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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 68,  No 422, December 1850 by Various.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45686 ***</div>

<div class="titlepage">

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_626" id="Page_626">[Pg 626]</a></span></p>



<h1>BLACKWOOD'S<br />

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.<br />

<span class="medium"><span class="smcap blackwoodleft">No. CCCCXXII.</span> DECEMBER, 1850. <span class="smcap blackwoodright">Vol. LXVIII.</span></span></h1>

<hr class="tb" />




<h2 class="medium"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</a></h2>





<div class="tdr">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS">
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">My Novel; or, Varieties in English Life. Part IV.</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_627">627</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ancient and Modern Eloquence</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_645">645</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Laing's Observations on Europe</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_671">671</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Who Rolled the Powder in?</span></td>
  <td><a href="#Page_689">689</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Lecture on Journalism</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_691">691</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Great Unknown</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_698">698</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Modern State Trials. Part III.</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_712">712</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Defences of Britain</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_736">736</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Popish Partition of England</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_745">745</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Index</span>,</td>
  <td><a href="#Page_755">755</a></td>
</tr>
</table></div>


<hr class="tb" />

<p class="large">EDINBURGH:</p>

<p>WILLIAM BLACKWOOD &amp; SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET;
                    AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.</p>

<p class="small"><i>To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed.</i></p>

<p class="small">SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p class="xsmall">PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</p></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_627" id="Page_627">[Pg 627]</a></span></p>

<p class="ph1">BLACKWOOD'S</p>

<p class="ph1">EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.</p>

<p class="ph3"><span class="medium"><span class="smcap blackwoodleft">No. CCCCXXII.</span> DECEMBER, 1850. <span class="smcap blackwoodright">Vol. LXVIII.</span></span></p>




<h2>MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.</h2>


<p class="center">BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON.</p>


<h3>BOOK II.&mdash;CHAPTER VII.</h3>

<p>In spite of all his Machiavellian
wisdom, Dr Riccabocca had been
foiled in his attempt to seduce Leonard
Fairfield into his service, even
though he succeeded in partially winning
over the widow to his views.
For to her he represented the worldly
advantages of the thing. Lenny
would learn to be fit for more than a
day-labourer; he would learn gardening,
in all its branches&mdash;rise some
day to be a head gardener. "And,"
said Riccabocca, "I will take care of
his book learning, and teach him whatever
he has a head for."</p>

<p>"He has a head for everything,"
said the widow.</p>

<p>"Then," said the wise man, "everything
shall go into it."</p>

<p>The widow was certainly dazzled;
for, as we have seen, she highly prized
scholarly distinction, and she knew
that the Parson looked upon Riccabocca
as a wondrous learned man.
But still, Riccabocca was said to be a
Papist, and suspected to be a conjuror.
Her scruples on both these
points the Italian, who was an adept
in the art of talking over the fair sex,
would no doubt have dissipated, if
there had been any use in it; but
Lenny put a dead stop to all negotiations.
He had taken a mortal dislike
to Riccabocca; he was very
much frightened by him&mdash;and the
spectacles, the pipe, the cloak, the
long hair, and the red umbrella; and
said so sturdily, in reply to every
overture,&mdash;"Please, sir, I'd rather
not; I'd rather stay along with
mother"&mdash;that Riccabocca was forced
to suspend all farther experiments in
his Machiavellian diplomacy. He
was not at all cast down, however,
by his first failure; on the contrary,
he was one of those men whom opposition
stimulates. And what before
had been but a suggestion of prudence,
became an object of desire. Plenty
of other lads might no doubt be had,
on as reasonable terms as Lenny
Fairfield; but the moment Lenny
presumed to baffle the Italian's designs
upon him, the special acquisition
of Lenny became of paramount
importance in the eyes of Signor
Riccabocca.</p>

<p>Jackeymo, however, lost all his
interest in the traps, snares, and gins
which his master proposed to lay for
Leonard Fairfield, in the more immediate
surprise that awaited him on
learning that Dr Riccabocca had accepted
an invitation to pass a few days
at the Hall.</p>

<p>"There will be no one there but
the family," said Riccabocca. "Poor
Giacomo, a little chat in the servants'
hall will do you good; and the
Squire's beef is more nourishing, after
all, than the sticklebacks and minnows.
It will lengthen your life."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_628" id="Page_628">[Pg 628]</a></span></p>

<p>"The Padrone jests," said
Jackeymo statelily, "as if any one
could starve in his service."</p>

<p>"Um," said Riccabocca. "At
least, faithful friend, you have tried
that experiment as far as human
nature will permit;" and he extended
his hand to his fellow-exile with that
familiarity which exists between servant
and master in the usages of the
Continent. Jackeymo bent low, and
a tear fell upon the hand he kissed.</p>

<p>"<i>Cospetto!</i>" said Dr Riccabocca,
"a thousand mock pearls do not make
up the cost of a single true one! The
tears of women, we know their worth;
but the tear of an honest man&mdash;Fie,
Giacomo!&mdash;at least I can never repay
you this! Go and see to our
wardrobe."</p>

<p>So far is his master's wardrobe was
concerned, that order was pleasing to
Jackeymo; for the Doctor had in his
drawers suits which Jackeymo pronounced
to be as good as new, though
many a long year had passed since
they left the tailor's hands. But
when Jackeymo came to examine the
state of his own clothing department,
his face grew considerably longer. It
was not that he was without other
clothes than those on his back&mdash;quantity
was there, but the quality!
Mournfully he gazed on two suits,
complete in the three separate members
of which man's raiments are
composed: the one suit extended at
length upon his bed, like a veteran
stretched by pious hands after death;
the other brought piecemeal to the
invidious light&mdash;the <i>torso</i> placed upon
a chair, the limbs dangling down from
Jackeymo's melancholy arm. No
bodies long exposed at the Morgue
could evince less sign of resuscitation
than those respectable defuncts!
For, indeed, Jackeymo had been less
thrifty of his apparel&mdash;more <i>profusus
sui</i>&mdash;than his master. In the earliest
days of their exile, he preserved the
decorous habit of dressing for dinner&mdash;it
was a respect due to the Padrone&mdash;and
that habit had lasted till the
two habits on which it necessarily
depended had evinced the first symptoms
of decay; then the evening
clothes had been taken into morning
wear, in which hard service they had
breathed their last.</p>

<p>The Doctor, notwithstanding his
general philosophical abstraction from
such household details, had more than
once said, rather in pity to Jackeymo,
than with an eye to that respectability
which the costume of the servant reflects
on the dignity of the master&mdash;"Giacomo,
thou wantest clothes: fit
thyself out of mine!"</p>

<p>And Jackeymo had bowed his gratitude,
as if the donation had been
accepted: but the fact was, that that
same fitting-out was easier said than
done. For though&mdash;thanks to an existence
mainly upon sticklebacks and
minnows&mdash;both Jackeymo and Riccabocca
had arrived at that state which
the longevity of misers proves to be
most healthful to the human frame,&mdash;viz.,
skin and bone&mdash;yet, the bones
contained in the skin of Riccabocca
all took longitudinal directions; while
those in the skin of Jackeymo spread
out latitudinally. And you might as
well have made the bark of a Lombardy
poplar serve for the trunk of
some dwarfed and pollarded oak&mdash;in
whose hollow the Babes of the Wood
could have slept at their ease&mdash;as
have fitted out Jackeymo from the
garb of Riccabocca. Moreover, if the
skill of the tailor could have accomplished
that undertaking, the faithful
Jackeymo would never have had the
heart to avail himself of the generosity
of his master. He had a sort of
religious sentiment, too, about those
vestments of the Padrone. The
ancients, we know, when escaping
from shipwreck, suspended in the
votive temple the garments in which
they had struggled through the wave.
Jackeymo looked on those relics of
the past with a kindred superstition.
"This coat the Padrone wore on such
an occasion. I remember the very
evening the Padrone last put on those
pantaloons!" And coat and pantaloons
were tenderly dusted, and carefully
restored to their sacred rest.</p>

<p>But now, after all, what was to
be done? Jackeymo was much too
proud to exhibit his person, to the
eyes of the Squire's butler, in habiliments
discreditable to himself and the
Padrone. In the midst of his perplexity
the bell rang, and he went
down into the parlour.</p>

<p>Riccabocca was standing on the
hearth under his symbolical representation
of the "Patri&aelig; Exul."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_629" id="Page_629">[Pg 629]</a></span></p>

<p>"Giacomo," quoth he, "I have
been thinking that thou hast never
done what I told thee, and fitted thyself
out from my superfluities. But we
are going now into the great world:
visiting once begun, Heaven knows
where it may stop! Go to the nearest
town and get thyself clothes.
Things are dear in England. Will this
suffice?" And Riccabocca extended
a &pound;5 note.</p>

<p>Jackeymo, we have seen, was more
familiar with his master than we formal
English permit our domestics to
be with us. But in his familiarity he
was usually respectful. This time,
however, respect deserted him.</p>

<p>"The Padrone is mad!" he exclaimed;
"he would fling away his
whole fortune if I would let him. Five
pounds English, or a hundred and
twenty-six pounds Milanese!<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Santa
Maria! Unnatural father! And what
is to become of the poor Signorina?
Is this the way you are to marry her
in the foreign land?"</p>

<p>"Giacomo," said Riccabocca, bowing
his head to the storm; "the Signorina
to-morrow; to-day, the honour
of the house. Thy small-clothes,
Giacomo. Miserable man, thy small-clothes!"</p>

<p>"It is just," said Jackeymo, recovering
himself, and with humility;
"and the Padrone does right to blame
me, but not in so cruel a way. It is
just&mdash;the Padrone lodges and boards
me, and gives me handsome wages,
and he has a right to expect that I
should not go in this figure."</p>

<p>"For the board and the lodgment,
good," said Riccabocca. "For the
handsome wages, they are the visions
of thy fancy!"</p>

<p>"They are no such thing," said
Jackeymo, "they are only in arrear.
As if the Padrone could not pay them
some day or other&mdash;as if I was demeaning
myself by serving a master
who did not intend to pay his servants!
And can't I wait? Have I
not my savings too? But be cheered,
be cheered; you shall be contented
with me. I have two beautiful suits
still. I was arranging them when you
rang for me. You shall see, you shall
see."</p>

<p>And Jackeymo hurried from the
room, hurried back into his own chamber,
unlocked a little trunk which he
kept at his bed head, tossed out a
variety of small articles, and from the
deepest depth extracted a leathern
purse. He emptied the contents on
the bed. They were chiefly Italian
coins, some five-franc pieces, a silver
medallion enclosing a little image of
his patron saint&mdash;San Giacomo&mdash;one
solid English guinea, and two or three
pounds' worth in English silver.
Jackeymo put back the foreign coins,
saying prudently, "One will lose on
them here;" he seized the English
coins, and counted them out. "But
are you enough, you rascals?" quoth
he angrily, giving them a good shake.
His eye caught sight of the medallion&mdash;he
paused; and after eyeing the
tiny representation of the saint with
great deliberation, he added, in a sentence
which he must have picked up
from the proverbial aphorisms of his
master&mdash;</p>

<p>"What's the difference between
the enemy who does not hurt me, and
the friend who does not serve me?
<i>Monsignore San Giacomo</i>, my patron
saint, you are of very little use to me
in the leathern bag. But if you help me
to get into a new pair of small-clothes
on this important occasion, you will be
a friend indeed. <i>Alla bisogna, Monsignore.</i>"
Then, gravely kissing the
medallion, he thrust it into one pocket,
the coins into the other, made up a
bundle of the two defunct suits, and,
muttering to himself, "Beast, miser
that I am, to disgrace the Padrone,
with all these savings in his service!"
ran down stairs into his pantry,
caught up his hat and stick, and in a
few moments more was seen trudging
off to the neighbouring town of L&mdash;&mdash;.</p>

<p>Apparently the poor Italian succeeded,
for he came back that evening
in time to prepare the thin gruel which
made his master's supper, with a suit
of black&mdash;a little threadbare, but still
highly respectable&mdash;two shirt fronts,
and two white cravats. But, out of
all this finery, Jackeymo held the
small-clothes in especial veneration;
for as they had cost exactly what the
medallion had sold for, so it seemed
to him that San Giacomo had heard
his prayer in that quarter to which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_630" id="Page_630">[Pg 630]</a></span>
he had more exclusively directed the
saint's direction. The other habiliments
came to him in the merely human
process of sale and barter; the
small-clothes were the personal gratuity
of San Giacomo!</p>


<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>

<p>Life has been subjected to many ingenious
comparisons; and if we do
not understand it any better, it is not
for want of what is called "reasoning
by illustration." Amongst other resemblances,
there are moments when,
to a quiet contemplator, it suggests
the image of one of those rotatory
entertainments commonly seen in
fairs, all known by the name of
"whirligigs or roundabouts," in which
each participator of the pastime, seated
on his hobby, is always apparently
in the act of pursuing some
one before him, while he is pursued
by some one behind. Man, and woman
too, are naturally animals of
chase; the greatest still finds something
to follow, and there is no one
too humble not to be an object of prey
to another. Thus, confining our view
to the village of Hazeldean, we behold
in this whirligig Dr Riccabocca spurring
his hobby after Lenny Fairfield;
and Miss Jemima, on her decorous
side-saddle, whipping after Dr Riccabocca.
Why, with so long and intimate
a conviction of the villany of our
sex, Miss Jemima should resolve upon
giving the male animal one more
chance of redeeming itself in her eyes,
I leave to the explanation of those
gentlemen who profess to find "their
only hooks in woman's looks" Perhaps
it might be from the over-tenderness
and clemency of Miss Jemima's
nature; perhaps it might be
that, as yet, she had only experienced
the villany of man born and reared in
these cold northern climates; and in
the land of Petrarch and Romeo, of
the citron and myrtle, there was reason
to expect that the native monster
would be more amenable to gentle influences,
less obstinately hardened in
his iniquities. Without entering farther
into these hypotheses, it is sufficient
to say, that on Signor Riccabocca's
appearance in the drawing-room,
at Hazeldean, Miss Jemima
felt more than ever rejoiced that she
had relaxed in his favour her general
hostility to man. In truth, though
Frank saw something quizzical in
the old-fashioned and outlandish cut
of the Italian's sober dress; in his
long hair, and the <i>chapeau bras</i>, over
which he bowed so gracefully, and
then pressed it, as if to his heart, before
tucking it under his arm, after
the fashion in which the gizzard reposes
under the wing of a roasted
pullet; yet it was impossible that even
Frank could deny to Riccabocca that
praise which is due to the air and
manner of all unmistakeable gentleman.
And certainly as, after dinner,
conversation grew more familiar, and
the Parson and Mrs Dale, who had
been invited to meet their friend, did
their best to draw him out, his talk,
though sometimes a little too wise for
his listeners, became eminently animated
and agreeable. It was the
conversation of a man who, besides
the knowledge which is acquired from
books and life, had studied the art
which becomes a gentleman&mdash;that of
pleasing in polite society. Riccabocca,
however, had more than this art&mdash;he
had one which is often less innocent&mdash;the
art of penetrating into the weak
side of his associates, and of saying
the exact thing which hits it plump
in the middle, with the careless air of
a random shot.</p>

<p>The result was, that all were
charmed with him; and that even Captain
Barnabas postponed the whist-table
for a full hour after the usual
time. The Doctor did not play&mdash;he
thus became the property of the two
ladies, Miss Jemima, and Mrs Dale.</p>

<p>Seated between the two, in the place
rightfully appertaining to Flimsey,
who this time was fairly dislodged, to
her great wonder and discontent, the
Doctor was the emblem of true
Domestic Felicity, placed between
Friendship and Love.</p>

<p>Friendship, as became her, worked
quietly at the embroidered pocket-handkerchief,
and left Love to its
more animated operations. "You,
must be very lonely at the Casino,"
said Love, in a sympathising tone.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_631" id="Page_631">[Pg 631]</a></span></p>

<p>"Madam," replied Riccabocca,
gallantly, "I shall think so when I
leave you."</p>

<p>Friendship cast a sly glance at
Love&mdash;Love blushed or looked down
on the carpet, which comes to the
same thing. "Yet," began Love
again&mdash;"yet solitude, to a feeling
heart&mdash;"</p>

<p>Riccabocca thought of the note of
invitation, and involuntarily buttoned
his coat, as if to protect the individual
organ thus alarmingly referred to.</p>

<p>"Solitude, to a feeling heart, has
its charms. It is so hard even for us,
poor ignorant women, to find a congenial
companion&mdash;but for <i>you</i>!"
Love stopped short, as if it had said
too much, and smelt confusedly at its
bouquet.</p>

<p>Dr Riccabocca cautiously lowered
his spectacles, and darted one glance,
which, with the rapidity and comprehensiveness
of lightning, seemed to
envelope and take in it, as it were,
the whole inventory of Miss Jemima's
personal attractions. Now, Miss Jemima,
as I have before observed, had
a mild and pensive expression of
countenance, and she would have
been positively pretty had the mildness
looked a little more alert, and
the pensiveness somewhat less lackadaisical.
In fact, though Miss Jemima
was constitutionally mild, she was not
<i>de natur&acirc;</i> pensive; she had too much
of the Hazeldean blood in her veins
for that sullen and viscid humour
called melancholy, and therefore this
assumption of pensiveness really spoilt
her character of features, which only
wanted to be lighted up by a cheerful
smile to be extremely prepossessing.
The same remark might apply to the
figure, which&mdash;thanks to the same
pensiveness&mdash;lost all the undulating
grace which movement and animation
bestow on the fluent curves of the
feminine form. The figure was a
good figure, examined in detail&mdash;a
little thin, perhaps, but by no means
emaciated&mdash;with just and elegant
proportions, and naturally light and
flexible. But that same unfortunate
pensiveness gave the whole a character
of inertness and languor; and
when Miss Jemima reclined on the
sofa, so complete seemed the relaxation
of nerve and muscle, that you
would have thought she had lost the
use of her limbs. Over her face and
form, thus defrauded of the charms
Providence had bestowed on them,
Dr Riccabocca's eye glanced rapidly;
and then moving nearer to Mrs Dale&mdash;"Defend
me" (he stopped a moment,
and added,) "from the charge
of not being able to appreciate congenial
companionship."</p>

<p>"Oh, I did not say that!" cried
Miss Jemima.</p>

<p>"Pardon me," said the Italian, "if
I am so dull as to misunderstand you.
One may well lose one's head, at
least, in such a neighbourhood as
this." He rose as he spoke, and bent
over Frank's shoulder to examine
some Views of Italy, which Miss
Jemima (with what, if wholly unselfish,
would have been an attention
truly delicate) had extracted from the
library in order to gratify the guest.</p>

<p>"Most interesting creature, indeed,"
sighed Miss Jemima, "but
too&mdash;too flattering!"</p>

<p>"Tell me," said Mrs Dale gravely,
"do you think, love, that you could
put off the end of the world a little
longer, or must we make haste in
order to be in time?"</p>

<p>"How wicked you are!" said Miss
Jemima, turning aside.</p>

<p>Some few minutes afterwards, Mrs
Dale contrived it so that Dr Riccabocca
and herself were in a farther
corner of the room, looking at a picture
said to be by Wouvermans.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Dale.</span>&mdash;"She is very amiable,
Jemima, is she not?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Riccabocca.</span>&mdash;"Exceedingly so.
Very fine battle-piece!"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Dale.</span>&mdash;"So kind-hearted."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Riccabocca.</span>&mdash;"All ladies are.
How naturally that warrior makes
his desperate cut at the runaway!"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Dale.</span>&mdash;"She is not what is
called regularly handsome, but she
has something very winning."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Riccabocca</span>, with a smile.&mdash;"So
winning, that it is strange she is not
won. That gray mare in the foreground
stands out very boldly!"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Dale</span>, distrusting the smile of
Riccabocca, and throwing in a more
effective grape charge.&mdash;"Not won
yet; and it is strange!&mdash;she will have
a very pretty fortune."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Riccabocca.</span>&mdash;"Ah!"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Dale.</span>&mdash;"Six thousand
pounds, I daresay&mdash;certainly four."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_632" id="Page_632">[Pg 632]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Riccabocca</span>, suppressing a sigh,
and with his wonted address.&mdash;"If
Mrs Dale were still single, she would
never need a friend to say what her
portion might be; but Miss Jemima
is so good that I am quite sure it is
not Miss Jemima's fault that she is
still&mdash;Miss Jemima!"</p>

<p>The foreigner slipped away as he
spoke, and sate himself down beside
the whist-players.</p>

<p>Mrs Dale was disappointed, but
certainly not offended.&mdash;"It would
be such a good thing for both," muttered
she, almost inaudibly.</p>

<p>"Giacomo," said Riccabocca, as he
was undressing, that night, in the
large, comfortable, well-carpeted English
bedroom, with that great English
four-posted bed in the recess which
seems made to shame folks out of
single-blessedness&mdash;"Giacomo, I have
had this evening the offer of probably
six thousand pounds&mdash;certainly
of four thousand."</p>

<p>"<i>Cosa meravigliosa!</i>" exclaimed
Jackeymo&mdash;"miraculous thing!" and
he crossed himself with great fervour.
"Six thousand pounds English! why,
that must be a hundred thousand&mdash;blockhead
that I am!&mdash;more than a
hundred and fifty thousand pounds
Milanese!" And Jackeymo, who was
considerably enlivened by the Squire's
ale, commenced a series of gesticulations
and capers, in the midst of which
he stopped and cried, "But not for
nothing?"</p>

<p>"Nothing! no!"</p>

<p>"These mercenary English!&mdash;the
Government wants to bribe you."</p>

<p>"That's not it."</p>

<p>"The priests want you to turn
heretic."</p>

<p>"Worse than that," said the philosopher.</p>

<p>"Worse than that! O Padrone!
for shame!"</p>

<p>"Don't be a fool, but pull off my
pantaloons&mdash;they want me never to
wear <i>these</i> again!"</p>

<p>"Never to wear what?" exclaimed
Jackeymo, staring outright at his
master's long legs in their linen drawers&mdash;"never
to wear&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The breeches," said Riccabocca
laconically.</p>

<p>"The barbarians!" faltered Jackeymo.</p>

<p>"My nightcap!&mdash;and never to have
any comfort in this," said Riccabocca,
drawing on the cotton head-gear;
"and never to have any sound sleep
in that," pointing to the four-posted
bed. "And to be a bondsman and
a slave," continued Riccabocca, waxing
wroth; "and to be wheedled and
purred at, and pawed, and clawed,
and scolded, and fondled, and blinded,
and deafened, and bridled, and saddled&mdash;bedevilled
and&mdash;married."</p>

<p>"Married!" said Jackeymo, more
dispassionately&mdash;"that's very bad,
certainly; but more than a hundred
and fifty thousand <i>lire</i>, and perhaps a
pretty young lady, and"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Pretty young lady!" growled
Riccabocca, jumping into bed and
drawing the clothes fiercely over him.
"Put out the candle, and get along
with you&mdash;do, you villanous old incendiary!"</p>


<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>

<p>It was not many days since the resurrection
of those ill-omened stocks,
and it was evident already, to an ordinary
observer, that something wrong
had got into the village. The peasants
wore a sullen expression of
countenance; when the Squire passed,
they took off their hats with more
than ordinary formality, but they did
not return the same broad smile to
his quick, hearty "Good day, my
man." The women peered at him
from the threshold or the casement,
but did not, as was their wont, (at
least the wont of the prettiest,) take
occasion to come out to catch his
passing compliment on their own good
looks, or their tidy cottages. And
the children, who used to play after
work on the site of the old stocks,
now shunned the place, and, indeed,
seemed to cease play altogether.</p>

<p>On the other hand, no man likes to
build, or rebuild, a great public work
for nothing. Now that the Squire
had resuscitated the stocks, and made
them so exceedingly handsome, it
was natural that he should wish to
put somebody into them. Moreover,
his pride and self-esteem had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_633" id="Page_633">[Pg 633]</a></span>
wounded by the Parson's opposition;
and it would be a justification to his
own forethought, and a triumph over
the Parson's understanding, if he could
satisfactorily and practically establish
a proof that the stocks had not
been repaired before they were wanted.</p>

<p>Therefore, unconsciously to himself,
there was something about the Squire
more burly, and authoritative, and
menacing than heretofore. Old Gaffer
Solomons observed, "that they had
better mind well what they were
about, for that the Squire had a wicked
look in the tail of his eye&mdash;just as the
dun bull had afore it tossed neighbour
Barnes's little boy."</p>

<p>For two or three days these mute
signs of something brewing in the
atmosphere had been rather noticeable
than noticed, without any positive
overt act of tyranny on the one
hand, or rebellion on the other. But
on the very Saturday night in which
Dr Riccabocca was installed in the
four-posted bed in the chintz chamber,
the threatened revolution commenced.
In the dead of that night, personal
outrage was committed on the stocks.
And on the Sunday morning, Mr
Stirn, who was the earliest riser in
the parish, perceived, in going to the
farmyard, that the nob of the column
that flanked the board had been
feloniously broken off; that the four
holes were bunged up with mud; and
that some Jacobinical villain had
carved, on the very centre of the
flourish or scroll work, "Dam the
stoks!" Mr Stirn was much too
vigilant a right-hand man, much too
zealous a friend of law and order, not
to regard such proceedings with horror
and alarm. And when the Squire
came into his dressing-room at half-past
seven, his butler (who fulfilled
also the duties of valet) informed him,
with a mysterious air, that Mr Stirn
had something "very partikler to communicate,
about a most howdacious
midnight 'spiracy and 'sault."</p>

<p>The Squire stared, and bade Mr
Stirn be admitted.</p>

<p>"Well?" cried the Squire, suspending
the operation of stropping his
razor.</p>

<p>Mr Stirn groaned.</p>

<p>"Well, man, what now?"</p>

<p>"I never knowed such a thing in
this here parish afore," began Mr
Stirn, "and I can only 'count for it
by s'posing that them foreign Papishers
have been semminating"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Been what?"</p>

<p>"Semminating"&mdash;</p>

<p>"Disseminating, you blockhead&mdash;disseminating
what?"</p>

<p>"Damn the stocks," began Mr
Stirn, plunging right <i>in medias res</i>,
and by a fine use of one of the noblest
figures in rhetoric.</p>

<p>"Mr Stirn!" cried the Squire, reddening,
"did you say 'Damn the
stocks?'&mdash;damn my new handsome
pair of stocks!"</p>

<p>"Lord forbid, sir; that's what <i>they</i>
say: that's what they have digged on
it with knives and daggers, and they
have stuffed mud in its four holes, and
broken the capital of the elewation."</p>

<p>The Squire took the napkin off his
shoulder, laid down strop and razor;
he seated himself in his arm-chair
majestically, crossed his legs, and in
a voice that affected tranquillity,
said&mdash;</p>

<p>"Compose yourself, Stirn; you
have a deposition to make, touching
an assault upon&mdash;can I trust my
senses?&mdash;upon my new stocks. Compose
yourself&mdash;be calm. NOW!
What the devil is come to the parish?"</p>

<p>"Ah, sir, what indeed?" replied
Mr Stirn; and then, laying the forefinger
of the right hand on the palm
of the left, he narrated the case.</p>

<p>"And whom do you suspect? Be
calm now, don't speak in a passion.
You are a witness, sir&mdash;a dispassionate,
unprejudiced witness. Zounds
and fury! this is the most insolent,
unprovoked, diabolical&mdash;but whom do
you suspect, I say?"</p>

<p>Stirn twirled his hat, elevated his
eyebrows, jerked his thumb over his
shoulder, and whispered&mdash;"I hear as
how the two Papishers slept at your
honour's last night."</p>

<p>"What, dolt! do you suppose Dr
Rickeybockey got out of his warm bed
to bung up the holes in my new
stocks?"</p>

<p>"Noa; he's too cunning to do it
himself, but he may have been semminating.
He's mighty thick with
Parson Dale, and your honour knows
as how the Parson set his face again
the stocks. Wait a bit, sir&mdash;don't
fly at me yet. There be a boy in this
here parish"&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_634" id="Page_634">[Pg 634]</a></span></p>

<p>"A boy!&mdash;ah, fool, now you are
nearer the mark. The Parson write
'Damn the stocks,' indeed! What
boy do you mean?"</p>

<p>"And that boy be cockered up
much by Mister Dale; and the
Papisher went and sat with him and
his mother a whole hour t'other day;
and that boy is as deep as a well;
and I seed him lurking about the
place, and hiding hisself under the
tree the day the stocks was put up&mdash;and
that ere boy is Lenny Fairfield."</p>

<p>"Whew," said the Squire, whistling,
"you have not your usual senses
about you to-day, man. Lenny
Fairfield&mdash;pattern boy of the village.
Hold your tongue. I dare say it is
not done by any one in the parish,
after all; some good-for-nothing vagrant&mdash;that
cursed tinker, who goes
about with a very vicious donkey&mdash;whom,
by the way, I caught picking
thistles out of the very eyes of the
old stocks! Shows how the tinker
brings up his donkeys! Well, keep
a sharp look-out. To-day is Sunday;
worst day of the week, I'm sorry and
ashamed to say, for rows and depredations.
Between the services, and
after evening church, there are always
idle fellows from all the neighbouring
country about, as you know too well.
Depend on it, the real culprits will be
found gathering round the stocks, and
will betray themselves: have your
eyes, ears, and wits about you, and
I've no doubt we shall come to the
rights of the matter before the day's
out. And if we do," added the Squire,
"we'll make an example of the ruffian!"</p>

<p>"In course," said Stirn; "and if
we don't find him, we must make an
example all the same. That's where
it is, sir. That's why the stocks
ben't respected; they has not had an
example yet&mdash;we wants an example."</p>

<p>"On my word, I believe that's very
true; and the first idle fellow you
catch in anything wrong we'll clap in,
and keep him there for two hours at
least."</p>

<p>"With the biggest pleasure, your
honour&mdash;that's what it is."</p>

<p>And Mr Stirn, having now got what
he considered a complete and unconditional
authority over all the legs and
wrists of Hazeldean parish, <i>quoad</i> the
stocks, took his departure.</p>


<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>

<p>"Randal," said Mrs Leslie, on
this memorable Sunday&mdash;"Randal,
do you think of going to Mr Hazeldean's?"</p>

<p>"Yes, ma'am," answered Randal.
"Mr Egerton does not object to it;
and as I do not return to Eton, I may
have no other opportunity of seeing
Frank for some time. I ought not to
fail in respect to Mr Egerton's natural
heir!"</p>

<p>"Gracious me!" cried Mrs Leslie,
who, like many women of her cast
and kind, had a sort of worldliness in
her notions, which she never evinced
in her conduct&mdash;"gracious me!&mdash;natural
heir to the old Leslie property!"</p>

<p>"He is Mr Egerton's nephew,
and," added Randal, ingenuously letting
out his thoughts, "I am no relation
to Mr Egerton at all."</p>

<p>"But," said poor Mrs Leslie, with
tears in her eyes, "it would be a shame
in the man, after paying your schooling
and sending you to Oxford, and
having you to stay with him in the
holidays, if he did not mean anything
by it."</p>

<p>"Anything, mother&mdash;yes&mdash;but not
the thing you suppose. No matter.
It is enough that he has armed me for
life, and I shall use the weapons as
seems to me best."</p>

<p>Here the dialogue was suspended,
by the entrance of the other members
of the family, dressed for church.</p>

<p>"It can't be time for church! No!
it can't!" exclaimed Mrs Leslie. She
was never in time for anything.</p>

<p>"Last bell ringing," said Mr Leslie,
who, though a slow man, was methodical
and punctual. Mrs Leslie made
a frantic rush at the door, the Montfydget
blood being now in a blaze&mdash;whirled
up the stairs&mdash;gained her
room, tore her best bonnet from the
peg, snatched her newest shawl from
the drawers, crushed the bonnet on her
head, flung the shawl on her shoulders,
thrust a desperate pin into its folds,
in order to conceal a buttonless yawn
in the body of her gown, and then flew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_635" id="Page_635">[Pg 635]</a></span>
back like a whirlwind. Meanwhile
the family were already out of doors,
in waiting; and just as the bell ceased,
the procession moved from the shabby
house to the dilapidated church.</p>

<p>The church was a large one, but
the congregation was small, and so
was the income of the Parson. It was
a lay rectory, and the great tithes had
belonged to the Leslies, but they had
been long since sold. The vicarage,
still in their gift, might be worth a
little more than &pound;100 a-year. The
present incumbent had nothing else to
live upon. He was a good man, and
not originally a stupid one; but penury
and the anxious cares for wife and
family, combined with what may be
called <i>solitary confinement</i> for the cultivated
mind, when, amidst the two-legged
creatures round, it sees no
other cultivated mind with which it
can exchange an extra-parochial
thought&mdash;had lulled him into a lazy
mournfulness, which at times was
very like imbecility. His income
allowed him to do no good to the parish,
whether in work, trade, or charity;
and thus he had no moral weight with
the parishioners beyond the example
of his sinless life, and such negative
effect as might be produced by his
slumberous exhortations. Therefore
his parishioners troubled him very
little; and but for the influence which,
in hours of Montfydget activity, Mrs
Leslie exercised over the most tractable&mdash;that
is, the children and the
aged&mdash;not half-a-dozen persons would
have known or cared whether he shut
up his church or not.</p>

<p>But our family were seated in state
in their old seignorial pew, and Mr
Dumdrum, with a nasal twang, went
lugubriously through the prayers; and
the old people who could sin no more,
and the children who had not yet
learned to sin, croaked forth responses
that might have come from the choral
frogs in Aristophanes. And there
was a long sermon <i>apropos</i> to nothing
which could possibly interest the congregation&mdash;being,
in fact, some controversial
homily, which Mr Dumdrum
had composed and preached
years before. And when this discourse
was over, there was a loud universal
grunt, as if of release and
thanksgiving, and a great clatter of
shoes&mdash;and the old hobbled, and the
young scrambled, to the church
door.</p>

<p>Immediately after church, the Leslie
family dined; and, as soon as dinner
was over, Randal set out on his foot
journey to Hazeldean Hall.</p>

<p>Delicate and even feeble though his
frame, he had the energy and quickness
of movement which belongs to
nervous temperaments; and he tasked
the slow stride of a peasant, whom he
took to serve him as a guide for the
first two or three miles. Though
Randal had not the gracious open
manner with the poor which Frank
inherited from his father, he was still
(despite many a secret hypocritical
vice, at war with the character of a
gentleman) gentleman enough to have
no churlish pride to his inferiors. He
talked little, but he suffered his guide
to talk; and the boor, who was the
same whom Frank had accosted, indulged
in eulogistic comments on that
young gentleman's pony, from which
he diverged into some compliments on
the young gentleman himself. Randal
drew his hat over his brows.
There is a wonderful tact and fine
breeding in your agricultural peasant;
and though Tom Stowell was but a
brutish specimen of the class, he suddenly
perceived that he was giving
pain. He paused, scratched his head,
and glancing affectionately towards
his companion, exclaimed&mdash;</p>

<p>"But I shall live to see you on a
handsomer beastis than that little
pony, Master Randal; and sure I
ought, for you be as good a gentleman
as any in the land."</p>

<p>"Thank you," said Randal. "But
I like walking better than riding&mdash;I
am more used to it."</p>

<p>"Well, and you walk bra'ly&mdash;there
ben't a better walker in the county.
And very pleasant it is walking; and
'tis a pretty country afore you, all the
way to the Hall."</p>

<p>Randal strode on, as if impatient of
these attempts to flatter or to soothe;
and, coming at length into a broader
lane, said&mdash;"I think I can find my
way now. Many thanks to you, Tom;"
and he forced a shilling into Tom's
horny palm. The man took it reluctantly,
and a tear started to his eye.
He felt more grateful for that shilling
than he had for Frank's liberal half-crown;
and he thought of the poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_636" id="Page_636">[Pg 636]</a></span>
fallen family, and forgot his own dire
wrestle with the wolf at his door.</p>

<p>He staid lingering in the lane till
the figure of Randal was out of sight,
and then returned slowly. Young
Leslie continued to walk on at a quick
pace. With all his intellectual culture,
and his restless aspirations, his
breast afforded him no thought so
generous, no sentiment so poetic, as
those with which the unlettered clown
crept slouchingly homeward.</p>

<p>As Randal gained a point where
several lanes met on a broad piece of
waste land, he began to feel tired, and
his step slackened. Just then a gig
emerged from one of these by-roads,
and took the same direction as the
pedestrian. The road was rough and
hilly, and the driver proceeded at a
foot's-pace; so that the gig and the
pedestrian went pretty well abreast.</p>

<p>"You seem tired, sir," said the
driver, a stout young farmer of the
higher class of tenants, and he looked
down compassionately on the boy's
pale countenance and weary stride.
"Perhaps we are going the same way,
and I can give you a lift?"</p>

<p>It was Randal's habitual policy to
make use of every advantage proffered
to him, and he accepted the proposal
frankly enough to please the honest
farmer.</p>

<p>"A nice day, sir," said the latter,
as Randal sat by his side. "Have
you come far?"</p>

<p>"From Rood Hall."</p>

<p>"Oh, you be young Squire Leslie,"
said the farmer, more respectfully,
and lifting his hat.</p>

<p>"Yes, my name is Leslie. You
know Rood, then?"</p>

<p>"I was brought up on your father's
land, sir. You may have heard of
Farmer Bruce?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal.</span>&mdash;"I remember, when I
was a little boy, a Mr Bruce, who
rented, I believe, the best part of our
land, and who used to bring us cakes
when he called to see my father. He
is a relation of yours?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Bruce.</span>&mdash;"He was my
uncle. He is dead now, poor man."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal.</span>&mdash;"Dead! I am grieved
to hear it. He was very kind to us
children. But it is long since he left
my father's farm."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Bruce</span>, apologetically.&mdash;"I
am sure he was very sorry to go.
But, you see, he had an unexpected
legacy&mdash;"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal.</span>&mdash;"And retired from business?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Bruce.</span>&mdash;"No. But,
having capital, he could afford to pay
a good rent for a real good farm."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal</span>, bitterly.&mdash;"All capital
seems to fly from the lands of Rood.
And whose farm did he take?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Bruce.</span>&mdash;"He took Hawleigh,
under Squire Hazeldean. I
rent it now. We've laid out a power
o' money on it. But I don't complain.
It pays well."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal.</span>&mdash;"Would the money
have paid as well, sunk on my father's
land?"</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Bruce.</span>&mdash;"Perhaps it
might, in the long run. But then,
sir, we wanted new premises&mdash;barns
and cattle-sheds, and a deal more&mdash;which
the landlord should do; but it
is not every landlord as can afford
that. Squire Hazeldean's a rich
man."</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Randal.</span>&mdash;"Ay!"</p>

<p>The road now became pretty good,
and the farmer put his horse into a
brisk trot.</p>

<p>"But which way be you going,
sir? I don't care for a few miles
more or less, if I can be of service."</p>

<p>"I am going to Hazeldean," said
Randal, rousing himself from a reverie.
"Don't let me take you out
of your way."</p>

<p>"Oh, Hawleigh Farm is on the
other side of the village, so it be quite
my way, sir."</p>

<p>The farmer then, who was really a
smart young fellow&mdash;one of that race
which the application of capital to
land has produced, and which, in
point of education and refinement, are
at least on a par with the squires of
a former generation&mdash;began to talk
about his handsome horse, about horses
in general, about hunting and coursing:
he handled all these subjects
with spirit, yet with modesty. Randal
pulled his hat still lower down
over his brows, and did not interrupt
him till past the Casino, when, struck
by the classic air of the place, and
catching a scent from the orange trees,
the boy asked abruptly&mdash;"Whose
house is that?"</p>

<p>"Oh, it belongs to Squire Hazeldean,
but it is let or lent to a foreign<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_637" id="Page_637">[Pg 637]</a></span>
Mounseer. They say he is quite the
gentleman, but uncommonly poor."</p>

<p>"Poor," said Randal, turning back
to gaze on the trim garden, the neat
terrace, the pretty belvidere, and (the
door of the house being open) catching
a glimpse of the painted hall within&mdash;"poor,
the place seems well kept.
What do you call poor, Mr Bruce?"</p>

<p>The farmer laughed. "Well, that's
a home question, sir. But I believe
the Mounseer is as poor as a man can
be who makes no debts and does not
actually starve."</p>

<p>"As poor as my father?" asked
Randal openly and abruptly.</p>

<p>"Lord, sir! your father be a very
rich man compared to him."</p>

<p>Randal continued to gaze, and his
mind's eye conjured up the contrast of
his slovenly shabby home, with all its
neglected appurtenances! No trim
garden at Rood Hall, no scent from
odorous orange blossoms. Here
poverty at least was elegant&mdash;there,
how squalid! He did not comprehend
at how cheap a rate the luxury of the
Beautiful can be effected. They now
approached the extremity of the
Squire's park pales; and Randal, seeing
a little gate, bade the farmer stop
his gig, and descended. The boy
plunged amidst the thick oak groves;
the farmer went his way blithely, and
his mellow merry whistle came to
Randal's moody ear as he glided quick
under the shadow of the trees.</p>

<p>He arrived at the Hall, to find that
all the family were at church; and,
according to the patriarchal custom,
the church-going family embraced
nearly all the servants. It was therefore
an old invalid housemaid who
opened the door to him. She was
rather deaf, and seemed so stupid that
Randal did not ask leave to enter and
wait for Frank's return. He therefore
said briefly that he would just
stroll on the lawn, and call again when
church was over.</p>

<p>The old woman stared, and strove
to hear him; meanwhile Randal turned
round abruptly, and sauntered towards
the garden side of the handsome old
house.</p>

<p>There was enough to attract any
eye in the smooth greensward of the
spacious lawn&mdash;in the numerous parterres
of varying flowers&mdash;in the
venerable grandeur of the two mighty
cedars, which threw their still shadows
over the grass&mdash;and in the picturesque
building, with its projecting mullions
and heavy gables; yet I fear that it
was with no poet's nor painter's eye
that this young old man gazed on the
scene before him.</p>

<p>He beheld the evidence of wealth&mdash;and
the envy of wealth jaundiced his
soul.</p>

<p>Folding his arms on his breast, he
stood awhile, looking all around him
with closed lips and lowering brow;
then he walked slowly on, his eyes
fixed on the ground, and muttered
to himself&mdash;</p>

<p>"The heir to this property is little
better than a dunce; and they tell me
I have talents and learning, and I
have taken to my heart the maxim,
'Knowledge is power.' And yet, with
all my struggles, will knowledge ever
place me on the same level as that on
which this dunce is born? I don't
wonder that the poor should hate the
rich. But of all the poor, who should
hate the rich like the pauper gentleman?
I suppose Audley Egerton
means me to come into Parliament,
and be a Tory like himself. What!
keep things as they are! No; for me
not even Democracy, unless there
first come Revolution. I understand
the cry of a Marat&mdash;'More blood!'
Marat had lived as a poor man, and
cultivated science&mdash;in the sight of a
prince's palace."</p>

<p>He turned sharply round, and glared
vindictively on the poor old hall, which,
though a very comfortable habitation,
was certainly no palace; and with his
arms still folded on his breast, he
walked backward, as if not to lose the
view, nor the chain of ideas it conjured
up.</p>

<p>"But," he continued to soliloquise&mdash;"but
of revolution there is no
chance. Yet the same wit and will
that would thrive in revolutions should
thrive in this commonplace life.
Knowledge is power. Well, then,
shall I have no power to oust this
blockhead? Oust him&mdash;what from?
His father's halls? Well&mdash;but if he
were dead, who would be the heir of
Hazeldean? Have I not heard my
mother say that I am as near in blood
to this Squire as any one, if he had no
children? Oh, but the boy's life is
worth ten of mine! Oust him from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_638" id="Page_638">[Pg 638]</a></span>
what? At least from the thoughts of
his uncle Egerton&mdash;an uncle who has
never even seen him! That, at least,
is more feasible. 'Make my way in
life,' sayest thou, Audley Egerton.
Ay&mdash;and to the fortune thou hast
robbed from my ancestors. Simulation&mdash;simulation.
Lord Bacon allows
simulation. Lord Bacon practised it&mdash;and"&mdash;</p>

<p>Here the soliloquy came to a sudden
end; for as, rapt in his thoughts, the
boy had continued to walk backwards,
he had come to the verge where the
lawn slided off into the ditch of the
ha-ha&mdash;and, just as he was fortifying
himself by the precept and practice of
my Lord Bacon, the ground went from
under him, and slap into the ditch
went Randal Leslie!</p>

<p>It so happened that the Squire,
whose active genius was always at
some repair or improvement, had been
but a few days before widening and
sloping off the ditch just in that part,
so that the earth was fresh and damp,
and not yet either turfed or flattened
down. Thus when Randal, recovering
his first surprise and shock, rose to
his feet, he found his clothes covered
with mud; while the rudeness of the
fall was evinced by the fantastic and
extraordinary appearance of his hat,
which, hollowed here, bulging there,
and crushed out of all recognition
generally, was as little like the hat of
a decorous hard-reading young gentleman&mdash;<i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i>
of the dignified Mr Audley
Egerton&mdash;as any hat picked out of
a kennel after some drunken brawl
possibly could be.</p>

<p>Randal was dizzy, and stunned, and
bruised, and it was some moments
before he took heed of his raiment.
When he did so, his spleen was greatly
aggravated. He was still boy enough
not to like the idea of presenting himself
to the unknown Squire, and the
dandy Frank, in such a trim: he resolved
at once to regain the lane and
return home, without accomplishing
the object of his journey; and seeing
the footpath right before him, which
led to a gate that he conceived would
admit him into the highway sooner
than the path by which he had come,
he took it at once.</p>

<p>It is surprising how little we human
creatures heed the warnings of our good
genius. I have no doubt that some
benignant Power had precipitated
Randal Leslie into the ditch, as a
significant hint of the fate of all who
choose what is, now-a-days, by no
means an uncommon step in the march
of intellect&mdash;viz., the walking backwards,
in order to gratify a vindictive
view of one's neighbour's property!
I suspect that, before this century is
out, many a fine fellow will thus have
found his ha-ha, and scrambled out of
the ditch with a much shabbier coat
than he had on when he fell into it.
But Randal did not thank his good
genius for giving him a premonitory
tumble;&mdash;and I never yet knew a man
who did!</p>


<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>

<p>The Squire was greatly ruffled at
breakfast that morning. He was too
much of an Englishman to bear insult
patiently, and he considered that he
had been personally insulted in the
outrage offered to his recent donation
to the parish. His feelings, too, were
hurt as well as his pride. There was
something so ungrateful in the whole
thing, just after he had taken so much
pains, not only in the resuscitation,
but the embellishment of the stocks.
It was not, however, so rare an occurrence
for the Squire to be ruffled,
as to create any remark. Riccabocca,
indeed, as a stranger, and Mrs
Hazeldean, as a wife, had the quick
tact to perceive that the host was
glum and the husband snappish; but
the one was too discreet and the
other too sensible, to chafe the new
sore, whatever it might be; and shortly
after breakfast the Squire retired
into his study, and absented himself
from morning service.</p>

<p>In his delightful <i>Life of Oliver Goldsmith</i>,
Mr Foster takes care to touch our
hearts by introducing his hero's excuse
for not entering the priesthood. He
did not feel himself good enough. Thy
Vicar of Wakefield, poor Goldsmith,
was an excellent substitute for thee;
and Dr Primrose, at least, will be
good enough for the world until Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_639" id="Page_639">[Pg 639]</a></span>
Jemima's fears are realised. Now,
Squire Hazeldean had a tenderness of
conscience much less reasonable than
Goldsmith's. There were occasionally
days in which he did not feel good
enough&mdash;I don't say for a priest, but
even for one of the congregation&mdash;"days
in which, (said the Squire in his
own blunt way,) as I have never in
my life met a worse devil than a devil
of a temper, I'll not carry mine into
the family pew. He shan't be growling
out hypocritical responses from
my poor grandmother's prayer-book."
So the Squire and his demon staid at
home. But the demon was generally
cast out before the day was over; and,
on this occasion, when the bell rang for
afternoon service, it may be presumed
that the Squire had reasoned or fretted
himself into a proper state of
mind; for he was then seen sallying
forth from the porch of his hall, arm-in-arm
with his wife, and at the head
of his household. The second service
was (as is commonly the case, in
rural districts) more numerously attended
than the first one; and it was
our Parson's wont to devote to this
service his most effective discourse.</p>

<p>Parson Dale, though a very fair
scholar, had neither the deep theology
nor the arch&aelig;ological learning that
distinguish the rising generation of
the clergy. I much doubt if he could
have passed what would now be called
a creditable examination in the
Fathers; and as for all the nice formalities
in the rubric, he would never
have been the man to divide a congregation
or puzzle a bishop. Neither
was Parson Dale very erudite in
ecclesiastical architecture. He did
not much care whether all the details
in the church were purely gothic or
not: crockets and finials, round arch
and pointed arch, were matters, I
fear, on which he had never troubled
his head. But one secret Parson Dale
did possess, which is perhaps of equal
importance with those subtler mysteries&mdash;he
knew how to fill his church!
Even at morning service no pews
were empty, and at evening service
the church overflowed.</p>

<p>Parson Dale, too, may be considered,
now-a-days, to hold but a mean
idea of the spiritual authority of the
Church. He had never been known
to dispute on its exact bearing with
the State&mdash;whether it was incorporated
with the State, or above the State&mdash;whether
it was antecedent to the
Papacy, or formed from the Papacy,
&amp;c., &amp;c. According to his favourite
maxim, <i>Quieta non movere</i>, (not to
disturb things that are quiet), I
have no doubt that he would have
thought that the less discussion is provoked
upon such matters, the better
for both church and laity. Nor had
he ever been known to regret the disuse
of the ancient custom of excommunication,
nor any other diminution
of the powers of the priesthood,
whether minatory or militant; yet
for all this, Parson Dale had a great
notion of the sacred privilege of a
minister of the gospel&mdash;to advise&mdash;to
deter&mdash;to persuade&mdash;to reprove. And
it was for the evening service that he
prepared those sermons, which may
be called, "sermons that preach <i>at</i>
you." He preferred the evening for
that salutary discipline, not only because
the congregation was more
numerous, but also because, being a
shrewd man in his own innocent way,
he knew that people bear better to be
preached at after dinner than before;
that you arrive more insinuatingly at
the heart when the stomach is at
peace. There was a genial kindness
in Parson Dale's way of preaching at
you. It was done in so imperceptible
fatherly a manner, that you never felt
offended. He did it, too, with so
much art that nobody but your own
guilty self knew that you were the
sinner he was exhorting. Yet he did
not spare rich nor poor: he preached
at the Squire, and that great fat farmer,
Mr Bullock the churchwarden, as
boldly as at Hodge the ploughman,
and Scrub the hedger. As for Mr
Stirn, he had preached at <i>him</i> more
often than at any one in the parish;
but Stirn, though he had the sense to
know it, never had the grace to reform.
There was, too, in Parson Dale's sermons,
something of that boldness of
illustration which would have been
scholarly if he had not made it familiar,
and which is found in the discourses
of our elder divines. Like them, he
did not scruple, now and then, to introduce
an anecdote from history, or
borrow an allusion from some non-scriptural
author, in order to enliven
the attention of his audience, or render<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_640" id="Page_640">[Pg 640]</a></span>
an argument more plain. And the
good man had an object in this, a
little distinct from, though wholly
subordinate to the main purpose of
his discourse. He was a friend to
knowledge&mdash;but to knowledge accompanied
by religion; and sometimes
his references to sources not within
the ordinary reading of his congregation
would spirit up some farmer's
son, with an evening's leisure on his
hands, to ask the Parson for farther
explanation, and so be lured on to a
little solid or graceful instruction under
a safe guide.</p>

<p>Now on the present occasion, the
Parson, who had always his eye and
heart on his flock, and who had seen
with great grief the realisation of his
fears at the revival of the stocks;
seen that a spirit of discontent was
already at work amongst the peasants,
and that magisterial and inquisitorial
designs were darkening the natural
benevolence of the Squire; seen, in
short, the signs of a breach between
classes, and the precursors of the
ever inflammable feud between the
rich and the poor, meditated nothing
less than a great Political Sermon&mdash;a
sermon that should extract from
the roots of social truths a healing
virtue for the wound that lay sore,
but latent, in the breast of his parish
of Hazeldean:</p>

<p>And thus ran&mdash;</p>

<p><i>The Political Sermon of Parson
Dale.</i></p>


<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3>

<p class="center">"For every man shall bear his own burden."</p>
<p class="right"><i>Galatians</i>, c. vi. v. 5.</p>

<p>"Brethren, every man has his
burden. If God designed our lives
to end at the grave, may we not
believe that he would have freed an
existence so brief from the cares
and sorrows to which, since the
beginning of the world, mankind
has been subjected? Suppose that I
am a kind father, and have a child
whom I dearly love, but I know by a
divine revelation that he will die at
the age of eight years, surely I
should not vex his infancy by needless
preparations for the duties of
life. If I am a rich man, I should not
send him from the caresses of his
mother to the stern discipline of
school. If I am a poor man, I should
not take him with me to hedge and
dig, to scorch in the sun, to freeze in
the winter's cold: why inflict hardships
on his childhood, for the purpose
of fitting him for manhood, when I
know that he is doomed not to grow
into man? But if, on the other hand,
I believe my child is reserved for a
more durable existence, then should
I not, out of the very love I bear to
him, prepare his childhood for the
struggle of life, according to that
station in which he is born, giving
many a toil, many a pain to the
infant, in order to rear and strengthen
him for his duties as man? So is
it with our Father that is in
Heaven. Viewing this life as our
infancy, and the next as our spiritual
maturity, where 'in the ages to come,
he may show the exceeding riches of
his grace,' it is in his tenderness, as in
his wisdom, to permit the toil and the
pain which, in tasking the powers and
developing the virtues of the soul,
prepare it for 'the earnest of our
inheritance, the redemption of the
purchased possession.' Hence it is
that every man has his burden.
Brethren, if you believe that God is
good, yea, but as tender as a human
father, you will know that your
troubles in life are a proof that you
are reared for an eternity. But each
man thinks his own burden the
hardest to bear: the poor man groans
under his poverty, the rich man under
the cares that multiply with wealth.
For, so far from wealth freeing us
from trouble, all the wise men who
have written in all ages, have repeated
with one voice the words of the
wisest, 'When goods increase, they
are increased that eat them: and
what good is there to the owners
thereof, saving the beholding of them
with their eyes?' And this is literally
true, my brethren; for, let a man be
as rich as was the great King Solomon
himself, unless he lock up all his gold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">[Pg 641]</a></span>
in a chest, it must go abroad to be
divided amongst others; yea, though,
like Solomon, he make him great
works&mdash;though he build houses and
plant vineyards, and make him
gardens and orchards&mdash;still the gold
that he spends feeds but the mouths
he employs; and Solomon himself
could not eat with a better relish than
the poorest mason who builded the
house, or the humblest labourer who
planted the vineyard. Therefore,
'when goods increase, they are increased
that eat them.' And this,
my brethren, may teach us toleration
and compassion for the rich. We
share their riches whether they will
or not; we do not share their cares.
The profane history of our own
country tells us that a princess,
destined to be the greatest queen that
ever sat on this throne, envied the
milk-maid singing; and a profane
poet, whose wisdom was only less
than that of the inspired writers,
represents the man who by force and
wit had risen to be a king, sighing for
the sleep vouchsafed to the meanest
of his subjects&mdash;all bearing out the
words of the son of David&mdash;'The
sleep of the labouring man is sweet,
whether he eat little or much; but
the abundance of the rich will not
suffer him to sleep.'</p>

<p>"Amongst my brethren now present,
there is doubtless some one
who has been poor, and by honest
industry has made himself comparatively
rich. Let his heart answer
me while I speak: are not the
chief cares that now disturb him
to be found in the goods he hath
acquired?&mdash;has he not both vexations
to his spirit and trials to his virtue,
which he knew not when he went
forth to his labour, and took no heed
of the morrow? But it is right, my
brethren, that to every station there
should be its care&mdash;to every man his
burden; for if the poor did not sometimes
so far feel poverty to be a burden
as to desire to better their condition,
and (to use the language of the
world) 'seek to rise in life,' their most
valuable energies would never be
aroused; and we should not witness
that spectacle, which is so common
in the land we live in&mdash;namely, the
successful struggle of manly labour
against adverse fortune&mdash;a struggle
in which the triumph of one gives
hope to thousands. It is said that
necessity is the mother of invention;
and the social blessings which are
now as common to us as air and sunshine,
have come from that law of our
nature which makes us aspire towards
indefinite improvement, enriches each
successive generation by the labours
of the last, and, in free countries,
often lifts the child of the labourer to
place amongst the rulers of the land.
Nay, if necessity is the mother of invention,
poverty is the creator of the
arts. If there had been no poverty,
and no sense of poverty, where would
have been that which we call the
wealth of a country? Subtract from
civilisation all that has been produced
by the poor, and what remains?&mdash;the
state of the savage. Where you now
see labourer and prince, you would
see equality indeed&mdash;the equality of
wild men. No; not even equality
there! for there, brute force becomes
lordship, and woe to the weak!
Where you now see some in frieze,
some in purple, you would see nakedness
in all. Where stand the palace
and the cot, you would behold but
mud huts and caves. As far as the
peasant excels the king among
savages, so far does the society exalted
and enriched by the struggles of
labour excel the state in which Poverty
feels no disparity, and Toil
sighs for no ease. On the other hand,
if the rich were perfectly contented
with their wealth, their hearts would
become hardened in the sensual enjoyments
it procures. It is that feeling,
by Divine Wisdom implanted in the
soul, that there is vanity and vexation
of spirit in the things of Mammon,
which still leaves the rich man sensitive
to the instincts of heaven, and
teaches him to seek for happiness in
those elevated virtues to which wealth
invites him&mdash;namely, protection to the
lowly and beneficence to the distressed.</p>

<p>"And this, my brethren, leads me to
another view of the vast subject opened
to us by the words of the apostle&mdash;'Every
man shall bear his own burden.'
The worldly conditions of life
are unequal. Why are they unequal?
O my brethren, do you not perceive?
Think you that, if it had been better
for our spiritual probation that there
should be neither great nor lowly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[Pg 642]</a></span>
rich nor poor, Providence would not
so have ordered the dispensations of
the world, and so, by its mysterious
but merciful agencies, have influenced
the framework and foundations of
society? But if, from the remotest
period of human annals, and in all
the numberless experiments of government
which the wit of man has devised,
still this inequality is ever found
to exist, may we not suspect that there
is something in the very principles of
our nature to which that inequality is
necessary and essential? Ask why
this inequality! Why? as well ask
why life is the sphere of duty and
the nursery of virtues. For if all
men were equal, if there were no
suffering and no ease, no poverty and
no wealth, would you not sweep with
one blow the half at least of human
virtues from the world? If there
were no penury and no pain, what
would become of fortitude?&mdash;what of
patience?&mdash;what of resignation? If
there were no greatness and no
wealth, what would become of benevolence,
of charity, of the blessed
human pity, of temperance in the
midst of luxury, of justice in the
exercise of power? Carry the question
farther; grant all conditions the
same&mdash;no reverse, no rise and no fall&mdash;nothing
to hope for, nothing to fear&mdash;what
a moral death you would at
once inflict upon all the energies of
the soul, and what a link between the
heart of man and the Providence of
God would be snapped asunder! If
we could annihilate evil, we should
annihilate hope; and hope, my
brethren, is the avenue to faith. If
there be 'a time to weep, and a time
to laugh,' it is that he who mourns
may turn to eternity for comfort, and
he who rejoices may bless God for
the happy hour. Ah! my brethren,
were it possible to annihilate the
inequalities of human life, it would
be the banishment of our worthiest
virtues, the torpor of our spiritual
nature, the palsy of our mental faculties.
The moral world, like the
world without us, derives its health
and its beauty from diversity, and
contrast.</p>

<p>"'Every man shall bear his own
burden.' True: but now turn to an
earlier verse in the same chapter.&mdash;'Bear
ye one another's burdens, and
so fulfil the law of Christ.' Yes;
while Heaven ordains to each his
peculiar suffering, it connects the
family of man into one household, by
that feeling which, more perhaps than
any other, distinguish us from the
brute creation&mdash;I mean the feeling to
which we give the name of <i>sympathy</i>&mdash;the
feeling for each other! The
herd of deer shun the stag that is
marked by the gunner; the flock
heedeth not the sheep that creeps
into the shade to die; but man has
sorrow and joy not in himself alone,
but in the joy and sorrow of those
around him. He who feels only for
himself abjures his very nature as
man; for do we not say of one who
has no tenderness for mankind that
he is <i>inhuman</i>? and do we not call
him who sorrows with the sorrowful,
<i>humane</i>?</p>

<p>"Now, brethren, that which especially
marked the divine mission of
our Lord, is the direct appeal to this
sympathy which distinguishes us from
the brute. He seizes, not upon some
faculty of genius given but to few, but
upon that ready impulse of heart
which is given to us all; and in saying,
'Love one another,' 'Bear ye
one another's burdens,' he elevates
the most delightful of our emotions
into the most sacred of his laws. The
lawyer asks our Lord, 'Who is my
neighbour?' Our Lord replies by
the parable of the good Samaritan.
The priest and the Levite saw the
wounded man that fell among the
thieves, and passed by on the other
side. That priest might have been
austere in his doctrine, that Levite
might have been learned in the law;
but neither to the learning of the
Levite, nor to the doctrine of the
priest, does our Saviour even deign
to allude. He cites but the action of
the Samaritan, and saith to the lawyer,
'Which now of these three,
thinkest thou, was neighbour unto
him that fell among the thieves?
And he said, He that showed mercy
unto him. Then said Jesus unto him,
Go, and do thou likewise.'</p>

<p>"O shallowness of human judgments!
It was enough to be born a
Samaritan in order to be rejected by
the priest, and despised by the Levite.
Yet now, what to us the priest and
the Levite, of God's chosen race<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[Pg 643]</a></span>
though they were? They passed
from the hearts of men when they
passed the sufferer by the wayside;
while this loathed Samaritan, half
thrust from the pale of the Hebrew,
becomes of our family, of our kindred;
a brother amongst the brotherhood of
Love, so long as Mercy and Affliction
shall meet in the common thoroughfare
of Life!</p>

<p>"'Bear ye one another's burdens,
and so fulfil the law of Christ.'
Think not, O my brethren, that this
applies only to almsgiving&mdash;to that relief
of distress which is commonly called
charity&mdash;to the obvious duty of devoting,
from our superfluities, something
that we scarcely miss, to the wants
of a starving brother. No. I appeal
to the poorest amongst ye, if the worst
burdens are those of the body&mdash;if
the kind word and the tender thought
have not often lightened your hearts
more than bread bestowed with a
grudge, and charity that humbles
you by a frown. Sympathy is a
beneficence at the command of us
all,&mdash;yea, of the pauper as of the
king; and sympathy is Christ's
wealth. Sympathy is brotherhood.
The rich are told to have charity for
the poor, and the poor are enjoined
to respect their superiors. Good: I
say not to the contrary. But I say
also to the poor, '<i>In your turn have
charity for the rich</i>;' and I say to
the rich, '<i>In your turn respect the
poor</i>.'</p>

<p>"'Bear ye one another's burdens,
and so fulfil the law of Christ.'
Thou, O poor man, envy not nor
grudge thy brother his larger portion
of worldly goods. Believe that he
hath his sorrows and crosses like
thyself, and perhaps, as more delicately
nurtured, he feels them more;
nay, hath he not temptations so great
that our Lord hath exclaimed&mdash;'How
hardly they that have riches
enter into the kingdom of heaven?'
And what are temptations but trials?&mdash;what
are trials but perils and sorrows?
Think not that you cannot
bestow your charity on the rich man,
even while you take your sustenance
from his hands. A heathen writer,
often cited by the earliest preachers
of the gospel, hath truly said&mdash;'Wherever
there is room for a man,
there is place for a benefit.'</p>

<p>"And I ask any rich brother
amongst you, when he hath gone
forth to survey his barns and his
granaries, his gardens and orchards,
if suddenly, in the vain pride of his
heart, he sees the scowl on the brow
of the labourer&mdash;if he deems himself
hated in the midst of his wealth&mdash;if
he feels that his least faults are
treasured up against him with the
hardness of malice, and his plainest
benefits received with the ingratitude
of envy&mdash;I ask, I say, any rich man,
whether straightway all pleasure
in his worldly possessions does not fade
from his heart, and whether he does
not feel what a wealth of gladness it
is in the power of the poor man to
bestow! For all these things of
Mammon pass away; but there is
in the smile of him whom we have
served, a something that we may
take with us into heaven. If, then,
ye bear one another's burdens, they
who are poor will have mercy on
the errors, and compassion for the
griefs, of the rich. To all men it was
said&mdash;yes, to the Lazarus as to the
Dives&mdash;'Judge not that ye be not
judged.' But think not, O rich man,
that we preach only to the poor. If it
be their duty not to grudge thee thy
substance, it is thine to do all that
may sweeten their labour. Remember,
that when our Lord said 'How
hardly shall they that have riches
enter into the kingdom of heaven,'
he replied also to them who asked,
'Who then shall be saved?' 'The
things which are impossible with
men are possible with God:' that
is, man left to his own temptations
would fail; but strengthened by
God, he shall be saved. If thy
riches are the tests of thy trial, so
may they also be the instruments of
thy virtues. Prove by thy riches
that thou art compassionate and
tender, temperate and benign; and
thy riches themselves may become the
evidence at once of thy faith and of
thy works.</p>

<p>"We have constantly on our lips
the simple precept, 'Do unto others
as ye would be done by.' Why do
we fail so often in the practice?
Because we neglect to cultivate that
<span class="smcap">SYMPATHY</span> which nature implants as
an instinct, and the Saviour exalts
as a command. If thou wouldst do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[Pg 644]</a></span>
unto thy neighbour as thou wouldst
be done by, ponder well how thy
neighbour will regard the action thou
art about to do to him. Put thyself
into his place. If thou art strong,
and he is weak, descend from thy
strength, and enter into his weakness;
lay aside thy burden for the
while, and buckle on his own; let
thy sight see as through his eyes&mdash;thy
heart beat as in his bosom. Do
this, and thou wilt often confess that
what had seemed just to thy power
will seem harsh to his weakness. For
'as a zealous man hath not done his
duty, when he calls his brother
drunkard and beast,'<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> even so an
administrator of the law mistakes his
object if he writes on the grand
column of society, only warnings that
irritate the bold, and terrify the
timid: and a man will be no more
in love with law than with virtue,
'if he be forced to it with rudeness
and incivilities.'<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> If, then, ye would
bear the burden of the lowly, O ye
great&mdash;feel not only <i>for</i> them, but
<i>with</i>! Watch that your pride does
not chafe them&mdash;your power does not
wantonly gall. Your worldly inferior
is of the class from which the apostles
were chosen&mdash;amidst which the Lord
of Creation descended from a throne
above the seraphs."</p>

<p>The Parson here paused a moment,
and his eye glanced towards the pew
near the pulpit, where sat the magnate
of Hazeldean. The Squire was
leaning his chin thoughtfully on his
hand, his brow inclined downwards,
and the natural glow of his complexion
much heightened.</p>

<p>"But"&mdash;resumed the Parson softly,
without turning to his book, and
rather as if prompted by the suggestion
of the moment&mdash;"But he who
has cultivated sympathy commits not
these errors, or, if committing them,
hastens to retract. So natural is
sympathy to the good man, that he
obeys it mechanically when he suffers
his heart to be the monitor of his
conscience. In this sympathy behold
the bond between rich and poor!
By this sympathy, whatever our
varying worldly lots, they become
what they were meant to be&mdash;exercises
for the virtues more peculiar to
each; and thus, if in the body each
man bear his own burden, yet in the
fellowship of the soul all have common
relief in bearing the burdens of each
other.</p>

<p>"This is the law of Christ&mdash;fulfil
it, O my flock!"</p>

<p>Here the Parson closed his sermon,
and the congregation bowed
their heads.</p>

<hr class="chap" />


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[Pg 645]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="ANCIENT_AND_MODERN_ELOQUENCE" id="ANCIENT_AND_MODERN_ELOQUENCE">ANCIENT AND MODERN ELOQUENCE.</a></h2>


<p>Eloquence, in its highest flights, is
beyond all question the greatest exertion
of the human mind. It requires for
its conception a combination of the
most exalted faculties; for its execution,
a union of the most extraordinary
powers. Unite in thought the most
varied and dissimilar faculties of the
soul&mdash;strength of understanding with
brilliancy of imagination; fire of conception
with solidity of judgment; a
retentive memory with an enthusiastic
fancy; the warmth of poetry with the
coldness of prose; an eye for the beauties
of nature with a command of the
realities of life; a mind stored with
facts and a heart teeming with impressions&mdash;and
you will form the elements
from which the most powerful
style of oratory is to be created. But
this is not all. Physical powers, if
not essential, are at least a great
addition to the mental qualities required
for its success. The orator
must have at once the lengthened
thought which is requisite for a prolonged
argument, and the ready wit
which can turn to the best advantage
any incident which may occur in the
course of its delivery. More than all
is required the fixity of purpose, the
energy in effort, the commanding turn,
which, as it is the most valuable and
important faculty of the mind, so it is
the one most rarely to be met with in
any walk of life, and least of all in
combination with the brilliant and
imaginative qualities, which are the
very soul of every art which is to subdue
or captivate mankind.</p>

<p>It is not surprising that the art of
the orator should require, for its highest
flights, so rare a combination of
qualities, for of all the efforts of the
human mind it is the most astonishing
in its nature, and the most transcendent
in its <i>immediate</i> triumphs. The
wisdom of the philosopher, the eloquence
of the historian, the sagacity
of the statesman, the capacity of the
general, may produce more lasting
effects upon human affairs; but they
are incomparably less rapid in their
influence, and less intoxicating from
the ascendency they confer. In the
solitude of his library the sage meditates
on the truths which are to influence
the thoughts and direct the conduct
of men in future times; amidst
the strife of faction the legislator discerns
the measures calculated, after a
long course of years, to alleviate existing
evils or produce happiness yet
unborn; during long and wearisome
campaigns the commander throws his
shield over the fortunes of his country,
and prepares in silence and amidst
obloquy the means of maintaining its
independence. But the triumphs of
the orator are immediate; his influence
is instantly felt: his, and his
alone, it is</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The applause of listening senates to command,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The threats of pain and ruin to despise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And read his history in a nation's eyes."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>To stand up before a vast assembly
composed of men of various passions,
habits, and prepossessions; to conciliate
their feelings by the art, and
carry away their judgment by the
eloquence, of the orator; to see every
gaze at length turned on his countenance,
and every ear intent on the
words which drop from his lips; to see
indifference turn into excitement, and
aversion melt away amidst enthusiasm;
to hear thunders of applause
at the close of every sentence, and
behold the fire of enthusiasm kindled
in every eye, as each successive idea
is brought forth; and to think that all
this is the creation of the moment, and
has sprung extempore from the ardour
of his conceptions, and the inspiration
they have derived from what passes
around him, is perhaps the greatest
triumph of the human mind, and that
in which its divine origin and immortal
destiny is most clearly revealed.</p>

<p>It is the magnitude of the combination
requisite for its greatest efforts
which renders eloquence of the loftiest
kind so extremely rare among mankind.
It is less frequent than the
highest flights in epic or dramatic
poetry. Greece produced three great
tragedians, but only one Demosthenes;
Cicero stands alone to sustain by his
single strength the fame of Roman
oratory. Antiquity could not boast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[Pg 646]</a></span>
of more than five or six persons who,
by the common consent of their contemporaries,
had attained the highest
rank in forensic eloquence; it is doubtful
if modern times could count as
many: as many, we mean, who
have attained the very highest place
in this noble and difficult art; for,
doubtless, in the second class, great
numbers of names are to be found;
and in the third their name is legion.
It is not meant to be asserted that
great temporary fame and influence by
eloquence may not be, and often has
been, acquired by persons who are
deficient in many of the qualities
above enumerated, as required to form
a perfect orator. Without doubt,
brilliancy of genius will often, for passing
effect, compensate the want of
solidity of judgment; and fire of imagination
make us for the moment forget
a squeaking voice, a diminutive
figure, an ungainly countenance. No
one, at times, commanded the attention
of the House of Commons more
entirely than the late Mr Wilberforce,
and yet his stature was small,
and his voice weak and painfully
shrill. But great earnestness of
will and brilliancy of fancy are required
to compensate such defects;
and we are persuaded that none
will more readily admit the justice
of these observations than those
who have laboured under, and, by
their powers, in a certain degree surmounted
them.</p>

<p>As little is it intended to assert that
vast influence may not be acquired,
and unbounded celebrity for the time
obtained, not merely without the cooperation
of such varied and extensive
qualities, but by the aid, in many cases,
of the very reverse. As temporary
influence, not lasting fame, is the
immediate and chief end of oratory,
its style must be adapted to the prevailing
cast of mind, and ruling interests
or passions, of the persons to
whom it is addressed; and as it will
share in elevation of sentiment, if that
is their characteristic, so it will be
deformed by vulgarity or selfishness
when they are vulgar and selfish. It
is a common saying, that a speaker
must descend to the level of his
audience, if he means to command
their suffrages or enlist their passions;
and we have only to look around us to
see how often, in assemblies of an inferior,
interested, or impassioned character,
the highest celebrity and most
unbounded success are attained by
persons who not only have exhibited
few of the qualities of a refined orator,
but who had studiously concealed
those which they did possess, and
secretly despised in their hearts the
arts to which their triumphs had been
owing.<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> But this is no more than is
the case with all the arts which aim at
influencing, or charming mankind.
The theatre, the romance, poetry itself,
share at times in the same degradation.
It would be as unjust to stigmatise
oratory as the art of sophists
or declaimers, intended to seduce or
deceive those who cannot see through
its artifices, as it would be to reproach
the stage with the vulgarity of the
buffoon, or novels with the licentiousness
of Aretin, or poetry with the
seductions of Ovid. We must not
think lightly of an art which has been
ennobled by the efforts of Cicero and
Burke in the most refined assemblies,
because it has also led to the triumphs
of O'Connell and Wilkes in the most
ignorant.</p>

<p>To the highest triumphs of the art
of oratory, that first of blessings,
<span class="smcap">Civil Liberty</span>, is indispensable.
More truly of it than of the liberty
of the press, it may be said, "It is
our vital air: withdraw it, and we
perish." Regulated freedom is essential
to its success. It is hard to say
whether it perishes most rapidly
amidst the studied servility of courtly
rhetoric, or the coarse adulations of
democratic flattery; whether the
atmosphere of Constantinople or that
of New York is most fatal to its
existence. Genius, and that of the
very highest kind, may exist in despotic
communities; but it is degraded
by selfishness and misdirected by servility.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[Pg 647]</a></span></p>
<p>Where there is only one ruling
power in the state&mdash;be it monarchical,
aristocratic, or democratic&mdash;this
corruption is equally certain, and
equally unavoidable. The sonorous
periods in which Fontanes celebrated
the triumphs of the empire, the impassioned
strains in which Robespierre
eulogised the incorruptible virtue of
the people, the coarse flattery with
which O'Connell captivated his ignorant
and excitable audiences, equally
marked the approach of the period in
which oratory, if such a <i>r&eacute;gime</i> continued,
must die a natural death.
Under such influences it necessarily
perished from its own exaggeration:
it ceased to be impressive, it became
ridiculous. As in all the other arts
which are intended to please and instruct
mankind, <span class="smcap">Truth</span>, and a regard
to the limits of nature, are essential to
its success. Exaggeration and hyperbole
not only degrade the character
of eloquence, but destroy its influence,
because they induce a style of expression
with which subsequent times,
emancipated from passing influences,
cannot sympathise&mdash;look upon as
contemptible. Then, and then only,
will oratory attain its highest perfection,
during that period "slow to
come, soon to perish," as Tacitus said
of balanced freedom, during which no
one interest in the state is irresistible;
and truth, in assailing the vices or
resisting the encroachments of others,
can find a fulcrum from whence to
direct its efforts. Withdraw the fulcrum&mdash;remove
the support&mdash;and truth,
and with it genius, will sink to rise
no more.</p>

<p>It is surprising, however, how solicitous
the human soul is for liberty
of expression; how eagerly, if one
channel is closed, it seeks out and
often finds another. When the power
of Government, or the tyranny of the
majority, has shut out the natural
expression of unfettered opinion in the
discussion of the social and political
interests of man, it takes refuge in the
regions of imagination. Romance becomes
the vehicle of independent
thought: the stage the arena of unrestrained
debate. So delightful is free
expression to the human mind, that
it proves agreeable even to those
whose ascendency may seem to be
endangered by its prevalence. It may
appear strange, but it is undoubtedly
true, that the germ of the doctrines
of human perfectibility, the
general vices of those in authority, and
the expedience of universal freedom
alike in trade and employment, emanated
from the precincts of the most
despotic authority in Europe, and at
the period of its highest exaltation.
It was in the palace of Versailles, in
the court of the Grande Monarque,
and when discharging the duties of
tutor to the Dauphin, that Fenelon
wrote, for the instruction of his royal
pupil, <i>Tel&eacute;maque</i>&mdash;perhaps the most
thoroughly democratic work, in its
principles, that ever emanated from the
pen of genius. It was in the boudoir
of Madame de Pompadour, and when
surrounded by the corruptions of Louis
XV., that Quesnay first announced
the doctrines of throwing all taxes on
the land, and of universal freedom of
trade and occupation, which have subsequently
had so powerful an influence
in producing the Revolution of France,
and altering the political system and
social conditions of Great Britain.</p>

<p>The extraordinary perfection to
which tragedy has been brought in
many modern countries where the institutions
are of a despotic character,
is mainly to be ascribed to this cause.
The stage became the outlet of independent
thought; it was there alone
that unfettered expression could be
safely attempted. Put into the mouths
of historical or imaginary characters,
portraying remote events, for the
most part drawn from the classical
ages of Greece or Rome, such unrestrained
ideas attracted no disquietude
in the depositories of authority. They
were regarded as an attribute of a
primeval world, which had as little
relation to the present, and as little
bearing on its fortunes, as the skeletons
of the Mammoth, or the backbones
of the Ichthyosauri, on its material
interests. A direct argument in
favour of republican institutions would
have secured for its author a place in
the Bastile, or in the dungeons of the
Inquisition; an incitement to the
people to take up arms, to dethrone
the reigning monarch, would have led
to the scaffold; but the most eloquent
and impassioned declamations in support
of both the one and the other,
when couched in verse, put into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[Pg 648]</a></span>
mouth of Virginius or Brutus, and repeated
on the stage by a popular
actor, excited no sort of apprehension.
On the contrary, it was only the more
admired from its very novelty. Such
ideas fell on the mind, amidst the
seductions and restrictions of a despotic
court, with somewhat of the
charm with which the voice of nature,
and the picture of her beauties, was in
the last days of the French monarchy
listened to from the gifted pen of
Rousseau, or the vehement and imaginary
passions of the Greek Corsairs, as
delineated by Byron, were regarded
by the worn-out victims of London
dissipation.</p>

<p>If we would see in modern literature
the most exact counterpart which
Europe has been able to present to
the oratorical perfection of antiquity,
we must look for it, not in the debates
of its National Assemblies, or even the
effusions of its pulpit eloquence, but in
the speeches of its great tragic poets.
The best declamations in Corneille,
Alfieri, and Schiller, are often nothing
but ancient eloquence put into verse.
The brevity and force of Shakspeare
belong to the same school. These
men exhibit the same condensation of
ideas, terseness of expression, depth of
thought, acquaintance with the secrets
of the heart, which have rendered the
historians and orators of antiquity
immortal. Like them in their highest
flights, they present intellect and
genius disdaining the attractions of
style, the flowers of rhetoric, the amplifications
of imagination, and resting
solely on condensed reason, cogent
argument, and impassioned pathos.
They are the bones and muscles of
thought, without its ornament or covering.
It is this circumstance which
rendered their drama so popular, and
has given its great masters their
colossal reputation; and in their lasting
fame may be found the most
decisive proof of the undying influence
of the highest species of eloquence on
cultivated minds. Men and women
went to the theatre not to be instructed
in the story&mdash;it was known to all; not
to be dazzled by stage effect&mdash;there
was none of it: but to hear oratory of
the highest, pathos of the most moving,
magnanimity of the most exalted
kind, repeated with superb effect by
the first performers. The utmost
vehemence of action, with all the aids
of intonation, action, and delivery, was
employed to heighten the effect of
condensed eloquence, conveying free
and lofty sentiments which could nowhere
else be heard. This was the
secret of the wonderful influence of
the stage on the polished society of
Paris, during the latter days of the
monarchy. The audience in the <i>parterre</i>
might be seen repeating every
celebrated speech with the actor.</p>

<p>To illustrate these observations, we
shall subjoin a few passages&mdash;two from
Corneille, one from Shakspeare, one
from Alfieri, and two from Schiller,
in prose&mdash;partly to show how nearly
they approach to the style of ancient
oratory, and partly from a sense of
the hopelessness of any translation
conveying more than a prosaic idea
of the terseness and vigour of the
originals,&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"When the people are the master,
tumults become national events. Never
is the voice of reason consulted. Honours
are sold to the most ambitious, authority
yielded to the most seditious. These
little sovereigns, made for a year, seeing
the term of their power so near expiring,
cause the most auspicious designs
to miscarry, from the dread that others
who follow may obtain the credit of them.
As they have little share in the property
which they command, they reap without
hesitation in the harvest of the public,
being well assured that every one will
gladly pardon what they themselves
hope to do on a future occasion. The
worst of states is the popular state."<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Corneille's celebrated picture of
Attila, which he puts into the mouth
of Octar, but which was really intended
for Louis XIV., exhibits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[Pg 649]</a></span>
another example of the condensed
style of oratory, perhaps still more
applicable to a greater man than the
Grande Monarque,&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"I have seen him, alike in peace
and war, bear everywhere the air of
the conqueror of the earth. Often have
I beheld the fiercest nations disarm his
wrath by their submission. I have seen
all the pleasure of his heroic mind
savouring of the grand and the magnificent,
while his ceaseless foresight in
the midst of peace had prepared the
triumphs of war; his noble anxiety,
which, amidst his very recreations prepared
the success of future designs. Too
happy the people against whom he does
not turn his invincible arms! I have
seen him, covered with smoke and dust,
give the noblest example to his army&mdash;spread
terror everywhere by his own
danger&mdash;overturn walls by a single
glance, and heap his own conquests on
the broken pride of the haughtiest monarchs."<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Napoleon said, if he had lived in
his time, he would have made Corneille
his first councillor of state. He
was right: for his thoughts were
more allied to the magnanimity of the
hero than the pathos of the tragedian;
and his language savoured more of
the sonorous periods of the orator than
the fire of the poet.</p>

<p>Beside these specimens of French
tragic eloquence, we gladly place the
well-known speech of Brutus in <i>Julius
C&aelig;sar</i>, which proves that Shakspeare
was endowed with the very soul of
ancient oratory:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Romans, countrymen, and lovers!
Hear me for my cause, and be silent that
you may hear; believe me for mine
honour, and have respect to mine honour
that you may believe; censure me in
your wisdom, and awake your senses that
you may the better judge. If there be
any in this assembly, any dear friend of
C&aelig;sar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to
C&aelig;sar was not less than his. If, then,
that friend demand why Brutus rose
against C&aelig;sar, this is my answer: not
that I loved C&aelig;sar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather that C&aelig;sar
were living and die all slaves, than that
C&aelig;sar were dead to live all free men?
As C&aelig;sar loved me, I weep for him; as
he was fortunate, I rejoice in it; as he
was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was
ambitious, I slew him. There are tears
for his love, joy for his fortune, honour
for his valour, and death for his ambition.
Who is there so base that would
be a bondsman? If any, speak, for him
have I offended. Who is here so rude
that would not be a Roman? If any,
speak, for him have I offended. Who is
here so vile that will not love his country?
If any, speak, for him have I
offended. I have done no more to C&aelig;sar
than you should do to Brutus. The
question of his death is enrolled in the
Capitol; his glory is not extenuated,
wherein he was worthy; nor his offences
enforced for which he suffered death."<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>This is in the highest style of
ancient oratory. Whoever has had
the good fortune to hear this noble
speech repeated by the lips, and with
the impressive manner of Kemble,
will have no difficulty in conceiving
how it was that eloquence in Greece
and Rome acquired so mighty an
ascendency. Shakspeare has shown,
however, in the speech of Antony,
which follows, that he is not less
master of that important part of oratory
which consists in moving the
feelings, and conciliating by pathos an
adverse audience. Antiquity never
conceived anything more skilful, or
evincing a more thorough knowledge
of the human heart, than thus
turning aside the lofty patriotic and
republican ideas awakened by Brutus'
speech, first by the exhibition of
C&aelig;sar's garments, rent by the daggers
of his murderers, and yet wet with
his blood, and then unveiling the
mangled corpse itself!</p>

<p>The eloquence of Alfieri and Schiller,
perhaps, of all modern writers,
is that which approaches most closely
to the brief and condensed style of
ancient oratory. The speech of Icilius,
in the noble drama of <i>Virginia</i>, by the
first of these writers, affords a fair
specimen of its power:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Listen to my words, O people of
Rome! I who heretofore have never been
deceitful, who have never either betrayed
or sold my honour; who boast an ignoble
origin, but a noble heart! hear me. This
innocent free maid is daughter of Virginius.
At such a name, I see your eyes
flash with resplendent fire. Virginius is
fighting for you in the field: think on the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[Pg 650]</a></span>depravity of the times; meanwhile, exposed
to shame, the victim of outrage, his
daughter remains in Rome. And who
outrages her? Come forward, O Marcus!
show yourself. Why tremble you? He
is well known to you: the last slave of
the tyrant Appius and his first minister&mdash;of
Appius, the mortal enemy of every
virtue&mdash;of Appius, the haughty, stern,
ferocious oppressor, who his ravished
from you your freedom, and, to embitter
the robbery, has left you your lives. Virginia
is my promised bride: I love her.
Who I am, I need not say: some one may
perhaps remind you. I was your tribune,
your defender; but in vain. You trusted
rather the deceitful words of another than
my free speech. We now suffer, in common
slavery, the pain of your delusion.
Why do I say more? The heart, the arm,
the boldness of Icilius is known to you
not less than the name. From you I demand
my free bride. This man does not
ask her: he styles her slave&mdash;he drags
her, he forces her. Icilius or Marcus is
a liar: say, Romans, which it is."<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>That Schiller was a great dramatic
and lyric poet, need be told to none
who have the slightest acquaintance
with European literature; but his
great oratorical powers are not so
generally appreciated, for they have
been lost in the blaze of his poetic
genius. They were, however, of the
very highest order, as will at once
appear from the following translation
(imperfect as it, of course, is) in prose,
which we have attempted of the celebrated
speeches of Shrewsbury and
Burleigh, who discussed before Queen
Elizabeth the great question of Queen
Mary's execution, in his noble tragedy
of <i>Maria Stuart</i>:&mdash;</p>

<p class="center">SHREWSBURY.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"God, whose wondrous hand has four
times protected you, and who to-day
gave the feeble arm of gray hairs strength
to turn aside the stroke of a madman,
should inspire confidence. I will not
now speak in the name of justice; this is
not the time. In such a tumult you cannot
hear her still small voice. Consider
this only: you are fearful now of the
living Mary; but I say it is not the living
you have to fear. <i>Tremble at the dead&mdash;the
beheaded.</i> She will rise from the
grave a fiend of dissension. She will
awaken the spirit of revenge in your
kingdom, and wean the hearts of your
subjects from you. At present she is an
object of dread to the British; but when
she is no more, they will revenge her.
No longer will she then be regarded as
the enemy of their faith; her mournful
fate will cause her to appear only as the
granddaughter of their king, the victim
of man's hatred and woman's jealousy.
Soon will you see the change appear!
Drive through London after the bloody
deed has been done; show yourself to
the people, who now surround you with
joyful acclamations: then will you see
another England, another people! No
longer will you then walk forth encircled
by the radiance of heavenly justice which
now binds every heart to you. Dread
the frightful name of tyrant which will
precede you through shuddering hearts,
and resound through every street where
you pass. You have done the last irrevocable
deed. What head stands fast
when this sacred one has fallen?"</p>

<p class="center">BURLEIGH.</p>

<p>"Thou sayest, my Queen, thou lovest
thy people more than thyself&mdash;show it
now! Choose not peace for yourself, and
leave discord to your people. Think on
the Church! Shall the ancient faith be
restored with this Stuart? Shall the
monk of new lord it here&mdash;the legate of
Rome return to shut up our churches,
dethrone our queen? I demand the souls
of all your subjects from you. As you
now decide, you are saved or lost. This
is no time for womanish pity: the salvation
of your people is your highest duty.
Has Shrewsbury saved your life to-day?
I will deliver England, and that is more."&mdash;<i>Maria
Stuart</i>, Act iv. s. 7.</p></blockquote>

<p>Demosthenes could have written
nothing more powerful&mdash;Cicero imagined
nothing more persuasive.</p>

<p>We shall now, to justify our assertion
that it is in the dramatic poets
of modern Europe that a parallel can
alone be found to the condensed power
of ancient eloquence, proceed to give
a few quotations from the most celebrated
speeches of antiquity. We
have selected, in general, those from
the historians, as they are shorter
than the orations delivered in the
forum, and can be given entire. A
fragment from a speech of Demosthenes
or Cicero gives no sort of idea
of the original, because what goes before
is withheld. To scholars we need
not plead indulgence for the inadequacy
of our translations: they will
not expect what they know to be
impossible.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[Pg 651]</a></span></p>
<p>Tacitus, in his Life of Agricola, puts
into the mouth of Galgacus the following
oration, when he was animating
the Caledonians to their last battle
with the Romans under Agricola.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"As often as I reflect on the origin of
the war, and our necessities, I feel a
strong conviction that this day, and your
will, are about to lay the foundations
of British liberty. For we have all known
what slavery is, and no place of retreat
lies behind us. The sea even is insecure
when the Roman fleet hovers around.
Thus arms and war, ever coveted by the
brave, are now the only refuge of the
cowardly. In former actions, in which the
Britons fought with various success
against the Romans, our valour was a
resource to look to, for we, the noblest of
all the nation, and on that account
placed in its inmost recesses, unused to
the spectacle of servitude, had our eyes
even inviolate from its hateful sight. We,
the last of the earth, and of freedom, unknown
to fame, have been hitherto defended
by our remoteness; now, the extreme
limits of Britain appear, and the unknown
is ever regarded as the magnificent.
No refuge is behind us; naught but the
rocks and the waves, and the deadlier
Romans: men whose pride you have in
vain sought to deprecate by moderation
and subservience. The robbers of the
globe, when the land fails they scour the
sea. Is the enemy rich, they are avaricious;
is he poor, they are ambitious&mdash;the
East and the West are unable to
satiate their desires. Wealth and poverty
are alike coveted by their rapacity. To
carry off, massacre, seize on false pretences,
they call empire; and when they
make a desert, they call it peace.</p>

<p>"Nature has made children and relations
dearest to all: they are carried off
by levies to serve elsewhere: our wives
and sisters, if they escape the lust of our
enemies, are seduced by these <i>friends</i>
and <i>guests</i>. Our goods and fortunes they
seize on as tribute, our corn as supplies;
our very bodies and hands they wear out
amidst strifes and contumely, in fortifying
stations in the woods and marshes.
Serfs born in servitude are once bought,
and ever after fed by their masters; Britain
alone daily buys its slavery, daily
feeds it. As in families the last slave
purchased is often a laughing-stock to
the rest, so we, the last whom they have
reduced to slavery, are the first to be
agonised by their contumely, and reserved
for destruction. We have neither fields,
nor minerals, nor harbours, in working
which we can be employed: the valour
and fierceness of the vanquished are
obnoxious to the victors: our very distance
and obscurity, as they render us the
safer, make us the more suspected. Laying
aside, therefore, all hope of pardon,
assume the courage of men to whom salvation
and glory are alike dear. The
Trinobantes, under a female leader, had
courage to burn a colony and storm
castles, and, had not their success rendered
them negligent, they would have cast off
the yoke. We, untouched and unconquered,
nursed in freedom, shall we not
show, on the first onset, what men Caledonia
has nursed in her bosom?</p>

<p>"Do not believe the Romans have the
same prowess in war as lust in peace.
They have grown great on our divisions:
they know how to turn the vices of men
to the glory of their own army. As it
has been drawn together by success, so
disaster will dissolve it, unless you suppose
that the Gauls and the Germans,
and, I am ashamed to say, many of the
Britons, who now lend their blood to a
foreign usurpation, and in their hearts
are rather enemies than slaves, can be
retained by faith and affection. Fear and
terror are but slender bonds of attachment;
when you remove them, as fear
ceases terror begins. All the incitements
of victory are on our side: no wives inflame
the Romans; no parents are there,
to call shame on their flight; they have
no country, or it is elsewhere. Few in
number, fearful from ignorance, gazing
on unknown woods and seas, the gods
have delivered them shut in and bound
into your hands. Let not their vain
aspect, the glitter of silver and gold,
which neither covers nor wounds, alarm
you. In the very line of the enemy we
shall find our friends: the Britons will
recognise their own cause; the Gauls
will recollect their former freedom; the
other Germans will desert them, as lately
the Usipii have done. No objects of
terror are behind them; naught but
empty castles, age-ridden colonies; dissension
between cruel masters and unwilling
slaves, sick and discordant cities.
Here is a leader, an army; there are tributes,
and payments, and the badges of
servitude, which to bear for ever, or instantly
to avenge, lies in your arms. Go
forth then into the field, and think of
your ancestors and your descendants."<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>It is scarcely necessary to say that
this speech was written by Tacitus:
most certainly nothing half so perfect
was ever conceived by Caledonian
chief or Caledonian orator, from that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[Pg 652]</a></span>day to this. But as the great speeches
in antiquity were all written, this
gives a specimen, doubtless of the
most favourable kind, of the style of
oratory which prevailed amongst them.
No modern historian has either ventured
or been able to put anything so
nervous and forcible into the mouth
of any orator, how great soever. If
he did, it would at once be known
that it had not been spoken, but was
the fruit of the composition of the
closet.</p>

<p>Catiline, who, like many other
revolutionists, possessed abilities commensurate
to his wickedness, thus
addressed the conspirators who were
associated to overturn the sway of the
Roman patricians:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Had not your valour and fidelity been
well known to me, fruitless would have
been the smiles of Fortune: the prospect
of as mighty domination would in vain
have opened upon us; nor would I have
mistaken illusive hopes for realities, uncertain
things for certain. But since, on
many and great occasions, I have known
you to be brave and faithful, I have ventured
to engage in the greatest and noblest
undertaking; for I well know that good
and evil are common to you and me. That
friendship at length is secure which is
founded on wishing and dreading the
same things. You all know what designs
I have long revolved in my mind; but
my confidence in them daily increases,
when I reflect what our fate is likely to
be, if we do not vindicate our freedom
by our own hands. For, since the republic
has fallen under the power and
dominion of a few, kings yield their tributes,
governorships their profits to them:
all the rest, whether strenuous, good,
noble or ignoble, are the mere vulgar:
without influence, without authority, we
are obnoxious to those to whom, if the
commonwealth existed, we should be a
terror. All honour, favour, power, wealth,
is centred in them, or those whom they
favour: to us are left dangers, repulses,
lawsuits, poverty. How long will you
endure them, O ye bravest of men? Is
it not better to die bravely, than drag out
a miserable and dishonoured life, the
sport of pride, the victims of disgrace?
But by the faith of gods and men, victory
is in our own hands: our strength is unimpaired;
our minds energetic: theirs is
enfeebled by age, extinguished by riches.
All that is required is to begin boldly;
the rest follows of course. Where is the
man of a manly spirit, who can tolerate
that they should overflow with riches,
which they squander in ransacking the
sea, in levelling mountains, while to us
the common necessaries of life are awanting?
They have two or more superb
palaces each; we not wherein to lay our
heads. When they buy pictures, statues,
basso-relievos, they destroy the old to
make way for the new: in every possible
way they squander away their money;
but all their desires are unable to exhaust
their riches. At home, we have only
poverty; abroad, debts; present adversity;
worse prospects. What, in fine, is
left us, but our woe-stricken souls? What,
then, shall we do? That, that which
you have ever most desired. Liberty
is before your eyes; and it will soon
bring riches, renown, glory: Fortune
holds out these rewards to the victors.
The time, the place, our dangers, our
wants, the splendid spoils of war, exhort
you more than my words. Make use of
me either as a commander or a private
soldier. Neither in soul or body will I
be absent from your side. These deeds I
hope I shall perform as Consul with you,
unless my hopes deceive me, and you are
prepared rather to obey as slaves, than
to command as rulers."<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>The topics here handled are the
same which in every age have been
the staple of the conspirator and the
revolutionist; but it may be doubted
whether they ever were put together
with such force and address. The
same desperate chief, on the eve of
their last conflict with the consular
legions:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"I well know, fellow-soldiers, that
words add nothing to the valour of the
brave; and that an army will not be
made from slothful, strenuous&mdash;from timid,
courageous, by any speech from its commander.
Whatever boldness nature or
training has implanted in any one, that
appears in war. It is vain to exhort
those whom neither dangers nor glory
excite. Terror shuts their ears. But I
have called you together to mention a few
things, and to make you sharers of my
councils. You know, soldiers, what a
calamity has been brought upon us by
the cowardice of Lentulus; and how,
when I awaited succours from the city,
I was unable to set out for Gaul. Now,
however, I will candidly tell you how our
affairs stand. Two armies, one issuing
from Rome, one from Gaul, beset us:
want of provisions obliges us quickly
to change our quarters, even if we inclined
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[Pg 653]</a></span>to remain where we are. Wherever
we determine to go, we must open a
way with our swords. Therefore it is
that I admonish you that you have now
need of stern and determined minds: and
when you engage in battle, recollect that
riches, honour, glory, in addition to
liberty, are to be won by your own right
hands. If we conquer, everything awaits
us: provisions will be abundant, colonies
ready, cities open. If we yield from fear,
circumstances are equally adverse: neither
solitude nor friend shields him whom his
arms cannot protect. Besides, soldiers,
the same necessity does not impel them
as us. We fight for our country, our
liberty, our lives; they for the domination
of a few. On that account, mindful
of your pristine valour, advance to the
attack. You might have, with disgrace,
lingered out a miserable life in exile: a
few, bereft of their possessions, might
have remained, fed by charity, at Rome:
but as such a fate seemed intolerable to
freemen, you have attended me here. If
you would shun these evils, now is the
moment to do so. None ever exchanged
war for peace, save by victory. To hope
for safety in flight, and, at the same time,
rescue from the enemy the arms by which
the body is covered, is the height of madness.
Ever in battle they run the greatest
danger who are most timid: boldness
is the only real rampart. When I reflect
on you and your deeds, O soldiers, I have
great hopes of victory. Your spirit, your
age, your bravery, encourage me: besides
necessity, which makes heroes even of
cowards. The straits of the ground secure
you from being outflanked by the enemy.
Should Fortune fail to second your valour,
beware lest you perish unavenged. Rather
fall, fighting like men, and leave a mournful
and bloody triumph to your enemies,
than be butchered like sheep when captured
by their arms."<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>With what exquisite judgment and
taste is the stern and mournful style
of this speech suited to the circumstances,
all but desperate, in which
Catiline's army was then placed!</p>

<p>No one supposes that these were the
identical words delivered by Catiline
on this occasion. Unquestionably,
Sallust shines through in every line.
But they were probably his ideas;
and, unquestionably, they were in the
true style of ancient oratory. And
that what was spoken fully equalled
what has come down to us written,
is proved by innumerable passages
in speeches which undoubtedly were
spoken; among which, we select the
graphic picture of Antony in his
revels&mdash;spoken by C&oelig;lius, and preserved
by Quintilian:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"They found him (Antony) oppressed
with a half-drunken sleep, snoring aloud,
lying across the most beautiful concubines,
while others were reposing around.
The latter, when they perceived the approach
of an enemy, strove to awaken
Antony, but in vain. They called on
him by name, they raised him by the
neck: one whispered softly in his ear,
one struck him sharply; but to no purpose.
When he was so far roused as to
recognise the voice or touch of the nearest,
he put his arms round her neck,
unable alike to sleep and to rise up; but,
half in a stupor, he was tossed about
between the hands of the centurions and
the harlots."<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>What a picture of the triumvir and
rival of Brutus, as well as of the corrupted
manners of Rome!</p>

<p>Demosthenes, in his celebrated
speech against &AElig;schines, burst into
the following strain of indignant invective:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"You taught writing, I learned it:
you were an instructor, I was the instructed:
you danced at the games, I presided
over them: you wrote as a clerk, I pleaded
as an advocate: you were an actor in the
theatres, I a spectator: you broke down,
I hissed: you ever took counsel for our
enemies, I for our country. In fine, now
on this day the point at issue is&mdash;Am I, yet
unstained in character, worthy of a crown?
while to you is reserved the lot of a
calumniator, and you are in danger of
being silenced by not having obtained the
fifth part of the votes.</p>

<p>"I have not fortified the city with
stone, nor adorned it with tiles, neither
do I take any credit for such things. But
if you would behold my works aright, you
will find arms, and cities, and stations,
and harbours, and ships, and horses, and
those who are to make use of them in our
defence. This is the rampart I have
raised for Attica, as much as human wisdom
could effect: with these I fortified
the whole country, not the Pir&aelig;us only
and the city. I never sank before the
arms or cunning of Philip. No! it was
by the supineness of your own generals
and allies that he triumphed."<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>We add only an extract from the
noble speech of Pericles, on those who
had died in the service of their country,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[Pg 654]</a></span>which is the more valuable that
Thucydides, who has recorded it in
his history, says that the version he
has given of that masterpiece of oratory
is nearly the same as he heard
from Pericles himself.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Wherefore I will congratulate rather
than bewail the parents of those who
have fallen that are present. They know
that they were born to suffering. But
the lot of those is most to be envied who
have come to such an end, that it is hard
to say whether their life or their death is
most honourable. I know it is difficult
to persuade you of this, who had often
rejoiced in the good fortune of others;
and it is not when we are deprived of
goods not yet attained that we feel grief,
but when we are bereaved of what we
have already enjoyed. To some the hope
of other children, who may emulate those
who have gone before, may be a source
of consolation. Future offspring may
awaken fresh interests in place of the
dead; and will doubly benefit the city
by peopling its desert places, and providing
for its defence. We cannot expect
that those who have no children whom
they may place in peril for their country,
can be considered on a level with such
as have made the sacrifices which those
have made. To such of you as time has
denied this hope, I would say, 'Rejoice
in the honour which your children have
won, and let that console the few years
that still remain to you&mdash;for the love of
glory alone knows no age; and in the
decline of life it is not the acquisition of
gain, as some say, which confers pleasure,
but the consciousness of being honoured.</p>

<p>"To the children and brothers of those
we mourn, who are here present, I foresee
a noble contest. Every one praises
the dead. You should endeavour, I will
not say to equal those we have lost, but to
be only a little inferior to them. Envy often
divides the living; but the grave extinguishes
jealousy, for it terminates rivalry.
I must speak of the virtue of the women
who have shared in our bereavement; but
I shall do so in a few words. Great will
be your renown, if you do not yield to
the weakness of your sex; and place
as little difference as possible between
yourselves and the virtue of men. I propose
that the children of those who
have fallen should be maintained, till puberty,
at the public expense&mdash;a reward
at once to the virtue of the dead, and an
incitement to the emulation of the living:
for among those to whom the highest
rewards of virtue are opened, the most
worthy citizens are found. And now,
having honoured the dead by your mourning,
depart every one to his home."<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Enough&mdash;and some may, perhaps,
think more than enough&mdash;has been
done to convey an idea of that far-famed
oratory, of which Milton has
said&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Thence to the famous orators repair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those ancients, whose resistless eloquence<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wielded at will that fierce democracy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne."<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>For comparison with these splendid
passages, we gladly lay before our
readers the famous peroration of Mr
Burke's oration against Mr Hastings,
long esteemed the masterpiece of
British eloquence.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"My Lords, at this awful close, in the
name of the Commons, and surrounded
by them, I attest the retiring, I attest
the advancing generations, between
which, as a link in the great chain of
eternal order, we stand. We call this
nation, we call the world to witness, that
the Commons have shrunk from no labour;
that we have been guilty of no prevarication;
that we have made no compromise
with crime; that we have not feared
any odium whatsoever, in the long warfare
which we have carried on with the
crimes&mdash;with the vices&mdash;with the exorbitant
wealth&mdash;with the enormous and
overpowering influence of Eastern corruption.
This war, my Lords, we have
waged for twenty-two years, and the
conflict has been fought, at your Lordships'
bar, for the last seven years. My
Lords, twenty-two years is a great space
in the scale of the life of man; it is no
inconsiderable space in the history of a
great nation. A business which has so
long occupied the councils and the tribunals
of Great Britain cannot possibly
be huddled over in the course of vulgar,
trite, and transitory events. Nothing
but some of those great revolutions, that
break the traditionary chain of human
memory, and alter the very face of nature
itself, can possibly obscure it. My Lords,
we are all elevated to a degree of importance
by it; the meanest of us will, by
means of it, more or less, become the
concern of posterity&mdash;if we are yet to
hope for such a thing, in the present state
of the world, as a recording, retrospective,
civilised posterity: but this is in the
hand of the great Disposer of events; it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[Pg 655]</a></span>is not ours to settle how it shall be.
My Lords, your House yet stands; it
stands as a great edifice; but let me say,
that it stands in the midst of ruins&mdash;in
the midst of the ruins that have been
made by the greatest moral earthquake
that ever convulsed and shattered this
globe of ours. My Lords, it has pleased
Providence to place us in such a state,
that we appear every moment to be upon
the verge of some great mutations. There
is one thing, and one thing only, which
defies all mutation, that which existed
before the world, and will survive the
fabric of the world itself&mdash;I mean justice;
that justice which, emanating from the
Divinity, has a place in the breast of
every one of us, given us for our guide
with regard to ourselves and with regard
to others, and which will stand, after this
globe is burned to ashes, our advocate or
our accuser before the great Judge, when
He comes to call upon us for the tenor of
a well-spent life.</p>

<p>"My Lords, the Commons will share in
every fate with your Lordships; there is
nothing sinister which can happen to you,
in which we shall not all be involved; and
if it should so happen that we shall be
subjected to some of those frightful
changes which we have seen&mdash;if it should
happen that your Lordships, stripped of
all the decorous distinctions of human
society, should, by hands at once base
and cruel, be led to those scaffolds and
machines of murder upon which great
kings and glorious queens have shed their
blood, amidst the prelates, amidst the
nobles, amidst the magistrates, who supported
their thrones, may you in those
moments feel that consolation which I am
persuaded they felt in the critical moments
of their dreadful agony!... My
Lords, if you must fall, may you so
fall! but, if you stand&mdash;and stand I trust
you will&mdash;together with the fortune of
this ancient monarchy&mdash;together with the
ancient laws and liberties of this great
and illustrious kingdom&mdash;may you stand
as unimpeached in honour as in power;
may you stand, not as a substitute for
virtue, but as an ornament of virtue, as a
security for virtue; may you stand long,
and long stand the terror of tyrants;
may you stand the refuge of afflicted
nations; may you stand a sacred temple,
for the perpetual residence of an inviolable
justice."<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>The peroration of Lord Brougham's
speech in favour of Queen Caroline,
which was carefully studied, and, it is
said, written over several times, is not
unworthy to be placed beside this
splendid burst.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Such, my Lords, is the case before
you! such is the evidence in support of
this measure&mdash;evidence inadequate to
prove a debt, impotent to deprive of a
civil right, ridiculous to convict of the
lowest offence, scandalous, if brought forward
to support a charge of the highest
nature which the law knows, monstrous
to ruin the honour and blast the name of
an English Queen! What shall I say,
then, if this is the proof by which an act
of judicial legislation, a parliamentary
sentence, an <i>ex post facto</i> law, is sought to
be passed against a defenceless woman?
My Lords, I pray you to pause: I do
earnestly beseech you to take heed. You
are standing upon the brink of a precipice&mdash;then
beware! It will go forth as your
judgment, if sentence shall pass against
the Queen. But it will be the only judgment
you ever pronounced which, instead
of reaching its object, will return and
bound back upon those who give it. Save
the country, my Lords, from the horrors
of this catastrophe&mdash;save yourselves from
this peril. Revere that country of which
you are the ornaments, but in which you
can flourish no longer, when severed from
the people, than the blossom when cut off
from the roots and stem of the tree. Save
that country, that you may continue to
adorn it; save the crown, which is in jeopardy,
the aristocracy, which is shaken;
save the altar, which must stagger
with the blow that rends its kindred
throne! You have said, my Lords, you
have willed, the church to the Queen
have willed that she should be deprived
of its solemn service. She has instead of
that solemnity the heartfelt prayers of
the people. She wants no prayers of
mine. But I do here pour forth my
humble supplication to the Throne of
mercy, that that mercy may be poured
down upon the people, in a larger measure
than the merits of its rulers may deserve,
and that your hearts may be turned to
justice."<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>On the trial of Mr John Stockdale,
Lord Erskine thus spoke:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"I have been speaking of man and his
nature, and of human dominion, from what
I have seen of them myself among nations
reluctant of our authority. I know what
they feel, and how such feelings can alone
be repressed. I have heard them in my
youth from a naked savage, in the indignant
character of a prince, surrounded by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[Pg 656]</a></span>his subjects, addressing the governor of a
British colony, holding a bundle of sticks
in his hand, as the notes of his unlettered
eloquence. 'Who is it,' said the jealous
ruler of the desert, encroached upon by
the restless foot of English adventure&mdash;'who
is it that causes to blow the loud
winds of winter, and that calms them
again in summer? Who is it that causes
this river to rise in the high mountains,
and to empty itself into the ocean? Who
is it that rears up the shade of these lofty
forests, and blasts them with the quick
lightning at his pleasure? The same
Being who gave to you a country on the
other side of the waters, and gave ours to
us; and by this title we will defend it,'
said the warrior, throwing his tomahawk
upon the ground, and raising the war-sound
of his nation. These are the feelings
of subjugated man all round the
globe; and, depend upon it, nothing but
fear will control where it is vain to look
for affection."<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Some of Mr Grattan's speeches are
said to have been the most eloquent
ever delivered in the House of Commons.
The following burst of indignant
patriotism, on the supposed
wrongs of Ireland, affords a favourable
specimen of his style of oratory:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Hereafter, when these things shall
be history, your age of thraldom and
poverty, your sudden resurrection, commercial
redress, and miraculous armament,
shall the historian stop to declare,
that here the principal men amongst us
fell into mimic traces of gratitude: they
were awed by a weak ministry, and
bribed by an empty treasury; and when
liberty was within their grasp, and the
temple opened her folding-doors, and the
arms of the people clanged, and the zeal
of the nation urged and encouraged them
on, that they fell down, and were prostituted
at the threshold.</p>

<p>"I will not be answered by a public
lie in the shape of an amendment: neither,
speaking for the subjects' freedom, am I
to hear of faction. I wish for nothing
but to breathe in this our island, in common
with my fellow-subjects, the air of
liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be
the ambition to break your chains, and
contemplate your glory. I never will be
satisfied as long as the meanest cottager
in Ireland has a link of the British chain
clanking in his rags: he may be naked,
he shall not be in irons. And I do see
the time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth,
the declaration is planted: and though
great men should apostatise, yet the cause
will live: and though the public speaker
should die, yet the immortal fire shall outlast
the organ which conveyed it, and the
breath of liberty, like the word of the
holy man, shall not die with the prophet,
but survive him."<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>We shall add only to these copious
and interesting quotations two passages
from the greatest masters of
French eloquence.</p>

<p>Bossuet, in his funeral oration on
Henrietta, daughter of France and
Queen of England, the consort of
Charles I., thus expresses himself:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Christians!" says he, in the exordium
of his discourse, "it is not surprising that
the memory of a great queen&mdash;the daughter,
the wife, the mother of monarchs&mdash;should
attract you from all quarters to
this melancholy ceremony; it will bring
forcibly before your eyes one of those
awful examples which demonstrate to the
world the vanity of which it is composed.
You will see in her single life the extremes
of human things: felicity without
bounds, miseries without parallel; a long
and peaceable enjoyment of one of the
most noble crowns in the universe&mdash;all
that birth and grandeur could confer that
was glorious&mdash;all that adversity and suffering
could accumulate that was disastrous;
the good cause attended at first
with some success, then involved in the
most dreadful disasters. Revolutions unheard
of, rebellion long restrained, at
length reigning triumphant; no curb
there to license, no laws in force. Majesty
itself violated by bloody hands&mdash;usurpation
and tyranny, under the name
of liberty&mdash;a fugitive queen, who can find
no retreat in her three kingdoms, and
was forced to seek in her native country
a melancholy exile. Nine sea voyages
undertaken against her will by a queen,
in spite of wintry tempests&mdash;a throne unworthily
overturned, and miraculously
re-established. Behold the lessons which
God has given to kings! thus does He
manifest to the world the nothingness of
its pomps and its grandeur. If our words
fail, if language sinks beneath the grandeur
of such a subject, the simple narrative
is more touching than aught that
words can convey. The heart of a great
queen, formerly elevated by so long a
course of prosperity, then steeped in all
the bitterness of affliction, will speak in
sufficiently touching language; and if it
is not given to a private individual to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[Pg 657]</a></span>teach the proper lessons from so mournful
a catastrophe, the King of Israel has supplied
the words&mdash;'Hear, O ye great of
the earth! Take lessons, ye rulers of
the world!'"<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>A very different man from Bossuet,
but who was perhaps his superior in
nervous eloquence, Robespierre, thus
spoke on the last occasion when he
addressed the Convention, then bent
on his destruction:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"They call me a tyrant! If I were
so, they would fall at my feet: I should
have gorged them with gold, assured them
of impunity to their crimes, and they
would have worshipped me. Had I been
so, the kings whom we have conquered
would have been my most cordial supporters.
It is by the aid of scoundrels
you arrive at tyranny. Whither tend
those who combat them? To the tomb
and immortality! Who is the tyrant that
protects me? What is the faction to
which I belong? It is yourselves! What
is the party which, since the commencement
of the Revolution, has crushed all
other factions&mdash;has annihilated so many
specious traitors? It is yourselves; it is
the people; it is the force of principles!
This is the party to which I am devoted,
and against which crime is everywhere
leagued. I am ready to lay down my
life without regret. I have seen the past;
I foresee the future. What lover of his
country would wish to live, when he can
no longer succour oppressed innocence?
Why should he desire to remain in an
order of things where intrigue eternally
triumphs over truth&mdash;where justice is
deemed an imposture&mdash;where the vilest
passions, the most ridiculous fears, fill
every heart, instead of the sacred interests
of humanity? Who can bear the
punishment of seeing that horrible succession
of traitors, more or less skilful in
concealing their hideous vices under the
mask of virtue, and who will leave to
posterity the difficult task of determining
which was the most atrocious? In contemplating
the multitude of vices which
the Revolution has let loose pell-mell with
the civic virtues, I own I sometimes fear
that I myself shall be sullied in the eyes of
posterity by their calumnies. But I am
consoled by the reflection that, if I have
seen in history all the defenders of liberty
overwhelmed by calumny, I have seen
their oppressors die also. The good and the
bad disappear alike from the earth; but
in very different conditions. No, Chaumette!
'Death is <i>not</i> an eternal sleep!'&mdash;Citizens,
efface from the tombs that maxim,
engraven by sacrilegious hands, which
throws a funeral pall over nature, which
discourages oppressed innocence: write
rather, 'Death is the commencement of
immortality!' I leave to the oppressors
of the people a terrible legacy, which well
becomes the situation in which I am
placed: it is the awful truth, 'Thou
shalt die!'"<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>It must be evident to every impartial
person, from these quotations, that
the superiority of ancient to modern
eloquence, so far as the art itself is
concerned, is great and indisputable.
The strong opinion of Lord Brougham,
on this subject, must command the
universal assent of every reasonable
mind:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"It is impossible for any but the most
careless observer, to avoid remarking the
great differences which distinguish the
oratory of ancient from that of modern
times. The immeasurable superiority of
the former is far from being the only, or
even the principal, of these diversities:
that proceeds, in part, from the greater
power of the languages, especially the
Greek&mdash;the instrument wielded by the
great masters of diction; and in so far
the superiority must for ever remain undiminished
by any efforts on the part of
modern rhetoricians. If, in such varied
and perfect excellencies, the most prominent
shall be selected, then doubtless is
the palm due to that entire and uninterrupted
devotion which throws the speaker's
whole soul into his subject, and will
not even&mdash;no, not for an instant&mdash;suffer
a rival idea to cross its resistless course,
without being swiftly swept away and
driven out of sight, as the most rapid
engine annihilates or shoots off whatever
approaches it with a velocity that defies
the eye. There is no coming back on the
same ground, any more than any lingering
over it. All is done at once; but the
blow is as effectual as it is single, and
leaves not anything to do. All is at each
instant moving forward, regardless of
every obstacle. The mighty flood of
speech rolls on in a channel ever full, but
which never overflows. Whether it rushes
in a torrent of allusion, or moves along in
a majestic exposition of enlarged principles,
descends hoarse and headlong in
overwhelming invective, or glides melodious
in narrative and description, or
spreads itself out shining in illustrations,
its course is ever onward and ever entire;
never scattered, never stagnant, never
sluggish. At each point manifest progress
has been made, and with all that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[Pg 658]</a></span>art can do to charm, strike, and please.
No sacrifice, even the smallest, is ever
made to effect; nor can the hearer ever
stop for an instant to contemplate or
admire, or throw away a thought upon
the great artist, till all is over, and the
pause gives time to recover his breath."<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>It is the more remarkable that this
great and decisive superiority on the
part of ancient oratory should exist,
when it is recollected that the information,
sphere of ideas, and imagery
at the command of public speakers, in
modern times, is so widely extended
in comparison of what it was in
Greece and Rome. As much as the
wide circuit of the globe exceeds the
limited shores of the Mediterranean
Sea, do the knowledge and ideas which
the modern orator may make use of
outstrip those which were at the disposal
of the brightest genius in antiquity.
Science has, since the fall of
Rome, been infinitely extended, and
furnished a great variety of images
and allusions&mdash;many of them of the
most elevated kind&mdash;which at once
convey a clear idea to any educated
audience, and awaken in their minds
associations or recollections of a pleasing
or ennobling description. The
vast additions made to geographical
and physical knowledge have rendered
the wide surface of the globe,
and the boundless wonders of the
heavens, the theme alike for the
strains of the poet, the meditations of
the philosopher, and the eloquence of
the orator. Modern poetry has added
its treasures to those which antiquity
had bequeathed to us, as if to augment
the chords which eloquence can
touch in the human heart. Chivalry
has furnished a host of images, ideas,
and associations wholly unknown to
ancient times; but which, however
at times fantastic or high-flown, are
all of an ennobling character, because
they tend to elevate humanity above
itself, and combat the selfish by the
very excess of the generous affections.
History has immensely extended the
sphere of known events, and not only
studded the annals of mankind with
the brightest instances of heroism or
virtue, but afforded precedents applicable
to almost every change that can
occur in the varied circumstances of
human transaction. Above all, Religion
has opened a new fountain in the
human heart, and implanted in every
bosom, with the exception only of
those utterly depraved, associations
and recollections at once of the most
purifying and moving kind. The awful
imagery and touching incidents of
the Old Testament, exceeding those
in the Iliad itself in sublimity and
pathos; the pure ideas and universal
charity of the New, as much above
the utmost efforts of unassisted humanity,
have given the orator, in modern
times, a store of images and associations
which, of all others, are the most
powerful in moving the human heart.
If one-half of this magazine of ideas
and knowledge had been at the disposal
of the orators of antiquity, they
would have exceeded those of modern
Europe as much in the substance and
magnificence of their thoughts, as they
already do in the felicity and force of
their expression.</p>

<p>A key may be found to the causes
of this remarkable superiority in ancient
eloquence, notwithstanding the
comparatively limited extent of the
materials of which they had the disposal,
in the very qualities in which
the ancient orators stand pre-eminent.
It is the exquisite taste and abbreviated
force of their expression which
renders them unrivalled. In reading
their speeches, we are perpetually
tempted to shut the book even in the
most interesting passages, to reflect
on the inimitable brevity and beauty
of the language. It is a mistake to
say this is owing to the construction
of the Greek and Roman languages,
to the absence of auxiliary verbs, and
the possibility of combining expression,
as in modern German, so as to
convey a complex idea in a single
word. Undoubtedly that is true;
but who made the ancient languages
at once so copious and condensed?
It was the ancients themselves who
did this. It was they who moulded
their tongues into so brief and expressive
a form, and, in the course of their
progressive formation through successive
centuries, rendered them daily
more brief and more comprehensive.
It was the men who made the language&mdash;not
the language the men. It
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[Pg 659]</a></span>was their burning thoughts which
created such energetic expressions, as
if to let loose at once the pent-up
fires of the soul. Those who assert
the reverse fall into the same error as
the philosophers who ascribe the character
of the Anglo-Saxons to their
institutions, when, in truth, their
institutions are owing to their character.</p>

<p>The main causes to which the extraordinary
perfection of ancient oratory
are to be ascribed, are the great
pains which were bestowed on the
education of the higher classes in this
most difficult art, and the practice of
preparing nearly all their finest orations
before delivery. It will sound
strange in modern ears to assign these
as the causes of this undoubted superiority,
when the practice with them
is in both particulars directly the reverse;
but a very little consideration
must convince every reasonable mind
that it is to these that it is to be
ascribed.</p>

<p>Great as is the importance and
undoubted the influence of eloquence
in modern Europe, it is by no means
so considerable as it was in the states
of antiquity. This arises in part
from the different structure of government
in ancient and modern times.
We hear nothing of eloquence in
Persia, Egypt, or the East. Military
power, political address, were then, as
they have ever since been in that part
of the world, the sole passports to
greatness. But it was otherwise
in the republics which studded the
shores of the Mediterranean Sea.
Universally, in them, supreme power
was lodged in the citizens of a
single city, or in them jointly with
the landowners in the vicinity, who
could with ease attend its public assemblies.
Every free citizen had a
vote in those assemblies, in which
every subject, political, social, and
judicial, was discussed and determined.
Questions of peace and war,
of imposing or taking off taxes, of
concluding treaties, of domestic laws,
of appointing generals and ambassadors,
of providing for the public subsistence,
of determining private suits,
of criminal punishments, of life and
death, were all submitted to those
assemblies, debated in their presence,
and decided by their suffrages. Political
power, personal fame, the direction
of the state, the command of its
armaments, the decision of its dearest
public and private interests, were all
to be attained by obtaining a sway in
these public assemblies, and could
seldom be obtained in any other way.
Hence it was that, as has been
finely observed, in modern times, the
soldier is brave, and the lawyer is
eloquent; but in ancient, the soldier
was eloquent, and the lawyer was
brave. Power of any sort could be
attained only by acquiring an ascendency
in the popular assemblies; whoever
acquired that ascendency was
liable to be immediately called to
command the fleets or armies of the
republic. Whatever opinions may
be formed of the tendency of such a
system of government, to insure
either the wise direction of its civil
interests or the successful protection
of its military enterprises, there can
be but one as to its effect in insuring
the highest attention to oratory, by
which alone the command of either
could be obtained.</p>

<p>But, in addition to this, the two
great instruments of power which,
in modern times, so often outweigh
the influence of spoken oratory, were
awanting. The <i>press</i> was unknown in
antiquity; there was no public religious
instruction: there were neither daily
newspapers to discuss passing events,
nor a stock of printed works to form the
principles of the people, or mould their
judgments, nor an Established Church,
to give them early and creditable impressions.
Education, derived entirely
from oral instruction or costly manuscripts,
was so extremely expensive
that it was beyond the reach of all
but the most wealthy classes. Three-fourths
of the persons who had votes
in any public assembly had their
principles formed, their information
acquired, their taste refined, in the
theatres and the forum. The temples
were open for sacrifice or ceremonies
only; not for instruction in religious
principle or moral duty. Immense
was the addition which this entire
want alike of a public press, and a
system of religious instruction, had
upon the importance of popular oratory.
The tragedian and the orator
had the entire moulding of the public
mind in their hand, alike in fixed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[Pg 660]</a></span>
principle, previous prepossessions,
and instant decision. No daily, or
monthly, or quarterly paper existed
to form the subject of study at home;
no standard works were in every
one's hands, to give principles right
or wrong, from which they were very
unlikely to swerve:&mdash;no religious tuition,
to the influence of which, in any
momentous crisis, appeal might be
made. The eloquence of the forum,
the transports of the theatre, were all
in all.</p>

<p>It resulted, from this extraordinary
and most perilous power of oratory
in ancient times, that the attention
bestowed throughout life, but especially
in youth, on training to excellence
in it, was unbounded. In truth,
education with them was so much
directed to the study and the practice
of oratory, that it formed in most
of their academies the main object of
instruction. Other topics&mdash;philosophy,
poetry, science, mathematics, history&mdash;were
not neglected, but they were
considered chiefly as <i>subordinate to
oratory</i>&mdash;rather, they were the preparatory
studies, from which a perfect
orator was to be formed. Cicero
says expressly, that there is no
subject of human knowledge of which
the orator may not avail himself, in
his public address, and which may
not serve to enlighten his narrative,
strengthen his argument, or adorn his
expression.<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> This shows how lofty
was the idea which he had formed of
this noble art, and the aids which he
was fain to obtain for it, from all,
even the most dissimilar, branches of
human knowledge. The greatest orators
and philosophers of antiquity devoted
themselves to instruction in its
principles, and consideration of the
manner of cultivating it with the
highest success. Demosthenes taught,
as every schoolboy knows, for a
talent: a sum above &pound;200, and equal
to at least &pound;500 in modern times.
Cicero has left several beautiful
treatises on oratory; Isocrates owes
his fame mainly to his writings on
the same subject; Quintilian has bequeathed
to us a most elaborate work
on its principles, and the mode of its
instruction; the treatise of Aristotle
on oratory is not the least celebrated
of his immortal works. So vast was
the number, and so great was the influence
of the schools of rhetoric, that
they came, in the later days of antiquity,
to supersede almost every other
subject of study; they attracted the
ingenious youth from every part of the
world to the groves of the Academy,
and singly supported the prosperity
and fame of Greece, for centuries after
they had sunk under the withering
grasp or declining fortunes of the
Byzantine empire.</p>

<p>It is evident from these considerations,
as well as the intrinsic beauties
which the great masters of the art
exhibit, that oratory in ancient times
was regarded as one of the <i>Fine Arts</i>.
It was considered not merely as the
means of winning the favour, of convincing
the judgment, or securing the
suffrages of the judges, but of moving
the affections, rousing the feelings,
and elevating the mind. Quintilian
mentions the various definitions of
the art of oratory which had been
invented by the rhetorical writers of
antiquity, and he inclines to that of
Cicero, who held that it was the art
of speaking "<i>apte ad persuadendum</i>."
This was its end, its aim; and undoubtedly
it was so: but the <i>modes of
persuasion</i>&mdash;the methods of influencing
the judgment or moving the affections&mdash;were
as various as the channels
by which the intellect may be determined,
the feelings roused, or the
heart touched. Not less than poetry,
painting, or statuary, they classed
oratory among the fine arts; and,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[Pg 661]</a></span>indeed, they placed it at the head of
them all, because it embraced all
their influences, and retouched, as it
were, by allusion, all the chords which
they had previously caused to vibrate.
The surprising force with which they
did this, considering the comparatively
limited stock of ideas, knowledge, and
imagery which was at their disposal,
compared to what obtains in modern
times, affords the most decisive proof
of the great attention they had bestowed
on the principles of the art,
and the perfection to which they had
brought the means of influencing the
mind&mdash;not only by the force of reason,
or the conceptions of genius, but by
all the subordinate methods by which
their effect in delivery was to be
augmented. With them the object of
oratory was not merely to persuade
the understanding, but</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To move the passions, and to melt the heart."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Nor was less attention bestowed, in
ancient times, upon training young
men, to whatever profession they were
destined, in that important and difficult
branch of oratory which consists
in intonation and delivery. It is well
known that this is a branch of the
art which is susceptible of the very
greatest improvement by education
and practice, and that even the
brightest natural genius can rarely
attain it, without the aid of instruction
or the lessons of experience. The
surprising improvement which is so
often observed in persons trained to
different professions or habits, when
they have been for some time engaged
in public speaking&mdash;above all, in
emphasis and action&mdash;affords daily
proof of the vast effects of practice
and experience in brightening the
delivery of thought. The prodigious
influence of accent and intonation in
adding to the power of eloquence is
equally well known, and may often
be perceived in listening to the difference
between the same verses when
recited by an ordinary reader, and
what they appear when illuminated
by the genius, or enforced by the
feeling, of a Kemble or a Faucit. The
ancients, accordingly, were indefatigable
in their endeavours to improve
themselves in this particular, and
availed themselves of means to attain
perfection in it to which modern
genius would scarcely condescend.
Cicero, when advanced in life, and in
the meridian of his fame, took lessons
from Roscius, the great tragic actor
of the day; and the efforts of Demosthenes
to overcome the impediments
of a defective elocution, by putting
pebbles in his mouth, and declaiming
on the shores of the ocean, the roar of
which resembled the murmurs of the
forum, demonstrate that the greatest
masters of the art of eloquence were
fully alive to the vast influence of a
powerful voice and animated delivery,
in heightening the effect even of the
most perfect efforts of oratory, and
disdained no means of adding to their
impression. When asked, What is the
first requisite of eloquence? the last of
these orators answered "Action;" the
second? "Action;" the third? "Action."
Without going so great a length,
and admitting the full influence of the
genius of Demosthenes in composing
the speeches which he so powerfully
delivered, every one must admit the
influence of an impassioned delivery
in heightening the effect of the highest,
and concealing the defects of the most
ordinary oratory.</p>

<p>Quintilian opens his second book by
a discussion of the question, which he
says occupied a prominent place in the
schools of antiquity, at what age a
boy should be taken from the teachers
of grammar, and delivered to the instructors
in rhetoric. By the former,
they were taught grammar and the
elements of composition; by the latter,
exercised in themes, compositions in
their own language, translations from
Greek, extempore debate, and instructed
in declamation, intonation,
and action. They were not sent out
into the world till they had spent
several years in the latter preparatory
studies and exercises; and in them
were trained young men of all sorts,
whether intended for the civil or military
classes. It was this which gave
its statesmen and generals so wonderful
a command of the means of moving
the human heart, and enabled them,
in the most trying situations, and often
in the crisis of a battle or the heat of
a tumult, to utter those noble and
impassioned sentiments which so often
determined the fate of the day, or
even the fortunes of their country;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[Pg 662]</a></span>
and which are so perfect that, when
recorded in the historians of antiquity,
they have the appearance of having
been imagined by the genius of the
writer. Nor was the attention to
these elements of eloquence sensibly
diminished in the progress of time,
when the establishment of absolute
power in the hands of a single person
had transferred, as in the days of
Napoleon, the discussion of all public
or national questions to the council of
state, or the private closet of the
emperor. On the contrary, it seems
to have daily increased, and was never
so great as when the military fortunes
of the empire were declining, and its
external influence yielding to the
increasing weight of the northern
nations. A false and turgid style of
eloquence, indeed, became then generally
prevalent, as it always does in
the later days of a nation, and in
periods of political servitude: but
attention to the means of attaining it
underwent no diminution. The wisdom
or policy of the emperors left
various important functions to their
<i>municipia</i>, or "little senates," as they
were called. The judicial functions,
for the most part, were still intrusted
to the citizens: they had the management,
almost uncontrolled, of their
local concerns: and so great was the
importance of securing their suffrages
that the power of influencing them, by
means of oratory, continued to the
very last to be the chief object of
instruction to the youth.</p>

<p>The instructors of youth in England
have practically solved the
question which divided the teachers of
antiquity, for they deliver the youth
at once from the grammar-school to
the forum. They teach him the dead
languages incessantly, up to the age of
eighteen, at school: in the universities,
mathematics in one university,
and logic in the other, divide his
time with the composition of Greek
prose or Latin verse. But in those
branches of study which have a bearing
on eloquence, or are likely to
improve the style of composition, the
main attention of all is still directed
to composition in the <i>dead languages</i>.
They think the art of speaking or
writing in English is not to be learned
by exercise in that language, but by
exercise in another. They hold we are
likely to become eloquent in this our
English isle, not by translating Cicero
into English, but by translating Addison
into Latin; to become great poets,
not by rendering Horace into the
tongue of Gray and Campbell, but by
rendering the immortal verses of these
into the languages of Pindar or Virgil.
Cicero and Mr Pitt were of an opposite
opinion. They held that, although
the study of the masterpieces of antiquity
is the great school of oratory, and
the best path to rivalling their beauties,
yet this is to be done, not by prosecuting
the vain endeavour to emulate, in
these days, their perfection in <i>their
tongue</i>, but by seeking to <i>transfer it
to our own</i>. Translations from the
Greek into Latin formed a large part
of the preparatory studies of Cicero,&mdash;from
Thucydides and Cicero were the
favourite occupation at college of Mr
Pitt.<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> It may be that these great
masters of ancient and modern eloquence
were wrong&mdash;that their time
would have been better employed in
composing Greek and Latin verses,
in attaining a thorough knowledge of
Greek and Latin prosody, or becoming
masters of all the niceties of
Greek or Latin prose composition; but
we shall not enter on the great debate.
We are content to let education
for all classes, in our universities,
remain what Mr Locke long ago said
it was, the education of schoolmasters;<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>
and shall content ourselves
with signalising this peculiar system
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[Pg 663]</a></span>of training as one great cause of the
admitted inferiority of modern to ancient
eloquence.</p>

<p>None can be more thoroughly impressed
than we are with the vast
importance of these noble establishments,
or their effect in elevating the
tone of the national mind, and improving
the taste of the youth who
daily issue from their walls. It is
just from a sense of these advantages
that we are so desirous to enhance
and extend the sphere of their usefulness,
and, by keeping them abreast
of the age, and prepared to meet its
wants, secure for the classes they
instruct the lead in the national
affairs to which they are entitled.</p>

<p>It cannot be disputed that, although
English composition, or translation
from the classics into English, is not
altogether overlooked in the English
universities, yet it forms a subordinate
object of attention. We are all aware
how many eminent men have first
become celebrated by their prize
poems. But those are the exceptions,
not the rule. The classics at
one university, the higher mathematics
at another, form the great passports
to distinction; the highest honours
at either are only to be won by
attention to one or other, or both, of
these branches of knowledge. It is
not surprising that, when this is the
case, the attention of the young men
should be mainly turned to composition
in the dead languages, or to the most
abstruse parts of mathematics; and that
when they come to speak in public, or
deliver sermons in their own language,
they should, in the great majority of
cases, be entire novices, both as concerns
the method of composition and
the graces of oratory. They are, in
truth, called upon for the first time to
speak what is to them a <i>foreign</i> language;
to discuss topics, to them, for
the most part unknown; and practise a
difficult art, that of delivery, to which
they are entire strangers. If they
were to address their audiences in
Greek, they might possibly rival
&AElig;schines or Demosthenes; if in
Latin, outstrip Cicero; and if required
to compose verses, equal Horace
or Pindar. But since they
are called on, when they go out
into life, to speak neither in Greek
prose nor Latin prose, to compose
neither in Greek verse nor Latin
verse, but to <i>speak in good English</i>,
and not about gods and goddesses, but
the prices of corn and beef, the evils of
pauperism and the load of taxes, they
too often find themselves entirely at
a loss, and inwardly lament the precious
years, never to be recalled,
which have been devoted to pursuits
of no practical utility in life.</p>

<p>It is the more extraordinary that
so little attention should be paid at
our universities to composition, or
the art of oratory, in the English
tongue, that every day's experience
proves that the power of public speaking
is not only absolutely essential
to the most moderate success in many
professions, but is indispensable to the
highest grades <i>in all</i>. In the Houses
of Lords and Commons, at the Bar,
in the Church, it is of course necessary
from the very outset, if the very
least eminence is to be looked for.
But not only in the professions of
which oratory is the very foundation,
but in every case of life where a
certain degree of eminence has been
attained, it becomes of equal importance,
and the want of it will be
equally felt. The landed proprietor
will find it impossible to maintain his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[Pg 664]</a></span>influence in his county, unless, on the
hustings and in political meetings, on
the bench of justices, at county and
railway meetings, he is prepared to
take his part in debate, and can come
off with a creditable appearance. The
merchant or manufacturer who has
become a <i>millionnaire</i> by a life of
laborious industry, will find that
he cannot keep his place in society
unless he call deliver his sentiments
with effect at civic dinners,
meetings for business, in the magisterial
chair, or at the festive board.
Even the soldier and sailor, when they
rise to eminence in their profession,
are called on to speak in public, and
grievously suffer if they cannot do so.
Many a gallant spirit, which never
quailed before an enemy, has been
crushed, and his reputation injured,
by inability to speak in a public assembly,
or to answer appropriately a
complimentary speech at a public
dinner. Indeed, the influence of public
speaking in the country is not only
great, but daily increasing, and it confers
influence and distinction often far
beyond the real merits of the speaker,
and, for its want, the most solid or brilliant
parts in other respects can make
no compensation. The great body of
men invariably impute inability to
speak well in public to want of ideas;
whereas, in reality, it generally arises
from want of practice, and often coexists
with the greatest acquirements
and the most brilliant genius. Strange
that the art of English oratory, upon
which the experience of all tells them
success in the higher stations of life
is entirely dependent, should, by common
consent, be invariably neglected,
and that the art of making Latin
verses, which universal experience
tells all is of no earthly use in life,
except to one in a thousand, should,
by common consent, be universally
cultivated!</p>

<p>It is constantly said, that the object
of the extraordinary attention paid in
our schools and colleges to composition
in the dead languages, is to
enable the students properly to appreciate
the beauties of their authors,
and that, without an exact knowledge
of prosody and writing in them, this
appreciation cannot be attained.
This is doubtless in some degree true:
but the point is, at what cost is this
proficiency attained, and to what
proportion of the students is it of any
practical benefit? Is there one in
ten to whom the beauty of poetry
will ever be intelligible, one in a
hundred who will ever be a poet? If
we were to live to the age of Methusalem,
it might be worth while to set
apart ten years for classical composition,
ten more for Italian, and ten
for German; but since our life is
limited to threescore and ten years,
and a seventh of that only can be devoted
to education, is it expedient to
devote the <i>whole</i> of that time to that
one object? If ten years are devoted
to the mastering of Greek composition
and Latin prosody, <i>what time is left</i>
for learning to speak or write in English?
What should we say if ten
years were devoted by every English
young man to the composition of
German or Italian verses, because it
would better enable him to appreciate
the beauties of Schiller or Metastasio,
of Korner or Petrarch? Yet
is composition in these living languages
more practically useful, both
for the business of life and for improvement
in our own tongue, than in
the dead, because it is often of advantage
in society, and their tongues
are at bottom derived from the same
roots, and are similar in construction
to our own.</p>

<p>It is the more to be regretted that,
in our Universities, translations from
English into Greek or Latin should be
made so great an object, instead of
translations from Greek or Latin into
English, because the latter study is
perhaps the most beneficial, both to
spread a taste for ancient beauties,
and to diffuse the means of rivalling
them in our own tongue, which the wit
of man has ever devised. There is
nothing which improves the style
like translation from the masterpieces
of foreign languages. It is far more
beneficial than copying or committing
to memory the most perfect specimens
of composition in our own
tongue, because it both brings us in
contact with the most exquisite specimens
of human genius, and exercises
the mind in the endeavour to transfer
them to our own idiom. It varies
the thought, it extends the ideas, it
suggests new methods of expression.
It is the foreign travelling of the soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[Pg 665]</a></span>
It renders foreign or ancient languages
tributary to our own; it fills the mind
with remote ideas; it not only "elevates
us in the scale of thinking beings," but
increases our power of communicating
our thoughts to the world. What
boundless treasures have Milton and
Collins, Taylor and Gray, imported
into our language from the classical
writers: how much was the nerve
and form of their expression enhanced
by their study of antiquity! Of what
value are all their Latin compositions
compared to those which, so enriched,
they have left in their own tongue?</p>

<p>The next circumstance which has
contributed to stamp its peculiar style,
and hitherto unequalled perfection, on
ancient oratory, is the circumstance
that it was all, or nearly all, <span class="smcap">WRITTEN</span>
and committed to memory. This at
least was <i>certainly</i> the case with all
the orations which have come down
to our times; for, if not written, how
have they been preserved? There
were no short-hand writers in those
days. The art of stenography was
unknown. No reporters from the
<i>Times</i> were in attendance, to catch,
with almost magical rapidity, every
word which fell from the speaker's
lips, and render it with exact fidelity
in its ample columns the following
morning. What was written came,
and could only come, from the author
himself. It is well known that several
of the most celebrated speeches
of Cicero never were delivered at all:
the frequent repetition of the same
ideas, in the same identical words, in
the orations of Demosthenes, affords
conclusive evidence that they were
not merely carefully prepared, but
actually written out. Indeed, to any
one who considers the style of the
speeches, not only of these great masters,
but of all the orators of antiquity,
it must be sufficiently evident
that nearly all that has come down to
us had been written. Some part,
without doubt, was caught from the
inspiration of the moment: a happy
retort was sometimes the result of an
interruption, a felicitous reply of an
antagonist's attack. But these were
the exceptions, not the rule. These
extempore bursts were interwoven
with the framework of the piece, and
committed to paper next day, when
the author corrected his speech for
permanent preservation. In the dexterous
interweaving consisted no
small part of the skill of the orator.
But the greater part of every speech
was, beyond all doubt, written and
committed to memory. The style
everywhere proves this. It is as impossible
for any man, how bright
soever his genius or copious his language,
to speak extempore in the
condensed and emphatic style of the
ancient orators, as it would be to
compose, as an Improvisatore, the
verses of Pope or Campbell.</p>

<p>This circumstance sounds strange
in those times, and especially to an
Englishman, because it is well known
that the grand requisite, the one
thing needful to a modern orator, is
to speak extempore. Power in reply
is considered as the highest quality;
and it is to it, <i>par excellence</i>, that the
much coveted phrase "effective" is
applied. We all know what would
be the fate of a speaker in the House
of Commons who should commit his
speeches to memory, and take lessons
from Macready or Kean in their delivery.
Beyond all doubt, derision
would take the place of admiration;
the laughs would be much more frequent
than the cheers. Yet this is
precisely what Cicero and Demosthenes
did; it was thus that Pericles
ruled the Athenian Democracy, and
&AElig;schines all but overturned the giant
strength of his immortal adversary.
We are not to imagine that these men,
whose works have stood the test of
twenty centuries, were wrong in their
system; it is not to be supposed that
every subsequent nation of the earth
has misdirected its admiration. It is
more probable that some circumstances
have occurred to turn oratory,
in modern times, aside from its highest
flights, and induced a style in
public speaking which has now become
habitual, and will alone be
tolerated, but which is inconsistent
with the most perfect style of oratory.
Nor is it difficult, if we consider the
composition of modern senates, and
the objects for which they are assembled,
to see what these circumstances
are.</p>

<p>As freedom and popular institutions
are indispensable to eloquence,
it is in England and France, since the
Revolution, that oratory of a high<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[Pg 666]</a></span>
description can alone be looked for.
But the Anglo-Saxons are essentially
a <i>practical</i> race; and the stamp in
this respect which nature has affixed
to their character, appears, in every
age, not less in their deeds than their
accomplishments. Imagination has
shone forth most brilliantly in many
individuals of the race&mdash;but, generally
speaking, we are not an imaginative
people. The Fine Arts have never
struck their roots in the open air
amongst us; they are the delicate
plants of southern realms, which require
the shelter and warmth of our
conservatories. It is in the highly
educated classes alone that a taste for
them is general. The romantic, not
the classical drama, alone has ever
been popular with the mass of our
people; the attractions and fashion
of the opera are required to make
even the beauties of Metastasio
tolerable to the very highest ranks.
In matters of business, the same disposition
is apparent. What is required,
what commands success, is
neither the flowers of oratory nor
brilliancy of imagination nor elegance
of diction, but argument to the
point. It is thus that the suffrages
of jurymen are to be obtained; it is
thus that a majority in the House of
Commons is to be secured. As the
assemblies to whom modern oratory
is addressed are much less numerous
than those of antiquity&mdash;as they are
representatives, not citizens; juries,
not Areopagites&mdash;a different style of
speaking has become established from
that which was universally felt to be
essential in the assemblies of antiquity.
When the crowds of a theatre
were no longer to be addressed, the
theatrical style of oratory fell into
disuse.</p>

<p>As argument to the point, accurate
acquaintance with the subject, and
the power of communicating something
of value to the interests with
which senates in modern times are
intrusted, are the great requisites
which are now looked for, set and
prepared speeches have been abandoned.
It was soon discovered that
they would seldom meet the exigencies
of a debate, and still less furnish
the materials of a reply. They were
felt to be of little value, because they
did not meet what the audience
wished. They were as much out of
place as a set speech would be to a
jury, after evidence had been led in
a case. It will always be so in situations
where real business is to be done,
and the persons by whom it is to be
done are not numerous assemblies,
little acquainted with the subjects of
discussion&mdash;and therefore liable to be
swayed by the eloquence of the
orator&mdash;but a limited number of persons,
most of whom are somewhat
acquainted with it, and desire to have
their information extended, rather
than their feelings touched. It has
accordingly been often observed, that
the style of speaking in the House of
Commons has sensibly declined in
beauty, though it has increased in
knowledge of the subject, since the
Reform Bill introduced the representatives
of the commercial towns, and
business men have found a place in
such numbers in the House of Commons.
It may be anticipated that,
as their numbers and influence increase,
the same change will become still
more conspicuous.</p>

<p>But although these considerations
sufficiently explain how it has happened
that the style of speaking, in
our national assemblies, has become
more business-like and less ornate
than in the republics of antiquity,
and extempore speaking has grown
into a universal practice with all
public men who aspire to the honours of
"effective" oratory&mdash;or such as would
acquire a practical sway in the
assemblies to which it is addressed&mdash;it
by no means follows from this, that
this system is not a deviation from
the method by which alone a perfect
style of eloquence is to be attained,
or a step in descent in that noble art.
Because a thing is useful and necessary,
or even unavoidable, with a
view to attain certain ends, it is
not to be concluded, that it is by
attending exclusively to it that the
highest and most perfect style in
it is to be attained. The simple style
of singing best suits private performers,
and often appears in the
highest degree charming, when flowing
from the lips of taste and beauty;
but no one would compare art, in
these its early stages, to what it appears
in the hands of Grisi or Mademoiselle
Lind. The style of speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[Pg 667]</a></span>
adopted by our leaders at the Chancery
bar, or on the North Circuit, is
probably the best that could be devised
to attain the object to which
the gentlemen of the long robe
aspire&mdash;that of influencing the judges
or juries of those courts; but every
one must see that that object is a
much inferior one to that which was
aimed at by Cicero, Demosthenes, or
Bossuet. Their business is with
oratory as an art; but, in addition to
this, eloquence is a fine art. Great
eminence in the latter department
can never be attained but by sedulous
preparation, and the committing
to memory of written compositions;
and unless this is done, the fame of
no orator, how much soever he may be
celebrated during his career, can possibly
be durable, or exceed the lifetime
of the contemporaries to whom his
extempore effusions were addressed.</p>

<p>Nothing is more common than to
hear it said, after a powerful speech
in the House of Lords or Commons
has been delivered, that it rivalled
the most finished pieces of ancient
eloquence; nay, it is sometimes added
that it was "above all Greek, above
all Roman fame." In no instance,
however, has it been found that this
reputation has been lasting, or even
long survived the actual appearance
of the orator before the Houses of
Parliament. The ample columns of
Hansard's <i>Parliamentary Debates</i> are
often searched to discover inconsistencies
in the delivered opinions of public
men; sometimes to bring to light
facts on statistics which subsequent
time has caused to be forgotten; but
rarely, if ever, to cull out specimens
of elevated thought, condensed argument,
or felicitous expression. None
of these speeches will take their place
beside those of Cicero and Demosthenes,
or the <i>Oraisons Fun&egrave;bres</i> of
Bossuet, all of which were written
compositions. When the historian
comes to record the arguments used
on the opposite sides, on great public
questions, he cannot refer to a more
valuable and faithful record than the
Parliamentary Debates; for they tell
at once what was advanced in the
legislature, and said in the nation, on
every subject that came under discussion:
but he cannot turn to one
which it will be less safe to transfer
unaltered to his pages. If he means
to render the arguments interesting,
or even intelligible, to the great body
of readers, he must distil them into a
twentieth part of their original bulk:
he must dismiss all the repetitions
and circumlocutions; he must say in
words what he finds delivered in
sentences; he must abridge a hundred
pages into four or five; he
must, in short, do <i>ex post facto</i>, and
to convey an impression of the argument
to future times, what the ancient
orators did <i>ab ante</i>, and in
order to secure the suffrages of the
present. It is surprising, when this
is carefully done, how effectually a
lengthened argument can be condensed
into a few pages; and how
powerful the bone and muscle appears
when delivered from the oppression
of the superincumbent flesh.</p>

<p>It is not to be wondered at that it
should be so. The reason for it is
permanent, and will remain the same
to the end of the world. In the heat
and animation of a debate, a happy
idea may occasionally be struck out,
a felicitous retort may be suggested
by an interruption. The Parliamentary
speeches contain many instances
of such ready talent; and it need
hardly be said that the effect of it, at
the moment of delivery, is in general
prodigious. But it is altogether impossible
to keep up a speech extempore in
that style. Preparation and previous
study are the parents of brief and
emphatic expression: without their
meeting, the offspring need not be
looked for. The reason is, that it is
while one thought is in the course of
delivery that the mind is arranging
those which are to succeed it. The
conception of a ready extempore
speaker must always be two or three
sentences ahead of his elocution.
Thence the necessity for circumlocution
and repetition. It is to <i>gain time</i>
for thought&mdash;to mould future ideas. If
it were not so, he would come to a dead
stop, and break down at the end of
the first sentence. The faculty of
doing this&mdash;of speaking of one thing
and thinking of another; of composing
words in one sentence, and arranging
ideas for another, without
pause or hesitation&mdash;and doing this
often in the midst of applause or interruption,
is one of the most wonder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[Pg 668]</a></span>ful
efforts of the human mind; and it
is its extreme difficulty which renders
elegant extempore speaking so very
rare, and makes it, when it does
appear, the object of such general
admiration. But we are persuaded
that the greatest master of extempore
speaking will admit, that it is
wholly impossible to keep up eloquent
and condensed expression, for any
length of time, without previous preparation.
Whenever you hear an
orator bringing out condensed and
elegant expression for any length of
time together, it may be concluded,
with absolute certainty, that he is
speaking from preparation.</p>

<p>Nor is such preparation inconsistent
with occasional allusion to previous
argument or retort against interruption;
on the contrary, it is by
such extempore effusions or sallies,
interwoven in the text of a prepared
oration, that the highest perfection in
the art of oratory is to be attained.
If it is wholly prepared, it will appear
lifeless and methodical&mdash;it will
wear the aspect of a spoken essay.
If it is wholly extempore, it will
be diffuse and cumbrous&mdash;crowded
with repetitions, and destitute of
emphasis. It is by the combination
of general careful composition with
occasional felicitous reply that the
highest perfection in this noble art is
to be attained; for the first will give
it general power, the last the appearance
of extempore conception. By
no other method is it possible to combine
the two grand requisites of the
highest species of oratory&mdash;emphatic
and condensed language&mdash;with those
occasional allusions and sudden replies
which add so much to its immediate
effect, and give it all the air of
being produced at the moment. It is
true, this is a dangerous style to
adopt, and many are the speakers
who have broken down under it; for
nothing is so apt to induce confusion
in the mind, and forgetfulness of what
should follow, as new introductions
into a prepared composition. But
where is there anything great or magnificent
achieved in life without difficulty
and danger? and the examples
of the ancient orators, by whom both
were overcome, is sufficient to demonstrate
that it is not beyond the reach
of genius and perseverance.</p>

<p>Still less is it to be supposed that
such a style of speaking is inconsistent
with the most vehement and powerful
action, and all the aids which oratory
can derive from intonation, gesture,
and animation in delivery. On the
contrary, it is in delivering such
speeches that these may be brought
to bear with the happiest effect,&mdash;as
we daily see on the stage, where
known speeches, every word of which
is got by heart by the actor, and often
is familiar to the audience, are every
day repeated with the utmost possible
effect, and the most impassioned action.
It is the want of such animation
in delivery which is the great
cause of the failure of many able
speakers, and nowhere more than in
the pulpit. The common opinion that
discourses there must be delivered in
a cold inanimate manner, suitable to
the gravity of the subject and the
solemnity of the place, is an entire
mistake, and has contributed, perhaps,
more than any other cause, to
the vast numbers whom the Dissenters
have succeeded, both in England
and Scotland, in enticing away from
the Established Church. It is this
animation which generally follows the
delivery of thought extempore, compared
with the cold monotonous style
in which written discourses are usually
delivered,&mdash;which is one great
cause of the signal success which has
attended the efforts of the Methodists
and Low Churchmen in England, and
the Free Church clergy in Scotland.
The common opinion among the peasants
of Scotland, that the inspiration
of Heaven only descends upon extempore
speakers, arises from the same
cause. They think the extempore
preacher is inspired because he is
animated; they are sure he who reads
his discourse is not so, because he is
monotonous. But many examples
prove that it is quite possible to combine
the most finished and elaborate
written composition with such intensity
of feeling, and vehemence of action,
as will give it the appearance of
extempore and uncontrollable bursts
of eloquence. The great effect of Dr
Chalmers's sermons in Scotland, and
Mr Irving's in England, were not required
to show that it is by this
combination that the highest triumphs
in pulpit oratory are to be attained.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[Pg 669]</a></span></p>

<p>Contrast this with the tame and
monotonous way in which too many
learned and unexceptionable sermons
were delivered in the days of
Addison, and which, it is to be
feared, has not become obsolete since
his time:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Our preachers stand stock-still in the
pulpit, and will not so much as move a
finger to set off the best sermons in the
world. We meet with the same speaking
statues at our bars, and in all our public
places of debate. Our words flow from
us in a smooth continued stream, without
those strainings of the voice, motions of
the body, and majesty of the head, which
are so much celebrated in the orators of
Greece and Rome. We can talk of life
and death in cold blood, and keep our
temper in a discourse which turns upon
everything that is dear to us. Though
our zeal breaks out in the finest tropes
and figures, it is not able to stir a limb
about us. It was just the reverse in antiquity.
We are told that the great
Latin orator very much impaired his
health by this <i>laterum contentio</i>, this
vehemence of action, with which he used
to deliver himself. The Greek orator
was likewise so very famous for this particular
in rhetoric that one of his antagonists,
whom he had banished from Athens,
reading over the oration which had procured
his banishment, and hearing his
friends admire it, could not forbear asking
them, if they were so much affected
by the bare reading of it, how much more
they would have been charmed had they
heard him actually throwing out such a
storm of eloquence. How cold and dead
a figure, in comparison of these two great
men, does our orator often make at the
British bar or in the senate! A deaf man
would think he was cheapening a beaver,
when, perhaps, he is talking of the fate
of the British nation. It is certain that
proper gestures, and vehement exertions
of the voice, cannot be too much studied
by a public orator. They keep the
audience awake, and fix their attention
on what is delivered to them, at the same
time that they show that the speaker is
in earnest, and affected himself with
what he so passionately recommends to
others. In England, we often see people
lulled asleep with cold and elaborate discourses
of piety, who would be transported
out of themselves by the bellowings
of enthusiasm."<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>It is no answer to our observations
to say, that our greatest orators
have been bred at the universities,
and that the system cannot be very
faulty which has produced Pitt and
Fox, Chatham and Burke, Peel and
Stanley. Supposing that all these
orators had devoted themselves, at
college, to classical verses, instead of
compositions in their own tongue&mdash;which
was by no means the case&mdash;still,
that would by no means prove that
the system of education in which they
were bred was not eminently defective.
They became great speakers,
not from having been proficients in
"longs and shorts" at Oxford, or
in the differential calculus at Cambridge,
but in spite of these acquirements.
They learned the art of speaking
in the forum, as Wellington's
soldiers learned the art of war in the
field, by practice, in presence of the
enemy. Doubtless a great deal may
be done, by able and energetic men, in
this way; but does it follow from this
that education is to go for nothing,
and that the old system of sending
out officers to begin a campaign and
besiege towns without knowing a
ravelin from a bastion, was advisable,
or likely to insure success in the
military art? If you have two or three
thousand young men, comprising the
&eacute;lite of the nation, at certain seminaries,
<i>you cannot help finding your
leading statesmen and orators there</i>,
whatever they learn at them. They
would be found there, though they
were taught at them nothing but riding,
music, and dancing. The whole
rulers of Persia were found at its
schools, though they learned nothing
at them but to ride, to shoot with the
bow, and speak the truth. But it
would be rather dangerous to hold
that this proves that seminaries, where
nothing else was taught, were the
ones best suited to secure the first
place in society for their scholars, or
the blessings of good government to
the state.</p>

<p>Nor let it be said that there is no
room, as society is now constituted,
for the triumphs of the higher species
of eloquence; that it cannot be attempted
at the bar, and would be
hooted down in the House of Commons,
where business men now form
a large majority, and business speeches,
not the flowers of rhetoric, will alone
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[Pg 670]</a></span>be listened to. There is much truth
in these observations, although it will
probably be found that, even in courts
of justice and in the Reformed House
of Commons, a study of the condensed
and cogent style of ancient eloquence
is not the worst passport to success,
and is almost indispensable to the
highest triumphs. But supposing the
bar and the senate set aside, as places
in which business will alone be tolerated,
are these the <i>only</i> places in
which oratory may be practised, in
which opinion may be moulded, and
influence by eloquence obtained? Are
there no public meetings held amongst
us for the purposes of political change,
social improvement, religious extension,
moral amelioration, charity, or
festivity, in which large numbers of
the people, and often of all ranks and
both sexes, are brought together, in
which there is ample room for the
display of all the graces of oratory,
and in which the most eloquent and
impassioned speaker is sure to carry
away the palm? Are not these meetings
the "primary assemblies," as it
were, in which the ideas are elaborated,
or the principles formed, which
afterwards make their way into the
press and the Legislature, and so determine
the course of national policy,
or the fate of national fortunes?
Every day, with the increasing popularising
of our institutions, is adding
to the influence of eloquence, and
multiplying the situations in which its
highest style may be poured forth with
the greatest effect. Above all, is not
the pulpit to be found in every parish,
where every week an opportunity is
afforded for the most earnest appeals
to the consciences of men&mdash;where the
highest temporal and eternal interests
are constantly the subject of discussion&mdash;where
the most earnest appeals
to the feelings are not only allowed,
but commendable&mdash;and where a mixed
and willing audience is always to be
met with, of both sexes, who receive,
not only with patience, but with gratitude
and admiration, the most powerful
and moving strains of eloquence which
can be addressed to them? Rely upon
it, opportunities for oratory in its
very highest style are not awanting.
What is awanting is due attention
early in life to that noble art, the
lofty spirit which arises at great objects,
and the energetic will, the resolute
perseverance, which deem the
labour of a lifetime a light price to
pay for their attainment.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[Pg 671]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="LAINGS_OBSERVATIONS_ON_EUROPE" id="LAINGS_OBSERVATIONS_ON_EUROPE">LAING'S OBSERVATIONS ON EUROPE.</a></h2>


<p>It is not the least merit of Mr
Laing's writings that they embrace
much matter within a manageable
compass. The objects claiming our
attention are multiplying so fast upon
us&mdash;the path of the inquirer is strewn
with so many important topics, that
he who would keep pace with the
march of knowledge, must be content
to throw aside all but what is really
useful for the journey. The volume
before us, forming a sequel to the
<i>Notes of a Traveller</i> published by Mr
Laing in 1842, fulfils this condition, and
comprises within the limits of a moderate
octavo a vast variety of subjects,
social and political, domestic and foreign&mdash;population,
the division of land, emigration, militia, university
education, Continental railroads, taxes,
theatres, fresco-painting, and a multitude
of other topics. Among so many
subjects, there are of course some on
which we are unable to concur in the
opinions expressed by the author; and
some of his views we can hardly reconcile
with the acute good sense that
characterises most of his observations.
But even on matters where we are
forced to differ from him, his remarks
are always instructive, original, and
suggestive; and he generally presents
both sides of a disputed question with
remarkable impartiality, leaving the
reader to form the conclusion for
himself.</p>

<p>There is one circumstance which, in
our opinion, greatly enhances the
value of Mr Laing's observations on
the social condition of our own and
other countries. The very worst of all
travellers is a political economist&mdash;that
is, a dogmatist in the science. Whether
his <i>Magnus Apollo</i> be Smith, or
Say, or Ricardo, he sees all things
through the spectacles of his favourite
theories. Any inquiries he makes are
directed, not to elicit the truth, but to
support his pre-formed opinions; and,
of course, no one who goes forth on
this errand ever fails of finding what
he seeks. And thus it happens that
a Cobden may traverse Europe from
end to end; and at the very time
when the thunderclouds of social convulsion
were about to burst in the
most awful storm that has ever shaken
civilised nations, he not only discerns
no symptom of the impending hurricane,
but beholds nothing but the
smiling prospect of contented industry&mdash;the
budding spring-time of
universal peace and reciprocity. But,
on the other hand, the observer who
is either unacquainted with the doctrines
of political economy, or who
affects to consider them only as objects
of speculative curiosity, is, in the
opposite way, just as unfit as the pedant
in the science to form correct
and comprehensive views of the social
condition of foreign states. He wants
the proper rule to direct his observations,
and can hardly attain any but
confused and superficial ideas of the
meaning of what he sees around him.
He alone is qualified to observe
wisely, and to write instructively,
about the institutions and customs
of other nations, who, having worked
out for himself the leading principles
of the science, and ascertained
their true limits, possesses
at the same time sufficient common
sense and independence of judgment
to apply them. Mr Laing seems to
us to be gifted in an eminent degree
with these requisites for making good
practical use of his theoretical knowledge
of political economy. He
appears to be fully aware of the vast
amount of dangerous error that has
resulted from a blind and indiscriminate
application of the same abstract
laws to all cases, without fully ascertaining
their true character, or making
allowance for those disturbing causes
which often render the law wholly
irrelevant. Political economy, like
other sciences, has its two parts&mdash;the
theory and the application; and
it too often happens that a man who
is well read in the first is totally incapable
of giving an opinion on the
second, and infinitely the more difficult
branch. The platform orator or
newspaper writer thinks that if he
can but refer to an abstract formula
borrowed from Ricardo or M'Culloch,
it is sufficient to settle any question
of social interests that may come
before him&mdash;not considering that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[Pg 672]</a></span>
these formula and maxims <i>are</i>
abstract: and that their applicability
to the affairs of everyday life may be
affected by so many causes that it
is scarcely possible to find any actual
example to which they can be applied
rigorously, and to their full extent.
And hence the nonsense that is talked
and written, under the name of
political economy; hence the absurdities
that are enacted under the idea,
that nations can be governed by the
square and plummet of its rules.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"The truth has been missed," says Mr
Jones, in the preface to his work on the
Distribution of Wealth, "not because a
steady and comprehensive study of the
story and condition of mankind would not
yield truth, but because those who have
been most prominent in circulating error
have really turned aside from the task of
going through such an examination at
all; have confined the observations on
which they have founded their reasonings
to the small portion of the earth's surface
by which they were immediately surrounded;
and have then proceeded at
once to erect a superstructure of doctrines
and opinions, either wholly false,
or, if partially true, as limited in their
application as the field from which the
materials for them were collected."</p></blockquote>

<p>Mr Laing supplies us<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> with an apt
illustration of the fallacious use that
is very commonly made of general
laws, by neglecting to attend to the
special circumstances of each case.
It has been laid down as a maxim by
economists, that a government should
not attempt to direct, restrict, or
interfere with the employment of
capital and industry; but that every
man should be left free to use the
portion of them he possesses, how,
where, and when he pleases. Now
this maxim may be true enough in the
abstract, and where there are no conditions
to limit its application; but
it is not equally true in all political
states, nor in the same state at different
times. The social condition of
Great Britain, at the present day, may
admit its application more fully than
that of most other nations. But we
have only to cross the German Ocean
to find a circumstance easily overlooked&mdash;namely,
that of climate, which
upsets its relevancy altogether.</p>

<p>A still more striking exemplification
of the same fallacy presents itself too
obviously, in the opening of the corn
trade in our own country. "There
should be no artificial restrictions on the
food of the people"&mdash;that is the abstract
axiom on which our legislators grounded
the abolition of all customs on
imported grain. Does any one question
the truth of it as a general axiom?
Certainly not: and if we were setting
out on a new social system&mdash;if the
field on which we had to work was
a <i>tabula rasa</i>, and we were free in all
other respects, as well as this, to devise
a scheme of government for a
nascent community&mdash;that maxim
would no doubt be kept in view in
the construction of our code. But we
have to legislate for a state of society
in which everything else is artificial&mdash;in
which restrictions meet us wherever
we turn. Our task is not to
rear a new edifice, in the plan of
which we could give free scope to our
taste and skill; but to repair, and if
possible improve, an ancient fabric,
the work of many different ages, and
abounding in all manner of quaint
angles and irregularities. We have
to deal with the case of a country
burdened with an enormous weight of
general and local taxation, arbitrarily
and unequally distributed,&mdash;where the
employment of the people, and the application
of their capital and industry,
is founded on the faith of old laws and
a settled commercial principle,&mdash;above
all, a country where the business of
exchange has to be conducted through
the most anomalous medium&mdash;the
medium of a <i>fettered currency</i>. One
and all of these peculiarities in our
condition are so many limitations of
the general maxim; and the attempt
to carry it out in its full extent, in defiance
of these limitations, can only
end in confusion and disappointment.
Political economy is a safe guide in
the hands of a practical legislator,
only when he has fully apprehended
the truth that there is not one of its
principles, from beginning to end, that
may not be limited by the special
condition of each individual state;
and unless he can carry with him this
master-principle, so necessary to a
right use of the theory of the science,
it is far better and safer for those
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[Pg 673]</a></span>whose interests he directs that he
should be wholly ignorant of it, and
should trust altogether to common-sense
and experience.</p>

<p>There is a very manifest disposition
at present, to extend the jurisdiction
of political economy to all public
questions&mdash;to take it for granted that,
when a case has once been argued and
decided according to its laws, there is
no more to be said on the subject.
We are apt to forget that there is in
all cases an appeal to another court,
where the inquiry is not as to what is
most favourable to the production of
exchangeable Wealth, but what most
conduces to the Happiness of the
people; and that, still beyond, there is
the last supreme tribunal on earth of all
human actions, where there is but one
law&mdash;the universal law of Morality.
Are these three jurisdictions identical?
Or are the decrees that issue from
them necessarily in harmony with
each other? So, at least, we are told
by those who take the strongest view
of the importance of political economy.
Their doctrine is, that whatever promotes
one of these objects promotes
the others; and that wealth, happiness,
and virtue, though distinguishable
in thought, are mutually and
reciprocally united in the history and
experience of nations. To buy cheap
and sell dear is the way for a man to
get rich; but the riches of individuals
in the aggregate form national wealth,
national wealth produces civilisation,
civilisation promotes happiness and
contentment, and happiness and contentment
promote virtue&mdash;such is the
sorites on which is founded the creed
of a very large section of the present
school of economists. That country in
which the means of production are
most developed is the soil where the
higher qualities of man's nature will
be found flourishing in greatest perfection.
Wealth, then, is the principal
thing in the guidance of private conduct,
as well as in the government of
nations; and with all our getting, the
chief concern is to get capital. It is
this disposition to submit everything
to the test of productiveness that Sismondi
has so aptly designated by the
title of <i>chrematism</i>. The views of
that great and philosophic writer, as
to the inevitable tendencies of the
doctrine, have been already fully explained
in our pages.<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> We allude to
them now only to observe how remarkable
a confirmation of his opinions
is furnished by the history of the great
Continental states since that review
of his doctrines was written.</p>

<p>Is there, then, no way of reconciling
the apparent antagonism between
the development of man's industrial
powers, and his higher interests as a
rational and accountable being? Are
we to conclude that the roads that lead
to wealth, to happiness, and to virtue,
are necessarily divergent? and that
national advancement in any one of
these paths implies a departure from
the others? No; not necessarily so.
Such is not the doctrine taught by
Sismondi, and by those who, with him,
impugn the title of political economy to
be considered as the great paramount
rule of social existence. All that they
maintain is, that there is <i>no necessary
agreement</i> between these three great
springs of human action; that though
the law of morality may, and obviously
often does, concur with the
maxims of happiness, and those again
with the rules of political economy,
there are nevertheless many questions
on which we are at a loss to reconcile
them. The learned Archbishop of
Dublin has an elaborate argument in
his <i>Introductory Lectures</i>, to show, on
<i>a priori</i> grounds, that the condition
most favourable to the exercise of
man's productive energies must also
be favourable, not only to the highest
development of his intellectual faculties,
but also to his advancement in
moral purity. Now, we venture to
think that no such argument, however
ingeniously conducted, can be satisfactory,
simply because <span class="smcap">IT IS</span> <i>a priori</i>.
Reason and experience are at variance;
and no <i>a priori</i> deduction will
help us out of the practical difficulty.
We, no doubt, all naturally desire
and hope&mdash;nay, believe&mdash;that at some
future time, and in some way at present
unknown, the perplexing contradiction
will be explained. Reason
affirms unhesitatingly, that the same
Providence which placed so bounteous
a store of the physical materials of
wealth at our disposal, can never have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[Pg 674]</a></span>designed that their cultivation should
embitter the lives of those who labour,
still less that it should endanger their
moral wellbeing; and we look forward,
therefore, with firm faith to a
period when these paths, which to
our present sight seem to lead in
directions so opposite, shall all be
seen to reunite and terminate in
one common end. But, in the present
state of our powers, that insight
is yet far from being attained, and
the great problem yet remains to
be solved.&mdash;What do we see around
us? In this country&mdash;whose physical
character and the spirit of
whose people seem to destine her
for the very home and centre of
production&mdash;are there no discordant
elements in our condition? While
wealth has increased among us with
a rapidity unexampled in the history
of the world, and the struggling energies
of all men have been strained to
the uttermost in the race of industry&mdash;while,
under the sway of commercial
Ministries, legislation has been specially,
almost exclusively, directed to
stimulating manufactures in every
way, and removing every obstacle
that could be supposed, however indirectly,
to hinder their extension&mdash;can
we venture to assert that the condition
of the great mass of the people
has improved in proportion to our
riches? Are the relations of employers
and the employed on so satisfactory
a footing as to give no grounds
for anxiety? Has the labourer, by
whose toil all those vast accumulations
of capital are created, enjoyed
an equitable share of them? Have
his means of domestic comfort increased
in the same ratio as the wealth
of his master? Is not the rate of
his remuneration diminishing with
every step in our progress? Has not
crime, during the last half century,
increased fully ten times as fast as
the numbers of our population?
Who can look at these, and a
hundred other similar indications
that readily suggest themselves, and
say that all is well; that, as far as
the experience of Britain goes, the
road to national wealth has also conducted
us to greater happiness and
moral wellbeing? Alas! the evidence
is but too convincing that, if
there be any way of reconciling these
ends, we at least have not yet found
it. But we repeat that the contrariety
between them is not a necessary or
universal one. The conditions of
great advancement in commerce and
the industrial arts, are not all or invariably
unfavourable to the innocent
enjoyments of life among the labouring
people, or hostile to their higher
interests. It is not asserted that
wealth is necessarily, or in itself, injurious;
but only the means which
we have hitherto discovered of acquiring
it. The Archbishop imputes the
converse of this doctrine to those who
venture to deny the supreme importance
of the objects of political economy,
and then proceeds to demolish
it by reducing it to absurd consequences.
If, says he, it be true that
the riches and civilisation of a community
<i>always</i> lead to their moral
degradation, if you really consider
national wealth to be an evil, why
do you not set about diminishing it;
and, following out the counsels of
Mandeville, burn your fleets, destroy
your manufactories, and betake yourselves
to a life of frugal and rustic
simplicity? Such a challenge, we
presume to think, has no bearing on
the position we have been supporting;
and it would be just as fair an
argument on our side of the question,
if we were to turn round and insist
that his Grace should testify to the
truth and consistency of the opinions he
maintains by turning our churches
into cotton factories, and the University
of Dublin into a Mechanics' Institute.
We go no further than to
affirm that, in the experience of our
own and the other most civilised nations
of Europe, the rapid augmentation
of wealth has not been attended
with a corresponding increase of rational
enjoyment, or of moral improvement,
in the mass of the community.
Further, we hold that a legislator
must recognise these three objects not
only as distinct, but as subordinate,
one to the other: that is to say, the
government of a country is not justified
in fostering the interests of the
capitalist in such a way as to trench
upon the enjoyments of the common
people, nor in promoting these to the
neglect of their moral and religious
instruction. He is not, for example,
justified in allowing the employer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[Pg 675]</a></span>
demand from his operatives the utmost
amount of daily toil that he can extract
from them, so as to leave them
no time for bodily rest or intellectual
culture. All policy that overlooks
or contemns this natural subordination
in the ends of human existence, must
terminate in disaster and misery.</p>

<p>We have been partly led into these
reflections through the consideration of
a subject which occupies a prominent
place in Mr Laing's <i>Observations</i>, and
seems, in some respects, to illustrate&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"How wide the limits stand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Between a splendid and a happy land."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>The national advantages of small
estates, as compared with the scale of
properties most common in this
country, have been most fully and systematically
discussed by M. Passy,
as well as by Mr Thornton, Mr Ramsay,
and Mr Mill, among our own
writers. But Mr Laing has had the
credit of attracting attention to the
subject by his extensive personal inquiries
as to the actual results of the
Continental plan, and by showing
(what many English readers are slow
to believe) that the "<i>petite culture</i>,"
as pursued in north and central Germany,
and in Belgium, so far from
being incompatible with the profitable
use of the land, is, in fact, more productive
than the opposite system of
large holdings. These views were
strongly expressed in his <i>Notes of a
Traveller</i>; and his evidence in favour
of peasant proprietorship is greatly
founded on by Mr Mill, in the able
defence of that system which forms
part of his work on political economy.
The book now before us takes a more
enlarged, and in some respects a different
view of the question, presenting
it in all its bearings, favourable and
unfavourable; and thus furnishing the
inquirer with all the materials on which
he is left to build his own conclusions.</p>

<p>One who looks at the subject for
the first time, and whose beau-ideal
of agricultural perfection is formed on
the pattern of Norfolk or Haddington,
finds some difficulty in believing that
a country cut up into small "laird-ships"
of from five to twenty acres,
can be advantageously cultivated at
all. He naturally takes it for granted
that, as regards efficiency of labour
and quantity of produce, the large
scale must always have the advantage
of the smaller; and that the spade
and the flail can, in the long run, have
no more chance in competition with
the Tweeddale plough and Crosskill's
steam thrashing-machine, than a dray-horse
with Flying Dutchman. And
in England, or any country similarly
circumstanced, his conclusion would
no doubt be perfectly correct; and
yet a visit to Flanders, Holstein, or
the Palatinate, will convince him that
the boorish-looking owners of the
patches of farms he finds there, with
the clumsiest implements, and, to his
eyes, most uncouth ways of working,
do somehow contrive to raise crops
which he, with all his costly engines,
and the last new wrinkle from Baldoon
or Tiptree Hall, cannot pretend
to match. Their superiority as to the
cereal grains is perhaps questionable;
but, looking to the quantity of produce
generally, no impartial observer
can doubt that, after making every
allowance for difference of soil and
climate, a given area of land in Belgium
<i>yields more food</i> than the same
extent in England. How is this to
be accounted for? Let us hear Mr
Laing's explanation.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"The clean state of the crops here (in
Flanders)&mdash;not a weed in a mile of
country, for they are all hand-weeded out
of the land, and applied for fodder or
manure&mdash;the careful digging of every
corner which the plough cannot reach;
the headlands and ditch-slopes, down to
the water-edge, and even the circle round
single trees close up to the stem, being all
dug, and under crop of some kind&mdash;show
that the stock of people, to do all this
minute handwork, must be very much
greater than the land employs with us.
The rent-paying farmer, on a nineteen
years' lease, could not afford eighteen-pence
or two shillings a-day of wages for
doing such work, because it never could
make him any adequate return. But to
the <i>owner of the soil</i> it is worth doing such
work by his own and his family's labour
at odd hours; because it is adding to the
perpetual fertility and value of his own
property.... His piece of land to
him is his savings-bank, in which the
value of his labour is hoarded up, to be
repaid him at a future day, and secured
to his family after him."<a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p></blockquote>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[Pg 676]</a></span></p>
<p>This is the secret of the marvellous
industry that has converted even the
barren sands and marshes of these
districts into one continuous garden.
It has been accomplished by what,
for want of a better expression, we
may call spontaneous, in opposition
to hired labour. The labourer is himself
the owner of the soil, and to one
so circumstanced work assumes quite
a different aspect; the spade goes
deeper, the scythe takes a wider
sweep, and the muscles lift a heavier
burden. No agricultural chemistry
is so potent as the sense of property.
The incentive to his daily toil is not
the dismal vision of a parish workhouse
in the background, but an ever-fresh
hope for the days that are before
him. His fare may be hard, his
clothing coarse, and indulgences rarely
procurable; but his abstinence is voluntary&mdash;"<i>et
saltem pauperies abest</i>."</p>

<p>There can be no doubt that a much
larger proportion of the population
will find employment and subsistence
from the land under this system than
under ours. Mr Laing illustrates this
by supposing the case of an estate in
Scotland of 1600 arable acres divided
into eight farms of 200 acres each;
and he assumes that the labour employed
on each of these farms, taking
one season with another, is equivalent
to that of ten people all the year
round&mdash;an estimate which is not far
from the truth on a well-managed
farm.<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> Such an estate of 1600 acres
will thus afford constant employment
to eighty labourers.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Now take under your eye a space of
land here, in Flanders, that you judge to
be about 1600 acres. Walk over it, examine
it. Every foot of the land is cultivated&mdash;dug
with the spade or hoe where
horse and plough cannot work; and all is
in crop, or in preparation for crop. In
our best farmed districts there are corners
and patches in every field lying waste
and uncultivated, because the large rent-paying
farmers cannot afford labour, superintendence,
and manure, for such minute
portions of land and garden-like work as
the owner of a small piece of land can
bestow on every corner and spot of his
own property. Here the whole 1600
acres must be in garden-farms of five or
six acres; and it is evident that in the
amount of produce from the land, in the
crops of rye, wheat, barley, rape, clover,
lucern, and flax for clothing material,
which are the usual crops, the 1600 acres
under such garden-culture surpass the
1600 acres under large-farm cultivation,
as much as a kitchen-garden surpasses in
productiveness a common field. On the
1600 acres here in Flanders or Belgium,
instead of the eight farmers with their
eighty farm-servants, there will be from
three hundred to three hundred and
twenty families, or from fourteen hundred
to sixteen hundred individuals, each
family working its own piece of land; and
with some property in cows, sheep, pigs,
utensils, and other stock in proportion to
their land, and with constant employment,
and secure subsistence on their own little
estates."<a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>The influence such a mode of life
produces on the character of the people
is a consideration of higher moment
than its economical results. And on
this point observation seems in general
to confirm the opinion which we
should naturally form beforehand.
Compared with the employments of
mechanics, that of the husbandman
demands a much higher and more
habitual exercise of the faculty of
judgment. His mind is not tied down
to the repetition of the same act, chipping
a stone, straightening a wire,
watching the whirling of a wheel,
from the beginning of the year to the
end, but almost each day brings a
new set of thoughts with it. He cannot
proceed a step without forming
processes of induction from his observations,
and exercising his reason as
to the connection of the manifold
phenomena he sees around him with
their proper causes. The peasant
proprietor has to task his inventive
faculties too, in order to turn all his
humble resources to the best advantage;
and his success depends more
upon his intelligent use of the limited
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[Pg 677]</a></span>means at his command, than upon the
mere bodily energy of his labour. Of
such a person it is, therefore, truly
and pregnantly said by Mr Laing, that
though he may not be able to read or
write, he has an educated mind&mdash;a
mind trained and disciplined in the
school of nature. And his position
favours the development of his moral
powers still more than his intellectual
faculties, by teaching him patience,
self-restraint, thought for the future,
and, above all, that humility which
can scarcely fail to be felt by one who
finds himself ever in contact with
unseen powers and influences beyond
his control.</p>

<p>The general diffusion of the means
of comfort and of simple enjoyment,
earned by unbought rural industry, is
an idea that takes a strong hold of the
imagination. The fancy wanders back
to the days of the old yeomen of
England, or further still to Horace's
charming pictures of country life, or
to Claudian's Old Man of Verona,
thus rendered into glorious English
by Sir John Beaumont:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Thrice happy he whose age is spent upon his owne,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The same house sees him old that him a child hath known;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He leans upon his staffe in sand where once he crept&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His memory long descentes of one poor cote hath kept.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Unskilful in affaires, he knows no city neare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So freely he enjoys the light of heaven more cleare.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The yeeres by sev'rall corne&mdash;not consuls he computes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He notes the spring by floures, and autumne by the fruits&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One space put down the sun, and bring again his rays;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thus by a certaine orbe he measures out his dayes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rememb'ring some greate oke from small beginning spred,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He sees the woode grow old which with himself was bred," &amp;c.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>In every man's mind we believe
there is a quiet corner, where the
memories or the imaginations of country
life take root and thrive spontaneously.
Even the old, hardened,
care-worn dweller among the sights
and sins of cities will "babble o' green
fields" when all other earthly things
have faded from his mind. In England
especially, the preference for
country life amounts almost to a passion;
and most of us are ready enough
to admit, without demanding many
reasons, that a people whose chief
employment and dependence is the
cultivation of their own lands, will be
individually happier than if the scene
of their labours were in the mine or
the mill. But let us beware lest our
rural partialities lead us too far.</p>

<p>We may acknowledge that the
social condition of a country in which
the land is distributed into small properties,
affords, in many respects, a
better chance of contentment to the
people than is enjoyed by the labouring
classes generally in Britain. But
whether such a system be adapted to
our circumstances, whether its introduction
to any considerable extent be
at all practicable here, is obviously
quite another question. The subject
has been treated hitherto by British
authors with too little reference to the
condition of their own country. Benevolent
enthusiasts talk of peasant-proprietorship
as if it were a harbour
of refuge from all our difficulties, as if
a return to that unsophisticated mode
of life under which&mdash;<i>ut prisca gens
mortalium</i>&mdash;each man of us should eat
and be satisfied with the fruits reared
by his own labour upon his own land,
were at once the simplest and the
most obvious remedy for our complicated
social evils, and as easily accomplished
as the passing of a railway
suspension bill. Even Mr Laing, we
think, in his former works, directed
attention perhaps too exclusively to
the benefits which he saw to be connected
with the system in the northern
parts of the Continent, without sufficiently
adverting to the causes which
render it unsuitable for countries situated
like ours. But this omission has
been remedied in the work before us,
in which, after tracing the beneficial
results of a minute subdivision of land
property, he turns the picture, and
impartially points out its unfavourable
features; and to any one who has
been indulging in the dream that the
culture and territorial system of Belgium
or Norway can be transplanted
into the soil of England, we earnestly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[Pg 678]</a></span>
recommend the study of Mr Laing's
sixth chapter. We cannot afford
space to follow him through the adverse
side of the argument, but may
state briefly the chief points he brings
forward.</p>

<p>In the first place, the condition of
a society in which the population is
principally employed in raising their
food upon their own little properties,
is necessarily a <i>stationary</i> condition.
We speak, be it observed, of a people
principally engaged in this occupation;
for, in proportion as commerce and
manufactures increase among them,
labour will become expensive, capital
will accumulate in masses, and the
peculiar advantages of the small
estate system will gradually disappear.
The estates themselves will
cease to be small; for, as a natural
result, men who have made money
will add farm to farm, and create
large properties, unless there be some
counteracting influence, such as the
law of equal succession in France,
to disperse these accumulations as
fast as they arise. Two conditions,
then, are necessary to the continuance
of peasant-proprietorship among a
people as a permanent institution.
1st, An imperfect development of
trade and manufactures; and, 2d,
a law of inheritance that shall discourage
men from forming large properties
and transmitting them to their
heirs. The state of such a community
then, we say, is a stationary one.
Every man is like his neighbour, and
each succeeding generation is only a
copy of the one that preceded it&mdash;contented,
it may be, industrious and
peaceable, but incapable of making a
single important step in civilisation.
And here we see the nature and
extent of that bewildering contrariety
which we have noticed between man's
social progress and his other interests
of happiness and morality. We cannot
resist the conviction that the
proper destiny of man is, that in
every community each generation
should be wiser, as well as better and
happier, than that which has gone
before it. But here we have before
us a condition eminently fitted to
favour the latter objects, while it acts
as a barrier to all material improvement
in the arts, the economical applications
of science, and all the refinements
of social life. In his habits,
tastes, and opinions, the <i>bauer</i> of
this generation in the Rhenish provinces,
the <i>udaller</i> of Norway, is
just the same as his forefathers were
five hundred years ago. His simple
wants are supplied almost entirely by
the industry of his own household,
and the travelling pedlar furnishes
him with the few articles of luxury
in which he indulges. He is not only
the owner, cultivator, and labourer of
the land, but he is usually his own
carpenter, builder, saddler, baker,
brewer&mdash;often his own clothier, tailor,
and shoemaker. Granting, then,
that the gross produce of the soil is
greater when cultivated by a race of
petty landowners, than by capitalists
employing hired labour, and that the
land will thus maintain a greater
number of agricultural labourers, it is
obvious that the <i>surplus</i> produce that
remains for the support of other
branches of industry is diminished in
exactly an inverse ratio. The production
of commodities for exchange
is therefore inconsiderable; and the
growth and circulation of capital are
necessarily slow.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Petty cultivation, when pushed to its
farthest extent, terminates in spade husbandry,
and in it, therefore, the utmost
consequences of a minute subdivision of
land must be seen. There is no doubt
that a country cultivated in this way
could be made to produce much more
than under any other system of agriculture;
and were food the only necessary of
man, it might therefore support a much
larger population from the growth of its
own soil. But then the wealth of this
population would be reduced to a bare
subsistence; the whole crop, or nearly
all, would be consumed by those employed
in raising it, and there would be little or
nothing over to purchase home or foreign
manufactures, the productions of art,
or the works of genius, and no means of
supporting a population engaged in such
occupations. And even though persons
might be found willing to addict themselves
to the arts and sciences without
expectation of pecuniary reward, yet
none would be rich enough to have leisure
to follow such pursuits. Thus, gradually,
a universal barbarism would overspread
the land."</p></blockquote>

<p>Mr Ramsay, from whom we have
copied these sentences, and whose
judicious remarks on this subject well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[Pg 679]</a></span>
deserve the attention of the inquirer,
here supposes the system of petty cultivation
carried out to its utmost
limits; but the same consequences,
though in a less degree, will necessarily
follow every step in that direction.
And in point of fact, it is precisely
the state of matters in those
countries of Europe where agriculture
is wholly carried on by peasant proprietors,&mdash;where,
consequently, there
is no independent and wealthy class
to maintain a home trade; and the
trifling commerce that exists is kept
alive chiefly by the demands of that
class who live on Government employment,
and at the expense of the
public.</p>

<p>We have adverted to the connection
between the petty territorial
system and the law of inheritance.
If we could suppose the whole surface
of England were to be parcelled out
to-morrow into small holdings, and
then placed in the hands of labouring
men, it is clear that, while enterprise
and the spirit of accumulation
were left as free as at present, the
whole arrangement would be upset
before the end of the twelvemonth;
and that, in a few generations at
furthest, property would be found
gathered into large masses, just as it is
now. Some artificial means, then,
would be necessary for limiting the
liberty of disposing of property&mdash;some
such contrivance as the compulsory
law of equal succession in France and
the Provinces of the Rhine&mdash;to provide
against the possibility of the
landowner ever becoming wealthy,
and rising above the condition of a
peasant. But are we prepared for all
the consequences to which an equal
partition of the land among the children
of the peasant proprietor would inevitably
lead, and has to a great
extent already led in those countries?
In communities such as Norway,
where equal inheritance has grown up
with the old institutions of the nation,
and all their domestic customs are
intimately connected with it, its evil
effects are in a great measure neutralised
by traditionary usages, which
supply the place of law, and prevent
the subdivision of property from
reaching a dangerous extreme. But
national customs cannot be adopted
<i>extempore</i>; and the experience of
France is surely a sufficient proof of
the danger of attempting factitiously
to adapt that system of succession to
the habits and institutions of an old
and highly civilised nation. And yet,
without some such restriction of the
freedom of testation, peasant-proprietorship,
as a permanent social
principle, is impossible. It is becoming
every day more apparent, that
the compulsory subdivision of landed
property is the main source of the
restless and disorganised condition of
the French population. The sons of
the peasant proprietor spend their
youth in the labours of the farm, and
look to the land alone as the means
of their subsistence. The acre or two
that must fall legally to their share
at the death of their father is regarded
as a sufficient provision against the
chance of indigence; and they rarely
think of seeking employment in other
industrious occupations, or of applying
themselves steadily to a trade. The
consequence is, that at that age which,
in our country, is the prime of a
working man's life, they find themselves
left to the bare subsistence they
can scrape from their miserable inheritance&mdash;without
regular occupation,
unfit for mercantile pursuits,
and ripe for war and social tumult.
Is it possible to imagine a condition
more fitted to foster that reckless and
turbulent military spirit&mdash;ever ready
to burst the barriers of constitutional
law&mdash;which lies at the root
of France's social calamities? Subdivision
of land property and perpetual
peace&mdash;these are the two
great elements which our Manchester
lawgivers think are to change
the face of civilised Europe. Most
truly does Mr Laing declare, that
ingenuity could not have devised
two principles more hostile to each
other in their very nature, and more
irreconcilable in the past history of
the world, than those which Mr Cobden
and his followers have selected
as the twin pillars of their new social
system.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"If Mr Cobden be right in considering
this social state (the universal diffusion
of property in land) pacific in its elements
and tendencies, all political economy,
as well as all history, must be
wrong!"&mdash;(P. 110.)</p></blockquote>

<p>No state can be pacific, no state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[Pg 680]</a></span>
can be secure, in which there is not
an intervening class between those
who govern and those who are
governed&mdash;a class who shall, as our
author says, act "like the buffers and
ballast waggons of a railway train,"
and prevent those violent jerks and
concussions which shake the machine
of government to pieces; and the
existence of such a class is excluded
by the very notion of peasant proprietorship.
The truth is, there are
two, and only two, kinds of government
compatible with the territorial
system of France, and her law of succession.
These are, an absolute
democracy on the one hand, and military
despotism on the other&mdash;the
tyranny of one man or of millions;
and between these two polar points of
the political compass, her destinies
have been vibrating for the last half
century.</p>

<p>Let us turn our view once more
homewards. We have frequently and
earnestly endeavoured to impress
upon the public that the accumulation
of property, real as well as movable,
into vast and unwieldy masses, has
gone too far in our own land. We
have consistently opposed that policy
which tends to give capital an undue
and factitious influence, and, in its
precipitate zeal to stimulate production,
overlooks all other interests.
But we cannot deceive ourselves with
the imagination, that peasant proprietorship
is the specific antidote to
these evils. Pleasing as such Arcadian
visions may be to the speculative
man, who turns away in weariness
and perplexity from the struggle of
discordant and competing interests,
no one surely can believe that they
can possibly be realised here, or that
the cultivation of the land by peasant
owners can ever become a normal
and permanent element in our
social condition. The ingenious reasonings
of Mr Mill and Mr Thornton
seem to establish nothing more than
that such a state is compatible with
good agriculture, and with that contentment
which Mandeville calls "the
bane of industry;" and that nations,
like young couples in the honeymoon&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Though very poor, may still be very blest."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>But no one has seriously set himself
to show how a system in such direct
antagonism to all our existing institutions
and habits&mdash;a system tantamount
to a retrogression of three
hundred years in our history, is to
be engrafted on the laws of Great
Britain. Some writers, indeed, are
fond of referring obscurely to the
great measures of Prince Hardenberg
and Von Stein in Prussia, and to their
beneficial results, as if they formed a
precedent and argument for the creation
of peasant estates in this country.
But every one who has made himself
acquainted with the true nature and
purpose of the change introduced by
those ministers&mdash;which was merely a
commutation of certain burdens on
the beneficiary owners of the land&mdash;knows
that no such change is possible
in Britain, simply because there are
no such burdens to commute.<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> An
isolated experiment of such plantations
may be tried here and there,
and by artificial culture may be kept
up for a time: but it can have no
permanent influence on the nation at
large. Acts of Parliament cannot
make us forget what we have learnt,
and relapse into the condition our
fathers were in before the Revolution.
We cannot retrace our steps at will,
and fall back upon some imaginary
stage of our past history, when
contentment and rude simplicity are
supposed to have overspread the land.
Examples there are, no doubt, of
nations once great and opulent, whose
arts, inventions, and civilisation, are
now almost forgotten. But changes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[Pg 681]</a></span>like these are not studiously brought
about by the politic enactments of
rulers, but by indirect causes of decay;
and a people that has once begun to
go back in civilisation must gradually
sink into indigence and barbarism.
Whether our past advancement, then,
has been for good or for evil, it is
now too late to retreat. The progress
of a society, composed chiefly of peasant
landowners, resembles the motion
of an eddy at the margin of a great
stream&mdash;slowly circling for ever in the
same narrow round. We, more daring
than others, have ventured out into
the very centre of the flood where the
current rolls strongest; and to stand
still now is as impossible as to breast
the Spey when the winter's snows
are melting on the Grampians.</p>

<p>Following Mr Laing's footsteps, we
have pointed out some of the dangers
inseparable from a division of the soil
into small estates; but we are very
far indeed from considering the tenure
of land in this country as incapable
of amendment. It is mischievous as
well as visionary to talk of remodelling
our territorial system on the pattern
of Prussia or Belgium, or any
other country; but it is also mischievous,
and most impolitic, to create
or continue legal impediments to the
<i>natural</i> subdivision of property. It
is impossible to doubt that a very
general desire prevails among the
labouring classes, and those who have
laid up little capitals in banks and
friendly societies, to acquire portions
of land suitable to their means of investment.
The large prices paid for
such lots when they are found in the
market, and the eagerness with which
even such dubious projects as Mr
Feargus O'Connor's have been laid
hold of, prove the fact to a certain
extent; and it has been strongly confirmed
by the inquiries of the committee
which sat last session for
investigating the means available to
the working-classes for the investment
of their small savings. The
great extension of allotments, in late
years, may perhaps have helped to
foster this disposition; while it shows
how anxious these classes are to
acquire the possession of land, even on
the most uncertain and unfavourable
tenure. However disapprovingly our
political economists may shake their
heads at the progress made by that
system, as not squaring with their
doctrines, we cannot doubt that, so
far as it has gone, its results have been
eminently beneficial; and the thanks
of the nation are due to that enlightened
nobleman who has taken the
lead in this course, and has created,
we are told, no less than four thousand
holdings of this description on
his estates. But allotments do not
meet the difficulty of finding a field
for the secure investment of the smaller
accumulations of industry. The question
then is, whether it be right or
safe that so strong and healthful a
wish should prevail among the people,
without the means of gratifying it?
Let us shut out of view all the crude
and disjointed schemes for a redistribution
of property on a wider basis,
and the limitation of the right of
testation; and, without undermining
the structure of the law, endeavour to
remove those parts of it which present
technical or fiscal impediments to the
acquisition of small properties, and to
adapt it generally to the wants of the
community. The amendment of the
Scotch entail law, and of the process
of conveyance, as well as the recent
remission of part of the burden of
stamp duties, have already cleared
away some of those obstacles. But
much remains to be done, especially
in England, in simplifying technical
forms, and abridging the expense of
conveyances in small transfers. In
this respect, we are still far behind
the nations of the Continent. Until
the recent alteration of the stamp
duties, the expense of effecting a sale
of land in England, and of creating a
mortgage, was in ordinary circumstances
thus proportioned to the value
of the subject:&mdash;</p>

<div class="tdr">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="the expense of effecting a sale of land in England, and of creating a mortgage, was in ordinary circumstances thus proportioned to the value of the subject">
<tr>
  <th>Value of Estate.</th>
  <th colspan="2">Expense of a Sale.</th>
  <th colspan="2">Expense of a Mortgage.</th>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>&pound;50</td>
  <td>30&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
  <td class="tdl">per cent</td>
  <td>30</td>
  <td class="tdc">per cent</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>100</td>
  <td>15&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
  <td class="tdl">...</td>
  <td>20</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>600</td>
  <td>7&frac12;</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
  <td>9</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>1500</td>
  <td>5&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
  <td>3</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>100,000</td>
  <td>4&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
  <td>12</td>
  <td class="tdc">...</td>
</tr>
</table></div>

<p>Who would ever dream of applying
his savings in the purchase of a piece
of land of &pound;50 value, when he must
pay &pound;30 more to make a title to it?
The new scale of stamp duties alters
the proportion; but the expense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[Pg 682]</a></span>
legal writings, which forms the larger
half of the charges above stated, remains
undiminished, and operates as
an absolute prohibition of the sale and
purchase of land for investment under
&pound;1000 value. Such are the intricacies
of the system, and such the want of a
proper registry,<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> that we are told by
the highest authorities that there is
scarcely a title to be met with on
which a purchaser can be quite secure,
and which does not afford room for
dispute and litigation. Now, contrast
all this with the way in which the
transfer of property is effected abroad.
We have before us a copy<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> of an actual
conveyance of a parcel of land in the
Duchy of Nassau, the price of which
was &pound;181. The form of the contract
extends to only four lines, and contains
a reference to an appended schedule,
which specifies briefly in separate
columns the description of the subject,
its extent, and its number on the
register. The expense of the whole
transaction, including government
charges, was &pound;4, 7s. The sale of a
similar estate in England would, until
the other day, have been attended
with an expense of about &pound;24.</p>

<p>But we cannot enter into the specific
means by which the exchange of
land properties, especially those of
small amount, may yet be facilitated;
our object being merely to show how
desirable, and how strictly coincident
with the soundest conservative policy,
it is to remove all discouragements to
the natural employment of capital on
the soil of the country.</p>

<p>This leads us to the mention of
one of those topics of Mr Laing's <i>Observations</i>,
in which his opinions seem
to be more ingenious than correct;
we allude to the apparently paradoxical
view he takes of the ultimate consequences
of abolishing agricultural
protection.</p>

<p>Mr Laing is not an observer who
runs any risk of being entangled
in the obvious meshes of the Free-Trade
net. He has seen too much of
other countries, and has too just an
appreciation of the practical value of
politico-economical theories, to be deceived
by the common sophisms of
the Manchester dialectics. No one
has more ably exposed the cardinal
fallacy on which the whole system
hinges&mdash;that a permanently low price
of corn is necessarily beneficial to the
people. In the former series of his
<i>Observations</i>, published at a time when
the common-sense of the country was
beginning to give way before the bold
and clamorous assertions of the
League, he showed, by arguments sufficient
to have convinced any one
who would have listened to calm
reason, that, in a country like Great
Britain, the cheapness of imported
corn, though it may enrich the employer
of labour, cannot in the long
run be an advantage to the working
man. He pointed out clearly, too,
the fallacy that ran through all the
calculations of Dr Bowring and Mr
Jacob, as to the supply of grain which
the Northern countries of Europe
could send us, and the price they
could afford to take for it. Every
week's experience is now showing the
utter worthlessness of the large mass
of estimates and returns compiled by
these great statistical authorities, and
confirming what Mr Laing foretold in
opposition to all their calculations&mdash;that
our principal imports would be
drawn from the countries whose produce
reaches us through the Baltic, at
prices which, in ordinary seasons,
must uniformly undersell the English
grower in his own markets. The reason
assigned by him is a very clear
one, and well deserves the attention
of those landowners and farmers at
home, who are still flattering themselves
with the belief that the rates
and quantities of the grain imports of
the last two years have been occasioned
by temporary causes&mdash;that the
importers must have been losing
largely, and will soon cease to prosecute
an unremunerative trade.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Why cannot the British farmer, with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[Pg 683]</a></span>his greater skill, capital, and economy of
production, raise vastly greater crops,
and undersell with advantage, at least
in the British market, the foreign grain,
which has heavy charges of freight, warehouse
rent, and labourage against it?
The reason is this: The foreign grain
brought to England from the Continent
or Europe consists either of rents, quit-rents,
or feu-duties, paid in kind by the
actual farmer; or it is the surplus produce
of the small estate of the peasant
proprietor. In either case the subsistence
of the family producing it is taken
off, and also whatever is required to pay
tithe, rates, and even taxes, which, as well
as rent, are not paid in money, but in <i>naturalia</i>&mdash;in
grain, and generally in certain
proportions of the crops raised. The free
surplus for exportation may be sold at
any price in the English market, however
low; because, if it bring in nothing at all,
the loss neither deranges the circumstances
nor the ordinary subsistence and
way of living of the farmers producing it.
All their rents or payments are settled in
grain; all their subsistence, clothing, and
necessary expenditure are provided for;
and the surplus is merely a quantity
which must be sold, because it is perishable;
and which, if it sells well, may enable
them to lay out a little more on the
gratifications and tastes of a higher state
of civilisation; but if it sells badly, or for
nothing at all, does not affect their means
of reproduction, or even their ordinary
habits, enjoyments, way of living, or stock.
They have not paid a price for their corn
in rent, wages, manures, and other outlay
of money, as the British farmer does before
he brings his corn to market, <i>and
have, therefore, no minimum below which
they cannot afford to sell it without ruin</i>."<a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Mr Laing's intimate acquaintance
with the habits and condition of those
countries, which now seem destined
to stand in the same relation to Great
Britain as Numidia did to decaying
Rome, has enabled him also to point
out how vain is the expectation that
they will permanently extend the use
of our manufactures in proportion to
our consumption of their corn. No
one has more forcibly shown the insanity
of sacrificing, for so vague a
prospect, the prosperity of those
classes who chiefly maintain the home
market.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"The superior importance of the home
market for all that the manufacturing
industry of Great Britain produces, compared
to what the foreign market, including
even the colonial, takes off, furnishes
one of the strongest arguments
against the abolition of the Corn Laws....
The home consumpt, not the foreign,
is undeniably that which the great
mass of British manufacturing labour and
capital is engaged in supplying. Take
away from the home consumers the means
to consume&mdash;that is, the high and artificial
value of their labour, or rate of
wages produced by the working of the
Corn Laws&mdash;and you stop this home market.
You cut off the spring from which
it is fed. You sacrifice a certain home
market for an uncertain foreign market.
You sacrifice four-fifths for the chance of
augmenting one-fifth. If the one-fifth, the
foreign consumpt, should be augmented so
as to equal the four-fifths&mdash;the home consumpt&mdash;it
would still be a question of
very doubtful policy whether it should be
so augmented: whether the means of
living of so large a proportion of the productive
classes should be made to depend
so entirely upon a demand which political
circumstances might suddenly cut off,"
&amp;c.<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>Knowing the opinions held by Mr
Laing to be thus adverse to that
change of the law which virtually
gave to the <i>metayeur</i> or proprietor of
Holstein, Pomerania, or Poland, a
preference in Mark Lane over the farmer
of Norfolk or Lincolnshire, it was
with some surprise, and some apprehension
for the consistency of the
author, that, in turning over the table
of contents of the volume before us,
we came to the following heading:&mdash;"On the abolition of the Corn Laws
<i>as a Conservative measure</i> for the English
landed interest."</p>

<p>The process by which he has arrived
at the conclusion, that a measure confessedly
so disastrous in its immediate
consequences will ultimately turn out
beneficial to one section at least of
the landed interest, seems to be this:
He thinks that, in the chief corn-growing
countries of the Continent, cultivation
is already so generally extended
over all the soils capable of yielding
any return, that the land cannot, in
any circumstances, give employment
to a greater number of the inhabitants
than it does already; whereas Great
Britain contains, in his opinion, a
much larger proportional area of improvable
soil, which forms a reserve
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[Pg 684]</a></span>or provision for the future increase of
our population. A succession of bad
harvests in Germany or France, or
any considerable addition to their
present population, would necessarily
reduce these countries, he believes,
to extreme famine and misery; because,
the land being already fully occupied
and filled up, and their surplus
numbers having no considerable outlet
in manufacturing or commercial
industry, they have no resources to
fall back upon in seasons of calamity.
But in England there still remains a
large extent of "woods, and groves
planted and preserved for ornament,
parks, pleasure-grounds, lawns, shrubberies,
old grass-fields producing only
crops for luxury, such as pasture and
hay for the finer breeds of horses;"
while a still larger area of arable
ground is left uncultivated in Ireland
and Scotland. Hence, as our population
increases, we possess a safety-valve
in our untilled soil which does
not exist on the Continent; we have
still the means of subsisting our daily-increasing
numbers; and, so long at
least as these means last, it is probable
that the owners of the already
cultivated lands will be left in the
peaceable enjoyment of their property.
But that possession would not have
been secure had the abolition of the
Corn Laws not been conceded at the
time it was&mdash;the people might have
driven the landowners from their
occupations, as they did in the first
French Revolution; "the free importation
of food has averted a similar
social convulsion, and has deprived
the agitator and hireling speech-maker
of his plea of oppression from class
interests, and conventional laws in favour
of the landowners."<a name="FNanchor_37" id="FNanchor_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> These
seem to be the grounds on which Mr.
Laing regards the abolition of the
Corn Laws as a Conservative measure&mdash;"which
will preserve, for some
generations at least, to our nobility,
gentry, and landed interests, their domains,
their estates, and their proper
social interests."</p>

<p>As this line of defence seems to be
a favourite one with the straggling
remnant of that party, who, having
been the immediate instruments by
which the change was effected, nevertheless
still venture to claim for themselves
the title of Conservatives, we
may shortly review the grounds on
which it rests. So far as Mr. Laing's
adoption of it is concerned, we may remark
that the conclusion, taken by
itself, is not absolutely incongruous
with that disapproval of the measure
of 1816 which the author has elsewhere
expressed so strongly; because,
in fact, he regards the question from
two very different points of view. The
political philosopher occupies a very
different standing ground from a minister
or senator. From his speculative
elevation, his eye passes over the
events and consequences nearest to
him, and strives to penetrate the dim
possibilities of the future; and if we
look at human events from this
ground, there are perhaps few even of
the severest public calamities that are
not followed by some compensatory,
though it may be distant, benefit. If
we can shut our eyes to the wretchedness
and desolation caused by a great
fire in a crowded town, we may look
forward to a time when the narrow
alleys and unwholesome dwellings,
now in ruins before us, shall be replaced
by roomy and well-built habitations,
and we may perhaps consider
the prospective health and comforts of
the next occupants as counterbalancing
the present misery. It <i>may</i> or it
may not prove true, that the concession
of 1816 will put an end to disaffection,
and be remembered for generations
to come in the hearts of a contented
and grateful people; it <i>may</i>
or it may not secure the aristocracy
in the peaceable enjoyment of their
patrimonial estates and privileges.</p>

<p>These, however, are results that
every one will admit to be at least
problematical, while there can be no
doubt whatever as to the direct and
immediate consequences of the measure.
The most obstinate partisan no
longer ventures to question the distress
and ruin that is every day
spreading among the larger section of
the British people&mdash;the labourers,
tenant farmers, and smaller landowners.
And now the sufferers are
told to make the most of what is left
to them, and be thankful that they
have escaped a revolution. It may,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[Pg 685]</a></span>perchance, occur to them to question
whether, in regard to their property
at least, the chances of a revolution
would have made their condition
much worse than it is at present.
Looking at the estimates of the depreciation
of their possessions, which
have been so triumphantly paraded by
their enemies, they may be inclined
to doubt whether an insurrection,
or even a foreign invasion, would
have cost them greatly more than
ninety-one millions a-year. To the
humbler and most oppressed section
of the agricultural body, the congratulation
on their escape from a worse
fate than that they now complain of,
may sound not unlike the exhortation
of a highwayman who, having stripped
his victim of his cash, bids him
bless his stars that he is allowed to
get off with whole bones, and a coat
to cover them. It is true, indeed,
that the pressure is not so severely
felt by the lords of great domains&mdash;cannot
indeed be so; for to the owner
of &pound;10,000 a-year the loss of one-fourth
of his income&mdash;though it may
oblige him to curtail his expenses in
matters of external show, still leaves
ample means for the gratification of
his accustomed habits and tastes. But
what comfort is it to the owner of a
small estate, who is reduced to the
necessity of selling it for what it will
bring&mdash;perhaps for some such price as
we see recorded in the transactions of
the Encumbered Estates Court of
Dublin&mdash;or to the farmer, who is preparing
to carry his family and the remnant
of his capital to some other land&mdash;or
to the labourer, who finds his
earnings cut down to 6s. 6d. a-week&mdash;what
consolation is it to men so circumstanced,
that the policy which
has caused their ruin may possibly
enable the great territorial lords to
retain their overgrown estates, and
the privileges of their order, "for some
generations to come?" Mr Laing, observe,
does not venture to anticipate
more than a respite for them; and
some will be disposed to doubt whether
even their permanent safety, and
the perpetuation of their rights, would
not be too dearly purchased at the
price we are now paying for it in the
ruin of a far more numerous, and perhaps
not less valuable, class of the
community. We have often had occasion
to express our opinion as to the
alleged crisis of 1846, which is said to
have been so opportunely averted&mdash;as
well as to the principle which ought
to animate a Government in meeting
such difficulties. We are not of those
who think the main business of a cabinet
is to keep on good terms with
"the agitator and hireling speech-maker,"&mdash;and
that he is the wisest
minister who is most adroit in timing
his concessions, and casting off his
principles at the moment they become
inconvenient. Any seeming tranquillity,
any truce with the enemies of
constitutional order purchased by such
a policy, can never be otherwise than
temporary and precarious, because, it
is insincere&mdash;insincere on both sides&mdash;a
hollow compromise between principle
and the expediency of the hour.</p>

<p>When we look to the reasons Mr
Laing gives for the opinion we have
been commenting on, they will be
found to hang together rather loosely.
They pre-suppose that agitation <i>de
rebus frumentariis</i>, and specially the
agitation of the League, could only
proceed from the pressure of want.
Now, the very week that the Bill
passed, the price of wheat was
52s. 2d.&mdash;which, curiously enough,
is the exact sum fixed on by Mr
Wilson as the natural price of wheat
in England. At that time beef was
selling in London at 7s. 3d. a stone.
The corn averages for the whole previous
year were a fraction over
49s. 6d. The average of the <i>ten</i>
previous years was 56s. 6d., which,
by another strange coincidence, corresponds
to a sixpence with the price
admitted by Sir Robert Peel. With
such rates of the chief articles of
subsistence, how can it be said that
scarcity was the cause of the Corn-Law
agitation? The idea of famishing
millions imploring bread may
have been an appropriate figure of
speech in the rabid cantations of an
Ebenezer Elliot; but who seriously
believes that the cry of "abolition"
was the voice of a starving people,
and not the mere watchword of a
faction? Scarcity was only the pretext
for the clamour before which
the Government yielded; and is there
any one weak or sanguine enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[Pg 686]</a></span>
believe that, by removing that pretext,
and yielding to that clamour,
we have silenced the voice of discontent,
and ruined the trade of the demagogue?
Is agrarian agitation no
longer possible? Can we shut our
eyes to what is even now passing in
the north of Ireland? The fire which
we are told was finally extinguished
in 1846, has reappeared in that quarter,
and already the sparks from it
are kindling up in other parts of the
empire. The demand for what is
called "fixity of tenure" is but the
germ of a new agitation, the future
phases of which, unless it shall be
met in a very different spirit from that
which has characterised our recent
policy, it is not difficult to foresee.
It will become the new rallying point
of disaffection&mdash;the centre of inflammatory
action. The old machinery of
the League will be set up anew, and
the passions of the people will again be
excited by a course of studious and
systematic irritation. Ministers will
hesitate, deprecate, and dally with the
difficulty; rival statesmen will by
turns fan the flame, or feebly resist it,
as suits the party tactics of the day;
until, at length, some one more yielding
or less scrupulous than his competitors,
will discover that the demand
is founded on justice and sound
policy&mdash;will concede all that is asked
of him, and finally will turn round
complacently and claim the gratitude
of his country for having saved it from
a revolution.</p>

<p>Our view, then, of this vindication
of abolition, on the ground that it has
averted a social convulsion, is briefly
this. The discontent which then prevailed
was not, as it pretended to be,
the consequence of scarcity and dearness
of provisions, or of any real
grievance, but was in truth produced
and fostered by artificial influences,
which may at any time be again called
into action. The spirit of agitation
which then found a convenient pretext
in the corn duties, will not fail to
find an equally fit handle to lay hold
of on the next favourable opportunity;
and it is vain, therefore, to hope that
we have purchased by our concessions
a lasting immunity from disturbance,
or any enduring guarantee for the
safety of property on its present basis.
It is on grounds of justice, and not of
mere statecraft, that so great a question
must be argued. Had the corn-laws
been founded on injustice and
partiality, that surely was in itself an
ample and all-sufficient reason for
sweeping them away. But if, on the
contrary, they were productive of no
such injustice to the people at large&mdash;if
equity, as well as the implied guarantee
of a long succession of laws,
demanded an adherence to their principle
as a partial compensation for the
disproportionate burdens we have imposed
on the land&mdash;then the allegation
that their maintenance might
have produced a popular outbreak, is,
after all, but a feeble and ambiguous
defence for the Ministry who so readily
surrendered them. The <i>coup d'&eacute;tat</i>
which we are now asked to applaud
as the crowning act of Conservative
wisdom, sinks into a mere wily evasion
of a difficulty by giving over the
interests of the weaker party as a
peace-offering to the more clamorous&mdash;a
sacrifice of established rights to the
"civium ardor prava jubentium."</p>

<p>It is quite true, as Mr Laing tells us,
that there exists a very large reserve
of available land in Great Britain&mdash;a
reserve quite sufficient, under proper
management, to maintain our population
for centuries to come, even at its
present large ratio of increase. But
that there is no similar reserve on
the Continent, we beg leave to doubt.
The statement may be true as regards
those districts to whose condition
Mr Laing has paid most
attention. It may be true of France,
and the peasant-cultivated parts of
West Prussia, and the North of
Germany; but can we say that the
countries watered by the Vistula,
the Bug, the Dniester&mdash;can we say
that Livonia, Volhynia, Podolia&mdash;that
those vast districts whose produce
reaches us through Odessa, (whence
it was shipped to England last
winter, at a freight of 6s. a-quarter,)
are already cultivated up to the full
measure of their capabilities? The
following comparative statement of
the proportion which the cultivated
land bears to the superficial extent
of the different countries of Europe, is
taken from the <i>Annuaire Statistique</i>
for 1850:&mdash;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[Pg 687]</a></span></p>

<div class="tdc">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Annuaire Statistique">
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">England,</td>
  <td>55</td>
  <td>hectares in</td>
  <td>100<a name="FNanchor_38" id="FNanchor_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">France,</td>
  <td>54</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Belgium,</td>
  <td>43</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Prussia and Denmark,</td>
  <td>40</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Italy and Portugal,</td>
  <td>30</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Germany and Spain,</td>
  <td>25</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Holland and Austria,</td>
  <td>20</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Russia and Poland,</td>
  <td>18</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl">Sweden and Norway,</td>
  <td>14</td>
  <td>"</td>
  <td>"</td>
</tr>
</table></div>

<p>Unless we assume, (which we
have no right to do,) that the extent
of irreclaimable mountain, marsh,
and sand, is much greater in proportion
to the area of Belgium, Prussia,
and Germany, the countries chiefly
referred to by Mr Laing, than it is
in Britain, we apprehend that their
reserve is, to say the least, considerably
larger than ours. We
must notice also, that our author
seems to regard the unreclaimed
land of Britain as if it were a fund
on which we can fall back at any
time, when unfavourable harvests
abroad shall have curtailed our accustomed
supplies from the countries
of the Continent. But a little consideration
will show that, after we
have once learnt to trust to annual
foreign supplies, it is utterly vain to
expect that their occasional deficiency
will be supplemented, in case
of emergency, from our own spare
resources. Land is not like the instruments
of production employed by
the manufacturer. People talk of
having recourse to our less fertile
soils, as if it were a matter as easily
and speedily accomplished as setting
a mill in motion by raising the sluice.
But the ponderous machine of agriculture
is not so easily set a-going.
On unreclaimed soils, an expenditure
of from &pound;12 to &pound;25 an acre is
required at the very outset. Fences
and houses have to be erected, roads
and drains to be formed, roots
to be grubbed up, stones to be
removed, before even the seed can be
placed in the ground. Taking the
farmer's capital into account, we are
probably within the mark when we
assert that &pound;26 an acre, on the average,
must be laid out on new land,
before a single bushel can be reaped
from it; and, even when ready for a
rotation, an additional preparation of
two or three years is necessary to
bring it into a state for bearing
wheat. Now, is there any speculator
so insane as to risk such an
expenditure on the possible chance
of an occasional and simultaneous
failure of the crops on the Continent?
Even if grain were at a
famine price, will any one be found
to throw away his money in ploughing
up "lawns, woods, shrubberies,
village greens, and waste corners,"
when the very next season may see
our ports swarming as usual with
foreign grain ships, and "buyers
firm" at 35s. a quarter?</p>

<p>A bad harvest is not an event
that can be foreseen, and provided
against, in the same way that the
thrifty housekeeper lays in an additional
stock of fuel, when there
is talk of a strike among the colliers.
The calamity is upon us long
before the most skilful and far-sighted
husbandman can arrange
his plans and modify his rotations for
the purpose of meeting the emergency.
It is out of the question, then, under
the present system at least, to talk of
our spare land as if it were a spare
coach-horse, or a spare pair of breeches,
ready for use at any moment. We
have taken away the only incitement
to improvement, by taking care that
it shall never be profitable. We have
dammed back from our own fields
that fertilising stream which is now
spreading over and enriching the land
of our neighbours. And now that we
have chosen to throw ourselves on
the resources of other nations&mdash;now
that we may say, as the Romans did
in the days of Claudian, "pascimur
arbitrio Mauri"&mdash;we must not wonder
if occasionally the supply turns
out to be insufficient. We do not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[Pg 688]</a></span>apprehend that a general scarcity can
be of very frequent occurrence; but of
this we may rest assured, that when
it does happen, there is no portion of
Europe in which the scourge of
famine will be so severely felt as in
this island, and it will then be utterly
vain to look for relief from an expansion
of that native agriculture which
we have been at such pains to cripple
and discourage.</p>

<p>We should convey to our readers a
very incorrect notion of Mr Laing's
work, if we led them to believe that
it is wholly occupied with such subjects
as we have been discussing.
The commercial, military, and administrative
systems of European
governments certainly form his most
important themes; but his remarks on
the arts, customs, and literature of
those countries are always amusing,
and uttered with a straightforward
and fearless disregard of what other
people have said upon the same topic.
He has no respect for conventional
opinions in matters of taste; and he
avows an English preference for the
solid utilities and material comforts
of everyday life over mere ornament.
In fact, his views on the fine arts
generally, are, to say the least, rather
peculiar. The art of fresco-painting
seems somehow to excite his bile
more than anything else. His
aversion to it is as intense and
contemptuous as that with which
Cobbett regarded the opera. It is
clear to us that his digestive organs
must have been fearfully disordered
during his visit to Munich. From
the Pinakothek to the spittoons in
the Hall of the Graces, nothing seems
to have pleased him&mdash;all is tawdry
hollow, and out of place&mdash;and that
&aelig;sthetic refinement which the ex-king
of Bavaria took under his especial
protection is, in his eyes, opposed to
all common sense and true civilisation.
We cannot join him in regarding
the art of the upholsterer as
more important than that of the
sculptor, or in thinking the possession
of hearth-rugs and window-curtains,
and plenty of earthenware utensils,
truer tests of national civilisation
than libraries and picture-galleries.
But, to a certain extent, we are disposed
to share in his distrust of the
genuineness of that progress in art
which depends on Government encouragement.
The taste which is
reared and stimulated in the artificial
air of palaces, instead of attaining a
healthy and vigorous development,
often yields little fruit except empty
mannerisms. And, if the labours of
the painter and the sculptor be apt to
take a questionable direction under
courtly tutelage, there is still more
room to doubt whether any important
progress in manufactures, or the mechanical
arts, can be prompted by
princely patronage, however well
designed. We have already had
proof in England of what enterprise
and ingenuity can accomplish without
such aid&mdash;it remains to be seen what
advancement they are to make in the
leading-strings of court favour, and
under the inspiration of puffs in the
<i>Times</i> newspaper, and promises of
medals, with suitable inscriptions,
and the bustling exertions of a semi-official
staff of attach&eacute;s.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding his heretical notions
about the value of the fine arts,
in a national point of view, Mr Laing's
pictures of Continental life and
scenery, and his criticisms on foreign
manners and customs, will be found
full of information and instruction,
even by those who have resided for
years in the countries he describes.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[Pg 689]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="WHO_ROLLED_THE_POWDER_IN" id="WHO_ROLLED_THE_POWDER_IN">WHO ROLLED THE POWDER IN?</a></h2>

<p class="center">A LAY OF THE GUNPOWDER PLOT.</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="hangingindent">["Upon this the conversation dropped, and soon afterwards Tresham departed.
When he found himself alone, he suffered his rage to find vent in words. 'Perdition
seize them!' he cried: 'I shall now lose two thousand pounds, in addition to what
I have already advanced; and, as Mounteagle will not have the disclosure made till
the beginning of November, there is no way of avoiding payment. They would not
fall into the snare I laid to throw the blame of the discovery, when it takes place,
upon their own indiscretion. But I must devise some other plan.'"&mdash;<span class="smcap">Ainsworth's</span>
<i>Life and Times of Guy Fawkes</i>.]</p></blockquote>


<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They've done their task, and every cask<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is piled within the cell:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They've heaped the wood in order good,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And hid the powder well.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Guido Fawkes, who seldom talks,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Remarked with cheerful glee&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"The moon is bright&mdash;they'll fly by night!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Now, sirs, let's turn the key."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The wind without blew cold and stout,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As though it smelt of snow&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But was't the breeze that made the knees<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of Tresham tremble so?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With ready hand, at Guy's command,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He rolled the powder in;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But what's the cause that Tresham's jaws<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Are chattering to the chin?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor wine nor beer his heart can cheer,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As in his chamber lone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He walks the plank with heavy clank,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And vents the frequent groan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Alack!" quoth he, "that this should be&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Alack, and well-a-day!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I had the hope to bring the Pope,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But in a different way.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I'd risk a rope to bring the Pope<br /></span>
<span class="i2">By gradual means and slow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But Guido Fawkes, who seldom talks,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Won't let me manage so.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That furious man has hatched a plan<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That must undo us all;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He'd blow the Peers unto the spheres,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And throne the Cardinal!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It's time I took from other book<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Than his a saving leaf;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I'll do it&mdash;yes! I'll e'en confess,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Like many a conscious thief.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And on the whole, upon my soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As Garnet used to teach,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When human schemes are vain as dreams,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'Tis always best to peach!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[Pg 690]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"My mind's made up!" He drained the cup,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Then straightway sate him down,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Divulged the whole, whitewashed his soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And saved the British crown:&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Disclosed the walks of Guido Fawkes,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And swore, with pious aim,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That from the first he thought him cursed,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And still opined the same.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Poor Guido died, and Tresham eyed<br /></span>
<span class="i2">His dangling corpse on high;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet no one durst reflect at first<br /></span>
<span class="i2">On him who played the spy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did any want a Protestant,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As stiff as a rattan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To rail at home 'gainst priests at Rome&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Why, Tresham was their man!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Twas nothing though he'd kissed the Toe<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Abroad in various ways,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or managed rather that his wife's father<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Should bear the blame and praise.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet somehow men, who knew him when<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He wooed the Man of Sin,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Would slightly sneer, and whisper near,<br /></span>
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Who rolled the powder in?</span><br /></span>
</div></div>

<p class="center">MORAL.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If you, dear youth, are bent on truth<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In these degenerate days,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if you dare one hour to spare<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For aught but "Roman Lays;"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If, shunning rhymes, you read the <i>Times</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And search its columns through,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You'll find perhaps that Tresham's lapse<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is matched by something new.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Our champion John, with armour on,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is ready <i>now</i> to stand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(For so we hope) against the Pope,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">At least on English land.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Gainst foreign rule and Roman bull<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He'll fight, and surely win.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But&mdash;tarry yet&mdash;and don't forget<br /></span>
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Who rolled the powder in!</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[Pg 691]</a></span></p>



<h2><a name="A_LECTURE_ON_JOURNALISM" id="A_LECTURE_ON_JOURNALISM">A LECTURE ON JOURNALISM.</a></h2>

<p class="center">BY AN OLD STAGER.</p>


<p>And so, Dick my boy, you are now
on the staff of "our Special Commissioners;"
and you are going to favour
the public with the results of your
investigations on the subjects of native
industry, free trade, wages, competition,
and so forth? Well, it does
good to the heart of an aged veteran
of the press like myself, to see the
sphere of our labours, as we used to
call it, so capitally enlarged. It
shows me that people are rapidly
getting rid of a good many idiotical
prejudices which stood in the way of
social progress; and that they don't
care from what quarter their information
comes, so that it is properly
spiced and made palatable to their
taste. Upon my soul, Dick, and
without any humbug, I almost envy
you your present position. Two
years ago when you came up to London,
and were entered in the junior
reporting department, you knew as
much about political economy as you
do of algebra, and would as soon
have handled a red-hot poker as a
volume of parliamentary returns. And
now they tell me that you are the
smartest hand going at statistics, and
think no more of tossing off an article
on the Currency at a quarter of an
hour's notice, than my cook does of
elaborating a pancake! Why, sir,
you are a far greater man than a peer
of the realm, or a member of the
House of Commons. You are a
whole committee in your own person,
for you are going to take evidence,
just wherever you please, and to report
upon it too, without the remotest
chance of contradiction. Help yourself,
Dick, and pass the decanter.
Here is your very good health, and
prosperity to the Fourth Estate!</p>

<p>You intend to do your duty manfully
and impartially? Of course, Dick, you
do. Nobody who has the pleasure of
your acquaintance can doubt it. Your
virility is beyond all dispute, and how
can you be otherwise than impartial
when you are writing up your own
side? You are not much of a lawyer,
perhaps, but common sense will
suggest the first plain rules for leading
evidence. Your employers want to
show that everybody is prospering
under the cheerful influences of free
trade. They don't, of course, care
twopence halfpenny whether their
dogma is right or wrong: they are
committed to it, and that is enough.
They give you a certain allowance
per week&mdash;I hope, by the way, it is a
handsome one&mdash;to prosecute your
inquiries, and they intend that the
results shall be such as to justify their
general assertion. And no doubt
they will justify it, Dick; for I say,
and I care not who knows it, that a
cleverer, sharper, more acute and
knowing dog than yourself never
dipped goose-quill into a standish.
You need not blush at the compliment.
Was it not you who wrote
that leader last week, recommending
the agriculturists to regulate their
operations on the same principle
which is followed in the factories, and
to look to short and speedy returns
as the best means of making money?
Ha, ha, ha! Dick&mdash;that certainly was
a masterpiece! How the poor devils
of chaw-bacons must have stared
when they heard you gravely recommending
them to raise three or four
consecutive crops in the year, to turn
the seasons topsy-turvy, and to sow
in August that they might reap in
January! No wonder that they are
angry, for the best of the joke is, that
a number of people believed you.
The Cockneys have got it into their
heads that wheat can be grown by
machinery, and I, for one, shan't be
in any hurry to disabuse them. If I
were you, I would give them another
leader or two in the same strain, insisting
of course that the agriculturists
are a pack of infernal asses, who don't
understand the first principles of their
own trade, and that Mechi, the razor-man,
is their only creditable apostle.</p>

<p>Never mind though it may be necessary
for you soon to eat in your own
words. Between you and me, Dick&mdash;but
don't let it go any farther&mdash;I
have been of opinion for some time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[Pg 692]</a></span>
back that Free-trade is a total delusion.
It may be bolstered up for a little
longer, but it can't by possibility last
our time. There was too much lying
and pulling and quackery and braggadocio
at the outset. I told Cobden
so, at the time when he was descanting
upon the blessings of the cheap
loaf, but he would have his own way,
and in his very next speech proposed
to lay Manchester alongside of the
Mississippi! I said the same thing to
M'Gregor, but he would not be deterred
from promising his hearers an
additional two millions per week.
And a pretty kettle of fish he has
made of it! I am told that he dares
not venture to show his face in the
Gorbals. You see, Dick, all that nonsense
is telling confoundedly against
us just now. Wheat is down to zero,
in so far as the profits of cultivation
are concerned. The farmers are wellnigh
ruined&mdash;that is plain beyond the
power of contradiction, and in the
course of another year they will be
utterly and effectually spouted. The
artisans are beginning to find out that
cheap foreign bread means less labour
and lowered wages, and they complain
that they are driven to the wall by
the free importation of foreign goods.
If that notion once seizes hold of their
minds&mdash;and it is doing so rapidly&mdash;it
won't be long before they begin a tremendous
agitation on the other side.
Yes, Dick; the Protectionists were
right after all, and in the long run
they will carry their point with the
general consent of the country. In
the mean time, however, thanks to Sir
Robert Peel, we have got into office,
and we shall be consummate idiots if
we don't make hay while the sun shines.
You are doing capital service, Dick,
by throwing dust in people's eyes.
Keep it up as long as you can. Sneer
at facts when you can't answer them;
distort evidence boldly; laugh down
the idea of retrogression; assume the
existence of unexampled prosperity,
in spite of every testimony to the contrary;
assert even in the face of hostile
elections and powerful gatherings,
that the cause of Protection is dead
and coffined&mdash;and the odds are that
you may still induce a good many
people to believe you. Stout averments,
Dick, are capital things, and
the broader you can make them the
better. I would advise you, though,
to be chary of statistics. They are
dangerous weapons in the hands of
the inexperienced, and you may
chance to break your own head, whilst
attempting to tomahawk your antagonist.
But if you must use them,
apply to me or Heavywet. We have
a prime stock on hand, carefully prepared
for service, and I think we
could still put you up to a dodge or
two. By the way, who wrote that
song upon Heavywet? You know
the one I mean, beginning with some
such words as&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"All in my den, I cooper up the figure-list,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which I've been working at a twelvemonth and a day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where there was a lesser one I substitute a bigger list'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Saying that the true bill is far, far away."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>I wish you had seen Heavywet's
face when young Fitztape of the
Treasury sang it in his presence on
Tuesday last! The old fellow looked
as though the waiter had handed him
verjuice instead of cura&ccedil;oa.</p>

<p>I hope, Dick, you are not above
receiving a hint from an old hand, who
has seen some service in his day. I
am sure I have every reason to acknowledge
my infinite obligations to
the pen which I have wielded with
more or less effect for wellnigh forty
years, and which has not only provided
me with food and raiment, but
with a snug patent Government office,
which makes me entirely independent
of any change of Ministry. These
are the kind of prizes, Dick, which are
open to us literary men, who have the
sense to adopt politics as a trade, and
to write up our party, without troubling
ourselves about that fantastic
commodity which the parsons term
conscience. I never could see why a
public writer should have a conscience
any more than a lawyer. The French
fellows are better up to this, and don't
even pretend to its possession. And it
must be acknowledged that they are
allowed occasionally far better chances
than we have. Only fancy, Dick,
you and I members of a Provisional
Government! Wouldn't we have a
pluck at Rothschild and the Bank?
Don't your fingers itch at the bare
idea of such close contact with the
feathers of the national pigeon? But
it is of no use indulging in those fairy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[Pg 693]</a></span>
dreams. And after all, I daresay that
neither Etienne Arago, nor Armand
Marrast, nor Ferdinand Flocon, nor
Louis Blanc, are half so well off at the
present moment as I am, with my
snug salary payable quarterly, and no
arrears. It is better not to be too
ambitious, Dick, nor to overshoot the
mark; for I have always remarked
that your most prominent men are
precisely those who pocket the least
in the long-run. I am for your golden
mediocrity, which insures an easy
berth, and the power of offering to a
friend a cool bottle of claret. You
like the wine, Dick? Help yourself
again; there's more where that came
from.</p>

<p>As I was saying, you should not
despise a hint from an old hand. We
ancients may not be quite so smart as
you moderns, but we are tolerably
good judges of the taking qualities of
an article&mdash;we know, by experience,
the sort of thing which is likely to
tickle the public ear. Now, you will
forgive me for saying, that in your
late writings you exhibit, now and
then, certain marks of precipitancy,
which it might be as safe to avoid.
What I mean to express is, that you
are too dashing&mdash;too daring&mdash;too
ready to encounter your antagonist
with his own weapons. You assume
the part of Achilles, instead of imitating
the example of Ulysses; you don't
touch the Hospitaller's shield, though
he has the worst seat of the party,
but you make your lance ring against
the buckler of Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
This may be plucky, but it is not wise.
People may applaud you for your
hardihood, but it is not a pleasant
thing to be chucked over your horse's
croup, among shard, and mire, and
the general laughter of mankind.
You made a great mistake the other
day in pitting yourself against Lord
Stanley. You might have known
better. You were no more than a
baby in the hands of the best lance of
the Temple; and the attempt only
ended, as all must have foreseen, in
your own confusion. Don't be angry,
Dick. I know you only obeyed orders,
but the result demonstrates, very
clearly, the utter imbecility of the
clique under which you have had the
misfortune to serve.</p>

<p>You say you did not write the
article about gestures and looks being
more expressive than words? I am
aware you did not. I am talking to
a sensible man, and not to an irreclaimable
idiot. It is no fault of yours
if the dunderheads, who find the
money, will occasionally mistake their
vocation, and commit themselves by
using the pen. Such things are inevitable
in journalism; and they are
enough to sow the seeds of decline in
the bosom of a printer's devil. But
you know very well, notwithstanding,
that you committed yourself most
egregiously. You were laughed at,
Dick, and held up to scorn in every
paper from Truro to Caithness. And
for what? Why, for attempting pertinaciously
to maintain that a statesman
meant and said one thing,
whereas he distinctly meant and said
another. Did you seriously expect
to impose upon any one by such a
stale device as that&mdash;so palpable, and,
moreover, so exceedingly open to
contradiction? You might as well
expect the public to believe that the
Duke of Wellington has broken his
neck on the hunting-field, in the teeth
of a letter from the Field-marshal announcing
that he is well and hearty.
Yes; I know very well that John
Bull is a gullible animal, but not
to the degree which you assume.
You may state, if you like, that the
moon is made of green cheese; or, as
some wiseacre did the other day,
that the electric telegraph is to
be superseded by the employment
of magnetic snails; but you won't
persuade any one that Ferrand is a
friend of Cobden, or that Sir Robert
Inglis is a Jesuit in disguise who is
working for the supremacy of the
Pope. By the way, I was wrong in
recommending you to persist in your
averment that Protection is dead and
coffined. You have, I observe, of
late dedicated at least a couple of
Jeremiads each week to that topic,
and there is a degree of ferocity
coupled with the announcement revolting
to the feelings of a Christian.
You should assume the fact, Dick;
not insist upon it in this absurd manner.
If the old lady really is under
the sod, and beyond the power of
resuscitation and the reach of the
resurrection-men, e'en let her repose
in quiet. In that case she can do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[Pg 694]</a></span>
no further harm, and it would be but
decent to give her the benefit of a
final forgiveness, or at all events to
leave her to oblivion. Queen Anne
has been defunct for a good many
years, but nobody thinks it necessary
to proclaim the fact weekly in a couple
of leaders. You differ from me, do
you? Very well, then; carry on in
your own way; all I shall say is, that
if your muttered conjurations don't
evoke the shade of the departed saint,
in a shape that may appal you consumedly,
you run a mighty risk of
calling a counterfeit into being. It is
a good maxim never to put forward
anything which the public cannot
readily swallow.</p>

<p>I think that, in one respect, the
modern system is decidedly preferable
to the older. Formerly, we used to
combat arguments; now, I observe,
you evade them. This I hold to be a
great improvement. In the first place,
it saves trouble both to the writer and
the reader. It is not always easy to
reply to a fellow who knows his subject
a great deal better than you do.
You have to follow him from point to
point, investigate his facts, controvert
his reasoning, and take, in short, such
a world of trouble, as would render
the life of a gentleman journalist
absolutely insupportable. Milton was
occupied nearly a year with one of his
replies to Salmasius,&mdash;Selden, I believe,
took a longer time to double up his
opponent Grotius. This is slow work,
and you cannot reasonably be expected
to submit to it. If anything
like argument is to be brought forward,
you are entitled to look for it in the
<i>Edinburgh Review</i>, though I do not intend
by any means to assume that your
expectations will be realised in that
quarter. Costive, beyond the power
of medicine, must be the man who
battens on the hard dough dumplings,
dished up quarterly under cover of the
Blue and Yellow! But I forgot&mdash;you
are not entirely with the Whigs,
though you agree with them as to
commercial policy.</p>

<p>You do well, therefore, to avoid
argument in all points that require
previous preparation and study. A
general slashing style, without condescending
to particulars, is undoubtedly
your forte, and I cannot sufficiently
admire your dexterity in avoiding
a direct reply. You have got
hold of a capital phrase in answer to
everything that can be advanced
against you. No matter how clearly
your opponent may have stated his
case, no matter how distinct his logic,
or how incontrovertible his facts, you
come down upon him with your pet
cry of "exploded fallacies," and extinguish
him at once and for ever. Very
righteously you eschew the trouble of
pointing out where, when, and by
whom, the said obnoxious fallacy was
exploded. It is perfectly possible&mdash;nay,
in nine cases out of ten, absolutely
certain, that you never in your life
heard that particular view stated
before, and that you do not comprehend
it when stated; still, you continue
to occupy the vantage ground,
and pooh-pooh it down as calmly
as though it were one of the Manchester
unfulfilled prophecies. This
is a pleasant way of getting out of
a dilemma; and the best of it is, that
by generalisation you may contrive
to apply your epithet to every fact,
however notorious, which has been
brought forward by your antagonist.
For instance, an indignant farmer
writes you a letter enclosing a balance-sheet
of his operations for the
last year, which shows that, instead
of making any profit, he is out of
pocket some ninety or a hundred
pounds; and he argues, quite fairly,
that if grain is to continue at its
present rate, in consequence of importations
from abroad, he will be a
ruined man before the expiry of his
lease, and his labourers thrown out of
employment. Six months ago, your
answer would have been hopeful,
courteous, and encouraging. You
would have assured him that the present
depression was merely temporary,
and that in the course of a short time
wheat must be at sixty shillings.
You are wiser now. You are perfectly
aware that any considerable
rise in the value of agricultural produce,
under the operation of the present
law, is a pure impossibility; and
you resort to no such assurance.
Three months later you would have
told him to go to the devil or the antipodes,
whichever he pleased, and not
bother the public with his wicked and
insensate clamour. But you are also
tolerably aware, by this time, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[Pg 695]</a></span>
the public does not exactly approve of
a wholesale system of expatriation,
however admirable it may appear in
your eyes; and that you have exposed
yourself, by recommending it, to certain
reflections, which are not very
creditable to your character either as
a philanthropist or a Christian. Nor
can you much mend the matter by
insisting upon another pet phrase of
yours, which did good service so long
as it was new. You cannot always
aver that we are in "a transition
state" of society. In the first place,
the expression, when you analyse it,
has no meaning. In the second place,
granting that it had a meaning, people
are naturally anxious to know, what
sort of state of society is to be consequent
on the "transition state"&mdash;a
piece of information which neither
you nor any one else have it in your
power to supply. So that an ignorant
or commonplace person, who is not
versed in the mysteries or resorts of
journalism, may be well excused for
wondering in what possible way you
can meet the allegations of Mr Hawbuck.
You cannot refuse to print his
letter and his statement, for, if you
don't, somebody else will; and either
you lay yourself open to the charge
of suppression, or it may be held that
you cannot frame an answer. How
valuable, in such a position, is the
shield of "exploded fallacies!" You
assume, in your commentary on the
letter, a tone of heartfelt commiseration,
not for the circumstances, but for
the prejudices and benighted mental
condition of the writer. "We willingly
give a place in our columns to
the communication of Mr Hawbuck,
not on account of its intrinsic worth&mdash;not
because it contains any novel
information&mdash;but because it is a fair
specimen of that state of intellectual
depression and economical ignorance,
which the existence for so many years
of a false protective system has unhappily
fostered, even among that
class of agriculturists who are entitled
to the epithet of respectable. Here is
a man who, from the general wording
and caligraphy of his letter, appears
to have received the advantages of an
ordinary good education&mdash;a man who,
by his own confession, is the tenant
of a farm for which he pays five hundred
pounds a-year of rent, and upwards&mdash;a
man who, we doubt not, is
most estimable in his private relations,
a kind husband, an indulgent father,
and possibly a considerate master&mdash;a
man who, not improbably, is on good
terms with the squire, and, it may be,
visits at the parsonage&mdash;and yet this
very individual, Mr Hawbuck, is complaining
that he cannot make ends
meet! We shall not, at the present
time, minutely question the accuracy
of his statements. These may be
grossly exaggerated, or they may
contain nothing more than a simple
narrative of the truth. Assuming the
latter to be the case, we ask our
readers, with the most perfect confidence,
whether the whole of the argument
which he has attempted to rear
upon such exceedingly slender foundations,
is not, from beginning to
end, a tissue of exploded fallacies?
Here we have the whole question of
British taxation brought forward, as
if it was something new. Hawbuck
ought to know better. His father
was taxed before him, and so, we
doubt not, were several antecedent
generations of Hawbucks, supposing
that the family lays claim to
a respectable agricultural antiquity.
Hawbuck junior&mdash;who, we hope, will
have more sense than his father&mdash;must
make up his mind, in future years, to
contribute his quota to the national
burdens, in return for which we receive
the inestimable blessings of good
government, [O Dick!] sound legislation,
and impartial administration
of the laws. Then Mr Hawbuck, as
a matter of course, acting upon the
invariable example of the writers and
orators of that unhappy faction to
which he has the misfortune to belong,
drags in the 'foreigner,' just as the
Dugald creature is dragged into the
hut at Aberfoil by the soldiers of
Captain Thornton. This is another
exploded fallacy, which we had fondly
hoped was set to rest for ever.
It seems we were mistaken. Mr
Hawbuck cannot dispense with the
'foreigner.' He haunts him ever
and anon in the silence of the night
like the Raw-head-and-bloody-bones
of the nursery, or like the turnip
lantern placed on the churchyard
wall by some juvenile agricultural
humourist. Really it is very distressing
that any one should be so perse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[Pg 696]</a></span>cuted
by a phantom which is the pure
growth of mental apprehension and
disease. Mr Hawbuck certainly
ought to consult his medical adviser;
or, if distance and the embarrassed
state of his affairs preclude him from
applying to the village Galen, perhaps
he will allow us to prescribe for
him. A good dose of purgative medicine
twice a-week, moderate diet,
abstinence from intoxicating liquors,
and change of scene&mdash;we would suggest
a visit to Mr Mechi's farm of
Tiptree&mdash;will work wonders with our
patient. But he must beware of all
excitement. He must on no account
attend any gatherings where Mr Ferrand
is a speaker, and he had better
refrain from passing his evenings at
the Agricultural Club. He will thus
be able to effect considerable retrenchment
in his expenditure by avoiding
beer, and Mrs Hawbuck will love
him none the less. By attending to
these few simple rules, we are convinced
that a radical cure may be
effected. We shall then hear no
more of Mr Hawbuck's complaints,
nor will it be necessary again to
reprehend him for the adoption of
exploded fallacies. We shall not do
the farmers of Great Britain the
injustice to suppose that this gentleman
is a type of their class. We
regard him simply as an honest, easy-natured,
but very credulous person,
who has been unfortunately imbued
with false notions of political economy,
and used as a tool in the hands of others
to promote their interested designs."</p>

<p>There, Dick, is a leader for you
cut and dry; and I think you must
admit that it will answer every purpose.
In the first place, you won't
hear any more of Hawbuck. Men of
his class cannot bear to be laughed at,
so that his only revenge will be a
muttered vow to break your head, if
it should ever come knowingly within
the sweep of his cudgel. In the
second place, you will have the satisfaction
of knowing that you have
raised a laugh, which is at all times
equivalent to a triumph in argument.
The majority of your readers will
esteem you a very clever fellow, and
henceforward the name of Hawbuck
will be the signal for general cachinnation.
It is quite true that Hawbuck's
statement is in no way refuted,
or the cause of his distress investigated&mdash;but
how can you possibly be
expected to occupy your time with
his affairs? As a "special commissioner,"
indeed, you may treat him
more minutely. You may pry into his
pigsty, investigate his stable, criticise
his mode of drainage, disapprove
of his rotation of crops, inquire into
the wages which he pays, and decidedly
object to his turnips. You may hold
him up as a lamentable victim of that
species of wretched farming which,
under the baneful shadow of protection,
could do no more than render British
agriculture by far the finest and the
most productive in the world. You
may exhort him to lay out more
capital&mdash;you need not care about the
amount, as he is not likely to ask you
for a loan, nor would you be willing
to advance it, if he did, on such
dubious security; and you may abuse
him as an obstinate ass, because he
does not plough with a steam-engine.
All this you may do with impunity,
(provided you never visit the district
again;) and you will be hailed by your
own party as a genuine national benefactor,
and as an oracle of agricultural
progress. But don't mix up the two
characters&mdash;that is, keep statistics for
your report, and general assertions
for your leading article. Hold hard
by the doctrine of "exploded fallacies."
It will apply to everything,
and every system, which was ever
hatched under the influence of the
sun. You may adapt the term to
physics quite as appropriately as to
opinions. If you are inclined to set
forward as an exploded fallacy the
dogma that climate has any influence
upon crops, you are perfectly entitled
to do so, on the authority of the Huxtables
of the present generation.</p>

<p>But I fear that I am exhausting
your patience, and, as it is now rather
late, I shall merely add a word of
personal advice. Never attempt to
rear up your independent judgment
against the wishes of your proprietors.
In ordinary times this caution might
be unnecessary, since few men are
sincerely desirous to quarrel with
their bread and butter. But there is
a foolish spirit of insubordination
visible just now on the surface of
society, against which you ought to
guard. Young men are beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span>
fashion out opinions for themselves.
The old traditional landmarks are not
sufficient for their guidance; and I,
who am a veteran in politics, find myself
not unfrequently bearded by some
pert whippersnapper, just escaped from
school, who is now setting up, as the
phrase is, on his own hook, as an
earnest man and a patriot, and who
probably expects before long to hold
office in that new Downing Street
which has been so seductively prophesied
by the blatant seer of Ecclefechan.
I need hardly tell you, Dick,
that this is all mere moonshine&mdash;pure
flatulency, superinduced by a vegetable
diet upon a stomach naturally feeble.
If you wish to see the results of young
independent journalism, you have only
to step over to the Continent. I have
been watching the progress of events
there with considerable interest for the
last three years, and my only wonder
is, how several scores of able German
editors have managed to escape the
gallows. You see what a pass they
have arrived at in France. Nobody
is allowed to write an article in the
most paltry paper without affixing
his name; and the consequence is,
that journalism, as a profession, is
terribly on the decline. I don't like
this, I own. I wish to see its respectability
kept up, and its decencies
preserved; and I don't think that can
be accomplished by the suppression of
the editorial We. People are very
anxious to know what are the opinions
of a leading London journal upon any
given point, but I question if they
would pay twopence to ascertain what
Jenkins, or Larkins, or Perkins may
please to think, should the names of
these gentlemen appear at the end of
their respective lucubrations. Therefore,
Dick, stand up for your order,
and do not be led astray by the impulses
of individual vanity. Dismiss
all egotism from your mind, and keep
in your proper place. Supposing that
you have achieved any notable feat
of arms, rest contented with the consciousness
thereof, and don't run about
telling the whole world that it was
you who did it. Benvenuto Cellini
would have been a precious ass had he
stated during his lifetime that it was
he who shot the Constable Bourbon.
He was wiser, and kept the statement
for his memoirs. This would be
no world to live in if reviewers were
obliged to give up their names. Fancy
Hawbuck at your door, or lurking
round the corner, armed with a pitchfork
or a flail! The bare idea is
enough to make one's blood curdle in
the veins. Far rather would I evacuate
my premises in the full knowledge
that two suspicious gentlemen
of the tribe of Gad were waiting to
capture me on a writ.</p>

<p>And now, Dick, good night. You
see I have used my privilege of seniority
pretty freely; but you are not the
lad I take you for, if you are offended
at a friendly hint. By the way, how
do you intend to come out on the
Catholic question&mdash;strong or mild?
Are you going to back up Lord John
Russell's "noble letter" to the Bishop
of Durham?&mdash;or do you intend to twit
him with his support of Maynooth,
his acknowledgment in Ireland of the
territorial titles of the Papist bishops,
and the rank which he has given them
in the Colonies? You don't like to
commit yourself, I suppose? Ah, well;
perhaps you are right. But this I
will say for Lord John, that whatever
may be his capabilities as a statesman,
he would have made a first-rate
editor. Upon my conscience, sir, I
believe that there never lived the man
who had a finer finger for the public
pulse. He knows to a scruple the
amount of stimulants or purgatives
which the British constitution will
bear; and the moment that the patient
becomes uneasy, he changes his
mode of treatment. I should like
to see Shiel's countenance when he
reads the letter. I have no doubt
that by this time he is convinced that
he might have saved himself the
trouble of excising <i>Dei Gratia</i> from
the coinage, and that his tarry in
Tuscany will hardly give him a complete
opportunity of studying the relics
of ancient art. Seriously, Dick, I
look upon the almost unanimous opinion
expressed by the British press,
with regard to this insolent Roman
aggression, as by far the best and
surest symptom of its vitality.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="THE_GREAT_UNKNOWN" id="THE_GREAT_UNKNOWN">THE GREAT UNKNOWN.</a></h2>

<p class="center">A JEST FROM THE GERMAN.</p>


<p>It was a bright afternoon in the
beginning of October, and the little
town of Miffelstein lay basking in the
genial sunbeams. But its streets,
generally so cheerful, were upon
that day solitary. The town seemed
deserted, and its unusual aspect evidently
surprised a pedestrian, who
ascended the steep slope of the main
street, and gazed curiously about him,
without perceiving a single face at the
windows. Everything was shut up.
No children played on the thresholds;
no inquisitive serving wench peeped
from door or garret: some fowls were
picking up provender in the road, and
a superannuated dog blinked and slumbered
in the sun; but of human beings
none were to be seen. In seeming
perplexity the traveller shook his head.
Then&mdash;not with the hesitating step of
a stranger in the land, but with firm
and confident strides&mdash;he walked
straight to the principal inn, whose
doors stood invitingly open upon the
market-place. Like one familiar with
the locality, he turned to his left
beneath the entrance archway, and
ascended the stairs leading directly to
the coffee-room. The coffee-room
was empty. A waiter, who sat reading
in the bar, welcomed the new
comer with a slight nod, but did not
otherwise disturb his studies.</p>

<p>"God bless you, old boy!" cheerfully
exclaimed the traveller, casting
from his shoulders a handsome knapsack;
"just see if you can manage to
leave your chair. I am no travelling
tailor or tinker, but the long-lost Alexis,
returned from his wanderings, and well
disposed to make himself comfortable
in his uncle's house."</p>

<p>With an exclamation of joyful surprise,
the old servant sprang from his
seat, and grasped the hand of the
unexpected guest.</p>

<p>"Thanks, my honest old friend,"
replied the young man to his affectionate
greeting, "and now tell me
at once what the deuce has come over
Miffelstein? Has the plague been
here, or the Turks? Are the worthy
Miffelsteiners all gathered to their
fathers, or are they imitating the
southerns, and snoring the siesta?"</p>

<p>The waiter hastened to explain that
the great harvest feast was being celebrated
at a short distance from the
town, and that the entire population
of Miffelstein had flocked thither, with
the exception of the bedridden and the
street keepers; and of his master, and
the young mistress, he added, the
former of whom was detained by
business, and the latter was dressing
herself, but who both would follow
the stream before half-an-hour was
over.</p>

<p>"True!" cried Alexis, striking his
forehead with his finger: "I have
almost forgotten my native village,
with its vintage and harvest joys;
and I much fear it returns the ill
compliment in kind. I can pass my
time, however, till my worthy uncle
and fair cousin are visible. Bring me
something to eat: I am both hungry
and thirsty."</p>

<p>"What cellar and kitchen contain
is at your honour's service," replied
the waiter. "We had no strangers at
table to-day, but cold meat is there;
and, if it so please you, some kail-soup
shall be instantly warmed."</p>

<p>"Kail-soup," said Alexis with a
smile; "none of that, thank you.
Cold meat&mdash;<i>bene</i>. But don't forget
the cellar."</p>

<p>"Assuredly not. Whatever your
honour pleases. A flask of sack, or a
jug of ale?"</p>

<p>"Sack! sack!&mdash;Miffelstein sack!"
cried Alexis, laughing heartily. "Anything
you like. Only be quick about
it."</p>

<p>Whilst the waiter hurried to the
larder, Alexis examined the apartment,
which struck him as strangely
altered since his boyish days. The
old familiar furniture had disappeared,
and was replaced by oaken tables,
stools, and settees of rude and outlandish
construction. The shining
sideboard had made way for an antiquated
worm-eaten piece of furniture
with gothic carvings. Altogether the
cheerful dining-room had undergone an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span>
odd change. The walls were papered
with views of bleak mountain scenery,
dismal lakes and turreted castles, enlivened
here and there with groups of
Scottish peasantry. The curtains, of
many-coloured plaid, were not very
elegant, and contrasted strangely with
the long narrow French windows.
"What on earth does it all mean?"
exclaimed the puzzled Alexis. Just
as he asked himself the question, the
waiter entered the room, with a countenance
of extraordinary formality,
bearing meat and wine upon a silver
salver. This he placed before him
with an infinity of ceremonious gestures
and grimaces.</p>

<p>"Your lordship will graciously put
up with this poor refreshment," he
said. "The beef is as tender as if it
came from the king's table, (God bless
him;) the sack, or rather the claret,
is of the best vintage. The kail-soup
would hardly have been forthcoming;
for although the cook is kept at home
by a cold, she is reading, and cannot
leave her book. And now, if it will
pleasure your lordship, I will play you
a tune upon the bagpipes."</p>

<p>In mute and open-mouthed astonishment,
Alexis stared at the speaker.
But the old man's earnest countenance,
and a movement he made to fetch the
discordant instrument, restored to him
his powers of speech.</p>

<p>"For heaven's sake!" he cried,
"Tobias! stop, come hither, and tell
me if you have lost your senses!
Lordship! claret! A cook who can't
leave her book! A bagpipe! Tobias!
what has come to you?"</p>

<p>"Ah, Mr Alexis!" said the old
fellow, suddenly exchanging his
quaint and ceremonious bearing for a
plaintive simplicity of manner, "to
say the truth, I hardly know myself
what has come to me. But pray don't
call me Tobias before the master.
Caleb has been my name now for a
matter of three years. Master and
the customers would have it so."</p>

<p>"Caleb?"</p>

<p>"Yes, my dear Mr Alexis. I and
the inn were rebaptised on the same
day. I am sorry for both of us, but I
am only the servant, and what everybody
pleases&mdash;"</p>

<p>Alexis pushed open the window and
thrust out his head. "True, by all
that's ridiculous!" he exclaimed,
turning to the rebaptised waiter;
"the old Star hangs there no longer.
What is your house called now?"</p>

<p>"The Bear of Bradwardine; and
since that has been its name, and
everything in it has been so transmogrified,
the place is full of strangers,
particularly of English, who throng
us in the summer. And there's such
laughing and tomfoolery, that at times
I'm like to go crazy. They stare at
old Caleb as if he himself were the
Bear, laugh in his face, and apologise
by a handsome tip. That would be
all very well, but the neighbours
laugh at the master and the inn, and
at me and Susan, whose name is now
Jenny, and never think of putting
hand in pocket to make amends. But
what can I do, Mr Alexis? Master
is wilful, and I'm sixty. If he
discharged me, who would give old
Tobias&mdash;Caleb, I mean&mdash;his daily
bread?"</p>

<p>"I would, old fellow," replied
Alexis heartily; "I would, Tobias.
You've saved me a thrashing for
many a prank, and were always
kinder to me than my own uncle, who
sometimes forgot that I was his
sister's son. If ever you want, and I
have a crust, half is yours. But go
on, I do not yet understand&mdash;"</p>

<p>Tobias cast a timid glance at the
door, and then continued, but in a
lower tone than before.</p>

<p>"Three years ago," he said, "the
mistress died, and soon afterwards
things began to go badly. Your uncle
neglected the house, and at last, if we
had one customer a-day, and three or
four on Sundays, we thought ourselves
well off. It was all along of books.
Every week there came a great parcel
from the next town, and master read
them through and through, and then
the young lady, and then master often
again. He neither ate, nor drank,
nor slept: he read. That may have
made him learned, but it certainly did
not make him rich. One day, when
things were at the worst, a stranger
came to the inn, and wrote himself
down in the book as an Englishman.
He it was who turned master's head.
The first night they sat up talking till
morning; all next day and the day
after that, they were poring over
books. Then the folly began; everything
must be changed&mdash;house and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span>
furniture, sign and servants. They
say the Englishman gave your uncle
money for the first expenses. If
everything had gone according to his
and master's fancy, you would have
found us all in masquerade. The
clothes were made for us just like
yonder figures on the paper. But we
only wore them one day. The blackguards
in the street were nigh pulling
down the house, and"&mdash;here Tobias
again lowered his voice&mdash;"Justice
Stapel sent word to master that he
might make as great a fool of himself
as he pleased, but that he must keep
his servants in decent Christian-like
clothing. So we got back to our
hose and jackets. The Englishman,
when he returned the following spring,
and a whole lot of people with him,
made a great fuss, and scolded and
cursed, and said that we upon the
Continent were a set of miserable
slaves, and that it was a man's natural
right to dress as he liked&mdash;or not
at all, if it so pleased him. For my
part, slave or no slave, I was very
glad Justice Stapel had more power
here than the mad Englishman. As
it was, I had to learn to play the bagpipes;
and Jenny had to learn to cook
as they do in England or Scotland;
and we all had to learn to speak as
they speak in master's books, eight
pages of which we are obliged to read
every day. Jenny likes the books,
and says they are better fun than
cooking: for my part, I can make nothing
of them, and always forget one
day what I learned the&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The old man paused in great trepidation,
for just then the door opened,
and a beautiful girl, attired in gorgeous
Scottish tartans, entered the
room.</p>

<p>"Emily! dear cousin!" cried
Alexis, springing to meet the blooming
damsel, "though eighteen years
instead of nine had elapsed since we
parted, I still should have recognised
your bright blue eyes." Bright the
eyes certainly were, and at that moment
they sparkled with surprise and
pleasure at the wanderer's return;
but before Alexis had concluded
his somewhat boisterous greetings,
their brightness was veiled by an
expression of melancholy, and the
momentary flush upon the maiden's
cheek was replaced by a pallid hue,
which seemed habitual, but unnatural.
The change did not escape the cousin's
observant glance, and he pressed her
with inquiries as to its cause. At
first he obtained no reply but a sigh
and a faint smile. His solicitude
would not be thus repelled.</p>

<p>"Upon my word, cousin," he said,
"I leave you no peace till you tell
what is wrong. I see very well that,
during my absence, house and furniture,
master and servants, have all
been turned upside down. But what
can have caused this change in you?
Have you too been rebaptised? Has
the barbarous Englishman driven you
too through the wilderness of his
countryman's romances? Have you
been compelled, like this poor devil, to
swallow Redgauntlet in daily doses,
like leaves of senna? Speak out, dear
cousin, my old friend and playmate.
Assuredly, I little expected to find you
still Miss Wirtig. Ere now, I thought
some fortunate Jason, daring and
deserving, would have borne away the
treasure from the Miffelstein Colchis."</p>

<p>Emily cast a side-glance at Tobias,
who stood at a short distance, listening
to their conversation with an air
of respectful sympathy. As if taking
a hint, the old man left the apartment.
When Emily again turned to her
cousin, her eyes glistened with tears.</p>

<p>"Dear Emily," said Alexis, laying
aside his headlong bantering tone, and
speaking earnestly and affectionately,
"place confidence in me, and rely on
my zeal to serve you and desire to see
you happy. True, I left this house
clandestinely, because your father
would have made a tradesman of me,
when my head was full of Euclid and
Vitruvius, and my fingers itched to
handle scale and compasses. But it
is not the worst sort of deserter who
returns voluntarily to his regiment.
Think not ill of me therefore, and
confide to me your sorrows. It is
nearly three years since William
Elben wrote to me that he hoped
speedily to take you home as his bride.
But now I see that he deceived
me."</p>

<p>"William spoke the truth," the
maiden hastily replied; "the hope was
then justified. He had my consent,
and my father did not object. But
fate had otherwise decreed. The
author of <i>Waverley</i> is the evil genius<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span>
who prevents our union and causes our
unhappiness."</p>

<p>"The devil he does!" cried Alexis,
starting back.</p>

<p>"Alas! good cousin," continued
Emily sentimentally, "who knows how
the threads of our destiny are spun!"</p>

<p>"They are not spun in the study at
Abbotsford, at any rate," cried the
impetuous Alexis. "But it is all
gibberish to me. Our neighbours
beyond the Channel have certainly
sometimes had a finger in our affairs,
but I never knew till now that their
novelist's permission was essential to
the marriage of a Miffelstein maiden
and a Miffelstein attorney. But&mdash;"</p>

<p>He was interrupted by Tobias,
who threw open the door with much
unnecessary noise, and thrust in his
head with an ominous winking of his
eyes, and a finger upon his lips. The
next moment the innkeeper entered
the room.</p>

<p>Alexis found his uncle grown old,
but he was more particularly struck
by his strange stiff manners, which
resembled those of Caleb, but were
more remarkable in the master than
the servant, by reason of the solemn
and magnificent style in which they
were manifested. Herr Wirtig welcomed
his nephew with infinite
dignity; let fall a few words of censure
with reference to his flight from
home, a few others of approbation of
his return, and inquired concerning
the young man's present plans and
occupations.</p>

<p>"I am an architect and engineer,"
replied Alexis. "My assiduity has
won me friends; I have learnt my
craft under good masters, and have
done my best to complete my education
during my travels in Italy,
France, and England."</p>

<p>"England?" cried Wirtig, pricking
his ears at the word: "Did you visit
Scotland?"</p>

<p>With a suppressed smile, Alexis
replied in the negative. His uncle
shrugged his shoulders with an air of
pity. "And what prospects have
you?" he inquired.</p>

<p>"Prince Hector of Rauchpfeifenheim
has given me a lucrative appointment
in his dominions. Before assuming
its duties, I have come to pass a few
days here, and trust I am welcome."</p>

<p>Wirtig shook his nephew's hand.</p>

<p>"Welcome you are!" said he,
kindly. "Hospitality is the attribute
of the noblest races. So long it
please ye, remain under this poor
roof. By the honour of a cavalier!
I would gladly have you with me
in the spring, when I think of rebuilding
my house on a very different
plan. You will find many
changes here, kinsman Alexis. Come,
fill your glass. A health to the Great
Unknown! He has been my good
genius. But we will talk of that on
our way to the harvest feast."</p>

<p>The innkeeper's conversation on the
road to the hamlet, where the festival
was held, was in complete accordance
with Caleb's account of his vagaries.
He was perfectly mad on the subject
of the author of <i>Waverley</i>. Never had
human being, whether sage, poet, or
philosopher, made so extraordinary
an impression on an admirer as had
the poet of Abbotsford on the host of
the Star&mdash;now the Bear of Bradwardine.
Wirtig identified himself with
all the most striking characters of the
Scottish novels. He assumed the
tone by turns of a stern Presbyterian,
a gossiping and eccentric antiquary,
a haughty noble, an enthusiastic
royalist, a warlike Highland chief.
His intense study of the Waverley
Novels, at a time when he was much
shaken by his wife's sudden death,
had warped his mind upon this particular
subject. Combined with this
monomania was a feeling of boundless
gratitude to the Scottish bard
for the prosperity the inn had enjoyed
under the auspices of the Blessed
Bear. His portrait hung in the
dining-room, where his birthday was
annually celebrated. Wirtig scarcely
ever emptied a glass but to his health,
or uttered a sentence without garnishing
it with his favourite oaths and
expressions. In his hour of sorrow,
the honest German had made himself
a new world out of the novelist's
creations. The sorrow faded away,
but the illusion remained. And
Wirtig deeply resented every attempt
to destroy it. Emily's lover, Elben,
a thriving young attorney, had dared
to attack the daily increasing folly of
his future father-in-law, and had
boldly taken the field against his
Scottish idol. He paid dearly for his
temerity. Argument sharpened into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span>
irony, and irony led to a quarrel,
whose consequence was a sentence
of banishment from the territory of
the Clan Wirtig, pronounced against
the unlucky lover, who then heartily
bewailed his rashness&mdash;the more so
that, whilst he himself was excluded
from the presence of his mistress, he
was kept in constant alarm lest some
one of the numerous English visitors
to the Bear of Bradwardine should
seduce her affections, and bear her off
to his island. In vain did he endeavour,
through mutual friends, to mollify
Scott's furious partisan; in vain
did Emily, in secret concert with her
lover, exert all her powers of coaxing.
At last Wirtig declared he would no
longer oppose their union when Elben
should have atoned for his crime by
presenting him with a novel from
his own pen, written in the exact
style of that stupendous genius whom
the rash attorney had dared to vilify.
Elben was horrified at this condition,
but nevertheless, remembering
that love works miracles, and has
even been known to make a tolerable
painter out of a blacksmith, he did
not despair. He shut himself up with
a complete edition of the Waverley
novels, read and re-read, wrote, altered,
corrected, and finally tore up
his manuscripts. A hundred times he
was on the point of abandoning the
task in despair; a hundred times,
stimulated by the promised recompense,
he resumed his pen. But his
labour was fruitless. A year elapsed;
he had consumed sundry reams of
paper, bottles of ink, and pounds of
canister; the result was <i>nil</i>. The
time allowed him expired at the approaching
Christmas. Poor Emily's
cheeks had lost their roses through
anxiety and suspense. The Miffelstein
gossips pitied her, abused her father,
and laughed at Elben.</p>

<p>These latter details did not reach
Alexis through either his uncle or his
cousin. The former, on casual mention
of the attorney's name, looked as
grim as the most truculent Celt that
ever carried claymore; in her father's
presence Emily&mdash;or Amy, as the Scotomaniac
now called her&mdash;dared not
even allude to her lover. Elben himself,
whom Alexis encountered gliding
like a pale and melancholy ghost
amidst the throng of holiday-makers,
confided to his former school-mate
the story of his woes. Alexis alternately
pitied and laughed at him.</p>

<p>"Poor fellow!" said he, "how can
I help you? I am no novelist, to
write your book for you, nor yet a
magnificent barbarian from the Scottish
hills, to snatch your mistress from
her father's tyranny and bear her to
your arms amidst the soft melodies of
the bagpipe. I see nothing for it but
to give her up."</p>

<p>Elben looked indignant at the coldblooded
suggestion.</p>

<p>"You do not understand these
matters," said he, with an expression
of disdain.</p>

<p>"Possibly not," replied Alexis,
"but only reflect&mdash;you a romance-writer!"</p>

<p>Elben sighed. "True," he said,
"it is a hopeless case. How many
nights have I not sat in the moonlight
upon the ruins of the old castle, to
try and catch a little inspiration.
I never caught anything but a cold.
How many times have I stolen disguised
into the lowest pot-houses,
where it would ruin my reputation to
be recognised, to acquire the popular
phraseology. And yet I am no further
advanced than a year ago!"</p>

<p>To the considerable relief of Alexis,
the despairing lover was here interrupted
by the explosion of two little
mortars; a shower of squibs and
rockets flew through the air, and the
women crowded together in real or
affected terror. In the rush, the two
friends were separated, and Alexis
again found himself by the side of old
Wirtig, who was soothing the alarm
of his timorous daughter. "Fear
nothing, good Amy," he said; "danger
there is none." Then turning to
Alexis: "Cousin!" said he solemnly,
"by our dear Lady of Embrun! yon
was a report! the loudest ever made
by mortar. The explosion of the
steamboat which yesterday blew
Prince Hector of Rauchpfeifenheim
and his whole court into the air, could
scarcely have been louder."</p>

<p>"Nay, nay," said Alexis, "things
were not quite as bad as that. Rumour
has exaggerated, as usual. No
one was blown into the air&mdash;no one
even wounded. The steamboat which
the prince had launched on the lake
near his capital, was certainly lost, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span>
consequence of the badness of the
machinery. But the prince and all
on board had left the vessel in good
time. The slight service it was my
good fortune to render, by taking off
Prince Hector in a swift row-boat,
doubtless procured me, more than any
particular abilities of mine, my appointment
as his royal highness's
architect."</p>

<p>The bystanders looked with redoubled
respect at the man thus preferred
by the popular sovereign of the
adjacent state. The sentimental Emily
lisped her congratulations. Her father
shook his nephew vehemently by the
hand.</p>

<p>"By St Dunstan! kinsman," he
cried, "it was well done, and I dare
swear thou art as brave a lad as ever
handled oar! Give me the packet of
squibs; Amy, thou shall see me fire
one in honour of thy cousin Alexis!"</p>

<p>The firework, unskilfully thrown,
lodged in the coat skirts of a stout
broad-shouldered man in a round
hat and a long brown surtout, who
was elbowing his way through the
crowd. The stranger, evidently a
foreigner, strove furiously against the
hissing sputtering projectile, and at
last succeeded in throwing it under
his feet and trampling it out with his
heavy boot-soles. Then, brandishing
a formidable walking-cane, and grumbling
most ominously, he began to
work his way as fast as a slight lameness
in one of his feet permitted, to
the place where Wirtig was blowing
his match and preparing for another
explosion. Emily called her father's
attention to the stranger's hostile demonstrations,
but the valiant host of
the Bear of Bradwardine heeded them
not. From time immemorial, he said,
it had been use and custom at Miffelstein
harvest-home to burn people's
clothes with squibs, and he certainly
should not, in the year of grace 1827,
set an example of deviation from so
venerable a practice. When, however,
he distinguished some well-known
English oaths issuing from the
stranger's lips&mdash;and when Caleb came
up and whispered in his ear that the
traveller had alighted at the Bear, and,
finding himself lonely, had demanded
to be conducted to the festival&mdash;the
worthy innkeeper regretted that he
had directed his broadside against the
stern of a natural ally, and seemed
disposed to make due and cordial
apology. After some cursing and grumbling
in English, the stranger's wrath
was appeased, and in a sort of Anglo-German
jargon, he declared himself
satisfied. He said some civil things
to Emily, took a seat by her side,
abused the squib and rocket practice,
praised his host's wine, and made
himself at home. Wirtig's attention
seemed greatly engrossed by the new
comer, whom he examined with the
corner of his eye, taking no further
part in the diversions of the festival,
and quite omitting to observe the furtive
glances exchanged between his
daughter and Elben, who lurked in
the vicinity.</p>

<p>Presently Alexis, who had been
overwhelmed by the greetings of old
acquaintances and playmates, returned
to his uncle's party. He started
at sight of the Englishman.</p>

<p>"How now!" he exclaimed; "you
here, my good sir? By what chance?"</p>

<p>The stranger evidently shared the
young man's surprise at their meeting.
Hastily quitting his seat, he took
Alexis by the arm, and led him out of
the throng. At a short distance off,
but out of all earshot, Wirtig saw
them walking up and down, the Englishman
talking and gesticulating with
great earnestness, Alexis listening
with smiling attention. The host of
the Bear sat in deep thought, his eyes
riveted upon the Englishman.</p>

<p>"Caleb," he suddenly demanded of
the old waiter, who was moistening
his larynx with a mug of cider&mdash;"Caleb,
how came yon gentleman to our
hostelry?"</p>

<p>"On horseback, Master Wirtig,"
replied Caleb, mustering up his reminiscences
of the <i>Tales of my Landlord</i>,
"on a gallant bay gelding. His
honour wore spatterdashes, such as
they wear to hunt the fox, I believe,
in his country. His cane hung from
his button; and if it so please ye,
Master Wirtig, I will describe his
horse furniture as well as my poor old
memory will permit."</p>

<p>"Enough!" said Wirtig, impatiently.
"Whence comes the traveller,
and whither is he bound?"</p>

<p>Caleb shrugged his shoulders.</p>

<p>"Has he written his name in the
strangers' book?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span></p>

<p>"He has so, Master Wirtig, after
long entreaty; for at first he steadfastly
refused. At last he wrote it. 'Let
none see this,' he said, 'save your
master; and let <i>him</i> be discreet, or&mdash;'"</p>

<p>"Glorious!" interrupted Wirtig,
and, in the joy of his heart, was near
embracing his astonished servant. "I
had a presentiment of it, but say&mdash;his
name?"</p>

<p>Caleb looked embarrassed. "You
alone were to see it, Master Wirtig,
and I&mdash;you know I am not very good
at reading writing. I looked into the
book, but&mdash;"</p>

<p>"How looked the word, fellow?"</p>

<p>"To me it looked a good deal like
a blot."</p>

<p>"Now, by St Bennet of Seyton!
thou art the dullest knave that ever
wore green apron! How many letters?"</p>

<p>Caleb scratched his head. "Hard
to say exactly; but not more than
five, I would wager that."</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Five</span>! Varlet, thou rejoicest me.
Heavens! that such good fortune
should be mine! Run, man, run as
you never ran before! Bid Jenny kill,
roast and boil! A great supper! Scottish
cookery! The oak-table shall
groan with its load of sack, ale, and
whisky. Let Quentin put the horses
to, and fetch us with the carriage.
Rob Roy must go round to all the best
houses, and invite the neighbours.
Tell Rowena to leave the goats, and
help Jenny in the kitchen. By my
halidome! I had almost forgotten.
Old Edith must sweep out the ballroom,
and Front-de-B&oelig;uf put wax-lights
in the chandeliers. Go! run!
fly!"</p>

<p>Caleb disappeared. In his place
came a crowd of the innkeeper's friends
and gossips. "What now? What is
up?" was asked on all sides. And
Wirtig exultingly replied:&mdash;"A feast!
a banquet! such as the walls of the
Bear of Bradwardine never yet beheld.
For they are this day honoured by the
presence of the most welcome guest
that ever trod the streets of Miffelstein.
Wine shall flow like water,
and there's welcome to all the world."</p>

<p>Breaking through the inquisitive
throng, Wirtig hurried to meet Alexis,
who was now returning alone from
his mysterious conference with the
stranger.</p>

<p>"Well?" cried the uncle, with
beaming countenance and expanded
eyes.</p>

<p>"Well?" coolly replied the nephew.</p>

<p>"Is it he, or is it not?"</p>

<p>"Who?"</p>

<p>"Who? Now, by the soul of St
Edward! thou hast sworn to drive
me mad. You say you have not been
in Scotland? Was it in Paris you
knew him? Or do you think I am
blind? Is not that his noble Scottish
countenance? the high cheek-bones&mdash;the
sharp gray eyes&mdash;the large mouth,
and the bold expression? And then
the lame foot, and five letters! What
would you have more?"</p>

<p>"Really, uncle, I would have nothing
more."</p>

<p>"Obstinate fellow! you will explain
nothing! But the portrait, the
face, the five letters&mdash;your mystery
is useless&mdash;the secret is out&mdash;the
stranger is&mdash;Scott!"</p>

<p>"Scott!" cried Alexis, greatly surprised.
"How do you know that?"</p>

<p>"Enough! I know it. 'Tis the
Great Unknown! Shame on you,
Alexis, to try to deceive your uncle!
Tell the great man, with whom you,
unworthy that you are, have been so
fortunate as to make acquaintance,
that his <i>incognito</i> shall be respected,
as surely as I bear an English heart
in my bosom. By the rood, shall it!
For all Miffelstein he shall be the
Unknown. But I crave his good
leave to celebrate his coming."</p>

<p>"I will answer for his making no
objection," replied Alexis, who apparently
struggled with some inward
emotion, for his voice was tremulous,
his face very red, and his eyes were
steadfastly fixed on the toes of his
boots.</p>

<p>"Answer for yourself, Sir Architect!"
said his uncle, somewhat
sharply. Then, in a lower and confidential
tone, "Where is the immortal
genius?" he inquired.</p>

<p>"If I mistake not," replied Alexis,
"I see him yonder, eating curds and
pumpernickel."</p>

<p>"Ah, the great man!" ejaculated
Wirtig; "to condescend to food so
unworthy of his illustrious jaws. And
see, he is about to fire off the mortar!
Engaging familiarity! Boom! The
loudest report to-day! The piece is
mine, though it cost me a thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span>
florins! It shall be christened Walter
Scott!"</p>

<p>"Hush, hush!" interposed Alexis;
"if you go on in this way, the incognito
will be in danger. And he himself
must not perceive that you&mdash;"</p>

<p>"True!" interrupted the excited
Wirtig, clapping his hand on his lips.
"Ah, could I but speak Gaelic, or
even English, the better to commune
with the inspired bard! But he has
translated <i>Goetz von Berlichingen</i>, so
must understand the pure German of
Miffelstein. But now tell me, Alexis,
in strict confidence, how comes the
first of the world's poets in our poor
village? Has he, perchance, heard
of the Bear of Bradwardine, and of
his faithful clansman, John Jacob
Wirtig? Or does he seek subject
for a new romance, and propose to
place his hero at Miffelstein, as he
conducted Durward to Plessis-les-Tours,
and the brave knight Kenneth
to Palestine?"</p>

<p>"Neither the one nor the other,
my dear uncle, unfortunately for us,"
replied Alexis thoughtfully, and pausing
between his sentences. "Trusting
to your discretion, and to convince
you of its necessity, I will not conceal
from you that a great peril has
brought the Author of Waverley to
Miffelstein. You must know that he
has just published an historical romance,
in which, availing himself of
the novelist's license, he has represented
Charlemagne and Henry the
Fourth of France vanquished in single
combat by William Wallace and Robert
the Bruce. A French general,
taking offence at this, has insisted
upon his retracting the statement, or
fighting a duel with blunderbusses at
six paces. Of course a man of honour
cannot retract&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Of course not! Never did Scottish
chief so demean himself! I see
it all. The &mdash;&mdash; Unknown has shot
the general, and&mdash;"</p>

<p>"On the contrary, uncle. He does
not want to be shot by the general,
and that is why he is here, where
none will look for him."</p>

<p>"What!" cried the host of the
Bear, taken very much aback; "but
that looks almost like&mdash;like a weakness,
unknown to his heroes, who so
readily bare their blades! I scarcely
understand how&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You misapprehend me," interrupted
Alexis: "the baronet only
asks to put off the duel until he has
finished a dozen novels, each in three
volumes, which he has in progress.
And as the Vandal refuses to
wait&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I see it all!" cried Wirtig, perfectly
satisfied: "the Unknown is
right. What! the base Frenchman
would rob the world of twelve masterpieces!
Not so. In Miffelstein is
safe hiding for the Genius of his century.
<i>Montjoie</i>, and to the rescue!
Let him wrap himself in his plaid,
and fear no foe! I will cover him
with my target, and my life shall
answer for his! Where should he
find refuge, if not in the shadow of
the Bear?"</p>

<p>Meanwhile, taking advantage of
Wirtig's relaxed vigilance, Elben had
stolen to Emily's side.</p>

<p>"What is the matter with your
father to-day?" said the lovesick
attorney to his mistress, when Wirtig
and Alexis walked away in the direction
of the mortar, and the crowd that
had assembled round the host of the
Bear dispersed, laughing and shaking
their heads. "What new crotchet
possesses him, and whence comes his
extraordinary excitement and exultation?"</p>

<p>Emily pressed her lover's hand,
and the tears stood in her sentimental
blue eyes.</p>

<p>"William," she said, "I greatly
fear that all is over with our dearest
hopes. I am oppressed with a presentiment
of misfortune. My father
is about to execute an oft-repeated
threat. He will force me to wed
another!"</p>

<p>"Whom?" cried the unfortunate
lawyer, his hair standing on end with
alarm: "surely not that rattlepate
Alexis? The relationship is too near,
and the canon forbids."</p>

<p>"You mistake me, William," replied
Emily; "I mean the Englishman.
My father's strange agitation&mdash;his
boundless joy&mdash;certain hints
that he has let fall&mdash;I am convinced
he has discovered in this stranger
some rich son-in-law for whom he
had written to England."</p>

<p>"You pierce my very heart!"
plaintively exclaimed Elben. "Unhappy
day! Accursed festival, date<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span>
of my last hope's annihilation! How
all this merriment grates upon my
soul! So might the condemned soldier
feel, marching to execution to
the sound of joyous music!"</p>

<p>"William! William! what frightful
images!" sobbed Emily from behind
her handkerchief.</p>

<p>"Romance! poetry!" continued
the incensed attorney; "now, indeed,
might I hope to compose some tragic
history, which should thrill each reader's
heart. Despair not, dearest
Emily. There is still justice upon
earth. I will bring an action against
your father. Or perhaps&mdash;from this
to the new-year there is yet time to
invent tales and write volumes. As
to yonder lame foreigner, I will try
some other plan with him. By the
bye, who knows if he has got a passport?
I don't think he has, by his
looks. Respectable people do not
travel about on horseback. I must
find out what he is, and his name."</p>

<p>And Elben was moving off, to commence
his investigations, but Emily
detained him.</p>

<p>"Such means are unworthy your
noble nature, my William," she said.
"In your cooler moments you will
assuredly reject them."</p>

<p>Elben shrugged his shoulders. "At
your command," he said, "even stern
Themis would drop the sword. But
what can I do? Must I resort to a
pistol-ball, or to prussic acid, as sole
exit from my misery? That would
be unbusinesslike, very unbefitting a
respectable attorney. Nor would it
rescue you from persecution."</p>

<p>"Is there no way out of this labyrinth?"
said Emily pensively, apparently
little apprehensive of her lover's
resorting to suicide. "No flight from
the clutches of this odious foreigner?"</p>

<p>"Flight!" repeated Elben, catching
at the word. "What a bold
idea!"</p>

<p>"Realise it," said Emily, speaking
low and very quickly. "Run away
with me!"</p>

<p>The attorney started.</p>

<p>"<i>Raptus</i>!" he exclaimed. "Dearest,
what do you propose? The law
punishes such an act. The third
chapter of our criminal code&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You have little chivalry in your
nature," interrupted Emily, reproachfully.
"You are no Douglas! Leave
me, then, to my fate. Alas! poor
Emily! to be thus sacrificed ere thy
twenty-second summer has fled!"</p>

<p>"Twenty-second!" cried the prosaic
lawyer, unheeding the implied
inferiority to the Douglas; "there is
something in that. I knew not
you were of age. You have a right
to decline the paternal authority.
That alters the case entirely. Since
you have completed your one-and-twentieth
year, an elopement is less
perilous."</p>

<p>The lovers' colloquy was here interrupted
by the arrival of Wirtig,
accompanied by his nephew and the
Englishman. The festival approached
its close, and Wirtig, at last missing
his daughter, and hearing that she
was with Elben, hurried in great
alarm to seek her. He was accompanied
in his search by Alexis and
the lame stranger, who conversed in
English.</p>

<p>"Is the innkeeper mad?" inquired
the latter. "Does he want to borrow
money of me? Or what is he driving
at?"</p>

<p>"He merely desires to make himself
agreeable to you," replied Alexis.</p>

<p>"The devil take his agreeableness.
I hate such fawning ways. You know
the unfortunate motive of my visit to
Miffelstein. In my position, compliments
and ceremony are quite out of
place."</p>

<p>"You must nevertheless endure
them. They insure your safety. For
a few days you must be content to
pass for a great man."</p>

<p>"There's none such in my family."</p>

<p>"No matter. Greatness is thrust
upon you. Try to persuade yourself
that you are the great Scottish Unknown."</p>

<p>"Never heard of him. What has
he done?"</p>

<p>"He has written romances."</p>

<p>"Pshaw! I hate your scribblers.
For heaven's sake, don't say I am an
author."</p>

<p>"Unfortunately I have said so
already. For your own sake, beware
of contradicting me. It is most unfortunate
that you forgot your passport.
If Prince Hector of Rauchpfeifenheim
learns that you are at
Miffelstein, you are no safer here than
in his capital."</p>

<p>"Curse my luck," growled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span>
Englishman between his teeth, "and
confound all smiths and boiler-makers!
Had I but remained in Old England!
There, if a boiler does burst, money
and a letter in the paper will make
all right. But the Continent is worse
than a slave-market. No <i>habeas
corpus</i> here! A foreigner is no better
than an outlaw, and if an accident
occurs, he has no bail but leg-bail."</p>

<p>"It is certainly very wrong of the
prince to be angry at such a trifle.
You were only within a hair's breadth
of drowning him and his whole court.
However, it is for you to choose
whether or not I shall say who you
really are."</p>

<p>"Not! certainly not! To get out
of this scrape, I would consent to
pass for a Yankee. By all means let
me be your Unknown friend."</p>

<p>"You shall," said Alexis, laughing;
"but on one condition. You must
assist me to bring about the happiness
of two deserving persons."</p>

<p>"Cost any money?" inquired the
stranger suspiciously.</p>

<p>"Not a kreutzer. A few fair words,
which I will teach you."</p>

<p>"I am willing. What is to be
done? Who are the persons!"</p>

<p>"That pretty girl you were sitting
by just now, and her lover, a worthy
young man."</p>

<p>"But I do not know him."</p>

<p>"Not necessary."</p>

<p>"Whatever you like, if it costs me
neither liberty nor money. Though
I would give all the money in my
pocket for a scrap of passport. Cursed
Continent! In my country, we don't
know such things. Had I only&mdash;but
in my haste to escape the gendarmes,
I forgot everything."</p>

<p>It was at this point of the conversation,
carried on in English, and
therefore unintelligible to Wirtig,
that the innkeeper pounced upon his
daughter and her lover.</p>

<p>"How now, attorney!" he exclaimed;
"what means this? By
St Julian of Avenel! who permitted
you to walk with my daughter?
<i>T&ecirc;te Dieu!</i> let it be for the last time!
I trust thee not, attorney. But this
is a happy day, and you shall not be
excluded from the banquet in honour
of our distinguished visitor. You will
be welcome at the Bear of Bradwardine.
And what you there shall see
and hear will quickly rid you of your
prejudices against&mdash;"</p>

<p>Alexis trod on the foot of his garrulous
uncle. Elben looked daggers
at the Englishman. Emily smiled,
and sighed.</p>

<p>"Now, your lordship, if it so
please ye," quoth Wirtig, in huge
delight, "we will return to my poor
house. The sun is below the horizon,
and the evening dews might endanger
your precious health. My forgetful
Caleb has assuredly forgotten to send
us the carriage."</p>

<p>"I am ready," replied the stranger.
"I have had enough and to spare of
your rocket practice, and your music
makes my head ache."</p>

<p>"The bagpipes are certainly pleasanter
to the ear," said Wirtig, submissively,
"and I am grieved that I
forgot to command Caleb's attendance
with them. Pardon the omission.
At the house, things shall be
better managed. Amy, entertain Sir
Wal&mdash;"</p>

<p>A crushing application of Alexis'
boot-heel to Wirtig's tenderest toe,
substituted an exclamation of agony
for the second syllable of the forbidden
name. The Englishman offered
Emily his arm, and a signal from her
father compelled its acceptance. By
the light of torches, and preceded by
a band of music, the Miffelsteiners
now moved in long procession homewards,
forming a sort of escort for the
stranger, who was in front, attended
by Wirtig and Alexis. The attorney
marched close behind, glaring like a
hyena at his supposed rival. Amidst
the cracking of fireworks and the
reports of guns and pistols, the procession
reached the town, and a considerable
number of the men went
direct to the hotel of the Bear&mdash;some
eager to profit by the gratuitous good
cheer, and others yet more desirous
to ascertain its motive. Of this, however,
most of Wirtig's guests were by
this time aware. Rumours will arise,
in small towns as in large cities; and
thus it was that at Miffelstein twenty
busy tongues whispered the presence
of the Great Unknown. At
the Bear, Wirtig's liberal instructions
had been zealously executed.
Caleb, Rowena, Jenny, Front-de-B&oelig;uf,
and the rest of the household,
had done their duty. The table was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span>
loaded with English and Scottish
delicacies; the portrait of the Great
Unknown&mdash;its frame adorned with
lamps of many colours&mdash;stared somewhat
wildly, but, upon the whole,
benevolently, from the wall, doubtless
well satisfied to see its original doing
ample honour to the repast. The
appetites of the other guests, which ungratified
curiosity might have damped,
were sharpened by a confidential
communication from the host of the
Bear. Notwithstanding his nephew's
injunctions to secrecy, Wirtig could
not refrain from exhibiting to his
friends, before they sat down to
supper, and of course in the strictest
confidence, the name of W. SCOTT,
inscribed upon the last page of the
strangers' book. There was no mistaking
the characters, blotted and
strangely formed though they were.
Great were the awe and reverence
with which the Miffelsteiners contemplated
the stranger, who, for his
part, gave his chief attention to his
supper. He bolted beefsteaks, reduced
fowls to skeletons, and poured
down, with infinite gusto, bumper
after bumper of Burgundy and Hochheimer.
The guests remarked with
admiration that he avoided, doubtless
with a view to the preservation of
his incognito, the Scottish drinks and
dishes that adorned the board. He
affected disgust at a Miffelstein
haggis, and neglected the whisky-bottle
for the wines of France and
Germany. Once he was observed
to smile as he glanced at his portrait,
and it was inferred that he was
amused at the badness of the likeness,
which certainly did little credit to
the artist. But he made no remark,
excepting that, the next moment, he
requested his neighbour to pass him
a dish of pork with plum sauce.</p>

<p>Wirtig's discretion was far from
equalling that of the Unknown.
Seated beside his honoured guest, in
the joy of his heart he overwhelmed
him with compliments, made
countless allusions to his works and
genius, and kept his glass constantly
full. The stranger let him talk on,
and answered nothing, or only by
monosyllables. In proportion to the
flattery and attentions lavished by
Wirtig, were the sadness and sullenness
of Elben the attorney. He had
arrived later than the other guests.
Seated at one end of the table, he
looked Medusas at the Unknown.</p>

<p>"What think you, nephew," said
Wirtig aside, "if I were to send for
Amy and her harp to entertain our
illustrious visitor? The bagpipes he
has forbidden."</p>

<p>"An excellent thought," replied
Alexis; "but it cannot be, for Caleb
tells me that my cousin has retired
to her apartment, complaining of a
violent headache."</p>

<p>"Mere woman's fancies!" grumbled
the father. "Amy is no Die Vernon.
Did the girl but know whom our
roof this day shelters&mdash;St George of
Burgundy how gladly would she
come! How warm would be her
welcome of him she is bound to love
and reverence!"</p>

<p>Elben overheard these last words,
and smiled a grim smile. Owing to
his tardy arrival and mental preoccupation,
he was unaware of the real
motive of the attentions paid to the
stranger, and still believed him to be
a favoured candidate for the hand of
Emily.</p>

<p>The Unknown had finished his
pork and plums, and was resting on
his knife and fork.</p>

<p>"Where is Miss Amy?" said he,
at last, looking particularly tender,
either at thoughts of the young lady
or at sight of a dish of partridges
just then placed smoking before him.
The jealous attorney could stand it
no longer. Starting from his chair,
he rushed from the room.</p>

<p>Wirtig apologised for his daughter's
absence, and resumed his complimentary
strain.</p>

<p>"By our Lady of Cl&eacute;ry, noble
sir!" he said, "the productions of
your genius have delighted my understanding,
and made my house to
prosper. I am under the greatest
obligations to you, and my debt of
gratitude is doubled by the honour of
your visit. I pray you to command
me in all things."</p>

<p>The stranger seemed embarrassed
by this excessive homage. Just
then Alexis spoke a few words to
him in English. The Unknown
emptied his glass, laid his finger
thoughtfully on his nose, and, after
a minute's pause, turned to his entertainer.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span></p>

<p>"You consider yourself under obligations
to me?" he said. "I take
you at your word. Prove your
sincerity."</p>

<p>"In purse and person, hand and
heart, command me," cried Wirtig,
"Lord of the Isles and most honourable
baronet. Do you lack money?
What I have is yours. Do you
desire protection from the bloodthirsty
Frenchman? In my house
you shall find shelter. In your
defence, I and mine will don tartan,
gird claymore, and shoulder Lochaber
axe."</p>

<p>"You are a gentleman," said the
Englishman, looking rather puzzled,
"and I thank you for your good will,
but have no need of your money.
The favour I would ask is not for
myself, but for others. Consent to
your daughter's marriage with the
man of her choice. You will do me
a great pleasure."</p>

<p>"Ha!" quoth the mystified Wirtig.
"Blows the wind from that quarter?
The sly puss has enlisted a powerful
ally. <i>Pasques Dieu!</i> 'Tis a mere trifle
you ask, worshipful sir. I had gladly
seen you tax my gratitude more
largely."</p>

<p>"Consent without delay," whispered
Alexis to his uncle. "Let not
the great man think you hesitate."</p>

<p>"With all my heart," said Wirtig.
"I had certainly made a condition,
and would gladly&mdash;but will Amy
be happy with the prosaic attorney?"</p>

<p>Once more the Great Unknown
laid his finger solemnly upon his
nose. "Undoubtedly," he said,
tossing off another bumper of his
host's best Burgundy. He spoke
rather thick, and his eyes had a fixed
and glassy look. "Undoubtedly,"
he repeated, as if speaking to himself.
Just then Caleb and Front-de-b&oelig;uf
placed a fresh battery of bottles on
table and sideboard. "Upon my
soul," added the stranger, in English,
"this old tavern-keeper is a jolly
fellow, and his Burgundy is prime."
He nodded oracularly, and again
filled his glass.</p>

<p>"Listen to him!" said Alexis to
his uncle, who hung upon each sound
that issued from his idol's lips.
"He prophesies! The second-sight
is upon him! He foretells their happiness.
Consent at once!"</p>

<p>"The second-sight!" exclaimed
Wirtig reverently. "Nay, then, in
heaven's name, be it as he wishes!
I freely give my consent!"</p>

<p>Alexis would fain have left the
room to seek Elben, and inform him
of his good fortune; but his uncle
would not spare him. The Englishman
continued to imbibe the Burgundy,
the other guests zealously
followed his example, conviviality
was at its height, songs were sung,
and the evening wore on. During a
tumultuous chorus of hurrahs, elicited
by an impromptu allusion to the
guest of the evening, introduced by
the Miffelstein poet into a bacchanalian
ditty, Caleb entered the room
with an important countenance, and
beckoned Alexis from the table. A
foreigner, he said, who spoke more
French than German, was making
anxious inquiries about one Schott or
Scott, and insisted upon seeing the
landlord. At first somewhat staggered
by this intelligence, which threatened
destruction to his schemes, the ready-witted
architect soon hit upon a
remedy. Sending Caleb to announce
to the stranger his master's speedy
appearance, he called Wirtig aside.</p>

<p>"Uncle," he said, "the moment
for decisive action has arrived. The
French general is below. He is on
the track of the Great Unknown, and
insists that he is here. Keep him at
bay for a while, and I will contrive
the escape of your illustrious guest.
Above all, parley not with the false
Frenchman."</p>

<p>"Ha! Beaus&eacute;ant!" exclaimed the
valorous and enthusiastic Wirtig.
"Is it indeed so? Methinks there
will be cut-and-thrust work ere the
proud Norman reach his prey. Ha!
St Andrew! he shall have a right
Scottish answer. And though he
were the bravest knight that ever put
foot in stirrup&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Expend not the precious moments
in similes," interrupted Alexis. "Remember
only that the man is glib of
tongue, and let him not mislead you
by friendly professions."</p>

<p>"Not I, by the soul of Hereward!"
replied Wirtig, leaving the room.</p>

<p>Alexis hastened to the Englishman.</p>

<p>"You must be off, my good sir," he
said. "A detachment of the bodyguard
of Prince Hector of Rauchpfei<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span>fenheim
is in pursuit of you. Their
officer is in the house, making clamorous
inquiry."</p>

<p>"The devil he is!" cried the
stranger, sobered by the intelligence.
"What is to be done? The horse I
came upon is foundered. Infernal
country! Accursed steamboat! I
cannot leave the place on foot."</p>

<p>"Leave the house, at any rate,"
said Alexis, "and we will then see
what to do. Delay another minute,
and escape is impossible. Follow
me, as you love liberty and life."</p>

<p>The Englishman obeyed. Alexis
led the way into a back-room, threw
open a window, and stepped out upon
a balcony, whence a flight of steps
descended into the garden of the hotel.
This was quickly traversed, and the
two men reached a narrow and solitary
lane, formed by stables and garden
walls, and close to the outskirts
of the town. Ten paces off stood a
postchaise, the door open and the
steps down.</p>

<p>"Now then, sir," said the driver
in a sleepy voice, as they approached
his vehicle, "Jump in. No time to
lose."</p>

<p>"How fortunate!" said the Englishman,
"here is a carriage."</p>

<p>"But not for you, is it?" said
Alexis.</p>

<p>The Englishman laughed, and
clapped his hand on his pocket.</p>

<p>"Everything for money. Drive
on, postilion, and at a gallop. A
double <i>trinkgeld</i> for you."</p>

<p>And he jumped into the vehicle,
which instantly drove off, and had
disappeared round a corner before
Alexis, astonished by the suddenness
of the proceeding, had time to reciprocate
the farewell shouted to him
by the fugitive. He was about to
re-enter the garden, when a man
came running down the lane. It was
Elben.</p>

<p>"How now, William," cried Alexis,
"what do you here?"</p>

<p>"The postchaise," cried the attorney,
"where is it?"</p>

<p>"The postchaise, was it for you?"</p>

<p>"To be sure."</p>

<p>"It has just driven off with the
Englishman."</p>

<p>"With the Englishman!" gasped
Elben. "Destruction! And Emily
in it!"</p>

<p>"Emily! my cousin! The devil!
What do you mean?"</p>

<p>"Alexis, you are my friend&mdash;with
you I need not dissemble. That carriage
was to bear me and Emily from
her father's tyranny. I put her into
it ten minutes ago. She insisted I
should be armed, and I returned for
these!"</p>

<p>And, throwing open his cloak, he
exhibited a pair of enormous horse
pistols, and a rapier, which, from its
antiquated fashion, might have belonged
to a cotemporary of the Great
Frederick.</p>

<p>"And whilst you were arming,"
cried the incorrigible Alexis, convulsed
with laughter, "the Great
Unknown ran off with your bride.
Well, you may rely he will not take
her far. He is in too great haste to
escape, to encumber himself with
baggage. And you will be spared a
journey, for my uncle no longer opposes
your marriage."</p>

<p>At that moment the garden door
opened, and Emily stood before them.
No sooner had the romantic damsel
sent her knight to arm himself, than
she remembered an indispensable
condition of an elopement, which she
had forgotten to observe, and hurried
back to her apartment, to leave upon
her table a line addressed to her
father, deprecating his wrath, and
pleading the irresistible force of love.
A few words from Alexis gave her
and Elben the joyful assurance that
no obstacle now barred their union.</p>

<p>On re-entering the inn, Alexis
encountered a French equerry of
Prince Hector of Rauchpfeifenheim,
who at once recognised him as his
sovereign's newly appointed architect.</p>

<p>"Ah! <i>Monsieur l'Architecte</i>," he
exclaimed, "how delighted I am to
meet with a sane man. The people
here are stark mad, and persist in
knowing nothing of Scott, the engineer.
I know very well he is here.
Tell the drunken dog that the prince
forgives him. I have ordered his
baggage to be sent hither, and here is
money for his expenses. The prince
never seriously intended to visit upon
him the fault of his bad machinery."</p>

<p>Alexis undertook to transmit Prince
Hector's bounty and pardon, and was
enabled to take his uncle the joyful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span>
intelligence that the bloodthirsty
French general had departed in peace.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Elben and Emily were married.
Alexis forwarded the property of the
Great Unknown, and soon afterwards
left Miffelstein. Wirtig wondered to
hear nothing more of his illustrious
visitor and benefactor, when one day
a letter reached him, bearing the
London postmark, and scrawled in
execrable German. Its contents were
as follows:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Dear Sir,&mdash;Once more back in
Old England, which I ought never
to have left, I remit you the enclosed
note in discharge of my reckoning.
Before this, you will doubtless have
discovered who your Great Unknown
really was, and that his business is
with pistons and paddlewheels, not
with novels and romances. My best
regards to that merry fellow Alexis,
and to your sentimental little daughter.
And you, my comical old friend,
have my best wishes for your welfare
and prosperity.&mdash;<span class="smcap">William Scott</span>."</p>

<p>When Wirtig had read this epistle,
he remained for some time plunged
in thought. From that day forward
he left off novel-reading, and attended
to his business; called Caleb Tobias;
eschewed bagpiping and Scottish
cookery; consigned plaid-curtains,
oaken sideboards, and portraits of the
Great Unknown to the lumber-room.
And before the new year arrived, the
Blessed Bear of Bradwardine had
disappeared from the door, and the
thirsty wayfarer might once more
drink his glass by the light of the
jolly old Star.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="MODERN_STATE_TRIALS" id="MODERN_STATE_TRIALS">MODERN STATE TRIALS.</a></h2>


<h3>PART III.&mdash;DUELLING.</h3>


<blockquote>

<p>[<i>Note on Part II. on Criminal Responsibility in cases of Insanity.</i>&mdash;A physician
in a responsible official situation, affording him great opportunities
for observation, has addressed to us a note from which we extract
the following passages. Our only object is to aid in eliciting truth; and
our anxiety to do so is proportionate to the difficulty and importance of
the subject to which the ensuing letter has reference.<a name="FNanchor_39" id="FNanchor_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p></blockquote>

<p>"The article on Oxford and M'Naughten has interested me very much;
and though I cannot at all admit the principle of punishing a man for his
misfortune, I am yet satisfied that the doctors have assumed too much, and
have helped to let loose upon society some who deserved hanging as much
as any who have ever suffered the extreme penalty. The test of insanity,
as laid down by the Judges on the solemn occasion to which you refer, is
manifestly of no value; for it is, I might almost say, <i>the exception</i> for an
insane person <i>not</i> to know the difference between right and wrong. Many of
them deliberately commit acts which they know to be wrong. Dadd killed
his father, and immediately fled to France to avoid the consequences of his
crime; and nobody ever doubted that he was one of the maddest, if not the
maddest, of the mad. Touchet shot the gunmaker, not only with a full
knowledge of the nature of the crime, but for the express purpose of bringing
about his own death. He has entertained various delusions: amongst others,
the notion that certain passages of Scripture have special reference to himself
personally; and, as regards those in actual confinement, on account of
their mental malady, the majority know perfectly well that it is wrong to tear,
break, and destroy, to injure others, and indulge their various mischievous
propensities. So well satisfied are many of them that they are doing wrong,
that they will try to conceal acts which they know are not permitted; and, in
this way, a propensity to bite, or kick, is indulged in only when it is believed
that it can be done unobserved. It seems to me that, in these most painfully
embarrassing cases, every one must stand on its own particular merits; and,
as neither judges nor doctors can say where sanity ends, and insanity begins,
so no possible rule that can be devised will be alike applicable to all; but
the previous habits and course of life of the person accused, together with the
absence or presence of any motive, will go far to remove the difficulties which
necessarily beset the question. I am not at all prepared to say that, because
any degree of mental disturbance has been shown to exist, a person should
be held <i>irresponsible</i>. It is a doctrine fraught with such dreadful danger to
society, that it is very properly viewed with jealousy; but, when clearly
proved that the mind was so far disturbed as to entertain delusions before
and at the time of committing the offence, I would never resort to capital
punishment. The Omniscient alone can tell how far the disease has gone,
and to what extent the unfortunate being was really responsible for his
actions to his follow men."]</p>

<p>Is, or is not, a trial in this country
for duelling to be regarded as a Farce
following a Tragedy? There are
those who say that it is; but we are
not of the number. Such trials often
greatly excite the public mind, and
array opinions and prejudices against
each other in such a manner as to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span>disturb and derange the judgment.
Then more or less is expected from
the law, and its administration, than is
right. If the heated public should
have prepared itself for a conviction,
loud and violent is its reclamation
against an acquittal, especially if it
have been brought about by what are
styled technical objections, and <i>vice
vers&acirc;</i>. They forget, under the impetuous
impulses of a sense of natural
justice, that settled rules of legal procedure
must be observed indifferently
on all occasions, if even-handed justice
is to be administered in a court
of justice. How did these rules come
to be settled? They are the results
of centuries of experience&mdash;of ten
thousand instances of the advantage,
nay, the absolute necessity, for observing
them. If it could be imagined
with any, even the slightest foundation
of truth, that those sworn to
decide according to the law and the
facts had wilfully shut their eyes to
the one or the other&mdash;or, either
directly or indirectly, connived at an
evasion of the letter or a violation of
the spirit of the law, in order to secure
a particular result&mdash;then there is no
power in language adequate fitly to
denounce so deliberate and awful a
perjury, so monstrous an outrage on
the administration of justice.</p>

<p><i>Bon&acirc; fide</i> duels are always lamentable
affairs, under whatever circumstances
they may happen, especially
when attended by loss of life or serious
personal injury&mdash;occurring, too,
in a highly civilised and Christian
country like ours. They properly
arouse the grief and indignation of
every thoughtful and virtuous member
of the community; whom, however,
they also satisfy as to the prodigious
practical difficulty of dealing with
such cases. While the law of the
land is clear on the subject as the
sun at noonday&mdash;alike unquestionable
and unquestioned&mdash;there yet exist,
in almost every detected duel, far
greater difficulties than are suspected
by the public, in bringing to justice
the guilty actors. First of all, it must
be borne in mind how deep an interest
they have in cutting off all means
of future evidence, by intrusting a
knowledge of the affair to the fewest
persons necessary for carrying it out,
and by selecting scenes remote from
observation. Then, again, let it be
remembered that both principals and
seconds, and all others present aiding
and abetting, have incurred heavy
criminal liability&mdash;are liable to be indicted
for murder, as principals or
accessories; and, consequently, none
of them can be compelled to furnish
any evidence which may even <i>tend</i> to
criminate himself. This great rule of
criminal law has doubtless operated
as a great indirect encouragement to
duelling; but how is this difficulty to
be encountered? Must the rule be
abrogated?</p>

<p>Assuming, however, the existence
of evidence, and that it is satisfactorily
adduced before the jury, it then
becomes the duty of the judge and the
jury to act in accordance with their
oaths: the former to lay down the
law distinctly and unequivocally;
the latter to find their verdict conscientiously
according to the principles
of law so laid down, as applicable
to the proved facts of the case. If a
conviction ensue, the judge must then
pronounce the sentence of the law;
and it then depends upon the discretion
and firmness of the executive
whether that sentence shall be carried
into effect. Take the case of a fatal
duel, conducted with unimpeachable
fairness, as far as concerns the practice
of duelling&mdash;and that the prisoner
had received great provocation from
his deceased opponent, who had obstinately
refused retractation or apology.
What is to be the decision of the
executive? What will be its moral
effect, as an encouragement or discouragement
of duelling? Will it
operate as a tacit recognition, to any
extent, of the practice of duelling, as
at all events a necessary evil, and
denuded of moral turpitude? These
are questions by no means of easy
solution.</p>

<p>In the present constitution of
society in this country&mdash;a Christian
community&mdash;duelling is a practice
environed with difficulties, whichever
way it may be approached by its most
discreet and resolute opponents. We
must deal with men and things as they
are, at the same time that we would
make them what we think they ought
to be. How many professing Christians&mdash;men
of otherwise pure and virtuous
lives&mdash;have gone out deliberately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span>
to take the life of an opponent, or
expose or sacrifice their own!&mdash;solely,
it may be, from a puerile notion that
their <i>honour</i> required the committing
of the crime! "It is not one of the
least evils of this system," it has been
well observed, "that the word <i>honour</i>&mdash;which,
rightly understood, denotes
all that is truly noble and virtuous&mdash;should
be prostituted as a pretext for
gratifying the most malignant of
human passions, <i>or as a cover for that
moral cowardice&mdash;the fear of being
thought afraid</i>." This is one of the
chiefest roots of the poisonous tree:
and can human laws kill it? We
think they can. If the legislature
were really intent upon annihilating
duelling, its members would long ago
have acted on the suggestion of Addison&mdash;that,
"if every one who fought
a duel were to stand in the pillory, it
would quickly diminish the number of
these imaginary men of honour, and
put an end to so absurd a practice."
If men will fight for a little stake, let
them be made into little men, by
enduring a degrading punishment; if
for a great stake&mdash;that is to say, the
gratification of malignant passions&mdash;let
them be treated as great criminals,
and die the felon's death, or live his
life. Let justice be really blind in
all such cases, her sword descending
upon noble and ignoble of station
alike.</p>

<p>We acknowledge that there is one
aspect of the practice of duelling,
which somewhat perplexes the moralist:
for it cannot be denied, or
doubted, that duelling operates as a
great preventive check to ruffian insolence
and violence&mdash;as a potent
auxiliary in preserving the necessary
restraints and the courtesies of society.
"It must be admitted," says
Robertson, "that to this absurd custom
we must ascribe, in some degree,
the extraordinary gentleness and complaisance
of modern manners, and that
respectful attention of one man to
another, which at present renders the
social intercourse of life far more
agreeable and decent than among the
most civilised nations of antiquity."
How many a viper-tongued slanderer's
lips have been sealed by the dread of
a bullet! How many an insolent inclination
to personal violence has been
checked&mdash;how many a truculent heart
has sickened, before the prospect of a
"leaden breakfast!" Take a single
case, which is really embarrassing to
the candid opponent of duelling; an
insult offered, by either words or
deeds, to the character or person of a
lady whom one is bound to protect&mdash;an
injury beyond all legal cognisance,
and perpetrated by one occupying the
station of a gentleman. To one who
does not bow under the paramount
influence of religion, the harassing
question occurs,&mdash;What is to be done?
Cases may be easily imagined in
which it would be idle to say&mdash;"treat
the offence and the offender with contempt&mdash;leave
them to the contempt
of society;" where such a course
would only add to the poignancy of
the wrong or insult, and invite
aggravation and repetition. Let the
outraged lady be imagined one's own
wife, or daughter, or sister! Is the
wrong to be perpetrated with impunity?
asks the upholder of duelling.
"What would you do," retorts his
opponent; "will you deliberately
take the life of the offender, and give
him an opportunity of taking
yours?<a name="FNanchor_40" id="FNanchor_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> Is that your notion of
<i>punishment</i>, or <i>satisfaction</i>? What
will be the effect of an example such
as this, upon society at large? Is
every one to be at liberty to do the
like?&mdash;thus deliberately to ignore the
law of God and of man?"</p>

<p>Duelling is, in truth, almost always
the resource of the weak-minded, the
vain, the vindictive, or the cowardly;
and it is not right to ask society to be
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span>liberal in its allowances for the wrongdoings
of its less worthy members.
There are, nevertheless, cases in
which persons have found themselves
involved in duels under circumstances
pregnant with extenuation in the
eyes of even the hardest moralist,
and such as warrant the executive,
when the majesty of the law has been
vindicated, and its authority recognised,
in mitigating or remitting the
punishment due to an acknowledged
violation of the law.</p>

<p>The law of the land is better able
to vindicate really outraged character
and honour than may be imagined
by many foolish hot-blooded persons,
who give or accept "hostile messages."
It is armed with ample powers
of compensation and punishment, as
may easily be ascertained by those
who can satisfy it that they have
been the victims of deliberate and
wanton insult and injury. Little more
than a year ago, one gentleman
thought proper to write to some naval
and military friends of another most
offensive imputations upon his honour.
When apprised of this, he
instantly wrote to demand that his
traducer should either prove the truth
of his assertion, or unequivocally retract
and apologise for them. Both
alternatives were very contemptuously
refused, on which the injured party
brought an action for libel against his
traducer; who, unable to justify, and
unwilling to apologise, allowed the
case to go before a jury. On their
learning the true nature of the affair,
and being reminded that they were
appealed to as a jury of twelve gentlemen,
to vindicate the honour of an
unoffending gentleman, they gave such
heavy damages (&pound;500) as soon
brought his infuriate opponent to his
senses, and elicited an unequivocal
retractation, and as ample an apology
as could have been desired. A few
instances of this kind would soon
satisfy the most sceptical of the potency
of the law in cases too often
deemed beyond its reach, and of the
effective reality of its redress in cases
of wounded honour. Who could
lightly esteem being solemnly and
publicly branded by its <i>fiat</i> as a liar
and a slanderer&mdash;its blighting sentence
remaining permanently on record?
He who would regard such a
circumstance with indifference surely
is not worth shooting, or running the
risk of being shot by, or of being
hanged or transported for shooting or
attempting to shoot! If a person of
distinguished station or character receive
an insult or an injury of such a
nature, as not to admit of being treated
with silent contempt, it becomes his
duty to society to set an example of
magnanimous reliance on the protection
of the laws of his country, and
pious reverence for the laws of God.
Against one thing, however, every
one should be constantly on his guard&mdash;the
entertaining and cherishing that
false overweening estimate of personal
dignity and importance, which
predisposes too many to take offence,
and then hurry to revenge it.</p>

<p>According to the law of England,
as already stated, a death caused by
duelling, though in the "fairest" possible
manner, is clearly murder, to all
intents and purposes whatsoever. In
the year 1846, the majority of the
Criminal Law Commissioners suggested
a change in this law, recommending
that, where two persons
agree to fight, and a contest ensues,
and one of them is killed, the homicide
should be extenuated. The reasons
on which this suggestion was
founded appear to us of a very unsatisfactory
nature; and one of the
Commissioners&mdash;the late Mr Starkie&mdash;altogether
dissented from the views of
his brethren, embodying his reasons
in an able and convincing protest or
counter-statement. "Whilst," he
observes, at its close, "as it seems to
me, little good could be expected from
the proposed alteration, it might be
productive of much harm in a <i>moral</i>
point of view. It would be understood
to manifest an alteration in the
opinion of the Legislature as to the
heinousness of the crime of homicide,
and of course tend to diminish the
efficacy of the law against it." We
entirely concur in the following remarks
of Mr Townsend, in one of
the best expressed passages in his
book:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Founded on the law of God, the
law of the land should remain clear
and stringent, that whoever kills in a
deliberate duel commits murder. The
sanctity of human life would be impaired
were this denunciation lessened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span>
and the forfeit, for expediency's sake,
commuted. The very good to be
obtained by the compromise with
'codes of honour' would be temporary;
for arguments of hardship, as
the consequences of conviction, and
appeals to compassion against a <i>gentleman</i>
being adjudged guilty of felony,
and transported&mdash;it might be for life&mdash;would
equally tickle the ears of
credulous jurors, and be listened to
with as much avidity as the present
topic of capital punishment. Let the
law maintain its own independent
straightforward path&mdash;<i>irretortis oculis</i>&mdash;and,
be the fluctuations in fashionable
feeling what they may, continue,
in its austere regard for life, unchanged
and unchangeable."<a name="FNanchor_41" id="FNanchor_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a></p>

<p>Thus stands the matter: the Legislature
not having ventured to interfere
with the law, which must be
administered with rigorous faithfulness
by those to whom that severe
and responsible duty has been entrusted,
God forbid that there should
ever be coquetting with an oath on
these occasions!</p>

<p>We have no hesitation in saying
that our English Judges, as far as our
inquiries have gone, invariably lay
down the law, in these cases, with
clearness and unfaltering firmness.
The only approach towards a departure
from this rule of right, is one
which we trust has no other foundation
than an erroneous report of what
fell from Baron Hotham at Maidstone,
in the year 1794, in trying a Mr Purefoy,
who shot his late commanding
officer, Colonel Roper. That Judge,
according to Mr Townsend<a name="FNanchor_42" id="FNanchor_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a>&mdash;who also
intimates a hope that the judge has
been incorrectly reported&mdash;concluded
his summing up, which produced, as
might have been expected, an instant
acquittal, by the following extraordinary
passage:&mdash;</p>

<p>"It is now a painful duty which
jointly belongs to us; it is mine to lay
down the law, and yours to apply it to
the facts before you. The oath by
which I am bound obliges me to say
that homicide, after a due interval left
for consideration, amounts to murder.
The laws of England, in their utmost
lenity and allowance for human frailty,
extend their compassion only to sudden
and momentary frays; and then,
if the blood has not had time to cool,
or the reason to return, the result is
termed manslaughter. Such is the
law of the land, which, undoubtedly,
the unfortunate gentleman at the
bar has violated, <i>though he has acted
in conformity to the laws of honour</i>.
His whole demeanour in the duel, according
to the witness whom you are
most to believe, Colonel Stanwix,
was <i>that of perfect honour and perfect
humanity</i>. Such is the law, and such
are the facts. <i>If you cannot reconcile
the latter to your consciences</i>, you must
return a verdict of guilty. But if the
contrary, <i>though the acquittal may
trench on the rigid rules of the law, yet
the verdict will be lovely in the sight
both of God and man</i>."</p>

<p>If Baron Hotham really uttered
this drivel, he was totally unfit to administer
justice, and should have been
removed from the Bench. Mr Townsend,
in one place, observes that
Baron Hotham "must have allowed
his kindly feelings to master his judgment;"
and in another cites the case
as "a very <i>famous</i> one, being the first
of those occasions on which judges
admitted, from the bench, the necessity
and expediency of juries tempering
the law, where, by a stern necessity,
they have held themselves bound
by it;" that is, in plain English,
where judges advised juries to violate
their oaths, in order to defeat the just
administration of the law. We know
no parallel to this "famous" case, except
that of Justice Fletcher, a judge
in Ireland, in the year 1812; who&mdash;as
we learn from Mr Phillips' very
interesting <i>Memoirs of Curran</i>, about
to issue from the press&mdash;thus addressed
an Irish jury, in a trial for
murder occasioned in a duel: "Gentlemen,
it is my business to lay down
the law to you, and I shall do so.
Where two people go out to fight a
duel, and one of them falls, the law
says it is murder. And I tell you,
by law it <i>is</i> murder; but, at the same
time, <i>a fairer duel I never heard of in
the whole coorse</i> [<i>sic</i>] <i>of my life</i>!"
The prisoners were, of course, immediately
acquitted.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span></p>

<p>Mr Townsend states, that "the
long series of judicial annals has not
been darkened by a single conviction
for murder, in the case of a duel fairly
fought."<a name="FNanchor_43" id="FNanchor_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> If this be a correct statement,
which we greatly doubt, it
argues either a signal deficiency of
evidence in every case, or a perverse
disregard of duty by either judges or
juries, or both. We repeat it, and do
so anxiously desirous of giving every
degree of publicity in our power to
the fact, that our judges discharge
their duties on these occasions with
unwavering firmness. We shall give
two or three modern and interesting
instances. The late eminent Mr Justice
Buller tried a clergyman&mdash;the
Reverend Bennet Allen,(!)<a name="FNanchor_44" id="FNanchor_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> and his
second, for killing a Mr Dulany, in a
duel fought at ten o'clock at night, in
Hyde Park, at the distance of eight
yards: the reverend duellist had put
on his spectacles, in order to see his
man. Mr Justice Buller told the jury
that "they were bound to adhere to
the law, as to which there never," he
continued, "has been a doubt. In
the case of a deliberate duel, if one
person be killed, it is murder in the
person killing him. Of that proposition
of law there is not, there never
has been, the smallest doubt. Sitting
here, it is my duty to tell you what
the law is, which I have done in explicit
terms; and we must not suffer
it to be frittered away, by any false
or fantastical notions of honour."
Here the judge did his duty: but the
jury seem, according to Mr Townsend,
who doubtless spoke after having
duly examined the facts of the case,
"to have temporised between their
consciences and wishes, by acquitting
the second, and finding the principal
guilty of manslaughter."</p>

<p>Mr Justice Patteson, in trying the
seconds for murder, in the case of the
fatal duel between Dr Hennis and
Sir John Jeffcott, who shot the former,
thus plainly put the matter to the
jury: "Whether duelling ought to
be tolerated in this land, I say nothing.
It is no question for any <i>jury</i>
at all. The law of the land does not
tolerate it. I repeat that, if you are
satisfied on this evidence, that the
three gentlemen went out to Haddon,
knowing that Sir John Jeffcott and
Dr Hennis were about to fight a duel
there, without heat or irritation&mdash;but
deliberately aiding and assisting the
affair on a point of honour, after vainly
endeavouring to effect an amicable
arrangement&mdash;I cannot tell you, in
point of law, that it is anything short
of murder." The jury at once acquitted
the prisoners!<a name="FNanchor_45" id="FNanchor_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a></p>

<p>In the year 1838, a young man
named Mirfin was shot in a duel at
Wimbledon, by a young man named
Elliott, twenty-five years of age, under
deplorable and aggravated circumstances.
The former had been a linendraper
in Tottenham Court Road;
and, together with the latter, seemed
to have led the dissolute life, for some
time, of men about town. The duel
arose out of a quarrel which had occurred
in a certain indecent scene of
infamy near Piccadilly! Two young
men named Young and Webber, respectively
only twenty-four and
twenty-six years of age, were tried
for the wilful murder of Mirfin. They
had not acted as seconds of the survivor,
but had accompanied him and
his second to the scene of action. The
chief witness was a surgeon, who detailed
with a deadly simplicity and matter-of-fact
air the whole particulars of
the duel, at which he was present;
and produced such an effect on the
jury that, on delivering their verdict,
they expressed the "horror" with
which they had heard his evidence and
regarded his conduct, and their regret
that he had not himself been put upon
his trial for murder. The reader shall
have an opportunity of judging for
himself on the subject, from a portion
of the evidence given by this person.<a name="FNanchor_46" id="FNanchor_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p>

<p>"After the pistols were loaded, Mr
Elliott and Mr Mirfin were placed on
their ground, and a pistol was delivered
to each. I then went and stood
seven or eight paces from them, with
the two seconds. I looked at the
principals. The word to fire was given
by Mr Elliott's second: he said, 'Gentlemen,
are you ready?&mdash;<i>Stop!</i>' That
was the agreed signal for firing: they
were to fire instantly on the last word
'stop' being uttered, and not before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span>
They fired together immediately on
the signal. After they had fired, I
observed that <i>the ball had passed
through the crown of Mr Mirfin's hat</i>: I
saw something fly up in the air: I
saw a portion of the crown just raised
at the moment. As soon as they had
fired, the seconds interfered. I and
they were standing together. They
moved towards the principals, who
remained in their places. Some conversation
took place between the principals
and seconds, and then between
the seconds themselves&mdash;which lasted
for a few minutes only. Mr Mirfin
insisted on a second shot. He spoke
loud enough for all present to hear.
I stood within seven or eight paces of
him, and could hear every word he
said. I was intent looking at his hat&mdash;I
saw the ball had passed through
it. I could hear that the conversation
was with a view to reconcile the
parties; but Mr Mirfin would not
hear of any reconciliation. I believe
Mr Elliott would have made a verbal
apology; but Mr Mirfin would accept
nothing but a written apology, and
insisted on a second shot. After he
had made this statement, another
pistol was delivered to each. They
next left their ground. I told Mr
Mirfin that his hat had been shot
through, and he took it off and looked
at it, and said nothing, but replaced
it on his head. The second pistols
were Mr Mirfin's, and were fired at a
signal exactly similar to the former
one. Mr Elliott fired first, but not
till after the signal had been given.
I distinctly heard the sound of his
pistol, immediately after the word had
been given; and Mr Mirfin's shot
was fired almost immediately. I
think his pistol was discharged after
he had received the fatal shot. I
think he felt the wound previous to
his firing off his pistol. He did not
sufficiently raise his hand. His ball
struck the ground. He was in the
act of bringing his pistol to the level,
when he fired. After both shots had
been fired, I looked at each of the
men, and did not, at first, perceive
that either was injured. Mr Mirfin
walked towards me about six paces, I
think, with his left hand on his right
side, and, I think also, the pistol
still in his right hand. I think he
gave it to me. He advanced towards
me saying, 'I am wounded.' I
asked him where; he looked towards
the wound and raised his fingers,
showing me where he was wounded,
but without speaking. I said, 'I am
exceedingly sorry to hear it: good
bye. God bless you!' He replied,
'<i>Good bye, old fellow!</i>' I then
assisted him to lie on the grass. He
did not fall immediately. I undid his
pea-jacket and waistcoat, and pulled
up his shirt, and probed the wound.
The other persons were standing by.
Mr Mirfin's second walked up, and
asked if the wound were fatal. I said
it was a very fatal wound. Mr Elliott
and his second said nothing, merely
looking on. Mr Broughton asked me
again, after I had probed the wound,
whether it was fatal. I said it was.
He asked, 'What shall we do?' I
replied, 'The sooner you leave the
ground the better, and I will wait.'
They all three left the ground together.
Mr Mirfin died within ten minutes.
I did not speak to him after this. I
saw I could be of no service to him,
and did not wish to fatigue him by
saying anything to him. I examined
the body after I had got it home, and
discovered a small wound not quite
the size of a (bird's?) egg, between the
fifth and sixth ribs."</p>

<p>We have given these details in all
their sickening simplicity and utter
hideousness, because they are worth
a world of comment on the nature and
tendency of affairs of honour.</p>

<p>The trial came on before the late
Baron Vaughan, and the present
Baron Alderson, at the Old Bailey, on
the 22d Sept. 1838; and the former
thus laid down the law to the jury:
"When upon a previous arrangement,
and after there has been time
for the blood to cool, two persons meet
with deadly weapons, and one of them
is killed, he who occasions the death is
guilty of murder; and the seconds are
also equally guilty. The question then
is, did the prisoners give their aid and
assistance by their countenance and
encouragement of the principals, in this
contest? Though neither of the prisoners
acted as second, still, if either
sustained the principal by his advice
<i>or his presence</i>&mdash;or, if you think he
went down for the purpose of encouraging
and forwarding the unlawful
conflict, although he did not say or do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span>
anything, yet if he were present, and
was assisting and encouraging, at the
moment when the pistol was fired&mdash;he
will be guilty of the offence of wilful
murder. Questions have arisen as
to how far the second of a party killed
in a duel is liable to an indictment
for the murder of the deceased: I am
clearly of opinion that he is."</p>

<p>The prisoners were convicted; but
under the special circumstances of the
case&mdash;for there existed, in the evidence,
considerable doubt as to the
part taken in the murderous affair by
the prisoners&mdash;or even whether they,
in fact, took <i>any</i> part in it&mdash;sentence
of death was not passed upon them,
but only ordered to be recorded against
them; and they were afterwards sentenced
to a lengthened term of imprisonment.
Mr Townsend does not
seem to have been aware of this case,
as he makes no allusion to it.</p>

<p>We ourselves were present at a remarkable
trial for duelling, about
eighteen or twenty years ago, at the
Old Bailey, before the late excellent
and very learned Baron Bayley, on
which occasion he also laid down the
rule of law respecting duelling, with
uncompromising firmness and straightforwardness.
This was the case of
Captain Helsham, who had shot Lieutenant
Crowther in a duel, at Boulogne.
There were rumours of foul play having
been practised; and a clergyman, the
brother of the deceased, made strenuous
and persevering efforts to bring
Captain Helsham to trial. The latter
continued, for some time after the
duel, in France, though anxious to
return to England; and after (as we
have heard) taking the opinion of a
well-known counsel at the criminal
bar&mdash;who advised him that he could
not be tried in this country for a duel
fought in a foreign country not under
the British crown&mdash;he came to England,
where he was instantly arrested,
under Stat. 9 Geo. IV. c. 31, &sect; 7, which
had been passed two or three years
previously&mdash;viz., in 1828&mdash;and must
have altogether escaped the notice of
the counsel in question. That act
authorises the trial, in England, of
any British subject charged with having
committed any murder or manslaughter
abroad, whether within or
without the British dominions, as if
such crimes had been committed in
England. Captain Helsham was admitted
to bail to meet the charge, and,
having duly surrendered, took his
place at the bar of the Old Bailey,
at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning.</p>

<p>He was a middle-aged man, of
gentlemanly appearance, his features
indicating great determination of
character; but they wore an expression
of manifest anxiety and apprehension
as he entered the dock, and,
looking down, beheld immediately
beneath him the brother of the man
whom he had shot, and through whose
ceaseless activity he was then placed
on trial for his life as a murderer.
And he was to be tried by an uncompromising
judge&mdash;stern and exact in
administering the law, and animated
by pure religious spirit; but, withal,
thoroughly humane. Throughout the
whole of that agitating day, the prisoner
stood firm as a rock&mdash;sometimes
his arms folded, at others his hands
resting on the bar; while his eyes
were fixed intently on the judge, the
witnesses, or the counsel&mdash;every now
and then glancing with gloomy inquisitiveness
at the jury and the judge.
His lips were from first to last firmly
compressed. It was understood that
the counsel for the prosecution were
in possession of a damning piece of
evidence&mdash;viz., that the prisoner had
spent nearly the whole of the night
immediately preceding the duel in
practising pistol-firing. However the
<i>fact</i> might be, it nevertheless was not
elicited at the trial; and probably the
prisoner, who had been prepared for
such evidence being produced, began,
on finding that it was not so, to
take a more favourable view of his
chances. As the case stood, however,
it looked black enough to those who
knew the law, and the character of
the judge who sat to administer it.
That venerable person began his summing
up to the jury about seven
o'clock in the evening, and the scene
can never be effaced from our memory.
The court was extremely crowded;
the lights burned brightly, exhibiting
anxious faces in every direction: but
what a striking figure was the central
one&mdash;that of the prisoner! Immediately
over his head was a mirror,
so placed as to reflect his face and
figure vividly, especially to the jury.
A few moments after the judge had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[Pg 720]</a></span>
commenced his charge, we observed
the Ordinary of Newgate glide into
court, the late Rev. Dr Cotton, in full
canonicals, and with flowing white
hair, having a picturesquely venerable
and ominous appearance, and
take his seat near to, but a little
behind the judge. It was then usual
for the Ordinary to be present at the
close of capital cases, in order to add
a solemn "amen" to the prayer with
which the sentence of death concluded&mdash;that
"God would have mercy on
the soul" of the condemned. "Gentlemen
of the jury," commenced Mr
Baron Bayley, amidst profound silence,
"we have heard several times, during
the course of this trial, of <i>the law of
honour</i>; but I will now tell you what
is the <i>law of the land</i>, which is all that
you and I have to do with. It is
this: that if two persons go out with
deadly weapons, intending to use
them against each other, and <i>do</i> use
them, and death ensue, that is&mdash;murder,
wilful murder." He paused
for a moment, as if to give the jury
time to appreciate the dread significance
of his opening. As soon as he
had uttered the last two words, Captain
Helsham's cheek was instantaneously
blanched. We were eyeing
him intently at the moment, and shall
never forget it. He stood, however,
with rigid erectness, gazing with
mingled anger and fear at the judge,
whom he felt to be uttering his death-warrant;
and after a while bent his
eyes on the jury, from whom they
wandered scarce a moment during
that momentous summing-up&mdash;one
which, with every word, was letting
fall around him, as he must have felt,
the curtain of death. "The law of
honour," said the judge, towards the
close of his charge, "is an imposture&mdash;a
wicked imposture, when set against
the law of the land, and the law of
God Almighty, claiming the right to
take away human life. I tell you,
who sit there to discharge a sworn
duty, that a fatal duel is malicious
homicide&mdash;and <i>that</i> is wilful murder."
The jury retired to consider their
verdict; and the judge at the same
time quitted the court till his presence
should be required again. Captain
Helsham, however, continued standing
at the bar almost motionless as a
statue. After a prolonged absence of
an hour and forty minutes, the jury
returned into court. The prisoner
eyed them, as one by one they re-entered
their box, with a solicitude
dismal to behold, and the irrepressible
quivering of his upper lip indicated
mortal agitation. The verdict, however,
was&mdash;Not Guilty; on which the
prisoner heaved a heavy sigh, passed
his hand slowly over his damp forehead,
bowed slightly, but rather
sternly to the jury, and was then
removed from the bar and released
from custody. When the verdict was
a few minutes afterwards communicated
to Baron Bayley, who had remained
in attendance in an adjoining
room, he remarked gravely, "I did <i>my</i>
duty! It is well for Captain Helsham
that the verdict is as it is; had it been
the other way, I should certainly have
left him for execution." In that case,
the duellist would have died on the gallows
on the ensuing Monday morning.</p>

<p>It is now, however, time to return
to Mr Townsend's volumes, where we
find two trials for duelling. One is
that of the late Mr Stuart, who killed
Sir Alexander Boswell, in Scotland,
on the 26th March 1822, in a duel
conducted with undisputed regularity
and fairness. The other is that of
the Earl of Cardigan, who fought and
wounded Captain Harvey Tuckett,
but not mortally, in a duel, on the
12th September 1840. This trial is
one of remarkable interest, in every
point of view; and we shall take some
pains in bringing it distinctly and intelligibly
before our readers.</p>

<p>About five o'clock on the afternoon
of Saturday, the 12th September
1840, a person named Daun, a
miller, together with his wife and son,
observed from the stage of their mill,
on Wimbledon Common, two carriages
approaching it from opposite directions,
and at once suspected what was
about to take place. Two gentlemen
first quitted the carriages&mdash;each with
a pistol-case&mdash;duly loaded a brace of
pistols, and stepped out twelve paces;
on which two other gentlemen, the
Earl of Cardigan and Captain Tuckett,
came up, and took their stations at the
points indicated. To each was given
a pistol; the other two withdrew to a
little distance; the word to fire was
uttered, and immediately followed by
an ineffectual discharge of both pistols.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[Pg 721]</a></span>
The principals remained at their posts;
a second brace of pistols was given
them; again both fired and Captain
Tuckett fell, wounded in the small of
the back&mdash;bleeding profusely, but, as
it proved, not from a mortal, or even
dangerous wound. Thus the aristocratic
affair of <i>honour</i> was more
fortunate in its issue than that plebeian
one in which, two or three years before,
the young linendraper Mirfin
had received his mortal "satisfaction."
Lord Cardigan's second was
Captain Douglas, and Captain Wainwright
was that of Captain Tuckett.
The whole affair of the duel had been
witnessed by the miller, (who was
also a constable,) and his wife and
son, standing on the stage of the
windmill. The moment that Captain
Tuckett fell, the miller and his son
quitted their post of observation, ran
up to the scene of action, and intimated
to all the parties that they
must consider themselves in his
custody. Lord Cardigan still held in
his right hand the pistol with which
he had fired; and there lay on the
ground two pistol-cases, one of them
bearing the Earl's coronet. Captain
Tuckett lay on the ground, his second
Captain Wainwright kneeling beside
him, supporting him; while Sir James
Anderson, a surgeon, who had attended
them to the field, was examining
the wound. One of these
three entreated the constable to allow
the wounded gentleman to be removed
to his own house, giving a solemn
pledge that, on his recovery, he should
attend before the magistrate. At the
same time one of them took out a
card, on which was printed&mdash;"Captain
Harvey Tuckett, No. 13 Hamilton
Place, New Road," and wrote
in pencil, on the back of the card, the
words, "Captain H. Wainwright."
Who gave this card remains, in the
evidence, a mystery; nor did it appear
whether Lord Cardigan saw the card
given, or knew what was printed or
written on it, or heard what was said.
As almost the whole interest of the
trial, and also its unexpected issue,
turned upon the identity of the
wounded duellist, and the requisite
adroitness and vigilance of the late
Sir William Follett, the Earl's counsel,
in dealing with this card, and the
circumstances attending its delivery
to the constable, the reader will find
his account in remarking these circumstances
accurately. On the constable's
receiving the card, and the
pledge above mentioned, he allowed
those who had given it to depart.
The conduct of the Earl of Cardigan
was undoubtedly distinguished by
soldierly straight-forwardness and
frankness. He went direct, with
Captain Douglas, to the Wandsworth
police station, and, tapping at the
door, the inspector presented himself,
and asked what was wanted. "I am
a prisoner, I believe," said Lord Cardigan.
"Indeed, sir!&mdash;on what account?"
asked the surprised inspector,
as Lord Cardigan entered the station-house.
"I have been fighting a duel,"
said his Lordship, "and hit my man&mdash;but
not seriously, I believe&mdash;slightly&mdash;merely
a graze across the back"&mdash;drawing
his hand across his own back,
to indicate the region where he believed
his ball had struck Captain
Tuckett. Lord Cardigan then turned
to Captain Douglas, and said, "This
gentleman, also, is a prisoner&mdash;my
second, Captain Douglas." He then
took several cards out of his right
breast pocket, and handed one of
them to the inspector. It bore the
words, "The Earl of Cardigan, 11th
Dragoons." On reading the name,
the inspector said, "I hope the duel
was not with Captain Reynolds?"&mdash;alluding
to the notorious disputes
between his Lordship and that officer,
and which led to a court-martial on
the latter. Lord Cardigan "stood up
erect," said the inspector in giving
his evidence, and seemed to reject
the notion with the utmost disdain:
saying, "Oh no, by no means!&mdash;do
you suppose I would fight with one
of my own officers?"<a name="FNanchor_47" id="FNanchor_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> He duly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[Pg 722]</a></span>appeared before the magistrates, and
was bound over in heavy recognisances
to appear whenever his presence
should be required. He did so from
time to time. As soon as Captain
Tuckett had sufficiently recovered, he
also made his appearance at the police
office, <i>and gave his name</i>. The affair
had by this time attracted much
public attention, chiefly, there can be
little doubt, from the unpopularity of
the Earl of Cardigan; the newspapers
teeming with accounts of his alleged
discourteous and oppressive treatment
of the officers under his command.
The prosecution of Lord Cardigan
was loudly called for; it being alleged
that the high rank of the offender
imperiously demanded that evenhanded
justice should be dealt to him.
Mr Townsend speaks of this demand
for prosecution as "a very pitiful
manifestation of popular rancour
and spleen."<a name="FNanchor_48" id="FNanchor_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> "As the duel,"
he adds, "had been fairly fought,
and the code of honour satisfied,
without loss of life, it seemed strange
that the first unsheathing of the
statute should be directed against
a high-spirited and gallant nobleman,
who had been exposed to violent prejudice
and popular clamour; and the
prosecution seemed justly obnoxious
to the supposition that it originated
in party malevolence, and not in respect
to the law." <i>We</i> never shared
in the hostility here spoken of as existing
towards the gallant nobleman in
question. Our political opinions are also
his; and we are disposed to believe
that he has been the victim of much
misrepresentation and injustice. We
desire, nevertheless, to be understood
as vindicating the call for judicial inquiry
into the transaction to which
Lord Cardigan and his opponent, with
their seconds, were parties, if that
transaction had been of a criminal
character. Only three or four years
previously, two young men had been
tried and convicted of wilful murder,
for having only been present at the
duel which cost one of the principals
(Mirfin) his life. If Captain Tuckett
had been killed, Lord Cardigan would
clearly have been guilty of wilful
murder&mdash;that is beyond all question,
if the law of England be not a dead
letter, and those who affect to set it in
motion be not guilty of a vile mockery
of justice. If, therefore, a peer of the
realm, a member of the supreme judicature
in the kingdom, had really been
guilty of a conspicuous and grave
violation of the law, which all are required
to obey with implicit reverence,
those who demanded inquiry ought
to have been given credit for acting on
public grounds. The peer should not
escape, where the plebeian would be condemned.
Let us see, then, how stood,
and how stands the law on this momentous
subject&mdash;for momentous it is.</p>

<p>In the first place, let it be understood
that <i>the mere challenging</i> to fight a duel,
whether verbally or in writing, and
the mere <i>carrying</i> any such challenge,
is a high misdemeanour, punishable by
fine and imprisonment, according to
the circumstances of the particular
case. This offence consists in the provoking
or inciting others to commit a
breach of the peace; but may also be
regarded in a much more serious light&mdash;namely,
as an attempt to commit or
provoke others to commit a felony,&mdash;and
even wilful murder. In the present
case, a challenge had been sent
and accepted: those who had done so,
met, and fired deliberately at each
other with deadly weapons, at only a
few paces distance&mdash;they fired twice;
the first time innocuously; the second
time, one of them was wounded.
Every single step was here highly
criminal; the earlier ones as misdemeanours,
the later ones as felonies;
the last indeed a capital felony, for
which, beyond all question, the life of
Lord Cardigan had become forfeited
to the outraged law of the land.
This we will shortly show, for the
consolation of all future duellists. By
the common law of the land, no personal
violence, unattended by death,
amounted to more than a misdemeanour.
In the year 1722, was
passed "the Black Act,"<a name="FNanchor_49" id="FNanchor_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> which,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_723" id="Page_723">[Pg 723]</a></span>amongst various enactments levelled
at the class of offenders who caused
the passing of the statute, contains
this brief general one. "If any person
shall wilfully and maliciously <i>shoot at</i>
any person, in any dwelling-house, <i>or
other place</i>, he shall be adjudged guilty
of felony, and suffer death." This was
the first statute which made the mere
act of shooting wilfully and maliciously
at another&mdash;without reference to the
result&mdash;felony. Subsequent statutes,
respectively known as Lord Ellenborough's
and Lord Lansdowne's
Acts, made it a capital offence to shoot
at another with intent to murder, or
do grievous bodily harm, provided the
death which might be occasioned
would amount to murder. Though
the matter had never become the subject
of judicial decision, it had been
suggested by a late eminent writer on
the criminal law,<a name="FNanchor_50" id="FNanchor_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> that, where an ineffectual
interchange of shots took
place in a duel, both parties might be
deemed guilty of the offence of maliciously
shooting, within one of these
acts, passed in the year 1803, (43
Geo. III. c. 58,) and the seconds
also, as principals in the second
degree. In the year 1837, however,
was passed the Statute of the 1st
Victoria, c. 85, which we advise every
intending duellist to consult very deliberately,
before committing himself
to its meshes. It enacts first, (&sect; 2,)
that "whoever shall <i>wound</i> any person,
or by any means whatsoever
cause to any person any bodily injury
dangerous to life, with intent to commit
murder, shall be guilty of felony,
and suffer death." Again, secondly,
(by &sect; 3,) "whosoever shall shoot at any
person, or, by drawing a trigger, or in
any other manner, attempt to discharge
any kind of loaded arms at any
person, <i>with intent</i> to commit the
crime of <i>murder</i>, shall, <i>although no
bodily injury be inflicted</i>, be guilty of
<span class="smcap">FELONY</span>, and liable to be transported
for life, or for any term not less than
fifteen years, or imprisoned for any
term not exceeding three years, at
the discretion of the court." Lastly,
thirdly, (by &sect; 4,) "Whoever shall
maliciously shoot at any person, or,
by drawing a trigger, or in any other
manner, attempt to discharge any kind
of loaded arms at any person, or wound
any person, with intent to maim, disfigure,
or disable, <i>or to do some other
grievous bodily harm</i> to such person,
shall be guilty of felony, and liable to
the same punishment contained in the
previous section."</p>

<p>Blackstone, following Hawkins,
thus lays down the law in the case of
duelling: "Express malice is, where
one, with a sedate deliberate mind,
and formed design, doth kill another,&mdash;which
formed design is evidenced
by external circumstances, discovering
that inward intention,&mdash;as lying in
wait, antecedent menaces, former
grudges, and concerted schemes to do
him some grievous bodily harm. <i>This
takes in the case of deliberate duelling,
where both parties meet avowedly with
an intent to murder; thinking it their
duty as gentlemen, and claiming it as
their right, to wanton with their own
lives and those of their fellow creatures,
without any warrant or authority from
any power either divine or human, but
in direct contradiction to the laws of
both God and man; and therefore the
law has justly fixed the crime and
punishment of murder on them, and on
their seconds also</i>."<a name="FNanchor_51" id="FNanchor_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> This passage
may be said to reflect a somewhat
ghastly light on the three sections of
the statute law given above, such as
must have startled the Earl of Cardigan
and his advisers, as soon as they
found that he had been made the subject
of <i>bon&acirc; fide</i> prosecution under
that statute. We affirm unhesitatingly,
and no one will deny, that the
facts relating to the duel, as they
appear above stated, brought Lord Cardigan's
case within every one of these
three sections&mdash;as clearly within the
first, rendering the offence capital, as
within the other two, declaring it
felony punishable with transportation.
This the Attorney-General himself
stated to the House of Lords, in opening
the case against the prisoner:
"The present indictment might have
been framed on the <i>capital</i> charge."
<i>A wound had been inflicted</i>, which
constituted one branch of the capital
offence; but "the prosecutor had,
very properly, restricted the charge
to firing with <i>an intent</i>, without alleging
that a bodily injury <i>dangerous to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_724" id="Page_724">[Pg 724]</a></span>life</i> had been inflicted."<a name="FNanchor_52" id="FNanchor_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> The indictment
was founded on the third and
fourth sections alone; charging, in
the first count, a shooting with <i>intent</i>
to murder; in the second, to maim
and disable; in the third, to do some
grievous bodily harm. Indictments
were preferred before the grand jury,
at the Central Criminal Court,
against both principals, and both
seconds. The grand jury ignored
those against Captain Tuckett and his
second, but "found" those against
Lord Cardigan and his second. As
probably the same evidence, precisely,
was laid before the grand jury in both
cases, it is certainly difficult to
account for the totally different results,
except on the supposition that
the grand jury weakly suffered themselves
to be hurried into a forgetfulness
of their sworn duty, by feelings
of commiseration for the party who
had been wounded by one who had
escaped unhurt. Lord Cardigan was
reputed to be "a dead shot," and was
certainly very unpopular; but there
was no pretence whatever for saying
that he had acted otherwise than with
rigorous fairness in his encounter with
Captain Tuckett, who, for all the
grand jury could tell, was as "dead a
shot" as the Earl. We would, however,
fain hope that this secret-sworn
inquest were not obnoxious to the
censures which Mr Townsend<a name="FNanchor_53" id="FNanchor_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> and
others have levelled at them in this
matter. On the bill being found,
Lord Cardigan, of course, claimed his
right to be tried by his peers&mdash;(<i>i. e.
pares</i>, <i>&aelig;quales</i>)&mdash;a right which he
possessed in common with every fellow-subject;
and the indictment was
removed by <i>certiorari</i>, to be tried before
the House of Peers in full Parliament.
The court of the Lord High
Steward of Great Britain is one
instituted for the trial of a Peer indicted
for treason, or felony, or misprision
of either;<a name="FNanchor_54" id="FNanchor_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> but when the trial
take place during the session of Parliament,
as was the case on the present
occasion it is before the High
Court of Parliament. A Lord High
Steward is appointed in either case;
but in the latter he officiates, not as
the supreme judge in matters of law&mdash;as
he would be in a trial during the
recess&mdash;but as speaker, or chairman,
having an equal voice with his brother
peers, in matters both of law and
fact.</p>

<p>This was the first time that duelling
had been made the subject of prosecution
under the statutes against
shooting with intent to kill, maim,
disable, or do grievous bodily harm;
and the position of the Earl of Cardigan
had suddenly become perilous
in the extreme, and doubtless occasioned
most serious apprehensions to
himself and his advisers. If his case
should be held to fall within the statute
in question, not only was he liable
to transportation for life,&mdash;and he
knew that the House of Peers would
firmly do its duty, especially conscious
as it was that upon it were fixed the
eyes of the whole country,&mdash;but what
would be the effect of <i>a conviction
of felony</i> on his property? Four days
after the trial, it was stated in the
<i>Times</i> newspaper,<a name="FNanchor_55" id="FNanchor_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> and has not been,
as far as we know, contradicted, that
"such had been the doubts as to the
issue of the trial, entertained by Lord
Cardigan and his legal advisers, that
his lordship, to prevent the whole of
his property being forfeited to the
crown, executed, some time before, a
deed of gift, assigning over the whole
of his valuable possessions to Viscount
Curzon, the eldest son of Earl Howe,
who had married a sister of the Earl
of Cardigan. It is stated that the
legal expenses of this transfer of property,
arising from fines on copy-holds
and the enormous stamp-duties,
amounted to about &pound;10,000; and as
the deed of transfer was said to have
been enrolled in due form, in the
event of an acquittal the immense
expenditure would have to be again incurred,
in order to effect a re-transfer."
So serious a matter, even in a pecuniary
point of view, has now become
the fighting a duel, to a nobleman or
gentleman of fortune, who are recommended,
consequently, not to fight in
a hurry&mdash;at all events, till they shall
have had an opportunity of taking the
best advice of counsel learned in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_725" id="Page_725">[Pg 725]</a></span>law. The deed of transfer in question,
if executed at all, had probably
been executed before it was known to
Lord Cardigan and his advisers, that
it was not intended to indict him for
a capital offence, under the second
section of stat. 1 Vict. c. 85, and that
he could not, consequently, be attainted.
Even, however, as the case
stood, if he had been convicted of the
felony with which he was charged,
the validity of his expensive attempt
to obviate the legal effect of that conviction
upon his large property
would have been gravely questionable,
had the law advisers of the
crown felt it their duty to impugn the
transaction.</p>

<p>The House of Lords presented,
on the morning of Tuesday the 16th
February 1841, a most imposing
appearance. Lord Denman, the
Lord Chief Justice of the Queen's
Bench had been appointed by commission
from the Queen, <i>pro h&acirc;c vice</i>,
Lord High Steward.<a name="FNanchor_56" id="FNanchor_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> The judges
were in attendance in their state
robes, and took their seats on the
woolsack. The peers were attired in
their robes, such of them as were
knights also wearing the collars of
their respective orders. The Lord
Chancellor (Lord Cottenham) was
absent through illness; but there
were, independently of the Lord High
Steward, no fewer than five law lords
present&mdash;Lords Lyndhurst, Brougham,
Wynford, Abinger, and Langdale.
The side galleries were covered with
ladies; and the scene was one of
great solemnity and magnificence.
The Lord High Steward having made
reverences to the throne, to which he
had been conducted by the state
officer&mdash;the Garter King-at-Arms bearing
the sceptre, and the Gentleman
Usher of the Black Rod the Lord
Steward's staff&mdash;took his seat on
the chair of state placed on the upper
step but one of the throne. The
necessary formalities of reading the
commission, the writ of certiorari,
and indictment, having been gone
through, the Lord High Steward ordered
proclamation to be made to the
Yeoman Usher of the Black Rod "to
bring James Thomas, Earl of Cardigan,
to the bar." This was quickly
complied with&mdash;the Earl, accompanied
by the officer above mentioned, appearing
at the bar, dressed in plain
clothes. As he approached, he made
three "reverences," and knelt, till
directed by the Lord High Steward
to rise. He again made three reverences,
respectively to the Lord High
Steward, and his brother peers on
each side of the house, they returning
his courtesy. He was then conducted
to a stool within the bar near his
counsel. His demeanour was calm
and dignified, and he had a very
soldierly bearing. He was then in
his forty-fourth year. The Lord
High Steward's deep impressive tones
were then heard, as he thus addressed
the noble prisoner: "My Lord Cardigan,
your lordship stands at the
bar charged with the offence of firing
with a loaded pistol at Harvey
Garnett Phipps Tuckett, with intent
to murder him; in a second count,
you are charged with firing with intent
to maim and disable him; and
in a third count, you are charged with
firing with intent to do him some
grievous bodily harm. Your lordship
will now be arraigned on that
indictment." The Earl was then arraigned
in the usual manner, by the
Deputy Clerk of the Crown, in the
Queen's Bench, who thus proceeded:&mdash;</p>

<p>"How say you, my Lord, are you
guilty of the felony with which you
stand charged, or not guilty?"</p>

<p><i>Earl of Cardigan.</i>&mdash;Not guilty, my
lords.</p>

<p><i>Deputy Clerk of the Crown.</i>&mdash;How
will your lordship be tried?</p>

<p><i>Earl of Cardigan.</i>&mdash;By my peers.</p>

<p><i>Deputy Clerk of the Crown.</i>&mdash;God
send your lordship a good deliverance.</p>

<p>The Earl then, by leave of the
House, sate down uncovered: and
after the usual proclamation had been
made for all persons to come forward
and give evidence, the Lord Steward,
with the leave of the House, descended
from his seat on the throne, and took
his seat at the table. The counsel for
the Crown were the Attorney-General
(the present Lord Campbell), and
Mr Waddington, (now Under Secretary
of State); and for the prisoner,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_726" id="Page_726">[Pg 726]</a></span>Sir William Follett, Mr Serjeant
Wrangham, and the late Mr Adolphus.
It has been said, and is indeed intimated
by Mr Townsend, that, imperturbable
as was the self-possession of
Sir William Follett, on this occasion
he exhibited unusual indication of an
oppressive sense of responsibility.
Both facts, indeed, and law were so
dead against his noble client, and the
consequences of conviction so exceedingly
serious, that nothing was left
for him but to watch with lynx-eyed
acuteness, in order to see that nothing
but rigorously exact legal proof was
adduced against his client.</p>

<p>The opening address of the Attorney-General
was temperate, clear, and
able; most faithfully stating the law
which he charged Lord Cardigan with
having violated, and the facts constituting
the violation. He reminded
the House that sixty-four years had
elapsed since a similar trial had taken
place&mdash;that of Lord Byron, for killing
his opponent in a duel. "I am rejoiced,
my Lords, to think," continued
the Attorney-General, in terms which
immediately occasioned great observation,
"that the charge against the
noble prisoner at the bar <i>does not
imply any degree of moral turpitude</i>;
and that, if he should be found guilty,
the conviction will reflect no discredit
upon the illustrious order to which he
belongs. But, my Lords, it seems to
me that he has been clearly guilty of
a breach of the statute law of the
realm, which this and all other courts
of justice are bound to respect and
enforce. Your lordships are not sitting
here as a court of honour, or as a
branch of the legislature, but as a
court of justice, bound by the rules of
law, and under a sanction as sacred
as that of an oath.... Your
lordships are aware that the noble
Earl is in the army&mdash;Lieutenant-colonel
of the 11th Hussars; and I
have no doubt that, on this occasion,
he only complied with what he thought
necessary to the usages of society.
But, under these circumstances, though
it would have been considered, if
death had ensued, <i>a great calamity,
and not a great crime</i>&mdash;though moralists
of the highest authority have
defended duelling&mdash;it remains for
your lordships to consider what duelling
is by the law of England." After
quoting from the known great authorities,
Hale, Hawkins, Foster, and
Blackstone, proving that a death by
duelling was wilful murder, the
Attorney-General correctly observed&mdash;"It
necessarily follows, from this
definition of murder, that the <i>first
count</i> of the indictment is [that is, he
expected that it would be] completely
proved. The only supposition, my
Lords, by which the case can be reduced
to one of <i>manslaughter</i> would
be, that Lord Cardigan and Captain
Tuckett <i>casually</i> met at Wimbledon
Common&mdash;that they <i>suddenly</i> quarrelled&mdash;and
that, while their blood
was up, they fought. But your lordships
can hardly strain the facts so
far as to suppose that this was a
casual meeting, when you find that
each was supplied with his second&mdash;that
each had a brace of pistols&mdash;and
that the whole affair was conducted
according to the forms and solemnities
observed when a deliberate duel is
fought." Could anything be more
clear and cogent? "Then, my Lords,
with regard to the second and third
counts of the indictment, I know not
what defence can possibly be suggested;
because, even if there had
been this casual meeting, contrary to
all probability and all the circumstances
of the case&mdash;if it would only,
had death ensued, have amounted to
the crime of manslaughter&mdash;that would
be no defence to the second and third
counts of the indictment, as has been
expressly decided (in the case of
<i>Anonymous</i>, 2 Moody's Crim. Cases,
p. 40) by the fifteen Judges of England."</p>

<p>Such was the opening of the Attorney-General&mdash;such
as must have left
not a single crevice through which a
glimpse of hope could be caught.
The words of the Act of Parliament
could not have applied more exactly
to the facts of the case, as our readers
must see, even if the act had been expressly
framed to meet these particular
facts! The miller of Wimbledon, his
wife and son, had witnessed the whole
affair&mdash;the arrival of the parties on
the ground, and the double interchange
of shots. Lord Cardigan, on
the spot, and at the police office, in
plain terms avowed who he was, and
what he had done, and who had been
his second&mdash;the inspector of the po<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_727" id="Page_727">[Pg 727]</a></span>lice-station
being present to prove
such avowal. Sir James Anderson,
the surgeon, who had also seen the
duel, and accompanied Captain Tuckett
home, was in attendance as a witness.
The miller, who had received Captain
Tuckett's card, went, a week afterwards,
to the residence mentioned in
the card, and asked for, and saw,
Captain Tuckett. It would seem as
though the wit of man could not suggest
how these facts could be evaded,
or how they could fail of being
proved! Yet the case totally broke
down; the whole prosecution crumbled
into pieces, under the subtle and
watchful dexterity of the consummate
advocate to whom Lord Cardigan had
committed his almost hopeless case.
What does the reader suppose to have
been the fatal flaw? The prosecution
could not prove <span class="smcap">the identity
of Captain Tuckett</span>! Each of the
three counts in the indictment charged
Lord Cardigan with having fired at&mdash;Harvey
<i>Garnett Phipps</i> Tuckett.
That was his real name, but it became
impossible to prove the fact; and,
without such proof, the prisoner was,
beyond all question, entitled to an
acquittal. A man cannot be indicted
for firing at A B, and convicted of
firing at C D. If Captain Tuckett
had been called, he could, of course,
have instantly disposed of the difficulty;
and it is said that that gentleman was
actually in, or near, the House of
Lords; but the Attorney-General
explained that he could not call that
gentleman, nor his second, because,
though the bill against them had been
ignored by the grand jury, "they
were still liable to be tried," and
therefore "it would not be decorous
to summon them to give evidence
which might afterwards be turned
against themselves." And as for
Captain Wainwright, he was in the
situation of his noble fellow prisoner,
as a true bill had been found against
him at the Central Criminal Court.
What, then, shall be said against
calling Sir James Anderson? Fortunately
for himself and for Lord
Cardigan, he was in a position to be
tried himself on a charge of having
been present, aiding and assisting at
the commission of a felony. On this
gentleman being sworn, the Lord
High Steward thus cautioned him, as
he was bound to do in the case of any
witness similarly situated:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Sir James Anderson,&mdash;With the
permission of the House, I think it
my duty to inform you, after the
opening we have heard made by the
Attorney-General of the facts of the
case, that you are not bound to answer
any question <i>which may tend to
criminate yourself</i>." Doubtless, Sir
James Anderson expected nothing
less, and had come to the House of
Lords perfectly at his ease. Therefore
he came like a shadow, and so
departed. Thus "had he his entrance
and his exit."</p>

<p>"<i>Attorney-General.</i>&mdash;Of what profession
are you?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I am a physician.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Where do you live?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;New Burlington Street.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Are you acquainted with
Captain Tuckett?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I must decline answering that.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Were you on Wimbledon
Common on the 12th September last?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I must decline answering that
also!</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Were you on that day called
in to attend any gentleman that was
wounded?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I am sorry to decline that
again!</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Can you tell me where Captain
Tuckett lives?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I must decline answering the
question!</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Has he a house in London?</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;He 'declines
to answer the question.'</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I have already said that I decline
answering the question.</p>

<p>"<i>Attorney-General.</i>&mdash;Where did
you last see Captain Tuckett?</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;We [the
counsel for the prisoner] have no
<i>right</i>, my Lords, to interfere in this
case;<a name="FNanchor_57" id="FNanchor_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> but, the witness having several
times declined to answer the question,
I apprehend that it is not regular for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_728" id="Page_728">[Pg 728]</a></span>the Attorney-General, by circuitous
questions, to endeavour to get him to
answer.</p>

<p>"<i>Attorney-General.</i>&mdash;I have never
pressed him in any question I have
put. [<i>To Sir James Anderson.</i>]&mdash;Do
you decline answering any question
whatever respecting Captain Tuckett?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;<i>Any</i> question which may
'tend to criminate' myself.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;And you consider that answering
any question respecting Captain
Tuckett <i>may</i> tend to criminate
yourself?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;It is possible that it would.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;And on that ground you decline?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;Yes.</p>

<p>"<i>Attorney-General</i>, [<i>to the House</i>.]&mdash;Then,
unless your Lordships wish
to ask any question of the witness, he
may withdraw.</p>

<p>"The witness was directed to withdraw."</p>

<p>Here, then, were four avenues
through which light might have been
thrown on a transaction which was
the subject of such solemn and dignified
inquiry by the most illustrious
judicial assembly in the world, carefully
closed: Sir James Anderson,
Captain Tuckett, Captain Douglas,
and Captain Wainwright. It will be
further observed that Lord Cardigan,
in his frank avowal at the police
station, had happened not to mention
the name of the gentleman whom he
had fought and wounded&mdash;an omission
probably altogether accidental, for his
Lordship seems to have been in a
humour of signal yet becoming and
characteristic frankness.</p>

<p>The sole question in this celebrated
case thus became one of identity&mdash;the
indictment charging Lord Cardigan
with having fired at one <i>Harvey Garnett
Phipps Tuckett</i>&mdash;it being the duty
of the prosecutors to prove that the prisoner
fired at a person <i>bearing these
names</i>. There was abundant evidence
that Lord Cardigan had fired at and
wounded a Captain Harvey Tuckett;
but this might be a person totally different
from him named in the indictment.
The skill and vigilance of the prisoner's
counsel were visible in tripping
up his opponents whenever they
approached inconveniently near his
client. There is no reason to believe
that Lord Cardigan's counsel were
aware of there being the slightest
difficulty, on the part of the prosecution,
in proving the identity of the
wounded man with the one specified
in the indictment; but at the very
first start, Sir William Follett perceived
a faint possible advantage, and
never for one instant lost sight of it.</p>

<p>"You tell us," said the counsel for
the prosecution, examining the first
witness&mdash;the miller, "that you saw
the pistols fired a second time: did
you observe whether either of the
shots took effect?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I thought Captain Tuckett was
wounded&mdash;or, at least, the other
gentleman: <i>I did not know who it
was</i>.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;You thought that the gentleman,
whom you afterwards knew to
be Captain Tuckett, was wounded?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;Yes.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Did you see what that gentleman
did with his pistol, after the
second shots were fired?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;No.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;You did not see whether he
held it in his hand, or what he did
with it?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;Which are you alluding to?</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;I am speaking of Captain
Tuckett.</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;He has said
he did not know who it was!"</p>

<p>Here was a stumble by the prosecutors,
which their wary adversary
never allowed them to recover. The
miller then stated the giving of the
card of address of "Captain Harvey
Tuckett, 13 Hamilton Place, New
Road," and produced it; but Sir William
Follett would not allow it to be
read in evidence against Lord Cardigan,
without evidence that Lord
Cardigan had seen it given, and was
aware of what it was: and such evidence
was not forthcoming. The Attorney-General
then withdrew the
card for the present, and asked the
miller whether, on receiving it, he
allowed the wounded gentleman to
go; to which the answer was "Yes."&mdash;"In
consequence of receiving this
card, did you afterwards call at a particular
house?" (meaning the house
mentioned on the card, but which Sir
William Follett had succeeded in excluding,
for the present, from evidence.)
Sir William Follett objected
that the question was a leading one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_729" id="Page_729">[Pg 729]</a></span>
and it was not pressed. The witness
then stated that, a week afterwards,
he called at No. 13 Hamilton Place;
asked for "Captain Harvey Tuckett."</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Whom did you see?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;Captain Harvey Tuckett.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Did you speak to him?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I did.</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;I wish you
would put your questions differently!</p>

<p>"<i>Attorney-General.</i>&mdash;We ask him
whom he saw.</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;He does not
know Captain Harvey Tuckett, I suppose.</p>

<p>"<i>Q.</i>&mdash;Did you speak to him?</p>

<p>"<i>A.</i>&mdash;I did."</p>

<p>The Attorney-General then tendered
the card in evidence: and Sir William
Follett, ignorant of what was written
in it, (for the Attorney-General had
not specified in stating the case,) objected
to its being received. On this
a very ingenious and elaborate argument
ensued between him and the
Attorney-General, whether this card
was or was not admissible in evidence,
at all events in that stage of the case.
The latter insisted on the affirmative,
on the ground that the card had been
given to the constable in Lord Cardigan's
presence, and the constable had
afterwards gone to the address specified
in the card. It was therefore a
part of the <i>res gest&aelig;</i>. "No," answered
Sir William Follett; "it does not
appear who it was that gave this card,
or that Lord Cardigan saw it, nor that
he knew what was written on it. The
Attorney-General is trying to prove
an important fact in the case, by an
apparent <i>admission</i> of Lord Cardigan;
whereas he is not shown to have had
any cognisance whatever of the fact
which he is supposed to have admitted!"
The Lord High Steward said
that, at all events, the House would
postpone for the present its decision
as to the admissibility of the card.
"Whether the Attorney-General,"
said Sir William Follett, "will have
any other evidence to prove who it
was that had given the card, or to
connect the card with the Earl, is another
question"&mdash;which doubtless occasioned
no little anxiety to the Earl
and his astute counsel.</p>

<p>The next witnesses were the miller's
wife and son, who were cross-examined
by Sir William Follett irritably
and severely, but ineffectually.
They did not, nevertheless, appear to
carry the case much farther than had
the miller. Then came Mr Busain, the
police inspector, who gave evidence of
the facts already stated in connection
with his name, in the Earl's avowal
that he had just fought a duel, and hit
his man. On his being asked a very
critical question, viz., as to Captain
Tuckett's having called at the magistrate's
office <i>and given his name</i>, Sir
William Follett anxiously and hastily
interposed&mdash;"Was Lord Cardigan
present then and there?" to which the
answer was, "No, he was not." Sir
William Follett therefore succeeded in
excluding what Captain Tuckett had
said on calling at the magistrate's
office, and thus again "averted the
decisive stroke."<a name="FNanchor_58" id="FNanchor_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a></p>

<p>Then the Attorney-General called a
Mr Matthew, a chemist in the Poultry,
in whose house "Captain Tuckett"
occupied rooms for business. Mr
Matthew said that Captain Tuckett
lived at "No. 13, Hamilton Place,
New Road." He was then asked the
Christian names of Captain Tuckett.
On this Sir William Follett interposed,
and having elicited the fact that the
witness had never been at the house
No. 13, Hamilton Place, New Road,
objected to the witness being asked
the Christian names of the gentleman
who had lodged with the witness in
the Poultry! This objection, however,
was overruled; but on the question
being put, it turned out that the
only names by which the witness knew
his lodger were "Harvey Tuckett!"
As a last resource, the Attorney-General
called Mr Codd, an army agent,
who paid "Captain Tuckett," of the
"11th Light Dragoons," his half-pay,
<i>and knew his name to be "Harvey
Garnet Phipps Tuckett</i>!!" But the
witness added that he used to pay the
money at his own house in Fludyer
Street, Westminster, and had never
seen Captain Tuckett except there,
and at an insurance office! Again
was the Earl of Cardigan's star in the
ascendant. How could the prosecutor
connect the half-pay officer spoken of
by this witness, with the Captain
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_730" id="Page_730">[Pg 730]</a></span>Tuckett shot by Lord Cardigan, and
afterwards seen wounded in Hamilton
Place?</p>

<p>The case was brought, at length,
pretty nearly to a stand-still. "Is
<i>that</i> your case, Mr Attorney?" inquired
Lord Brougham; on which the
Attorney-General pressed for the decision
of the House as to the admissibility
in evidence of the card which
had been delivered by one of the parties
on the ground to the constable.</p>

<p>"<i>Lord High Steward.</i>&mdash;You object
to its being received, Sir William
Follett?</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett.</i>&mdash;Certainly,
my lord: and I should wish to address
your lordships, if any doubt is entertained
on the subject.</p>

<p>"<i>Lord High Steward.</i>&mdash;Their lordships
are ready to hear your objection.</p>

<p>"<i>Sir William Follett</i>, (to the Attorney-General.)&mdash;Will
you let me look
at the card?"</p>

<p>The card was handed to Sir William
Follett, who, on examining it, addressing
the Lord High Steward, said calmly
and resolutely&mdash;"My lord, I do not
think it necessary to object to this
card being read." And, indeed, he
had no need to do so; for, as the
reader must see, it did not advance
the case a single hair's-breadth.</p>

<p>"Is <i>that</i> your case, Mr Attorney?"
inquired Sir William Follett, with
mingled anxiety and hope. "That,
my lords, is the case on the part of
the prosecution," said the Attorney-General:&mdash;on
which, turning to the
High Steward with a confident exulting
air, Sir William Follett "submitted
to their lordships that no case
had been made out, requiring an answer
from the prisoner at the bar."</p>

<p>Into what a minute point this great
case had dwindled! "There is no
evidence whatever to prove," said
Sir William Follett, "that the person
at whom the noble Earl is charged to
have shot, on the 12th September last,
was Harvey Garnett Phipps Tuckett&mdash;the
name contained in every count
of the indictment. The evidence would
rather lead to a contrary presumption,
if presumption could be entertained in
such a case; but it is incumbent on
the prosecutor to give positive evidence
of the identity of the person named in
the indictment with the person against
whom the offence is alleged to have
been committed.... Is there anything
before your lordships to identify
the Captain Tuckett spoken of by the
army agent, Mr Codd, with the person
who is said to have been at Wimbledon
Common on the 12th September last?
There is nothing whatever."&mdash;"If
there be the smallest <i>scintilla</i> of evidence,"
answered the Attorney-General,
"the prosecution cannot be
stopped on this ground; and there is
abundant evidence from which it may
be inferred that the person wounded
in this duel was&mdash;Harvey Garnett
Phipps Tuckett. We prove that the
wounded gentleman was <i>a</i> 'Captain
Tuckett;'&mdash;that it was 'Captain <i>Harvey</i>
Tuckett:' that the wounded Captain
Tuckett lived at 13 Hamilton
Place, New Road. Is there any doubt
that it was <i>that</i> Captain Tuckett who
had taken the premises in the Poultry?
When he did so, he gave a reference to
No. 13 Hamilton Place, New Road.
Is it not an irresistible evidence, then,
that the Captain Tuckett of the Poultry
and of Hamilton Place, and who
fought with Lord Cardigan, was one
and the same person? There is only
one other stage&mdash;that this Captain
Tuckett is the Captain Tuckett of whom
Mr Codd speaks. Is there not cogent
evidence to prove the identity here?
Would any person, out of a court of
justice, for a moment doubt the identity
here? If not, can this House undertake
to say <i>that there is not a scintilla</i>
of evidence of identity before it?"
"What we object," said Sir William
Follett, in reply, "is this&mdash;that Mr
Codd, who says he knows <i>a</i> Captain
Tuckett who bears the names mentioned
in the indictment, gave no <i>scintilla</i> of
evidence to connect that individual
with the gentleman who was on Wimbledon
Common on the 12th September
last. It depended altogether on Mr
Codd to give such proof&mdash;and that
proof he wholly failed to give. Your
Lordships are now sitting as judges,
to decide solely on the evidence
which has been laid before you. The
Attorney-General says that the card
afforded <i>one</i> of the Christian names&mdash;'<i>Harvey</i>
Tuckett;' but is that proof
that the person mentioned in that
card is the 'Harvey <i>Garnett Phipps</i>
Tuckett' mentioned in this indictment?
There may be two, or ten,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_731" id="Page_731">[Pg 731]</a></span>
or fifty persons named 'Harvey Tuckett.'
I ask your Lordships, sitting
as judges on a criminal case, and
looking at the evidence alone&mdash;disregarding
surmise, conjecture, and what
you may have heard out of doors&mdash;whether
there is any evidence to
prove that the gentleman wounded
on Wimbledon Common bears the
name and surname of 'Harvey Garnett
Phipps Tuckett?'"</p>

<p>The Lord High Steward, during
the deliberation of the House with
closed doors, delivered a luminous
and convincing exposition of the legal
merits of the case before the House:&mdash;</p>

<p>"There is an absolute want of circumstances
to connect the individual
at whom the pistol was fired, and who
afterwards was seen wounded in Hamilton
Place, with the half-pay officer
known to Mr Codd as bearing the
names set forth in the indictment on
which your Lordships are sitting in
judgment; for the mere fact of the
wounded person bearing <i>some</i> of the
names used by the half-pay officer, is
no proof that the former and the latter
are the same; and the representation
by that officer of his having held
a commission in the same regiment of
which Lord Cardigan told the policeman
that he himself was colonel,
(which, coupled with the actual receipt
of half-pay, may sufficiently prove
that fact,) cannot, I apprehend, be
turned into a presumption that those
two individuals would meet in hostile
array. Here are two distinct lines of
testimony, and they never meet in
the same point."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"No fact (<i>i. e.</i> of identity) is easier
of proof in its own nature; and numerous
witnesses are always at hand
to establish it, with respect to any
person conversant with society. In
the present case, the simplest means
were accessible. If those who conduct
the prosecution had obtained
your Lordships' order for the appearance
at your bar of Captain Tuckett,
and if the witnesses of the duel had
deposed to his being the man who left
the field after receiving Lord Cardigan's
shot, Mr Codd might have been
asked whether that was the gentleman
whom he knew by the four names
set forth in the indictment. His
answer in the affirmative would
have been too conclusive on the
point to admit of the present objection
being taken.</p>

<p>"Several other methods of proof
will readily suggest themselves to
your Lordships' minds. Even if obstacles
had been imposed by distance
of time and place, by the poverty of
those seeking to enforce the law, by
the death of witnesses, or other
casualties, it cannot be doubted that
the accused must have had the benefit
of the failure of proof, however occasioned;
and here, where none of
those causes can account for the deficiency,
it seems too much to require
that your Lordships should volunteer
the presumption of a fact which, if
true, might have been made clear and
manifest to every man's understanding
by the shortest process. Your
Lordships were informed that no persons
out of doors could hesitate, on
the proof now given, to decide that
the identity is well made out. Permit
me, my Lords, to say that you
are to decide for yourselves upon the
proofs brought before you, and that
nothing can be conceived more dangerous
to the interests of justice, than
for a judicial body to indulge in any
speculations on what may possibly
be said or thought by others who
have not heard the same evidence,
nor act with the same responsibility,
nor (possibly) confine their attention
to the evidence actually adduced.
Your lordships," continued the Lord
High Steward, "sitting in this High
Court of Parliament, with the functions
of a judge and a jury, I have
stated my own views, as an individual
member of the court, of the question
by you to be considered, discussed,
and decided. Though I have commenced
the debate, it cannot be necessary
for me to disclaim the purpose of
dictating my own opinion, which is
respectfully laid before you with the
hope of eliciting those of the House at
large. If any other duty be cast upon
me, or if there be any more convenient
course to be pursued, I shall be greatly
indebted to any of your lordships who
will be so kind as to instruct me in it.
In the absence," concluded the noble
Lord, "of any other suggestion, I
venture to declare my own judgment,
grounded on the reasons briefly submitted,
that the Earl of Cardigan is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_732" id="Page_732">[Pg 732]</a></span>
entitled to be declared <span class="smcap">NOT GUILTY</span>."<a name="FNanchor_59" id="FNanchor_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a>
This was followed by the unanimous
declaration of "Not Guilty,"&mdash;pronounced
successively "upon my
honour"&mdash;by every peer present, beginning
with the junior baron. The
only variation of the form occurred
in the case of the Duke of Cleveland,
who said&mdash;instead of not guilty,
upon my honour"&mdash;not guilty,
<i>legally</i>, upon my honour." The white
staff of the Lord High Steward was
then broken in two; and so was dissolved
the first&mdash;may it be the last&mdash;commission,
during the present
century, for the trial of a peer on a
charge of felony.</p>

<p>Lord Denman's reasons for recommending
an acquittal were unanswerable;
and by special direction of the
House of Lords, though not in conformity
with precedent,<a name="FNanchor_60" id="FNanchor_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> were published,
to enable the country to judge
of the grounds on which the House
had proceeded. The result, however,
so contrary to that which had been
expected, excited no little indignation;
and the <i>bon&acirc; fides</i>, even of
those who conducted the prosecution,
was very sternly questioned. It was
insinuated by some of the most powerful
organs of public opinion, that the
prosecution had been taken up unwillingly,
and with not even ordinary
precautions to secure the ends of
justice. "We ask," said the <i>Times</i>,
"whether the law officers of the
Crown had no foresight to anticipate,
or no disposition to provide against,
a conclusion so unsatisfactory? Is
any man capable of believing that if
some tailor, or linendraper, had been
indicted at the Old Bailey for the
crime of stealing&mdash;or that he, having
an honour to vindicate equally with
noble lords, pistolled and wounded
one of his companions&mdash;does any man
believe that, in such a case, we should
have heard of any miscarriage, or of
any name that could not be proved?
Oh no! there would then have been
precautions in abundance&mdash;there
would have been no loophole left&mdash;there
would have been no lack of
friends and relatives carefully subp&oelig;naed
to prove all the Christian
names of the necessary party."</p>

<p>We ourselves have reflected frequently
on the result of this trial;
and the points which have occurred
to us are two. <i>First</i>, Why was not
Captain Tuckett summoned to the bar
of the House of Lords&mdash;if merely to
be asked his name<a name="FNanchor_61" id="FNanchor_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a>&mdash;or even only to
be pointed out to the witnesses to see
if they could identify him? The
miller could have been required to
look at him, and been then asked&mdash;"Is
that the person whom you saw
lying wounded on the common?"&mdash;and
Mr Codd could then have been also
required to look at Captain Tuckett,
and say&mdash;"Is that the gentleman to
whom you used to pay half-pay as
Captain Tuckett of the 11th Light
Dragoons, and whose name you knew to
be Harvey Garnett Phipps Tuckett?"
On both these witnesses answering
these questions in the affirmative, it
would have required a thousand times
even Sir William Follett's ingenuity
to suggest a further doubt on the
point of identity. This was the course
which the Lord High Steward plainly
pointed at, in his address to his brother
peers, as that which might have been
adopted. <i>Secondly</i>, Why was not the
name of Captain Tuckett varied in
various counts of the indictment, so
as to meet not every probable, but
every possible doubt and difficulty?
If in one count he had been called
"Harvey Tuckett," it would have
sufficed to meet the evidence actually
adduced; and the other
counts might have, respectively
described him as "Harvey Garnett
Phipps Tuckett"&mdash;"Harvey Garnett
Tuckett"&mdash;"Harvey Phipps Tuckett"&mdash;"Garnett
Tuckett"&mdash;"Phipps Tuckett"&mdash;even adding to these other
combinations of the four names in
which Captain Tuckett rejoiced. To
dispose first of this latter point&mdash;we
verily believe that, up to the moment
when the question of identity was
started, the counsel for the prosecution,
and their clients, believed that
the proof of identity was a matter of
course. The indictment had been preferred
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_733" id="Page_733">[Pg 733]</a></span>before the Grand Jury at the
Central Criminal Court; and was
doubtless framed, in the ordinary
course, by the clerk of indictments,
from the depositions&mdash;in which might
have appeared all the four names of
Captain Tuckett, without any intimation
of doubt or difficulty as to the
fact of those being his names, or as to
proof that they were. Possibly the
clerk had before him a positive statement
that Mr Codd, the army agent,
who paid Captain Tuckett his half-pay,
could clearly prove that his
name was "Harvey Garnett Phipps
Tuckett;" and that, if so, it was a
needless and expensive encumbering
of the record to insert counts aimed at
only imaginary difficulties. The indictment
having once gone before the
Grand Jury, and been returned a true
bill, no alteration could have been
made in it, especially after it had been
removed by <i>certiorari</i>.... Doubtless
the brief of the counsel for the
prosecution would contain the evidence
of Mr Codd, in as direct and
positive a form as could be imagined;
and they would regard him, as the
army-agent of Captain Tuckett, as
peculiarly qualified to prove his real
names. When the difficulty had been
started, we know of no degree of ingenuity
that could have been exhibited
by counsel, exceeding that of the
Attorney-General, in his contests on
the point with Sir William Follett.
All experienced practical lawyers will
acknowledge the probability that the
solution of the question here proposed
is the true one. It is easy to be wise
after the result. A blot is not a blot,
until it has been <i>hit</i>.</p>

<p><i>Secondly</i>, Why was not Captain
Tuckett brought to the bar, to be
asked his names, or identified by Mr
Codd? There is no evidence that he
was in attendance, or that he could
have been met with, at the exact
moment when his presence was required.
It may have been that no
order of the House had been obtained
for his attendance, only because it had
not been thought necessary&mdash;that no
difficulty would arise which his attendance
could solve; and in the absence
of direct legal compulsion, Captain
Tuckett may have felt it a point of
honour not to volunteer himself as a
witness against his brother duellist.
We can also readily believe that
the counsel for the prosecution were
anxious to conduct a perfectly novel
case&mdash;the first instance on record of
an attempt to bring an abortive duel
under the category of felony, with
its alarming incidents and consequences&mdash;with
unusual liberality,
and not to exhibit anything like a
vindictive pressure upon the accused.
They also knew that Captain Tuckett
was himself liable, at that very moment,
to be placed in the same situation
as Lord Cardigan, and that it
would have been idle to call before
the House of Lords a witness who
would come armed with a right to
decline answering any single question&mdash;possibly
even that above suggested
as to his name&mdash;which he believed
might even <i>tend</i> to criminate himself.
It must also be borne in mind that the
Attorney-General boldly avowed, before
the House of Lords, that he regarded
the act with which Lord Cardigan
stood charged as one devoid of
"any degree of moral turpitude,"
and that "a conviction would effect
no discredit on the illustrious order to
which he belonged." These observations,
proceeding from an Attorney-General
on a solemn official occasion,
became, a few days afterwards, the
subject of grave discussion and censure
in the House of Lords. But even
the excellent Earl of Mountcashel
thus pointed at the practical hardship
of Lord Cardigan's position,&mdash;"An
officer in the army receives an affront.
His brother officers expect he shall
go out. If he do, he encounters the
pains and penalties of the statute
1 Victoria c. 85; if he refuse, he is
obnoxious to the contempt of his
brother officers."<a name="FNanchor_62" id="FNanchor_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> It was, certainly,
not to be expected that an Attorney-General,
entertaining and averring
the views of duelling which he did&mdash;and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_734" id="Page_734">[Pg 734]</a></span>having to deal with a nobleman
bearing her Majesty's commission,
who was placed in the dilemma indicated
by Lord Mountcashel, and had
fought his duel fairly, and unattended
by fatal consequences&mdash;should have
been as eagle-eyed a prosecutor
as if he had had to deal with a
man, gentle or simple, military or
civil, who had shamefully provoked,
and as disgracefully fought, a fatal
duel.</p>

<p>Had Lord Cardigan been convicted,
he had still a <i>chance</i> of escaping the
serious personal consequences by claiming
that absurd and unjust privilege
of the peerage of which Lords Mohun,
Warwick, and Byron in past
times had respectively availed themselves,
immediately on their having
been convicted, in cases of fatal duels,
of manslaughter. This privilege had
been confirmed by statute, 1st Edward
VI. c. 12, &sect; 14, which was passed in
the year 1547, and consisted in
enabling a lord of parliament and
peer of the realm to have benefit of
clergy for a first conviction of felony,&mdash;that
is to say, to escape the penal
consequences of conviction, on simply
alleging that he was a peer, and praying
the benefit of that act! In 1827,
however, by one of the statutes which
effected so salutary a reform of our
criminal law, (statute 7th and 8th
Geo. IV. c. 28, &sect; 6,) it was enacted as
follows,&mdash;that "benefit of clergy,
with respect to persons convicted of
felony, shall be abolished." It had
been intended, by this section, to
repeal that of the 1st Edward VI. c.
12, &sect; 14; but serious doubts were entertained,
during the pendency of
Lord Cardigan's trial, whether that
intention had been effectuated. We
offer no opinion on the point, which
would have been argued, of course,
with desperate pertinacity, and consummate
learning and ingenuity, had
the occasion for such an exhibition
arisen. To extinguish, however, all
possible doubt, and prevent any future
failure of justice, an act was passed
in the same session during which
Lord Cardigan was tried, (statute 4th
and 5th Vict. c. 22, 2d June 1841,)
asserting that "doubts had been entertained"
whether, notwithstanding
the statute of 1827, that of 1547
"might not, for some purposes, still
remain in force." The statute of 1841
had but one section, which declared
the 1st Edward VI. c. 12, &sect; 14, to be
"thenceforth repealed, and utterly
void, and no longer of any effect;"
and enacted that "every lord of parliament,
or peer of the realm having
place in parliament, against whom
any indictment for felony may be
found, shall plead to such indictment,
and shall, upon conviction, be liable
to the same punishment as any other
of her Majesty's subjects are, or may
be, liable upon conviction for such
felony."</p>

<p>Here stands the law of duelling,
alike for lord and commoner, whom we
trust we have satisfied of the really
alarming responsibilities entailed upon
those who may choose to perpetuate
these outrages upon the laws of their
country.</p>

<p>In closing this paper, and taking
leave of a painfully interesting topic,
we would fain express a hope and
a belief, that a better feeling on
the subject of duelling is gaining
ground, in this country, than has
existed for centuries. There is growing
up a spirit of dignified submission
to the law of man, based as it is on
the law of God, which totally prohibits
these unholy exhibitions of
murderous malevolence. A truer
estimate is formed of the nature of
<span class="smcap">HONOUR</span>&mdash;one which forbids alike the
offering and the resenting of insults.
The following noble paragraph, recently
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_735" id="Page_735">[Pg 735]</a></span>introduced into the Articles of
War, is worthy of being written in
letters of gold&mdash;of being exhibited
(with suitable variation of expression)
in every place of public resort,
and in every possible manner brought
under the notice of men of the world,
and the youths in our public schools:&mdash;</p>

<p>"We hereby declare our approbation,"
says her most gracious Majesty,<a name="FNanchor_63" id="FNanchor_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a>
"of the conduct of all those
who, having had the misfortune of
giving offence to, or of injuring, or of
insulting others, shall frankly explain,
apologise, or offer redress for the
same; or who, having had the misfortune
of receiving offence, injury, or
insult from another, shall cordially
accept frank explanation, apology, or
redress for the same; or who, if such
explanations, apology, or redress, are
refused to be made or accepted, and
the friends of the parties shall have
failed to adjust the difference, shall
intrust the matter to be dealt with by
the commanding officer of the regiment
or detachment, fort or garrison; and
we accordingly acquit of disgrace, or
opinion of disadvantage, all officers
who, being willing to make or accept
such redress, refuse to accept challenges,
as they will only have acted as
is suitable to the character of honourable
men, and have done their duty as
good soldiers, who subject themselves
to discipline."</p>

<p>There speaks the Queen of England!</p>

<p>The following is the stringent
Article of War (Art. 101) on the subject
of duelling:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Every officer who shall give,
send, convey, or promote a challenge;
or who shall accept any challenge to
fight a duel with another officer; or who
shall assist as a second at a duel; or
who, being privy to an intention to
fight a duel, shall not take active
measures to prevent such duel; or
who shall upbraid another for refusing
or for not giving a challenge; or who
shall reject, or advise the rejection of,
a reasonable proposition made for the
honourable adjustment of a difference,
shall be liable, if convicted by a general
court-martial, to be cashiered, or
suffer such other punishment as the
court may award.</p>

<p>"In the event of an officer being
brought to a court-martial for having
assisted as a second in a duel, if it
shall appear that such officer had
strenuously exerted himself to effect
an adjustment of the difference, on
terms consistent with the honour of
both the parties, and shall have failed,
through the unwillingness of the
adverse parties to accept terms of
honourable accommodation, then our
will and pleasure is, that such officer
shall suffer such punishment, other
than cashiering, as the court may
award."</p>
<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_736" id="Page_736">[Pg 736]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="THE_DEFENCES_OF_BRITAIN64" id="THE_DEFENCES_OF_BRITAIN64">THE DEFENCES OF BRITAIN.</a><a name="FNanchor_64" id="FNanchor_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></h2>


<p>Sir Francis Head is a bold man.
When the cry for economy and retrenchment,
arising out of the straightened
circumstances of the nation, is
at its loudest, he has ventured to
argue the proposition&mdash;once admitted
as a truism, but now apparently denied
by many&mdash;that there are national
duties, of surpassing magnitude, which
must be undertaken and fulfilled irrespective
of pecuniary considerations,
if we intend to preserve this country,
not simply from a diminution of its
greatness, but from the imminent
danger of invasion and of hostile occupation.
His courage is not lessened
by the fact that, in maintaining that
axiom, he is fortified by the practical
testimony, without any exception
whatever, of all our greatest living
military and naval authorities; his
boldness is not less notable because
the Duke of Wellington, Sir John
Burgoyne, Admiral Bowes, Admiral
Sir Thomas Cochrane, Sir Charles
Napier, Captain Plunkett, and others,
have year after year protested against
the insufficiency of our national defences;
and demonstrated that, under
the present system, and with the inadequate
force at our disposal, we
could not, in the event of a rupture
with France, calculate on maintaining
the inviolability of the British coast,
or the security of our capital, London.
He is a bold man, and a man of moral
courage, because he has ventured
once more to stem the tide of popular
prejudice and clamour; to expose
himself to the sneers of the unthinking,
the foolish, and the ignorant, and
to the insolent imputations of the professional
agitator and demagogue. The
individual who was base enough to insult
the gray hairs and honoured age
of the first soldier of the world, was
not likely to refrain from vituperation
in the case of a humbler antagonist;
and, accordingly, we are not in the
least degree surprised to observe,
that, at a late meeting in Wrexham,
this person, Cobden, who three years
ago insinuated that the Duke of Wellington
was a dotard, has now turned
his battery of coarse abuse against
Sir Francis Head.<a name="FNanchor_65" id="FNanchor_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a></p>

<p>We have, fortunately, something
else to do than to answer the wretched
calumniator. We consider it our
bounden duty, in so far as we can, to
recommend to our readers the exceedingly
able and temperate work of
Sir Francis Head, which not only embraces
all that can be said upon the
topic in the way of abstract argument,
but exhibits in the clearest form, and
from the most authentic sources, the
amount of foreign military and naval
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_737" id="Page_737">[Pg 737]</a></span>preparation, at the present moment,
as contrasted with our own. It is,
we think, a most timely and needful
warning, which every one will do well
to consider, not in a rash or hasty
manner, but calmly, deliberately, and
dispassionately, with reference to his
own individual interests, and to those
of the nation at large. The question,
as it now presents itself to our notice,
is not one of peace or war. The most
zealous peace-monger alive need not
be ashamed of adopting the conclusions
or seconding the suggestions of
the writer. The question, as put by
Sir Francis Head, is simply this,&mdash;Are
we, or are we not, supposing us
to become involved in hostilities with
France, in a condition successfully to
resist all attempts at invasion?</p>

<p>Of course there are several considerations
collateral and connected with
this. Military and naval establishments
being, in effect, the insurance
which we pay against the risk of invasion,
the risk must be calculated in
order to ascertain the amount. Only
in one respect the parallel does not
hold good between national and private
insurance. A man may insure his
premises or his life inadequately, and
yet he or his representatives will be
entitled to recover something. In the
case of a nation, inadequate insurance
is really equivalent to none. Either
the insurance is good altogether, and
fully adequate to the risk, or it need not
have been effected at all. Therefore, in
estimating this matter of sufficiency
of defence, we must attempt to ascertain,
as clearly as can be done by
human foresight, aided by past experience,
the amount of possible danger.
This is unquestionably a most intricate
consideration, yet no one can
deny its importance.</p>

<p>It is a very simple matter for those
who have never turned their attention
to the state of Great Britain, as one
great military and naval power surrounded
by others, to treat with entire
contempt the idea of any possibility
of invasion. We have no doubt that
a large proportion of the British nation
consider themselves at this moment
invincible. It is quite natural
that this should be the case. We
have accustomed ourselves, in consequence
of the result of the last war,
to look upon British prowess as something
absolutely indomitable. The
issue of Waterloo has wiped away all
memory of the disastrous retreat to
Corunna. We remember Trafalgar
with pride, and forget that even in
naval matters we found our match in
the American. The flag of England
has not always been supreme on the
seas, or even in her own estuaries.
Little more than a century and a half
has elapsed since a Dutch fleet entered
the Thames without resistance, burned
the shipping in the Medway, and
held Chatham at its mercy. But the
present generation knows little about
those things, and is disposed to limit
its recollections to comparatively
recent events. Nor are even these
viewed fairly and fully. We are content
to take the catastrophe as the
measure of the whole. We overlook
the disasters, loss, misery, and bloodshed,
which our former state of bad
preparation entailed upon the nation,
and we will not listen to the testimony
of the great living witness&mdash;still
happily spared to us&mdash;when he raises
his voice to warn us against wilfully
incurring a repetition of the same, or
the infliction of worse calamities.
Not even by tradition do our common
people know anything of the horrors
of foreign and invasive war. Of all
the European nations we are incomparably
the least warlike in our ideas
and our habits. Our population
knows nothing of military training,
is wholly unaccustomed to the use of
arms. A few muskets in the hands
of a few old pensioners have been
found sufficient to overawe and disperse
the most infuriated mob. And
yet we are told to consider ourselves,
and do in part believe it, as capable
of resisting any attempt at organised
military invasion, at a moment's
notice, notwithstanding the enormous
numerical inferiority of the whole
disciplined troops which we could
summon from all parts of the kingdom,
to even a fractional part of the
force which could easily be brought
against us!</p>

<p>Assuredly we have no reason or
wish to undervalue the greatness of
English courage. That quality alone
will turn the scale when the match is
otherwise equal. Our wild and rude
ancestors, who opposed the landing of
the legions of C&aelig;sar, were certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_738" id="Page_738">[Pg 738]</a></span>
not one whit inferior in courage or in
strength to their descendants, and yet
those qualities could not save them
from being utterly routed by the
discipline of the Italian invaders. It
may be questioned whether, in the
case of a sudden emergency, the
British population at the present day
could offer so formidable a resistance
to a regularly disciplined force. The
odds are that they could not. The
aboriginal British tribes, like our
Highlanders in last century, were
trained to the use of arms, however
simple, and versed in some kind of
tactics, however rude. They knew
how to stand by each other, and they
were not terrified by the sight of
blood. Whereas the modern operative,
suddenly summoned from the
factory to take his place as a national
defender, would be of all creatures
the most incompetent and helpless.
To mount a horse, or rather, to guide
a horse when he had mounted it,
would be to him a thing impossible.
He would as lieve thrust his hand into
the flames as attempt to fire a cannon.
His ideas as to the distinction between
the but-end and the muzzle
of a musket are so extremely indefinite,
that you might as well arm him
at once with a boomerang; and the
odds are, that, in masticating a cartridge,
he would consider it part of his
duty to swallow the ball. Or, supposing
that his piece is adequately
loaded and primed, what is the betting
that he does not bring down a
comrade instead of disabling an
enemy? A random shot strikes the
midriff of Higgins, who has just patriotically
rushed from the manufacture
of <i>domestics</i> to do his duty on
the battle-field. He falls gasping in
his gore; and Simpkins, who is his
right-hand man, grows pale as death,
and is off in the twinkling of a billy-roller.
A single bivouac, on a frosty
night, would send half the awkward
squad to the hospital shivering with
ague. Those who had previously pinned
their faith on Hogarth's caricature of
the spindle-shanked Frenchman toasting
frogs on the point of his rapier,
would speedily discover their mistake
at the apparition of the grim, bearded,
and bronzed veterans of Algeria,
armed to the teeth, and inflamed with
that creditable "morale," of which so
much has been said, but which resolves
itself simply into a burning desire for
vengeance on "perfidious Albion."
They would then begin, though rather
late, to perceive the advantages of preparation,
discipline, and science, and
bitterly to regret that they had turned
a deaf ear so long to the warnings of
wisdom and experience. Discipline
is as powerful now, in strategy, as it
was nineteen hundred years ago.
The cotton-clad Briton would not be
one whit more able to repel invasion
than his remote skin-clad progenitor.
And as for a leader, are we liable to
the charge of prejudice when we aver
that we would rather march to combat
under the guidance of a Caractacus
than that of a Cobden?</p>

<p>But is there any chance of an invasion?
We reply&mdash;that depends in a
great measure upon the extent of our
actual preparation. If it is known
abroad, and notorious, that we have
made our citadel impregnable, the
probabilities of any such attempt are
extremely lessened. If, on the contrary,
we are manifestly unable to
resist aggression, we do unquestionably
increase our risk to an enormous
degree. Which of us can calculate
on our escaping from the embroilment
of war, in the present distracted state
of European politics, for a year, or
even for a month? The last time we
approached this subject of the national
defences was towards the commencement
of the year 1848, when
Cobden was attempting to preach
down military establishments. Our
readers may recollect the arguments
which he used at that time. He
represented that the whole world was
at profound peace and tranquillity;
that the nations were thinking of
nothing else but relaxation of
tariffs, and the interchange of calicoes
and corn; that men were a great
deal too wise ever again to appeal
to the rude arbitration of the sword&mdash;and
much more trash of a similar
nature, which seemed to give intense
delight to his cultivated Manchester
audience. We considered it necessary
to tie him up to the halberts,
and gave him a castigation which to
this hour he writhingly remembers.
We pointed out then the utter absurdity
of his notion, that Free-trade
was to supersede Christianity as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_739" id="Page_739">[Pg 739]</a></span>
controller of the passions of mankind;
and we insisted that, so far from real
tranquillity being established on the
Continent, it was "quite possible
that France may yet have to undergo
another dynastic convulsion." What
followed? Before the number of the
Magazine which contains that paper
was published, the Revolution broke
out in France, and extended itself
over more than half the Continent.
It is not yet completed, or anything
like completed&mdash;it is resolving itself
into war, the natural and inevitable
sequence of all such revolutions.
Hitherto we have kept out of it by
good fortune, if not by dexterous
management. But our escape was a
very narrow one. Once we were so
very near a rupture, that the French
ambassador was recalled from St
James's, and the Russian ambassador
just about to retire. Was there no
danger then? Who that regards the
political aspects abroad, will give us
a guarantee that some new emergency
may not arise, involving a <i>casus belli</i>,
from some circumstance almost as
trivial and insignificant as the claims
of Don Pacifico? His Holiness the
Pope, in return for Mintonian advice
and Whig support, has been pleased
to prefer a spiritual claim over the
British dominions&mdash;how if France,
rather at a loss for some enterprise
abroad to sustain her government at
home, should take a fancy for a new
crusade, and determine on backing,
by temporal artillery, the less dangerous
thunders of the Vatican?</p>

<p>But France, say Cobden and his
crew, does not desire war. Cobden
is a precious expositor of the cabinet
councils of France! What took the
French to Rome? What is taking
them at this moment to the eastern
frontier? Not the dread of invasion,
we may be sure; for the unhappy
states of Germany have quite enough
business on hand to settle among
themselves, without attempting to
push westward. France may not,
indeed, desire war in the abstract,
but war may become a political necessity
for France; and we think that
we can discern symptoms which indicate
that the necessity must soon
arrive. Once unsettle a nation, as
France has been unsettled, and there
is no security for its neighbours.
France is at this time nominally a
republic, practically a military despotism.
Military despotism is always,
sooner or later, compelled to support
itself by aggression. It gets rid of
the contending elements within by
giving them a foreign outlet; for, if
it did not do so, it must in the end
inevitably succumb to anarchy. These
things may not be known in the mills,
or familiar to men whose intellect is
beneath that of the aggregate average
of ganders; but they are nevertheless
true, and all history confirms
them.</p>

<p>We therefore think that&mdash;looking
to the present state of the Continent
and its political relations, the hostile
jealousy of some states, and the
extreme instability of others&mdash;there
is anything but reason to predict the
return of a settled European peace.
The first act of the drama may have
been played, but the whole piece is
not yet nearly concluded. If we are
right in this, what are the chances
that we escape, whilst the other
nations are contending? Extremely
small. Now, is there any man (except
Cobden) silly enough to suppose,
that, in the event of further and more
serious hostilities occurring on the
Continent, we should be able to escape
from embroilment, <i>on the ground that
we have not sufficient forces in Great
Britain to protect the integrity of our
shores</i>? If there exist any such individual,
let him go back to his &AElig;sop,
and he will find various illustrations
bearing strongly upon the subject. It
is no difficult matter for the strong to
pick a quarrel with the weak. Our
monstrous and almost insane position
is this, that, with all the elements of
strength existing abundantly among
ourselves, we have obstinately resolved
not to call them forth, so as to
prepare for any emergency, or for
any contingency whatever.</p>

<p>Cobden's opinion is, that the governments
cannot go to war, because
the people will not let them. Does
the prophet of Baal allude to Russia,
Austria, Prussia, or France? We
presume it will not be held that these
states fortify that opinion. If not, to
<i>what</i> governments and <i>what</i> people
does he allude? The truth is, that
he is possessed by the most monstrous
hallucination which ever beset a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_740" id="Page_740">[Pg 740]</a></span>
human brain. He believes that the
population of Europe are so enamoured
of his flimsy rags as to be
ready to sacrifice everything for the
privilege of putting them next their
skins, and that no government dare
interpose between them and that
most inestimable luxury. Whereas,
in reality, Manchester and its products
are detested, both by governments
and people, from one end of
Europe to the other. Why it should
be so is not in the least degree perplexing.
Every nation (except perhaps
our own, which is for the present
labouring under a most miserable delusion)
has the natural wish to protect
and foster its internal industry.
A purely agricultural state is necessarily
a very poor one&mdash;it is the
mixture of agriculture and manufactures
which tends to create wealth.
Our neighbours on the Continent are
doing all in their power to promote
manufactures, and we have helped
them to attain their object by allowing
a free export of machinery. They
have not the slightest intention of
permitting that portion of their capital,
which is already invested in
manufactures, to be destroyed by
submitting to the operation of Free
Trade; so, very wisely, they take advantage
of our open ports to get rid
of their superfluous agricultural produce,
whilst they continue or augment
their duties upon the articles of manufacture
which we export. Not a
man of them would break his heart
if every mill in Manchester were
burned to the ground to-morrow, nor
would they subscribe one kreutzer for
the benefit of the afflicted sufferers.
Such is their feeling and their policy
even in time of peace; in time of war
they are somewhat apt to clap on an
entire embargo.</p>

<p>The governments, however, are
going to war, and at war, notwithstanding
all that can be said or written
to the contrary; nor have we
been able to discover that the people&mdash;at
least that portion of the people
which, in time of tumult, is the most
influential&mdash;has manifested the slightest
indisposition to push matters to
extremity. The small still voice of
Elihu Burritt has failed to tranquillise
the roar of conflict in Denmark and
the Holstein Duchies. It may possibly
be matter of wonder to some
folks that all national quarrels are
not instantly submitted to the arbitration
of a peripatetic blacksmith, or
an equally ubiquitous cotton-spinner.
Oliver Dain, more popularly designated
<i>Le Diable</i>, had once a good
deal to say in matters of state, though
his avowed function was only that of
a barber, and it may be that the
Peace Congress set considerable store
by that notable precedent. We,
however, are not ashamed to confess
that our faith is small in the efficacy
of the Columbian Vulcan. Mars, we
suspect, will prove too much for him
in the present instance, and escape
the entanglement of the net. Seriously,
we apprehend that there is less
to fear from the deliberate intentions
of governments, than from the inflamed
passions of the people. At
all events the two co-operate, and
must co-operate in producing war;
and public opinion in this country, as
to the propriety of maintaining peace,
is of as little effect or practical use,
owing to our notorious weakness, as
the sighing of the summer wind.</p>

<p>Such being the signs of conflict
abroad, the next consideration is,
how are we affected by them&mdash;or
rather, what course ought we to pursue
in the present distracted state
of European politics? We think that
common-sense dictates the answer&mdash;we
ought to prepare ourselves against
every possible emergency. We do
not know from what quarter the
danger may come, or how soon; but
the horizon is murky enough around
us to give warning of no common
peril. What should we think of the
commander of a vessel who, at the
evident approach of a storm, made
no preparation for it? Yet such is,
in truth, at the present time, the
fatuous conduct of our rulers. They
have been advised by the best and
most experienced pilot of their danger,
and yet they will do nothing.
They are drifting on as heedlessly as
if the breeze were moderate, no reefs
ahead, and no scud visible in the sky.</p>

<p>We have said that we do not know
from what quarter the danger may
come. There is, however, one quarter
from which we may, legitimately
enough, apprehend danger; and that
not only on the score of most tempt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_741" id="Page_741">[Pg 741]</a></span>ing
opportunity, but because from
it we have, ere now, been threatened
under circumstances of greater difficulty.
The meditated invasion of
England by France, under Napoleon,
ought not to be effaced from the
recollection of the British people.
We were then infinitely better prepared
to resist such an attempt than
we are now. We had troops and
levies in abundance, a large and
powerful navy, manned by experienced
sailors, and full intimation of the
design; whilst, on the other hand, the
French were deficient in shipping, and,
what is even more material, unassisted
by that wonderful agent steam, which
has made the crossing of the Channel
in a few hours, despite of contrary
winds, a matter of absolute certainty.
Because that expedition failed, is it
a fair conclusion&mdash;as we have seen it
argued in the public journals&mdash;that
another expedition, aided by that
science which has reduced the intervening
arm of the sea to a mere
ditch or moat, must also necessarily
fail? We cannot understand such
reasoning. It is allowed by all
military and naval men who have
studied the subject, or written upon
it&mdash;and we confess that, in a matter
of this kind, we should prefer eminent
professional opinions to the mere dicta
of a journalist, or the sweeping assertions
of a civilian&mdash;that a French
army could now, by the aid of steam,
be ferried across the Channel without
encountering the tremendous opposition
of a fleet. If that be admitted,
then invasion becomes clearly practicable,
and the next consideration is
its probability.</p>

<p>It is always instructive to know
what is going on on the other side of
the Channel. It is no Paul Pry
curiosity which prompts us to inquire
into the proceedings of our eccentric
neighbours; for, somehow or other,
we very frequently find them swayed
in their actions either by our example
or our position. And, in order to
prosecute this inquiry, we shall make
room for Sir Francis Head, and
accept such information as he can
give us:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"There is often so much empty bluster
in mere words, that, if there existed no
more positive proof of danger than the
statements, arguments and threats above
quoted, we might perhaps, in the name
of 'economy,' reasonably dismiss them
to the winds. The following evidence
will, however, show that the French nation,
notwithstanding the violence of the
political storms which have lately assailed
them, and notwithstanding the difference
of opinion that has convulsed
them, have throughout the whole period
of their afflictions, and under almost
every description of government, <i>steadily</i>,
<i>unceasingly</i>, and at <i>vast cost</i>, been making
preparations for <i>performing</i> what for more
than half a century they have <span class="smcap">THREATENED</span>&mdash;namely,
the invasion of England.</p></blockquote>

<blockquote>

<p class="hangingindent">"<i>Extracts from the correspondence of the</i>
Times, <i>described as from 'an Officer
of Experience in our own Service.</i>'&mdash;(See
<i>Times, September 10, 1850</i>.)</p></blockquote>

<p class="right">"'<span class="smcap">Cherbourg</span>, Saturday night.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"'The spectacle of to-day was perhaps one
of the most splendid of its kind that has been
ever witnessed. Nothing short of the terrible
glories of actual warfare could have
exceeded it; and, without being an alarmist,
I may safely say that the effect made on the
mind of an Englishman by such a display of
force and power on the part of an ally who
has been our bitterest foe in times gone by,
in a port almost impregnable, and within a
few hours' sail of the shores of Great Britain,
was not calculated to put him at ease.'</p></blockquote>

<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">'Cherbourg</span>, Monday, <i>Sept. 10</i>.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"'There are not many Englishmen who
know that, within less than sixty-six miles of
Portsmouth, there is a French port in which
the most extensive works have been for years
carried on, till nature has given way to the
resources of skill and infinite art, and the sea
and land, alike overcome, have yielded to our
ancient foe one great naval entrepot,&mdash;placed
in a direct line with our greatest dockyards,
fortified at an enormous cost, till it is impregnable
to everything but desperate daring and
lucky hardihood, increasing day after day in
force and power, accessible from every point
of the compass and at all states of the tide to
a friendly fleet, capable of crushing beneath
an almost irresistible fire the most formidable
of hostile armaments&mdash;in a word, "the eye
to watch and the arm to strike the ancient
enemy." There is no geographical necessity
for such a port opposite to our coast. The
commerce of France does not need it. Our
neighbours may well remark that they are
justified in protecting a place which has already
felt the force of our arms, and that they
are bound to protect Cherbourg from such a
contingency as that which occurred in the last
century, when Admiral Bligh laid it in
ruins. But Admiral Bligh would not
have attacked Cherbourg had it not been a
menacing warlike station; and, talk as they
may, there can be no doubt that the whole of
these immense works are prepared <i>for a war
with England, and with England alone</i>.
When I say this, of course I do not mean to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_742" id="Page_742">[Pg 742]</a></span>
say that France will take any unjust advantage
of her position; but we ought not to
shut our eyes to the fact that such a place is
within seven or eight hours' sail of England;
and that a French fleet leaving it in the
evening with a leading wind could be off
Portsmouth next morning, and could bombard
any of our towns on the southern coast.</p>

<p>"On the above graphic description, the
editor of the <i>Times</i> offered to the country
the following just remarks:&mdash;</p>

<p>"'It is impossible to forget&mdash;perhaps,
without the slightest imputation on our neighbours'
good-will, we may say it was not intended
we should forget&mdash;that the fleet which
issued, in such magnificent style, from behind
the Cherbourg breakwater, might some day
sail straight across the Channel; that those
heavy guns might all be pointed in anger;
and that each of the black rakish-looking
steamers might throw a thousand men on a
hostile shore without warning given or suspicion
raised. Such a suggestion cannot be
thought out of place or ill-timed, for doings
of this kind are the very vocation of the vessels
paraded before us. If guns were not
meant to be fired, or steamers to be employed
for transport, there would be no use in manufacturing
either one or the other. From the
extent of our liabilities we may measure our
precautions; and it is undoubtedly not advisable
that we should be without the wherewithal
to receive such visitors as might possibly
be some day despatched from Cherbourg.
The point is certainly a brave one for the
economists, who will appeal to the folly thus
probably exemplified of nations urging each
other forward in the ruinous race of public
expenditure. The argument sounds very
plausible, but it is, in plain truth, impractical.'</p>

<p>"Lastly, during England's late disagreement
with France and Russia on the
subject of Greece, after the French Ambassador
had left this country, and while
the Russian Ambassador was ready to
leave it also, the <i>Times</i>, without creating
the smallest excitement throughout the
country, informed its readers of two ominous
facts, namely&mdash;</p>

<p>"1st, That, during the said discussion,
France was <i>increasing</i> her number of seamen.</p>

<p>"2d, That, as soon as the foresaid discussion
ended, they were <i>dismissed</i>."</p></blockquote>

<p>We regret to observe that, since
then, the <i>Times</i> seems to have changed
its tone on this very important subject,
and it now regards the preparation
necessary to insure the security
of England as too costly for the
object proposed. This is a novel
view, even in ethics. We have been
taught that it was our duty, in case
of necessity, to expose even our lives
in defence of our country; and we do
hope that there are some among us
who still adhere to that noble lesson.
No such sacrifice is required just now.
All that is demanded&mdash;and demanded
it ought to be, not by isolated writers,
or even high and competent authorities,
but by the general voice of the
nation&mdash;is, that our navy should be
put upon an efficient footing&mdash;that the
Admiralty should be reformed, and no
chief of it appointed who is not conversant
with the details of the service
of which he is selected as the head&mdash;that
no other Minto should be allowed
to make his high maritime office the
source of family patronage&mdash;that a
ready and constant supply of skilled
and experienced seamen should be
secured&mdash;and that the vast expenditure
lavished on our ships should not
be rendered nugatory for want of
hands to man them adequately when
launched. Furthermore, we require
that the standing force of our army
at home should be so augmented as
to render it certain that, in any sudden
emergency, we may not have to depend
upon the voluntary efforts of a
panic-stricken and undisciplined mob.
We have already spoken of the
chances of our being involved in war,
and also of the possibility of an invasion:
let us now examine what
amount of disposable forces we have
ready, in the event of such a terrible
emergency. Our muster-roll, inferior
certainly to the Homeric catalogue,
is as follows:&mdash;In Great Britain and
Ireland we have precisely 61,848
regular enlisted soldiers of all departments
of the service! Of these, 24,000
are stationed in Ireland alone, whence,
in the event of the occurrence of any
disturbance, they could scarcely be
withdrawn; so that the whole defensible
force of England and of
Scotland is reduced to rather less
than 38,000 soldiers! That number
would hardly be doubled were we to
add the whole of the pensioners,
more or less worn out, the corps of
yeomanry, and the half-drilled workmen
of the dockyards: and with
this force some of us are content
to await invasion; whilst others,
more reckless still, are even clamouring
for its reduction! Farther, as if we
were resolved to push on folly to the
furthest extreme, the drawing of the
militia has been, by Act of Parlia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_743" id="Page_743">[Pg 743]</a></span>ment,
suspended; so that even that
slender thread, which in some degree
connected the civilian with the military
service, has been broken. This
is the bare naked truth, with which
foreigners are perfectly well acquainted,
and which they will continue
to bear in mind, notwithstanding
our attempts to amuse them, with
glass-houses and gigantic toy-shops.</p>

<p>What would not the elder Buonaparte
have given to find us in such a
state! Very far, indeed, are we from
imagining that the present President
of the French Republic bears any
personal ill-will to this country,
wherein he has met with much hospitality;
but, giving him the utmost
credit for amicable dispositions and
pacific intentions, we cannot forget
the peculiarity of the position which
he occupies, or the varied influences
which control him. However we
may wish to believe the contrary, it is
certain that France regards herself
rather as the rival than as the ally of
England. It cannot, indeed, be
otherwise. France has recollections,
not of the most soothing kind, which
no lapse of time has been able to
efface; and these will infallibly, when
an opportunity occurs, regulate her
future conduct.</p>

<p>And how stands France at this moment
with regard to military preparation?
Observe&mdash;there is no enemy
threatening her from without. Of all
states in Europe she is the least likely
to be attacked. Yet we find her available
force as follows:&mdash;</p>

<div class="tdr">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="available force">
<tr>
  <th class="tdc" colspan="4">Regular troops.</th>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Staff,</td>
  <td>3,826</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Cavalry,</td>
  <td>58,932</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Infantry, &amp;c.,</td>
  <td>301,224</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Artillery,</td>
  <td>30,166</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Engineers,</td>
  <td>8,727</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Pontoon train, &amp;c.,</td>
  <td class="bb">5,755</td>
</tr>
<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">Total,</td>
  <td class="bb">408,630</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <th class="tdc" colspan="4">Garde Nationale.</th>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>82</td>
  <td class="tdl">battalions</td>
  <td class="tdc">of 1500 men,</td>
  <td>123,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td>2378</td>
  <td class="tdc">do.</td>
  <td class="tdc">of 1000 men,</td>
  <td class="bb">2,378,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td colspan="4">2,501,000</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdc" colspan="4">Of whom 2,000,000 are armed with firelocks.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="4">To the above are to be added:&mdash;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdl" colspan="3">Garde Nationale of Paris,</td>
  <td class="bb">129,800</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdc" colspan="3">Total,</td>
  <td>2,630,800</td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class="tdc" colspan="4">Together, more than three millions of trained men!</td>
</tr>
</table></div>

<p>We need not dwell on the disproportion
which is apparent here; indeed,
our whole task is one from which
we would most willingly have been
held excused. It is not pleasant either
to note or to reiterate the undoubted
fact of our weakness; and yet what
help is there, when purblind demagogues
are allowed by senseless clamour
to drown the accents of a voice
still speaking to us from the verge of
the grave? Let Sir Francis Head
illustrate this point, and may his
words sink deep in the heart of an
unwise generation.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>"Why, we ask, have the Duke of
Wellington's repeated prayers, supplications,
admonitions, and warnings "to various
Administrations," and through the
press to the British people, been so utterly
disregarded? Without offering one word
of adulation&mdash;we have personally no reason
to do so&mdash;we cannot but observe, that
no problem in science, no theory, important
or unimportant, has ever been more,
thoroughly investigated than the character
of the Duke of Wellington by his
fellow-countrymen.</p>

<p>"During the spring and summer of his
life, the attention of the British nation
followed consecutively each movement of
his career in India, Portugal, Spain, Denmark,
the Low Countries, France, and
latterly in the senate. In the autumn of
his life, the secret springs which had
caused his principal military movements,
as well as his diplomatic arrangements,
were unveiled by the publication of despatches,
letters, and notes, official as well
as private, which without palliation or
comment developed the reasons,&mdash;naked
as they were born,&mdash;upon which he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_744" id="Page_744">[Pg 744]</a></span>
acted, on the spur of the moment, in the
various predicaments in which he had been
placed. In the winter of his life, bent by
age, but with faculties matured rather
than impaired by time, it has been his
well-known practice, almost at the striking
of the clock, to appear in his place in
the House of Lords, ready not only to
give any reasonable explanations that
might be required of him, but to disclose
his opinions and divulge his counsel on
subjects of the highest importance. Every
word he has uttered in public has been
recorded; many of his private observations
have been repeated; his answers to
applications of every sort have usually appeared
in print; even his "F.M." epigrammatic
notes to tradesmen and others,
almost as rapidly as they were written,
have not only been published, but in one
or two instances have actually been sold
by auction. Wherever he walks, rides, or
travels, he is observed; in short, there
never has existed in any country a public
servant whose conduct throughout his
whole life has been more scrupulously
watched, or whose sayings and doings
have <i>by himself</i> been more guilelessly submitted
to investigation. The result has
been that monuments and inscriptions in
various parts of London, of the United
Kingdom, and throughout our colonial
empire, testify the opinion entertained in
his favour; and yet although in the Royal
Palace, in both Houses of Parliament,
at public meetings, and in private society,
every opportunity seems to be taken to
express unbounded confidence in his military
judgment, sagacity, experience, integrity
and simplicity of character, yet
in our Legislature, in the Queen's
Government, as well as throughout the
country, there has for many years existed,
and there still exists, an anomaly which
foreigners observe with utter astonishment,
and which history will not fail to record&mdash;viz.,
that his opinion of <i>the defenceless
state of Great Britain</i> has, by statesmen,
and by a nation who almost pride themselves
on their total ignorance of the requirements
of war, been utterly disregarded!"</p></blockquote>

<p>We have but little space left for
further comment. We do not consider
it necessary to follow Sir Francis
Head through almost any portion of
his masterly details, or to sketch,
even in outline, the picture which he
has drawn of the possible consequences
of our supineness. On these
points the book must speak for itself.
We venture to think that it will not
be without some effect, however it may
be assailed by vulgar abuse, or depreciated
by contemptible flippancy. It
speaks home to the feelings of Englishmen,
has the merit of great perspicuity,
and deals prominently with
facts which can neither be gainsaid
nor denied.</p>

<p>Even to the apostles of peace&mdash;the
fanatics, as we think, of the present
age&mdash;Sir Francis holds out the olive
branch. He represents to them,
what they probably cannot see, that
the only method of realising their
cherished idea of voluntary arbitration
and reduction of armaments, is
by maintaining at a crisis like the
present the true balance of power.
And certainly he is right, if there be
anything at all in their scheme. For
our own part, we hold it to be absolutely
and entirely chimerical. It is
a mere phase or fiction of that
wretched notion of cosmopolitanism,
which some years ago was preached
by Cobden&mdash;a notion to which the
events and experiences of each successive
month have given the practical
lie, and which never could have
been hatched except in the addled
brain of some ignorant and vainglorious
egotist. By herself, Britain
must stand or fall. The good and
the evil she has done&mdash;the influence
which she has exerted, one way or
the other, over the destinies of the
human race, is written in the everlasting
chronicle; and her fate is in
the hand of Him who raises or crushes
empires. What trials we may have
to undergo&mdash;what calamities to suffer&mdash;what
moral triumphs to achieve&mdash;are
known to Omnipotence alone.
But as a high rank in the scale of
nations has been given us, let us, at
all events, be true to ourselves, in so
far as human prudence and manly
foresight can avail. Let us not, for
the sake of miserable mammon&mdash;or,
still worse, for the crude theories of
a pragmatical upstart&mdash;imperil
the large liberties which have been
left to us, as the best legacy of our
forefathers. Our duty is to uphold,
by all the means in our power, the
honour and the integrity of our native
land: nor dare we hope for the blessing
or the countenance of the all-controlling
Power, one moment after we
have proved ourselves false to the
country which gave us birth.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_745" id="Page_745">[Pg 745]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="THE_POPISH_PARTITION_OF_ENGLAND" id="THE_POPISH_PARTITION_OF_ENGLAND">THE POPISH PARTITION OF ENGLAND.</a></h2>


<p>If a religious Revolution consists
in a powerful change in the religious
feelings of a country, then are we at
this moment in the midst of a religious
Revolution! If a spirit of
ardour suddenly starting forth in a
period of apathy, if public zeal superseding
public indifference, and if popular
fidelity to a great forgotten cause,
pledging itself to make that cause
<i>national</i> once more, exhibit an approach
to a miracle, then there has
been made on the mind of England
an impression not born of man. But
if those high interpositions have always
had a purpose worthy of the
source from which they descend, we
must regard the present change of
the general mind as only a precaution
against some mighty peril of England,
or a preparation for some comprehensive
and continued triumph of principle
in Europe. That England is
a tolerant country has never been
questioned. Though the whole frame
of its constitution is actually founded
on the supremacy of the sovereign,
and, of course, on the derivation of
ecclesiastical power, as well as of
every other, from the throne; though
therefore the high appointments of
the Church have been vested in the
Crown, and the subordination of the
great body of the clergy has necessarily
connected them with the throne,
the principle of toleration shapes all
things. The ecclesiastical constitution
excludes all violence to other
disciplines; allows every division of
religious opinion to take its own way;
and even suffers Popery, with all its
hostility, to take its own way&mdash;to
have its churches and chapels, its
public services, its discipline, and all
the formalities, however alien and
obnoxious, which it deems important
to its existence.</p>

<p>None familiar with the history of
Popery can doubt that its principle is
directly the reverse&mdash;that it tolerates
no other religion; that it suffers no
other religious constitution; that
where the tree of Popery lifts its trunk
and spreads its branches, all freedom
of opinion withers within its shade.</p>

<p>Rome, by an usurpation unexampled
even in the wildest periods of
heathenism, insists on seizing that
which is wholly beyond human seizure&mdash;the
conscience; demands that uniformity
of opinion which it was never
within the competency of man to enforce
on man; and punishes man by
the dungeon, confiscation, and death,
for feelings which he can no more
control, and for truths which he can
no more controvert, than he can the
movements of the stars.</p>

<p>If it has been argued that Protestantism
is equally condemnatory of
those who dissent from its doctrine, the
obvious answer is, that it simply declares
the condemnation annexed by
Scripture to vice. But it attempts no
execution of that punishment, leaving
the future wholly to the mercy or the
justice of the Judge of the quick
and dead. Popery not merely passes
the sentence, but executes it, as far
as can be done by man. Thus
the distinction is, that Protestantism
goes no further than to declare what
the welfare of mankind requires to be
declared. But Popery takes the judgment
into its own hands; and, where
it has power, punishes by confiscation
and chains, by the dungeon and the
grave. And the especial evil of this
usurpation is, that this punishment
may exist, not for notorious vice, but
for conspicuous virtue; not only that
it takes God's office into its grasp, but
that it insults the whole character of
God's law. It goes farther still, and
gathers within its circle of reprobation
things which are wholly beyond the
limit of crime&mdash;the exercise of knowledge,
the right of conscience, and the
sincerity of decision.</p>

<p>Yet, by this violent assumption of
divine right, and lawless comprehension
of crime, Popery has slain millions!</p>

<p>This distinction draws the broad
line between Popery and Protestantism.
The Protestant never persecutes;
he is barred by his religion.
The Papist never tolerates; he is stimulated
by his creed. When Protestant
worship is tolerated in Popish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_746" id="Page_746">[Pg 746]</a></span>
countries, the toleration is either
compelled by Protestant superiority,
or purchased by Popish necessities.
But the claim of supremacy corrupts the
whole combination. Where it is not extorted
from the hands of Government,
it still remains in the mind of the priesthood.
Where it is blotted from the
statute book, it is still registered in the
breviary. Where it is extinguished
by policy, it is revived by priestcraft.
Like the pestilence, disappearing from
the higher orders, it lurks in the rags
of the populace, and waits only some
new chance of earth or air, to ravage
the land again. Or, like the housebreaker,
hiding his head while day
shines, but waiting only for nightfall
to sally forth, and gather his plunder
when men are vigilant no more.</p>

<p>The Papal Bull which has aroused
such a storm of wrath in England,
gives the full exemplification of this
undying spirit of usurpation in Popery.</p>

<p>Beaten down in field and council
three centuries and a half since&mdash;baffled
in every attempt to domineer
over England from the Reformation&mdash;in
every instance sinking from depth
to depth&mdash;wholly excluded from legislative
power by the greatest of British
kings, William III., for a hundred
years of the most memorable triumphs
of the constitution&mdash;Popery has now,
before our eyes, to the astonishment
of our understandings, and to the
resistless evidence of its own passion
for power, returned to all its old demands,
and to more than its old
demands; and, as if to make the
evidence more glaring, returned at
the moment when England is at the
height of power, and Rome in the
depth of debasement; when England
is in her meridian of intelligence, and
Rome in her midnight; when England
is the great influential power of peace
and war to all nations, and when
Rome is a garrison of foreign hirelings,
and her monarch the menial of their
master's will.</p>

<p>If those demands are made, with
Popery living in an actual paralysis
of all the functions of sovereignty,
what would be their execution with
Popery lording it over the land? If
Popery can issue these proclamations
from the floor of its dungeon, what
would be the sway of its sword when
it strode over the neck of the empire?
If, stript and manacled, it can thus
rage against Protestantism, what
would be its fury when, with new
strength and unrestrained daring, its
march headed by treachery in the
higher orders, and followed by fanaticism
in the lower, it should take
possession of the Constitution?</p>

<p>While England was in a state of
drowsy tranquillity, a Papal Bull appeared,
under the signature of Cardinal
Lambruschini, the Papal Secretary.
A more daring document never was
fabricated in the haughtiest days of
Papal tyranny. It divided England
into twelve Dioceses of the <i>Popedom</i>;
it appointed twelve bishops, and appropriated
to them all the rights and
privileges of Episcopacy in England;
and it called on all the Papists to
contribute to the new pomp of the
Popish worship, and the subsistence of
the Diocesans.</p>

<p>This document is long and desultory;
but as it is of importance to
lay the case authentically before the
reader, it shall be given in its own
words, abbreviating only the formalities
of the verbiage.</p>

<p>"Pius P. P. IX.&mdash;The power of
ruling the <i>Universal Church</i>, committed
by our Lord Jesus Christ to
the Roman Pontiff in the person of
St Peter, <i>Prince of the Apostles</i>, hath
preserved through every age in the
Apostolic See this remarkable solicitude,
by which it consulteth for the
advantage of the Catholic religion in
all parts of the world, and studiously
provideth for its <i>extension</i>. And this
correspondeth with the design of its
Divine founder, who, when he ordained
a <i>head</i> to the Church, looked forward
to the consummation of the
world. Among other nations, the
famous realm of England hath experienced
the effects of this solicitude on
the part of the Sovereign Pontiff."</p>

<p>After referring to the agency sustained
by the Papacy in England
from 1623, by nominal bishops, the
Bull declares that, from the commencement
of his pontificate, Pius had his
attention fixed on the "promotion of
the <i>Church's advantage in that kingdom</i>.
Wherefore, having taken into consideration
the present state of Catholic
affairs in that kingdom, and reflecting
on the <i>very large and every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_747" id="Page_747">[Pg 747]</a></span>where
increasing number</i> of Catholics
there; considering also that the impediments
which principally stood in
the way of the <i>spread of Catholicity</i>
were daily being removed, we judged
that the time had arrived when the
form of Ecclesiastical Government in
England might be brought back to
that model in which it exists freely
among other nations." It seemed
good to the Pope to establish his
Bishops among us, as they were in
Popish countries. The result is, "that
in the kingdom of England, according
to the common rule of the Church, we
constitute and decree that there be
restored the hierarchy of ordinary
bishops."</p>

<p>Before we proceed, we must observe
the quantity of assumption,
even in this fragment. 1st, That
Christ gave the Headship of the <i>Universal
Church</i>, (he himself being the
<i>only</i> Head); 2d, That St Peter was the
<i>head</i> of the apostles, (which is contradicted
by the whole apostolic history;)
and 3d, That this right has <i>always</i> and
everywhere belonged to Rome!&mdash;(a
right resisted by the Greek Church,
by a large portion of even the Latin
Church, by the early British Church,
and by the Syrian.)</p>

<p>It is further admitted, that a <i>change</i>
has lately taken place in the relative
conditions of English Protestantism
and Popery, and that the appointment
of bishops is for the purpose
"of extending that change"&mdash;in
other words, of acquiring power, and
urging proselytism, in a Protestant
state, where the Papist is tolerated
only on the promise of peace.</p>

<p>But all disguise is now thrown
aside, as if it was no longer necessary.
The movement is acknowledged to be
one of <i>national conversion</i>; religious
conquest is declared to be the object;
the Pope, in planting twelve new
bishops in British sees, declares that
he is resuming the old supremacy of
Rome&mdash;thus, holding out reconciliation
in one hand, and retaliation in
the other, he is prepared at once to
supersede the national religion.</p>

<p>In conformity with this declaration,
he has taken the map of England into
his hand; and, surrounded by his
cardinals, has dissected it into dioceses
in the following style:&mdash;</p>

<p>All England and Wales shall henceforth
form one Archiepiscopal Province.</p>

<p>In the district of London there shall
be an Archbishopric of Westminster,
comprising Middlesex, Essex, and
Hertfordshire.</p>

<p>The See of Southwark is to be
suffragan to that of Westminster, and
is to comprehend the counties of
Berks, Southampton, Surrey, Sussex,
and Kent, with the isles of Wight,
Jersey, Guernsey, and the adjacent
isles.</p>

<p>In the north there is to be the
Diocese of Hexham.</p>

<p>The Diocese of York will be established
at Beverley.</p>

<p>In the west, the See of Liverpool,
comprehending the Isle of Man, Lonsdale,
Amounderness, (?) and West
Derby.</p>

<p>The See of Salford, comprising
Blackburn and Leyland.</p>

<p>In Wales, there shall be the Diocese
of Shrewsbury, comprising Anglesea,
Caernarvon, Denbighshire, Flintshire,
Merionethshire, Montgomeryshire,
Cheshire, and Salop.</p>

<p>And the Diocese of Newport, comprising
Brecknockshire, Glamorganshire,
Carmarthenshire, Pembrokeshire,
Monmouthshire, and Herefordshire.</p>

<p>The West is divided into two
Bishoprics:&mdash;</p>

<p>Clifton, comprising Gloucestershire,
Somersetshire, and Wiltshire;
And Plymouth, comprising Devonshire,
Dorsetshire, and Cornwall.</p>

<p>In the Central District, the Diocese
of Nottingham shall comprise Nottinghamshire,
Derbyshire, Leicestershire,
Lincolnshire, and Rutlandshire.</p>

<p>The Diocese of Birmingham, comprising
the counties of Stafford, Warwick,
Worcester, and Oxford.</p>

<p>The Eastern district shall form one
Diocese, under the name of Northampton.</p>

<p>Thus England shall form one Ecclesiastical
Province, under one Archbishop
and twelve Bishops.</p>

<p>They are to correspond with the
College de Propagand&acirc; Fide.</p>

<p>The new Bishops are to be unshackled
by any previous customs of
the Romish Church in England, and
to have full Episcopal powers.</p>

<p>The Papal letter concludes by a recommendation
to the Roman Catholics<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_748" id="Page_748">[Pg 748]</a></span>
of England "<i>to contribute, so far as
in their power</i>," by their pecuniary
means, to the dignity of their Prelates
and the "splendour of their worship,"
&amp;c.</p>

<p>To prevent all idea that this division
is merely nominal or spiritual,
or unconnected with penalties on Protestantism,
the principal Popish journal
in England has added the following
comment:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Rome has more than spoken; she
has spoken and <i>acted</i>. She has again
<i>divided</i> our land into dioceses, and
has placed over each a pastor, to
whom <i>all baptized persons</i> (!) <i>without
exception</i> (!) within that district, are
openly <i>commanded</i> to submit themselves
in all ecclesiastical matters,
<i>under pain of damnation</i> (!) And the
<i>Anglican Sees</i>&mdash;those ghosts of realities
long past away&mdash;<i>are utterly ignored</i>."</p>

<p>The bull proceeds: "Thus, then, in
the most flourishing kingdom of England,
there will be established one
Ecclesiastical Province, consisting of
an Archbishop or metropolitan head,
and twelve Bishops, his suffragans,
by whose <i>exertions</i> and <i>pastoral</i> cares
we trust God will give to Catholicity
in that country a fruitful and daily
increasing extension.</p>

<p>"Wherefore we now reserve to
ourselves and our successors, the
Pontiffs of Rome, the power of again
<i>dividing</i> the said province into others,
and of <i>increasing the number of dioceses</i>,
as occasion shall require; and,
in general, as it shall seem fitting in
the land, we may freely declare new
limits to them."</p>

<p>Thus we find that the Pope is to
hold a perpetual bag of mitres in his
hand, out of which every aspirant for
the honours of Rome and the lucre of
England is to have his dole. Every
head among us that aches for honours
may now know where to look for
them. Professorships and parishes
need no longer keep the new school
lingering on the edge of Popery; their
<i>consciences</i> (!) may be relieved without
injuring their pockets; they may
allow themselves to "speak out;"
and after half-a-dozen years of the
most stubborn denials of Popery&mdash;of
paltry protests and beggarly equivocation&mdash;of
defending their orthodoxy
in the press, and betraying their apostacy
in the pulpit&mdash;they will be
enabled to turn their backs on Protestantism,
probably with a very useful
addition to their resources, and
start up from Curates and Canons
into "My Lords." England would
give very comfortable room for a
speculation of this kind. Sixpence a
piece from twenty millions of people
would be better than all the Professorships
of both Universities; and a
seat in the House of Lords (which
would be inevitably demanded, and
which would be unhesitatingly conceded
by Whig flexibility) would
place the obscure and the avaricious
very much at their ease.</p>

<p>To a Roman financier the prospect
might have other charms. The present
budget of the Popedom is supposed
to be within a couple of millions
sterling, and even that paid in a manner
by no means creditable to Italian
punctuality. As for the old tributes
from Naples, Spain, and France, we
may fairly return them as <i>nil</i>, those
powers having more use for money
than they possess bullion, and none
of them being secure of army, populace,
or parliament. A twelvemonth,
in these times, may see the monarchs
of the three succeeding to the vacant
apartments of the Orleans dynasty at
Claremont.</p>

<p>But what an incomparable windfall
would England be to the Papal pauperism
of these times! A bishop in
every county gathering the alms of the
faithful! or, if one bishop were not
enough, might not the "sovereign
pontiff," as the little Welsh Bishop
reverently names Pio Nono, make
fifty? He has graciously reserved to
himself the right of "increasing and
multiplying them" to the extent of all
exigencies. We might soon have a
bishop in every city, or a bishop in
every village. We might have those
holy locusts coming on the wing from
every corner of the Continent; those
cormorants of Rome fishing in our
waters, until they carried off their
prey to disgorge it into the capacious
maw of Rome!</p>

<p>And that this operation would take
place, on the first opportunity, is as
certain as that "Peter's pence" were
once raised in England with as much
regularity as the king's taxes; that
every Papist in Europe paid his por<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_749" id="Page_749">[Pg 749]</a></span>tion
of pence to Rome; that every
bishop received his mitre from Rome;
and that Rome never gave anything
without a sum in hand, or a handsome
promissory note&mdash;and that Rome
boasts of being always the same. All
this traffic would be under the name
of charity; the old cry of Judas,
"Ought not this ointment to have
been sold for three hundred pence,
and given to the poor?" would be
echoed by the new keeper of the bag;
and we should establish an annual
drain of our circulation, to which all
the contrivances of taxation would be
child's play. For what could be the
limit to the demands of foreign avarice
invested with domestic authority,
extortion calling itself zeal? or what
could be the limits of a market selling
absolution here, and Paradise hereafter,
to profligate men and silly
women&mdash;to lives wallowing in voluptuousness,
and death-beds groaning in
despair? It has been distinctly stated
that, at the Reformation, <i>one-third</i> of
the whole land of England had been
absorbed into the possession of the
Popish priesthood!</p>

<p>In all the annals of usurpation,
there never was a broader grasp than
in this Bull; in all the annals of
effrontery there never was a more impudent
assumption; but, in all the
annals of infatuation, there never was
an act of more headlong absurdity.
It instantly roused the whole people;
it reinforced every argument of the
honest against Popery; it overthrew
every pretence of the dishonest on
behalf of Popery; and it worked the
still greater wonder of forcing the
loose and the lukewarm, the waverers
and "waiters on the turn of things;"
the "decently" knavish, the "respectably"
hollow, and the "reputably"
unprincipled, to acknowledge that
Popery was really a "presuming kind
of thing;" and that it ought to be, in
some delicate way or other, <i>if possible</i>,
put down.</p>

<p>But England contains other men
than those smirking scandals to manhood.
The nation burst out into a
flame of indignation wherever man
met man: in whatever occupation, in
whatever rank of life, under whatever
form of politics, in all hues of religious
opinion, there was but one language.
"Was ever insolence like
this? Is a foreign friar to carve out
the empire? Is a worshipper of
stocks and stones to teach us religion?
Is a persecutor to mutilate our laws?
Is a despot to scandalise our liberties?
Is the dependent of France, of Austria,
or Spain, or any power that
will suffer him to hang upon it, to be
the actual divider of England among
his dependents? Is a demand of
power and possession, that would not
be endured in any Popish country of
the earth, to be quietly submitted to
in the chief of Protestant kingdoms?
And is this most insolent of all aggressions
to be inflicted by the meanest
of all sovereigns on the most powerful
of all nations, and that nation the
one which has most triumphantly
abjured Popery?&mdash;England&mdash;whose
fathers drove it headlong from the
land, and cashiered a dynasty for
daring to attempt its return; whose
Constitution loathes its tyranny,
whose honour abhors its artifice,
whose literature exposes its deceptions,
and whose religion brands its
apostacy!"</p>

<p>That this description of the national
feeling is not exaggerated, must be evident
from the tone of the numberless
speeches made at the parochial and
provincial meetings, immediately on
the publication of the atrocious Bull.
The clergy of London and Westminster,
as first insulted, took the lead;
and their language expressed the natural
feelings of offence and scorn
excited by this intolerable presumption.
The sentiment was unanimous.</p>

<p>Of course Rome is at her old
work, and every trick is tried to
smooth down the universal disdain.
A Dr Ullathorne, who has taken time
by the forelock, and <i>bemitred</i> himself
without delay, wishes to tell the world
that the Bull is a very harmless bull
indeed; that the Vicars-Apostolic
only wished for a change of name;
and that the appointment of dioceses
is merely what the Wesleyans and
Sectaries effect, in marking out their
preaching districts year by year.</p>

<p>But, do the Wesleyans give their
preachers titles and badges of dignity?
Do they locate them in cathedrals,
build palaces for them, and
enjoin the whole body of the faithful
to "supply the splendour of their
worship and themselves?" Do they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_750" id="Page_750">[Pg 750]</a></span>
declare that everything in religion is
false but Wesleyanism; that all else
have no orders, no Baptism, and no
Christianity; that all other beliefs
are rebels to the supremacy of John
Wesley, and are liable to be punished
as rebels in the coming day of Wesleyan
power? That such poor evasions
should be attempted is a scandal to
the talents of Rome as an <i>equivocator</i>,
but is not less a scandal to the brains
of the man who attempts them, for
they can deceive no one. They certainly
have not deceived "Father
Newman," who daily trumpets forth
the triumph of the Bull; nor "Dr
Wiseman," who has, by virtue of his
red hat, ordered his <i>jubilate</i> to be
chanted in every Popish chapel of
London; nor the Liverpool Papists,
who have actually sung <i>Te Deum</i> on
the national victory of Popery; nor
have they deceived even the English
prelacy, who had gone so much
farther than the winking Virgin, and
seemed not inclined to use their eyes
at all.</p>

<p>Nor will they deceive the people of
Scotland, who, in the land of John
Knox, are not forgotten by the Pope,
but are understood to have allotted
to them seven bishops by his provident
bounty, seven delegates of
Jesuitism, seven ambassadors of his
triple-crowned highness, seven sons
of the Scarlet Lady of Babylon, seven
"purple and fine linen" representatives
of Dives, before he was sent "<i>to
his place</i>."</p>

<p>In the midst of this busy period, a
letter appeared from the pen of the
Premier. It was received by the
multitude with a burst of acclamation;
for this there were reasons of
very different colours. Some were
glad that Ministers could feel <i>anything</i>
on a religious subject; some,
that Lord John was on the national
side; some that, after having so long
raised the suspicions of one side, he
had at last challenged the hostility of
the other.</p>

<p>We must acknowledge that our
gratulation was not altogether so
ardent, and that we conceived this
letter to be very much more the
offspring of his Lordship's fears than
his feelings. It was obviously unfortunate
that his zeal had been kindled
so <i>late</i>, there being no imaginable
doubt that the Pope had marked out
Westminster for the See of his new
Archbishop several years ago. And
it is clear, that the appointment of
one Archbishop would have been as
great an encroachment as the fixture
of fifty. The principle was <i>there</i>, and
it would evidently be prolific. Yet
not a syllable of remonstrance had
transpired. Wisdom was silent in
the streets, and precaution slumbered
within the Cabinet curtains. Whitehall
was as quiet as Lambeth, and
Lambeth of course was Lethe. No
Minister hurried to the palace, with
pallid lips and faltering nerves, like
him who</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Drew Priam's curtain at the dead of night,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To tell him Troy was burned."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>But the Dean and Chapter of Westminster
had actually attempted to
break the slumber, by an address deprecating
the appointment, as utterly
unconstitutional. This occurred in
1848. It was heard of no more, and
silence came again.</p>

<p>As his Lordship's Letter is probably
to be regarded as a Cabinet <i>minute</i>,
we shall give its chief portions <i>verbatim</i>.</p>

<p>It begins by referring to a letter
of the Bishop of Durham, which
termed the Bull "insolent and <i>insidious</i>,"
the latter epithet appearing to
us to have no other merit than that
of alliteration, the measure not being
<i>insidious</i> at all&mdash;but, by a remarkable
deviation from the customary craft of
the Papacy, being one of the most open
and audacious insults on record.</p>

<p>The Letter then proceeds to say,
that its writer, having "promoted to
the utmost of his power the claims of
the Roman Catholics to all civil
rights"&mdash;a fact with which the country
was fully acquainted&mdash;thought
"it right, and even desirable, that the
<i>ecclesiastical system</i> of the Roman
Catholics should be the means of
giving instruction to the numerous
Irish immigrants in London and elsewhere,
who, without such help, would
be left in heathen ignorance."</p>

<p>The latter sentence we do not profess
to understand. Does it allude to
any <i>arrangement</i>, by which the Papacy
was to change the system of simple
superintendence, and adopt Dr Wiseman
as archbishop, after all? Is
this the preliminary to further <i>develop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_751" id="Page_751">[Pg 751]</a></span>ment</i>,
and is the common rumour on
the subject the reverse of a mistake?
How the kind of religion imported by
the legions of Irish beggary into England
was to be purified by a new
episcopal staff, is wholly beyond our
comprehension. Or why the Protestant
people of England, after feeding
the pauperism of Ireland at home,
should be bound to provide for its
heresy here&mdash;or how, for the further
allurement of the superfluous rabble
of Ireland, we are to provide, for
either their poverty or their pride,
the pageant of twelve Popish mitres,
we must leave it to his Lordship to
explain.</p>

<p>His next sentence is more intelligible.</p>

<p>"There is an <i>assumption of power</i>
in all the documents which have come
from Rome&mdash;a pretension to supremacy
over the realm of England, and
a claim to <i>sole and undivided</i> sway,
which is inconsistent with the Queen's
supremacy, with the rights of our
bishops and clergy, and with the
spiritual independence of the nation,
as asserted even in Roman Catholic
times."</p>

<p>How this discovery should have
been delayed till November 1850, in
the apprehension of a public personage
acquainted with the general facts
of history, handling Popish concerns
all his life, and an inveterate supporter
of the Popish Bill of 1829, is
not easily accounted for. But every
man of common intelligence in Europe,
(his Lordship excepted,) knew
that Popery has existed in a perpetual
struggle with <i>all</i> governments
for temporal supremacy, under the
<i>pretence</i> of spiritual; that it has
attempted a constant usurpation of
royal authority even in the Popish
kingdoms; and that its restless appetite
for power requires constant coercion,
even by those governments, to
render it compatible with any government
at all. What is to be said, when
Pio Nono has excommunicated the
Sardinian government before our eyes?
The next sentence is significant:
"I confess that <i>my</i> alarm is not
equal to my indignation."</p>

<p>Does his Lordship mean by this
that we have been frightened by a
shadow, while <i>he</i> has preserved his
fortitude? or that the nation has been
somewhat inclined to play the fool in
its fright, while he has preserved his
serenity through his superior knowledge?
But he then proceeds to
inform us what should be the true
object of national alarm, and that is
Tractarianism!</p>

<p>Without implying that his Lordship
here employs that well-known species
of diplomacy which substitutes conjecture
for reality, we shall tell him
that Tractarianism, though exciting
much regret, and bringing much
discredit on the laxity of discipline
which has so long suffered its existence,
is <i>not</i> the real danger; that,
compared with Popery, it is but the
"fly on the chariot wheel;" and that
its influence is not to be named for a
moment beside the systematic art,
the vast extent, and the indefatigable
ambition of Popery.</p>

<p>We are not much more reassured
by his Lordship's hint of the smallness
of the Pope's territorial power.</p>

<p>"What is the danger to be apprehended
from a foreign prince of <i>no
great power</i>, compared to the danger
within the gates?" &amp;c.</p>

<p>But does his Lordship conceive that
we are afraid of the Pope's territorial
power?&mdash;that we are alarmed at an
invasion of his Hundred Swiss?&mdash;or
that any man ever supposed that a
minister in the Pontine Marshes was
to shake the Religion and State of
England? The Popedom has <i>always</i>
been a narrow territory, and yet the
Papacy has been the great disturber
of Europe for a thousand years.
Does his Lordship doubt that its
weapon was superstition, and that
superstition was once universal? But,
while we can feel no terror at the
sickly absurdities of a few fanatics,
or the low artifices of a few hunters
after vulgar popularity, who have
never reckoned within their ranks
any one man of name, or ability, or
learning, or even of station&mdash;who owe
their sole publicity to what the
Bishop of London calls a "poor
imitation of Popery," and whose bowings
and gesticulations are actually
objects of national ridicule&mdash;we see
a wholly different antagonist in a
system, possessed of the power of the
multitude, addressing itself to every
weakness and pampering every passion
of man, offering every prize to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_752" id="Page_752">[Pg 752]</a></span>
avarice, and stimulating every appetite
for possession; unceasing in
pursuit of all its objects, and making
everything an object; desperately
inimical to religious liberty, and perpetually
labouring to establish over
every people an authority fatal to the
progress of mankind. We see it now
with a hundred and forty millions of
souls in Popish Europe, with nearly all
the Continental thrones Popish, with
hundreds of thousands of monks and
friars devoted to all the purposes of
its ambition, with its seculars mingled
through every population, and with
the wealth of the whole Popish community
ready to be lavished in a crusade
of Monkism. We must confess
that we feel as much anxiety in the
issue of a contest with such a power
as is consistent with a feeling of
courage in the performance of our
duty.</p>

<p>We have never doubted that England,
under the protection of a higher
power than man, and awakened to a
sense of her peril, will triumph in the
most hazardous struggle. But her
safety must be grounded on her vigilance.
The sleeping giant is as helpless
as a child.</p>

<p>So fully are we convinced that
Rome is the <i>real</i> danger, that we not
merely laugh at Tractarianism, in
comparison, but we look with suspicion
on every attempt to set it up as
<i>the</i> danger. To compare this dwarf
with the gigantic bulk of Popery seems
absurd; and we must therefore reject
it as argument altogether. It is also
unfortunate for this bugbear that it
has been so slow in its discovery, and
that the Ministerial terrors have
already slept so long, Tractarianism
being now a well-grown peril&mdash;its
siege of the Church having already
lasted some years beyond the renowned
siege of Troy!</p>

<p>The Letter, however, closes with
the spirit of an enthusiast in the
"good cause,"&mdash;"I will not abate a
jot of heart or hope so long as the
<i>glorious principles</i> and the <i>immortal
martyrs of the Reformation</i> shall be
held in reverence by the great mass
of a nation which looks with contempt
on the <i>mummeries</i> of superstition."</p>

<p>All this is what Dominie Sampson
would have pronounced "prodigious!"
with his loudest and longest suspiration.
And all is eminently curious,
in the man whose whole career has
been devotion to every Popish demand,
and advocacy of every Popish
measure; who has risen into office by
the influence of Popish voices, and
who has been in the <i>intima concilia</i>
of the imaginary Archbishop of Westminster!</p>

<p>Must not Protestants ask, By whose
advice was Mr Wyse planted in the
Greek embassy?&mdash;by whom was Mr
O'Farril planted in the government
of Malta?&mdash;by whom was Mr Shiel
planted in the embassy to Tuscany&mdash;or
rather to the whole of western and
middle Italy, and in immediate
approximation to Rome? Were three
Papists selected for those express,
and at present most important missions,
without a purpose?&mdash;were they
flung up merely by the diplomatic
wheel?&mdash;or were those extraordinary
appointments of untried men produced
by a sudden, and a <i>Papal</i>
demand, for the support of a plan?</p>

<p>But this is a time of wonders, and
his Lordship's conversion may rank
at the summit of them all. However,
there is a reason for everything in
art and nature; and it is said that
a very high personage had a share in
this rapid operation on the Ministerial
understanding; that the question was
asked,&mdash;"Pray, who is to be the sovereign?"
and that the answer was
his Lordship's letter. It concludes
by giving the <i>coup-de-grace</i> to the
character of Popery, of whose present
performances it speaks with scorn, as
"laborious endeavours to <i>confine the
intellect, and enslave the soul</i>."&mdash;(Downing
Street, Nov. 4.)</p>

<p>In the meantime "my Lord Cardinal,"
who had stopped in his posthaste
journey, on learning John
Bull's theological opinions of his Manifesto,
was comforted by an emissary
despatched to inform him that the
bonfires of the 5th of November had
all been suffered to sink into ashes,
and that he would escape any severer
trial of his fortitude than being burnt
in effigy. But the Doctor, now fearless
of his <i>auto-da-f&eacute;</i>, is also said to have
determined on carrying the war into
the enemy's quarters, and showing
that every step which he has taken
has been <i>sanctioned</i> by his denouncers;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_753" id="Page_753">[Pg 753]</a></span>
and that, instead of being the foolish
and impudent intruder which the public
have believed him to be, he has
been actually only the submissive
follower and ready agent of councils
far enough removed from the Quirinal.</p>

<p>We shall advert to but one matter
in addition, yet the most important
of all. From the accession of Pio
Nono, there has been a decisive
change of the old Papal plan. For
the last three hundred years, Popery,
smitten by the Reformation, had
limited its efforts to keeping itself in
existence, the stern power of the
military thrones having prohibited its
excitement of the people. But times
changed; the power of the multitude
increased, the power of the monarchs
diminished, and the appeal was now
to be made to the multitude.
Europe then saw, with sudden astonishment,
a <i>liberal</i> Pope, and heard the
sound of popular emancipation from
the recesses of the Conclave. If the
rash ambition of the King of Sardinia
had not thrown Italy into war, and
his shallow generalship turned the
war into a flight, the plan of popular
appeal would probably have made
Popery the head of Red Republicanism.
But the whole affair was
managed as everything beyond the
confessional is managed by monkery&mdash;and
the Pope was glad to escape
from the blaze which he had kindled
with his own hasty hand.</p>

<p>His restoration by the French
sword, drawn for republicanism in
France and for despotism in Rome,
has set the machinery in movement
again; and we now see its first manufacture
in the actual claim of supremacy
in England. Whether its contemptuous
repulse here will check its
progress abroad, who shall say?
But, that a conspiracy for the extinction
of Protestantism exists in Europe;
that the ten foreign cardinals were
appointed to propagate the plan; and
that it is to be defeated only by
vigilance and principle, there can be
no doubt in the mind of any rational
being.</p>

<p>But, since we began this paper, two
events have occurred, which, trifling
as they may be as to the individuals
concerned, give too clear an evidence
of the spirit of Popery and public men
to be wholly passed by.</p>

<p>That excellent paper, the <i>Standard</i>,
thus briefly states the first: "In
May 1845 the late Lady Pennant
expressed to her parish minister (the
Rev. Mr Briscoe) her intention to
build a church near her residence, in
Wales, for the use of her poor neighbours.
This she also stated to her
daughter, who promised to fulfil it.
This daughter married Lord Fielding,
and brought him a fortune, part of
which, of course, was apparently
pledged to the building of the church.
On Lady Pennant's death, writes the
Bishop of St Asaph to Lord Fielding&mdash;'You
publicly declared that you
purposed to bestow a large sum of
money in founding a church, and all
things belonging to it. <i>You invited
me and my clergy to join in laying the
foundation.</i> You seemed to understand
it so. <i>We certainly understood
it so</i>; and we received <i>the Lord's
Supper</i> together, with this understanding.</p>

<p>"'Now, I must say, that I regard
this as a promise made to me, and
my clergy, as solemnly as it could be
made on earth.'</p>

<p>"Lord Fielding," says the <i>Standard</i>,
"sets about the building,&mdash;plain
proof that he perfectly understood
his duty. Before the completion
of the church, however, his
Lordship falls into the hands of Tractarians,
who, as usual, deliver him over
to Romanist priests, who furnish him
with the <i>miserable</i> arguments, which,
grounded on the two extraordinary
notions, that what a man promises as
a Protestant he is not bound to perform
as a Papist, and that, no distinct
fund having been appropriated in
Lady Pennant's will, he is not <i>bound</i>
to apply any whatever&mdash;finishes by
saying, 'My duty appears clear to
me, to devote that church which is
being built at my own cost, and
which yet remains mine, to the furtherance
of <i>God's truth</i>, as I find he
himself delivered it to his Holy
Catholic Church.'"</p>

<p>So that the result of Lady Pennant's
wish, and her money, left for
a Protestant church, is the building
of a Popish chapel! and the result of
a Protestant bishop's laying the foundation,
is the erection of a place for
the mass and the worship of the
Virgin Mary! We disdain comment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_754" id="Page_754">[Pg 754]</a></span>
on this transaction. But it is eminently
<i>Popish</i>.</p>

<p>The other instance is the attendance
of Mr Hawes, the Under Secretary
of State, at a congratulatory public
meeting in honour of Dr Wiseman's
appointment as a cardinal, and his
actually subscribing money to buy
him a <i>Red Hat</i>.</p>

<p>The office of Under Secretary,
though not one of much public consideration,
and often given to persons
of none whatever, is yet regarded as
extremely <i>confidential</i>; and, in the
instance of Mr Hawes, it has unusual
weight, from his being the actual
representative of the Colonial Secretary
in the House of Commons, Lord
Grey being in the House of Lords.
But Mr Hawes is also understood to
possess a confidence <i>out</i> of his Department,
and to be on the most intimate
terms with the Premier. Indeed, the
admiration of the Under Secretary
for the noble Lord, the delicate attention
of generally escorting him into
the House, and seldom being able to
remain in it after it has lost the light
of his Lordship's countenance&mdash;his
ecstasy of admiration at every sentence
which slips from the Premier's
lips, and the fixedness of his eye on
his Lordship's features during the
sitting&mdash;have often excited the surprise,
and occasionally the amusement,
of the members of the Legislature.
But that Mr Hawes should
have attended a public meeting, or
done any one act on earth in which he
conceived it possible to have produced
a frown on the noble Lord's
brow&mdash;or, indeed, should do anything
without a consciousness of the most
<span class="smcap">PERFECT</span> acquiescence in the most
important quarter&mdash;was among the
"grand improbabilities" of the age.
But Mr Hawes <i>did</i> go to the meeting,
and subscribed for what our
ancestors called a "rag of Popery,"
and what their sons call one of its
"mummeries."</p>

<p>On this subject a correspondent of
the <i>Morning Chronicle</i> writes the following
queries:&mdash;</p>

<p>"<i>Can</i> Lord John Russell be <i>sincere</i>
in his new-born zeal against what he
pronounces the 'mummeries of superstition,'
when he allows one of his
<i>subordinates</i>, Mr B. Hawes, M.P., to
attend a meeting of 'Catholics of the
London district,' for the purpose of
moving a resolution," &amp;c. He adds:
"Let me ask his Lordship, is it true
that his Under Secretary for the Colonies,
besides speaking at the meeting,
has publicly subscribed &pound;10 towards
procuring one of those said 'mummeries'&mdash;a
Cardinal's hat&mdash;for Dr
Wiseman?" To this, the only answer
given by Mr Hawes is, that he
declined signing the Popish resolutions,
but that he spoke, and offered
to give his tribute, &amp;c., from friendship
to the Doctor; which this Papist,
however, graciously condescended to
receive.</p>

<p>Now, if Mr Hawes were attending
to his parental trade on this occasion,
there would have been nothing to
say, but that it showed the smartness
of an expert trafficker. But, as a
fragment of the Ministry, he had
another character to sustain, and he
ought to have been aware of the conclusions
which would be drawn, by
both Papists and Protestants, as to
the degree of approval under which
he might have acted.</p>

<p>The "Cardinal's hat," too, by no
means mends the matter. If his
<i>friendship</i> for Dr Wiseman must overflow
to the amount of &pound;10, could it
have taken no less official shape?
Might he not have made it up to the
Doctor in teacups or teaspoons, in a
dozen of pocket-handkerchiefs, or in
an addition to his shoes and stockings?
But the hat is a <i>badge</i>: it has
the effect of a <i>cockade</i>. What if it is
a thing of red stuff? What is a
cockade?&mdash;a thing of ribbon&mdash;which,
however, makes the difference between
armies!</p>

<p>Without any particular respect for
Mr Hawes' shrewdness, we cannot
believe that he was unacquainted with
the natural conclusions; nor do we
believe that it <i>can</i> be passed over,
when the day comes for national inquiry
into the whole course of Papal
politics in England for the last half-dozen
years. Meanwhile, the spirit
of the people is high, their determination
is decided, and the time is at
hand for a great restoration to the
principles of England.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_755" id="Page_755">[Pg 755]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="INDEX_TO_VOL_LXVIII" id="INDEX_TO_VOL_LXVIII">INDEX TO VOL. LXVIII.</a></h2>


<p>Abinger, lord, 563.<br />
<br />
Adelaide, madame, and Chateaubriand, 44, 45.<br />
<br />
Adolphus, Mr, 553.<br />
<br />
Afghanistan, Peel's conduct on the disasters in, 359.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Africa, North, military life in</span>, 415.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">African Sporting</span>, 231.<br />
<br />
Agdolo, colonel, the case of, 343.<br />
<br />
Agricultural Interest, state and prospects of the, 109.<br />
<br />
Agricultural produce, comparative value of, 112<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;amount of depreciation in it, 617</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;direct and indirect burdens on it, 614.</span><br />
<br />
Agriculture, capital invested in, 119<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and manufactures, comparative importance of, 115</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;relations of small farming to, <a href="#Page_675">675</a>, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
Alderson, baron, 553, 559, 569.<br />
<br />
Aldossar, captain, 311, <i>et seq.</i>, 317.<br />
<br />
Alexander, the emperor, and his father's dethronement, 338, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Alfieri, specimens of eloquence from, <a href="#Page_649">649</a>.<br />
<br />
Algeria, sketches of the war in, 415.<br />
<br />
Allen, rev. Mr, trial of, for duelling, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Alton Locke</span>, review of, 592.<br />
<br />
Andelot, brother of Coligny, 18.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Anna Hammer</span>, 573.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Ancient and Modern Eloquence</span>, <a href="#Page_645">645</a>.<br />
<br />
Anthony of Bourbon, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Antoinette de Bourbon, 2.<br />
<br />
Architecture, medi&aelig;val, on, 219.<br />
<br />
Aristotle, his definition of the poet, 480.<br />
<br />
Army, errors of Louis XVIII. regarding the, 35<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the Prussian, rise of, 519.</span><br />
<br />
Art, increasing taste for, in Great Britain, 77<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;early, its absorption in architecture, 219.</span><br />
<br />
Aumale, Francis, count d', 7<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his career, 9, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the duke d', his power, popularity, &amp;c. 12.</span><br />
<br />
Austria, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and of imports of corn from, 130</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the war between, and Frederick the Great, 522, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and Hungary, conduct of Great Britain regarding, 329</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and Sardinia, 327.</span><br />
<br />
Aytoun, William, the architect of Heriot's hospital, 227.<br />
<br />
Bacon, account of, by Symonds d'Ewes, 142<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his definition of the poet, 486.</span><br />
<br />
Balafr&eacute; duke of Guise, 19.<br />
<br />
Bar, the English, Ledru Rollin on, 170.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Baronial and Ecclesiastical</span> Antiquities of Scotland, the, 217.<br />
<br />
Bayley, baron, on duelling, <a href="#Page_719">719</a>.<br />
<br />
Bean, the attack on the queen by, 552.<br />
<br />
Bechuanas, sketches of the, 237.<br />
<br />
Belgium, state of, exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and of imports of corn from, 129.</span><br />
<br />
Bellingham, the case of, 564.<br />
<br />
Benningsen, general, 338, 341, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Bentinck, lord George, exposure of free trade statistics by, 123.<br />
<br />
B&egrave;ze, Theodore de, anecdote of, 460.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Billings' Antiquities of Scotland</span>, 217.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Bisset's memoirs of sir A. Mitchell</span>, 516.<br />
<br />
Bodkin, Mr, counsel for Oxford, 553.<br />
<br />
Bolza, count Joseph, 344.<br />
<br />
Borthwick castle, ruins of, 226.<br />
<br />
Bossuet, example of the oratory of, <a href="#Page_656">656</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Bouill&eacute;'s</span> lives of the Guises, vol. i., 1<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;vol. ii., 456.</span><br />
<br />
Bourbon, the constable of, 4.<br />
<br />
Bourbon and Guise, struggles between the houses of, 456.<br />
<br />
Bourbons, difficulties of the, on the restoration, 36.<br />
<br />
Brandenburg, the electorate of, 517.<br />
<br />
Brant&ocirc;me, account of the cardinal of Lorraine, by, 8.<br />
<br />
Brazil, state of exports of cotton to, 133.<br />
<br />
Brick duty, repeal of the, 612.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Britain, the defences of</span>, <a href="#Page_713">713</a>.<br />
<br />
British farmer, position of, compared with the foreign, 615, <a href="#Page_682">682</a>.<br />
<br />
Brougham, lord, and the criminal law reform, 357<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his speech on the Durham clergy case, 378, <a href="#Page_655">655</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on ancient and modern eloquence, <a href="#Page_657">657</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Bulau, Professor</span>, his work on the Mysteries of History, 335.<br />
<br />
Buller, Mr Justice, on duelling, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
Bullion committee, and its report, 360.<br />
<br />
Buonaparte, Lucien, and madame Recamier, 42.<br />
<br />
Buonaparte, Napoleon, the return of, from Elba, 37<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;character of, by Chateaubriand, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Chateaubriand on his fall, 39</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;persecution of madame Recamier by, 40</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and the Bourbons, Chateaubriand's pamphlet on, 34.</span><br />
<br />
Burke, example of the oratory of, <a href="#Page_654">654</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Burnet's landscape painting in oil</span>, 185.<br />
<br /><br />
Caerlaveroc castle, ruins of, 225.<br />
<br />
Calderon, the dramas of, 539.<br />
<br />
Calisto y Melib&oelig;a, drama of, 536.<br />
<br />
Cameleopard, hunting the, 238.<br />
<br />
Campbell, sir John, at Frost's trial, 379, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;counsel on Oxford's case, 553</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and on Lord Cardigan's, <a href="#Page_725">725</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his Lives of the Chancellors, &amp;c., 374, <i>note</i>.</span><br />
<br />
Canada, Rollin on the conduct of England toward, 166.<br />
<br />
Canning, political intrigue of, 211.<br />
<br />
Capital, agricultural and manufacturing, 119<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;recent legislation directed to favour, 115.</span><br />
<br />
Capitalists, English, Rollin on, 168<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Peel's connection with the, 362.</span><br />
<br />
Caracci, landscape style of the, 192, 193.<br />
<br />
Cardigan, the earl of, trial of, 377, <a href="#Page_720">720</a>.<br />
<br />
Cardonnel, Adam de, Scottish views by, 228.<br />
<br />
Cash payments, the resumption of, in 1819, 360.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Castellane's military life in North Africa</span>, 415.<br />
<br />
Catherine of Medicis, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Catholic question, Palmerston's speech on the, 215<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Peel's conduct on the, 355, 363.</span><br />
<br />
Catholic emancipation, results of, 363.<br />
<br />
Catiline, speeches of, from Sallust, <a href="#Page_652">652</a>.<br />
<br />
Cattle, decline in the value of, 108.<br />
<br />
Cavaignac in Algeria, 417, 418.<br />
<br />
Cavalry, on the use of, 531.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Caxton, Pisistratus</span>, My Novel by, part i., 247<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part ii., 393</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part iii., 499</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part iv., <a href="#Page_627">627</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Celestina, the drama of, 535.<br />
<br />
Changarnier, general, in Algeria, 417.<br />
<br />
Charles V., war between, and Francis I., 4<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;siege of Metz by, 14.</span><br />
<br />
Charles IX., notices of, 458, <i>et seq. passim</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 471.</span><br />
<br />
Charles X., Chateaubriand's loyalty to, 43.<br />
<br />
Charles, cardinal of Lorraine, character and career of, 11, 14.<br />
<br />
Chartist outbreak, the trials for, 381.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Chateaubriand's memoirs</span>, 33.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Chess match, the London and Edinburgh</span>, 97.<br />
<br />
Chess player's Chronicle, the, on the London and Edinburgh match, 100.<br />
<br />
China, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Peel's conduct regarding the war in, 359.</span><br />
<br />
Christoval de Vines, the dramas of, 538.<br />
<br />
Cicero, the representative of Roman oratory, <a href="#Page_645">645</a><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the education of the orator, <a href="#Page_660">660</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Civilisation, influence of peasant properties on, <a href="#Page_678">678</a>.<br />
<br />
Clairvoyance, remarks on, 275.<br />
<br />
Claude, duke of Guise, career of, 2<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 13.</span><br />
<br />
Claude Lorraine, the landscapes of, 192, 193.<br />
<br />
Clergy, the English, Ledru Rollin on, 169.<br />
<br />
Coal as a pigment, on, 187.<br />
<br />
Cockburn, Mr, counsel for M'Naughten, 564, 565.<br />
<br />
C&oelig;lius, the oratory of, <a href="#Page_658">658</a>.<br />
<br />
Coleridge, Mr Justice, 564.<br />
<br />
Coligny, admiral, sketches of, 16, <i>et seq.</i>, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his murder, 470.</span><br />
<br />
Commerce, British, injury inflicted on, by intervention abroad, 324.<br />
<br />
Commercial crisis of 1847, the, 124.<br />
<br />
Condamine, Charles Marie de la, 352.<br />
<br />
Cond&eacute;, the prince of, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 468.</span><br />
<br />
Constant, B., sketch of Madame Recamier by, 41.<br />
<br />
Convulsionnaires, the, 352.<br />
<br />
Cordiner's Scottish views, on, 228.<br />
<br />
Corn, importations of, compared with exports of cotton, 128.<br />
<br />
Corn laws, Peel's conduct regarding the, 355<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;false application of political economy shown in the repeal of, <a href="#Page_672">672</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Laing on, <a href="#Page_682">682</a>, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
Corneille, the declamation of, <a href="#Page_648">648</a>.<br />
<br />
Cosel, the countess, 348.<br />
<br />
Cotton manufactures, relations of free trade to, 123, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;effects of free trade on, 126, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;exports of, compared with imports of corn, 128</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;exports of, at various times, 124, 125</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;yarn, exports of, 1845 and 1848, 126.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Courtship in the time of James I.</span>, 141.<br />
<br />
Courvoisier, the trial of, 378<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;sketch of, 545.</span><br />
<br />
Cox, D., the water-colour painter, 186.<br />
<br />
Craniology, fundamental error of, 266.<br />
<br />
Crichton castle, architecture of, 225.<br />
<br />
Crime, true causes of the increase of, 357.<br />
<br />
Criminal, responsibility of the, 547, <i>et seq.</i>, <a href="#Page_712">712</a>.<br />
<br />
Criminal law, Peel's reform in the, 357.<br />
<br />
Croix, madame de la, 351.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Crowe's night side of nature</span>, review of, 265.<br />
<br />
Crowther, lieut., the duelling case of, <a href="#Page_719">719</a>.<br />
<br />
Cultivation, effects of peasant properties on, <a href="#Page_675">675</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Cumming's South Africa</span>, 231.<br />
<br />
Currency measures of 1819, Peel's, 360.<br />
<br />
<br />
Dairsie, church of, 224.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Daisy</span>, the, by &#916;, 471.<br />
<br />
Daun, Marshal, defeat of, at Leuthen, 529.<br />
<br />
Debt, effects of the resumption of cash payments on, 361.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Defences of Britain, the</span>, <a href="#Page_713">713</a>.<br />
<br />
Delta, a Wild-Flower Garland by<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;The Daisy, 471</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;The White Rose, 472</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;The Sweetbriar, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;The Wallflower, 473.</span><br />
<br />
Demosthenes, the representative of Greek oratory, <a href="#Page_645">645</a><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;example of his, <a href="#Page_653">653</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Denman, Lord, Oxford tried before, 553<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and Lord Cardigan, <a href="#Page_725">725</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Denmark, conduct of Britain to, 328.<br />
<br />
Despotic governments, danger of revolutionary fervour to, 321<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;oratory impossible under, <a href="#Page_647">647</a>.</span><br />
<br />
D'Ewes, Symonds, the courtship of, 114.<br />
<br />
Dewint, the water-colour painter, 186.<br />
<br />
Diana of Poitiers, notices of, 11, 456.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Dies Boreales.</span> No. VIII.<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Christopher under Canvass, 479</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on Dugald Stewart's ideal of the Poet, 480, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
Direct taxes, distribution of the, 614.<br />
<br />
Direct and indirect taxation, on, 623.<br />
<br />
Doppelgangers, on, 273, 276.<br />
<br />
Domenichino, the style of, 192, 193.<br />
<br />
Drama, the English and Spanish, connection between, 537<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the modern, the declamation of, <a href="#Page_648">648</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Dramatic art, capabilities of the French for, 415.<br />
<br />
Dreams, on, 273.<br />
<br />
Dresden, the Austrian siege of, 532.<br />
<br />
Dreux, the battle of, 461.<br />
<br />
Drummond, Mr, M'Naughten's trial for the murder of, 561.<br />
<br />
Duelling, trials for, <a href="#Page_712">712</a>.<br />
<br />
Dutch school of landscape, the, 191.<br />
<br />
<br />
East, oratory unknown in the, <a href="#Page_659">659</a>.<br />
<br />
Ecclesiastical architecture, on, 217.<br />
<br />
Economist, the, on the American President's message, 132<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the increased exports to the East, 134</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the state of the home market, 135.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Edinburgh and London chess match</span>, the, 97.<br />
<br />
Egypt, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and of import of corn from, 130.</span><br />
<br />
Elephant, hunting the, 239.<br />
<br />
Elgin cathedral, state of, 220.<br />
<br />
Ellenborough, lord, on our foreign policy, 334.<br />
<br />
Elliott, the duelling case of, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Eloquence, ancient and modern</span>, <a href="#Page_645">645</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">England, Ledru Rollin, on</span>, 160<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;<span class="smcap">the Popish partition of</span>, <a href="#Page_745">745</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;taste for landscape painting in, 185</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the water-colour painters of, 186</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;neglect of Spanish literature in, 535</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;defective training to oratory in, <a href="#Page_662">662</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;modern style of it in, <a href="#Page_666">666</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;extent of unimproved land in, <a href="#Page_686">686</a>.</span><br />
<br />
English church, Ledru Rollin on the, 168<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;drama, connection of, with the Spanish, 537.</span><br />
<br />
Erskine, Mr, defence of Hadfield by, 552<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;example of the oratory of, <a href="#Page_655">655</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Europe, Laing's observations on</span>, <a href="#Page_671">671</a><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;importance of oratory in, <a href="#Page_659">659</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;extent of unimproved land in, <a href="#Page_686">686</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Exhibition of 1851, the</span>, 278<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;of paintings, the, 77.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Factories, number of, in the United States, 132.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Family Feud, a</span>, 174.<br />
<br />
Farmers, loss sustained by the, through free trade, 112<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;their conduct toward their landlords, 113</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;their condition as purchasers of manufactures, 135</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;mode of assessing them for the income-tax, 620.</span><br />
<br />
Figueroa, denunciations of the drama by, 539.<br />
<br />
Fittler's Scotia Depicta, on, 228.<br />
<br />
Flamboyant architecture, the, in Scotland, 224.<br />
<br />
Flanders, the peasant proprietors of, <a href="#Page_675">675</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Flemish school of landscape painting, the, 191.<br />
<br />
Flemming, colonel, sketches of, 348.<br />
<br />
Follett, sir W., 564, <a href="#Page_726">726</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Foreign affairs</span>, 319.<br />
<br />
Foreign farmer, advantages of the position of the, 615, <a href="#Page_683">683</a>.<br />
<br />
Foreign policy, Peel's, review of, 360.<br />
<br />
Forey, major, in Africa, 417, 418.<br />
<br />
Forsyth's Beauties of Scotland, on, 228.<br />
<br />
Fouch&eacute;, aversion of Chateaubriand to, 38.<br />
<br />
Fouvert, fidelity of, to the duke of Guise, 3.<br />
<br />
Fox, sketch of, by Ward, 207<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the accession and fall of, 214.</span><br />
<br />
France during the sixteenth century, connection of the Guises with, 1, <i>et seq.</i>, 456, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;impatience of repose in, 36</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;state of exports of cotton to, 127</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and of imports of corn from, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;moderation of England toward, 161</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;defence of, by Ledru Rollin, 164</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;rapid changes of property in, 168</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;aggressive spirit of, 319</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;English institutions unadapted to, 320</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;value of Prussia as a barrier against, 516</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;neglect of Spanish literature in, 535.</span><br />
<br />
Francis I., sketches of, 2, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 11.</span><br />
<br />
Francis II., notices of, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Francis of Lorraine, death of, 5.<br />
<br />
Francis, the attack on the Queen by, 552.<br />
<br />
Frederick the Great, career of, 520.<br />
<br />
Frederick William I., character of, 518<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;II., character, &amp;c. of, <i>ib. et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Free-trade and our cotton manufactures</span>, 123<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;depreciation of agricultural produce under, 112</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;review of Peel's conduct regarding, 365</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;relations of taxation to, 617.</span><br />
<br />
Free-traders, representations of, regarding the state of the country, 106<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;their encomiums on sir R. Peel, 354.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Freedom, the masquerade of</span>, 475.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">French wars of religion</span>, the, 456<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;tragedy, the perfection of, <a href="#Page_647">647</a>.</span><br />
<br />
French, military abilities of the, 415.<br />
<br />
Frost, the trial of, 379.<br />
<br />
Funds, taxation of the, 620.<br />
<br />
<br />
Galgacus, the speech of, <a href="#Page_651">651</a>.<br />
<br />
Game-law revolt in Saxony, 347.<br />
<br />
Gemsbok, description of the, 234.<br />
<br />
George III., Hadfield's attack on, 551.<br />
<br />
Germany, courts of, sketches of, 348.<br />
<br />
Gibbon's political economy, on, 620, <i>note</i>.<br />
<br />
Gil of the green trousers, drama of, 543.<br />
<br />
Girtin the painter, 186.<br />
<br />
Glasgow Daily Mail, letter from the, on recent legislation, 138<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the exhibition of 1851, 286, 288.</span><br />
<br />
Glockner, a Bavarian adventurer, 429.<br />
<br />
Gouge, rev. Mr, 142, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Graham, sir James, views of, regarding the prices of grain, 107.<br />
<br />
Grain, views of the free-traders regarding prices of, 107.<br />
<br />
Grattan, Mr, the oratory of, <a href="#Page_656">656</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Great Britain, the Defences of</span>, <a href="#Page_736">736</a>,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;increasing taste for art in, 77</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;prices at which wheat can be grown at in, 109</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;her moderation toward France, 161</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Rollin on her conduct in the opening of the war, 164</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;extent of her interests, 319</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;effects on herself of her intervention in the Peninsula, 323</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;encouragement given by her to foreign liberalism, 324</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;her defenceless state, 333</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Prussia her natural ally, 516.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Great Unknown, the</span>, <a href="#Page_698">698</a>.<br />
<br />
Greece, conduct of Britain toward, 330.<br />
<br />
Greek oratory, Demosthenes the representative of, <a href="#Page_645">645</a>.<br />
<br />
Green, the dramas of, 538.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Green hand</span>, the, a short yarn, part xi., 48<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part xii., 291</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;a wind-up, 433.</span><br />
<br />
Gregory, professor, his translation of Reichenbach's researches, 265, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Grose's Scottish antiquities, on, 228.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Guise, Bouill&eacute;'s Lives</span> of the House of, vol i., 1<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;vol. ii., 456</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Claude, duke of, 2, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Francis, 9, <i>et seq.</i>; 457, <i>et seq. passim</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his murder, 464</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and Bourbon, struggle between the houses of, 456.</span><br />
<br />
Gurney, baron, 548, 553.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hadfield, James, the attack on George III. by, 551.<br />
<br />
Hamilton, W., the attack on the Queen by, 553.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Hamm's campaign in Schleswig-Holstein</span>, 308.<br />
<br />
Hanover, exports of cotton to, 127.<br />
<br />
Hanse Towns, exports of cotton to, 127.<br />
<br />
Hardenberg, Prince, the territorial reforms of, <a href="#Page_680">680</a>.<br />
<br />
Havil, the water-colour painter, 186.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Head's defenceless state of Britain</span>, <a href="#Page_736">736</a>.<br />
<br />
Helsham, Captain, trial of, <a href="#Page_719">719</a>.<br />
<br />
Henry VIII., enmity of, to the Guises, 9.<br />
<br />
Henry II. of France, notices of, 11, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;III., 467, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;IV., 468, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;V., Chateaubriand's speech for, 46.</span><br />
<br />
Henry of Guise, character, &amp;c. of, 465.<br />
<br />
Heriot's hospital, architecture of, 227.<br />
<br />
High treason, trial of Frost for, 379<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tindal's definition of, 380.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">History, the mysteries</span> of, 335.<br />
<br />
Hobbima, the style of, 88, 193.<br />
<br />
Hobert, chief-justice, 144, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Hohenstein, game-law revolt at, 347.<br />
<br />
Holland, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and of imports of corn, 129.</span><br />
<br />
Home market, value of the, 134.<br />
<br />
Horace on the Poet, 493.<br />
<br />
Hotham, baron, on duelling, <a href="#Page_716">716</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Hours in Spain</span>, 534.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">House of Guise</span>, the, 1, 456.<br />
<br />
Huguenots, the wars with the, 456, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;massacre of, at Vassy, 459.</span><br />
<br />
Hungarian exiles, interference of England on behalf of the, 329.<br />
<br />
Hungary, conduct of Great Britain regarding, 329.<br />
<br />
<br />
Imagination, Dugald Stewart on, 480.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Income-tax, renewal of the</span>, 611<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Peel's conduct in imposing, 359</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;inequalities in assessment of, 620.</span><br />
<br />
India, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;of exports and imports, 134</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;growth of British power in, 163</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Peel's conduct regarding, 359.</span><br />
<br />
Indirect taxation, pressure of, on agricultural produce, 614<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and direct, comparison of, 623.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Industry of the people</span>, the, 106<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;mutual dependence of various branches of, 115.</span><br />
<br />
Inheritance, law of, relations of small properties to, <a href="#Page_679">679</a>.<br />
<br />
Insanity in connection with crime, on, 547, <i>et seq.</i>, <a href="#Page_712">712</a>.<br />
<br />
Intervention, the system of, 322, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Ireland, English institutions unadapted to, 320<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;police force introduced by Peel into, 356</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;results of Catholic emancipation in, 363</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;exemption of, from the income-tax, 622.</span><br />
<br />
Italian school of landscape painting, the, 191, 192.<br />
<br />
Italy, the French invasion of, under Francis I., 3<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Palmerston's defence of his policy toward, 326.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Jackson, Cyril, 201.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">James I., courtship in the time of</span>, 141.<br />
<br />
Jarnac, battle of, 468.<br />
<br />
Jeffcott, the duelling case of, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Jew bill, the</span>, 73.<br />
<br />
Jew, reasons against admission of, to the legislature, 73<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the modern, his character, 599.</span><br />
<br />
Joinville, Henry prince of, 19.<br />
<br />
John, cardinal of Lorraine, character and career of, 7<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 13.</span><br />
<br />
Johnson on duelling, <a href="#Page_714">714</a>.<br />
<br />
Jones, Inigo, not the architect of Heriot's hospital, 227.<br />
<br />
Jones, trial of, with Frost, 381, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Journalism, a lecture on</span>, <a href="#Page_691">691</a>.<br />
<br />
Juan de la Cueva, the dramas of, 538.<br />
<br />
Judges, Townsend's Lives of the, 374<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;decision of the, regarding insanity, 549.</span><br />
<br />
Jury trial in England, Rollin on, 168.<br />
<br />
Jutland, sketches of, 315.<br />
<br />
<br />
Kabyles, contests of the French with the, 417.<br />
<br />
Kelly, Mr Fitzroy, 388, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Kerr, R., letter from, on the exhibition of 1851, 286, 288.<br />
<br />
Kinkel, Godfrey, a Family Feud by, 174.<br />
<br />
Kolin, battle of, 526.<br />
<br />
Kuruman, missionary station of, 237.<br />
<br /><br />
Labourers, effects of free trade on, 136.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">La Decadence d'Angleterre</span>, Ledru Rollin's, 160.<br />
<br />
La Harpe and Madame Recamier, 41.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Laing's Observations on Europe</span>, <a href="#Page_671">671</a>.<br />
<br />
Land, unimproved, in England and the Continent, <a href="#Page_686">686</a>.<br />
<br />
Landed interest, burdens on the, 614.<br />
<br />
Landed property, transfer of, 168.<br />
<br />
Landlords, prospects of the, 109<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;apathy of, toward their tenantry, 113.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Landscape painting in oil</span>, 185.<br />
<br />
Landscape, passion for, in England, 185.<br />
<br />
Latour Maubourg, general, 34.<br />
<br />
Lawyers, English, Rollin on, 170.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Lecture on Journalism, a</span>, <a href="#Page_691">691</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Ledru Rollin on England</span>, 160.<br />
<br />
Legislature, reasons against the admission of the Jew to, 74.<br />
<br />
Leuthen, battle of, 529.<br />
<br />
Lewis, Mr, on the London and Edinburgh chess match, 101.<br />
<br />
Liberal institutions, danger of forcing, on nations unprepared, 320.<br />
<br />
Liberty, necessity of, to oratory, <a href="#Page_646">646</a>.<br />
<br />
Lion, hunting the, 235, 236.<br />
<br />
Litakoo, missionary station of, 237.<br />
<br />
Lombardy, conduct of Palmerston regarding, 327.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">London and Edinburgh chess match</span>, the, 97.<br />
<br />
London, increasing taste for pictures in, 77<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;sketch of, by Ledru Rollin, 162</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;police force, established by Peel, 357.</span><br />
<br />
Lope de Vega, the dramas of, 539.<br />
<br />
Lords, trial of Lord Cardigan before the, <a href="#Page_725">725</a>.<br />
<br />
Lorraine, celebrity of the house of, 1<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Francis of, slain at Pavia, 5</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;John, cardinal of, 7</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and Charles II., 456, <i>et seq. passim</i>, 466.</span><br />
<br />
Louis XII., marriage and death of, 2.<br />
<br />
Louis XVIII., the entry of, into Paris, 35<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his difficulties, 36</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;conversation of Chateaubriand with, 38.</span><br />
<br />
Louis Philippe, fall of, foreseen by Chateaubriand, 44<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;remarkable interviews between them, <i>ib. et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
Louvre, the exhibition in the, 77.<br />
<br />
Ludlow, sergeant, at Frost's trial, 380.<br />
<br />
<br />
Macaulay on the restoration of the Bourbons, 36.<br />
<br />
Mackintosh, sir James, and the reforms in criminal law, 357.<br />
<br />
M'Naughten, the trial of, for murder, 378, 548, 561<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;interview with, 570.</span><br />
<br />
Madness, degree of, necessary to exonerate from crime, 547, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Magnetism, Reichenbach's researches in, 266.<br />
<br />
Malta, state of exports of cotton to, 127.<br />
<br />
Manchester economists, the, 124.<br />
<br />
Mansurow, colonel, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
Manufacturers and agriculturists, comparative numbers of the, 115.<br />
<br />
Manufactures, capital invested in, 119<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;alleged value of the proposed exhibition to, 278</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the income tax imposed for behoof of, 612</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;direct burdens on, 614.</span><br />
<br />
Marignano, the battle of, 3.<br />
<br />
Marin, lieutenant, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
Marlow, the dramas of, 538.<br />
<br />
Mary, the empress, wife of Paul, 343.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Masquerade of freedom</span>, the, 475.<br />
<br />
Massena and Madame Recamier, 41.<br />
<br />
Maule, Mr, 383.<br />
<br />
Maule, Mr justice, 553.<br />
<br />
Mayenne, the marquis of, 11.<br />
<br />
Mayo, Dr, his letters on popular superstitions, 274.<br />
<br />
Megulp as a varnish, on, 195.<br />
<br />
M&eacute;r&eacute;, Poltrot de, the assassin of Guise, 464.<br />
<br />
Mesmeric trance, theory &amp;c. of the, 274.<br />
<br />
Metz, defence of, by Guise, 14.<br />
<br />
Mexico, exports of cotton to, 133.<br />
<br />
Milanese, conquest of the, by Francis I., 3.<br />
<br />
Milianah, combat at, 417<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;sieges &amp;c. of, 422.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Military Life in North Africa</span>, 415<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;art, capabilities of the French for the, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<br />
Ministry, probable policy of the, regarding the income tax, 611.<br />
<br />
Minto, lord, proceedings of, in Italy, 326.<br />
<br />
Mirfin, the duelling case of, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Mitchell, sir Andrew, the memoirs of</span>, 516.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Modern state trials</span>, part i., Frost, &amp;c., 373<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part ii., Oxford and M'Naughten, 545</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;part iii., Duelling, <a href="#Page_712">712</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Mohamed Ould Caid Osman, adventures &amp;c. of, 426.<br />
<br />
Moncontour, battle of, 469.<br />
<br />
Montesquiou, murder of Cond&eacute; by, 468.<br />
<br />
Montluc, a partisan of the Guises, 18, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Montmorency, the constable de, 17, 456, <i>et seq. passim</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his death, 467.</span><br />
<br />
Moral insanity, the modern dogma of, 558.<br />
<br />
Mulgrave, lord, 205, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">My novel</span>, by Pisistratus Caxton<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;initial chapter, showing how my novel came to be written, 247</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. ii., 250</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. iii., 252</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. iv., 254</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. v., 256</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. vi., 257</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. vii., 258</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. viii., 260</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. ix., 261</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. x., 393</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xi., 399</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xii., 405</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xiii., 414</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Book II., initial chapter, showing how this book came to have initial chapters, 499</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. ii., 500</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. iii., 504</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. iv., 507</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. v., 508</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. vi., 511</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. vii., <a href="#Page_627">627</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. viii., <a href="#Page_630">630</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. ix., <a href="#Page_632">632</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. x., <a href="#Page_634">634</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xi., <a href="#Page_638">638</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xii., <a href="#Page_640">640</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">My peninsular medal</span>, part viii., chap. xix., 20<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;chap. xx., and last, 22.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Mysteries of history</span>, the, 335.<br />
<br /><br />
Naples, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;lord Minto's proceedings at, 326.</span><br />
<br />
Napoleon, resistance in Spain to, 534.<br />
<br />
National debt, objects of the radicals regarding the, 109.<br />
<br />
National industry, probable effects of the exhibition of 1851 on, 283.<br />
<br />
National institute, exhibition of the, 77.<br />
<br />
Newgate chapel, a visit to, 545.<br />
<br />
New Holland, exports of cotton to, 127.<br />
<br />
Newport, the chartist outbreak at, 381.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Night side of nature</span>, the, 265.<br />
<br />
Norman architecture, remains of, in Scotland, 223.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">North Africa, military life in</span>, 415.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Oil, landscape painting in</span>, by Burnet, 185<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;and water colours, comparison between, 190.</span><br />
<br />
Omars, the, an Arab tribe, 423.<br />
<br />
Oratory, extent of powers necessary for, <a href="#Page_645">645</a><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;ancient study of, <a href="#Page_660">660</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Orleans, the duchess of, and Chateaubriand, 44, 45.<br />
<br />
Oryx, description of the, 234.<br />
<br />
Oued Foddha, combat of, 417.<br />
<br />
Oxford, E., sketch of, 546<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the case of, 548, 551, 553, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;interview with, 571.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Pacifico, M., 330.<br />
<br />
Pahlen, count, 337, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Paintings, the exhibitions of, 77.<br />
<br />
Palmerston, lord, the first appearance of, 214<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the probable prices of grain, 107</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;defence of the Spanish intervention by, 322, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the state of Spain, 325</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on that of Italy, 326</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;account of the Greek affair by, 330.</span><br />
<br />
Panin, count, 338.<br />
<br />
Par&eacute;, Ambrose, 10.<br />
<br />
Paris, entry of Louis XVIII. into, 35<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;removal of Napoleon's remains to, 39.</span><br />
<br />
Parke, Mr Baron, at Frost's trial, 380.<br />
<br />
Parker, admiral, his proceedings at Sicily, 326<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;interference of, on behalf of Turkey, 330</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;in Greece, 331.</span><br />
<br />
Parliament, Peel's appearances in, 368<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the style of eloquence in, <a href="#Page_667">667</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Pate, Robert, the attack on the queen by, 553, 569.<br />
<br />
Patteson, Mr Justice, on duelling, <a href="#Page_717">717</a>.<br />
<br />
Paul, the emperor, history of the dethronement and death of, 336.<br />
<br />
Pavia, the battle of, 5.<br />
<br />
Peasant properties, the advantages and disadvantages of, <a href="#Page_675">675</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Peasantry, state of the, in Saxony, 347.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Peel, sir Robert</span>, 354<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his anticipations regarding the price of grain, 107</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;character of the legislation of, 115</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;circumstances under which he imposed the income tax, 612</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on taxing the funds, 621.</span><br />
<br />
Peninsula, intervention in the, 322.<br />
<br />
Pennant's Scottish views, on, 228.<br />
<br />
Perceval, Palmerston first brought forward by, 214<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Bellingham's trial for the murder of, 564.</span><br />
<br />
Pericles, example of the oratory of, <a href="#Page_653">653</a>.<br />
<br />
Peronne, relief of, by Guise, 7.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Phipps' memoirs of R. P. Ward</span>, review of, 199.<br />
<br />
Phrenology, fundamental error of, 266.<br />
<br />
Physicians, the, on moral insanity, 548.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Pictures of the season</span>, the, 77.<br />
<br />
Pious Martha, the drama of, 542.<br />
<br />
Pirna, Frederick the Great at, 524.<br />
<br />
Pitt, charges of Ledru Rollin against, 164<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;ancedote of, in connection with the treason trials, 203</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;letter of, on the peace of Amiens, 209</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;letter to R. P. Ward from, 210</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;intrigue of Canning regarding, 211.</span><br />
<br />
Poet, the, on Dugald Stewart's ideal of the, 480, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Horace on the, 493, <i>et seq.</i></span><br />
<br />
Poland, persecution of the Protestants in, 519, 520.<br />
<br />
Police, introduction of the system of, 356.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Political and literary biography</span>, 199.<br />
<br />
Political economy, misapplications of, by travellers, <a href="#Page_671">671</a>.<br />
<br />
Pollock, sir F., 380, <i>et seq.</i>, 553.<br />
<br />
Popery, effects of, on Spanish literature, 534.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Popish partition of England, the</span>, <a href="#Page_745">745</a>.<br />
<br />
Population, classification of the, 116, 117.<br />
<br />
Porter, misstatements of, regarding agriculturists and manufacturers, 116.<br />
<br />
Portland gallery, exhibition of paintings in the, 77.<br />
<br />
Portland ministry, the, 214.<br />
<br />
Portugal, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Palmerston on the intervention in, 322.</span><br />
<br />
Poussin, Gaspar, the landscapes of, 192, 194.<br />
<br />
Pragmatic Sanction, the, 522.<br />
<br />
Prague, the battle of, 526.<br />
<br />
Presentiment, on, 273.<br />
<br />
Produce, dependence of revenue on, 614.<br />
<br />
Propagandism, system of, 320.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Proposed exhibition of 1851</span>, the, 278.<br />
<br />
Protestantism, first blows at, in France, 6<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Prussia the champion of, 519.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Prussia, the rise, politics, and power of</span>, 516<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Hardenberg's territorial reforms in, <a href="#Page_680">680</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Pulpit eloquence, defects of, <a href="#Page_668">668</a>.<br />
<br />
Purefoy, Mr, trial of, <a href="#Page_716">716</a>.<br />
<br />
Puritans in the time of James I., the, 141.<br />
<br />
<br />
Quarterly Review, the, on the London and Edinburgh chess match, 98, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Queen, Oxford's trial for shooting at the, 551.<br />
<br />
Quintilian on oratory, <a href="#Page_660">660</a><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on training for it, <a href="#Page_661">661</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Radicals, objects of the, regarding the national debt, 109.<br />
<br />
Railway crisis, effects of the, 125<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;losses, use made of, by the free-traders, 135.</span><br />
<br />
Ramsay, Mr, on peasant properties, <a href="#Page_678">678</a>.<br />
<br />
Rantzau, count, free corps under, 311.<br />
<br />
Recamier, madame, 40.<br />
<br />
Reform bill, Peel's conduct regarding the, 358.<br />
<br />
Reichel, Mdlle, 268, 269.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Reichenbach's Researches</span>, review of, 265.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Religion, French wars of</span>, 456.<br />
<br />
Rembrandt, the landscapes of, 192.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Renewal of the Income-tax</span>, the, 611.<br />
<br />
Republican spirit, aggressive character of the, 319.<br />
<br />
Restoration, Chateaubriand at the, 34<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;his account of its errors, 35</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;difficulties of the government of, 36.</span><br />
<br />
Revenue, dependence of, on produce, 614.<br />
<br />
Revolution, alleged influence of, on commerce, 128, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;propagandist system of, 320</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;of 1830, Chateaubriand's conduct during the, 43.</span><br />
<br />
Rhinoceros, hunting the, 238, 244.<br />
<br />
Ribain, captain, 417, 419.<br />
<br />
Ricot, lieut., death of, 418.<br />
<br />
Rivas, admiral, 338, 339.<br />
<br />
Robertson on duelling, <a href="#Page_714">714</a>.<br />
<br />
Robespierre, the oratory of, <a href="#Page_657">657</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Rollin, Ledru, on England</span>, 160.<br />
<br />
Roman oratory, Cicero the representative of, <a href="#Page_645">645</a>.<br />
<br />
Romantic drama, Tellez on the, 540.<br />
<br />
Romilly and the reforms in criminal law, 357.<br />
<br />
Rosbach, battle of, 528.<br />
<br />
Rouen, the siege of, 460, 461.<br />
<br />
Royal Academy, exhibition of the, 77, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Rubens, the landscapes of, 197.<br />
<br />
Russell, lord John, on the probable prices of grain, 107.<br />
<br />
Russia, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;history of the Revolution of 1801 in, 336</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;value of Prussia as a barrier against, 516.</span><br />
<br />
Rutowski, the countess, 344.<br />
<br />
Ruysdael, the paintings of, 88, 194.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sacken, count, Saxon minister, 344.<br />
<br />
St Andr&eacute;, marshal, death of, 463.<br />
<br />
St Denis, battle of, 467.<br />
<br />
St Helena, the removal of Napoleon's remains from, 39.<br />
<br />
St Michael's palace, description of, 340.<br />
<br />
St Quentin, battle of, 17.<br />
<br />
St Vallier, the count of, 9.<br />
<br />
Sallust, speeches of Catiline from, <a href="#Page_652">652</a>.<br />
<br />
Salvator Rosa, the style of, 193.<br />
<br />
Sandal wood tree, the, 238.<br />
<br />
Sardinia, state of exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;conduct of Palmerston toward, 327.</span><br />
<br />
Saxony, sketches of court of, 344.<br />
<br />
Science, love of the marvellous in, 265.<br />
<br />
Schiller, examples of eloquence from, <a href="#Page_650">650</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Schleswig-Holstein</span>, sketches and episodes of campaign in, 308<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;conduct of Great Britain regarding, 328.</span><br />
<br />
Schwerin, marshal, death of, 526.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Scotland, Baronial and Ecclesiastical Antiquities of</span>, 217.<br />
<br />
Scott's provincial antiquities, on, 228.<br />
<br />
Self-seeing, on, 273.<br />
<br />
Shakspeare, acquaintance of, with the Spanish drama, 536<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;specimens of eloquence from, <a href="#Page_649">649</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Sicily, Minto's proceedings in, 326.<br />
<br />
Sidi Embarek, the, an Arab tribe, 425.<br />
<br />
Sidmouth, lord, intrigue of Canning against, 211.<br />
<br />
Siquot, Alfred, sketch of, 425.<br />
<br />
Sketching, colour-box for, 187, 190<br />
<br />
Sleep, Reichenbach's theory of, 269.<br />
<br />
Slezer, John, his views of Scottish castles, &amp;c., 220, 227.<br />
<br />
Small farms, advantages and disadvantages of, <a href="#Page_675">675</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<br />
Society of British artists, exhibition of the, 77.<br />
<br />
Somnambulism, theory of, 274.<br />
<br />
Souaves, the, an African corps, 416.<br />
<br />
Soubise, prince of, at Rosbach, 528.<br />
<br />
South America, exports of cotton to, 133.<br />
<br />
Sovereign, state of the law regarding attacks on the, 551.<br />
<br />
Spackman, classification of the population by, 116, 117.<br />
<br />
Spahis, the Algerian, 416<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;of Mascara, 425.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Spain, hours in</span>, 534<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;exports of cotton to, 127</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Rollin on the conduct of England toward, 166</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the intervention on behalf of, 323</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;heroism shown by, at various times, 534.</span><br />
<br />
Spanish America, the attempt to introduce liberal institutions into, 320<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;literature and drama, 534</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;treasure frigates, affair of the, 212.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Sporting in South Africa</span>, 231<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;alleged inhumanity of, 241.</span><br />
<br />
Springboks, migration of the, 234.<br />
<br />
Statistics, true value of, &amp;c., 123.<br />
<br />
Staunton, Mr, on the London and Edinburgh chess match, 100.<br />
<br />
Stewart, Dugald, on his ideal of the poet, 480.<br />
<br />
Strozzi, marshal, death of, 18.<br />
<br />
Stuart, James, the trial of, 468<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Robert, murder of, 378.</span><br />
<br />
Suavey, Christoval, 599.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Sweet Briar</span>, the, by &#916;, 472.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tacitus, the speech of Galgacus from, <a href="#Page_651">651</a>.<br />
<br />
Tailors, the working, state of, 598.<br />
<br />
Talbanow, colonel, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
Talbot, Hon. J. C., at Frost's trial, 380.<br />
<br />
Talfourd, Mr Justice, 380.<br />
<br />
Talizin, general, 338, 340.<br />
<br />
Talleyrand, Chateaubriand's aversion to, 38.<br />
<br />
Tartas, colonel, 428.<br />
<br />
Tatarinow, general, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
Taxation, necessity for adjustment of, 613<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on direct and indirect, 623.</span><br />
<br />
Taxes, present distribution of, 614.<br />
<br />
Taylor, president, protectionist policy advocated by, 131<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Mr Sidney, counsel for Oxford, 553.</span><br />
<br />
Taylor's medical jurisprudence, on insanity, 550<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;on the case of M'Naughten, 567.</span><br />
<br />
Tel&eacute;maque, democratic character of, <a href="#Page_647">647</a>.<br />
<br />
Tellez, Gabriel, 539.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Temple of Folly</span>, the, 229.<br />
<br />
Tempoure, general, 427.<br />
<br />
Therouenne, siege of, by the Germans, 16.<br />
<br />
Thi&eacute;bault, sketch of Mitchell by, 523.<br />
<br />
Thionville, siege of, 18.<br />
<br />
Tindal, chief-justice, 380, 564.<br />
<br />
Titian, the landscape style of, 192, 195.<br />
<br />
Tirso de Molina, the dramas of, 539.<br />
<br />
Toulon, lord Mulgrave at, 205.<br />
<br />
Towie castle, architecture of, 225.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Townsend's state trials</span>, Part I., 373<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Part II., 545</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Part III., <a href="#Page_712">712</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;sketch of the author's career, 373.</span><br />
<br />
Trees, Burnet on painting, 195.<br />
<br />
Tschitscherin, general, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
Tuckett, captain, the duelling case of, <a href="#Page_720">720</a>.<br />
<br />
Turkey, exports of cotton to, 127<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;interference of Britain on behalf of, 329.</span><br />
<br />
Turner, paintings by, in present exhibition, 81<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the water-colour paintings of, 186.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
United States, expectations of the free-traders from the, 130<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;their protectionist policy, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;factories in, 132</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;imports of grain from, and exports of cotton to, 133</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;aggressive spirit of, 319.</span><br />
<br />
Universities, the English, Ledru Rollin on, 170<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;value of the, 201</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;defective system of, as regards oratory, <a href="#Page_669">669</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Utrecht, treaty of, violation of, 323.<br />
<br />
<br />
Val&eacute;e, marshal, in Algeria, 422.<br />
<br />
Vandervelde, the sea pieces of, 198.<br />
<br />
Varley, John, the painter, 186.<br />
<br />
Vassy, the massacre of, 459.<br />
<br />
Vaughan, baron, on duelling, <a href="#Page_718">718</a>.<br />
<br />
Vernet the painter, anecdote of, 421.<br />
<br />
Vivonne, Fran&ccedil;ois de, death of, 12.<br />
<br />
Von Ende, Saxon minister, 344.<br />
<br />
Von Sachsen, duchess, the court of, 348.<br />
<br />
<br />
Wages, state of, 136.<br />
<br />
Waldgrave, Miss Jemima, 144, <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;lady, 151, <i>et seq. passim</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Wallflower</span>, the, by &#916;, 473.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Ward, R. P., memoirs of</span>, reviewed, 199.<br />
<br />
Water, sketching of, 188.<br />
<br />
Water-colour painting, the English school of, 186.<br />
<br />
Water colours and oil, comparison between, 190.<br />
<br />
Wealth, classification of the creation of, 117<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;not the greatest social good, <a href="#Page_673">673</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Whately on social advancement, <a href="#Page_673">673</a>.<br />
<br />
Wheat, loss on cultivation of, 109.<br />
<br />
Whig ministry, attempts of the, regarding the income tax, 619.<br />
<br />
Whigs, state of the, under Fox, 206.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">White rose</span>, the, by &#916;, 472.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Who rolled the powder in?</span> <a href="#Page_689">689</a>.<br />
<br />
Wightman, Mr Justice, 380, 553.<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Wild flower garland</span>, a, by &#916;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;The daisy, 471</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the white rose, 472</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the sweetbriar, <i>ib.</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;the wallflower, 473.</span><br />
<br />
Wilde, sir T., 379, <i>et seq.</i>, 553, 559.<br />
<br />
Williams, Ambrose, the trial of, 378, 381 <i>et seq.</i><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Mr Justice, 380, 564.</span><br />
<br />
Wilson, the landscape painter, 192.<br />
<br />
Wood carving, medi&aelig;val, 217.<br />
<br />
Working classes, condition of the, 594, <i>et seq. passim</i>.<br />
<br />
Wordsworth on the aim of poetry, 490.<br />
<br />
Wostitz, general, death of, 529.<br />
<br />
Wrangel, general, 313.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Year of Sorrow</span>, the<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Ireland. Spring Song, 93</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Autumnal Dirge, 94</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&mdash;Winter Dirge, 95.</span><br />
<br />
Yeschwel, colonel, 339, 341.<br />
<br />
<br />
Zehmin, baron, 345.<br />
<br />
Zorndorf, the battle of, 531.<br />
<br />
Zoubow, the brothers, 338, <i>et seq.</i><br /></p>

<p class="center"><i>Printed by William Blackwood &amp; Sons, Edinburgh.</i></p>


<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> By the pounds Milanese, Giacomo means the Milanese lira.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Jeremy Taylor</span>&mdash;<i>Of Christian Prudence.</i> Part II.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Ib.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> This was well known in ancient times. "Corruptas," says Quintilian, "aliquando
et vitiosas orationes, quas tamen plerique judiciorum pravitate mirantur,
quam multa impropria, obscura, tumida, humilia, sordida, lasciva, effeminata sunt;
qu&aelig; non laudantur modo a plerisque, sed quod pejus est, <i>propter hoc ipsum, quod
sunt prava laudantur."&mdash;Inst. Orat</i>. ii. 5.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> <i>Cinna</i>, Act ii. s. 1.</p>
<p>"Quelle prodigieuse sup&eacute;riorit&eacute;," says Voltaire in his <i>Commentaries</i> on this passage,
"de la belle Po&eacute;sie sur la prose! Tous les &eacute;crivains politiques ont d&eacute;lay&eacute; ces
pens&eacute;es, aucun n'a approch&eacute; de la force, de la profondeur, de la nettet&eacute;, de la pr&eacute;cision
de ce discours de Cinna. Tous les corps d'&eacute;tat auraient du assister a cette
pi&egrave;ce, pour apprendre &agrave; penser et &agrave; parler."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Voltaire</span>, <i>Commentaires sur Corneille</i>,
iii. 308.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Corneille</span>, <i>Attila</i>, Act ii. s. 5.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> <i>Julius C&aelig;sar</i>, Act iii. s. 2.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> <i>Virginia</i>, Act i. s. 3.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> <i>Agricola</i>, c. 31, 32.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Sallust</span>, <i>Bell. Cat.</i></p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Sallust</span>, <i>Bell. Cat.</i></p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Quintilian</span>, lib. iv. 2.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> <i>De Coron&acirc;, Orat. Gr&aelig;c.</i> i. 315, 325.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Thucydides</span>, ii. &sect; 32, 33.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> <i>Paradise Regained</i>, iv. 268.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Burke's</span> <i>Works</i>, vol. xvi. pages 415, 416, 417, 418, 420.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Brougham's</span> <i>Speeches</i>, i. 227, 228.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Erskine's</span> <i>Speeches</i>, ii. 263.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Grattan's</span> <i>Speeches</i>, i. 52, 53.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Bossuet</span>, <i>Oraisons Fun&egrave;bres</i>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> <i>Hist. Parl.</i>, xxxiii. 406.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Lord Brougham on the Eloquence of the Ancients. <i>Speeches</i>, iv. 379, 445, 446.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> "Quis enim nescit, maximam vim existere oratoris in hominum mentibus vel ad
iram aut ad odium aut dolorem meitandis, vel, ab bisce usdem permotionibus, ad
lemtatem misericordiamque revocandis quare, nisi qui naturas hominum, vimque
omnem humanitatis, causasque eas quibus mentes aut incitantur aut reflectuntur,
penitus perspexerit, dicendo, quod volet, perficere non poterit. Quam ob rem, si
quis universam et propriam oratoris vim definire complectique vult, is orator erit,
me&agrave; sententri, hoc tam gravi dignus nomine, qui, <i>qu&aelig;cumque res inciderit</i>, qu&aelig; sit
dictione, explicanda, prudenter, et composite, et ornate, et memoriter dicat, cum
qu&agrave;dam etiam actionis dignitate. Est enim finitimus oratori poeta, numeris adstrictior
paulo, verborum antem heentia liberior, multis vero ornandi generibus socius,
ac p&aelig;ne par."&mdash;<i>De Oratore</i>, hb 1 cap. 17.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> "Postea mihi placuit, eoque sum usus adolescens, ut summorum oratorum
Gr&aelig;cas orationes explicarem; quibus lectis, hoc assequebar, ut, cum ea, qu&aelig; legerem
<i>Gr&aelig;ce, Latine redderem</i>, non solum optimis verbis uterer, et tamen usitatis, sed
etiam exprimerem qu&aelig;dam verba imitando, qu&aelig; nova nostris essent, dummodo
essent idonea."&mdash;<i>De Oratore</i>, 1. i. 34. "All Mr Pitt's leisure hours at college were
devoted to translating the finest passages in the classical authors, especially Thucydides,
into English, which he did freely, to the no small annoyance of his tutors."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Tomline's</span>
<i>Life of Pitt</i>, i. 23.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> "For the exercise of the student's writing, let him sometimes <i>translate Latin
into English</i>. But by all means obtain, if you can, that he be not employed in making
<i>Latin</i> themes and declamations, and, least of all, verses of any kind. Latin is a language
foreign in this country, and long since dead everywhere&mdash;a language in which
your son, it is a thousand to one, shall never have occasion once to make a speech
as long as he lives, after he comes to be a man; and a language in which the manner
of expressing one's-self is so far different from ours, that, to be perfect in that, would
very little improve the purity and facility of his English style. I can see no pretence
for this sort of exercise in our schools, unless it can be supposed that the making of
set Latin speeches should be the way to teach men to speak well in English extempore.
Still more is to be said against young men making Latin verses. If any one
thinks poetry a desirable quality in his son, and that the study of it would raise his
fancy and parts, he must needs yet confess that, to that end, <i>reading</i> the excellent
Greek and Roman poets is of more use than <i>making bad verses of his own in a language
that is not his own</i>. And he whose design it is to read in English poetry
would not, I guess, think the way to it was to make his first essays in Latin verses."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Locke</span>
<i>on Education</i>, &sect; 169, 174.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> <i>Spectator</i>, No. 407; <i>Addison's Works</i>, iv. 327.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> <i>Observations</i>, p. 158.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> See <i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>, vol. lvii. p. 529.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> <i>Observations</i>, p. 24.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> The paternal care which our Government takes of agriculture leaves us to grope
our way by mere guess-work in all statistical questions affecting it. For want of a
better guide, we may refer to Mr M'Culloch's often-quoted estimates, according to
which, it would appear, that there is one labourer to each 13&frac12; acres of arable land in
England, one to each 19 <sup><small>5</small></sup>&frasl;<sub><small>7</small></sub> acres in Scotland&mdash;almost exactly the proportion assumed
by Mr Laing.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> <i>Observations</i>, p. 39.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Previous to Hardenberg's administration, the peasants enjoyed the <i>dominium
utile</i> of their lands, (<i>bauern hofe</i>, as they were called,) but subject to the payment of
a certain quit-rent or feu-duty to the superior lord; and the scope of the change was
to make these quit-rents redeemable, by the cession of a certain fixed proportion of
the land and to vest the absolute property of the remainder in the vassal. It is
obvious, therefore, that there is not the slightest analogy between the case of the
Prussian feuar (as we should call him in Scotland) and that of an ordinary tenant-at-will
or lessee of land, and that the commutation we have described has no similarity
whatever to the schemes of "tenant-right," of which we now hear so much.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> We are glad to observe, in the recently published Report of the Royal Commission
presided over by Lord Langdale, some indication of progress towards supplying
the want of a system of Registry in England,&mdash;a want which, as the Commissioners
truly affirm, operates as a heavy burden on land property, and a material diminution
of its value.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Evidence of Lords' Committee on the Burdens affecting Land, p. 423.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> <i>Observations</i>, p. 154.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> <i>Notes</i>, p. 287.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_37" id="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> <i>Observations</i>, p. 153.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_38" id="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> The estimate for this country is clearly too small. Out of one hundred acres
in England, seventy-eight are under cultivation, or in meadow. For the British
Islands, the proportion is about sixty-four to one hundred. As to the extent of
uncultivated but available land in Prussia, see the Evidence of Mr Banfield
before the Committee of the House of Lords on Burdens affecting Land.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_39" id="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> <i>Modern State Trials</i>: Revised and Illustrated, with Essays and Notes. By
<span class="smcap">William C. Townsend</span>, Esq., M.A., Q.C., Recorder of Macclesfield. In 2 vols. 8vo.
Longman &amp; Co. 1850.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_40" id="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> In one of Dr Johnson's various conversations with Boswell and others, on the
subject of duelling, he said, "A man is sufficiently punished [for an injury] by being
called out, and subjected to the risk that is in a duel. But," continues Boswell, "on
my suggesting that <i>the injured person</i> is equally subjected to risk, he fairly owned he
could not explain the rationality of duelling." It will be remembered that, in previous
conversations, the Doctor had endeavoured to do so, by various unsatisfactory
and sophistical reasons; and one of his arguments, recorded by Boswell, was quoted
by the counsel of Mr Stuart, when tried for having shot in a duel Sir Alexander
Boswell, the eldest son of Boswell!</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_41" id="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> Townsend, vol. i. p. 170-171.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_42" id="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> <i>Ibid.</i>, p. 154-5.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_43" id="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Townsend, vol. i. p. 152.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_44" id="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> <i>Ibid.</i>, p. 162.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_45" id="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> <i>Ibid.</i>, p. 163.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_46" id="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> Regina <i>v.</i> Young. 8 Carr and Payne, 644.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_47" id="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> In opening the case against Lord Cardigan, at the bar of the House of Lords,
the Attorney-General, (now Lord Campbell,) of course speaking from erroneous
instructions, imputed to Lord Cardigan the utterance of a most unbecoming and
offensive expression,&mdash;"Do you think I would <i>condescend</i> to fight with one of my
own officers?" We are satisfied that no such language could have fallen from a
British officer; and the evidence shows that it did not in point of fact.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_48" id="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> Vol. i. p. 210.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_49" id="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> It was called "the Waltham Black Act," as occasioned by the devastations committed
near Waltham, in Hampshire, by persons disguised, and with <i>blackened</i> faces&mdash;"who
seem" says Blackstone, "to have resembled the followers of Robert Hood, who
in the reign of Richard I. committed such great outrages on the borders of England
and Scotland."&mdash;4 Black. Com. 245.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_50" id="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> Mr Chitty. Townsend, i. p. 209.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_51" id="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> 4 Black. Com. p. 199.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_52" id="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> 1 Townsend, p. 215, 216.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_53" id="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Ibid. p. 210.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_54" id="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> For misdemeanour, a peer has no such privilege, but must be tried by a jury.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_55" id="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> 20th February 1841.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_56" id="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> The mode of appointing this high officer, and of constituting the court, will be
found explained at length in Blackstone's Commentaries.&mdash;Vol. iv. p. 259, <i>et seq.</i></p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_57" id="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> The meaning of this observation is, that the privilege of not answering questions
tending to criminate the witness belongs to the witness, and not to the parties
wherefore the objection to such questions ought to come from the witness, and not
from the counsel for either of the parties.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_58" id="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Townsend</span>, vol. i. p. 229.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_59" id="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> Townsend, p. 239, 240, 241.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_60" id="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> Ibid., p. 238.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_61" id="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> We are by no means sure, however, that he could have been compelled to answer
the question, if he had stated that he believed his answer might tend to criminate
himself.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_62" id="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> 1 Townsend, p. 211. Lord Campbell has included his opening address in Lord
Cardigan's case among his published speeches, and thus deprecates the censures
which had been passed upon him: "I was much hurt by an accusation that my
address contained a defence of duelling, and had a tendency to encourage that practice.
Nothing could be further from my intention.... I continue to think
that to engage in a duel, which cannot be declined without infamy, and which is not
occasioned by any offence given by the party whose conduct is under discussion,
whether he accepted or sent the challenge, though contrary to the law of the land, is
an act free from moral turpitude.... I consider that to fight a duel must
always be a great calamity, but it is not always, necessarily, a great crime." Fully
acknowledging the difficulties of the subject, we publicly and solemnly disclaim participation
in these opinions, for reasons already laid before our readers. We give
Lord Campbell full credit for the purity of his motives, and the sincerity of his convictions;
but we must withhold our concurrence from opinions which ignore <i>moral</i>
turpitude in a breach of <span class="smcap">the law of God</span>!</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_63" id="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> Articles of War. Art 17.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_64" id="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> <i>The Defenceless State of Great Britain.</i> By Sir <span class="smcap">F. B. Head</span>, Bart. London.
Murray: 1850.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_65" id="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> The following is an extract from Cobden's speech at Wrexham, on 12th November
last, as reported in the <i>Times</i> of 14th November: "He had no doubt that, in the
volume written by Sir F. Head, (which had been referred to,) the author of <i>Bubbles
from the Brunnens of Nassau</i>&mdash;and he dared say those bubbles were just as substantial
as the facts in that volume, (cheers and laughter,)&mdash;but there was something in
the antecedents of Sir F. Head, and his conduct in Canada, which did not recommend
him to him (Mr Cobden) as a good authority in this affair of our finances. (Hear,
hear.) But, no doubt, he should be told that we were in great danger from other
countries keeping up large military establishments, and coming to attack us. Now,
the answer he gave to that was, that he would rather run the risk of France coming
to attack us, than keep up the present establishments in this country. He had done
with reasoning on the subject. He would rather cut down the expenditure for military
establishments to L.10,000,000, and run every danger from France, or any other
quarter, than risk the danger of attempting to keep up the present standard of taxation
and expenditure. (Cheers.) <i>He called those men cowards who wrote in this way.</i>
He was not accustomed to pay fulsome compliments to the English, by telling them
that they were superior to all the world; but this he could say, that they did not
deserve the name of cowards. (Hear, hear.) <i>The men who wrote these books must be
cowards</i>, and he knew nothing so preposterous as talking of a number of Frenchmen
coming and taking possession of London."</p></div></div>




<div class="transnote">
<p>Transcriber's Notes:</p>


<p>Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.</p>

</div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45686 ***</div>
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