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diff --git a/old/35500-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/35500-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21abdee --- /dev/null +++ b/old/35500-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,7586 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Nuts and Nutcrackers, by Charles James Lever + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nuts and Nutcrackers, by Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Nuts and Nutcrackers + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: March 6, 2011 [EBook #35500] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NUTS AND NUTCRACKERS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +NUTS AND NUTCRACKERS +</h1> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“The world's my filbert which with my crackers I will open.” + </pre> +<p> +Shakespear. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“The priest calls the lawyer a cheat, +And the lawyer beknaves the divine; +And the statesman, because he's so great, +Thinks his trade 's as honest as mine.” + </pre> +<p> +Beggars Opera +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters,) +Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters; +Open the shells, and you shall have the meat: +They are are brought for you to crack and eat.” + </pre> +<p> +John Bunyan. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h4> +Illustrated By “Phiz.” <br /><br /> London: Chapman And Hall, 193 +Piccadilly. <br /><br /> MDCCCLVII. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (145K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (43K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0001"> AN OPENING NUT. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> A NUT FOR MEN OF GENIUS </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A NUT FOR CORONERS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A NUT FOR “TOURISTS.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A NUT FOR LEGAL FUNCTIONARIES. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A NUT FOR “ENDURING AFFECTION.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> A NUT FOR THE POLICE AND SIR PETER. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A NUT FOR THE BUDGET. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A NUT FOR REPEAL. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0010"> A NUT FOR NATIONAL PRIDE. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0011"> A NUT FOR DIPLOMATISTS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A NUT FOR FOREIGN TRAVEL. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0013"> A NUT FOR DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0014"> A NUT FOR LADIES BOUNTIFUL. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0015"> A NUT FOR THE PRIESTS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0016"> A NUT FOR LEARNED SOCIETIES. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0017"> A NUT FOR THE LAWYERS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0018"> A NUT FOR THE IRISH. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0019"> RICH AND POOR-POUR ET CONTRE. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0020"> A NUT FOR ST. PATRICK'S NIGHT. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0021"> A NUT FOR “GENTLEMAN JOCKS.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0022"> A NUT FOR YOUNGER SONS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A NUT FOR THE PENAL CODE. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0024"> A NUT FOR THE OLD. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0025"> A NUT FOR THE ART UNION. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0026"> A NUT FOR THE KINGSTOWN RAILWAY. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0027"> A NUT FOR THE DOCTORS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0028"> A NUT FOR THE ARCHITECTS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0029"> A NUT FOR A NEW COLONY. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A “SWEET” NUT FOR THE YANKEES. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0031"> A NUT FOR THE SEASON—JULLIEN'S +QUADRILLES. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0032"> A NUT FOR “ALL IRELAND.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0033"> A NUT FOR “A NEW COMPANY.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0034"> A NUT FOR “POLITICAL ECONOMISTS.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0035"> A NUT FOR “GRAND DUKES.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0036"> A NUT FOR THE EAST INDIA DIRECTORS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0037"> A FILBERT FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0038"> “THE INCOME TAX.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0039"> A NUT FOR THE “BELGES.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0040"> A NUT FOR WORKHOUSE CHAPLAINS. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0041"> A NUT FOR THE “HOUSE.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0042"> A NUT FOR “LAW REFORM.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0043"> NUT FOR “CLIMBING BOYS” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A NUT FOR “THE SUBDIVISION OF LABOUR.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0045"> A NUT FOR A “NEW VERDICT.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0046"> A NUT FOR THE REAL “LIBERATOR.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0047"> A NUT FOR “HER MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.” </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0048"> A NUT FOR THE LANDLORD AND TENANT COMMISSION. +</a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0049"> A NUT FOR THE HUMANE SOCIETY. </a> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +AN OPENING NUT. +</h2> +<p> +“An Opening Nut.” + </p> +<p> +This is the age of popular delusions! Everybody endeavours to be somebody +else, and everything is made to resemble something it is not. Every class +and section of society seeks to mystify the other, and the whole world is +masquerading it, very much it would seem to the whole world's delight. +There are people who think the Tories consistent—the Whigs honest—and +the Repealers respectable. Nothing too palpable in absurdity not to have +its followers; nor does the ridicule cease with ourselves; but all who +visit us catch the malady—witness the Indian Chiefs, who called on +Ben. D'Israeli, to see the style of life and habits of the English +Aristocracy. +</p> +<p> +These things after all are but poor delusions—little better than +what the Wizard of the North calls “Parlour Magic,” and might be left to +time, to be laughed at, just like the French war clamour—the +O'Connell denunciation—or the Young England discovery of the “pure +'Cocktailian' race.” There are, however, other fallacies which from age +and habit have gradually associated themselves with our social existence, +and become, as it were, national. To disabuse the world of some of these, +has been my object in the present little volume. To endeavour not only to +show that we often +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Compound for sins we are inclined to, +By damning those we have no mind to;” + </pre> +<p> +but also, that our laws and institutions—our manners and customs—are +based less upon principles of justice, than mere convenience and social +advantage. +</p> +<p> +That such an undertaking will be graciously received or kindly +acknowledged, I have never been able to persuade myself; no more than I +feel disposed to believe, that hunger can be fed by Acts of Parliament; or +starvation alleviated by Cricket or Jack in the bowl; however, it is <i>my</i> +way of regenerating the land, and why should n't I “roll my tub” as well +as my neighbours. Why I have given the volume its present title, would be +perhaps more difficult to account for, save, that I have remarked on so +many classes and gradations of people; and that, “Knocks” at our +neighbours are generally “Nuts” to ourselves. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/021.jpg" width="100%" alt="021 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/022.jpg" width="100%" alt="022 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2> +A NUT FOR MEN OF GENIUS +</h2> +<p> +If Providence, instead of a vagabond, had made me a justice of the peace, +there is no species of penalty I would not have enforced against a class +of offenders, upon whom it is the perverted taste of the day to bestow +wealth, praise, honour, and reputation; in a word, upon that portion of +the writers for our periodical literature whose pastime it is by +high-flown and exaggerated pictures of society, places, and amusements, to +mislead the too credulous and believing world; who, in the search for +information and instruction, are but reaping a barren harvest of deceit +and illusion. +</p> +<p> +Every one is loud and energetic in his condemnation of a bubble +speculation; every one is severe upon the dishonest features of +bankruptcy, and the demerits of un-trusty guardianship; but while the law +visits these with its pains and penalties, and while heavy inflictions +follow on those breaches of trust, which affect our pocket, yet can he +“walk scatheless,” with port erect and visage high who, for mere amusement—for +the passing pleasure of the moment—or, baser still, for certain +pounds per sheet, can, present us with the air-drawn daggers of a +dyspeptic imagination for the real woes of life, or paint the most +commonplace and tiresome subjects with colours so vivid and so glowing as +to persuade the unwary reader that a paradise of pleasure and enjoyment, +hitherto unknown, is open before him. The treadmill and the ducking-stool, +“<i>me judice</i>” would no longer be tenanted by rambling gipsies or +convivial rioters, but would display to the admiring gaze of an assembled +multitude the aristocratic features of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, the dark +whiskers of Disraeli, the long and graceful proportions of Hamilton +Maxwell, or the portly paunch and melodramatic frown of that right +pleasant fellow, Henry Addison himself. +</p> +<p> +You cannot open a newspaper without meeting some narrative of what, in the +phrase of the day, is denominated an “attempted imposition.” Count +Skryznyzk, with black moustachoes and a beard to match, after being a lion +of Lord Dudley Stuart's parties, and the delight of a certain set of +people in the West-end—who, when they give a tea-party, call it a <i>soiree</i>, +and deem it necessary to have either a Hindoo or a Hottentot, a Pole, or a +Piano-player, to interest their guests—was lately brought up before +Sir Peter Laurie, charged by 964 with obtaining money under false +pretences, and sentenced to three months' imprisonment and hard labour at +the treadmill. +</p> +<p> +The charge looks a grave one, good reader, and perhaps already some notion +is trotting through your head about forgery or embezzlement; you think of +widows rendered desolate, or orphans defrauded; you lament over the +hard-earned pittance of persevering industry lost to its possessor; and, +in your heart, you acknowledge that there may have been some cause for the +partition of Poland, and that the Emperor of the Russias, like another +monarch, may not be half so black as he is painted. But spare your honest +indignation; our unpronounceable friend did none of these. No; the head +and front of his offending was simply exciting the sympathies of a feeling +world for his own deep wrongs; for the fate of his father, beheaded in the +Grand Place at Warsaw; for his four brothers, doomed never to see the sun +in the dark mines of Tobolsk; for his beautiful sister, reared in the lap +of luxury and wealth, wandering houseless and an outcast around the +palaces of St. Petersburg, wearying heaven itself with cries for mercy on +her banished brethren; and last of all, for himself—he, who at the +battle of Pultowa led heaven-knows how many and how terrific charges cf +cavalry,—whose breast was a galaxy of orders only out-numbered by +his wounds—that he should be an exile, without friends, and without +home! In a word, by a beautiful and highly-wrought narrative, that drew +tears from the lady and ten shillings from the gentleman of the house, he +became amenable to our law as a swindler and an impostor, simply because +his narrative was a fiction. +</p> +<p> +In the name of all justice, in the name of truth, of honesty, and fair +dealing, I ask you, is this right? or, if the treadmill be the fit reward +for such powers as his, what shall we say, what shall we do, with all the +popular writers of the day? How many of Bulwer's stories are facts? What +truth is there in James? Is that beautiful creation of Dickens, “Poor +Nell,” a real or a fictitious character? And is the offence, after all, +merely in the manner, and not the matter, of the transgression? Is it +that, instead of coming before the world printed, puffed, and hot-pressed +by the gentlemen of the Row, he ventured to edite himself, and, instead of +the trade, make his tongue the medium of publication? And yet, if speech +be the crime, what say you to Macready, and with what punishment are you +prepared to visit him who makes your heart-strings vibrate to the sorrows +of <i>Virginius</i>, or thrills your very blood with the malignant +vengeance of <i>Iago?</i> Is what is permissible in Covent Garden, +criminal in the city? or, stranger still, is there a punishment at the one +place, and praise at the other? Or is it the costume, the foot-lights, the +orange-peel, and the sawdust—are they the terms of the immunity? +Alas, and alas! I believe they are. +</p> +<p> +Burke said, “The age of chivalry is o'er;” and I believe the age of poetry +has gone with it; and if Homer himself were to chant an Iliad down Fleet +Street, I 'd wager a crown that 964 would take him up for a ballad-singer. +</p> +<p> +But a late case occurs to me. A countryman of mine, one Bernard Cavanagh, +doubtless, a gentleman of very good connections, announced some time ago +that he had adopted a new system of diet, which was neither more nor less +than going without any food. Now, Mr. Cavanagh was a stout gentleman, +comely and plump to look at, who conversed pleasantly on the common topics +of the day, and seemed, on the whole, to enjoy life pretty much like other +people. He was to be seen for a shilling—children half-price; and +although Englishmen have read of our starving countrymen for the last +century and a-half, yet their curiosity to see one, to look at him, to +prod him with their umbrellas, punch him with their knuckles, and +otherwise test his vitality, was such, that they seemed just as much alive +as though the phenomenon was new to them. The consequence was, Mr. +Cavanagh, whose cook was on board wages, and whose establishment was of +the least expensive character, began to wax rich. Several large towns and +cities, in different parts of the empire, requested him to visit them; and +Joe Hume suggested that the corporation of London should offer him ten +thousand pounds for his secret, merely for the use of the livery. In fact, +Cavanagh was now the cry, and as Barney appeared to grow fat on fasting, +his popularity knew no bounds. Unfortunately, however, ambition, the bane +of so many other great men, numbered him also among its victims. Had he +been content with London as the sphere of his triumphs and teetotalism, +there is no saying how long he might have gone on starving with +satisfaction. Whether it is that the people are less observant there, or +more accustomed to see similar exhibitions, I cannot tell; but true it is +they paid their shillings, felt his ribs, walked home, and pronounced +Barney a most exemplary Irishman. But not content with the capital, he +must make a tour in the provinces, and accordingly went starring it about +through Leeds, Birmingham, Manchester, and all the other manufacturing +towns, as if in mockery of the poor people who did not know the secret how +to live without food. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Cavanagh was now living—if life it can be called—in one of +the best hotels, when, actuated by that spirit of inquiry that +characterises the age, a respectable lady,' who kept a boarding-house, +paid him a visit, to ascertain, if possible, how far his system might be +made applicable to her guests, who, whatever their afflictions, laboured +under no such symptoms as his. +</p> +<p> +She was pleased with Barney,—she patted him with her hand; he was +round, and plump, and fat, much more so, indeed, than many of her daily +dinner-party; and had, withal, that kind of joyous, rollicking, +devil-may-care look, that seems to bespeak good condition;—but this +the poor lady, of course, did not know to be an inherent property in Pat, +however poor his situation. +</p> +<p> +After an interview of an hour long she took her leave, not exhibiting the +usual satisfaction of other visitors, but with a dubious look and +meditative expression, that betokened a mind not made up, and a heart not +at ease; she was clearly not content, perhaps the abortive effort to +extract a confession from Mr. Cavanagh might be the cause, or perhaps she +felt like many respectable people whose curiosity is only the advanced +guard to their repentance, and who never think that in any exhibition they +get the worth of their money. This might be the case, for as fasting is a +negative process, there is really little to see in the performer. Had it +been the man that eats a sheep; “<i>à la bonne heure!</i>” you have +something for your money there: and I can even sympathize with the French +gentleman who follows Van Amburgh to this day, in the agreeable hope, to +use his own words, of “assisting at the <i>soirée</i>, when the lions +shall eat Mr. Van Amburgh.” This, if not laudable is at least +intelligible. But to return, the lady went her way, not indeed on +hospitable thoughts intent, but turning over in her mind various theories +about abstinence, and only wishing she had the whole of the Cavanagh +family for boarders at a guinea a-week. +</p> +<p> +Late in the evening of the same day this estimable lady, whose inquiries +into the properties of gastric juice, if not as scientific, were to the +full as enthusiastic as those of Bostock or Tiedeman himself, was +returning from an early tea, through an unfrequented suburb of Manchester, +when suddenly her eye fell upon Bernard Cavanagh, seated in a little shop—a +dish of sausages and a plate of ham before him, while a frothing cup of +porter ornamented his right hand. It was true, he wore a patch above his +eye, a large beard, and various other disguises, but they served him not: +she knew him at once. The result is soon told: the police were informed; +Mr. Cavanagh was captured; the lady gave her testimony in a crowded court, +and he who lately was rolling on the wheel of fortune, was now condemned +to foot it on a very different wheel, and all for no other cause than that +he could not live without food. +</p> +<p> +The magistrate, who was eloquent on the occasion, called him an impostor; +designating by this odious epithet, a highly-wrought and well-conceived +work of imagination. Unhappy Defoe, your Robinson Crusoe might have cost +you a voyage across the seas; your man Friday might have been a black +Monday to you had you lived in our days. 964 is a severer critic than <i>The +Quarterly</i>, and his judgment more irrevocable. +</p> +<p> +We have never heard of any one who, discovering the fictitious character +of a novel he had believed as a fact, waited on the publisher with a +modest request that his money might be returned to him, being obtained +under false pretences; much less of his applying to his worship for a +warrant against G. P. R. James, Esq., or Harrison Ainsworth, for certain +imaginary woes and unreal sorrows depicted in their writings: yet the +conduct of the lady towards Mr. Cavanagh was exactly of this nature. How +did his appetite do her any possible disservice? what sins against her +soul were contained in his sausages? and yet she must appeal to the +justice as an injured woman: Cavanagh had imposed upon her—she was +wronged because he was hungry. All his narrative, beautifully constructed +and artfully put together, went for nothing; his look, his manner, his +entertaining anecdotes, his fascinating conversation, his time—from +ten in the morning till eight in the evening—went all for nothing: +this really is too bad. Do we ask of every author to be the hero he +describes? Is Bulwer, Pelham, and Paul Clifford, Eugene Aram, and the Lady +of Lyons? Is James, Mary of Burgundy, Darnley, the Gipsy, and Corse de +Leon? Is Dickens, Sara Weller, Quilp, and Barnaby Rudge?—to what +absurdities will this lead us! and yet Bernard Cavanagh was no more guilty +than any of these gentlemen. He was, if I may so express it, a pictorial—an +ideal representation of a man that fasted: he narrated all the sensations +want of food suggests; its dreamy debility, its languid stupor, its +painful suffering, its stage of struggle and suspense, ending in a +victory, where the mind, the conqueror over the baser nature, asserts its +proud and glorious supremacy in the triumph of volition; and for this +beautiful creation of his brain he is sent to the treadmill, as though, +instead of a poet, he had been a pickpocket. +</p> +<p> +If Bulwer be a baronet; if Dickens' bed-room be papered with +bank-debentures; then do I proclaim it loudly before the world, Bernard +Cavanagh is an injured man: you are either absurd in one case, or unjust +in the other; take your choice. Ship off Sir Edward to the colonies; send +James to Swan River; let Lady Blessington card wool, or Mrs. Norton pound +oyster-shells; or else we call upon you, give Mr. Cavanagh freedom of the +guild; call him the author of “The Hungry One;” let him be courted and <i>fêted</i>,—you +may ask him to dinner with an easy conscience, and invite him to tea +without remorse. Let a Whig-radical borough solicit him to represent it; +place him at the right hand of Lord John; let his picture be exhibited in +the print-shops, and let the cut of his coat and the tie of his cravat be +so much in vogue, that bang-ups <i>à la</i> Barney shall be the only +things seen in Bond-street: one course or the other you must take. If the +mountain will not go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain: or in +other words, if Bulwer descend not to Barney, Barney must mount up to +Bulwer. It is absurd, it is worse than absurd, to pretend that he who so +thoroughly sympathises with his hero, as to embody him in his own thoughts +and acts, his look, his dress, and his demeanour, that he, I say, who so +penetrated with the impersonation of a part, finds the pen too weak, and +the press too slow, to picture forth his vivid creations, should be less +an object of praise, of honour, and distinction, than the indolent denizen +of some drawing-room, who, in slippered ease, dictates his shadowy and +imperfect conceptions—visions of what he never felt, dreamy +representations of unreality. +</p> +<p> +“The poet,” as the word implies, is the maker or the creator; and however +little of the higher attributes of what the world esteems as poetry the +character would seem to possess, he who invents a personage, the +conformity of whose traits to the rule of life is acknowledged for its +truth, he, I say, is a poet. Thus, there is poetry in Sancho Panza, +Falstaff, Dugald Dalgetty, and a hundred other similar impersonations; and +why not in Bernard Cavanagh? +</p> +<p> +Look for a moment at the effects of your system. The Caraccis, we are +told, spent their boyish years drawing rude figures with chalk on the +doors and even the walls of the palaces of Rome: here the first germs of +their early talent displayed themselves; and in those bold conceptions of +youthful genius were seen the first dawnings of a power that gave glory to +the age they lived in. Had Sir Peter Laurie been their cotemporary, had +964 been loose in those days, they would have been treated with a trip to +the mill, and their taste for design cultivated by the low diet of a +penitentiary. You know not what budding genius you have nipped with this +abominable system: you think not of the early indications of mind and +intellect you may be consigning to prison: or is it after all, that the +matter-of-fact spirit of the age has sapped the very vital? of our +law-code, and that in your utilitarian zeal you have doomed to death all +that bears the stamp of imagination? if this be indeed your object, have a +good heart, encourage 964, and you 'll not leave a novelist in the land. +</p> +<p> +Good reader, I ask your pardon for all this honest indignation; I know it +is in vain: I cannot reform our jurisprudence; and our laws, like the +Belgian revolution, must be regarded “<i>comme un fait accompli</i>;” in +other words, what can't be cured must be endured. Let us leave then our +friend the Pole to perform his penance; let us say adieu to Barney, who is +at this moment occupying a suite of apartments in the Penitentiary, and +let us turn to the reverse of the medal, I mean to those who would wile us +away by false promises and flattering speeches to entertain such views of +life as are not only impossible but inconsistent, thus rendering our path +here devoid of interest and of pleasure, while compared with the +extravagant creations of their own erring fancies. Yes, princes may be +trusted, but put not your faith in periodicals. Let no pictorial +representations of Alpine scenery, under the auspices of Colburn or +Bentley, seduce you from the comforts of your hearth and home: let no +enthusiastic accounts of military greatness, no peninsular pleasures, no +charms of campaigning life, induce you to change your garb of country +gentleman for the livery of the Horse-Guards,—“making the green one +red.” + </p> +<p> +Be not mystified by Maxwell, nor lured by Lorrequer; let no panegyrics of +pipe-clay and the brevet seduce you from the peaceful path in life; let +not Marryat mar your happiness by the glories of those who dwell in the +deep waters; let not Wilson persuade you that the “Lights and Shadows of +Scottish Life” have any reference to that romantic people, who betake +themselves to their native mountains with a little oatmeal for food and a +little sulphur for friction; do not believe one syllable about the girls +of the west; trust not in the representations of their blue eyes, nor of +their trim ankles peering beneath a jupe of scarlet—we can vouch it +is true, for the red petticoat, but the rest is apocryphal. Fly, we warn +you, from Summers in Germany, Evenings in Brittany, Weeks on the Rhine; +away with tours, guide-books, and all the John Murrayisms of travels. A +plague upon Egypt! travellers have a proverbial liberty of conscience, and +the farther they go, the more does it seem to stretch; not that near home +matters are much better, for our “Wild Sports” in Achill are as romantic +as those in Africa, and the Complete Angler is a complete humbug. +</p> +<p> +There is no faith—no principle in any of these men. The grave +writer, the stern moralist, the uncompromising advocate of the inflexible +rule of right, is a dandy with essenced locks, loose trousers, and looser +morals, who breakfasts at four in the afternoon, and spends his evenings +among the side scenes of the opera; the merry writer of whims and +oddities, who shakes his puns about like pepper from a pepper-castor, is a +misanthropic, melancholy gentleman, of mournful look and unhappy aspect: +the advocate of field-sports, of all the joyous excitement of the +hunting-field, and the bold dangers of the chase, is an asthmatic +sexagenarian, with care in his heart and gout in his ankles; and lastly, +he who lives but in the horrors of a charnel-house, whose gloomy mind +finds no pleasure save in the dark and dismal pictures of crime and +suffering, of lingering agony, or cruel death, is a fat, round, portly, +comely gentleman, with a laugh like Falstaff, and a face whose every +lineament and feature seems to exhale the merriment of a jocose and happy +temperament. I speak not of the softer sex, many of whose productions +would seem to have but little sympathy with themselves; but once for all, +I would ask you what reliance, what faith can you place in any of them? Is +it to the denizen of a coal mine you apply for information about the +Nassau balloon? Do you refer a disputed point in dress to an Englishman, +in climate to a Laplander, in politeness to a Frenchman, or in hospitality +to a Belgian? or do you net rather feel that these are not exactly their +attributes, and that you are moving the equity for a case at common law? +exactly in the same way, and for the same reason, we repeat it, put not +your faith in periodicals, nor in the writers thereof. +</p> +<p> +How ridiculous would it appear if the surgeon-general were to open a +pleading, or charge a jury in the Queen's Bench, while the +solicitor-general was engaged in taking up the femoral artery! What would +you say if the Archbishop of Canterbury were to preside over the +artillery-practice at Woolwich, while the Commander of the Forces +delivered a charge to the clergy of the diocese? How would you look if +Justice Pennefather were to speak at a repeal meeting, and Daniel +O'Connell to conduct himself like a loyal and discreet citizen? Would you +not at once say the whole world is in masquerade? and would you not be +justified in the remark? And yet this it is which is exactly taking place +before your eyes in the wide world of letters. The illiterate and +unreflecting man of underbred habits and degenerate tastes will write +nothing but a philosophic novel; the denizen of the Fleet, or the Queen's +Bench, publishes an ascent of Mont Blanc, with a glowing description of +the delights of liberty; the nobleman writes slang; the starving author, +with broken boots and patched continuations, will not indite a name +undignified by a title; and after all this, will you venture to tell me +that these men are not indictable by the statute for obtaining money under +false pretences? +</p> +<p> +I have run myself out of breath; and now, if you will allow me a few +moments, I will tell you what, perhaps, I ought to have done earlier in +this article, namely, its object. +</p> +<p> +It is a remarkable feature in the complex and difficult machinery of our +society, that while crime and the law code keep steadily on the increase, +moving in parallel lines one beside the other, certain prejudices, popular +fallacies—-nuts, as we have called them at the head of this paper—should +still disgrace our social system; and that, however justice maybe +administered in our courts of law, in the private judicature of our own +dwellings we observe an especial system of jurisprudence, marked by +injustice and by wrong. To endeavour to depict some instances of this, I +have set about my present undertaking. To disabuse the public mind as to +the error, that what is punishable in one can be praiseworthy in another; +and what is excellent in the court can be execrable in the city. Such is +my object, such my hope. Under this title I shall endeavour to touch upon +the undue estimation in which we hold certain people and places—the +unfair depreciation of certain sects and callings. Not confining myself to +home, I shall take the habits of my countrymen on the Continent, whether +in their search for climate, economy, education, or enjoyment; and, as far +as my ability lies, hold the mirror up to nature, while I extend the +war-cry of my distinguished countrymen, not asking “justice for Ireland” + alone, but “justice for the whole human race.” For the gaoler as for the +guardsman, for the steward of the Holyhead as for him of the household; +from the Munster king-at-arms to the monarch of the Cannibal Island—“<i>nihil +à me alienum puto</i>;” from the priest to the plenipotentiary; from Mr. +Arkins to Abd-el-Kader: my sympathy extends to all. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR CORONERS. +</h2> +<p> +I had nearly attained to man's estate before I understood the nature of a +coroner. I remember, when a child, to have seen a coloured print from a +well-known picture of the day, representing the night-mare. It was a +horrible representation of a goblin shape of hideous aspect, that sat +cowering upon the bosom of a sleeping figure, on whose white features a +look of painful suffering was depicted, while the clenched hands and +drawn-up feet seemed to struggle with convulsive agony. Heaven knows how +or when the thought occurred to me, but I clearly recollect my impression +that this goblin was a coroner. Some confused notion about sitting on a +corpse as one of his attributes had, doubtless, suggested the idea; and +certainly nothing contributed to increase the horror of suicide in my eyes +so much as the reflection, that the grim demon already mentioned had some +function to discharge on the occasion. +</p> +<p> +When, after the lapse of years, I heard that the eloquent and gifted +member for Finsbury was a being of this order, although I knew by that +time the injustice of my original prejudices, yet, I confess I could not +look at him in the house, without a thought of my childish fancies, and an +endeavour to trace in his comely features some faint resemblance to the +figure of the night-mare. +</p> +<p> +This strange impression of my infancy recurred strongly to my mind a few +days since, on reading a newspaper account of a sudden death.—The +case was simply that of a gentleman who, in the bosom of his family, +became suddenly seized with illness, and after a few hours expired. What +was their surprise! what their horror! to find, that no sooner was the +circumstance known, than the house was surrounded by a mob, policemen were +stationed at the doors, and twelve of the great unwashed, with a coroner +at their head, forced their entry into the house of mourning, to +deliberate on the cause of death. I can perfectly understand the value of +this practice in cases where either suspicion has attached, or where the +circumstances of the decease, as to time and place, would indicate a +violent death; but where a person, surrounded by his children, living in +all the quiet enjoyment of an easy and undisturbed existence, drops off by +some one of the ills that flesh is heir to, only a little more rapidly +than his neighbour at next door, why this should be a case for a coroner +and his gang, I cannot, for the life of me, conceive. In the instance I +allude to, the family offered the fullest information: they explained that +the deceased had been liable for years to an infirmity likely to terminate +in this way. The physician who attended him corroborated the statement; +and, in fact, it was clear the case was one of those almost every-day +occurrences where the thread of life is snapped, not unravelled. This, +however, did not satisfy the coroner, who had, as he expressed it, a “duty +to perform,” and, who, certainly had five guineas for his fee: he was a +“medical coroner,” too, and therefore he would' examine for himself. Thus, +in the midst of the affliction and bereavement of a desolate family, the +frightful detail of an inquest, with all its attendant train of harrowing +and heart-rending inquiries, is carried on, simply because it is +permissible by the law, and the coroner may enter where the king cannot. +</p> +<p> +We are taught in the litany to pray against sudden death; but up to this +moment I never knew it was illegal. Dreadful afflictions as apoplexy and +aneurism are, it remained for our present civilisation to make them +punishable by a statute. The march of intellect, not satisfied with +directing us in life, must go a step farther and teach us how to die. +Fashionable diseases the world has been long acquainted with, but an +“illegal inflammation,” and a “criminal hemorrhage” have been reserved for +the enlightened age we live in. +</p> +<p> +Newspapers will no longer inform us, in the habitual phrase, that Mr. +Simpkins died suddenly at his house at Hampstead; but, under the head of +“Shocking outrage,” we shall read, “that after a long life of great +respectability and the exhibition of many virtues, this unfortunate +gentleman, it is hoped in a moment of mental alienation, 'went off with a +disease of the heart. The affliction of his surviving relatives at this +frightful act may be conceived, but cannot be described. His effects, +according to the statute, have been confiscated to the crown, and a +deodand of fifty shillings awarded on the apothecary who attended him. It +is hoped, that the universal execration which attends cases of this nature +may deter others from the same course; and, we confess, our observations +are directed with a painful, but we trust, a powerful interest to certain +elderly gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Islington.” <i>Verb. sat.</i> +</p> +<p> +Under these sad circumstances it behoves us to look a little about, and +provide against such a contingency. It is then earnestly recommended to +heads of families, that when registering the birth of a child, they should +also include some probable or possible malady of which he may, could, +would, should, or ought to die, in the course of time. This will show, by +incontestable evidence, that the event was at least anticipated, and being +done at the earliest period of life, no reproach can possibly lie for want +of premeditation. The register might run thus:— +</p> +<p> +Giles Tims, son of Thomas and Mary Tims, born on the 9th of June, Kent +street, Southwark—dropsy, typhus, or gout in the stomach. +</p> +<p> +It by no means follows, that he must wait for one or other of these +maladies to carry him off. Not at all; he may range at will through the +whole practice of physic, and adopt his choice. The registry only goes to +show, that he does not mean to sneak out of the world in any under-bred +way, nor bolt out of life with the abrupt precipitation of a Frenchman +after a dinner party. I have merely thrown out this hint here as a warning +to my many friends, and shall now proceed to other and more pleasing +topics. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “TOURISTS.” + </h2> +<p> +Among the many incongruities of that composite piece of architecture, +called John Bull, there is nothing more striking than the contrast between +his thorough nationality and his unbounded admiration for foreigners. Now, +although we may not entirely sympathize with, we can understand and +appreciate this feature of his character, and see how he gratifies his +very pride itself, in the attentions and civilities he bestows upon +strangers. The feeling is intelligible too, because Frenchmen, Germans, +and even Italians, notwithstanding the many points of disparity between +us, have always certain qualities well worthy of respect, if not of +imitation. France has a great literature, a name glorious in history, a +people abounding in intelligence, skill, and invention; in fact, all the +attributes that make up a great nation. Germany has many of these, and +though she lack the brilliant fancy, the sparkling wit of her neighbour, +has still a compensating fund in the rich resources of her judgment, and +the profound depths of her scholarship. Indeed, every continental country +has its lesson for our benefit, and we would do well to cultivate the +acquaintance of strangers, not only to disseminate more just views of +ourselves and our institutions, but also for the adoption of such customs +as seem worthy of imitation, and such habits as may suit our condition in +life; while such is the case as regards those countries high in the scale +of civilisation, we would, by no means, extend the rule to others less +happily constituted, less benignly gifted. The Carinthian boor with his +garment of sheep-wool, or the Laplander with his snow shoes and his hood +of deerskin, may be both very natural objects of curiosity, but by no +means subjects of imitation. This point will doubtless be conceded at +once; and now, will any one tell me for what cause, under what pretence, +and with what pretext are we civil to the Yankees?—not for their +politeness, not for their literature, not for any fascination of their +manner, nor any charm of their address, not for any historic association, +not for any halo that the glorious past has thrown around the commonplace +monotony of the present, still less for any romantic curiosity as to their +lives and habits—for in this respect all other savage nations far +surpass them. What then is, or what can be the cause? +</p> +<p> +Of all the lions that caprice and the whimsical absurdity of a second-rate +set in fashion ever courted and entertained, never had any one less +pretensions to the civility he received than the author of 'Pencillings by +the Way'—poor in thought, still poorer in expression, without a +spark of wit, without a gleam of imagination—a fourth-rate looking +man, and a fifth-rate talker, he continued to receive the homage we were +wont to bestow upon a Scott, and even charily extended to a Dickens. His +writings the very slip-slop of “commerage,” the tittle-tattle of a Sunday +paper, dressed up in the cant of Kentucky; the very titles, the +contemptible affectation of unredeemed twaddle, 'Pencillings by the Way!' +'Letters from under a Bridge!' Good lack! how the latter name is +suggestive of eaves-dropping and listening; and how involuntarily we call +to mind those chance expressions of his partners in the dance, or his +companions at the table, faithfully recorded for the edification of the +free-born Americans, who, while they ridicule our institutions, endeavour +to pantomime our manners. +</p> +<p> +For many years past a number of persons have driven a thriving trade in a +singular branch of commerce, no less than buying up cast court dresses and +second-hand uniforms for exportation to the colonies. The negroes, it is +said, are far prouder of figuring in the tattered and tarnished fragments +of former greatness, than of wearing the less gaudy, but more useful garb, +befitting their condition. So it would seem our trans-Atlantic friends +prefer importing through their agents, for that purpose, the abandoned +finery of courtly gossip, to the more useful but less pretentious apparel, +of commonplace information. Mr. Willis was invaluable for this purpose; he +told his friends every thing that he heard, and he heard every thing that +he could; and, like mercy, he enjoyed a duplicate of blessings—for +while he was delighted in by his own countrymen, he was dined by ours. He +scattered his autographs, as Feargus O'Connor did franks; he smiled; he +ogled; he read his own poetry, and went the whole lion with all his might; +and yet, in the midst of this, a rival starts up equally desirous of court +secrets, and fifty times as enterprising in their search; he risks his +liberty, perhaps his life, in the pursuit, and what is his reward? I need +only tell you his name, and you are answered—I mean the boy Jones; +not under a bridge, but under a sofa; not in Almacks, obtaining it at +second-hand, but in Buckingham Palace—into the very apartment of the +Queen—the adventurous youth has dared to insinuate himself. No lady +however sends her album to him for some memento of his genius. His temple +is not defrauded of its curls to grace a locket or a medallion; and his +reward, instead of a supper at Lady Blessington's, is a voyage to Swan +River. For my part, I prefer the boy Jones: I like his singleness of +purpose: I admire his steady perseverance; still, however, he had the +misfortune to be born in England—his father lived near Wapping, and +he was ineligible for a lion: To what other reason than his English growth +can be attributed the different treatment he has experienced at the hands +of the world. The similarity between the two characters is most striking. +Willis had a craving appetite for court gossip, and the tittle-tattle of a +palace: so had the boy Jones. Willis established himself as a listener in +society: so did the boy Jones. Willis obtruded himself into places, and +among people where he had no possible pretension to be seen: so did the +boy Jones. Willis wrote letters from under a bridge: the boy Jones eat +mutton chops under a sofa. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR LEGAL FUNCTIONARIES. +</h2> +<p> +The pet profession of England is the bar, and I see many reasons why this +should be the case. Our law of primogeniture necessitates the existence of +certain provisions for younger children independently of the pittance +bestowed on them by their families. The army and the navy, the church and +the bar, form then the only avenues to fortune for the highly born; and +one or other of these four roads must be adopted by him who would carve +out his own career. The barrister, for many reasons, is the favourite—at +least among those who place reliance in their intellect. Its estimation is +high. It is not incompatible but actually favourable to the pursuits of +parliament. Its rewards are manifold and great; and while there is a +sufficiency of private ease and personal retirement in its practice, there +is also enough of publicity for the most ambitiously-minded seeker of the +world's applause and the world's admiration. Were we only to look back +upon our history, we should find perhaps that the profession of the law +would include almost two-thirds of our very greatest men. Astute thinkers, +deep politicians, eloquent debaters, profound scholars, men of wit, as +well as men of wisdom, have abounded in its ranks, and there is every +reason why it should be, as I have called it, the pet profession. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/044.jpg" width="100%" alt="044 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Having conceded so much, may I now be permitted to take a nearer view of +those men so highly distinguished: and for this purpose let me turn my +reader's attention to the practice of a criminal trial. The first duty of +a good citizen, it will not be disputed, is, as far as in him lies, to +promote obedience to the law, to repress crime, and bring outrage to +punishment. No walk in life—no professional career—no uniform +of scarlet or of black—no freemasonry of craft or calling can +absolve him from this allegiance to his country. Yet, what do we see? The +wretch stained with crime—polluted with iniquity—for which, +perhaps, the statute-book contains neither name nor indictment—whose +trembling lips are eager to avow that guilt which, by confessing, he hopes +may alleviate the penalty—this man, I say, is checked in his +intentions—he is warned not, by any chance expression, to hazard a +conviction of his crime, and told in the language of the law not to +criminate himself. But the matter stops not here—justice is an +inveterate gambler—she is not satisfied when her antagonist throws +his card upon the table confessing that he has not a trump nor a trick in +his hand—no, like the most accomplished swindler of Baden or +Boulogne, she assumes a smile of easy and courteous benignity, and says, +pooh, pooh! nonsense, my dear friend; you don't know what may turn up; +your cards are better than you think; don't be faint-hearted; don't you +see you have the knave of trumps, <i>i. e.</i>, the cleverest lawyer for +your defender; a thousand things may happen; I may revoke, that is, the +indictment may break down; there are innumerable chances in your favour, +so pluck up your courage and play the game out. +</p> +<p> +He takes the advice, and however faint-hearted before, he now assumes a +look of stern courage, or dogged indifference, and resolves to play for +the stake. He remembers, however, that he is no adept in the game, and he +addresses himself in consequence to some astute and subtle gambler, to +whom he commits his cards and his chances. The trepidation or the +indifference that he manifested before, now gradually gives way; and +however hopeless he had deemed his case at first, he now begins to think +that all is not lost. The very way his friend, the lawyer, shuffles and +cuts the cards, imposes on his credulity and suggests a hope. He sees at +once that he is a practised hand, and almost unconsciously he becomes +deeply interested in the changes and vacillations of the game he believed +could have presented but one aspect of fortune. +</p> +<p> +But the prisoner is not my object: I turn rather to the lawyer. Here then +do we not see the accomplished gentleman—the finished scholar—the +man of refinement and of learning, of character and station—standing +forth the very embodiment of the individual in the dock? possessed of all +his secrets—animated by the same hopes—penetrated by the same +fears—he endeavours by all the subtle ingenuity, with which craft +and habit have gifted him, to confound the testimony—to disparage +the truth—to pervert the inferences of all the witnesses. In fact, +he employs all the stratagems of his calling, all the ingenuity of his +mind, all the subtlety of his wit for the one end—that the man he +believes in his own heart guilty, may, on the oaths of twelve honest men, +be pronounced innocent. From the opening of the trial to its close, this +mental gladiator is an object of wonder and dread. Scarcely a quality of +the human mind is not exhibited by him in the brilliant panorama of his +intellect. At first, the patient perusal of a complex and wordy indictment +occupies him exclusively: he then proceeds to cross-examine the witnesses—flattering +this one—brow-beating that—suggesting—insinuating—amplifying, +or retrenching, as the evidence would seem to favour or be adverse to his +client. He is alternately confident and doubtful, headlong and hesitating—now +hurried away on the full tide of his eloquence he expatiates in beautiful +generalities on the glorious institution of trial by jury, and +apostrophizes justice; or now, with broken utterance and plaintive voice, +he supplicates the jury to be patient, and be careful in the decision they +may come to. He implores them to remember that when they leave that court, +and return to the happy comforts of their home, conscience will follow +them, and the everlasting question crave for answer within them—were +they sure of this man's guilt? He teaches them how fallacious are all +human tests; he magnifies the slightest discrepancy of evidence into a +broad and sweeping contradiction; and while, with a prophetic menace, he +pictures forth the undying remorse that pursues him who sheds innocent +blood, he dismisses them with an affecting picture of mental agony so +great—of suffering so heartrending, that, as they retire to the +jury-room, there is not a man of the twelve that has not more or less of a +<i>personal</i> interest in the acquittal of the prisoner. +</p> +<p> +However bad, however depraved the human mind, it still leans to mercy: the +power to dispose of another man's life is generally sufficient for the +most malignant spirit in its thirst for vengeance. What then are the +feelings of twelve calm, and perhaps, benevolent men at a moment like +this? The last words of the advocate have thrown a new element into the +whole case, for independent of their verdict upon the prisoner comes now +the direct appeal to their own hearts. How will they feel when they +reflect on this hereafter? I do not wish to pursue this further. It is +enough for my present purpose that, by the ingenuity of the lawyer, +criminals have escaped, do escape, and are escaping, the just sentence on +their crimes. What then is the result? the advocate, who up to this moment +has maintained a familiar, even a friendly, intimacy with his client in +the dock, now shrinks from the very contamination of his look. He cannot +bear that the blood-stained fingers should grasp the hem of his garment, +and he turns with a sense of shame from the expressions of a gratitude +that criminate him in his own heart. However, this is but a passing +sensation; he divests himself of his wig and gown, and overwhelmed with +congratulations for his brilliant success, he springs into his carriage +and goes home to dress for dinner—for on that day he is engaged to +the Chancellor, the Bishop of London, or some other great and revered +functionary—the guardian of the church, or the custodian of +conscience. +</p> +<p> +Now, there is only one thing in all this I would wish to bring strikingly +before the mind of my readers, and that is, that the lawyer, throughout +the entire proceeding, was a free and a willing agent. There was neither +legal nor moral compulsion to urge him on. No; it was no intrepid defence +against the tyranny of a government or the usurpation of power—it +was the assertion of no broad and immutable principle of truth or justice—it +was simply a matter of legal acumen and persuasive eloquence, to the +amount of fifty pounds sterling. +</p> +<p> +This being admitted, let me now proceed to consider another functionary, +and observe how far the rule of right is consulted in the treatment <i>he</i> +meets with—I mean the hangman. You start, good reader, and your +gesture of impatience denotes the very proposition I would come to. I need +scarcely remind you, that in our country this individual has a kind of +prerogative of detestation. All other ranks and conditions of men may find +a sympathy, or at least a pity, somewhere, but for him there is none. No +one is sufficiently debased to be his companion,—no one so low as to +be his associate! Like a being of another sphere, he appears but at some +frightful moments of life, and then only for a few seconds. For the rest +he drags on existence unseen and unheard of, his very name a thing to +tremble at. Yet this man, in the duties of his calling, has neither will +nor choice. The stern agent of the law, he has but one course to follow; +his path, a narrow one, has no turning to the right or to the left, and, +save that his ministry is more proximate, is less accessory to the death +of the criminal than he who signs the warrant for execution. In fact, he +but answers the responses of the law, and in the loud amen of his calling, +he only consummates its recorded assertion. How then can you reconcile +yourself to the fact, that while you overwhelm the advocate who converts +right into wrong and wrong into right, who shrouds the guilty man, and +conceals the murderer, with honour, and praise, and rank, and riches, and +who does this for a brief marked fifty pounds, yet have nothing but +abhorrence and detestation for the impassive agent whose fee is but one. +One can help what he does—the other cannot. One is an amateur—the +other practices in spite of himself. One employs every energy of his mind +and every faculty of his intellect—the other only devotes the +ingenuity of his fingers. One strains every nerve to let loose a criminal +upon the world—the other but closes the grave over guilt and crime! +</p> +<p> +The king's counsel is courted. His society sought for. He is held in high +esteem, and while his present career is a brilliant one in the vista +before him, his eyes are fixed upon the ermine. Jack Ketch, on the other +hand, is shunned. His companionship avoided, and the only futurity he can +look to, is a life of ignominy, and after it an unknown grave. Let him be +a man of fascinating manners, highly gifted, and agreeable; let him be +able to recount with the most melting pathos the anecdotes and incidents +of his professional career, throwing light upon the history of his own +period—such as none but himself could throw;—let him speak of +the various characters that have <i>passed through his hands</i>, and so +to say, “dropped off before him”—yet the prejudice of the world is +an obstacle not to be overcome; his calling is in disrepute, and no +personal efforts of his own, no individual preeminence he may arrive at in +his walk, will ever redeem it. Other men's estimation increases as they +distinguish themselves in life; each fresh display of their abilities, +each new occasion for the exercise of their powers, is hailed with renewed +favour and increasing flattery; not so he,—every time he appears on +his peculiar stage, the disgust and detestation is but augmented,—<i>vires +acquirit eundo</i>,—his countenance, as it becomes known, is a +signal for the yelling execrations of a mob, and the very dexterity with +which he performs his functions, is made matter of loathing and horror. +Were his duties such as might be carried on in secret, he might do good by +stealth and blush to find it fame; but no, his attributes demand the +noon-day and the multitude—the tragedy he performs in, must be +played before tens of thousands, by whom his every look is scowled at, his +every gesture scrutinized. But to conclude,—this man is a necessity +of our social system. We want him—we require, him, and we can't do +without him. Much of the machinery of a trial might be dispensed with or +retrenched. His office, however, has nothing superfluous. He is part of +the machinery of our civilisation, and on what principle do we hunt him +down like a wild beast to his lair? +</p> +<p> +Men of rank and title are daily to be found in association, and even +intimacy with black legs and bruisers, grooms, jockeys, and swindlers; yet +we never heard that even the Whigs paid any attention to a hangman, nor is +his name to be found even in the list of a Radical viceroy's levee. +However, we do not despair. Many prejudices of this nature have already +given way, and many absurd notions have been knocked on the head by a wag +of great Daniel's tail. And if our friend of Newgate, who is certainly +anti-union in his functions, will only cry out for Repeal, the justice +that is entreated for all Ireland may include him in the general +distribution of its favours. Poor Theodore Hook used to say, that marriage +was like hanging, there being only the difference of an aspirate between +halter and altar. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/053.jpg" width="100%" alt="053 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “ENDURING AFFECTION.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/054.jpg" alt="054 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +My dear reader, if it does not insult your understanding by the +self-evidence of the query, will you allow me to ask you a question—which +of the two is more culpable, the man who, finding himself in a path of +dereliction, arrests himself in his downward career, and, by a wonderful +effort of self-restraint, stops dead short, and will suffer no inducement, +no seduction, to lead him one step further; or he, who, floating down the +stream of his own vicious passions, takes the flood-tide of iniquity, and, +indifferent to every consequence, deaf to all remonstrance, seeks but the +indulgence of his own egotistical pleasure with a stern determination to +pursue it to the last? Of course you will say, that he who repents is +better than he who persists; there is hope for the one, there is none for +the other. Yet would you believe it, our common law asserts directly the +reverse, pronouncing the culpability of the former as meriting heavy +punishment, while the latter is not assailable even by implication. +</p> +<p> +That I may make myself more clear, I shall give an instance of my meaning. +Scarcely a week passes over without a trial for breach of promise of +marriage. Sometimes the gay Lothario, to use the phrase of the newspapers, +is nineteen, sometimes ninety. In either case his conduct is a frightful +tissue of perjured vows and base deception. His innumerable letters +breathing all the tenderness of affectionate solicitude, intended but for +the eyes of her he loves, are read in open court; attested copies are +shown to the judge, or handed up to the jury-box. The course of his true +love is traced from the bubbling fountain of first acquaintance to the +broad river of his passionate devotion. Its rapids and its whirlpools, its +placid lakes, its frothy torrents, its windings and its turnings, its ebbs +and flows, are discussed, detailed, and descanted on with all the hacknied +precision of the craft, as though his heart was a bill of exchange, or the +current of his affection a disputed mill-stream. And what, after all, is +this man's crime? knowing that love is the great humanizer of our race, +and feeling probably how much he stands in need of some civilizing +process, he attaches himself to some lovely and attractive girl, who, in +the reciprocity of her affection, is herself benefited in a degree equal +to him. If the soft solicitude of the tender passion, if its ennobling +self-respect, if its purifying influence on the heart, be good for the +man, how much more so is it for the woman. If <i>he</i> be taught to feel +how the refined enjoyments of an attractive girl's mind are superior to +the base and degenerate pursuits of every-day pleasure, how much more will +<i>she</i> learn to prize and cultivate those gifts which form the charm +of her nature, and breathe an incense of fascination around her steps. +Here is a compact where both parties benefit, but that they may do so to +the fullest extent, it is necessary that no self-interest, no mean +prospect of individual advantage, should interfere: all must be pure and +confiding. Love-making should not be like a game of <i>écarté</i> with a +black leg, where you must not rise from the table till you are ruined. No! +it should rather resemble a party at picquet with your pretty cousin, when +the moment either party is tired, you may throw down the cards and abandon +the game. +</p> +<p> +This, then, is the case of the man; he either discovers that on further +acquaintance the qualities he believed in were not so palpable as he +thought, or, if there, marred in their exercise by opposing and antagonist +forces, of whose existence he knew not, he thinks he detects discrepancies +of temperament, disparities of taste; he foresees that in the channel +where he looked for deep water there are so many rocks, and shoals, and +quicksands, that he fears the bark of conjugal happiness may be +shipwrecked upon them; and like a prudent mariner, he resolves to lighten +the craft by “throwing over the lady.” Had this man married with all these +impending suspicions on his mind, there is little doubt he would have made +a most execrable husband; not to mention the danger that his wife should +not be all amiable as she ought. He stops short—that is, he explains +in one, perhaps in a series of letters, the reasons of his new course. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/056.jpg" alt="056 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +He expects in return the admiration and esteem of her, for whose happiness +he is legislating, as well as for his own; and oh, base ingratitude! he +receives a letter from her attorney. The gentlemen of the long robe—newspaper +again—are in ecstasies. Like devils on the arrival of a new soul, +they brighten up, rub their hands, and congratulate each other on a +glorious case. The damages are laid at five thousand pounds; and, as the +lady is pretty, and can be seen from the jury-box, being fathers +themselves, they award every sixpence of the money. +</p> +<p> +I can picture to myself the feeling of the defendant at such a moment as +this. As he stands alone in conscious honesty, ruminating on his fate—alone, +I say, for, like Mahomet's coffin, he has no resting-place; laughed at by +the men, sneered at by the women, mulcted of perhaps half his fortune, +merely because for the last three years of his life he represented himself +in every amiable and attractive trait that can grace and adorn human +nature. Who would wonder, if, like the man in the farce, he would register +a vow never to do a good-natured thing again as long as he lives; or what +respect can he have for a government or a country, where the church tells +him to love his neighbour, and the chief justice makes him pay five +thousand for his obedience. +</p> +<p> +I now come to the other case, and I shall be very brief in my +observations. I mean that of him, who equally fond of flirting as the +former, has yet a lively fear of an action at law. Love-making with him is +a necessity of his existence—he is an Irishman, perhaps, and it is +as indispensable to his temperament as train-oil to a Russian. He likes +sporting, he likes billiards, he likes his club, and he likes the ladies; +but he has just as much intention of turning a huntsman at the one, or a +marker at the other, as he has of matrimony. He knows life is a chequered +table, and that there could be no game if all the squares were of one +colour. He alternates, therefore, between love and sporting, between cards +and courtship, and as the pursuit is a pleasant one, he resolves never to +give up. He waxes old, therefore, with young habits, adapting his tastes +to his time of life; he does not kneel so often at forty as he did at +twenty, but he ogles the more, and is twice as good-tempered. Not perhaps +as ready to fight for the lady, but ten times more disposed to flatter +her. She may love him, or she may not; she may receive him as of old, or +she may marry another. What matters it to him? All his care is that <i>he</i> +shouldn't change. All his anxiety is, to let the rupture, if there must be +one, proceed from <i>her</i> side. He knows in his heart the penalty of +breach of promise, but he also knows that the Chancellor can issue no +injunction compelling a man to marry, and that in the courts of love the +bills are payable at convenience. +</p> +<p> +Here, then, are the two cases, which, in conformity with the world's +opinion, I have dignified with every possible term of horror and reproach. +In the one, the measure of iniquity is but half filled; in the other, the +cup is overflowing at the brim. For the lesser offence, the law awards +damages and defamation: for the greater, society pronounces an eulogy upon +the enduring fidelity of the man thus faithful to a first love. +</p> +<p> +If a person about to buy a horse should, on trying him for an hour or two, +discover that his temper did not suit him, or that his paces were not +pleasant, and should in consequence restore him to the owner: and if +another, on the same errand, should come day after day for weeks, or +months, or even years, cantering him about over the pavement, and scouring +over the whole country; his answer being, when asked if he intended to +purchase, that he liked the horse exceedingly, but that he hadn't got a +stable, or a saddle, or a curb-chain, or, in fact, some one or other of +the little necessaries of horse gear; but that when he had, that was +exactly the animal to suit him—he never was better carried in his +life. Which of these two, do you esteem the more honest and more +honourable? When you make up your mind, please also to make the +application. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/059.jpg" width="100%" alt="059 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE POLICE AND SIR PETER. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/060.jpg" alt="060 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +When the Belgians, by their most insane revolution, separated from the +Dutch, they assumed for their national motto the phrase “<i>L'union fait +la force</i>” It is difficult to say whether their rebellion towards the +sovereign, or this happy employment of a bull, it was, that so completely +captivated our illustrious countryman, Dan, and excited so warmly his +sympathies for that beer-drinking population. After all, why should one +quarrel with them? Nations, like individuals, have their coats-of-arms, +their heraldic insignia, their blazons, and their garters, frequently +containing the sharpest sarcasm and most poignant satire upon those who +bear them; and in this respect Belgium is only as ridiculous as the +attorney who assumed for his motto “<i>Fïat justitia</i>.” Time was when +the chivalrous line of our own garter, “<i>Honi soit qui mal y pense</i>,” + brought with it, its bright associations of kingly courtesy and maiden +bashfulness: but what sympathy can such a sentiment find in these +degenerate days of rail-roads and rack-rents, canals, collieries, and +chain-bridges? No, were we now to select an inscription, much rather would +we take it from the prevailing passion of the age, and write beneath the +arms of our land the emphatic phrase, “Push along, keep moving.” + </p> +<p> +If Englishmen have failed to exhibit in machinery that triumphant El +Dorado called perpetual motion, in revenge for their failure, they +resolved to exemplify it in themselves. The whole nation, from John o' +Groat to Land's End, from Westport to Dover, are playing cross-corners. +Every body and every thing is on the move. A dwelling-house, like an +umbrella, is only a thing used on an emergency; and the inhabitants of +Great Britain pass their lives amid the smoke of steam-boats, or the din +and thunder of the Grand-Junction. From the highest to the lowest, from +the peer to the peasant, from the lord of the treasury to the Irish +haymaker, it is one universal “<i>chassée croissée</i>.” Not only is this +fashionable—for we are told by the newspapers how the Queen walks +daily with Prince Albert on “the slopes”—but stranger still, +locomotion is a law of the land, and standing still is a statutable +offence. The hackney coachman, with wearied horses, blown and +broken-winded, dares not breathe his jaded beasts by a momentary pull-up, +for the implacable policeman has his eye upon him, and he must simulate a +trot, though his pace but resemble a stage procession, where the legs are +lifted without progressing, and some fifty Roman soldiers, in Wellington +boots, are seen vainly endeavouring to push forward. The foot-passenger is +no better off—tired perhaps with walking or attracted by the +fascinations of a print-shop, he stops for an instant: alas, that luxury +may cost him dear, and for the momentary pleasure he may yet have to +perform a quick step on the mill. “Move on, sir. Keep moving, if you +please,” sayeth the gentleman in blue; and there is something in his +manner that wont be denied. It is useless to explain that you have nowhere +particular to go to, that you are an idler and a lounger. The confession +is a fatal one; and however respectable your appearance, the idea of +shoplifting is at once associated with your pursuits. Into what +inconsistencies do we fall while multiplying our laws, for while we insist +upon progression, we announce a penalty for vagrancy. The first principle +of the British constitution, however, is “keep moving,” and “I would +recommend you to go with the tide.” + </p> +<p> +Thank heaven, I have reached to man's estate—although with a heavy +heart I acknowledge it is the only estate I have or ever shall attain to; +for if I were a child I don't think I should close my eyes at night from +the fear of one frightful and terrific image. As it is, I am by no means +over courageous, and it requires all the energy I can summon to combat my +terrors. You ask me, in all likelihood, what this fearful thing can be? Is +it the plague or the cholera? is it the dread of poverty and the new +poor-law? is it that I may be impressed as a seaman, or mistaken for a +Yankee? or is it some unknown and visionary terror, unseen, unheard of, +but foreshadowed by a diseased imagination; No; nothing of the kind. It is +a palpable, sentient, existent thing—neither more nor less than the +worshipful Sir Peter Laurie. +</p> +<p> +Every newspaper you take up announces that Sir Peter, with a hearty +contempt for the brevity of the fifty folio volumes that contain the laws +of our land, in the plenitude of his power and the fulness of his +imagination, keeps adding to the number; so that if length of years be +only accorded to that amiable individual in proportion to his merits, we +shall find at length that not only will every contingency of our lives be +provided for by the legislature, but that some standard for personal +appearance will also be adopted, to which we must conform as rigidly as to +our oath of allegiance. +</p> +<p> +A few days ago a miserable creature, a tailor we believe, some decimal +fraction of humanity, was brought up before Sir Peter on a trifling charge +of some kind or other. I forget his offence, but whatever it was, the +penalty annexed to it was but a fine of half-a-crown. The prisoner, +however, who behaved with propriety and decorum, happened to have long +black hair, which he wore somewhat “<i>en jeune France</i>” upon his neck +and shoulders; his locks, if not ambrosial, were tastefully curled, and +bespoke the fostering hand of care and attention. The Rhadamanthus of the +police-office, however, liked them not: whether it was that he wore a +Brutus himself, or that his learned cranium had resisted all the efficacy +of Macassar, I cannot say; but certain it is, that the tailor's ringlets +gave him the greatest offence, and he apostrophised the wearer in the most +solemn manner: +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/063.jpg" alt="063 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“I have sat,” said he, “for———,” as I quote from memory +I sha'n't say how many, “years upon the bench, and I never yet met an +honest man with long hair. The worst feature in your case is your +ringlets. There is something so disgusting to me in the odious and +abominable vice you have indulged in, that I feel myself warranted in +applying to you the heaviest penalty of the law.” + </p> +<p> +The miserable man, we are told, fell upon his knees, confessed his +delinquency, and, being shorn of his locks in the presence of a crowded +court, his fine was remitted, and he was liberated. +</p> +<p> +Now, perhaps, you will suppose that all this is a mere matter of +invention. On the faith of an honest man I assure you it is not. I have +retrenched considerably the pathetic eloquence of the magistrate, and I +have left altogether untouched the poor tailor's struggle between pride +and poverty—whether, on the one hand, to suffer the loss of his +half-crown, or, on the other, to submit to the desecration of his <i>entire</i> +head. We hear a great deal about a law for the rich, and another for the +poor; and certainly in this case I am disposed to think the complaint +might not seem without foundation. Suppose for a moment that the prisoner +in this case had been the Honourable Augustus Somebody, who appeared +before his worship fashionably attired, and with hair, beard, and +moustache far surpassing in extravagance the poor tailor's; should we then +have heard this beautiful apostrophe to “the croppies,” this thundering +denunciation of ringlets? I half fear not. And yet, under what pretext +does a magistrate address to one man, the insulting language he would not +dare apply to another? Or let us suppose the rule of justice to be +inflexible, and look at the result. What havoc would Sir Peter make among +the Guards? ay, even in the household of her Majesty how many delinquents +would he find? what a scene would not the clubs present, on the police +authorities dropping suddenly down amongst them with rule and line to +determine the statute length of their whiskers, or the legal cut of their +eye-brows? Happy King of Hanover, were you still amongst us, not even the +Alliance would insure your mustachoes. As for Lord Ellenborough, it is now +clear enough why he accepted the government of India, and made such haste +to get out of the country. +</p> +<p> +Now we will suppose that as Sir Peter Laurie's antipathy is long hair, Sir +Frederick Roe may also have his dislikes. It is but fair, you will allow, +that the privileges of the bench should be equal. Well, for argument's +sake, I will imagine that Sir Frederick Roe has not the same horror of +long hair as his learned brother, but has the most unconquerable aversion +to long noses. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/065.jpg" alt="065 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +What are we to do here? Heaven help half our acquaintance if this should +strike him! What is to be done with Lord Allen if he beat a watchman! In +what a position will he stand if he fracture a lamp? One's hair may be cut +to even shaved clean off; but your nose.—And then a few weeks,—a +few months at farthest, and your hair has grown again: but your nose, like +your reputation, can only stand one assault. This is really a serious view +of the subject; and it is a somewhat hard thing that the face you have +shown to your acquaintances for years past, with pleasure to yourself and +satisfaction to them, should be pronounced illegal, or curtailed in its +proportions. They have a practice in banks if a forged note be presented +for payment, to mark it in a peculiar manner before restoring it to the +owner. This is technically called “raddling.” Something similar, I +suppose, will be adopted at the police-office, and in case of refusal to +conform your features to the rule of Roe, you will be raddled by an +officer appointed for the purpose, and sent forth upon the world the mere +counterfeit of humanity. +</p> +<p> +What a glorious thing it would be for this great country, if, having +equalized throughout the kingdom the weights, the measures, the miles, and +the currency, we should at length attain to an equalization in appearance. +The “facial angle” will then have its application in reality, and, instead +of the tiresome detail of an Old Bailey trial, we shall hear a judge sum +up on the externals of a prisoner, merely directing the attention of the +jury to the atrocious irregularity of his teeth, or the assassin-like +sharpness of his under-jaw. Honour to you, Sir Peter, should this great +improvement grow out of your innovation; and proud may the country well +be, that acknowledges you among its lawgivers! +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="066 (17K)" src="images/066.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +Let men no longer indulge in that absurd fiction which represents justice +as blind. On the contrary, with an eye like Canova's, and a glance quick, +sharp, and penetrating as Flaxman's, she traces every lineament and every +feature; and Landseer will confess himself vanquished by Laurie. “The +pictorial school of judicial investigation” will now become fashionable, +and if Sir Peter's practice be but transmitted, surgeons will not be the +only professional men who will commence their education with the barbers. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE BUDGET. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/067.jpg" alt="067 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +I remember once coming into Matlock, on the top of the “Peveril of the +Peak,” when the coachman who drove our four spanking thoroughbreds +contrived, in something less than five minutes, to excite his whole team +to the very top of their temper, lifting the wheelers almost off the +ground with his heavy lash, and, thrashing his leaders till they smoked +with passion, he brought them up to the inn door trembling with rage, and +snorting with anger. What the devil is all this for, thought I. He guessed +at once what was passing in my mind, and, with a knowing touch of his +elbow, whispered:— +</p> +<p> +“There's a new coachman a-going to try 'em, and I 'll leave him a precious +legacy.” + </p> +<p> +This is precisely what the Whigs did in their surrender of power to the +Tories. They, indeed, left them a precious legacy:—without an ally +abroad, with discontent and starvation at home, distant and expensive +wars, depressed trade, and bankrupt speculation, form some portion of the +valuable heritage they bequeathed to their heirs in power. The most +sanguine saw matter of difficulty, and the greater number of men were +tempted to despair at the prospects of the Conservative party; for, +however happily all other questions may have terminated, they still see, +in the corn-law, a point whose subtle difficulty would seem inaccessible +to legislation. Ah! could the two great parties, that divide the state, +only lay their heads together for a short time, and carry out that +beautiful principle that Scribe announces in one of his vaudevilles:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Que le blé te vend cher, et le pain bon marché.” + </pre> +<p> +And why, after all, should not the collective wisdom of England be able to +equal in ingenuity the conceptions of a farce-writer? Meanwhile, it is +plain that political dissensions, and the rivalries of party, will prevent +that mutual good understanding which might prove so beneficial to all. +Reconciliations are but flimsy things at best; and whether the attempt be +made to conciliate two rival churches, two opposite factions, or two +separate interests of any kind whatever, it is usually a failure. It, +therefore, becomes the duty of every good subject, and, <i>à fortiori</i>, +of every good Conservative, to bestir himself at the present moment, and +see what can be done to retrieve the sinking fortune of the state. +Taxation, like flogging in the army, never comes on the right part of the +back. Sometimes too high, sometimes too low. There is no knowing where to +lay it on. Besides that, we have by this time got such a general raw all +over us, there isn't a square inch of sound flesh that presents itself for +a new infliction. Since the first French Revolution, the ingenuity of man +has been tortured on the subject of finance; and had Dionysius lived in +our days, instead of offering a bounty for the discovery of a new +pleasure, he would have proposed a reward to the man who devised a new +tax. +</p> +<p> +Without entering at any length into this subject, the consideration of +which would lead me into all the details of our every-day habits, I pass +on at once to the question which has induced this inquiry, while I +proclaim to the world loudly, fearlessly, and resolutely, “Eureka!”—I +'ve found it. Yes, my fellow-countrymen, I have found a remedy to supply +the deficient income of the nation, not only without imposing a new tax, +or inflicting a new burden upon the suffering community, but also without +injuring vested rights, or thwarting the activity of commercial +enterprise. I neither mulct cotton or corn; I meddle not with parson or +publican, nor do I make any portion of the state, by its own privations, +support the well-being of the rest. On the contrary, the only individual +concerned in my plan, will not be alone benefited in a pecuniary point of +view, but the best feelings of the heart will be cultivated and +strengthened, and the love of home, so characteristically English, +fostered in their bosoms. I could almost grow eloquent upon the benefits +of my discovery; but I fear, that were I to give way to this impulse, I +should become so fascinated with myself, I could scarcely turn to the less +seductive path of simple explanation. Therefore, ere it be too late, let +me open my mind and unfold my system: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“What great effects from little causes spring.” + </pre> +<p> +Any one who ever heard of Sir Isaac Newton and his apple will acknowledge +this, and something of the same kind led me to the very remarkable fact I +am about to speak of. +</p> +<p> +One of the Bonaparte family—as well as I remember, Jerome—was +one night playing whist at the same table with Talleyrand, and having +dropped a crown piece upon the floor, he interrupted the game, and +deranged the whole party to search for his money. Not a little provoked by +a meanness which he saw excited the ridicule of many persons about, +Talleyrand deliberately folded up a bank-note which lay before him, and, +lighting it at the candle, begged, with much courtesy, that he might be +permitted to assist in the search. This story, which is authentic, would +seem an admirable parody on a portion of our criminal law. A poor man robs +the community, or some member of it (for that comes to the same thing) to +the amount of one penny. He is arrested by a policeman, whose salary is +perhaps half-a-crown a-day, and conveyed to a police-office, that cost at +least five hundred pounds to build it. Here are found three or four more +officials; all salaried—all fed, and clothed by the State. In due +course of time he is brought up before a magistrate, also well paid, by +whom the affair is investigated, and by him he is afterwards transmitted +to the sessions, where a new army of stipendiaries all await him. But his +journey is not ended. Convicted of his offence, he is sentenced to seven +years' transportation to one of the most remote quarters of the globe. To +convey him thither the government have provided a ship and a crew, a +supercargo and a surgeon; and, to sum up in one word, before he has +commenced the expiation of his crime, that penny has cost the country +something about three hundred pounds. Is not this, I ask you, very like +Talleyrand and the Prince?—the only difference being, that we +perform in sober earnest, what he merely exhibited in sarcasm. +</p> +<p> +Now, my plan is, and I prefer to develop it in a single word, instead of +weakening its force by circumlocution. +</p> +<p> +In lieu of letting a poor man be reduced to his theft of one penny—give +him two pence. <i>He</i> will be a gainer by double the amount—not +to speak of the inappreciable value of his honesty—and <i>you</i> +the richer by 71,998 pence, under your present system expended upon +policemen, magistrates, judges, gaolers, turnkeys, and transports. Examine +for a moment the benefits of this system. Look at the incalculable +advantages it presents—the enormous revenue, the pecuniary profit, +and the patriotism, all preserved to the State, not to mention the +additional pleasure of disseminating happiness while you transport men's +hearts, not their bodies. +</p> +<p> +Here is a plan based upon the soundest philanthropy, the most rigid +economy, and the strictest common sense. Instead of training up a race of +men in some distant quarter of the globe, who may yet turn your bitterest +enemies, you will preserve to the country so many true-born Britons, bound +to you by a debt of gratitude. Upon what ground—on what pretext—can +you oppose the system? Do you openly confess that you prefer vice to +poverty, and punishment to prevention? Or is it your pleasure to +manufacture roguery for exportation, as the French do politeness, and the +Irish linen? +</p> +<p> +I offer the suggestion generously, freely, and spontaneously. +</p> +<p> +If the heads of the government choose to profit by the hint, I only ask in +return, that when the Chancellor of the Exchequer announces in his place +the immense reduction of expenditure, that he will also give notice of a +motion for a bill to reward me by a government appointment. I am not +particular as to where, or what: I only bargain against being Secretary +for Ireland, or Chief Justice at Cape Coast Castle. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR REPEAL. +</h2> +<p> +When the cholera first broke out in France, a worthy prefect in a district +of the south published an edict to the people, recommending them by all +means to eat well-cooked and nutritious food, and drink nothing but <i>vin +de Bourdeaux</i>, Anglice, claret. The advice was excellent, and I take it +upon me to say, would have found very few opponents in fact, as it +certainly did in principle. When the world, however, began to consider +that <i>filets de bouf à la Marengo</i>, and <i>dindes truffées?</i> +washed down with <i>Chateau Lafitte</i> or <i>Larase</i>, were not exactly +within the reach of every class of the community, they deemed the +prefect's counsel more humane than practicable, and as they do at every +thing in France when the tide of public opinion changes, they laughed at +him heartily, and wrote pasquinades upon his folly. At the same time the +ridicule was unjust, the advice was good, sound, and based on true +principles, the only mistake was, the difficulty of its practice. Had he +recommended as an antiseptic to disease, that the people should play short +whist, wear red nightcaps, or pelt stones at each other, there might have +been good ground for the disfavour he fell into; such acts, however +practicable and easy of execution, having manifestly no tendency to avert +the cholera. Now this is precisely the state of matters in Ireland at this +moment: distress prevails more or less in every province and in every +county. The people want employment, and they want food. Had you +recommended them to eat strawberries and cream in the morning, to drink +lemonade during the day, take a little chicken salad for dinner, with a +light bread pudding and a glass of negus afterwards, avoiding all +stimulant and exciting food—for your Irishman is a feverish subject—you +might be laughed at perhaps for your dietary, but certes it would bear, +and bear strongly too, upon the case in question. But what do you do in +reality? The local papers teem with cases of distress: families are +starving; the poor, unhoused and unfed, are seen upon the road sides +exposed to every vicissitude of the season, surrounded by children who cry +in vain for bread. What, I ask, is the measure of relief you propose? not +a public subscription; no general outburst of national charity—no +public work upon a grand scale to give employment to the idle, food to the +hungry, health to the sick, and hope to all. None of these. Your panacea +is the Repeal of the Union; you purpose to substitute for those amiable +jobbers in College-green, who call themselves Directors of the Bank of +Ireland, another set of jobbers infinitely more pernicious and really +dishonest, who will call themselves Directors of Ireland itself; you talk +of the advantage to the country, and particularly of the immense benefits +that must accrue to the capital. Let us examine them a little. +</p> +<p> +Dublin, you say, will be a flourishing city, inhabited by lords and +ladies: wealth, rank, and influence will dwell in its houses and parade +its streets. The glare of lamps, the crash of carriages, all the pride, +pomp, and circumstances of fashion, will flow back upon the long-deserted +land, and Paris and London will find a rival to compete with them, in this +small city of the west. Would that this were so; would that it could be! +This, however, is the extent of what you promise yourselves: you may ring +the changes as you please, but the “refrain” of your song is, that Dublin +shall “have its own again.” Well, for argument's sake, I say, be it so. +The now silenced squares shall wake to the echoes of thundering equipages, +peers and prelates shall again inhabit the dwellings long since the +residence of hotel-keepers, or still worse, those little democracies of +social life, called boarding-houses. Your theatre shall be crowded, your +shops frequented, and every advantage of wealth diffused through all the +channels of society, shall be yours. As far as Dublin is concerned, I say—for, +mark me, I keep you to this original point, in the land of your promise +you have strictly limited the diffusion of your blessings by the boundary +of the Circular road; even the people at Ringsend and Ballybough bridge +are not to be included, unless a special bill be brought in for their +benefit. Still the picture is a brilliant one: it would be a fine thing to +see all the pomp and ceremony of proud popery walk the land at noon-day, +with its saints in gold, and its relics in silver; for of course this is +included in the plan. Prosperous Ireland must be Catholic Ireland, and +even Spain and Belgium will hide their diminished heads when compared with +the gorgeous homage rendered to popery at home. The “gentlemen of +Liffey-street chapel,” far better-looking fellows than any foreign priest +you 'll meet with from Trolhatten to Tivoli, will walk about <i>in +pontificalibus</i>; and all the exciting enthusiasm that Romanism so +artfully diffuses through every feature of life, will introduce itself +among a people who have all the warm temper and hot blood of the south, +with the stern determination and headlong impulse of the north of Europe. +By all of which I mean to say, that in points of strong popery, Dublin +will beat the world, and that before a year of such prosperity be past, +she will have the finest altars, the fattest priests, and the longest +catalogue of miractes in Europe. Lord Shrewsbury need not then go to the +Tyrol for an “estatica,” he'll find one nearer home worth twice the money. +The shin-bone of St. Januarius, that jumped out of a wooden box in a +hackney coach, because a gentleman swore, will be nothing to the scenes +we'll witness; and if St. Patrick should sport his tibia at an evening +party of Daniel O'Connell's, it would not in the least surprise me. These +are great blessings, and I am fully sensible of them. Now let me pass on +to another, which perhaps I have kept last as it is the chief of all, or +as the late Lord Castlereagh would have said, the “fundamental feature +upon which my argument hinges.” + </p> +<p> +A very common topic of Irish eloquence is, to lament over the enormous +exportation of cattle, fowl, and fish, that continually goes forward from +Ireland into England. I acknowledge the justness of the complaint—I +see its force, and appreciate its value. It is exactly as though a grocer +should exclaim against his misery, in being compelled to part with his +high-flavoured bohea, his sparkling lump sugar, and his Smyrna figs, or +our publisher his books, for the base lucre of gain. It is humiliating, I +confess; and I can well see how a warm-hearted and intelligent creature, +who feels the hardship of an export trade in matters of food, must suffer +when the principle is extended to a matter of genius; for, not content +with our mutton from Meath, our salmon from Limerick, and our chickens +from Carlow; but the Saxon must even be gratified with the soul-stirring +eloquence of the Great Liberator himself, with only the trouble of going +near St. Stephen's to hear him. I say near—for among the other +tyrannies of the land, he is compelled to shout loud enough to be heard in +all the adjacent streets. Now this is too bad. Take our prog—take +even our poteen, if you will; but leave us our Penates; this theft, which +embodies the antithesis of Shakspeare, is not only “trash,” but “naught +enriches them, and makes us poor indeed.” + </p> +<p> +Repeal the union, and you remedy this. You 'll have him at home with you—not +masquerading about in the disguise of a gentleman—not restricted by +the habits of cultivated and civilised life—not tamed down into the +semblance and mockery of good conduct—no longer the chained-up +animal of the menagerie, but the roaring, rampant lion, roaming at large +in his native forest—not performing antics before some political Van +Amburgh—not opening his huge jaws, as though he would devour the +Whigs, and shutting them again at the command of his keeper—but +howling in all the freedom of his passion, and lashing his brawny sides +with his vigorous “tail.” Haydn, the composer, had an enormous appetite; +to gratify which, when dining at a tavern, he ordered a dinner for three. +The waiter delayed in serving, as he said the company hadn't yet arrived, +but Haydn told him to bring it up at once, remarking, as he patted +complacently his paunch, “I am de compagnie myself.” Such will you have +the case in your domestic parliament—Dan will be the company +himself. No longer fighting in the ranks of opposition, or among the +supporters of a government—no more the mere character of a piece, he +will then be the Jack Johnson of the political world, taking the money at +the door—in which he has had some practice already—he will +speak the prologue, lead the orchestra, prompt the performers, and +announce a repetition of the farce every night of the week for his own +benefit. Only think what he is in England with his “forty thieves” at his +back, and imagine what he will be in Ireland without one honest man to +oppose him. He will indeed then be well worth seeing, and if Ireland had +no other attraction, foreigners might visit us for a look at the +Liberator. He is a droll fellow, is Dan, and there is a strong dash of +native humour in his notion of repeal. What strange scenes, to be sure, it +would conjure up. Only think for a moment of the absentee lord, an exiled +peer, coming back to Dublin after an absence of half his lifetime, vainly +endeavouring to seem pleased with his condition, and appear happy with his +home. Like an insolvent debtor affecting to joke with the jailer, watch +him simulating so much as he can of habits he has long forgotten, while +his ignorance of his country is such, that he cannot direct his coachman +to a street in the capital. What a ludicrous view of life would this open +to our view! While all these men, who have been satisfied hitherto to send +their sympathies from Switzerland, and their best wishes for Ireland by an +ambassador's bag, should now come back to writhe beneath the scourge of a +demagogue, and the tyranny of a man who wields irresponsible power. +</p> +<p> +All Ireland would present the features of a general election—every +one would be fascinating, courteous, affable, and dishonest. The unpopular +debater in England might have his windows smashed. With us, it would be +his neck would be broken. The excitement of the people will be felt within +the Parliament; and then, fostered by all the rancour of party hate, will +be returned to them with interest. The measure discussed out of doors by +the Liberator, will find no one hardy enough to oppose it within the +House, and the opinions of the Corn Exchange will be the programme for a +committee. A notice of a motion will issue from Merrion-square, and not +from a seat in Parliament; and wherever he moves through the country, +great Daniel, like a snail, will carry “his house” on his back. “Rob me +the Exchequer, Hal!” will be the cry of the priesthood, and no men are +better deserving of their hire; and thus, wielding every implement of +power, if Ireland be not happy, he can only have himself to blame for it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/078.jpg" width="100%" alt="078 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR NATIONAL PRIDE. +</h2> +<p> +National Pride must be a strong feeling, and one of the very few +sentiments which are not exhausted by the drain upon them; and it is a +strange thing, how the very fact upon which one man plumes himself, +another would regard as a terrible reproach. A thorough John Bull, as he +would call himself, thinks he has summed up, in those few emphatic words, +a brief description of all that is excellent in humanity. And as he throws +out his chest, and sticks his hand with energy in his breeches pocket, +seems to say, “I am not one of your frog-eating fellows, half-monkey, +half-tiger, but a true Briton.” The Frenchman, as he proclaims his nation, +saying, “<i>Je suis F-r-r-r-rançais</i>” would indicate that he is a very +different order of being, from his blunt untutored neighbour, “<i>outre +mer</i>;” and so on to the end of the chapter. Germans, Italians, and +Spaniards, and even Americans, think there is some magic in the name of +their fatherland—some inherent nobility in the soil: and it was only +lately I read in a French paper an eloquent appeal from a general to his +soldiers, which concluded by his telling them, to remember, that they were +“Mexicans.” I devoutly trust that they understood the meaning of his +phrase, and were able, without difficulty, to call to mind the bright +prerogative alluded to; for upon my conscience, as an honest man, it would +puzzle me sorely to say what constitutes a Mexican. +</p> +<p> +But the absurdity goes further still: for, not satisfied with the bounties +of Providence in making us what we are, we must indulge a rancorous +disposition towards our neighbours for their less-favoured destiny. “He +behaved like a Turk,” is an every-day phrase to indicate a full measure of +moral baseness and turpidity. A Frenchman's abuse can go no farther than +calling a man a Chinese, and when he says, “<i>tu es un Pékin</i>,” a duel +is generally the consequence. I doubt not that the Turks and the Chinese +make use of retributive justice, and treat us no better than we behave to +them. +</p> +<p> +Civilisation would seem rather to have fostered than opposed this +prejudice. In the feudal ages, the strength of a brawny right arm, the +strong hand that could wield a mace, the firm seat in a saddle, were the +qualities most in request; and were physical strength more estimated than +the gifts of a higher order, the fine distinctions of national character +either did not exist, or were not attended to. Now, however, the +tournament is not held on a cloth of gold, but on a broad sheet of paper; +the arms are not the lance and the dagger, but the printing-press. No +longer a herald in all the splendour of his tabard proclaims the lists, +but a fashionable publisher, through the medium of the morning papers, +whose cry for largess is to the full as loud. The result is, nations are +better known to each other, and, by the unhappy law of humanity, are +consequently less esteemed. What signifies the dislike our ancestors bore +the French at Cressy or Agincourt compared to the feeling we entertain for +them after nigh thirty years of peace? Then, indeed, it was the strong +rivalry between two manly natures: now, the accumulated hate of ages is +sharpened and embittered by a thousand petty jealousies that have their +origin in politics, military glory, society, or literature; and we detest +each other like quarterly reviewers. The Frenchman visits England as a +Whig commissioner would a Tory institution—only anxious to discover +abuses and defects—with an obliquity of vision that sees everything +distorted, or a fecundity of imagination that can conjure up the ills he +seeks for. He finds us rude, inhospitable, and illiterate; our habits are +vulgar, our tastes depraved; our House of Commons is a riotous mob of +under-bred debaters; our army an aristocratic <i>lounge</i>, where merit +has no chance against money; and our literature—God wot!—a +plagiarism from the French. The Englishman is nearly as complimentary. The +coarseness of French habits is to him a theme of eternal reprobation; the +insolence of the men, the indelicacy of the women, the immorality of all, +overwhelm him with shame and disgust: the Chamber of Deputies he despises, +as a contemptible parody on a representative body, and a speech from the +tribune a most absurd substitute for the freedom of unpremeditated +eloquence: the army he discovers to be officered by men, to whom the new +police are accomplished gentlemen; and, in fact, he sums up by thinking +that if we had no other competitors in the race of civilisation than the +French, our supremacy on land, is to the full as safe, as our sovereignty +over the ocean. Here lie two countries, separated by a slip of sea not +much broader than an American river, who have gone on for ages repeating +these and similar puerilities, without the most remote prospect of mutual +explanation and mutual good-will. +</p> +<p> +“I hate prejudice, I hate the French,” said poor Charles Matthews, in one +of his inimitable representations, and really the expression was no bad +summary of an Englishman's faith. On the other hand, to hate and detest +the English is the <i>sine qua non</i> of French nationality, and to +concede to them any rank in literature, morals, or military greatness, is +to derogate from the claims of his own country. Now the question is, are +the reproaches on either side absolutely just? They are not. Secondly, if +they be unfair, how comes it that two people pre-eminently gifted with +intelligence and information, should not have come to a better +understanding, and that many a long year ago? Simply from this plain fact, +that the opinions of the press have weighed against those of individuals, +and that the published satires on both sides have had a greater currency +and a greater credit than the calm judgment of the few. The leading +journals in Paris and in London have pelted each other mercilessly for +many a year. One might forgive this, were the attacks suggested by such +topics as stimulate and strengthen national feeling; but no, the +controversy extends to every thing, and, worse than all, is carried on +with more bitterness of spirit, than depth of information. The reviewer +“par excellence” of our own country makes a yearly incursion into French +literature, as an Indian would do into his hunting-ground. Resolved to +carry death and carnage on every side, he arms himself for the chase, and +whets his appetite for slaughter by the last “<i>bonne bouche</i>” of the +day. We then have some half introductory pages of eloquent exordium on the +evil tendency of French literature, and the contamination of those +unsettled opinions in politics, religion, and morals, so copiously spread +through the pages of every French writer. The revolution of 1797 is +adduced for the hundredth time as the origin of these evils; and all the +crime and bloodshed of that frightful period is denounced as but the first +step of the iniquity which has reached its pinnacle, in the novels of Paul +de Kock. To believe the reviewer, French literature consists in the +productions of this writer, the works of George Sand, Balzac, Frédéric +Soulié, and a few others of equal note and mark. According to him, +intrigue, seduction, and adultery, are the staple of French romance: the +whole interest of every novel turning on the undiscovered turpitude of +domestic life; and the great rivalry between witters, being, to try which +can invent a new feature of depravity and a new fashion of sin. Were this +true, it were indeed a sad picture of national degradation; was it the +fact that such books, and such there are in abundance, composed the light +literature of the day—were to be found in every drawing-room—to +be seen in every hand—to be read with interest and discussed with +eagerness—to have that wide-spread circulation which must ever carry +with it a strong influence upon the habits of those who read. Were all +this so, I say it would be, indeed, a deplorable evidence of the low +standard of civilisation among the French. What is the fact, however? +Simply that these books have but a limited circulation, and that, only +among an inferior class of readers. The <i>modiste</i> and the <i>grisette</i> +are, doubtless, well read in the mysteries of. Paul de Kock and Madame du +Deffant; but in the cultivated classes of the capital, such books have no +more currency than the scandalous memoirs of our own country have in the +drawing-rooms of Grosvenor-square or St. James's. Balzac has, it is true, +a wide-spread reputation; but many of his books are no less marked by a +powerful interest than a touching appeal to the fine feelings of our +nature. Alfred de Vigny, Eugene Sue, Victor Hugo, Leon Gozlan, Paul de +Muset, Alexandre Dumas, and a host of others, are all popular, and, with +the exception of a few works, unexceptionable on every ground of morality; +but these, after all, are but the skirmishers before the army. What shall +we say of Guizot, Thiers, Augustin Thierry, Toqueville, Mignet, and many +more, whose contributions to history have formed an era in the literature +of the age? The strictures of the reviewers are not very unlike the +opinions of the French prisoner, who maintained that in England every one +eat with his knife, and the ladies drank gin, which important and +veracious facts he himself ascertained, while residing in that fashionable +quarter of the town called St. Martin's lane. This sweeping mode of +argument, <i>à particular</i>, is fatal when applied to nations. Even the +Americans have suffered in the hands of Mrs. Trollope and others; and gin +twist, bowie knives, tobacco chewing, and many similarly amiable habits, +are not universal. Once for all, then, be it known, there is no more +fallacious way of forming an opinion regarding France and Frenchmen, than +through the pages of our periodical press, except by a <i>short</i> +residence in Paris—I say short, for if a little learning be a +dangerous thing, a little travelling is more so; and it requires long +experience of the world, and daily habit of observation, to enable any man +to detect in the ordinary routine of life the finer and more distinctive +traits that have escaped his neighbour; besides, however palpable and +self-evident the proposition, it demands both tact and time to see that no +general standard of taste can be erected for all nations, and, that to +judge of others by your own prejudices and habits, is both unfair and +absurd. To give an instance. No English traveller has commented on the +French Chamber of Deputies, without expending much eloquence and a great +deal of honest indignation on the practice of speaking from a tribune, +written orations being in their opinion a ludicrous travestie on the +freedom of debate. Now what is the fact; in the whole French Chamber there +are not ten, there are not five men who could address the house extempore; +not from any deficiency of ability—not from any want of information, +logical force, and fluency—-the names of Thiers, Guizot, Lamartine, +Dupin, Arago, &c. &c. are quite sufficient to demonstrate this—but +simply from the intricacy and difficulty of the French language. A worthy +alderman gets up, as the phrase is, and addresses a speech of some three +quarters of an hour to the collective wisdom of the livery; and although +he may be frequently interrupted by thunders of applause, he is never +checked for any solecisms in his grammar: he may drive a coach and six +through Lindley Murray; he may inflict heaven knows how many fractures on +poor Priscian's head, yet to criticise him on so mean a score as that of +mere diction, would not be thought of for a moment. Not so in France: the +language is one of equivoque and subtlety; the misplacement of a particle, +the change of a gender, the employment of any phrase but the exact one, +might be at any moment fatal to the sense of the speaker, and would +inevitably be so to his success. It was not very long since, that a worthy +deputy interrupted M. Thiers by alleging the non-sequitur of some +assertion, “<i>Vous n'est pas consequent</i>,” cried the indignant member, +using a phrase not only a vulgarism in itself, but inapplicable at the +time. A roar of laughter followed his interruption. In all the journals of +the next day, he was styled the deputy <i>consequent</i>; and when he +returned to his constituency the ridicule attached to his blunder still +traced his steps, and finally lost him his election. +</p> +<p> +“Thank God I am a Briton,” said Nelson; a phrase, doubtless, many more of +us will re-echo with equal energy; but while we are expressing our +gratitude let our thankfulness extend to this gratifying fact, that the +liberty of our laws is even surpassed by the licence of our language. No +obscure recess of our tongue is so deep that we cannot by <i>habeas corpus</i> +right bring up a long-forgotten phrase, and provided the speaker have a +meaning and be able to convey it to the minds of his hearers, we are +seldom disposed to be critical on the manner, if the matter be there. +Besides this, there are styles of eloquence so imbued with the spirit of +certain eras in French history, that the discussion of any subject of +ancient or modern days, will always have its own peculiar character of +diction. Thus, there is the rounded period and flowing sententiousness of +Louis XIV., the more polished but less forcible phraseology of the regency +itself, succeeded by the epigrammatic taste and pointed brevity introduced +by Voltaire. The empire left its impress on the language, and all the +literature of the period wore the <i>esprit soldatesque</i>; and so on +down to the very days of the barricades, each changing phase of political +life had its appropriate expression. To assume these with effect, was not +of course the gift of every man, and yet to have erred in their adoption, +would have been palpable to all; here then is one important difference +between us, and on this subject alone I might cite at least twenty more. +The excitable Frenchman scarcely uses any action while speaking, and that, +of the most simple and subdued kind. The phlegmatic Englishman stamps and +gesticulates with all the energy of a madman. We esteem humour; they +prefer wit: we like the long consecutive chain of proof that leads us step +by step to inevitable conviction; they like better some brief but happy +illustration that, dispensing with the tedium of argument, presents a +question at one glance before them. They have that general knowledge of +their country and its changes, that an illustration from the past is ever +an effective weapon of the orator; while with us the force would be +entirely lost from the necessity of recounting the incident to which +reference was made. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR DIPLOMATISTS. +</h2> +<p> +Man is the most imitative of all animals: nothing can surpass the facility +he possesses of simulating his neighbour; and I question much if the +press, in all the plentitude of its power, has done as much for the spread +of good or evil, as the spirit of mimicry so inherent in mankind. The +habits of high life are transmitted through every grade of society: and +the cheesemonger keeps his hunters, and damns his valet, like my lord; +while his wife rolls in her equipage, and affects the graces of my lady. +So long as wealth is present, die assumption of the tastes and habitudes +of a different class, can merely be looked upon as one of those outbreaks +of vanity in which rich but vulgar people have a right, if they like, to +indulge. Why shouldn't they have a villa at Twickenham—why not a box +at the opera—a white bait dinner at Blackwall—a yacht at +Southampton Î They have the money to indulge their caprice, and it is no +one's affair but their own. They make themselves ridiculous, it is true; +but the pleasure they experience counterbalances the ridicule, and they +are the best judges on which side lies the profit. Wealth is power: and +although the one may be squandered, and the other abused, yet in their +very profusion, there is something that demands a kind of reverence from +the world; and we have only to look to France to see, that when once you +abolish an hereditary <i>noblesse</i>, your banker is then your great man. +</p> +<p> +We may smile, if we please, at the absurd pretension of the wealthy +alderman and his lady, whose pompous mansion and splendid equipage affect +a princely grandeur; yet, after all, the knowledge that he is worth half a +million of money, that his name alone can raise the credit of a new +colony, or call into existence the dormant energy of a new region of the +globe, will always prevent our sarcasm degenerating into contempt. Not so, +however, when poverty unites itself to these aspirings, you feel in a +moment that the poor man has nothing to do with such vanities; his poverty +is a scanty garment, that, dispose it as he will, he can never make it +hang like a toga; and we have no compassion for him, who; while hunger +gnaws his vitals, affects a sway and dominion his state has denied him. +Such a line of conduct will often be offensive—it will always be +absurd—and the only relief presented by its display, is in the +ludicrous exhibition of trick and stratagem by which it is supported. +Jeremy Diddler, after all, is an amusing person; but the greater part of +the pleasure he affords us is derived from the fact; that, cunning as he +is in all his efforts to deceive us, we are still more so, for we have +found him out. +</p> +<p> +Were I to characterise the leading feature of the age, I should certainly +say it is this pretension. Like the monkeys at Exeter 'Change, who could +never bear to eat out of their own dish, but must stretch their paws into +that if their neighbour, so every man now-a-days wishes to be in that +place most unsuitable to him by all his tastes, habits, and associations, +and where once having attained to, his life is one of misery and +constraint. The hypocrisy of simulating manners he is not used to, is not +more subversive of his self-respect, than his imitation is poor, vulgar, +and unmeaning. +</p> +<p> +Curran said that a corporation was, a “thing that had neither a body to be +kicked, nor a soul to be damned.” And, verity, I begin to think that +masses of men are even more contemptible than individuals. A nation is a +great household; and if it have not all the <i>prestige</i> of rank, +wealth, and power, it is a poor and miserable thing. England and France, +Germany and Russia, are the great of the earth; and we look up to them in +the political world, as in society we do to those whose rank and station +are the guarantees of their power. Many other countries of Europe have +also their claims upon us, but still smaller in degree. Italy, with all +its association of classical elegance—Spain, whose history shines +with the solemn splendour of an illuminated missal, where gold and purple +are seen blending their hues, scarce dimmed by time; but what shall we say +of those newly-created powers, which springing up like mushroom families, +give themselves all the airs of true nobility, and endeavour by a strange +mockery of institutions and customs of their greater neighbours, to appear +of weight and consequence before the world. Look, for instance, to Belgium +the <i>bourgeois gentilhomme</i> of politics, which, having retired from +its partnership with Holland, sets up for a gentleman on its private +means. What can be more ludicrous than its attempts at high-life, its +senate, its ministry, its diplomacy; for strange enough the ridicule of +the individual can be traced extending to a nation, and when your city +lady launched into the world, displays upon her mantelpiece the visiting +cards of her high neighbours, so the first act of a new people is, to open +a visiting acquaintance with their rich neighbours, and for this purpose +the first thing they do is to establish a corps of diplomacy. +</p> +<p> +Now your city knight may have a fat and rosy coachman, he may have a tall +and portly footman, a grave and a respectable butler; but whatever his +wealth, whatever his pretension, there is one functionary of a great +household he can never attain to—he can never have a groom of the +chambers. This, like the “chasseur” abroad, is the appendage of but one +class, by constant association with whom its habits are acquired, its +tastes engendered, and it would be equally absurd to see the tall +Hungarian in all the glitter of his hussar costume, behind the caleche of +a pastrycook, as to hear the low-voiced and courteous minion of Devonshire +House announce the uncouth, un-syllabled names, that come east of St. +Dunstan's. +</p> +<p> +So, in the same way, your new nations may get up a king and a court, a +senate, an army, and a ministry, but let them not meddle with diplomacy—the +moment they do this they burn their fingers: your diplomate is like your +chasseur, and your groom of the chambers; if he be not well done, he is a +miserable failure. The world has so many types to refer to on this head, +there can be no mistake. Talleyrand, Nesselrode, Metternich, Lord +Whitworth, and several more, have too long given the tone to this peculiar +walk to admit of any error concerning it; however, your little folk will +not be denied the pleasures of their great acquaintance. They will have +their diplomacy, and they will be laughed at: look at the Yankees. There +is not a country in Europe, there is not a state however small, there is +not a Coburgism with three thousand inhabitants and three companies of +soldiers, where <i>they</i> haven't a minister resident with +plenipotentiary powers extending to every relation political and +commercial, although all the while the Yankees would be sorely puzzled to +point out on the map the <i>locale</i> of their illustrious ally, and the +Germans no less so to find out a reason for their embassy. Happily on this +score, the very bone and marrow of diplomacy is consulted, and secrecy is +inviolable; for, as your American knows no other tongue save that spoken +on the Alleghanies, he keeps his own counsel and theirs also. +</p> +<p> +Have you never in the hall of some large country house, cast your eye, on +leave-taking, at the strange and motley crew of servants awaiting their +masters—some well fed and handsomely clothed, with that look of +reflected importance my lord's gentleman so justly wears; others, in +graver, but not less respectable raiment, have that quiet and observant +demeanour so characteristic of a well-managed household. While a third +class, strikingly unlike the other two, wear their livery with an air of +awkwardness and constraint, blushing at themselves even a deeper colour +than the scarlet of their breeches. They feel themselves in masquerade—they +were at the plough but yesterday, though they are in powder now. With the +innate consciousness of their absurdity, they become fid-getty and uneasy, +and would give the world for “a row” to conceal the defaults of their +breeding. Just so, your petty “diplomate” suffers agony in all the quiet +intercourse of life. The limited opportunities of small states have +circumscribed his information. He is not a man of the world, nor is he a +political character, for he represents nothing; nothing, therefore, can +save him from oblivion or contempt, save some political convulsion where +any meddler may become prominent; he has thus a bonus on disturbance: so +long as the company behave discreetly, he must stay in his corner, but the +moment they smash the lamps and shy the decanters, he emerges from his +obscurity and becomes as great as his neighbour. For my part, I am +convinced that the peace and quietness of Europe as much depends on the +exclusion of such persons from the councils of diplomacy, as the happiness +of everyday life does upon the breeding and good manners of our +associates. +</p> +<p> +And what straits, to be sure, are they reduced to, to maintain this absurd +intercourse, screwing the last shilling from the budget to pay a <i>Charge +d'affaires</i>, with an embroidered coat, and a decoration in his +button-hole. +</p> +<p> +The most amusing incidents might be culled from such histories, if one +were but disposed to relate them. +</p> +<p> +Balzac mentions, in one of his novels, the story of a physician who +obtained great practice, merely by sending throughout Paris a +gaudily-dressed footman, who rang at every door, as it were, in search of +his master; so quick were the fellow's movements, so rapid his +transitions, from one part of the city to the other, nobody believed that +a single individual could ever have sufficed for so many calls; and thus, +the impression was, not only that the doctor was greatly sought after, but +that his household was on a splendid footing. The Emperor of the Brazils +seems to have read the story, and profited by the hint, for while other +nations are wasting their thousands in maintaining a whole corps of +diplomacy, he would appear like the doctor to have only one footman, whom +he keeps moving about Europe without ceasing: thus <i>The Globe</i> tells +us one day that the Chevalier de L———, the Brazilian +ambassador, has arrived in London to resume his diplomatic functions; <i>The +Handelsbad of the Hague</i> mentions his departure from the Dutch Court; +<i>The Algeimeine Zeitung</i> announces the prospect of his arrival at +Vienna, and <i>The Moniteur Parisien</i> has a beautiful article on the +prosperity of their relations with Mexico, under the auspices of the +indefatigable Chevalier: “<i>non regio terræ</i>,” exempt from his +labours. Unlike Sir Boyle Roche, he has managed to be not only in two, but +twenty places at once, and I should not be in the least surprised to hear +of his negotiations for sulphur at Naples, at the same moment that he was +pelting snowballs in Norway. Whether he travels in a balloon or on the +back of a pelican, he is a wonderful man, and a treasure to his +government. +</p> +<p> +The multiplicity of his duties, and the pressing nature of his functions, +may impart an appearance of haste to his manner, but it looks diplomatic +to be peremptory, and he has no time for trifling. +</p> +<p> +Truly, Chevalier de L———, thou art a great man—the +wandering Jew was but a type of thee. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR FOREIGN TRAVEL. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/094.jpg" width="100%" alt="094 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Of all the popular delusions that we labour under in England, I scarcely +know of one more widely circulated, and less founded in fact, than the +advantages of foreign travel. Far be it from me to undervalue the benefits +men of education receive by intercourse with strangers, and the +opportunities of correcting by personal observation the impressions +already received by study. No one sets a higher price on this than I do; +no one estimates more fully the advantages of tempering one's nationality +by the candid comparison of our own institutions with those of other +countries; no one values more highly the unbiassed frame of mind produced +by extending the field of our observation, and, instead of limiting our +experience by the details of a book, reading from the wide-spread page of +human nature itself. So conscious, indeed, am I of the importance of this, +that I look upon his education as but very partial indeed who has not +travelled. It is not, therefore, against the benefits of seeing the world +I would inveigh—it is rather against the general application of the +practice to the whole class of our countrymen and countrywomen who swarm +on the continent. Unsuited by their tastes—unprepared by previous +information-deeming a passport and a letter of credit all-sufficient for +their purpose—they set out upon their travels. From their ignorance +of a foreign language, their journey is one of difficulty and +embarrassment at every step. They understand little of what they see, +nothing of what they hear. The discomforts of foreign life have no +palliation, by their being enabled to reason on, and draw inferences from +them. All the sources of information are hermetically sealed against them, +and their tour has nothing to compensate for its fatigue, and expense, +save the absurd detail of adventure to which their ignorance has exposed +them. +</p> +<p> +It is not my intention to rail in this place against the injury done to +the moral feeling of our nation, by intimate association with the habits +of the Continent. Reserving this for a more fitting time, I shall merely +remark at present, that, so far as the habits of virtue are concerned, +more mischief is done among the middle class of our countrymen, than those +of a more exalted sphere. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely does the month of May commence, when the whole tide of British +population sets in upon the coast of France and Flanders. To watch the +crowded steamers as they arrive in Antwerp, or Boulogne, you would say +that some great and devastating plague had broken out in London, and +driven the affrighted inhabitants from their homes. Not so, however: they +have come abroad for pleasure. With a credit on Coutts, and the +inestimable John Murray for a guide, they have devoted six weeks to +France, Belgium, and the Rhine, in which ample time they are not only to +learn two languages, but visit three nations, exploring into cookery, +customs, scenery, literature, and the arts, with the same certainty of +success that they would pay a visit to Astley's. Scarcely are they +launched upon their travels when they unite into parties for personal +protection and assistance. The “<i>morgue Britannique</i>” so much spoken +of by foreigners, they appear to have left behind them; and sudden +friendships, and intimacies, spring up between persons whose only feeling +in common is that of their own absurd position. Away they go sight-seeking +in clusters. They visit cathedrals, monuments, and galleries; they record +in their journals the vulgar tirades of a hired <i>commissionaire</i>; +they eat food they detest, and they lie down to sleep discontented and +unhappy. The courteous civility of foreigners, the theme of so much eulogy +in England, they now find out to be little more than selfishness, +libertinism, and impertinence. They see the country from the window of a +diligence, and society from a place at the <i>table d'hôte</i>, and truly +both one and the other are but the vulgar high roads of life. Their +ignorance of the language alone protects them from feeling insulted at the +impertinences directed at themselves and their country; and the untutored +simplicity of their nature saves them the mortification of knowing that +the ostentatious politeness of some moustached acquaintance is an +exhibition got up by him for the entertainment of his friends. +</p> +<p> +Poor John Bull, you have made great sacrifices for this tour. You have cut +the city, and the counting-house, that your wife may become enamoured of +dress, and your daughter of a dancing-master—that your son may learn +to play roulette and smoke cigars, and that you yourself may ramble some +thousand miles over paved roads, without an object to amuse, without an +incident to attract you. While this is a gloomy picture enough, there is +another side to the medal still worse. John Bull goes home generally sick +of what he has seen, and much more ignorant of the Continent than when he +set out. His tour, however, has laid in its stock of foreign affectation, +that renders his home uncomfortable; his daughters pine after the +flattering familiarities of their whiskered acquaintances at Ems, or +Wiesbaden; and his sons lose all zest for the slow pursuit of competence, +by reflecting on the more decisive changes of fortune, that await on <i>rouge +et noir</i>. Yet even this is not the worst. What I deplore most of all, +is the false and erroneous notions continental nations procure of our +country, and its habits, from such specimens as these. The Englishman who, +seen at home, at the head of his counting-house, or in the management of +his farm, presents a fine example of those national traits we are so +justly proud of—honest, frank, straightforward in all his dealings, +kind and charitable in his affections; yet see him abroad, the sphere of +his occupations exists no longer—there is no exercise for the manly +habits of his nature: his honesty but exposes him to be duped; his +frankness degenerates into credulity; the unsuspecting openness of his +character makes him the butt of every artful knave he meets with; and he +is laughed at from Rotterdam to Rome for qualities which, exercised in +their fitting sphere, have made England the greatest country of the +universe. Hence we have the tone of disparagement now so universally +maintained about England, and Englishmen, from one end of the Continent to +the other. It is not that our country does not send forth a number of men +well qualified to induce different impressions of their nation; but +unfortunately, such persons move only in that rank of foreign society +where these prejudices do not exist; and it is among a different class, +and unhappily a more numerous one also, that these undervaluing opinions +find currency and belief. There is nothing more offensive than the +continual appeal made by Frenchmen, Germans, and others, to English +habits, as seen among this class of our countrymen. It is in vain that you +explain to them that these people are neither among the more educated nor +the better ranks of our country. They cannot comprehend your distinction. +The habits of the Continent have produced a kind of table-land of +good-breeding, upon which all men are equals. Thus, if you rarely meet a +foreigner ignorant of the every-day <i>convenances</i> of the world, you +still more rarely meet with one unexceptionably well-bred. The <i>table +d'hôte</i>, like the mess in our army, has the effect of introducing a +certain amount of decorum that is felt through every relation of life; +and, although the count abroad is immeasurably beneath the gentleman at +home, here, I must confess, that the foreign cobbler is a more civilized +person than his type in England. This is easily understood: foreign +breeding is not the outward exhibition of an inward principle—it is +not the manifestation of a sense of mingled kindness, good taste, and +self-respect—it is merely the rigid observance of a certain code of +behaviour that has no reference whatever to any thing felt within; it is +the mere popery of politeness, with its saint-worship, its penances, and +its privations. An Englishman makes way for you to accommodate your +passage; a foreigner—a Frenchman I should say—does so for an +opportunity to flourish his hat or to exhibit an attitude. The same spirit +pervades every act of both; duty in one case, display in the other, are +the ruling principles of life; and, where persons are so diametrically +different, there is little likelihood of much mutual understanding or +mutual esteem. To come back, however, the great evil of this universal +passion for travelling lies in the opportunity afforded to foreigners, of +sneering at our country, and ridiculing our habits. It is in vain that our +institutions are models of imitation for the world—in vain that our +national character stands pre-eminent for good-faith and fidelity—in +vain the boast that the sun never sets upon a territory that girths the +very globe itself, so long as we send annually our tens of thousands out +upon the Continent, with no other failing than mere unfitness for foreign +travel, to bring down upon us the sneer, and the ridicule, of every +ignorant and unlettered Frenchman, or Belgian, they meet with. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/100.jpg" width="100%" alt="100 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Our law code would, were its injunctions only carried out in private life, +effect most extraordinary reformations in our customs and habits. The most +singular innovations in our tastes and opinions would spring out of the +statutes. It was only a few days ago where a man sought reparation for the +greatest injury one could inflict on another, the great argument of the +defendant's counsel was based on the circumstance that the plaintiff and +his wife had not been proved to have lived happily together, except on the +testimony of their servants. Great stress was laid upon this fact by the +advocate; and such an impression did it make on the minds of the jury, +that the damages awarded were a mere trifle. Now, only reflect for a +moment on the absurdity of such a plea, and think how many persons there +are whose quiet and unobtrusive lives are unnoticed beyond the precincts +of their own door—nay, how many estimable and excellent people who +live less for the world than for themselves, and although, probably for +this very reason, but little exposed to the casualty in question, would +yet deem the injustice great that placed them beyond the pale of +reparation because they had been homely and domestic. +</p> +<p> +Civilisation and the march of mind are fine things, and doubtless it is a +great improvement that the criminal is better lodged, and fed, in the +prison, than the hungry labourer in the workhouse. It is an admirable code +that makes the debt of honour, the perhaps swindled losses of the +card-table, an imperative obligation, while the money due to toiling, +working industry, may be evaded or escaped from. Still, it is a bold step +to invade the privacy of domestic life, to subvert the happiness we deem +most national, and to suggest that the world has no respect for, nor the +law no belief in, that peaceful course in life, which, content with its +own blessings, seeks neither the gaze of the crowd, nor the stare of +fashion. Under the present system, a man must appear in society like a +candidate on the hustings—profuse in protestations of his happiness +and redolent of smiles; he must lead forth his wife like a blooming <i>débutante</i>, +and, while he presents her to his friends, must display, by every +endeavour in his power, the angelic happiness of their state. The <i>coram +publico</i> endearments, so much sneered at by certain fastidious people, +are now imperative; and, however secluded your habits, however retiring +your tastes, it is absolutely necessary you should appear a certain number +of times every year before the world, to assure that kind-hearted and +considerate thing, how much conjugal felicity you are possessed of. +</p> +<p> +It is to no purpose that your man-servant and your maid-servant, and even +the stranger within your gates, have seen you in the apparent enjoyment of +domestic happiness: it is the crowd of a ball-room must testify in your +favour—it is the pit of a theatre—it is the company of a +steam-boat, or the party on a rail-road, you must adduce in evidence. They +are the best—they are the only judges of what you, in the ignorance +of your heart, have believed a secret for your own bosom. +</p> +<p> +Your conduct within-doors is of little moment, so that your bearing +without satisfy the world. What a delightful picture of universal +happiness will England then present to the foreigner who visits our +salons! With what ecstasy will he contemplate the angelic felicity of +conjugal life! Instead of the indignant coldness of a husband, offended by +some casual levity of his wife, he will now redouble his attentions, and +take an opportunity of calling the company to witness that they live +together like turtle-doves. He knows not how soon, if he mix much in +fashionable life, their testimony may avail him; and the loving smile he +throws his spouse across the supper-table is worth three thousand pounds +before any jury in Middlesex. +</p> +<p> +Romance writers will now lose one stronghold of sentiment. Love in a +cottage will possess as little respect as it ever did attraction for the +world. The pier at Brighton, a Gravesend steamer, Hyde Park on a Sunday, +will be the appropriate spheres for the interchange of conjugal vows. No +absurd notions of solitude will then hold sway. Alas! how little prophetic +spirit is there in poetry! But a few years ago, and one of our sirens of +song said, +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“When should lovers breathe their vows? +When should ladies hear them? +When the dew is on the boughs— +When none else is near them.” + </pre> +<p> +Not a word of it! The appropriate place is amid the glitter of jewels, the +glare of lamps, the crush of fashion, and the din of conversation. The +private boxes of the opera are even, too secluded, and your happiness is +no more genuine, until recognised by society, than is an exchequer bill +with the mere signature of Lord Monteagle. +</p> +<p> +The benefits of this system will be great. No longer will men be reduced +to the cultivation of those meeker virtues that grace and adorn life; no +more will they study those accomplishments that make home happy and their +hearth cheerful. A winter at Paris and a box at the Variétés will be more +to the purpose. Scribe's farces will teach them more important lessons, +and they will obtain an instructive example in the last line of a +vaudeville, where an injured husband presents himself at the fall of the +curtain, and, as he bows to the audience, embraces both his wife and her +lover, exclaiming, “<i>Maintenant je suis heureux—ma femme—mon +meilleur ami!</i>” He then may snap his fingers at Charles Phillips and +Adolphus: he has not only proved his affection to his wife, but his +confidence in his friend. Let him lay the damages at ten thousand, and, +with a counsel that can cry, he'll get every shilling of the money. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/104.jpg" width="100%" alt="104 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR LADIES BOUNTIFUL. +</h2> +<p> +Jean Jacques tells us, that when his wife died every farmer in the +neighbourhood offered to console him by one of their daughters; but that a +few weeks afterwards his cow having shared the same fate, no one ever +thought of replacing his loss by the offer of another; thereby proving the +different value people set upon their cows and children—this seems +absurd enough, but is it a bit more so, than what is every day taking +place in professional life? How many parsons are there who would not lend +you five pounds, would willingly lend you their pulpit, and the commonest +courtesy from a hospital surgeon is, to present his visitor with a knife +and entreat him to carve a patient. He has never seen the individual +before, he doesn't know whether he be short-sighted, or nervous, or +ignorant, or rash, all he thinks of, is doing the honours of the +institution; and although like a hostess, who sees the best dish at her +table mangled by an unskilful carver, he suffers in secret, yet is she far +too well-bred to evince her displeasure, but blandly smiles at her friend, +and says “No matter, pray go on.” This, doubtless, is highly conducive to +science; and as medicine is declared to be a science of experiment, great +results occasionally arise from the practice. Now that I am talking of +doctors—what a strange set they are, and what a singular position do +they hold in society; admitted to the fullest confidence of the world, yet +by a strange perversion, while they are the depositaries of secrets that +hold together the whole fabric of society, their influence is neither +fully recognised, nor their power acknowledged. The doctor is now what the +monk once was, with this additional advantage, that from the nature of his +studies and the research of his art, he reads more deeply in the human +heart, and penetrates into its most inmost recesses. For him, life has +little romance; the grosser agency of the body re-acting ever on the +operations of the mind, destroy many a poetic daydream and many a +high-wrought illusion. To him alone does a man speak “<i>son dernier mot:</i>” + while to the lawyer the leanings of self-respect will make him always +impart a favourable view of his case. To the physician he will be candid, +and even more than candid—yes, these are the men who, watching the +secret workings of human passion, can trace the progress of mankind in +virtue, and in vice; while ministering to the body they are exploring the +mind, and yet, scarcely is the hour of danger passed, scarcely the shadow +of fear dissipated, when they fall back to their humble position in life, +bearing with them but little gratitude, and, strange to say, no fear! +</p> +<p> +The world expects them to be learned, well-bred, kind, considerate, and +attentive, patient to their querulousness, and enduring under their +caprice; and, after all this, the humbug of homoeopathy, the preposterous +absurdity of the water cure, or the more reprehensible mischief of +Mesmerism, will find more favour in their sight than the highest order of +ability accompanied by, great natural advantages. +</p> +<p> +Every man—and still more, every woman—imagine themselves to be +doctors. The taste for physic, like that for politics, is born with us, +and nothing seems easier than to repair the injuries of the constitution, +whether of the state or the individual. Who has not seen, over and over +again, physicians of the first eminence put aside, that the nostrum of +some ignorant pretender, or the suggestion of some twaddling old woman, +should be, as it is termed, tried? No one is too stupid, no one too old, +no one too ignorant, too obstinate, or too silly, not to be superior to +Brodie and Chambers, Crampton and Marsh; and where science, with anxious +eye and cautious hand, would scarcely venture to interfere, heroic +ignorance would dash boldly forward and cut the Gordian difficulty by +snapping the thread of life. How comes it that these old ladies, ol either +sex, never meddle with the law? Is the game beneath them, where the stake +is only property, and not life? or is there less difficulty in the +knowledge of an art whose principles rest on so many branches of science, +than in a study founded on the basis of precedent? Would to heaven the +“Ladies Bountiful” would take to the quarter-sessions and the assizes, in +lieu of the infirmaries and dispensaries, and make Blackstone their +aid-de-camp—<i>vice</i> Buchan retired. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/107.jpg" width="100%" alt="107 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE PRIESTS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/108.jpg" alt="108 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +There would be no going through this world if one had not an India-rubber +conscience, and one could no more exist in life without what watch-makers +call accommodation, in the machinery of one's heart, than a blue-bottle +fly could grow fat in the shop of an apothecary. Every man's conscience +has, like Janus, two faces—one looks most plausibly to the world, +with a smile of courteous benevolence, the other with a droll leer seems +to say, I think we are doing them. In fact, not only would the world be +impossible, and its business impracticable, but society itself would be a +bear-garden without hypocrisy. +</p> +<p> +Now, the professional classes have a kind of licence on this subject; just +as a poet is permitted to invent sunsets, and a painter to improvise +clouds and cataracts, so a lawyer dilates upon the virtues or attractions +of his client, and a physician will weep you good round substantial tears, +at a guinea a drop, for the woes of his patient; but the church, I +certainly thought, was exempt from this practice. A paragraph in a morning +paper, however, disabused my ignorance in the most remarkable manner. The +Roman Catholic hierarchy have unanimously decided that all persons +following the profession of the stage, are to be considered without the +pale of the church, they are neither to he baptized nor confirmed, married +nor buried; they may get a name in the streets, and a wite there also, but +the church will neither bless the one, nor confirm the other; in fact, the +sock and the buskin are proclaimed in opposition to Christianity, and +Madame Lafarge is not a bit more culpable than Robert Macaire. A few days +since, one of the most fashionable churches in Paris was crowded to +suffocation by the attraction of high mass, celebrated with the assistance +of the whole opera choir, with Duprez at their head. The sum contributed +by the faithful was enormous, and the music of Mozart was heard to great +effect through the vaulted aisles of Notre Dame, yet the very morning +after, not an individual of the choir could receive the benediction of the +church—the <i>rationale</i> of all which is, that the Dean of Notre +Dame, like the Director of the Odeon, likes a good house and a heavy +benefit. He gets the most attractive company he can secure, and although +he makes no scruple to say they are the most disreputable acquaintances, +still they fill the benches, and it will be time enough to damn them when +the performance is over! +</p> +<p> +Whenever the respectable Whigs are attacked for their alliance with +O'Connell, they make the same reply the priest would probably do in this +circumstance—How can we help it? We want a mob; if he sings, we have +it—we know his character as well as you; so only let us fill our +pockets, and then———I do not blame them in the least, if +the popery of their politics has palled upon the appetite; if they can +work no more miracles of reform and revolution, I do not see how they can +help calling in aid from without. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR LEARNED SOCIETIES. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/110.jpg" alt="110 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +We laugh at the middle ages for their trials by ordeal, their jousts, +their tournaments, their fat monasteries, and their meagre people; but I +am strongly disposed to think, that before a century pass over, posterity +will give us as broad a grin for our learned societies. Of all the +features that characterise the age, I know of none so pre-eminently +ridiculous, as nine-tenths of these associations would prove; supported by +great names, aided by large title, with a fine house, a library and a +librarian, they do the honours of science pretty much as the yeomen of the +guard do those of a court on a levee day, and they bear about the same +relation to literature and art, that do the excellent functionaries I have +mentioned, to the proceedings around the throne. +</p> +<p> +An old gentleman, hipped by celibacy, and too sour for society, has +contracted a habit of looking out of his window every morning, to observe +the weather: he sees a cloud very like a whale, or he fancies that when +the wind blows in a particular direction, and it happens to rain at the +same time, that the drops fall in a peculiarly slanting manner. He notes +down the facts for a month or two, and then establishes a meteorological +society, of which he is the perpetual president, with a grant from +Parliament to extend its utility. Another takes to old volumes on a +book-stall; and becoming, as most men are who have little knowledge of +life, fascinated with his own discoveries, thinks he has ascertained some +curious details of ancient history, and communicating his results to +others as stupid and old as himself, they dub themselves antiquarians, or +archaeologists, and obtain a grant also. +</p> +<p> +Now, one half of these societies are neither more nor less than most +impertinent sarcasms on the land we live id. The man who sets himself down +deliberately to chronicle the clouds in our atmosphere, and jot down the +rainy days in our calendar, is, to my thinking, performing about as +grateful a task, as though he were to count the carbuncles on his friend's +nose. We have, it is true, a most abominable climate: the sun rarely shows +himself, and, when he does, it is through a tattered garment of clouds, +dim and disagreeable; but why throw it in our teeth? and, still more, why +pay a body of men to publish the slander? Then again, as to history, all +the world knows that since the Flood the Irish have never done any thing +else than make love, illicit whiskey, and beat each other. What nonsense, +then, to talk about the ancient cultivation of the land, of its high rank +in literature, and its excellence in art. A stone bishop, with a nose like +a negro, and a crosier like a garden-rake, are the only evidences of our +ancestors' taste in sculpture; and some doggrel verses in Irish, +explaining how King Phelim O'Toole cheated a brother monarch out of his +smallclothes, are about the extent of our historic treasures. But, for +argument's sake, suppose it otherwise; imagine for a moment that our +ancestors were all that Sir William Betham and Mr. Petrie would make them—I +do not know how other people may feel, but I myself deem it no pleasant +reflection to think of <i>their</i> times and look at <i>our own</i>. What +if we were poets and painters, architects, historians, and musicians! What +have we now among us to represent these great and mighty gifts? I am +afraid, except our Big Beggarman, we have not a single living celebrity; +and is this a comfortable reflection, is this a pleasing thought, that +while, fourteen hundred years ago, some Irish Raphael and some Galway +Grisi were the delight of our illustrious ancestors—that while the +splendour of King Malachi, with his collar of gold, astonished the ladies +in the neighbourhood of Trim—we have nothing to boast of, save Dan +for Lord Mayor, and Burton Bindon's oysters? Once more, I say, if what +these people tell us be facts, they are the most unpalatable facts could +be told to a nation; and I see no manner of propriety or good-breeding in +replying to a gipsy who begs for a penny, by the information, that “his +ancestors built the Pyramids.” + </p> +<p> +Again, if our days are dark, our nights are worse; and what, in Heaven's +name, have we to do with an observatory and a telescope as long as the <i>Great +Western?</i> The planets are the most expensive vagabonds to the Budget, +and the fixed stars are a fixed imposition. Were I Chancellor of the +Exchequer, I'd pension the Moon, and give the Great Bear a sum of money as +compensation. Do not tell me of the distresses of the people, arising from +cotton, or corn, China, or Chartists—it is our scientific +institutions are eating into the national resources. There is not an +egg-saucepan of antiquity that does not cost the country a plum, and every +wag of a comet's tail may be set down at half-a-million. I warrant me the +people in the Moon take us a deuced deal more easily, and give themselves +very little trouble to make out the size of Ireland's eye or the height of +Croaghpatrick. No, no; let the Chancellor of the Exchequer come down with +a slapping measure of retrenchment, and make a clear stage of all of them. +Every man with money to buy a cotton umbrella is his own meteorologist; +and a pocket telescope, price eight-and-fourpence, is long enough, in all +conscience, for any man in a climate like ours; or, if such a course seem +too peremptory, call on these people for their bill, and let there be a +stated sum for each item. At Dolly's chop-house, you know to the exact +farthing how much your beefsteak and glass of ale will cost you; and if +you wish, in addition, a slice of Stilton with your XX, you consult your +pocket before you speak. Let not the nation be treated worse than the +individual: let as first look about us, and see if a year of prosperity +and cheap potatoes will permit us the indulgence of obtaining a new +luminary or an old chronicle; then, when we know the cost, we may +calculate with safety. Suppose a fixed star, for instance, be set down at +ten pounds; a planet at five; Saturn has so many belts, I would not give +more than half-a-crown for a new one; and, as for an eclipse of the sun, I +had rather propose a reward for the man who could tell us when we could +see him palpably. +</p> +<p> +For the present I merely throw out these suggestions in a brief, +incomplete manner, intending, however, to return to the subject on another +occasion. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/114.jpg" width="100%" alt="114 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE LAWYERS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/115.jpg" alt="115 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Authors have long got the credit of being the most accomplished persons +going—thoroughly conversant not only with the features of every walk +and class in life, but also with their intimate sentiments, habits of +thought, and modes of expression. Now, I have long been of opinion, that +in all these respects, lawyers are infinitely their superiors. The author +chooses his characters as you choose your dish, or your wine at dinner—he +takes what suits, and leaves what is not available to his purpose. He then +fashions them to his hand—finishing off this portrait, sketching +that one—now bringing certain figures into strong light, anon +throwing them into shadow: they are his creatures, who must obey him while +living, and even die at his command. Now, the lawyer is called on for all +the narrative and descriptive powers of his art, at a moment's notice, +without time for reading or preparation; and worse than all, his business +frequently lies among the very arts and callings his taste is most +repugnant to. One day he is to be found creeping, with a tortoise slowness +through all the wearisome intricacy of an equity case—the next he is +borne along in a torrent of indignant eloquence, in defence of some Orange +processionist or some Ribbon associate: now he describes, with the gravity +of a landscape gardener, the tortuous windings of a mill-stream; now +expatiating in Lytton Bulwerisms over the desolate hearth and broken +fortunes of some deserted husband. In one court he attempts to prove that +the elderly gentleman whose life was insured for a thousand at the +Phoenix, was instrumental to his own decease, for not eating Cayenne with +his oysters; in another, he shows, with palpable clearness, that being +stabbed in the body, and having the head fractured, is a venial offence, +and merely the result of “political excitement” in a high-spirited and +warm-hearted people. +</p> +<p> +These are all clever efforts, and demand consummate powers, at the hand of +him who makes them; but what are they to that deep and critical research +with which he seems, instinctively, to sound the depths of every +scientific walk in life, and every learned profession. Hear him in a +lunacy case—listen to the deep and subtle distinctions he draws +between the symptoms of mere eccentricity and erring intellect—remark +how insignificant the physician appears in the case, who has made these +things the study of a life long—hear how the barrister confounds him +with a hail-storm of technicals—talking of the pineal gland as if it +was an officer of the court, and of atrophy of the cerebral lobes, as if +he was speaking of an attorney's clerk. Listen to him in a trial of +supposed death by poison; what a triumph he has there, particularly if he +be a junior barrister—how he walks undismayed among all the tests +for arsenic—how little he cares for Marsh's apparatus and Scheele's +discoveries—hydro-sulphates, peroxydes, iodurates, and +proto-chlorides are familiar to him as household words. You would swear +that he was nursed at a glass retort, and sipped his first milk through a +blow-pipe. Like a child who thumps the keys of a pianoforte, and imagines +himself a Liszt or Moschelles, so does your barrister revel amid the +phraseology of a difficult science—pelting the witnesses with his +insane blunders, and assuring the jury that their astonishment means +ignorance. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/117a.jpg" alt="117a " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Nothing in anatomy is too deep—nothing in chemistry too subtle—no +fact in botany too obscure—no point in metaphysics too difficult. +Like Dogberry, these things are to him but the gift of God; and he knows +them at his birth. Truly, the chancellor is a powerful magician; and the +mystic words by which he calls a gentleman to the bar, must have some +potent spell within them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/117b.jpg" alt="117b " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +The youth you remember as if it were yesterday, the lounger at evening +parties, or the chaperon of tiding damsels to the Phoenix, comes forth now +a man of deep and consummate acquirement—he whose chemistry went no +further than the composition of a “tumbler of punch,” can now perform the +most difficult experiments of Orfila or Davy, or explain the causes of +failure in a test that has puzzled the scientific world for half a +century. He knows the precise monetary value of a deserted maiden's +affections—he can tell you the exact sum, in bank notes, that a +widow will be knocked down for, when her heart has been subject to but a +feint attack of Cupid. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/118.jpg" alt="118 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +With what consummate skill, too, he can show that an indictment is +invalid, when stabbing is inserted for cutting; and when the crown +prosecutor has been deficient in his descriptive anatomy, what a glorious +field for display is opened to him. Then, to be sure, what droll fellows +they are!—how they do quiz the witness as he sits trembling on the +table—what funny allusions to his habits of life—his age—his +station—turning the whole battery of their powers of ridicule +against him—ready, if he venture to retort, to throw themselves on +the protection of the court. And truly, if a little Latin suffice for a +priest, a little wit goes very far in a law court. A joke is a universal +blessing: the judge, who, after all, is only “an old lawyer,” loves it +from habit: the jury, generally speaking, are seldom in such good company, +and they laugh from complaisance; and the bar joins in the mirth, on that +great reciprocity principle, which enables them to bear each other's +dulness, and dine together afterwards. People are insane enough to talk of +absenteeism as one of the evils of Ireland, and regret that we have no +resident aristocracy among us—rather let us rejoice that we have +them not, so long as the lawyers prove their legitimate successors. +</p> +<p> +How delightful in a land where civilization has still some little progress +before it, and where the state of crime is not quite satisfactory—to +know that we have those amongst us who know all things, feel all things, +explain all things, and reconcile all things—who can throw such a +Claude Lorraine light over right and wrong, that they are both mellowed +into a sweet and hallowed softness, delightful to gaze on. How the secret +of this universal acquirement is accomplished I know not—perhaps it +is the wig. +</p> +<p> +What set me first on this train of thought, was a trial I lately read, +where a cross action was sustained for damage at sea—the owners of +the brig Durham against the Aurora, a foreign vessel, and <i>vice versa</i>, +for the result of a collision at noon, on the 14th of October. It appeared +that both vessels had taken shelter in the Humber from stress of weather, +nearly at the same time—that the Durham, which preceded the Prussian +vessel, “clewed up her top-sails, and dropped her anchor <i>rather</i> +suddenly; and the Aurora being in the rear, the vessels came in +collision.” The question, therefore, was, whether the Durham came to +anchor too precipitately, and in an unseamanlike manner; or, in other +words, whether, when the “Durham clewed up topsails, and let go her +anchor, the Aurora should not have luffed up, or got stern way on her,” + &c. Nothing could possibly be more instructive, nor anything scarcely +more amusing, than the lucid arguments employed by the counsel on both +sides. The learned Thebans, that would have been sick in a ferry-boat, +spoke as if they had circumnavigated the globe. Stay-sails, braces, +top-gallants, clews, and capstans they hurled at each other like <i>bon +bons</i> at a carnival; and this naval engagement lasted from daylight to +dark. Once only, when the judge “made it noon,” for a little refection, +did they cease conflict, to renew the strife afterwards with more deadly +daring, till at last so confused were the witnesses—the plaintiff, +defendant, and all, that they half wished, they had gone to the bottom, +before they thought of settling the differences in the Admiralty Court. +This was no common occasion for the display of these powers so peculiarly +the instinctive gift of the bar, and certainly they used it with all the +enthusiasm of a <i>bonne bouche</i>. +</p> +<p> +How I trembled for the Aurora, when an elderly gentleman, with a wart on +his nose, assured the court that the Durham had her top-sail backed ten +minutes before the anchor fell; and then, how I feared again for the +Durham, as a thin man in spectacles worked the Prussian, about in a +double-reefed mainsail, and stood round in stays so beautifully. I thought +myself at sea, so graphic was the whole description—the waves +splashed and foamed around the bulwarks, and broke in spray upon the deck—the +wind rattled amid the rigging—the bulkheads creaked, and the good +ship heaved heavily in the trough of the sea, like a mighty monster in his +agony. But my heart quailed not—I knew that Dr. Lushington was at +the helm, and Dr. Haggard had the look-out a-head—I felt that Dr. +Robinson stood by the lee braces, and Dr. Addison waited, hatchet in hand, +to cut away the mainmast. These were comforting reflections, till I was +once more enabled to believe myself in her Majesty's High Court of +Admiralty. +</p> +<p> +Alas! ye Coopers—ye Marryats—ye Charniers—ve historians +of storm and sea-fight, how inferior are your triumphs compared with the +descriptive eloquence of a law court. Who can pourtray the broken heart of +blighted affection, like Charles Phillips in a breach of promise? What was +Scott compared to Scarlett?—how inferior is Dickens to Counsellor +O'Driscoll?—here are the men, who, without the trickery of trade, +ungilt, unlettered, and unillustrated, can move the world to laughter and +to tears. They ask no aid from Colburn, nor from Cruikshank—they +need not “Brown” nor Longman. Heaven-born warriors, doctors, chemists, and +anatomists—deep in every art, learned in every science—mankind +is to them an open book, which they read at will, and con over at leisure—happy +country, where we have you in abundance, and where your talents are so +available, that they can be had for asking. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/121.jpg" width="100%" alt="121 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE IRISH. +</h2> +<h3> +AN IRISH ENCORE. +</h3> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/122.jpg" alt="122 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +We certainly are a very original people, and contrive to do everything +after a way of our own! Not content with cementing our friendships by +fighting, and making the death of a relative the occasion of a merry +evening, we even convert the habits we borrow from other land into +something essentially different from their original intention, and infuse +into them a spirit quite national. The echo which, when asked “How d'ye +do, Paddy Blake?” replied, “Mighty well, thank you,” could only have been +an Irish echo. Any other country would have sulkily responded, “Blake—ake—ake—ake,” + in <i>diminuendo</i> to the end of the chapter. But there is a courtesy, +an attention, a native politeness on our side of the channel, it is in +vain to seek elsewhere. A very strong instance in point occurs in a +morning paper before me, and one so delightfully characteristic of our +habits and customs, it would be unpardonable to pass it without +commemoration. At an evening concert at the Rotundo, we are informed that +Mr Knight—I believe his name is—enchanted his audience by the +charming manner he sung “Molly Astore.” Three distinct rounds of applause +followed, and an encore that actually shook the building, and may—though +we are not informed of the circumstance—have produced very +remarkable effects in the adjacent institution; upon which Mr. Knight, +with his habitual courtesy, came forward and sang—what, think ye, +good reader? Of course you will say, “Molly Astore,” the song he was +encored for. Alas! for your ignorance;—that might do very well in +Liverpool or Manchester, at Bath, Bristol, or Birmingham—the poor +benighted Saxons there might like to get what they asked so eagerly for; +but we are men of very different mould, and not accustomed to the jog-trot +subserviency of such common-sense notions; and accordingly, Mr. Knight +sang “The Soldier Tired”—a piece of politeness on his part that +actually convulsed the house with acclamations; and so on to the end of +the entertainment, “the gentleman, when encored, invariably sang a new +song”—I quote the paper <i>verbatim</i>—“which testimony of +his anxiety to meet the wishes of the audience afforded universal +satisfaction.” + </p> +<p> +Now, I ask—and I ask it in all the tranquillity of triumph—show +me the country on a map where such a studied piece of courteous civility +could have been practised, or which, if attempted, could have been so +thoroughly, so instantaneously appreciated. And what an insight does it +give us into some of the most difficult features of our national +character. May not this Irish encore explain the success with which Mr. +O'Connell consoles our “poverty” by attacks on the clergy, and relieves +our years of scarcity by creating forty-shilling freeholders. We ask for +bread; and he tells us we are a great people—we beg for work, and he +replies, that we must have repeal of the union—we complain of our +poverty, and his remedy is—subscribe to the rent. Your heavy-headed +Englishman—your clod-hopper from Yorkshire—or your boor from +Northumberland, would never understand this, if you gave him a life-long +to con over it. Norfolk pudding to his gross and sensual nature would seem +better than the new registration bill; and he'd rather hear the simmering +music of the boiled beef for his dinner, than all the rabid ruffianism of +a repeal meeting. +</p> +<p> +But to come back to ourselves. What bold and ample views of life do our +free-and-easy habits disclose to us, not to speak of the very servant at +table, who will often help you to soup, when you ask for sherry, and give +you preserves, when you beg for pepper. What amiable cross-purposes are we +always playing at—not bigotedly adhering to our own narrow notions, +and following out our own petty views of life, but eagerly doing what we +have no concern in, and meritoriously performing for our friends, what +they had been well pleased, we'd have let alone. +</p> +<p> +This amiable waywardness—this pleasing uncertainty of purpose—characterises +our very climate; and the day that breaks in sunshine becomes stormy at +noon, calm towards evening, and blows a hurricane all night. So the +Irishman that quits his home brimful of philanthropy is not unlikely to +rob a church before his return. But so it is, there is nobody like us in +any respect. We commemorate the advent of a sovereign by erecting a +testimonial to the last spot he stood on at his departure; and we are +enthusiastic in our gratitude when, having asked for one favour, we +receive something as unlike it as possible. +</p> +<p> +Our friends at the other side are beginning to legislate for us in the +true spirit of our prejudices; and when we have complained of “a beggared +proprietary and a ruined gentry,” they have bolstered up our weakness with +the new poor law. So much for an Irish encore. +</p> +<p> +“The sixth of Anne, chap, seventeen, makes it unlawful to keep +gaming-houses in any part of the city except the 'Castle,' and prohibits +any game being played even there except during the residence of the Lord +Lieutenant. This act is still on the statute book.”—<i>Dublin Paper</i>. +</p> +<p> +One might puzzle himself for a very long time for an explanation of this +strange <i>morceau</i> of legislation, without any hope of arriving at a +shadow of a reason for it. +</p> +<p> +That gaming should be suppressed by a government is in no wise unnatural; +nor should we feel any surprise at our legislature having been a century +in advance of France, in the due restriction of this demoralizing +practice. But that the exercise of a vice should be limited to the highest +offices of the state is, indeed, singular, and demands no little +reflection on our part to investigate the cause. +</p> +<p> +Had the functions of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland been of that drowsy, +tiresome, uninteresting nature, that it was only deemed fair by the +legislature to afford him some amusing pastime to distract his “<i>ennui</i>” + and dispel his melancholy, there might seem to have been then some reason +for this extraordinary enactment. On the contrary, however, every one +knows that from the remotest times to the present, every viceroy of +Ireland has had quite enough on his hands. Some have been saving money to +pay off old mortgages, others were farming the Phoenix; some took to the +King Cambyses' vein, like poor dear Lord Normanby—raked up all the +old properties and faded finery of the Castle, and with such material as +they could collect, made a kind of Drury-lane representation of a court. +And very lately, and with an originality so truly characteristic of true +genius, Lord Ebrington struck out a line of his own, and slept away his +time with such a persevering intensity of purpose, that “the least +wide-awake” persons of his government became actually ashamed of +themselves. But to go back. What, I would ask, was the intention of this +act? I know you give it up. Well, now, I have made the matter the subject +of long and serious thought, and I think I have discovered it. +</p> +<p> +Have you ever read, in the laws of the smaller German states, the singular +rules and regulations regarding the gaming-table? If so, you will have +found how the entire property of the “rouge et noi” and “roulette” is +vested in certain individuals in return for very considerable sums of +money, paid by them to the government, for the privilege of robbing the +public. These honourable and estimable people farm out iniquity as you +would do your demesne, selling the cheatable features of mankind, like the +new corn law, on the principle of “a general average.” The government of +these states, finding—no uncommon thing in Germany—a +deficiency in their exchequer, have hit upon this ready method of +supplying the gap, by a system which has all the regularity of a tax, with +the advantage of a voluntary contribution. These little kingdoms, +therefore, of some half-dozen miles in circumference, are nothing more +than <i>rouge et noir</i> tables, where the grand duke performs the part +of croupier, and gathers in the gold. Now, I am convinced that something +of this kind was intended by our lawgivers in the act of parliament to +which I have alluded, and that its programme might run thus—that “as +the office of Lord Lieutenant in Ireland is one of great responsibility, +high trust, and necessarily demanding profuse expenditure; and that, as it +may so happen that the same should, in the course of events, be filled by +some Whig-Radical viceroy of great pretension and little property; and +that as the ordinary sum for maintaining his dignity may be deemed +insufficient, we hereby give him the exclusive liberty and privilege of +all games of chance, skill, or address, in the kingdom of Ireland, whether +the same may be chicken-hazard, blind hookey, head and tail, &c.—thimble-rigging +was only known later—to be enjoyed by himself only, or by persons +deputed by him; such privilege in nowise to extend to the lords justices, +but only to exist during the actual residence and presence of the Lord +Lieutenant himself.”—<i>See the Act</i>. +</p> +<p> +I cannot but admire the admirable tact that dictated this portion of +legislation; at the same time, it does seem a little hard that the +chancellor, the archbishop, and the other high functionaries, who +administer the law in the absence of the viceroy, should not have been +permitted the small privilege of a little unlimited loo, or even +beggar-my-neighbour, particularly as the latter game is the popular one in +Ireland. +</p> +<p> +There would seem, too, something like an appreciation of our national +character in the spirit of this law, which, unhappily for England, and +Ireland, too, has not always dictated her enactments concerning us. It is +well known that we hate and abhor anything in the shape of a legal debt. +Few Irishmen will refuse you the loan of five pounds; still fewer can +persuade themselves to pay five shillings. The kingdom of Galway has long +been celebrated for its enlightened notions on this subject, showing how +much more conducive it is to personal independence and domestic economy, +to spend five hundred pounds in resisting a claim, than to satisfy it by +the payment of twenty. Accordingly, had any direct taxation of +considerable amount been proposed for the support of viceregal dignity, +the chances are—much as we like show and glitter, ardently as we +admire all that gives us the semblance of a state—we should have +buttoned up our pockets, and upon the principle of those economical little +tracts, that teach us to do so much for ourselves, every man would have +resolved to be “his own Lord Lieutenant;” coming, however, in the shape of +an indirect taxation, a voluntary contribution to be withheld at leasure, +the thing was unobjectionable. +</p> +<p> +You might not like cards, still less the company—a very possible +circumstance, the latter, in some times we wot of not long since—Well, +then, you saved your cash and your character by staying at home; on the +other hand, it was a comfort to know that you could have your rubber of +“shorts” or your game at <i>écarté</i>, while at the same time you were +contributing to the maintenance of the crown, and discharging the <i>devoirs</i> +of a loyal subject It is useless, however, to speculate upon an obsolete +institution; the law has fallen into disuse, and the more is the pity. How +one would like to have seen Lord Normanby, with that one curl of infantine +simplicity that played upon his forehead, with that eternal leer of +self-satisfied loveliness that rested on his features, playing banker at +<i>rouge et noir</i>, or calling the throws at hazard. I am not quite so +sure that the concern would have been so profitable as picturesque. The +principal frequenters of his court were “York too;” Lord Plunket was a +“downy cove;” and if Anthony Black took the box, most assuredly “I'd back +the caster.” Now and then, to be sure, a stray, misguided country +gentleman—a kind of “wet Tory”—used to be found at that court; +just as one sees some respectable matronly woman at Ems or Baden, seated +in a happy unconsciousness that all the company about her are rogues and +swindlers, so <i>he</i> might afford some good sport, and assist to +replenish the famished exchequer. Generally speaking, however, the play +would not have kept the tables; and his lordship would have been <i>in</i> +for the wax-lights, without the slightest chance of return. +</p> +<p> +As for his successor, “patience” would have been his only game; and indeed +it was one he had to practise whilst he remained amongst us. Better days +have now come: let us, therefore, inquire if a slight modification of the +act might not be effected with benefit, and an amendment, somewhat thus, +be introduced into the bill:—“That the words 'Lord Mayor' be +substituted for the words 'Lord Lieutenant;' and that all the privileges, +rights, immunities, &c, aforesaid, be enjoyed by him to his sole use +and benefit; and also that, in place of the word 'Castle,' the word +'Mansion-house' stand part of this bill”—thus reserving to his +lordship all monopoly in games of chance and address, without in anywise +interfering with such practices of the like nature exercised by him +elsewhere, and always permitted and conceded by whatever government in +power. +</p> +<p> +Here, my dear countrymen, is no common suggestion. I am no prophet, like +Sir Harcourt Lees; but still I venture to predict, that this system once +legalised at the Mayoralty, the tribute is totally unnecessary. The little +town of Spa, with scarce 10,000 inhabitants, pays the Belgian government +200,000 francs per annum for the liberty: what would Dublin—a city +so populous and so idle? only think of the tail!—how admirably they +could employ their little talent as “bonnets,” and the various other +functionaries so essential to the well-being of a gambling-house; and, +lastly, think of great Dan himself, with his burly look, seated in civic +dignity at the green cloth, with a rake instead of a mace before him, +calling out, “Make your game, gentlemen, make your game”—“Never +venture, never win”—“Faint heart,” &c, &c. +</p> +<p> +How suitable would the eloquence that has now grown tiresome, even at the +Corn Exchange, be at the head of a gaming-table; and how well would the +Liberator conduct a business whose motto is so admirably expressed by the +phrase, “Heads, <i>I</i> win; tails, <i>you</i> lose.” Besides, after all, +nothing could form so efficient a bond of union between the two contending +parties in the country as some little mutual territory of wickedness, +where both might forget their virtues and their grievances together. Here +you 'd soon have the violent party-man of either side, oblivious of +everything but his chance of gain; and what an energy would it give to the +great Daniel to think that, while filling his pockets, he was also +spoiling the Egyptians! Instead, therefore, of making the poor man +contribute his penny, and the ragged man twopence, you'd have the Rent +supplied without the trouble of collection; and all from the affluent and +the easy, or at least the idle, portion of the community. +</p> +<p> +This is the second time I have thrown out a suggestion—and all for +nothing, remember—on the subject of a finance; and little reflection +will show that both my schemes are undeniable in their benefits. Here you +have one of the most expensive pleasures a poor country has ever ventured +to afford itself—a hired agitator, pensioned, without any burden on +the productive industry of the land; and he himself, so far from having +anything to complain of, will find that his revenue is more than +quadrupled. +</p> +<p> +Look at the question, besides, in another point of view, and see what +possible advantages may arise from it. Nothing is so admirable an antidote +to all political excitement as gambling: where it flourishes, men become +so inextricably involved in its fascinations and attractions that they +forget everything else. Now, was ever a country so urgently in want of a +little repose as ours? and would it not be well to purchase it, and +pension off our great disturbers, at any price whatever? Cards are better +than carding any day; short whist is an admirable substitute for +insurrection; and the rattle of a dice-box is surely as pleasant music as +the ruffian snout for repeal. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +RICH AND POOR-POUR ET CONTRE. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/132.jpg" alt="132 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +If I was a king upon a throne this minute, an' I wanted to have a smoke +for myself by the fireside—why, if I was to do my best, what could I +smoke but one pen'orth of tobacco, in the night, after all?—but +can't I have that just as asy? +</p> +<p> +“If I was to have a bed with down feathers, what could I do but sleep +there?—and sure I can do that in the settle-bed above.” + </p> +<p> +Such is the very just and philosophical reflection of one of Griffin's +most amusing characters, in his inimitable story of “The Collegians”—a +reflection that naturally sets us a thinking, that if riches and wealth +cannot really increase a man's capacity for enjoyment with the enjoyments +themselves, their pursuit is, after all, but a poor and barren object of +even worldly happiness. +</p> +<p> +As it is perfectly evident that, so far as mere sensual gratifications are +concerned, the peer and the peasant stand pretty much on a level, let us +inquire for a moment in what the great superiority consists which exalts +and elevates one above the other? Now, without entering upon that wild +field for speculation that power (and what power equals that conferred by +wealth?) confers, and the train of ennobling sentiment suggested by +extended views of philanthropy and benevolence—for, in this respect, +it is perfectly possible the poor man has as amiable a thrill at his heart +in sharing his potato with a wandering beggar, as the rich one has in +contributing his thousand pounds' donation to some great national charity—let +us turn rather to the consideration of those more tangible differences +that leave their impress upon character, and mould men's minds into a +fashion so perfectly and thoroughly distinct. +</p> +<p> +To our thinking, then, the great superiority wealth confers lies in the +seclusion the rich man lives in From all the grosser agency of every-day +life—its make-shifts, its contrivances, its continued warfare of +petty provision and continual care, its unceasing effort to seem what it +is not, and to appear to the world in a garb, and after a manner, to which +it has no just pretension. The rich man knows nothing of all this: life, +to him, rolls on in measured tread; and the world, albeit the changes of +season and politics may affect him, has nothing to call forth any unusual +effort of his temper or his intellect; his life, like his drawing-room, is +arranged for him; he never sees it otherwise than in trim order; with an +internal consciousness that people must be engaged in providing for his +comforts at seasons when he is in bed or asleep, or otherwise occupied, he +gives himself no farther trouble about them; and, in the monotony of his +pleasures, attains to a tranquillity of mind the most enviable and most +happy. +</p> +<p> +Hence that perfect composure so conspicuous in the higher ranks, among +whom wealth is so generally diffused—hence that delightful +simplicity of manner, so captivating from its total absence of pretension +and affectation—hence that unbroken serenity that no chances or +disappointments would seem to interfere with; the knowledge that he is of +far too much consequence to be neglected or forgotten, supports him on +every occasion, and teaches that, when anything happens to his +inconvenience or discomfort, that it could not but be unavoidable. +</p> +<p> +Not so the poor man: his poverty is a shoe that pinches every hour of the +twenty-four; he may bear up from habit, from philosophy, against his +restricted means of enjoyment; he may accustom himself to limited and +narrow bounds of pleasure; he may teach himself that, when wetting his +lips with the cup of happiness, that he is not to drink to his liking of +it: but what he cannot acquire is that total absence of all forethought +for the minor cares of life, its provisions for the future, its changes +and contingencies;—hence he does not possess that easy and tranquil +temperament so captivating to all within its influence; he has none of the +careless <i>abandon</i> of happiness, because even when happy he feels how +short-lived must be his pleasure, and what a price he must pay for it. The +thought of the future poisons the present, just as the dark cloud that +gathers round the mountain-top makes the sunlight upon the plain seem cold +and sickly. +</p> +<p> +All the poor man's pleasures have taken such time and care in their +preparation that they have lost their freshness ere they are tasted. The +cook has sipped so frequently at the pottage, he will not eat of it when +at table. The poor man sees life “en papillotes” before he sees it +“dressed.” The rich man sees it only in the resplendent blaze of its +beauty, glowing with all the attraction that art can lend it, and wearing +smiles put on for his own enjoyment. But if such be the case, and if the +rich man, from the very circumstance of his position, imbibe habits and +acquire a temperament possessing such charm and fascination, does he +surrender nothing for all this? Alas! and alas! how many of the charities +of life lie buried in the still waters of his apathetic nature! How many +of the warm feelings of his heart are chilled for ever, for want of ground +for their exercise! How can he sympathise who has never suffered? how can +he console who has never grieved! There is nothing healthy in the placid +mirror of that glassy lake; uncurled by a breeze, unruffled by a breath of +passion, it wants the wholesome agitation of the breaking wave—the +health-giving, bracing power of the conflicting element that stirs the +heart within, and nerves it for a noble effort. +</p> +<p> +All that he has of good within him is cramped by <i>convenance</i> and +fashion; for he who never feared the chance of fortune, trembles, with a +coward's dread, before the sneer of the world. The poor man, however, only +appeals to this test on a very different score. The “world” may prescribe +to him the fashion of his hat, or the colour of his coat—it may +dictate the locale of his residence, and the style of his household, and +he may, so far as in him lies, comply with a tyranny so absurd; but with +the free sentiments of his nature—his honest pride, his feeling +sympathy—with the open current of his warm affection he suffers no +interference: of this no man shall be the arbiter. If, then, the shoals +and quicksands of the world deprive him of that tranquil guise and placid +look—the enviable gift of richer men—he has, in requital, the +unrestricted use of those greater gifts that God has given him, +untrammelled by man's opinion, uncurbed by the control of “the world.” + </p> +<p> +Each supports a tyranny after his own kind:—The rich man—above +the dictates of fashion—subjects the thoughts of his mind and the +meditations of his heart to the world's rule. +</p> +<p> +The poor man—below it—keeps these for his prerogative, and has +no slavery save in form. +</p> +<p> +Happy the man who, amid all the seductions of wealth, and all the +blandishments of fortune, can keep his heart and mind in the healthy +exercise of its warm affections and its generous impulses. But still +happier he, whose wealth, the native purity of his heart—can limit +his desires to his means, and untrammelled by ambition, undeterred by fear +of failure, treads the lowly but peaceful path in life, neither aspiring +to be great, nor fearing to be humble. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR ST. PATRICK'S NIGHT. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/137.jpg" width="100%" alt="137 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +There is no cant offends me more than the oft-repeated criticisms on the +changed condition of Ireland. How very much worse or how very much better +we have become since this ministry, or that measure—what a +deplorable falling off!—what a gratifying prospect! how poor! how +prosperous! &c. &c. Now, we are exactly what and where we used to +be: not a whit wiser nor better, poorer nor prouder. The union, the relief +bill, the reform and corporation acts, have passed over us, like the +summer breeze upon the calm water of a lake, ruffling the surface for a +moment, but leaving all still and stagnant as before. Making new laws for +the use of a people who would not obey the old ones, is much like the +policy of altering the collar or the cuffs of a coat for a savage, who +insists all the while on going naked. However, it amuses the gentlemen of +St. Stephen's; and, I'm sure I'm not the man to quarrel with innocent +pleasures. +</p> +<p> +To me, looking back, as my Lord Brougham would say, from the period of a +long life, I cannot perceive even the slightest difference in the +appearance of the land, or the looks of its inhabitants. Dublin is the +same dirty, ill-cared-for, broken-windowed, tumble-down concern it used to +be—the country the same untilled, weed-grown, un-fenced thing I +remember it fifty years ago—the society pretty much the same mixture +of shrewd lawyers, suave doctors, raw subalterns, and fat, old, greasy +country gentlemen, waiting in town for remittances to carry them on to +Cheltenham—that paradise of Paddies, and elysium of Galway <i>belles</i>. +Our table-talk the old story, of who was killed last in Tipperary or +Limerick, with the accustomed seasoning of the oft-repeated alibi that +figures at every assizes, and is successful with every jury. These +pleasant topics, tinted with the party colour of the speaker's politics, +form the staple of conversation; and, “barring the wit,” we are pretty +much what our fathers were some half century earlier. Father Mathew, to be +sure, has innovated somewhat on our ancient prejudices; but I find that +what are called “the upper classes” are far too cultivated and too +well-informed to follow a priest. A few weeks ago, I had a striking +illustration of this fact brought before me, which I am disposed to quote +the more willingly as it also serves to display the admirable constancy +with which we adhere to our old and time-honoured habits. The morning of +St. Patrick's day was celebrated in Dublin by an immense procession of +teetotallers, who, with white banners, and whiter cheeks, paraded the +city, evidencing in their cleanly but care-worn countenances, the benefits +of temperance. On the same evening a gentleman—so speak the morning +papers—got immoderately drunk at the ball in the Castle, and was +carried out in a state of insensibility. Now, it is not for the sake of +contrast I have mentioned this fact—my present speculation has +another and very different object, and is simply this:—How comes it, +that since time out of mind the same event has recurred on the anniversary +of St. Patrick at the Irish court? When I was a boy I remember well “the +gentleman who became so awfully drunk,” &c. Every administration, from +the Duke of Rutland downwards, has had its drunken gentleman on “St. +Patrick's night.” Where do they keep him all the year long?—what do +they do with him?—are questions I continually am asking myself. +Under what name and designation does he figure in the pension list? for of +course I am not silly enough to suppose that a well-ordered government +would depend on chance for functionaries like these. One might as well +suppose they would calculate on some one improvising Sir William Betliam, +or extemporaneously performing “God save the Queen,” on the state trumpet, +in lieu of that amiable individual who distends his loyal cheeks on our +great anniversaries. No, no. I am well aware he is a member of the +household, or at least in the pay of the government. When the pope +converts his Jew on Holy Thursday, the Catholic church have had ample time +for preparation: the cardinals are on the look-out for weeks before, to +catch one for his holiness—a good respectable hirsute Israelite, +with a strong Judas expression to magnify the miracle. But then the Jew is +passive in the affair, and has only to be converted patiently—whereas +“the gentleman” has an active duty to discharge; he must imbibe sherry, +iced punch, and champagne, at such a rate that he can be able to shock the +company, before the rooms thin, with his intemperate excess. Besides, to +give the devil—the pope, I mean—his Jew, they snare a fresh +one every Easter. Now, I am fully persuaded that, at our Irish court, the +same gentleman has performed the part for upwards of fifty years. +</p> +<p> +At the ancient banquets it was always looked upon as a triumph of +Amphitryonism when a guest or two died the day after of indigestion, from +over eating. Now, is it not possible that our classic origin may have +imparted to us the trait I am speaking of, and that “the gentleman” is +retained as typical of our exceeding hilarity and consummate conviviality—an +evidence to the “great unasked” that the festivities within doors are +conducted on a scale of boundless profusion and extravagance—that +the fountains from which honour flows, run also with champagne, and that +punch and the peerage are to be seen bubbling from the same source. +</p> +<p> +It is a sad thing to think that the gifted man, who has served his country +so faithfully in this capacity for so long a period, must now be stricken +in years. Time and rum must be telling upon him; and yet, what should we +do were we to lose him! +</p> +<p> +In the chapel of Maria Zell, in Styria, there is a portly figure of St. +Somebody, with more consonants than I find it prudent to venture on from +mere memory; the priest is rolling his eyes very benignly on the +frequenters of the chapel, as they pass by the shrine he resides in. The +story goes, that when the saint ceases winking, some great calamity will +occur to the commune and its inhabitants. Now, the last time I saw him, he +was in great vigour, ogled away with his accustomed energy, and even, I +thought—perhaps it was a suspicion on my part—had actually +strained his eyeballs into something like a squint, from actual eagerness +to oblige his votaries—a circumstance happily of the less moment in +our days, as a gifted countryman of ours could have remedied the defect in +no time. But to return; my theory is, that when we lose our tipsy friend +it's all up with us; “Birnam wood will then have come to Dunsinane;” and +what misfortunes may befal us, Sir Harcourt Lees may foresee, but I +confess myself totally unable to predicate. +</p> +<p> +Were I the viceroy, I 'd not sleep another night in the island. I 'd pack +up the regalia, send for Anthony Blake to take charge of the country, and +start for Liverpool in the mail-packet. +</p> +<p> +Happily, however, such an event may be still distant; and although the +Austrians have but one Metternich, we may find a successor to our “Knight +of St. Patrick.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “GENTLEMAN JOCKS.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/143.jpg" width="100%" alt="143 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“The Honourable Fitzroy Shuffleton,” I quote <i>The Morning Post</i>, “who +rode Bees-wing, came in a winner amid deafening cheers. Never was a race +better contested; and although, when passing the distance-post, the Langar +colt seemed to have the best of it, yet such was Mr. Shuffleton's tact and +jockeyship, that he shot a-head in advance of his adversary, and came in +first.” I omit the passages descriptive of the peculiar cleverness +displayed by this gifted gentleman. I omit also that glorious outbreak of +newspaper eloquence, in which the delight of his friends is expressed—the +tears of joy from his sisters—the cambric handkerchiefs that floated +in the air—the innumerable and reiterated cries of “Well done!—he's +a trump!—the right sort!” &c. &c, so profusely employed by +the crowd, because I am fully satisfied with what general approbation such +proofs of ability are witnessed. +</p> +<p> +We are a great nation, and nowhere is our greatness more conspicuous than +in the education of our youth. The young Frenchman seems to fulfil his +destiny, when, having drawn on a pair of the most tight-fitting kid +gloves, of that precise shade of colour so approved of by Madame Laffarge, +he saunters forth on the Boulevard de Gand, or lounges in the <i>coulisse</i> +of the opera. +</p> +<p> +The German, whose contempt not only extends to glove-leather, but clean +hands, betakes himself early in life to the way he should go, and from +which, to do him justice, he never shows any inclination to depart. A +meerschaum some three feet long, and a tobacco bag like a school-boy's +satchel, supply his wants in life. The dreamy visions of the unreal woes, +and the still more unreal greatness of his country, form the pabulum for +his thoughts; and he has no other ambition, for some half dozen years of +his life, than to boast his utter indifference to kings and clean water. +</p> +<p> +Now, we manage matters somewhat better. Our young men, from the very +outset of their career, are admirable jockeys; and if by any fatality, +like the dreadful revolution of France, our nobles should be compelled to +emigrate from their native land, instead of teaching mathematics and +music, the small sword and quadrilles, we shall have the satisfaction of +knowing that we supply stable-boys to the whole of Europe. +</p> +<p> +Whatever other people may say or think, I put a great value on this +equestrian taste. I speak not here of the manly nature of horse exercise—of +the noble and vigorous pursuits of the hunting field. No; I direct my +observations solely to the heroes of Ascot and Epsom—of Doncaster +and Goodwood. I only speak of those whose pleasure it is to read no book +save the Racing Calendar, and frequent no lounge but Tattersalls; who +esteem the stripes of a racing-jacket more honourable than the ribbon of +the Bath, and look to a well-timed “hustle” or “a shake” as the climax of +human ability. These are fine fellows, and I prize them. But if it be not +only praiseworthy, but pleasant, to ride for the Duke's cup at Goodwood, +or the Corinthian's at the Curragh, why not extend the sphere of the +utility, and become as amiable in private as they are conspicuous in +public life? +</p> +<p> +We have seen them in silk jackets of various hues, with leathers and tops +of most accurate fitting, turn out amid the pelting of a most pitiless +storm, to ride some three miles of spongy turf, at the hazard of their +necks, and the almost certainty of a rheumatic fever; and why, donning the +same or some similar costume, will they not perform the office of +postillion, when their fathers, or mayhap, some venerated aunt, is +returning by the north road to an antiquated mansion in Yorkshire? The +pace, to be sure, is not so fast—but it compensates in safety what +it loses in speed—the assemblage around is not so numerous, or the +excitement so great; but filial tenderness is a nobler motive than the +acclamations of a mob. In fact, the parallel presents all the advantages +on one side: and the jockey is as inferior to the postillion as the fitful +glare of an <i>ignis-fatuus</i> is to the steady brilliancy of a gas-lamp. +</p> +<p> +An Englishman has a natural pride in the navy of his country—our +wooden walls are a glorious boast; but, perhaps, after all, there is +nothing more captivating in the whole detail of the service, than the fact +that even the highest and the noblest in the land has no royal road to its +promotion, but, beginning at the very humblest step, he must work his way +through every grade and every rank, like his comrades around him. Many +there are now living who remember Prince William, as he was called—late +William the Fourth, of glorious memory—sitting in the stern seats of +a gig, his worn jacket and weather-beaten hat attesting that even the son +of a king had no immunity from the hardships of the sea. This is a proud +thought for Englishmen, and well suited to gratify their inherent loyalty +and their sturdy independence. Now, might we not advantageously extend the +influence of such examples, by the suggestion I have thrown out above? If +a foreigner be now struck by hearing, as he walks through the dockyard at +Plymouth, that the little middy who touches his hat with such obsequious +politeness, is the Marquis of ————, or the Earl of————, +with some fifty thousand per annum, how much more astonished will he be on +learning that he owes the rapidity with which he traversed the last stage +to his having been driven by Lord Wilton—or that the lengthy +proportions, so dexterously gathered up in the saddle, belong to an +ex-ambassador from St. Petersburgh. How surprised would he feel, too, that +instead of the low habits and coarse tastes he would look for in that +condition in life, he would now see elegant and accomplished gentlemen, +sipping a glass of curaçoa at the end of a stage; or, mayhap, offering a +pinch of snuff from a box worth five hundred guineas. What a fascinating +conception would he form of our country from such examples as this! and +how insensibly would not only the polished taste and the high-bred +depravity of the better classes be disseminated through the country; but, +by an admirable reciprocity, the coarsest vices of the lowest would be +introduced among the highest in the land. The racecourse has done much for +this, but the road would do far more. Slang is now but the language of the +<i>elite</i>—it would then become the vulgar tongue; and, in fact, +there is no predicting the amount of national benefit likely to arise from +an amalgamation of all ranks in society, where-the bond of union is so +honourable in its nature. Cultivate, then, ye youth of England—ye +scions of the Tudors and the Plantagenets—with all the blood of all +the Howards in your veins—cultivate the race-course—study the +stable—read the Racing Calendar. What are the precepts of Bacon or +the learning of Boyle compared to the pedigree of Grey Momus, or the +reason that Tramp “is wrong?” “A dark horse” is a far more interesting +subject of inquiry than an eclipse of the moon, and a judge of pace a much +more exalted individual than a judge of assize. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR YOUNGER SONS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/148.jpg" alt="148 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Douglas Jerrold, in his amusing book, “Cakes and Ale,” quotes an exquisite +essay written to prove the sufficiency of thirty pounds a-year for all a +man's daily wants and comforts—allowing at least five shillings a +quarter for the conversion of the Jews—and in which every outlay is +so nicely calculated, that it must be wilful eccentricity if the pauper +gentleman, at the end of the year, either owes a shilling or has one. To +say the least of it, this is close shaving; and, as I detest experimental +philosophy, I'd rather not try it. At the same time, in this age of +general glut, when all professions are overstocked—when you might +pave the Strand with parsons' skulls, and thatch your barn with the +surplus of the college of physicians; when there are neither waste lands +to till and give us ague and typhus, nor war to thin us—what are we +to do? The subdivision of labour in every walk in life has been carried to +its utmost limits: if it takes nine tailors to make a man, it takes nine +men to make a needle. Even in the learned professions, as they are called, +this system is carried out; and as you have a lawyer for equity, another +for the Common Pleas, a third for the Old Bailey, &c, so your doctor, +now-a-days, has split up his art, and one man takes charge of your teeth, +another has the eye department, another the ear, a fourth looks after your +corns; so that, in fact, the complex machinery of your structure strikes +you as admirably adapted to give employment to an ingenious and anxious +population, who, until our present civilization, never dreamed of +morselling out mankind for their benefit. +</p> +<p> +As to commerce, our late experiences have chiefly pointed to the pleasure +of trading with nations who will not pay their debts,—like the +Yankees. There is, then, little encouragement in that quarter. What then +remains I scarcely know. The United Services are pleasant, but poor things +by way of a provision for life. Coach-driving, that admirable refuge for +the destitute, has been smashed by the railroads; and there is a kind of +prejudice against a man of family sweeping the crossings. For my own part, +I lean to something dignified and respectable—something that does +not compromise “the cloth,” and which, without being absolutely a +sinecure, never exacts any undue or extraordinary exertion,—driving +a hearse, for instance: even this, however, is greatly run upon; and the +cholera, at its departure, threw very many out of employment. However, the +question is, what can a man of small means do with his son? Short whist is +a very snug thing—if a man have natural gifts,—that happy +conformation of the fingers, that ample range of vision, that takes in +everything around. But I must not suppose these by any means general—and +I legislate for the mass. The turf has also the same difficulties,—so +has toad-eating; indeed these three walks might be included among the +learned professions. +</p> +<p> +As to railroads, I 'm sick of hearing of them for the last three years. +Every family in the empire has at least one civil engineer within its +precincts; and I 'm confident, if their sides were as hard as their +skulls, you could make sleepers for the whole Grand Junction by merely +decimating the unemployed. +</p> +<p> +Tax-collecting does, to be sure, offer some little prospect; but that +won't last. Indeed, the very working of the process will limit the +advantages of this opening,—gradually converting all the payers into +paupers. Now I have meditated long and anxiously on the subject, +conversing with others whose opportunities of knowing the world were +considerable, but never could I find that ingenuity opened any new path, +without its being so instantaneously overstocked that competition alone +denied every chance of success. +</p> +<p> +One man of original genius I did, indeed, come upon, and his career had +been eminently successful. He was a Belgian physician, who, having in vain +attempted all the ordinary modes of obtaining practice, collected together +the little residue of his fortune, and sailed for Barbadoes, where he +struck out for himself the following singularly new and original plan:—He +purchased all the disabled, sick, and ailing negroes that he could find; +every poor fellow whose case seemed past hope, but yet to his critical eye +was still curable, these he bought up; they were, of course, dead +bargains. The masters were delighted to get rid of them—they were +actually “eating their heads off;” but the doctor knew, that though they +looked somewhat “groggy,” still there was a “go” in them yet. +</p> +<p> +By care, skill, and good management, they recovered under his hands, and +frequently were re-sold to the original proprietor, who was totally +unconscious that the sleek and shining nigger before him had been the +poor, decrepid, sickly creature of some weeks before. +</p> +<p> +The humanity of this proceeding is self-evident: a word need not be said +more on that subject. But it was no less profitable than merciful. The +originator of the plan retired from business with a large fortune, +amassed, too, in an inconceivably short space of time. The shrewdest +proprietor of a fast coach never could throw a more critical eye over a +new wheeler or a broken-down leader, than did he on the object of his +professional skill; detecting at a glance the extent of his ailments, and +calculating, with a Babbage-like accuracy, the cost of keep, physic, and +attendance, and setting them off, in his mind, against the probable price +of the sound man. What consummate skill was here! Not merely, like Brodie +or Crampton, anticipating the possible recovery of the patient, but +estimating the extent of the restoration—the time it would take—ay, +the very number of basins of chicken-broth and barley-gruel that he would +devour, <i>ad interim</i>. This was the cleverest physician I ever knew. +The present altered condition of West Indian property has, however, closed +this opening to fortune, in which, after all, nothing short of first-rate +ability could have ensured success. +</p> +<p> +I have just read over the preceding “nut” to my old friend, Mr. Synnet, of +Mulloglass, whose deep knowledge of the world makes him no mean critic on +such a subject. His words are these:— +</p> +<p> +“There is some truth in what you remark—the world is too full of us. +There is, however, a very nice walk in life much neglected.” + </p> +<p> +“And what may that be?” said I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The mortgagee,” replied he, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“I don't perfectly comprehend.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well! what I mean k this: suppose, now, you have only a couple of +thousand pounds to leave your son—maybe, you have not more than a +single thousand—now, my advice is, not to squander your fortune in +any such absurdity as a learned profession, a commission in the Line, or +any other miserable existence, but just look about you, in the west of +Ireland, for the fellow that has the best house, the best cellar, the best +cook, and the best stable. He is sure to want money, and will be delighted +to get a loan. Lend it to him: make hard terms, of course. For this—as +you are never to be paid—the obligation of your forbearance will be +the greater. Now, mark me, from the day the deed is signed, you have snug +quarters in Galway? not only in your friend's house, but among all his +relations—Blakes, Burkes, Bodkins, Kirwans, &c, to no end; you +have the run of the whole concern—the best of living, great drink, +and hunting in abundance. You must talk of the loan now and then, just to +jog their memory; but be always 'too much the gentleman' to ask for your +money; and it will even go hard, but from sheer popularity, they will make +you member for the county. This is the only new thing, in the way of a +career, I know of, and I have great pleasure in throwing out the +suggestion for the benefit of younger sons.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE PENAL CODE. +</h2> +<p> +It has often struck me that the monotony of occupation is a heavier +infliction than the monotony of reflection. The same dull round of duty, +which while it demands a certain amount of labour, excludes all +opportunity of thought, making man no better than the piston of a +steam-engine, is a very frightful and debasing process. Whereas, however +much there may be of suffering in solitude, our minds are not imprisoned; +our thoughts, unchained and unfettered, stroll far away to pleasant +pasturages; we cross the broad blue sea, and tread the ferny +mountain-side, and live once more the sunny hours of boyhood; or we build +up in imagination a peaceful and happy future. +</p> +<p> +That the power of fancy and the play of genius are not interrupted by the +still solitude of the prison, I need only quote Cervantes, whose immortal +work was accomplished during the tedious hours of a captivity, unrelieved +by one office of friendship, uncheered by one solitary ray of hope. +</p> +<p> +Taking this view of the matter, it will be at once perceived how much more +severe a penalty solitary confinement must be, to the man of narrow mind +and limited resources of thought, than to him of cultivated understanding +and wider range of mental exercise. In the one case, it is a punishment of +the most terrific kind—and nothing can equal that awful lethargy of +the soul, that wraps a man as in a garment, shrouding him from the bright +world without, and leaving him nought save the darkness of his gloomy +nature to brood over. In the other, there is something soothing amid all +the melancholy of the state, is the unbroken soaring of thought, that, +lifting man above the cares and collisions of daily life, bear him far +away to the rich paradise of his mind-made treasures—peopling space +with images of beauty—and leave him to dream away existence amid the +scenes and features he loved to gaze on. +</p> +<p> +Now, to turn for the moment from this picture, let us consider whether our +government is wise in this universal application of a punishment, which, +while it operates so severely in one case, may really be regarded as a +boon in the other. +</p> +<p> +The healthy peasant, who rises with the sun, and breathes the free air of +his native hills, may and will feel all the infliction of confinement, +which, while it chains his limbs, stagnates his faculties. Not so the +sedentary and solitary man of letters. Your cell becomes <i>his</i> study: +the window may be somewhat narrower—the lattice, that was wont to +open to the climbing honeysuckle, may now be barred with its iron +stanchions; but he soon forgets this. “His mind to him a palace is,” + wherein he dwells at peace. Now, to put them on something of a par, I have +a suggestion to make to the legislature, which I shall condense as briefly +as possible. Never sentence your man of education, whatever his offence, +to solitary confinement; but condemn him to dine out, in Dublin, for seven +or fourteen years—or, in murder cases, for the term of his natural +life. For slight offences, a week's dinners, and a few evening parties +might be sufficient—while old offenders and bad cases, might be sent +to the north side of the city. +</p> +<p> +It may be objected to this—that insanity, which so often occurs in +the one case, would supervene in the other; but I rather think not. My own +experience could show many elderly people of both sexes, long inured to +this state, who have only fallen into a sullen and apathetic fatuity; but +who, bating deafness and a look of dogged stupidity, are still reasoning +beings—what they once were, it is hard to say. +</p> +<p> +But I take the man who, for some infraction of the law, is suddenly +carried away from his home and friends—the man of mind, of reading, +and reflection. Imagine him, day after day, beholding the everlasting +saddle of mutton—the eternal three chickens, with the tongue in the +midst of them; the same travesty of French cookery that pervades the +side-dishes—the hot sherry, the sour Moselle: think of him, eating +out his days through these, unchanged, unchangeable—with the same <i>cortege</i> +of lawyers and lawyers' wives—doctors, male and female—surgeons, +subalterns, and, mayhap, attorneys: think of the old jokes he has been +hearing from childhood still ringing in his ears, accompanied by the same +laugh which he has tracked from its burst in boyhood to its last cackle in +dotage: behold him, as he sits amid the same young ladies, in pink and +blue, and the same elderly ones, in scarlet and purple; see him, as he +watches every sign and pass-word that have marked these dinners for the +long term of his sentence, and say if his punishment be not indeed severe. +</p> +<p> +Then think how edifying the very example of his suffering, as, with pale +cheek and lustreless eye—silent, sad, and lonely—he sits +there! How powerfully such a warning must speak to others, who, from +accident or misfortune, may be momentarily thrown in his society. +</p> +<p> +The suggestion, I own, will demand a much more ample detail, and +considerable modification. Among other precautions, for instance, more +than one convict should not be admitted to any table, lest they might +fraternize together, and become independent of the company in mutual +intercourse, &c. +</p> +<p> +These may all, however, be carefully considered hereafter: the principle +is the only thing I would insist on for the present, and now leave the +matter in the hands of our rulers. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE OLD. +</h2> +<p> +Of all the virtues which grace and adorn the inhabitants of these islands, +I know of none which can in anywise be compared with the deep and profound +veneration we show to old age. Not content with paying it that deference +and respect so essentially its due, we go even further, and by a courteous +adulation would impose upon it the notion, that years have not detracted +from the gifts which were so conspicuous in youth, and that the winter of +life is as full of promise and performance, as the most budding hours of +spring-time. +</p> +<p> +Walk through the halls of Greenwich and Chelsea—or, if the excursion +be too far for you, as a Dubliner, stroll down to the Old Man's Hospital, +and cast your eyes on those venerable “fogies,” as they are sometimes +irreverently called, and look with what a critical and studious politeness +the state has invested every detail of their daily life. Not fed, housed, +or clothed like the “debris” of humanity, to whom the mere necessaries of +existence were meted out; but actually a species of flattering illusion is +woven around them, they are dressed in a uniform; wear a strange, quaint +military costume; are officered and inspected like soldiers; mount guard; +answer roll-call, and mess as of yore. +</p> +<p> +They are permitted, from time to time, to clean and burnish pieces of +ordnance, old, time-worn, and useless as themselves, and are marched +certain short and suitable distances to and from their dining-hall, with +all the “pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war.” I like all this. +There is something of good and kindly feeling in perpetuating the delusion +that has lasted for so many years of life, and making the very +resting-place of their meritorious services recall to them the details of +those duties, for the performance of which they have reaped their +country's gratitude. +</p> +<p> +The same amiable feeling, the same grateful spirit of respect, would seem, +from time to time, to actuate the different governments that wield our +destinies, in their promotions to the upper house. +</p> +<p> +Some old, feeble, partizan of the ministry, who has worn himself to a +skeleton by late sittings; dried, like a potted herring, by committee +labour; hoarse with fifty years' cheering of his party, and deaf from the +cries of “divide” and “adjourn” that have been ringing in his ears for the +last cycle of his existence, is selected for promotion to the peerage. He +was eloquent in his day, too, perhaps; but that day is gone by. His speech +upon a great question was once a momentous event, but now his vote is +mumbled in tones scarce audible.—Gratefully mindful of his “has +been,” his party provide him with an asylum, where the residue of his days +may be passed in peace and pleasantness. Careful not to break the spell +that has bound him to life, they surround him with some semblance of his +former state, suited in all respects to his age, his decrepitude, and his +debility; they pour water upon the leaves of his politics, and give him a +weak and pleasant beverage, that can never irritate his nerves, nor +destroy his slumbers. Some insignificant bills—some unimportant +appeals—some stray fragments that fall from the tables of sturdier +politicians, are his daily diet; and he dozes away the remainder of life, +happy and contented in the simple and beautiful delusion that he is +legislating and ruling just as warrantable the while, as his compeer of +Chelsea, in deeming his mock parades the forced marches of the Peninsula, +and his Sunday guards the dispositions for a Toulouse or a Waterloo. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE ART UNION. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/159.jpg" width="100%" alt="159 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +The battle between the “big and little-endians” in Gulliver, was nothing +to the fight between the Destructives and Conservatives of the Irish Art +Union. A few months since the former party deciding that the engraved +plate of Mr. Burton's picture should be broken up; the latter protesting +against the Vandalism of destroying a first-rate work of art, and +preventing the full triumph of the artist's genius, in the circulation of +a print so credit' able to himself and to his country. +</p> +<p> +The great argument of the Destructives was this:—We are the devoted +friends of art—we love it—we glory in it—we cherish it: +yea, we even give a guinea a-year a-piece for the encouragement of a +society established for its protection and promotion;—this society +pledging themselves that we shall have in return—what think ye?—the +immortal honour of raising a school of painting in our native country?—the +conscientious sense of a high-souled patriotism?—the prospect of +future estimation at the hands of a posterity who are to benefit by our +labours? Not at all: nothing of all this. We are far too great +materialists for such shadowy pleasures; we are to receive a plate, whose +value is in the direct ratio of its rarity, “which shall certainly be of +more than the amount of our subscription,” and, maybe, of five times that +sum. The fewer the copies issued, the rarer (i. e., the dearer) each +impression. We are the friends of art—therefore, we say, smash the +copper-plate, destroy every vestige of the graver's art, we are supplied, +and heaven knows to what price these engravings may not subsequently rise! +</p> +<p> +Now, I like these people. There is something bold, something masterly, +something decided, in their coming forward and fighting the battle on its +true grounds. There is no absurd affectation about the circulation of a +clever picture disseminating in remote and scarce-visited districts the +knowledge of a great man and a great work; there is no prosy nonsense +about encouraging the genius of our own country, and showing with pride to +her prouder sister, that we are not unworthy to contend in the race with +her. Nothing of this.—They resolve themselves, by an open and candid +admission, into a committee of printsellers, and they cry with one voice—“No +free trade in 'The Blind Girl'—no sliding scale—no fixed duty—nothing +save absolute, actual prohibition!” It is with pride I confess myself of +this party: perish art! down with painting! to the ground with every +effort of native genius! but keep up the price of our engraving, which, +with the rapid development of Mr. Burton's talent, may yet reach ten, nay, +twenty guineas for an impression. But in the midst of my enthusiasm, a +still small voice of fear is whispering ever:—Mayhap this gifted man +may live to eclipse the triumphs of his youthful genius: it may be, that, +as he advances in life, his talents, matured by study and cultivation, may +ascend to still higher flights, and this, his early work, be merely the +beacon-light that attracted men in the outset of his career, and only be +esteemed as the first throes of his intellect. What is to be done in this +case? It is true we have suppressed “The Blind Girl;” we have smashed <i>that</i> +plate; but how shall we prevent him from prosecuting those studies that +already are leading him to the first rank of his profession? Disgust at +our treatment <i>may</i> do much; but yet, his mission may suggest higher +thoughts than are assailable by us and our measures. I fear, now, that but +one course is open; and it is with sorrow I confess, that, however +indisposed to the shedding of blood, however unsuited by my nature and +habits to murderous deeds, I see nothing for us but—to smash Mr. +Burton. +</p> +<p> +By accepting this suggestion, not only will the engravings, but the +picture itself, attain an increased value. If dead men are not novelists, +neither are they painters; and Mr. Burton, it is expected, will prove no +exception to the rule. Get rid of him, then, at once, and by all means. +Let this resolution be brought forward at the next general meeting, by any +leader of the Destructive party, and I pledge myself to second and defend +it, by every argument, used with such force and eloquence for the +obstruction of the copperplate. I am sure the talented gentleman himself +will, when he is put in possession of our motives, offer no opposition to +so natural a desire on our part, but will afford every facility in his +power for being, as the war-cry of the party has it, “broken up and +destroyed.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE KINGSTOWN RAILWAY. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/164.jpg" width="100%" alt="164 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +If the wise Calif who studied mankind by sitting on the bridge at Bagdad, +had lived in our country, and in our times, he doubtless would have become +a subscriber to the Kingstown railway. There, for the moderate sum of some +ten or twelve pounds per annum, he might have indulged his peculiar vein, +while wafted pleasantly through the air, and obtained a greater insight +into character and individuality, inasmuch as the objects of his +investigation would be all sitting shots, at least for half an hour. +Segur's “Quatre Ages de la Vie” never marked out mankind like the +half-hour trains. To the uninitiated and careless observer, the company +would appear a mixed and heterogeneous mass of old and young, of both +sexes—some sickly, some sulky, some solemn, and some shy. +Classification of them would be deemed impossible. Not so, however; for, +as to the ignorant the section of a mountain would only present some +confused heap of stone and gravel, clay and marl; to the geologist, strata +of divers kinds, layers of various ages, would appear, all indicative of +features, and teeming with interests, of which the other knew nothing: so, +to the studious observer, this seeming commixture of men, this tangled web +of humanity, unravels itself before him, and he reads them with pleasure +and with profit. +</p> +<p> +So thoroughly distinctive are the classes, as marked out by the hour of +the day, that very little experience would enable the student to pronounce +upon the travellers—while so striking are the features of each +class, that “given one second-class traveller, to find out the contents of +a train,” would be the simplest problem in algebra. As for myself, I never +work the equation: the same instinct that enabled Cuvier, when looking at +a broken molar tooth, to pronounce upon the habits, the size, the mode of +life and private opinions of some antediluvian mammoth, enables me at a +glance to say—“This is the apothecaries' train—here we are +with the Sandycoves.” You are an early riser—some pleasant proverb +about getting a worm for breakfast, instilled into you in childhood, +doubtless inciting you: and you hasten down to the station, just in time +to be too late for the eight o'clock train to Dublin. This is provoking; +inasmuch as no scrutiny has ever enabled any traveller to pry into the +habits and peculiarities of the early voyager. Well, you lounge about till +the half-after, and then the <i>conveniency</i> snorts by, whisks round at +the end, takes a breathing canter alone for a few hundred yards, and comes +back with a grunt, to resume its old drudgery. A general scramble for +places ensues—doors bang—windows are shut and opened—a +bell rings—and, snort! snort! ugh, ugh, away you go. Now—would +you believe it?—every man about you, whatever be his age, his size, +his features, or complexion, has a little dirty blue bag upon his knees, +filled with something. They all know each other—grin, smile, smirk, +but don't shake hands—a polite reciprocity—as they are none of +the cleanest: cut little dry jokes about places and people unknown, and +mix strange phrases here and there through the dialogue, about “<i>demurrers</i> +and <i>declarations</i>, traversing <i>in prox</i> and <i>quo warranto</i>.” + You perceive it at once—it is very dreadful; but they are all +attorneys. The ways of Providence are, however, inscrutable; and you +arrive in safety in Dublin. +</p> +<p> +Now, I am not about to take you back; for at this hour of the morning you +have nothing to reward your curiosity. But, with your leave, we 'll start +from Kingstown again at nine. Here comes a fresh, jovial-looking set of +fellows They have bushy whiskers, and geraniums in the button hole of +their coats. They are traders of various sorts—men of sugar, soap, +and sassafras—Macintoshes, molasses, mouse-traps—train-oil and +tabinets. They have, however, half an acre of agricultural absurdity, +divided into meadow and tillage, near the harbour, and they talk bucolic +all the way. Blindfold them all, and set them loose, and you will catch +them groping their way down Dame-street in half an hour. +</p> +<p> +9 1/2.—The housekeepers' train. Fat, middle-aged women, with cotton +umbrellas—black stockings with blue <i>fuz</i> on them; meek-looking +men, officiating as husbands, and an occasional small child, in plaid and +the small-pox. +</p> +<p> +10.—The lawyers' train. Fierce-looking, dictatorial, categorical +faces look out of the window at the weather, with the stern glance they +are accustomed to bestow on the jury, and stare at the sun in the face, as +though to say—“None of your prevarication with <i>me</i>; answer me, +on your oath, is it to rain or not?” + </p> +<p> +10 1/2.—The return of the doctors. They have been out on a morning +beat, and are going home merry or mournful, as the case may be. Generally +the former, as the sad ones take to the third class. These are jocose, +droll dogs: the restraint of physic over, they unbend, and chat +pleasantly, unless there happen to be a sickly gentleman present, when the +instinct of the craft is too strong for them; and they talk of their +wonderful cures of Mr. Popkins's knee, or Mr. Murphy's elbow, in a manner +very edifying. +</p> +<p> +11.—The men of wit and pleasure. These are, I confess, difficult of +detection; but the external signs are very flash waistcoats, and +guard-chains, black canes, black whiskers, and strong Dublin accents. A +stray governess or two will be, found in this train. They travel in pairs, +and speak a singular tongue, which a native of Paris might suppose to be +lush. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE DOCTORS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0035" id="linkimage-0035"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/168.jpg" alt="168 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Would you ask, Who is the greatest tyrant of modern days? Mr. O'Connell +will tell you—Nicholas, or Es-partero. An Irish Whig member will +reply, Dan himself. An <i>attaché</i> at an embassy would say, Lord +Palmerston,—“'Tis Cupid ever makes us slaves!” A French <i>deputé</i> +of the Thiers party will swear it is Louis Philippe. Count D'Orsay will +say, his tailor. But I will tell you it is none of these: the most +pitiless autocrat of the nineteenth century is—the President of the +College of Physicians. +</p> +<p> +Of all the unlimited powers possessed by irresponsible man, I know of +nothing at all equal to his, who, <i>mero motu</i>, of his own free will +and caprice, can at any moment call a meeting of the dread body at whose +head he stands, assemble the highest dignitaries of the land—archbishops +and bishops, chancellors, chief barons, and chief remembrancers—to +listen to the minute anatomy of a periwinkle's mustachios, or some +singular provision in the physiology of a crab's breeches-pocket: all of +whom, <i>luto non obstante</i>, must leave their peaceful homes and warm +hearths to “assist” at a meeting in which, nine cases out of ten, they +take as much interest as a Laplander does in the health of the Grand Lama, +or Mehemet Ali in the proceedings of Father Mathew. +</p> +<p> +By nine o'clock the curtain rises, displaying a goodly mob of medical +celebrities: the old ones characterised by the astute look and searching +glance, long and shrewd practice in the world's little failings ever +confers; the young ones, anxious, wide awake, and fidgetty, not quite +satisfied with what services they may be called on to render in +candle-snuffing and crucible work; while between both is your transition +M. D.—your medical tadpole, with some practice and more pretension, +his game being to separate from the great unfeed, and rub his shoulders +among the “dons” of the art, from whose rich board certain crumbs are ever +falling, in the shape of country jaunts, small operations, and smaller +consultings. Through these promiscuously walk the “<i>gros bonnets</i>” of +the church and the bar, with now and then—if the scene be Ireland—a +humane Viceroy, and a sleepy commander of the forces. Round the room are +glass cases filled with what at first blush you might be tempted to +believe were the <i>ci-devant</i> professors of the college, embalmed, or +in spirits; but on nearer inspection you detect to be a legion of apes, +monkeys, and ourangoutangs, standing or sitting in grotesque attitudes. +Among them, pleasingly diversified, you discover murderers' heads, +parricides' busts in plaster, bicephalous babies, and shapeless monsters +with two rows of teeth. Here you are regaled with refreshments “with what +appetite you may,” and chat away the time, until the tinkle of a small +bell announces the approach of the lecture. +</p> +<p> +For the most part, this is a good, drowsy, sleep-disposing affair of an +hour long, written to show, that from some peculiarity lately discovered +in the cerebral vessels, man's natural attitude was to stand on his head; +or that, from chemical analysis just invented, it was clear, if we live to +the age of four hundred years and upwards, part of our duodenum will be +coated with a delicate aponeurosis of sheet iron. +</p> +<p> +Now, with propositions of this kind I never find fault. I am satisfied to +play my part as a biped in this breathing world, and to go out of it too, +without any rivalry with Methuselah. But I'll tell you with what I am by +no means satisfied,—nor shall I ever feel satisfied—nor do I +entertain any sentiment within a thousand miles of gratitude to the man +who tells me, that food—beef and mutton, veal, lamb, &c.—are +nothing but gas and glue. The wretch who found out the animiculas in clean +water was bad enough. There are simple-minded people who actually take +this as a beverage: what must be their feelings now, if they reflect on +the myriads of small things like lobsters, with claws and tails, all +fighting and swallowing each other, that are disporting in their stomachs? +But only think of him who converts your cutlet into charcoal, and your +steak into starch! It may stick to your ribs after that, to be sure; but +will it not stick harder to your conscience? With what pleasure do you +help yourself to your haunch, when the conviction is staring you in the +face, that what seems venison is but adipose matter and azote? That you +are only making a great Nassau balloon of yourself when you are dreaming +of hard condition, and preparing yourself for the fossil state when +blowing the froth off your porter. +</p> +<p> +Of latter years the great object of science would appear to be an earnest +desire to disenchant us from all the agreeable and pleasant dreams we have +formed of life, and to make man insignificant without making him humble. +Thus, one class of philosophers labour hard to prove that manhood is but +monkeyhood—that a slight adaptation of the tail to the customs of +civilized life has enabled us to be seated; while the invention of +looking-glasses, bear's grease, cold cream, and macassar, have cultivated +our looks into the present fashion. +</p> +<p> +Another, having felt over our skulls, gravely asserts, “There is a <i>vis +à tergo</i> of wickedness implanted in us, that must find vent in murder +and bloodshed.” While the magnetic folk would make us believe that we are +merely a kind of ambulating electric-machine, to be charged at will by the +first M. Lafontaine we meet with, and mayhap explode from over-pressure. +</p> +<p> +While such liberties are taken with us without, the case is worse within. +Our circulation is a hydraulic problem; our stomach is a mill—a +brewing vat—a tanner's yard—a crucible, or a retort. You +yourself, in all the resplendent glory of your braided frock, and your +decoration of the Guelph, are nothing but an aggregate of mechanical and +chemical inventions, as often going wrong as right; and your wife, in the +pride of her Parisian bonnet, and robe <i>à la Victorine</i>, is only +gelatine and adipose substance, phosphate of lime, and a little arsenic. +</p> +<p> +Now, let me ask, what remains to us of life, if we are to be robbed of +every fascination and charm of existence in this fashion? And again—has +medical science so exhausted all the details of practical benefit to +mankind, that it is justified in these far-west explorations into the +realms of soaring fancy, or the gloomy depths of chemical analysis? +Hydrophobia, consumption, and tetanus are not so curable that we can +afford to waste our sympathies on chimpanzees: nor is this world so +pleasant that we must deny ourselves the advantage of all its illusions, +and throw away the garment in which Nature has clothed her nakedness. No, +no. There was sound philosophy in Peter, in the “Tale of a Tub,” who +assured his guests that whatever their frail senses might think to the +contrary, the hard crusts were excellent and tender mutton; but I see +neither rhyme nor reason in convincing us, that amid all the triumphs of +turtle and white bait, Ardennes ham and <i>pâté de Strasbourg</i>, our +food is merely coke and glue, roach, lime, starch, and magnesia. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE ARCHITECTS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0036" id="linkimage-0036"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/172.jpg" alt="172 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“God made the country,” said the poet: but in my heart I believe he might +have added—“The devil made architects.” Few cities—I scarcely +know of one—can boast of such environs as Dublin. The scenery, +diversified in its character, possesses attraction for almost every taste: +the woody glade—the romantic river—the wild and barren +mountain—the cultivated valley—the waving upland—the +bold and rocky coast, broken with promontory and island—are all to +be found, even within a few miles of the capital; while, in addition, the +nature of our climate confers a verdure and a freshness unequalled, +imparting a depth and colour to the landscape equal to this beauty of its +outline. +</p> +<p> +Whether you travel inland or coastwise, the country presents a succession +of sites for building, there being no style of house for which a suitable +spot cannot readily be found; and yet, with all this, the perverse taste +of man has contrived, by incongruous and ill-conceived architecture, to +mar almost every point of view, and destroy every picturesque feature of +the landscape. +</p> +<p> +The liberty of the subject is a bright and glorious prerogative; and +nowhere should its exercise be more freely conceded than in those +arrangements an individual makes for his own domestic comfort, and the +happiness of his home. +</p> +<p> +That one man likes a room in which three people form a crowd, and that +another prefers an apartment spacious as Exeter Hall, is a matter of +individual taste, with which the world has nothing whatever to do. Your +neighbour in the valley may like a cottage not larger than a +sugar-hogshead, with rats for company and beetles for bedfellows; your +friend on the hill-side may build himself an imaginary castle, with armour +for furniture, and antique weapons for ornaments;—with all this you +have no concern—no more than with his banker's book, or the thoughts +of his bosom: but should the one or the other, either by a thing like a +piggery, or an incongruous mass like a jail, destroy all the beauty and +mar all the effect of the scenery for miles round, far beyond the +precincts of his own small tenure—should he outrage all the +principles of taste, and violate every sentiment of landscape beauty, by +some poor and contemptible, or some pretentious and vulgar edifice—then, +do I say, you are really aggrieved; and against such a man you have a just +and equitable complaint, as one interfering with the natural pleasures and +just enjoyments to which, as a free citizen of a free state, you have an +indubitable, undeniable right. +</p> +<p> +That waving, undulating meadow, hemmed in with its dark woods, and +mirrored in the fair stream that flows peacefully beneath it, was never, +surely, intended to be disfigured with a square house like a salt-box, and +a verandah like a register-grate: the far-stretching line of yellow coast +that you see yonder, where the calm sea is sleeping, land locked by those +jutting headlands, was never meant to be pock marked with those vile +bathing lodges, with green baize draperies drying before them. +</p> +<p> +Was that bold and granite-sided mountain made thus to be hewed out into +parterres for polyanthuses, and stable-lanes for Cockneys' carmen?—or +is the margin of our glorious bay, the deep frame-work of the bright +picture, to be carved into little terraces, with some half-dozen slated +cabins, or a row of stiff-looking, Leeson-street-like houses, with brass +knockers and a balcony? Forbid it, heaven! We have a board of wide and +inconvenient streets, who watch over all the irregularities of municipal +architecture, and a man is no more permitted to violate the laws of good +taste, than he is suffered to transgress those of good morals. Why not +have a similar body to protect the fairer part of the created globe? Is +Pill-lane more sacred than Bray-head? Has Copper-alley stronger claims +than the Glen-of-the Downs? Is the Cross-poddle more classic ground than +Poolaphuca? +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR A NEW COLONY. +</h2> +<p> +If you happen to pass by Dodd's auction-room, on any Wednesday, towards +the hour of three in the afternoon, the chances are about seven to one +that you hear a sharp, smart voice articulating, somewhat in this fashion:—“A +very handsome tea-service, ladies. What shall I say for this remarkably +neat pattern? One tea-pot, one sugar-bowl, one slop-basin, and twelve cups +and saucers.—Show them round, Tim,” &c. +</p> +<p> +Now it is with no intention of directing the public eye to the “willow +pattern,” that I have alluded to this circumstance. It is simply, because +that thereby hangs an association, and I have never heard the eloquent +expatiator on china, without thinking of the Belgian navy, which consists +of—“One gun-boat, one pinnace, one pilot, one commodore, and twelve +little sailors.” Unquestionably, there never was a cheaper piece of +national extravagance than this, nor do I believe that any public +functionary enjoys a more tranquil and undisturbed existence than the +worthy “<i>ministre de la marine</i>,” whose duty it is to preside over +the fleet I have mentioned. Once, and once only do I remember that his +quiet life was shaken by the rude assault of political events: it was when +the imposing force under his sway undertook a voyage of discovery some +miles down the Scheldt, which they did alike to the surprise and +admiration of the whole land. +</p> +<p> +After a day's peaceful drifting with the river's current, they reached the +fort of Lillo, where, <i>more majorum</i>, as night was falling, they +prudently dropped anchor, having a due sense of the danger that might +accrue “from running down a continent in the dark.” There was, besides, a +feeling of high-souled pride in anchoring within sight, under the guns, as +it were, of the Dutch fort—the insolent Dutch, whom they, with some +aid from France—as the Irishman said of his marriage, for love, and +a trifle of money—had driven from their country; and, although the +fog rendered everything invisible, and the guns were spiked, still the act +of courage was not disparaged; and they fell to, and sang the Brabançon, +and drank Flemish beer till bed-time. +</p> +<p> +Happy and patriotic souls! little did you know, that amid your dreams of +national greatness, some half-dozen imps of Dutch middies were painting +out the magnificent tricolor streaks that adorned your good craft, and +making the whole one mass of dirty black. +</p> +<p> +Such was the case, however; and when day broke, those brilliant emblems of +Belgian independence had vanished, and in their place a murky line of +pitch now stood. +</p> +<p> +Homeward they bent their course, sadder and wiser men; and, to their +credit be it spoken, having told their sorrows to their sage minister, +they have lived a life of happy retirement, and never strayed beyond the +peaceful limits of the Antwerp basin. +</p> +<p> +Far be from me the unworthy object of drawing before the public gaze the +blissful and unpretending service, that shuns the noontide glitter of the +world's applause, and better loves the quiet solitude of their own +unobtrusive waters; and had they thus remained, nothing would have tempted +me to draw them from their obscurity. But alas! national ambition has +visited even the seclusion of this service. Not content with coasting +voyages, some twelve miles down their muddy river—not satisfied with +lording it over fishing smacks and herring wherries, this great people +have resolved on becoming a maritime power in blue water, and running a +race of rivalry with England, France, and Russia; and to it they have set +in right earnest. +</p> +<p> +They began by purchasing a steam-vessel, which happens to turn out on such +a scale of size, as to be inadmissible into any harbour they possess. By +dint of labour, time, cost, and great outlay, they succeeded, after four +months, in getting her into dock. But alas! if it took that time to admit +her, it takes six months to let her out again; and, when out, what are +they to do with her? +</p> +<p> +When Admiral Dalrymple turned farmer, he mentions in one of his letters, +the sufferings his unhappy ignorance of all agricultural pursuits involved +him in, and feelingly tells us: “I have given ten pounds for a dunghill, +and would now willingly give any man twenty, to tell me what to do with +it.” This was exactly the case with the Belgians. They had bought a +steam-ship, they put coals in her, and a crew; and then, for the life and +soul of them, they did not know what to do with them. +</p> +<p> +They desired an export trade—a <i>débouché</i> for their Namur +cutlery and Venders' frieze. But where could they go? They had no +colonies. Holland had, to be sure: but then, they had quarrelled with +Holland, and there was no use repining. “What can't be cured,” &c. +Besides, if they had lost a colony, they had gained a cardinal; and if +they had no merchantmen, they had at least high-mass; and if they were +excluded from Batavia, why they had free access t the “Abbé Boon.” + </p> +<p> +There were, however, some impracticable people engaged in traffic, who +would not listen to these great advantages, and who were obstinate enough +to suppose that the country was as prosperous when it had a market for its +productions, as it was when it had none. And although the priests, who +have multiplied some hundredfold since the revolution, were willing “to +consume” to any extent, yet, unhappily, they were not as profitable +customers as their <i>ci-devant</i> friends beyond sea. +</p> +<p> +Nothing then remained but to have a colony, and after much consideration, +long thought, and anxious deliberation, it was announced to the chamber +that the Belgians had a colony, and that the colony was called +“Guatemala.” + </p> +<p> +When Sancho Panza appealed to Don Quixote, to realise his promised dream +of greatness, you may remember, he always asked for an island: “Make me +governor of an island!” There was something defined, accurate, and +tangible, as it were, in the sea-girt possession, that suggested to the +honest squire's mind the idea of perfect, independent rule. And in the +same way, the Belgians desired to have an island. +</p> +<p> +Some few, less imaginative, suspected, however, that an island must always +have its limit to importation quicker attained than a continent, and they +preferred some vast, unexplored tract, like India, or Central America, +where the consumption of corduroy and cast-iron might have an unexhausted +traffic for centuries. +</p> +<p> +Now, it is a difficult condition to find out that spot on a map which +should realise both expectations. Happily, however, M. Van de Weyer had to +deal with a kind and confiding people, whose knowledge of geography is +about equal to a blind man's appreciation of scarlet or sky-blue. Not +only, therefore, did he represent to one party, the newly-acquired +possession as an island, and to the other as a vast continent, but he +actually shifted its locale about the globe, from the tropics to the +north-pole, with such admirable dexterity, that not only is all cavil +silenced about its commercial advantages, but its very climate has an +advocate in every taste, and an admirer in every household. Steam-engines, +therefore, are fabricated; cannon are cast; railroads are in preparation; +broadcloth is weaving; flax is growing; lace is in progress, all through +the kingdom, for the new colony of Guatemala,—whose only inhabitants +are little grateful for the profound solicitude they are exciting, +inasmuch as, being but rats and sea-gulls, their modes of living and +thinking give them a happy indifference about steam-travelling, and the +use of fine linen. +</p> +<p> +No matter;—the country is prospering—shares are rising—speculations +are rife—loans are effected every day in the week, and M. Van de +Weyer sleeps in the peaceful composure of a man who knows in his heart, +that even if they get their unwieldy craft to sea, there is not a man in +the kingdom who could, by any ingenuity, discover the whereabout of the +far-famed Guatemala. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0037" id="linkimage-0037"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/179.jpg" width="100%" alt="179 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A “SWEET” NUT FOR THE YANKEES. +</h2> +<p> +Lord Chesterfield once remarked that a thoroughly vulgar man could not +speak the most common-place word, nor perform the most ordinary act, +without imparting to the one and the other a portion of his own inborn +vulgarity. And exactly so is it with the Yankees; not a question can +arise, no matter how great its importance, nor how trivial its bearings, +upon which, the moment they express an opinion, they do not completely +invest with their own native coarseness, insolence, and vulgarity. The +boundary question was made a matter of violent invective and ruffian +abuse; the right of search was treated with the same powers of ribaldry +towards England; and now we have these amiable and enlightened citizens +defending the wholesale piracy of British authors, not on the plausible +but unjust pretext of the benefit to be derived from an extended +acquaintance with English literature; but, only conceive! because, 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.” However +incredible this may seem, the passage formed part of a document actually +submitted to congress, and favourably received by that body. This is not +the place for me to dwell on the unprincipled usurpation by which men who +have contributed nothing to the production of a work, assume the power of +reaping its benefits, and profiting by its success. The wholesale robbery +of English authors has been of late well and ably exposed. The gifted and +accomplished author of “Darnley” and “The Gipsy” has devoted his time and +his talents to the subject; and although the world at large have few +sympathies with the wrongs of those who live to please them, yet the day +is not distant when the rights of a large and influential body, who stamp +the age with the image of their own minds, can be no longer neglected, and +the security of literary property must become at least as great as of +mining scrip, or the shares in a rail-road. +</p> +<p> +My present business is with the Yankee declaration, that English authors +to be readable in America must be passed through the ordeal of re-writing. +I scarcely think that the annals of impertinence and ignorance could equal +this. What! is it seriously meant that Scott and Byron, Wordsworth, +Southey, Rogers, Bulwer, James, Dickens, and a host of others, must be +converted into the garbage of St. Giles, or the foetid slang of Wapping, +before they can pass muster before an American public? Must the book reek +of “gin twist,” “cock tail,” and fifty other abominations, ere it reach an +American drawing-room? Must the “bowie-knife and the whittling-stick” mark +its pages; and the coarse jest of some tobacco-chewing, wildcat-whipping +penny-a-liner disfigure and sully the passages impressed with the glowing +brilliancy of Scott, or the impetuous torrent of Byron's genius? Is this a +true picture of America? Is her reading public indeed degraded to this +pass? I certainly have few sympathies with brother Jonathan. I like not +his spirit of boastful insolence, his rude speech, or his uncultivated +habits; but I confess I am unwilling to credit this. I hesitate to believe +in such an amount of intellectual depravity as can turn from the +cultivated writings of Scott and Bulwer to revel in the coarseness and +vulgarity of a Yankee editor, vamping up his stolen wares with oaths from +the far west, or vapid jests from life in the Prairies. Again, what shall +I say of those who follow this traffic? Is it not enough to steal that +which is not theirs, to possess themselves of what they have no right or +claim to? Must they mangle the corpse when they have extinguished life? +Must they, while they cheat the author of his gain, rob him also of his +fair fame? “He who steals my purse steals trash,” but how shall I +characterise that extent of baseness that dares to step in between an +author and his reputation—inserting between him and posterity their +own illiterate degeneracy and insufferable stupidity? +</p> +<p> +Would not the ghost of Sir Walter shudder in his grave at the thought of +the fair creations of his mind—Jeanie Deans and Rebecca—Yankeefied +into women of Long Island, or damsels from Connecticut? Is Childe Harold +to be a Kentucky-man? and are the vivid pictures of life Bulwer's novels +abound in, to be converted into the prison-discipline school of manners, +that prevail in New York and Boston, where, as Hamilton remarks, “the men +are about as like gentlemen, as are our new police?” What should we say of +the person who having stolen a Rembrandt or a Vandyke from its owner, +would seek to legalise his theft by daubing over the picture with his own +colours—obliterating every trace of the great master, and exulting +that every stroke of his brush defaced some touch of genius, and that +beneath the savage vandalism of his act, every lineament of the artist was +obliterated? I ask you, would not mere robbery be a virtue beside such a +deed as this? Who could compare the sinful promptings to which want and +starvation give birth to, to the ruffian profligacy of such barbarity? And +now, when I tell you, that not content with this, not satisfied to +desecrate the work, the wretch goes a step farther and stabs its author—what +shall I say of him now, who, when he had defaced the picture, marred every +effect, distorted all drawing, and rendered the whole a chaotic mass of +indistinguishable nonsense, goes forth to the world, and announces, “This +is a Rembrandt, this is a Vandyke: ay, look at it and wonder: but with all +its faults, and all its demerits, it is cried up above our native artists; +it has got the seal of the old world's approval upon it, and in vain we of +younger origin shall dare to dissent from its judgments.” Now, once more, +I say, can you show the equal of this moral turpitude? and such I pledge +myself is the conduct of your transatlantic pirates with respect to +British literature. Mr. Dickens, no mean authority, asserts that in the +same sheet in which they boast the sale of many thousand copies of an +English reprint, they coarsely attack the author of that very book, and +heap scurrility and slander on his head. +</p> +<p> +Yes, such is the fact; not satisfied with robbery, they murder reputation +also. And then we find them expatiating in most moving terms over the +superiority of their own neglected genius! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE SEASON—JULLIEN'S QUADRILLES. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0038" id="linkimage-0038"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/184.jpg" alt="184 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +A very curious paper might be made by any one who, after an absence of +some years from Ireland, should chronicle his new impressions of the +country, and compare them with his old ones. The changes time works +everywhere, even in a brief space, are remarkable, but particularly so in +a land where everything is in a state of transition—where the +violence with which all subjects are treated, the excited tone people are +wont to assume on every topic, are continually producing their effects on +society—dismembering old alliances—begetting new combinations. +Such is the case with us here; and every year evidences by the strange +anomalies it presents in politics, parties, public feeling, and private +habits, how little chance there is for a prophet to make a character by +his predictions regarding Ireland. He would, indeed, be a skilful chemist +who would attempt the analysis of our complex nature; but far greater and +more gifted must he be, who, from any consideration of the elements, would +venture to pronounce on the probable results of their action and +re-action, and declare what we shall be some twenty years hence. Oh, for a +good Irish “Rip van Winkle,” who would at least let us look on the two +pictures—what we were, and what we are. He should be a Clare man—none +others have the same shrewd insight into character, the same intuitive +knowledge of life; none others detect, like them, the flaws and fractures +in human nature. There may be more mathematical genius in Cork, and more +classic lore in Kerry; there may be, I know there is, a more astute and +patient pains-taking spirit of calculation in the northern counties; but +for the man who is only to have one rapid glance at the game, and say how +it fares—to throw a quick <i>coup-d'oeil</i> on the board, and +declare the winner, Clare for ever! +</p> +<p> +Were I a lawgiver, I would admit any attorney to practise who should +produce sufficient evidence of his having served half the usual time of +apprenticeship in Ennis. The Pontine marshes are not so prolific of fever, +as the air of that country of ready-witted intelligence and smartness; and +now, ere I return from my digression, let me solemnly declare, that, for +the opinion here expressed, I have not received any money or moneys, nor +do I expect to receive such, or any place, pension, or other reward, from +Tom Steele or any one else concerned. +</p> +<p> +Well, we have not got this same western “Rip van Winkle,” nor do I think +we are likely to do so, for this simple reason, that if he were a Clare +man, he 'd never have been caught “napping;” so, now, let us look about us +and see if, on the very surface of events, we shall not find something to +our purpose. But where to begin, that's the question: no clue is left to +the absentee of a few years by which to guide his path. He may look in +vain even for the old land-marks which he remembered in boyhood; for +somehow he finds them all in masquerade. +</p> +<p> +The goodly King William he had left in all the effulgence of his Orange +livery, is now a cross between a river-god and one of Dan's footmen. Let +him turn to the Mansion-house to revive his memory of the glorious hip, +hip, hurra's he has shouted in the exuberance of his loyalty, and +straightway he comes plump against Lord Mayor O'Connell, proceeding in +state to Marlborough-street chapel. He asks who are these plump gentlemen +with light blue silk collars, and well-rounded calves, whose haughty +bearing seems to awe the beholders, and he is told that he knew them of +old, as wearing dusky black coats and leather shorts; pleasant fellows in +those days, and well versed in punch and polemics. The hackney-coaches +have been cut down into covered cars, and the “bulky” watchmen reduced to +new police. Let him turn which way he will—let it be his pleasure to +hear the popular preacher, the eloquent lawyer, or the scientific +lecturer, and if his memory be only as accurate as his hearing, he will +confess “time's changes;” and when he learns who are deemed the +fashionable entertainers of the day—at whose boards sit lords and +baronets most frequently, he will exclaim with the poet— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Pritchard 's genteel, and Garrick 's six feet high.” + </pre> +<p> +Well, well, it's bad philosophy, and bad temper, too, to quarrel with what +is; nowhere is the wisdom of Providence more seen than in the universal +law, by which everything has its place somewhere; the gnarled and bent +sapling that would be rejected by the builder, is exactly the piece +adapted for the knee timber of a frigate; the jagged, ill-formed rock that +would ill suit the polished portico, is invaluable in a rustic arch; and, +perhaps, on the same principle, dull lawyers make excellent judges, and +the people who cannot speak within the limits of Lindley Murray, are +admirable public writers and excellent critics; and as Doctor Pangloss was +a good man “because he knew what wickedness was,” so nothing contributes +to the detection of faults in others, like the daily practice of their +commission by ourselves; and never can any man predict failure to another +with such eloquence and impressiveness, as when he himself has experienced +what it is to be damned. +</p> +<p> +Here I am in another digression, and sorry am I not to follow it out +further; but for the present I must not—so now, to try back: I will +suppose my absentee friend to have passed his “day in town,” amazed and +surprised at the various changes about him; I will not bewilder him with +any glance at our politics, nor puzzle him with that game of cross corners +by which every one seems to have changed his place; nor attempt any +explanation of the mysterious doctrine by which the party which affects +the strongest attachment to the sovereign should exult in any defeat to +her armies; nor how the supporters of the government contribute to its +stability, by rabid attacks on its members, and absurd comparisons of +their own fitness for affairs, with the heads of our best and wisest. +These things he must have remembered long ago, and with respect to them, +we are pretty much as we were; but I will introduce him to an evening +party—a society where the <i>élite</i> of Dublin are assembled; +where, amid the glare of wax lights, and the more brilliant blaze of +beauty, our fairest women and most gifted and exalted men are met together +for enjoyment. At first blush there will appear to him to have been no +alteration nor change here. Even the very faces he will remember are the +same he saw a dozen years ago: some pursy gentlemen with bald foreheads or +grey whiskers who danced before, are now grown whisters; a few of the +ladies, who then figured in the quadrille, have assumed the turban, and +occupy an ottoman; the gay, laughing, light-hearted youth he formerly +hobnobbed with at supper, is become a rising barrister, and has got up a +look of learned pre-occupation, much more imposing to his sister than to +Sir Edward Sugden; the wild, reckless collegeman, whose name was a +talisman in the “Shades,” is now a soft-voiced young physician, vibrating +in his imitation of the two great leaders in his art, and alternately +assuming the “Epic or the Lake” school of physic. All this may amuse, but +cannot amaze him: such is the natural current of events, and he ought to +be prepared for it. The evening wears on, however; the frigid politeness +and ceremonious distance which we have for some years back been borrowing +from our neighbours, and which seem to suit our warmer natures pretty much +as a suit of plate armour would a <i>danseuse</i> in a ballet—this +begins to wear off, and melt away before the genial heat of Irish +temperament; “the mirth and fun grow fast and furious;” and a new dance is +called for. What, then, is the amazement, shall I say the horror, of our +friend to hear the band strike up a tune which he only remembered as +associated with everything base, low, and disgraceful; which, in the days +of his “libertine youth,” he only heard at riotous carousals and +roistering festivals; whose every bar is associated with words—ay, +there's the rub—which, in his maturer years, he blushes to have +listened to! he stares about him in wonderment; for a moment he forgets +that the young lady who dances with such evident enjoyment of the air, is +ignorant of its history; he watches her sparkling eye and animated +gesture, without remembering that <i>she</i> knows nothing off the +associations at which her partner is, perhaps, smirking; he sees her <i>vis-à-vis</i> +exchanging looks with his friend, that denote <i>their</i> estimation of +the music; and in very truth, so puzzled is he, he begins to distrust his +senses. The air ceases, and is succeeded by another no less known, no less +steeped in the same class of associations, and so to the conclusion. These +remembrances of past wickedness go on “crescendo,” till the <i>finale</i> +caps the whole with a melody, to which even the restraints of society are +scarcely able to prevent a humming accompaniment of concurring voices, and—these +are the Irish Quadrilles! What can account for this? What special pleading +will find an argument in its favour? When Wesley objected to all the good +music being given to the devil, he only excused his adoption of certain +airs which, in their popular form, had never been connected with religious +words and feelings; and in his selection of them, was rigidly mindful to +take such only as in their character became easily convertible to his +purpose: he never enlisted those to which, by an unhappy destiny, +vulgarising and indelicate associations have been so connected as to +become inseparably identified; and although the object is widely +different, I cannot see how, for the purposes of social enjoyment, we +should have diverged from his example. If we wished a set of Irish +quadrilles, how many good and suitable airs had we not ready at our hands? +Is not our national music proverbially rich, and in the very character of +music that would suit us? Are there not airs in hundreds, whose very names +are linked with pleasing and poetic memories, admirably adapted to the +purpose? Why commit the choice, as in this case, to a foreigner who knew +nothing of them, nor of us? And why permit him to introduce into our +drawing-rooms, through the means of a quadrille band, a class of +reminiscences which suggest levity in young men, and shame in old ones? +No, no: if the Irish quadrilles are to be fashionable, let it be in those +classic precincts where their merits are best appreciated, and let +Monsieur Jullien's popularity be great in Barrack-street! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “ALL IRELAND.” + </h2> +<p> +From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear, the whole island is on the “<i>qui vive</i>” + as to whether her gracious majesty the queen will vouchsafe to visit us in +the ensuing summer. The hospitable and magnificent reception which awaited +her in Scotland has given a more than ordinary impulse to every plan by +which we might evince our loyalty, and exhibit ourselves to our sovereign +in a point of view not less favourable than our worthy neighbours across +the sea. +</p> +<p> +At first blush, nothing would seem more easy to accomplish than this. A +very cursory glance at Mr. O'Connell's speeches will convince any one that +a land more favourably endowed by nature, or blessed with a finer +peasantry, never existed: with features of picturesque beauty dividing the +attention of the traveller, with the fertility of the soil; and, in fact, +presenting such a panorama of loveliness, peace, plenty, and tranquillity, +that a very natural doubt might occur to Sir Robert Peel's mind in +recommending this excursion to her majesty, lest the charms of such an +Arcadia should supersede the more homely attractions of England, and “our +ladye the queene” preferring the lodge in the Phoenix to the ancient +towers of Windsor, fix her residence amongst us, and thus at once repeal +the Union. +</p> +<p> +It were difficult to say if some vision of this kind did not float across +the exalted imagination of the illustrious Daniel, amid that shower of +fortune's favours such a visit would inevitably bring down—baronetcies, +knighthood deputy-lieutenancies would rain upon the land, and a general +epidemic of feasting and festivity raise every heart in the island, and +nearly break Father Mathew's. +</p> +<p> +If the Scotch be warm in their attachment, our affections stand at a white +heat; if they be enthusiastic, we can go clean mad; and for that one +bepraised individual who boasted he would never wash the hand which had +the honour to touch that of the queen, we could produce a round ten +thousand whose loyalty, looking both ways, would enable them, under such +circumstances, to claim superiority, as they had never washed theirs since +the hour of their birth. +</p> +<p> +Notwithstanding all these elements of hospitality, a more mature +consideration of the question would show how very difficult it would be to +compete successfully with the visit to Scotland. Clanship, the remains of +feudalism, and historical associations, whose dark colours have been +brought out into glowing brightness under the magic pencil of Scott—national +costume and national customs—the wild sports of the wilder regions—all +conspired to give a peculiar interest to this royal progress; and from the +lordly Baron of Breadalbane to the kilted Highlander upon the hills, there +was something of ancient splendour and by-gone homeliness mixed up +together that may well have evoked the exclamation of our queen, who, +standing on the terrace at Drummond, and gazing on the scent below her, +uttered—“How grand!” + </p> +<p> +Now, unfortunately in many, if not in all these advantages, we have no +participation. Clanship is unknown amongst us,—only one Irishman has +a tail, and even that is as ragged an appendage as need be. Our national +costume is nakedness; and of our national customs, we may answer as the +sailor did, who, being asked what he had to say in his defence against a +charge of stealing a quadrant, sagely replied—“Your worship, it's a +damn'd ugly business, and the less that's said about it the better.” + </p> +<p> +Two doubts press upon us—who is to receive her Majesty; and how are +they to do it? They who have large houses generally happen to have small +fortunes, and among the few who have adequate means, there is scarcely one +who could accommodate one half of the royal suite. In Scotland, everything +worthy of being seen lies in a ring-fence. The Highlands comprise all that +is remarkable in the country; and thus the tour of them presents a quick +succession of picturesque beauty without the interval of even half a day's +journey devoid of interest. Now, how many weary miles must her Majesty +travel in Ireland from one remarkable spot to another—what scenes of +misery and want must she wade through from the south to the west. Would +any charms of scenery—would any warmth of hospitality—repay +her for the anguish such misery must inflict upon her, as her eye would +range over the wild tract of country where want and disease seem to have +fixed their dwelling, and where the only edifice that rises above the +mud-cabin of the way-side presents the red brick front of a union +poor-house? These, however, are sad topics—what are we to do with +the Prince? His Royal Highness loves sporting: we have scarcely a pheasant—we +have not one capercailzie in the island; but then we have our national +pastimes. If we cannot turn out a stag to amuse him, why we can enlarge a +tithe-proctor; and, instead of coming home proud that he has bagged a roe, +he shall exult in having brought down a rector. How poor and insignificant +would any <i>battue</i> be in comparison with a good midnight burning—how +contemptible the pursuit, of rabbits and hares, when compared with a +“tithe affray,” or the last collision with the military in Tipperary. I +have said that the Scotch have a national costume; but if <i>semi</i>-nakedness +be a charm in them, what shall be said of us, who go the “whole hog?” The +details of their ancient dress—their tartan, their kilt, their +philabeg, that offered so much interest to the royal suite—how shall +they vie with the million-coloured patches of an Irishman's garment? or +what bonnet that ever flaunted in the breeze is fit to compare with the +easy jauntiness of Paddy's <i>caubeen</i>, through which, in lieu of a +feather, a lock of his hair is floating? +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Nor clasp nor nodding plume was there;” + “But for feather he wore one lock of hair.” + +Marmion. +</pre> +<p> +Then, again, how will the watch-fires that blazed upon the mountains pale +before the glare of a burning haggard; and what cheer that ever rose from +Highland throats will vie with the wild yell of ten thousand Black-feet on +the march of a midnight marauding? No, no; it is quite clear the Scotch +have no chance with us. Her Majesty may not have all her expectations +fulfilled by a visit to Ireland; but most assuredly a “touch of our +quality” will show her many things no near country could present, and the +probability is, she will neither have time nor leisure for a trip to New +Zealand. +</p> +<p> +Everything that indicates nationality will then have its reward. Grave +dignitaries of the Church will practise the bagpipes, and prothonotaries +will refresh their jig-dancing; whatever is Irish, will be <i>la vogue</i>; +and, instead of reading that her Majesty wore a shawl of the Gordon +tartan, manufactured at Paisley, we shall find that the Queen appeared in +a novel pattern of rags, devised at Mud Island; while his Royal Highness +will compliment the mildness of our climate by adopting our national +dress. What a day for Ireland that will be!—we shall indeed be +great, glorious, and free; and if the evening only concludes with the +Irish Quadrilles, I have little doubt that her Majesty will repeat her +exclamation of “How grand!” as she beholds the members of the royal suite +moving gracefully to the air of “Stony-batter.” + </p> +<p> +Let us, then, begin in time. Let there be an order of council to preserve +all the parsons, agents, tithe-proctors, and landlords till June; let +there be no more shooting in Tipperary for the rest of the season; let us +“burke” Father Mathew, and endeavour to make our heads for the approaching +festivities; and what between the new poor-law and the tariff, I think we +shall be by that time in as picturesque a state of poverty as the most +critical stickler for nationality would desire. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “A NEW COMPANY.” + </h2> +<p> +By no one circumstance in our social condition is a foreigner more struck +than by the fact that there is not a want, an ailing, an incapacity for +which British philanthropy has not supplied its remedy of some sort or +other. A very cursory glance at the advertising columns of the <i>Times</i> +will be all-sufficient to establish this assertion. Mental and bodily +infirmities, pecuniary difficulties, family afflictions, natural defects, +have all their separate <i>corps</i> of comforters; and there is no +suffering condition in life that has not a benevolent paragraph specially +addressed to its consolation. To the “afflicted with gout;” to “all with +corns and bunions;” to “the friends of a nervous invalid”—who is, by +the bye, invariably a vicious madman; to “the childless;” to “those about +to marry” Such are the headings of various little crumbs of comfort by +which the active philanthropy of England sustains its reputation, and +fills its pocket. From tooth-powder to tea-trays—from +spring-mattresses to fictitious mineral waters—from French blacking +to the Widow Welch's Pills—all have their separate votaries; and it +would be difficult to conceive any real or imaginary want unsupplied in +this prolific age of contrivance. +</p> +<p> +A gentleman might descend from the moon, like our clever friend, “The +Commissioner,” and, by a little attention to these plausible paragraphs, +become as thoroughly John Bull in all his habits and observances as though +he were born within St. Paneras. “A widow lady with two daughters would +take a gentleman to board, where all the advantages and comforts of a +private family might be found, within ten minutes' walk from Greenwich. +Unexceptionable references will be given and expected on either side.” + Here, without a moment's delay, he might be domiciled in an English +family; here he might retire from all the cares and troubles of life, +enjoying the tranquil pleasures of the widow's society, with no other risk +or danger, save that of falling in love with one or both of the fair +daughters, who have “a taste for music,” and “speak French.” + </p> +<p> +It is said that few countries offer less resources to the stranger than +England; which I stoutly deny, and assert that no land has set up so many +sign-posts by which to guide the traveller—so many directions by +which to advise his course. With us there is no risk of doing anything +inappropriate, or incompatible with your station, if you will only suffer +yourself to be borne along on the current. Your tailor knows not only the +precise shade of colour which suits your complexion, but, as if by +intuition, he divines the exact cut that suits your condition in life. +Your coachmaker, in the same way, augurs from the tone of your voice, and +the <i>contour</i> of your features, the shade of colour for your +carriage; and should you, by any misfortune, happen to be knighted, the +Herald's office deduce, from the very consonants of your name, the <i>quantum</i> +of emblazonry they can bestow on you, and from how far back among the +burglars and highwaymen of antiquity they can venture to trace you. Should +you, however, still more unfortunately, through any ignorance of +etiquette, or any inattention to those minor forms of breeding with which +every native is conversant, offer umbrage, however flight and +unintentional, to those dread functionaries, the “new police;” were you by +chance to gaze longer into a jeweller's window than is deemed decorous; +were you to fall into any reverie which should induce you to slacken your +pace, perchance to hum a tune, and thus be brought before the awful “Sir +Peter,” charged by “G 743” with having impeded the passengers—collected +a crowd—being of suspicious appearance, and having refused “to tell +who your friends were”—the odds are strongly against you that you +perform a hornpipe upon the treadmill, or be employed in that very elegant +chemical analysis, which consists in the extraction of magnesia from +oyster-shells. Now, let any man consider for a moment what a large, +interesting, and annually-increasing portion of our population there is, +who, from certain peculiarities attending their early condition, have +never been blessed with relatives or kindred—who, having no +available father and mother, have consequently no uncles, aunts, or +cousins, nor any good friends. Here the law presses with a fearful +severity upon the suffering and the afflicted, not upon the guilty and +offending. The state has provided no possible contingencies by which such +persons are to escape. A man can no more create a paternity than he can +make a new planet. I have already said that with wealth at his disposal, +ancestry and forefathers are easily procured. He can have them of any age, +of any country, of any condition in life—churchmen or laymen—dignitaries +of the law or violators of it;—'tis all one, they are made to order. +But let him be in ever such urgent want of a near relative; let it be a +kind and affectionate father, an attached and doting mother, that he +stands in need of—he may study <i>The Times and The Herald</i>—he +may read <i>The Chronicle</i> and <i>The Globe</i>, in vain! No benevolent +society has directed its philanthropy in this channel; and not even a +cross-grained uncle or a penurious aunt can be had for love or money. +</p> +<p> +Now this subject presents itself in two distinct views—one as +regards its humanity, the other its expediency. As the latter, in the year +of our Lord, 1844, would seem to offer a stronger claim on our attention, +let us examine it first. Consider them how you will, these people form the +most dangerous class of our population—these are the “waifs and +strays” of mankind. Like snags and sawyers in the Mississippi, having no +voyage to perform in life, their whole aim and destiny seems to be the +shipwreck of others. With one end embedded in the mud of uncertain +parentage, with the other they keep bobbing above the waves of life; but +let them rise ever so high, they feel they cannot be extricated. +</p> +<p> +If rich, their happiness is crossed by their sense of isolation; for them +there are no plum-pudding festivals at Christmas, no family +goose-devourings at Michaelmas. They have none of those hundred little +ties and torments which weary and diversify life. They have acres, but +they have no uncles—they have gardens and graperies, but they cannot +raise a grandfather—they may have a future, but they have scarcely a +present; and they have no past. +</p> +<p> +Should they be poor, their solitary state suggests recklessness and vice. +It is the restraint of early years that begets submission to the law later +on, and he who has not learned the lesson of obedience when a child, is +not an apt scholar when he becomes a man. This, however, is a part of the +moral and humane consideration of the question, and like most other humane +considerations, involves expense. With that we have nothing to do; our +present business is with the rich; for their comfort and convenience our +hint is intended, and our object to supply, on the shortest notice, and +the most reasonable terms, such relatives of either sex as the applicant +shall stand in need of. +</p> +<p> +Let there be, therefore, established a new joint stock company to be +called the “Grand United Ancestral, Kindred, and Blood Relation Society”—capital +any number of pounds sterling. Actuaries—Messrs. Oliver Twist and +Jacob Faithful. +</p> +<p> +Only think of the benefits of such a company! Reflect upon the numbers who +leave their homes every morning without parentage, and who might now +possess any amount of relatives they desire before night. Every one knows +that a respectable livelihood is made by a set of persons whose occupation +it is to become bails at the different police offices, for any class of +offence, and to any amount. They exercise their calling somewhat like +bill-brokers, taking special pains always to secure themselves against +loss, and make a trifle of money, while displaying an unbounded +philanthropy. Here then is a class of persons most appropriate for our +purpose: fathers, uncles, first cousins, even grandfathers, might be made +out of these at a moment's notice. What affecting scenes, too, might be +got up at Bow-street, under such circumstances, of penitent sons, and +pardoning parents, of unforgiving uncles and imploring nephews. How would +the eloquence of the worshipful bench revel, on such occasions, for its +display. What admonitions would it not pour forth, what warnings, what +commiseration, and what condolings. Then what a satisfaction to the +culprit to know that all these things were managed by a respectable +company, who were “responsible in every case for the good conduct of its +servants.” No extortion permitted—no bribery allowed; a regular rate +of charges being printed, which every individual was bound, like a +cab-man, to show if required. +</p> +<p> +So much for a father, if respectable; so much more, if professional; or in +private life, increased premium. An angry parent, we 'll say two and +sixpence; sorrowful, three shillings; “deeply afflicted and bound to +weep,” five shillings. +</p> +<p> +A widowed mother, in good weeds, one and sixpence; do. do. in a cab, half +a crown; and so on. +</p> +<p> +How many are there besides who, not actually in the condition we speak of, +would be delighted to avail themselves of the benefits of this +institution. How many moving in the society of the west end, with a father +a tobacconist or a cheesemonger in the city, would gladly pay well for a +fashionable parent supposed to live upon his estate in Yorkshire, or +entertaining, as the <i>Morning Post</i> has it, a “distinguished party at +his shooting lodge in the Highlands.” What a luxury, when dining his +friends at the Clarendon, to be able to talk of his “Old Governor” hunting +his hounds twice a week, while, at the same moment, the real individual +was engaged in the manufacture of soap and short sixes. What happiness to +recommend the game-pie, when the grouse was sent by his Uncle, while he +felt that the only individual who stood in that capacity respecting him, +had three g It balls over his door, and was more conversant with +duplicates than double barrels. +</p> +<p> +But why pursue a theme whose benefits are self-evident, and come home to +every bosom in the vast community. It is one of the wants of our age, and +we hope ere long to see the “fathers” as much respected in Clerkenwell or +College-street, as ever they were in Clongowes or Maynooth. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0039" id="linkimage-0039"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/201.jpg" width="100%" alt="201 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “POLITICAL ECONOMISTS.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0040" id="linkimage-0040"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/202.jpg" width="100%" alt="202 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +This is the age of political economists and their nostrums. Every +newspaper teems with projects for the amelioration of our working classes, +and the land is full of farming societies, temperance unions, and a +hundred other Peter Purcellisms, to improve its social condition; the +charge to make us +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Great, glorious, and free,” + </pre> +<p> +remaining with that estimable and irreproachable individual who tumbles in +Lower Abbey-street. +</p> +<p> +The Frenchman's horse would, it is said, have inevitably finished his +education, and accomplished the faculty of existing without food, had he +only survived another twenty-four hours. Now, the condition of Ireland is +not very dissimilar, and I only hope that we may have sufficient tenacity +of life to outlive the numerous schemes for our prosperity and +advancement. +</p> +<p> +Nothing, indeed, can be more singular than the manner of every endeavour +to benefit his country. We are poor—every man of us is only +struggling; therefore, we are recommended to build expensive poorhouses, +and fill them with some of ourselves. We have scarcely wherewithal to meet +the ordinary demands of life, and straightway are told to subscribe to +various new societies—repeal funds—agricultural clubs—O'Connell +tributes—and Mathew testimonials. This, to any short-sighted person, +might appear a very novel mode of filling our own pockets. There are +one-idea'd people in the world, who can only take up the impression which, +at first blush, any subject suggests; they, I say, might fancy that a +continued system of donation, unattended by anything like receipt, is not +exactly the surest element of individual prosperity. I hope to be able to +controvert this plausible, but shallow theory, and to show—and what +a happy thing it is for us—to show that, not only is our poverty the +source of our greatest prosperity, but that if by any accident we should +become rich, we must inevitably be ruined; and to begin— +</p> +<p> +Absenteeism is agreed on all hands to be the bane of Ireland. No one, +whatever be his party prejudices, will venture to deny this. The +high-principled and well-informed country gentleman professes this opinion +in common with the illiterate and rabid follower of O'Connell; I need not, +therefore, insist further on a proposition so universally acknowledged. To +proceed—of all people, none are so naturally absentees as the Irish; +in fact, it would seem that one great feature of our patriotism consists +in the desire to display, in other lands, the ardent attachment we bear +our own. How can we tell Frenchmen, Italians, Germans, Russians, Swedes, +and Swiss, how devoted we are to the country of our birth, if we do not go +abroad to do so? How can we shed tears as exiles, unless we become so? How +can we rail about the wrongs of Ireland and English tyranny, if we do not +go among people, who, being perfectly ignorant of both, may chance to +believe us? These are the patriotic arguments for absenteeism; then come +others, which may be classed under the head of “expediency reasons,” such +as debts, duns, outlawries, &c. Thirdly, the temptations of the +Continent, which, to a certain class of our countrymen, are of the very +strongest description—Corn Exchange politics, vulgar associates, an +air of bully, and a voice of brogue, will not form such obstacles to +success in Paris, as in Dublin. A man can scarcely introduce an Irish +provincialism into his French, and he would be a clever fellow who could +accomplish a bull under a twelvemonth. These, then, form the social +reasons; and from a short revision of all three, it will be seen that they +include a very large proportion of the land—Mr. O'Connell talks of +them as seven millions. +</p> +<p> +It being now proved, I hope, to my reader's satisfaction, that the bent of +an Irishman is to go abroad, let us briefly inquire, what is it that ever +prevents him so doing? The answer is an easy one. When Paddy was told by +his priest that whenever he went into a public-house to drink, his +guardian angel stood weeping at the door, his ready reply was, “that if he +had a tester he'd have been in too;” so it is exactly with absenteeism; it +is only poverty that checks it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0041" id="linkimage-0041"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/205.jpg" width="100%" alt="205 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +The man with five pounds in his pocket starts to spend it in England; make +it <i>ten</i>, and he goes to Paris; <i>fifteen</i>, and he's up the +Rhine; <i>twenty</i>, and Constantinople is not far enough for him! +Whereas, if the sum of his wealth had been a matter of shillings, he'd +have been satisfied with a trip to Kingstown, a chop at Jude's, a place in +the pit, and a penny to the repeal fund; all of which would redound to his +patriotism, and the “prosperity of Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +The same line of argument applies to every feature of expense. If we +patronise “Irish manufacture,” it is because we cannot afford English. If +we like Dublin society, it is upon the same principle; and, in fact, the +cheap pleasures of home, form the sheet-anchor of our patriotism, and we +are only “guardian angels,” because “we have n't a tester.” + </p> +<p> +Away then with any flimsy endeavours to introduce English capital or +Scotch industry. Let us persevere in our present habits of mutual dislike, +attack, and recrimination; let us interfere with the projects of English +civilisation, and forward, by every means in our power, the enlightened +doctrines of popery, and the patriotic pastime of parson-shooting, for +even in sporting we dispense with a “game license;” let no influx of +wealth offer to us the seduction of quitting home, and never let us feel +with our national poet that “Ireland is a beautiful country to live out +of.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0042" id="linkimage-0042"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/206.jpg" width="100%" alt="206 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “GRAND DUKES.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0043" id="linkimage-0043"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/207.jpg" alt="207 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +God help me but I have always looked upon a “grand duke” pretty much in +the same light that I have regarded the “Great Lama,” that is to say, a +very singular and curious object of worship in its native country. How any +thing totally destitute of sovereign attributes could ever be an idol, +either for religious or political adoration, is somewhat singular, and +after much pains and reflections on the subject, I came to the opinion, +that German princes were valued by their subjects pretty much on the +principle the Indians select their idols, and knowing men admire +thorough-bred Scotch terriers—viz., not their beauty. +</p> +<p> +Of all the cant this most canting age abounds in, nothing is more +repulsive and disgusting than the absurd laudation which travellers pour +forth concerning these people, by the very ludicrous blunder of comparing +a foreign aristocracy with our own. Now, what is a German grand duke? +Picture to yourself a very corpulent, moustached, and befrogged +individual, who has a territory about the size of the Phoenix Park, and a +city as big and as flourishing as the Blacklock; the expenses of his civil +list are defrayed by a chalybeate spring, and the budget of his army by +the license of a gambling house, and then read the following passage from +“Howitt's life in Germany,” which, with that admirable appreciation of +excellence so eminently their characteristic, the newspapers have been +copying this week past— +</p> +<p> +“You may sometimes see a grand duke come into a country inn, call for his +glass of ale, drink it, pay for it, and go away as unceremoniously as +yourself. The consequence of this easy familiarity is, that princes are +everywhere popular, and the daily occurrence of their presence amongst the +people, prevents that absurd crush and stare at them, which prevails in +more luxurious and exclusive countries.” + </p> +<p> +That princes do go into country inns, call for ale, and drink it, I firmly +believe; a circumstance, however, which I put the less value upon, +inasmuch as the inn is pretty much like the prince's own house, the ale +very like what he has at home, and the innkeeper as near as possible, in +breeding, manner, and appearance, his equal. That he <i>pays</i> for the +drink, which our author takes pains to mention, excites all my admiration; +but I confess I have no words to express my pleasure on reading that “he +goes away again,” and, as Mr. Howitt has it, “as unceremoniously as +yourself,” neither stopping to crack the landlord's crown, smash the +pewter, break the till, nor even put a star in the looking-glass over the +fire-place, a condescension on his part which leads to the fact, that +“princes are everywhere popular.” + </p> +<p> +Now, considering that Mr. Howitt is a Quaker, it is somewhat remarkable +the high estimate he entertains of this “grand ducal” forbearance. What he +expected his highness to have done when he had finished his drink, I am as +much at a loss to conjecture, as what trait we are called upon to admire +in the entire circumstance; when the German prince went into the inn, and +knocking three times with a copper krentzer on the counter, called for his +choppin of beer, he was exactly acting up to the ordinary habits of his +station, as when the Duke of Northumberland, on his arriving with four +carriages at the “Clarendon.” occupied a complete suite of apartments, and +partook of a most sumptuous dinner. Neither more nor less. His Grace of +Alnwick might as well be lauded for his ducal urbanity as the German +prince for his, each was fulfilling his destiny in his own way, and there +was not anything a whit more worthy of admiration in the one case, than in +the other. +</p> +<p> +But three hundred pounds per annum, even in a cheap country, afford few +luxuries; and if the Germans are indifferent to cholic, there might be, +after all, something praiseworthy in the beer-drinking, and here I leave +it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0044" id="linkimage-0044"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/209.jpg" width="100%" alt="209 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE EAST INDIA DIRECTORS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0045" id="linkimage-0045"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/210.jpg" alt="210 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +When the East India Directors recalled Lord Ellenborough, and replaced him +by Sir Henry Harding, the impression upon the public mind was, as was +natural it should be, that the course of policy adopted by the former, was +such as met not their approval, and should not be persisted in by his +successor. +</p> +<p> +To supersede one man by another, that he might perform the very same acts +in the same way, would be something too ludicrous and absurd. When John +Bull chassées the Tories, and takes to the Whigs, it is because he has had +enough of Peel, and wants to try a stage with Lord John, who handles the +ribbons differently, and drives another sort of a team; a piebald set of +screws they are, to be sure, but they can go the pace when they are at it; +and, as the road generally lies downhill, they get along right merrily. +But John would never think of a change, if the pace were to be always the +same..No; he 'd just put up with the set he had, and take his chance. Not +so your India Directors. They are quite satisfied with everything; all is +right, orderly, and proper; but still they would rather that another man +were at the head of affairs, to do exactly what had been done before. +“What are you doing, Peter?”—“Nothing, sir.” “And you, Jem, what are +you about?”—“Helping Peter, sir.” That is precisely the case, and +Sir Henry is gone out to help Lord Ellenborough. +</p> +<p> +Such a line of proceeding is doubtless singular enough, and many sensible +people there are, who cannot comprehend the object and intention of the +wise Directors; while, by the press, severe imputations have been thrown +upon their consistency and intelligence, and some have gone so far as to +call their conduct unparalleled. +</p> +<p> +This, however, is unjust. The Old Almanack, as Lord Brougham would call +it, has registered a not inapplicable precedent; and, in the anxious hope +of being remembered by the “Old Lady,” I hasten to mention it:— +</p> +<p> +When Louis XIV. grew tired of Madame la Vallière, and desired to replace +her by another in his favour, he committed the difficult task of +explanation on the subject, to his faithful friend and confessor, Bossuet. +The worthy Bishop undertook his delicate mission with diffidence; but he +executed it with tact. The gentle La Vallière wept bitterly; she knew +nothing of the misfortune that menaced her. She believed that her star +still stood in the ascendant, and fancied (like Lord Ellenborough) that +her blandishments were never more acknowledged. “Whence, then, this +change?” cried she, in the agony of her grief. “How have I offended him?” + </p> +<p> +“You mistake me, my daughter,” said Mons. de Méaux. “His Majesty is most +tenderly attached to you; but religious scruples—qualms of +conscience—have come upon him. 'C'est par la peur du diable,' that +he consents to this separation.” + </p> +<p> +Poor Louise dried her tears; the case was bad enough, but there was one +consolation—it was religion, and not a rival, had cost her a lover; +and so she began her preparations for departure with a heart somewhat less +heavy. On the day, however, of her leave-taking, a carriage, splashed and +travel-stained, arrived at the “petite porte” of the Palace; and as +instantaneously ran the rumour through the household that his Majesty's +new mistress had arrived: and true it was, Madame de Maintenon had taken +her place beside the fauteuil of the King. +</p> +<p> +“So, Mons. de Bossuet,” said La Vallière, as he handed her to her carriage—“so, +then, his Majesty has exiled me, 'par la peur du diable.'” + </p> +<p> +The Bishop bowed in tacit submission and acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” resumed she, “c'est par complaisance au diable, that he +accepts Madame de Maintenon.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A FILBERT FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0046" id="linkimage-0046"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/212.jpg" alt="212 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Sir Robert Peel was never more triumphant than when, in the last session +of Parliament, he rebuked his followers for a casual defection in the +support of Government, by asking them what they had to complain of. Are <i>we</i> +not on the Treasury benches? said the Right Honourable Baronet. Do not my +friend Graham and myself guide and direct you?—do we not distribute +the patronage and the honours of the government,—take the pay—and +rule the kingdom—what more would you have? Ungrateful bucolics, you +know not what you want! The apostrophe was bold, but not original. I +remember hearing of a West country farmer having ridden a long day's +journey on a poor, ill-fed hack, which, as evening drew near, showed many +symptoms of a fatal knock-up. The rider himself was well tired, too, and +stopped at an ale-house for a moment's refreshment, while he left the +jaded beast standing at the door. As he remounted his saddle, a few +minutes after, he seized his reins briskly, flourished his whip (both like +Sir Robert), and exclaimed:—“I 've had two glasses of spirits.—Let +us see if you won't go after that.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0047" id="linkimage-0047"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/213.jpg" width="100%" alt="213 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +“THE INCOME TAX.” + </h2> +<p> +Among the many singular objections which have been made to the new +property tax, I find Mr. C. Buller stating in the House, that his greatest +dislike to the project lay in the exceedingly small amount of the impost. +“My wound is great because it is so small,” might have been the text of +the honourable and learned gentleman's oration. After setting forth most +eloquently the varied distresses of the country—its accumulating +debt and heavy taxation—he turns the whole weight of his honest +indignation against the new imposition, because, forsooth, it is so +“little burdensome, and will inflict so slight an additional load upon the +tax-payer.” There is an attempt at argument, however, on the subject, +which is somewhat amusing; for he continues not only to lament the +smallness of the new tax, but the “slight necessity that exists” even for +that. Had we some great national loss to make up, the deficiency of which +rendered a call on the united people necessary, then, quoth he, how +happily we should stand forward in support of the Constitution. In fact, +he deplores, in the most moving terms, that ill off as the country is, yet +it is not one-half so bad as it might be, or as he should like to see it. +Ah! had we only some disastrous Continental war, devastating our commerce—ruining +our Colonies, and eating into the very heart of our national resources—how +gladly I should pay this Income Tax; but to remedy a curable evil—to +restore, by prompt and energetic measures, the growing disease of the +State—is a poor, pettifogging practice, that has neither heroism nor +fame to recommend it. I remember hearing that at one of those excellent +institutions, so appropriately denominated Magdalen Asylums, a poor, but +innocent girl, presented herself for admission, pleading her lonely and +deserted condition, as a plea for her reception. The patroness, an amiable +and excellent person—but somewhat of the complexion of the +honourable and learned Member for Liskeard—asked at once, whether +she had resolved on a total reformation of her mode of life. The other +replied that her habits had been always chaste and virtuous, and that her +character had been invariably above reproach. “Ah, in that case,” rejoined +the lady, “we can't admit you; this institution is expressly for the +reception of penitents. If you could only qualify for a week or so, there +is no objection to your admission.” + </p> +<p> +Is not this exactly Mr. Buller's proposition? “Let us have the Whigs back +for a few years longer; let us return to our admirable foreign policy; and +when we have successfully embroiled ourselves with America, lost Canada, +been beaten in China, driven out of our Eastern possessions, and provoked +a war with France, then I 'm your man for an Income Tax; lay it on only +heavily; let the nation, already bowed down under the heavy burden of its +calamities, receive in addition the gracious boon of enormous taxation.” + Homoeopathy teaches us that nothing is so curative in its agency, as the +very cause of our present suffering, or something as analogous to it as +possible; and, like Hahnemann, Mr. Buller administers what the vulgar call +“a hair of the dog that bit us,” as the most sovereign remedy for all our +evils. +</p> +<p> +The country is like a sick man with a whitlow, for the cure of which his +physician prescribes a slight, but clearly necessary, operation. Another +medical Dr. Buller is, however, standing by. He at once insinuates his +veto; remarks upon the trivial nature of the disease—the un-painful +character of the remedy; “but wait,” adds he—“wait till the +inflammation extends higher; have patience till the hand becomes swollen +and the arm affected; and then, when your agony is beyond endurance, and +your life endangered, then we 'll amputate the limb high up, and mayhap +you may recover, after all.” + </p> +<p> +As for me, it is the only occasion I 'm aware of, where a successful +comparison can be instituted between honour and the Whigs; for assuredly +neither have “any skill in surgery.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE “BELGES.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0048" id="linkimage-0048"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/216.jpg" alt="216 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Every one knows that men in masses, whether the same be called boards, +committees, aggregate, or repeal meetings, will be capable of atrocities +and iniquities, to which, as individuals, their natures would be firmly +repugnant. The irresponsibility of a number is felt by every member, and +Curran was not far wrong when he said, a “corporation was a thing that had +neither a body to be kicked, nor a soul to be damned.” + </p> +<p> +It is, indeed, a melancholy fact, that nations partake much more +frequently of the bad than the good features of the individuals composing +them, and it requires no small amount of virtue to flavour the great +caldron of a people, and make its incense rise gratefully to heaven. For +this reason, we are ever ready to accept with enthusiasm anything like a +national tribute to high principle and honour. Such glorious bursts are a +source of pride to human nature itself, and we hail with acclamation these +evidences of exalted feeling, which make men “come nearer to the gods.” + The greater the sacrifice to selfish interests and prejudices, the more do +we prize the effort. Think for a moment what a sensation of surprise and +admiration, wonderment, awe, and approbation it would excite throughout +Europe, if, by the next arrival from Boston, came the news that “the +Americans had determined to pay their debts!” That at some great congress +of the States, resolutions were carried to the effect, “that roguery and +cheating will occasionally lower a people in the estimation of others, and +that the indulgences of such national practices may be, in the end, +prejudicial to national honour;” “that honesty, if not the best, may be +good policy, even in a go-a-head state of society;” “that smart men, +however a source of well-founded pride to a people, are now and then +inconvenient from the very excess of their smartness;” “that seeing these +things, and feeling all the unhappy results which mistrust and suspicion +by foreign countries must bring upon their com-merce, they have determined +to pay something in the pound, and go a-head once more.” I am sure that +such an announcement would be hailed with illuminations from Hamburg to +Leghorn. American citizens would be cheered wherever they were found; +pumpkin pie would figure at royal tables, and twist and cocktail be handed +round with the coffee; our exquisites would take to chewing and its +consequences; and our belles, banishing Rossini and Donizetti, would make +the air vocal with the sweet sounds of Yankee Doodle. One cannot at a +moment contemplate what excesses our enthusiasm might not carry us to; and +I should not wonder in the least if some great publisher of respectable +standing might not start a pirated reprint of the <i>New York Herald</i>. +</p> +<p> +Let me now go back and explain, if my excitement will permit me, how I +have been led into such extravagant imaginings. I have already remarked, +that nations seldom gave evidence of noble bursts of feeling; still more +rarely, I regret to say, do they evince any sorrow for past misconduct—any +penitence for by-gone evil. +</p> +<p> +This would be, indeed, the severest ordeal of a people's greatness; this, +the brightest evidence of national purity. Happy am I to say such an +instance is before us; proud am I to be the man to direct public attention +to the feet. The following paragraph I copy verbatim from the <i>Times</i>. +</p> +<p> +“On the 18th of June, the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, a black +flag was hoisted by the Belgians at the top of the monument erected on the +field where the battle was fought.” + </p> +<p> +A black flag, the emblem of mourning, the device of sorrow and regret, +waves over the field of Waterloo! Not placed there by vanquished France, +whose legions fought with all their chivalry; not hoisted by the proud +Gaul, on the plain where, in defeat, he bit the dust; but in penitence of +heart, in deep sorrow and contrition, by the Belgians who ran—by the +people who fled—by the soldiers who broke their ranks and escaped in +terror. +</p> +<p> +What a noble self-abasement is this; how beautifully touching such an +instance of a people's sorrow, and how affecting to think, that while in +the halls of Apsley House the heroes were met together to commemorate the +glorious day when they so nobly sustained their country's honour, another +nation should be in sackcloth and ashes, in all the trappings of woe, +mourning over the era of their shame, and sorrowing over their +degradation. Oh, if a great people in all the majesty of their power, in +all their might of intellect, strength, and riches, be an object of solemn +awe and wonder, what shall we say of one whose virtues partake of the +humble features of every-day life, whose sacrifice is the tearful offering +of their own regrets? Mr. O'Connell may declaim, and pronounce his eight +millions the finest peasantry in the world—he may extol their +virtues from Cork to Carrickfergus—he may ring the changes over +their loyalty, their bravery, and their patriotism; but when eulogising +the men who assure him “they are ready to die for their country,” let him +blush to think of the people who can “cry” for theirs. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR WORKHOUSE CHAPLAINS. +</h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0049" id="linkimage-0049"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/219.jpg" alt="219 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +The bane and antidote of England is her immense manufacturing power—the +faculty that enables her to inundate, the whole habitable globe with the +products of her industry, is at once the source of her prosperity and +poverty—her millionaire mill-owners and her impoverished thousands. +Never was the skill of machinery pushed to the same wonderful—never +the results of mechanical invention so astoundingly developed. Men, are +but the presiding genii over the wonder-working slaves of their creative +powers, and the child, is the volition that gives impulse to the giant +force of a mighty engine. Subdivision of labour, carried to an extent +almost incredible, has facilitated despatch, and induced a higher degree +of excellence in every branch of mechanism—human ingenuity is +racked, chemical analysis investigated, mathematical research explored—and +all, that Mr. Binns, of Birmingham, may make thirteen minikin pins—while +Mr. Sims, of Stockport, has been making but twelve. Let him but succeed in +this, and straightway his income is quadrupled—his eldest son is +member for a manufacturing borough, his second is a cornet in the Life +Guards—his daughter, with a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, +is married to the heir of a marquisate—and his wife, soaring above +the murky atmosphere of the factory, breathes the purer air of western +London, and advertises her <i>soirees</i> in the <i>Morning Post</i>. The +pursuit of wealth is now the grand characteristic of our age and country; +and the headlong race of money-getting seems the great feature of the day. +To this end the thundering steamer ploughs the white-crested wave of the +broad Atlantic—to this end the clattering locomotive darts through +the air at sixty miles the hour—for this, the thousand hammers of +the foundry, the ten thousand wheels of the factory are at work—and +man, toiling like a galley-slave, scarce takes time to breathe in his mad +career, as with straining eyeballs and outstretched hands, he follows in +the pursuit of lucre. +</p> +<p> +Now, men are imitative creatures; and strange enough, too, they are +oftentimes disposed from the indulgence of the faculty to copy things, and +adapt them to purposes very foreign to their original destination. This +manufacturing speed, this steeple-chase of printed calico and Paisley +wear, is all very well while it is limited to the districts where it +began. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0050" id="linkimage-0050"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/221.jpg" width="100%" alt="221 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +That two hundred and seventy thousand white cotton night-caps, with a blue +tassel on every one of them, can be made in twenty-four hours at Messrs. +Twist and Tredlem's factory, is a very gratifying fact, particularly to +all who indulge in ornamental headgear—but we see no reason for +carrying this dispatch into the Court of Chancery, and insisting that +every nod of the woolsack is to decide a suit at law. Yet have the lawyer +and the physician both adopted the impetuous practices of the +manufacturing world, and Haste, red haste! is now the cry. +</p> +<p> +Lord Brougham's Chancery practice was only to be equalled by one of Lord +Waterford's steeple-chases. He took all before him in a fly—he rode +straight, plenty of neck, baulked nothing—up leap or down leap, sunk +fence or double ditch, post and rail, or quickset, stone wall, or clay +bank, all one to him—go it he would. Others might deny his judgment; +he wanted to get over the ground, and <i>that</i> he did do. +</p> +<p> +The West-end physician, in the same way, visits his fifty patients daily, +walks his hospital, delivers a lecture to old ladies about some “curious +provision” of nature in the palm of the human hand (for fee-taking); and +devoting something like three minutes and twelve seconds to each sick +man's case, pockets some twenty thousand per annum by his dispatch. +</p> +<p> +Speed is now the <i>El Dorado</i>. Jelly is advertised to be made in a +minute, butter in five, soup seasoned and salted in three seconds of time. +Even the Quakers—bless their quiet hearts!—could n't escape +the contagion and actually began to walk and talk with some faint +resemblance to ordinary mortals. The church alone maintained the even +tenor of its way, and moved not in the wild career of the whirlwind world +about it. Such was my gratulation, when my eye fell upon the following +passage of the <i>Times</i>. Need I say with what a heavy heart I read it? +It is Mr. Rushton who speaks:— +</p> +<p> +“In the month of December, 1841, he heard that a man had been found dead +in the streets of Liverpool; that all the property he possessed had been +taken from his person, and that an attempt to trace his identity had been +made in vain. He was taken to the usual repository for the dead, where au +inquest had been held upon him, and from the 'dead house,' as it was +called, he was removed to the workhouse burial-ground. The man who drove +the hearse on the occasion was very old, and not very capable of giving +evidence. His attendant was an idiot. It had been represented to Mr. +Hodgson and himself that the dead man had been taken in the clothes in +which he died and put into a coffin which was too small for him; that a +shroud was put over him; that the lid of the coffin would not go down; and +that he was taken from the dead-house and buried in the parochial ground, +no funeral rites having been performed on the occasion. It had also been +communicated to Mr. Hodgson and himself that, after two days, the +clergyman who was instructed to perform those rites over the paupers, came +and performed one service for the dead over all the paupers who had been +buried in the intermediate time.” + </p> +<p> +Now, without stopping to criticise the workhouse equipage, which appears +to be driven by a man too old to speak, with an idiot for his companion; +nor even to advert to the scant ceremony of burying a man in his daily +dress, and in a coffin that would not close on him—what shall we say +of the “patent parson power” that buries paupers in detachments, and reads +the service over platoons of dead? The reverend chaplain feeling the +uncertainty of human life, and knowing how frail is our the to existence, +waits in the perfect conviction of a large party before he condescends to +appear. Knowing that dead men tell no tales, he surmises also that they +don't run away, and so he says to himself—these people are not +pressed for time, they 'll be here when I come again—it is a sickly +season, and we 'll have a field-day on Saturday. Cheap soup for the poor, +says Mrs. Fry. Cheap justice, says O'Connell. Cheap clothing, says a +tailor who makes new clothes from old, with a machine called a devil—but +cheap burial is the boast of the Liverpool chaplain, and he is the most +original among them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0051" id="linkimage-0051"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/225.jpg" width="100%" alt="225 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE “HOUSE.” + </h2> +<p> +I have long been of opinion that a man may attain to a very respectable +knowledge of Chinese ceremonies and etiquette before he can learn one half +the usages of the honourable house. Seldom does a debate go forward +without some absurd 'interruption taking place in a mere matter of form. +Now it is a cry of “Order, order,” to some gentleman who is subsequently +discovered not to have been in the least disorderly, but whom the attack +has so completely dumfounded, that he loses his speech and his +self-possession, and sits down in confusion, to be sneered at in the +morning papers, and hooted by his constituents when he goes home. +</p> +<p> +Now some gifted scion of aristocracy makes an essay in braying and +cock-crowing, both permitted by privilege, and overwhelms the speaker with +the uproar. Now it is that intolerable nuisance, old Hume, shouting out +“divide,” or “adjourn;” or it is Colonel Sibthorpe who counts the house. +These ridiculous privileges of members to interfere with the current of +public business because they may be sleepy or stupid themselves, are +really intolerable, besides being so numerous that the first dozen years +of a parliamentary life will scarcely teach a man a tithe of them. But of +all these “rules of the house,” the most unjust and tyrannical is that +which compels a man to put up with any impertinence because he has already +spoken. It would seem as if each honourable member “went down” with a +single ball cartridge in his pouch, which, when fired, the best thing he +could do was to go home and wait for another distribution of ammunition; +for by remaining he only ran the risk of being riddled without any power +to return the fire. +</p> +<p> +A case of this kind happened a few evenings since:—A Mr. Blewitt—I +suppose the composer—made a very absurd motion, the object of which +was to inquire “What office the Duke of Wellington held in the present +government, and whether he was or was not a member of the cabinet.” + Without referring the learned gentleman to a certain erudite volume called +the Yearly Almanack and Directory, Sir Robert Peel proceeded to explain +the duke's position. He eulogised, as who would not? his grace's sagacity +and his wisdom; the importance of his public services, and the great value +the ministers, his <i>confreres</i>, set upon a judgment which, in a long +life, had so seldom been found mistaken; and then he concluded by quoting +from one of the duke's recent replies to some secretary or other who +addressed him on a matter foreign to his department—“That he was one +of the few men in the present day who did not meddle in affairs over which +they have no control.” “A piece of counsel,” quoth Sir Robert, “I would +strenuously advise the honourable member to apply to his own case.” + </p> +<p> +Now we have already said that we think Blewitt—though an admirable +musician—seems to be a very silly man. Still, if he really did not +know what the duke represented in her Majesty's government—if he +really were ignorant of what functions he exercised, the information might +have been bestowed upon him without a retort like this. In the first +place, his query, if a foolish, was at least a civil one; and in the +second, it was his duty to understand a matter of this nature: it +therefore came under his control, and Sir Robert's application of the +quotation was perfectly uncalled-for. Well; what followed? Mr. Blewitt +rose in wrath to reply, when the house called out, “Spoke, spoke!” and +Blewitt was muzzled; the moral of which is simply this—you ask a +question in the house, and the individual addressed has a right to insult +you, you having no power of rejoinder, under the etiquette of “spoke.” Any +flippancy may overturn a man at this rate; and the words “loud laughter,” + printed in italics in the <i>Chronicle</i>, is sure to renew the emotion +at every breakfast table the morning after. +</p> +<p> +Now I am sorry for Blewitt, and think he was badly treated. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “LAW REFORM.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0052" id="linkimage-0052"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/229.jpg" alt="229 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Of all the institutions of England there is scarcely one more lauded, and +more misunderstood, than trial by jury. At first blush, nothing can seem +fairer and less objectionable than the unbiassed decision of twelve honest +men, sworn to do justice. They hear patiently the evidence on both sides; +and in addition to the light derivable from their own intelligence, they +have the directing charge of the judge, who tells them wherein the +question for their decision lies, what are the circumstances of which they +are to take cognizance, and by what features of the case their verdict is +to be guided. Yet look at the working of this much-boasted privilege. One +jury brings in a verdict so contrary to all reason and justice, that they +are sent back to reconsider it by the judge; another, more refractory +still, won't come to any decision at all, and get carted to the verge of +the county for their pains; and a third, improving on all former modes of +proceeding, has adopted a newer and certainly most impartial manner of +deciding a legal question. “Court of Common Pleas, London, July 6.—The +Chief Justice (Tindal) asked the ground of objection, and ten of the +jurymen answered that in the last case one of their colleagues had +suggested that the verdict should be decided by tossing up!” Here is +certainly a very important suggestion, and one which, recognising justice +as a blind goddess, is strictly in conformity with the impersonation. +Nothing could possibly be farther removed from the dangers of undue +influence than decisions obtained in this manner. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0053" id="linkimage-0053"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/230.jpg" width="100%" alt="230 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Not only are all the prejudices and party bearings of individual jurors +avoided, but an honest and manly oblivion of all the evidence which might +bias men if left to the guidance of their poor and erring faculties, is +thus secured. It is human to err, says the poet moralist; and so the +jurymen in question discovered, and would therefore rather refer a knotty +question to another deity than Justice, whom men call Fortune. How much +would it simplify our complex and gnarled code, the introduction of this +system? In the next place, juries need not be any longer empannelled, the +judge could “sky the copper” himself. The only question would be, to have +a fair halfpenny. See with what rapidity the much-cavilled court would +dispatch public business! I think I see our handsome Chief of the Common +Pleas at home here, with his knowing eye watching the vibrations of the +coin, and calling out in his sonorous tone, “Head—the plaintiff has +it. Call another case.” I peep into the Court of Chancery, and behold Sir +Edward twirling the penny with more cautious fingers, and then with his +sharp look and sharper voice, say, “Tail! Take a rule for the defendant.” + </p> +<p> +No longer shall we hear objections as to the sufficiency of legal +knowledge possessed by those in the judgment-seat. There will be no petty +likings for this, and dis-likings for that court; no changes of venue; no +challenges of the jury; even Lord Brougham himself, of whom Sir Edward +remarked, “What a pity it was he did not know a little law, for then he +would have known a little of everything”—even he might be a +chancellor once more. What a power of patronage it would give each +succeeding ministry to know that capacity was of no consequence; and that +the barrister of six years' standing could turn his penny as well as the +leader in Chancery. Public business need never be delayed a moment; and if +the Chief Baron were occupied in chamber, the crier of the court could +perform his functions till he came back again. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +NUT FOR “CLIMBING BOYS” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0054" id="linkimage-0054"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/232.jpg" alt="232 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +One man may lead a horse to the water, but ten cannot make him drink, +sayeth the adage; and so it might be said, any one might devise an act of +parliament—but who can explain all its intentions and provisions—define +its powers—and illustrate its meanings? One clause will occasionally +vitiate another; one section completely contradict the preceding one; the +very objects of the legislature are often so pared away in committee, that +a mere shadowy outline remains of what the original framer intended; and +were it not for the bold hand of executive justice, the whole might be +inoperative. The judge, happily, supplies the deficiency of the lawmaker—and +the thing were perfect, if judges were not, like doctors, given to differ—and +thus, occasionally, disseminate somewhat opposite notions of the statutes +of the land. +</p> +<p> +Such being the case, it will not be deemed impertinent of one, who desires +to conform in all respects to the law, to ask, from time to time, of our +rulers and governors, certain questions, the answers to which, should he +happily receive them, will be regarded by him as though written on tables +of brass. Now, in a late session of parliament, some humane member brought +in a bill to interdict the sweeping of chimneys by all persons small +enough for the purpose, and ingeniously suggested supplying their place by +others, whose size would have inevitably condemned them to perish in a +flue. Never had philanthropist a greater share of popularity. Little +sweeps sang his praises along the streets—penny periodicals had +verses in his honour—the “song of the soot” was set to music—and +people, in the frenzy of their enthusiasm, so far forgot their chimneys, +that scarcely a street in town had not, at least, one fire every night in +the week. Meanwhile, the tender sweeplings had lost their occupation, they +had pronounced their farewell to the brush—what was to become of +them? Alas, the legislature had not thought of that point; for, they were +not influential enough to claim compensation. I grieve to think, but there +is too much reason to fear, that many of them betook themselves to the +ancient vocation of pickpockets. Yes, as Dr. Watts has it— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Satan finds some mischief still +For idle hands to do.” + </pre> +<p> +The divisional police-offices were filled each morning with small +“suttees”—whose researches after handkerchiefs and snuff-boxes were +of the most active kind; while their full-grown brethren, first impacted +in a funnel of ten inches by eight, were cursing the Commons, and +consigning to all manner of misfortune the benevolent framer of the bill. +</p> +<p> +Now, I cannot help asking myself, was this the intention of the +legislature—did they really mean that big people should try to +penetrate where little ones were not small enough to pass?—or was it +some piece of conciliation to the climbing boys, that they should see +their masters grilled and wasted, in revenge for “the disabilities they +had so long laboured under?” This point of great difficulty—and +after much thought and deliberation, I have come to one solution of the +whole question, and I only hope it may prove the right one. It is this. +The bill is a parable—the climbing boy, and the full-grown sweep—and +the chimney, and the householder, and the machine, are mere types which I +would interpret thus:—the householder is John Bull, a good-natured, +easy fellow, liking his ease, and studying his comfort—caring for +his dinner, and detesting smoke above all things; he wishes to have his +house neat and orderly, neither confusion nor disturbance—but his +great dread is fire; the very thought of it sets him a-trembling all over. +Now, for years past, he has remarked that the small sweeps, who mount so +glibly to the top of the flue, rarely do anything but make a noise—they +scream and shout for ten minutes, or so, and then come down, with their +eyes red, and their noses bloody, and cry themselves sick, till they get +bread-and-butter. John is worried and fretted at all this; he remembers +the time a good-sized sweep used to go up and rake down all the soot in no +time. These were the old Tory ministers, who took such wise and safe +precautions against fire, that an insurance-office was never needed. “Not +so now,” quoth John; “'od! rabbit it, they've got their climbing boys, who +are always bleating and bawling, for the neighbourhood to look at them—and +yet, devil a bit of good they do the whole time.” + </p> +<p> +And now, who are these? you would ask. I'll tell you—the “Climbing +Boys” are the Howicks, and the Clements—the Smith O'Briens and the +D'Israelis, and a host of others, scraping their way upwards, through soot +and smoke, that they may put out their heads in high places, and cry +“'weep! weep!” and well may they—they've had a dirty journey—and +black enough their hands are, I warrant you, before they got there. +</p> +<p> +To get rid of these, without offending them, John brings in his +philanthropic bill, making it penal to employ them, or to have any other +than the old legitimate sweeps, that know every turn of the flue, and have +gone up and down any time these twenty years. No new machine for him—no +Whig contrivance, to scrape the bricks and burn the house—but the +responsible full-grown sweeps—who, if the passage be narrow, have +strength to force their way, and take good care not to get dust in their +eyes in the process. +</p> +<p> +Such is my interpretation of the bill, and I only trust a discerning +public may agree with me. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “THE SUBDIVISION OF LABOUR.” + </h2> +<p> +I forget the place, and the occasion also, but I have a kind of misty +recollection of having once, in these nutting excursions of mine, been +excessively eloquent on the subject of the advantages derivable from +division of labour. +</p> +<p> +Not a walk or condition in life is there to which it has not penetrated; +and while natural talents have become cultivated from finding their most +congenial sphere of operation, immense results have accrued in every art +and science where a higher degree of perfection has been thus attained. +Your doctor and your lawyer now-a-days select the precise portion of your +person or property they intend to operate on. The oculist and the aurist, +and the odontalgist and the pedicurist, all are suggestive of various +local sufferings, by which they bound their skill; and so, the equity +lawyer and the common-law lawyer, the special pleader and the bar orator, +have subdivided knavery, without diminishing its amount. Even in +literature, there are the heavy men who “do” the politics, and the quiet +men who do the statistics, and the rough-and-ready men, who are a kind of +servants-of-all-work, and so on. In universities, there is the science man +and the classical man, the man of simple equations and the man of +spondees. Painting has its bright colourists and its more sombre-loving +artists, and so on—the great camps of party would seem to have given +the impulse to every condition of life, and “speciality” is the order of +the day. +</p> +<p> +No sooner is a new discovery made, no matter whether in the skies above, +or the dark bowels of the earth, than an opportunity of disagreement is +sure to arise. Two, mayhap three, gentlemen, profess diversity of opinion; +followers are never lacking, let any one be fool enough to turn leader—and +straightway there comes out a new sect, with a Greek name for a title. +</p> +<p> +It is only the other day, men began to find out that primitive rocks, and +basalt, ochre, and sandstone, had lived a long time, and must surely know +something of antiquity—if they only could tell it. The stones, from +that hour, had an unhappy time of it—men went about in gangs with +hammers and crowbars, shivering this and shattering that—picking +holes in respectable old rocks, that never had a word said against them, +and peeping into “quarts,” (*) like a policeman. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +* Query “quartz.”—Devil. +</pre> +<p> +Men must be quarrelsome, you'd say, if they could fight about +paving-stones—but so they did. One set would have it that the world +was all cinders, and another set insisted it was only slack—and so, +they called themselves Plutonians and Neptunians, and made great converts +to their respective opinions. +</p> +<p> +Gulliver tells us of “Big-endians” and “Little-endians,” who hated each +other like poison; and thus it is, our social condition is like a row in +an Irish fair, where one strikes somebody, and nobody thinks the other +right. +</p> +<p> +Oh! for the happy days of heretofore, when the two kings of Brentford +smelled at one nosegay. It couldn't happen now, I promise you. +</p> +<p> +One of their majesties would have insisted on the petals, and the other +been equally imperative regarding the stamina: they'd have pushed their +claims with all the weight of their influence, and there would have been +soon little vestige of a nosegay between them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0055" id="linkimage-0055"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figright" style="width:30%;"> +<img src="images/237.jpg" alt="237 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +But to come back, for all this is digression. The subdivision of labour, +with all its advantages, has its reverse to the medal. You are ill, for +instance. You have been dining with the Lord Mayor, and hip-hipping to the +health of her Majesty's ministers; or drinking, mayhap, nine times nine to +the independence of Poland, or civil and religious liberty all over the +globe—or any other fiction of large dinners. You go home, with your +head aching from bad wine, bad speeches, and bad music; your wife sees you +look excessively flushed; your eyes have got an odd kind of expression, +far too much of the white being visible; a half shut-up look, like a +pastry-cook's shop on Sunday; there are evident signs, from blackness of +the lips, that in your English ardour for the navy you have made a +“port-hole” of your mouth; in fact, you have a species of semi-apoplectic +threatening, that bodes ill for the insurance company. +</p> +<p> +A doctor is sent for—he lives near, and comes at once—with a +glance he recognises your state, and suggests the immediate remedy—the +lancet. +</p> +<p> +“Fetch a basin,” says somebody, with more presence of mind than the rest. +</p> +<p> +“Not so fast,” quoth the medico. “I am a pure physician—I don't +bleed: that's the surgeon's affair. I should be delighted to save the +gentleman's life—but we have a bye-law against it in the college. +Nothing could give me more pleasure than to cure you, if it was n't for +the charter. What a pity it is! I 'm sure I wish, with all my heart, the +cook would take courage to open a vein, or even give you a bloody nose +with the cleaver.” + </p> +<p> +Do you think I exaggerate here? Try the experiment—I only ask that. +</p> +<p> +Sending for the surgeon does not solve the difficulty; he may be a man who +cuts corns and cataracts—who only operates for strabismus, or makes +new noses for Peninsular heroes. In fact, if you do n't hit the right +number—and it's a large lottery—you may go out of the world +without even the benefit of physic. +</p> +<p> +This great system, however, does not end with human life. The coroners—resolved +not to be behind their age—have made a great movement, and shown +themselves men worthy of the enlightened era they live in. Read this:— +</p> +<p> +“On Friday morning last, a man named Patrick Knowlan, a private in the 3rd +Buffs, was discovered lying dead close beneath the platform of a wharf at +the bottom of Holborn-lane, Chatham. It would appear that deceased had +mistaken his way, and fallen from the wharf, which is used for landing +coals from the river, a depth of about eight feet, upon the muddy beach +below, which was then strewn with refuse coal. There was a large and +severe wound upon the left temple, and a piece of coal was sticking in the +left cheek, close below the eye. The whole left side of the face was much +contracted. He had evidently, from the state of his clothes, been covered +with water, which overflows this spot at the period of spring tides. +Although nothing certain is known, it is generally supposed that he +mistook Holborn-lane for the West-lane, which leads to the barracks, and +that walking forward in the darkness he fell from the wharf. Mr. Lewis, +the coroner for the city of Rochester, claims jurisdiction over all bodies +found in the water at this spot; and as the unfortunate man had evidently +been immersed, he thought this a proper case for the exercise of his +office, and accordingly summoned a jury to sit upon the body at ten +o'clock on Friday morning—but on his going to view the deceased, he +found that it was at the King's Arms, Chatham, in the hands of Bines, the +Chatham constable, as the representative of Mr. Hinde, one of the coroners +for the eastern division of the county of Kent, who refused to give up the +key of the room, but allowed Mr. Lewis and his jury to view the body. They +then returned to the Nag's Head, Rochester, and having heard the evidence +of John Shepherd, a fisherman, who deposed that a carter, going on to the +beach for coals, at half-past seven o'clock on Friday morning, found the +body as already described, the jury returned a verdict of 'Found dead.' +Mr. Hinde, the county coroner, held another inquest upon the deceased, at +the King's Arms; and after taking the evidence of William Whittingham, the +carter who found the body, and Frederick Collins, a corporal of the 3rd +Buffs, who stated that he saw the deceased on the evening preceding his +death, and he was then sober, the jury returned a verdict of 'Accidental +death;' each of the coroners issued a warrant for the interment of the +body. The disputed jurisdiction, it is believed, will now be submitted to +the decision of a higher court, in order to settle what is here considered +a <i>vexata quostio</i>.”—Maidstone Journal. +</p> +<p> +Is not this perfect? Only think of land coroners and water coroners—imagine +the law defining the jurisdiction of the Tellurian as far forth into the +sea as he could sit on a corpse without danger, and the Neptunian ruling +the waves beyond in absolute sway—conceive the “solidist” revelling +in all the accidents that befall life upon the world's highways, and the +“fluidist” seeking his prey like a pearl diver, five fathoms low, beneath +“the deep, deep sea.” What a rivalry theirs, who divide the elements +between them, and have nature's everlasting boundaries to define the +limits of their empire. +</p> +<p> +I hope to see the time when these great functionaries of law shall be +provided with a suitable costume. I should glory to think of Mr. Hinde +accoutred in emblems suggestive of earth and its habits—a wreath of +oak leaves round his brows; and to behold Mr. Lewis in a garment of marine +plants and sea shells sit upon his corpse, with a trident in his right +hand. What a comfort for the man about to take French leave of life, that +he could know precisely the individual he should benefit, and be able to +go “by land” or “water,” as his taste inclined him. +</p> +<p> +I have no time here to dwell upon the admirable distinctions of the two +verdicts given in the case I allude to. When the great change I suggest is +fully carried out, the difficulty of a verdict will at once be avoided, +for the jury, like boys at play, will only have to cry out at each case—“wet +or dry.” + </p> +<p> +There would be probably too much expense incurred in poor localities by +maintaining two officials; and I should suggest, in such cases, an +amphibious coroner—a kind of merman, who should enjoy a double +jurisdiction, and, as they say of half-bred pointers, be able “to take the +water when required.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR A “NEW VERDICT.” + </h2> +<p> +Money-getting and cotton-spinning have left us little time for fun of any +kind in England—no one has a moment to spare, let him be ever so +droll, and a joke seems now to be esteemed a <i>bona fide</i> expenditure; +and as “a pin a day” is said to be “a groat a year,” there is no +calculating what an inroad any manner of pleasantry might not make into a +man's income. Book-writers have ceased to be laughter-moving—the +stage has given it up altogether, except now and then in a new tragedy—society +prefers gravity to gaiety—and, in fact, the spirit of comic fun and +drollery would seem to have died out in the land—if it were not for +that inimitable institution called trial by jury. Bless their honest +hearts! jurymen do indeed relieve the drab-coloured look of every-day life—they +come out in strong colour from the sombre tints of common-place events and +people. Queer dogs! nothing can damp the warm ardour of their comic vein—all +the solemnity of a court of justice—the look of the bar and the +bench—the voice of the crier—the blue bags of briefs—the +“terrible show,” has no effect on their minds—“ruat coelum,” they +will have their joke. +</p> +<p> +It is in vain for the judge, let him be ever so rigid in his charge, to +tell them that their province is simply with certain facts, on which they +have to pronounce an opinion of yea or nay. They must be jurymen, and +“something more.” It's not every day Mr. Sniggins, of Pimlico, is called +upon to keep company with a chief-justice and sergeant learned in the law—Popkins +don't leave his shop once a week to discuss Coke upon Littleton with an +attorney-general. No: the event to them is a great one—there they +sit, fawned on, and flattered by counsel on both sides—called +impartial and intelligent, and all that—and while every impertinence +the law encourages has been bandied about the body of the court, <i>they</i> +remain to be lauded and praised by all parties, for they have a verdict in +their power, and when it comes—what a thing it is! +</p> +<p> +There is a well-known story of an English nobleman, desiring to remain <i>incog</i>. +in Calais, telling his negro servant—“If any one ask who I am, +Sambo, mind you say, 'a Frenchman.'” Sambo carried out the instruction by +saying—“My massa a Frenchman, and so am I.” This anecdote exactly +exemplifies a verdict of a jury—it cannot stop short at sense, but +must, by one fatal plunge, involve its decision in absurdity. +</p> +<p> +Hear what lately happened in the north of Ireland. A man was tried and +found guilty of murder—the case admitted no doubt—the act was +a cold-blooded, deliberate assassination, committed by a soldier on his +sergeant, in the presence of many witnesses. The trial proceeded; the +facts were proved; and—I quote the local newspaper— +</p> +<p> +“The jury retired, and were shut up when the judge left the court, at +half-past seven. At nine, his lordship returned to court, when the foreman +of the jury intimated that they had agreed. They were then called into +court, and having answered to their names, returned a verdict of guilty, +but recommended the prisoner to mercy upon account of the close intimacy +that existed between the parties at the time of the occurrence.” + </p> +<p> +Now, what ever equalled this? When the jury who tried Madame Laffarge for +the murder of her husband, returned a verdict of guilty, with that +recommendation to mercy which is implied by the words “des circumstances +atténuantes,” Alphonse Karr pronounced the “extenuating circumstances,” to +be the fact, that she always mixed gum with the arsenic, and never gave +him his poison “neat.” + </p> +<p> +But even <i>they</i> never thought of carrying out their humanity farther +by employing the Belfast plea, that she had been “intimate with him” + before she killed him. No, it was reserved for our canny northerns to find +out this new secret of criminal jurisprudence, and to show the world that +there is a deep philosophy in the vulgar expression, a blood relation—meaning +thereby that degree of allianceship which admits of butchery, and makes +killing no murder; for if intimacy be a ground of mercy, what must be +friendship, what brotherhood, or paternity? +</p> +<p> +Were this plea to become general, how cautious would men become about +their acquaintances—what a dread they would entertain of becoming +intimate with gentlemen from Tipperary! +</p> +<p> +I scarcely think the Whigs would throw out such lures for Dan and his +followers, if they could consider these consequences; and I doubt much—taking +everything into consideration, that the “Duke” would see so much of Lord +Brougham as he has latterly. +</p> +<p> +“Whom can a man make free with, if not with his friends?” saith Figaro; +and the Belfast men have studied Beaumarchais, and only “carried out his +principle,” as the Whigs say, when they speak of establishing popery in +Ireland, to complete the intention of emancipation. +</p> +<p> +Lawyers must have been prodigiously sick of all the usual arguments in +defence of prisoners in criminal cases many a year ago. One of the +cleverest lawyers and the cleverest men I ever knew, says he would hang +any man who was defended on an <i>alibi</i>, and backed by a good +character. Insanity is worn out; but here comes Belfast to the rescue, +with its plea of intimacy. Show that your client was no common +acquaintance—prove clearly habits of meeting and dining together—display +a degree of friendship between the parties that bordered on brotherhood, +and all is safe. Let your witness satisfy the jury that they never had an +altercation or angry word in their lives, and depend upon it, killing will +seem merely a little freak of eccentricity, that may be indulged with +Norfolk Island, but not punished with the gallows. +</p> +<p> +“Guilty, my lord, but very intimate with the deceased,” is a new discovery +in law, and will hereafter be known as “the Belfast verdict.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE REAL “LIBERATOR.” + </h2> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0056" id="linkimage-0056"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/245.jpg" alt="245 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +When Solomon said there was nothing new under the sun, he never knew Lord +Normanby. That's a fact, and now to show cause. +</p> +<p> +No attribute of regal, and consequently it may be inferred of vice-regal +personages, have met such universal praise from the world, as the wondrous +tact they would seem to possess, regarding the most suitable modes of +flattering the pride and gratifying the passions of those they govern. +</p> +<p> +It happens not unfrequently, that they leave this blessed privilege +unused, and give themselves slight pains in its exercise; but should the +time come when its exhibition may be deemed fit or necessary, their +instinctive appreciation is said never to fail them, and they invariably +hit off the great trait of a people at once. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps it may be the elevated standard on which they are placed, gives +them this wondrous <i>coup-d'oeil</i>, and enables them to take wider +views than mortals less eminently situated; perhaps it is some old leaven +of privileges derivable from right divine. But no matter, the thing is so. +Napoleon well knew the temper of Frenchmen in his day, and how certain +short words, emblematic of their country's greatness and glory, could +fascinate their minds and bend them to his purpose. In Russia, the czar is +the head of the church, as of the state, and a mere word from him to one +of his people is a treasure above all price. In Holland, a popular monarch +taps some forty puncheons of schnapps, and makes the people drunk. In +Belgium, he gets up a high mass, and a procession of virgins. In the +States, a rabid diatribe against England, and a spice of Lynch Law, are +clap-trap. But every land has its own peculiar leaning—to be +gratified by some one concession or compliment in preference to every +other. +</p> +<p> +Now, when Lord Normanby came to Ireland, he must have been somewhat +puzzled by the very multiplicity of these expectations. It was a regular +“embarras de richesses.” There was so much to give, and he so willing to +give it! +</p> +<p> +First, there was discouragement to be dealt out against Protestants—an +easy and a pleasant path; then the priests were to be brought into fashion—a +somewhat harder task; country gentlemen were to be snubbed and affronted; +petty attorneys were to be petted and promoted; all claimants with an “O” + to their names were to have something—it looked national; men of +position and true influence were to be pulled down and degraded, and so +on. In fact, there was a good two years of smart practice in the rupture +of all the ties of society, and in the overthrow of whatever was +respectable in the land, before he need cry halt. +</p> +<p> +Away he went then, cheered by the sweet voices of the mob he loved, and +quick work he made of it. I need not stop to say, how pleasant Dublin +became when deserted of all who could afford to quit it; nor how peaceful +were the streets which no one traversed—<i>ubi solitudinem faciunt +pacem appellant</i>. The people, like Oliver, “asked for more;” ungrateful +people! not content with Father Glynn at the viceroy's table, and the +Bishop of “Mesopotamia” in the council, they cried, like the horseleech's +daughters, “Give! give!” + </p> +<p> +“What would they have, the spalpeens?” said Pierce Mahony; “sure ain't we +destroying the place entirely, and nobody will be able to live here after +us.” + </p> +<p> +“What do they want?” quoth Anthony Blake; “can't they have patience? Isn't +the church trembling, and property not worth two years' purchase?” + </p> +<p> +“Upon my life!” whispered Lord Morpeth, “I can't comprehend them. I fear +we have been only but too good-natured!—don't you think so?” + </p> +<p> +And so they pondered over their difficulties, but never a man among them +could suggest a remedy for their new demand, nor make out a concession +which had not been already made. +</p> +<p> +“Did you butter Dan?” said Anthony. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and offered him the 'rolls' too,” said Sheil. +</p> +<p> +“It's no use,” interposed Pierce; “he's not to be caught.” + </p> +<p> +“Could n't ye make Tom Steele Bishop of Cashel?” + </p> +<p> +“He wouldn't take it,” groaned the viceroy. +</p> +<p> +“Is Mr. Arkips a privy councillor?” + </p> +<p> +“No; but he might if he liked. There's no use in these trifles.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Eureka</i>, gents, I have it!” cried my lord; “order post-horses for +me this instant—I have it!” + </p> +<p> +And so he had, and by that act alone he stamped himself as the first man +of his party. +</p> +<p> +Swift philosophised on the satiric touch of building a madhouse, as the +most appropriate charity to Ireland; but what would he have said had he +heard that the greatest favour its rulers could bestow—the most +flattering compliment to national feeling—was to open the gaols, to +let loose robbers and housebreakers, highwaymen and cutthroats—to +return burglars to their afflicted homes, and bring back felons to their +weeping families. Some sneering critic will object to it, as scarcely +complimentary to a country to say—“these gentlemen are only thieves—murderers; +they cannot hurt <i>your</i> morals. They were sentenced to +transportation, but why should we spread vice among innocent bushmen, and +disseminate wickedness through Norfolk Island? Let them loose where they +are, they know the ways of the place, they 'll not murder the 'wrong man;' +depend upon it, too, the rent won't suffer by their remaining.” And so my +lord took off the handcuffs, and filed the fetters; and the bondsmen, +albeit not all “hereditary,” went free. Who should be called the +Liberator, I ask, after this? Is it your Daniel, who promises year after +year, and never performs; or you, my lord, who strikes off real chains, +not metaphorical ones, and liberates real captives, not figurative slaves? +</p> +<p> +It was, indeed, a “great day for Ireland” when the villains got loose; and +must have been a strong lesson on the score of domestic duty to many a +roving blade, who preferred spending that evening at home, to venturing +out after dark. My lord covered himself with laurels, and albeit they were +gathered, as Lord Wellesley said, in the “Groves of Blarney,” they well +became the brow they ornamented. +</p> +<p> +I should scarcely have thought necessary to ring a paean of praise on this +great governor, if it were not for a most unaccountable attack his +magnanimous and stupendous mercy, as Tom Steele would call it, has called +forth from some organ of the press. +</p> +<p> +This print, calling itself <i>The Cork Constitution</i>, thus discourseth:— +</p> +<p> +“Why, of 16 whom he pardoned, and of 41 whose sentences he commuted in the +gaol of our own city, 13 were re-committed, and of these no fewer than 10 +were in due time transported. One of the latter, Mary Lynch, was +subsequently five times committed, and at last transported; Jeremiah +Twomey, <i>alias</i> Old Lock, was subsequently six times committed, and +finally transported, while two others were twice committed. These are a +specimen of the persons whom his lordship delighted to honour. Of the +whole 57 (who were liberated between January, 1835, and April, 1839), +there were, at the time of their sentences being commuted, or themselves +discharged, 34 under sentence of transportation, and two under sentence of +death. In the county gaol, 47 prisoners experienced the benefit of +viceregal liberality. Of these 18 had been under sentence of +transportation, 11 of them for life; but how many of them it became the +duty of the government to introduce a second or third time to the notice +of the judge, or what was their ultimate destiny, we are, unfortunately, +not informed. The recorder, we observe, passed sentence of transportation +yesterday on a fellow named Corkery, who had some years ago been similarly +sentenced by one of the judges, but for whose release his worship was +unable to account. The explanation, however, is easy. Corkery was one of +the scoundrels liberated by Lord Normanby, and he has since been living on +the plunder of the citizens, on whom that vain and visionary viceroy so +inconsiderately let him loose.” + </p> +<p> +Now I detest figures, and, therefore, I won't venture to dispute the man's +arithmetic about the “ten in due time transported,” nor Corkery, nor Mary +Lynch, nor any of them. +</p> +<p> +I take the facts on his own showing, and I ground upon them the most +triumphant defence of the calumniated viceroy. What was it, I ask, but the +very prescience of the lord lieutenant we praise in the act? He liberated +a gaol full of ruffians, not to inundate the world with a host of felons +and vagabonds, but, simply, to give them a kind of day-rule. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0057" id="linkimage-0057"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> +<img src="images/250.jpg" alt="250 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“Let them loose,” cried my lord; “take the irons off—devil a long +they 'll be free. Mark my words, that fellow will murder some one else +before long. Thank you, Mary Lynch, it is a real pleasure to me to restore +you to liberty;” and then, <i>sotto</i>, “you'll have a voyage out, +nevertheless, I see that. Open the gates—pass out, gentlemen +highwaymen. Don't be afraid, good people of Cork, these are infernal +ruffians, they 'll all be back again before six months. It's no +consequence to me to see you at large, for I have the heartfelt conviction +that most of you must be hanged yet.” + </p> +<p> +Here is the true defence of the viceroy, here the real and well-grounded +explanation of his conduct; and I hope when Lord Brougham attacks his +noble friend—which of course he will—that the marquis will +hurl back on him, with proud triumph, this irresistible mark of his united +foresight and benevolence. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR “HER MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.” + </h2> +<p> +If a fair estimate were at any moment to be taken of the time employed in +the real business of the country, and that consumed by public characters +in vindicating their conduct, recapitulating their good intentions, and +glossing over their had acts, it would be found that the former was to the +latter as the ratio of Falstaff's bread to the “sack.” + </p> +<p> +A British House of Commons is in fact nineteen out of every twenty hours +employed in the pleasant personalities of attack and defence. It is +something that the “noble baron” said last session, or the “right hon. +baronet” did n't say in the present one, engrosses all their attention; +and the most animated debates are about certain expressions of some +“honourable and learned gentleman,” who always uses his words in a sense +different from the rest of the nation. +</p> +<p> +If this satisfies the public and stuffs the newspapers, perhaps I should +not repine at it; but certainly it is very fatiguing and tiresome to any +man with a moderately good memory to preserve the excellent traditions +each ministry retains of their own virtues, and how eloquently the +opposition can hold forth upon the various good things they would have +done, had they been left quietly on the treasury benches. Now how much +better and more business-like would it be if, instead of leaving these +gentlemen to dilate and expatiate on their own excellent qualities, some +public standards were to be established, by which at a glance the world at +large could decide on their merits and examine into their fitness for +office at a future period. Your butler and your coachman, when leaving +your service, do not present themselves to a new master with characters of +their own inditing, or if they did they would unquestionably require a +very rigid scrutiny. What would you say if a cook who professes herself a +perfect treasure of economy and excellence, warrants herself sober, +amiable, and cleanly—who, without other vouchers for her fitness +than her own, would dilate on her many virtues and accomplishments, and +demand to be taken into your service because she has higher taste for +self-panegyric than her rival. Such a thing would be preposterous in the +kitchen, but it is exactly what takes place in parliament, and there is +but one remedy for it. Let her majesty's servants, when they leave their +places, receive written characters, like those of less exalted persons. +These documents would then be on record when the applicants sought other +situations, and could be referred to with more confidence by the nation +than if given by the individuals themselves. +</p> +<p> +How easily would the high-flown sentiments of any of the “outs” be tested +by a simple comparison with his last character—how clearly would +pretension be measured by what he had done in his last place. No long +speeches, no four-hour addresses would be required at the hustings then. +Show us your character, would be the cry—why did he leave his +mistress? the question. +</p> +<p> +The petty subterfuges of party would not stand such a test as this; all +the little miserable explanations—that it was a quarrel in the +kitchen, that the cook said this and the footman said that, would go for +nothing. You were turned out, and why?—that's the bone and sinew of +the matter. +</p> +<p> +To little purpose would my Lord John remind his party that he was going to +do every thing for every body—to plunder the parsons and pay the +priests—to swamp the constitution and upset the church—respectable +people would take time to look at his papers; they would see that he was +an active little busy man, accustomed to do the whole work of a family +single-handed; that he was in many respects attentive and industrious, but +had a following of low Irish acquaintances whom he let into the house on +every occasion, and that then nothing escaped them—they smashed the +furniture, broke the looking-glasses, and kicked up a regular row: for +this he was discharged, receiving all wages due. +</p> +<p> +And then, instead of suffering long-winded panegyrics from the member for +Tiverton, how easily would the matter be comprehended in one line—“a +good servant, lively, and intelligent, but self-sufficient, and apt to +take airs. Turned off for quarrelling with the French valet next door, and +causing a difference between the families.” + </p> +<p> +Then again, how decisively the merits of a certain ex-chancellor might be +measured in reading—“hired as butler, but insisted on cleaning the +carriage, and scratched the panels; would dress the dinner, and spoiled +the soup and burned the sauce; never attended to his own duties, but spent +his time fighting with the other servants, and is in fact a most +troublesome member of a household. He is, however, both smart and +intelligent, and is allowed a small pension to wait on company days.” + </p> +<p> +Trust me, this plan, if acted on—and I feel it cannot be long +neglected—will do more to put pretension on a par with desert, than +all the adjourned debates that waste the sessions; it would save a world +of unblushing self-praise and laudation, and protect the country from the +pushing impertinence of a set of turned-off servants. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE LANDLORD AND TENANT COMMISSION. +</h2> +<p> +Every one knows the story of the man who, at the penalty of losing his +head in the event of failure, promised the caliph of Bagdad that he would +teach his ass to read in the space of ten years, trusting that, ere the +time elapsed, either the caliph, or the ass, or he himself, would die, and +the compact be at an end. Now, it occurs to me that the wise policy of +this shrewd charlatan is the very essence of all parliamentary +commissions. First, there is a grievance—then comes a debate—a +very warm one occasionally, with plenty of invective and accusation on +both sides—and then they agree to make a drawn game of it, and +appoint “a Commission.” + </p> +<p> +Nothing can be more plausible in appearance than such a measure; nor could +any man, short of Hume himself, object to so reasonable a proceeding as a +patient and searching inquiry into the circumstances and bearings of any +disputed question. The Commission goes to work: if a Tory one, consisting +usually of some dumb country gentlemen, who like committee work;—if +Whig, the suckling “barristers of six years' standing:” and at it they go. +The newspapers announce that they are “sitting to examine witnesses”—a +brief correspondence appears at intervals, to show that they have a +secretary and a correspondent, a cloud then wraps the whole concern in its +dark embrace, and not the most prying curiosity is ever able afterwards to +detect any one feet concerning the commission or its labours, nor could +you hear in any society the slightest allusion ever made to their +whereabouts. +</p> +<p> +It is, in feet, the polite mode of interment applied to the question at +issue—the Commissioners performing the solemn duties of undertakers, +and not even the most reckless resurrectionist being found to disturb the +remains. Before the report should issue, the Commissioners die off, or the +question has taken a new form; new interests have changed all its +bearings; a new ministry is in power, or some more interesting matter has +occupied the place it should fill in public attention; and if the Report +was even a volume of “Punch,” it might pass undetected. +</p> +<p> +Now and then, however, a Commission will issue for the real object of +gleaning facts and conveying information; and then the duties are most +uncomfortable, and but one course is open, which is, to protract the +inquiry, like the man with the ass, and leave the result to time. +</p> +<p> +In a country like ours, conflicting interests and opposing currents are +ever changing the landmarks of party; and the commissioners feel that with +years something will happen to make their labours of little consequence, +and that they have only to prolong the period, and all is safe. +</p> +<p> +At this moment, we have what is called a “Landlord and Tenant Commission” + sitting, or sleeping, as it maybe. They have to investigate diverse, +knotty, and puzzling points, about people who want too much for their +land, and others who prefer paying nothing for it. They are to report, in +some fashion, respecting the prospects of estated gentlemen burdened with +rent-charges and mortgages, and who won't improve properties they can +scarcely live on—and a peasantry, who must nominally pay an +exaggerated rent, depending upon the chance of shooting the agent before +the gale-day, and thus obtaining easier terms for the future. +</p> +<p> +They are to investigate the capabilities of waste lands, while cultivated +lands lie waste beside them; they must find out why land-owners like +money, and tenants hate paying it; and why a people hold life very cheap +when they possess little means to sustain it. +</p> +<p> +Now these, take them how you will, are not so easy of solution as you may +think. The landlord, for his own sake, would like a thriving, well-to-do, +contented tenantry; the tenants, for their sakes, would like a +fair-dealing, reasonable landlord, not over griping and grabbing, but +satisfied with a suitable value for his property. They both have no common +share of intelligence and acuteness—they have a soil unquestionably +fruitful, a climate propitious, little taxation, good roads, abundant +markets; and yet the one is half ruined in his house and the other wholly +beggared in his hovel—each averring that the cause lies in the +tithes, the tariff, the poor-rate, or popery, the agent or the agitation: +in fact, it is something or other which one favours and the other opposes—some +system or sect, some party or measure, which one advocates and the other +denounces; and no matter though its influence should not, in the remotest +way, enter into the main question, there is a grievance—that's +something; and as Sir Lucius says, “it's a mighty pretty quarrel as it +stands”—not the less, that certain partizans on either side assist +in the <i>mêlée</i>, and the House of Commons or the Association Hall +interfere with their influence. +</p> +<p> +If, then, the Commissioners can see their way here, they are smart +fellows, and no small praise is due to them. There are difficulties enough +to puzzle long heads; and I only hope they may be equal to the task. +Meanwhile, depopulation goes on briskly—landlords are shot every +week in Tipperary; and if the report be but delayed for some few months +longer, a new element will appear in the question—for however there +may remain some pretenders to perpetuity of tenure, the landlords will not +be there to grant the leases. Let the Commissioners, then, keep a look-out +a-head—much of the embarrassment of the inquiry will be obviated by +only biding their time; and if they but delay their report till next +November, there will be but one party to legislate for in the island. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +A NUT FOR THE HUMANE SOCIETY. +</h2> +<p> +If my reader will permit me to refer to my own labours, I would wish to +remind him of an old “Nut” of mine, in which I endeavoured to demonstrate +the defective morality and economy of our penal code—a system, by +which the smallest delinquent is made to cost the state several hundreds +of pounds, for an offence frequently of some few pennies in value; and a +theft of a loaf is, by the geometrical scale of progressive +aggrandisement, gradually swelled into a most expensive process, in which +policemen, station-houses, inspectors, magistrates, sessions, assizes, +judges, crown prosecutors, gaols, turnkeys, and transports, all figure; +and the nation is left to pay the cost of this terrible array, for the +punishment of a crime the prevention of which might, perhaps, have been +effected for two-pence. +</p> +<p> +I do not now intend to go over the beaten track of this argument; my +intention is simply to refer to it, and adduce another instance of this +strange and short-sighted policy, which prefers waiting to acting, and +despises cheap, though timely interference with evil, and indulges in the +somewhat late, but more expensive process of reparation. +</p> +<p> +And to begin. Imagine—unhappily you need exercise no great stretch +of the faculty, the papers teem with too many instances—imagine a +poor, woe-begone, miserable creature, destitute and friendless, without a +home, without a meal; his tattered clothing displaying through every rent +the shrunken form and wasted limbs to which hunger and want have reduced +him. See him as night falls, plodding onwards through the crowded +thoroughfares of the great city; his lack-lustre eye glazed and filmy; his +pale face and blue lip actually corpse-like in their ghast-liness. He +gazes at the passers-by with the vacant stare of idiotcy. Starvation has +sapped the very intellect, and he is like one in some frightful vision; a +vague desire for rest—a dreamy belief that death will release him—lives +in the place of hope; and as he leans over the battlements of the tall +bridge, the plash of the dark river murmurs softly to his ear. His despair +has conjured up a thousand strange and flitting fancies, and voices seem +to call to him from the dull stream, and invite him to lie down and be at +peace. Meanwhile the crowd passes on. Men in all the worldliness of their +hopes and fears, their wishes, their expectations, and their dreads, pour +by. None regard <i>him</i>, who at that moment stands on the very brink of +an eternity, whither his thoughts have gone before him. As he gazes, his +eye is attracted by the star-like spangle of lights in the water. It is +the reflection of those in the house of the Humane Society; and he +suddenly remembers that there is such an institution; and he bethinks him, +as well as his poor brain will let him, that some benevolent people have +called this association by this pleasing title, and the very word is a +balm to his broken heart. +</p> +<p> +“Humane Society!” Muttering the words, he staggers onwards; a feeling too +faint for hope still survives; and he bends his wearied steps towards the +building. It is indeed a goodly edifice; Portland stone and granite, +massive columns and a portico, are all there; and Humanity herself is +emblematised in the figures which decorate the pedestal. The man of misery +stands without and looks up at this stately pile; the dying embers emit +one sparky and for a second, hope brightens into a brief flicker. He +enters the spacious hall, on one side of which a marble group is seen +representing the “good Samaritan;” the appeal comes home to his heart, and +he could cry, but hunger has dried up his tears. +</p> +<p> +I will not follow him in his weary pilgrimage among the liveried menials +of the institution, nor shall I harass my reader by the cold sarcasm of +those who tell him that he has mistaken the object of the association: +that their care is not with life, but death; that the breathing man, +alive, but on the verge of dissolution, has no interest for <i>them</i>; +for <i>their</i> humanity waits patiently for his corpse. It is true, one +pennyworth of bread—a meal your dog would turn from—would +rescue this man from death and self-murder. But what of that—how +could such humble, unobtrusive charity inhabit a palace? How could it +pretend to porters and waiting-men, to scores of officials, visiting +doctors, and physicians in ordinary? By what trickery could a royal patron +be brought to head the list of benefactors to a scheme so unassuming? +Where would be the stomach-pumps and the galvanic batteries for science?—where +the newspaper reports of a miraculous recovery?—where the magazine +records of suspended animation?—or where that pride and pomp and +circumstance of enlightened humanity which calls in chemistry to aid +charity, and makes electricity the test of benevolence? No, no; the hungry +man might be fed, and go his way unseen, untrumpeted—there would be +no need of this specious plausibility of humanity which proclaims aloud—Go +and drown yourself; stand self-accused and condemned before your Creator; +and if there be but a spark of vitality yet remaining, we 'll call you +back to life again—a starving suicide! No effort shall be spared—messengers +shall fly in every direction for assistance——the most +distinguished physician—processes the most costly—experiments +the most difficult—care unremitting—zeal untiring, are all +yours. Cordials, the cost of which had sustained you in life for weeks +long, are now poured down your unconscious throat—the limbs that +knew no other bed than straw, are wrapped in heated blankets—the +hand stretched out in vain for alms, is now rubbed by the jewelled fingers +of a west-end physician. +</p> +<p> +Men, men, is this charity?—is the fellow-creature nought?—is +the corpse everything?—is a penny too much to sustain' life?—is +a hundred pounds too little to restore it? Away with your stuccoed walls +and pillared corridors—support the starving, and you will need but +little science to reanimate the suicide. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Nuts and Nutcrackers, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NUTS AND NUTCRACKERS *** + +***** This file should be named 35500-h.htm or 35500-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/5/0/35500/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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