. The highest offer will be accepted.
Address with offers of price.

Miss Lind's autograph would appear to have lingered in the
shade until the Funeral Train came by, when it modestly stepped
into the procession and took a conspicuous place. We are in doubt
which to admire most ; the ingenuity of this little stroke of business ;
or the affecting delicacy that sells * probably the last letter written
by the late Duke ' before the aged hand that wrote it under some
manly sense of duty, is yet withered in its grave ; or the piety of
that excellent clergyman — did he appear in his surplice in the front
row of T. C.'s shop-window ? — who is so anxious to sell * striking
testimony to the extent of His Grace's private charities1; or the

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

generosity of that Good Samaritan who poured ' six letters with
envelopes and seals' into the wounds of the lady in distressed
circumstances.

Lastly come the relics — precious remembrances worn next to the
bereaved heart, like Hardy's miniature of Nelson, and never to be
wrested from the advertisers but with ready money.

A/T EMENTO of the late DUKE of WELLINGTON.— To be DIS
POSED OF, a LOCK of the late illustrious DUKE'S HAIR.
Can be guaranteed. The highest offer will be accepted. Apply by
letter prepaid.

HTHE DUKE of WELLINGTON.— A LOCK of HAIR of the late
Duke of WELLINGTON to be DISPOSED OF, now in the
possession of a widow lady. Cut off the morning the Queen was
crowned. Apply by letter, post paid.

T VALUABLE RELIC of the late DUKE of WELLINGTON.— A lady,
* having in her possession a quantity of the late illustrious DUKE'S
HAIR, cut in 1841, is willing to PART WITH a portion of the same
for £25. Satisfactory proof will be given of its identity, and of how it
came into the owner's possession, on application by letter, pre-paid.

ID ELIC of the DUKE of WELLINGTON for SALE.— The son of the
•^ late well-known haircutter to his Grace the late Duke of
Wellington, at Strathfieldsaye, has a small quantity of HAIR, that his
father cut from the Duke's head, which he is willing to DISPOSE OF.
Any one desirous of possessing such a relic of England's hero are
requested to make their offer for the same, by letter.

"DELICS of the late DUKE of WELLINGTON.— For SALE, a
•^V WAISTCOAT, in good preservation, worn by his Grace some
years back, which can be well authenticated as such.

Next, a very choice article — quite unique — the value of which
may be presumed to be considerably enhanced by the conclusive
impossibility of its being doubted in the least degree by the most
suspicious mind.

A MEMENTO of the DUKE of WELLINGTON.— La Mort de
**• Napol6on, Ode d'Alexandre Manzoni, avec la Traduction en
Frangais, par Edmond Angelini, de Venise. — A book, of which the above
382

TRADING IN DEATH

is the title, was torn up by the Duke and thrown by him from the
carriage, in which he was riding, as he was passing through Kent : the
pieces of the book were collected and put together by a person who
saw the Duke tear it and throw the same away. Any person desirous
of obtaining the above memento will be communicated with.

Finally, a literary production of astonishing brilliancy and
spirit ; without which, we are authorised to state, no nobleman's or
gentleman's library can be considered complete.

TAUKE of WELLINGTON and SIR R. PEEL.— A talented, interest-
^ ing, and valuable WORK, on Political Economy and Free Trade,
was published in 1830, and immediately bought up by the above states
men, except one copy, which is now for DISPOSAL. Apply by letter
only.

Here, for the reader's sake, we terminate our quotations. They
might easily have been extended through the whole of the present
number of this Journal.

We believe that a State Funeral at this time of day — apart from
the mischievously confusing effect it has on the general mind, as
to the necessary union of funeral expense and pomp with funeral
respect, and the consequent injury it may do to the cause of a great
reform most necessary for the benefit of all classes of society — is, in
itself, so plainly a pretence of being what it is not : is so unreal,
such a substitution of the form for the substance : is so cut and
dried, and stale : is such a palpably got up theatrical trick : that
it puts the dread solemnity of death to flight, and encourages these
shameless traders in their dealings on the very coffin-lid of departed
greatness. That private letters and other memorials of the great
Duke of Wellington would still have been advertised and sold,
though he had been laid in his grave amid the silent respect of the
whole country with the simple honours of a military commander,
we do not doubt ; but that, in that case, the traders would have
been discouraged from holding anything like this Public Fair and
Great Undertakers' Jubilee over his remains, we doubt as little. It
is idle to attempt to connect the frippery of the Lord Chamberlain's
Office and the Herald's CollegR, with the awful passing away of
that vain shadow in which man walketh and disquieteth himself in
vain. There is a great gulf set between the two which is set there

383

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

by no mortal hands, and cannot by mortal hands be bridged across.
Does any one believe that, otherwise, * the Senate ' would have been
* mourning its hero ' (in the likeness of a French Field-Marshal) on
Tuesday evening, and that the same Senate would have been in
fits of laughter with Mr. Hume on Wednesday afternoon when the
same hero was still in question and unburied ?

The mechanical exigencies of this journal render it necessary for
these remarks to be written on the evening of the State Funeral.
We have already indicated in these pages that we consider the State
Funeral a mistake, and we hope temperately to leave the question
here for temperate consideration. It is easy to imagine how it may
have done much harm, and it is hard to imagine how it can have
done any good. It is only harder to suppose that it can have
afforded a grain of satisfaction to the immediate descendants of
the great Duke of Wellington, or that it can reflect the faintest ray
of lustre on so bright a name. If it were assumed that such a
ceremonial was the general desire of the English people, we would
reply that that assumption was founded on a misconception of the
popular character, and on a low estimate of the general sense;
and that the sooner both were better appreciated in higli places,
the better it could not fail to be for us all. Taking for granted
at this writing, what we hope may be assumed without any violence
to the truth ; namely, that the ceremonial was in all respects well
conducted, and that the English people sustained throughout, the
high character they have nobly earned, to the shame of their silly
detractors among their own countrymen ; we must yet express our
hope that State Funerals in this land went down to their tomb,
most fitly, in the tasteless and tawdry Car that nodded and shook
through the streets of London on the eighteenth of November,
eighteen hundred and fifty-two. And sure we are, with large
consideration for opposite opinions, that when History shall
rescue that very ugly machine — worthy to pass under decorated
Temple Bar, as decorated Temple Bar was worthy to receive it —
from the merciful shadows of obscurity, she will reflect with amaze
ment — remembering his true, manly, modest, self-contained, and
genuine character — that the man who, in making it the last monster
of its race, rendered his last enduring service to the country he had
loved and served so faithfully, was Arthur, Duke of Wellington.

334

WHERE WE STOPPED GROWING

[JANUARY 1, 1853]

FEW people who have been much in the society of children, are
likely to be ignorant of the sorrowful feeling sometimes awakened in
the mind by the idea of a favourite child's ' growing up.' This is
intelligible enough. Childhood is usually so beautiful and engaging,
that, setting aside the many subjects of profound interest which it
offers to an ordinarily thoughtful observer ; and even setting aside,
too, the natural caprices of strong affection and prepossession ; there
is a mournful shadow of the common lot, in the notion of its chang
ing and fading into anything else. The sentiment is unreasoning
and vague, and does not shape itself into a wish. To consider what
the dependent little creature would do without us, or in the course
of how few years it would be in as bad a condition as those terrible
immortals upon earth, engendered in the gloom of Swift's wise fancy,
is not within the range of so fleeting a thought. Neither does the
imagination then enter into such details as the picturing of child
hood come to old age, or of old age carried back to childhood, or of
the pretty baby boy arrived at that perplexing state of immaturity
when Mr. Carlyle, in mercy to society, would put him under a barrel
for six years. The regret is transitory, natural to a short-lived
creature in a world of change, has no hold in the judgment, and so
comes and passes away.

But we, the writer, having been conscious of the sensation the
other night — for, at this present season most of us are much in
childish company, and we among the rest — were led to consider
whether there were any things as to which this individual We
actually did stop growing when we were a child. We had a fear
that the list would be very short ; but, on writing it out as follows,
were glad to find it longer than we had expected.

We have never grown the thousandth part of an inch out of
Robinson Crusoe. He fits us just as well, and in exactly the same
way, as when we were among the smallest of the small. We have
never grown out of his parrot, or his dog, or his fowling-piece, or
the horrible old staring goat he came upon in the cave, or his rusty
VOL. I : BB 385

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

money, or his cap, or umbrella. There has been no change in the
manufacture of telescopes, since that blessed ship's spy-glass was
made, through which, lying on his breast at the top of his fortifica
tion, with the ladder drawn up after him and all made safe, he saw
the black figures of those Cannibals moving round the fire on the
sea-sand, as the monsters danced themselves into an appetite fordinner.
We have never grown out of Friday, or the excellent old father he
was so glad to see, or the grave and gentlemanly Spaniard, or the
reprobate Will Atkins, or the knowing way in which he and those
other mutineers were lured up into the Island when they came
ashore there, and their boat was stove. We have got no nearer
Heaven by the altitude of an atom, in respect of the tragi-comic
bear whom Friday caused to dance upon a tree, or the awful array
of howling wolves in the dismal weather, who were mad to make
good entertainment of man and beast, and who were received with
trains of gunpowder laid on fallen trees, and fired by the snapping of
pistols ; and who ran blazing into the forest darkness, or were blown
up famously. Never sail we, idle, in a little boat, and hear the
rippling water at the prow, and look upon the land, but we know
that our boat-growth stopped for ever, when Robinson Crusoe sailed
round the Island, and, having been nearly lost, was so affectionately
awakened out of his sleep at home again by that immortal parrot,
great progenitor of all the parrots we have ever known.

Our growth stopped, when the great Haroun Alraschid spelt his
name so, and when nobody had ever heard of a Jin. When the
Sultan of the Indies was a mighty personage, to be approached
respectfully even on the stage ; and when all the dazzling wonders
of those many nights held far too high a place in the imagination to
be burlesqued and parodied. When Blue Beard, condescending to
come out of book at all, came over mountains, to the music of his
own march, on an elephant, and knew no more of slang than of
Sanscrit. Our growth stopped, when Don Quixote might have been
right after all in going about to succour the distressed, and when
the priest and the barber were no more justified in burning his
books than they would have been in making a bonfire of our own
two bedroom shelves. When Gil Bias had a heart, and was, some
how or other, not at all worldly that we knew of: and when it was
a wonderful accident that the end of that interesting story in the
Sentimental Journey, commencing with the windy night, and the
386

WHERE WE STOPPED GROWING

notary, and the Pont Neuf, and the hat blown off, was not to be
found in our Edition though we looked for it a thousand times.

We have never grown out of the real original roaring giants.
We have seen modern giants, for various considerations ranging from
a penny to half-a-crown ; but, they have only had a head a-piece,
and have been merely large men, and not always that. We have
never outgrown the putting to ourselves of this supposititious case;
Whether, if we, with a large company of brothers and sisters, had
been put in his (by which we mean, of course, in Jack's) trying situa
tion, we should have had at once the courage and the presence of
mind to take the golden crowns (which it seems they always wore as
night-caps) off the heads of the giant's children as they lay a-bed,
and put them on our family ; thus causing our treacherous host to
batter his own offspring and spare us. We have never outgrown a
want of confidence in ourselves, in this particular.

There are real people and places that we have never outgrown,
though they themselves may have passed away long since : which we
always regard with the eye and mind of childhood. We miss a tea-
tray shop, for many years at the corner of Bedford Street and King
Street, Covent Garden, London, where there was a tea-tray in
the window representing, with an exquisite Art that we have not
outgrown either, the departure from home for school, at breakfast
time, of two boys, — one boy used to it ; the other, not. There was
a charming mother in a bygone fashion, evidently much affected
though trying to hide it ; and a little sister, bearing, as we remember,
a basket of fruit for the consolation of the unused brother ; what
time the used one, receiving advice we opine from his grandmother,
drew on his glove in a manner we once considered unfeeling, but
which we were afterwards inclined to hope might be only his brag.
There were some corded boxes, and faithful servants ; and there was
a break fast- table, with accessories (an urn and plate of toast par
ticularly) our admiration of which, as perfect illusions, we never have
outgrown and never shall outgrow.

We never have outgrown the whole region of Covent Garden.
We preserve it as a fine, dissipated, insoluble mystery. We believe
that the gentleman mentioned in Colinan's Broad Grins still lives in
King Street. We have a general idea that the passages at the Old
Hummums lead to groves of gorgeous bedrooms, eating out the
whole of the adjacent houses: where Chamberlains who have never

387

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

been in bed themselves for fifty years, show any country gentleman
who rings at the bell, at any hour of the night, to luxurious repose
in palatial apartments fitted up after the Eastern manner. (We
have slept there in our time, but that makes no difference.) There
is a fine secrecy and mystery about the Piazza ; — how you get up to
those rooms above it, and what reckless deeds are done there. (We
know some of those apartments very well, but that does not signify
in the least.) We have not outgrown the two great Theatres.
Ghosts of great names are always getting up the most extraordinary
pantomimes in them, with scenery and machinery on a tremendous
scale. We have no doubt that the critics sit in the pit of both
houses, every night. Even as we write in our common-place office,
we behold from the window, four young ladies with peculiarly limp
bonnets, and of a yellow or drab style of beauty, making for the
stage-door of the Lyceum Theatre, in the dirty little fog-choked
street over the way. Grown up wisdom whispers that these are
beautiful fairies by night, and that they will find Fairy Land dirty
even to their splashed skirts, and rather cold and dull (notwithstand
ing its mixed gas and daylight), this easterly morning. But, we
don't believe it.

There was a poor demented woman who used to roam about the
City, dressed all in black with cheeks staringly painted, and thence
popularly known as Rouge et Noire ; whom we have never outgrown
by the height of a grain of mustard seed. The story went that her
only brother, a Bank-clerk, was left for death for forgery ; and that
she, broken-hearted creature, lost her wits on the morning of his
execution, and ever afterwards, while her confused dream of life
lasted, flitted thus among the busy money-changers. A story,
alas ! all likely enough ; but, likely or unlikely, true or untrue,
never to take other shape in our mind. Evermore she wanders, as
to our stopped growth, among the crowd, and takes her daily loaf
out of the shop-window of the same charitable baker, and between
whiles sits in the old Bank office awaiting her brother. * Is he come
yet ? ' Not yet, poor soul. * I will go walk for an hour and
come back.' It is then she passes our boyish figure in the street,
with that strange air of vanity upon her, in which the comfortable
self-sustainment of sane vanity (God help us all !) is wanting, and
with her wildly-seeking, never resting, eyes. So she returns to his
old Bank office, asking ' Is he come yet?1 Not yet, poor soul ! So
388

WHERE WE STOPPED GROWING

she goes home, leaving word that indeed she wonders he has been
away from her so long, and that he must come to her however late
at night he may arrive. He will come to thee, O stricken sister,
with thy best friend — foe to the prosperous and happy — not to such
as thou !

Another very different person who stopped our growth, we
associate with Berners Street, Oxford Street ; whether she was con
stantly on parade in that street only, or was ever to be seen else
where, we are unable to say. The White Woman is her name.
She is dressed entirely in white, with a ghastly white plating round
her head and face, inside her white bonnet. She even carries (we
hope) a white umbrella. With white boots, we know she picks her
way through the winter dirt. She is a conceited old creature, cold and
formal in manner, and evidently went simpering mad on personal
grounds alone — no doubt because a wealthy Quaker wouldn't marry
her. This is her bridal dress. She is always walking up here, on her
way to church to marry the false Quaker. We observe in her minc
ing step and fishy eye that she intends to lead him a sharp life. We
stopped growing when we got at the conclusion that the Quaker had
had a happy escape of the White Woman.

We have never outgrown the rugged walls of Newgate, or any
other prison on the outside. All within, is still the same blank of
remorse and misery. We have never outgrown Baron Trenck.
Among foreign fortifications, trenches, counterscarps, bastions,
sentries, and what not, we always have him, filing at his chains down
in some arched darkness far below, or taming the spiders to keep
him company. We have never outgrown the wicked old Bastille.
Here, in our mind at this present childish moment, is a distinct
ground-plan (wholly imaginative and resting on no sort of authority),
of a maze of low vaulted passages with small black doors ; and here,
inside of this remote door on the left, where the black cobwebs hang
like a veil from the arch, and the jailer's lamp will scarcely burn,
was shut up, in black silence through so many years, that old man
of the affecting anecdote, who was at last set free. But, who
brought his white face, and his white hair, and his phantom figure,
back again, to tell them what they had made him — how he had no
wife, no child, no friend, no recognition of the light and air — and
prayed to be shut up in his old dungeon till he died.

We received our earliest and most enduring impressions among

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

barracks and soldiers, and ships and sailors. We have outgrown
no story of voyage and travel, no love of adventure, no ardent
interest in voyagers and travellers. We have outgrown no country
inn — roadside, in the market-place, or on a solitary heath ; no
country landscape, no windy hill side, no old manor-house, no
haunted place of any degree, not a drop in the sounding sea.
Though we are equal (on strong provocation) to the Lancers, and
may be heard of in the Polka, we have not outgrown Sir Roger de
Coverley, or any country dance in the music-book. We hope we
have not outgrown the capacity of being easily pleased with what is
meant to please us, or the simple folly of being gay upon occasion
without the least regard to being grand.

Right thankful we are to have stopped in our growth at so many
points — for each of these has a train of its own belonging to it —
and particularly with the Old Year going out and the New Year
coming in. Let none of us be ashamed to feel this gratitude. If
we can only preserve ourselves from growing up, we shall never grow
old, and the young may love us to the last. Not to be too wise,
not to be too stately, not to be too rough with innocent fancies, or
to treat them with too much lightness — which is as bad — are points
to be remembered that may do us all good in our years to come.
And the good they do us, may even stretch forth into the vast ex
panse beyond those years ; for, this is the spirit inculcated by One
on whose knees children sat confidingly, and from whom all our
years dated.

PROPOSALS FOR AMUSING POSTERITY

[FEBRUARY 12, 1853]

POSTERITY, that ancient personage yet unborn, is at times a topic of
much speculation with me. I consider him in a variety of lights,
and represent him to myself in many odd humours, but principally
in those with which he is likely to regard the present age. I am
particularly fond of inquiring whether we contribute our share
towards the entertainment and diversion of the old gentleman. It
390

is important that we should, for all work and no play would make
even Posterity a dull boy.

And, good Heaven, to think of the amount of work he will have
to get through ! Only to read all those books, to contemplate all
those pictures and statues, and to listen to all that music, so
generously bequeathed to him by crowds of admiring legatees
through many generations, will be no slight labour. I doubt if even
the poetry written expressly for his perusal would not be sufficient
to addle any other head. The prodigious spaces of time that his
levees will occupy, are overwhelming to think of : for how else can he
ever receive those hosts of ladies and gentlemen who have been
resolved and determined to go down to him ! Then the numbers of
ingenious inventions he will have to test, prove, and adopt, from the
perpetual motion to the long range, will necessarily consume some
of the best years of his life. In hearing Appeals, though the claims
of the Appellants will be in every case as clear as crystal, it will be
necessary for him to sit as long as twenty Chancellors, though each
sat on the woolsack twenty years. The mere rejection of those
swindlers in the various arts and sciences who basely witnessed any
appreciation of their works, and the folding to his bosom of those
worthies whom mankind were in a combination to discard, will take
time. It is clear that it is reserved for Posterity to be, in respect of
his labours, immeasurably more than the Hercules of the future.

Hence, it is but moderately considerate to have an eye to the
amusement of this industrious person. If he must be so overworked,
let us at least do something to entertain him — something even over
and above those books of poetry and prose, those pictures and
statues, and that music, for which he will have an unbounded relish,
but perhaps a relish (so I venture to conceive) of a pensive rather
than an exhilarating kind.

These are my reflections when I consider the present time with a
reference to Posterity. I am sorry to say that I don't think we do
enough to make him smile. It appears to me that we might tickle
him a little more. I will suggest one or two odd notions — somewhat
far-fetched and fantastic, I allow, but they may serve the purpose
— of the kind . of practical humour that might seem droll to
Posterity.

If we had had, in this time of ours, two great commanders — say
one by land and one by sea ; one dying in battle (or what was left

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of him, for we will suppose him to have lost an arm and an eye or so
before), and one living to old age — it might be a jest for Posterity
if we choked our towns with bad Statues to one of the two, and
utterly abandoned and deserted the memory of the other. We
might improve on this conceit. If we laid those two imaginary
great men side by side in Saint Paul's cathedral and then laid side
by side in the advertising columns of our public newspapers, two
appeals respecting two Memorials, one to each of them ; and if we
so carried on the joke as that the Memorial to the one should be
enormously rich, and the Memorial to the other, miserably poor — as
that the subscriptions to the one should include the names of three-
fourths of the grandees of the land, and the subscriptions to the
other but a beggarly account of rank and file — as that the one
should leap with ease into a magnificent endowment, and the other
crawl and stagger as a pauper provision for the dead Admiral's
daughter — if we could only bring the joke, as Othello says,

' — to this extent, no more ' ;

I think it might amuse Posterity a good deal.

The mention of grandees brings me to my next proposal. It
would involve a change in the present mode of bestowing public
honours and titles in England ; but, encouraged by the many
examples we have before us of disinterested magnanimity in favour
of Posterity, we might perhaps be animated to try it.

I will assume that among the books in that very large library
(for the most part quite unknown at the present benighted time)
which will infallibly become the rich inheritance of Posterity, there
will be found a history of England. From that record, Posterity
will learn the origin of many noble families and noble titles. Now
the jest I have in my mind, is this. If we could so arrange matters
as that that privileged class should be always with great jealousy
preserved, and hedged round by a barrier of buckram and a board of
green cloth, which only a few generals, a few great capitalists, and a
few lawyers, should be allowed to scale — the latter not in a very
creditable manner until within the last few generations: as our
amiable friend Posterity will find when he looks back for the date
at which Chief Justices and Puisne Judges began to be men of un
doubted freedom, honour, and independence — if such privileged
class were always watched and warded and limited, and fended off,
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in the manner of hundreds of years ago, and never adapted to the
altered circumstances of the time ; and if it were in practice set up
and maintained as having been, from Genesis thenceforward, endowed
with a superior natural instinct for noble ruling and governing
and Cabinet-making, as triumphantly shown in the excellent con
dition of the whole machinery of Government, of every public office,
every dockyard, every ship, every diplomatic relation, and particu
larly every colony — I think there would be a self-evident pleasantry
in this that would make Posterity chuckle. The present British
practice being, as we all know, widely different, we should have many
changes to make before we could hand down this amusing state of
things. For example, it would be necessary to limit the great
Jenner or Vaccination Dukedom and endowment, at present so
worthily represented in the House of Lords, by the noble and
scientific Duke who will no doubt be called upon (some day or other)
to advise Her Majesty in the formation of a Ministry. The Watt or
Steam-Engine peerage would also require to be gradually abolished.
So would the Iron-Road Earldom, the Tubular Bridge Baronetcy,
the Faraday Order of Merit, the Electric Telegraph Garter, the
titles at present held by distinguished writers on literary grounds
alone, and the similar titles held by painters; — though it might
point the joke to make a few Academicians equal in rank to an
alderman. But, the great practical joke once played off, of entirely
separating the ennobled class from the various orders of men who
attain to social distinction by making their country happier, better,
and more illustrious among nations, we might be comfortably sure,
as it seems to me — and as I now humbly submit — of having done
something to amuse Posterity.

Another thing strikes me. Our venerable friend will find in that
English history of his, that, in comparatively barbarous times, when
the Crown was poor, it did anything for money — commuted murder,
or anything else — and that, partly of this desperate itching for gold,
and partly of partial laws in favour of the feudal rich, a most
absurd and obsolete punishment, called punishment by fine, had its
birth. Now, it appears to me, always having an eye on the enter
tainment of Posterity, that if while we proclaimed the laws to be
equal against all offenders, we would only preserve this obsolete
punishment by fine — of course no punishment whatever to those who
have money — say in a very bad class of cases such as gross assaults,

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we should certainly put Posterity on the broad grin. Why, we
might then even come to this. A ' captain ' might be brought up to
a Police Office, charged with caning a young woman for an absolutely
diabolical reason; and the offence being proved, the * captain'
might, as a great example of the equality of the law (but by no
fault in the magistrate, he having no alternative), be fined fifty
shillings, and might take a full purse from his pocket and offer, if
that were all, to make it pounds. And what a joke that would be
for Posterity ! To be done in the face of day, in the first city upon
earth, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-three !

Or, we might have our laws regarding this same offence of assault
in such a facetious state as to empower a workhouse nurse within
two hours' walk of the capital, slowly to torture a child with fire,
and afterwards to walk off from the law's presence scot free of all
pains and penalties, but a fortnight's imprisonment ! And we might
so carry out this joke to the uttermost as that the forlorn child
should happily die and rot, and the barbarous nurse be then com
mitted for trial ; her horrible offence being legally measured by that
one result or its absence, and not by the agony it caused, and the
awful cruelty it shewed. And all this time (to make the pleasantry
the greater), we might have all manner of watch-towers, in measure
ment as near as possible of the altitude of the Tower of Babel when
it was overthrown, erected in all parts of the kingdom, with all
sorts and conditions of men and women perched on platforms there
upon, looking out for any grievance afar off, East, West, North, and
South, night and day. So should that tender nurse return, gin-
solaced, to her ministration upon babies (imagine the dear matron's
antecedents, all ye mothers !), and so should Posterity be made to
laugh, though bitterly !

Indeed, I think Posterity would have such an indifferent
appreciation of this last joke, on account of its intensely practical
character, that it might require another to relieve it. And I would
suggest that if a body of gentlemen possessing their full phreno
logical share of the combative and antagonistic organs, could only
be induced to form themselves into a society for declaiming about
Peace, with a very considerable War-Whoop against all non-
declaimers; and if they could only be prevailed upon to sum up
eloquently the many unspeakable miseries and horrors of War, and
to present them to their own country as a conclusive reason for its

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being undefended against War, and becoming the prey of the first
despot who might choose to inflict those miseries and horrors upon
it, — why then I really believe we should have got to the very best
joke we could hope to have in our whole Complete Jest-Book for
Posterity, and might fold our arms and rest convinced that we
had done enough for that discerning patriarch's amusement.

HOME FOR HOMELESS WOMEN

[APRIL 23, 1853]

FIVE years and a half ago, certain ladies, grieved to think that
numbers of their own sex were wandering about the streets in
degradation, passing through and through the prisons all their
lives, or hopelessly perishing in other ways, resolved to try the
experiment on a limited scale of a Home for the reclamation and
emigration of women. As it was clear to them that there could
be little or no hope in this country for the greater part of those
who might become the objects of their charity, they determined
to receive into their Home, only those who distinctly accepted
this condition : That they came there to be ultimately sent abroad
(whither, was at the discretion of the ladies) ; and that they also
came there, to remain for such length of time as might, according
to the circumstances of each individual case, be considered necessary
as a term of probation, and for instruction in the means of obtaining
an honest livelihood. The object of the Home was twofold. First,
to replace young women who had already lost their characters and
lapsed into guilt, in a situation of hope. Secondly, to save other
young women who were in danger of falling into the like condition,
and give them an opportunity of flying from crime when they and
it stood face to face.

The projectors of this establishment, in undertaking it, were
sustained by nothing but the high object of making some unhappy
women a blessing to themselves and others instead of a curse, and
raising up among the solitudes of a new world some virtuous homes,
much needed there, from the sorrow and ruin of the old. They had
no romantic visions or extravagant expectations. They were prepared

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for many failures and disappointments, and to consider their enterprise
rewarded, if they in time succeeded with one third or one half of the
cases they received.

As the experience of this small Institution, even under the
many disadvantages of a beginning, may be useful and interest
ing, this paper will contain an exact account of its progress and
results.

It was (and is) established in a detached house with a garden.
The house was never designed for any such purpose, and is only
adapted to it, in being retired and not immediately overlooked.
It is capable of containing thirteen inmates besides two Super
intendents. Excluding from consideration ten young women now
in the house, there have been received in all, since November
eighteen hundred and forty-seven, fifty-six inmates. They have
belonged to no particular class, but have been starving needle
women of good character, poor needlewomen who have robbed
their furnished lodgings, violent girls committed to prison for
disturbances in ill-conducted workhouses, poor girls from Ragged
Schools, destitute girls who have applied at Police offices for relief,
young women from the streets : young women of the same class
taken from the prisons after undergoing punishment there as dis
orderly characters, or for shoplifting, or for thefts from the person :
domestic servants who have been seduced, and two young women
held to bail for attempting suicide. No class has been favoured
more than another; and misfortune and distress are a sufficient
introduction. It is not usual to receive women of more than five
or six-and-twenty ; the average age in the fifty-six cases would
probably be about twenty. In some instances there have been
great personal attractions; in others, the girls have been very
homely and plain. The reception has been wholly irrespective
of such sources of interest. Nearly all have been extremely
ignorant.

Of these fifty-six cases, seven went away by their own desire
during their probation ; ten were sent away for misconduct in
the Home ; seven ran away ; three emigrated and relapsed on the
passage out; thirty (of whom seven are now married) on their
arrival in Australia or elsewhere, entered into good service, acquired
a good character, and have done so well ever since as to establish a
strong prepossession in favour of others sent out from the same
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quarter. It will be seen from these figures that the failures are
generally discovered in the Home itself, and that the amount of
misconduct after the training and emigration, is remarkably small.
And it is to be taken into consideration that many cases are
admitted into the Home, of which there is, in the outset, very
little hope, but which it is not deemed right to exclude from the
experiment.

The Home is managed by two Superintendents. The second
in order acts under the first, who has from day to day the supreme
direction of the family. On the cheerfulness, quickness, good-
temper, firmness, and vigilance of these ladies, and on their never
bickering, the successful working of the establishment in a great
degree depends. Their position is one of high trust and responsi
bility, and requires not only an always accumulating experience, but
an accurate observation of every character about them. The ladies
who established the Home, hold little confidential communication
with the inmates, thinking the system better administered when it
is undisturbed by individuals. A committee, composed of a few
gentlemen of experience, meets once a month to audit the accounts,
receive the principal Superintendent's reports, investigate any unusual
occurrence, and see all the inmates separately. None but the com
mittee are present as they enter one by one, in order that they may
be under no restraint in anything they wish to say. A complaint
from any of them is exceedingly uncommon. The history of every
inmate, taken down from her own mouth — usually after she has
been some little time in the Home — is preserved in a book. She
is shown that what she relates of herself she relates in confidence,
and does not even communicate to the Superintendents. She is
particularly admonished by no means to communicate her history
to any of the other inmates : all of whom have in their turns received
a similar admonition. And she is encouraged to tell the truth, by
having it explained to her that nothing in her story but falsehood,
can possibly affect her position in the Home after she has been once
admitted.

The work of the Home is thus divided. They rise, both in
summer and winter, at six o'clock. Morning prayers and scripture
reading take place at a quarter before eight. Breakfast is had
immediately afterwards. Dinner at one. Tea at six. Evening
prayers are said at half-past eight. The hour of going to bed is

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nine. Supposing the Home to be full, ten are employed upon the
household work ; two in the bedrooms ; two in the general living
room ; two in the Superintendents' rooms ; two in the kitchen (who
cook) ; two in the scullery ; three at needle- work. Straw-plaiting
has been occasionally taught besides. On washing-days, five are
employed in the laundry, three of whom are taken from the needle
work, and two are told off from the household work. The nature
and order of each girl's work is changed every week, so that she may
become practically acquainted with the whole routine of household
duties. They take it in turns to bake the bread which is eaten
in the house. In every room, every Monday morning, there is
hung up, framed and glazed, the names of the girls who are in
charge there for the week and who are, consequently, responsible
for its neat condition and the proper execution of the work
belonging to it. This is found to inspire them with a greater
pride in good housewifery, and a greater sense of shame in the
reverse.

The book-education is of a very plain kind, as they have gener
ally much to learn in the commonest domestic duties, and are often
singularly inexpert in acquiring them. They read and write, and
cypher. School is held every morning at half-past ten (Saturday
excepted) for two hours. The Superintendents are the teachers.
The times for recreation are half an hour between school-time and
dinner, and an hour after dinner ; half an hour before tea, and an
hour after tea. In the winter, these intervals are usually employed
in light fancy work, the making of little presents for their friends,
etc. In the fine summer weather they are passed in the garden,
where they take exercise, and have their little flower-beds. In the
afternoon and evening, they sit all together at needlework, and
some one reads aloud. The books are carefully chosen, but are
always interesting.

Saturday is devoted to an extraordinary cleaning up and polish
ing of the whole establishment, and to the distribution of clean
clothes ; every inmate arranging and preparing her own. Each girl
also takes a bath on Saturday.

On Sundays they go to church in the neighbourhood, some to

morning service, some to afternoon service, some to both. They are

invariably accompanied by one of the Superintendents. Wearing

no uniform and not being dressed alike, they attract little notice

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out of doors. Their attire is that of respectable plain servants.
On Sunday evenings they receive religious instruction from the
principal Superintendent. They also receive regular religious in
struction from a clergyman on one day in every week, and on two
days in every alternate week. They are constantly employed, and
always overlooked.

They are allowed to be visited under the following restrictions ;
if by their parents, once in a month ; if by other relatives or friends,
once in three months. The principal Superintendent is present at
all such interviews, and hears the conversation. It is not often found
that the girls and their friends have much to say to one another ; any
display of feeling on these occasions is rare. It is generally observed
that the inmates seem rather relieved than otherwise when the inter
views are over.

They can write to relatives, or old teachers, or persons known to
have been kind to them, once a month on application to the com
mittee. It seldom happens that a girl who has any person in the
world to correspond with, fails to take advantage of this opportunity.
All letters despatched from the Home are read and posted by the
principal Superintendent. All letters received, are likewise read by
the Superintendent ; but she does not open them. Every such letter
is opened by the girl to whom it is addressed, who reads it first,
in the Superintendent's presence. It never happens that they wish
to reserve the contents ; they are always anxious to impart them to
her immediately. This seems to be one of their chief pleasures in
receiving letters.

They make and mend their own clothes, but do not keep them.
In many cases they are not for some time to be trusted with such
a charge ; in other cases, when temper is awakened, the possession
of a shawl and bonnet would often lead to an abrupt departure
which the unfortunate creature would ever afterwards regret. To
distinguish between these cases and others of a more promising
nature, would be to make invidious distinctions, than which nothing
could be more prejudicial to the Home, as the objects of its care
are invariably sensitive and jealous. For these various reasons their
clothes are kept under lock and key in a wardrobe room. They have
a great pride in the state of their clothes, and the neatness of their
persons. Those who have no such pride on their admission, are sure
to acquire it.

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Formerly, when a girl accepted for admission had clothes of her
own to wear, she was allowed to be admitted in them, and they
were put by for her ; though within the Institution she always wore
the clothing it provides. It was found, however, that a girl with
a hankering after old companions rather relied on these reserved
clothes, and that she put them on with an air, if she went away or
were dismissed. They now invariably come, therefore, in clothes
belonging to the Home, and bring no other clothing with them.
A suit of the commonest apparel has been provided for the next
inmate who may leave during her probation, or be sent away ; and
it is thought that the sight of a girl departing so disgraced, will
have a good effect on those who remain. Cases of dismissal or
departure are becoming more rare, however, as the Home increases
in experience, and no occasion for making the experiment has
yet arisen.

When the Home had been opened for some time, it was resolved
to adopt a modification of Captain Macconnochie's mark system :
so arranging the mark table as to render it difficult for a girl to
lose marks under any one of its heads, without also losing under
nearly all the others. The mark table is divided into the nine
following heads. Truthfulness, Industry, Temper, Propriety of Con
duct and Conversation, Temperance, Order, Punctuality, Economy,
Cleanliness. The word Temperance is not used in the modern slang
acceptation, but in its enlarged meaning as defined by Johnson, from
the English of Spenser : ' Moderation, patience, calmness, sedateness,
moderation of passion.' A separate account for every day is kept
with every girl as to each of these items. If her conduct be without
objection, she is marked in each column, three — excepting the truth
fulness and temperance columns, in which, saving under extraordinary
circumstances, she is only marked two : the temptation to err in those
particulars, being considered low under the circumstances of the life
she leads in the Home. If she be particularly deserving under any
of the other heads, she is marked the highest number — four. If her
deserts be low, she is marked only one, or not marked at all. If
her conduct under any head have been, during the day, particularly
objectionable, she receives a bad mark (marked in red ink, to dis
tinguish it at a glance from the others) which destroys forty good
marks. The value of the good marks is six shillings and sixpence
per thousand; the earnings of each girl are withheld until she
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emigrates, in order to form a little fund for her first subsistence on
her disembarkation. The inmates are found, without an exception,
to value their marks highly. A bad mark is very infrequent, and
occasions great distress in the recipient and great excitement in the
community. In case of dismissal or premature departure from the
Home, all the previous gain in marks is forfeited. If a girl be ill
through no fault of her own, she is marked, during her illness,
according to her average marking. But, if she be ill through her
own act (as in a recent case, where a girl set herself on fire, through
carelessness and a violation of the rules of the house) she is credited
with no marks until she is again in a condition to earn them. The
usual earnings in a year are about equal to the average wages of the
commoner class of domestic servant.

They are usually brought to the Home by the principal Super
intendent in a coach. From wheresoever they come, they generally
weep on the road, and are silent and depressed. The average term
of probation is about a year ; longer when the girl is very slow to
learn what she is taught. When the time of her emigration arrives,
the same lady accompanies her on board ship. They usually go out,
three or four together, with a letter of recommendation to some
influential person at their destination ; sometimes they are placed
under the charge of a respectable family of emigrants ; sometimes
they act as nurses or as servants to individual ladies with children,
on board. In these capacities they have given great satisfaction.
Their grief at parting from the Superintendent is always strong,
and frequently of a heart-rending kind. They are also exceedingly
affected by their separation from the Home ; usually going round
and round the garden first, as if they clung to every tree and shrub
in it. Nevertheless, individual attachments among them are rare,
though strong affections have arisen when they have afterwards
encountered in distant solitudes. Some touching circumstances have
occurred, where unexpected recognitions of this kind have taken
place on Sundays in lonely churches to which the various members
of the little congregations have repaired from great distances.
Some of the girls now married have chosen old companions thus
encountered for their bridesmaids, and in their letters have described
their delight very pathetically.

A considerable part of the needle-work done in the Home is
necessary to its own internal neatness, and the preparation of outfits
VOL. I : CC 401

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for the emigrants ; especially as many of the inmates know little or
nothing of such work, and have it all to learn. But, as they become
more dexterous, plain work is taken in, and the proceeds are applied
as a fund to defray the cost of outfits. The outfits are always of
the simplest kind. Nothing is allowed to be wasted or thrown away
in the Home. From the bones, and remnants of food, the girls are
taught to make soup for the poor and sick. This at once extends
their domestic knowledge, and preserves their sympathy for the
distressed.

Some of the experiences, not already mentioned, that have been
acquired in the management of the Home are curious, and perhaps
deserving of consideration in prisons and other institutions. It has
been observed, in taking the histories — especially of the more artful
cases — that nothing is so likely to elicit the truth as a perfectly
imperturbable face, and an avoidance of any leading question or
expression of opinion. Give the narrator the least idea what tone
will make her an object of interest, and she will take it directly.
Give her none, and she will be driven on the truth, and in most
cases will tell it. For similar reasons it is found desirable always
to repress stock religious professions and religious phrases ; to
discourage shows of sentiment, and to make their lives practical
and active. * Don't talk about it — do it ! ' is the motto of the
place. The inmates find everywhere about them the same kind,
discriminating firmness, and the same determination to have no
favourite subjects, or favourite objects, of interest. Girls from
Ragged Schools are not generally so impressible as reduced girls
who have failed to support themselves by hard work, or as women
from the streets — probably, because they have suffered less. The
poorest of the Ragged School condition, who are odious to approach
when first picked up, invariably affect afterwards that their friends(
are ' well off.' This psychological curiosity is considered inexplicable.
Most of the inmates are depressed at first. At holiday times the
more doubtful part of them usually become restless and uncertain ;
there would also appear to be, usually, a time of considerable
restlessness after six or eight months. In any little difficulty, the
general feeling is invariably with the establishment and never with
the offender. When a girl is discharged for misconduct, she is
generally in deep distress, and goes away miserably. The rest will
sometimes intercede for her with tears ; but it is found that firmness
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on this and every point, when a decision is once taken, is the most
humane course as having a wholesome influence on the greatest
number. For this reason, a mere threat of discharge is never on
any account resorted to. Two points of management are extremely
important ; the first, to refer very sparingly to the past ; the second,
never to treat the inmates as children. They must never be allowed
to suppose it possible that they can get the better of the manage
ment. Judicious commendation, when it is deserved, has a very
salutary influence. It is also found that a serious and urgent
entreaty to a girl, to exercise her self-restraint on some point
(generally temper) on which her mark-table shews her to be
deficient, often has an excellent effect when it is accompanied
with such encouragement as, 'You know how changed you are
since you have been here ; you know we have begun to entertain
great hopes of you. For God's sake consider ! Do not throw away
this great chance of your life, by making yourself and everybody
around you unhappy — which will oblige us to send you away — but
conquer this. Now, try hard for a month, and pray let us have
no fault to find with you at the end of that time.' Many will
make great and successful efforts to control themselves, after such
remonstrance. In all cases, the fewest and plainest words are the
best. When new to the place, they are found to break and spoil
through great carelessness. Patience, and the strictest attention
to order and punctuality, will in most cases overcome these dis
couragements. Nothing else will. They are often rather disposed
to quarrel among themselves, particularly in bad weather when their
lives are necessarily monotonous and confined ; but, on the whole,
allowing for their different breeding, they perhaps quarrel less
than the average of passengers in the state cabin on a voyage
out to India.

As some of the inmates of the Home have to be saved and
guarded from themselves more than from any other people, they
can scarcely be defended by too many precautions. These pre
cautions are not obtruded upon them, but are strictly observed.
Keys are never left about. The garden gate is always kept locked ;
but the girls take it in turn to act as porteress, overlooked by the
second superintendent. They are proud of this trust. Any inmate
missing from her usual place for ten minutes would be looked
after. Any suspicious circumstance would be quickly and quietly

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investigated. As no girl makes her own bed, no girl has the
opportunity of safely hiding any secret correspondence, or anything
else, in it. Each inmate has a separate bed, but there are several
beds in a room. The occupants of each room are always arranged
with a reference to their several characters and counteracting influ
ences. A girl declaring that she wishes to leave, is not allowed to
do so hastily, but is locked in a chamber by herself, to consider
of it until next day : when, if she still persist, she is formally
discharged. It has never once happened that a girl, however
excited, has refused to submit to this restraint.

One of the most remarkable effects of tlie Home, even in many
of the cases where it does not ultimately succe ed, is the extraordinary
change it produces in the appearance of its inmates. Putting out
of the question their look of cleanliness and health (which may be
regarded as a physical consequence of their treatment) a refining
and humanising alteration is wrought in the expression of the
features, and in the whole air of the person, which can scarcely be
imagined. Teachers in Ragged Schools have made the observation
in reference to young women whom they had previously known well,
and for a long time. A very sagacious and observant police
magistrate, visiting a girl before her emigration who had been
taken from his bar, could detect no likeness in her to the girl he
remembered. It is considered doubtful whether, in the majority of
the worst cases, the subject would easily be known again at a year's
end, among a dozen, by an old companion.

The moral influence of the Home, still applying the remark
even to cases of failure, is illustrated in a no less remarkable manner.
It has never had any violence done to a chair or a stool. It has
never been asked to render any aid to the one lady and her assistant,
who are shut up with the thirteen the year round. Bad language
is so uncommon, that its utterance is an event. The committee
have never heard the least approach to it, or seen anything but
submission ; though it has often been their task to reprove and
dismiss women who have been violently agitated, and unquestionably
(for the time) incensed against them. Four of the fugitives have
robbed the Institution of some clothes. The rest had no reason on
earth for running away in preference to asking to be dismissed, but
shame in not remaining.

A specimen or two of cases of success may be interesting.
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Case number twenty-seven, was a girl supposed to be of about
eighteen, but who had none but supposititious knowledge of her
age, and no knowledge at all of her birthday. Both her parents had
died in her infancy. She had been brought up in the establishment
of that amiable victim of popular prejudice, the late Mr. Drouet,
of Tooting. It did not appear that she was naturally stupid, but
her intellect had been so dulled by neglect that she was in the
Home many months before she could be imbued with a thorough
understanding that Christmas Day was so called as the birthday of
Jesus Christ. But when she acquired this piece of learning, she
was amazingly proud of it. She had been apprenticed to a small
artificial flower maker with three others. They were all ill-treated,
and all seemed to have run away at different times : this girl last :
who absconded with an old man, a hawker, who brought 'combs and
things ' to the door for sale. She took what she called * some old
clothes ' of her mistress with her, and was apprehended with the old
man, and they were tried together. He was acquitted; she was
found guilty. Her sentence was six months' imprisonment, and, on
its expiration, she was received into the Home. She was appallingly
ignorant, but most anxious to learn, and contended against her
blunted faculties with a consciously slow perseverance. She showed
a remarkable capacity for copying writing by the eye alone, without
having the least idea of its sound, or what it meant. There seemed
to be some analogy between her making letters and her making
artificial flowers. She remained in the Home, bearing an excellent
character, about a year. On her passage out, she made artificial
flowers for the ladies on board, earned money, and was much liked.
She obtained a comfortable service as soon as she landed, and is
happy and respected. This girl had not a friend in the world, and
had never known a natural affection, or formed a natural tie, upon
the face of this earth.

Case number thirteen was a half-starved girl of eighteen whose
father had died soon after her birth, and who had long eked out a
miserable subsistence for herself and a sick mother by doing plain
needlework. At last her mother died in a workhouse, and the
needlework ' falling off bit by bit,1 this girl suffered, for nine months,
every extremity of dire distress. Being one night without any food
or shelter from the weather, she went to the lodging of a woman
who had once lived in the same house with herself and her mother,

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and asked to be allowed to lie down on the stairs. She was refused,
and stole a shawl which she sold for a penny. A fortnight after
wards, being still in a starving and houseless state, she went back
to the same woman's, and preferred the same request. Again refused,
she stole a bible from her, which she sold for twopence. The theft
was immediately discovered, and she was taken as she lay asleep
in the casual ward of a workhouse. These facts were distinctly
proved upon her trial. She was sentenced to three months'
imprisonment, and was then admitted into the Home. She has
never been corrupted. She remained in the Home, bearing
an excellent character, a little more than a year ; emigrated ;
conducted herself uniformly well in a good situation ; and is
now married.

Case number forty-one was a pretty girl of a quiet and good
manner, aged nineteen. She came from a watering-place where she
had lived with her mother until within a couple of years, when her
mother married again and she was considered an incumbrance at a
very bad home. She became apprenticed to a dressmaker, who, on
account of staying out beyond the prescribed hours one night when
she went with some other young people to a Circus, positively refused
to admit her or give her any shelter from the streets. The natural
consequences of this unjustifiable behaviour followed. She came to
the Home on the recommendation of a clergyman to whom she
fortunately applied, when in a state of sickness and misery too
deplorable to be even suggested to the reader's imagination. She
remained in the Home (with an interval of hospital treatment)
upwards of a year and a half, when she was sent abroad. Her
character is irreproachable, and she is industrious, happy and full
of gratitude.

Case number fifty was a very homely, clumsy, ignorant girl,
supposed to be about nineteen, but who again had no knowledge
of her birthday. She was taken from a Ragged School ; her mother
had died when she was a little girl ; and her father, marrying again,
had turned her out of doors, though her mother-in-law had been
kind to her. She had been once in prison for breaking some
windows near the Mansion House, ' having nowheres as you can
think of, to go to.' She had never gone wrong otherwise, and
particularly wished that ' to be wrote down.' She was in as dirty
and unwholesome a condition, on her admission, as she could well
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HOME FOR HOMELESS WOMEN

be, but was inconsolable at the idea of losing her hair, until the
fortunate suggestion was made that it would grow more luxuriantly
after shaving. She then consented, with many tears, to that (in
her case) indispensable operation. This deserted and unfortunate
creature, after a short period of depression began to brighten,
uniformly showed a very honest and truthful nature, and after
remaining in the Home a year, has recently emigrated ; a thoroughly
good plain servant, with every susceptibility for forming a faithful
and affectionate attachment to her employers.

Case number fifty-eight was a girl of nineteen, all but starved
through inability to live by needlework. She had never gone wrong,
was gradually brought into a good bodily condition, invariably con
ducted herself well, and went abroad, rescued and happy.

Case number fifty-one was a little ragged girl of sixteen or
seventeen, as she said ; but of very juvenile appearance. She was
put to the bar at a Police Office, with two much older women,
regular vagrants, for making a disturbance at the workhouse gate
on the previous night on being refused relief. She had been a
professed tramp for six or seven years, knew of no relation, and
had had no friends but one old woman, whose very name she did
not appear to be sure of. Her father, a scaffold builder, she had
1 lost ' on London Bridge when she was ten or eleven years old.
There appeared little doubt that he had purposely abandoned her,
but she had no suspicion of it. She had long been hop-picking in
the hop season, and wandering about the country at all seasons, and
was unaccustomed to shoes, and had seldom slept in a bed. She
answered some searching questions without the least reserve, and
not at all in her own favour. Her appearance of destitution was
in perfect keeping with her story. This girl was received into the
Home. Within a year, there was clinging round the principal
Superintendent's neck, on board a ship bound for Australia — in a
state of grief at parting that moved the bystanders to tears — a
pretty little neat modest useful girl, against whom not a moment's
complaint had been made, and who had diligently learnt everything
that had been set before her.

Case number fifty-four, a good-looking young woman of two-
and-twenty, was first seen in prison under remand on a charge of
attempting to commit suicide. Her mother had died before she
was two years old, and her father had married again ; but she spoke

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in high and affectionate terms both of her father and her mother-in-
law. She had been a travelling maid with an elderly lady, and, on
her mistress going to Russia, had returned home to her father's.
She had stayed out late one night, in company with a ' commissioner"1
whom she had known abroad, was afraid or ashamed to go home, and
so went wrong. Falling lower, and becoming poorer, she became at
last acquainted with a ticket-taker at a railway station, who tired
of the acquaintance. One night when he had made an appointment
(as he had often done before) and, on the plea of inability to leave
his duties, had put this girl in a cab, that she might be taken safely
home (she seemed to have inspired him with that much enduring
regard), she pulled up the window and swallowed two shillings'1
worth of the essential oil of almonds which she had bought at a
chemist's an hour before. The driver happened to look round when
she still had the bottle to her lips, immediately made out the whole
story, and had the presence of mind to drive her straight to a
hospital, where she remained a month before she was cured. She
was in that state of depression in the prison, that it was a matter
for grave consideration whether it would be safe to take her into
the Home, where, if she were bent upon committing suicide, it
would be almost impossible to prevent her. After some talk with
her, however, it was decided to receive her. She proved one of the
best inmates it has ever had, and remained in it seven months before
she emigrated. Her father, who had never seen her since the night
of her staying out late, came to see her in the Home, and confirmed
these particulars. It is doubtful whether any treatment but that
pursued in such an institution would have restored this girl.

Case number fourteen was an extremely pretty girl of twenty,
whose mother was married to a second husband — a drunken man
who ill-treated his step-daughter. She had been engaged to be
married, but had been deceived, and had run away from home in
shame, and had been away three years. Within that period,
however, she had twice returned home; the first time for six
months ; the second time for a few days. She had also been in a
London hospital. She had also been in the Magdalen: which
institution her father-in-law, with a drunkard's inconsistency, had
induced her to leave, to attend her mother's funeral — and then ill-
treated her as before. She had been once in prison as a disorderly
character, and was received from the prison into the Home. Her
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HOME FOR HOMELESS WOMEN

health was impaired and her experiences had been of a bad kind
in a bad quarter of London, but she was still a girl of remarkably
engaging and delicate appearance. She remained in the Home,
improving rapidly, thirteen months. She was never complained of,
and her general deportment was unusually quiet and modest. She
emigrated, and is a good, industrious, happy wife.

This paper can scarcely be better closed than by the following
pretty passage from a letter of one of the married young women.

HONNOURED LADIES,

I have again taken the liberty of writing to you to let you know
how I am going on since I last wrote Home for I can never forget that
name that still comes fresh to my mind, Honnoured Ladies I received
your most kind letter on Tuesday the 21st of May my Mistress was kind
enough to bring it over to me she told me that she also had a letter
from you and that she should write Home and give you a good account
of us. Honnoured Ladies I cannot describe the feelings which I felt
on receiving your most kind letter, I first read my letter then I cried
but it was with tears of joy, to think you was so kind to write to us
Honnoured Ladies I have seen Jane and I showed my letter and she is
going write Home, she is living about 36 miles from where I live and
her and her husband are very happy together she has been down to our
Town this week and it is the first that we have seen of her since a week
after they were married. My Husband is very kind to me and we live
very happy and comfortable together we have a nice garden where we
grow all that we want we have sown some peas turnips and I helped to
do some we have three such nice pigs and we killed one last week he
was so fat that he could not see out of his eyes he used to have to sit
down to eat and I have got such a nice cat — she peeps over me while
I am writing this. My Husband was going out one day, and he heard
that cat cry and he fetched her in she was so thin. My tow little birds
are gone — one dide and the other flew away now I have got none, get
down Cat do. My Husband has built a shed at the side of the house
to do any thing for hisself when he corns home from work of a night he
ttlls me that I shall every 9 years com Home if we live so long please
God, but I think that he is only making game of me. Honnoured
Ladies I can never feel grateful enough for your kindness to me and the
kind indulgences which I received at my happy Home, I often wish
that I could come Home and see that happy place again once more and
all my kind friends which I hope I may one day please God.

No comments or arguments shall be added to swell the length

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this account has already attained. Our readers will judge for
themselves what some of these cases must have soon become, but
for the timely interposition of the Home established by the Ladies
whose charity is so discreet and so impartial.

THE SPIRIT BUSINESS

[MAY 7, 1853]

PERSONS of quality, and others, who visit the various * gifted media '
now in London, or receive those supernaturally endowed ladies at
their own houses, may be glad to hear how the spirit business has
been doing in America. Two numbers of The Spiritual Telegraph,
a newspaper published in New York, and ( devoted to the illustra
tion of spiritual intercourse,' having fallen into our hands, we are
happy to have some means from head-quarters of gratifying the
laudable curiosity of these philosophical inquirers.

In the first place, it is gratifying to know that the second volume
of that admirable publication, The Shekinah, was advertised last
Fall, containing * Psychometrical sketches of living characters given
by a lady while in the waking state, who derives her impressions by
holding a letter from the unknown person against her forehead.' To
this remarkable journal, * several distinguished minds in Europe are
expected to contribute occasionally.' It appears, however, scarcely
to meet with sufficient terrestrial circulation ; the editor being under
the necessity of inquiring in capitals, ' SHALL IT HAVE A PATRONAGE

WORTHY OF ITS OBJECTS AND ITS CHARACTER ? ' We also observe with

pleasure the publication of a fourth edition of ' The Pilgrimage of
Thomas Paine and others, to the sixth circle in the Spirit World, by
the Reverend Charles Hammond, Medium, written by the spirit of
Thomas Paine without Volition on the part of the medium.'

Also the following publications : ' A Chart exhibiting an outline
of progressive history, and approaching destiny of the race. A. J. D.
Can be sent by mail.' ' The Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse.
Light from the Spirit World, comprising a Series of Articles on the
Condition of Spirits and the development of mind in the Iludimental
and Second Spheres ; being written by the controul of Spirits.' We
are further indebted to a gentleman — we presume a mortal — of
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the name of Coggshall, for * The Signs of the Times, comprising a
History of the Spirit Rappings in Cincinnati and other places.' The
Reverend A din Ballou has been so obliging as to favour the world
with his ' Spirit Manifestations ' ; and a Medium, of the gentle name
of Ambler, has produced the ' Spiritual Teacher,' from the dictation
of a little knot of choice spirits of the sixth circle.

As a counterpoise to the satisfaction these spiritual literary
announcements are calculated to inspire, we regret to perceive that
some men have been at their old work of blinking at the light. This
melancholy fact is made known to us through the ' medium ' of a
paragraph, headed ' BEHIND THE DOOR ' ; from which we learn with
indignation that * a good Presbyterian brother in Newtown, Conn. ' :
with that want of moral courage which is unhappily characteristic of
the man, is accustomed to read The Telegraph in that furtive situa
tion, bringing down upon himself the terrible apostrophe, ' Read on,
brother, until thy spirit shall receive strength sufficient to enable
thee to crawl from thy hiding-place.' On the other hand it is a
consolation to know that * we have, out in Ohio, a little girl who
writes fonography interspersed with celestial characters.' We have
also * Mrs. S., a gifted friend,' who writes, ' I may at some future
time draw upon the storehouse of memory for some Spiritual facts
which have long slumbered there ; fearing the scoff of the skeptic has
hitherto kept me silent, but I believe there is a time now dawning
upon us when we shall no longer hide the light given us, under a
bushel.' This gifted lady is supplied with a number of papers, but
has none that she greets so cordially as The Telegraph, which is
* loaned ' her by a friend. ' It ministers,' says she, modestly, ( to my
spiritual and higher nature which craves a kindred aliment, and
which, in past years, has nearly starved on the husks and verbiage
dressed up by the sensuous and unbelieving in spiritual illumina
tion.' Mrs. Fish and the Misses Fox were, at the date of these
advices, to be heard of, we rejoice to state, at number seventy-eight,
West Twenty-Sixth Street, where those estimable ladies ' entertain
strangers ' on three evenings in the week from eight to ten. The
enlarged liberality of Mr. Partridge, who addressed THE NEW YORK
CONFERENCE FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF SPIRITUAL PHENOMENA, is
worthy of all imitation, and proves him to be game indeed. Mr. P.
was of opinion, when last heard of, that ' the Devil should have his
due,' and that if he (the Devil) were found engaged in the spirit

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business, then let them ' stretch forth the right hand of fellowship,
and let joy resound through earth and heaven at the conversion of
the Prince of Evil.'

The following explicit and important communications had been
received from spirits — the exalted and improving character of the
announcements, evidently being a long way beyond mortality, and
requiring special spiritual revelation.

FROM A SPIRIT, BY NAME JOHN COLLINSWORTH

* Who can say it, " I am free as God made" ? My dear friends, it
is sometimes very difficult to express our sentiments in words. What
matter who speak so long as you feel a witness in your own souls,
that what is said, is said to benefit mankind and advance the truth.
Why, my dear friends, my soul is filled with love towards you. I
daily lift my desires to the Divine Giver of every good thing for
your welfare and eternal happiness in the life to come. I will strive
to watch over you as a circle.'

FROM A SPIRIT, BY NAME ANN BILLINGS

' I have long taken a deep interest in the progress of this circle. I
have called a circle together, and now imagine your guardian spirits
assembled in a circle encircling your circle, willing and anxious to
gratify your every wish ; you must suspend your judgment and wait
patiently for further developments, which will set believers right.'

FROM AN ANONYMOUS SPIRIT, PRESUMED TO BE OF THE QUAKER

PERSUASION

* Dear John, it is a pleasure to address thee now and then, after a
lapse of many years. This new mode of conversing is no less inter
esting to thy mother than to thee. It greatly adds to the enjoy
ment and happiness of thy friends here to see thee happy, looking
forward with composure to the change from one sphere to another.'

FROM A SPIRIT, BY NAME LORENZO DOW

* I will add a little to what has already been said. Keep calm —
let skeptics scoff — bigots rave — the press ridicule — keep an eye on
the pulpit, there will be a mighty onslaught by the clergy soon;
hew straight, keep cool, and welcome them into your ranks.'

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Upon the general question we observe that an eminent man with
the singular title of Bro Hewitt attended a meeting at Boston,
where there was some speaking from, or through, the mediums,
which, ' although not according to the common rules or order of
speaking, was nevertheless of an interesting character in its thought,
as well as in the novelty of its method. Two young men were the
speaking mediums alluded to, who have never spoken in public
before they were thus moved to do it.' Bro Hewitt does not
mention, that the spirits began this particular revelation with the
startling and novel declaration that they were unaccustomed to
public speaking ; but it appears probable. The spirits were assailed
(as was only to be expected), by the Boston press, and Bro Hewitt is
of opinion that ' such a tissue of falsehood, slang, and abuse, was
never before expressed in so eminently laconic and classic a style
since Protestant Methodism began with S. F. Norris.' At the Boston
Melodeon, a large audience had assembled to hear Theodore Parker ;
but in lieu of that inspired person, l the desk was supplied by the
celebrated Andrew Jackson Davis.' One lady was much surprised to
find this illustrious individual so young ; he being only twenty-five
and having a higher forehead than Mr. Sunderland, the mesmeriser ;
but wearing * a similarly savage-looking beard and moustache.' His
text was ' All the World 's a Stage ' ; and he merely ' wished to
propose a new philosophy, which, unlike the theology of the Testa
ments should be free from inconsistencies, and tend to perfect
harmony.' Our game friend Partridge had remarked in solemn
conference that ' some seek to protect themselves from conflicting
communications, by refusing to hearken to any spirit unless he
claims to hail from the sixth or seventh sphere.' Mr. Thomas
Hutching, ' a venerable Peracher,' whatever that may be, * of forty
years' standing,' had been Overwhelmed' by the rapping medium,
Mrs. Fish ; and the venerable Peracher had not recovered when last
heard of. The Reverend Charles Hammond, medium, had com
municated the following important facts: *I. All spirits are good
and not evil. There is no evil spirit on earth or in this sphere.
God nor nature never made an evil spirit. II. There is no condition
of spirit lower than the rudimental. Earth has the lowest order,
and the darkest sphere. Hell is not a correct word to convey the
proper idea of the comparative condition of spirits in different
circles. And III. A circle is not a space but a development,' —

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which piece of information we particularly recommend to the reader's
consideration as likely to do him good.

We find that our American friends, with that familiar nomencla
ture which is not uncommon among them, have agreed to designate
one branch of the spiritual proceedings as ' Tippings.' We did at
first suppose this expressive word to be of English growth, and to
refer to the preliminary ' tipping1 of the medium, which is found to
be indispensable to the entertainments on this side of the Atlantic.
We have discovered, however, that it denotes the spiritual move
ments of the tables and chairs, and of a mysterious piece of furniture
called a ' stand,1 which appears to be in every apartment. The word
has passed into current use, insomuch that one correspondent writes :
' The other evening, as myself and a party of friends were entertain
ing ourselves with the tippings,1 — and so on.

And now for a few individual cases of spiritual manifestation : —

There was a horrible medium down in Philadelphia, who recorded
of herself, ' Whenever I am passive, day or night, my hand writes.1
This appalling author came out under the following circumstances:
— 'A pencil and paper were lying on the table. The pencil came
into my hand ; my fingers were clenched on it ! An unseen iron
grasp compressed the tendons of my arms — my hand was flung
violently forward on the paper, and I wrote meaning sentences
without any intention, or knowing what they were to be.1 The same
prolific person presently inquires, * Is this Insanity ? 1 To which we
take the liberty of replying, that we rather think it is.

R. B. Barker had been subject to a good deal of ' telegraphing by
the spirits.1 The death of U. J. had been predicted to him, and a
fluttering of ethereal creatures, resembling pigeons, had taken place
in his bedroom. After this supernatural poultry took flight, U. J.
died. Other circumstances had occurred to R. B. Barker, * which he
might relate,1 but which were * of such a nature as to preclude
exposure1 at that present \vriting.

D. J. Mandell had had the following experience. * I was invited
to conduct a sitting at a neighbour's, with reference to affording
an opportunity to a young clergyman to witness something of the
manifestations. A name was here spelled out which none of the
family recognised, and of which the said young clergyman at first
denied any knowledge. I called for a message, and this was given :
" Believe this is spiritual.11 Thinking it singular that no relative of
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the family, and especially that no one whom the young minister
could remember, should announce himself, I inquired if the spirit of
any of his friends were present. Almost before the response could
be given, he spoke sharply, and said, " I wisli not to hear from any
of my friends through any such means." I found there was consider
able pride and prejudice aboard the little man, and pretty strongly
suspected that there was more in the announcement of that name
than he was willing to acknowledge. After considerable conversation,
direct and indirect, he confessed to a knowledge of the person whose
name had been given as aforesaid : it was that of a black barber
who had died some time before, and who, during his life-time, had
resided in the clergyman's native village. The latter had been well
acquainted with him, but despised him ; and, from what I could
make out of the manifestation, take it all in all, I judged that his
spiritual friends were present to communicate with him ; but per
ceiving his strong repugnance to hear from his friends through the
tippings, they had resolved to shock his self-complacency by putting
forward the very one whom he detested most/

The following state, described by a gentleman who withholds his
name, appears to us to indicate a condition, as to spirits, which is
within the experience of many persons. To point our meaning we
italicise a few words :

' On the evening of the fifteenth instant, at the residence of
Dr. Hallock, I was directed through the raps (a medium being
present,) to go to the residence of Dr. Gray, and sit in a circle to
be convened for the purpose of seeing an exhibition of spirit lights.
As I had no other invitation I felt exceeding delicate about comply
ing. I mentioned this to the power that was giving the direction,
and added, as an additional excuse, that my attendance there on an
occasion long gone by had left an unfavourable impression. Still I
was directed to go. On arriving at Dr. Gray's, I explained the
occasion of my presence, and was admitted to the circle. Being
desirous that my influence should not mar the harmony of the
company, I put forth a strong effort of the will to induce a passive-
ness in my nervous system ; and, in order that I might not be
deceived as to my success, resigned myself to sleep. . . . I suppose I
was unconscious for thirty minutes.' After this, the seer had a vision
of stalks and leaves, ' a large species of fruit, somewhat resembling a
pine-apple,' and *a nebulous column, somewhat resembling the milky

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way,"1 which nothing but spirits could account for, and from which
nothing but soda-water, or time, is likely to have recovered him.
We believe this kind of manifestation is usually followed by a severe
headache next morning, attended by some degree of thirst.

A spiritualist residing at Troy, communicates the case of a lady,
which appears to us to be of a nature closely resembling the last.
' A lady — the wife of a certain officer in a Presbyterian church —
who is a partial believer in spiritual manifestations, was so far under
the influence of spirits, that her hands were moved, and made to
perform some very singular gestures. This new mode of doing
business was not very pleasing to the lady, and caused her to be

a little frightened. One day, seeing their clergyman, Dr.

passing, the latter was invited in to witness the phenomena, and
to render assistance, if possible. As the Doctor entered the room,
the lady shook hands with him cordially, but found it easier to
commence than to leave off. After shaking hands for some time,
the hands commenced patting the Doctor on the shoulders, head,
and ears, to the confusion of both parties. The Doctor then
advised that the hands be immersed in cold water, with a view to
disengage the electricity, of which he said the lady was overcharged.
When the water was procured the motion of the hands became more
violent, and manifested a repugnance to the water-cure. With a
little assistance, however, the hands were finally immersed, when
they at once commenced throwing the water so plentifully over the
Doctor's head and shoulders, that he was compelled to beat a hasty
retreat, carrying with him the marks of water-baptism at spirit
hands. It is hoped that the Doctor, after this experience in the
Spiritual electrical-fountain-bath will have a little more charity for
his rapping sisters, as he terms them, and not again assail them from
the pulpit as void of common sense/

It certainly is very extraordinary that, with such lights as these,
any men can assail their rapping and tipping brothers and sisters,
from any sort of pulpit, as void of common sense. The spirit
business cannot fail to be regarded by all dispassionate persons as
the last great triumph of common sense.

These extracts, which we might extend through several pages,

will quite dispose of the objection that there is any folly or stupidity

among the patrons of the spirit business. As a proof that they are

equally free from self-conceit, and that that little weakness in

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A HAUNTED HOUSE

human nature has nothing to do with the success of the trade, and
is not at all consulted by the dealers, we will come home to England
for a concluding testimony borne by Mr. Robert Owen. This
gentleman, in a conversation with the spirits of his deceased wife
and youngest daughter, inquired what object they had in view in
favouring him with their company ? ' Answer. To reform the
world. Question. Can / materially promote this object? Answer.
You can assist in promoting it. Question. Shall / be aided by the
spirits to enable me to succeed? Answer. Yes. Question. Shall
/ devote the remainder of my life to this mission ? Answer. Yes.
Question. Shall I hold a public meeting to announce to the world
these proceedings ; or shall they be made known through the British
Parliament ? Answer. Through the British Parliament. Question.
Shall / also apply for an investigation of this subject to the Congress
of the United States ? Answer. Yes.' This naturally brought up
the spirit of Benjamin Franklin, of whom Mr. Owen inquired,
' Have / been assisted in my writings for the public, by any par
ticular spirit? Answer. Yes. Question. What spirit? Answer.
GOD. (This reply was made in such a manner as to create a
peculiarly awful impression on those present.) Question. Shall /
continue to be assisted by the same spirit ? Answer. Yes.'

We have inquired of Dr. Conolly, and are informed that there
are several philosophers now resident at Hanwell, Middlesex, and
also in Saint George's Fields, Southwark, who, without any tippings
or rappings, find themselves similarly inspired. But those learned
prophets cry aloud in their wards, and no man regardeth them ;
which brings us to the painful conclusion, that in the Spirit business,
as in most other trades, there are some bankruptcies.

A HAUNTED HOUSE

[JULY 23, 1853]

THAT there are on record many circumstantial and minute accounts
of haunted houses, is well known to most people. But, all such
narratives must be received with the greatest circumspection, and
sifted with the utmost care; nothing in them must be taken for
granted, and every detail proved by direct and clear evidence, before
VOL. I:DD 417

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

it can be received. For, if this course be necessary to the establish
ment of a philosophical experiment in accordance with the known
laws of nature, how much more is it necessary in a case where the
alleged truth is opposed to those laws (so far as they are under
stood), and to the experience of educated mankind ? How much
more so, yet, when it is in the nature of the mass of this class of
supernatural stories to resolve themselves into natui^l and common
place affairs on the subtraction or addition of sbine, slight circum
stance equally easy to have been dropped off, or tfb h£ve been joined
on, in the course of repetition from mouth to mouth i

We offer this preliminary remark as in fairness du« to the difficulty
of the general subject. But, in reference to the particular case of
which, in all its terrors, we are about to give a short account, we
must observe that every circumstance we shall relate is accurately
known to us, is fully guaranteed by us, arid, can be/proved by a cloud
of witnesses taken at random from the whole country.

The proprietor of the haunted house in question, is a gentleman
of the name of Bull. Mr. Bull is a person of large property — a long
way past the Middle Age, though some maudlin young people would
have persuaded him to the contrary a little while' ago — and possessed
of a strong constitution and great common sense. Which, it is
needless to add, is the most uncommon sense in the world.

The house belonging to Mr. Bull, which fras acquired an un
enviable notoriety, is situated in the city of Westminster, and abuts
on the river Thames. Mr. Bull was induced to commence this edifice
for the reception of a famijy already enlarged by the addition of
several new Members, some years ago, on the destruction of his
ancient family mansion by fire. A variety of remarkable facts have
been observed, from the .first, in connexion with this building.
Merely as a building, it Js ' supposed to be impossible that it
can ever be finished; it is p/edicted and generally believed that
the owl will hoot from the aged ivy clinging to the bases of its
towers, many centuries before the summits pf those towers are
reared. When it was originally; projected, the sum-total of its
cost was plainly written on the^plaiw^an figiires of a reasonable
size. Those figures have since jgwellec? irt a mosv astonishing manner,
and may now be seen in a colossal ?tate. It was yet mere beams
and walls, when extraordinary voices' or the prosiest description arose
from its foundations, and resounded through the city, night and day,
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A HAUNTED HOUSE

unmeaningly demanding whether Cromwell should have a statue.
The voices being at length hushed by a body of Royal commissioners
(among whom was the member for the University of Oxford, ex
qfficio powerful, in the Red Sea), new phenomena succeeded. It was
found impossible to warm the edifice ; it was found impossible to cool
it ; and it was found impossible to light it. The Members of Mr.
Bull's family were blown off their seats by blasts of icy air, and in
the same moment fainted from excess of sickly heat. Ophthalmia
raged among them in consequence of the powerful glare to which
their right eyes were exposed, while their left organs of vision were
shrouded in the darkness of Egypt. Caverns of amazing dimensions
yawned under their feet, whence odours arose, of which the only con
solatory feature was, that no savour of brimstone could be detected
in them. Pale human forms — but for the most part of exaggerated
and unearthly proportions — arose in the Hall, and (under the name
of Cartoons) haunted it a long time. Among these phantoms,
several portentous shades of ancient Britons were observed, with
beards in the latest German style. Undaunted by these accumulated
horrors, Mr. Bull took possession of his haunted house — and then
the dismal work began indeed.

The first supernatural persecution endured by Mr. Bull, was the
sound of a tremendous quantity of oaths. This was succeeded by
the dragging of great weights about the house at untimely hours,
accompanied with fearful noises, such as shrieking, yelling, barking,
braying, crowing, coughing, fiendish laughter, and the like. Mr.
Bull describes this outcry as calculated to appal the stoutest heart.
But, a gush of words incessantly pouring forth within the haunted
premises, was even more distressing still. In the dead of the night,
words, words, words — words of laudation, words of vituperation,
words of indignation, words of peroration, words of order, words of
disorder ; words, words, words — the same words in the same weary
array, of little or no meaning, over and over again — resounded in
the unhappy gentleman's ears. The Irish accent was very frequently
detectible in these dreadful sounds, and Mr. Bull considered it an
aggravation of his misery.

All this time, the strangest and wildest confusion reigned among
the furniture. Seats were overturned and knocked about ; papers
of importance that were laid upon the table, unaccountably dis
appeared ; large measures were brought in and dropped ; Members

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of Mr. Bull's family were repeatedly thrown from side to side, with
out appearing to know that they had changed sides at all; other
Members were absurdly hoisted from surprising distances to foremost
benches, where they tried to hold on tight, but couldn't by any
means effect it ; invisible kicks flew about with the utmost rapidity ;
the seals of Mr. Bull's offices, though of some weight, were tossed to
and fro, like shuttlecocks; and, in the tumult, Mr. Bull himself
went bodily to the wall, and there remained doubled up for a con
siderable period. In addition to these fearful revels, it was found
that a forest growth of cobweb and fungus, which in the course of
many generations had accumulated in the lobbies and passages of
Mr. Bull's old house, supernaturally sprung up at compound interest
in the lobbies and passages of the new one, which were further
infested by swarms of (supposed) unclean spirits that took refuge in
the said growth. Thus was the house further haunted by what Mr.
Bull calls, for the sake of distinction, * Private Bills,' engender
ing a continual gabbling and cackling in all the before-mentioned
passages and lobbies, as well as in all the smaller chambers or
committee rooms of Mr. Bull's mansion: and occasioning so 'much
spoliation and corruption, and such a prodigious waste of money,
that Mr. Bull considers himself annually impoverished to the extent
of many hundreds of thousands of pounds thereby.

At this distressing crisis, it occurred to Mr. Bull, to send the
Members of his family (as it should be understood, his custom occa
sionally is) into the country, to be refreshed, and to get a little
change. He thought that if the house stood empty for a short
time, it might possibly become quieter in the interval ; at any rate
he knew that its condition could not well be worse. He therefore
sent them down to various boroughs and counties, and awaited
the result with some hope. But, now the most appalling circum
stances connected with this haunted house, and which, within the
compass of our reading, is unparalleled in any similar case, de
veloped itself with a fury that had reduced Mr. Bull to the confines
of despair.

For the time, the house itself was quiet. But, dismal to relate,
the great mass of the Members of Mr. Bull's family carried the most
terrific plagues of the house into the country with them, and seemed
to let loose a legion of devils wheresoever they went. We will take,
for the sake of clearness, the borough of Burningshame, and will
420

A HAUNTED HOUSE

generally recount what happened there, as a specimen of what
occurred in many other places.

A Member of Mr. Bull's family went down to Burningshame, with
the intention — perfectly innocent in itself — of taking a pleasant
walk over the course there, and getting his friends to return him by
an easy conveyance to Mr. Bull. But, no sooner had this gentleman
arrived in Burningshame, than the voices and words broke out in
every room and balcony of his hotel with a vehemence and reckless
ness indescribably awful. They made the wildest statements ; they
swore to the most impossible promises ; they said and unsaid fifty
things in an hour ; they declared black to be white, and white to
be black, without the least appearance of any sense of shame or
responsibility ; and made the hair of the better part of the popula
tion stand on end. All this time, the dirtiest mud in the streets
was found to be flying about and bespattering people at a great dis
tance. This, however, was not the worst ; would that it had been !
It was but the beginning of the horrors. Scarcely was the town of
Burningshame aware of its deplorable condition when the Member
of Mr. Bull's family was discovered to be haunted, night and day, by
two evil spirits who had come down with him (they being usually
prowling about the lobbies and passages of the house, and other dry
places), and who, under the names of an Attorney and a Parlia
mentary Agent, committed ravages truly diabolical. The first act
of this infernal pair was, to throw open all the public-houses, and
invite the people of Burningshame to drink themselves raving mad.
They then compelled them, with banners, and with instruments of
brass, and big drums, idiotically to parade the town, and fall foul of
all other banners, instruments of brass, and big drums, that they
met. In the meantime, they tortured and terrified all the small
tradesmen, buzzed in their ears, dazzled their eyes, nipped their
pockets, pinched their children, appeared to and alarmed their wives
(many of them in the family way), broke the rest of whole families,
and filled them with anxiety and dread. Not content with this, they
tempted the entire town, got the people to sell their precious souls,
put red-hot money into their hands while they were looking another
way, made them forswear themselves, set father against son, brother
against brother, friend against friend ; and made the whole of
Burningshame one sty of gluttony, drunkenness, avarice, lying,
false-swearing, waste, want, ill-will, contention and depravity. In

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short, if the Member's visit had lasted very long (which happily it
did not) the place must have become a hell upon earth for several
generations. And all this, these spirits did, with a wickedness
peculiar to their accursed state : perpetually howling that it was
pure and glorious, that it was free and independent, that it was
Old England for ever, and other scraps of malignant mockery.

Matters had arrived at this pitch, not only in IBurningshame, but,
as already observed, in an infinite variety of other places, when
Mr. Bull — having heard, perhaps, some rumours of these disasters
— recalled the various Members of his family to his house in town.
They were no sooner assembled, than all the old noises broke out
with redoubled violence ; the same extraordinary confusion prevailed
among the furniture ; the cobweb and fungus thickened with greater
fecundity than before ; and the multitude of spirits in the lobbies
and passages bellowed and yelled, and made a dismal noise — de
scribed to be like the opening and shutting up of heavy cases — for
weeks together.

But even this was not the worst. Mr. Bull now found, on ques
tioning his family, that those evil spirits, the Attorneys and the
Parliamentary Agents, had obtained such strong possession of many
Members, that they (those members of Mr. Builds family) stood in
awe of the said spirits, and even while they pretended to have been
no parties to what the spirits had done, constantly defended and
sided with them, and said among themselves that if they carried the
spirits over this bad job, the spirits would return the compliment
by and by. This discovery, as may readily be believed, occasioned
Mr. Bull the most poignant anguish, and he distractedly looked
about him for any means of relieving his haunted house of their
dreadful presence. An implement called a ballot box (much used
by Mr. Bull for domestic purposes) being recommended as efficacious,
Mr. Bull suggested to his family the expediency of trying it ; but,
so many of the Members roared out ' Un-English ! ' and were echoed
in such fearful tones, and with such great gnashing of teeth, by the
whole of the spirits in the passages and lobbies, that Mr. Bull (who
is in some things of a timid disposition) abandoned the idea for the
timev without at all knowing what the cry meant.

The house is still in the fearful condition described, and the ques
tion with Mr. Bull is, What is to be done with it ? Instead of
getting better it gets worse, if possible, every night. Fevered by
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A HAUNTED HOUSE

want of rest ; confused by the perpetual gush of words, and dragging
of weights ; blinded by the tossings from side to side ; bewildered
by the clamour of the spirits ; and infected by the doings at Burning-
shame and elsewhere ; too many of the Members of Mr. Bull's
family (as Mr. Bull perceives with infinite regret) are beginning to
conceive that what is truth and honour out of Mr. Bull's house, is
not truth and honour in it. That within those haunted precincts a
gentleman may deem words all sufficient, and become a miserable
quibbler. That the whole world is comprised within the haunted
house of Mr. Bull, and that there is nothing outside to find him
out, or call him to account. But this, as Mr. Bull remarks, is a
delusion of a haunted mind ; there being within his experience
(which is pretty large) a good deal outside — Mr. Bull thinks, quite
enough to pull his house about his family's ears, as soon as it ceases
to be respected.

This is the present state of the haunted house. Mr. Bull has a
fine Indian property, which has fallen into some confusion, and requires
good management and just stewardship ; but, as he says himself,
how can he properly attend to his affairs in such an uproar ? His
younger children stand in great need of education, and must be sent
to school somewhere ; but how can he clear his mind to balance the
different prospectuses of rival establishments in this perturbed con
dition ? Holy water has been tried — a pretty large supply having
been brought from Ireland — but it has not the least effect, though
it is spouted all over the floor, in profusion, every night. ' Then,'
says Mr. Bull, naturally much distressed in his mind, * what am I to
do, sir, with this house of mine ? I can't go on in this way. All
about Burningshame and those other places is well known. It won't
do. I must not allow the Members of my family to bring disease
upon the country on which they should bring health ; to load it
with disgrace instead of honour ; with their dirty hands to soil the
national character on the most serious occasions when they come
in contact with it ; and with their big talk to set up one standard
of morality for themselves and another for the multitude. Nor
must I be put off in this matter, for it presses. Then what am I
to do, sir, with this house of mine ? '

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GONE ASTRAY

[AUGUST 13, 1853]

WHEN I was a very small boy indeed, both in years and stature, I
got lost one day in the City of London. I was taken out by Some
body (shade of Somebody forgive me for remembering no more of
thy identity !), as an immense treat, to be shown the outside of
Saint Giles's Church. I had romantic ideas in connection with that
religious edifice ; firmly believing that all the beggars who pretended
through the week to be blind, lame, one-armed, deaf and dumb, and
otherwise physically afflicted, laid aside their pretences every Sunday,
dressed themselves in holiday clothes, and attended divine service in
the temple of their patron saint. I had a general idea that the reign
ing successor of Bamfylde Moore Carew acted as a sort of church
warden on these occasions, and sat in a high pew with red curtains.

It was in the spring-time when these tender notions of mine,
bursting forth into new shoots under the influence of the season,
became sufficiently troublesome to my parents and guardians to
occasion Somebody to volunteer to take me to see the outside of
Saint Gileses Church, which was considered likely (I suppose) to
quench my romantic fire, and bring me to a practical state. We
set off after breakfast. I have an impression that Somebody was
got up in a striking manner — in cord breeches of fine texture and
milky hue, in long jean gaiters, in a green coat with bright buttons,
in a blue neckerchief, and a monstrous shirt-collar. I think he
must have newly come (as I had myself) out of the hop-grounds
of Kent. I considered him the glass of fashion and the mould
of form : a very Hamlet without the burden of his difficult family
affairs.

We were conversational together, and saw the outside of Saint
Giles's Church with sentiments of satisfaction, much enhanced by a
flag flying from the steeple. I infer that we then went down to
Northumberland House in the Strand to view the celebrated lion
over the gateway. At all events, I know that in the act of looking
up with mingled awe and admiration at that famous animal I lost
Somebody.
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GONE ASTRAY

The child's unreasoning terror of being lost, comes as freshly on
me now as it did then. I verily believe that if I had found myself
astray at the North Pole instead of in the narrow, crowded, incon
venient street over which the lion in those days presided, I could
not have been more horrified. But, this first fright expended itself
in a little crying and tearing up and down ; and then I walked, with
a feeling of dismal dignity upon me, into a court, and sat down on
a step to consider how to get through life.

To the best of my belief, the idea of asking my way home never
came into my head. It is possible that I may, for the time, have
preferred the dismal dignity of being lost ; but I have a serious con
viction that in the wide scope of my arrangements for the future,
I had no eyes for the nearest and most obvious course. I was but
very juvenile ; from eight to nine years old, I fancy.

I had one and fourpence in my pocket, and a pewter ring with
a bit of red glass in it on my little finger. This jewel had been
presented to me by the object of my affections, on my birthday,
when we had sworn to marry, but had foreseen family obstacles
to our union, in her being (she was six years old) of the Wesleyan
persuasion, while I was devotedly attached to the Church of England.
The one and fourpence were the remains of half-a-crown presented
on the same anniversary by my godfather — a man who knew his duty
and did it.

Armed with these amulets, I made up my little mind to seek my
fortune. When I had found it, I thought I would drive home in a
coach and six, and claim my bride. I cried a little more at the idea
of such a triumph, but soon dried my eyes and came out of the court
to pursue my plans. These were, first to go (as a species of invest
ment) and see the Giants in Guildhall, out of whom I felt it not
improbable that some prosperous adventure would arise ; failing
that contingency, to try about the City for any opening of a
Whittington nature; baffled in that too, to go into the army as
a drummer.

So, I began to ask my way to Guildhall : which I thought
meant, somehow, Gold or Golden Hall ; I was too knowing to ask
my way to the Giants, for I felt it would make people laugh. I
remember how immensely broad the streets seemed now I was alone,
how high the houses, how grand and mysterious everything. When
I came to Temple Bar, it took me half an hour to stare at it, and

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I left it unfinished even then. I had read about heads being

exposed on the top of Temple Bar, and it seemed a wicked old place,
albeit a noble monument of architecture and a paragon of utility.
When at last I got away from it, behold I came, the next minute,
on the figures at St. Dunstan's ! Who could see those obliging
monsters strike upon the bells and go ? Between the quarters there
was the toyshop to look at — still there, at this present writing, in a
new form — and even when that enchanted spot was escaped from,
after an hour and more, then Saint Paul's arose, and how was I to
get beyond its dome, or to take my eyes from its cross of gold ? I
found it a long journey to the Giants, and a slow one.

I came into their presence at last, and gazed up at them with
dread and veneration. They looked better-tempered, and were
altogether more shiny-faced, than I had expected ; but they were
very big, and, as I judged their pedestals to be about forty feet
high, I considered that they would be very big indeed if they were
walking on the stone pavement. I was in a state of mind as to
these and all such figures, which I suppose holds equally with most
children. While I knew them to be images made of something that
was not flesh and blood, I still invested them with attributes of
life — with consciousness of my being there, for example, and the
power of keeping a sly eye upon me. Being very tired I got into
the corner under Magog, to be out of the way of his eye, and fell
asleep.

When I started up after a long nap, I thought the giants were
roaring, but it was only the City. The place was just the same as
when I fell asleep : no beanstalk, no fairy, no princess, no dragon,
no opening in life of any kind. So, being hungry, I thought I
would buy something to eat, and bring it in there and eat it, before
going forth to seek my fortune on the Whittington plan.

I was not ashamed of buying a penny roll in a baker's shop, but
I looked into a number of cooks' shops before I could muster courage
to go into one. At last I saw a pile of cooked sausages in a window
with the label, * Small Germans, A Penny.' Emboldened by know
ing what to ask for, I went in and said, ' If you please will you sell
me a small German ? ' which they did, and I took it, wrapped in
paper in my pocket, to Guildhall.

The giants were still lying by, in their sly way, pretending to
take no notice, so I sat down in another corner, when what should I
426

GONE ASTRAY

see before me but a dog with his ears cocked. He was a black dog,
with a bit of white over one eye, and bits of white and tan in his
paws, and he wanted to play — frisking about me, rubbing his nose
against me, dodging at me sideways, shaking his head and pretend
ing to run away backwards, and making himself good-naturedly
ridiculous, as if he had no consideration for himself, but wanted
to raise my spirits. Now, when I saw this dog I thought of Whit-
tington, and felt that things were coming right ; I encouraged him
by saying, * Hi, boy ! ' * Poor fellow ! ' * Good dog ! ' and was
satisfied that he was to be my dog for ever afterwards, and that he
would help me to seek my fortune.

Very much comforted by this (I had cried a little at odd times
ever since I was lost), I took the small German out of my pocket,
and began my dinner by biting off a bit and throwing it to the dog,
who immediately swallowed it with a one-sided jerk, like a pill.
While I took a bit myself, and he looked me in the face for a second
piece, I considered by what name I should call him. I thought
Merrychance would be an expressive name, under the circum
stances; and I was elated, I recollect, by inventing such a good
one, when Merrychance began to growl at me in a most ferocious
manner.

I wondered he was not ashamed of himself, but he didn't care
for that ; on the contrary he growled a good deal more. With his
mouth watering, and his eyes glistening, and his nose in a very damp
state, and his head very much on one side, he sidled about on the
pavement in a threatening manner and growled at me, until he
suddenly made a snap at the small German, tore it out of my hand,
and went off with it. He never came back to help me seek my
fortune. From that hour to the present, when I am forty years of
age, I have never seen my faithful Merrychance again.

I felt very lonely. Not so much for the loss of the small German,
though it was delicious (I knew nothing about highly -peppered
horse at that time), as on account of Merrychance's disappointing me
so cruelly; for J had hoped he would do every friendly thing but
speak, and perhaps even come to that. I cried a little more, and
began to wish that the object of my affections had been lost with
me, for company's sake. But, then I remembered that she could
not go into the army as a drummer ; and I dried my eyes and ate
my loaf. Coming out, I met a milkwoman, of whom I bought a

427

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pennyworth of milk ; quite set up again by my repast, I began to
roam about the City, and to seek my fortune in the Whittington
direction.

When I go into the City, now, it makes me sorrowful to think
that I am quite an artful wretch. Strolling about it as a lost child,
I thought of the British Merchant and the Lord Mayor, and was full
of reverence. Strolling about it now, I laugh at the sacred liveries
of state, and get indignant with the corporation as one of the
strongest practical jokes of the present day. What did I know
then, about the multitude who are always being disappointed in
the City; who are always expecting to meet a party there, and to
receive money there, and whose expectations are never fulfilled?
What did I know then, about that wonderful person, the friend in
the City, who is to do so many things for so many people; who is
to get this one into a post at home, and that one into a post
abroad ; who is to settle with this man^s creditors, provide for that
man's son, and see that other man paid ; who is to ' throw himself1
into this grand Joint-Stock certainty, and is to put^his name down
on that Life Assurance Directory, and never does anything predicted
of him ? What did I know, then, about him as the friend of gentle
men, Mosaic Arabs and others, usually to be seen at races, and
chiefly residing in the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square ; and as
being unable to discount the whole amount of that paper in money,
but as happening to have by him a cask of remarkable fine sherry,
a dressing-case, and a Venus by Titian, with which he would be
willing to make up the balance ? Had I ever heard of him, in those
innocent days, as confiding information (which never by any chance
turned out to be in the remotest degree correct) to solemn bald men,
who mysteriously imparted it to breathless dinner tables ? No. Had
I ever learned to dread him as a shark, disregard him as a humbug,
and know him for a myth ? Not I. Had I ever heard of him as
associated with tightness in the money market, gloom in consols,
the exportation of gold, or that rock ahead in everybody's course,
the bushel of wheat? Never. Had I the least idea what was
meant by such terms as jobbery, rigging the market, cooking
accounts, getting up a dividend, making things pleasant, and the
like ? Not the slightest. Should I have detected in Mr. Hudson
himself, a staring carcase of golden veal ? By no manner of means.
The City was to me a vast emporium of precious stones and metals,
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GONE ASTRAY

casks and bales, honour and generosity, foreign fruits and spices.
Every merchant and banker was a compound of Mr. Fitz- Warren
and Sinbad the Sailor. Smith, Payne, and Smith, when the wind
was fair for Barbary and the captain present, were in the habit of
calling their servants together (the cross cook included) and asking
them to produce their little shipments. Glyn and Halifax had
personally undergone great hardships in the valley of diamonds.
Baring Brothers had seen Rocs' eggs and travelled with caravans.
Rothschild had sat in the Bazaar at Bagdad with rich stuffs for sale ;
and a veiled lady from the Sultan's harem, riding on a donkey, had
fallen in love with him.

Thus I wandered about the City, like a child in a dream, staring
at the British merchants, and inspired by a mighty faith in the
marvellousness of everything. Up courts and down courts — in and
out of yards and little squares — peeping into counting-house passages
and running away — poorly feeding the echoes in the court of the
South Sea House with my timid steps — roaming down into Austin
Friars, and wondering how the Friars used to like it — ever staring
at the British merchants, and never tired of the shops — I rambled
on, all through the day. In such stories as I made, to account for
the different places, I believed as devoutly as in the City itself. I
particularly remember that when I found myself on 'Change, and
saw the shabby people sitting under the placards about ships, I
settled that they were Misers, who had embarked all their wealth
to go and buy gold-dust or something of that sort, and were waiting
for their respective captains to come and tell them that they were
ready to set sail. I observed that they all munched dry biscuits,
and I thought it was to keep off sea-sickness.

This was very delightful ; but it still produced no result according
to the Whittington precedent. There was a dinner preparing at the
Mansion House, and when I peeped in at a grated kitchen window,
and saw the men cooks at work in their white caps, my heart began
to beat with hope that the Lord Mayor, or the Lady Mayoress, or
one of the young Princesses their daughters, would look out of an
upper apartment and direct me to be taken in. But, nothing of the
kind occurred. It was not until I had been peeping in some time
that one of the cooks called to me (the window was open) ' Cut away,
you sir ! ' which frightened me so, on account of his black whiskers,
that I instantly obeyed.

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After that, I came to the India House, and asked a boy what it
was, who made faces and pulled my hair before he told me, and
behaved altogether in an ungenteel and discourteous manner. Sir
James Hogg himself might have been satisfied with the veneration
in which I held the India House. I had no doubt of its being the
most wonderful, the most magnanimous, the most incorruptible, the
most practically disinterested, the most in all respects astonishing,
establishment on the face of the earth. I understood the nature
of an oath, and would have sworn it to be one entire and perfect
chrysolite.

Thinking much about boys who went to India, and who imme
diately, without being sick, smoked pipes like curled-up bell-ropes,
terminating in a large cut-glass sugar basin upside down, I got
among the outfitting shops. There, I read the lists of things that
were necessary for an India-going boy, and when I came to 'one
brace of pistols,' thought what happiness to be reserved for such a
fate ! Still no British merchant seemed at all disposed to take me
into his house. The only exception was a chimney-sweep — he looked
at me as if he thought me suitable to his business ; but I ran away
from him.

I suffered very much, all day, from boys ; they chased me down
turnings, brought me to bay in doorways, and treated me quite
savagely, though I am sure I gave them no offence. One boy, who
had a stump of black-lead pencil in his pocket, wrote his mother's
name and address (as he said) on my white hat, outside the crown.
MRS. BLORES, WOODEN LEG WALK, TOBACCO-STOPPER Row, WAPPING.
And I couldn't rub it out.

I recollect resting in a little churchyard after this persecution,
disposed to think upon the whole, that if I and the object of my
affections could be buried there together, at once, it would be com
fortable. But, another nap, and a pump, and a bun, and above all
a picture that I saw, brought me round again.

I must have strayed by that time, as I recal my course, into
Goodman's Fields, or somewhere thereabouts. The picture repre
sented a scene in a play then performing at a theatre in that neigh
bourhood which is no longer in existence. It stimulated me to go
to that theatre and see that play. I resolved, as there seemed to be
nothing doing in the Whittington way, that on the conclusion of
the entertainments I would ask my way to the barracks, knock at
430

GONE ASTRAY

the gate, and tell them that I understood they were in want of
drummers, and there I was. I think I must have been told, but
I know I believed, that a soldier was always on duty, day and night,
behind every barrack-gate, with a shilling ; and that a boy who
could by any means be prevailed on to accept it, instantly became a
drummer, unless his father paid four hundred pounds.

I found out the theatre — of its external appearance I only
remember the loyal initials G. R. untidily painted in yellow ochre
on the front — and waited, with a pretty large crowd, for the open
ing of the gallery doors. The greater part of the sailors and others
composing the crowd, were of the lowest description, and their con
versation was not improving ; but I understood little or nothing of
what was bad in it then, and it had no depraving influence on me.
I have wondered since, how long it would take, by means of such
association, to corrupt a child nurtured as I had been, and innocent
as I was.

Whenever I saw that my appearance attracted attention, either
outside the doors or afterwards within the theatre, I pretended to
look out for somebody who was taking care of me, and from whom
I was separated, and to exchange nods and smiles with that creature
of my imagination. This answered very well. I had my sixpence
clutched in my hand ready to pay ; and when the doors opened,
with a clattering of bolts, and some screaming from women in the
crowd, I went on with the current like a straw. My sixpence was
rapidly swallowed up in the money-taker's pigeon-hole, which looked
to me like a sort of mouth, and I got into the freer staircase above
and ran on (as everybody else did) to get a good place. When I
came to the back of the gallery, there were very few people in it,
and the seats looked so horribly steep, and so like a diving arrange
ment to send me, headforemost, into the pit, that I held by one
of them in a terrible fright. However, there was a good-natured
baker with a young woman, who gave me his hand, and we all three
scrambled over the seats together down into the corner of the first
row. The baker was very fond of the young woman, and kissed her
a good deal in the course of the evening.

I was no sooner comfortably settled, than a weight fell upon my
mind, which tormented it most dreadfully, and which I must explain.
It was a benefit night — the benefit of the comic actor — a little fat
man with a very large face and, as I thought then, the smallest and

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

most diverting hat that ever was seen. This comedian, for the
gratification of his friends and patrons, had undertaken to sing a
comic song on a donkey's back, and afterwards to give away the
donkey so distinguished, by lottery. In this lottery, every person
admitted to the pit and gallery had a chance. On paying my six
pence, I had received the number, forty-seven ; and I now thought,
in a perspiration of terror, what should I ever do if that number
was to come up the prize, and I was to win the donkey !

It made me tremble all over to think of the possibility of my
good fortune. I knew I never could conceal the fact of my holding
forty-seven, in case that number came up, because, not to speak
of my confusion, which would immediately condemn me, I had shewn
my number to the baker. Then, I pictured to myself the being
called upon to come down on the stage and receive the donkey. I
thought how all the people would shriek when they saw it had fallen
to a little fellow like me. How should I lead him out — for of
course he wouldn't go ? If he began to bray, what should I do ?
If he kicked, what would become of me ? Suppose he backed into
the stage-door, and stuck there, with me upon him ? For I felt
that if I won him, the comic actor would have me on his back, the
moment he could touch me. Then if I got him out of the theatre,
what was I to do with him ? How was I to feed him ? Where
was I to stable him ? It was bad enough to have gone astray by
myself, but to go astray with a donkey, too, was a calamity more
tremendous than I could bear to contemplate.

These apprehensions took away all my pleasure in the first piece.
When the ship came on — a real man-of-war she was called in the
bills — and rolled prodigiously in a very heavy sea, I couldn't, even
in the terrors of the storm, forget the donkey. It was awful to
see the sailors pitching about, with telescopes and speaking trumpets
(they looked very tall indeed aboard the man-of-war), and it was
awful to suspect the pilot of treachery, though impossible to avoid
it, for when he cried — ' We are lost ! To the raft, to the raft ! A
thunderbolt has struck the main-mast ! ' — I myself saw him take the
main-mast out of its socket and drop it overboard ; but even these
impressive circumstances paled before my dread of the donkey.
Even, when the good sailor (and he was very good) came to good
fortune, and the bad sailor (and he was very bad) threw himself into
the ocean from the summit of a curious rock, presenting something
432

GONE ASTRAY

of the appearance of a pair of steps, I saw the dreadful donkey
through my tears.

At last the time came when the fiddlers struck up the comic song,
and the dreaded animal, with new shoes on, as I inferred from the
noise they made, came clattering in with the comic actor on his
back. He was dressed out with ribbons (I mean the donkey was)
and as he persisted in turning his tail to the audience, the comedian
got off him, turned about, and sitting with his face that way, sang
the song three times, amid thunders of applause. All this time, I
was fearfully agitated ; and when two pale people, a good deal
splashed with the mud of the streets, were invited out of the pit to
superintend the drawing of the lottery, and were received with a
round of laughter from everybody else, I could have begged and
prayed them to have mercy on me, and not draw number forty-
seven.

But, I was soon put out of my pain now, for a gentleman behind
me, in a flannel jacket and a yellow neck-kerchief, who had eaten
two fried soles and all his pockets-full of nuts before the storm began
to rage, answered to the winning number, and went down to take
possession of the prize. This gentleman had appeared to know the
donkey, rather, from the moment of his entrance, and had taken a
great interest in his proceedings ; driving him to himself, if I use an
intelligible phrase, and saying, almost in my ear, when he made any
mistake, * Kum up, you precious Moke. Kum up ! ' He was thrown
by the donkey on first mounting him, to the great delight of the
audience (including myself), but rode him off with great skill after
wards, and soon returned to his seat quite calm. Calmed myself by
the immense relief I had sustained, I enjoyed the rest of the per
formance very much indeed. I remember there were a good many
dances, some in fetters and some in roses, and one by a most divine
little creature, who made the object of my affections look but
common-place. In the concluding drama, she re-appeared as a boy
(in arms, mostly), and was fought for, several times. I rather think
a Baron wanted to drown her, and was on various occasions pre
vented by the comedian, a ghost, a Newfoundland dog, and a church
bell. I only remember beyond this, that I wondered where the
Baron expected to go to, and that he went there in a shower of
sparks. The lights were turned out while the sparks died out, and
it appeared to me as if the whole play — ship, donkey, men and
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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

women, divine little creature, and all — were a wonderful firework
that had gone off, and left nothing but dust and darkness behind it.

It was late when I got out into the streets, and there was no
moon, and there were no stars, and the rain fell heavily. When I
emerged from the dispersing crowd, the ghost and the baron had an
ugly look in my remembrance ; I felt unspeakably forlorn ; and now,
for the first time, my little bed and the dear familiar faces came
before me, and touched my heart. By daylight, I had never thought
of the grief at home. I had never thought of my mother. I had
never thought of anything but adapting myself to the circumstances
in which I found myself, and going to seek my fortune.

For a boy who could do nothing but cry, and run about, saying,
* O I am lost ! ' to think of going into the army was, I felt sensible,
out of the question. I abandoned the idea of asking my way to the
barracks — or rather the idea abandoned me — and ran about, until I
found a watchman in his box. It is amazing to me, now, that he
should have been sober ; but I am inclined to think he was too feeble
to get drunk.

This venerable man took me to the nearest watch-house ; — I say
he took me, but in fact I took him, for when I think of us in the rain,
I recollect that we must have made a composition, like a vignette of
Infancy leading Age. He had a dreadful cough, and was obliged to
lean against a wall, whenever it came on. We got at last to the
watch-house, a warm and drowsy sort of place embellished with
great-coats and rattles hanging up. When a paralytic messenger
had been sent to make inquiries about me, I fell asleep by the fire,
and awoke no more until my eyes opened on my father's face. This
is literally and exactly how I went astray. They used to say I was
an odd child, and I suppose I was. I am an odd man perhaps.

Shade of Somebody, forgive me for the disquiet I must have
caused thee ! When I stand beneath the Lion, even now, I see thee
rushing up and down, refusing to be comforted. I have gone astray
since, many times, and farther afield. May I therein have given less
disquiet to others, than herein I gave to thee !

4*4

FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES

[OCTOBER 1, 1853]

WE may assume that we are not singular in entertaining a very
great tenderness for the fairy literature of our childhood. What
enchanted us then, and is captivating a million of young fancies
now, has, at the same blessed time of life, enchanted vast hosts of
men and women who have done their long day's work, and laid their
grey heads down to rest. It would be hard to estimate the amount
of gentleness and mercy that has made its way among us through
these slight channels. Forbearance, courtesy, consideration for the
poor and aged, kind treatment of animals, the love of nature, abhor
rence of tyranny and brute force — many such good things have been
first nourished in the child's heart by this powerful aid. It has
greatly helped to keep us, in some sense, ever young, by preserving
through our worldly ways one slender track not overgrown with
weeds, where we may walk with children, sharing their delights.

(i In an utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave ^N
importance that Fairy tales should be respected. Our English red \ |_
tape is too magnificently red ever to be employed in the tying up of
such trifles, but every one who has considered the subject knows full
well that a nation without fancy, without some romance, never did,
never can, never will, hold a great place under the sun^TThe theatre,
having done its worst to destroy these admirable fictions — and
having in a most exemplary manner destroyed itself, its artists, and
its audiences, in that perversion of its duty — it becomes doubly
important that the little books themselves, nurseries of fancy as they
are, should be preserved. To preserve them in their usefulness, they
must be as much preserved in their simplicity, and purity, and
innocent extravagance, as if they were actual fact. Whosoever
alters them to suit his own opinions, whatever they are, is guilty, to
>ur thinking, of an act of presumption, and appropriates to himself
what does not belong to hin£~~"|

We have lately observed,~with pain, the intrusion of a Whole
Hog of unwieldy dimensions into the fairy flower garden. The
rooting of the animal among the roses would in itself have awakened
in us nothing but indignation; our pain arises from his being

435

violently driven in by a man of genius, our own beloved friend, Mr.
George Cruikshank. That incomparable artist is, of all men, the
last who should lay his exquisite hand on fairy text. In his own art
he understands it so perfectly, and illustrates it so beautifully, so
humorously, so wisely, that he should never lay down his etching
needle to ' edit ' the Ogre, to whom with that little instrument he
can render such extraordinary justice. But, to ' editing' Ogres, and
Hop-o'-my-thumbs, and their families, our dear moralist has in a
rash moment taken, as a means of propagating the doctrines of
Total Abstinence, Prohibition of the sale of spirituous liquors, Free
Trade, and Popular Education. For the introduction of these
topics, he has altered the text of a fairy story ; and against his right
to do any such thing we protest with all our might and main. Of
his likewise altering it to advertise that excellent series of plates,
'The Bottle,' we say nothing more than that we foresee a new and
improved edition of Goody Two Shoes, edited by E. Moses and Son ;
of the Dervish with the box of ointment, edited by Professor
Holloway ; and of Jack and the Beanstalk, edited by Mary Wedlake,
the popular authoress of Do you bruise your oats yet.

Now, it makes not the least difference to our objection whether we
I agree or disagree with our worthy friend, Mr. Cruikshank, in the
| opinions he interpolates upon an old fairy story. Whether good or
bad in themselves, they are, in that relation, like the famous defini
tion of a weed ; a thing growing up in a wrong place. He has no
greater moral justification in altering the harmless little books than
we should have in altering his best etchings. If such a precedent
were followed we must soon become disgusted with the old stories
into which modern personages so obtruded themselves, and the stories
themselves must soon be lost. With seven Blue Beards in the field,
each coming at a gallop from his own platform mounted on a foam
ing hobby, a generation or two hence would not know which was
which, and the great original Blue Beard would be confounded with
the counterfeits. Imagine a Total abstinence edition of Robinson
Crusoe, with the rum left out. Imagine a Peace edition, with the
gunpowder left out, and the rum left in. Imagine a Vegetarian
edition, with the goat's flesh left out. Imagine a Kentucky edition,
to introduce a flogging of that 'tarnal old nigger Friday, twice a
week. Imagine an Aborigines Protection Society edition, to deny
the cannibalism and make Robinson embrace the amiable savages
436

FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES

whenever they landed. Robinson Crusoe would be ' edited * out of
his island in a hundred years, and the island would be swallowed up
in the editorial ocean.

Among the other learned professions we have now the Platform
profession, chiefly exercised by a new and meritorious class of com
mercial travellers who go about to take the sense of meetings on
various articles : some, of a very superior description : some, not
quite so good. Let us write the story of Cinderella, * edited ' by one
of these gentlemen, doing a good stroke of business, and having a
rather extensive mission.

ONCE upon a time, a rich man and his wife were the parents of a
lovely daughter. She was a beautiful child, and became, at her own
desire, a member of the Juvenile Bands of Hope when she was only
four years of age. When this child was only nine years of age her
mother died, and all the Juvenile Bands of Hope in her district —
the Central district, number five hundred and twenty-seven — formed
in a procession of two and two, amounting to fifteen hundred, and
followed her to the grave, singing chorus Number forty -two, 'O
come,' etc. This grave was outside the town, and under the direction
of the Local Board of Health, which reported at certain stated
intervals to the General Board of Health, Whitehall.

The motherless little girl was very sorrowful for the loss of her
mother, and so was her father too, at first ; but, after a year was
over, he married again — a very cross widow lady, with two proud
tyrannical daughters as cross as herself. He was aware that he
could have made his marriage with this lady a civil process by
simply making a declaration before a Registrar ; but he was averse
to this course on religious grounds, and, being a member of the
Montgolfian persuasion, was married according to the ceremonies of
that respectable church by the Reverend Jared Jocks, who improved
the occasion.

He did not live long with his disagreeable wife. Having been
shamefully accustomed to shave with warm water instead of cold,
which he ought to have used (see Medical Appendix B. and C.), his
undermined constitution could not bear up against her temper, and
he soon died. Then, this orphan was cruelly treated by her step
mother and the two daughters, and was forced to do the dirtiest of the
kitchen work ; to scour the saucepans, wash the dishes, and light the

437

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

fires — which did not consume their own smoke, but emitted a dark
vapour prejudicial to the bronchial tubes. The only warm place
in the house where she was free from ill-treatment was the kitchen
chimney-corner; and as she used to sit down there, among the
cinders, when her work was done, the proud fine sisters gave her the
name of Cinderella.

About this time, the King of the land, who never made war
against anybody, and allowed everybody to make war against him —
which was the reason why his subjects were the greatest manufac
turers on earth, arid always lived in security and peace — gave a great
feast, which was to last two days. This splendid banquet was to
consist entirely of artichokes and gruel ; and from among those who
were invited to it, and to hear the delightful speeches after dinner,
the King's son was to choose a bride for himself. The proud fine
sisters were invited, but nobody knew anything about poor Cinderella,
and she was to stay at home.

She was so sweet - tempered, however, that she assisted the
haughty creatures to dress, and bestowed her admirable taste upon
them as freely as if they had been kind to her. Neither did she
laugh when they broke seventeen stay-laces in dressing ; for, although
she wore no stays herself, being sufficiently acquainted with the
anatomy of the human figure to be aware of the destructive effects
of tight-lacing, she always reserved her opinions on that subject for
the Regenerative Record (price three halfpence in a neat wrapper),
which all good people take in, and to which she was a Contributor.

At length the wished-for moment arrived, and the proud fine
sisters swept away to the feast ancl speeches, leaving Cinderella in
the chimney-corner. But, she could always occupy her mind with
the general question of the Ocean Penny Postage, and she had in her
pocket an unread Oration on that subject, made by the well-known
Orator, Nehemiah Nicks. She was lost in the fervid eloquence of
that talented Apostle when she became aware of the presence of one
of those female relatives which (it may not be generally known) it is
not lawful for a man to marry. I allude to her grandmother.

1 Why so solitary, my child ? ' said the old lady to Cinderella.

*Alas, grandmother,' returned the poor girl, 'my sisters have
gone to the feast and speeches, and here sit I in the ashes,
Cinderella ! '

4 Never,' cried the old lady with animation, * shall one of the Band
438

FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES

of Hope despair ! Run into the garden, my dear, and fetch me an
American Pumpkin! American, because in some parts of that
independent country, there are prohibitory laws against the sale of
alcoholic drinks in any form. Also; because America produced
(among many great pumpkins) the glory of her sex, Mrs. Colonel
Bloomer. None but an American Pumpkin will do, my child.'

Cinderella ran into the garden, and brought the largest American
Pumpkin she could find. This virtuously democratic vegetable her
grandmother immediately changed into a splendid coach. Then,
she sent her for six mice from the mouse-trap, which she changed
into prancing horses, free from the obnoxious and oppressive post-
horse duty. Then, to the rat-trap in the stable for a rat, which
she changed to a state-coachman, not amenable to the iniquitous
assessed taxes. Then, to look behind a watering-pot for six lizards,
which she changed into six footmen, each with a petition in his
hand ready to present to the Prince, signed by fifty thousand persons,
in favour of the early closing movement.

'But grandmother,' said Cinderella, stopping in the midst of
her delight, and looking at her clothe^, ' how can I go to the palace
in these miserable rags?1

* Be not uneasy about that, my dear,' returned her grandmother.

Upon which the old lady touched her with her wand, her rags
disappeared, and she was beautifully dressed. Not in the present
costume of the female sex, which has been proved to be at once
grossly immodest and absurdly inconvenient, but in rich sky-blue
satin pantaloons gathered at the ankle, a puce-coloured satin pelisse
sprinkled with silver flowers, and a very broad Leghorn hat. The
hat was chastely ornamented with a rainbow-coloured ribbon hang
ing in two bell-pulls down the back ; the pantaloons were orna
mented with a golden stripe; and the effect of the whole was
unspeakably sensible, feminine, and retiring. Lastly, the old lady
put on Cinderella's feet a pair of shoes made of glass: observing
that but for the abolition of the duty on that article, it never could
have been devoted to such a purpose ; the effect of all such taxes
being to cramp invention, and embarrass the producer, to the mani
fest injury of the consumer. When the old lady had made these
wise remarks, she dismissed Cinderella to the feast and speeches,
charging her by no means to remain after twelve o'clock at night.

The arrival of Cinderella at the Monster Gathering produced

439

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

a great excitement. As a delegate from the United States had
just moved that the King do take the chair, and as the motion had
been seconded and carried unanimously, the King himself could not
go forth to receive her. But His Royal Highness the Prince (who
was to move the second resolution), went to the door to hand her
from her carriage. This virtuous Prince, being completely covered
from head to foot with Total Abstinence Medals, shone as if he
were attired in complete armour ; while the inspiring strains of the
Peace Brass Band in the gallery (composed of the Lambkin Family,
eighteen in number, who cannot be too much encouragotl) awakened
additional enthusiasm.

The King's son handed Cinderella to one of the reserved seats
for pink tickets, on the platform, and fell in love with her immedi
ately. His appetite deserted him ; he scarcely tasted his artichokes,
and merely trifled with his gruel. When the speeches began, and
Cinderella, wrapped in the eloquence of the two inspired delegates
who occupied the entire evening in speaking to the first Resolution,
occasionally cried, ' Hear, hear ! ' the sweetness of her voice completed
her conquest of the Prince's heart. But, indeed the whole male
portion of the assembly loved her — and doubtless would have done
so, even if she had been less beautiful, in consequence of the contrast
which her dress presented to the bold and ridiculous garments of
the other ladies.

At a quarter before twelve the second inspired delegate having
drunk all the water in the decanter, and fainted away, the King put
the question, ' That this meeting do now adjourn until to-morrow.'
Those who were of that opinion holding up their hands, and then
those who were of the contrary, theirs, there appeared an immense
majority in favour of the resolution, which was consequently carried.
Cinderella got home in safety, and heard nothing all that night,
or all next day, but the praises of the unknown lady with the sky-
blue satin pantaloons.

When the time for the feast and speeches came round again, the
cross stepmother and the proud fine daughters went out in good
time to secure their places. As soon as they were gone, Cinderella's
grandmother returned and changed her as before. Amid a blast
of welcome from the Lambkin family, she was again handed to the
pink seat on the platform by His Royal Highness.

This gifted Prince was a powerful speaker, and had the evening
440

FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES

before him. He rose at precisely ten minutes before eight, and
was greeted with tumultuous cheers and waving of handkerchiefs.
When the excitement had in some degree subsided, he proceeded to
address the meeting : who were never tired of listening to speeches,
as no good people ever are. He held them enthralled for four
hours and a quarter. Cinderella forgot the time, and hurried away
so when she heard the first stroke of twelve, that her beautiful dress
changed back to her old rags at the door, and she left one of her
glass shoes behind. The Prince took it up, and vowed — that is,
made a declaration before a magistrate ; for he objected on principle
to the multiplying of oaths — that he would only marry the charm
ing creature to whom that shoe belonged.

He accordingly caused an advertisement to that effect to be
inserted in all the newspapers; for, the advertisement duty, an
impost most unjust in principle and most unfair in operation, did
not exist in that country ; neither was the stamp on newspapers
known in that land — which had as many newspapers as the United
States, and got as much good out of them. Innumerable ladies
answered the advertisement and pretended that the shoe was theirs ;
but, every one of them was unable to get her foot into it. The
proud fine sisters answered it, and tried their feet with no greater
success. Then, Cinderella, who had answered it too, came forward
amidst their scornful jeers, and the shoe slipped on in a moment.
It is a remarkable tribute to the improved and sensible fashion of
the dress her grandmother had given her, that if she had not worn
it the Prince would probably never have seen her feet.

The marriage was solemnised with great rejoicing. When the
honeymoon was over, the King retired from public life, and was
succeeded by the Prince. Cinderella, being now a queen, applied
herself to the government of the country on enlightened, liberal, and
free principles. All the people who ate anything she did not eat,
or who drank anything she did not drink, were imprisoned for life.
All the newspaper offices from which any doctrine proceeded that
was not her doctrine, were burnt down. All the public speakers
proved to demonstration that if there were any individual on the
face of the earth who differed from them in anything, that indi
vidual was a designing ruffian and an abandoned monster. She also
threw open the right of voting, and of being elected to public offices,
and of making the laws, to the whole of her sex ; who thus came

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to be always gloriously occupied with public life and whom nobody
dared to love. And they all lived happily ever afterwards.

Frauds on the Fairies once permitted, we see little reason why
they may not come to this, and great reason why they may. The
Vicar of Wakefield was wisest when he was tired of being always
wise. The world is too much with us, early and late. Leave this
precious old escape from it, alone.

THINGS THAT CANNOT BE DONE

[OCTOBER 8, 1853]

NOTHING flagrantly wrong can be done, without adequate punish
ment, under the English law. What a comfortable truth that is !
I have always admired the English law with all my heart, as being
plain, cheap, comprehensive, easy, unmistakable, strong to help the
right doer, weak to help the wrong doer, entirely free from adherence,
to barbarous usages which the world has passed, and knows to be
ridiculous and unjust. It is delightful never to see the law at fault,
never to find it in what our American relatives call a fix, never to
behold a scoundrel able to shield himself with it, always to contem
plate the improving spectacle of Law in its wig and gown leading
blind Justice by the hand and keeping her in the straight broad
course.

I am particularly struck, at the present time, by the majesty
with which the Law protects its own humble administrators. Next
to the punishment of any offence by fining the offender in a sum of
money — which is a practice of the Law, too enlightened and too
obviously just and wise, to need any commendation — the penalties
inflicted on an intolerable brute who maims a police officer for life,
make my soul expand with a solemn joy. I constantly read in the
newspapers of such an offender being committed to prison with hard
labour, for one, two, or even three months. Side by side with such
a case, I read the statement of a surgeon to the police force, that
within such a specified short time, so many men have been under
his care for similar injuries; so many of whom have recovered,
after undergoing a refinement of pain expressly contemplated by
442

THINGS THAT CANNOT BE DONE

their assailants in the nature of their attack ; so many of whom,
being permanently debilitated and incapacitated, have been dis
missed the force. Then, I know that a wild beast in a man's form
cannot gratify his savage hatred of those who check him in the
perpetration of crime, without suffering a thousand times more than
the object of his wrath, and without being made a certain and a
stern example. And this is one of the occasions on which the
beauty of the Law of England fills me with the solemn joy I have
mentioned.

The paeans I have of late been singing within myself on the
subject of the determination of the Law to prevent by severe
punishment the oppression and ill-treatment of Women, have been
echoed in the public journals. It is true that an ill-conditioned
friend of mine, possessing the remarkably inappropriate name of
Common Sense, is not fully satisfied on this head. It is true that
he says to me, ' Will you look at these cases of brutality, and tell
me whether you consider six years of the hardest prison task-work
(instead of six months) punishment enough for such enormous
cruelty ? Will you read the increasing records of these violences
from day to day, as more and more sufferers are gradually en
couraged by a law of six months' standing to disclose their long
endurance, and will you consider what a legal system that must be
which only now applies an imperfect remedy to such a giant evil ?
Will you think of the torments and murders of a dark perspective
of past years, and ask yourself the question whether in exulting so
mightily, at this time of day, over a law faintly asserting the lowest
first principle of all law, you are not somewhat sarcastic on the
virtuous Statutes at Large, piled up there on innumerable shelves ? '
It is true, I say, that my ill-conditioned friend does twit me, and
the law I dote on, after this manner ; but it is enough for me to
know, that for a man to maim and kill his wife by inches — or even
the woman, wife or no wife, who shares his home — without most
surely incurring a punishment, the justice of which satisfies the
mind and heart of the common level of humanity, is one of the
things that cannot be done.

But, deliberately, falsely, defamingly, publicly and perseveringly,
to pursue and outrage any woman is foremost among the things
that cannot be done. Of course, it cannot be done. This is the
year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-three; and Steam and

443

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Electricity would indeed have left the limping Law behind, if it
could be done in the present age.

Let me put an impossible case, to illustrate at once my admira
tion of the Law, and its tender care for Women. This may be an
appropriate time for doing so, when most of us are complimenting
the Law on its avenging gallantry.

Suppose a young lady to be left a great heiress, under circum
stances which cause the general attention to be attracted to her
name. Suppose her to be modest, retiring, otherwise only known
for her virtues, charities, and noble actions. Suppose an abandoned
sharper, so debased, so wanting in the manhood of a commonly vile
swindler, so lost to every sense of shame and disgrace, as to conceive
the original idea of hunting this young lady through life until she
buys him off with money. Suppose him to adjust the speculation
deliberately with himself. 'I know nothing of her, I never saw
her; but I am a bankrupt, with no character and no trade that
brings me in any money ; and I mean to make the pursuit of her,
my trade. She seeks retirement ; I will drag her out of it. She
avoids notoriety ; I will force it upon her. She is rich ; she shall
stand and deliver. I am poor ; I will have plunder. The opinion
of society. What is that to me ? I know the Law, and the Law
will be my friend — not hers.'

It is very difficult, I know, to suppose such a set of circumstances,
or to imagine such an animal not caged behind iron bars or knocked
on the head. But, let us stretch elastic fancy to such an extreme
point of supposition. He goes to work at the trade he has taken
up, and works at it, industriously, say for fifteen, sixteen, seventeen
years. He invents the most preposterous and transparent lies,
which not one human being whose ears they ever reach, can possibly
believe. He pretends that the lady promised to marry him — say,
in a nonsensical jingle of rhymes which he produces, and which
he says and swears (for what will he not say and swear, except the
truth ?) is the production of the lady's hand. Before incapable
country justices, and dim little farthing rushlights of the law, he
drags this lady at his pleasure, whenever he will. He makes the
Law a screw to force the hand she has had the courage to close upon
her purse from the beginning. He makes the Law a rack on which
to torture her constancy, her affections, her consideration for the
living, and her veneration for the dead. He shakes the letter of
444

THINGS THAT CANNOT BE DONE

the Law over the heads of the puny tribunals he selects for his
infamous purpose, and frightens them into an endurance of his
audacious mendacity. Because the Law is a Law of the peddling
letter and not of the comprehensive spirit, this magistrate shall
privately bribe him with money to condescend to overlook his
omission (sanctioned by the practice of years) of some miserable
form as to the exact spot in which he puts his magisterial signature
upon a document ; and that commissioner shall publicly compliment
him upon his extraordinary acquirements, when it is manifest upon
the face of the written evidence before the same learned commis
sioner's eyes in court, that he cannot so much as spell. But he
knows the Law. And the letter of the Law is with the rascal and
not with the rascal's prey.

For, we are to suppose that all through these years, he is never
punished with any punishment worthy of the name, for his real
offence. He is now and then held to bail, gets out of prison, and
goes to his trade again. He commits wilful and corrupt perjury,
down a byeway, and is lightly punished for that ; but he takes his
brazen face along the high road of his guilt, uncrushed. The
blundering, babbling, botched Law, in splitting hairs with him,
makes business for itself ; they get on very well together — worthy
companions — shepherds both.

Now, I am willing to admit that if sucn a case as this, could by
any possibility be ; if it could go on so long and so publicly, as that
the whole town should have the facts within its intimate knowledge;
if it were as well known as the Queen's name ; if it never presented
itself afresh, in any court, without awakening an honest indignation
in the breasts of all the audience not learned in the Law ; and yet
if this nefarious culprit were just as free to drive his trade at last
as he was at first, and the object of his ingenious speculation could
find absolutely no redress ; then, and in that case, I say, I am willing
to admit that the Law would be a false pretence and a self-convicted
failure. But, happily, and as we all know, this is one of the things
that cannot be done.

No. Supposing such a culprit face to face with it, the Law
would address him thus. ' Stand up, knave, and hear me ! I am
not the thing of shreds and patches you suppose. I am not the
degraded creature whom any wretch may invoke to gratify his
basest appetites and do his dirtiest work. Not for that, am I part

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

and parcel of a costly system maintained with cheerfulness out of
the labours of a great free people. Not for that, do I continually
glorify my Bench and my Bar, and, from my high place, look
complacently upon a sea of wigs. I am not a jumble and jargon
of words, fellow ; I am a Principle. I was set up here, by those
who can pull me down — and will, if I be incapable — to punish the
wrong-doer, for the sake of the body-politic in whose name I act,
and from whom alone my power is derived. I know you, well, for
a wrong-doer ; I have it in proof before me that you are a forsworn,
crafty, defiant, bullying, pestilent impostor. And if I be not an
impostor too, and a worse one, my plainest duty is to set my heel
upon you — which I mean to do before you go hence.

' Attend to me yet, knave. Hold your peace ! You are one of
those landsharks whose eyes have twinkled to see the driving of
coaches and six through Acts of Parliament, and who come up with
their dirty little dog's meat carts to follow through the same
crooked ways. But you shall know, that I am something more than
a maze of tortuous ins and outs, and that I have at least, one plain
road — to wit, the road by which, for the general protection, and in
the exercise of my first function, I mean to send you into safe
keeping ; fifty thousand Acts, and a hundred thousand Caps, and
five hundred thousand Sees, notwithstanding.

'For, Beast of Prey, above the perplexed letter of all Law that
has any might in it, goes the spirit. If I be, as I claim to be, the
child of Justice, and not the offspring of the Artful Dodger, that
spirit shall, before I gabble through one legal argument more,
provide for you and all the like of you, as you deserve. If it cannot
do that of itself, I will have letter to help it. But I will not
remain here, a spectacle and a scandal to those who are the breath
of my nostrils, with your dirty hands clinging to my robe, your
brazen lungs misrepresenting me, your shameless face beslavering
me in my prostitution.'

Thus the Law clearly would address any such impossible person.
For this reason, among others not dissimilar, I glory in the Law,
and am ready at all times to shed my best blood to uphold it. For
this reason too, I am proud, as an Englishman, to know that such a
design upon a woman as I have, in a wild moment, imagined, is not
to be entered upon, and is — as it ought to be— one of the things
that can never be done.
44<5

FIRE AND SNOW

[JANUARY 81, 1854]

CAN this be the region of cinders and coal-dust, which we have
traversed before now, divers times, both by night and by day, when
the dirty wind rattled as it came against us charged with fine
particles of coal, and the natural colour of the earth and all its
vegetation might have been black, for anything our eyes could see
to the contrary in a waste of many miles? Indeed it is the same
country, though so altered that on this present day when the old
year is near its last, the North-East wind blows white, and all the
ground is white — pure white — insomuch that if our lives depended
on our identifying a mound of ashes as we jar along this Birmingham
and Wolverhampton Railway, we could not find a handful.

The sun shines brightly, though it is a cold cold sun, this piercing
day ; and when the Birmingham tunnel disgorges us into the frosty
air, we find the pointsman housed in no mere box, but in a re
splendent pavilion, all bejewelled with dazzling icicles, the least a
yard long. A radiant pointsman he should be, we think, invested
by fairies with a dress of rainbow hues, and going round and round
in some gorgeously playful manner on a gold and silver pivot. But,
he has changed neither his stout great-coat, nor his stiff hat, nor his
stiff attitude of watch ; and as (like the ghostly dagger of Macbeth)
he marshalls us the way that we were going, we observe him to be a
mortal with a red face — red, in part from a seasonable joviality of
spirit, and in part from frost and wind- — with the encrusted snow
dropping silently off his outstretched arm.

Redder than ever are the very red-brick little houses outside
Birmingham — all staring at the railway in the snowy weather, like
plethoric old men with white heads. Clean linen drying in yards
seems ill-washed, against the intense white of the landscape. Far
and near, the tall tall chimneys look out over one another's shoulders
for the swart ashes familiar to them, and can discern nothing but
snow. Is this the smoke of other chimneys setting in so heavily
from the north-east, and overclouding the short brightness of the
day ? No. By the North Pole it is more snow !

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Making directly at us, and flying almost horizontally before the
wind, it rushes against the train, in a dark blast profusely speckled
as it were with drifting white feathers. A sharp collision, though a
harmless one ! No wonder that the engine seems to have a fearful
cold in his head. No wonder, with a deal of out-door work in such
a winter, that he is very hoarse and very short of breath, very much
blown when we come to the next station, and very much given to
weeping, snorting and spitting, all the time he stops !

Which is short enough, for these little upstairs stations at the
tops of high arches, whence we almost look down the chimneys of
scattered workshops, and quite inhale their smoke as it comes puffing
at us — these little upstairs stations rarely seem to do much business
anywhere, and just now are like suicidal heights to dive from into
depths of snow. So, away again over the moor, where the clanking
serpents usually writhing above coal-pits, are dormant and whitened
over — this being holiday time — but where those grave monsters, the
blast-furnaces, which cannot stoop to recreation, are awake and
roaring. Now, a smoky village ; now, a chimney ; now, a dormant
serpent who seems to have been benumbed in the act of working his
way for shelter into the lonely little engine-house by the pit's
mouth ; now, a pond with black specks sliding and skating ; now, a
drift with similar specks half sunken in it throwing snowballs ; now,
a cold white altar of snow with fire blazing on it ; now, a dreary
open space of mound and fell, snowed smoothly over, and closed in
at last by sullen cities of chimneys. Not altogether agreeable to
think of crossing such space without a guide, and being swallowed
by a long-abandoned, long-forgotten shaft. Not even agreeable, in
this undermined country, to think of half a dozen railway arches
with the train upon them, suddenly vanishing through the snow into
the excavated depths of a coal-forest.

Snow, wind, ice, and Wolverhampton — all together. No carriage
at the station, everything snowed up. So much the better. The
Swan will take us under its warm wing, walking or riding. Where
is the Swan's nest ? In the market-place. So much the better yet,
for it is market-day, and there will be something to see from the
Swan's nest.

Up the streets of Wolverhampton, where the doctor's bright
door-plate is dimmed as if Old Winter's breath were on it, and the
lawyer's office window is appropriately misty, to the market-place :
448

FIRE AND SNOW

where we find a cheerful bustle and plenty of people — for the most
part pretending not to like the snow, but liking it very much, as
people generally do. The Swan is a bird of a good substantial brood,
worthy to be a country cousin of the hospitable Hen and Chickens,
whose company we have deserted for only a few hours and with
whom we shall roost again at Birmingham to-night. The Swan has
bountiful coal-country notions of firing, snug homely rooms, cheerful
windows looking down upon the clusters of snowy umbrellas in
the market-place, and on the chaffering and chattering which is
pleasantly hushed by the thick white down lying so deep, and softly
falling still. Neat bright-eyed waitresses do the honours of the
Swan. The Swan is confident about its soup, is troubled with no
distrust concerning cod-fish, speaks the word of promise in relation
to an enormous chine of roast beef, one of the dishes at * the Iron
masters' dinner,' which will be disengaged at four. The Ironmasters'
dinner ! It has an imposing sound. We think of the Ironmasters
joking, drinking to their Ironmistresses, clinking their glasses with a
metallic ring, and comporting themselves at the festive board with
the might of men who have mastered Iron.

Now for a walk ! Not in the direction of the furnaces, which we
will see to-night when darkness shall set off the fires ; but in the
country with our faces towards Wales. Say, ye hoary finger-posts
whereon the name of picturesque old Shrewsbury is written in
characters of frost; ye hedges lately bare, that have burst into
snowy foliage ; ye glittering trees from which the wind blows
sparkling dust; ye high drifts by the roadside, which are blue
a-top, where ye are seen opposed to the bright red and yellow of
the horizon ; say all of ye, is summer the only season for enjoyable
walks ! Answer, roguish crow, alighting on a sheep's back to pluck
his wool off for an extra blanket, and skimming away, so black, over
the white field ; give us your opinion, swinging ale-house signs,
and cosey little bars ; speak out, farrier's shed with faces all a-glow,
fountain of sparks, heaving bellows, and ringing music ; tell us,
cottage hearths and sprigs of holly in cottage windows ; be eloquent
in praise of wintry walks, you sudden blasts of wind that pass like
shiverings of Nature, you deep roads, you solid fragments of old
hayricks with your fragrance frozen in ! Even you, drivers of
toiling carts, coal-laden, keeping company together behind your
charges, dog-attended and basket-bearing : even you, though it is
VOL. I : FF 449

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

no easy work to stop, every now and then, and chip the snow away
from the clogged wheels with picks, will have a fair word to say for
winter, will you not !

Down to the solitary factory in the dip of the road, deserted of
holiday-makers, and where the water-mill is frozen up — then turn.
As we draw nigh to our bright bird again, the early evening is
closing in, the cold increases, the snow deadens and darkens, and
lights spring up in the shops. A wet walk, ankle deep in snow the
whole way. We must buy some stockings, and borrow the Swan's
slippers before dinner.

It is a mercy that we step into the toy-shop to buy a pocket-
comb too, or the pretty child-customer (as it seems to us, the only
other customer the elderly lady of the toy-shop has lately had),
might have stood divided between the two puzzles at one shilling
each, until the putting up of the shutters. But, the incursion of
our fiery faces and snowy dresses, coupled with our own individual
recommendation of the puzzle on the right hand, happily turn the
scale. The best of pocket-combs for a shilling, and now for the
stockings. Dibbs ' don't keep 'em,' though he writes up that he
does, and Jibbs is so beleaguered by country people making market-
day and Christmas-week purchases, that his shop is choked to the
pavement. Mibbs is the man for our money, and Mibbs keeps
everything in the stocking line, though he may not exactly know
where to find it. However, he finds what we want, in an inaccessible
place, after going up ladders for it like a lamplighter ; and a very
good article it is, and a very civil worthy trader Mibbs is, and may
Mibbs increase and multiply ! Likewise young Mibbs, unacquainted
with the price of anything in stock, and young Mibbs's aunt who
attends to the ladies' department.

The Swan is rich in slippers — in those good old flip-flap inn
slippers which nobody can keep on, which knock double knocks on
every stair as their wearer comes downstairs, and fly away over the
banisters before they have brought him to level ground. Rich also
is the Swan in wholesome well-cooked dinner, and in tender chine of
beef, so brave in size that the mining of all the powerful Iron
masters is but a sufficient outlet for its gravy. Rich in things
wholesome and sound and unpretending is the Swan, except that we
would recommend the good bird not to dip its beak into its sherry.
Under the change from snow and wind to hot soup, drawn red
450

FIRE AND SNOW

curtains, fire and candle, we observe our demonstrations at first to
be very like the engine's at the little station ; but they subside, and
we dine vigorously — another tribute to a winter walk ! — and finding
that the Swan's ideas of something hot to drink are just and laud
able, we adopt the same, with emendations (in the matter of lemon
chiefly) of which modesty and total abstinence principles forbid the
record. Then, thinking drowsily and delightfully of all things that
have occurred to us during the last four-and-twenty hours, and of
most things that have occurred to us during the last four-and-twenty
years, we sit in arm chairs, amiably basking before the fire — play
things for infancy — creatures to be asked a favour of — until aroused
by the fragrance of hot tea and muffins. These we have ordered,
principally as a perfume.

The bill of the Swan is to be commended as not out of propor
tion to its plumage ; and now, our walking shoes being dried and
baked, we must get them on somehow — for the rosy driver with his
carriage and pair who is to take us among the fires on the blasted
heath by Bilston announces from under a few shawls, and the collars
of three or four coats, that we must be going. Away we go,
obedient to the summons, and, having taken leave of the lady in the
Swan's bar opposite the door, who is almost rustled out of her glass
case and blown upstairs whenever the door opens, we are presently in
outer darkness grinding the snow.

Soon the fires begin to appear. In all this ashy country, there is
still not a cinder visible ; in all this land of smoke, not a stain upon
the universal white. A very novel and curious sight is presented by
the hundreds of great fires blazing in the midst of the cold dead
snow. They illuminate it very little. Sometimes, the construction
of a furnace, kiln, or chimney, admits of a tinge being thrown upon
the pale ground near it ; but, generally the fire burns in its own
sullen ferocity, and the snow lies impassive and untouched. There is
a glare in the sky, flickering now and then over the greater furnaces,
but the earth lies stiff in its winding sheet, and the huge corpse
candles burning above it affect it no more than colossal tapers of
state move dead humanity.

Sacrificial altars, varying in size, but all gigantic, and all made of
ice and snow, abound. Tongues of flame shoot up from them, and
pillars of fire turn and twist upon them. Fortresses on fire, a whole
town in a blaze, Moscow newly kindled, we see fifty times; rattling

451

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

and crashing noises strike the ear, and the wind is loud. Thus,
crushing the snow with our wheels, and sidling over hillocks of it, and
sinking into drifts of it, we roll on softly through a forest of conflagra
tion ; the rosy-faced driver, concerned for the honour of his locality,
much regretting that many fires are making holiday to-night, and
that we see so few.

Come we at last to the precipitous wooden steps by which we are
to be mast-headed at a railway station. Good night to rosy-face,
the cheeriest man we know, and up. Station very gritty, as a
general characteristic. Station very dark, the gas being frozen.
Station very cold, as any timber cabin suspended in the air with such
a wind making lunges at it, would be. Station very dreary, being
a station. Man and boy behind money-taking partition, checking
accounts, and not able to unravel a knot of seven-and-sixpence.
Small boy, with a large packet on his back, like Christian with his
bundle of sins, sent down into the snow an indefinite depth and
distance, with instructions to 'look sharp in delivering that, and
then cut away back here for another.' Second small boy in search of
basket for Mr. Brown, unable to believe that it is not there, and that
anybody can have dared to disappoint Brown. Six third-class
passengers prowling about, and trying in the dim light of one oil
lamp to read with interest the dismal time-bills and notices about
throwing stones at trains, upon the walls. Two more, scorching
themselves at the rusty stove. Shivering porter going in and out,
bell in hand, to look for the train, which is overdue, finally gives it
up for the present, and puts down the bell — also the spirits of the
passengers. In our own innocence we repeatedly mistake the roaring
of the nearest furnace for the approach of the train, run out, and
return covered with ignominy. Train in sight at last — but the other
train — which don't stop here — and it seems to tear the trembling
station limb from limb, as it rushes through. Finally, some half an
hour behind its time through the tussle it has had with the snow,
comes our expected engine, shrieking with indignation and grief.
And as we pull the clean white coverlet over us in bed at Birmingham,
we think of the whiteness lying on the broad landscape all around
for many a frosty windy mile, and find that it makes bed very com
fortable.

452

ON STRIKE

[FEBRUARY 11, 1854]

TRAVELLING down to Preston a week from this date, I chanced to sit
opposite to a very acute, very determined, very emphatic personage,
with a stout railway rug so drawn over his chest that he looked as
if he were sitting up in bed with his great-coat, hat, and gloves on,
severely contemplating your humble servant from behind a large
blue and grey checked counterpane. In calling him emphatic, I do
not mean that he was warm ; he was coldly and bitingly emphatic
as a frosty wind is.

' You are going through to Preston, sir ? ' says he, as soon as we
were clear of the Primrose Hill tunnel.

The receipt of his question was like the receipt of a jerk of the
nose ; he was so short and sharp.

«Yes.'

' This Preston strike is a nice piece of business ! ' said the gentle
man. ' A pretty piece of business ! '

* It is very much to be deplored,' said I, * on all accounts.'
'They want to be ground. That's what they want, to bring

'em to their senses,' said the gentleman ; whom I had already began
to call in my own mind Mr. Snapper, and whom I may as well call
by that name here as by any other.

I deferentially enquired, who wanted to be ground ?

' The hands,' said Mr. Snapper. * The hands on strike, and the
hands who help 'em.'

I remarked that if that was all they wanted, they must be a very
unreasonable people, for surely they had had a little grinding, one
way and another, already. Mr. Snapper eyed me with sternness, and
after opening and shutting his leathern-gloved hands several times
outside his counterpane, asked me abruptly, ' Was I a delegate ? '

I set Mr. Snapper right on that point, and told him I was no
delegate.

* I am glad to hear it,' said Mr. Snapper. ' But a friend to the
Jtrike, I believe ? '

Not at all,' said I.

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/" * A friend to the Lock-out ? ' pursued Mr. Snapper.

* Not in the least,1 said I.

\ Mr. Snapper's rising opinion of me fell again, and he gave me to

\ understand that a man must either be a friend to the Masters or a
/ friend to the Hands.

' He may be a friend to both,' said I.

Mr. Snapper didn't see that; there was no medium in the
Political Economy of the subject. I retorted on Mr. Snapper, that
Political Economy was a great and useful science in its own way and
its own place ; but that I did not transplant my definition of it
from the Common Prayer Book, and make it a great king above all
gods. Mr. Snapper tucked himself up as if to keep me off, folded
, his arms on the top of his counterpane, leaned back, and looked out
of window.

* Pray what would you have, sir,' enquired Mr. Snapper, suddenly
withdrawing his eyes from the prospect to me, 'in the relations
between Capital and Labour, but Political Economy ? '

I always avoid the stereotyped terms in these discussions as much
as I can, for I have observed, in my little way, that they often supply
the place of sense and moderation. I therefore took my gentleman
up with the words employers and employed, in preference to Capital
jand Labour.

* I believe,' said I, * that into the relations between employers
and employed, as into all the relations of this life, there must enter

\ something of feeling and sentiment ; something of mutual explana-
A tion, forbearance, and consideration ; something which is not to be
/ found in Mr. McCulloch's dictionary, and is not exactly stateable in

figures ; otherwise those relations are wrong and rotten at the core
\^ and will never bear sound fruit.'

Mr. Snapper laughed at me. As I thought I had just as good

reason to laugh at Mr. Snapper, I did so, and we were both

contented.

4 Ah ! ' said Mr. Snapper, patting his counterpane with a hard

touch. * You know very little of the improvident and unreasoning

habits of the common people, / see.'

* Yet I know something of those people, too,' was my reply. ' In

fact, Mr. ,' I had so nearly called him Snapper ! ' in fact, sir, I

doubt the existence at this present time of many faults that are
merely class faults. In the main, I am disposed to think that what-

454

ON STRIKE

ever faults you may find to exist, in your own neighbourhood for
instance, among the hands, you will find tolerably equal in amount,

* J J T.

among the masters also, and even among the classes above the
masters. They will be modified by circumstances, and they will be
the less excusable among the better-educated, but they will be
pretty fairly distributed. I have a strong expectation that we shall
live to see the conventional adjectives now apparently inseparable
from the phrases working people and lower orders, gradually fall
into complete disuse for this reason.' '

'Well, but we began with strikes,' Mr. Snapper observed im
patiently. ' The masters have never had any share in strikes.'

'Yet I have heard of strikes once upon a time in that same
county of Lancashire,' said I, ' which were not disagreeable to some
masters when they wanted a pretext for raising prices.'

' Do you mean to say those masters had any hand in getting up
those strikes ? ' asked Mr. Snapper.

' You will perhaps obtain better information among persons
engaged in some Manchester branch trades, who have good
memories,' said I.

Mr. Snapper had no doubt, after this, that I thought the hands
had a right to combine ?

'Surely,' said I. 'A perfect right to combine in any lawful
manner. The fact of their being able to combine and accustomed
to combine may, I can easily conceive, be a protection to them.
The blame even of this business is not all on one side. I think the
associated Lock-out was a grave error. And when you Preston
masters '

' 7 am not a Preston master,' interrupted Mr. Snapper.

' When the respectable combined body of Preston masters,' said
I, 'in the beginning of this unhappy difference, laid down the
principle that no man should be employed henceforth who belonged
to any combination — such as their own — they attempted to carry
with a high hand a partial and unfair impossibility, and were
obliged to abandon it. This was an unwise proceeding, and the
first defeat.'

Mr. Snapper had known, all along, that I was no friend to the
masters.

' Pardon me,' said I, ' I am unfeignedly a friend to the masters,
and have many friends among them.'

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' Yet you think these hands in the right ? ' quoth Mr. Snapper.

1 By no means,' said I ; * I fear they are at present engaged in an
unreasonable struggle, wherein they began ill and cannot end well.'

Mr. Snapper, evidently regarding me as neither fish, flesh, nor
fowl, begged to know after a pause if he might enquire whether I
was going to Preston on business ?

Indeed I was going there, in my unbusinesslike manner, I con
fessed, to look at the strike.

* To look at the strike ! ' echoed Mr. Snapper, fixing his hat on
firmly with both hands. * To look at it ! Might I ask you now,
with what object you are going to look at it?'

f Certainly,' said I, * I read, even in liberal pages, the hardest
Political Economy — of an extraordinary description too sometimes,
and certainly not to be found in the books — as the only touchstone
of this strike. I see, this very day, in a to-morrow's liberal paper,
some astonishing novelties in the politico-economical way, showing
how profits and wages have no connexion whatever ; coupled with
such references to these hands as might be made by a very irascible
General to rebels and brigands in arms. Now, if it be the case that
some of the highest virtues of the working people still shine through
them brighter than ever in their conduct of this mistake of theirs,
perhaps the fact may reasonably suggest to me — and to others
besides me — that there is some little thing wanting in the relations
between them and their employers, which neither political economy
nor Drum-head proclamation writing will altogether supply, and
which we cannot too soon or too temperately unite in trying to
find out.'

Mr. Snapper, after again opening and shutting his gloved hands
several times, drew the counterpane higher over his chest, and went
to bed in disgust. He got up at Rugby, took himself and counter
pane into another carriage, and left me to pursue my journey alone.

When I got to Preston, it was four o'clock in the afternoon.
The day being Saturday and market-day, a foreigner might have
expected, from among so many idle and not over-fed people as
the town contained, to find a turbulent, ill-conditioned crowd in the
streets. But, except for the cold smokeless factory chimnies, the
placards at the street corners, and the groups of working people
attentively reading them, nor foreigner nor Englishman could have
had the least suspicion that there existed any interruption to the
456

ON STRIKE

usual labours of the place. The placards thus perused were not
remarkable for their logic certainly, and did not make the case
particularly clear ; but, considering that they emanated from, and
were addressed to, people who had been out of employment for
three-and-twenty consecutive weeks, at least they had little passion
in them, though they had not much reason. Take the worst I
could find :

1 FRIENDS AND FELLOW OPERATIVES,

' Accept the grateful thanks of twenty thousand struggling Opera
tives, for the help you have showered upon Preston since the present
contest commenced.

' Your kindness and generosity, your patience and long-continued
support deserve every praise, and are only equalled by the heroic and
determined perseverance of the outraged and insulted factory workers of
Preston, who have been struggling for some months, and are, at this
inclement season of the year, bravely battling for the rights of them
selves and the whole toiling community.

' For many years before the strike took place at Preston, the Opera
tives were the down trodden and insulted serfs of their Employers, who
in times of good trade and general prosperity, wrung from their labour
a California of gold, which is now being used to crush those who created
it, still lower and lower in the scale of civilisation. This has been
the result of our commercial prosperity ! — more rvealth for the rich and
more poverty for the Poor ! Because the workpeople of Preston protested
against this state of things, — because they combined in a fair and legiti
mate way for the purpose of getting a reasonable share of the reward
of their own labour, the fair dealing Employers of Preston, to their
eternal shame and disgrace locked up their Mills, and at one fell swoop
deprived, as they thought, from twenty to thirty thousand human beings
of the means of existence. Cruelty and tyranny always defeat their
own object; it was so in this case, and to the honour and credit of
the working classes of this country, we have to record, that, those whom
the rich and wealthy sought to destroy, the poor and industrious have
protected from harm. This love of justice and hatred of wrong, is a
noble feature in the character and disposition of the working man, and
gives us hope that in the future, this world will become what its great
architect intended, not a place of sorrow, toil, oppression and wrong,
but the dwelling place and the abode of peace, plenty, happiness and
love, where avarice and all the evil passions engendered by the present
system of fraud and injustice shall not have a place.

457

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

' The earth was not made for the misery of its people ; intellect was
not given to man to make himself and fellow creatures unhappy. No,
the fruitfulness of the soil and the wonderful inventions — the result of
mind — all proclaim that these things were bestowed upon us for our
happiness and well-being, and not for the misery and degradation of the
human race.

' It may serve the manufacturers and all who run away with the
lion's share of labour's produce, to say that the impartial God intended
that there should be a partial distribution of his blessings. But we know
that it is against nature to believe, that those who plant and reap all the
grain, should not have enough to make a mess of porridge; and we
know that those who weave all the cloth should not want a yard to
cover their persons, whilst those who never wove an inch have more
calico, silks and satins, than would serve the reasonable wants of a
dozen working men and their families.

' This system of giving everything to the few, and nothing to the
many, has lasted long enough, and we call upon the working people of
this country to be determined to establish a new and improved system —
a system that shall give to all who labour, a fair share of those blessings
and comforts which their toil produce ; in short, we wish to see that
divine precept enforced, which says, " Those who will not work, shall
not eat."

' The task is before you, working men ; if you think the good which
would result from its accomplishment, is worth struggling for, set to
work and cease not, until you have obtained the good time coming, not
only for the Preston Operatives, but for yourselves as well.

'By Order of the Committee.

' MURPHY'S TEMPERANCE HOTEL, CHAPEL WALKS,
' PRESTON, January 24M, 1854.'

It is a melancholy thing that it should not occur to the Com
mittee to consider what would become of themselves, their friends,
and fellow operatives, if those calicoes, silks, and satins, were not
worn in very large quantities ; but I shall not enter into that
question. As I had told my friend Snapper, what I wanted to see
with my own eyes, was, how these people acted under a mistaken
impression, and what qualities they showed, even at that disadvan
tage, which ought to be the strength and peace — not the weakness
and trouble — of the community. I found, even from this litera
ture, however, that all masters were not indiscriminately unpopular.
458

ON STRIKE

Witness the following verses from the New Song of the Preston
Strike:

' There's Henry Hornby, of Blackburn, he is a jolly brick,
He fits the Preston masters nobly, and is very bad to trick ;
He pays his hands a good price, and I hope he will never sever,
So we '11 sing success to Hornby and Blackburn for ever.

' There is another gentleman, I 'm sure you '11 all lament,
In Blackburn for him they're raising a monument,
You know his name, 'tis of great fame, it was late Eccles of honour,
May Hopwood, and Sparrow, and Hornby live for ever.

' So now it is time to finish and end my rhyme,
We warn these Preston Cotton Lords to mind for future time.
With peace and order too I hope we shall be clever,
We sing success to Stockport and Blackburn for ever.
' Now, lads, give your minds to it.'

The balance sheet of the receipts and expenditure for the twenty-
third week of the strike was extensively posted. The income for
that week was two thousand one hundred and forty pounds odd.
Some of the contributors were poetical. As,

' Love to all and peace to the dead,
May the poor now in need never want bread —

three - and - sixpence.' The following poetical remonstrance was
appended to the list of contributions from the Gorton district .

' Within these walls the lasses fair
Refuse to contribute their share,
Careless of duty — blind to fame,
For shame, ye lasses, oh ! for shame !
Come, pay up, lasses, think what's right,
Defend your trade with all your might ;
For if you don't the world will blame,
And cry, ye lasses, oh, for shame !
Let 's hope in future all will pay,
That Preston folks may shortly say —
That by your aid they have obtain'd
The greatest victory ever gained.'

Some of the subscribers veiled their names under encouraging
sentiments, as Not tired yet, All in a mind, Win the day, Fraternity,
and the like. Some took jocose appellations, as A stunning friend,

459

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

Two to one Preston wins, Nibbling Joe, and The Donkey Driver.
Some expressed themselves through their trades, as Cobbler Dick,
sixpence, The tailor true, sixpence, Shoemaker, a shilling, The
chirping blacksmith, sixpence, and A few of Maskery's most feeling
coachmakers, three and threepence. An old balance sheet for the
fourteenth week of the Strike was headed with this quotation from
Mr. Carlyle, * Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man ; but for
one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will
stand adversity.1 The Elton district prefaced its report with these
lines :

' Oh ! ye who start a noble scheme,

For general good designed ;
Ye workers in a cause that tends

To benefit your kind !
Mark out the path ye fain would tread,

The game ye mean to play ;
And if it be an honest one,

Keep steadfast in your way !

' Although you may not gain at once

The points ye most desire ;
Be patient — time can wonders work ;

Plod on, and do not tire :
Obstructions, too, may crowd your path,

In threatening, stern array ;
Yet flinch not ! fear not ! they may prove

Mere shadows in your way.

' Then, while there 's work for you to do,

Stand not despairing by,
Let " forward " be the move ye make,

Let " onward " be your cry ;
And when success has crowned your plans,

'Twill all your pains repay,
To see the good your labour's done —

Then droop not on your way.'

In this list, ' Bear ye one another's burthens,' sent one Pound
fifteen. * We '11 stand to our text, see that ye love one another,'
sent nineteen shillings. ' Christopher Hardman's men again, they
say they can always spare one shilling out of ten,' sent two-and-
sixpence. The following masked threats were the worst feature in
any bill I saw : —
460

ON STRIKE

* If that fiddler at Uncle Tom's Cabin blowing room does not pay,
Punch will set his legs straight.

'If that drawer at card side and those two slubbers do not pay,
Punch will say something about their bustles.

' If that winder at last shift does not pay next week, Punch will tell
about her actions.'

But, on looking at this bill again, I found that it came from Bury
and related to Bury, and had nothing to do with Preston. The
Masters' placards were not torn down or disfigured, but were being
read quite as attentively as those on the opposite side.

That evening, the Delegates from the surrounding districts were
coming in, according to custom, with their subscription lists for the
week j ust closed. These delegates meet on Sunday as their only day
of leisure ; when they have made their reports, they go back to their
homes and their Monday's work. On Sunday morning, I repaired
to the Delegates' meeting.

These assemblages take place in a cockpit, which, in the better
times of our fallen land, belonged to the late Lord Derby for the
purposes of the intellectual recreation implied in its name. I was
directed to the cockpit up a narrow lane, tolerably crowded by the
lower sort of working people. Personally, I was quite unknown in
the town, but every one made way for me to pass, with great civility,
and perfect good humour. Arrived at the cockpit door, and express
ing my desire to see and hear, I was handed through the crowd,
down into the pit, and up again, until I found myself seated on the
topmost circular bench, within one of the secretary's table, and
within three of the chairman. Behind the chairman was a great
crown on the top of a pole, made of parti-coloured calico, and
strongly suggestive of May-day. There was no other symbol or
ornament in the place.

It was hotter than any mill or factory I have ever been in ; but
there was a stove down in the sanded pit, and delegates were seated
close to it, and one particular delegate often warmed his hands at it,
as if he were chilly. The air was so intensely close and hot, that at
first I had but a confused perception of the delegates down in the
pit, and the dense crowd of eagerly listening men and women (but
not very many of the latter) filling all the benches and choking such
narrow standing-room as there was. When the atmosphere cleared
a little on better acquaintance, I found the question under discussion

461

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

to be, Whether the Manchester Delegates in attendance from the
Labour Parliament, should be heard ?

If the Assembly, in respect of quietness and order, were put in
comparison with the House of Commons, the Right Honourable the
Speaker himself would decide for Preston. The chairman was a
Preston weaver, two or three and fifty years of age, perhaps ; a man
with a capacious head, rather long dark hair growing at the sides
and back, a placid attentive face, keen eyes, a particularly composed
manner, a quiet voice, and a persuasive action of his right arm.
Now look'ee heer my friends. See what t' question is. T question
is, sholl these heer men be heerd. Then 't cooms to this, what ha'
these men got t'tell us? Do they bring mooney? If they bring
mooney fords t'expences o' this strike, they're welcome. For, Brass,
my friends, is what we want, and what we must ha1 (hear hear hear !).
Do they coom to us wi' any suggestion for the conduct of this strike ?
If they do, they're welcome. Let 'em give us their advice and we
will hearken to 't. But, if these men coom heer, to tell us what
t' Labour Parliament is, or what Ernest Jones's opinions is, or t' bring
in politics and differences amoong us when what we want is 'armony,
brotherly love, and con-cord ; then I say t' you, decide for yoursel'
carefully, whether these men ote to be heerd in this place. (Hear
hear hear ! and No no no !) Chairman sits down, earnestly regard
ing delegates, and holding both arms of his chair. Looks extremely
sensible ; his plain coarse working man's shirt collar easily turned
down over his loose Belcher neckerchief. Delegate who has moved
that Manchester delegates be heard, presses motion — Mr. Chairman,
will that delegate tell us, as a man, that these men have anything to
say concerning this present strike and lock-out, for we have a deal
of business to do, and what concerns this present strike and lock-out
is our business and nothing else is. (Hear hear hear !) — Delegate in
question will not compromise the fact ; these men want to defend
the Labour Parliament from certain charges made against them. —
Very well, Mr. Chairman, Then I move as an amendment that you
do not hear these men now, and that you proceed wi' business — and
if you don't I'll look after you, I tell you that. (Cheers and
laughter) — Coom lads, prove 't then ! — Two or three hands for the
delegates; all the rest for the business. Motion lost, amendment
carried, Manchester deputation not to be heard.

But now, starts up the delegate from Throstletown, in a dreadful
462

ON STRIKE

state of mind. Mr. Chairman, I hold in my hand a bill ; a bill that
requires and demands explanation from you, sir ; an offensive bill ;
a bill posted in my town of Throstletown without my knowledge,
without the knowledge of my fellow delegates who are here beside
me ; a bill purporting to be posted by the authority of the massed
committee, sir, and of which my fellow delegates and myself were
kept in ignorance. Why are we to be slighted ? Why are we to be
insulted ? Why are we to be meanly stabbed in the dark ? Why is
this assassin-like course of conduct to be pursued towards us ? Why
is Throstletown, which has nobly assisted you, the operatives of
Preston, in this great struggle, and which has brought its contribu
tions up to the full sevenpence a loom, to be thus degraded, thus
aspersed, thus traduced, thus despised, thus outraged in its feelings
by un-English and unmanly conduct ? Sir, I hand you up that bill,
and I require of you, sir, to give me a satisfactory explanation of
that bill. And I have that confidence in your known integrity, sir,
as to be sure that you will give it, and that you will tell us who is
to blame, and that you will make reparation to Throstletown for
this scandalous treatment. Then, in hot blood, up starts Gruffshaw
(professional speaker) who is somehow responsible for this bill. O
my friends, but explanation is required here ! O my friends, but it
is fit and right that you should have the dark ways of the real
traducers and apostates, and the real un-English stabbers, laid bare
before you. My friends when this dark conspiracy first began — But
here the persuasive right hand of the chairman falls gently on
Gruffshaw's shoulder. Gruffshaw stops in full boil. My friends,
these are hard words of my friend Gruffshaw, and this is not the
business — No more it is, and once again, sir, I, the delegate who
said I would look after you, do move that you proceed to business ! —
Preston has not the strong relish for personal altercation that West
minster hath. Motion seconded and carried, business passed to,
Gruffshaw dumb.

Perhaps the world could not afford a more remarkable contrast
than between the deliberate collected manner of these men proceed
ing with their business, and the clash and hurry of the engines
among which their lives are passed. Their astonishing fortitude
and perseverance ; their high sense of honour among themselves ; the
extent to which they are impressed with the responsibility that is
upon them of setting a careful example, and keeping their order out

463

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

of any harm and loss of reputation ; the noble readiness in them to
help one another, of which most medical practitioners and working
clergymen can give so many affecting examples ; could scarcely ever
be plainer to an ordinary observer of human nature than in this
cockpit. To hold, for a minute, that the great mass of them were
not sincerely actuated by the belief that all these qualities were
bound up in what they were doing, and that they were doing right,
seemed to me little short of an impossibility. As the different
delegates (some in the very dress in which they had left the mill
last night) reported the amounts sent from the various places they
represented, this strong faith on their parts seemed expressed in
every tone and every look that was capable of expressing it. One man
was raised to enthusiasm by his pride in bringing so much ; another
man was ashamed and depressed because he brought so little ; this
man triumphantly made it known that he could give you, from the
store in hand, a hundred pounds in addition next week, if you
should want it; and that man pleaded that he hoped his district
would do better before long; but I could as soon have doubted
the existence of the walls that enclosed us, as the earnestness
with which they spoke (many of them referring to the children
who were to be born to labour after them) of ' this great, this noble,
gallant, godlike struggle.' Some designing and turbulent spirits
among them, no doubt there are ; but I left the place with a pro
found conviction that their mistake is generally an honest one, and
that it is sustained by the good that is in them, and not by the
evil.

Neither by night nor by day was there any interruption to the
peace of the streets. Nor was this an accidental state of things, for
the police records of the town are eloquent to the same effect. I
traversed the streets very much, and was, as a stranger, the subject
of a little curiosity among the idlers ; but I met with no rudeness
or ill-temper. More than once, when I was looking at the printed
balance-sheets to which I have referred, and could not quite compre
hend the setting forth of the figures, a bystander of the working
class interposed with his explanatory forefinger and helped me out.
Although the pressure in the cockpit on Sunday was excessive, and
the heat of the room obliged me to make my way out as I best could
before the close of the proceedings, none of the people whom I put
to inconvenience showed the least impatience ; all helped me, and
464

ON STRIKE

all cheerfully acknowledged my word of apology as I passed. It is
very probable, notwithstanding, that they may have supposed from
my being there at all — I and my companion were the only persons
present, not of their own order — that I was there to carry what I
heard and saw to the opposite side ; indeed one speaker seemed to
intimate as much.

On the Monday at noon, I returned to this cockpit, to see the
people paid. It was then about half filled, principally with girls and
women. They were all seated, waiting, with nothing to occupy
their attention; and were just in that state when the unexpected
appearance of a stranger differently dressed from themselves, and
with his own individual peculiarities of course, might, without
offence, have had something droll in it even to more polite
assemblies. But I stood there, looking on, as free from remark as
if I had come to be paid with the rest. In the place which the
secretary had occupied yesterday, stood a dirty little common table,
covered witli five-penny piles of halfpence. Before the paying began,
I wondered who was going to receive these very small sums; but
when it did begin, the mystery was soon cleared up. Each of these
piles was the change for sixpence, deducting a penny. All who were
paid, in filing round the building to prevent confusion, had to pass
this table on the way out ; and the greater part of the unmarried
girls stopped here, to change, each a sixpence, and subscribe her
weekly penny in aid of the people on strike who had families. A
very large majority of these girls and women were comfortably
dressed in all respects, clean, wholesome and pleasant -looking.
There was a prevalent neatness and cheerfulness, and an almost
ludicrous absence of anything like sullen discontent.

Exactly the same appearances were observable on the same day,
at a not numerously attended open air meeting in ' Chadwick's
Orchard ' — which blossoms in nothing but red bricks. Here, the
chairman of yesterday presided in a cart, from which speeches were
delivered. The proceedings commenced with the following suffi
ciently general and discursive hymn, given out by a workman from
Burnley, and sung in long metre by the whole audience :

'Assembled beneath thy broad blue sky,
To thee, O God, thy children cry.
Thy needy creatures on Thee call,
For thou art great and good to all.
VOL. I : GG 465

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' Thy bounty smiles on every side,
And no good thing hast thou denied ;
But men of wealth and men of power,
Like locusts, all our gifts devour.

' Awake, ye sons of toil ! nor sleep
While millions starve, while millions weep ;
Demand your rights ; let tyrants see
You are resolred that you '11 be free.'

Mr. Hollins's Sovereign Mill was open all this time. It is a very
beautiful mill, containing a large amount of valuable machinery, to
which some recent ingenious improvements have been added. Four
hundred people could find employment in it ; there were eighty-five
at work, of whom five had * come in ' that morning. They looked,
among the vast array of motionless power-looms, like a few remain
ing leaves in a wintry forest. They were protected by the police
(very prudently not obtruded on the scenes I have described), and
were stared at every day when they came out, by a crowd which had
never been large in reference to the numbers on strike, and had
diminished to a score or two. One policeman at the door sufficed
to keep order then. These eighty-five were people of exceedingly
decent appearance, chiefly women, and were evidently not in the
least uneasy for themselves. I heard of one girl among them, and
only one, who had been hustled and struck in a dark street.

In any aspect in which it can be viewed, this strike and lock-out
is a deplorable calamity. In its waste of time, in its waste of a
great people's energy, in its waste of wages, in its waste of wealth
that seeks to be employed, in its encroachment on the means of
many thousands who are labouring from day to day, in the gulf of
separation it hourly deepens between those whose interests must be
understood to be identical or must be destroyed, it is a great
national affliction. But, at this pass, anger is of no use, starving
out is of no use — for what will that do, five years hence, but over
shadow all the mills in England with the growth of a bitter remem
brance ? — political economy is a mere skeleton unless it has a little
human covering and filling out, a little human bloom upon it, and
a little human warmth in it. Gentlemen are found, in great manu
facturing towns, ready enough to extol imbecile mediation with
dangerous madmen abroad ; can none of them be brought to think
of authorised mediation and explanation at home? I do not
466

THE LATE MR. JUSTICE TALFOURD

suppose that such a knotted difficulty as this, is to be at all un- \
tangled by a morning-party in the Adelphi ; but I would entreat
both sides now so miserably opposed, to consider whether there
are no men in England, above suspicion, to whom they might refer
the matters in dispute, with a perfect confidence above all things
in the desire of those men to act justly, and in their sincere attach
ment to their countrymen of every rank and to their country.
Masters right, or men right ; masters wrong, or men wrong ; both
right, or both wrong ; there is certain ruin to both in the continu
ance or frequent revival of this breach. And from the ever- widen
ing circle of their decay, what drop in the social ocean shall be
free I

THE LATE MR. JUSTICE TALFOURD

[MARCH 25, 1854]

THE readers of these pages will have known, many days before the
present number can come into their hands, that on Monday the
thirteenth of March, this upright judge and good man died suddenly
at Stafford in the discharge of his duties. Mercifully spared pro
tracted pain and mental decay, he passed away in a moment, with
words of Christian eloquence, of brotherly tenderness and kindness
towards all men, yet unfinished on his lips.

As he died, he had always lived. So amiable a man, so gentle,
so sweet-tempered, of such a noble simplicity, so perfectly unspoiled
by his labours and their rewards, is very rare indeed upon this earth.
These lines are traced by the faltering hand of a friend ; but none
can so fully know how true they are, as those who knew him under
all circumstances, and found him ever the same.

In his public aspects ; in his poems, in his speeches, on the
bench, at the bar, in Parliament ; he was widely appreciated,
honoured, and beloved. Inseparable as his great and varied abilities
were from himself in life, it is yet to himself and not to them, that
affection in its first grief naturally turns. They remain, but he is
lost.

The chief delight of his life was to give delight to others. His
nature was so exquisitely kind, that to be kind was its highest

467

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

happiness. Those who had the privilege of seeing him in his own
home when his public successes were greatest, — so modest, so con
tented with little things, so interested in humble persons and
humble efforts, so surrounded by children and young people, so
adored in remembrance of a domestic generosity and greatness ot
heart too sacred to be unveiled here, can never forget the pleasure
of that sight.

If ever there were a house, in England, justly celebrated for the
reverse of the picture, where every art was honoured for its own
sake, and where every visitor was received for his own claims and
merits, that house was his. It was in this respect a great example,
as sorely needed as it will be sorely missed. Rendering all legitimate
deference to rank and riches, there never was a man more com
posedly, unaffectedly, quietly, immovable by such considerations
than the subject of this sorrowing remembrance. On the other
hand, nothing would have astonished him so much as the sugges
tion that he was anybody's patron or protector. His dignity was
ever of that highest and purest sort which has no occasion to pro
claim itself, and which is not in the least afraid of losing itself.

In the first joy of his appointment to the judicial bench, he
made a summer-visit to the sea-shore, ' to share his exultation in the
gratification of his long-cherished ambition, with the friend ' — now
among the many friends who mourn his death and lovingly recall
his virtues. Lingering in the bright moonlight at the close of a
happy day, he spoke of his new functions, of his sense of the great
responsibility he undertook, and of his placid belief that the habits
of his professional life rendered him equal to their efficient dis
charge ; but, above all, he spoke, with an earnestness never more
to be separated in his friend's mind from the murmur of the sea
upon a moonlight night, of his reliance on the strength of his desire
to do right before God and man. He spoke with his own single
ness of heart, and his solitary hearer knew how deep and true his
purpose was. They passed, before parting for the night, into a
playful dispute at what age he should retire, and what he would
do at three-score years and ten. And ah ! within five short years,
it is all ended like a dream !

But, by the strength of his desire to do right, he was animated
to the last moment of his existence. Who, knowing England at
this time, would wish to utter with his last breath a more righteous
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IT IS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN

warning than that its curse is ignorance, or a miscalled education
which is as bad or worse, and a want of the exchange of innumer
able graces and sympathies among the various orders of society,
each hardened unto each and holding itself aloof ? Well will it be
for us and for our children, if those dying words be never henceforth
forgotten on the Judgment Seat.

An example in his social intercourse to those who are born to
station, an example equally to those who win it for themselves ;
teaching the one class to abate its stupid pride : the other, to stand
upon its eminence, not forgetting the road by which it got there,
and fawning upon no one ; the conscientious judge, the charming
writer and accomplished speaker, the gentle-hearted, guileless, affec
tionate man, has entered on a brighter world. Very, very many
have lost a friend ; nothing in Creation has lost an enemy.

The hand that lays this poor flower on his grave, was a mere
boy's when he first clasped it — newly come from the work in which
he himself began life — little used to the plough it has followed since
— obscure enough, with much to correct and learn. Each of its suc
cessive tasks through many intervening years has been cheered by
his warmest interest, and the friendship then begun has ripened to
maturity in the passage of time ; but there was no more self-asser
tion or condescension in his winning goodness at first, than at last.
The success of other men made as little change in him as his own.

IT IS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN

[SEPTEMBER 2, 1854]

ALL newspaper- readers are probably on familiar terms with this
phrase. It is not generally known that her Majesty's screw line-of-
battle ship Hogarth, one hundred and twenty, was precisely seven
years, seven months, seven days, seven hours, and seven minutes, on
the stocks in Portsmouth Yard. It is not generally known that
there is now in the garden of Mr. Pips, of Camberwell, a gooseberry
weighing upwards of three ounces, the growth of a tree which Mr.
Pips has reared entirely on warm toast and water. It is not gener
ally known that on the last rent day of the estates of the Earl of
Boozle, of Castle Boozle, his lordship remitted to his tenants five per

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cent, on all the amounts then paid up, and afterwards regaled them
on the good old English cheer of roast beef and humming ale. (It
is not generally known that ale in this connection always hums.)
It is not generally known that a testimonial in the form of a magnifi
cent silver centre-piece and candelabra, weighing five hundred
ounces, was on Tuesday last presented to Cocker Doodle, Esquire,
F.S.A., at a splendid banquet given him by a brilliant circle of his
friends and admirers, in testimony, no less of their admiration of his
qualities as a man, than of anything else you like to fill up the blank
with. It is not generally known that when Admiral Sir Charles
Napier was j unior post-captain on the African station, looking out
for slavers, his ship was one day boarded by a strange craft, in the
stern sheets of which sat a genuine specimen of the true British
seaman, who, as he dropped alongside, exclaimed in the voice of a
Stentor, * Avast heaving ! Old Charley, ahoy ! ' Upon this, the
admiral, then post-captain, who chanced at the moment to be pacing
the quarter-deck with his telescope at his eye (which it is not
generally known he never removes except at meals and when asleep)
looked good-humouredly over the starboard bulwarks, and responded,
waving his cocked hat, * Tom Gaff, ahoy, and I am glad to see you,
my lad ! ' They had never met since the year eighteen hundred and
fourteen, but Tom Gaff, like a true fok'sle salt, had never forgotten
his old rough and tough first luff (as he characteristically called him)
and had now come from another part of the station on leave of
absence, two hundred and fifty miles in an open boat, expressly to
get a glimpse of his former officer, of whose brilliant career he was
justly proud. It is needless to add that all hands were piped to
grog, and that Tom and Old Charley were mutually pleased. But
it is not generally known that they exchanged tobacco boxes, and
that if when ' Old Charley ' hoisted his broad pennant in proud
command of the Baltic fleet, his gallant heart beat higher than
usual, it pressed, as if for sympathy, against Tom Gaff's tobacco-box,
to which his left-hand waistcoat pocket is on all occasions devoted.
Similarly, many other choice events, chiefly reserved for the special
London correspondents of country newspapers, are not generally
known : including gifts of various ten-pound notes, by her gracious
Majesty when a child, to various old women ; and the constant
sending of innumerable loyal presents, principally cats and cheeses,
to Buckingham Palace. One thing is sure to happen. Codgers
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IT IS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN

becomes a celebrated public character, or a great capitalist. Then
it is not generally known that in the year eighteen hundred and
blank, there stood, one summer evening on old London Bridge, a
way-worn boy eating a penny loaf, and eyeing the passengers wist
fully. Whom Mr. Flam of the Minories — attracted by something
unusual in the boy's appearance — was induced to bestow sixpence
on, and to invite to dinner every Sunday at one o'clock for seven
years. This boy was Codgers, and it is not generally known that
the tradition is still preserved with pride in Mr. Flam's family.

Now, it appears to me that several small circumstances of a
different kind have lately happened, or are yet happening, about us,
which can hardly be generally known, or, if known, generally appre
ciated. And as this is vacation-time, when most of us have some
leisure for gossiping, I will enumerate a few.

It is not generally known that in this present year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty-four, the English people of the middle
classes are a mob of drunkards more beastly than the Russian
courtiers under Peter the Great. It is not generally known that
this is the national character. It is not generally known that a
multitude of our countrymen taken at random from the sense,
industry, self-denial, self-respect, and household virtues of this
nation, repairing to the Exhibition at Sydenham, make it their
business to get drunk there immediately ; to struggle and fight with
one another, to tear one another's clothes off, and to smash and
throw down the statues. I say, this is not generally known to be
so. Yet I find this picture, in a fit of temperate enthusiasm, pre
sented to the people by an artist who is one of themselves, in pages
addressed to themselves. I am even informed by a temperate
journal, that the artist saw these facts, in this said Exhibition at
Sydenham, with his own bodily eyes. Well ! I repeat, this is a state
of things not generally known.

It is not generally known, I believe, that the two scarcest books
in England arc The Pilgrim's Progress and The Vicar of Wakefield.
Yet I find that the present American Minister (perfectly familiar
with England) communicated the surprising intelligence to a com
pany, assembled not long ago, at Fishmongers' Hall. It is not
generally known perhaps, that in expatiating on the education of
his countrymen His Excellency remarked of these two rare works,
that while they were to be met with in every cabin in the United

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States, they were 'comparatively little known in England1 — not
generally known, that is to say.

It is not generally known, and if it were recorded of our English
Institutions, say by a French writer, would not, I think, be generally
believed ; that there is any court of justice in England, in which an
individual gravely concerned in the case under inquiry, can twice
call the advocate opposed to him, a Ruffian, in open court, under
the judged nose and within the judge's hearing. Is it generally
known that such a case occurred this last July, and was nobody's
business ?

It is not generally known that the people have nothing to do
with a certain large Club which assembles at Westminster, and that
the Club has nothing to do with them. It is simply an odd anomaly
that the members of the Club happen to be elected by a body who
don't belong to the Club at all ; the pleasure and business of the
Club being, not with that body, but with what its own members say
and do. Look to the reports of the Club's proceedings. In January,
the right hand says it is the left hand that has abetted the slanders
on * an illustrious personage,' and the left hand says it is the right
hand. In February, Mr. Pot comes down on Mr. Kettle, and Mr.
Kettle requests to be taken from his cradle and followed by inches
to that honourable hob. In the same month, the forefinger of the
left hand hooks itself on with Mosaic- Arabian pertinacity to the
two forefingers of the right hand, and never lets go any more. In
March, the most delightful excitement of the whole session is about
a club dinner-party. In April, there is Easter. In May, there
is infinite Club-joy over personal Mosaic- Arabia, and personal
Admiralty. In June, A relieves himself of the mild suggestion
that B is * an extraordinary bold apostate ' : when in cuts C, who
has nothing to do with it, and the whole alphabet fall together by
the ears. In August, Home Office takes up his colleague Under
Treasury, for talking 'sheer nonsense.' In the same month, pro
rogation. Through the whole time, one perpetual clatter of ' What
did I say, what did you say, what did he say ? Yes I will, no you
won't, yes I did, no you didn't, yes I shall, no you shan't ' — and no
such thing as what do they say ? (those few people outside there)
ever heard of !

It is not generally known, perhaps, to what lengths, in these
times, the pursuit of an object, and a cheer or a laugh, will carry
472

IT IS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN

a Member of this Club I am speaking of. It cannot have been
generally observed, as it appears to me (for I have met with no just
indignation on the subject), how far one of its members was thus
carried, a very little while ago. Here is the case. A Board is to be
got rid of. I oppose this Board. I have long opposed it. It is
possible that my official opposition may have very considerably in
creased its difficulties and crippled its efficiency. I am bent upon a
iocose speech, and a pleasant effect. I stand up in the heart of the
metropolis of the world. From every quarter of the world, a dread
ful disease which is peculiarly the scourge of the many, because the
many are the poor, ill-fed, and badly housed — whereas I, being of
the few, am neither — is closing in around me. It is coming from
my low, nameless countrymen, the rank and file at Varna; it is
coming from the hot sands of India, and the cold waters of Russia ;
it is in France ; it is in Naples ; it is in the stifling Vicoli of Genoa,
where I read accounts of the suffering people that should make my
heart compassionate, if anything in this world can ; nay, it has
begun to strike down many victims in this city where I speak, as I
the speaker cannot fail to know — must know — am bound to know
— do know thoroughly well. But I want a point. I have it ! ' The
cholera is always coming when the powers of this Board are about to
expire (A LAUGH).' This well-timed joke of mine, so neatly made
upon the greatest misery and direst calamity that human nature can
endure, will be repeated to-morrow in the same newspaper which
will carry to my honourable friends here, through electric telegraph,
the tidings of a troop-ship put back to Plymouth, with this very
pestilence on board. What are all such trifles to me ? I wanted a
laugh ; I have got a laugh. Talk to me of the agony and death of
men and brothers ! Am I not a Lord and a Member !

Now, is it generally known, I wonder, that this indecency
happened ? Have the people of such a place as Totnes chanced to
hear of it ? Or will they ever hear of it, and shall we ever hear of
their having heard of it ?

It is not generally known that an entirely new principle has
begun to obtain in legislation, and is gaining wider and broader
recognition every day. I allude to the profoundly wise principle of
legislating with a constant reference and deference to the worst
members of society, and almost excluding from consideration the
comfort and convenience of the best. The question, ' what do the

473

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

decent mechanic and his family want, or deserve ? ' always yields,
under this enlightened pressure, to the question, ' what will the
vagabond idler, drunkard, or jail-bird, turn to bad account ?' As if
there were anything in the wide world which the dregs of humanity
will turn to good account ! And as if the shadow of the convict-ship
and Newgate drop had any business, in the plainest sense or justice,
to be cast, from January to December, on honest hardworking,
steady Job Smith's family fireside !

Yet Job Smith suffers heavily, at every turn of his life, and at
every inch of its straight course too, from the determined ruffianism in
which he has no more part than he has in the blood Royal. Six days
of Job's week are days of hard, monotonous, exhausting work. Upon
the seventh, Job thinks that he, his old woman, and the children,
could find it in their hearts to walk in a garden if they might, or to
look at a picture, or a plant, or a beast of the forest or even a
colossal toy made in imitation of some of the wonders of the world.
Most people would be apt to think Job reasonable in this. But, up
starts Britannia, tearing her hair and crying, ' Never, never ! Here
is Sloggins with the broken nose, the black eye, and the bulldog.
What Job Smith uses, Sloggins will abuse. Therefore, Job Smith
must not use.' So, Job sits down again in a killing atmosphere, a
little weary and out of humour, or leans against a post all Sunday
long.

It is not generally known that this accursed Sloggins is the evil
genius of Job's life. Job never had in his possession at any one time,
a little cask of beer, or a bottle of spirits. What he and his family
drink in that way, is fetched, in very small portions indeed, from the
public house. However difficult the Westminster Club-gentlemen
may find it to realise such an existence, Job has realised it through
many a long year ; and he knows, infinitely better than the whole
Club can tell him, at what hour he wants his ' drop of beer,' and
how it best suits his means and convenience to get it. Against which
practical conviction of Job's, Britannia, tearing her hair again,
shrieks tenderly, * Sloggins ! Sloggins with the broken nose, the
black eye, and the bulldog, will go to ruin,' — as if he were ever
going anywhere else ! — * if Job Smith has his beer when he wants it/
So, Job gets it when Britannia thinks it good for Sloggins to let
him have it, and marvels greatly.

But, perhaps he marvels most, when, being invited in immense
474

IT IS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN

type, to go and hear the Evangelist of Eloquence, or the Apostle of
Purity (I have noticed in such invitations, rather lofty, not to say
audacious titles), he strays in at an open door, and finds a personage
on a stage, crying aloud to him, ' Behold me ! I, too, am Sloggins ! !
I likewise had a broken nose, a black eye, and a bulldog. Survey me
well. Straight is my nose, white is my eye, deceased is my bulldog.
I, formerly Sloggins, now Evangelist (or Apostle, as the case may be),
cry aloud in the wilderness unto you Job Smith, that in respect that
I was formerly Sloggins and am now Saintly, therefore you Job
Smith, (who were never Sloggins, or in the least like him), shall, by
force of law, accept what I accept, deny what I deny, take upon
yourself My shape, and follow Me.' Now, it is not generally known
that poor Job, though blest with an average understanding, and
thinking any putting out of the way of that ubiquitous Sloggins a
meritorious action highly to be commended, never can understand
the application of all this to himself, who never had anything in
common with Sloggins, but always abominated and abjured him.

It is not generally known that Job Smith is fond of music. But,
he is ; he has a decided natural liking for it. The Italian Opera
being rather dear (Sloggins would disturb the performance if he were
let in cheap), Job's taste is not highly cultivated ; still, music pleases
him and softens him, and he takes such recreation in the way of
hearing it as his small means can buy. Job is fond of a play, also.
He is not without the universal taste implanted in the child and the
savage, and surviving in the educated mind ; and a representation by
men and women, of the joys and sorrows, crimes and virtues, suffer
ings and triumphs, of this mortal life, has a strong charm for him.
Job is not much of a dancer, but he likes well enough to see dancing,
and his eldest boy is up to it, and he himself can shake a leg in a
good plain figure on occasion. For all these reasons, Job now and
then, in his rare holidays, is to be found at a cheap concert, a cheap
theatre, or a cheap dance. And here one might suppose he would be
left in peace to take his money's worth if he can find it.

It is not generally known, however, that against these poor
amusements, an army rises periodically and terrifies the inoffensive
Job to death. It is not generally known why. On account of
Sloggins. Five-and- twenty prison chaplains, good men and true,
have each got Sloggins hard and fast, and converted him. Sloggins,
in five-and-twenty solitary cells at once, has told the five-and-twenty

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chaplains all about it. Child of evil as he is, with every drop of
blood in his body circulating lies all through him, night and day these
five-and-twenty years, Sloggins is nevertheless become the embodied
spirit of Truth. Sloggins has declared ' that Amusements done it.'
Sloggins has made manifest that ' Harmony brought him to it.'
Sloggins has asserted that 'the draymer set him a nockin his old
mother's head again the wall.' Sloggins has made manifest * that it
was the double-shuffle wot kep him out of church.' Sloggins has
written the declaration, ' Dear Sir if i hadn seen the oprer Frar-
deaverler i shouldn dear Sir have been overaggrawated into the folli
of beatin Betsey with a redot poker.' Sloggins warmly recommends
that all Theatres be shut up for good, all Dancing Rooms pulled
down, and all music stopped. Considers that nothing else is people's
ruin. Is certain that but for sitch, he would now be in a large way
of business and universally respected. Consequently, all the five-and-
twenty, in five-and-twenty honest and sincere reports, do severally
urge that the requirements and deservings of Job Smith be in nowise
considered or cared for ; that the natural and deeply rooted cravings
of mankind be plucked up and trodden out ; that Sloggins's gospel
be the gospel for the conscientious and industrious part of the world ;
that Sloggins rule the land and rule the waves ; and that Britons
unto Sloggins ever, ever, ever, shall — be — slaves.

I submit that this great and dangerous mistake cannot be too
generally known or generally thought about.

LEGAL AND EQUITABLE JOKES

[SEPTEMBER 23, 1854]

I AM what Sydney Smith called that favourite animal of Whig
governments, a barrister of seven years' standing. If I were to say
of seventeen years1 standing, I should not go beyond the mark ; if I
were even to say of seven-and-twenty, I might not go beyond the
mark. But, I am not bound to commit myself, and therefore on
this point I say no more.

Of course I, as a barrister of the rightful amount of standing,
mourn over the decline of the profession. How have I seen it
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LEGAL AND EQUITABLE JOKES

wither and decay ! Within my time, John Doe and Richard Roe
themselves, have fallen victims to the prejudice and ignorance of
mere laymen. In my time, the cheerful evening sittings at the Old
Bailey in the city of London have been discontinued; those merry
meetings, after dinners where I do not hesitate to say I have seen
more wine drunk in two or three hours, and have heard better
things said, than at any other convivial assemblies of which it has
been my good fortune to make one. Lord bless me ! When I think
of the jolly Ordinary mixing his famous salads, the Judges discussing
vintages with the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, the leading humorists
of the Old Bailey bar delighting the Aldermen and visitors, and the
whole party going socially back again into court, to try a fellow
creature, perhaps for his or her life, in the genial glow produced by
such an entertainment — I say when I think of these departed glories,
and the commonplace stupidity into which we have fallen, I do not,
and I cannot, wonder that England is going to ruin.

As my name is not appended to this paper, and therefore I can
hardly be suspected by the public of egotism, I will remark that I
have always had a pretty turn for humour. I have a keen enjoy
ment of a joke. Like those excellent witnesses, the officers of the
forty-sixth regiment (better witnesses I never saw, even in a horse-
dealer's case, — yet the public, in these degenerate days, has no
sympathy with them), I don't at all object to its being practical.
I like a joke to be legal or equitable, because my tastes are in that
direction ; but I like it none the worse for being practical. And
indeed the best legal and equitable jokes remaining, are all of a
practical nature.

I use the word remaining, inasmuch as the levelling spirit of
the times has destroyed some of the finest practical jokes connected
with the profession. I look upon the examination of the parties
in a cause, for instance, as a death-blow given to humour. Nothing
can be more humorous than to make a solemn pretence of inquiring
into the truth, and exclude the two people who in nine cases out
of ten know most about it. Yet this is now a custom of the past,
and so are a hundred other whimsical drolleries in which the fathers
and grandfathers of the bar delighted.

But, I am going on to present within a short compass a little
collection of existing practical jokes — mere samples of many others
happily still left us in law and equity for our innocent amusement.

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As I never (though I set up for a humorist) tell another man's story
as my own, I will name my authority before I conclude.

The great expense of the simplest suit in equity, and the droll
laws which force all English subjects into a court of equity for their
sole redress, in an immense number of cases, lead, at this present
day, to a very entertaining class of practical joke. I mean that
ludicrous class in which the joke consists of a man's taking and
keeping possession of money or other property to which he even
pretends to have no shadow of right, but which he seizes because
he knows that the whole will be swallowed up in costs if the right
ful owner should seek to assert his claim. I will relate a few stories
of this kind.

JOKE OF A WITTY TRUSTEE

A wag, being left trustee under a will by which the testator left
a small freehold property to be sold for charitable purposes, sold
it, and discovered the trust to be illegal. As the fund was too
small in amount to bear a suit in equity (being not above sixty
pounds), he laughed very heartily at the next of kin, pocketed it
himself, spent it, and died.

JOKE OF A MEDICAL, CHOICE SPIRIT

A country surgeon got a maundering old lady to appoint him
sole executor of her will, by which she left the bulk of her small
property to her brother and sister. What does this pleasant
surgeon, on the death of the maundering old lady, but prove the
will, get in the property, make out a bill for professional attend
ance to the tune of two or three hundred pounds, which absorbs it
all ; cry to the brother and sister, * Boh ! Chancery ! Catch me
if you can ! ' and live happy ever afterwards.

JOKE AGAINST SOME UNLUCKY CREDITORS

Certain creditors being left altogether without mention in the
will of their deceased debtor, brought a suit in equity for a decree to
sell his property. The decree was obtained. But, the property
realising seven hundred pounds, and the suit costing seven hundred
and fifty, these creditors brought their pigs to a fine market, and
made much amusement for the Chancery Bar.
478

LEGAL AND EQUITABLE JOKES

JOKES UPON INFANTS

An application to the Court of Chancery, in a friendly suit
where nobody contested anything, to authorise trustees to advance
a thousand pounds out of an estate, to educate some infants, cost a
hundred and three pounds, fourteen, and sixpence ; a similar applica
tion for the same authority, to the same trustees, under the same
will, in behalf of some other infants, costs the same ; twenty similar
applications, under the same will, for similar power to the same
trustees, in behalf of twenty other infants, or sets of infants, as their
wants arise, will cost, each the same.

A poor national schoolmaster insured his life for two hundred
pounds, and made a will, giving discretionary power to his executors
to apply the money for the benefit of his two children while under
age, and then to divide it between them. One of the executors
doubted whether under this will, after payment of debts and duty,
he could appropriate the principal (that word not being used in the
instrument) to buying the two small children into an orphan asylum.
The sanction of the Court of Chancery would cost at least half the
fund ; so nothing can be done, and the two small children are to be
educated and brought up, on four pounds ten a year between them.

JOKE AGAINST MRS. HARRIS

Mrs. Harris is left the dividends on three thousand pounds stock,
for her life ; the capital on her decease to be divided among legatees.
Mr. Spodger is trustee under the will which so provides for Mrs.
Harris. Mr. Spodger one day dies intestate. To Mr. Spodger's effects
Mr. B. Spodger and Miss Spodger, his brother and sister, administer.
Miss Spodger takes it into her head that nothing shall ever induce
her to have anything to do with Mrs. Harris's trust-stock. Mrs.
Harris, consequently unable to receive her dividends, petitions Court
of Equity. Court of Equity delivers judgment that it can only
order payment of dividends actually due when Mrs. Harris petitions ;
that, as fresh dividends keep on coming due, Mrs. Harris must keep
on freshly petitioning ; and that Mrs. Harris must, according to
her Catechism, ' walk in the same all the days of her life.' So Mrs.
Harris walks, at the present time ; paying for every such application
eighteen pounds, two, and eightpence ; or thirty per cent, on her
unfortunate income.

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I am of opinion that it would be hard to invent better practical
jokes than these, over which I have laughed until my sides were sore.
They are neatly and pointedly related by Mr. Graham Willmore,
queen's counsel and a county court judge, in his evidence, given
in May of the present year, before a committee of the House of
Commons appointed to inquire into the state and practice of the
county courts. But, I am pained to add, nevertheless, that my
learned friend Willmore has not the slightest sense of humour, and
is perfectly destitute of any true perception of a joke.

For, what does he recommend in this same evidence of his?
Why, says he, these cases involve ' an absolute denial of j ustice ' ;
and, if you would give the county court judges a limited jurisdiction
in Equity, these things could not possibly occur ; for, then, such
cases as the Witty Trustee's, and the Medical Choice Spirit's, would
be determined on their merits, for a few pounds : while such applica
tions as those in behalf of the Infants would be disposed of for a
few shillings. But, what, I ask my learned friend, would become of
the cream of the jokes? Are we to have no jokes? Would he
make law and equity a dull, dreary transaction of plain right and
wrong ? I shall hear, next, of proposals to take our wigs off,
and make us like common men. A few pounds too ! And a few
shillings ! Has my learned friend no idea that hundreds of pounds
are far more respectable — not to say profitable — than a few pounds
and a few shillings ? He may buy sundry pairs of boots for a few
pounds, or divers pairs of stockings for a few shillings. Is not
Equity more precious than boots ? Or Law than stockings ?

I am further of opinion that my learned friend Willmore falls
into all his numerous mistakes before this committee, by reason of
this one curious incapacity in his constitution to enjoy a joke. For
instance, he relates the following excellent morsel :

JEST CONCKllNING A SEA-CAPTAIN

A sea-captain ejected from his ship a noisy drunken man, who
misconducted himself; and at the same time turned out certain pot-
companions of the drunken man, who were as troublesome as he.
Bibo (so to call the drunken man) bringeth an action against the
captain for assault and battery ; to which the captain pleadeth in
justification that he removed the plaintiff ' and certain persons
unknown,' from his ship, for that they did misbehave themselves.
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LEGAL AND EQUITABLE JOKES

'Aye,' quoth the learned counsel for Bibo, at the trial, 'but
there be seventeen objections to that plea, whereof the main one
is that it appeareth that the certain persons are known and not
unknown, as by thee set forth.1 * Marry,' crieth the court, ' but that
is fatal, Gentlemen of the Jury ! ' Verdict accordingly, with leave
unto the sea-captain to move the Court of Queen's Bench in solemn
argument. This being done with great delay and expense, the
sea-captain (all the facts being perfectly plain from the first) at
length got judgment in his favour. But, no man to this hour hath
been able to make him comprehend how he got it, or why; or
wherefore the suit was not decided on the merits when first tried.
Which this wooden-headed seaman, staring straight before him with
all his might, unceasingly maintains that it ought to have been.

Now, this surely is, in all respects, an admirable story, repre
senting the density, obstinacy, and confusion of the sea-captain in
a richly absurd light. Does my learned friend Willmore relish it ?
Not in the least. His dull remark upon it is : That in the county
court the case would have been adjudicated on its merits, for less
than a hundredth part of the costs incurred : and that he would so
alter the law of the land as to deprive a plaintiff suing in a superior
court in such an action (which we call an action of tort) and recover
ing less than twenty pounds, of all claim to costs, unless the judge
should certify it to be a fit case to be tried in that superior court,
rather than to have been taken to the county court at a small
expense, and at once decided.

Precisely the same obtuseness pervades the very next suggestion
of my learned friend. It has always appeared to me a good joke
that county courts having a jurisdiction in cases of contract up to
fifty pounds, should not also have a jurisdiction in cases of tort up
to the same amount. As usual, my learned friend Willmore cannot
perceive the joke. He says, in his commonplace way, 'I think it is
the general desire that the jurisdiction should be given'; and puts
as an illustration — ' Suppose a gentleman's carriage is run against.
The damages may be fifty pounds. In the case of a costermonger's
donkey-cart, they may be fifty pence ; the facts being identically
the same.' Now, this, I am of opinion, is prosaic in the last degree.

Passing over my learned friend's inclinings towards giving the
county courts jurisdiction in matters of bankruptcy; and also in
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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

criminal cases now disposed of, not much to anybody's satisfaction
he seems to consider at Quarter Sessions — where, by the bye, I have
known admirable practical jokes played off from the Bench ; and
towards making a Court of Appeal of a selection from county court
judges; I will come to his crowning suggestion. He is not happier
in this than in his other points, for it strikes at the heart of the
excellent joke of putting the public in this dilemma, ' If you WILL
have law cheap, you shall have an inferior article.1

Without the least tenderness for this jest — which is unctuous,
surprising, inconsequential, practical, overflowing with all the char
acteristics of a wild and rollicking humour — my learned friend
knocks the soul out of it with a commonplace sledge-hammer. I
hold, says he, that you should have, for county court judges whc
deal with an immense variety of intricate and important ques
tions, the very best men. ' I think there is great mischief in the
assumption that when a man is made a county court judge, he
never can be anything else. I think if the reverse were assumed
— if the appointment as county court judge were not considered a
bar to a man's professional advancement, you would have better
men candidates for the office. You would have the whole body of
talent in the profession willing to go through the previous state of
probation, as it would then be, of a county court judgeship. You
must not expect a permanent succession of able, conscientious men,
competently trained and educated for such an appointment, if it is
to be a final one at the present pay. The county court judge,
especially in the provinces, is placed in a painful and false position.
He is made a magistrate, and must associate with his brother
justices. If he lives at all as they do, he perhaps spends more than
he can afford ; he certainly can lay up nothing for his family. If
he does not, he will probably meet with slights and disparagement,
to which, I think, he ought not to be subjected, and which impair
his efficiency.' He believes also that if the Court of Appeal were
established, and the other county court judges were, as vacancies
occurred, to be appointed members of it, according to circumstances,
'the public would derive another advantage in not being obliged to
take, as a j udge of the superior courts, a purely untried man. They
would have a man exercised both in Nisi Prius and in bane work,
and exercised in the face of the public and the profession, instead
of having a man taken because he has a certain standing as an
482

LEGAL AND EQUITABLE JOKES

advocate, or because he has certain political recommendations. I
think it would be a much more certain mode of testing the merits
of a man previous to his appointment as a judge in the superior
courts.1*

So, for the good old joke of fobbing the public off, when it is
perverse in its demands, with half a second-rate loaf, instead of
enough of the best bread; for the joke of putting an educated and
trained gentleman, in a public station and discharging most im
portant social functions, at a social disadvantage among a class
not the least stiff-necked and purse-proud of all classes known
between the British Channel and Abyssinia; for the joke, in short,
of systematically overpaying the national Shows and underpaying
the national Substances; my learned friend Willmore has not the
slightest tenderness ! I am of opinion that he does not see it at all.
He winds up his evidence with the following extraordinarily flat
remark :

*I think that the public attention ought to be very pointedly
directed to the fact, that while in the rich man's superior courts the
suitors pay nothing towards the salaries of judges, officers, etc., yet
in the poor man's county courts the suitors are taxed to pay for all
these, and something extra, by which the state is mean enough to
make a small profit. I cannot understand how any one, except,
perhaps, a very timid Chancellor of the Exchequer, could justify or
even tolerate an injustice so gross, palpable, and cruel/

On the whole, therefore, it appears to me, and I am of opinion:
That, if many such men as my learned friend Willmore were to
secure a hearing, the vast and highly-entertaining collection of our
legal and equitable jokes would be speedily brought to a close for
ever. That, the object of such dull persons clearly is, to make Law
and Equity intelligible and useful, and to cause them both to do
justice and to be respected. Finally, that to clear out lumber,
sweep away dust, bring down cobwebs, and destroy a vast amount
of expensive practical joking, is no joke, but quite the reverse, and
never will be considered humorous in any court in Westminster
Hall.

4S3

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

TO WORKING MEN

[OCTOBER 7, 1854]

IT behoves every journalist, at this time when the memory of an

awful pestilence1 is fresh among us, and its traces are visible at every

turn in various affecting aspects of poverty and desolation, which

any of us can see who are not purposely blind Ito warn his readers,

/ whatsoever be their ranks and conditions, that unless they set them-

\ selves in earnest to improve the towns in which they live, and to

/ amend the dwellings of the poor, they are guilty, before GOD, of

wholesale murder. J\

(_ The best of our journals have so well remembered their responsi
bility in this respect, and have so powerfully presented the truth to
the general conscience, that little remains to be written on the
urgent subject.^ But we would carry a forcible appeal made by our
contemporary the Times to the working people of England a little
further, and implore them — with a view to their future avoidance of
a fatal old mistake — to beware of being led astray from their dearest
interests, by high political authorities on the one hand, no less than
by sharking mountebanks on the other.U The noble lord, and the
right honourable baronet, and the honourable gentleman, and the
honourable and learned gentleman, and the honourable and gallant
gentleman, and the whole of the honourable circle, have, in their
contests for place, power, and patronage, loaves and fishes, distracted
the working man's attention from his first necessities, quite as much
as the broken creature — once a popular Misleader — who is now sunk
in hopeless idiotcy in a madhouse. To whatsoever shadows these
may offer in lieu of substances, it is now the first duty of The People
to be resolutely blind and deaf; firmly insisting, above all things,
on their and their children's right to every means of life and health
that Providence has afforded for all, and firmly refusing to allow
their name to be taken in vain for any purpose, by any party, until
their homes are purified and the amplest means of cleanliness and
decency are secured to thern^

We may venture to remark that this most momentous of all
earthly questions is one we are not now urging for the first time.

1 Cholera outbreak in London, August and September 1854.
484

TO WORKING MEN

Long before this Journal came into existence, we systematically tried
to turn Fiction to the good account of showing the preventible
wretchedness and misery in which the mass of the people dwell, and
of expressing again and again the conviction, founded upon observa
tion, that the reform of their habitations must precede all other_ _
reforms; and that without it, all other reforms must fail. Neither
Religion nor "Education will make any way, in tins nineteenth
century of Christianity, until a Christian government shall have
discharged its first obligation, and secured to the people Homes,
instead of polluted dens.

Now, any working man of common intelligence knows perfectly^
well, that one session of parliament zealously devoted to this object
would secure its attainment. If he do not also know perfectly well
that a government or a parliament will of itself originate nothing to
save his life, he may know it by instituting a very little inquiry.
Let him inquire what either power has done to better his social con
dition, since the last great outbreak of disease five years ago. Let
him inquire what amount of attention from government, and what
amount of attendance in parliament, the question of that condition
has ever attracted, until one night in this last August, when it
became a personal question and a facetious question, and when
Lord Seymour, the member for Totnes, exhibited his fitness for ever
having been placed at the head of a great public department by
cutting jokes, which were received with laughter, on the subject of
the pestilence then raging. If the working man, on such a review
of plain facts, be satisfied that without his own help he will not be
helped, but will be pitilessly left to struggle at unnatural odds with'
disease and death ; then let him bestir himself to set so monstrous
a wrong right, and let him — for the time at least — dismiss from his
mind all other public questions, as straws in the balance. The
glorious right of voting for Lord This (say Seymour, for instance) or
Sir John That ; the intellectual state of Abyssinia ; the endowment
of the College of Maynooth ; the paper duty ; the newspaper duty ;
the five per cent. ; the twenty-five per cent. ; the ten thousand
hobby-horses that are exercised before him, scattering so much dust
in his eyes that he cannot see his own hearth, until the cloud is
suddenly fanned away by the wings of the Angel of Death : all
these distractions let him put aside, holding steadily to one truth —
' Waking and sleeping, I and mine are slowly poisoned. Imperfect

485

development and premature decay are the lot of those who are dear
to me as my life. I bring children into the world to suffer unnatur
ally, and to die when my Merciful Father would have them live.
The beauty of infancy is blotted out from my sight, and in its stead
sickliness and pain look at me from the wan mother's knee. Shame
ful deprivation of the commonest appliances, distinguishing the lives
of human beings from the lives of beasts, is my inheritance. My
family is one of tens of thousands of families who are set aside as
food for pestilence.' And let him then, being made in the form of
man, resolve, * I will not bear it, and it shall not be ! '

/If working men will be thus true to themselves and one another,
there never was a time when they had so much just sympathy and so
much ready help at hand. The whole powerful middle-class of this
. country, newly smitten with a sense of self-reproach — far more
potent with it, we fully believe, than the lower motives of self-
defence and fear — is ready to join them. The utmost power of the
press is eager to assist them. But the movement, to be irresistible,
must originate with themselves, the suffering many. Let them take
the initiative, and call the middle-class to unite with them : which
they will do, heart and soul ! Let the working people, in the metro
polis, in any one great town, but turn their intelligence, their
energy, their numbers, their power of union, their patience, their
perseverance, in this straight direction in earnest — and by Christmas,
they shall find a government in Downing Street and a House of
Commons within hail of it, possessing not the faintest family resem
blance to the Indifferents and Incapables last heard of in that
\ slumberous neighbourhood.!

[it is only through a government so acted upon and so forced to
acquit itself of its first responsibility, that the intolerable ills arising
from the present nature of the dwellings of the poor can be remedied. •
A Board of Health can do much, but not near enough. Funds are
wanted, and great powers are wanted; powers to over-ride little
interests for the general good ; powers to coerce the ignorant,
obstinate, and slothful, and to punish all who, by any infraction of
necessary laws, imperil the public health. The working people and
the middle-class thoroughly resolved to have such laws, there is no
more choice left to all the Red Tape in Britain as to the form in
which it shall tie itself next, than there is option in the barrel of a
barrel-organ what tune it shall play.
486

AN UNSETTLED NEIGHBOURHOOD

But, though it is easily foreseen that such an alliance must soon
incalculably mitigate, and in the end annihilate, the dark list of
calamities resulting from sinful and cruel neglect which the late
visitation has — unhappily not for the first time — unveiled; it is
impossible to set limits to the happy issues that would flow from i
better understanding between the two great divisions of society,
habit of kinder and nearer approach, an increased respect and
trustfulness on both sides, a gently corrected method in each of con
sidering the views of the other, would lead to such blessed improve
ments and interchanges among us, that even our narrow wisdomC
might within the compass of a short time learn t^ bless the sickly)
year in which so much good blossomed out of evil/M

In the plainest sincerity, in affectionate sympathy, in the ardent
desire of our heart to do them some service, and to see them take
their place in the system which should bind us all together, and
bring home, to us all, the happiness of which our necessarily varied
conditions are all susceptible, we submit these few words to the
working men. The time is ripe for every one of them to raise him
self and those who are dear to him, at no man's cost, with no violence
or injustice, with cheerful help and support, with lasting benefit to
the whole community. Even the many among them at whose fire
sides there will be vacant seats this winter, we address with hope.
However hard the trial and heavy the bereavement, there is a far
higher consolation in striving for the life that is left, than in brooding
with sullen eyes beside the grave.

AN UNSETTLED NEIGHBOURHOOD

[NOVEMBER 11, 1854]

IT is not my intention to treat of any of those new neighbourhoods
which a wise legislature leaves to come into existence just as it
may happen ; overthrowing the trees, blotting out the face of the
country, huddling together labyrinths of odious little streets of
vilely constructed houses; heaping ugliness upon ugliness, incon
venience upon inconvenience, dirt upon dirt, and contagion upon
contagion. Whenever a few hundreds of thousands of people of
the classes nost enormously increasing, shall happen to come to

487

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the conclusion that they have suffered enough from preventable
disease (a moral phenomenon that may occur at any time), the said
wise legislature will find itself called to a heavy reckoning. May it
emerge from that extremity as agreeably as it slided in. Amen !

No. The unsettled neighbourhood on which I have my eye — in
a literal sense, for I live in it, and am looking out of window —
cannot be called a new neighbourhood. It has been in existence,
how long shall I say ? Forty, fifty, years. It touched the out
skirts of the fields, within a quarter of a century ; at that period it
was as shabby, dingy, damp, and mean a neighbourhood, as one
would desire not to see. Its poverty was not of the demonstrative
order. It shut the street-doors, pulled down the blinds, screened
the parlour- windows with the wretchedest plants in pots, and made
a desperate stand to keep up appearances. The genteeler part of
the inhabitants, in answering knocks, got behind the door to keep
out of sight, and endeavoured to diffuse the fiction that a servant
of some sort was the ghostly warder. Lodgings were let, and many
more were to let ; but, with this exception, signboards and placards
were discouraged. A few houses that became afflicted in their lower
extremities with eruptions of mangling and clear-starching, were
considered a disgrace to the neighbourhood. The working book
binder with the large door-plate was looked down upon for keeping
fowls, who were always going in and out. A corner house with
* Ladies1 School ' on a board over the first floor windows, was barely
tolerated for its educational facilities ; and Miss Jamanne the dress
maker, who inhabited two parlours, and kept an obsolete work of
art representing the Fashions, in the window of the front one, was
held at a marked distance by the ladies of the neighbourhood —
who patronised her, however, with far greater regularity than they
paid her.

In those days, the neighbourhood was as quiet and dismal as any
neighbourhood about London. Its crazily built houses — the largest,
eight-roomed — were rarely shaken by any conveyance heavier than
the spring van that came to carry off the goods of a * sold up '
tenant. To be sold up was nothing particular. The whole neigh
bourhood felt itself liable, at any time, to that common casualty
of life. A man used to come into the neighbourhood regularly,
delivering the summonses for rates and taxes as if they were
circulars. We never paid anything until the last extremity, and

AN UNSETTLED NEIGHBOURHOOD

Heaven knows how we paid it then. The streets were positively
hilly with the inequalities made in them by the man with the
pickaxe who cut off the company's supply of water to defaulters.
It seemed as if nobody had any money but old Miss Frowze, who
lived with her mother at Number fourteen Little Twig Street, and
who was rumoured to be immensely rich ; though I don't know why,
unless it was that she never went out of doors, and never wore a
cap, and never brushed her hair, and was immensely dirty.

As to visitors, we really had no visitors at that time. Stabbers's
Band used to come every Monday morning and play for three
quarters of an hour on one particular spot by the Norwich Castle ;
but, how they first got into a habit of coming, or even how we
knew them to be Stabbers's Band, I am unable to say. It was
popular in the neighbourhood, and we used to contribute to it:
dropping our halfpence into an exceedingly hard hat with a warm
handkerchief in it, like a sort of birdVnest (I am not aware whether
it was Mr. Stabbers's hat or not), which came regularly round.
They used to open with * Begone, dull Care !' and to end with a
tune which the neighbourhood recognised as ' I 'd rather have a
Guinea than a One-pound Note.' I think any reference to money,
that was not a summons or an execution, touched us melodiously.
As to Punches, they knew better than to do anything but squeak
and drum in the neighbourhood, unless a collection was made in
advance — which never succeeded. Conjurors and strong men strayed
among us, at long intervals; but, I never saw the donkey go up
once. Even costermongers were shy of us, as a bad job : seeming
to know instinctively that the neighbourhood ran scores with Mrs.
Slaughter, Greengrocer, etc., of Great Twig Street, and consequently
didn't dare to buy a ha'porth elsewhere : or very likely being told
so by young Slaughter, who managed the business, and was always
lurking in the Coal Department, practising Itamo Samee with three
potatoes.

As to shops, we had no shops either, worth mentioning. We had
the Norwich Castle, Truman Hanbury and Buxton, by J. Wigzell :
a violent landlord, who was constantly eating in the bar, and
constantly coming out with his mouth full and his hat on, to
stop his amiable daughter from giving more credit; and we had
Slaughter's; and we had a jobbing tailor's (in a kitchen), and a
toy and hardbake (in a parlour), and a Bottle Rag Bone Kitchen-

489

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stuff and Ladies1 Wardrobe, and a tobacco and weekly paper. We
used to run to the doors and windows to look at a cab, it was such
a rare sight ; the boys (we had no end of boys, but where is there
any end of boys ?) used to Fly the garter in the middle of the road ;
and if ever a man might have thought a neighbourhood was settled
down until it dropped to pieces, a man might have thought ours
was.

What made the fact quite the reverse, and totally changed the
neighbourhood ? I have known a neighbourhood changed, by many
causes, for a time. I have known a miscellaneous vocal concert
every evening, do it ; I have known a mechanical waxwork with a
drum and organ, do it ; I have known a Zion Chapel do it ; I have
known a firework-makers do it ; or a murder, or a tallow-melter's.
But, in such cases, the neighbourhood has mostly got round again,
after a time, to its former character. I ask, what changed our
neighbourhood altogether and for ever? I don't mean what
knocked down rows of houses, took the whole of Little Twig Street
into one immense hotel, substituted endless cab-ranks for Fly the
garter, and shook us all day long to our foundations with waggons
of heavy goods ; but, what put the neighbourhood off its head, and
wrought it to that feverish pitch that it has ever since been unable
to settle down to any one thing, and will never settle down again ?
THE RAILROAD has done it all.

That the Railway Terminus springing up in the midst of the
neighbourhood should make what I may call a physical change in
it, was to be expected. That people who had not sufficient beds
for themselves, should immediately begin offering to let beds to
the travelling public, was to be expected. That coffee-pots, stale
muffins, and egg-cups, should fly into parlour windows like tricks
in a pantomime, and that everybody should write up Good Accom
modation for Railway Travellers, was to be expected. Even that
Miss Frowze should open a cigar-shop, with a what Vhis-name that
the Brahmins smoke, in the middle of the window, and a thing
outside like a Canoe stood on end, with a familiar invitation under
neath it, to * Take a light,1 might have been expected. I don't
wonder at house-fronts being broken out into shops, and particularly
into Railway Dining Rooms, with powdered haunches of mutton,
powdered cauliflowers, and great flat bunches of rhubarb, in the
window. I don't complain of three eight-roomed houses out of
490

•

AN UNSETTLED NEIGHBOURHOOD

every four taking upon themselves to set up as Private Hotels, and
putting themselves, as such, into Bradshaw, with a charge of so
much a day for bed and breakfast, including boot-cleaning and
attendance, and so much extra for a private sitting-room — though
where the private sitting-rooms can be, in such an establishment, I
leave you to judge. I don't make it any ground of objection to
Mrs. Minderson (who is a most excellent widow woman with a
young family) that, in exhibiting one empty soup-tureen with the
cover on, she appears to have satisfied her mind that she is fully
provisioned as 'The Railway Larder.' I don't point it out as a
public evil that all the boys who are left in the neighbourhood,
tout to carry carpet-bags. The Railway Ham, Beef, and German
Sausage Warehouse, I was prepared for. The Railway Pie Shop, I
have purchased pastry from. The Railway Hat and Travelling
Cap Depot, I knew to be an establishment which in the nature
of things must come. The Railway Hair-cutting Saloon, I have
been operated upon in ; the Railway Ironmongery, Nail and Tool
Warehouse ; the Railway Bakery ; the Railway Oyster Rooms and
General Shell Fish Shop ; the Railway Medical Hall ; and the
Railway Hosiery and Travelling Outfitting Establishment ; all
these I don't complain of. In the same way, I know that the
cabmen must and will have beer-shops, on the cellar-flaps of which
they can smoke their pipes among the waterman's buckets, and
dance the double shuffle. The railway porters must also have
their houses of call ; and at such places of refreshment I am prepared
to find the Railway Double Stout at a gigantic threepence in your
own jugs. I don't complain of this; neither do I complain of
J. Wigzell having absorbed two houses on each side of him into The
Railway Hotel (late Norwich Castle), and setting up an illuminated
clock, and a vane at the top of a pole like a little golden Locomo
tive. But what I do complain of, and what I am distressed at, is,
the state of mind — the moral condition — into which the neighbour
hood has got. It is unsettled, dissipated, wandering (I believe
nomadic is the crack word for that sort of thing just at present),
and don't know its own mind for an hour.

I have seen various causes of demoralisation learnedly pointed
out in reports and speeches, and charges to grand juries; but, the
most demoralising thing / know, is Luggage. I have come to the
conclusion that the moment Luggage begins to be always shooting

491

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about a neighbourhood, that neighbourhood goes out of its mind.
Everybody wants to be off somewhere. Everybody does everything
in a hurry. Everybody has the strangest ideas of its being vaguely
his or her business to go ' down the line.' If any Fast-train could
take it, I believe the whole neighbourhood of which I write : bricks,
stones, timber, ironwork, and everything else : would set off down
the line.

Why, only look at it ! What with houses being pulled down and
houses being built up, is it possible to imagine a neighbourhood less
collected in its intellects ? There are not fifty houses of any sort in
the whole place that know their own mind a month. Now, a shop
says, ' I '11 be a toy-shop.' To-morrow it says, ' No I won't ; I '11 be
a milliner's.' Next week it says, * No I won't; I'll be a stationer's.'
Next week it says, * No I won't ; I '11 be a Berlin wool repository.'
Take the shop directly opposite my house. Within a year, it has
gone through all these changes, and has likewise been a plumber's
painter's and glazier's, a tailor's, a broker's, a school, a lecturing-
hall, and a feeding-place, ' established to supply the Railway public
with a first-rate sandwich and a sparkling glass of Crowley's Alton
Ale for threepence.' I have seen the different people enter on these
various lines of business, apparently in a sound and healthy state of
mind. I have seen them, one after another, go off their heads with
looking at the cabs rattling by, top-heavy with luggage, the driver
obscured by boxes and portmanteaus crammed between his legs, and
piled on the footboard — I say, I have seen them with my own eyes,
fired out of their wits by luggage, put up the shutters, and set off
down the line.

In the old state of the neighbourhood, if any young party was
sent to the Norwich Castle to see what o'clock it was, the solid
information would be brought back — say, for the sake of argument,
twenty minutes to twelve. The smallest child in the neighbourhood
who can tell the clock, is now convinced that it hasn't time to say
twenty minutes to twelve, but comes back and jerks out, like a little
Bradshaw, * Eleven forty.' Eleven forty !

Mentioning the Norwich Castle, reminds me of J. Wigzell. That
man is a type of the neighbourhood. He used to wear his shirt
sleeves and his stiff drab trowsers, like any other publican ; and if he
went out twice in a year, besides going to the Licensed Victuallers'
Festival, it was as much as he did. What is the state of that man
492

AN UNSETTLED NEIGHBOURHOOD

now ? His pantaloons must be railway checks ; his upper garment
must be a cut-away coat, perfectly undermined by travelling pockets;
he must keep a time-bill in his waistcoat — besides the two immense
ones, UP and DOWN, that are framed in the bar — he must have a
macintosh and a railway rug always lying ready on a chair ; and he
must habitually start off down the line, at five minutes' notice. Now,
I know that J. Wigzell has no business down the line ; he has no
more occasion to go there than a Chinese. The fact is, he stops in
the bar until he is rendered perfectly insane by the Luggage he sees
flying up and down the street; then, catches up his macintosh and
railway rug ; goes down the line ; gets out at a Common, two miles
from a town ; eats a dinner at the new little Railway Tavern there,
in a choking hurry ; comes back again by the next Up-train ; and
feels that he has done business !

We dream, in this said neighbourhood, of carpet-bags and
packages. How can we help it ? All night long, when passenger
trains are flat, the Goods trains come in, banging and whanging over
the turning-plates at the station like the siege of Sebastopol. Then,
the mails come in; then, the mail-carts come out; then, the cabs
set in for the early parliamentary ; then, we are in for it through
the rest of the day. Now, I don't complain of the whistle, I say
nothing of the smoke and steam, I have got used to the red-hot
burning smell from the Breaks which I thought for the first twelve
month was my own house on fire, and going to burst out ; but, my
ground of offence is the moral inoculation of the neighbourhood. I
am convinced that there is some mysterious sympathy between my
hat on my head, and all the hats in hat-boxes that are always going
down the line. My shirts and stockings put away in a chest of
drawers, want to join the multitude of shirts and stockings that are
always rushing everywhere, Express, at the rate of forty mile an hour.
The trucks that clatter with such luggage, full trot, up and down
the platform, tear into our spirits, and hurry us, and we can't be easy.

In a word, the Railway Terminus Works themselves are a picture
of our moral state. They look confused and dissipated, with an air
as if they were always up all night, and always giddy. Here, is a
vast shed that was not here yesterday, and that may be pulled down
to-morrow ; there, a wall that is run up until some other building is
ready ; there, an open piece of ground, which is a quagmire in the
middle, bounded on all four sides by a wilderness of houses, pulled

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down, shored up, broken -headed, crippled, on crutches, knocked
about and mangled in all sorts of ways, and billed with fragments of
all kinds of ideas. We are, mind and body, an unsettled neighbour
hood. We are demoralised by the contemplation of luggage in
perpetual motion. My conviction is, that you have only to circulate
luggage enough — it is a mere question of quantity — through a
Quakers' Meeting, and every broad-brimmed hat and slate-coloured
bonnet there, will disperse to the four winds at the highest possible
existing rate of locomotion.

REFLECTIONS OF A LORD MAYOR

[NOVEMBEE 18, 1854]

' I HAVE been told,' said the Lord Mayor of London, left alone in his
dressing-room after a state occasion, and proceeding to divest him
self of the very large chain the Lord Mayor of London wears about
his neck, according to the manner of the President of the Royal
Academy of Arts, and the watermen of the principal hackney-coach
stands : ' I say, I have been told,' repeated the Lord Mayor, glancing
at himself in the glass, * rather frequently now, in contemporary
history, that I am a Humbug.1

No matter what particular Lord Mayor of London thus delivered
himself. Any modern Lord Mayor of London may have recalled, with
the fidelity here quoted, the homage widely offered to his position.

' I have been told so,' continued the Lord Mayor of London, who
was in the habit of practising oratory when alone, as Demosthenes
did, and with the somewhat similar object of correcting a curious
impediment in his speech, which always thrust the letter H upon
him when he had no business with it, and always took it away from
him when it was indispensable ; * I have been told so,' pursued the
Lord Mayor, * on the ground that the privileges, dues, levies, and
other exactions of my government, are relics of ages in all respects
unlike the present; when the manners and customs of the people
were different, when commerce was differently understood and prac
tised, when the necessities and requirements of this enormous metro
polis were as unlike what they are now, as this enormous metropolis
itself on the map of Queen Victoria's time is unlike the scarcely
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REFLECTIONS OF A LORD MAYOR

recognisable little mustard-seed displayed as London on the map of
Queen Elizabeth's time. I have been told so, on the ground that
whereas my office was a respectable reality when the little city in
which I hold my state was actually London, and its citizens were the
London people, it is a swaggering sham when that little city's inhabi
tants are not a twelfth part of the metropolitan population, and
when that little city's extent is not a tenth part of the metropolitan
surface. These, I am informed, are a short summary of the reasons
why the London citizens who stand foremost as to the magnitude of
their mercantile dealings and the grasp of their intelligence, always
fly from the assumption of my blushing honours ; and why formally
constituted Commissions have admitted, not without some reluctance,
that I am — officially,' said the Lord Mayor twice — 'officially — a
most absurd creature, and, in point of fact, the Humbug already
mentioned.'

The Lord Mayor of London having thus summed up, polished
his gold chain with his sleeve, laid it down on the dressing-table,
put on a flannel gown, took a chair before the glass, and proceeded
to address himself in the following neat and appropriate terms :

' Now, my Lord,' said the Lord Mayor of London ; and at the
word he bowed, and smiled obsequiously ; ' you are well aware that
there is no foundation whatever for these envious disparagements.
They are the shadows of the light of Greatness.' (The Lord Mayor
stopped and made a note of this sentiment, as available after dinner
some day.) * On what evidence will you receive your true position ?
On the City Recorder's ? On the City Remembrancer's ? On the
City Chamberlain's ? On the Court of Common Council's ? On the
Swordbearer's ? On the Toastmaster's ? These are good witnesses,
I believe, and they will bear testimony at any time to your being
a solid dignitary, to jour office being one of the highest aspira
tions of man, one of the brightest crowns of merit, one of the
noblest objects of earthly ambition. But, my Lord Mayor'; here
the Lord Mayor smiled at himself and bowed again ; ' is it from
the City only, that you get these tributes to the virtues of your
office, and the empty wickedness of the Commission that would
dethrone you ? I think not. I think you may inquire East, West,
North, and South — particularly West,' said the Lord Mayor, who
was a courtly personage — * particularly West, among my friends of
the aristocracy — and still find that the Lord Mayor of London is

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the brightest jewel (next to Mercy) in the British crown, and the
apple of the United Kingdom's eye.

* Who,' said the Lord Mayor, crossing his knees, and arguing the
point, with the aid of his forefinger, at himself in the glass, * who is
to be believed? Is it the superior classes (my very excellent and
dear friends) that are to be believed, or is it Commissions and writers
in newspapers ? The reply of course is, the superior classes. Why
then,' said the Lord Mayor, ' let us consider what my beloved and
honoured friends the members of the superior classes, say.

' We will begin,' said the Lord Mayor, * with my highly eminent
and respected friends — my revered brothers, if they will allow me to
call them so — the Cabinet Ministers. What does a cabinet minister
say when he comes to dine with me ? He gets up and tells the
company that all the honours of official life are nothing comparable
to the honour of coming and dining with the Lord Mayor. He
gives them to understand that, in all his doubts, his mind in
stinctively reverts to the Lord Mayor for counsel ; that in all his
many triumphs, he looks to the Lord Mayor for his culminating
moral support ; that in all his few defeats, he looks to the Lord
Mayor for lasting consolation. He signifies that, if the Lord Mayor
only approves of his political career, he is happy ; that if the Lord
Mayor disapproves, he is miserable. His respect for the office is
perpetually augmenting. He has had the honour of enjoying the
munificent hospitality of other Lord Mayors, but he never knew
such a Lord Mayor as this Lord Mayor, or such a Lord Mayor's
dinner as this dinner. With much more to the same effect. And
I believe,' said the Lord Mayor of London, smiling obsequiously,
' that my noble and right honourable friends the Cabinet Ministers,
never make a fool of any one ?

'Take,' said the Lord Mayor of London, 'next, my highly
decorated friends, the Representatives of Foreign Courts. They
assure the guests, in the politest manner, that when they inform
their respective governments that they have had the honour of
dining with the Lord Mayor, their respective governments will
hardly know what to make of themselves, they will feel so exalted
by the distinction. And I hope,' said the Lord Mayor, smiling
obsequiously, ' that their Excellencies my diplomatic friends, usually
say what they mean ?

'What sentiments do the Army and Navy express when they
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REFLECTIONS OF A LORD MAYOR

come and dine at the Guildhall or Mansion House ? They don't
exactly tell the company that our brave soldiers and our hardy sea
men rush to conquest, stimulating one another with the great
national watchword, " The Lord Mayor ! " but they almost go that
length. They intimate that the courage of our national defenders
would be dreadfully damped if there was no Lord Mayor; that
Nelson and Wellington always had the Lord Mayor in their minds
(as no doubt they had) in conducting their most brilliant exploits ;
and that they always looked forward to the Lord Mayor (as no
doubt they did) for their highest rewards. And I think,' said the
Lord Mayor, smiling obsequiously, ' that my honourable and gallant
friends, the field-marshals and admirals of this glorious country, are
not the men to bandy compliments ?

'My eminently reverend friends the Archbishops and Bishops,
they are not idle talkers,1 said the Lord Mayor. 'Yet, when they do
me the honour to take no thought (as I may say) what they shall
eat or what they shall drink, but with the greatest urbanity to eat
and drink (I am proud to think) up to the full amount of three
pound three per head, they are not behind-hand with the rest. They
perceive in the Lord Mayor, a pillar of the great fabric of church and
state ; they know that the Lord Mayor is necessary to true Religion ;
they are, in a general way, fully impressed with the conviction that
the Lord Mayor is an Institution not to be touched without danger
to orthodox piety. Yet, if I am not deceived,' said the Lord Mayor,
smiling obsequiously, ' my pastoral and personal friends, the arch
bishops and bishops, are to be believed upon their affirmation ?

' My elevated and learned friends, the Judges ! ' cried the Lord
Mayor, in a tone of enthusiasm. ' When I ask the judges to dinner,
they are not found to encourage the recommendations of corrupt
Commissions. On the contrary, I infer from their speeches that
they are at a loss to understand how Law or Equity could ever be
administered in this country, if the Lord Mayor was reduced. I
understand from them, that it is, somehow, the Lord Mayor who
keeps the very judges themselves straight ; that if there was no Lord
Mayor, they would begin to go crooked ; that if they didn't dine with
the Lord Mayor at least once a year, they couldn't answer for their
not taking bribes, or doing something of that sort. And it is a
general opinion, I imagine,' said the Lord Mayor, smiling obsequi
ously, 'that my judicial friends the judges, know how to sum up a case?
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'Likewise my honourable and legislative friends the Members of
the House of Commons — and my noble and deliberative friends, the
Members of the House of Lords — and my learned and forensic
friends of the liberal profession of the Bar ! ' cried the Lord Mayor.
'They are all convinced (when they come to dinner) that without
the Lord Mayor, the whole Lord Mayor, and nothing but the Lord
Mayor, there would ensue what I may call a national smash. They
are all agreed that society is a kind of barrel, formed of a number of
staves, with a very few hoops to keep them together ; and that the
Lord Mayor of London is such a strong hoop, that if he was taken
off, the staves would fly asunder, and the barrel would burst. This
is very gratifying, this is very important, this is very dignifying,
this is very true. I am proud of this profound conviction. For,
I believe,' said the Lord Mayor, smiling obsequiously, 'that this
distinguished agglomeration of my eloquent and flowery friends, is
capable of making speeches ?

* Then you see, my Lord,1 pursued the Lord Mayor, resuming
the argument with his looking-glass, after a short pause of pride in
his illustrious circle of acquaintance, which caused him to swell con
siderably, ' it comes to this. Do these various distinguished persons
come into the city annually, as a matter of course, to make certain
routine speeches over you, without in the least caring or considering
what they mean — just as the boys do, in the same month, over Guy
Fawkes ; or do they come really and truly to uphold you. In the
former case, you would be placed in the unpleasant predicament of
knowing for certain that they laugh at you when they go home ; in
the latter case, you would have the happiness of being sure that the
Commission which declares you to be the — in point of fact,1 said the
Lord Mayor, with a lingering natural reluctance, 'the Humbug
already mentioned — is a piece of impotent falsehood and malice.

' Which you know it to be,1 said the Lord Mayor, rising firmly.
' Which you know it to be ! Your honoured and revered friends of
the upper classes, rally round you ' ; (the Lord Mayor made a note
of the neat expression, rallying round, as available for various public
occasions) ; ' and you see them, and you hear them, and seeing and
hearing are believing, or nothing is. Further, you are bound as
their devoted servant to believe them, or you fall into the admission
that public functionaries have got into a way of pumping out
floods of conventional words without any meaning and without any
498

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

sincerity — a way not likely to be reserved for Lord Mayors only,
and a very bad way for the whole community.'

So, the Lord Mayor of London went to bed, and dreamed of
being made a Baronet.

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

[DECEMBER 2, 1854]

DR. RAE may be considered to have established, by the mute but
solemn testimony of the relics he has brought home, that Sir John
Franklin and his party are no more.1 But, there is one passage in
his melancholy report, some examination into the probabilities and
improbabilities of which, we hope will tend to the consolation of
those who take the nearest and dearest interest in the fate of that
unfortunate expedition, by leading to the conclusion that there is no
reason whatever to believe, that any of its members prolonged their
existence by the dreadful expedient of eating the bodies of their
dead companions. Quite apart from the very loose and unreliable
nature of the Esquimaux representations (on which it would be
necessary to receive with great caution, even the commonest and
most natural occurrence), we believe we shall show, that close
analogy and the mass of experience are decidedly against the
reception of any such statement, and that it is in the highest
degree improbable that such men as the officers and crews of the
two lost ships would, or could, in any extremity of hunger, alleviate
the pains of starvation by this horrible means.

Before proceeding to the discussion, we will premise that we find
no fault with Dr. Rae, and that we thoroughly acquit him of any
trace of blame. He has himself openly explained, that his duty
demanded that he should make a faithful report, to the Hudson's
Bay Company or the Admiralty, of every circumstance stated to
him ; that he did so, as he was bound to do, without any reserva-

1 Sir John Franklin's Third Arctic Expedition started on 24th May 1845, an(^ wa§
never heard of again after July of the same year. Several voyages of discovery were
made, and Dr. Rae, who twice accompanied search parties, returned in 1854 and
reported the results of his efforts.

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tion ; and that his report was made public by the Admiralty : not
by him. It is quite clear that if it were an ill-considered proceeding
to disseminate this painful idea on the worst of evidence, Dr. Rae is
not responsible for it. It is not material to the question that Dr.
Rae believes in the alleged cannibalism ; he does so, merely * on the
substance of information obtained at various times and various
sources,1 which is before us all. At the same time, we will most
readily concede that he has all the rights to defend his opinion
which his high reputation as a skilful and intrepid traveller of great
experience in the Arctic Regions — combined with his manly, con
scientious, and modest personal character — can possibly invest him
with. Of the propriety of his immediate return to England with
the intelligence he had got together, we are fully convinced. As a
man of sense and humanity, he perceived that the first and greatest
account, to which it could be turned, was, the prevention of the use
less hazard of valuable lives ; and no one could better know in how
much hazard all lives are placed that follow Franklin's track, than
he who had made eight visits to the Arctic shores. With these
remarks we can release Dr. Rae from this inquiry, proud of him as an
Englishman, and happy in his safe return home to well-earned rest.

The following is the passage in the report to which we invite
attention : * Some of the bodies had been buried (probably those of
the first victims of famine) ; some were in a tent or tents ; others
under the boat, which had been turned over to form a shelter ; and
several lay scattered about in different directions. Of those found
on the island, one was supposed to have been an officer, as he had a
telescope strapped over his shoulders, and his double-barrelled gun
lay underneath him. From the mutilated state of many of the
corpses and the contents of the kettles, it is evident that our
wretched countrymen had been driven to the last resource — can
nibalism — as a means of prolonging existence. . . . None of the
Esquimaux with whom I conversed had seen the " whites," nor had
they ever been at the place where the bodies were found, but had
their information from those who had been there, and who had seen
the party when travelling.'

We have stated our belief that the extreme improbability of this

inference as to the last resource, can be rested, first on close analogy,

and secondly, on broad general grounds, quite apart from the

improbabilities and incoherencies of the Esquimaux evidence : which

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THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

is itself given, at the very best, at second-hand. More than this,
we presume it to have been given at second-hand through an
interpreter ; and he was, in all probability, imperfectly acquainted
with the language he translated to the white man. We believe
that few (if any) Esquimaux tribes speak one common dialect ; and
Franklin's own experience of his interpreters in his former voyage
was, that they and the Esquimaux they encountered understood
each other ' tolerably ' — an expression which he frequently uses in
his book, with the evident intention of showing that their com
munication was not altogether satisfactory. But, even making the
very large admission that Dr. Rae's interpreter perfectly understood
what he was told, there yet remains the question whether he could
render it into language of corresponding weight and value. We
recommend any reader who does not perceive the difficulty of doing
so and the skill required, even when a copious and elegant European
language is in question, to turn to the accounts of the .trial of Queen
Caroline, and to observe the constant discussions that arose — some
times, very important — in reference to the worth in English, of words
used by the Italian witnesses. There still remains another con
sideration, and a grave one, which is, that ninety-nine interpreters
out of a hundred, whether savage, half-savage, or wholly civilised,
interpreting to a person of superior station and attainments, will
be under a strong temptation to exaggerate. This temptation will
always be strongest, precisely where the person interpreted to is
seen to be the most excited and impressed by what he hears ; for,
in proportion as he is moved, the interpreter's importance is in
creased. We have ourself had an opportunity of inquiring whether
any part of this awful information, the unsatisfactory result of
' various times and various sources,' was conveyed by gestures. It
was so, and the gesture described to us as often repeated — that of
the informant setting his mouth to his own arm — would quite as
well describe a man having opened one of his veins, and drunk
of the stream that flowed from it. If it be inferred that the officer
who lay upon his double-barrelled gun, defended his life to the last
against ravenous seamen, under the boat or elsewhere, and that he
died in so doing, how came his body to be found ? That was not
eaten, or even mutilated, according to the description. Neither
were the bodies, buried in the frozen earth, disturbed ; and is it not
likely that if any bodies were resorted to as food, those the most

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

removed from recent life and companionship would have been the
first ? Was there any fuel in that desolate place for cooking * the
contents of the kettles'? If none, would the little flame of the
spirit-lamp the travellers may have had with them, have sufficed for
such a purpose? If not, would the kettles have been defiled for
that purpose at all ? ' Some of the corpses,' Dr. Rae adds, in a
letter to the Times, 'had been sadly mutilated, and had been
stripped by those who had the misery to survive them, and who
were found wrapped in two or three suits of clothes.' Had there
been no bears thereabout, to mutilate those bodies ; no wolves, no
foxes ? Most probably the scurvy, known to be the dreadfullest
scourge of Europeans in those latitudes, broke out among the party.
Virulent as it would inevitably be under such circumstances, it
would of itself cause dreadful disfigurement — woeful mutilation —
but, more than that, it would not only soon annihilate the desire to
eat (especially to eat flesh of any kind), but would annihilate the
power. Lastly, no man can, with any show of reason, undertake to
affirm that this sad remnant of Franklin's gallant band were not set
upon and slain by the Esquimaux themselves. It is impossible to
form an estimate of the character of any race of savages, from their
deferential behaviour to the white man while he is strong. The
mistake has been made again and again ; and the moment the white
man has appeared in the new aspect of being weaker than the
savage, the savage has changed and sprung upon him. There are
pious persons who, in their practice, with a strange inconsistency,
claim for every child born to civilisation all innate depravity, and
for every savage born to the woods and wilds all innate virtue. We
believe every savage to be in his heart covetous, treacherous, and
cruel; and we have yet to learn what knowledge the white man —
lost, houseless, shipless, apparently forgotten by his race, plainly
famine-stricken, weak, frozen, helpless, and dying — has of the gentle
ness of Esquimaux nature.

Leaving, as we purposed, this part of the subject with a glance,
let us put a supposititious case.

If a little band of British naval officers, educated and trained
exactly like the officers of this ill-fated expedition, had, on a former
occasion, in command of a party of men vastly inferior to the crews
of these two ships, penetrated to the same regions, and been exposed
to the rigours of the same climate; if they had undergone such
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THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

fatigue, exposure, and disaster, that scarcely power remained to them
to crawl, and they tottered and fell many times in a journey of a few
yards ; if they could not bear the contemplation of their ' filth and
wretchedness, each other's emaciated figures, ghastly countenances,
dilated eyeballs, and sepulchral voices'; if they had eaten their
shoes, such outer clothes as they could part with and not perish of
cold, the scraps of acrid marrow yet remaining in the dried and
whitened spines of dead wolves; if they had wasted away to
skeletons, on such fare, and on bits of putrid skin, and bits of hides
and the covers of guns, and pounded bones ; if they had passed
through all the pangs of famine, had reached that point of starva
tion where there is little or no pain left, and had descended so far
into the valley of the shadow of Death, that they lay down side by
side, calmly and even cheerfully awaiting their release from this
world ; if they had suffered such dire extremity, and yet lay where
the bodies of their dead companions lay unburied, within a few paces
of them ; and yet never dreamed at the last gasp of resorting to this
said 'last resource'; would it not be strong presumptive evidence
against an incoherent Esquimaux story, collected at ' various times'
as it wandered from ' various sources ' ? But, if the leader of that
party were the leader of this very party too ; if Franklin himself
had undergone those dreadful trials, and had been restored to
health and strength, and had been — not for days and months alone,
but years — the Chief of this very expedition, infusing into it, as
such a man necessarily must, the force of his character and dis
cipline, patience and fortitude ; would there not be a still greater
and stronger moral improbability to set against the wild tales of a
herd of savages ?

Now, this was Franklin's case. He had passed through the
ordeal we have described. He was the Chief of that expedition,
and he was the Chief of this. In this, he commanded a body of
picked English seamen of the first class ; in that, he and his three
officers had but one English seaman to rely on ; the rest of the men
being Canadian voyagers and Indians. His Narrative of a Journey
to the Shores of the Polar Sea in 1819-22, is one of the most explicit
and enthralling in the whole literature of Voyage and Travel. The
facts are acted and suffered before the reader's eyes, in the descrip
tions of Franklin, Richardson, and Back : three of the greatest
names in the history of heroic endurance.

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See how they gradually sink into the depths of misery.

' I was reduced,' says Franklin, long before the worst came,
* almost to skin and bone, and, like the rest of the party, suffered
from degrees of cold that would have been disregarded whilst in
health and vigour.' ' I set out with the intention of going to Saint
Germain, to hasten his operations (making a canoe), but though he
was only three quarters of a mile distant, I spent three hours in a
vain attempt to reach him, my strength being unequal to the labour
of wading through the deep snow ; and I returned quite exhausted,
and much shaken by the numerous falls I had got. My associates
were all in the same debilitated state. The voyagers were some
what stronger than ourselves, but more indisposed to exertion, on
account of their despondency. The sensation of hunger was no
longer felt by any of us, yet we were scarcely able to converse
upon any other subject than the pleasures of eating.' * We had a
small quantity of this weed (tripe de roche, and always the cause
of miserable illness to some of them) in the evening, and the
rest of our supper was made up of scraps of roasted leather.
The distance walked to-day was six miles.' * Previous to setting
out, the whole party ate the remains of their old shoes, and what
ever scraps of leather they had, to strengthen their stomachs for
the fatigue of the day's journey.' ' Not being able to find any
tripe de roche, we drank an infusion of the Labrador tea-plant,
and ate a few morsels of burnt leather for supper.' * We were
unable to raise the tent, and found its weight too great to carry
it on ; we therefore cut it up, and took a part of the canvas for a
cover.' Thus growing weaker and weaker every day, they reached,
at last, Fort Enterprise, a lonely and desolate hut, where Richardson
— then Dr. Richardson, now Sir John — and Hepburn, the English
seaman, from whom they had been parted, rejoined them. *W*
were all shocked at beholding the emaciated countenances of the
Doctor and Hepburn, as they strongly evidenced their extremely
debilitated state. The alteration in our appearance was equally
distressing to them, for, since the swellings had subsided, we were
little more than skin and bone. The Doctor particularly remarked
the sepulchral tone of our voices, which he requested us to make
more cheerful, if possible, quite unconscious that his own partook
of the same key.' ' In the afternoon Peltier was so much exhausted,
that he sat up with difficulty, and looked piteously ; at length he
504

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

slided from his stool upon the bed, as we supposed to sleep, and in
this composed state he remained upwards of two hours without our
apprehending any danger. We were then alarmed by hearing a
rattling in his throat, and on the Doctor's examining him he was
found to be speechless. He died in the course of the night.
Semandre sat up the greater part of the day, and even assisted in
pounding some bones ; but, on witnessing the melancholy state of
Peltier, he became very low, and began to complain of cold, and
stiffness of the joints. Being unable to keep up a sufficient fire to
warm him, we laid him down, and covered him with several blankets.
He did not, however, appear to get better, and I deeply lament
to add, he also died before daylight. We removed the bodies of
the deceased into the opposite part of the house, but our united
strength was inadequate to the task of interring them, or even
carrying them down to the river.' ' The severe shock occasioned
by the sudden dissolution of our two companions, rendered us very
melancholy. Adam (one of the interpreters) became low and de
spondent ; a change which we lamented the more, as we perceived
he had been gaining strength and spirits for the two preceding
days. I was particularly distressed by the thought that the labour
of collecting wood must now devolve upon Dr. Richardson and
Hepburn, and that my debility would disable me from affording
them any material assistance; indeed both of them most kindly
urged me not to make the attempt. I found it necessary, in their
absence, to remain constantly near Adam and to converse with him,
in order to prevent his reflecting on our condition, and to keep up
his spirits as far as possible. I also lay by his side at night.' ' The
Doctor and Hepburn were getting much weaker, and the limbs of
the latter were now greatly swelled. They came into the house
frequently in the course of the day to rest themselves, and when
once seated were unable to rise without the help of one another, or
of a stick. Adam was for the most part in the same low state as
yesterday, but sometimes he surprised us by getting up and walking
with an appearance of increased strength. His looks were now wild
and ghastly, and his conversation was often incoherent.' ' I may
here remark, that owing to our loss of flesh, the hardness of the
floor, from which we were only protected by a blanket, produced
soreness over the body, and especially those parts on which the
weight rested in lying ; yet to turn ourselves for~relief was a matter

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of toil and difficulty. However, during this period, and indeed all
along after the acute pains of hunger, which lasted but a short time,
had subsided, we generally enjoyed the comfort of a few hours'
sleep. The dreams which for the most part but not always accom
panied it, were usually (though not invariably) of a pleasant
character, being very often about the enjoyments of feasting. In
the daytime, we fell into the practice of conversing on common and
light subjects, although we sometimes discoursed, with seriousness
and earnestness, on topics connected with religion. We generally
avoided speaking, directly, of our present sufferings, or even of the
prospect of relief. I observed, that in proportion as our strength
decayed, our minds exhibited symptoms of weakness, evinced by a
kind of unreasonable pettishness with each other. Each of us
thought the other weaker in intellect than himself, and more in
need of advice and assistance. So trifling a circumstance as a
change of place, recommended by one as being warmer and more
comfortable, and refused by the other from a dread of motion,
frequently called forth fretful expressions, which were no sooner
uttered than atoned for, to be repeated, perhaps, in the course of a
few minutes. The same thing often occurred when we endeavoured
to assist each other in carrying wood to the fire ; none of us were
willing to receive assistance, although the task was disproportioned
to our strength. On one of these occasions, Hepburn was so con
vinced of this waywardness, that he exclaimed, " Dear me, if we are
spared to return to England, I wonder if we shall recover our
understandings ! "

Surely it must be comforting to the relatives and friends of
Franklin and his brave companions in later dangers, now at rest,
to reflect upon this manly and touching narrative; to consider
that at the time it so affectingly describes, and all the weaknesses
which it so truthfully depicts, the bodies of the dead lay within
reach, preserved by the cold, but unmutilated ; and to know it
for an established truth, that the sufferers had passed the bitterness
of hunger and were then dying passively.

They knew the end they were approaching very well, as Frank
lin's account of the arrival of their deliverance next day, shows.
4 Adam had passed a restless night, being disquieted by gloomy
apprehensions of approaching death, which we tried in vain to
dispel. He was so low in the morning as to be scarcely able to
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speak. I remained in bed by his side, to cheer him as much as
possible. The Doctor and Hepburn went to cut wood. They had
hardly begun their labour, when they were amazed at hearing the
report of a musket. They could scarcely believe that there was
really any one near, until they heard a shout, and immediately
espied three Indians close to the house. Adam and I heard the
latter noise, and I was fearful that a part of the house had fallen
upon one of my companions ; a disaster which had in fact been
thought not unlikely. My alarm was only momentary. Dr.
Richardson came in to communicate the joyful intelligence that
relief had arrived. He and myself immediately addressed thanks
giving to the throne of mercy for this deliverance, but poor Adam
was in so low a state that he could scarcely comprehend the informa
tion. When the Indians entered, he attempted to rise, but sank
down again. But for this seasonable interposition of Providence,
his existence must have terminated in a few hours, and that of the
rest probably in not many days.'

But, in the preceding trials and privations of that expedition,
there was one man, Michel, an Iroquois hunter, who did conceive
the horrible idea of subsisting on the bodies of the stragglers, if not
of even murdering the weakest with the express design of eating
them — which is pretty certain. This man planned and executed
his wolfish devices at a time when Sir John Richardson and Hepburn
were afoot with him every day; when, though their sufferings were
very great, they had not fallen into the weakened state of mind we
have just read of; and when the mere difference between his bodily
robustness and the emaciation of the rest of the party — to say
nothing of his mysterious absences and returns — might have en
gendered suspicion. Yet, so far off was the unnatural thought of
cannibalism from their minds, and from that of Mr. Hood, another
officer who accompanied them — though they were all then suffering
the pangs of hunger, and were sinking every hour — that no suspicion
of the truth dawned upon one of them, until the same hunter shot
Mr. Hood dead as he sat by a fire. It was after the commission of
that crime, when he had become an object of horror and distrust,
and seemed to be going savagely mad, that circumstances began to
piece themselves together in the minds of the two survivors, suggest
ing a guilt so monstrously unlikely to both of them that it had
never flashed upon the thoughts of either until they knew the

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wretch to be a murderer. To be rid of his presence, and freed from
the danger they at length perceived it to be fraught with, Sir John
Richardson, nobly assuming the responsibility he would not allow
a man of commoner station to bear, shot this devil through the head
— to the infinite joy of all the generations of readers who will honour
him in his admirable narrative of that transaction.

The words in which Sir John Richardson mentions this Michel,
after the earth is rid of him, are extremely important to our pur
pose, as almost describing the broad general ground towards which
we now approach. ' His principles, unsupported by a belief in the
divine truths of Christianity, were unable to withstand the pressure
of severe distress. His countrymen, the Iroquois, are generally
Christians, but he was totally uninstructed, and ignorant of the
duties inculcated by Christianity ; and from his long residence in
the Indian country, seems to have imbibed, or retained, the rules of
conduct which the southern Indians prescribe to themselves.1

Heaven forbid that we, sheltered and fed, and considering this
question at our own warm hearth, should audaciously set limits to
any extremity of desperate distress ! It is in reverence for the brave
and enterprising, in admiration for the great spirits who can endure
even unto the end, in love for their names, and in tenderness for their
memory, that we think of the specks, once ardent men, 'scattered
about in different directions ' on the waste of ice and snow, and plead
for their lightest ashes. Our last claim in their behalf and honour,
against the vague babble of savages, is, that the instances in which
this ' last resource ' so easily received, has been permitted to inter
pose between life and death, are few and exceptional ; whereas the
instances in which the sufferings of hunger have been borne until
the pain was past, are very many. Also, and as the citadel of the
position, that the better educated the man, the better disciplined
the habits, the more reflective and religious the tone of thought,
the more gigantically improbable the ' last resource ' becomes.

Beseeching the reader always to bear in mind that the lost
Arctic voyagers were carefully selected for the service, and that each
was in his condition no doubt far above the average, we will test
the Esquimaux kettle-stories by some of the most trying and famous
cases of hunger and exposure on record.

This, however, we must reserve for another and concluding
chapter next week.
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[DECEMBER 9, 1854J

WE resume our subject of last week.

The account of the sufferings of the shipwrecked men, in Don
Juan, will rise into most minds as our topic presents itself. It is
founded (so far as such a writer as Byron may choose to resort to
facts, in aid of what he knows intuitively), on several real cases.
Bligh's undecked-boat navigation, after the mutiny of the Bounty ;
and the wrecks of the Centaur, the Peggy, the Pandora, the Juno,
and the Thomas ; had been, among other similar narratives, atten
tively read by the poet.

In Bligh's case, though the endurances of all on board were
extreme, there was no movement towards the ' last resource.' And
this, though Bligh in the memorable voyage which showed his
knowledge of navigation to be as good as his temper was bad (which
is very high praise), could only serve out, at the best, 'about an
ounce of pork to each person,' and was fain to weigh the allowance
of bread against a pistol bullet, and in the most urgent need could
only administer wine or rum by the teaspoonful. Though the
necessities of the party were so great, that when a stray bird was
caught, its blood was poured into the mouths of three of the people
who were nearest death, and * the body, with the entrails, beak,
and feet, was divided into eighteen shares.' Though of a captured
dolphin there was 'issued about two ounces, including the offals,
to each person ' ; and though the time came, when, in Bligh's words,
' there was a visible alteration for the worse in many of the people
which excited great apprehensions in me. Extreme weakness,
swelled legs, hollow and ghastly countenances, with an apparent
debility of understanding, seemed to me the melancholy presages
of approaching dissolution.'

The Centaur, man-of-war, sprung a leak at sea in very heavy
weather ; was perceived, after great labour, to be fast settling down
by the head ; and was abandoned by the captain and eleven others,
in the pinnace. They were ' in a leaky boat, with one of the gun-

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wales stove, in nearly the middle of the Western Ocean ; without
compass, quadrant, or sail : wanting great-coat or cloak ; all very
thinly clothed, in a gale of wind, and with a great sea running.'
They had 'one biscuit divided into twelve morsels for breakfast,
and the same for dinner ; the neck of a bottle, broke off with the
cork in it, served for a glass; and this filled with water was the
allowance for twenty-four hours, to each man.' This misery was
endured, without any reference whatever to the last resource, for
fifteen days: at the expiration of which time, they happily made
land. Observe the captain's words, at the height. ' Our sufferings
were now as great as human strength could bear ; but, we were
convinced that good spirits were a better support than great bodily
strength ; for on this day Thomas Mathews, quartermaster, perished
from hunger and cold. On the day before, he had complained of
want of strength in his throat, as he expressed it, to swallow his
morsel, and in the night grew delirious and died without a groan.'
What were their reflections ? That they could support life on the
body? 'As it became next to certainty that we should all perish
in the same manner in a day or two, it was somewhat comfortable
to reflect that dying of hunger was not so dreadful as our imagina
tions had represented.'

The Pandora, frigate, was sent out to Otaheite, to bring home
for trial such of the mutineers of the Bounty as could be found upon
the island. In Endeavour Straits, on her homeward voyage, she
struck upon a reef; was got off, by great exertion; but had sus
tained such damage, that she soon heeled over and went down.
One hundred and ten persons escaped in the boats, and entered on
4 a long and dangerous voyage.' The daily allowance to each, was
a musket-ball weight of bread, and two small wineglasses of water.
'The heat of the sun and reflexion of the sand became intolerable,
and the quantity of salt water swallowed by the men created the
most parching thirst ; excruciating tortures were endured, and one
of the men went mad and died.' Perhaps this body was devoured ?
No. ' The people at length neglected weighing their slender allow
ance, their mouths becoming so parched that few attempted to eat;
and what was not claimed, was returned to the general stock.1
They were a fine crew (but not so fine as Franklin's), and in a
state of high discipline. Only this one deatli occurred, and all the
rest were saved.
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The Juno, a rotten and unseaworthy ship, sailed from Rangoon
for Madras, with a cargo of teak-wood. She had been out three
weeks, and had already struck upon a sandbank and sprung a leak,
which the crew imperfectly stopped, when she became a wreck in
a tremendous storm. The second mate and others, including the
captain's wife, climbed into the mizen-top, and made themselves
fast to the rigging. The second mate is the narrator of their
distresses, and opens them with this remarkable avowal. * We saw
that we might remain on the wreck till carried off by famine, the
most frightful shape in which death could appear to us. I confess
it was my intention, as well as that of the rest, to prolong my
existence by the only means that seemed likely to occur — eating
the flesh of any whose life might terminate before my own. But
this idea we did not communicate, or even hint to each other, until
long afterwards ; except once, that the gunner, a Roman Catholic,
asked me if I thought there would be a sin in having recourse to
such an expedient.' Now, it might reasonably be supposed, with
this beginning, that the wreck of the Juno furnishes some awful
instances of the ' last resource ' of the Esquimaux stories. Not one.
But, perhaps no unhappy creature died, in this mizen-top where the
second mate was ? Half a dozen, at least, died there ; and the body
of one Lascar getting entangled in the rigging, so that the survivors
in their great weakness could not for some time release it and throw
it overboard — which was their manner of disposing of the other
bodies — hung there, for two or three days. It is worthy of all
attention, that as the mate grew weaker, the terrible phantom
which had been in his mind at first (as it might present itself to the
mind of any other person, not actually in the extremity imagined),
grew paler and more remote. At first, he felt sullen and irritable ;
on the night of the fourth day he had a refreshing sleep, dreamed
of his father, a country clergyman, thought that he was administer
ing the Sacrament to him, and drew the cup away when he stretched
out his hand to take it. He chewed canvas, lead, any substance he
could find — would have eaten his shoes, early in his misery, but
that he wore none. And yet he says, and at an advanced stage of
his story too, * After all that I suffered, I believe it fell short of the
idea I had formed of what would probably be the natural conse
quence of such a situation as that to which we were reduced. I had
read or heard that uo person could live without food, beyond a few

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days ; and when several had elapsed, I was astonished at my having
existed so long, and concluded that every succeeding day must be
the last. I expected, as the agonies of death approached, that we
should be tearing the flesh from each other's bones.' Later still, he
adds : ' I can give very little account of the rest of the time. The
sensation of hunger was lost in that of weakness ; and when I could
get a supply of fresh water I was comparatively easy/ When land
was at last descried, he had become too indifferent to raise his head
to look at it, and continued lying in a dull and drowsy state, much
as Adam the interpreter lay, with Franklin at his side.

The Peggy was an American sloop, sailing home from the Azores
to New York. She encountered great distress of weather, ran short
of provision, and at length had no food on board, and no water,
' except about two gallons which remained dirty at the bottom of
a cask.1 The crew ate a cat they had on board, the leather from
the pumps, their buttons and their shoes, the candles and the oil.
Then, they went aft, and down into the captain's cabin, and said
they wanted him to see lots fairly drawn who should be killed to
feed the rest. The captain refusing with horror, they went forward
again, contrived to make the lot fall on a negro whom they had on
board, shot him, fried a part of him for supper, and pickled the rest,
with the exception of the head and fingers which they threw over
board. The greediest man among them, dying raving mad on the
third day after this event, they threw his body into the sea — it
would seem because they feared to derive a contagion of madness
from it, if they ate it. Nine days having elapsed in all since the
negro's death, and they being without food again, they went below
once more and repeated their proposal to the captain (who lay weak
and ill in his cot, having been unable to endure the mere thought
of touching the negro's remains), that he should see lots fairly
drawn. As he had no security but that they would manage, if he
still refused, that the lot should fall on him, he consented. It fell
on a foremast-man, who was the favourite of the whole ship. He
was quite willing to die, and chose the man who had shot the negro,
to be his executioner. While he was yet living, the cook made a
fire in the galley; but, they resolved, when all was ready for his
death, that the fire should be put out again, and that the doomed
foremast-man should live until an hour before noon next day ; after
which they went once more into the captain's cabin, and begged him
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THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

to read prayers, with supplications that a sail might heave in sight
before the appointed time. A sail was seen at about eight o'clock
next morning, and they were taken off the wreck.

Is there any circumstance in this case to separate it from the
others already described, and from the case of the lost Arctic
voyagers? Let the reader judge. The ship was laden with wine
and brandy. The crew were incessantly drunk from the first hour
of their calamities falling upon them. They were not sober, even at
the moment when they proposed the drawing of lots. They were
with difficulty restrained from making themselves wildly intoxicated
while the strange sail bore down to their rescue. And the mate,
who should have been the exemplar and preserver of discipline,
was so drunk after all, that he had no idea whatever of anything
that had happened, and was rolled into the boat which saved his
life.

In the case of the Thomas, the surgeon bled the man to death on
whom the lot fell, and his remains were eaten ravenously. The
details of this shipwreck are not within our reach ; but, we confi
dently assume the crew to have been of an inferior class.

The useful and accomplished Sir John Barrow, remarking that it
is but too well established ' that men in extreme cases have destroyed
each other for the sake of appeasing hunger,' instances the English
ship the Nautilus and the French ship the Medusa. Let us look
into the circumstances of these two shipwrecks.

The Nautilus, sloop of war, bound for England with despatches
from the Dardanelles, struck, one dark and stormy January night,
on a coral rock in the Mediterranean, and soon broke up. A number
of the crew got upon the rock, which scarcely rose above the water,
and was less than four hundred yards long, and not more than two
hundred broad. On the fourth day — they having been in the mean
time hailed by some of their comrades who had got into a small
whale-boat which was hanging over the ship's quarter when she
struck ; and also knowing that boat to have made for some fisher
men not far off — these shipwrecked people ate the body of a young
man who had died some hours before : notwithstanding that Sir
John Barrow's words would rather imply that they killed some
unfortunate person for the purpose. Now, surely after what we
have just seen of the extent of human endurance under similar
circumstances, we know this to be an exceptional and uncommon
VOLIrKK 513

case. It may likewise be argued that few of the people on the rock
can have eaten of this fearful food ; for, the survivors were fifty in
number, and were not taken off until the sixth day and the eating
of no other body is mentioned, though many persons died.

We come then, to the wreck of the Medusa, of which there is a
lengthened French account by two surviving members of the crew,
which was very indifferently translated into English some five-and-
thirty years ago. She sailed from France for Senegal, in company
with three other vessels, and had about two hundred and forty souls
on board, including a number of soldiers. She got among shoals
and stranded, a fortnight after her departure from Aix Roads.
After scenes of tremendous confusion and dismay, the people at
length took to the boats, and to a raft made of topmasts, yards, and
other stout spars, strongly lashed together. One hundred and fifty
mortals were crammed together on the raft, of whom only fifteen
remained to be saved at the end of thirteen days. The raft has
become the ship, and may always be understood to be meant when
the wreck of the Medusa is in question.

Upon this raft, every conceivable and inconceivable horror, pos
sible under the circumstances, took place. It was shamefully deserted
by the boats (though the land was within fifteen leagues at that
time), and it was so deep in the water that those who clung to it,
fore and aft, were always immersed in the sea to their middles, and
it was only out of the water amidships. It had a pole for a mast,
on which the top-gallant sail of the Medusa was hoisted. It rocked
and rolled violently with every wave, so that even in the dense
crowd it was impossible to stand without holding on. Within the
first few hours, people were washed off by dozens, flung themselves
into the sea, were stifled in the press, and, getting entangled among
the spars, rolled lifeless to and fro under foot. There was a cask
of wine upon it which was secretly broached by the soldiers and
sailors, who drank themselves so mad, that they resolved to cut
the cords asunder, and send the whole living freight to perdi
tion. They were headed by * an Asiatic, and soldier in a colonial
regiment : of a colossal stature, with short curled hair, an extremely
large nose, an enormous mouth, a sallow complexion, and a hideous
air.* Him, an officer cast into the sea ; upon which, his comrades
made a charge at the officer, threw him into the sea, and, on his
being recovered by their opponents who launched a barrel to him,

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tried to cut out his eyes with a penknife. Hereupon, an incessant
and infernal combat was fought between the two parties, with sabres,
knives, bayonets, nails, and teeth, until the rebels were thinned and
cowed, and they were all ferociously wild together. On the third day,
they * fell upon the dead bodies with which the raft was covered, and
cut off pieces, which some instantly devoured. Many did not touch
them ; almost all the officers were of this number.' On the fourth
' we dressed some fish (they had fire on the raft) which we
devoured with extreme avidity ; but, our hunger was so great, and
our portion of fish so small, that we added to it some human
flesh, which dressing rendered less disgusting; it was this which the
officers touched for the first time. From this day we continued to
use it; but we could not dress it any more, as we were entirely
deprived of the means/ through the accidental extinction of their
fire, and their having no materials to kindle another. Before the
fourth night, the raving mutineers rose again, and were cut down
and thrown overboard until only thirty people remained alive upon
the raft. On the seventh day, there were only twenty-seven ; and
twelve of these, being spent and ill, were every one cast into the sea
by the remainder, who then, in an access of repentance, threw the
weapons away too, all but one sabre. After that ' the soldiers and
sailors ' were eager to devour a butterfly which was seen fluttering
on the mast ; after that, some of them began to tell the stories of
their lives ; and thus, with grim joking, and raging thirst and reck
less bathing among the sharks which had now begun to follow the
raft, and general delirium and fever, they were picked up by a
ship : to the number, and after the term of exposure, already men
tioned.

Are there any circumstances in this frightful case, to account for
its peculiar horrors? Again, the reader shall judge. No discipline
worthy of the name had been observed aboard the Medusa from
the minute of her weighing anchor. The captain had inexplicably
delegated his authority ' to a man who did not belong to the staff.
He was an ex-officer of the marine, who had just left an English
prison, where he had been for ten years.' This man held the ship's
course against the protest of the officers, who warned him what
would come of it. The work of the ship had been so ill done, that
even the common manoeuvres necessary to the saving of a boy who
fell overboard, had been bungled, and the boy had been needlessly

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lost. Important signals had been received from one of the ships in
company, and neither answered nor reported to the captain. The
Medusa had been on fire through negligence. When she struck,
desertion of duty, mean evasion and fierce recrimination, wasted
the precious moments. * It is probable that if one of the first officers
had set the example, order would have been restored ; but every
one was left to himself.' The most virtuous aspiration of which the
soldiers were sensible, was, to fire upon their officers, and, failing that,
to tear their eyes out and rend them to pieces. The historians com
pute that there were not in all upon the raft — before the sick were
thrown into the sea — more than twenty men of decency, education,
and purpose enough, even to oppose the maniacs. To crown all,
they describe the soldiers as * wretches who were not worthy to
wear the French uniform. They were the scum of all countries,
the refuse of the prisons, where they had been collected to make up
the force. When, for the sake of health, they had been made to
bathe in the sea (a ceremony from which some of them had the
modesty to endeavour to excuse themselves), the whole crew had had
ocular demonstration that it was not upon their breasts these heroes
wore the insignia of the exploits which had led to their serving the
state in the ports of Toulon, Brest, or Rochefort."* And is it with
the scourged and branded sweepings of the galleys of France, in
their debased condition of eight-and-thirty years ago, that we shall
compare the flower of the trained adventurous spirit of the English
Navy, raised by Parry, Franklin, Richardson, and Back ?

Nearly three hundred years ago, a celebrated case of famine
occurred in the Jacques, a French ship, homeward - bound from
Brazil, with forty-five persons on board, of whom twenty-five were
the ship's company. She was a crazy old vessel, fit for nothing but
firewood, and had been out four months, and was still upon the
weary seas far from land, when her whole stock of provisions was
exhausted. The very maggots in the dust of the bread-room had
been eaten up, and the parrots and monkeys brought from Brazil
by the men on board had been killed and eaten, when two of the
men died. Their bodies were committed to the deep. At least
twenty days afterwards, when they had had perpetual cold and
stormy weather, and were grown too weak to navigate the ship;
when they had eaten pieces of the dried skin of the wild hog, and
leather jackets and shoes, and the horn-plates of the ship-lanterns,
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THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

and all the wax-candles ; the gunner died. His body likewise, was
committed to the deep. They then began to hunt for mice, so that
it became a common thing on board, to see skeleton-men watching
eagerly and silently at mouse-holes, like cats. They had no wine
and no water ; nothing to drink but one little glass of cider, each,
per day. When they were come to this pass, two more of the sailors
' died of hunger.1 Their bodies likewise, were committed to the
deep. So long and doleful were these experiences on the barren sea,
that the people conceived the extraordinary idea that another deluge
had happened, and there was no land left. Yet, this ship drifted to
the coast of Brittany, and no * last resource ' had ever been appealed
to. It is worth remarking that, after they were saved, the captain
declared he had meant to kill somebody, privately, next day. Who
soever has been placed in circumstances of peril, with companions,
will know the infatuated pleasure some imaginations take in enhanc
ing them and all their remotest possible consequences, after they are
escaped from, and will know what value to attach to this declaration.

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, a ship's master and fifteen men
escaped from a wreck in an open boat, which they weighed down
very heavy, and were at sea, with no fresh-water, and nothing to eat
but the floating sea- weed, seven days and nights. * We will all live
or die together,' said the master on the third day, when one of the
men proposed to draw lots — not who should become the last re
source, but who should be thrown overboard to lighten the boat.
On the fifth day, that man and another died. The rest were ' very
weak and praying for death ' ; but these bodies also, were committed
to the deep.

In the reign of George the Third, the Wager, man-of-war, one
of a squadron badly found and provided in all respects, sailing from
England for South America, was wrecked on the coast of Patagonia.
She was commanded by a brutal though bold captain, and manned
by a turbulent crew, most of whom were exasperated to a readiness
for all mutiny by having been pressed in the Downs, in the hour
of their arrival at home from long and hard service. When the ship
struck, they broke open the officers' chests, dressed themselves in the
officers' uniforms, and got drunk in the old, Smollett manner. About
a hundred and fifty of them made their way ashore, and divided into
parties. Great distress was experienced from want of food, and one
of the boys, ' having picked up the liver of one of the drowned men

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whose carcase had been dashed to pieces against the rocks, could be
with difficulty withheld from making a meal of it.' One man, in a
quarrel, on a spot which, in remembrance of their sufferings there,
they called Mount Misery, stabbed another mortally, and left him
dead on the ground. Though a third of the whole number were no
more, chiefly through want, in eight or ten weeks ; and though they
had in the meantime eaten a midshipman"^ dog, and were now glad
to feast on putrid morsels of seal that had been thrown away ;
certain men came back to this Mount Misery, expressly to give tins
body (which throughout had remained untouched), decent burial :
assigning their later misfortunes * to their having neglected this
necessary tribute."1 Afterwards, in an open-boat navigation, when
rowers died at their oars of want and its attendant weakness, and
there was nothing to serve out but bits of rotten seal, the starving
crew went ashore to bury the bodies of their dead companions, in
the sand. At such a condition did even these ill-nurtured, ill-com
manded, ill-used men arrive, without appealing to the ' last resource,1
that they were so much emaciated ' as hardly to have the shape of
men,1 while the captain's legs ' resembled posts, though his body
appeared to be nothing but skin and bone,1 and he had fallen into
that feeble state of intellect that he had positively forgotten his
own name.

In the same reign, an East Indiaman, bound from Surat to
Mocha and Jidda in the Dead Sea, took fire when two hundred
leagues distant from the nearest land, which was the coast of
Malabar. The mate and ninety-five other people, white, brown,
and black, found themselves in the long-boat, with this voyage
before them, and neither water nor provisions on board. The
account of the mate who conducted the boat, day and night, is, * We
were never hungry, though our thirst was extreme. On the seventh
day, our throats and tongues swelled to such a degree, that we con
veyed our meaning by signs. Sixteen died on that day, and almost
the whole people became silly, and began to die laughing. I earnestly
petitioned God that I might continue in my senses to my end,
which He was pleased to grant : I being the only person on the
eighth day that preserved them. Twenty more died that day.
On the ninth I observed land, which overcame my senses, and I fell
into a swoon with thankfulness of joy.1 Again no last resource,
and can the reader doubt that they would all have died without it ?
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THE LOST AIICTIC VOYAGERS

In the same reign, and within a few years of the same date,
the Philip Aubin, bark of eighty tons, bound from Barbadoes to
Surinam, broached-to at sea, and foundered. The captain, the
mate, and two seamen, got clear of the wreck and into ( a small
boat twelve or thirteen feet long.1 In accomplishing this escape,
they all, but particularly the captain, showed great coolness,
courage, sense, and resignation. They took the captain's dog on
board, and picked up thirteen onions which floated out of the ship,
after she went down. They had no water, no mast, sail, or oars ;
nothing but the boat, what they wore, and a knife. The boat had
sprung a leak, which was stopped with a shirt. They cut pieces of
wood from the boat itself, which they made into a mast ; they
rigged the mast with strips of the shirt ; and they hoisted a pair of
wide trousers for a sail. The little boat being cut down almost to
the water's edge, they made a bulwark against the sea, of their own
backs. The mate steered with a topmast he had pushed before him
to the boat, when he swam to it. On the third day, they killed the
dog, and drank his blood out of a hat. On the fourth day, the
two men gave in, saying they would rather die than toil on ; and
one persisted in refusing to do his part in baling the boat, though
the captain implored him on his knees. But, a very decided threat
from the mate to steer him into the other world with the topmast
by bringing it down upon his skull, induced him to turn-to again.
On the fifth day, the mate exhorted the rest to cut a piece out of
his thigh, and quench their thirst ; but, no one stirred. He had
eaten more of the dog than any of the rest, and would seem from
this wild proposal to have been the worse for it, though he was
quite steady again next day, and derived relief (as the captain did),
from turning a nail in his mouth, and often sprinkling his head
with salt-water. The captain, first and last, took only a few
mouthfuls of the dog, and one of the seamen only tasted it, and
the other would not touch it. The onions they all thought of
small advantage to them, as engendering greater thirst. On the
eighth day, the two seamen, who had soon relapsed and become
delirious and quite oblivious of their situation, died, within three
hours of each other. The captain and mate saw the Island of
Tobago that evening, but could not make it until late in the
ensuing night. The bodies were found in the boat, unmutilated
by the last resource.

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In the same reign still, and within three years of this disaster,
the American brig, Tyrel, sailed from New York for the Island of
Antigua. She was a miserable tub, grossly unfit for sea, and turned
bodily over in a gale of wind, five days after her departure. Seven
teen people took to a boat, nineteen feet and a half long, and less
than six feet and a half broad. They had half a peck of white
biscuit, changed into salt dough by the sea-water ; and a peck of
common ship-biscuit. They steered their course by the polar-star.
Soon after sunset on the ninth day, the second mate and the
carpenter died very peacefully. * All betook themselves to prayers,
and then after some little time stripped the bodies of their two
unfortunate comrades, and threw them overboard.' Next night,
a man aged sixty-four who had been fifty years at sea, died, asking
to the last for a drop of water ; next day, two more died, in perfect
repose ; next night, the gunner ; four more in the succeeding four-
and-twenty hours. Five others followed in one day. And all these
bodies were quietly thrown overboard — though with great difficulty
at last, for the survivors were now exceeding weak, and not one had
strength to pull an oar. On the fourteenth or fifteenth morning,
when there were only three left alive, and the body of the cabin
boy, newly dead, was in the boat, the chief mate * asked his two
companions whether they thought they could eat any of the boy's
flesh ? They signified their inclination to try ; whence, the body
being quite cold, he cut a piece from the inside of its thigh, a little
above the knee. Part of this he gave to the captain and boatswain,
and reserved a small portion to himself. But, on attempting to
swallow the flesh, it was rejected by the stomachs of all, and the
body was therefore thrown overboard.' Yet that captain, and
that boatswain both died of famine in the night, and another whole
week elapsed before a schooner picked up the chief mate, left alone
in the boat with their unmolested bodies, the dumb evidence of his
story. Which bodies the crew of that schooner saw, and buried in
the deep.

Only four years ago, in the autumn of eighteen hundred and
fifty, a party of British missionaries were most indiscreetly sent out
by a Society, to Patagonia. They were seven in number, and all
died near the coast (as nothing but a miracle could have prevented
their doing), of starvation. An exploring party, under Captain
Moorshead of her Majesty's ship Dido, came upon their traces, and
520

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

found the remains of four of them, lying by their two boats which
they had hauled up for shelter. Captain Gardiner, their superin
tendent, who had probably expired the last, had kept a journal
until the pencil had dropped from his dying hand. They had
buried three of their party, like Christian men, and the rest had
faded away in quiet resignation, and without great suffering. They
were kind and helpful to one another, to the last. One of the
common men, just like Adam with Franklin, was 'cast down at the
loss of his comrades, and wandering in his mind1 before he passed
away.

Against this strong case in support of our general position, we
will faithfully set four opposite instances we have sought out.

The first is the case of the New Horn, Dutch vessel, which was
burnt at sea and blew up with a great explosion, upwards of two
hundred years ago. Seventy-two people escaped in two boats. The
old Dutch captain's narrative being rather obscure, and (as we
believe) scarcely traceable beyond a French translation, it is not easy
to understand how long they were at sea, before the people fell into
the state to which the ensuing description applies. According to
our calculation, however, they had not been shipwrecked many days
— we take the period to have been less than a week — and they had
had seven or eight pounds of biscuit on board. ' Our misery daily
increased, and the rage of hunger urging us to extremities, the
people began to regard each other with ferocious looks. Consulting
among themselves, they secretly determined to devour the boys on
board, and after their bodies were consumed, to throw lots who
should next suffer death, that the lives of the rest might be pre
served.1 The captain dissuading them from this with the utmost
loathing and horror, they reconsidered the matter, and decided ' that
should we not get sight of land in three days, the boys should be
sacrificed.' On the last of the three days, the land was made ; so,
whether any of them would have executed this intention, can never
be known.

The second case runs thus. In the last year of the last century,
six men were induced to desert from the English artillery at St.
Helena — a deserter from any honest service is not a character from
which to expect much — and to go on board an American ship, the
only vessel then lying in those roads. After they got on board in
the dark, they saw lights moving about on shore, and, fearful that

521

MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

they would be missed and taken, went over the side, with the con
nivance of the ship's people, got into the whale boat, and made off:
purposing to be taken up again by and by, when the ship was under
weigh. But, they missed her, and rowed and sailed about for sixteen
days, at the end of which their provisions were all consumed. After
chewing bamboo, and gnawing leather, and eating a dolphin, one of
them proposed, when ten days more had run out, that lots should be
drawn which deserter should bleed himself to death, to support life
in the rest. It was agreed to, and done. They could take very
little of this food.

The third, is the case of the Nottingham Galley, trading from
Great Britain to America, which was wrecked on a rock called
Boon Island, off the coast of Massachusetts. About two days after
wards — the narrative is not very clear in its details — the cook died
on the rock. ' Therefore,' writes the captain, ' we laid him in a con
venient place for the sea to carry him away. None then proposed to
eat his body, though several afterwards acknowledged that they, as
well as myself, had thoughts of it.' They were * tolerably well sup
plied with fresh-water throughout/ But, when they had been upon
the rock about a fortnight, and had eaten all their provisions, the
carpenter died. And then the captain writes : ' We suffered the body
to remain with us till morning, when I desired those who were best able
to remove it. I crept out myself to see whether Providence had yet
sent us anything to satisfy our craving appetites. Returning before
noon, and observing that the dead body still remained, I asked the
men why they had not removed it : to which they answered, that all
were not able. I therefore fastened a rope to it, and, giving the
utmost of my assistance, we, with some difficulty, got it out of the
tent. But the fatigue and consideration of our misery together, so
overcame my spirits, that, being ready to faint, I crept into the tent
and was no sooner there, than, as the highest aggravation of distress,
the men began requesting me to give them the body of their lifeless
comrade to eat, the better to support their own existence.' The
captain ultimately complied. They became brutalised and ferocious;
but they suffered him to keep the remains on a high part of the rock :
and they were not consumed when relief arrived.

The fourth and last case, is the wreck of the St. Lawrence, bound
from Quebec for New York. An ensign of foot, bringing home
despatches, relates how she went ashore on a desolate part of the
522

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

coast of North America, and how those who were saved from the
wreck suffered great hardships, both by land and sea, and were
thinned in their numbers by death, and buried their dead. All this
time they had some provisions, though they ran short, but at length
they were reduced to live upon weed and tallow and melted snow.
The tallow being all gone, they lived on weed and snow for three
days, and then the ensign came to this ' The time was now arrived
when I thought it highly expedient to put the plan before mentioned
(casting lots who should be killed) into execution ; but on feeling
the pulse of my companions, I found some of them rather averse to
the proposal. The desire of life still prevailed above every other
sentiment, notwithstanding the wretchedness of our condition, and
the impossibility of preserving it by any other method. I thought
it an extraordinary instance of infatuation, that men should prefer
the certainty of a lingering and miserable death, to the distant
chance of escaping one more immediate and less painful. However,
on consulting with the mate what was to be done, I found that
although they objected to the proposal of casting lots for the victim,
yet all concurred in the necessity of some one being sacrificed for the
preservation of the rest. The only question was how it should be
determined ; when by a kind of reasoning more agreeable to the
dictates of self-love than justice, it was agreed, that as the captain
was now so exceedingly reduced as to be evidently the first who
would sink under our present complicated misery ; as he had been
the person to whom we considered ourselves in some measure indebted
for all our misfortunes ; and further, as he had ever since our ship
wreck been the most remiss in his exertions towards the general
good — he was undoubtedly the person who should be the first sacri
ficed.1 The design of which the ensign writes with this remarkable
coolness, was not carried into execution, by reason of their falling in
with some Indians; but, some of the party who were afterwards
separated from the rest, declared when they rejoined them, that they
had eaten of the remains of their deceased companions. Of this case
it is to be noticed that the captain is alleged to have been a mere
kidnapper, sailing under false pretences, and therefore not likely to
have had by any means a choice crew ; that the greater part of them
got drunk when the ship was in danger ; and that they had not a
very sensitive associate in the ensign, on his own highly disagreeable
showing.

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It appears to us that the influence of great privation upon the
lower and less disciplined class of character, is much more bewilder
ing and maddening at sea than on shore. The confined space, the
monotonous aspect of the waves, the mournful winds, the monotonous
motion, the dead uniformity of colour, the abundance of water that
cannot be drunk to quench the raging thirst (which the Ancient
Mariner perceived to be one of his torments) — these seem to engender
a diseased mind with greater quickness and of a worse sort. The
conviction on the part of the sufferers that they hear voices calling
for them ; that they descry ships coming to their aid ; that they hear
the firing of guns, and see the flash ; that they can plunge into the
waves without injury, to fetch something or to meet somebody; is
not often paralleled among suffering travellers by land. The mirage
excepted — a delusion of the desert, which has its counterpart upon
the sea, not included under these heads — we remember nothing of
this sort experienced by Bruce, for instance, or by Mungo Park : least
of all by Franklin in the memorable book we have quoted. Our com
parison of the records of the two kinds of trial, leads us to believe,
that even men who might be in danger of the last resource at sea,
would be very likely to pine away by degrees, and never come to it,
ashore.

In his published account of the ascent of Mont Blanc, which
is an excellent little book, Mr. Albert Smith describes, with very
humorous fidelity, that when he was urged on by the guides, in a
drowsy state when he would have given the world to lie down and go
to sleep for ever, he was conscious of being greatly distressed by some
difficult and altogether imaginary negotiations respecting a non
existent bedstead ; also, by an impression that a familiar friend in
London came up with the preposterous intelligence that the King
of Prussia objected to the party's advancing, because it was his
ground. But, these harmless vagaries are not the present question,
being commonly experienced under most circumstances where an
effort to fix the attention, or exert the body, contends with a strong
disposition to sleep. We have been their sport thousands of times,
and have passed through a series of most inconsistent and absurd
adventures, while trying hard to follow a short dull story related by
some eminent conversationalist after dinner.

No statement of cannibalism, whether on the deep or the dry land,
is to be admitted supposititiously, or inferentially, or on any but the
524

THE LOST ARCTIC VOYAGERS

most direct and positive evidence : no, not even as occurring among
savage people, against whom it was in earlier times too often a
pretence for cruelty and plunder. Mr. Prescott, in his brilliant
history of the Conquest of Mexico, observes of a fact so astonishing
as the existence of cannibalism among a people who had attained
considerable advancement in the arts and graces of life, that ' they did
not feed on human flesh merely to gratify a brutish appetite, but in
obedience to their religion — a distinction,1 he justly says, * worthy of
notice.' Besides which, it is to be remarked, that many of these
feeding practices rest on the authority of narrators who distinctly
saw St. James and the Virgin Mary fighting at the head of the
troops of Cortes, and who possessed, therefore, to say the least, an
unusual range of vision. It is curious to consider, with our general
impressions on the subject — very often derived, we have no doubt,
from Robinson Crusoe, if the oaks of men's beliefs could be traced
back to acorns — how rarely the practice, even among savages, has been
proved. The word of a savage is not to be taken for it; firstly,
because he is a liar; secondly, because he is a boaster; thirdly,
because he often talks figuratively ; fourthly, because he is given to a
superstitious notion that when he tells you he has his enemy in his
stomach, you will logically give him credit for having his enemy's
valour in his heart. Even the sight of cooked and dissevered human
bodies among this or that tattoo'd tribe, is not proof. Such appro
priate offerings to their barbarous, wide-mouthed, goggle-eyed gods,
savages have been often seen and known to make. And although it
may usually be held as a rule, that the fraternity of priests lay eager
hands upon everything meant for the gods, it is always possible that
these offerings are an exception : as at once investing the idols with
an awful character, and the priests with a touch of disinterestedness,
whereof their order may occasionally stand in need.

The imaginative people of the East, in the palmy days of its
romance — not very much accustomed to the sea, perhaps, but
certainly familiar by experience and tradition with the perils of the
desert — had no notion of the ' last resource' among civilised human
creatures. In the whole wide circle of the Arabian Nights, it is
reserved for ghoules, gigantic blacks with one eye, monsters like
towers, of enormous bulk and dreadful aspect, and unclean animals
lurking on the seashore, that puffed and blew their way into caves
where the dead were interred. Even for Sinbad the Sailor, buried

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MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS

alive, the story-teller found it easier to provide some natural sus
tenance, in the shape of so many loaves of bread and so much water,
let down into the pit with each of the other people buried alive after
him (whom he killed with a bone, for he was not-»iee)fthan to invent
this dismal expedient.

We are brought back to the position , almost embodied in the
words of Sir John Richardson towards the close of ttie former
chapter. In weighing the probabilities and improbabilities of the
' last resource,' the foremost question is— -not the nature of the ex
tremity ; but, the nature of the men*" "We submit that the memory
of the lost Arctic voyagers is placed, by reason and experience,
high above the taint. of this so easily-allowed connection ; and that
the noble conduct anck^xample of such men, and of their own $reat
leader himself, under similar endurances, belies it, and outweighs by
the weight of the whole universe the chatter of a gross handful of
uncivilised people, with a domesticity of bloods and blubber.' Utili
tarianism will protest ' they are dead ; why care about this ? * Our
reply shall be, ' Because they ARE dead, therefore we ,cajr« about this.
Because they served their country well, and deserved wJfil of her, and
can ask, no more on this earth, for her justice of ter lovjng-kindness ;
give them both, full measure, pressed down, runningpoVer. Because
no Franklin can come back, to write the honest story of their woes
and resignation, read it tenderly and truly in the book he has left
us. Because they lie scattered on those wastes of snow, and are as
defenceless against the remembrance of coming generations, as against
the elements into which they are resolving, and the winter winds that
alone can waft them home, now, impalpable air ; therefore, cherish
them gently, even in the breasts of children. Therefore, teach no
one to shudder without reason, at the history of their end. There
fore, confide with their own firmness, in their fortitude, their lofty
sense of duty, their courage, and their religion.

END OF VOL. I.

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

PR Dickens, Charles
4550 Works

v.35

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