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diff --git a/78173-0.txt b/78173-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ec5bac --- /dev/null +++ b/78173-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2419 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78173 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 8.] SATURDAY, MAY 18, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. + + +He is a ‘Household Word.’ We all know something of him. The amount of +money he annually diverts from wholesome and useful purposes in the +United Kingdom, would be a set-off against the Window Tax. He is one of +the most shameless frauds and impositions of this time. In his idleness, +his mendacity, and the immeasurable harm he does to the +deserving,—dirtying the stream of true benevolence, and muddling the +brains of foolish justices, with inability to distinguish between the +base coin of distress, and the true currency we have always among us,—he +is more worthy of Norfolk Island than three-fourths of the worst +characters who are sent there. Under any rational system, he would have +been sent there long ago. + +I, the writer of this paper, have been, for some time, a chosen receiver +of Begging-Letters. For fourteen years, my house has been made as +regular a Receiving House for such communications as any one of the +great branch Post-Offices is for general correspondence. I ought to know +something of the Begging-Letter Writer. He has besieged my door, at all +hours of the day and night; he has fought my servant; he has lain in +ambush for me, going out and coming in; he has followed me out of town +into the country; he has appeared at provincial hotels, where I have +been staying for only a few hours; he has written to me from immense +distances, when I have been out of England. He has fallen sick; he has +died, and been buried; he has come to life again, and again departed +from this transitory scene; he has been his own son, his own mother, his +own baby, his idiot brother, his uncle, his aunt, his aged grandfather. +He has wanted a great coat, to go to India in; a pound, to set him up in +life for ever; a pair of boots, to take him to the coast of China; a +hat, to get him into a permanent situation under Government. He has +frequently been exactly seven-and-sixpence short of independence. He has +had such openings at Liverpool—posts of great trust and confidence in +merchants’ houses, which nothing but seven-and-sixpence was wanting to +him to secure—that I wonder he is not Mayor of that flourishing town at +the present moment. + +The natural phenomena of which he has been the victim, are of a most +astounding nature. He has had two children, who have never grown up; who +have never had anything to cover them at night; who have been +continually driving him mad, by asking in vain for food; who have never +come out of fevers and measles (which, I suppose, has accounted for his +fuming his letters with tobacco smoke, as a disinfectant); who have +never changed in the least degree, through fourteen long revolving +years. As to his wife, what that suffering woman has undergone, nobody +knows. She has always been in an interesting situation through the same +long period, and has never been confined yet. His devotion to her has +been unceasing. He has never cared for himself; _he_ could have +perished—he would rather, in short—but was it not his Christian duty as +a man, a husband, and a father, to write begging-letters when he looked +at her? (He has usually remarked that he would call in the evening for +an answer to this question.) + +He has been the sport of the strangest misfortunes. What his brother has +done to him would have broken anybody else’s heart. His brother went +into business with him, and ran away with the money; his brother got him +to be security for an immense sum, and left him to pay it; his brother +would have given him employment to the tune of hundreds a year, if he +would have consented to write letters on a Sunday; his brother +enunciated principles incompatible with his religious views, and he +could not (in consequence) permit his brother to provide for him. His +landlord has never shown a spark of human feeling. When he put in that +execution I don’t know, but he has never taken it out. The broker’s man +has grown grey in possession. They will have to bury him some day. + +He has been attached to every conceivable pursuit. He has been in the +army, in the navy, in the church, in the law; connected with the press, +the fine arts, public institutions, every description and grade of +business. He has been brought up as a gentleman; he has been at every +college in Oxford and Cambridge; he can quote Latin in his letters (but +generally mis-spells some minor English word); he can tell you what +Shakespeare says about begging, better than you know it. It is to be +observed, that in the midst of his afflictions he always reads the +newspapers; and rounds off his appeals with some allusion, that may be +supposed to be in my way, to the popular subject of the hour. + +His life presents a series of inconsistencies. Sometimes he has never +written such a letter before. He blushes with shame. That is the first +time; that shall be the last. Don’t answer it, and let it be understood +that, then, he will kill himself quietly. Sometimes (and more +frequently) he _has_ written a few such letters. Then he encloses the +answers, with an intimation that they are of inestimable value to him, +and a request that they may be carefully returned. He is fond of +enclosing something—verses, letters, pawnbrokers’ duplicates, anything +to necessitate an answer. He is very severe upon ‘the pampered minion of +fortune,’ who refused him the half-sovereign referred to in the +enclosure number two—but he knows me better. + +He writes in a variety of styles; sometimes in low spirits; sometimes +quite jocosely. When he is in low spirits, he writes down-hill, and +repeats words—these little indications being expressive of the +perturbation of his mind. When he is more vivacious, he is frank with +me; he is quite the agreeable rattle. I know what human nature is,—who +better? Well! He had a little money once, and he ran through it—as many +men have done before him. He finds his old friends turn away from him +now—many men have done that before him, too! Shall he tell me why he +writes to me? Because he has no kind of claim upon me. He puts it on +that ground, plainly; and begs to ask for the loan (as I know human +nature) of two sovereigns, to be repaid next Tuesday six weeks, before +twelve at noon. + +Sometimes, when he is sure that I have found him out, and that there is +no chance of money, he writes to inform me that I have got rid of him at +last. He has enlisted into the Company’s service, and is off +directly—but he wants a cheese. He is informed by the serjeant that it +is essential to his prospects in the regiment that he should take out a +single-Gloucester cheese, weighing from twelve to fifteen pounds. Eight +or nine shillings would buy it. He does not ask for money, after what +has passed; but if he calls at nine to-morrow morning, may he hope to +find a cheese? And is there anything he can do to show his gratitude in +Bengal? + +Once, he wrote me rather a special letter proposing relief in kind. He +had got into a little trouble by leaving parcels of mud done up in brown +paper, at people’s houses, on pretence of being a Railway-Porter, in +which character he received carriage money. This sportive fancy he +expiated in the House of Correction. Not long after his release, and on +a Sunday morning, he called with a letter (having first dusted himself +all over), in which he gave me to understand that, being resolved to +earn an honest livelihood, he had been travelling about the country with +a cart of crockery. That he had been doing pretty well, until the day +before, when his horse had dropped down dead near Chatham, in Kent. That +this had reduced him to the unpleasant necessity of getting into the +shafts himself, and drawing the cart of crockery to London—a somewhat +exhausting pull of thirty miles. That he did not venture to ask again +for money; but that if I would have the goodness _to leave him out a +donkey_, he would call for the animal before breakfast! + +At another time, my friend (I am describing actual experiences) +introduced himself as a literary gentleman in the last extremity of +distress. He had had a play accepted at a certain Theatre—which was +really open; its representation was delayed by the indisposition of a +leading actor—who was really ill; and he and his were in a state of +absolute starvation. If he made his necessities known to the Manager of +the Theatre, he put it to me to say what kind of treatment he might +expect? Well! we got over that difficulty to our mutual satisfaction. A +little while afterwards he was in some other strait—I think Mrs. +Southcote, his wife, was in extremity—and we adjusted that point too. A +little while afterwards, he had taken a new house, and was going +headlong to ruin for want of a water-butt. I had my misgivings about the +water-butt, and did not reply to that epistle. But, a little while +afterwards, I had reason to feel penitent for my neglect. He wrote me a +few broken-hearted lines, informing me that the dear partner of his +sorrows died in his arms last night at nine o’clock! + +I dispatched a trusty messenger to comfort the bereaved mourner and his +poor children: but the messenger went so soon, that the play was not +ready to be played out; my friend was not at home, and his wife was in a +most delightful state of health. He was taken up by the Mendicity +Society (informally it afterwards appeared), and I presented myself at a +London Police-Office with my testimony against him. The Magistrate was +wonderfully struck by his educational acquirements, deeply impressed by +the excellence of his letters, exceedingly sorry to see a man of his +attainments there, complimented him highly on his powers of composition, +and was quite charmed to have the agreeable duty of discharging him. A +collection was made for the ‘poor fellow,’ as he was called in the +reports, and I left the court with a comfortable sense of being +universally regarded as a sort of monster. Next day, comes to me a +friend of mine, the governor of a large prison, ‘Why did you ever go to +the Police-Office against that man,’ says he, ‘without coming to me +first? I know all about him and his frauds. He lodged in the house of +one of my warders, at the very time when he first wrote to you; and then +he was eating spring-lamb at eighteenpence a pound, and early asparagus +at I don’t know how much a bundle!’ On that very same day, and in that +very same hour, my injured gentleman wrote a solemn address to me, +demanding to know what compensation I proposed to make him for his +having passed the night in a ‘loathsome dungeon.’ And next morning, an +Irish gentleman, a member of the same fraternity, who had read the case, +and was very well persuaded I should be chary of going to that +Police-Office again, positively refused to leave my door for less than a +sovereign, and, resolved to besiege me into compliance, literally ‘sat +down’ before it for ten mortal hours. The garrison being well +provisioned, I remained within the walls; and he raised the siege at +midnight, with a prodigious alarum on the bell. + +The Begging-Letter Writer often has an extensive circle of acquaintance. +Whole pages of the Court Guide are ready to be references for him. +Noblemen and gentlemen write to say there never was such a man for +probity and virtue. They have known him, time out of mind, and there is +nothing they wouldn’t do for him. Somehow, they don’t give him that one +pound ten he stands in need of; but perhaps it is not enough—they want +to do more, and his modesty will not allow it. It is to be remarked of +his trade that it is a very fascinating one. He never leaves it; and +those who are near to him become smitten with a love of it, too, and +sooner or later set up for themselves. He employs a messenger—man, +woman, or child. That messenger is certain ultimately to become an +independent Begging-Letter Writer. His sons and daughters succeed to his +calling, and write begging-letters when he is no more. He throws off the +infection of begging-letter writing, like the contagion of disease. What +Sydney Smith so happily called ‘the dangerous luxury of dishonesty’ is +more tempting, and more catching, it would seem, in this instance than +in any other. + +He always belongs to a Corresponding-Society of Begging-Letter Writers. +Any one who will, may ascertain this fact. Give money to-day, in +recognition of a begging-letter,—no matter how unlike a common +begging-letter,—and for the next fortnight you will have a rush of such +communications. Steadily refuse to give; and the begging-letters become +Angels’ visits, until the Society is from some cause or other in a dull +way of business, and may as well try you as anybody else. It is of +little use enquiring into the Begging-Letter Writer’s circumstances. He +may be sometimes accidentally found out, as in the case already +mentioned (though that was not the first enquiry made); but apparent +misery is always a part of his trade, and real misery very often is, in +the intervals of spring-lamb and early asparagus. It is naturally an +incident of his dissipated and dishonest life. + +That the calling is a successful one, and that large sums of money are +gained by it, must be evident to anybody who reads the Police Reports of +such cases. But, prosecutions are of rare occurrence, relatively to the +extent to which the trade is carried on. The cause of this, is to be +found (as no one knows better than the Begging-Letter Writer, for it is +a part of his speculation) in the aversion people feel to exhibit +themselves as having been imposed upon, or as having weakly gratified +their consciences with a lazy, flimsy substitute for the noblest of all +virtues. There is a man at large, at the moment when this paper is +preparing for the press (on the 29th of April), and never once taken up +yet, who, within these twelvemonths, has been probably the most +audacious and the most successful swindler that even this trade has ever +known. There has been something singularly base in this fellow’s +proceedings: it has been his business to write to all sorts and +conditions of people, in the names of persons of high reputation and +unblemished honor, professing to be in distress—the general admiration +and respect for whom, has ensured a ready and generous reply. + +Now, in the hope that the results of the real experience of a real +person may do something more to induce reflection on this subject than +any abstract treatise—and with a personal knowledge of the extent to +which the Begging-Letter Trade has been carried on for some time, and +has been for some time constantly increasing—the writer of this paper +entreats the attention of his readers to a few concluding words. His +experience is a type of the experience of many; some on a smaller; some +on an infinitely larger scale. All may judge of the soundness or +unsoundness of his conclusions from it. + +Long doubtful of the efficacy of such assistance in any case whatever, +and able to recal but one, within his whole individual knowledge, in +which he had the least after-reason to suppose that any good was done by +it, he was led, last autumn, into some serious considerations. The +begging-letters flying about by every post, made it perfectly manifest, +That a set of lazy vagabonds were interposed between the general desire +to do something to relieve the sickness and misery under which the poor +were suffering; and the suffering poor themselves. That many who sought +to do some little to repair the social wrongs, inflicted in the way of +preventible sickness and death upon the poor, were strengthening those +wrongs, however innocently, by wasting money on pestilent knaves +cumbering society. That imagination,—soberly following one of these +knaves into his life of punishment in jail, and comparing it with the +life of one of these poor in a cholera-stricken alley, or one of the +children of one of these poor, soothed in its dying hour by the late +lamented Mr. Drouet,—contemplated a grim farce, impossible to be +presented very much longer before God or man. That the crowning miracle +of all the miracles summed up in the New Testament, after the miracle of +the blind seeing, and the lame walking, and the restoration of the dead +to life, was the miracle that the poor had the Gospel preached to them. +That while the poor were unnaturally and unnecessarily cut off by the +thousand, in the prematurity of their age, or in the rottenness of their +youth—for of flower or blossom such youth has none—the Gospel was NOT +preached to them, saving in hollow and unmeaning voices. That of all +wrongs, this was the first mighty wrong the Pestilence warned us to set +right. And that no Post-Office Order to any amount, given to a +Begging-Letter Writer for the quieting of an uneasy breast, would be +presentable on the Last Great Day as anything towards it. + +The poor never write these letters. Nothing could be more unlike their +habits. The writers are public robbers; and we who support them are +parties to their depredations. They trade upon every circumstance within +their knowledge that affects us, public or private, joyful or sorrowful; +they pervert the lessons of our lives; they change what ought to be our +strength and virtue, into weakness, and encouragement of vice. There is +a plain remedy, and it is in our own hands. We must resolve, at any +sacrifice of feeling, to be deaf to such appeals, and crush the trade. + +There are degrees in murder. Life must be held sacred among us in more +ways than one—sacred, not merely from the murderous weapon, or the +subtle poison, or the cruel blow, but sacred from preventible diseases, +distortions, and pains. That is the first great end we have to set +against this miserable imposition. Physical life respected, moral life +comes next. What will not content a Begging-Letter Writer for a week, +would educate a score of children for a year. Let us give all we can; +let us give more than ever. Let us do all we can; let us do more than +ever. But let us give, and do, with a high purpose; not to endow the +scum of the earth, to its own greater corruption, with the offals of our +duty. + + + + + THE GREAT CAT AND DOG QUESTION. + + +Between the rivers Kistnah and Beehma in the Deckhan, surrounded by wild +rocky hills, lies the town of Shorapoor, capital of a state of that +name, inhabited by a people who have generally been considered lawless, +superstitious, and quarrelsome. Of late years they have been more +industrious and peaceable, and though still an excitable race, may be +said to be advancing in the arts of peace. + +It was during a more remote period, when few strangers ever ventured to +penetrate the country, that a weary-looking traveller, covered with +dust, entered one of the gates, and sat down for awhile at the side of a +well. He then proceeded to take off his waistband and turban, washed his +head and his feet, drank of the cool refreshing water, combed his beard +and moustachios, and spreading a small carpet on which he laid his +trusty sword, drew from his wallet a neat little muslin skullcap; then +seated himself cross-legged, lighted his pipe, and began to look very +comfortable indeed. + +In the mean time there were not wanting many idle and curious people, +who having first at a distance observed the movements of the stranger, +approached him nearer and nearer. But he seemed to take little notice of +the crowd, and appeared absorbed in a sense of his own enjoyment, taking +long whiffs of his pipe, and looking as if he had made a considerable +progress towards the third heaven. + +At length a respectable looking man, who had come up, drew nearer than +the rest, and asked him from whence he had travelled, and whither he was +going? What he was seeking in Shorapoor, and whether he was a merchant, +or merely came to look about him? But the questions ended in smoke, +being answered only by _whiffs_. + +Then came another still bolder man, and said, ‘Sir, the heat is great; +be pleased to come with me to my house, and repose yourself there, and I +will give you a nice cool place in which you may sleep.’ + +Upon this the stranger drew his pipe from his mouth, and replied, ‘You +are extremely kind, good Sir, and I am really grateful to you for your +proffered hospitality; but the fact is, I don’t believe you would wish +to have me in your house, did you know what I really am!’ + +And thus saying, he rolled his eyes about, twisted up his moustachios, +stroked his beard, and assumed such a mysterious air, that an +indescribable terror seized the bystanders; so much so, that in falling +hastily back, some of them tumbled down, and others tumbled over them in +a very ridiculous manner. + +‘He’s a thief,’ whispered one. ‘Or a Thug,’ said another. ‘Or an evil +spirit in the form of a man,’ observed a fourth. ‘At all events, doesn’t +he look like one who had _killed another_?’ + +In short the alarm became general, and several deemed it prudent, first +to sneak off, and then take to their heels. A few, however, of the +bolder spirits kept their ground; and seeing that the stranger did +nothing but take long whiffs from his pipe, sending the smoke peacefully +curling over his beard and moustachios out of both his nostrils, they +regained their confidence, and began to think that after all he might be +some important personage;—who could tell? So after a little pushing and +elbowing among themselves, a man was thrust forward, under an idea that +something might come of it; but no, the stranger appeared as unmoved as +ever. + +Then another, who had screwed up his courage to that point, boldly +advanced, and thus spoke— + +‘Do pray, Sir, tell us who upon earth you may be?’—No answer. + +Then the man who had offered a sleeping place in his house chimed in, +and said, ‘Aye, Sir, do let us know who or what you may be? I assure you +we are none of us at all afraid of you!’ And with these words he twisted +up his moustachios, and tried to look as fierce and bold as possible, +while his knees were knocking together, and his heart fluttering all the +while. On a repetition of these questions, however, by both these men, +the stranger, with infinite gravity, took the pipe from his mouth, and +thus spoke:— + +‘Are you not too much frightened to hear?’ + +The runaways, however, had departed, and those left behind seemed +determined not to follow them; more especially as the stranger had made +no sign as if he would draw his sword; neither did they think he looked +at all so horrible now. They therefore one and all called out, ‘No! we +are not a bit afraid, let us hear!’ + +‘Well then,’ exclaimed the stranger, taking a long puff at his pipe, +‘strange as it may appear to you all, my name is MISCHIEF-MAKER! And +what is very extraordinary, whatever I do, wherever I go, wherever I am, +I _always_ create mischief, I always _have_ created mischief, and shall +continue to do so to the very end of my life!’ And upon this he rolled +his eyes, and puffed away at his pipe harder than ever. + +‘Oh, is this all,’ cried the party, ‘is this all?’ + +‘For the matter of _that_,’ said an active little man with twinkling +eyes, ‘you need be under no uneasiness whatever. I defy you to invent +more mischief here than we have already, for we are all more or less at +enmity with our neighbours; and as our fathers and grandfathers were the +same, we conclude it must be owing to something that can’t be changed; +for instance, the air or water of our town; so set your heart at rest, +and come along with us, and we’ll take care of you.’ + +‘Well,’ rejoined the stranger, ‘I am very glad indeed to hear what you +say of your own town; for to be candid with you, it’s exactly what I +heard of you all as I came along, and this made me think that in a place +where all were mischief-makers and busybodies already, I could have +nothing to do but (for once in my life) live in peace. However, don’t +trust me—that’s all I have to say—and if any evil arises from my visit, +turn me out, and I’ll seek a home elsewhere.’ + +An old Brahmin had come up in time to hear this avowal. ‘’Tis very +strange,’ said the wise man. ‘This fellow is surely a magician, and may +set all the rocks of Shorapoor dancing and tumbling about our ears, some +day. Turn him instantly away, or it may be the worse for us all.’ + +‘No, no,’ shouted the multitude. ‘That would be inhospitable. Let him +remain, and we shall soon see what he can do.’ + +The little active man now came forward again, and said slyly, ‘Sir, if +you really _are_ such a mischief-maker as you describe yourself to be, +suppose you were to give us a little specimen of your power,—just some +trifling matter to judge by.’ + +‘What, _now_?’ said the stranger. + +‘Aye, _now_!’ exclaimed all; ‘and the sooner the better.’ + +‘Well, be it so,’ said he; ‘let me put up my things and come along!’ And +with this he arose, packed up, girded on his sword, and strode +majestically forward, followed by a crowd continually increasing as they +advanced further into the town. + +‘Now don’t push or press upon me so much,’ said the stranger; ‘but +observe what I do, and watch the consequences.’ So they let him proceed, +and as he advanced, they soon perceived that he was forming some deep +plan, particularly as he paused every now and then, with his forefinger +between his teeth, and nodded, and wagged his head, as much as to say, +‘I have it!’ Upon which he made straight for a shop kept by a man who +sold flour and such like things, and accosting the dealer, inquired with +great civility, whether he had any _honey_? ‘That I have, Sir,’ replied +the shop-keeper, ‘plenty fresh from the comb; only taste it, and I’m +sure you’ll buy. Here, Sir; look at this beautiful jar, full of the +finest honey that was ever seen in Shorapoor.’ + +‘It looks well,’ replied the stranger, dipping his hand in; ‘and does +not taste amiss:’ saying which he gave his finger a careless kind of +shake; but he knew right well what he was about, as a little lump stuck +upon the outer wall. + +‘It really _is_ good,’ said the Mischief-Maker. ‘Give me a small pot of +it, that I may take it home to my children.’ + +While the shop-keeper was filling a small new pot, over which he tied a +fresh green leaf, the people who had been following, came up, and said, +‘Sir, you are only making game of us; you are giving us no proof of what +you said. What mischief is there in buying a little pot of honey?’ + +‘Be quiet, my good people, and content yourselves for a couple of +minutes, while I get my change, and put my purchase in a safe place, and +you will soon see something—wait here, and I’ll be back to you +directly.’ The Mischief-Maker vanished in an instant! + +Now it happened that this shop was a mere shed of a place, projecting +into the street, from the wall on which the honey had been thrown; nor +had the tempting bait been long there, before it was smelt out by a +large hungry fly, which had been spending many fruitless hours buzzing +about the dealer’s jar, so carefully was it always covered. Here was a +glorious opportunity for a fine supper, and down he came upon it with +eager appetite—without looking about him as he ought—for over his head, +under the cover of the wall, among old chinks and cobwebs, there dwelt a +wily, dust-coloured lizard, who enjoyed a fly beyond everything else in +the world, and had been particularly unsuccessful in fly-catching all +day. Watching, therefore, till the fly had buried his mining apparatus +pretty deep in the honey, he crept down quietly, looking as like a bit +of old plaster as possible, but for those bright eyes of his, which in +his eagerness for the capture, were intently fixed upon the fly. Unlucky +wight! Little did he think that those very eyes had attracted the +attention of a fine tabby cat, who but a few minutes before, with +blinking eyes, presented a perfect picture of contentment, but now +roused by a sudden temptation, was crouching stealthily down as she +beheld the lizard, for whom she had so often watched in vain. Down stole +the lizard—on stole the cat; so that here at the same moment were three +creatures so bent upon indulgence, that they never even thought of +looking about them! But were these three all the parties to be engaged? +Alas! no. There was a sworn enemy of the cat’s approaching also (under +cover of a large basket), in the shape of a mischievous white dog, kept +by a very quarrelsome man on the other side of the street. This dog was +the terror of all the cats in the neighbourhood, and most of all, of the +flour-dealer’s; so often had he chased her, and so often experienced the +bitter disappointment of seeing her climbing up the posts of the shop, +and then spitting at him from the top of the shed. + +Infatuated lizard! Wretched fly! Betrayed pussy! _She_ heeded not the +sly creep of the dog, so intent was she upon the successful issue of her +spring upon the lizard. The fly was gorging himself with honey. He alone +partook not of the intense anxiety of the lizard, the cat, and the dog. +He partook only of—_honey_! + +The crisis at length arrived. The lizard made its nimble pounce at the +fly. The cat sprang at the lizard. The lizard missed its footing in +consequence, and would have been the cat’s portion—fly, honey, and +all—but for the dog’s sudden attack upon puss. Here was a scene! The +lizard falling to the ground, was at once involved in the consequences +of the quarrel between the dog and cat. What were fly or honey to him at +the moment, when in a state between life and death he crept back sore +and wounded to his chinks and cobwebs! The fly might or might not have +escaped. Not so the cat, now sorely worried by the dog, in spite of all +her outcries and all she could do in the way of biting and clawing; for +it was an old score the dog was paying her off, and that might soon have +cost her her life, if her master had not rushed out of his shop with a +broomstick, with which he began to belabour the dog. + +Now the owner of the dog had been as long at enmity with the man of +flour and honey, as the dog had been at enmity with the cat, and +probably longer. Of course, therefore, when he heard his animal’s cries, +and saw the punishment inflicting, he armed himself with a broomstick +also; and rushing across the street, gave the flour-dealer such a crack +upon his head, as knocked him down as flat as a pancake. + +‘Take that you villain,’ said he, ‘for it’s a debt I’ve long owed you!’ + +‘Have you?’ said the flour-dealer’s son, as he rushed out with a cudgel +in his hand. ‘Then tell me how you like _that_’—giving him such a hearty +whack across the shoulders, that he was fain to drop his broomstick. + +Yet the blow had hardly been given, before a friend of the dog’s master +ran up with a drawn sword, and would have made mincemeat of the +flour-dealer’s son, but for a soldier who cried out, ‘Shame, thou +coward, and son of a coward, who would attack a youth with only a stick +in his hand, and you armed with a sword! Shame on you! It’s just like +you rascally Hindoo fellows, who pretend to be soldiers, and are as much +like soldiers as that poor cat. Why don’t you try me?’ + +‘Why not?’ replied the man. ‘Do you think I’m afraid of such a bully as +you? Come on, you scoundrel, and I’ll show you what difference there is +between a cat and a Hindoo!’ + +Upon this the soldier drew his sword, and both began to cut at each +other in good earnest. + +On this all the people cried out, ‘Murder! Murder!’ and a great many +soldiers running to the spot, were soon engaged, always attacking the +Hindoos, who were on the dog’s side, and the Hindoos the Mussulmans, who +were on the side of the cat; and wherever a Hindoo and a Mussulman were +fighting, the Hindoos aided the Hindoo, and the Mussulmans the +Mussulman; and the consequence was the death of many on each side, and +the wounding of most of the foolish quarrelsome people engaged. + +Of course such a hubbub as this could not be continued long without its +being reported to the Rajah, who forthwith hastened from his palace with +his body-guard and some horsemen, and soon put a stop to this terrible +fray; and all the ringleaders were forthwith seized and tied together, +and marched off to prison, there to be kept closely confined till the +sad business should be fully enquired into, and the cause of so dreadful +a riot ascertained, and fixed upon the guilty. + +All that night, therefore, were the magistrates and police-officers hard +at work listening to evidence, but they did not advance a single step in +the business; no, nor for several days after, notwithstanding the great +impatience of the Rajah, to whom they could only report from time to +time the hearing of nothing but the words, ‘Cat, Dog,’—‘Cat and +Dog,’—‘Dog and Cat,’—‘Dog’—‘Cat.’ + +A very similar feeling, also, was entertained by the lawyers who were +called in, and who, after intense application, declared themselves +doubtful, _very_ doubtful,—so much was advanced and really to be said +and supported by various precedents, both on the side of the cat and of +the dog, and, consequently, of the owner of the cat, as well as the +owner of the dog, and the partisans of the owners of the dog and +cat,—insomuch, that the whole city was split into most determined cat +and dog factions, and all strangers that entered the gates were +instantly absorbed in the dog and cat vortex, and whirled actually round +and round in this terrible fray, which every now and then broke out with +fresh fury, notwithstanding all the vigilance of the Rajah’s guards. And +yet even these valiant heroes were in some degree infected, giving sly +cuts at dog or cat men, just as they themselves inclined to support the +cat and dog question. + +And so matters might have remained, either to the day of the final +depopulation of Shorapoor, or Doomsday itself, but for the wise old +Brahmin who had given such timely warning to turn out the stranger. + +He had in reality been quietly chuckling a little, as many are wont to +do who have lived to see their prophecies first despised and then +fulfilled; but his heart relenting, he hastened to the palace, and +prostrating himself before the Rajah with hands joined together, he thus +spoke:— + +‘May I be your sacrifice, O thou eater of mountains and drinker of +rivers! I have a petition to make in this matter of the cat and dog!’ + +‘It shall be heard,’ replied the Rajah. ‘Thou art a wise man; what dost +thou say?—dog—cat—dog and cat, or cat and dog? For my own part, I still +reserve my decision, though somewhat inclining to the opinion that the +cat caused all the mischief, and for this reason,—because if the dog had +not seen the cat, he very probably would not have chased her—“out of +sight out of mind” being one of our oldest as well as truest proverbs.’ + +‘Alas! that I should differ with your Highness—Brave Falcon, terrible in +War—the most valiant of the State—the Tiger of the Country,’ replied the +Prime Minister. ‘How could the cat help being worried by the dog?—and +did not nature give her a right to go where she pleased?’ + +So the whole Court took at once different sides, and matters might have +come to a serious explosion, even within the sacred walls of the palace +itself, but for the Brahmin, who again lifted up his voice and said:— + +‘May it please your Highness! Let me declare to you that it was neither +the dog nor the cat that caused all this misery, but the _Fly_ and the +Honey!’ + +‘The fly and the honey! The fly and the honey!’ exclaimed the astonished +Rajah. ‘What honey, and what fly?’ + +And, as this was a perfectly new idea, the assembly listened with +profound attention while the holy man unfolded the true history of the +case. His having seen the stranger, and warned the people against him. +How accurately he had observed the drop of honey dabbed against the +wall. Then the approach of the fly, the sly gliding of the lizard, the +wily creeping of the cat, and the stealthy vindictive movements of the +dog—involving all these creatures in much pain and difficulty, and which +afterwards overspread the city. + +‘Hold, learned man,’ cried the Rajah, ‘thou hast well said; my eyes are +opened!’ and he desired search to be made for the man who had too well +earned the title of Mischief-Maker. But he was no where to be either +found or heard of; and the poor flour-dealer, who stood among the +prisoners with a bandaged head, declared that the villain had not even +paid for the honey that had caused the whole tumult. + +‘Well,’ exclaimed the Rajah, after a profound pause; ‘here now may most +plainly be seen a proof—if any such were required—that my subjects only +want a pretext, no matter what, to quarrel, and they are sure to go to +loggerheads. + +‘I now throw no blame upon either the cat or the dog; for each animal +followed its own peculiar instinct. The blame and the punishment too, +must light upon the owners of the dog and cat for fighting, and thus +inducing others to espouse so ridiculous a quarrel.’ + +And forthwith he ordered all the principal rioters into confinement, +saying also to the rest of the people:— + +‘Go home now, fools that ye are, and try whether you cannot make up your +minds to live at peace with one another. I cannot prevent your keeping +cats and dogs, because were I to do so, we should be devoured by vermin +or exposed to robbery. But this I tell you, you shall not turn +yourselves into cats and dogs for the future with impunity—DEPART!’ So +they all sneaked off; and the active little man whose head somebody had +broken, scratched it and said:— + +‘Only think how well that strange fellow knew us all!’ + + + + + A CARD FROM MR. BOOLEY. + + +MR. BOOLEY (the great traveller) presents his compliments to the +conductor of Household Words, and begs to call his attention to an +omission in the account given in that delightful journal, of MR. +BOOLEY’S remarks, in addressing the Social Oysters. + +MR. BOOLEY, in proposing the health of MR. THOMAS GRIEVE, in connexion +with the beautiful diorama of the route of the Overland Mail to India, +expressly added (amid much cheering from the Oysters) the names of MR. +TELBIN his distinguished coadjutor; MR. ABSOLON, who painted the +figures; and MR. HERRING, who painted the animals. Although MR. BOOLEY’S +tribute of praise can be of little importance to those gentlemen, he is +uneasy in finding them left out of the delightful Journal referred to. + +MR. BOOLEY has taken the liberty of endeavouring to give this +communication an air of novelty, by omitting the words ‘Now, Sir,’ which +are generally supposed to be essential to all letters written to Editors +for publication. It may be interesting to add, in fact, that the Social +Oysters considered it impossible that MR. BOOLEY could, by any means, +throw off the present communication, without availing himself of that +established form of address. + +_Highbury Barn, Monday Evening._ + + + + + LAW AT A LOW PRICE. + + +Low, narrow, dark, and frowning are the thresholds of our Inns of Court. +If there is one of these entrances of which I have more dread than +another, it is that leading out of Holborn to Gray’s Inn. I never +remember to have met a cheerful face at it, until the other morning, +when I encountered Mr. Ficker, attorney-at-law. In a few minutes we +found ourselves arm in arm, and straining our voices to the utmost amid +the noise of passing vehicles. Mr. Ficker stretched himself on tiptoe in +a frantic effort to inform me that he was going to a County Court. ‘But +perhaps you have not heard of these places?’ + +I assured Mr. Ficker that the parliamentary discussions concerning them +had made me very anxious to see how justice was administered in these +establishments for low-priced Law. ‘I am going to one now,’ but he +impressively added, ‘you must understand, that professionally I do not +approve of their working. There can be no doubt that they seriously +prejudice the regular course of law. Comparing the three quarters +preceding with three quarters subsequent to the establishment of these +Courts, there was a decrease of nearly 10,000 writs issued by the Court +of Queen’s Bench alone, or of nearly 12,500 on the year.’ + +We soon arrived at the County Court. It is a plain, substantial-looking +building, wholly without pretension, but at the same time not devoid of +some little architectural elegance of exterior. We entered, by a gateway +far less austere than that of Gray’s Inn, a long, well-lighted passage, +on either side of which were offices connected with the Court. One of +these was the Summons Office, and I observed on the wall a ‘Table of +Fees,’ and as I saw Mr. Ficker consulting it with a view to his own +business, I asked him his opinion of the charges. + +‘Why,’ said he, ‘the scale of fees is too large for the client and too +small for the lawyer. But suitors object less to the amount than to the +intricacies and perplexities of the Table. In some districts the expense +of recovering a sum of money is one-third more than it is in others; +though in both the same scale of fees is in operation. This arises from +the variety of interpretations which different judges and officers put +upon the charges.’ + +Passing out of the Summons Office, we entered a large hall, placarded +with lists of trials for the ensuing week. There were more than one +hundred of them set down for trial on nearly every day. + +‘I am glad,’ I said, ‘to think that this is not all additional +litigation. I presume these are the thousands of causes a year withdrawn +from the superior Courts?’ + +‘The skeletons of them,’ said Mr. Ficker, with a sigh. ‘There were some +pickings out of the old processes; but I am afraid that there is nothing +but the bone here.’ + +‘I see here,’ said I, pointing to one of the lists, ‘a single plaintiff +entered, as proceeding against six-and-twenty defendants in succession.’ + +‘Ah,’ said Mr. Ficker, rubbing his hands, ‘a knowing fellow that; quite +awake to the business of these Courts. A cheap and easy way, Sir, of +recovering old debts. I don’t know who the fellow is—a tailor very +likely—but no doubt you will find his name in the list in this way once +every half year. If his Midsummer and Christmas bills are not punctually +paid, it is far cheaper to come here and get a summons served, than to +send all over London to collect the accounts, with the chance of not +finding the customer at home. And this is one way, you see, in which we +solicitors are defrauded. No doubt, this fellow formerly employed an +attorney to write letters for him, requesting payment of the amount of +his bill, and 6_s_. 8_d_. for the cost of the application. Now, instead +of going to an attorney, he comes here and gets the summons served for +2_s_. A knowing hand that,—a knowing hand.’ + +‘But,’ I said, ‘surely no respectable tradesman——’ + +_‘Respectable_,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘I said nothing, about respectability. +This sort of thing is very common among a certain class of tradespeople, +especially puffing tailors and bootmakers. Such people rely less on +regular than on chance custom, and therefore they care less about +proceeding against those who deal with them.’ + +‘But,’ said I, ‘this is a decided abuse of the power of the Court. Such +fellows ought to be exposed.’ + +‘Phoo, phoo,’ said Mr. Ficker; ‘they are, probably, soon known here, and +then, if the judge does his duty, they get bare justice, and nothing +more. I am not sure, indeed, that sometimes their appearance here may +not injure rather than be of advantage to them; for the barrister may +fix a distant date for payment of a debt which the tradesman, by a +little civility, might have obtained from his customer a good deal +sooner.’ + +‘The Court’ I found to be a lofty room, somewhat larger and handsomer +than the apartment in which the Hogarths are hung up in the National +Gallery. One half was separated from the other by a low partition, on +the outer side of which stood a miscellaneous crowd of persons who +appeared to be waiting their turn to be called forward. Though the +appearance of the Court was new and handsome, everything was plain and +simple. + +I was much struck by the appearance and manner of the Judge. He was +comparatively a young man; but I fancied that he displayed the +characteristics of experience. His attention to the proceedings was +unwearied; his discrimination appeared admirable; and there was a calm +self-possession about him that bordered upon dignity. + +The suitors who attended were of every class and character. There were +professional men, tradesmen, costermongers, and a peer. Among the +plaintiffs, there were specimens of the considerate plaintiff, the angry +plaintiff, the cautious plaintiff, the bold-swearing plaintiff, the +energetic plaintiff, the practised plaintiff, the shrewish (female) +plaintiff, the nervous plaintiff, and the revengeful plaintiff. Each +plaintiff was allowed to state his or her case in his or her own way, +and to call witnesses, if there were any. When the debt appeared to be +_primâ facie_ proved, the Barrister turned to the defendant, and perhaps +asked him if he disputed it? + +The characteristics of the defendants were quite as different as the +characteristics of the plaintiffs. There was the factious defendant, and +the defendant upon principle—the stormy defendant, and the defendant who +was timid—the impertinent defendant, and the defendant who left his case +entirely to the Court—the defendant who would never pay, and the +defendant who would if he could. The causes of action I found to be as +multifarious as the parties were diverse. Besides suits by tradespeople +for every description of goods supplied, there were claims for every +sort and kind of service that can belong to humanity, from the claim of +a monthly nurse, to the claim of the undertaker’s assistant. + +In proving these claims the Judge was strict in insisting that a proper +account should have been delivered; and that the best evidence should be +produced as to the correctness of the items. No one could come to the +court and receive a sum of money merely by swearing that ‘Mr. So-and-so +owes me so much.’ + +With regard to defendants, the worst thing they could do, was to remain +away when summoned to attend. It has often been observed that those +persons about whose dignity there is any doubt, are the most rigorous in +enforcing its observance. It is with Courts as it is with men; and as +Small Debt Courts are sometimes apt to be held in some contempt, I found +the Judge here very prompt in his decision, whenever a defendant did not +appear by self or agent. Take a case in point:— + + +_Barrister_ (_to the Clerk of the Court_). Make an order in favour of +the plaintiff. + +_Plaintiff’s Attorney._ Your honour will give us speedy recovery? + +_Barrister._ Will a month do, Mr. Docket? + +_Plaintiff’s Attorney._ The defendant is not here to assign any reason +for delay, your honour. + +_Barrister._ Very well: then let him pay in a fortnight. + + +I was much struck, in some of the cases, by a friendly sort of +confidence which characterised some of the proceedings. Here again the +effect in a great measure was attributable to the Barrister. He seemed +to act,—as indeed he is—rather as an authorised arbitrator than as a +Judge. He advised rather than ordered; ‘I really think,’ he said to one +defendant, ‘I really think, Sir, you have made yourself liable.’ ‘Do +you, Sir?’ said the man, pulling out his purse without more ado, ‘then, +Sir, I am sure I will pay.’ + +It struck me, too, as remarkable, that though some of the cases were +hotly contested, none of the defeated parties complained of the +decision. In several instances, the parties even appeared to acquiesce +in the propriety of the verdict. + +A Scotch shoeing-smith summoned a man who, from his appearance, I judged +to be a hard, keen-dealing Yorkshire horse-jobber; he claimed a sum of +money for putting shoes upon six-and-thirty horses. His claim was just, +but there was an error in his particulars of demand which vitiated it. +The Barrister took some trouble to point out that in consequence of this +error, even if he gave a decision in his favour, he should be doing him +an injury. The case was a hard one, and I could not help regretting that +the poor plaintiff should be non-suited. Did _he_ complain? Neither by +word or action. Folding up his papers, he said sorrowfully, ‘Well, Sir, +I assure you I would not have come here, if it had not been a just +claim.’ The Barrister evidently believed him, for he advised a +compromise, and adjourned the case that the parties might try to come to +terms. But the defendant would not arrange, and the plaintiff was driven +to elect a non-suit. + +The mode of dealing with documentary evidence afforded me considerable +satisfaction. Private letters—such as the tender effusions of faithless +love—are not, as in the higher Courts, thrust, one after the other, into +the dirty face of a grubby-looking witness who was called to prove the +handwriting, sent the round of the twelve jurymen in the box, and +finally passed to the reporters that they might copy certain flowery +sentences and a few stanzas from ‘Childe Harold,’ which the shorthand +writers ‘could not catch,’ but are handed up seriatim to the Judge, who +looks through them carefully and then passes them over without +observation for the re-perusal of the defendant. Not a word transpires, +except such extracts as require comment. + +There was a claim against a gentleman for a butcher’s bill. He had the +best of all defences, for he had paid ready money for every item as it +was delivered. The plaintiff was the younger partner of a butchering +firm which had broken up, leaving him in possession of the books and his +partner in possession of the credit. The proprietor of the book-debts +proved the order and delivery of certain joints prior to a certain date, +and swore they had not been paid for. To show his title to recover the +value of them, he somewhat unnecessarily thrust before the Barrister the +deed which constituted him a partner. The Judge instantly compared the +deed with the bill. ‘Why,’ he said, turning to the butcher, ‘all the +items you have sworn to were purchased anterior to the date of your +entering into partnership. If any one is entitled to recover, it is your +partner, whom the defendant alleges he has paid.’ In one, as they are +called, of the ‘Superior Courts,’ I very much doubt whether either Judge +or Jury would have discovered for themselves this important discrepancy. + +The documentary evidence was not confined to deeds and writings, stamped +or unstamped. Even during the short time I was present, I saw some +curious records produced before the Barrister—records as primitive in +their way as those the Chancellor of the Exchequer used to keep in the +Tally-Office, before the comparatively recent introduction of +book-keeping into the department of our national accountant. + +Among other things received in evidence, were a milkwoman’s score, and a +baker’s notches. Mr. Ficker appeared inclined to think that no weight +ought to be attached to such evidence as this. But when I recollect that +there have occasionally been such things as tombstones produced in +evidence before Lord Volatile in his own particular Court, the House of +Lords, (‘the highest jurisdiction,’ as they call it, ‘in the realm,’) I +see no good reason why Mrs. Chalk, the milkwoman, should not be +permitted to produce her tallies in a County Court. For every practical +purpose the score upon the one seems just as good a document as the +epitaph upon the other. + +I was vastly pleased by the great consideration which appeared to be +displayed towards misfortune and adversity. These Courts are +emphatically Courts for the _recovery_ of debts; and inasmuch as they +afford great facilities to plaintiffs, it is therefore the more +incumbent that defendants should be protected against hardship and +oppression. A man was summoned to show why he had not paid a debt +pursuant to a previous order of the Court. The plaintiff attended to +press the case against him, and displayed some rancour. + +‘Why have you not paid, Sir?’ demanded the Judge, sternly. + +‘Your honour,’ said the man, ‘I have been out of employment six months, +and within the last fortnight everything I have in the world has been +seized in execution.’ + +In the Superior Courts this would have been no excuse. The man would +probably have gone to prison, leaving his wife and family upon the +parish. But here that novel sentiment in law proceedings—sympathy—peeped +forth. + +‘I believe this man would pay,’ said the barrister, ‘if possible. But he +has lost everything in the world. At present I shall make no order.’ + +It did not appear to me that the plaintiffs generally in this Court were +anxious to press very hardly upon defendants. Indeed it would be bad +policy to do so. Give a man time, and he can often meet demands that it +would be impossible for him to defray if pressed at once. + +‘Immediate execution’ in this Court, seemed to be payment within a +fortnight. An order to pay in weekly instalments is a common mode of +arranging a case, and as it is usually made by agreement between the +parties, both of them are satisfied. In fact the rule of the Court +seemed not dissimilar from that of tradespeople who want to do a quick +business, and who proceed upon the principle that ‘No reasonable offer +is refused.’ + +I had been in the Court sufficiently long to make these and other +observations, when Mr. Ficker introduced me to the clerk. On leaving the +Court by a side door, we repaired to Mr. Nottit’s room, where we found +that gentleman, (an old attorney,) prepared to do the honours of ‘a +glass of sherry and a biscuit.’ Of course the conversation turned upon +‘the County Court.’ + +‘Doing a pretty good business here?’ said Mr. Ficker. + +‘Business—we’re at it all day,’ replied Mr. Nottit. ‘I’ll show you. This +is an account of the business of the County Courts in England and Wales +in the year 1848; the account for 1849 is not yet made up.’ + +‘Takes six months, I suppose, to make it,’ said Mr. Ficker, rather +ill-naturedly. + +‘Total “Number of Plaints or Causes entered,”’ read the clerk, +‘427,611.’ + +‘Total amount of money sought to be recovered by the plaintiffs,’ +continued Mr. Nottit, ‘1,346,802_l._’ + +‘Good Gracious!’ exclaimed Ficker, his face expressing envy and +indignation; ‘what a benefit would have been conferred upon society, if +all this property had been got into the legitimate Law Courts. What a +benefit to the possessors of all this wealth. I have no doubt whatever +that during the past year the suitors who have recovered this million +and a quarter have spent the whole of it, squandered it upon what they +called “necessaries of life.” Look at the difference if it had only been +locked up for them—say in Chancery. It would have been preserved with +the greatest possible safety; accounted for—every fraction of it—in the +books of the Accountant-General; and we, Sir, we—the respectable +practitioners in the profession—should have gone down three or four +times every year to the Master’s offices to see that it was all right, +and to have had a little consultation as to the best means of holding it +safely for our client, until his suit was properly and equitably +disposed of.’ + +‘But, perhaps, Ficker,’ I suggested, ‘these poor clients make better use +of their own money, after all, than the Courts of Law and Equity could +make of it for them.’ + +‘Then the costs,’ said Mr. Ficker, with an attorney’s ready eye to +business, ‘let us hear about them.’ + +‘The total amount of costs adjudged to be paid by defendants on the +amount (752,500_l._) for which judgment was obtained, was 199,980_l._;’ +was the answer; ‘being an addition of 26.5 per cent. on the amount +ordered to be paid.’ + +‘Well,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘that’s not so very bad. Twenty-five per +cent.,’ turning to me; ‘is a small amount undoubtedly for the costs of +an action duly brought to trial; but, as the greater part of these costs +are costs of Court, twenty-five per cent. cannot be considered +inadequate.’ + +‘It seems to me a great deal too much,’ said I. ‘Justice ought to be +much cheaper.’ + +‘All the fees to counsel and attorneys are included in the amount,’ +remarked the clerk, ‘and so are allowances to witnesses. The fees on +causes, amounted to very nearly 300,000_l._ Of this sum, the Officers’ +fees were, in 1848, 234,274_l._, and the General Fund fees 51,784_l._’ + +‘Not so bad!’ said Mr. Ficker, smiling. + +‘The Judges’ fees amounted to nearly 90,000_l._ This would have given +them all 1500_l._ each; but the Treasury has fixed their salaries at a +uniform sum of 1000_l._, so that the sixty Judges only draw 60,000_l._ +of the 90,000_l._’ + +‘Where does the remainder go?’ I enquired. + +The County Court Clerk shook his head. + +‘But you don’t mean,’ said I, ‘that the suitors are made to pay +90,000_l._ a year for what only costs 60,000_l._?’ + +‘I am afraid it is so,’ said Mr. Nottit. + +‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Ficker. ‘I never heard of such a thing in all my +professional experience. I am sure the Lord Chancellor would never +sanction that in his Court. You ought to apply to the Courts above, Mr. +Nottit. You ought, indeed.’ + +‘And yet,’ said I, ‘I think I have heard something about a Suitors’ Fee +Fund in those Courts above—eh, Ficker?’ + +‘Ah—hem—yes,’ said Mr. Ficker. ‘Certainly—but the cases are not at all +analogous. By the way, how are the other fees distributed?’ + +‘The Clerks,’ said Mr. Nottit, ‘received 87,283_l._; nearly as much as +the Judges. As there are 491 clerks, the average would be 180_l._ a year +to each. But as the Clerks’ fees accumulate in each Court according to +the business transacted, of course the division is very unequal. In one +Court in Wales the Clerk only got 8_l._ 10_s._ in fees; in another +Court, in Yorkshire, his receipts only amounted to 9_l._ 4_s._ 3_d._ But +some of my colleagues made a good thing of it. The Clerks’ fees in some +of the principal Courts, are very ‘Comfortable.’ + + The Clerk of Westminster netted in 1848 £2731 + Clerkenwell 2227 + Southwark 1710 + +Bristol, Sheffield, Bloomsbury, Birmingham, Shoreditch, Leeds, +Marylebone, received 1000_l._ a year and upwards.’ + +‘But,’ continued our friend, ‘three-fourths of the Clerks get less than +100_l._ a year.’ + +‘Now,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘tell us what you do for all this money?’ + +‘Altogether,’ said the clerk, ‘the Courts sat in 1848, 8,386 days, or an +average for each Judge of 140 days. The greatest number of sittings was +in Westminster, where the Judge sat 246 days. At Liverpool, there were +sittings on 225 days. The number of trials, as I have before mentioned, +was 259,118, or an average of about 4320 to each Judge, and 528 to each +Court. In some of the Courts, however, as many as 20,000 cases are tried +in a year.’ + +‘Why,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘they can’t give five minutes to each case! Is +this “administration of justice?”’ + +‘When,’ said the Clerk, ‘a case is undefended, a plaintiff appears, +swears to his debt, and obtains an order for its payment, which takes +scarcely two minutes.’ + +‘How long does a defended case take?’ + +‘On the average, I should say, a quarter of an hour: that is, provided +counsel are not employed.’ + +‘Jury cases occupy much longer.’ + +‘Undoubtedly.’ + +‘Are the jury cases frequent?’ I enquired, some feeling of respect for +‘our time-honoured institution’ coming across me as I spoke. + +‘Nothing,’ said our friend, ‘is more remarkable in the history of the +County Courts than the very limited resort which suitors have to juries. +It is within the power of either party to cause a jury to be summoned in +any case where the plaint is upwards of 5_l._ The total number of cases +tried in 1848, was 259,118. Of these, upwards of 50,000 were cases in +which juries might have been summoned. But there were only 884 jury +cases in all the Courts, or one jury for about every 270 trials! The +party requiring the jury obtained a verdict in 446 out of the 884 cases, +or exactly one half.’ + +‘At any rate, then, there is no imputation on the juries,’ said Mr. +Ficker. + +‘The power of resorting to them is very valuable,’ said our friend. +‘There is a strong disposition among the public to rely upon the +decision of the Barrister, and that reliance is not without good +foundation, for certainly justice in these Courts has been well +administered. But there may be occasions when it would be very desirable +that a jury should be interposed between a party to a cause and the +presiding Judge; and certainly if the jurisdiction of these Courts is +extended, it will be most desirable that suitors should be able to +satisfy themselves that every opportunity is open to them of obtaining +justice.’ + +‘For my own part,’ said I, ‘I would as soon have the decision of one +honest man as of twelve honest men, and perhaps I would prefer it. If +the Judge is a liberal-minded and enlightened man I would rather take +his judgment than submit my case to a dozen selected by chance, and +among whom there would most probably be at least a couple of dolts. By +the way, why should not the same option be given to suitors in +Westminster Hall as is given in the County Courts?’ + +‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Ficker; ‘abolish trial by Jury! the palladium of +British liberty! Have you _no_ respect for antiquity?’ + +‘We must adapt ourselves to the altered state of society, Ficker. +Observe the great proportion of cases _tried_ in these Courts; more than +sixty per cent. of the entire number of plaints entered. This is vastly +greater than the number in the Superior Courts, where there is said to +be scarcely one cause tried for fifty writs issued. Why is this? Simply +because the cost deters parties from continuing the actions. They settle +rather than go to a jury.’ + +‘And a great advantage, too,’ said Mr. Ficker. + +‘Under the new bill,’ said our friend, the Clerk, ‘Ficker’s clients will +all be coming to us. They will be able to recover 50_l._ in these Courts +without paying Ficker a single 6_s._ 8_d._, unless they have a peculiar +taste for law expenses.’ + +‘And a hideous amount of rascality and perjury will be the consequence,’ +said Mr. Ficker; ‘you will make these Courts mere Plaintiffs’ Courts, +Sir; Courts to which every rogue will be dragging the first man who he +thinks can pay him 50_l._, if he only swears hard enough that it is due +to him. I foresee the greatest danger from this extension of litigation, +under the pretence of providing cheap law.’ + +‘Fifty pounds,’ said I, ‘is, to a large proportion of the people, a sum +of money of very considerable importance. I must say, I think it would +be quite right that inferior courts should not have the power of dealing +with so much of a man’s property, without giving him a power of appeal, +at least under restrictions. But at the same time, looking at the +satisfactory way in which this great experiment has worked,—seeing how +many righteous claims have been established and just defences +maintained, which would have been denied under any other system—I cannot +but hope to see the day when, attended by proper safeguards for the due +administration of justice, these Courts will be open to even a more +numerous class of suitors than at present. It is proposed that small +Charitable Trust cases shall be submitted to the Judges of these Courts; +why not also refer to them cases in which local magistrates cannot now +act without suspicion of partisanship?—cases, for example, under the +Game Laws, or the Turnpike Laws, and, more than all, offences against +the Truck Act, which essentially embody matters of account. Why not,’ +said I, preparing for a burst of eloquence, ‘why not—’ + +‘Overthrow at once the Seat of Justice, the letter of the Law, and our +glorious constitution in Church and State!’ + +It was Mr. Ficker who spoke, and he had rushed frantically from the room +’ere I could reply. + +Having no one to argue the point further with, I made my bow to Mr. +Nottit and retired also. + + + + + SWEDISH FOLK-SONGS. + + + FAIR CARIN. + + The fair Carin—a maiden, + Within a young king’s hall, + Like to a star in beauty + Among the handmaids all. + + Like to a star in beauty, + Among the maidens there; + And thus the king addressed him + Unto Carin the Fair. + + ‘And fair Carin, now hearken, + Wilt thou be only mine, + The grey horse, golden-saddled, + It shall this day be thine.’ + + ‘The grey horse, golden-saddled, + Is all unmeet for me; + Give them unto thy fair young queen, + And let the poor maid be.’ + + ‘And fair Carin, now hearken, + Wilt thou this day be mine, + My crown, made of the red, red gold, + It shall alone be thine.’ + + ‘Thy crown, made of the red, red gold, + Is all unmeet for me; + Give it unto thy good young queen, + And let the poor maid be.’ + + ‘And fair Carin, now hearken, + Wilt thou this day be mine, + The half of all my kingdom, + It shall alone be thine.’ + + ‘The half of all thy kingdom + It is unmeet for me; + Give it unto thy gentle queen, + And let the poor maid be.’ + + ‘And fair Carin, now hearken, + If thee I may not win, + A cask, all spiked with iron, + Shalt thou be set within.’ + + ‘And though that thou shouldst set me + The spikéd cask within, + They would behold, God’s angels, + That I am free from sin.’ + + They closed Carin, the maiden, + Within that cruel space, + And the young king’s hired servants + They rolled her round the place. + + With that from heaven descended + Two doves as bright as day; + They took Carin, the maiden, + And there were three straightway. + + + + + A VISIT TO THE ARCTIC DISCOVERY SHIPS. + + +By aid of the North Kent Railway an hour is more than enough for the +journey from London to the dockyard at Woolwich. On a bright morning in +April, we crossed the paved court of the dockyard in search of the four +ships that were being made ready to go in search of the lost Sir John +Franklin and his companions—now four years unheard of, and believed to +be frozen up in the regions of thick-ribbed ice at the North Pole. Two +of the Arctic ships were put in dry dock, and two afloat in the river. +The names of the ships as put together by an old sailor in our hearing, +express their mission. The ‘Resolute,’ ‘Intrepid,’ ‘Pioneer,’ goes with +‘Assistance’ to Sir John Franklin and his frozen-up pack. + +We had followed the workman with the artificial memory, and by this time +stood beside the dry dock in which one of the vessels, the ‘Pioneer,’ a +steamer, was fixed upright and out of water. There she stood in a fine +massive granite basin, the sides of which were fashioned into steps. +Down there we went, and then walked round and under her from stem to +stern, and in doing so, could see what preparation had been made to fit +her for the duty she had to do. This steamer had been in the foreign +cattle trade, and had brought, it seems, many a drove from the fields of +Flanders, and from the hills of Spain, to make fatal acquaintance with +the abominations of Smithfield. Bought out of that unsavoury service as +a strong capable steamship, she had been placed in this granite cradle, +and been swathed outside with tarred felt, upon the top of which +additional planking was then fixed. Upon her bows where the shock of the +ice would be most severe, another layer of felt was then applied, and +over this was riveted tough sheets of iron. With this metal casing her +stem was complete. At her stern, as she stood thus out of water, we had +an excellent opportunity of inspecting the screw by which she was to be +impelled. This was of a brazen compound metal prepared with a view to +great strength and toughness; but as its blows upon the stray floating +ice might injure it, another screw of iron was on board to replace it +should it be broken when out of reach of dockyard help. Having passed +round the vessel, and looked up at her huge bulging sides, we ascended +the stone steps, and walking along a plank from the dock side, boarded +the ‘Pioneer,’ to see—after such outside preparations—what care had been +taken with the inside of the ship. It was soon evident that the felting +and planking of the exterior had been matched by a similar felting and +planking of the interior; with this difference, that inside the felt was +untarred. These additions to the thickness of her sides to make her firm +and warm, had been followed by another contrivance, to give her still +further ability to withstand any crushing weight she might have to +endure. Strong beams had been placed aslant, from her keel and her +decks, outwards and upwards towards her sides; and lastly, her decks had +been doubled; so that, thus secured, she became almost as capable of +resisting outward pressure as a solid block of oak. Having thus +strengthened this floating fortress against the fierce assaults of the +Giant Frost, we turned to look how they had stored it to withstand the +beleaguering siege of—it may be—a two or three years’ Arctic winter. +Here we found an ample field for wonder and admiration. Surely human +ingenuity and ships’ stowage were never better displayed. Every inch of +space had been made the most of. In the centre of the vessel were her +engines, cased round with iron, so that outside them could be stowed +away no less than 85 tons of patent compressed fuel to feed the fires. +Thus surrounded, the engines were literally bedded in a small coal-mine, +for their own consumption. + +The danger to be apprehended from the close contiguity of so much +combustible material to the engine-fire is obviated, in case of +accident, by eight pumps on the decks and two patent pumps below, +besides others in the engine-rooms. There are fourteen pumps altogether, +which can be handled in case of fire or leakage. Some of these are +worked by the engine, some are placed in warm berths below, so that the +men may have exercise at them without exposure on deck. Nearly all these +pumps work independently of each other, so that if one is deranged, it +does not hurt the rest. + +The question as to how the ship is to be kept warm?—was answered by our +being conducted deep down into the hold; there we found a patent stove, +so constructed that pure air was admitted by pipes to its neighbourhood, +and being heated there was passed through other pipes through all parts +of the ship, until having lost much of its heat and more of its purity, +it was allowed to escape, and was replaced by another stream of pure air +to be warmed, and used and replaced again; so on from day to day while +the ships remained in the ice. This warming apparatus, the 85 tons of +fuel, the four years’ provisions, and the Bolton and Watt’s engines +occupied, in spite of the most perfect stowage, so much room, that it +was puzzle to know where the water was stowed. + +It was, however, explained that 85 tons of coal round the engine is not +all that must go. The ship will take 200 tons of coal altogether, but +won’t want much water room, for along with the engine is a contrivance +for melting ice for use whilst the ships are locked in. + +The salt sea there is a surface of ice that comes direct from Heaven. +The snow is not salted, and the fires will melt the snow-made-ice for +the ship’s use. + +Having learned all these particulars as to the essentials of warm air, +and good water, and having heard an account of the four years’ +provisions, with a certainty that there was a still further supply near +the Copper Mine River in case of need: and having learned also that the +doctors had got ample supplies of lime-juice and lemon-juice to keep off +the scurvy, and that they had mixed it with alcohol to render it less +liable to freeze; having seen, too, that the purser, thoughtful man, had +not forgotten to order in some sound-looking casks of pale sherry, and +some cases that had an agreeable champagney French look, and these +sights having strengthened the hope that the brave men who were to take +these ships on their perilous duty would have their hearts warmed by a +glass of generous wine when they drank to absent friends next Christmas +Day—we had time to glance over what may be called the miscellaneous +stores for the voyage. These made a picture, indeed. Everything of every +possible kind seemed to be there, and to have been multiplied by two. +Thus there were two screw propellers, and two rudders, and two funnels. +And then there were certainly twice two dozen ice-saws (with teeth an +inch long and handles eight feet wide), and ice-hatchets enough +apparently to slay any number of Polar bears who might feel inclined to +call upon this ‘Pioneer’ during his visit to their neighbourhood. +Between decks the place looked like a mingled establishment made up of a +rope-walk, a sailmaker’s, a currier’s, a brushmaker’s, a dreadnought +clothier’s, a cooper’s, and a very extensive oil and colour warehouse. +There were certainly goods enough pertaining to all these various trades +to set up one man of each with an abundant stock in any street in +Bermondsey he might select. Over head, there was a ceiling of oars and +spare spars, and handspikes, and capstan-bars; at the sides, rows of +blocks, and lanthorns, and cans, and paint-brushes; and under-foot, bars +of iron cased with neatly-sewed leather. This last peculiarity, indeed, +was observable in many parts of the ship. Wherever there was any iron it +was neatly cased over with leather, to secure those who might have to +handle it in the Polar seas from the well-known consequences of touching +naked iron in those latitudes,—for cold iron there, like red-hot iron +elsewhere, damages the fingers of those rash enough to touch it. + +This abundance to overflow of stores extended itself even to the +commander’s cabin, for every inch of space was important. That spot, +however, showed no confusion or cramming, though he had near him two of +the most dangerous commodities in his ship,—underneath his _sanctum_ was +a store of ardent spirits, and astern of it a small magazine of +gunpowder. + +The engines of the ‘Pioneer’ are 60-horse power, and as she now is she +will not run very fast without her sails, but with wind and steam she +will make eleven knots an hour. The two steamers—the ‘Pioneer’ and the +‘Intrepid’—are to go as tenders to the sailing ships, and to tow them in +the still waters at the Pole, for there when there is no wind there are +no waves. + +We left the ‘Pioneer’ to look over her companion ships. The ‘Intrepid’ +was being arranged on the same system; the others, the ‘Assistance’ and +the ‘Resolute,’ were afloat at the dock side, and, being sailing ships, +had of course none of their space filled by engines, and, therefore, +seemed rather more roomy. Yet, having seen one Arctic ship, we had seen +the whole. We heard of gutta-percha sledges to be used on the ice, and +of small pilot balloons to be inflated and sent over the frozen regions +of the Pole, and which, as they float in the air, are to drop printed +slips—words of hope and news of succour—in anticipation that some of +these paper messages may reach the frozen-in, lost, mariners, Sir John +Franklin and his crew. We heard, also, that the sailing ships would each +have a crew of about sixty-five men, and the steamers each about +twenty-five, including others. But every one was so busy on board these +sailing ships, and their work was so holy in its intent, that we were +unwilling to disturb either officer or man with many questions; and so +made our way again London-wards. + +The last thing we noticed on board these Arctic ships was an inscription +that glittered in the sunshine of that April afternoon, for the words +were carved in letters of brass on the steersman’s wheel that is to +guide the vessels on their perilous way. And our last feeling was that +the hope contained in the words would be realised. The words so written +are:—ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY. + + + + + THE MINER’S DAUGHTERS.—A TALE OF THE PEAK. + + IN THREE CHAPTERS. + + + CHAPTER III. + THE COURTSHIP AND ANOTHER SHIP. + +One evening, as the two sisters were hastening along the road through +the woods on their way homewards, a young farmer drove up in his +spring-cart, cast a look at them, stopped, and said: ‘Young women, if +you are going my way, I shall be glad of your company. You are quite +welcome to ride.’ + +The sisters looked at each other. ‘Dunna be afreed,’ said the young +farmer; ‘my name’s James Cheshire. I’m well known in these parts; you +may trust yersens wi’ me, if it’s agreeable.’ + +To James’s surprise, Nancy said, ‘No, sir, we are not afraid; we are +much obliged to you.’ + +The young farmer helped them up into the cart, and away they drove. + +‘I’m afraid we shall crowd you,’ said Jane. + +‘Not a bit of it,’ replied the young farmer. ‘There’s room for three +bigger nor us on this seat, and I’m no ways tedious.’ + +The sisters saw nothing odd in his use of the word ‘tedious,’ as +strangers would have done; they knew it merely meant ‘not at all +particular.’ They were soon in active talk. As he had told them who he +was, he asked them in their turn if they worked at the mills there. They +replied in the affirmative, and the young man said:— + +‘I thought so. I’ve seen you sometimes going along together. I noticed +you because you seemed so sisterly like, and you are sisters, I reckon.’ + +They said ‘Yes.’ + +‘I’ve a good spanking horse, you seen,’ said James Cheshire. ‘I shall +get over th’ ground rayther faster nor you done a-foot, eh? My word, +though, it must be nation cold on these bleak hills i’ winter.’ + +The sisters assented, and thanked the young farmer for taking them up. + +‘We are rather late,’ said they, ‘for we looked in on a friend, and the +rest of the mill-hands were gone on.’ + +‘Well,’ said the young farmer, ‘never mind that. I fancy Bess, my mare +here, can go a little faster nor they can. We shall very likely be at +Tidser as soon as they are.’ + +‘But you are not going to Tidser,’ said Jane, ‘your farm is just before +us there.’ + +‘Yay, I’m going to Tidser though. I’ve a bit of business to do there +before I go hom.’ + +On drove the farmer at what he called a spanking rate; presently they +saw the young mill-people on the road before them. + +‘There are your companions,’ said James Cheshire, ‘we shall cut past +them like a flash of lightning.’ + +‘Oh,’ exclaimed Jane Dunster, ‘what will they say at seeing us riding +here?’ and she blushed brightly. + +‘Say?’ said the young farmer, smiling, ‘never mind what they’ll say; +depend upon it, they’d like to be here theirsens.’ + +James Cheshire cracked his whip. The horse flew along. The party of the +young mill-hands turned round, and on seeing Jane and Nancy in the cart, +uttered exclamations of surprise. + +‘My word, though!’ said Mary Smedley, a fresh buxom lass, somewhat +inclined to stoutness. + +‘Well, if ever!’ cried smart little Hannah Bowyer. + +‘Nay, then, what next?’ said Tetty Wilton, a tall, thin girl of very +good looks. + +The two sisters nodded and smiled to their companions; Jane still +blushing rosily, but Nancy sitting as pale and as gravely as if they +were going on some solemn business. + +The only notice the farmer took was to turn with a broad smiling face, +and shout to them, ‘Wouldn’t you like to be here too?’ + +‘Ay, take us up,’ shouted a number of voices together; but the farmer +cracked his whip, and giving them a nod and a dozen smiles in one, said, +‘I can’t stay. Ask the next farmer that comes up.’ + +With this they drove on; the young farmer very merry and full of talk. +They were soon by the side of his farm. ‘There ’s a flock of sheep on +the turnips there,’ he said, proudly; ‘they’re not to be beaten on this +side Ashbourne. And there are some black oxen, going for the night to +the straw-yard. Jolly fellows, those—eh? But I reckon you don’t +understand much of farming stock?’ + +‘No,’ said Jane, and was again surprised at Nancy adding, ‘I wish we +did. I think a farmer’s life must be the very happiest of any.’ + +‘You think so?’ said the farmer, turning and looking at her earnestly, +and evidently with some wonder. ‘You are right,’ said he. ‘You little +ones are knowing ones. You are right; it’s the life for a king.’ + +They were at the village. ‘Pray stop,’ said Jane, ‘and let us get down. +I would not for the world go up the village thus. It would make such a +talk!’ + +‘Talk, who cares for talk?’ said the farmer; ‘won’t the youngsters we +left on the road talk?’ + +‘Quite enough,’ said Jane. + +‘And are _you_ afraid of talk?’ said the farmer to Nancy. + +‘I’m not afraid of it when I don’t provoke it wilfully,’ said Nancy; +‘but we are poor girls, and can’t afford to lose even the good word of +our acquaintance. You’ve been very kind in taking us up on the road, but +to drive us to our door would cause such wonder as would perhaps make us +wish we had not been obliged to you.’ + +‘Blame me, if you arn’t right again!’ said the young farmer, +thoughtfully. ‘These are scandal-loving times, and th’ neebors might +plague you. That’s a deep head of yourn, though,—Nancy, I think your +sister caw’d you. Well, here I stop then.’ + +He jumped down and helped them out. + +‘If you will drive on first,’ said Jane, ‘we will walk on after, and we +are greatly obliged to you.’ + +‘Nay,’ said the young man, ‘I shall turn again here.’ + +‘But you’ve business.’ + +‘Oh! my business was to drive you here—that’s all.’ + +James Cheshire was mounting his cart, when Nancy stepped up, and said: +‘Excuse me, Sir, but you’ll meet the mill-people on your return, and it +will make them talk all the more as you have driven us past your farm. +Have you no business that you can do in Tidser, Sir?’ + +‘Gad! but thou’rt right again! Ay, I’ll go on!’ and with a crack of his +whip, and a ‘Good night!’ he whirled into the village before them. + +No sooner was he gone than Nancy, pressing her sister’s arm to her side, +said: ‘There’s the right man at last, dear Jane.’ + +‘What!’ said Jane, yet blushing deeply at the same time, and her heart +beating quicker against her side. ‘Whatever are you talking of, Nancy? +That young farmer fall in love with a mill-girl?’ + +‘He’s done it,’ said Nancy; ‘I see it in him. I feel it in him. And I +feel, too, that he is true and staunch as steel.’ + +Jane was silent. They walked on in silence. Jane’s own heart responded +to what Nancy had said; she thought again and again on what he said. ‘I +have seen you sometimes;’ ‘I noticed you because you seemed so +sisterly.’ ‘He must have a good heart,’ thought Jane; but then he can +never think of a poor mill-girl like me.’ + +The next morning they had to undergo plenty of raillery from their +companions. We will pass that over. For several days, as they passed to +and fro, they saw nothing of the young farmer. But one evening, as they +were again alone, having staid at the same acquaintance’s as before, the +young farmer popped his head over a stone wall, and said, ‘Good evening +to you, young women.’ He was soon over the wall, and walked on with them +to the end of the town. On the Sunday at the chapel Jane saw Nancy’s +grave face fixed on some object steadily, and, looking in the same +direction, was startled to see James Cheshire. Again her heart beat +pit-a-pat, and she thought ‘Can he really be thinking of me?’ + +The moment chapel was over, James Cheshire was gone, stopping to speak +to no one. Nancy again pressed the arm of Jane to her side as they +walked home, and said,—‘I was not wrong.’ Jane only replied by returning +her affectionate pressure. + +Some days after, as Nancy Dunster was coming out of a shop in the +evening after their return home from the mill, James Cheshire suddenly +put his hand on her shoulder, and, on her turning, shook her hand +cordially, and said, ‘Come along with me a bit. I must have a little +talk with you.’ + +Nancy consented without remark or hesitation. James Cheshire walked on +quickly till they came near the fine old church which strikes travellers +as so superior to the place in which it is located; when he slackened +his pace, and taking Nancy’s hand, began in a most friendly manner to +tell her how much he liked her and her sister. That, to make a short +matter of it, as was his way, he had made up his mind that the woman of +all others in the world that would suit him for a wife was her sister. +‘But, before I said so to her, I thought I would say so to you, Nancy, +for you are so sensible, I’m sure you will say what is best for us all.’ + +Nancy manifested no surprise, but said calmly: ‘You are a well-to-do +farmer, Mr. Cheshire. You have friends of property; my sister, and—’ + +‘Ay, and a mill-girl; I know all that. I’ve thought it all over, and so +far you are right again, my little one. But just hear what I’ve got to +say. I’m no fool, though I say it. I’ve an eye in my head and a head on +my shoulders, eh?’ + +Nancy smiled. + +‘Well now, it’s not _any_ mill-girl; mind you, it’s not _any_ mill-girl; +no, nor perhaps another in the kingdom, that would do for me. I don’t +think mill-girls are in the main cut out for farmers’ wives, any more +than farmers’ wives are fit for mill-girls; but you see, I’ve got a +notion that your sister is not only a very farrantly lass, but that +she’s one that has particular good sense, though not so deep as you, +Nancy, neither. ‘Well, I’ve a notion she can turn her hand to anything, +and that she’s a heart to do it, when it’s a duty. Isn’t that so, eh? +And if it is so, then Jane Dunster’s the lass for me; that is, if it’s +quite agreeable.’ + +Nancy pressed James Cheshire’s hand, and said, ‘You are very kind.’ + +‘Not a bit of it,’ said James. + +‘Well,’ continued Nancy; ‘but I would have you to consider what your +friends will say; and whether you will not be made unhappy by them.’ + +‘Why, as to that,’ said James Cheshire, interrupting her, ‘mark me, Miss +Dunster. I don’t ask my friends for anything. I can farm my own farm; +buy my own cattle; drive my spring-cart, without any advice or +assistance of theirs; and therefore I don’t think I shall ask their +advice in the matter of a wife, eh? No, no, on that score I’m made up. +My name’s Independent, and, at a word, the only living thing I mean to +ask advice of is yourself. If you, Miss Dunster, approve of the match, +it’s settled, as far I’m concerned.’ + +‘Then so far,’ said Nancy, ‘as you and my sister are concerned, without +reference to worldly circumstances—I approve it with all my heart. I +believe you to be as good and honest as I know my sister to be. Oh! Mr, +Cheshire! she is one of ten thousand.’ + +‘Well, I was sure of it;’ said the young farmer; ‘and so now you must +tell your sister all about it; and if all’s right, chalk me a white +chalk inside of my gate as you go past i’ th’ morning, and to-morrow +evening I’ll come up and see you.’ + +Here the two parted with a cordial shake of the hand. The novel signal +of an accepted love was duly discovered by James Cheshire on his +gate-post, when he issued forth at daybreak, and that evening he was +sitting at tea with Jane and Nancy in the little cottage, having brought +in his cart a basket of eggs, apples, fresh butter, and a pile of the +richest pikelets (crumpets), country pikelets, very different to +town-made ones, for tea. + +We need not follow out the courtship of James Cheshire and Jane Dunster. +It was cordial and happy. James insisted that both the sisters should +give immediate notice to quit the mill-work, to spare themselves the +cold and severe walks which the winter now occasioned them. The sisters +had improved their education in their evenings. They were far better +read and informed than most farmer’s daughters. They had been, since +they came to Tideswell, teachers in the Sunday-school. There was +comparatively little to be learned in a farm-house for the wife in +winter, and James Cheshire therefore proposed to the sisters to go for +three months to Manchester into a wholesale house, to learn as much as +they could of the plain sewing and cutting out of household linen. The +person in question made up all sorts of household linen, sheets, +pillow-cases, shirts, and other things; in fact, a great variety of +articles. Through an old acquaintance he got them introduced there, +avowedly to prepare them for housekeeping. It was a sensible step, and +answered well. At spring, to cut short opposition from his own +relatives, which began to show itself, for these things did not fail to +be talked of, James Cheshire got a license, and proceeding to +Manchester, was then and there married, and came home with his wife and +sister. + +The talk and gossip which this wedding made all round the country, was +no little; but the parties themselves were well satisfied with their +mutual choice, and were happy. As the spring advanced, the duties of the +household grew upon Mrs. Cheshire. She had to learn the art of +cheese-making, butter-making, of all that relates to poultry, calves, +and household management. But in these matters she had the aid of an old +servant who had done all this for Mr. Cheshire, since he began farming. +She took a great liking to her mistress, and showed her with hearty +good-will how everything was done; and as Jane took a deep interest in +it, she rapidly made herself mistress of the management of the house, as +well as of the house itself. She did not disdain, herself, to take a +hand at the churn, that she might be familiar with the whole process of +butter-making, and all the signs by which the process is conducted to a +successful issue. It was soon seen that no farmer’s wife could produce a +firmer, fresher, sweeter pound of butter. It was neither _swelted_ by +too hasty churning, nor spoiled, as is too often the case, by the +buttermilk or by water being left in it, for want of well kneading and +pressing. It was deliciously sweet, because the cream was carefully put +in the cleanest vessels and well attended to. Mrs. Cheshire, too, might +daily be seen kneeling by the side of the cheese-pan, separating the +curd, taking off the whey, filling the cheese-vat with the curd, and +putting the cheese herself into press. Her cheese-chamber displayed as +fine a set of well-salted, well-coloured, well-turned and regular +cheeses as ever issued from that or any other farm-house. + +James Cheshire was proud of his wife; and Jane herself found a most +excellent helper in Nancy. Nancy took particularly to housekeeping; saw +that all the rooms were exquisitely clean; that everything was in nice +repair; that not only the master and mistress, but the servants had +their food prepared in a wholesome and attractive manner. The eggs she +stored up; and as fruit came into season, had it collected for market, +and for a judicious household use. She made the tea and coffee morning +and evening, and did everything but preside at the table. There was not +a farm-house for twenty miles round that wore an air of so much +brightness and evident good management as that of James Cheshire. For +Nancy, from the first moment of their acquaintance, he had conceived a +most profound respect. In all cases that required counsel, though he +consulted freely with his wife, he would never decide till they had had +Nancy’s opinion and sanction. + +And James Cheshire prospered. But, spite of this, he did not escape the +persecution from his relations that Nancy had foreseen. On all hands he +found coldness. None of them called on him. They felt scandalised at his +_evening_ himself, as they called it, to a mill-girl. He was taunted +when they met at market, with having been caught with a pretty face; and +told that they thought he had had more sense than to marry a dressed +doll with a witch by her side. + +At first James Cheshire replied with a careless waggery, ‘The pretty +face makes capital butter, though, eh? The dressed doll turns out a +tolerable dairy, eh? Better,’ added James, ‘than a good many can, that I +know, who have neither pretty faces, nor have much taste in dressing to +crack of.’ + +The allusion to Nancy’s dwarfish plainness was what peculiarly provoked +James Cheshire. He might have laughed at the criticisms on his wife, +though the envious neighbours’ wives did say that it was the old servant +and not Mrs. Cheshire who produced such fine butter and cheese; for +wherever she appeared, spite of envy and detraction, her lovely person +and quiet good sense, and the growing rumour of her good management, did +not fail to produce a due impression. And James had prepared to laugh it +off: but it would not do. He found himself getting every now and then +angry and unsettled by it. A coarse jest on Nancy at any time threw him +into a desperate fit of indignation. The more the superior merit of his +wife was known, the more seemed to increase the envy and venom of some +of his relatives. He saw, too, that it had an effect on his wife. She +was often sad, and sometimes in tears. + +One day when this occurred, James Cheshire said, as they sat at tea, +‘I’ve made up my mind. Peace in this life is a jewel. Better is a dinner +of herbs with peace, than a stalled ox with strife. Well now, I’m +determined to have peace. Peace and luv,’ said he, looking +affectionately at his wife and Nancy, ‘peace and luv, by God’s blessing, +have settled down on this house; but there are stings here and stings +there, when we go out of doors. We must not only have peace and luv in +the house, but peace all round it. So I’ve made up my mind. I’m for +America!’ + +‘For America!’ exclaimed Jane. ‘Surely you cannot be in earnest.’ + +‘I never was more in earnest in my life,’ said James Cheshire. It is +true I do very well on this farm here, though it’s a cowdish situation; +but from all I can learn, I can do much better in America. I can there +farm a much better farm of my own. We can have a much finer climate than +this Peak country, and our countrymen still about us. Now, I want to +know what makes a man’s native land pleasant to him?—the kindness of his +relations and friends. But then, if a man’s relations are not kind?—if +they get a conceit into them, that because they are relations they are +to choose a man’s wife for him, and sting him and snort at him because +he has a will of his own?—why, then I say, God send a good big +herring-pool between me and such relations! My relations, by way of +showing their natural affection, spit spite and bitterness. You, dear +wife and sister, have none of yourn to spite you. In the house we have +peace and luv. Let us take the peace and luv, and leave the bitterness +behind.’ + +There was a deep silence. + +‘It is a serious proposal,’ at length said Jane, with tears in her eyes. + +‘What says Nancy?’ asked James. + +‘It is a serious proposal,’ said Nancy, ‘but it is good. I feel it so.’ + +There was another deep silence; and James Cheshire said, ‘Then it is +decided.’ + +‘Think of it,’ said Jane earnestly,—‘think well of it.’ + +‘I have thought of it long and well, my dear. There are some of these +chaps that call me relation that I shall not keep my hands off, if I +stay amongst them,—and I fain would. But for the present I will say no +more; but,’ added he, rising and bringing a book from his desk, ‘here is +a book by one Morris Birkbeck, —read it, both of you, and then let me +know your minds.’ + +The sisters read. On the following Lady-day, James Cheshire had turned +over his farm advantageously to another, and he, his wife, Nancy, and +the old servant, Mary Spendlove, all embarked at Liverpool, and +transferred themselves to the United States, and then to the State of +Illinois. Five-and-twenty years have rolled over since that day. We +could tell a long and curious story of the fortunes of James Cheshire +and his family: from the days when, half repenting of his emigration and +his purchase, he found himself in a rough country, amid rough and +spiteful squatters, and lay for months with a brace of pistols under his +pillow, and a great sword by his bedside for fear of robbery and murder. +But enough, that at this moment, James Cheshire, in a fine cultivated +country, sees his ample estate cultivated by his sons, while as Colonel +and Magistrate he dispenses the law and receives the respectful homage +of the neighbourhood. Nancy Dunster, now styled Mrs. Dunster, the Mother +in Israel—the promoter of schools and the councillor of old and +young—still lives. Years have improved rather than deteriorated her +short and stout exterior. The long exercise of wise thoughts and the +play of benevolent feelings, have given even a sacred beauty to her +homely features. The dwarf has disappeared, and there remains instead, a +grave but venerable matron,—honoured like a queen. + + + + + LETTER FROM A HIGHLY RESPECTABLE OLD LADY. + + +Gracious, Mr. Conductor (which is like an omnibus) what a nice new +journal you have got! And ‘Household Words’ too; _that’s_ what I like! +I’ve often thought that if the world could hear _my_ household words, +some people would be wiser for them. Sir, if you are not above receiving +advice and information from an old woman, I will give you some. I will +just chatter to you as I do to the boys and girls down in my part of the +country here, without any ceremony. I have bought two pens and a quire +of paper, and I’ll write down a few things; but my spectacles are bad, +and my pen is not over steady. + +I may observe, in limmony, that you will soon discover me to be a well +edicated woman. I have lived a long life, and have always picked up +knowledge fast, taking four meals of it a day. Especially, you will find +that my medical attainments are considerable. I’m not one of your women +who go costing their husbands a whole till-full of money every year for +doctor’s bills. As a mother of a family—and—though you wouldn’t believe +it, Mr. Editor, if you was to look at me—I’ve had as many as eighteen,—I +felt it my duty, as the mother of a family, to acquire the knowledge +that was necessary for the preservation of my children’s lives. I have +bought or borrowed a large number of medical books, and studied them so +well, that if the dear children had been spared me long enough,—whereas +thirteen died young, and one an infant, which was quite owing to the +nurse having forgot to give it its Godfrey three nights running,—if they +had all lived, I should have been surrounded by a very healthy family, +and they would have owed to me, every one of them, their blooming looks. +Of the five that survive, Edward is delicate, and Tom is rather daft, +but the other three are in strong health, and prove what a blessing it +was their mother took such care of them. + +Some one of you gentlemen has been a writing about Lucifer-matches. +Lucifers, indeed! Is that your improvement of the people? Yah! If folks +were wise they would send Lucifer his matches back, and not be indebted +to him any longer for them. None of us ever lost our jawbones over a +tinder-box in my young days. But you must have improvements. Don’t you +know that you pay for civilisation with health. Look at me. I am +eighty-two; but we used flint and steel when I was young. Turn to the +British and Foreign Medical Review of a few years ago, there you will +see what I mean. There’s an account in it, of the new disease begotten +by lucifer-matches; by the phosphorus. It’s this: a worker in the +manufactory has a hollow tooth, it generally begins there, resembles +tooth-ache; then there is inflammation about it; the periosteum of the +lower jaw becomes inflamed; the bone dies: a man is recorded to have +picked his lower jawbone out of his chin as we pulled winkles out of +their shells, when winkles were eaten, in the good old times. It’s true +that forewarned is forearmed. Great care is taken in lucifer factories +on a large scale; those who work over the phosphorus have their mouths +shielded, I believe, and so on: but then, what a thing it is! Here’s +your march of improvement! A new luxury, a new disease. + +You have been looking over Water-works; isn’t beer good enough for the +folks now-a-days? To be sure one cannot wash in beer, but it’s not much +need one has for washing. I saw a little boy the other day, bothering +about a cabstand; he wanted a bucket of water, but the tap was +locked—and could be unlocked only for the horses. He said there was no +water in his alley, and he looked as if there were no water in the +world. I gave him twopence to go and buy a pint of beer, and went on, +feeling that I had done a charitable action. Water indeed! Don’t you +think, Mr. Conductor, that some of you reformers carry the thing a +little bit too far? I wrote the other day to a grandson of mine, he sets +up for a sanitary reformer, and because I was angry at a little +rapscallion who stole three pounds of Wiltshire bacon (a nice lean +piece) from my kitchen dresser, what does he write and say? I know what +I wrote and said in answer very well. _He_ never darkens my doors again, +and it’s 2000_l._ he will be out of pocket one of these days. I’ll just +copy his impudence. He says— + +‘Let it be supposed, grandmother, that you were born in one of the +thousand London alleys; that you were nursed with milk and opiates by a +mother able or willing to pay small attention to your wants. Your first +recollection is of having ‘scalled head,’ a disgusting skin disease, +begotten among dirt, with which poor ragged children are infested. Then +you remember the death of a brother who was your baby playmate. He died +of a fever. You remember other deaths, and how you pondered much in a +child’s way, while playing with a pool of filth, upon this fever, what +it was. You remember the pool in your undrained alley, when it was not +quite so bad as it is now. You remember how you laboured three times a +week, when water was turned on for two hours at the common tap, how you +laboured for your mother to supply her want of it, and came with your +bucket into competition with the tenants of the other houses, all eager +to lay in a stock. You remember how you enjoyed a wash when you could +get it; how you saw your mother strive to wash a tub full of linen in a +pipkin full of water, and the precious juice then could not be thrown +away until you had aided her attempt to scrub the floors with it. You +remember how your father died of a fever, and you slept so near his +corpse that when you were restless in the night once, you were awakened +by your hand touching upon its cold face. You remember how your mother +moaned by day, and how you heard her sob in the night season. So much, +that now and then you went to kiss her. You remember when your elder +sister drowned herself, nobody ever told you why;—you think you know +why. How your mother went out, when she could, for a day’s work, but was +too ragged and too dirty to find many patrons. How she took to +gin-drinking, lost her old love for you, and her old memories. How you +wished that you could find employment, but could find none for the +ragged little wretch. How you begged some pence, and bought some +oranges, and prayed to God that you might be honest in a trade however +small. How you were taken by a policeman before a magistrate, who said +that he must put you down. How you were sent to prison, and came out +shaking your little fists against Society, who made you be the dirty +thief you are.’ + +There! I can’t copy any more for rage. There’s a fellow, to address a +woman of my years! But he’ll live to repent it, Sir, when I am dead and +gone. My hand shakes so after copying this insolence, that I can’t hold +my pen any more to-day; besides, it has got bad, and there is nobody now +here to mend it. I should like my letter to be put first in your next +number; let it have large print and a great many capitals. + + + + + A SAMPLE OF THE OLD SCHOOL. + + BY AN OLD BOY. + + +All the particulars of the ensuing narration are strictly matters of +fact, except the proper names of places and persons, as we used to say +at Rood Priory, better known, in its time, as Roberts’s, better still as +Old Bob’s; the Establishment for Young Gentlemen—much as Old Bob would +have been enraged to hear it called so—which I am about to describe. + +Rood Priory was so called from standing near the site of that monastery. +Though really a private school, it was conducted after the manner of a +public one. Situated in the same Cathedral Town with the College of St. +Joseph, it maintained, indeed, a sort of rivalry with that foundation. I +was sent to Rood Priory—or Old Bob’s—about twenty-four years ago. The +school had then been kept by Old Bob for, I suppose, half a century, and +had existed long before. Old Bob’s was one of those genuine specimens of +the good old school, in which scarcely anything whatever was taught +except the Latin and Greek languages; and they were inculcated +principally by the rod. Its scholars, when first I became one of them, +mustered nearly a hundred; their number had been greater still. The +youngest of us were not more than five or six years old; some of the +eldest were verging upon twenty, and might have shaved without +affectation. We were divided into six classes, or as we called them, +Parts: of which the sixth was the lowest. Our range of study extended +from the rudiments of Latin, in the last Part, to Virgil, Horace, +Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad, Terence, and Greek Tragedy, in the second and +first. The first was also called the senior Part. It was allowed various +peculiar privileges, and its members, the senior boys, were never +flogged, except for high crimes and misdemeanors. They were a sort of +monitors, and had to keep order in the school and dining-hall; duties +which devolved on them by turns. In fact, Old Bob made them act as his +police. The first four Parts did Latin verses, to the composition of +which the greater portion of two days in each week was devoted. The +general impression at Rood Priory was that Latin versification was the +highest possible achievement of the human intellect. Annually, the +senior boys competed for a prize in Latin Hexameters. The successful +performances were recited at our Public Speaking, which took place at +the close of the Midsummer half year. Their Latinity was perfect for the +best of reasons; they were arrangements of phrases which had been really +penned by Ovid and Virgil. + +The native Muse was cultivated a little, too. We were required to commit +portions of the ‘Elegant Extracts’ to memory: and the senior boys also +wrote English prize-poems, which were clever imitations of the +mannerisms (only) of Pope and Dryden. + +The ‘usual branches of a solid English education’ were certainly in a +rather stunted condition at Old Bob’s. Arithmetic was taught ostensibly; +we had to write out a given number of sums weekly, done by what means no +matter, in a book. One boy, I recollect, by the particular request of +his parents, learned mathematics; that is to say, getting Euclid’s +propositions by rote. Geography was sometimes mentioned among us—in +connexion with the Argonautic Expedition for instance, or the Garden of +the Hesperides. English History we read in classes during the fortnight +before the vacations, Old Bob probably conceiving it expedient that his +scholars should, if questioned by their friends on the subject, appear +to know that there was some difference between William the Conqueror and +Oliver Cromwell. Sometimes Milton’s Paradise Lost was substituted for +our historical reading, namely, for Goldsmith’s Abridgment. We received +rather less instruction in Astronomy than may be presumed to have fallen +to the share of Galileo’s judges, and we utterly ignored the use of any +globes except those in use at football and cricket. Some few, at their +friends’ express stipulation, learned French, Drawing, and Dancing, on +sufferance, and grievously against the grain of Old Bob, who considered +that modern languages and accomplishments could be acquired during the +holidays, or picked up in after-life anyhow; and who suspected that at +Rood Priory they were mere pretexts for shirking severer lessons. +Certainly these studies involved no whipping, and were interspersed with +considerable amusement, at the expense of the French teacher at least, +and his countryman the dancing-master. + +Our school-house was a large detached building of red brick, +slate-roofed, lighted by tall round-arched windows, and entered by a +porch, in which vestibule to our Temple of Learning inert or peccant +neophytes were castigated. The hall, or refectory, was also detached. We +slept, some at Old Bob’s private residence, others in adjoining or +adjacent buildings connected with it. The schoolroom, for about a fourth +of its height, was wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved with names, +each letter of which had been engraven at the risk of a flagellation. +The desks, similarly adorned, extended on either side along the wall at +right angles with it, interrupted, on that to the left of the entrance, +by the two fire-places, senior and junior. Everything among us was thus +distinguished; we had a senior and junior field, or playground; a senior +and junior fives-court; and a senior, secundus, and junior bridge on the +river in which we used to bathe. The boys of every particular Part sat +together; each had his own private compartment of the desk, termed his +‘scob.’ A list of the names of the occupants of each desk, in the order +of their rank, was pasted on the wall over it. The junior, that is the +lowest, had the care of the lighting materials, and was thence styled +the ‘Candle-custos.’ There were three seats for the masters; one at the +top of the school, another at the bottom, and a third at the side, +between the two fire-places. They resembled Professors’ chairs, and +during lessons we were stationed in front of them. A large time-piece +above the middle chair regulated our operations. Down the whole length +of the school, in front of either series of desks, ran a form, the two +forms enabling us to be marshalled along them, on occasion, in a couple +of lines, leaving an open space in the middle wherein Old Bob could walk +to and fro with his cane. + +The order of things thus constituted was governed supremely by the +Reverend James Roberts, M.A., Senior, otherwise Old Bob; secondarily, by +his son, the Rev. James Roberts, M.A., Junior, behind his back called +James. In subordination to them we had three other classical masters, +and an English master, as he was termed. The business of the latter was +to teach writing and arithmetic, to call us of a morning, to distribute +among us our ‘battlings,’ or pocket-money, and to summon us at the end +of play-hours into school. His hair was light and woolly, he cleared his +throat with a bleating noise before he spoke, he had a grave sleepy +expression, and prominent teeth; and, of course, we called him ‘Sheep.’ +He was a very honest, worthy fellow, but he talked fine; he could not +sound the letter h, nor utter a Greek or Latin word without, if +possible, making a false quantity; his duties (being English) were +looked upon as rather menial, and the science which he professed was +accounted mercantile and vulgar; wherefore, on the whole, our somewhat +aristocratic community despised this excellent gentleman very much. + +Old Bob, in the face, was rather like Socrates: in form, save as to the +shoulders, he strongly resembled Punch. His similitude, however, to the +sage, was merely physiognomical, unless the ability to have disputed +with him in his own vernacular may be added to it. He was intimately +versed in what are termed the liberal sciences, though I doubt if, in +his case, they had the mollifying effect ascribed to them in the Eton +Latin Grammar. With no other kind of science was he acquainted, except +that of managing his own affairs. In this, truly, he was a tolerable +proficient, and had made money by his school. But if his acquirements +were limited, they were sound; and his intellect, though not +comprehensive, was strong. He would sometimes say to a clever but +eccentric boy—for he used to thee-and-thou us like a Quaker—‘Thou hast +every sense, my boy, but common sense.’ Of this faculty, in a practical +acceptation, he possessed a fair share himself. Old Bob had a fine sense +of justice, too, in his way, and he administered his flogging system +reasonably and equitably—as far as rationality or equity were consistent +with such a system. There was also not a little benevolence in Old Bob’s +composition. It is true that his eyes could not help twinkling when he +caught a boy in any mischief, and contrived, to hit him, neatly, on a +tense and sensitive part. But I do not think that he flogged +principally, or in very great measure, for the love of flogging. He had +a traditional belief in the virtues of the rod. He looked upon birch as +a necessary stimulant, not knowing that stimulants, whether in the +mental or animal economy, are not ordinarily necessary. Then, on the +other hand, he was very attentive to the health and comfort of his boys. +He took especial care that our meat and other provisions should be of +the very best kind; and if his scholars were well flogged, they were +also well fed and well cared for. + +Old Bob, when first I knew him, was nearly eighty years of age, but hale +and robust still. Divers legends were extant respecting the strong man +whom he had knocked down in his youth. He dressed the character of the +old schoolmaster, from the shovel-hat and powdered bald head to the +gaiters, as correctly as if he had proposed to act it in a farce. His +voice, I may here remark, was much like Mr. Farren’s in Sir Peter +Teazle; only it was slower, deeper, more powerful, and abounded in +strong and prolonged emphasis. He was very fond of spouting—in an +academical way—and I think I see him now teaching us to gesticulate, by +putting himself in an attitude, and giving us an idea of Cicero. + +In general, Old Bob was good-tempered, patient, and forbearing, not +punishing without fair warning, and then with deliberate dignity. But on +peculiar provocation, as by anything like the exhibition of a mutinous +spirit, especially on the part of a big boy, he lost all control of +himself. His face grew pale, his eyes twinkled ominously, he would puff +his cheeks out, and his whole form appeared actually to swell. Then, +pulling up his nether garments—a habit with him when in a rage—and his +voice shaking with passion, he would exclaim, ‘Take care, Sir. Let me +not hear thee say that again. If thou dost, I’ll whip thee. I’d whip +thee if thou wast as high as the house! I’d whip thee if thou wast as +big as Goliath!! I’d whip thee if thou wast an angel from Heaven!!!’ And +it was generally understood among us that he would have done it in +either case. + +A flogging at the hands of Old Bob was ordinarily the consequence of a +series of offences or shortcomings. Sometimes a pupil, often within a +brief period, had been guilty of a false concord or quantity. Sometimes +he had been caught out of bounds, or had in some other way infringed Old +Bob’s ordinances. Sometimes he was denounced for misconduct or idleness +by one of the masters. A very common case of punishment would occur +thus: Old Bob would suddenly call for the ‘Classicus’ of a part which +was under a junior master. The ‘Classicus’ was a register of our +respective performances in learning. The eye of Old Bob would light on a +succession of bad marks standing opposite the name of some unlucky +fellow. He then gradually raised his eyebrows, and began to whiff and +whistle. Presently he repeated the delinquent’s name aloud, and +proceeded, whistling and whiffing still at each word, to read out the +adjoined record, ‘Bradshaw!’ he would cry; ‘Bradshaw!—Hi! hi! +hi!—_Malè—malè—malè—mediocriter—malè—quam pessimè—quam pessimè—quam +pessimè_——I’ll whip thee!’ And he put down the book, and pushed his +spectacles up on his forehead. ‘Bring me the rod!—Bradshaw!—Come here to +me, my worthy, good Sir. I’ll _whip_ thee. _I_ will! Go into the porch!’ +So saying, he gave the culprit a shove at the nape of the neck, which +almost sent him sprawling headlong. ‘Rod—boy—the rod! Jones—you—Brown +you—go in.’ These boys were to keep the porch doors. ‘Robinson—go too.’ +The fourth boy was wanted to sustain the drapery of the victim. ‘And +here—you, Sir—Smith!—you—go in as well.’ This last was some youth who +had been misbehaving himself lately, and whom Old Bob compelled to +witness the infliction, that he might profit by it in the way of +example. They all went into the porch, and Old Bob, hitching up his +smallclothes, followed. ‘My poor boy,’ Old Bob would say, when he had +got the criminal ‘hoisted,’ ‘I am sorry for thee. I told thee how it +would be. I said I would whip thee if thou didst not behave better, +and—_I will_.’ Swish! + +The chastisement generally lasted about five minutes. Old Bob never +inflicted more than half-a-dozen stripes, but he waited a considerable +time between them, partly that each might have its full effect, partly +that he might improve the occasion for the edification of the other +delinquent. ‘You’ll be the next, Sir,’ he would tell the latter: ‘You’ll +be the next!’ A prediction usually soon fulfilled. + +Old Bob had a very high idea of the force of example. Incredible as it +may appear, it is a fact that he would send a troublesome pupil to see +an execution. I once witnessed his doing this. The boy in question, was +incorrigibly mischievous, and given to roguish pranks. Addressing him by +name, Old Bob said, ‘There is a man to be hanged this morning. Go and +see him, my boy. Thou art a bad boy, and it will do thee good. +You,’—turning to an elder boy,—‘you go with him and take charge of him.’ +Truly this was carrying out the principle of the ‘good old school.’ + +For high crimes and misdemeanours the penalty was flogging in public. +Swearing and profanity were the chief of these. At prayers we used to +kneel along the two forms in the middle of the school. The +‘candle-custodes’ alone remained at their desks during evening-prayer +time. One of these young gentlemen, once upon a night, got a copper cap, +and employed his devotional leisure in fixing it on the head of a nail. +The moment the final ‘Amen’ was uttered, before we could rise, he +exploded the cap. The report was terrific in the silence of the large +schoolroom. Old Bob insisted on the name of the transgressor being +surrendered, and flogged him instantly on the spot. His rage on this +occasion was extreme, and was mingled with a strange agitation. The next +day this was explained. ‘What was it thou didst let off last night?’ +demanded Old Bob of the irreverent youth, who was one of his +particularly bad boys. ‘A percussion cap,’ was the answer. +‘Per-per-what?’ ‘Percussion cap, Sir.’ ‘Hum!’ said Old Bob, musingly, ‘I +won’t expel thee _this_ time, Sir,—I won’t _expel_ thee.’ He evidently +did not know what a percussion cap was, whilst, dimly understanding that +it was not exactly a firearm, he seemed relieved from the suspicion that +his scholar had attempted his life. + +Such implicit confidence had Old Bob in birch, that he imagined he could +absolutely whip us up Parnassus, and he very often flogged a boy for not +being able to do his verses. ‘I’ll make thee a poet, my boy,’ he used to +say, ‘or the rod shall.’ Flagellation formed so essential a part of his +system, that he had a large quantity of birch-broom kept constantly at +hand in an old cabinet, which may have belonged to the Monastery of Rood +itself. The rod-boy—one of the scholars appointed to the office—not only +‘hoisted’ the sufferer, and had the custody of the birch, but also +manufactured the rods: and soundly was he drubbed by us, if he did not +carefully knock the buds out of them. I think James—who shared the power +of the scourge—insisted that his rods should not be tampered with. At +any rate, the skin upon which he operated looked afterwards as if it had +received a charge of small shot. Such correction, it is obvious, might +be repeated a little too often; and it was a rule of Old Bob’s that no +boy should be flogged more than once a week. Some, however, were flogged +regularly as the week came round. I recollect one boy with whom this was +the case for a long time: owing, I believe, to his sheer inability to +construe Virgil. I heard of him in after-life; oh, Heaven! such a stupid +man! + +A minor species of correction was inflicted with the cane, generally on +the hands. Old Bob confined himself to two ‘spats’ on the tips of the +fingers; or, as he called them, ‘summits of the digits.’ In spite of the +sufferer’s attempts to dodge him, he generally hit these sensitive +points exactly, to his manifest delight. James struck from four to six +blows across the palm with all his strength. I have seen a little boy +cast himself on the floor and writhe in the agony of this torture. + +James, at the time to which I am referring, appeared to be upwards of +fifty. Perhaps he looked older than he was, through powdering his hair. +He was much more hasty and irascible than his father. He punished +violently and promptly. Old Bob, on the other hand, would sometimes say, +‘I won’t whip thee now, my boy; but I _will_ whip thee. Not now—no. I’ll +let it hang over thy head.’ And so he did, occasionally, for some weeks; +and whipped him at last. James was rather a better scholar, and somewhat +worse informed in other respects than Old Bob. He had small regard for a +plodding student, and great partiality for anyone who could make neat +verses. It being a tenet with him that not a moment should ever be +wasted, he insisted on our taking books into the hall to read during +meals. In conformity with this principle, it was said that, having a +benefice in the neighbourhood at which he preached weekly, he used to +drive there, reading Horace, with his whip stuck upright in his vehicle. +These itinerary studies ended, as might have been foreseen, in a serious +accident; his horse running at its own sweet will over a cow in the +road, and spilling him. He had a preposterous antipathy to the least +noise, and his appearance in the school produced an awful silence +immediately. James’s greatest defect was the absolute dependence which +he placed on the word of the inferior masters. In answer to a complaint +from one of them, unlike Old Bob, he would never hear a boy speak, but +punished him instantly. Yet he was naturally of a kind disposition; and +his alacrity in flogging, arose partly from impatience and +irritability—partly from his having been brought up in that faith. + +The severities practised in Old Bob’s little kingdom, were not +unattended with the effects which they sometimes have in larger +monarchies. We had an under-master, whom I will call Bateson; a +north-countryman, with a disgusting brogue, only less repulsive than his +unwholesome looks and malicious temper. He was continually—as though +from a savage delight—procuring some boy or other to be punished. Not +long before my time, his conduct had created a regular rebellion. A +conspiracy, headed by the senior boys, was formed against him. An +opportunity was taken one evening when he was alone in the school. By an +arrangement preconcerted with the ‘candle-custodes,’ most of the lights +were extinguished. Books, ink-bottles, missiles of all kinds, were flung +at his head. The larger boys set upon him and gave him a severe beating. +Had not the school-door, which they had premeditatedly fastened, been +forced upon, there is no knowing to what extent they would have +maltreated him. As it was, he was shockingly bruised and disfigured. The +expulsion of some of the ringleaders, and the flogging of several of the +other rioters, was the issue of this transaction. Bateson, untaught by +what he had suffered, continued to be as spiteful as ever. His delight +was to give us tasks beyond our ability, that we might be chastised for +not doing them; and he stimulated our exertions by menaces and abuse. +Often did we vow to thrash this dull spiteful pedant, if we caught him +anywhere after we should leave school; and some of us, I think, had left +it a pretty long time before the resolution thus formed, was abandoned. + +Consistently enough with his notions about the rod and the gallows, Old +Bob not only allowed, but encouraged his boys to settle their disputes +by fighting. After the battle he usually enquired who was the aggressor; +and if Right had triumphed, he often gave the victor a shilling. Two +boys who, for talking in the hall at breakfast, had been made to stand +on the form together, contrived to quarrel while thus exalted, and came +to blows. Old Bob being present with his cane (misdoers were commonly +‘given up’ to be ‘spatted’ at breakfast-time), rushed instantly from his +table to the scene of action. But instead of using the instrument of +correction to visit this aggravated breach of discipline, he actually +employed it in keeping order during the combat, forgetting the offence +in the delight which it afforded him. Our fistic encounters were managed +strictly in accordance with the laws of the ‘noble art of self-defence.’ +They had the regular accessories of seconds, and a ring, added to the +superintendence of ‘Sheep,’ and sometimes, too, the paternal countenance +of Old Bob himself! They were divided into rounds, they lasted as long +as real prize-fights, and issued, mostly, in similar results to the +combatants, who generally pummelled each other so severely that they +were forced to retire afterwards to the sick-room. There, strangely +enough, they often became great friends. I recollect one desperate +contest occurring between the son of a celebrated comic actor and a boy +whose family resided in the neighbourhood. The spectators from the +public road which skirted the field—they were mostly farmers on +horseback, it being market-day—discovered who were the combatants, and +exhorted them by name to ‘go it.’ The heroes, I think, fought for +upwards of an hour. Both were severely punished—of course I do not mean +by Old Bob. On another occasion I was present when a boy in fighting was +knocked down. His leg, as he fell, bent under him and was broken. I +heard the bone snap. + +It will be inquired whether Old Bob’s arrangements included anything +that could counteract, or modify, at least, the not very humanising +influences of his general system. There was plenty of what is termed +religious instruction—mingled always with infusion of birch. We had +prayers morning and evening, and a collect in the middle of the day read +by one of the senior boys; and as stripes would have been the penalty of +a smile, if discovered, our devotions were characterised by great +decorum. Before and after dinner we had a Latin grace, pronounced by a +young gentleman standing on a form, but a senior boy was liable to be +called upon to say it at his bodily peril. The essential difference +between the two graces lay in the words ‘_sumus sumpturi_,’ ‘we are +about to receive,’ and ‘_accepimus_,’ ‘we have received.’ As not all who +could repeat these words attended precisely to their meaning, the +distinction was occasionally disregarded, with what consequences may be +imagined. Two boys, morning and evening, each elevated on a desk, read a +chapter in the New Testament a-piece, as loud as they were able, whilst +Old Bob generally kept bidding them to speak louder and slower. The rest +had to follow them—the higher Parts, in the Latin and Greek +Testament—and take up the text when called on, under the usual +liability. It was sometimes a fearful thing to have to read from the +desk. St. Paul, in the Second Epistle to Timothy, alludes to one +Alexander the Coppersmith. There was a ragamuffin who used to hang about +the field-palings, on whom we had conferred this appellation, which, +consequently, to our mind had a most ludicrous association. When the +fatal name was pronounced, every breath in the school was held to stifle +a laugh. Imagine the agony of the unlucky boy obliged to read it in all +gravity, deliberately, and, as Old Bob required, ‘loud and slow.’ + +The loud and slow style of delivery was especially insisted upon in our +elocution. Old Bob made all his boys recite. He caused the speaker to +mount a table at one end of the schoolroom, he, Old Bob, sitting at the +other. The orator had first to perform a gymnastic feat, consisting in +putting himself in the first position, and stooping till his fingers’ +ends nearly touched his instep—this was the Rood Priory regulation-bow. +He then made his speech, lifting his arms up and down alternately, +which, if he failed to do with vigour, Old Bob bellowed for ‘Action! +Action!’ The mounting on the table was intended to cure us of +bashfulness. On my first appearance on that conspicuous altitude, my +brain reeled, and I was near falling off for very giddiness. + +All this training was a preparation for the public speaking already +mentioned. We spoke from a stage erected at the upper end of the school. +Our auditors at this exhibition were our friends and the gentry of the +neighbourhood. We recited verses, such as ‘Hohenlinden,’ and ‘The Burial +of Sir John Moore,’ ‘Edward and Warwick,’ ‘Brutus and Cassius,’ and +divers scenes from other poets and dramatists, ancient and modern. +Whatever was the character, the speaker appeared in full dress. Once, +the part of ‘Mawworm’ was assigned to me. I enacted it with my hair +frizzled, in an olive coat, black waistcoat, white trousers, silk +stockings, and pumps. + +The great attention paid by Old Bob to our acting, seems to indicate +that he supposed we were, for the most part, intended for the church, +the bar, or political life. What opinion then, of his system, are we to +form, judged of by its results? Did it contribute to the formation of +any great minds or distinguished characters? At this moment I know of +but three persons of any eminence, pupils of his, who have reflected +credit upon their master. One of these was a celebrated statesman, now +deceased, who, however, completed his education at Eton. Another was a +Greek scholar of some repute, whether as yet surviving or not, I am +ignorant. The third is a living ornament to his College. This last had a +natural aptitude for learning, and inasmuch as he never needed the +stimulus of the rod, he cannot be considered indebted for his +attainments to that element in Old Bob’s method of tuition. Not one +single stupid or even idle boy, within my experience, did Old Bob with +all his flogging improve in the least; and his severities, I am sure, +disgusted some, possessed of good abilities, with study. For my own +part, I never was flogged; but the fear of being so kept me continually +in misery: and as long as I was subject to it, hindered my advancement, +prevented me from learning anything with pleasure, and caused me to look +upon my tasks as impositions, and to perform them with ill will, in a +sulky, perfunctory manner. I shall never forget the torment I suffered +in cramming long lessons in Greek Grammar, under terror of the rod. +Exert myself as I would, I could not get anything dry well by rote; +whereas, poetry, or whatever else interested me, I remembered without an +effort. This was lucky for me; my good performances were a set-off +against my bad. I knew then, as well as I know now, how worse than +foolish and idiotic was the notion of whipping a boy into +parrot-learning. I perceived then as clearly as I see at this present +time, that memory is no single power of the mind; that there is as much +of feeling in it as of intellect; that we best remember the ideas which +we delight to dwell upon; and that the proper way of imparting knowledge +is to render it as pleasant as possible, or if this cannot be done, to +instil it by degrees: to administer the medicine whose flavour you +cannot disguise, in minute doses. I say, I knew all this: judge then +with what different sentiments from those presented in the catechism, I, +a boy, looked upon my pastors and masters, who knew it not. + +But I can speak positively as well as negatively as to the efficacy of +the flogging system. I was fast sinking into despair of my capacity, and +arming myself with dogged obstinacy against the consequences, when Old +Bob gave up the school. His former pupil, the Statesman, during his +brief tenure of office, had secured him a prebendal stall. Rood Priory +then came under the sole management of James, assisted by one of his +brothers. On his retirement, Old Bob wisely dismissed Bateson, with whom +he would not trust James. As wisely, he engaged as second master a +teacher in every respect Bateson’s opposite. This gentleman made our +work as easy to us as he could; his manner towards us was kind and +affectionate; he endeavoured to interest us in our studies; and he urged +us to exertion by recommending proficiency for reward, instead of giving +up dulness for punishment. Under this management, I, previously +considered a dunce, rose rapidly to the first Part of the school; and my +career terminated in my writing the English Prize Poem, a pretty good +burlesque—though I intended it seriously—on the more moody portions of +the writings of Lord Byron. + +James did not preside over the concerns of Rood Priory for more than a +year-and-a-half. At the end of that time he abdicated in favour of his +brother. But the latter was quite incompetent to wield the rod of Old +Bob. He permitted a degree of license among his subjects which soon +demoralised his empire. He then abruptly attempted to restore +discipline. The result was a rebellion. His scholars combined against +him in a regular ‘barring out.’ The mutiny was quelled, and the +principal insurgents were flogged. But the affair became public, and +fatally damaged the school; which instantly fell off, and, as certain +writers phrase it, after a few convulsive struggles, ceased to exist. +And so there was an end of Rood Priory; one of the last, I am happy to +believe, of the genuine ‘good old schools.’ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Renumbered footnotes. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78173 *** |