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diff --git a/78175-0.txt b/78175-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc49a17 --- /dev/null +++ b/78175-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2462 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78175 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + N^{o.} 10.] SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + A POPULAR DELUSION. + + +Victimised by a deceptive idea originating in ‘The Complete Angler,’ and +which has been industriously perpetuated by a numerous proprietary of +punts and houses of public entertainment and eel pies—the London +disciples of Izaak Walton usually seek for sport in the upper regions of +the Thames. They resort to Shepperton, or Ditton, or Twickenham, or +Richmond. Chiefly, it would seem, as a wholesome exercise of the +greatest Christian virtue, patience; for recent experience proves that +anglers who soar above sticklebats, and are not content with occasional +nibbles from starving gudgeons, or the frequent entanglements of +writhing eels, mostly return to their homes and families with their +baskets innocent of the vestige of a single scale. + +If—as may be safely asserted—the aim, end, and purpose of all fishing is +fish, the tenacity with which this idea is clung to, is astonishing; we +may indeed say, amazing when we reflect that there exists—-below +bridge—a particular spot, more convenient, more accessible, and +affording quite as good accommodation as any of the above-bridge fishing +stations, and which abounds at particular states of the tide, at +particular times of the day, and at no particular seasons of the year, +but all the year round, in fish of every sort, size, species, and +condition, from the cod down to the sprat; from a salmon to a shrimp; +from turbots to Thames flounders. Neither is there a single member of +any one of these enormous families of fishes that may not be captured +with the smallest possible expenditure of patience. And although the +bait necessary for that purpose (a white bait manufactured of metal at +an establishment on that bank of the Thames known as Tower Hill,) is +unfortunately not always procurable by every class of her Majesty’s +subjects; yet it is so eagerly caught at, that, with a moderate supply, +the least expert may be sure of filling his fish-basket very +respectably. + +In order to partake of all the advantages offered by this famed spot, it +is necessary to rise betimes. The fishing excursion of which we are now +about to give a sketch, commenced at about four o’clock on a Monday +morning. The rain which fell at the time did not much matter, on account +of the sheltered position of that margin of the Thames to which we were +bound. With a small basket, and the waistcoat pocket primed with a +little of the proper sort of bait; with no other rod than a walking +stick, and no fly whatever, (except one upon four wheels procured from a +neighbouring cab stand,) we arrived at the great fish focus; which, we +may as well mention, to relieve suspense, is situated on the Middlesex +shore of the Thames at a short distance below London Bridge, close to +the Custom House, opposite the Coal Exchange, and has been known from +time immemorial as BILLINGSGATE. + +When we arrived at the collection of sheds and stalls—like a dilapidated +railway station—of which this celebrated place consists, it was nearly +five o’clock. Its ancient reputation had prepared us for scenes of +confusion and for volubility of abuse, which have since the times of the +Tritons ever been associated with those whose special business is with +fish. It was, therefore, with very great surprise that we walked +unmolested through that portion of the precinct set aside as the market. +We went straight to the river’s edge, rod in hand, without having had +once occasion to use it as a weapon, and without hearing one word that +might not have been uttered in the Queen’s drawing-room on a court day. +No crowding, no elbowing, no screaming, no fighting: no ungenteel +nick-names, no foul-mouthed females hurling anathemas at their +neighbours’ optics; no rude requests to despatch ourself suddenly down +to the uttermost depth the human mind is capable of conceiving; no wish +expressed that we might be inflated very tight indeed; no criticisms on +the quality of our hat; no impertinent questions as to our present stock +of soap; nothing whatever, in short, calculated to sustain the ancient +reputation of Billingsgate. + +With easy deliberation we sauntered down to the dumb-barge which forms a +temporary landing-place while a better one is being built. There we +beheld a couple of clippers, quite as trim as any revenue-cutter; over +the sides of which were being handed all sorts of fish; cod, soles, +whitings, plaice, John Dorys, mackerel; some neatly packed in baskets. +That nothing should be wanting utterly to subvert established notions of +Billingsgate, the order, quietness, and system with which these cutters +were emptied, and their cargoes taken to the stalls, could not be +exceeded. + +This office is performed by fellowship-porters. Being responsible +individuals, they prevent fraud. Formerly a set of scamps, called +laggers, ‘conveyed’ the fish; but they used to drop some of the best +sort softly into the stream, and pick them up at low water. An idea may +be formed of the profits of their dishonesty, from the fact that laggers +offered seven shillings a day to be employed, instead of demanding the +wages of labour. When a salesman had one or two hundred turbots +consigned to him, a lagger would give the hint to an accomplice, who +would quickly substitute several small fish for the same number of the +largest size; a species of fraud which the salesman had it not in his +power to detect, as the tally was not deficient. + +At that time an immense number of bad fish was condemned every morning +by the superintendent. There was an understanding between the consignees +and salesmen that when the market was well supplied, any overplus should +be kept back in store boats at Gravesend, and not brought to market till +the supply was diminished, and the price raised. This dishonest mode of +‘regulating’ the market caused a great many stale fish to be brought to +it; hence the quantity condemned. Now, however, the celerity with which +fish can be conveyed prevents any such practice, and of late years the +superintendent has only had occasion to condemn in rare instances. + +Every possible expedient and appliance is now resorted to, to bring fish +to market fresh. As we have a minute or two to wait on the Billingsgate +punt before the market opens, let us trace the history of a fish from +the sea to the salesman’s stall. Suppose him to be a turbot hauled with +a hundred other captives early on Monday afternoon on board one of the +Barking fishing fleet moored on a bank some twenty miles off Dover. He +is no sooner taken on board than he is trans-shipped immediately with +thousands of his flat companions in a row-boat into a clipper, which is +being fast filled from other vessels of the fleet. When her cargo is +complete, she sets sail for the mouth of the Thames, and on entering it +is met by a tug steamer, which tows her up to Billingsgate early on +Tuesday morning, bringing our turbot _alive_—for he has been put into a +tank in the hold of the clipper. He is sold as soon as landed, and finds +his way to table in the neighbourhood of the Mansion House or Belgrave +Square some four-and-twenty hours after he has been sporting in the sea, +not less than a hundred and fifty miles off. + +Enormous accessions in the supply of fish to the London market have been +effected, first by the employment of clippers as carrier-boats, (instead +of each fishing-boat bringing its own cargo as formerly,) and secondly, +by the use of steam-tugs for towing the transit-craft up the river. In +the old time a south-westerly wind deprived all London of fish. While it +prevailed the boats, which usually took shelter in Holy or East Haven on +the Essex shore, waited for a change of wind, till the fish became +odoriferous. The cargo was then thrown overboard, and the boats returned +on another fishing voyage. + +The Thames was, at that time, the only highway by which fish was brought +to Billingsgate; but the old losses and delays are again obviated by +another source of acceleration. Our turbot is brought at waggon pace +compared with the more perishable mackerel. The Eddystone lighthouse is +at least two hundred and fifty miles from Thames Street. Between it and +the Plymouth Breakwater lie some hundreds of fishing boats, plying their +trawl-nets. A shoal of mackerel, the superficies of which may be +measured by the mile, find their way among them, and several thousands +dart into the nets. They are captured, hauled on board, shovelled into a +clipper, and while she stands briskly in for shore, busy hands on board +are packing the fish in baskets. Thousands of these baskets are landed +in time for the mail train, rattle their way per railroad to Paddington, +and by seven o’clock on the following morning—that is, in sixteen hours +after they were rejoicing in the ‘ocean wave’—are in a London +fishmonger’s taxed-cart on their road to the gridiron or fish-kettle, as +the taste of the customer dictates. + +No distance appears too great from which to bring fish to Billingsgate. +Packed in long boxes, both by rail and river, between layers of ice, +salmon come daily in enormous quantities from the remotest rivers of +Ireland, of Scotland, and even from Norway. So considerable an item is +ice in the fishmonger’s trade, that a large proprietor at Barking has an +ice-well capable of stowing eight hundred tons. Another in the same line +of business has actually contracted with the Surrey Canal Company for +all the ice generated on their waters! + +As we cogitate concerning these ‘great facts’ on the dumb-barge, and +while the baskets and boxes are being systematically landed, it strikes +five. A bell—the only noisy appurtenance of Billingsgate—stunningly +announces that the market is open. The landing of fish proceeds somewhat +faster, and fishmongers, from all parts of London, and from many parts +of the provinces—from Oxford, Cambridge, Reading, Windsor, &c.—group +themselves round the stalls of such salesmen as appear to have the +choicest fish. These are rapidly sold by (Dutch) auction; and taken to +the buyers’ carts outside the market. + +Nothing can exceed the gentlemanly manner in which the auction is +conducted, except the mode of doing business at Christie and Manson’s. +Before the commencement, the salesman, with his flannel apron protecting +his almost fashionable attire from scaly contact, is seen—behold him +yonder!—seated behind his stall enjoying a mild Havannah, with an +appearance of sublime indifference to all around him. Presently, his +porter deposits a ‘lot’ of fish between him, and an eager group of +buyers. He puts down his cigar and mounts his rostrum. + +“What shall we say, gentlemen, for this score of cod? Shall we say seven +shillings a piece?” + +No answer. + +“Six?” + +Perfect silence. The auctioneer gives pause for consideration, and takes +a whiff at his Havannah. Time is, however, precious, where fish is +concerned, and he is not long in abating another shilling. + +“A crown?” + +“Done!” exclaims Mr. Jollins of Pimlico. + +“Five pounds, if you please!” demands the seller. A note is handed over, +and the twenty cod are hoisted into Mr. Jollins’ cart, which stands in +Thames Street, before a second lot is quite disposed of. + +This mild proceeding is going on all over the market. On looking to see +if the remotest relic of such a being as a fish-fag is to be seen, we +observe a gentleman who, though girded with the flannel uniform of the +craft, has so fashionable a surtout, so elegant a neckerchief, and such +a luxuriance of moustache and whiskers, that we mistake him for an +officer in her Majesty’s Life Guards, selling fish by way of—what in +Billingsgate used to be called—a ‘jolly lark.’ Enquiry proves, however, +that he is the accredited consignee of one of the largest fishing fleets +which sail out of the Thames. + +We are bound to confess that the high tone of refinement which had +hitherto been so well supported on the occasion of our visit, became in +a little while, slightly depressed. As the legislature of the British +empire consists of Crown, Lords, and Commons; so also the executive of +Billingsgate is composed of three estates: first, of the Lord Mayor +(Piscine secretary of state, Mr. Goldham); secondly, of an aristocracy, +and, thirdly, of a commonalty, of salesmen. The latter—called in ancient +Billingsgate _Bummarees_, in modern ditto, ‘Retailers’—are middlemen +between the smaller fishmonger and the high salesman aristocracy. They +purchase the various sorts of fish, and arrange them in small assorted +parcels to suit the convenience of suburban fishmongers, or of those +peripatetic tradesmen, to whom was formerly applied the obsolete term +almost of ‘Costermonger.’ The transactions between these parties were +not conducted under the influence of those strict rules of etiquette +which governed the earlier dealings of the morning. Indeed, we detected +the proprietor of a very respectable looking donkey answering a civil +enquiry from a retailer as to what he was ‘looking for’ with + +“Not you!” + +It is right, however, to add, in justice to the reputation of a locality +which has been so long and so undeservedly regarded as the head quarters +of verbal vulgarity, that a friend of the offender asked him solemnly +_if he remembered were he wos_; and if he warn’t ashamed of his-self for +going and bringing his Cheek into that ’ere markit? + +Connected with the perambulating purveyors, there is a subject of very +great importance; namely, cheap food for the poor. Although painful +revelations of want of proper sustenance in every part of this +overcrowded country, are daily breaking forth to light; although the low +dietaries of most workhouses, and some prisons, are very often +complained of; yet the old Celtic prejudice against fish still exists in +great force among the humbler orders. Few poor persons will eat fish +when they can get meat; many prefer gruel, and some slow starvation. +Divers kinds of wholesome and nutritious fish are now sold at prices not +above the means of the poorest persons; yet, so small is the demand, +that the itinerant vendor—through whom what little that is sold reaches +the humble consumer—makes it a matter of perfect indifference when he +starts from home whether his venture for the day shall be fish or +vegetables. His first visit is to Billingsgate; but if he find things, +as regards price or kind, not to his taste, he adjourns to speculate in +Covent Garden. He has, therefore, no regular market for what might most +beneficially become a staple article. During the fruit season, little or +no fish reaches the humbler classes; because then their purveyors find +dealings with the ‘Garden’ more profitable than dealings at the ‘Gate.’ + +Not long since a large quantity of wholesome fish of various sorts was +left upon the hands of the market superintendent. By the advice of the +Lord Mayor, it was forwarded for consumption to Giltspur Street Compter. +The prisoners actually refused to eat it, and accompanied their refusal +with a jocose allusion to the want of a proper accompaniment of sauce. + +Among the stronger instances of the popular aversion to this kind of +food, we may mention that in 1812, one of the members of the Committee +for the Relief of the Manufacturing Poor, agreed with some fishermen to +take from ten to twenty thousand mackerel a day, at a penny a piece; a +price at which the fishermen said they could afford to supply the London +market, to any extent, were they sure of a regular sale. On the 15th +June, 1812, upwards of seventeen thousand mackerel, delivered at the +stipulated price, were sent to Spitalfields, and sold to the working +weavers at the original cost of a penny a piece. Though purchased with +great avidity by the inhabitants of that district, it soon appeared that +Spitalfields alone would not be equal to the consumption of the vast +quantities of mackerel which daily poured into the market; they were, +therefore, sent for distribution at the same rate, in other parts of the +town; workhouses and other public establishments were also served, and +the supply increased to such a degree, that five hundred thousand +mackerel arrived and were sold in one day. + +This cheap and benevolent supply was eagerly absorbed while the distress +lasted; but as soon as trade revived, the demand fell off and finally +ceased altogether. + +Is this aversion to fish unconquerable? If it be not, what an enormous +augmentation of wholesome food might be procured to relieve the +increasing wants of the humble and needy. All the time the above +experiment was tried, only a small portion of the coast was available +for the supply of the densest inland populations of this island. Now, +there is scarcely a creek or an estuary from which fish cannot be +rapidly transported, however great the distance. + +Compared with the boundless means of supply, and the lightning-like +powers of transit, the price of fish is at present inordinately dear. +But this is solely the fault of the public. The demand is too +inconsiderable to call forth any great and, therefore, economical +system. The voyager, per steam, between the Thames and Scotland, or +between London and Cork, cannot fail to wonder when he sees, as he +surely will see on a warm, calm day, _scores of square miles_ of +haddocks, mackerel, pilchards, herrings, &c.; when he has left on shore +thousands of human beings pining for food. These enormous shoals +approach the land, too, on purpose to be caught. In the History of +British Fishes, Mr. Yarrell says, ‘The law of Nature which obliges +mackerel and many others to visit the shallower water of the shores at a +particular season, appears to be one of those wise and beautiful +provisions of the Creator by which not only is the species perpetuated +with the greatest certainty, but a large portion of the parent animals +are thus brought within the reach of man, who, but for the action of +this law, would be deprived of many of those species most valuable to +him as food. For the mackerel dispersed over the immense surface of the +deep, no effective fishery could be carried on; but approaching the +shore as they do from all directions, and roving along the coast +collected in immense shoals, millions are caught, which yet form but a +very small portion compared with the myriads that escape.’ The fecundity +of some of the species is marvellous. It has been ascertained by actual +experiment, that the roe of the cod fish contains from six to nine +millions of eggs. + +Nor are river fish less abundant. Mr. Yarrell says, that two persons +once calculated from actual observation, that from sixteen to eighteen +hundred of the delicate ingredients for Twickenham pies passed a given +point on the Thames in one minute of time; an average of more than one +hundred thousand per hour. And this _eel-fare_, as it is called, is +going on incessantly for more than two months. The king of fish is +equally prolific, and quite as easily captured. The choicest salmon that +appear in Billingsgate are from the river Bann, near Coleraine. We found +it eighteen pence per pound; yet it is recorded that fourteen hundred +and fifty salmon were taken in that river at one drag of a single net! + +The appetite for fish is, it would seem, an acquired taste; but it would +be of enormous advantage if any means could be devised for encouraging +the consumption of this description of food. In order to commence the +experiment we would suggest the regular introduction of fish into +workhouse and prison dietaries. Formerly, such a measure was not +practicable during the whole of the year, but, with a trifling outlay, +such a system of supply might be organised as would ensure freshness and +constancy. + +The proprietor of the handsome donkey, who led us into this statistical +reverie, informed us—and he was corroborated by his friend—that the only +certainty was the red-herring and periwinkle trade; but then the +competition was so werry great. “_I_ don’t know how it is,” he observed, +“but people’ll buy salt things with all the wirtue dried out on ’em, +but——” + +“That’s because they has a relish,” interrupted the Mentor. + +“But fresh fish,” renewed the other gentleman, with a glance of +displeasure at being interrupted; “fresh fish—all alive, as we cries +’em—fresh fish, mind you!—they can’t abear!” + +We also learnt from these gentlemen that the professors of the Hebrew +faith were the only constant fish-eaters. + +“And wy?” continued the councillor, “cos when they eats fish, they +thinks they’re a fasting!” + +This reminding us that we were actually fasting, we complimented our +friend on his donkey (which he assured us was a ‘Moke’ of the reg’lar +Tantivy breed), and having completed the filling of our basket, were +about to return home to breakfast, with an excellent appetite, and a +high respect for the manners of modern fishmongers, when he hailed us +easily with, “Halloa, you Sir!” + +We went back. + +“I tell you wot,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, in the +direction of the Market Tavern,—“but p’raps you have though.” + +“Have what?” said we. + +“Dined at Simpson’s, the Fish Hord’n’ry,” said he. + +“Never,” said we. + +“Do it!” said he. “You go and have a tuck-out at Simpson’s at four +o’clock in the arternoon (wen me and my old ooman is a going to take our +tea, with a winkle or wot not) and you’ll come out as bright as a star, +and as sleek as this here Moke.” + +We thanked him for his hint towards the improvement of our personal +appearance, which was a little dilapidated at that hour of the morning, +and were so much impressed by the possibility of rivalling the Moke, +that we returned at four o’clock in the afternoon, and climbed up to the +first floor of Mr. Simpson’s house. + +A glance at the clock assured us that Mr. Simpson was a genius. He kept +it back ten minutes, to give stragglers a last chance. Already, the long +table down the whole length of the long low room was nearly full, and +people were sitting at a side table, looking out through windows, like +stern-windows aboard ship, at flapping sails, and rigging. The host was +in the chair, with a wooden hammer ready to his hand; and five several +gentlemen, much excited by hunger and haste, who had run us down on the +stairs, had leaped into seats, and were menacing expected turbots with +their knives. + +We slipped into a vacant chair by a gentleman from the Eastern Counties, +who immediately informed us that Sir Robert Peel was all wrong, and the +agricultural interest blown to shivers. This gentleman had little pieces +of sticking-plaster stuck all over him, and we thought his discontent +had broken out in an eruption, until he informed us that he had been +‘going it, all last week’ with some ruined friends of his who were also +in town, and that ‘champagne and claret always had that effect upon +him.’ + +On our left hand, was an undertaker from Whitechapel. “Here’s a bill,” +says he; “this General Interment! What’s to become of my old hands who +haven’t been what you may call rightly sober these twenty years? Ain’t +there _any_ religious feeling in the country?” + +The company had come, like the fish, from various distances. There was a +respectable Jew provision-merchant from Hamburg, over the way. Next him, +an old man with sunken jaws that were always in motion, like a gutta +percha mouth that was being continually squeezed. He had come from York. +Hard by, a very large smooth-faced old gentleman in an immense ribbed +satin waistcoat, out of Devonshire, attended by a pink nephew who was +walking the London Hospitals. Lower down, was a wooden leg that had +brought the person it belonged to, all the way from Canada. Two +‘parties,’ as the waiter called them, who had been with a tasting-order +to the Docks, and were a little scared about the eyes, belonged to +Doncaster. Pints of stout and porter were handed round, agreeably to +their respective orders. Everybody took his own pint pot to himself, and +seemed suspicious of his neighbour. As the minute hand of the clock +approached a quarter past four, the gentleman from the Eastern Counties +whispered us, that if the country held out for another year, it was as +much as he expected. + +Suddenly a fine salmon sparkled and twinkled like a silver harlequin +before Mr. Simpson. A goodly dish of soles was set on lower down; then, +in quick succession, appeared flounders, fried eels, stewed eels, cod +fish, melted butter, lobster-sauce, potatoes. Savoury steams curled and +curled about the company’s heads, and toyed with the company’s noses. +Mr. Simpson hammered on the table. Grace! + +For one silent moment, Mr. Simpson gazed upon the salmon as if he were +the salmon’s admiring father, and then fell upon him, and helped twenty +people without winking. Five or six flushed waiters hurried to and fro, +and played cymbals with the plates; the company rattled an accompaniment +of knives and forks; the fish were no more, in a twinkling. Boiled beef, +mutton, and a huge dish of steaks, were soon disposed of in like manner. +Small glasses of brandy round, were gone, ere one could say it +lightened. Cheese melted away. Crusts dissolved into air. Mr. Simpson +was gay. He knew the worst the company could do. He saw it done, twice +every day. Again he hammered on the table. Grace! + +Then, the cloth, the plates, the salt-cellars, the knives and forks, the +glasses and pewter-pots, being all that the guests had not eaten or +drunk, were cleared; bunches of pipes were laid upon the table; and +everybody ordered what he liked to drink, or went his way. Mr. Simpson’s +punch, in wicked tumblers of immense dimensions, was the most in favour. +Mr. Simpson himself consorted with a company of generous +spirits—connected with a Brewery, perhaps—and smoked a mild cigar. The +large gentleman out of Devonshire: so large now, that he was obliged to +move his chair back, to give his satin waistcoat play: ordered a small +pint bottle of port, passed it to the pink nephew, and disparaged punch. +The nephew dutifully concurred, but looked at the undertaker’s glass, +out of the corner of his eye, as if he could have reconciled himself to +punch, too, under pressure, on a desart island. The ‘parties’ from the +Docks took rum-and-water, and wandered in their conversation. He of the +Eastern Counties took cold gin-and-water for a change, and for the +purification of his blood. Deep in the oiled depths of the old-fashioned +table, a reflection of every man’s face appeared below him, beaming. +Many pipes were lighted, the windows were opened at top, and a fragrant +cloud enwrapped the company, as if they were all being carried upward +together. The undertaker laughed monstrously at a joke, and the +agriculturist thought the country might go on, say ten years, with good +luck. + +Eighteen pence a-head had done it all—the drink, and smoke, and civil +attendance excepted—and again this was Billingsgate! Verily, there is +‘an ancient and fish-like smell’ about our popular opinions sometimes; +and our hereditary exaltations and depressions of some things would bear +revision! + + + + + GREENWICH WEATHER-WISDOM. + + +In England everybody notices the weather, and talks about the weather, +and suffers by the weather, yet very few of us _know_ anything about it. +The changes of our climate have given us a constant and an insatiable +national disease—consumption; the density of our winter fog has gained +an European celebrity; whilst the general haziness of the atmosphere +induces an Italian or an American to doubt whether we are ever indulged +with a real blue sky. ‘Good day’ has become the national salutation; +umbrellas, water-proof clothes and cough mixtures are almost necessities +of English life; yet, despite these daily and hourly proofs of the +importance of the weather to each and all of us, it is only within the +last ten years that any effectual steps have been taken in England to +watch the weather and the proximate elements which regulate its course +and variations. + +Yet, in those ten years positive wonders have been done, and good hope +established that a continuance of patient enquiry will be rewarded by +still further discoveries. To take a single result it may be mentioned, +that a careful study of the thermometer has shown that a descent of the +temperature of London from forty-five to thirty-two degrees, generally +kills about 300 persons. They may not all die in the very week when the +loss of warmth takes place, but the number of deaths is found to +increase to that extent over the previous average within a short period +after the change. The fall of temperature, in truth, kills them as +certainly as a well aimed cannon-shot. Our changing climate or deficient +food and shelter has weathered them for the final stroke, but they +actually die at last of the weather. + +Before 1838 several European states less apt than ourselves to talk +about the weather, had taken it up as a study, and had made various +contributions to the general knowledge of the subject; but in that year +England began to act. The officials who now and then emerge from the +Admiralty under the title of the ‘Board of Visitors,’ to see what is in +progress at the Greenwich Observatory, were reminded by Mr. Airy, the +astronomer royal, that much good might be done by pursuing a course of +magnetic and meteorological observations. The officials ‘listened and +believed.’ + +The following year saw a wooden fence pushed out behind the Observatory +walls in the direction of Blackheath, and soon afterwards a few +low-roofed, unpainted, wooden buildings were dotted over the enclosure. +These structures are small enough and humble enough to outward view, yet +they contain some most beautifully constructed instruments, and have +been the scene of a series of observations and discoveries of the +greatest interest and value. The stray holiday visitor to Greenwich +Park, who feels tempted to look over the wooden paling sees only a +series of deal sheds, upon a rough grass-plat; a mast some 80 feet high, +steadied by ropes, and having a lanthorn at the top, and a windlass +below; and if he looks closer he perceives a small inner enclosure +surrounded by a dwarf fence, an upright stand with a moveable top +sheltering a collection of thermometers, and here and there a pile of +planks and unused partitioning that helps to give the place an +appearance of temporary expediency—an aspect something between a +collection of emigrant’s cottages and the yard of a dealer in +second-hand building materials. But,—as was said when speaking of the +Astronomical Observatory,—Greenwich is a practical place, and not one +prepared for show. Science, like virtue, does not require a palace for a +dwelling-place. In this collection of deal houses during the last ten +years Nature has been constantly watched, and interrogated with the zeal +and patience which alone can glean a knowledge of her secrets. And the +results of those watches, kept at all hours, and in all weathers, are +curious in the extreme: but before we ask what they are, let us cross +the barrier, and see with what tools the weather-students work. + +The main building is built in the form of a cross, with its chief front +to the magnetic north. It is formed of wood; all iron and other metals +being carefully excluded; for its purpose is to contain three large +magnets, which have to be isolated from all influence likely to +interfere with their truthful action. In three arms of the cross these +magnets are suspended by bands of unwrought, untwisted silk. In the +fourth arm is a sort of double window filled with apparatus for +receiving the electricity collected at the top of the mast which stands +close by. Thus in this wooden shed we find one portion devoted to +electricity—to the detection and registry of the stray lightning of the +atmosphere—and the other three to a set of instruments that feel the +influence and register the variations of the magnetic changes in the +condition of the air. ‘True as the needle to the pole,’ is the burden of +an old song, which now shows how little our forefathers knew about this +same needle, which, in truth, has a much steadier character than it +deserves. Let all who still have faith in the legend go to the +magnet-house, and when they have seen the vagaries there displayed, they +will have but a poor idea of Mr. Charles Dibdin’s sea-heroes whose +constancy is declared to have been as true as their compasses were to +the north. + +Upon entering the magnet-house, the first object that attracts attention +are the jars to which the electricity is brought down. The fluid is +collected, as just stated, by a conductor running from the top of the +mast outside. In order that not the slightest portion may be lost in its +progress down, a lamp is kept constantly burning near the top of the +pole, the light of which keeps warm and dry a body of glass that cuts +off all communication between the conductor and the machinery which +supports it. Another light for the purpose of collecting the electricity +by its flame, is placed above the top of the pole. This light, burning +at night, has given rise to many a strange supposition in the +neighbourhood. It is too high up to be serviceable as a lanthorn to +those below. Besides, who walks in Greenwich Park after the gates are +closed? It can light only the birds or the deer. ‘Then, surely,’ says +another popular legend, ‘it is to guide the ships on the river, when on +their way up at night;—a sort of land-mark to tell whereabouts the +Observatory is when the moon and stars are clouded, and refuse to show +where their watchers are.’ + +All these speculations are idle, for the lights burn when the sun is +shining, as well as at night; and the object of the lower one is that no +trace of moisture, and no approach of cold, shall give the electricity a +chance of slipping down the mast, or the ropes, to the earth, but shall +leave it no way of escape from the wise men below, who want it, and will +have it, whether it likes or no, in their jars, that they may measure +its quantity and its quality, and write both down in their journals. It +is thus that electricity comes down the wires into those jars on our +right as we enter. If very slight, its presence there is indicated by +tiny morsels of pendent gold-leaf; if stronger, the divergence of two +straws show it; if stronger still, the third jar holds its greater +force, whilst neighbouring instruments measure the length of the +electric sparks, or mark the amount of the electric force. At the desk, +close by, sits the observer, who jots down the successive indications. +In his book he registers from day to day, throughout the year, how much +electricity has been in the air, and what was its character, even to +such particulars as to whether its sparks were blue, violet, or purple +in colour. At times, however, he has to exercise great care, and it is +not always that he even then escapes receiving severe shocks. + +Passing on, we approach the magnets. They are three in number; of large +size, and differently suspended, to show the various ways in which such +bodies are acted upon. All hang by bands of unwrought silk. If the silk +were twisted, it would twist the magnets, and the accuracy of their +position would be disturbed. Magnets, like telescopes, must be true in +their adjustment to the hundredth part of a hair’s breadth. One magnet +hangs north and south; another east and west; and a third, like a +scale-beam, is balanced on knife-edges and agate planes, so beautifully, +that when once adjusted and enclosed in its case, it is opened only once +a year, lest one grain of dust, or one small spider, should destroy its +truth; for spiders are as troublesome to the weather-student as to the +astronomer. These insects like the perfect quiet that reigns about the +instruments of the philosopher, and with heroic perseverance persist in +spinning their fine threads amongst his machines. Indeed, spiders +occasionally betray the magnetic observer into very odd behaviour. At +times he may be seen bowing in the sunshine, like a Persian +fire-worshipper; now stooping in this direction, now dodging in that, +but always gazing through the sun’s rays up towards that luminary. He +seems demented, staring at nothing. At last he lifts his hand; he +snatches apparently at vacancy to pull nothing down. In truth his eye +had at last caught the gleam of light reflected from an almost invisible +spider line running from the electrical wire to the neighbouring planks. +The spider who had ventured on the charged wire paid the penalty of such +daring with his life long ago, but he had left his web behind him, and +that beautifully minute thread has been carrying off to the earth a +portion of the electric fluid, before it had been received, and tested, +and registered, by the mechanism below. Such facts show the exceeding +delicacy of the observations. + +For seven years, the magnets suspended in this building were constantly +watched every two hours—every even hour—day and night, except on +Sundays, the object being that some light might be thrown upon the laws +regulating the movements of the mariner’s compass; hence, that whilst +men became wiser, navigation might be rendered safer. The chief +observer—the _genius loci_—is Mr. Glaisher, whose name figures in the +reports of the Registrar-General. He, with two assistants, from year to +year, went on making these tedious examinations of the variations of the +magnets, by means of small telescopes, fixed with great precision upon +pedestals of masonry or wood fixed on the earth, and unconnected with +the floor of the building, occupying a position exactly between the +three magnets. This mode of proceeding had continued for some years with +almost unerring regularity, and certain large quarto volumes full of +figures were the results, when an ingenious medical man, Mr. Brooke, hit +upon a photographic plan for removing the necessity for this perpetual +watchfulness. Now, in the magnet-house, we see light and chemistry doing +the tasks before performed by human labour; and doing them more +faithfully than even the most vigilant of human eyes and hands. Around +the magnets are cases of zinc, so perfect that they exclude all light +from without. Inside those cases, in one place, is a lamp giving a +single ray of prepared light which, falling upon a mirror soldered to +the magnet, moves with its motions. This wandering ray, directed towards +a sheet of sensitive photographic paper, records the magnet’s slightest +motion! The paper moves on by clockwork, and once in four-and-twenty +hours an assistant, having closed the shutters of the building, lights a +lanthorn of _yellow glass_, opens the magnet-boxes, removes the paper on +which the magnets have been enabled to record their own motions, and +then, having put in a fresh sheet of sensitive paper, he shuts it +securely in, winds up the clockwork, puts out his yellow light and lets +in the sunshine. His lanthorn glass is yellow, because the yellow rays +are the only ones which can be safely allowed to fall upon the +photographic paper during its removal from the instrument, to the dish +in which its magnetic picture is to be _fixed_ by a further chemical +process. It is the blue ray of the light that gives the daguerrotypic +likeness;—as most persons who have had their heads off, under the hands +of M. Claudet, or Mr. Beard, or any of their numerous competitors in the +art of preparing sun-pictures, well know. + +Since the apparatus of Mr. Brooke for the self-registration of the +magnetic changes has been in operation at Greenwich, the time of Mr. +Glaisher and his assistants has been more at liberty for other branches +of their duties. These are numerous enough. Thermometers and barometers +have to be watched as well as magnets. To these instruments the same +ingenious photographic contrivance is applied. + +The wooden building next to the magnet-house on the south-west contains +a modification of Mr. Brooke’s ingenious plan, by which the rise and +fall of the temperature of the air is self-registered. Outside the +building are the bulbs of thermometers freely exposed to the weather. +Their shafts run through a zinc case, and as the mercury rises or falls, +it moves a float having a projecting arm. Across this arm is thrown the +ray of prepared light which falls then upon the sensitive paper. Thus we +see the variations of the needle and the variations in heat and cold +both recording their own story, within these humble-looking wooden +sheds, as completely as the wind and the rain are made to do the same +thing, on the top of the towers of the Observatory. The reward given to +the inventor of this ingenious mode of self-registration has been +recently revealed in a parliamentary paper, thus:—‘To Mr. Charles Brooke +for his invention and establishment at the Royal Observatory, of the +apparatus for the self-registration of magnetical and meteorological +phenomena, 500_l._’ Every year the invention will save fully 500_l._ +worth of human toil; and the reward seems small when we see every year +millions voted for warlike, sinecure, and other worse than useless +purposes. + +Photography, however, cannot do all the work. Its records have to be +checked by independent observations every day, and then both have to be +brought to their practical value by comparison with certain tables which +test their accuracy, and make them available for disclosing certain +scientific results. The preparation of such tables is one of the +practical triumphs of Greenwich. Many a quiet country gentleman amuses +his leisure by noting day by day the variations of his thermometer and +barometer. Heretofore such observations were isolated and of no general +value, but now by the tables completed by Mr. Glaisher, and published by +the Royal Society, they may all be converted into scientific values, and +be made available for the increase of our weather-wisdom. For nearly +seventy years the Royal Society had observations made at Somerset House, +but they were a dead letter—mere long columns of figures—till these +tables gave them significance. And the same tables now knit into one +scientific whole, the observations taken by forty scientific volunteers, +who, from day to day, record for the Registrar-General of births and +deaths, the temperature, moisture, &c., of their different localities, +which vary from Glasgow to Guernsey, and from Cornwall to Norwich. + +What the Rosetta stone is to the history of the Pharaohs, these +Greenwich tables have been to the weather-hieroglyphics. They have +afforded something like a key to the language in which the secrets are +written; and it remains for industrious observation and scientific zeal +to complete the modern victory over ancient ignorance. Already, the +results of the Greenwich studies of the weather have given us a number +of curious morsels of knowledge. The wholesale destruction of human life +induced by a fall in the temperature of London has just been noticed. +Besides the manifestation of that fact, we are shown, that instead of a +warm summer being followed by a cold winter, the tendency of the law of +the weather is to group warm seasons together, and cold seasons +together. Mr. Glaisher has made out, that the character of the weather +seems to follow certain curves, so to speak, each extending over periods +of fifteen years. During the first half of each of these periods, the +seasons become warmer and warmer, till they reach their warmest point, +and then they sink again, becoming colder and colder, till they reach +the lowest point, whence they rise again. His tables range over the last +seventy-nine years—from 1771 to 1849. Periods shown to be the coldest, +were years memorable for high-priced food, increased mortality, popular +discontent, and political changes. In his diagrams, the warm years are +tinted brown, and the cold years grey, and as the sheets are turned over +and the dates scanned, the fact suggests itself that a grey period saw +Lord George Gordon’s riots; a grey period was marked by the Reform Bill +excitement; and a grey period saw the Corn Laws repealed. + +A few more morsels culled from the experience of these weather-seers, +and we have done. + +Those seasons have been best which have enjoyed an average +temperature—nor too hot nor too cold. + +The indications are that the climate of England is becoming warmer, and, +consequently, healthier; a fact to be partly accounted for by the +improved drainage and the removal of an excess of timber from the land. + +The intensity of cholera was found greatest in those places where the +air was stagnant; and, therefore, any means for causing its motion, as +lighting fires and improving ventilation, are thus proved to be of the +utmost consequence. + +Some day near the 20th of January—the lucky guess in 1838 of Murphy’s +Weather Almanac—will, upon the average of years, be found to be the +coldest of the whole year. + +In the middle of May there are generally some days of cold, so severe as +to be unexplainable. Humboldt mentions this fact in his Cosmos; and +various authors have tried to account for it,—at present in vain. The +favourite notion, perhaps, is that which attributes this period of cold +to the loosening of the icebergs of the North. Another weather +eccentricity is the usual advent of some warm days at the beginning of +November. + +Certain experiments in progress to test the difference between the +temperature of the Thames and of the surrounding atmosphere are expected +to show the cause of the famous London fog. During the night the Thames +is often from ten to seventeen degrees warmer, and in the day time from +eight to ten degrees colder than the air above it. + +If the theory of weather-cycles holds good, we are to have seasons +colder than the average from this time till 1853, when warmth will begin +again to predominate over cold. A chilly prophecy this to close with, +and therefore, rather let an anecdote complete this chapter on the +Weather-Watchers of Greenwich. + +Amongst other experiments going on some time ago in the Observatory +enclosure, were some by which Mr. Glaisher sought to discover how much +warmth the Earth lost during the hours of night, and how much moisture +the Air would take up in a day from a given surface. Upon the long grass +within the dwarf fence already mentioned were placed all sorts of odd +substances in little distinct quantities. Ashes, wood, leather, linen, +cotton, glass, lead, copper, and stone, amongst other things, were there +to show how each affected the question of radiation. Close by upon a +post was a dish six inches across, in which every day there was +punctually poured one ounce of water, and at the same hour next day, as +punctually was this fluid re-measured to see what had been lost by +evaporation. For three years this latter experiment had been going on, +and the results were posted up in a book; but the figures gave most +contradictory results. There was either something very irregular in the +air, or something very wrong in the apparatus. It was watched for +leakage, but none was found, when one day Mr. Glaisher stepped out of +the magnet-house, and looking towards the stand, the mystery was +revealed. The evaporating dish of the philosopher was being used as a +bath by an irreverent bird!—a sparrow was scattering from his wings the +water left to be drunk by the winds of Heaven. Only one thing remained +to be done; and the next minute saw a pen run through the tables that +had taken three years to compile. The labour was lost—the work had to be +begun again. + + + + + MY WONDERFUL ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. + + + CHAPTER THE FIRST. + +The Beginning is a Bore—I fall into Misfortune. + +I am fond of Gardening. I like to dig. If among the operations of the +garden any need for such a work can be at any time discovered or +invented, I like to dig a hole. On the 3d of March, 1849, I began a hole +behind the kitchen wall, where-into it was originally intended to +transplant a plum-tree. The exercise was so much to my taste, that a +strange humour impelled me to dig on. A fascination held me to the task. +I neglected my business. I disappeared from the earth’s surface. A boy +who worked a basket by means of a rope and pulley, aided me; so aided, I +confined my whole attention to spade labour. The centripetal force +seemed to have made me its especial victim. I dug on until Autumn. In +the beginning of November I observed that, upon percussion, the sound +given by the floor of my pit was resonant. I did not intermit my labour, +urged as I was by a mysterious instinct downwards. On applying my ear, I +occasionally heard a subdued sort of rattle, which caused me to form a +theory that the centre of the earth might be composed of mucus. In +November, the ground broke beneath me into a hollow and I fell a +considerable distance. I alighted on the box-seat of a four-horse coach, +which happened to be running at that time immediately underneath. The +coachman took no notice whatever of my sudden arrival by his side. He +was so completely muffled up, that I could observe only the skilful way +in which he manipulated reins and whip. The horses were yellow. I had +seen no more than this, when the guard’s horn blew, and presently we +pulled up at an inn. A waiter came out, and appeared to collect four +bags from the passengers inside the coach. He then came round to me. + +“Dine here, Sir?” + +“Yes, certainly,” said I. I like to dine—not the sole point of +resemblance between myself and the great Johnson. + +“Trouble you for your stomach, Sir.” + +While the waiter was looking up with a polite stare into my puzzled +face, my neighbour, the coachman, put one hand within his outer coat, as +if to feel for money in his waistcoat pocket. Directly afterwards his +fingers came again to light, and pulled forth an enormous sack. +Notwithstanding that it was abnormally enlarged, I knew by observation +of its form and texture that this was a stomach, with the œsophagus +attached. This, then, the waiter caught as it was thrown down to him, +and hung it carelessly over his arm, together with the four smaller bags +(which I now knew to be also stomachs) collected from the passengers +within the coach. I started up, and as I happened to look round, +observed a skeleton face upon the shoulders of a gentleman who sat +immediately behind my back. My own features were noticed at the same +time by the guard, who now came forward, touching his hat. + +“Beg your pardon, Sir, but you’ve been and done it.” + +“Done what?” + +“Why, Sir, you should have booked your place, and not come up in this +clandestine way. However, you’ve been and done it!” + +“My good man, what have I done?” + +“Why, sir, the Baron Terroro’s eyes had the box-seat, and I strongly +suspect you’ve been and sat upon them.” + +I looked involuntarily to see whether I had been sitting upon anything +except the simple cushion. Truly enough, there was an eye, which I had +crushed and flattened. + +“Only one,” I said. + +“Worse for you, and better for him. The other eye had time to escape, +and it will know you again, that’s certain. Well, it’s no business of +mine. Of course you’ve no appetite now for dinner? Better pay your fare, +Sir. To the Green Hippopotamus and Spectacles, where we put up, it’s +ten-and-six.” + +“Is there room inside?” I enquired. It was advisable to shrink from +observation. + +“Yes, Sir. The inside passengers are mostly skeleton. There’s room for +three, Sir. Inside, one-pound-one.” + +I paid the money, and became an inside passenger. + + + CHAPTER THE SECOND. + +Of Divisions which occur in Skitzland—I am taken up. + +Professor Essig’s Lectures on Anatomy had so fortified me, that I did +not shrink from entering the Skitzton coach. It contained living limbs, +loose or attached to skeletons in other respects bare, except that they +were clothed with broadcloth garments, cut after the English fashion. +One passenger only had a complete face of flesh, he had also one living +hand; the other hand I guessed was bony, because it was concealed in a +glove obviously padded. By observing the fit of his clothes, I came to a +conclusion that this gentleman was stuffed throughout; that all his +limbs, except the head and hand, were artificial. Two pairs of Legs, in +woollen stockings, and a pair of Ears, were in a corner of the coach, +and in another corner there were nineteen or twenty Scalps. + +I thought it well to look astonished at nothing, and, having pointed in +a careless manner to the scalps, asked what might be their destination? +The person with the Face and Hand replied to me; and although evidently +himself a gentleman, he addressed me with a tone of unconcealed respect. + +“They are going to Skitzton, Sir, to the hair-dresser’s.” + +“Yes, to be sure,” I said. “They are to make Natural Skin Wigs. I might +have known.” + +“I beg your pardon, Sir. There is a ball to-morrow night at Culmsey. But +the gentry do not like to employ village barbers, and therefore many of +the better class of people send their hair to Skitzton, and receive it +back by the return coach properly cut and curled.” + +“Oh,” said I. “Ah! Oh, indeed!” + +“Dinners, gentlemen!” said a voice at the window, and the waiter handed +in four stomachs, now tolerably well filled. Each passenger received his +property, and pulling open his chest with as much composure as if he +were unbuttoning his waistcoat, restored his stomach, with a dinner in +it, to the right position. Then the reckonings were paid, and the coach +started. + +I thought of my garden, and much wished that somebody could throw +Professor Essig down the hole that I had dug. A few things were to be +met with in Skitzland which would rather puzzle him. They puzzled me; +but I took refuge in silence, and so fortified, protected my ignorance +from an exposure. + +“You are going to Court, Sir, I presume?” said my Face and Hand friend, +after a short pause. His was the only mouth in the coach, excepting +mine, so that he was the only passenger able to enter into conversation. + +“My dear Sir,” I replied, “let me be frank with you. I have arrived here +unexpectedly out of another world. Of the manners and customs, nay, of +the very nature of the people who inhabit this country, I know nothing. +For any information you can give me, I shall be very grateful.” + +My friend smiled incredulity, and said, + +“Whatever you are pleased to profess, I will believe. What you are +pleased to feign a wish for, I am proud to furnish. In Skitzland, the +inhabitants, until they come of age, retain that illustrious appearance +which you have been so fortunate as never to have lost. During the night +of his twenty-first birthday, each Skitzlander loses the limbs which up +to that period have received from him no care, no education. Of those +neglected parts the skeletons alone remain, but all those organs which +he has employed sufficiently continue unimpaired. I, for example, +devoted to the study of the law, forgot all occupation but to think, to +use my senses and to write. I rarely used my legs, and therefore Nature +has deprived me of them.” + +“But,” I observed, “it seems that in Skitzland you are able to take +yourselves to pieces.” + +“No one has that power, Sir, more largely than yourself. What organs we +have we can detach on any service. When dispersed, a simple force of +Nature directs all corresponding members whither to fly that they may +re-assemble.” + +“If they can fly,” I asked, “why are they sent in coaches? There were a +pair of eyes on the box-seat.” + +“Simply for safety against accidents. Eyes flying alone are likely to be +seized by birds, and incur many dangers. They are sent, therefore, +usually under protection, like any other valuable parcel.” + +“Do many accidents occur?” + +“Very few. For mutual protection, and also because a single member is +often all that has been left existing of a fellow Skitzlander our laws, +as you, Sir, know much better than myself, estimate the destruction of +any part absent on duty from its skeleton as a crime equivalent to +murder——” + +After this I held my tongue. Presently my friend again enquired whether +I was going up to Court? + +“Why should I go to Court?” + +“Oh, Sir, it pleases you to be facetious. You must be aware that any +Skitzlander who has been left by Nature in possession of every limb, +sits in the Assembly of the Perfect, or the Upper House, and receives +many state emoluments and dignities.” + +“Are there many members of that Upper Assembly?” + +“Sir, there were forty-two. But if you are now travelling to claim your +seat, the number will be raised to forty-three.” + +“The Baron Terroro—” I hinted. + +“My brother, Sir. His eyes are on the box-seat under my care. +Undoubtedly he is a Member of the Upper House.” + +I was now anxious to get out of the coach as soon as possible. My wish +was fulfilled after the next pause. One Eye, followed by six Pairs of +Arms, with strong hard Hands belonging to them, flew in at the window. I +was collared; the door was opened, and all hands were at work to drag me +out and away. The twelve Hands whisked me through the air, while the one +Eye sailed before us, like an old bird, leader of the flight. + + + CHAPTER THE THIRD. + +My Imprisonment and Trial for Murder. + +What sort of sky have they in Skitzland? Our earth overarches them, and, +as the sunlight filters through, it causes a subdued illumination with +very pure rays. Skitzland is situated nearly in the centre of our globe, +it hangs there like a shrunken kernel in the middle of a nutshell. The +height from Skitzland to the over-arching canopy is great; so great, +that if I had not fallen personally from above the firmament, I should +have considered it to be a blue sky similar to ours. At night it is +quite dark; but during the day there is an appearance in the Heaven of +white spots; their glistening reminded me of stars. I noticed them as I +was being conveyed to prison by the strong arms of justice, for it was +by a detachment of members from the Skitzton Police that I was now +hurried along. The air was very warm, and corroborated the common +observation of an increase of heat as you get into the pith of our +planet. The theory of Central Fire, however, is, you perceive quite +overturned by my experience. + +We alighted near the outskirts of a large and busy town. Through its +streets I was dragged publicly, much stared at, and much staring. The +street life was one busy nightmare of disjointed limbs. Professor Essig, +could he have been dragged through Skitzton, would have delivered his +farewell lecture upon his return. ‘Gentlemen, Fuit Ilium—Fuit +Ischium—Fuit Sacrum—Anatomy has lost her seat among the sciences. My +occupation’s gone.’ Professor Owen’s Book ‘On the Nature of Limbs,’ must +contain, in the next edition, an Appendix ‘Upon Limbs in Skitzland.’ I +was dragged through the streets, and all that I saw there, in the +present age of little faith, I dare not tell you. I was dragged through +the streets to prison and there duly chained, after having been +subjected to the scrutiny of about fifty couples of eyes drawn up in a +line within the prison door. I was chained in a dark cell, a cell so +dark that I could very faintly perceive the figure of some being who was +my companion. Whether this individual had ears wherewith to hear, and +mouth wherewith to answer me, I could not see, but at a venture I +addressed him. My thirst for information was unconquerable; I began, +therefore, immediately with a question: + +“Friend, what are those stars which we see shining in the sky at +mid-day?” + +An awful groan being an unsatisfactory reply, I asked again. + +“Man, do not mock at misery. You will yourself be one of them.” + +‘The Teachers shall shine like Stars in the Firmament.’ I have a +propensity for teaching, but was puzzled to discover how I could give so +practical an illustration of the text of Fichte. + +“Believe me,” I said, “I am strangely ignorant. Explain yourself.” + +He answered with a hollow voice: + +“Murderers are shot up out of mortars into the sky, and stick there. +Those white, glistening specks, they are their skeletons.” + +Justice is prompt in Skitzland. I was tried incredibly fast by a jury of +twelve men who had absolutely heads. The judges had nothing but brain, +mouth and ear. Three powerful tongues defended me, but as they were not +suffered to talk nonsense, they had little to say. The whole case was +too clear to be talked into cloudiness. Baron Terroro, in person, +deposed, that he had sent his eyes to see a friend at Culmsey, and that +they were returning on the Skitzton coach, when I, illegally, came with +my whole bulk upon the box-seat, which he occupied. That one of his eyes +was, in that manner, totally destroyed, but that the other eye, having +escaped, identified me, and brought to his brain intelligence of the +calamity which had befallen. He deposed further, that having received +this information, he despatched his uncrushed eye with arms from the +police-office, and accompanied with several members of the detective +force, to capture the offender, and to procure the full proofs of my +crime. A sub-inspector of Skitzton Police then deposed that he sent +three of his faculties, with his mouth, eye, and ear, to meet the coach. +That the driver, consisting only of a stomach and hands, had been unable +to observe what passed. That the guard, on the contrary, had taxed me +with my deed, that he had seen me rise from my seat upon the murdered +eye, and that he had heard me make confession of my guilt. The guard was +brought next into court, and told his tale. Then I was called upon for +my defence. If a man wearing a cloth coat and trousers, and talking +excellent English, were to plead at the Old Bailey that he had broken +into some citizen’s premises accidentally by falling from the moon, his +tale would be received in London as mine was in Skitzton. I was severely +reprimanded for my levity, and ordered to be silent. The Judge summed up +and the Jury found me Guilty. The Judge, who had put on the black cap +before the verdict was pronounced, held out no hope of mercy, and +straightway sentenced me to Death, according to the laws and usage of +the Realm. + + + CHAPTER THE FOURTH. + +The last Hours of the Condemned in Skitzland—I am executed. + +The period which intervenes between the sentence and execution of a +criminal in Skitzland, is not longer than three hours. In order to +increase the terror of death by contrast, the condemned man is suffered +to taste at the table of life from which he is banished, the most +luscious viands. All the attainable enjoyment that his wit can ask for, +he is allowed to have, during the three hours before he is shot, like +rubbish, off the fields of Skitzland. + +Under guard, of course, I was now to be led whithersoever I desired. + +Several churches were open. They never are all shut in Skitzton. I was +taken into one. A man with heart and life was preaching. People with +hearts were in some pews; people with brains, in others; people with +ears only, in some. In a neighbouring church, there was a popular +preacher, a skeleton with life. His congregation was a crowd of ears, +and nothing more. + +There was a day-performance at the Opera. I went to that. Fine lungs and +mouths possessed the stage, and afterwards there was a great +bewilderment with legs. I was surprised to notice that many of the most +beautiful ladies were carried in and out, and lifted about like dolls. +My guides sneered at my pretence of ignorance, when I asked why this +was. But they were bound to please me in all practicable ways, so they +informed me, although somewhat pettishly. It seems that in Skitzland, +ladies who possess and have cultivated only their good looks, lose at +the age of twenty-one, all other endowments. So they become literally +dolls, but dolls of a superior kind; for they can not only open and shut +their eyes, but also sigh; wag slowly with their heads, and some times +take a pocket-handkerchief out of a bag, and drop it. But as their limbs +are powerless, they have to be lifted and dragged about after the +fashion that excited my astonishment. + +I said then, “Let me see the Poor.” They took me to a workhouse. The +men, there, were all yellow; and they wore a dress which looked as +though it were composed of asphalte; it had also a smell like that of +pitch. I asked for explanation of these things. + +A Superintendent of Police remarked that I was losing opportunities of +real enjoyment for the idle purpose of persisting in my fable of having +dropped down from the sky. However, I compelled him to explain to me +what was the reason of these things. The information I obtained, was +briefly this:—that Nature, in Skitzland, never removes the stomach. +Every man has to feed himself; and the necessity for finding food, +joined to the necessity for buying clothes, is a mainspring whereby the +whole clockwork of civilised life is kept in motion. Now, if a man +positively cannot feed and clothe himself, he becomes a pauper. He then +goes to the workhouse, where he has his stomach filled with a cement. +That stopping lasts a life-time, and he thereafter needs no food. His +body, however, becomes yellow by the superfluity of bile. The +yellow-boy, which is the Skitzland epithet for pauper, is at the same +time provided with a suit of clothes. The clothes are of a material so +tough that they can be worn unrepaired for more than eighty years. The +pauper is now freed from care, but were he in this state cast loose upon +society, since he has not that stimulus to labour which excites industry +in other men, he would become an element of danger in the state. Nature +no longer compelling him to work, the law compels him. The remainder of +his life is forfeit to the uses of his country. He labours at the +workhouse, costing nothing more than the expense of lodging, after the +first inconsiderable outlay for cement wherewith to plug his stomach, +and for the one suit of apparel. + +When we came out of the workhouse, all the bells in the town were +tolling. The Superintendent told me that I had sadly frittered away +time, for I had now no more than half-an-hour to live. Upon that I +leaned my back against a post, and asked him to prepare me for my part +in the impending ceremony by giving me a little information on the +subject of executions. + +I found that it was usual for a man to be executed with great ceremony +upon the spot whereon his crime had been committed. That in case of +rebellions or tumults in the provinces, when large numbers were not +unfrequently condemned to death, the sentence of the law was carried out +in the chief towns of the disturbed districts. That large numbers of +people were thus sometimes discharged from a single market-place, and +that the repeated strokes appeared to shake, or crack, or pierce in some +degree that portion of the sky towards which the artillery had been +directed. I here at once saw that I had discovered the true cause of +earthquakes and volcanoes; and this shows how great light may be thrown +upon theories concerning the hidden constitution of this earth, by going +more deeply into the matter of it than had been done by any one before I +dug my hole. Our volcanoes, it is now proved, are situated over the +market-places of various provincial towns in Skitzland. When a +revolution happens, the rebels are shot up,—discharged from mortars by +means of an explosive material evidently far more powerful than our +gunpowder or gun-cotton; and they are pulverised by the friction in +grinding their way through the earth. How simple and easy truth appears, +when we have once arrived at it. + +The sound of muffled drums approached us, and a long procession turned +the corner of a street. I was placed in the middle of it,—Baron Terroro +by my side. All then began to float so rapidly away, that I was nearly +left alone, when forty arms came back and collared me. It was considered +to be a proof of my refractory disposition, that I would make no use of +my innate power of flight. I was therefore dragged in this procession +swiftly through the air, drums playing, fifes lamenting. + +We alighted on the spot where I had fallen, and the hole through which I +had come I saw above me. It was very small, but the light from above +shining more vividly through it made it look, with its rough edges, like +a crumpled moon. A quantity of some explosive liquid was poured into a +large mortar, which had been erected (under the eye of Baron Terroro) +exactly where my misfortune happened. I was then thrust in, the Baron +ramming me down, and pounding with a long stock or pestle upon my head +in a noticeably vicious manner. The Baron then cried “Fire!” and as I +shot out, in the midst of a blaze, I saw him looking upward. + + + CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + +My revenge on the Skitzlanders. + +By great good fortune, they had planted their artillery so well, that I +was fired up through my hole again, and alighted in my own garden, just +a little singed. My first thought was to run to an adjoining bed of +vegetable marrows. Thirty vegetable marrows and two pumpkins I rained +down to astonish the Skitzlanders, and I fervently hope that one of them +may have knocked out the remaining eye of my vindictive enemy, the +Baron. I then went into the pantry, and obtained a basket full of eggs, +and having rained these down upon the Skitzlanders, I left them. + +It was after breakfast when I went down to Skitzland, and I came back +while the dinner bell was ringing. + + + + + BIRTH SONG. + + + Hail, new-waked atom of the Eternal whole, + Young voyager upon Time’s mighty river! + Hail to thee, Human Soul, + Hail, and for ever! + Pilgrim of life, all hail! + He who at first called forth + From nothingness the earth, + Who clothed the hills in strength, and dug the sea; + Who gave the stars to gem + Night, like a diadem, + Thou little child, made thee; + Young habitant of earth, + Fair as its flowers, though brought in sorrow forth, + Thou art akin to God who fashioned thee! + + The Heavens themselves shall vanish as a scroll, + The solid earth dissolve, the stars grow pale, + But thou, oh Human Soul, + Shalt be immortal! Hail! + Thou young Immortal, hail! + He, before whom are dim + Seraph and cherubim, + Who gave the archangels strength and majesty, + Who sits upon Heaven’s throne, + The Everlasting One, + Thou little child, made thee! + Fair habitant of Earth, + Immortal in thy God, though mortal by thy birth, + Born for life’s trials, hail, all hail to thee! + + + SONG OF DEATH. + + Shrink not, O Human Spirit, + The Everlasting Arm is strong to save! + Look up, look up, frail nature, put thy trust + In Him who went down mourning to the dust, + And overcame the grave! + Quickly goes down the sun; + Life’s work is almost done; + Fruitless endeavour, hope deferred, and strife! + One little struggle more, + One pang, and then is o’er + All the long, mournful, weariness of life. + Kind friends, ’tis almost past; + Come now and look your last! + Sweet children, gather near, + And his last blessing hear, + See how he loved you who departeth now! + And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow, + O, most beloved one, + Whose breast he leaned upon, + Come, faithful unto death, + Receive his parting breath! + The fluttering spirit panteth to be free, + Hold him not back who speeds to victory! + —The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free! + + Hail, hail, enfranchised Spirit! + Thou that the wine-press of the field hast trod! + On, blest Immortal, on, through boundless space, + And stand with thy Redeemer face to face; + And stand before thy God! + Life’s weary work is o’er, + Thou art of earth no more; + No more art trammelled by the oppressive clay, + But tread’st with winged ease + The high acclivities + Of truths sublime, up Heaven’s crystalline way. + Here no bootless quest; + This city’s name is Rest; + Here shall no fear appal; + Here love is all in all; + Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul’s desire; + Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire. + Lift, lift thy wond’ring eyes! + Yonder is Paradise, + And this fair shining band + Are spirits of thy land! + And these who throng to meet thee are thy kin, + Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin! + —The city’s gates unfold—enter, oh! enter in! + + + + + THE SICKNESS AND HEALTH OF THE PEOPLE OF BLEABURN. + + + IN THREE PARTS.—CHAPTER III. + +Mr. Finch was standing in front of his bookcase, deeply occupied in +ascertaining a point in ecclesiastical history, when he was told that +Ann Warrender wished to speak to him. + +“O dear!” he half-breathed out. He had for some time been growing +nervous about the state of things at Bleaburn; and there was nothing he +now liked so little as to be obliged to speak face to face with any of +the people. It was not all cowardice; though cowardice made up sadly too +much of it. He did not very well know how to address the minds of his +people; and he felt that he could not do it well. He was more fit for +closet study than for the duties of a parish priest; and he ought never +to have been sent to Bleaburn. Here he was, however; and there was Ann +Warrender waiting in the passage to speak to him. + +“Dear me!” said he, “I am really very busy at this moment. Ask Ann +Warrender if she can come again to-morrow.” + +To-morrow would not do. Ann followed the servant to the door of the +study to say so. Mr. Finch hastily asked her to wait a moment, and shut +the door behind the servant. He unlocked a cupboard, took out a green +bottle and a wineglass, and fortified himself against infection with a +draught of something whose scent betrayed him to Ann the moment the door +was again opened. + +“Come in,” said he, when the cupboard was locked. + +“Will you please come, sir, and see John Billiter? He is not far from +death; he asked for you just now; so I said I would step for you.” + +“Billiter! The fever has been very fatal in that house, has it not? Did +not he lose two children last week?” + +“Yes, sir; and my father thinks the other two are beginning to sicken. +I’m sure I don’t know what will become of them. I saw Mrs. Billiter +stagger as she crossed the room just now; and she does not seem, +somehow, to be altogether like herself this morning. That looks as if +she were beginning. But if you will come and pray with them, Sir, that +is the comfort they say they want.” + +“Does your father allow you to go to an infected house like that?” asked +Mr. Finch. “And does he go himself?” + +Ann looked surprised, and said she did not see what else could be done. +There was no one but her father who could lift John Billiter, or turn +him in his bed; and as for her, she was the only one that Mrs. Billiter +had to look to, day and night. The Good Lady went in very often, and did +all she could; but she was wanted in so many places, besides having her +hands full with the Johnsons, that she could only come in and direct and +cheer them, every few hours. She desired to be sent for at any time, +night or day; and they did send when they were particularly distressed, +or at a loss; but for regular watching and nursing, Ann said the +Billiters had no one to depend on but herself. She could not stay +talking now, however. How soon might she say that Mr. Finch would come? + +Mr. Finch was now walking up and down the room. He said he would +consider, and let her know as soon as he could. + +“John Billiter is as bad as can be, Sir. He must be very near his end.” + +“Ah! well; you shall hear from me very soon.” + +As Ann went away, she wondered what could be the impediment to Mr. +Finch’s going with her. He, meantime, roused his mind to undertake a +great argument of duty. It was with a sense of complacency, even of +elevation, that he now set himself to work to consider of his +duty—determined to do it when his mind was made up. + +He afterwards declared that he went to his chamber to be secure against +interruption, and there walked up and down for two hours in meditation +and prayer. He considered that it had pleased God that he should be the +only son of his mother, whose whole life would be desolate if he should +die. He thought of Ellen Price, feeling almost sure that she would marry +him whenever he felt justified in asking her; and he considered what a +life of happiness she would lose if he should die. He remembered that +his praying with the sick would not affect life on the one side, while +it might on the other. The longer he thought of Ellen Price and of his +mother, and of all that he might do if he lived, the more clear did his +duty seem to himself to become. At the end of the two hours, he was +obliged to bring his meditations to a conclusion; for Ann Warrender’s +father had been waiting for some time to speak to him, and would then +wait no longer. + +“It is not time lost, Warrender,” said Mr. Finch, when at last he came +down stairs. “I have been determining my principle, and my mind is made +up.” + +“Then, Sir, let us be off, or the man will be dead. What! you cannot +come, Sir! Why, bless my soul!” + +“You see my reasons, surely, Warrender.” + +“Why, yes; such as they are. The thing that I can’t see the reason for, +is your being a clergyman.” + +While Mr. Finch was giving forth his amiable and gentlemanly notions of +the position of a clergyman in society, and of filial consideration, +Warrender was twirling his hat, and fidgetting, as if in haste; and his +summing up was—— + +“I don’t know what your mother herself might say, Sir, to your +consideration for her; but most likely she has, being a mother, noticed +that saying about a man leaving father and mother, and houses and lands, +for Christ’s sake; and also——But it is no business of mine to be +preaching to the clergyman, and I have enough to do, elsewhere.” + +“One thing more, Warrender. I entrust it to you to let the people know +that there will be no service in church during the infection. Why, do +not you know that, in the time of the plague, the churches were closed +by order, because it was found that the people gave one another the +disease, by meeting there?” + +John had never heard it; and he was sorry to hear it now. He hastened +away to the Good Lady, to ask her if he must really tell the afflicted +people that all religious comfort mast be withheld from them now, when +they were in the utmost need of it. Meantime, Mr. Finch was entering at +length in his diary, the history of his conflict of mind, his decision, +and the reasons of it. + +Henceforth, Mr. Finch had less time for his diary, and for clearing up +points of ecclesiastical history. There were so many funerals that he +could never be sure of leisure; nor, when he had it, was he in a state +to use it. Sometimes he almost doubted whether he was in his right mind, +so overwhelmingly dreadful to him was the scene around him. He met +Farmer Neale one day. Neale was at his wit’s end what to do about his +harvest. Several of his labourers were dead, and others were kept aloof +by his own servants, who declared they would all leave him if any person +from Bleaburn was brought among them; and no labourers from a distance +would come near the place. Farmer Neale saw no other prospect than of +his crops rotting on the ground. + +“You must offer high wages,” said Mr. Finch. “You must be well aware +that you do not generally tempt people into your service by your rate of +wages. You must open your hand at such a time as this.” + +Neale was ready enough now to give good wages; but nobody would reap an +acre of his for love or money. He was told to be thankful that the fever +had spared his house; but he said it was no use bidding a man be +thankful for anything, while he saw his crops perishing on the ground. + +Next, Mr. Finch saw, in his afternoon ride, a waggon-load of coffins +arrive at the brow from O——. He saw them sent down, one by one, on men’s +shoulders, to be ranged in the carpenter’s yard. The carpenter could not +work fast enough; and his stock of wood was so nearly exhausted that +there had been complaints, within the last few days, that the coffins +would not bear the least shock, but fell to pieces when the grave was +opened for the next. So an order was sent to O—— for coffins of various +sizes; and now they were carried down the road, and up the street, +before the eyes of some who were to inhabit one or another of them. The +doctor, hurrying from house to house, had hardly a moment to spare, and +no comfort to give. He did not see what there was to prevent the whole +population from being swept away. He was himself almost worn out; and +just at such a moment, his surgery boy had disappeared. He had no one +that he could depend on to help him in making up the medicines, or even +to deliver them. The fact was, he said in private, the place was a +pest-house; and, except to Miss Pickard, he did not know where to look +for any aid or any hope whatever. It would not do to say so to the +people; but, frankly speaking, this was what he felt. When the pastor’s +heart was thus sunk very low, he thought he would just pass the Plough +and Harrow, and see who was there. If there were any cheerful people in +Bleaburn, that was where they would be found. At the Plough and Harrow, +the floor was swept and the table was clean; and the chimney was +prettily dressed with green boughs; but there were only two customers +there; and they were smoking their pipes in silence. The landlord said +the scores were run up so high, he could not give more credit till +better days. The people wanted their draught of comfort badly enough, +and he had given it as long as he could; but he must stop somewhere: and +if the baker had to stop scores (as he knew he had) the publican had +little chance of getting his own. At such a time, however, he knew men +ought to be liberal; so he went on serving purl and bitters at five in +the morning. The men said it strengthened their stomachs against the +fever before they went to work (such of them as could work) and God +forbid he should refuse them that! But he knew the half of those few +that came at five in the morning would never be able to pay their score. +Yet did the publican, amidst all these losses, invite the pastor to sit +down and have a cheerful glass; and the pastor did not refuse. There was +too little cheerfulness to be had at present to justify him in declining +any offer of it. So he let the landlord mix his glass for him, and mix +it strong. + +It was easy to make the mixture strong; but not so easy to have a +‘cheerful glass.’ The host had too many dismal stories to tell for that; +and, when he could be diverted from the theme of the fate of Bleaburn, +it was only to talk of the old king’s madness, and the disasters of the +war, and the weight of the taxes, and the high price of food, and the +riots in the manufacturing districts; a long string of disasters all +undeniably true. He was just saying that he had been assured that +something would soon appear which would explain the terrors of the time, +when a strange cry was heard in the street, and a bustle among the +neighbours; and then two or three people ran in and exclaimed, with +white lips, that there was a fearful sign in the sky. + +There indeed it was, a lustrous thing, shining down into the hollow. Was +there ever such a star seen,—as large as a saucer—some of the people +said, and with a long white tail, which looked as if it was about to +sweep all the common stars out of the sky! The sounds of amazement and +fear that ran along the whole street, up and down, brought the +neighbours to their doors; and some to the windows, to try how much they +could see from windows that would not open. Each one asked somebody else +what it was; but all agreed that it was a token of judgment, and that it +accounted for everything; the cold spring, the bad crops, the king’s +illness, the war, and this dreadful sickly autumn. At last, they +bethought them of the pastor, and they crowded round him for an +explanation. They received one in a tone so faltering as to confirm +their fears, though Mr. Finch declared that it certainly must be a +comet: he had never seen a comet; but he was confident this must be one, +and that it must be very near the earth:—he did not mean near enough to +do any harm;—it was all nonsense talking of comets doing any harm. + +“Will it do us any good, Sir?” asked the carpenter, sagely. + +“Not that I know of. How should it do us any good? + +“Exactly so, Sir: that is what we say. It is there for no good, you may +rely upon it: and, for the rest, Heaven knows!” + +“I hope farmer Neale may be seeing it,” observed a man to his neighbour. +“It may be a mercy to him, if it is sent to warn him of his hard ways.” + +“And the doctor, too. I hope it will take effect upon him,” whispered +another. The whisper was caught up and spread. “The doctor! the doctor!” +every one said, glancing at the comet, and falling to whispering again. + +“What are they saying about the doctor?” whispered Mr. Finch to the +landlord. “What is the matter about him?” But the landlord only shook +his head, and looked excessively solemn in the yellow light which +streamed from his open door. After this, Mr. Finch was very silent, and +soon stole away homewards. Some who watched him said that he was more +alarmed than he chose to show. And this was true. He was more shaken +than he chose to admit to his own mind. He would not have acknowledged +to himself that he, an educated man, could be afraid of a comet: but, +unnerved before by anxiety of mind, and a stronger dose of spirit and +water than he had intended to take, he was as open to impression as in +the most timid days of his childhood. As he sat in his study, the +bright, silent, steady luminary seemed to be still shining full upon his +very heart and brain: and the shadowy street, with its groups of gazers, +was before his eyes; and the hoarse or whimpering voices of the +terrified people were in his ear. He covered his eyes, and thought that +he lived in fearful times. He wished he was asleep: but then, there were +three funerals for to-morrow! He feared he could not sleep, if he went +to bed. Yet, to sit up would be worse; for he could not study to-night, +and sitting up was the most wearing thing of all to the nerves. +Presently he went to his cupboard. Now, if ever, was the time for a +cordial; for how should he do his duty, if he did not get sleep at +night, with so many funerals in the morning? So he poured out his +medicine, as he called it, and uncorked his laudanum bottle, and +obtained the oblivion which is the best comfort of the incapable. + + + PART II. + CHAPTER IV. + +There were some people in Bleaburn to whom the sign in heaven looked +very differently. On the night when the people assembled in the street +to question each other about it, Mary was at the Billiters’ house, +where, but for her, all would have been blank despair. Mrs. Billiter lay +muttering all night in the low delirium of the fever; and Mary could not +do more for her than go to the side of her mattress now and then, to +speak to her, and smooth her pillow, or put a cool hand on her forehead, +while one of the dying children hung on the other shoulder. At last, the +little fellow was evidently so near death that the slightest movement on +her part might put out the little life. As he lay with his head on her +shoulder, his bony arms hanging helpless, and his feet like those of a +skeleton across her lap, she felt every painful breath through her whole +frame. She happened to sit opposite the window; and the window, which +commanded a part of the brow of the hollow, happened to be open. +Wherever the Good Lady had been, the windows would open now; and, when +closed, they were so clear that the sunshine and moonlight could pour in +cheerfully. This September night was sultry and dry; and three fever +patients in two little low rooms needed whatever fresh air could be had. +There sat Mary, immoveable, with her eyes fixed on the brow from which +she had seen more than one star come up, since she last left her seat. +She now and then spoke cheerfully to the poor mutterer in the other +room, to prevent her feeling lonely, or for the chance of bringing back +her thoughts to real things: and then she had to soothe little Ned, +lying on a bed of shavings in the corner, sore and fretful, and needing +the help that she could not stir to give. His feeble cry would have +upset any spirits but Mary’s; but her spirits were never known to be +upset, though few women have gone through such ghastly scenes, or +sustained such tension of anxiety. + +“I cannot come to you at this moment, Ned,” said she, “but I will +soon,—very soon. Do you know why your brother is not crying? He is going +to sleep,—for a long quiet sleep. Perhaps he will go to sleep more +comfortably if you can stop crying. Do you think you can stop crying, +Ned?” + +The wailing was at once a little less miserable, and by degrees it came +to a stop as Mary spoke. + +“Do you know, your little brother will be quite well, when he wakes from +that long sleep. It will be far away from here,—where daddy is.” + +“Let me go, too.” + +“I think you will go, Ned. If you do, you will not live here any more. +You will live where daddy is gone.” + +“Will Dan Cobb tease me then? Dan does tease us so!” + +Mary had to learn who Dan Cobb was,—a little boy next door, who was not +in the fever as yet. He was always wanting Ned’s top. Would he want +Ned’s top in that place where they were all going to be well? + +“No,” said Mary; “and you will not want it, either. When we go to that +place, we have no trouble of carrying anything with us. We shall find +whatever we want there.” + +“What shall I play at?” + +“I don’t know till we go and see; but I am sure it will be with +something better than your top. But, Ned, are you angry with Dan? Do you +wish that he should have the fever? And are you glad or sorry that he +has no top?” + +By this time the crying had stopped; and Ned, no longer filling his ears +with his own wailing, wondered and asked what that odd sound was,—he did +not like it. + +“It will soon be over,” said Mary, very gently. “It is your brother just +going to sleep. Now, lie and think what you would say to Dan, if you +were going a long way off, and what you would like to be done with your +top, when you do not want it yourself. You shall tell me what you wish +when I come to you presently.” + +Whether Ned was capable of thinking she could not judge, but he lay +quite silent for the remaining minutes of his little brother’s life;—a +great comfort to Mary, who could not have replied, because the mere +vibration of her own voice would now have been enough to stop entirely +the breathings which came at longer and longer intervals. Her frame +ached, and her arms seemed to have lost power,—so long was it since she +had changed her posture. At such a moment it was that the great comet +came up from behind the brow. The apparition was so wonderful, and so +wholly unexpected, that Mary’s heart beat; but it was from no fear, but +rather a kind of exhilaration. Slowly it ascended, proving that it was +no meteor, as she had at the first moment conjectured. When the bright +tail disclosed itself, she understood the spectacle, and rejoiced in it, +she scarcely knew why. + +When at last the breathing on her shoulder ceased, she let down the +little corpse upon her knee, and could just see, by the faint light from +the rush candle in the outer room, that the eyes were half closed, and +the face expressive of no pain. She closed the eyes, and, after a +moment’s silence, said: + +“Now, Ned, I am coming to you, in a minute.” + +“Is he asleep?” + +“Yes. He is in the quiet long sleep I told you of.” + +Ned feebly tried to make room for his brother on the poor bed of +shavings; and he wondered when Mary said that she was making a bed in +the other corner which would do very well. She was only spreading +mammy’s cloak on the ground, and laying her own shawl over the sleeper; +but she said that would do very well. + +Mary was surprised to find Ned’s mind so clear as that he had really +been thinking about Dan and the top. She truly supposed that it was the +clearing before death. He said: + +“You told me daddy was dead. Am I going to be dead?” + +“Yes, I think so. Would not you like it?—to go to sleep, and then be +quite well?” + +“But, shan’t I see Dan, then?” + +“Not for a long time, I dare say: and whenever you do, I don’t think you +and he will quarrel again. I can give Dan any message, you know.” + +“Tell him he may have my top. And tell him I hope he won’t have the +fever. I’m sure I don’t like it at all. I wish you would take me up, and +let me be on your knee.” + +Mary could not refuse it, though it was soon to be going over again the +scene just closed. Poor Ned was only too light, as to weight; but he was +so wasted and sore that it was not easy to find a position for him. For +a few minutes he was interested by the comet, which he was easily led to +regard as a beautiful sight, and then he begged to be laid down again. + +The sun was just up when Mary heard the tap at the door below, which +came every morning at sunrise. She put her head out of the window, and +said softly that she was coming,—would be down in two minutes. She laid +poor Ned beside his brother, and covered him with the same shawl; drew +off the old sheets and coverlid from the bed of shavings, bundled them +up with such towels as were in the room, and put them out of the window, +Warrender being below, ready to receive them. She did not venture to let +the poor mother see them, delirious as she was. Softly did Mary tread on +the floor, and go down the creaking stair. When she reached the street +she drew in, with a deep sigh, the morning air. + +“The poor children’s bedding,” she said to Warrender. + +“They are gone?” he inquired. “What, both?” + +“One just before midnight. The other half-an-hour ago. And their mother +will follow soon.” + +“The Lord have mercy upon us,” said Warrender, solemnly. + +“I think it is mercy to take a family thus together,” replied Mary. “But +I think of poor Aunty. If I could find any one to sit here for +half-an-hour, I would go to her, and indeed, I much wish it.” + +“There is a poor creature would be glad enough to come, ma’am, if she +thought you would countenance it. A few words will tell you the case. +She is living with Simpson, the baker’s man, without being his wife. +Widow Johnson was very stern with her, and with her daughter, Billiter, +for being neighbourly with the poor girl—though people do say that +Simpson deceived her cruelly. I am sure, if I might fetch Sally, she +would come, and be thankful; and——” + +“O! ask her to come and help me. If she has done wrong, that is the more +reason why she should do what good she can. How is Ann?” + +“Pretty well. Rather worn, as we must all expect to be. She never stood +so many hours at the wash-tub, any one day, as she does now every day: +but then, as she says, there never was so much reason.” + +“And you, yourself?” + +“I am getting through, ma’am, thank you. I seem to see the end of the +white-washing, for one thing. They have sent us more brushes of the +right sort from O——, and I should like, if I could, to get two or three +boys into training. They might do the outhouses and the lower parts, +where there are fewest sick, while I am upstairs. But, for some reason +or other, the lads are shy of me. There is some difference already, I +assure you, ma’am, both as to sight and smell; but there might be more, +if I could get better help.” + +“And you are careful, I hope, for Ann’s sake, to put all the linen first +into a tub of water outside.” + +“Yes, surely. I got the carpenter’s men to set a row of tubs beside our +door, and to promise to change the water once a day. I laughed at them +for asking if they could catch the fever that way: and they are willing +enough to oblige where there’s no danger. Simpson offered to look to our +boiler as he goes to the bakehouse when, as he says, Ann and I ought to +be asleep. I let him do it and thank him; but it is not much that we +sleep, or think of sleeping, just now.” + +“Indeed,” said Mary, “you have a hard life of it, and without pay or +reward, I am afraid. I never saw such——” + +“Why, ma’am,” said Warrender, “you are the last person to say those sort +of things. However, it is not a time for praising one another, when +there are signs in the heaven, and God’s wrath on earth.” + +“You saw the comet, did you? How beautiful it is! It will cheer our +watch at nights now. Ah! you see I don’t consider it anything fearful, +or a sign of anything but that, having a new sort of stars brought +before our eyes to admire, we don’t understand all about the heavens +yet, though we know a good deal; and just so with the fever: it is a +sign, not of wrath, as I take it, but that the people here do not +understand how to keep their health. They have lived in dirt, and damp, +and closeness, some hungry and some drunken: and when unusual weather +comes, a wet spring and a broiling summer, down they sink under the +fever. Do you know, I dare not call this God’s wrath.” + +Warrender did not like to say it, but the thought was in his mind, why +people were left so ignorant and so suffering. Mary was quick at reading +faces, and she answered the good fellow’s mind, while she helped to +hoist the bundle of linen on his shoulder. + +“We shall see, Warrender, whether the people can learn by God’s +teaching. He is giving us a very clear and strong lesson now.” + +Warrender touched his hat in silence, and walked away. + +Aunty had for some time been out of danger from the fever, or Mary could +not have left her to attend on the Billiters, urgent as was their need. +But her weakness was so great that she had to be satisfied to lie still +all day in the intervals of Mary’s little visits. Poor Jem brought her +this and that, when she asked for it, but he was more trouble than help, +from his incurable determination to shut all doors and windows, and keep +a roaring fire: he did everything else, within his power, that his +mother desired him, but on these points he was immoveable. If ever his +mother closed her eyes, he took the opportunity to put more wood on the +fire; and he looked so grievously distressed if requested to take it off +again, that at last he was let alone. Mary was fairly accustoming him to +occupy himself in bringing pails of water and carrying away all refuse, +when she was summoned to the Billiters; but the hint was given, and the +neighbours saw that they need no longer use water three or four times +over for washing, while poor Jem was happy to carry it away, rinse the +pails, and bring fresh. His cousin Mary had often of late found him thus +engaged: but this morning he was at home, cowering in a chair. When she +set the windows open, he made no practical objection; and the fire was +actually out. Mary was not therefore surprised at Aunty’s reply to her +inquiries. + +“I am tolerably easy myself, my dear, but I can’t tell what has come +over Jem; it seems to me that somebody must have been giving him drink, +he staggered so when he crossed the room half-an-hour ago; yet I hardly +think he would take it, he has such a dislike to everything strong. What +a thing it is that I am lying here, unable to stir to see about it +myself!” + +“We will see about it,” said Mary, going to poor Jem. “I neither think +he would touch drink, nor that any body would play such a trick with him +at such a time. No,” she went on, when she had felt his pulse and looked +well at his face, “it is not drink: it is illness.” + +“The fever,” groaned the mother. + +“I think so. Courage, Aunty! we will nurse him well: and the house is +wholesome now, you know. You are through the fever: and his chance is a +better one than yours, the house is so much more airy, and I have more +experience.” + +“But, Mary, you cannot go on for ever, without sleep or rest, in this +way. What is to be done, I don’t see.” + +“I do, Aunty. I am very well to-day. To-morrow will take care of itself. +I must get Jem to bed; and if he soon seems to be moaning and restless, +you must mind it as little as you can. It is very miserable, as you have +good reason to know; but——” + +“I know something that you do not, I see,” said Aunty. “A more patient +creature than my poor Jem does not live in Bleaburn, nor anywhere else.” + +“What a good chance that gives him!” observed Mary, “and what a blessing +it is, for himself and for you! I must go to my cousin now presently; +and I will send the doctor to see Jem.” + +The poor fellow allowed himself to be undressed; and let his head fall +on his bolster, as if it could not have kept up a minute longer. He was +fairly down in the fever. + + + CHAPTER V. + +That evening, Mary felt more at leisure and at rest than for weeks past. +There was nothing to be done for Mrs. Billiter but to watch beside her: +and the carpenter had had his whispered orders in the street for the +coffins for the two little boys. The mother had asked no questions, and +had appeared to be wandering too much to take notice of anything passing +before her eyes. Now she was quiet, and Mary felt the relief. She had +refreshed herself (and she used to tell, in after years, what such +refreshments were worth) with cold water, and a clean wrapper, and a +mutton-chop, sent hot from the Plough and Harrow for the Good Lady (with +some wine which she kept for the convalescents), and she was now sitting +back in her chair beside the open window, through which fell a yellow +glow of reflected sunshine from the opposite heights. All was profoundly +still. When she had once satisfied her conscience that she ought not to +be plying her needle because her eyes were strained for want of sleep, +she gave herself up to the enjoyment—for she really was capable of +enjoyment through everything—of watching the opposite precipice; how the +shadow crept up it; and how the sunny crest seemed to grow brighter; and +how the swallows darted past their holes, and skimmed down the hollow +once more before night should come on. Struck, at last, by the silence, +she turned her head, and was astonished at the change she saw. Her +cousin lay quiet, looking as radiant as the sunset itself; her large +black eyes shining, unoppressed by the rich light; her long dark hair on +each side the wasted face, and waving down to the white hands which lay +outside the quilt. Their eyes met, full and clear; and Mary knew that +her cousin’s mind was now clear, like the gaze of her eyes. + +“I see it all now,” said the dying woman, gently. + +“What do you see, love?” + +“I see the reason of everything that I did not understand before.” And +she began to speak of her life and its events, and went on with a force +and clearness, and natural eloquence—yet more, with a simple piety—which +Mary was wont to speak of afterwards as the finest revelation of a noble +soul that she had ever unexpectedly met with. Mrs. Billiter knew that +her little boys were dead; she knew, by some means or other, all the +horrors by which she was surrounded; and she knew that she was about to +die. Yet the conversation was a thoroughly cheerful one. The faces of +both were smiling; the voices of both were lively, though that of the +dying woman was feeble. After summing up the experience of her life, and +declaring what she expected to experience next, and leaving a message +for her mother, she said there was but one thing more; she ‘should like +to receive the sacrament.’ Mary wrote a note in pencil to Mr. Finch, and +sent it by Sally, who had been hovering about ever since the morning, in +the hope of being of further use, but who was glad now to get out of +sight, that her tears might have way; for she felt that she was about to +lose the only friend who had been kind to her (in a way she could +accept) since Simpson had put her off from the promised marriage. + +“She is sorry to part with me,” said that dying friend. “Cousin Mary, +you do not think, as my mother does, that I have done wrong in noticing +Sally, do you?” + +“No; I think you did well. And I think your mother will be kind to her, +for your sake, from this time forward. Sickness and death open our eyes +to many things, you know, cousin.” + +“Ay, they do. I see it all now.” + +Sally was sorely ashamed to bring back Mr. Finch’s message. Well as she +knew that time was precious, she lingered with it at the door. + +Mr. Finch was sorry, but he was too busy. He hoped he should not be sent +for again; for he could not come. + +“Perhaps, Miss,” said Sally, with swimming eyes, “it might have been +better to send somebody else than me. Perhaps, if you sent somebody +else—” + +“I do not think that, Sally. However, if you will remain here, I will go +myself. It does not matter what he thinks of me, a stranger in the +place; and perhaps none of his flock could so well tell him that this is +a duty which he cannot refuse.” + +Mary had not walked up the street for several weeks. Though her good +influence was in almost every house, in the form of cleanliness, fresh +air, cheerfulness, and hope, she had been seen only when passing from +one sick room to another, among a cluster of houses near her aunt’s. She +supposed it might be this disuse which made everything appear strange; +but it was odd scarcely to feel her limbs when she walked, and to see +the houses and people like so many visions. She had no feeling of +illness, however, and she said to herself, that some time or other she +should get a good long sleep; and then everything would look and feel as +it used to do. + +As she passed along the street, the children at play ran in to the +houses to say that the Good Lady was coming; and the healthy and the +convalescent came out on their door-steps, to bid God bless her; and the +sick, who were sensible enough to know what was going on, bade God bless +her from their beds. + +What influence the Good Lady used with the clergyman there is no saying, +as the conversation was never reported by either of them; but she soon +came back bright and cheerful, saying that Mr. Finch would follow in an +hour. She had stepped in at Warrender’s, to beg the father and daughter +to come and communicate with the dying woman. They would come: and Sally +would go, she was sure, and take Ann Warrender’s place at the wash-tub +at home; for there were several sick people in want of fresh linen +before night. Poor Sally went sobbing through the streets. She +understood the Good Lady’s kindness in sending her away, and on a work +of usefulness, because she, alas! could not receive the communion. She +was living in sin; and when two or three were gathered together in the +name of Christ, she must be cast out. + +There was little comfort in the service, unless, as the bystanders +hoped, the sick woman was too feeble and too much absorbed in her own +thoughts to notice some things that dismayed them. Mrs. Billiter was, +indeed, surprised at first at the clergyman’s refusal to enter the +chamber. He would come no further than the door. Mary saw at a glance +that he was in no condition to be reasoned with, and that she must give +what aid she could to get the administration over as decently as +possible. Happily, he made the service extremely short. The little that +there was he read wrong: but Mrs. Billiter (and she alone) was not +disturbed by this. Whether it was that the deadening of the ear had +begun, or that Mr. Finch spoke indistinctly, and was chewing spices all +the time, or that the observance itself was enough for the poor woman, +it seemed all right with her. She lay with her eyes still shining, her +wasted hands clasped, and a smile on her face, quite easy and content; +and when Mr. Finch was gone, she told Mary again that she saw it all +now, and was quite ready. She was dead within an hour. + +As for Warrender, he was more disturbed than any one had seen him since +the breaking out of the fever. + +“Why, there it is before his eyes in the Prayer-book,” said he, “that +clergymen ‘shall diligently from time to time (but especially in the +time of pestilence, or other infectious sickness) exhort their +parishioners to the often receiving of the holy communion:’ and instead +of this, he even shuts up the church on Sundays.” + +“He is not the first who has done that,” said Mary. “It was done in +times of plague, as a matter of precaution.” + +“But, Miss, should not a clergyman go all the more among the people, and +not the less, for their having no comfort of worship?” + +“Certainly: but you see how it is with Mr. Finch, and you and I cannot +alter it. He has taken a panic; and I am sure he is the one most to be +pitied for that. I can tell you too, between ourselves, that Mr. Finch +judges himself, at times, as severely as we can judge him; and is more +unhappy about being of so little use to his people than his worst enemy +could wish him.” + +“Then, Ma’am, why does not he pluck up a little spirit, and do his +duty?” + +“He has been made too soft,” he says, “by a fond mother, who is always +sending him cordials and spices against the fever. We must make some +allowance, and look another way. Let us be thankful that you and Ann are +not afraid. If our poor neighbours have not all that we could wish, they +have clean bedding and clothes, and lime-washed rooms, fresh and sweet +compared with anything they have known before.” + +“And,” thought Warrender, though he did not say it, but only touched his +hat as he went after his business, “one as good as any clergyman to pray +by their bedsides, and speak cheerfully to them of what is to come. When +I go up the stair, I might know who is praying by the cheerfulness of +the voice. I never saw such a spirit in any woman,—never. I have never +once seen her cast down, ever so little. If there is a tear in her eye, +for other people’s sake, there is a smile on her lips, because her heart +tells her that everything that happens is all right.” + +This night, Mary was to have slept. She herself had intended it, warned +by the strange feelings which had come over her as she walked up the +street: and it would gratify Aunty’s feelings that the corpse should not +be left. She intended to lie down and sleep beside the still and +unbreathing form of the cousin whose last hours had been so beautiful in +her eyes. But Aunty’s feelings were now tried in another direction. +Unable to move, Aunty was sorely distressed by Jem’s moanings and +restlessness; and Mary was the only one who could keep him quiet in any +degree. So, without interval, she went to her work of nursing again. +Next, the funeral of Mrs. Billiter, and two or three more, fixed for the +same day, were put off, because Mr. Finch was ill. And when Mr. Finch +was ill, he sent to beg the Good Lady to come immediately and nurse him. +After writing to his own family, to desire some of them to come and take +charge of him, she did go to him: but not to remain day and night as she +did with the poor who had none to help them. She saw that all was made +comfortable about him, gave him his medicines at times, and always spoke +cheerfully. But it was as she saw from the beginning. He was dying of +fear, and of the intemperate methods of precaution which he had adopted, +and of dissatisfaction with himself. His nervous depression from the +outset was such as to predispose him to disease, and to allow him no +chance under it. He was sinking when his mother and sister arrived, pale +and tearful, to nurse him: and it did no good that they isolated the +house, and locked the doors, and took things in by the window, after +being fumigated by a sentinel outside. The doctor laughed as he asked +them whether they would not be more glad to see him, if he came down the +chimney, instead of their having to unlock the door for him. He wondered +they had not a vinegar bath for him to go overhead in, before entering +their presence. The ladies thought this shocking levity; and they did +not conceal their opinion. The doctor then spoke gravely enough of the +effects of fear on the human frame. With its effects on the conscience, +and on the peace of the mind, he said he had nothing to do. That was the +department of the physician of souls. (His hearers were unconscious of +the mournful satire conveyed in these words.) His business was with the +effect of fear on the nerves and brain, exhausting through them the +resources of life. He declared that Mr. Finch would probably have been +well at that moment, if he had gone about as freely as other persons +among the sick, more interested in getting them well than afraid of +being ill himself; and, for confirmation, he pointed to the Good Lady +and the Warrenders, who had now for two months run all sorts of risks, +and showed no sign of fever. They were fatigued, he said; too much so; +as he was himself; and something must be done to relieve Miss Pickard +especially; but— + +“Who is she?” inquired the ladies. “Why is she so prominent here?” + +“As for who she is,” replied he, “I only know that she is an angel.” + +“Come down out of the clouds, I suppose.” + +“Something very like it. She dropped into our hollow one August +evening—nobody knows whence nor why. As for her taking the lead here, I +imagine it is because there was nobody else to do it.” + +“But has she saved many lives, do you think?” + +“Yes, of some that are too young to be aware what they owe her; and of +some yet unborn. She could not do much for those who were down in the +fever before she came: except, indeed, that it is much to give them a +sense of relief and comfort of body (though short of saving life) and +peace of mind, and cheerfulness of heart. But the great consequences of +her presence are to come. When I see the change that is taking place in +the cottages here, and in the clothes of the people, and their care of +their skins, and their notions about their food, I feel disposed to +believe that this is the last plague that will ever be known in +Bleaburn.” + +“Plague! O horrid!” exclaimed the shuddering sister. + +“Call it what you will,” the doctor replied. “The name matters little +when the thing makes itself so clear. Yes, by the way, it may matter +much with such a patient as we have within there. Pray, whatever you do, +don’t use the word ‘plague’ within his hearing. You must cheer him up; +only that you sadly want cheering yourselves. I think an hour a day of +the Good Lady’s smile would be the best prescription for you all.” + +“Do you think she would come? We should be so obliged to her if she +would!” + +“And she should have a change of dress lying ready in the passage-room,” +declared the young lady. “I think she is about my size. Do ask her to +come.” + +“When I see that she is not more wanted elsewhere,” replied the doctor. +“I need not explain, however, that that smile of hers is not an effect +without a cause. If we could find out whether we have anything of the +same cause in ourselves; we might have a cheerfulness of our own, +without troubling her to come and give us some.” + +The ladies thought this odd, and did not quite understand it, and agreed +that they should not like to be merry and unfeeling in a time of +affliction; so they cried a great deal when they were not in the sick +room. They derived some general idea, however, from the doctor’s words, +that cheerfulness was good for the patient; and they kept assuring him, +in tones of forced vivacity, that there was no danger, and that the +doctor said he would be well very soon. The patient groaned, remembering +the daily funerals of the last few weeks; and the only consequence was +that he distrusted the doctor. He sank more rapidly than any other fever +patient in the place. In a newspaper paragraph, and on a monumental +tablet, he was described as a martyr to his sacred office in a season of +pestilence; and his family called on future generations to honour him +accordingly. + +“I am sorry for the poor young man,” observed the host at the Plough and +Harrow; “he did very well while nothing went wrong; but he had no spirit +for trying times.” + +“Who has?” murmured farmer Neale. “Any man’s heart may die within him +that looks into the churchyard now.” + +“There’s a woman’s that does not,” observed the host; “I saw the Good +Lady crossing the churchyard this very morning, with a basket of physic +bottles on her arm—” + +“Ah! she goes to help to make up the medicines every day now,” the +hostess explained, “since the people began to suspect foul play in their +physic.” + +“Well; she came across the bit of grass that is left, and looked over +the rows of graves—not smiling exactly, but as if there was not a sad +thought from top to bottom of her mind—much as she might look if she was +coming away from her own wedding.” + +“What is that about ‘sweet hopes,’ in the newspaper?” asked Neale; +“about some ‘sweet hopes’ that Mr. Finch had? Was he going to be +married?” + +“By that, I should think he was in love,” said the host: “and that may +excuse some backwardness in coming forward, you know.” + +“The Good Lady is to be married, when she gets home to America,” the +hostess declared. “Yes, ’tis true. Widow Johnson told the doctor so.” + +“What _will_ her lover say to her risking her life, and spending her +time in such a way, here?” said Neale. + +“She tells her aunt that he will only wish he was here to help her. He +is a clergyman. ‘O!’ says she, ‘he will only wish he was here to help +us.’” + +“I am sure I wish he was,” sighed Neale. “I wonder what sort of a man +will be sent us next. I hope he will be something unlike poor Mr. +Finch.” + +“I think you will have your wish,” said the landlord. “No man of Mr. +Finch’s sort would be likely to come among us at such a time.” + + + + + THE SON OF SORROW. + + A FABLE FROM THE SWEDISH. + + + All lonely, excluded from Heaven, + Sat SORROW one day on the strand; + And, mournfully buried in thought, + Form’d a figure of clay with her hand. + + JOVE appeared. “What is this?” he demands; + She replied. “’Tis a figure of clay. + Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand; + Give it life, mighty Father, I pray!” + + “Let him live!” said the God. “But observe, + As I _lend_ him, he mine must remain.” + “Not so,” SORROW said, and implor’d, + “Oh! let me my offspring retain! + + “’Tis to me his creation he owes.” + “Yes,” said JOVE, “but’twas I gave him breath.” + As he spoke, EARTH appears on the scene, + And, observing the image, thus saith: + + “From me—from my bosom he’s torn, + I demand, then, what’s taken from me.” + “This strife shall be settled,” said JOVE; + “Let SATURN decide ’tween the three.” + + This sentence the Judge gave. “To all + He belongs, so let no one complain; + The life, JOVE, Thou gav’st him shalt Thou + With his soul, when he dies, take again. + + “Thou, EARTH, shalt receive back his frame, + At peace in thy lap he’ll recline; + But during his whole troubled life, + He shall surely, O SORROW, be thine! + + “His features thy look shall reflect; + Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath; + And he ne’er shall be parted from thee + Until he reposes in death!” + + MORAL. + + The sentence of Heaven, then is this: + And hence Man lies under the sod; + Though SORROW possesses him, living, + He returns both to EARTH and to GOD. + + + + + THE APPETITE FOR NEWS. + + +The last great work of that great philosopher and friend of the modern +housewife, Monsieur Alexis Soyer, is remarkable for a curious omission. +Although the author—a foreigner—has abundantly proved his extensive +knowledge of the weakness of his adopted nation; yet there is one of our +peculiarities which he has not probed. Had he left out all mention of +cold punch in connexion with turtle; had his receipt for curry contained +no cayenne; had he forgotten to send up tongs with asparagus, or to +order a service of artichokes without napkins, he would have been +thought forgetful; but when—with the unction of a gastronome, and the +thoughtful skill of an artist—he marshals forth all the luxuries of the +British breakfast-table, and forgets to mention its first necessity, he +shows a sort of ignorance. We put it to his already extensive knowledge +of English character, whether he thinks it possible for any English +subject whose means bring him under the screw of the Income-tax, to +break his fast without—a newspaper. + +The city clerk emerging through folding doors from bed to sitting-room, +though thirsting for tea, and hungering for toast, darts upon that +morning’s journal with an eagerness, and unfolds it with a satisfaction, +which show that all his wants are gratified at once. Exactly at the same +hour, his master, the M.P., crosses the hall of his mansion. As he +enters the breakfast-parlour, he fixes his eye on the fender, where he +knows his favourite damp sheet will be hung up to dry.—When the noble +lord first rings his bell, does not his valet know that, however tardy +the still-room-maid may be with the early coffee, he dares not appear +before his lordship without the ‘Morning Post?’ Would the minister of +state presume to commence the day in town till he has opened the +‘Times,’ or in the country till he has perused the ‘Globe?’ Could the +oppressed farmer handle the massive spoon for his first sip out of his +sèvres cup till he has read of ruin in the ‘Herald’ or ‘Standard?’ Might +the juvenile Conservative open his lips to imbibe old English fare or to +utter Young England opinions, till he has glanced over the ‘Chronicle?’ +Can the financial reformer know breakfast-table happiness till he has +digested the ‘Daily News,’ or skimmed the ‘Express?’ And how would it be +possible for mine host to commence the day without keeping his customers +waiting till he has perused the ‘Advertiser’ or the ‘Sun?’ + +In like manner the provinces cannot—once a week at least—satisfy their +digestive organs till their local organ has satisfied their minds. + +Else, what became of the 67,476,768 newspaper stamps which were issued +in 1848 (the latest year of which a return has been made) to the 150 +London and the 238 provincial English journals; of the 7,497,064 stamps +impressed on the corners of the 97 Scottish, and of the 7,028,956 which +adorned the 117 Irish newspapers? A professor of the new science of +literary mensuration has applied his foot-rule to this mass of print, +and publishes the result in ‘Bentley’s Miscellany.’ According to him, +the press sent forth, in daily papers alone, a printed surface amounting +in twelve months to 349,308,000 superficial feet. If to these are added +all the papers printed weekly and fortnightly in London and the +provinces, the whole amounts to 1,446,150,000 square feet of printed +surface, which was, in 1849, placed before the comprehensive vision of +John Bull. The area of a single morning paper,—the Times say—is more +than nineteen and a half square feet, or nearly five feet by four, +compared with an ordinary octavo volume, the quantity of matter daily +issued is equal to three hundred pages. There are four morning papers +whose superficies are nearly as great, without supplements, which they +seldom publish. A fifth is only half the size. We may reckon, therefore, +that the constant craving of Londoners for news is supplied every +morning with as much as would fill about twelve hundred pages of an +ordinary novel; or not less than five volumes. + +These acres of print sown broad-cast, produce a daily crop to suit every +appetite and every taste. It has winged its way from every spot on the +earth’s surface, and at last settled down and arranged itself into +intelligible meaning, made instinct with ink. Now it tells of a +next-door neighbour; then of dwellers in the uttermost corners of the +earth. The black side of this black and white daily history, consists of +battle, murder, and sudden death; of lightning and tempest; of plague, +pestilence, and famine; of sedition, privy conspiracy and rebellion; of +false doctrine, heresy, and schism; of all other crimes, casualties, and +falsities, which we are enjoined to pray to be defended from. The white +side chronicles heroism, charitableness, high purpose, and lofty deeds; +it advocates the truest doctrines, and the practice of the most exalted +virtue: it records the spread of commerce, religion, and science; it +expresses the wisdom of the few sages and shows the ignorance of the +neglected many—in fine, good and evil as broadly defined or as +inextricably mixed in the newspapers as they are over the great globe +itself. + +With this variety of temptation for all tastes, it is no wonder that +those who have the power have also the will to read newspapers. The +former are not very many in this country where, among the great bulk of +the population, reading still remains an accomplishment. It was so in +Addison’s time. ‘There is no humour of my countrymen,’ says the +Spectator, ‘which I am more inclined to wonder at, than their great +thirst for news.’ This was written at the time of imposition of the tax +on newspapers, when the indulgence in the appetite received a check from +increased costliness. From that date (1712) the statistical history of +the public appetite for news is written in the Stamp Office. For half a +century from the days of the Spectator, the number of British and Irish +newspapers was few. In 1782 there were only seventy-nine, but in the +succeeding eight years they increased rapidly. There was ‘great news’ +stirring in the world in that interval,—the American War, the French +Revolution; beside which, the practice had sprung up of giving domestic +occurrences in fuller detail than heretofore, and journals became more +interesting from that cause. In 1790 they had nearly doubled in number, +having reached one hundred and forty-six. This augmentation took place +partly in consequence of the establishment of weekly papers—which +originated in that year—and of which thirty-two had been commenced +before the end of it. In 1809, twenty-nine and a half millions of stamps +were issued to newspapers in Great Britain. The circulation of journals +naturally depends upon the materials existing to fill them. While wars +and rumours of wars were rife they were extensively read, but with the +peace their sale fell off. Hence we find, that in 1821 no more than +twenty-four millions of newspapers were disposed of. Since then the +spread of education—slow as it has been—has increased the productiveness +of journalism. During the succeeding eight-and-twenty years, the +increase may be judged of by reference to the figures we have already +jotted down; the sum of which is, that during the year 1848 there were +issued, for English, Irish and Scotch newspapers eighty-two millions of +stamps,—more than thrice as many as were paid for in 1821. The cause of +this increase was chiefly the reduction of the duty from an average of +threepence to one penny per stamp. + +A curious comparison of the quantity of news devoured by an +Englishman and a Frenchman, was made in 1819, in the _Edinburgh +Review_:—‘thirty-four thousand papers,’ says the writer, are +‘dispatched daily from Paris to the departments, among a population +of about twenty-six millions, making one journal among 776 persons. +By this, the number of newspaper readers in England would be to +those in France as twenty to one. But the number and circulation of +country papers in England are so much greater than in France, that +they raise the proportion of English readers to about twenty-five to +one, and our papers contain about three times as much letter-press +as a French paper. The result of all this is that an Englishman +reads about seventy-five times as much of the newspapers of his +country in a given time, as a Frenchman does of his. But in the +towns of England, most of the papers are distributed by means of +porters, not by post; on the other hand, on account of the number of +coffee-houses, public gardens, and other modes of communication, +less usual in England, it is possible that each French paper may be +read, or listened to, by a greater number of persons, and thus the +English mode of distribution may be compensated. To be quite within +bounds, however, the final result is, that every Englishman reads +daily fifty-times as much as the Frenchman does, of the newspapers +of his country.’ + +From this it might be inferred that the craving for news is peculiarly +English. But the above comparison is chiefly affected by the +restrictions put upon the French press, which, in 1819, were very great. +In this country, the only restrictions were of a fiscal character; for +opinion and news there was, as now, perfect liberty. It is proved, at +the present day, that Frenchmen love news as much as the English; for +now that all restriction is nominally taken off, there are as many +newspapers circulated in France in proportion to its population, as +there are in England. + +The appetite for news is, in truth, universal; but is naturally +disappointed, rather than bounded, by the ability to read. Hence it is +that the circulation of newspapers is proportioned in various countries +to the spread of letters; and if their sale is proportionately less in +this empire, than it is among better taught populations, it is because +there exist among us fewer persons who are able to read them; either at +all, or so imperfectly, that attempts to spell them give the tyro more +pain than pleasure. In America, where a system of national education has +made a nation of readers, (whose taste is perhaps susceptible of vast +improvement, but who are readers still) the sale of newspapers greatly +exceeds that of Great Britain. All over the continent there are also +more newspaper _readers_, in proportion to the number of people, though, +perhaps, fewer buyers, from the facilities afforded by coffee-houses and +reading-rooms, which all frequent. In support of this fact, we need go +no farther than the three kingdoms. Scotland—where national education +has largely given the ability to read—a population of three millions +demands yearly from the Stamp Office seven and a half millions of +stamps; while in Ireland, where national education has had no time for +development, eight millions of people take half a million of stamps +_less_ than Scotland. + +Although it cannot be said that the appetite for mere news is one of an +elevated character; yet as we have before hinted, the dissemination of +news takes place side by side with some of the most sound, practical, +and ennobling sentiments and precepts that issue from any other channels +of the press. As an engine of public liberty, the newspaper press is +more effectual than the Magna Charta, because its powers are wielded +with more ease, and exercised with more promptitude and adaptiveness to +each particular case. + +Mr. F. K. Hunt in his ‘Fourth Estate’ remarks, ‘The moral of the history +of the press seems to be, that when any large proportion of a people +have been taught to read, and when upon this possession of the tools of +knowledge, there has grown up a habit of perusing public prints, the +state is virtually powerless if it attempts to check the press. James +the Second in old times, and Charles the Tenth, and Louis Philippe, more +recently, tried to trample down the Newspapers, and everybody knows how +the attempt resulted. The prevalence or scarcity of Newspapers in a +country affords a sort of index to its social state. Where Journals are +numerous, the people have power, intelligence, and wealth; where +Journals are few, the many are in reality mere slaves. In the United +States every village has its Newspaper, and every city a dozen of these +organs of popular sentiment. In England we know how numerous and how +influential for good the Papers are; whilst in France they have perhaps +still greater power. Turn to Russia, where Newspapers are comparatively +unknown, and we see the people sold with the earth they are compelled to +till. Austria, Italy, Spain, occupy positions between the extremes—the +rule holding good in all, that in proportion to the freedom of the press +is the freedom and prosperity of the people.’ + + + Monthly Supplement of ‘HOUSEHOLD WORDS,’ + + Conducted by CHARLES DICKENS. + + _Price 2d., Stamped 3d._, + + THE HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVE + + OF + + CURRENT EVENTS. + + _The Number, containing a history of the past month, was issued with + the Magazines._ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● The caret (^) is used to indicate superscript, whether applied to a + single character (as in 2^d) or to an entire expression (as in + 1^{st}). + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78175 *** |