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diff --git a/78172-0.txt b/78172-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a069334 --- /dev/null +++ b/78172-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2382 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78172 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + N^{o.} 7.] SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + THE FIRE BRIGADE OF LONDON. + + +Earth, Air, and Water are necessary conditions of human life; but Fire +is the first great element of civilisation. Fire, the first medium +between the ‘cooking animal’ and the wild root and raw-flesh-devouring +savage; fire, the best, because the most useful of servants, and, +according to the old proverb, the worst, because the most tyrannical of +masters; fire, the chief friend of man in creations of nature and of +industrial art, yet the most potent of all enemies in destruction; fire, +the most brilliant and magnificent object on the earth, yet the most +frightful and appalling when once it obtains dominion over man and man’s +abodes;—to subdue, and render docile to all needs, this devouring +dragon, and bend his splendid crests, not only to ‘boil the pot’ but to +lick the dust before the feet of Science, this is one of the greatest +triumphs of mankind, the results of which are every year more and more +stupendous. + +But, amidst all our mastery, we are never permitted to forget that this +illustrious slave has neither abandoned nor abated one jot of his +original nature. Of this we are but too constantly reminded. Not to +speak of lightning and volcanic eruptions, the weekly record of colliery +and other mine explosions, of steamboat explosions, the burning of +ships, and the dismal transformation to a heap of ashes of valuable +warehouses, costly public edifices, or private houses, with ‘dreadful +loss of life,’ need but the slightest mention to excite a thrill of +alarm, or some passing thought of caution in the mind of every person +holding the smallest stake in the social community. + +To meet this sudden emergency, therefore, and to restore the balance of +power, or, rather, to put down the mutiny of this powerful slave, and +reduce him to his habitual subserviency, we have the Fire Brigade, +divided into four sections, and having nineteen stations in the most +central quarters of the metropolis. This includes two ‘mighty engines’ +floating on the Thames. + + ‘Of all the rallying words,’ says a writer in Charles Knight’s + “London,” ‘whereby multitudes are gathered together, and their + energies impelled forcibly to one point, that of “_Fire!_” is, + perhaps, the most startling and the most irresistible. It levels all + distinctions; it sets at nought sleep, and meals, and occupations, and + amusements; it turns night into day, and Sunday into a “working-day;” + it gives double strength to those who are blessed with any energy, and + paralyses those who have none; it brings into prominent notice, and + converts into objects of sympathy, those who were before little + thought of, or who were, perhaps, despised; it gives to the dwellers + in a whole huge neighbourhood the unity of one family.’ + +But even while we are trimming our midnight lamp to write this paper, +the cry of ‘Fire!’ suddenly resounds from a distant street. The heavy +boots of a policeman clatter along beneath our window. The cry is +repeated by several voices, and more feet are heard hurrying along. The +fire is in a squalid court, leading into a mews which runs close to the +backs of the houses of one side of a great square. We hastily struggle +into an overcoat, snatch up a hat, and issue forth to follow the +alarming cry. + +The tumult sounds in the court; the cry of ‘Fire!’ is wildly repeated in +a woman’s voice from one of the windows of the mews; now from another +window!—now from several. ‘Fire! fire!’ cry voices of many passengers in +streets, and away scamper the policemen to the nearest stations of the +Fire Brigade, passing the word to other policemen as they run, till all +the police force in the neighbourhood are clattering along the pavement, +some towards the scene of the fire, but most of them either towards an +engine-station, to one of the Fire-escapes of the Royal Society, or to +pass the word to the policeman whose duty it will be to run to the +engine-station next beyond. By this means of passing the word, somebody +arrives at the gates of the Chief Office of the Fire Brigade, in Watling +Street, and, seizing the handle of the night-bell, pulls away at it with +the vigour which such events always call forth. + +The fireman on duty for the night, immediately opens the gate, and +receives the intelligence, cutting short all loquacity as much as +possible, and eliciting the spot where the fire has broken out, and the +extent to which it was raging when the person left. The fireman then +runs to a bell-handle, which he pulls; and applying his ear to the +mouth-piece of a pipe, hears a voice ask, ‘What is it?’ (The fireman +hears his own voice sound as if at a great distance; while the voice +actually remote sounds close in the mouth-piece, with a strange +preternatural effect.) The bell-wire reaches up to the Superintendent’s +bedside; and the bell being rung, Mr. Braidwood raises himself on one +elbow, and applying his mouth to the other end of the tube, answers, and +gives orders. A few words of dialogue conducted in this way, suffice. Up +jumps Mr. Braidwood—crosses the passage to his dressing-room (armoury, +we ought rather to call it), and in three minutes is attired in the +thick cloth frock-coat, boots, and helmet of the Fire Brigade, fixing +buttons and straps as he descends the stairs. + +Meanwhile all the men have been equally active below. No sooner has the +fireman aroused Mr. Braidwood, than he rings the bell of the foreman, +the engineer, and the ‘singlemen’s bell’—which means the bell of the +division where the four unmarried men sleep. He then runs out to the +stables, calling the ‘charioteer’ by the way, and two other firemen +lodging close by; after which he returns to assist in harnessing the +horses. + +Owing to this simultaneous action, each according to his special and +general duties, by the time Mr. Braidwood reaches the bottom of the +stairs, the engine has been got out, and put in working order. All its +usual furniture, implements, and tools are placed within, or packed +about it. Short scaling-ladders, made to fit into each other, are +attached to the sides; six lengths of hose; branch-pipes, +director-pipes, spare nozzle, suction-pipes, goose-neck, dogs’-tails +(the first to deliver water into the engine; the second are iron +wrenches), canvas sheet, with rope handles round the edge (to catch +people who will boldly jump out of window), dam-board (to prevent water +from plug flowing madly away), portable cistern, strips of sheep-skin +(to mend bursting hose), balls of cord, flat hose, escape-chain, +escape-ropes, mattock, saw, shovel, pole-axe, boat-hook, crow-bar +(_such_ a fellow!) to burst through doors or walls, or break up +pavement; instruments for opening fire-plugs, and keys for turning +stop-cocks of water-mains, &c. + +All being ready, the Superintendent mounts the engine to the right of +the driver, and the engineer, foreman, and firemen mount also, and range +themselves on each side of the long red chest at the top, which contains +the multifarious articles just enumerated. Off they start—brisk +trot—canter—gallop! A bright red gleam overspreads the sky to the +westward. The Superintendent knows that the fire in the court has +reached the mews, and the stables are in flames. Full gallop! + +Along the midnight streets, which are now all alive with excited +people—some having left the theatres, others wending homeward from +supper at a friend’s, from dances, or perhaps late hours of business in +various trades,—all are running in the direction of the fire! As the +engine thunders by them, the gas-lamps gleaming on the helmets of the +firemen and the eager heads of the horses, the people send up a loud +shout of ‘Fi-ire!’ and follow pell-mell in its wake. + +Arriving at the mews, the Superintendent sees exactly all that has +happened—all that must happen—all that may happen—and all that may be +prevented. The court is doomed to utter ruin and ashes; so is the mews. +Two of the larger stables are on fire, and the flames are now devouring +a loft full of hay and straw. But in doing this, their luminous tongues +stretch far beyond, seeking fresh food when this is gone. The wind +too!—the fatal wind, sets in the direction of the square! The flames are +struggling, and leaping, and striving with all their might to reach the +back premises of the houses on this side of the square; and reach it +they will, if this wind continues! + +Meanwhile, two of the Fire Brigade engines from stations nearer at hand +than that of the Chief Office, are already here, and hard at work. A +fourth engine arrives from the Chief Office close upon the wheels of the +first—and now a fifth comes thundering up the mews. The Superintendent +taking command of the whole, and having ascertained that all the inmates +of the court and mews have been got out, gives orders for three of the +engines to continue their efforts to overcome the fire, and at any rate +to prevent it spreading to the houses in the square on each side of the +one which is now so imminently threatened. He then directs his own +engine and one other to be driven round to the front of the house in the +square, so as to attack the enemy both in front and rear at the same +time. The flames have just reached it—not a moment is to be lost! As he +drives off, innumerable cries and exhortations seek to arrest his +progress, and to make him alter his intentions. Several voices, louder +and more excited than all the rest,—vociferating something about ‘saving +her life’—cause him to pause, and prepare to turn, till, amidst the +confusion, he contrives to elicit the fact that a stable cat has been +unable to escape, and has darted out upon the burning roof of a +loft—and, also, that Mrs. Jessikin’s laundry—but he listens no further, +and gallops his engine round to the front of the house in the square, +followed by shouts of excitement and several yells. + +The Fire-escape ladders of the Royal Society have already arrived here +in front. All the inmates have been got out by the door—at least it is +_said_ that all are out, by those white figures with faces as white, +who, looking round them, really see nothing distinctly and know nothing +as it is—having been awoke by the cries of ‘Fire,’ and not being quite +sure if all this mad hubbub of people, flames, voices, and water-spouts, +may not be some horrible nightmare vision. + +The water-plugs have been drawn, and the gutters are all flooded. The +gully-hole is covered—a dam-board arrests the stream and gives depth—the +portable cistern is quickly filled—the suction-pipes of the engines, +being placed in it, both of them are got into position. The flames have +reached the back of the house; their points are just seen rising above +the roof! A rush of people seize on the long pump-levers, all mad to +work the engines. The foreman rapidly selects ten for each side—sets +them to work—and then, one at a time, takes down their names in a book +for the purpose, so that they may be paid a shilling an hour—those who +choose to accept it. But a hundred volunteer to work—they don’t want the +shilling—they want to pump. ‘Let _me_ pump!’ ‘_I’m_ the one to pump!’ +‘Do you want any more to pump?’ resound on all sides from men of all +classes, while the crowd press forward, and can scarcely be got to leave +room enough for the engines to be worked—and they would not, but for the +man with the director-pipe, who soon makes a watery circle around him. +The fortunate volunteers at the levers now begin to pump away with a +fury that seems perfectly frantic. The Superintendent, who has had many +a fine-engine disabled during the first five minutes of this popular +furor, insists upon their ardour being restrained; and with no little +difficulty succeeds in getting his pumping done a degree less madly. +Who, that did not know them, would believe that these outrageous pumpers +were the very same people who stood with lack-lustre eyes at some +tedious operation in trade or workshop, all day long; or, who sat +stolidly opposite each other in an omnibus, without a word to say, and +seeming too dull for either thought or action? Look at them now! + +The wind still blows strongly from the blazing stables—the flames are +rapidly eating their way through the house from the back! The two upper +stories are already on fire. A figure appears at one of the windows, and +makes signs. All the inmates had NOT been got out! An aged woman—a very +old and faithful servant of the family—had lingered behind, vainly +endeavouring to pack up some of her dear young mistress’s clothes and +trinkets. A prolonged cry bursts from the crowd, followed with +innumerable pieces of advice—bawled, hoarsely shouted, or rapidly +screamed to the Superintendent, and the firemen directing the nozzle of +the hose. + +‘Point the nozzle up to the _window_!’ + +‘Up to the _roof_ of that room!’ + +‘_Smash_ the windows!’ + +‘The _Fire-escape_, Mr. Braidwood!’ + +‘Bring the ropes for her!—_throw up_ the ropes to her!’ + +‘Don’t smash the windows; you’ll _cut_ her!’ + +‘She’s gone to _jump out_ at the back!’ + +‘She is lying on the _floor_!’ + +‘She’s _suffocated_, Mr. Braidwood!’ + +‘Send up the _water_, to bring her to her senses!’ + +‘She’s burnt to _ashes_, Mr. Braidwood—I see her lying _all of a red +tinder_!’ + +Amidst these vociferations, the Superintendent, having a well-practised +deaf ear for such pieces of advice, has despatched two firemen to ascend +the stairs (no fireman is allowed to enter a burning house alone) while +two others enter below, and a lengthened hose is handed up to them with +a boat-hook through the front drawing-room window, in order to combat +the fire at close quarters, each one being accompanied by another +fireman, in case of one fainting from heat or smoke, and meantime to +assist in getting out furniture from the rooms not yet touched by the +flames. + +The two foremost firemen have now ascended the stairs. One remains on +the second-floor landing, to watch, and give notice if their retreat is +likely to be cut off, while the other ascends to the upper room where +the poor old servant had been last seen. The room is quite full of +smoke. He therefore drops down directly with his face almost touching +the floor (because, as the smoke ascends, he thus gets ten or twelve +inches of clear space and air), and in this way creeps and drags himself +along till he sees a bundle of something struggling about, which he at +once recognises, seizes, and drags off as quickly as possible. Almost +exhausted, he meets his comrade on the stairs, who instantly giving aid, +they bring down a little white, smutty, huddled-up bundle, with a +nightcap and arms to it; and as they emerge from the door, are greeted +with shouts of applause, and roars and screams of ‘Bravo! Bravo! God +bless ’em! Bravo!’ from voices of men, and women, and boys. + +The old woman presently comes to herself. She holds something in one +hand, which she had never loosed throughout, though she really does not +know what it is. ‘At all events,’ says she, ‘I’ve saved _this_!’ + +It is a hearth-broom. + +The two firemen, each bearing a hose, have now got a position inside the +house—one standing on the landing-place of the second-floor within ten +or twelve feet of the flames, the other planted in the back +drawing-room. The first directs his nozzle so that the water strikes +with the utmost force upon the fire, almost in a straight line, dashing +it out into black spots, and flaws, and steam, as much by the violence +of the concussion as the antagonistic element. The other fireman directs +his jet of water to oppose the advances of the flames from the rafters +of the stables behind, and the wood-work of the back premises. Both the +men are enveloped in a cloud of hot steam, so hot as scarcely to be +endurable, and causing the perspiration to pour down their faces as fast +as the water runs down the walls from the vigorous ‘playing of their +pipes.’ + +But next door—to the right—what a long succession of drawing-room and +dining-room chairs issue forth, varied now and then with a dripping +hamper of choice wine, and the sound of cracking bottles; now, with a +flattened cradle, now a tea-tray of richly-bound books; now, a +turbot-kettle, and then more chairs! + +In the door-way of the house on the left, there is a dreadful jam. An +abominable, huge mahogany table has fixed one of its corners into the +wall, on one side, and the brass castor of one leg into a broken plank +of the flooring, on the other, just as a Broadwood horizontal-grand was +coming down the stairs in the most massive manner (like a piano +conscious of Beethoven), with its five bearers. These five men with the +piano-forte, receiving a check in the passage from three men bearing +boxes and a large clothes-horse, who had themselves received a check by +the jam of the huge mahogany and its eight or nine excited blockheads, +the stoppage became perfect, and the confusion sheer madness. Some of +the inmates of this house, who had been wildly helping and handing down +all sorts of things, observing that a stoppage had occurred below, and +believing they had no more time to spare before the flames would +penetrate their walls, brought baskets to the window, and with great +energy threw out a quantity of beautiful china, glass, and choice +chimney ornaments down upon the stones below, to be taken care of; also +an empty hat-box. + +Above all the tumult, and adding in no small degree to the wildness and +abrupt energies of the scene, a violent knocking at doors in the square +is frequently heard, sometimes by policemen, at other times by excited +relations suddenly arriving, desperate to give their advice, and see it +attended to. The bedroom windows, in rows on either side, are alive with +heads, many of them in night-caps, while the upper windows of several, +apparently ‘the nurseries,’ are crowded with white dolls, whose round +white nobs are eagerly thrust forth. In the windows of the houses, +lights are seen to move about rapidly from room to room, and windows are +continually thrown up; a figure looks out wildly—then suddenly +disappears. + +The two firemen who had gained positions inside the house, each with his +long hose supplied from the engine below, had hitherto maintained their +posts; the one on the second-floor landing having very successfully +repelled the advance of the fire, the other in the back drawing-room +having fairly obtained a mastery. But a strong gust of wind rising +again, sets all their previous success at nought. The flames again +advance; and all their work has to be done over again. + +By this time the two men are nearly exhausted; two other firemen are, +however, close at hand to relieve them. They take their places. As the +flames advance, the engines below are worked with redoubled energy by +the people, who also relieve each other; but no one will relinquish his +place at the pump-lever, so long as he is able to stand, or have one +heave up, or one bang down, more. Still the flames advance!—they enter +the house!—the front drawing-room is suddenly illuminated!—a glare of +light is reflected from a great looking-glass on one of the walls! A +loud shout of excitement resounds from the crowd—while bang! bang! go +the engine-pumps. + +The fireman, who is surrounded by so strong a glare of light that he +appears all on fire, is seen to retreat a few paces towards the door. He +is presently joined by another fireman, who runs to the front +drawing-room window, out of which he suspends an iron chain to secure +their escape, in case of need, and then returns to his comrade. They +rally, and each with his brass director-pipe advances again within +half-a-dozen paces of the blazing walls. They are, foot by foot, driven +back into the front drawing-room. The flames follow them, and soon are +very close to the or molu frame-work of the great looking-glass. + +Bang! bang! go the engines. + +‘Save the glass!’ shout numbers of voices. + +‘The ceiling! the ceiling’s bursting down!’ cry others. + +Bang! bang! go the engines. + +‘Save the pieces!’ + +‘The door-post’s on fire!’ + +‘Look behind you!’ + +‘The glass!—the glass!’ + +‘Save yourselves!’ + +Bang! bang! go the engines. + +The Superintendent has sent orders to the firemen to give no more +attention to the interior of this house, except with a view to prevent +the fire spreading to the adjoining houses. Consequently, the streams of +water are now directed to drenching the walls, and beating back the +flames on either side. The great looking-glass, no longer an object of +special protection, is presently reached by the flames; they coil and +cluster round the frame-work, which, breaking out into jets of coloured +fire, gives a splendid magnificence to the design of the carving. The +crowd jump up and down to see, and also from excitement. The flames flap +about, and point their long luminous tongues across the broad plate of +the glass, which for a moment reflects every object in the room,—the +falling ceiling—the firemen in their helmets—the blazing ruin +around;—and then, crack!—clash! clash!—the whole falls, a wreck of sharp +angles. + +Again a loud shout from the crowd below!—not so much of regret as a kind +of wild purposeless joy, which causes them again to leap up and down, +expecting and (without knowing it) hoping the same thing will happen to +some other glass in the room. Melted lead from the roof now runs +gleaming down—spurting upon the helmet of one of the firemen, and then +running in straggling lines down his thick coat; while a slate falling, +as usual, edgeways, sticks across the centre-piece of his comrade’s +helmet. Now, with a rattling and loud rumble, falls the partition +between the front and back drawing-rooms, and with it a great part of +the ceiling! A terrific shout of alarm bursts from the crowd. The two +firemen are buried in the ruins. The whole space is filled with the +dense smoke and with piles of lath and plaster, and brick and blazing +wood. + +But see!—a helmet, white with mortar, rises from the floor near the +window-sill—and now another! One after the other, the exhausted firemen +descend the iron chain, and are caught in the arms of the Superintendent +and two of their comrades below, while loud shouts and vociferations of +applause burst from the crowd. + +The stable cat, too, from the mews! See! she has crossed between the +burning rafters, and leaped into the balcony of the next house, with +smoking tail and ears. + +The flames have been smothered for a time by this fall of the ceiling +and partition-wall; the Superintendent has now got seven engines round +to the front; he takes advantage of the fortunate accident; the wind, +too, has shifted; the seven engines pour torrents of water upon the +smoking mass and against the walls, and thus continue till the most +frightful of all enemies is thoroughly subdued and reduced to blackness +and quietude. Most dismal is the scene of devastation; but the enemy is +at all events laid prostrate and rendered incapable of further mischief. + +Drenched to the skin with cold water, and reeking at the same time with +perspiration, the gallant men of the Fire Brigade return to their +several quarters. Two of them, however, remain on watch with an engine +all night, a change of clothes and ‘a dram’ being sent them from the +station. + +The present efficient condition of fire-engines, as may easily be +supposed, has only been the result of many years of skilful experiment +and practical experience. Our ancestors (notwithstanding their wisdom) +were by no means furnished with such means of extinguishing fire, +although, from the great number of wooden buildings, and greater +quantity of wooden materials employed, to say nothing of thatch, they +had greater need of them. On the other hand, they had not so many +scientific combustibles among them. Still, the want of a proper engine +is manifest from what we know of their attempts in that way. They used +squirts,—actually nothing but squirts. Every alderman was obliged to +provide one. It will be understood that the squirt was not of schoolboy +dimensions, but so large as to require two men, holding it in their arms +between them, like a sort of mummy, to dip its nose into a bucket, and +then, raising it to the proper angle, discharge the contents at the +building on fire. + +The first construction of the fire engine, properly so called, is +attributable to a German named Hautsch, in 1657, which was afterwards +improved by the brothers Van der Heyden, in 1672. But, though the merit +of the invention confers all due honour on the engineering mind of +Germans, it may be questioned whether the character of the people was +ever of a kind to induce the working of them with promptitude or +efficiency. So recently as a few years ago, when the writer was staying +in the town of Bonn, intelligence was brought of a fire at Popplesdorf, +a village about a mile and a quarter distant. The town engine was got +out by a couple of men, with pipes in their mouths, and the horse—one +horse—being put to, it was trotted off in the most deliberate manner. +Outside the town gates we overtook a number of students and other +gentlemen, all leisurely sauntering with their pipes towards +Popplesdorf, never doubting but they would be in ample time before the +engine had extinguished the fire. And so they were, for it was burning +nearly half the day. Nevertheless, the Prussian Government have been the +first to purchase the invention of the Steam Fire Engine. Their theories +in the matter seem perfect; but to put out a fire with promptitude +cannot be done even by a Steam Fire Engine without a little human +activity. + +The contrast of our vivacity in these matters is very striking, and in +no case more so than when some mischievous idiot gives a false alarm (an +atrocity which we believe is not often committed), or when some +extraordinary meteorological phenomenon induces the mistake. We find two +extraordinary instances of this recorded in Knight’s ‘London.’ + + ‘On the first of these, _twelve_ engines and _seventy-four_ brigade + men were kept in constant motion from _eleven in the evening till six + the next morning_, in endeavouring to search out what appeared to be a + large conflagration; some of the engines reached Hampstead, and others + Kilburn, before it was found that the glare was the effect of the + “northern lights.” On the other occasion, a crimson glare of light + arose at the north-east part of the horizon, at about eight o’clock in + the evening, seemingly caused by a fierce conflagration; and the + resemblance was increased by what appeared to be clouds of smoke + rising up after the glare, and breaking and rolling away beneath it. + _Thirteen_ engines and a large body of men went in search of the + supposed fire, and did not detect their error till they had proceeded + far to the north-east.’ + +The statistics of London fires are very interesting, and much may be +learned from them, not only as matter of anxious information, but of +salutary warning. + +The total number of fires in London in the past year, was 838. Of these, +28 were utterly destructive fires; the number of lives lost being 26. +Seriously damaged, 228; slightly damaged, 582. + +Of chimneys on fire there were 89; and there were 76 false alarms—not +mischievous, but from error or panic. + +The number of calls on the fire-office and other aids amounted to 1003. + +In the above 838 fires, the number of insurances (ascertained) were 368; +those which insured on the building only, were 163; those which insured +on the contents only, were 72; and the number of uninsured was 235. + +Of the 26 lives lost, 13 were from the ignition of bed-furniture or +wearing apparel; explosion of fire-works, 5; and 8 from inability to +escape out of burning houses. + +An examination of the statistics of fires in the Metropolis during +sixteen years, _i.e._ from 1833 to 1848 (which document was obligingly +laid before us by Mr. Braidwood), has put us in possession of a great +mass of very curious and instructive information, from which we extract +the following:—— + + Apothecaries and dealers in drugs 36 + Bakers 244 + Booksellers, binders, and stationers 137 + +Of these latter, 96 burnt gas; and the fires caused by gas amounted to +28. + + Cabinet-makers 156 + Carpenters and workers in wood 434 + Churches 33 + +Of these last-named, 3 were totally destroyed, and 10 much damaged; the +rest slightly, or mere alarms. Of the cause of the fires, 8 were from +the stoves, flues, &c., and 2 from lightning. + + Drapers, woollen and linen 254 + +Of these, 105 were much damaged; 239 burnt gas; and the cause of 140 of +these fires was carelessness or accident with the gas. + + Fire-Preventive Company 1 + +The cause of this was an experiment with some ‘fire-proof plaster,’ +which ignited in a most unexpected and insubordinate manner, and caused +great damage. + + Fire-work Makers 49 + +The cause of these fires, all of which did great damage, was from the +nature of the trade; from the smoking of tobacco; from boys playing with +fire; and from the reckless trick of a lighted squib or cracker being +thrown into the shop-window. + + Gas-works 37 + +From the great care taken, and ready means of prevention, only 9 of +these were much injured, and none totally destroyed. + + Grocers 120 + +Of these, 109 burnt gas; and 26 of the fires are attributable to +carelessness or accident with the gas. + + Gunpowder-sellers 1 + +Notice the result of a full consciousness of the danger, and +proportionate care. Only one fire! + + Lodgings 868 + +Of the above number, 368 were found to have been caused by the taking +fire of curtains, linen airing, &c. Some of the rest were caused by +hunting fleas, &c. + + Lucifer-match-makers 101 + Lunatic asylums 2 + +Observe the great care in these asylums. All the asylums for lunatics +furnishing only two fires in sixteen years! + + Printers and Engravers 72 + Private houses 3352 + +Of the above, the immense number of 1302 were discovered to have been +caused by the taking fire of curtains, dresses, airing linen, &c. + + Sale-shops and offices 526 + +Of these, 379 burnt gas; and the fires caused by gas were 129. + + Ships 82 + +Caused by stores, flues, cooking, igniting of cargo, smoking tobacco, +&c. + + Stables 192 + +Caused by candles, lucifers, smoking tobacco, intoxication, &c. + + Tailors 81 + +Seventeen of the above were caused by gas; 13 by candles; and some by +smoking tobacco. + + Theatres 20 + +Of the above number, 8 were caused by gas; some others by smoking +tobacco, and the taking fire of curtains, dresses, &c. + + Tobacconists 43 + +Of the above, 6 were caused by gas; 6 by lucifer-matches; others by +curtains, smoking tobacco, by a _cat_, and by _rats_. A word more of +these incendiaries presently. + + Victuallers 542 + +Of the above, there were 21 totally destroyed; 167 much damaged, and 354 +slightly. Of the causes, 83 were from the flues; 73, curtains, dresses, +&c.; 65, gas; 36, smoking tobacco; 35, a candle. The remainder comes +under the various heads of lucifers, hot cinders, intoxication, children +playing with fire, a spark, and a monkey. + +Besides this ‘monkey,’ we have had occasion to mention several other +‘sparks,’ concerning whom some passing explanation may be needed. Having +noticed the word ‘cat,’ occurring several times in the list of annual +causes of fire,—‘Yes,’ replied Mr. Braidwood, ‘we often have a cat.’ It +appears that the cat sometimes upsets the clothes-horse with things +airing; or, perhaps, in creeping under the clothes to get inside the +fender, drags some of them with her on her back. The fire caused by the +monkey was attributable to some prank of his—meaning no harm, perhaps, +but not much caring about that. The incendiarism of the rats was +undoubtedly effected innocently by their investigation of a box of +lucifers, which included a trial if the matches were good to eat. Their +teeth exploded them—a feat very easily performed. + +Of carelessness with gas in shops and warehouses, or with candles near +bedroom curtains, muslin dresses, or linen airing before the fire, we +need not speak, as the dangers are too obvious by the results; nor of +carelessness with lucifer-matches; nor the very common practice of +raking out the fire at night from the grate (where it would be safe) +down upon the hearth, and leaving the hot embers, which perhaps ignite +by the air of the closing door, as the careful person retires to bed. +Carelessness with a cigar or pipe is also an obvious cause. Working men +often put their pipes, half-extinguished, or alive at the bottom of the +bowl, into their jacket-pocket at night; and then hang up the jacket, +and go to bed. Children, also, being left alone, near a fire, may +generally be expected to play with fire, either because it is beautiful, +or because the play is interdicted. + +With respect to ‘sparks,’ that a house should take fire, had always been +regarded by us with no small degree of scepticism. A gentleman of our +acquaintance carried his disbelief much further. Sitting with a party of +sporting friends round a winter’s fire, and these dangers being the +subject of conversation, he offered to empty the whole contents of the +grate on the carpet in the middle of the room—_he_ to pay all expenses +if the house took fire; his opponent simply to pay for the carpet and +the charred floor. They were all to sit round, and watch the result. It +was agreed. ‘Now,’ said a friend, ‘I will bet you _ten_ to one this +house will take fire, provided we all go out of the room, lock the door, +and leave the house.’ The other would not venture on this. + +Mr. Braidwood’s speculation on the question of sparks, in reply to our +doubts, is very curious and practical. He estimated the number of houses +in London at 300,000. Allowing two _domestic_ fires to each house, we +have 600,000 in the day; and these multiplied by 7, give 4,200,000 in a +week. That one spark, therefore, from 4,200,000 fires should fly out +upon some materials easy to ignite, once in a week, is far from +difficult to credit; and this would fully bear out the number on the +list that are declared to have occurred from this cause. + +The number of fires and alarms of fire that occurred in London during +the fifteen years ending in 1847, present a continual _increase_. In +1833 they amounted to 458; in 1834, to 482; and so on, down to 1847, +when they amounted to 836. This gives a total of 9662 fires during the +fifteen years. The average of this is 644. We next find that in 1848 the +number of fires amounted to 805; showing an _increase_ beyond the +previous year of 161. In 1849 the number amounted to 838, being an +increase of 33 beyond the previous year. + +How are we to reconcile this increase with the extraordinary efficiency +of the Fire Brigade, and the improvements in measures of precaution? +Partly by the regular increase in the numbers of houses. But Mr. +Braidwood frankly declares that this does not meet the increase of fires +and alarms of fire that reach the Office. We can only account for it, +therefore, by the great increase of scientific combustibles, not merely +in our shops, but in our domestic arrangements—especially gas, and +lucifer-matches—and yet more to the fact that, in former years, many +slight fires caused no alarm to be given, while now the arrangements are +so complete, that probably almost every slight alarm of fire that occurs +is carried to the Office, and duly recorded. + +With respect to Fire-Escapes; precautions against fire, that should be +adopted in houses; arrangements to meet the accident; and the best means +of extinguishing fires (particularly with reference to Mr. Phillips’ +Fire-Annihilator, which possesses an undoubted power over _flames_), we +cannot now afford the space their importance merits; but we shall bear +them in mind for a future number. + + + + + POETRY IN THE BYE-WAYS. + + +Every book-hunter, whose connection with paper and print has more of +individuality than of fashion in it—must in his time have met with +scores of small volumes of rhyme forced out with a care and pains of +which the heart aches to think, prefaced with the bad taste of +immoderate deprecation on the part of the author,—or with the worse +appeal of extravagant commendation on the part of the patron—none of +which shall merit a place on the shelf by the side of Crabbe, or +Wordsworth, or Burns—none of which can be denied the possession of some +sparks and breathings of true poetry. + +Sometimes, however, it must be owned, that the difficulties under which +the rhymester has laboured, are the best—nay the sole—evidences of his +genius. In the verses of Phillis Wheatly, the negro girl, for instance, +there is not a line that is not the stalest of the stale—not an image +that is not the most second-hand of the second-hand. Yet, that sixty +years since, a woman of her condemned colour and oppressed race—in +America, too,—should find spirits to sing, and power to attract an +audience,—in that fact was a poem of no common order. + +Years ago, there passed through the writer’s hand a small collection of +verse—if verse it might be called—in quality, the most dreary and +antipathetic, possible—sectarian hymns, full of phrases, the intimate +sense of which can never have pierced to the mind of their maker. This +was a poor creature in a hospital, who had been found on a harsh January +night, frozen into the kennel where she had fallen, and who paid for +that night’s lodging with a lingering death of cruelly long duration. +Her vital powers gradually retired one by one. For many years she was +unable to move a limb; latterly could scarcely speak audibly, or take +barely sufficient food to keep life in the half-dead body. But these +dismal hymns were her receipt for occupation and cheerfulness. ‘When I +cannot sleep,’ she would say, in a dialect of her own peculiar pattern, +‘I _mew_.’—There was poetry in the origin of these ‘_mewings_,’ though +none in the dark and narrow stanzas themselves. + +From the above illustrations it may be gathered that much of the bye-way +poetry with which we shall deal, has never been promoted to the honours +and heartaches of paper and print—nor even taken the manuscript forms of +‘longs and shorts’ as decidedly as did the imaginative instincts of +Black Phillis, or the long-tried patience of the sufferer in the —— +Ward. We may—and shall—have to do with authorship in humble life,—but +less, perchance, than those will expect, who have considered our subject +merely from the outside of the bookseller’s window, or from the sum +total of a rhymester’s subscription list—drawing thence the charming +inference that A., B. or C. is a poet, because he has found a publisher +and extorted a public!—Too seldom has a Capel Lofft, or a Southey, or a +More, while trying to bring forward a Bloomfield, or a Mary Colling, or +an ungrateful Bristol Milkwoman, whose facility in versifying has +arrested them,—considered how wide is the distance betwixt what may be +called the unconscious Poetry of the People—and that meagre and +second-hand manufacture, produced with a desire for fame, or under hopes +of gain, which challenges competition with the efforts of men more +favourably circumstanced, and which goes forth as virtually a +solicitation for alms.—On the one side (to take the first instance which +occurs) we shall find something like the Gondolier songs of Venice, +patched up—St. Mark and the Moon know how!—out of bits of plays and bits +of verses and bits of opera-tunes, by old men and girls and boys, while +a sprightly people ply their picturesque trade under an Italian sky, +with every image round them to inspire and encourage a sense of +tune,—and which, after a while, get so rubbed into shape—so rounded and +changed,—so decked with canal-wit,—so filled with local names and local +words,—that a College of Anatomists should be puzzled to ‘resolve them +into their primary elements.’—On the other side, we may cite as example +any of the myriad verses anxiously strung together by the hectic and +over-wrought operative, by the light of his candle, whose very burning +would be reprehensible as an extravagance, could not the ware fabricated +at midnight find an immediate market. The first is an utterance—the +second a manufacture. The first speaks with the breath of a peculiar +life, and wears the colour of a peculiar scenery—the second is an +exercise produced under circumstances, which, however stimulating to +energy, are but discouraging to Fancy. We may be told, it is true, that +many of our dearest ‘household words’ have been wrung from our greatest +men, by the pressure of the cruellest exigency. One poet, to pay for his +mother’s funeral, must needs write a ‘Rasselas’—another, under +constraint less instant, but perhaps not less harassing, shall gladden +England for ever, by calling up _Olivia_ and _Sophia_ in the hayfield, +and _Farmer Flamborough’s_ Christmas party, and the Vicar slyly making +an end of ‘the wash for the face,’ which his innocently-worldly +daughters were brewing. But evidence like this does nothing to +contradict our wisdom. Had Johnson been compelled to compose his superb +style, at a moment’s warning by the coffin-side; had Goldsmith possessed +no treasury of adventure and experience to draw upon, no power to handle +the pen already learned—neither _Imlac_ nor _Mrs. Primrose_ would have +been alive at this day. Without preparation, training, craftsmanship, +there is little literature—there is no art. Ballads may grow up—but not +epics be produced, nor five-act plays be constructed, nor tales be +woven, nor even a complete lyric be finished. It has fallen to the lot +of every one of us too often and again, to see hearts fevered, hopes +wrecked, life embittered, and Death (or Madness) courted, because men +cannot—and their friends _will not_—sufficiently fix their minds on this +plain truth; because inclinations are perpetually mistaken for powers; +because, bewildered by some faëry dream that the world in which a Scott +is king or a Siddons is queen, is paved with gold—every boy who can cut +paragraphs into lengths fancies that he is a Scott—and every girl with a +strong voice who loves playgoing, that she is a _Lady Macbeth_, a +_Cleopatra_, a _Queen Constance_, who can shake ‘the playhouse down.’ + +At all events, in such mistakes as the above, followed by their sure +consequence of misery, lives not the Poetry which we are seeking. In its +place we too often encounter a dismal wax-work show—a creature with +glassy eyes and hot red cheeks, and a stiff arm, in a noble attitude +perhaps, but always beckoning in one and the same direction,—not the +living, breathing, hoping, fearing being, human like ourselves, yet +better than ourselves, with whom we can sit down at meat, and kneel down +at prayer—not the fragment of Heaven upon Earth to encounter and make +acquaintance with, which redeems us from utter heartlessness or +discomfort. The Poetry of appreciation when creation is impossible—the +Poetry of daily life, as sung in deeds of unselfishness, delicacy, +triumph over temptations—consideration of the weak (let the brute-force +theorists ‘sound their trumpets and beat their drums’ as loudly as if +upon themselves devolved the whole orchestral and choral noise of ‘Judas +Maccabeus’) and companionship with the humble—the Poetry of a healthy, +not a maudlin love for Nature—these are to be sought out and gathered +up. In turn we may sit on the bleak hill-sides of Scotland with the +shepherd-rhymesters of the north—or wander down the alleys of English +manufacturing towns, to see what fairly-patterned verse may have been +woven there. Or in a green lane we may open such a book as good Mr. +Barnes has published in the Dorsetshire dialect, to show how ingeniously +music may be got out of a corrupt local English phraseology. Or we may +cross the Channel to hear Jasmin, the Provençal hairdresser, recite; or +to see Reboul, the Nismes baker, bring out an ode hot from his oven.—But +our business will be more with deeds than with words, more with genuine +thoughts and impulses in action, than with second-hand fancies, faded as +the coarse artificial flowers of a milliner’s shop in Leicester Square, +when the season is over, which no passer-by, ‘gentle or simple,’ can +think of taking home. + +We may have to do, moreover, with the poetry of association as conveyed +in those festivals of joy or of sorrow which mark the progress of life +and the peculiarity of manners. The nasal, droning burial psalm that may +still be heard in remote places of England, winding up a hollow lane or +across the corner of a moor,—as some little congregation of friends or +neighbours bears a dead body home,—the twilight vesper service +(intrinsically tuneless and unmusical) of the Sisters of Charity, who +come back to their _Beguinage_ after a long day of hard work, hard +prayers, hard consolation, and hard gossip among the poor;—do these +things say nothing to us? Is nothing told us by the cry of sailors as +they warp the ship into dock at the close of a wild and wintry voyage? +by the serenade-music with which the impulsive people of a German town +welcome some favourite poet or artist?—Are these not all, more or less, +poems conveying to us something of feeling, and life, and youth, be we +ever so soured, ever so seared by perpetual contact with coarser and +harsher contemplations and employments? May we not call up such +pictures,—may we not soothe ourselves with such harmonies,—may we not +lay them to our souls as evidences? We must not use them by way of +unction flattering us into the sentimental Waiting Gentlewoman’s notion +that crime is to disappear like a scene in a pantomime, and thieves all +of a sudden to grow as orderly as beadles; but we may apply them as +alteratives when we are in danger of being wearied into doggedness, by +the man who enacts fits at the street corner—or by the begging-letter +Impostor who wrings crowns out of kind-hearted and economical souls, who +must for their credulity’s sake forego their holiday—or by the Pole with +his anti-Russian pamphlet, who makes his way in, to abase himself by +fawning and genteel mendicity, under pretext of being a friend’s +friend—or by the sight of such a pillar of stone as the woman who went +into the confectioner’s shop to buy gingerbread, ‘because they were +going to see our Sally hanged, and should be hungry!’ + +Yes: if sights and provocations and discouragements like these—of the +earth, earthy—force themselves into our highways, all the more need is +it that all celestial appearances and sounds in our bye-ways, be they +ever so few, faint, and far, should be collected, and set down. Be they +ever so rich, they will not be rich enough to justify an over-complacent +or supine spirit—still less to tempt the healthily-minded to confound +dross with pure gold: be they ever so meagre, they ought to keep alive +in us the faith, that no portion of the earth is so barren, that Truth +or Beauty, and Love, and Patience, and Honour, cannot grow therein. + + + + + THE MINER’S DAUGHTERS.—A TALE OF THE PEAK. + + + IN THREE CHAPTERS. + + + CHAPTER II.—MILL LIFE. + +We must pass over the painful and dreadful particulars of that night, +and of a long time to come; the maniacal rage of the father, the +shattered heart and feelings of the mother, the dreadful state of the +two remaining children, to whom their brother was one of the most +precious objects in a world which, like theirs, contained so few. One +moment to have seen him full of life, and fun, and bravado, and almost +the next a lifeless and battered corpse, was something too strange and +terrible to be soon surmounted. But this was wofully aggravated by the +cruel anger of their father, who continued to regard them as guilty of +the death of his favourite boy. He seemed to take no pleasure in them. +He never spoke to them but to scold them. He drank more deeply than +ever, and came home later; and when there, was sullen and morose. When +their mother, who suffered severely, but still plodded on with all her +duties, said, ‘David, they are thy children too;’ he would reply +savagely, ‘Hod thy tongue! What’s a pack o’ wenches to my lad?’ + +What tended to render the miner more hard towards the two girls was a +circumstance which would have awakened a better feeling in a softer +father’s heart. Nancy, the younger girl, since the dreadful catastrophe, +had seemed to grow gradually dull and defective in her intellect, she +had a slow and somewhat idiotic air and manner. Her mother perceived it, +and was struck with consternation by it. She tried to rouse her, but in +vain. She could not perform her ordinary reading and spelling lessons. +She seemed to have forgotten what was already learned. She appeared to +have a difficulty in moving her legs, and carried her hands as if she +had suffered a partial paralysis. Jane, her sister, was dreadfully +distressed at it, and she and her mother wept many bitter tears over +her. One day, in the following spring, they took her with them to +Ashford, and consulted the doctor there. On examining her, and hearing +fully what had taken place at the time of the brother’s death—the fact +of which he well knew, for it, of course, was known to the whole country +round—he shook his head, and said he was afraid they must make up their +minds to a sad case; that the terrors of that night had affected her +brain, and that, through it, the whole nervous system had suffered, and +was continuing to suffer the most melancholy effects. The only thing, he +thought, in her favour was her youth; and added, that it might have a +good effect if they could leave the place where she had undergone such a +terrible shock. But whether they did or not, kindness and soothing +attentions to her would do more than anything else. + +Mrs. Dunster and little Jane returned home with heavy hearts. The +doctor’s opinion had only confirmed their fears; for Jane, though but a +child, had quickness and affection for her sister enough to make her +comprehend the awful nature of poor Nancy’s condition. Mrs. Dunster told +her husband the doctor’s words, for she thought they would awaken some +tenderness in him towards the unfortunate child. But he said, ‘That’s +just what I expected. Hou’ll grow soft, and then who’s to maintain her? +Hou mun goo to th’ workhouse.’ + +With that he took his maundrel and went off to his work. Instead of +softening his nature, this intelligence seemed only to harden and +brutalise it. He drank now more and more. But all that summer the mother +and Jane did all that they could think of to restore the health and mind +of poor Nancy. Every morning, when the father was gone to work, Jane +went to a spring up in the opposite wood, famed for the coldness and +sweetness of its waters. On this account the proprietors of the mills at +Cressbrook had put down a large trough there under the spreading trees, +and the people fetched the water even from the village. Hence Jane +brought, at many journeys, this cold, delicious water to bathe her +sister in; they then rubbed her warm with cloths, and gave her new milk +for her breakfast. Her lessons were not left off, lest the mind should +sink into fatuity, but were made as easy as possible. Jane continued to +talk to her, and laugh with her, as if nothing was amiss, though she did +it with a heavy heart, and she engaged her to weed and hoe with her in +their little garden. She did not dare to lead her far out into the +valley, lest it might excite her memory of the past fearful time, but +she gathered her flowers, and continued to play with her at all their +accustomed sports, of building houses with pieces of pots and stones, +and imagining gardens and parks. The anxious mother, when some weeks +were gone by, fancied that there was really some improvement. The +cold-bathing seemed to have strengthened the system: the poor child +walked, and bore herself with more freedom and firmness. She became +ardently fond of being with her sister, and attentive to her directions. +But there was a dull cloud over her intellect, and a vacancy in her eyes +and features. She was quiet, easily pleased, but seemed to have little +volition of her own. Mrs. Dunster thought if they could but get her away +from that spot, it might rouse her mind from its sleep. But perhaps the +sleep was better than the awaking might be; however, the removal came, +though in a more awful way than was looked for. The miner, who had +continued to drink more and more, and seemed to have almost estranged +himself from his home, staying away in his drinking bouts for a week or +more together, was one day blasting a rock in the mine, and being +half-stupified with beer, did not take care to get out of the way of the +explosion, was struck with a piece of the flying stone, and killed on +the spot. + +The poor widow and her children were now obliged to remove from under +Wardlow-Cop. The place had been a sad one to her: the death of her +husband, though he had been latterly far from a good one, and had left +her with the children in deep poverty, was a fresh source of severe +grief to her. Her religious mind was struck down with a weight of +melancholy by the reflection of the life he had led, and the sudden way +in which he had been summoned into eternity. When she looked forward, +what a prospect was there for her children! it was impossible for her to +maintain them from her small earnings, and as to Nancy, would she ever +be able to earn her own bread, and protect herself in the world? + +It was amid such reflections that Mrs. Dunster quitted this deep, +solitary, and, to her, fatal valley, and took up her abode in the +village of Cressbrook. Here she had one small room, and by her own +labours, and some aid from the parish, she managed to support herself +and the children. For seven years she continued her laborious life, +assisted by the labour of the two daughters, who also seamed stockings, +and in the evenings were instructed by her. Her girls were now thirteen +and fifteen years of age: Jane was a tall and very pretty girl of her +years; she was active, industrious, and sweet-tempered: her constant +affection for poor Nancy was something as admirable as it was singular. +Nancy had now confirmed good health, but it had affected her mother to +perceive that, since the catastrophe of her brother’s death, and the +cruel treatment of her father at that time, she had never grown in any +degree as she ought; she was short, stout, and of a pale and very plain +countenance. It could not be now said that she was deficient in mind, +but she was slow in its operations. She displayed, indeed, a more than +ordinary depth of reflection, and a shrewdness of observation, but the +evidences of this came forth in a very quiet way, and were observable +only to her mother and sister. To all besides she was extremely +reserved: she was timid to excess, and shrunk from public notice into +the society of her mother and sister. There was a feeling abroad in the +neighbourhood that she was ‘not quite right,’ but the few who were more +discerning, shook their heads, and observed, ‘Right she was not, poor +thing, but it was not want of sense; she had more of that than most.’ + +And such was the opinion of her mother and sister. They perceived that +Nancy had received a shock of which she must bear the effects through +life. Circumstances might bring her feeble but sensitive nerves much +misery. She required to be guarded and sheltered from the rudenesses of +the world, and the mother trembled to think how much she might be +exposed to them. But in everything that related to sound judgment, they +knew that she surpassed not only them, but any of their acquaintance. If +any difficulty had to be decided, it was Nancy who pondered on it, and +perhaps at some moment when least expected, pronounced an opinion that +might be taken as confidently as an oracle. + +The affection of the two sisters was something beyond the ties of this +world. Jane had watched and attended to her from the time of her +constitutional injury with a love that never seemed to know a moment’s +weariness or change; and the affection which Nancy evinced for her was +equally intense and affecting. She seemed to hang on her society for her +very life. Jane felt this, and vowed that they would never quit one +another. The mother sighed. How many things, she thought, might tear +asunder that beautiful resolve. + +But now they were of an age to obtain work in the mill. Indeed, Jane +could have had employment there long before, but she would not quit her +sister till she could go with her,—and now there they went. The +proprietor, who knew the case familiarly, so ordered it that the two +sisters should work near each other; and that poor Nancy should be as +little exposed to the rudeness of the workpeople as possible. But at +first so slow and awkward were Nancy’s endeavours, and such an effect +had it on her frame, that it was feared she must give it up. This would +have been a terrible calamity; and the tears of the two sisters, and the +benevolence of the employer enabled Nancy to pass through this severe +ordeal. In a while she acquired sufficient dexterity, and thenceforward +went through her work with great accuracy and perseverance. As far as +any intercourse with the workpeople was concerned, she might be said to +be dumb. Scarcely ever did she exchange a word with any one, but she +returned kind nods and smiles; and every morning and evening, and at +dinner-time, the two sisters might be seen going to and fro, side by +side,—Jane often talking with some of them; the little, odd-looking +sister walking silent and listening. + +Five more years and Jane was a young woman. Amid her companions, who +were few of them above the middle size, she had a tall and striking +appearance. Her father had been a remarkably tall and strong man, and +she possessed something of his stature, though none of his irritable +disposition. She was extremely pretty, of a blooming fresh complexion, +and graceful form. She was remarkable for the sweetness of her +expression, which was the index of her disposition. By her side still +went that odd, broad-built, but still pale and little sister. Jane was +extremely admired by the young men of the neighbourhood, and had already +many offers, but she listened to none. ‘Where I go must Nancy go,’ she +said to herself, ‘and of whom can I be sure?’ + +Of Nancy no one took notice. Her pale, somewhat large features, her +thoughtful silent look, and her short, stout figure, gave you an idea of +a dwarf, though she could not strictly be called one. No one would think +of Nancy as a wife,—where Jane went she must go; the two clung together +with one heart and soul. The blow which deprived them of their brother +seemed to bind them inseparably together. + +Mrs. Dunster, besides her seaming, at which, in truth, she earned a +miserable sum, had now for some years been the post-woman from the +village to the Bull’s Head, where the mail, going on to Tideswell, left +the letter-bag. Thither and back, wet or dry, summer or winter, she went +every day, the year round. With her earnings, and those of the girls’, +she went well with them, as the world kept a neat, small cottage; and +the world goes on the average with the poor. Cramps and rheumatisms she +began to feel sensibly from so much exposure to rain and cold; but the +never-varying and firm affection of her two children was a balm in her +cup which made her contented with everything else. + +When Jane was about two-and-twenty, poor Mrs. Dunster, seized with +rheumatic fever, died. On her death-bed she said to Jane, ‘Thou will +never desert poor Nancy; and that’s my comfort. God has been good to me. +After all my trouble, he has given me this faith, that come weal come +woe, so long as thou has a home, Nancy will never want one. God bless +thee for it! God bless you both; and he will bless you!’ So saying, +Betty Dunster breathed her last. + +The events immediately following her death did not seem to bear out her +dying faith; for the two poor girls were obliged to give up their +cottage. There was a want of cottages. Not half of the workpeople could +be entertained in this village; they went to and fro for many miles. +Jane and Nancy were now obliged to do the same. Their cottage was wanted +for an overlooker,—and they removed to Tideswell, three miles off. They +had thus six miles a-day to walk, besides standing at their work; but +they were young, and had companions. In Tideswell they were more +cheerful. They had a snug little cottage; were near a Meeting; and found +friends. They did not complain. Here, again, Jane Dunster attracted +great attention, and a young, thriving grocer paid his addresses to her. +It was an offer that made Jane take time to reflect. Every one said it +was an opportunity not to be neglected: but Jane weighed in her mind, +‘Will he keep faith in my compact with Nancy?’ Though her admirer made +every vow on the subject, Jane paused and determined to take the opinion +of Nancy. Nancy thought for a day, and then said, ‘Dearest sister, I +don’t feel easy; I fear that from some cause it would not do in the +end.’ + +Jane from that moment gave up the idea of the connection. There might be +those who would suspect Nancy of a selfish bias in the advice she gave; +but Jane knew that no such feeling influenced her pure soul. For one +long year the two sisters traversed the hills between Cressbrook and +Tideswell. But they had companions, and it was pleasant in the summer +months. But winter came, and then it was a severe trial. To rise in the +dark, and traverse those wild and bleak hills; to go through snow and +drizzle, and face the sharpest winds in winter, was no trifling matter. +Before winter was over, the two young women began seriously to revolve +the chances of a nearer residence, or a change of employ. There were no +few who blamed Jane excessively for the folly of refusing the last good +offer. There were even more than one who, in the hearing of Nancy, +blamed her. Nancy was thoughtful, agitated, and wept. ‘If I can, dear +sister,’ she said, ‘have advised you to your injury, how shall I forgive +myself? What _shall_ become of me?’ + +But Jane clasped her sister to her heart, and said, ‘No! no! dearest +sister, you are not to blame. I feel you are right; let us wait, and we +shall see!’ + + + + + THE USES OF SORROW. + + + Oh, grieve not for the early dead, + Whom God himself hath taken; + But deck with flowers each holy bed— + Nor deem thyself forsaken, + When, one by one, they fall away, + Who were to thee as summer day. + + Weep for the babes of guilt, who sleep + With scanty rags stretch’d o’er them, + On the dark road, the downward steep + Of misery; while before them + Looms out afar the dreadful tree, + And solemn, sad Eternity! + + Nor weep alone; but when to Heaven + The cords of sorrow bind thee, + Let kindest help to such be given, + As God shall teach to find thee; + And, for the sake of those above, + Do deeds of Wisdom, Mercy, Love. + + The child that sicken’d on thy knee, + Thou weeping Christian mother, + Had learn’d in this world, lispingly, + Words suited for another. + Oh, dost thou think, with pitying mind, + On untaught infants left behind? + + + + + FROM THE RAVEN IN THE HAPPY FAMILY. + + +I won’t bear it, and I don’t see why I should. + +Having begun to commit my grievances to writing, I have made up my mind +to go on. You men have a saying, ‘I may as well be hung for a sheep as a +lamb.’ Very good. _I_ may as well get into a false position with our +proprietor for a ream of manuscript as a quire. Here goes! + +I want to know who BUFFON was. I’ll take my oath he wasn’t a bird. Then +what did _he_ know about birds—especially about Ravens? He pretends to +know all about Ravens. Who told him? Was his authority a Raven? I should +think not. There never was a Raven yet, who committed himself, you’ll +find, if you look into the precedents. + +There’s a schoolmaster in dusty black knee-breeches and stockings, who +comes and stares at our establishment every Saturday, and brings a lot +of boys with him. He is always bothering the boys about BUFFON. That’s +the way I know what BUFFON says. He is a nice man, BUFFON; and you’re +all nice men together, ain’t you? + +What do you mean by saying that I am inquisitive and impudent, that I go +everywhere, that I affront and drive off the dogs, that I play pranks on +the poultry, and that I am particularly assiduous in cultivating the +good-will of the cook? That’s what your friend BUFFON says, and you +adopt him it appears. And what do you mean by calling me ‘a glutton by +nature, and a thief by habit?’ Why, the identical boy who was being told +this, on the strength of BUFFON, as he looked through our wires last +Saturday, was almost out of his mind with pudding, and had got another +boy’s top in his pocket! + +I tell you what. I like the idea of you men, writing histories of _us_, +and settling what we are, and what we are not, and calling us any names +you like best. What colors do you think you would show in, yourselves, +if some of us were to take it into our heads to write histories of +_you_? I know something of Astley’s Theatre, I hope; I was about the +stables there, a few years. Ecod! if you heard the observations of the +Horses after the performance, you’d have some of the conceit taken out +of you! + +I don’t mean to say that I admire the Cat. I _don’t_ admire her. On the +whole, I have a personal animosity towards her. But, being obliged to +lead this life, I condescend to hold communication with her, and I have +asked her what _her_ opinion is. She lived with an old lady of property +before she came here, who had a number of nephews and nieces. She says +she could show you up to that extent, after her experience in that +situation, that even you would be hardly brazen enough to talk of cats +being sly and selfish any more. + +I am particularly assiduous in cultivating the good-will of the cook, am +I? Oh! I suppose you never do anything of this sort, yourselves? No +politician among you was ever particularly assiduous in cultivating the +good-will of a minister, eh? No clergyman in cultivating the good-will +of a bishop, humph? No fortune-seeker in cultivating the good-will of a +patron, hah? You have no toad-eating, no time-serving, no place-hunting, +no lacqueyship of gold and silver sticks, or anything of that sort, I +suppose? You haven’t too many cooks, in short, whom you are all +assiduously cultivating, till you spoil the general broth? Not you. You +leave that to the Ravens. + +Your friend BUFFON, and some more of you, are mighty ready, it seems, to +give _us_ characters. Would you like to hear about your own temper and +forbearance? Ask the Dog. About your never overloading or ill-using a +willing creature? Ask my brother-in-law’s friend, the Camel, up in the +Zoological. About your gratitude to, and your provision for, old +servants? I wish I could refer you to the last Horse I dined off (he was +very tough), up at a knacker’s yard in Battle Bridge. About your +mildness, and your abstinence from blows and cudgels? Wait till the +Donkey’s book comes out! + +You are very fond of laughing at the parrot, I observe. Now, I don’t +care for the parrot. I don’t admire the parrot’s voice—it wants +hoarseness. And I despise the parrot’s livery—considering black the only +true wear. I would as soon stick my bill into the parrot’s breast as +look at him. Sooner. But if you come to that, and you laugh at the +parrot because the parrot says the same thing over and over again, don’t +you think you could get up a laugh at yourselves? Did you ever know a +Cabinet Minister say of a flagrant job or great abuse, perfectly +notorious to the whole country, that he had never heard a word of it +himself, but could assure the honourable gentleman that every enquiry +should be made? Did you ever hear a Justice remark, of any extreme +example of ignorance, that it was a most extraordinary case, and he +couldn’t have believed in the possibility of such a case—when there had +been, all through his life, ten thousand such within sight of his +chimney-pots? Did you ever hear, among yourselves, anything approaching +to a parrot repetition of the words, Constitution, Country, Public +Service, Self-Government, Centralisation, Un-English, Capital, Balance +of Power, Vested Interests, Corn, Rights of Labor, Wages, or so forth? +_Did_ you ever? No! Of course, you never! + +But to come back to that fellow BUFFON. He finds us Ravens to be most +extraordinary creatures. We have properties so remarkable, that you’d +hardly believe it. ‘A piece of money, a teaspoon, or a ring,’ he says, +‘are always tempting baits to our avarice. These we will slily seize +upon; and, if not watched, carry to our favorite hole.’ How odd! + +Did you ever hear of a place called California? _I_ have. I understand +there are a number of animals over there, from all parts of the world, +turning up the ground with their bills, grubbing under the water, +sickening, moulting, living in want and fear, starving, dying, tumbling +over on their backs, murdering one another, and all for what? Pieces of +money that they want to carry to their favourite holes. Ravens every one +of ’em! Not a man among ’em, bless you! + +Did you ever hear of Railway Scrip? _I_ have. We made a pretty +exhibition of ourselves about that, we feathered creatures! Lord, how we +went on about that Railway Scrip! How we fell down, to a bird, from the +Eagle to the Sparrow, before a scarecrow, and worshipped it for the love +of the bits of rag and paper fluttering from its dirty pockets! If it +hadn’t tumbled down in its rottenness, we should have clapped a title on +it within ten years, I’ll be sworn!—Go along with you, and your BUFFON, +and don’t talk to me! + +‘The Raven don’t confine himself to petty depredations on the pantry or +the larder’—here you are with your BUFFON again—‘but he soars at more +magnificent plunder, that he can neither exhibit nor enjoy.’ This must +be very strange to you men—more than it is to the Cat who lived with +that old lady, though! + +Now, I am not going to stand this. You shall not have it all your own +way. I am resolved that I won’t have Ravens written about by men, +without having men written about by Ravens—at all events by one Raven, +and that’s me. I shall put down my opinions about you. As leisure and +opportunity serve, I shall collect a natural history of you. You are a +good deal given to talk about _your_ missions. That’s my mission. How do +you like it? + +I am open to contributions from any animal except one of your set; bird, +beast, or fish, may assist me in my mission, if he will. I have +mentioned it to the Cat, intimated it to the Mouse, and proposed it to +the Dog. The Owl shakes his head when I confide it to him, and says he +doubts. He always did shake his head, and doubt. Whenever he brings +himself before the public, he never does anything except shake his head +and doubt. I should have thought he had got himself into a sufficient +mess by doing that, when he roosted for a long time in the Court of +Chancery. But he can’t leave off. He’s always at it. + +Talking of missions, here’s our Proprietor’s Wife with a mission now! +She has found out that she ought to go and vote at elections; ought to +be competent to sit in Parliament; ought to be able to enter the learned +professions—the army and navy, too, I believe. She has made the +discovery that she has no business to be the comfort of our Proprietor’s +life, and to have the hold upon him of not being mixed up in all the +janglings and wranglings of men, but is quite ill-used in being the +solace of his home, and wants to go out speechifying. That’s our +Proprietor’s Wife’s new mission. Why, you never heard the Dove go on in +that ridiculous way. She knows her true strength better. + +You are mighty proud about your language; but it seems to me that you +don’t deserve to have words, if you can’t make a better use of ’em. You +know you are always fighting about ’em. Do you never mean to leave that +off, and come to things a little? I thought you had high authority for +_not_ tearing each other’s eyes out, about words. You respect it, don’t +you? + +I declare I am stunned with words, on my perch in the Happy Family. I +used to think the cry of a Peacock bad enough, when I was on sale in a +menagerie, but I had rather live in the midst of twenty peacocks, than +one Gorham and a Privy Council. In the midst of your wordy squabbling, +you don’t think of the lookers-on. But if you heard what _I_ hear in my +public thoroughfare, you’d stop a little of that noise, and leave the +great bulk of the people something to believe in peace. You are +overdoing it, I assure you. + +I don’t wonder at the Parrot picking words up and occupying herself with +them. She has nothing else to do. There are no destitute parrots, no +uneducated parrots, no foreign parrots in a contagious state of +distraction, no parrots in danger of pestilence, no festering heaps of +miserable parrots, no parrots crying to be sent away beyond the sea for +dear life. But among you!— + +Well! I repeat, I am not going to stand it. Tame submission to injustice +is unworthy of a Raven. I croak the croak of revolt, and call upon the +Happy Family to rally round me. You men have had it all your own way for +a long time. _Now_, you shall hear a sentiment or two about yourselves. + +I find my last communication gone from the corner where I hid it. I +rather suspect the magpie, but he says, ‘Upon his honor.’ If Mr. Rowland +Hill has got it, he will do me justice—more justice than you have done +him lately, or I am mistaken in my man. + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHEAPNESS. + + EGGS. + + +There is a curious illustration of the mode in which kings and +legislators thought to make things cheap, in an Ordinance of Edward the +Second, of the year 1314, in which it is set forth that there is ‘an +intolerable dearth, in these days, of oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, geese, +capons, hens, chickens, pigeons, and eggs;’ and therefore, amongst other +regulations, it is prescribed that twenty eggs shall be sold for a +penny, and that the eggs should be forfeited if the salesman would not +take that price. Some years before (1274), the Lord Mayor of London, in +a similar proclamation, shows us how the commerce of food was conducted, +by ordaining that no huckster of fowl should go out of the city to meet +the country people coming in with their commodities, but buy in the city +after three o’clock, when the great men and citizens had supplied +themselves at the first hand. Of course, these regulations did produce +‘an intolerable dearth;’ and Edward the Second had the candour to +acknowledge this by a proclamation of 1315, in which he says, ‘we have +understood that such a proclamation, which at that time we believed +would be for the profit of the people of our realm, redounds to their +greater damage than profit.’ Nevertheless, two centuries and a half +later, the civic wisdom discovered that ‘through the grievous +covetousness of poulterers, the prices of all poultry wares are grown to +be excessive and unreasonable;’ and therefore the Lord Mayor decrees the +prices of geese and chickens, and commands that eggs shall be five a +penny. (Stow.) In 1597 we learn, that even an attorney-general could not +have the benefit of such an enforced cheapness; for the household book +of Sir Edward Coke shows us that his steward expended 4_s._ 8_d._ in one +week of May, for his master’s family in Holborn, by daily purchases of +eggs at ten for a groat; while at his country house at Godwicke, in +Norfolk, in the same year, he daily bought eggs at twenty a groat in +July. + +The fact that in 1597 eggs were double the price in Holborn as compared +with the eggs of Godwicke, is one of the incidental proofs of an almost +self-evident principle, that commercial intercourse, produced by +facilities of communication, is one of the great causes of cheapness +arising out of equalisation of prices. But such facilities further lower +prices, by stimulating production. It is to be noted, that while the +Attorney-General, when in the country, killed his own bullocks and +sheep, and had green geese, capons, and chickens in profusion out of his +own poultry-yard, he bought his eggs. We have no doubt that his +occasional presence at Godwicke encouraged the cottagers in the +provision of eggs for the great man’s use. He did not produce them +himself, for the carriage to London would have been most costly. But his +purchases were irregular. When the family went to Holborn, the eggs had +to seek an inferior market. If no one was at hand, the production +declined. They did not go to London, to lower the price there, by +increasing the supply. + +Eggs at ten a groat, even, sound cheap. But while Coke bought his eggs +at ten a groat, he only paid two shillings a stone for his beef. Ten +eggs were, therefore, equivalent to about two pounds of beef. In this +month of April, 1850, good eggs may be bought in London at sixteen for a +shilling, which shilling would purchase two pounds of beef. Eggs are, +therefore, more than one half cheaper in London now than two centuries +and a half ago, by comparison with meat. They are far cheaper when we +regard the altered value of money. In the days of Queen Elizabeth eggs +were a common article of food. We learn from no less an authority than +the Chamberlain of a renowned inn in Kent, that the company who +travelled with the carriers used eggs plentifully and luxuriously. ‘They +are up already, and call for eggs and butter.’ (Henry IV. pt. 1.) But if +we infer that the population of London, in those days of supposed +cheapness, could obtain eggs with the facility with which we now obtain +them, and that the estimated two hundred thousand of that population +could call for them as freely as the pack-horse travellers at +Rochester,—the inference may be corrected by the knowledge of a few +facts, which will show by what means, then undiscovered, a perishable +article is now supplied with unfailing regularity, and without any limit +but that enforced by the demand, to a population of two millions and a +quarter. That such a population can be so supplied without a continuing +increase, or a perpetual variation of price, is an Illustration of +Cheapness, which involves a view of some remarkable peculiarities of our +age, and some important characteristics of our social condition. + +In the days of Edward II., the villagers who dwelt within a few miles of +London daily surrounded its walls with their poultry and eggs. The +poulterers were forbidden to become their factors; but unquestionably it +was for the interest of both parties that some one should stand between +the producer and the consumer. Without this, there would have been no +regular production. Perhaps the production was very irregular, the price +very fluctuating, the dearth often intolerable. This huckstering had to +go on for centuries before it became commerce. It would have been +difficult, even fifty years ago, to imagine that eggs, a frail +commodity, and quickly perishable, should become a great article of +import. Extravagant would have been the assertion that a kingdom should +be supplied with sea-borne eggs, with as much speed, with more +regularity, and at a more equalised price, than a country market-town of +the days of George III. It has been stated, that, before the Peace of +1815, Berwick-upon-Tweed shipped annually as many eggs to London as were +valued at 30,000_l._ Before the Peace, there were no steam-vessels; and +it is difficult to conceive how the cargoes from Berwick, with a passage +that often lasted a month, could find their way to the London consumer +in marketable condition. Perhaps the eaters of those eggs, collected in +the Border districts, were not so fastidious in their tastes as those +who now despise a French egg which has been a week travelling from the +Pas de Calais. But the Berwick eggs were, at any rate, the commencement +of a real commerce in eggs. + +In 1820, five years after the Peace, thirty-one millions of foreign eggs +found their way into England, paying a duty of 11,077_l._, at the rate +of a penny for each dozen. They principally came from France, from that +coast which had a ready communication with Kent and Sussex, and with the +Thames. These eggs, liable as they were to a duty, came to the consumer +so much cheaper than the Berwick eggs, or the Welsh eggs, or the eggs +even that were produced in Middlesex or Surrey, that the trade in eggs +was slowly but surely revolutionised. Large heaps of eggs made their +appearance in the London markets, or stood in great boxes at the door of +the butterman, with tempting labels of ‘24 a shilling,’ or ‘20 a +shilling.’ They were approached with great suspicion, and not unjustly +so; for the triumphs of steam were yet far from complete. But it was +discovered that there was an egg-producing country in close proximity to +London, in which the production of eggs for the metropolitan market +might be stimulated by systematic intercourse, and become a mutual +advantage to a population of two millions, closely packed in forty +square miles of street, and a population of six hundred thousand spread +over two thousand five hundred square miles of arable, meadow, and +forest land, with six or eight large towns. This population of the Pas +de Calais is chiefly composed of small proprietors. Though the farms are +larger there than in some other parts of France, some of the +peculiarities of what is called the small culture are there observable. +Poultry, especially, is most abundant. Every large and every small +farmhouse has its troops of fowls and turkeys. The pullets are carefully +fed and housed; the eggs are duly collected; the good-wife carries them +to the markets of Arras, or Bethune, or St. Omer, or Aire, or Boulogne, +or Calais: perhaps the egg-collector traverses the district with his +cart and his runners. The egg-trade with England gradually went on +increasing. In 1835, France consigned to us seventy-six millions of +eggs, paying a duty of tenpence for 120. In 1849, we received +ninety-eight millions of foreign eggs, paying a duty of +tenpence-halfpenny per 120, amounting to 35,694_l._ These are known in +the egg-market as eggs of Caen, Honfleur, Cherbourg, Calais, and +Belgium. + +In 1825 the commercial intercourse between Great Britain and Ireland was +put upon the same footing as the coasting trade of the ports of England. +Steam navigation between the two islands also had received an enormous +impulse. The small farmers and cottiers of Ireland were poultry-keepers. +Too often the poor oppressed tenants were wont to think—‘The hen lays +eggs, they go into the lord’s frying-pan.’ Steam navigation gave a new +impulse to Irish industry. Before steam-vessels entered the Cove of +Cork, an egg, at certain seasons, could scarcely be found in the market +of that city. England wanted eggs; steam-boats would convey them rapidly +to Bristol; the small farmers applied themselves to the production of +eggs; Cork itself then obtained a constant and cheap supply. In 1835 +Ireland exported as many eggs to England as were valued at 156,000_l._, +being in number nearly a hundred millions. In 1847 it was stated by Mr. +Richardson, in a work on Domestic Fowls, published in Dublin, that the +export of eggs from Ireland to England was ‘bordering on a million +sterling.’ The eggs are valued at 5_s._ 6_d._ for 124, which would +indicate an export of about four hundred and fifty millions of eggs. We +come to more precise results when we learn, on the authority of the +secretary of the Dublin Steam-Packet Company, that in the year 1844–5 +there were shipped from Dublin alone, to London and Liverpool, +forty-eight millions of eggs, valued at 122,500_l._ In the census of +1841, the poultry of Ireland was valued at 202,000_l._, taking each fowl +at 6_d._ per head. The return was below the reality; for the peasantry +were naturally afraid of some fiscal imposition, worse even than the old +tax of ‘duty fowls,’ when they had to account for their Dame Partletts. +Eight millions of poultry, which this return indicates, is, however, a +large number. The gross number of holdings in Ireland, as shown by the +agricultural returns of 1847, was 935,000; and this would give above +eight fowls to every cottage and farm,—a number sufficient to produce +four hundred and fifty millions of eggs for exportation, if all could be +collected and all carried to a port. One hundred and twenty eggs yearly +is the produce of a good hen. It would be safe to take the Irish export +of eggs at half the number,—an enormous quantity, when we consider what +a trifling matter an egg appears when we talk of large culture and +extensive commerce. Out of such trifles communities have grown into +industrious and frugal habits and consequent prosperity. There was a +time when the English farmer’s wife would keep her household out of the +profits of her butter, her poultry, and her eggs; when she duly rose at +five o’clock on the market-day morning, rode with her wares some seven +miles in a jolting cart, and stood for six hours at a stall till she had +turned all her commodity into the ready penny. The old thrift and the +old simplicity may return, when English farmers learn not to despise +small gains, and understand how many other things are to be done with +the broad acres, besides growing wheat at a monopoly price. + +The coast-trade brings English eggs in large numbers into the London +markets. Scotch eggs are also an article of import. The English eggs, +according to the ‘Price Current,’ fetch 25 per cent. more than the +Scotch or Irish. The average price of all eggs at the present time, in +the wholesale London market, is five shillings for 120—exactly a +halfpenny each. + +In the counties by which London is surrounded, the production of fresh +eggs is far below the metropolitan demand. Poultry, indeed, is produced +in considerable quantities, but there is little systematic attention to +the profitable article of eggs. Where is the agricultural labourer who +has his half-dozen young hens, from which number, with good management, +nine hundred, and even a thousand eggs may be annually produced, that +will obtain a high price—three times as high as foreign eggs? These six +hens would yield the cottager a pleasant addition to his scanty wages, +provided the egg-collection were systematised, as it is in Ireland. Mr. +Weld, in his ‘Statistical Survey of the County of Roscommon,’ says, ‘The +eggs are collected from the cottages for several miles round, by +runners, commonly boys from nine years old and upwards, each of whom has +a regular beat, which he goes over daily, bearing back the produce of +his toil carefully stowed in a small hand-basket. I have frequently met +with these boys on their rounds, and the caution necessary for bringing +in their brittle ware with safety seemed to have communicated an air of +business and steadiness to their manner, unusual to the ordinary +volatile habits of children in Ireland.’ + +Making a reasonable estimate of the number of foreign eggs, and of Irish +and Scotch eggs that come into the port of London—and putting them +together at a hundred and fifty millions, every individual of the London +population consumes sixty eggs, brought to his own door from sources of +supply which did not exist thirty years ago. Nor will such a number +appear extravagant when we consider how accurately the egg-consumption +is regulated by the means and the wants of this great community. Rapid +as the transit of these eggs has become, there are necessarily various +stages of freshness in which they reach the London market. The retail +dealer purchases accordingly of the egg-merchant; and has a commodity +for sale adapted to the peculiar classes of his customers. The dairyman +or poulterer in the fashionable districts permits, or affects to permit, +no cheap sea-borne eggs to come upon his premises. He has his eggs of a +snowy whiteness at four or six a shilling, ‘warranted new-laid;’ and his +eggs from Devonshire, cheap at eight a shilling, for all purposes of +polite cookery. In Whitechapel, or Tottenham Court Road, the +bacon-seller ‘warrants’ even his twenty-four a shilling. In truth, the +cheapest eggs from France and Ireland are as good, if not better, than +the eggs which were brought to London in the days of bad roads and slow +conveyance—the days of road-waggons and pack-horses. And a great benefit +it is, and a real boast of that civilisation which is a consequence of +free and rapid commercial intercourse. Under the existing agricultural +condition of England, London could not, by any possibility, be supplied +with eggs to the extent of a hundred and fifty millions annually, beyond +the existing supply from the neighbouring counties. The cheapness of +eggs through the imported supply has raised up a new class of +egg-consumers. Eggs are no longer a luxury which the poor of London +cannot touch. France and Ireland send them cheap eggs. But France and +Ireland produce eggs for London, that the poultry-keepers may supply +themselves with other things which they require more than eggs. Each is +a gainer by the exchange. The industry of each population is stimulated; +the wants of each supplied. + + + + + MUSIC IN HUMBLE LIFE. + + +Music—that is, classical music—has of late years been gradually +descending from the higher to the humbler classes. The Muse is changing +her associates; she is taking up with the humble and needy, and leaves +nothing better to her aristocratic friends than their much-loved Italian +Opera. It is to the masses that she awards some of her choicest +scientific gifts. She has of late years permeated and softened the hard +existence of the artisan and the labourer. + +It was not always thus. There was an ‘olden time’ in England when Music +was more assiduously cultivated among the higher and educated classes +than it has been in more modern days. In the sixteenth century, +knowledge of music, and skill in its performance were deemed +indispensable to persons of condition. Queen Elizabeth, among her other +vanities, was proud of her musical powers, and not a little jealous of +her unhappy rival, the Queen of Scots, on account of her proficiency in +this accomplishment. The favourite vocal music of that day consisted of +the madrigals of the great Italian and English masters—those wonderful +works of art, which, like the productions of ancient Grecian sculpture, +have baffled all attempts at modern imitation. Yet every well-educated +lady or gentleman was expected to take a part in those profound and +complicated harmonies; and at a social meeting, to decline doing so, on +the score of inability, was regarded as a proof of rudeness and +low-breeding. In Morley’s very curious book, the ‘_Introduction to +Practical Music_,’ a gentleman is represented as seeking musical +instruction in consequence of a mortification of this kind. ‘Supper +being ended,’ says he, ‘and musicke books, according to the custom, +being brought to the table, the mistress of the house presented me with +a part, earnestly requesting me to sing; but when, after many excuses, I +protested unfainedly that I could not, every one began to wonder, yea, +some whispered to others, demanding how I was brought up.’ + +Music declined in England along with manners. In the middle of the last +century, a period rivalling the days of Charles the Second in moral +profligacy, Lord Chesterfield, who of course expressed the fashionable +feeling of the time, advised his son to eschew the practice of music as +unbecoming a gentleman. This feeling, we need scarcely say, has long +passed away; some of our most accomplished amateurs of both sexes being +found in the highest circles of society. + +Traces, however, of the ancient and extensive cultivation of music were +never entirely obliterated; and, as might be expected, they existed, +along with more primitive manners, in the more remote districts of the +country. In some of the northern counties, particularly Lancashire and +Yorkshire, the inhabitants have from time immemorial been remarkable for +skill in vocal harmony, and for their knowledge of the old part-music of +the English school. As these districts have gradually become the seats +of manufactures, the same musical habits have been kept up among the +growing population; and so salutary have these habits been found—so +conducive to order, temperance, and industry—that many great +manufacturers have encouraged them by furnishing to their workpeople the +means of musical instruction. + +The Messrs. Strutt, of Derby, trained some of their brawny workmen into +a band, and many of them could step from the forge into the orchestra, +and perform some of the most complicated pieces, by English and foreign +composers, in a creditable style. + +Another set of harmonious blacksmiths awaken the echoes of the remotest +Welsh mountains. The correspondent of a London paper, while visiting +Merthyr, was exceedingly puzzled by hearing boys in the Cyfarthfa works +whistling airs rarely heard except in the fashionable ball-room, +opera-house, or drawing-room. He afterwards discovered that the +proprietor of the works, Mr. Robert Crawshay, had established among his +men a brass band, which practises once a week throughout the year. They +have the good fortune to be led by a man (one of the ‘roll-turners’) who +must have had somewhere a superior musical education. ‘I had the +pleasure of hearing them play, and was astonished at their proficiency. +They number sixteen instruments. I heard them perform the Overtures to +Zampa, The Caliph of Bagdad, and Fra Diavolo, Vivi tu, some concerted +music from Roberto, Don Giovanni, and Lucia, with a quantity of Waltzes, +Polkas, and dance music. The bandmaster had them under excellent +control; he everywhere took the time well, and the instruments preserved +it, each taking up his lead with spirit and accuracy; in short, I have +seldom heard a regimental band more perfect than this handful of +workmen, located (far from any place where they might command the +benefit of hearing other bands) in the mountains of Wales. The great +body of men at these works are extremely proud of their musical +performances, and like to boast of them. I have been told it cost Mr. +Crawshay great pains and expense to bring this band to its present +excellent condition. If so, he now has his reward. Besides this, he has +shown what the intellectual capacity of the workman is equal to, and, +above all, he has provided a rational and refined amusement for classes +whose leisure time would otherwise probably have been less creditably +spent than in learning or listening to music.’ + +The habits and manners of these men appear to have been decidedly +improved by these softening influences. They are peaceful and simple. +‘During a stay of several weeks in the town,’ says the same authority, +‘I neither saw nor heard of altercations or fighting. The man, on his +return from labour, usually washes (the colliers and miners invariably +wash every day from head to foot), puts on another coat, and sits down +to his meal of potatoes, meat, and tea, or broth, and bread and cheese, +as the case may be. His wife and children, comfortably clothed and +cheerful, sit down with him. Afterwards he goes to a neighbour’s house, +or receives some friends of his own, when they discuss the news and +light gossip affecting their class, or talk over the success or +difficulties attending their work and their prospects as regards the +future. Visiting many of their houses at night, I saw numbers of such +groups; in one instance only I saw them drinking beer, and that was at a +kind of house warming, one of the body having that night taken +possession of the neatly furnished house where I found them assembled.’ + +These are, indeed, only insulated good effects wrought by private +individuals; but their beneficial effects have led to and helped on the +systematic cultivation of music as a branch of popular education under +the direct sanction and authority of the Government; and the labours of +Mr. Hullah, who was chosen as the agent in this good work, have been +attended with a degree of success far beyond anything that could have +been anticipated. + +Mr. Hullah had turned his attention to the subject of popular +instruction in Music, before the matter was taken up by the Government, +and had examined the methods of tuition adopted in various parts of the +Continent. An investigation of the system of Wilhem, which had been +formally sanctioned by the French Government, induced him to attempt its +introduction in a modified form, into this country; and he had an +opportunity of doing so by being appointed to instruct in vocal music +the pupils of the training-school at Battersea, then recently opened +under the direction of the National Society. In February 1840, he gave +his first lesson to a class of about twenty boys, and from this small +beginning sprang the great movement which speedily extended over the +kingdom. The success of these lessons attracted the notice of the +Committee of the Privy Council, who undertook the publication of the +work containing the adaptation of the Wilhem system to English use; and +under the sanction of the Committee, three classes were opened in Exeter +Hall for schoolmasters or teachers in elementary schools, each class +limited to one hundred persons; and a fourth class, of the same number, +for female teachers. These classes were opened in February and March +1841. Their expenses were defrayed partly from small payments made by +the pupils themselves, and partly by a subscription raised among a few +distinguished friends of education. It is worthy of particular notice +(as an erroneous impression has existed on the subject) that the +Government has never contributed a shilling to the support of any of Mr. +Hullah’s classes; though the official countenance and encouragement of +the Committee of Council certainly contributed much to Mr. Hullah’s +success. + +Many applications for similar instructions having been made by persons +_not_ engaged in teaching, the elementary classes were thrown open to +the public; and in the spring of 1841 these applications became so +numerous, that it was found necessary to engage the Great Room at Exeter +Hall and several of the smaller rooms. + +These first courses of elementary lessons being ended, an Upper School +was opened, in December 1841, for the practice of choral music, to +enable those pupils who might desire it to keep up and increase the +knowledge they had acquired. This class was joined by about 250 persons. + +The first great choral meeting of Mr. Hullah’s classes was held in April +1842. About 1500 persons sang, of whom the majority were adults, who, a +year before, had possessed no knowledge of music. During the year +following, 861 persons joined the elementary classes, and 1465 became +members of the Upper Schools, which were increased in number from one to +three. + +Of these Upper Schools, Mr. Hullah himself says—[1] + +Footnote 1: + + _The Duty and Advantage of Learning to Sing._ A Lecture delivered at + the Leeds Church Institution, 1846. + +‘They consist of persons of both sexes, of nearly all ages, and nearly +all ranks; for I think it would be difficult to name a class or calling, +of which they do not include some representative. We have clergymen, +lawyers, doctors, tradesmen, clerks, mechanics, soldiers, and, of +course, many schoolmasters and schoolmistresses. The large number of +females, besides distinguishing us broadly from those musical societies +called Social Harmonists and Glorious Apollos and the like—relics of an +age when men were not at all times fit company for women—besides +producing that courteous and scrupulous tone which female influence must +produce wherever it has fair play, removes the only objection which can +reasonably be made to this kind of social recreation, that it carries +individuals away from their homes, and breaks up family circles; for our +meetings include many a family circle entire—husbands and wives, +brothers and sisters, parents and children; and these, in many +instances, taught by one another.’ + +When the singing classes were opened in Exeter Hall, other classes were +also opened, also under the sanction of the Committee of Council, for +totally different objects;—instruction in Model Drawing, Writing, +Arithmetic, and Chemistry. The receipts from the singing classes, during +1841, 1842, and 1843, realised a net surplus above expenditure, of +1122£: but nearly the whole of this sum was employed in meeting the +losses on the other classes, in every one of which there was a deficit. +From the very heavy rent, too, demanded for Exeter Hall, it was thought +advisable to quit that place, and transfer the singing classes to the +Apollonicon Rooms in St. Martin’s Lane, till the plan then formed, for +the erection of a building at once less expensive and better fitted for +the accommodation of the classes than Exeter Hall, could be carried into +effect. + +This plan has been accomplished by the erection of the edifice in Long +Acre, called St. Martin’s Hall. The funds for this purpose were raised +by the persevering exertions of Mr. Hullah, aided by liberal advances +made by private individuals, subscriptions, and contributions of the +pupils, in testimony of their sense of the advantage they derived from +the schools, and the profits of a series of great Choral Concerts given, +for several seasons, in Exeter Hall. The first stone of the building was +laid by the Earl of Carlisle on the 26th of June, 1847; and the first +public meeting in the Great Hall was held on the 11th of February last. +The edifice, though rendered fit for present use, is not yet fully +completed, in consequence of a portion of the ground forming its site +being still under an unexpired lease. When finished, the great +concert-hall will be 120 feet long, 55 wide, and 40 high; and will +afford accommodation for three thousand persons. There are also a +lecture-room which can hold five hundred persons, three spacious +class-rooms, and a large room intended as a library of music and musical +literature. + +At St. Martin’s Hall there are now about 1400 persons in various stages +of instruction; about 450 in the first upper school, about 250 in the +second, and the remainder in the elementary classes. The pupils belong +to every class and calling; the highest ranks of the aristocracy, the +members of almost every trade and profession, the industrious mechanic +and workman; and they all mingle in one common pursuit, without regard +to station or degree, and with the utmost harmony of feeling. There is a +due admixture of the softer sex; and the meetings of the classes are +characterised by such uniform propriety and decorum, that the most +scrupulous parents allow their children, without hesitation, to attend +them. + +There are several other places in the Metropolis where Mr. Hullah’s +system of teaching is in operation. He has been appointed Professor of +Vocal Music in King’s College, in which seminary music forms a regular +part of the Theological Course; a knowledge of this art being regarded +as so conducive to the usefulness of a clergyman, that its acquirement, +to a certain extent, is rendered imperative on the students of divinity. +At the Charterhouse, a succession of singing classes has been maintained +for these five or six years. + +The National Society for the Education of the Poor has four Normal +Schools, in all of which the musical instruction is under Mr. Hullah’s +direction. These are:—1st, St. Mark’s College, Chelsea; in which, there +are always sixty students, who remain there three years. _All_ learn to +sing, and the majority to write in four-part harmony, before they leave. +They have a daily choral service, in which they sing (without +accompaniment) the services of Tallis, Gibbons, and other (chiefly old) +English masters, and the motets and hymns of the old Italian and Flemish +schools. They are at this time getting up, in their leisure hours, _The +Messiah_, with not only the vocal but the instrumental parts. Attached +to the College is a boys’ school, where the boys (upwards of 200) are +taught to sing by the students. The boys of the first class are all able +to sing the treble parts of _The Messiah_. 2nd, Battersea College, in +which there are about 80 students, who remain about a year. 3rd, +Westminster Training Institution, in which there are about 45 masters +and 60 mistresses, who remain about six months. There are also, in the +school attached, about 200 boys and 150 girls taught to sing. The whole +body forms at once the choir and greater part of the congregation at +Christ Church, Westminster. The children at this school are of the +humblest class. 4th, Whitelands; where there are about 75 young women +training for schoolmistresses. They remain about three years, and attain +some knowledge of Harmony. + +Besides the above, under Mr. Hullah’s personal direction, there are +various other training institutions in London, in which his plans have +been adopted, and are carried out by pupils of his own. The most +important of these are, the Borough Road Schools and the Home and +Colonial Infant School Society. + +There are Normal Schools at York, Exeter, Oxford, Chester, Warrington, +Durham, and other provincial towns, in all of which music is taught +systematically, according to the methods which the masters have acquired +in the Normal Schools of the metropolis. In Ireland, the National Board +of Education some years ago formally adopted Mr. Hullah’s books, and +have introduced his methods into a variety of seminaries. In Scotland +less seems to have been done. But the authorities of the Free Church +sent a young teacher to study under Mr. Hullah, who returned to +Edinburgh about a year ago, and, we learn, is giving instructions with +success. Mr. Hullah’s ‘Manual’ has been translated into Welsh, and +introduced into some schools in the Principality. Many copies of his +books have been sent to different parts of India, Australia, Van +Diemen’s Land, and New Zealand, for the use of persons teaching in those +remote regions. + +It thus appears that Music is becoming a regular branch of popular +education, and for the most part according to an uniform and well-tried +method, in every part of the British empire. The system is of too recent +growth to have brought its fruits to maturity. It may, indeed, be +regarded as in its infancy when compared with the magnitude which it +cannot fail to attain. But already its effects are striking and +encouraging. Music—well, badly, or indifferently taught—forms a part of +the business of the great majority of schools, national, public, and +private, throughout the country. In hundreds of quiet, out-of-the-way +country churches, an approximation is made to a choral service often +purely vocal. Hundreds of country clergymen are now qualified, by +musical attainment, to superintend the singing of their choirs and +congregations, and exert themselves to render it consistent with taste, +propriety, and devotion. And it is a certain fact, that whereas ten +years ago, nobody, in the engagement of a schoolmaster, ever thought of +inquiring about his musical capacity, men defective in this point, but +otherwise of unexceptionable character and attainments, find it next to +impossible to obtain employment. + + + + + A PARIS NEWSPAPER. + + +Within the precincts of that resort for foreigners and provincials in +Paris the Palais Royal, is situate the Rue du 24 Fevrier. This +revolutionary name, given after the last outbreak, is still pronounced +with difficulty by those who, of old, were wont to call it the Rue de +Valois. People are becoming accustomed to call the royally named street +by its revolutionary title, although it is probable that no one will +ever succeed in calling the Palais Royal, Palais National; the force of +habit being in this instance too great to efface old recollections. Few +foreigners have ever penetrated into the Rue du 24 Fevrier, though it +forms one of the external galleries of the Palais Royal, and one may see +there the smoky kitchens, dirty cooks,—the nightside, in fact, of the +splendid restaurants whose gilt fronts attract attention inside. +Rubicund apples, splendid game, truffles, and ortolans, deck the one +side; smoke, dirty plates, rags, and smutty saucepans may be seen on the +other. + +It is from an office in the Rue du 24 Fevrier, almost opposite the dark +side of a gorgeous Palais Royal restaurant, that issue 40,000 copies of +a daily print, entitled the ‘Constitutionnel.’ + +Newspaper offices, be it remarked, are always to be found in odd holes +and corners. To the mass in London, Printing-house Square, or Lombard +Street, Whitefriars, are mystical localities; yet they are the daily +birthplaces of that fourth estate which fulminates anathemas on all the +follies and weaknesses of governments, and, without which, no one can +feel free or independent. The ‘Constitutionnel’ office is about as +little known to the mass of its subscribers as either Printing-house +Square or Whitefriars. + +There is always an old and respectable look about the interior of +newspaper establishments, in whatever country you may find them. For +rusty dinginess, perhaps there is nothing to equal a London office, with +its floors strewed with newspapers from all parts of the world, +parliamentary reports, and its shelves creaking under books of all sorts +thumbed to the last extremity. Notwithstanding these appearances, +however, there is discipline,—there is real order in the apparent +disorder of things. Those newspapers that are lying in heaps have to be +accurately filed; those books of reference can be pounced upon when +wanted on the instant; and as to reports, the place of each is as well +known as if all labelled and ticketed with the elaborate accuracy of a +public library. + +Not less rusty and not less disorderly is the appearance of a French +newspaper office; but how different the aspect of things from what you +see in England! + +Over the office of the ‘Constitutionnel’ is a dingy tricolor flag. A few +broken steps lead to a pair of folding-doors. Inside is the sanctuary of +the office, guarded by that flag as if by the honour of the country; for +the tricolor represents all Frenchmen, be he prince or proletarian. + +You enter through a narrow passage flanked with wire cages, in which are +confined for the day the clerks who take account of advertisements and +subscriptions. Melancholy objects seem these caged birds; whose hands +alone emerge at intervals through the pigeon-holes made for the purpose +of taking in money and advertisements. The universal beard and +moustachios that ornament their chins, look, however, more +unbusiness-like than are the men really. They are shrewd and knowing +birds that are enclosed in these wire cages. + +At publishing time, boys rushing in for papers, as in London offices, +are not here to be seen. The reason of this is simple: French newspaper +proprietors prefer doing their work themselves,—they will have no +middlemen. They serve all their customers by quarterly, yearly, or +half-yearly subscriptions. In every town in France there are +subscription offices for this journal, as well, indeed, as for all great +organs of the press generally. There are regular forms set up like +registers at the Post-office, and all of these are gathered at the +periodical renewal of subscriptions to the central office. The period of +renewal is every fortnight. + +Passing still further up the narrow and dim passage, one sees a +pigeon-hole, over which is written the word ‘Advertisements.’ This +superscription is now supererogatory, for there no advertisements are +received; that branch of the journal having been farmed out to a Company +at 350,000fr. a-year. This is a system which evidently saves a vast deal +of trouble. The Advertising Company of Paris has secured almost a +monopoly of announcements and puffs. It has bought up the last page of +nearly every Paris journal which owns the patronage and confidence of +the advertising public of the French Capital. At the end of the same +dark passages, are the rooms specially used for the editors and writers. +In France, journals are bought for their polemics, and not for their +news: many of them have fallen considerably, however, from the high +estate which they held in public opinion previous to the last +revolution. There are men who wrote in them to advocate and enforce +principles; but in the chopping and changing times that France lives in, +it is not unusual to find the same men with different principles, +interest or gain being the object of each change. This result of +revolution might have been expected; and though it would be unfair to +involve the whole press in a sweeping accusation, cases in point have +been sufficiently numerous to cause a want of confidence in many +quarters against the entire press. + +The doings of newspaper editors are not catalogued in print at Paris, as +in America; but their influence being more occult is not the less +powerful, and it is this feeling that leads people to pay more attention +to this or that leading article than to mere news. The announcement of a +treaty having been concluded between certain powers of Europe, may not +lower the funds; but if an influential journal expresses an opinion that +certain dangers are to be apprehended from the treaty in question, the +exchanges will be instantly affected. This is an instance amongst many +that the French people are to be led in masses. Singly they have +generally no ideas, either politically or commercially. + +The importance of a journal being chiefly centered in that portion +specially devoted to politics, the writers of which are supposed right +or wrong to possess certain influences, it is not astonishing the +editorial offices have few occupants. The editorial department of the +‘Constitutionnel’ wears a homely appearance, but borrows importance from +the influence that is wielded in it—writers decorated with the red +ribbon are not unfrequently seen at work in it. In others, and +especially in the editorial offices of some journals, may be seen, +besides the pen, more offensive weapons, such as swords and pistols. +This is another result of the personal system of journalism. As in +America, the editor may find himself in the necessity of defending his +arguments by arms. He is too notorious to be able to resort to the +stratagem of a well-known wit, who kept a noted boxer in his front +office to represent the editor in hostile encounters. He goes out, +therefore, to fight a duel, on which sometimes depends not only his own +fate, but that of his journal. + +With regard to the personal power of a newspaper name, it is only +necessary in order to show how frequently it still exists, to state that +the Provisional Government of February, 1848, was concocted in a +newspaper office, and the revolution of 1830 was carried on by the +editors of a popular journal—that amongst the lower orders in France, at +the present time, the names that are looked up to as those of chiefs, +belong to newspaper editors, whose leading articles are read and +listened to in cheap newspaper clubs, and whose “orders” are followed as +punctually and as certainly as those of a general by his troops. A +certain class of French politicians may be likened to sheep:—they follow +their “leaders.” + +The smallness of the number of officials in a French newspaper office is +to be accounted for from the fact that Parliamentary Debates are +transcribed on the spot where the speeches are made; and the reporting +staff never stirs from the legislative assembly. The divers corps of +reporters for Paris journals form a corporation, with its aldermen or +syndici, and other minor officers. Each reporter is relieved every two +minutes; and whilst his colleagues are succeeding each other with the +same rapidity, he transcribes the notes taken during his two minutes’ +‘turn.’ The result of this revolving system is collated and arranged by +a gentleman selected for the purpose. This mode of proceeding ensures, +if necessary, the most verbatim transmission of an important speech, and +more equably divides the work, than does the English system, where each +reporter takes notes for half or three-quarters of an hour, and spends +two or three hours—and sometimes four or five—to transcribe his notes. +The French Parliamentary reporter is not the dispassionate auditor, +which the English one is. He applauds or condemns the orators, cheers or +hoots with all the vehemence of an excited partizan. + +‘Penny-a-liners’ are unknown in Paris; the foreign and home intelligence +being elaborated in general news’ offices, independent of the +newspapers. It is there that all the provincial journals are received, +the news of the day gathered up, digested, and multiplied by means of +lithography; which is found more efficacious than the stylet and oiled +‘flimsy’ paper of our Penny-a-liners. It is from these latter places +too, that the country journals, as well as many of the foreign press, +the German, the Belgium, and the Spanish, are supplied with Paris news. +England is a good market, as most of our newspapers are wealthy enough +to have correspondents of their own. + +My first visit to the ‘Constitutionnel’ was in the day-time, and I +caught the editor as he was looking over some of his proofs. Their +curious appearance led me to ask how they were struck off, and, in order +to satisfy me, he led the way up a dark stair, from which we entered +upon the composing-rooms of the premises. These, in appearance, were +like all other composing-rooms that I had seen; the forms, and cases for +the type, were similar to those in London; the men themselves had that +worn and pale look which characterises the class to which they belong, +and their pallor was not diminished by their wearing of the long beard +and moustache. Their unbuttoned shirts and bare breasts, the short clay +pipe, reminded me of the heroes of the barricades; indeed, I have every +reason to know that these very compositors are generally foremost in +revolutions; and though they often print ministerial articles, they are +not sharers in the opinions which they help to spread. The head printer +contracts for the printing, and chooses his men where he can find them +best. As a body, these men were provident, I was told, and all +subscribed to a fund for their poor, their orphans and widows; they form +a sort of trade union, and have very strict regulations. + +I found a most remarkable want of convenience in the working of the +types. For instance, there were no galleys, or longitudinal trays, on +which to place the type when it was set up; but when a small quantity +had been put together in column on a broad copper table, a string was +passed round it to keep it together. Nor was there any hand-press for +taking proofs; and here I found the explanation of the extraordinary +appearance of the proofs I had seen below. For when I asked to have one +struck off, the head printer placed a sheet of paper over the type, and +with a great brush beat it in, giving the proof a sunken and embossed +appearance, which it seemed to me would render correction exceedingly +difficult. The French, it seems, care not for improvement in this +respect, any more than the Chinese, whom the brush has served in place +of a printing-press for some three thousand years. + +This Journal has, as I have said, from 40,000 to 50,000 subscribers, in +order to serve whom it was necessary that the presses should be at work +as early as eleven o’clock at night. But there is no difficulty in doing +this, where news not being the _sine quâ non_ of journalism, provincial +and foreign intelligence is given as fresh, which in England would be +considered much behind in time. But even when commencing business at the +early hour above mentioned, I found that it had been necessary for the +paper to be composed twice over, in order to save time; and thus two +printers’ establishments were required to bring out each number of the +journal in sufficient time for the country circulation by early morning +trains. The necessity for this double composition is still existing in +most of the French newspaper offices, but had been obviated here lately, +by the erection of a new printing-machine, which sufficed by the speed +of its working to print the given number of copies necessary for +satisfying the wants of each day. + +Having seen through the premises, and witnessed all that was interesting +in the day-time, I was politely requested to return in the evening, and +see the remaining process of printing the paper and getting it ready to +send out from the office. + +Punctually at eleven o’clock I was in the Rue du 24 Fevrier. Passing +through the offices which I had seen in the morning, I was led by a sort +of guide down some passages dimly lighted with lamps. To the right and +to the left we turned, descending stone steps into the bowels of the +earth as it seemed to me; the walls oozing with slimy damp in some +parts; dry and saltpetry in others. A bundle of keys, which were +jingling in my guide’s hand, made noises which reminded me of the +description of prisoners going down into the Bastille or Tower. At +another moment a sound of voices in the distance, reminded me of a scene +of desperate coiners in a cellar. + +These sounds grew louder, as we soon entered a vast stone cellar, in +which rudely dressed men, half-naked as to their breasts and arms, were +to be seen flitting to and fro at the command of a superior; their long +beards and grimy faces, their short pipes and dirty appearance, made +them look more like devils than men, and I bethought me that here, at +last, I had found that real animal—the printer’s devil. There were two +or three printing-presses in the room, only one of which was going. Its +rolling sound was like thunder in the cave in which we stood. As paper +after paper flew out from the sides of this creaking press, they were +carried to a long table and piled up in heaps. + +Presently some of the stoutest men shouldered a mass of these, and my +conductor and myself following them, we entered a passage which led to +another cellar, contiguous to that in which the papers were printed. +There, sitting round a number of tables, were several young women. These +women seized upon a portion of the papers brought in, and with an +amazing rapidity folded them into a small compass. In a few minutes all +the papers I had seen printed were folded and numbered off by dozens. +Then comes another operation: a man came round and deposited before each +woman a bundle of little paper slips, which I found to be the addresses +of the subscribers. The women placed the labels and the paste on one +side, and commenced operations. A bundle of papers, folded, was placed +before each; the forefinger, dipped in the paste, immediately touched +the paper and the label simultaneously, and the ‘Constitutionnel’ flew +out with a speed perfectly astonishing from the hands of these women, +ready to be distributed in town or country. They were then finishing the +labelling of the papers for Paris circulation; 20,000 copies scarcely +sufficing for the supply. + +This was the concluding sight in my visit to a Paris Newspaper Office. + + + + + LINES BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + [_From an Unpublished Autograph._] + + + The days of Infancy are all a dream, + How fair, but oh! how short they seem— + ’Tis Life’s sweet opening SPRING! + + The days of Youth advance: + The bounding limb, the ardent glance, + The kindling soul they bring— + It is Life’s burning SUMMER time. + + Manhood—matured with wisdom’s fruit, + Reward of Learning’s deep pursuit— + Succeeds, as AUTUMN follows Summer’s prime. + + And that, and that, alas! goes by; + And what ensues? The languid eye, + The failing frame, the soul o’ercast; + ’Tis WINTER’S sickening, withering blast, + Life’s blessed season—for it is the last. + + + + + SHORT CUTS ACROSS THE GLOBE. + + THE ISTHMUS OF SUEZ. + + +That little neck of land which lies between the head of the Red Sea and +the Gulph of Gaza, in the Mediterranean, is the cause of merchandise +circumnavigating the two longest sides of the triangular continent of +Africa on its way to the East; instead of making the short cut which is +available for passengers by what is called the ‘overland route.’ If a +water-way were opened across the Isthmus, the highway for the goods +traffic as well as for the passenger traffic of Europe, India, China, +and Australia, will be along the Mediterranean and Red Seas and the +Indian Ocean. And that highway will be so thronged, that the expense of +travelling by it will be reduced to a _minimum_, and the accommodations +for travellers at intermediate stations raised to a _maximum_ of +comfort. + +This state of affairs—analogous to that which occurs in the intercourse +of two towns where there is a round-about road for carts and carriages, +and a footpath across the meadows for foot-passengers only—is attended +by great inconveniences. Letters relating to mercantile transactions are +forwarded by the short cut; the merchandise to which they relate follows +tardily by the round-about road. The advantageous bargain concluded now +may have a very different aspect when the goods come to be delivered +three or four months hence. The seven-league-boot expedition of letters, +and the tardy progress of goods, convert all transactions between +England and India into a game of chance. This fosters that spirit of +gambling speculation already too rife among us. + +Again, so long as the route for passengers continues to be something +different and apart from the route for merchandise, the travelling +charges will be kept higher, and the accommodations for travellers less +comfortable than they would otherwise be. Railways, in arranging their +tariff of fares, venture to reduce the charge for passengers (in the +hope of augmenting their number) when they can rely upon the returns +from the goods traffic to make up deficiencies. If merchandise, as well +as travellers and letters, could be carried by what is called the +overland route (of which scarcely two hundred miles are travelled by +land), the passengers’ fares would admit of great reduction; and as that +route would thus become the great highway, frequented by greater crowds, +the accommodation of travellers could be better cared for. Travellers in +carriages rarely reflect how much the amount of charges at inns depends +upon the landlords having a profitable run of business among less +distinguished guests. + +As we remarked, when descanting on the Panama route, physical obstacles +to the opening of short cuts are of much less consequence than those +which originate in financial difficulties. Almost any physical obstacles +may be overcome, if money can be profitably invested in the undertaking, +and if money can be got for such investment. + +Were we projectors of companies, and engaged in preparing an attractive +prospectus, we might boldly declare that the obstacles in the +construction of a ship canal at Suez are trifling, and that the work +would prove amply remunerative. But being only impartial spectators, we +are obliged to confess that our information respecting the nature of the +country is lamentably defective, and that what we do know does not +warrant any sanguine expectation. Public attention has been +industriously directed from the true line of a ship canal across the +Isthmus of Suez. The late Mehemet Ali—peace to his ashes!—was a humbug +of the first water, and he knew how to avail himself of the services of +kindred spirits. He understood enough of European whims and sentiments +to know what tone of language he must adopt in order to persuade +Europeans he was subserving their views, while he was, in reality, +promoting his own. He talked, therefore, of facilitating the intercourse +between India and Europe, but he thought of making that intercourse pass +through his dominions by the longest route, and in the way which would +oblige travellers to leave the greatest possible amount of money behind +them; and to attain his ends he retained in his service a motley group +of Europeans—the vain, the ignorant, and the jobbing, who did his +spiriting after a fashion that bears conclusive testimony to his +judgment and tact in selecting them. + +What is really wanted for the commerce of Europe and India, is a ship +canal across the Isthmus of Suez, by the shortest and least difficult +route. What Mehemet Ali conceded was a land passage through his +dominions by the longest possible route. The natural course of a ship +canal is, in a straight line, from Suez to the eastern extremity of Lake +Menzaleh: the line of transit conceded by Mehemet Ali is from Alexandria +by Cairo to Suez, nearly three times as long. The former line passes +across a low and well-watered region: the latter renders necessary an +interchange of canal and river navigation, and dry land passage across +the desert. The former might be passed in a day without halting: the +latter occupies several days, and includes necessary stoppages in the +inns of Alexandria and Cairo. But Mehemet Ali and his tools directed +attention from the former, and gabbled about railways and other +impracticabilities, and the European public was gulled. Egypt can be +reached any day by a fortnight’s easy and luxurious travel, and yet the +country between the eastern extremity of Lake Menzaleh and Suez is less +accurately known than the Isthmus of Panama. + +What we do know, with any degree of certainty about this transit, is +briefly as follows:—The navigation of the Red Sea in the vicinity of +Suez is rather intricate, abounding in shoals, but there is secure +anchorage, and sufficient draft of water for merchant ships of +considerable burden. The Mediterranean off the eastern extremity of Lake +Menzaleh is rather shallow, tolerably sheltered from the west wind, +which prevails for a part of the year, but exposed to the north wind. +Between Suez and the site of the ruins of Pelusium at the eastern end of +the lake, the land is low and level, apparently for a part of the way +between the level of both seas. The low land receives in the wet season +the drainings of the high land on the east, which is a northern +continuation of the mountains between the gulfs of Suez and Akaba. In +addition to this, the land to the westward (northward of the Mokattam +mountains which terminate near Cairo) has a twofold slope,—the principal +northward to the Mediterranean, the secondary eastward to the line of +country we are now describing. Originally, there appears to have been a +branch of the Nile entering the Mediterranean near where the ruins of +Pelusium now are, and those intermediate branches between that and the +Damietta branch. + +The first mentioned is now closed, the other two very much obstructed; +but their waters still find a way to the coast, though diminished by +artificial works, and appear to be the cause of the collection of +shallow water called Lake Menzaleh. Here, then, we have sixty +geographical miles of a low country, with no considerable undulations, +towards which the waters of Arabia Petræa flow in their season, and +towards which a considerable portion of the waters of the Nile would +flow if left to fall on the natural declivity of the country. There is +an abundant supply of water for a ship canal. The surface of the ground +is in some places covered with drift sand, but not uniformly nor even +for the most part. The subsoil is hard, clayey or pebbley. The +bent-grasses might be cultivated, as they have been in Holland, to give +firmness to the drift sand where it occurs; and this superficial +obstacle removed, the subsoil is favourable to the construction of a +permanent water-channel. The great difficulty would be the construction +of works by which access to the canal is to be obtained from the +Mediterranean. Apparently they would require to be carried far out into +the sea; and apparently it would be difficult to prevent their being +sanded up by the waves which the north winds drive upon the coast for a +great part of the year. + +These difficulties, though great, are not insuperable. The advanced +state of marine architecture and engineering ought surely to be able to +cope with them. By re-opening the Pelusiac branch of the Nile, and +throwing into it the waters which would naturally find their way into +the Tanitic and Mendesian branches, a sufficient stream of water might +be thrown into the Mediterranean at Pelusium to keep a passage open by +its _scour_. We must speak with diffidence about a locality which has +yet been so imperfectly surveyed; but so far as the present state of our +knowledge respecting it enables us to judge, there are no serious +impediments to the construction of a ship canal from Pelusium to Suez, +which would be perfectly accessible and practicable for vessels of from +300 to 350 tons burden; and there is a growing impression among +merchants and skippers that this class of vessels is the best for +trading purposes. + +But the great difficulty remains yet to be noticed; the condition of +government and civil security in that country. The isthmus is close on +the borders of civilised Europe, and ample supplies of effective +labourers could be procured from Malta, and the Syrian and African +coasts. But so long as the country is subject to a Turkish dynasty, +could the undertakers count upon fair play and sufficient protection +from the local authorities? And are the jealous powers of Europe likely +to combine in good faith to afford them a guarantee that they should be +enabled to prosecute their enterprise in security? + + + + + CURIOUS EPITAPH. + + +The following curious Inscription appears in the Churchyard, Pewsey, +Dorsetshire:— + + HERE LIES THE BODY + OF + LADY O’LOONEY, + GREAT NIECE OF BURKE, + COMMONLY CALLED THE SUBLIME. + SHE WAS + BLAND, PASSIONATE, AND DEEPLY RELIGIOUS; + ALSO, SHE PAINTED + IN WATER-COLOURS, + AND SENT SEVERAL PICTURES + TO THE EXHIBITION. + SHE WAS FIRST COUSIN + TO LADY JONES; + AND OF SUCH + IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. + + + Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. + Printed by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefrairs, London. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + Page Changed from Changed to + + 146 bursting hose), balls of cord, bursting hose), balls of cord, + flat rose, escape-chain flat hose, escape-chain + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Renumbered footnotes. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● The caret (^) serves as a superscript indicator, applicable to + individual characters (like 2^d) and even entire phrases (like + 1^{st}). + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78172 *** |