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diff --git a/78177-0.txt b/78177-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bfdd778 --- /dev/null +++ b/78177-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2314 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78177 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 13.] SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + THE SUNDAY SCREW. + + +This little instrument, remarkable for its curious twist, has been at +work again. A small portion of the collective wisdom of the nation has +affirmed the principle that there must be no collection or delivery of +posted letters on a Sunday. The principle was discussed by something +less than a fourth of the House of Commons, and affirmed by something +less than a seventh. + +Having no doubt whatever, that this brilliant victory is, in effect, the +affirmation of the principle that there ought to be No Anything hut +churches and chapels on a Sunday; or, that it is the beginning of a +Sabbatarian Crusade, outrageous to the spirit of Christianity, +irreconcileable with the health, the rational enjoyments, and the true +religious feeling, of the community; and certain to result, if +successful, in a violent reaction, threatening contempt and hatred of +that seventh day which it is a great religious and social object to +maintain in the popular affection; it would ill become us to be deterred +from speaking out upon the subject, by any fear of being misunderstood, +or by any certainty of being misrepresented. + +Confident in the sense of the country, and not unacquainted with the +habits and exigencies of the people, we approach the Sunday question, +quite undiscomposed by the late storm of mad mis-statement and all +uncharitableness, which cleared the way for Lord Ashley’s motion. The +preparation may be likened to that which is usually described in the +case of the Egyptian Sorcerer and the boy who has some dark liquid +poured into the palm of his hand, which is presently to become a magic +mirror. “Look for Lord Ashley. What do you see?” “Oh, here’s some one +with a broom!” “Well! what is he doing?” “Oh, he’s sweeping away Mr. +Rowland Hill! Now, there is a great crowd; of people all sweeping Mr. +Rowland Hill away; and now, there is a red flag with Intolerance on it; +and now, they are pitching a great many Tents called Meetings. Now, the +tents are all upset, and Mr. Rowland Hill has swept everybody else away. +And oh! _now_, here’s Lord Ashley, with a Resolution in his hand!” + +One Christian sentence is all-sufficient with us, on the theological +part of this subject. “The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the +Sabbath.” No amount of signatures to petitions can ever sign away the +meaning of those words; no end of volumes of Hansard’s Parliamentary +Debates can ever affect them in the least. Move and carry resolutions, +bring in bills, have committees, upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s +chamber; read a first time, read a second time, read a third time, read +thirty thousand times; the declared authority of the Christian +dispensation over the letter of the Jewish Law, particularly in this +especial instance, cannot be petitioned, resolved, read, or committee’d +away. + +It is important in such a case as this affirmation of a principle, to +know what amount of practical sense and logic entered into its +assertion. We will inquire. + +Lord Ashley (who has done much good, and whom we mention with every +sentiment of sincere respect, though we believe him to be most +mischievously deluded on this question,) speaks of the people employed +in the Country Post-Offices on Sunday, as though they were continually +at work, all the livelong day. He asks whether they are to be “a Pariah +race, excluded from the enjoyments of the rest of the community?” He +presents to our mind’s eye, rows of Post-Office clerks, sitting, with +dishevelled hair and dirty linen, behind small shutters, all Sunday +long, keeping time with their sighs to the ringing of the church bells, +and watering bushels of letters, incessantly passing through their +hands, with their tears. Is this exactly the reality? The Upas tree is a +figure of speech almost as ancient as our lachrymose friend the Pariah, +in whom most of us recognise a respectable old acquaintance. Supposing +we were to take it into our heads to declare in these Household Words, +that every Post-Office clerk employed on Sunday in the country, is +compelled to sit under his own particular sprig of Upas, planted in a +flower-pot beside him for the express purpose of blighting him with its +baneful shade, should we be much more beyond the mark than Lord Ashley +himself? Did any of our readers ever happen to post letters in the +Country on a Sunday? Did they ever see a notice outside a provincial +Post-Office, to the effect that the presiding Pariah would be in +attendance at such an hour on Sunday, and not before? Did they ever wait +for the Pariah, at some inconvenience, until the hour arrived, and +observe him come to the office in an extremely spruce condition as to +his shirt collar, and do a little sprinkling of business in a very easy +offhand manner? We have such recollections ourselves. We have posted and +received letters in most parts of this kingdom on a Sunday, and we never +yet observed the Pariah to be quite crushed. On the contrary, we have +seen him at church, apparently in the best health and spirits +(notwithstanding an hour or so of sorting, earlier in the morning), and +we have met him out a-walking with the young lady to whom he is engaged, +and we have known him meet her again with her cousin, after the dispatch +of the Mails, and really conduct himself as if he were not particularly +exhausted or afflicted. Indeed, how _could_ he be so, on Lord Ashley’s +own showing? There is a Saturday before the Sunday. We are a people +indisposed, he says, to business on a Sunday. More than a million of +people are known, from their petitions, to be too scrupulous to hear of +such a thing. Few counting-houses or offices are ever opened on a +Sunday. The Merchants and Bankers write by Saturday night’s post. The +Sunday night’s post may be presumed to be chiefly limited to letters of +necessity and emergency. Lord Ashley’s whole case would break down, if +it were probable that the Post-Office Pariah had half as much +confinement on Sunday, as the He-Pariah who opens my Lord’s street-door +when any body knocks, or the She-Pariah who nurses my Lady’s baby. + +If the London Post-Office be not opened on a Sunday, says Lord Ashley, +why should the Post-Offices of provincial towns be opened on a Sunday? +Precisely because the provincial towns are NOT London, we apprehend. +Because London is the great capital, mart, and business-centre of the +world; because in London there are hundreds of thousands of people, +young and old, away from their families and friends; because the +stoppage of the Monday’s Post Delivery in London would stop, for many +precious hours, the natural flow of the blood from every vein and artery +in the world to the heart of the world, and its return from the heart +through all those tributary channels. Because the broad difference +between London and every other place in England, necessitated this +distinction, and has perpetuated it. + +But, to say nothing of petitioners elsewhere, it seems that two hundred +merchants and bankers in Liverpool “formed themselves into a committee, +to forward the object of this motion.” In the name of all the Pharisees +of Jerusalem, could not the two hundred merchants and bankers form +themselves into a committee to write or read no business-letters +themselves on a Sunday—and let the Post-Office alone? The Government +establishes a monopoly in the Post-Office, and makes it not only +difficult and expensive for me to send a letter by any other means, but +illegal. What right has any merchant or banker to stop the course of any +letter that I may have sore necessity to post, or may choose to post? If +any one of the two hundred merchants and bankers lay at the point of +death, on Sunday, would he desire his absent child to be written to—the +Sunday Post being yet in existence? And how do they take upon themselves +to tell us that the Sunday Post is not a “necessity,” when they know, +every man of them, every Sunday morning, that before the clock strikes +next, they and theirs may be visited by any one of incalculable millions +of accidents, to make it a dire need? Not a necessity? Is it possible +that these merchants and bankers suppose there is any Sunday Post, from +any large town, which is not a very agony of necessity to some one? I +might as well say, in my pride of strength, that a knowledge of +bone-setting in surgeons is not a necessity, because I have not broken +my leg. + +There is a Sage of this sort in the House of Commons. He is of opinion +that the Sunday Police is a necessity, but the Sunday Post is not. That +is to say, in a certain house in London or Westminster, there are +certain silver spoons, engraved with the family crest—a Bigot +rampant—which would be pretty sure to disappear, on an early Sunday, if +there were no Policemen on duty; whereas the Sage sees no present +probability of his requiring to write a letter into the country on a +Saturday night—and, if it should arise, he can use the Electric +Telegraph. Such is the sordid balance some professing Heathens hold of +their own pounds against other men’s pennies, and their own selfish +wants against those of the community at large! Even the Member for +Birmingham, of all the towns in England, is afflicted by this selfish +blindness, and, because _he_ is “tired of reading and answering letters +on a Sunday,” cannot conceive the possibility of there being other +people not so situated, to whom the Sunday Post may, under many +circumstances, be an unspeakable blessing. + +The inconsequential nature of Lord Ashley’s positions, cannot be better +shown, than by one brief passage from his speech. “When he said the +transmission of the Mail, he meant the Mail-bags; he did not propose to +interfere with the passengers.” No? Think again, Lord Ashley. + +When the Honorable Member for Whitened Sepulchres moves his resolution +for the stoppage of Mail Trains—in a word, of all Railway travelling—on +Sunday; and when that Honorable Gentleman talks about the Pariah clerks +who take the money and give the tickets, the Pariah engine-drivers, the +Pariah stokers, the Pariah porters, the Pariah police along the line, +and the Pariah flys waiting at the Pariah stations to take the Pariah +passengers, to be attended by Pariah servants at the Pariah Arms and +other Pariah Hotels; what will Lord Ashley do then? Envy insinuated that +Tom Thumb made his giants first, and then killed them, but you cannot do +the like by your Pariahs. You cannot get an exclusive patent for the +manufacture and destruction of Pariah dolls. Other Honorable Gentlemen +are certain to engage in the trade; and when the Honorable Member for +Whitened Sepulchres makes _his_ Pariahs of all these people, you cannot +refuse to recognise them as being of the genuine sort, Lord Ashley. +Railway and all other Sunday Travelling, suppressed, by the Honorable +Member for Whitened Sepulchres, the same honorable gentleman, who will +not have been particularly complimented in the course of that +achievement by the Times Newspaper, will discover that a good deal is +done towards the Times of Monday, on a Sunday night, and will Pariah the +whole of that immense establishment. For, this is the great +inconvenience of Pariah-making, that when you begin, they spring up like +mushrooms: insomuch, that it is very doubtful whether we shall have a +house in all this land, from the Queen’s Palace downward, which will not +be found, on inspection, to be swarming with Pariahs. Not touch the +Mails, and yet abolish the Mail-bags? Stop all those silent messengers +of affection and anxiety, yet let the talking traveller, who is the +cause of infinitely more employment, go? Why, this were to suppose all +men Fools, and the Honorable Member for Whitened Sepulchres even a +greater Noodle than he is! + +Lord Ashley supports his motion by reading some perilous bombast, said +to be written by a working man—of whom the intelligent body of working +men have no great reason, to our thinking, to be proud—in which there is +much about not being robbed of the boon of the day of rest; but, with +all Lord Ashley’s indisputably humane and benevolent impulses, we grieve +to say we know no robber whom the working man, really desirous to +preserve his Sunday, has so much to dread, as Lord Ashley himself. He is +weakly lending the influence of his good intentions to a movement which +would make that day no day of rest—rest to those who are overwrought, +includes recreation, fresh air, change—but a day of mortification and +gloom. And this not to one class only, be it understood. This is not a +class question. If there be no gentleman of spirit in the House of +Commons to remind Lord Ashley that the high-flown nonsense he quoted, +concerning labour, is but another form of the stupidest socialist dogma, +which seeks to represent that there is only one class of laborers on +earth, it is well that the truth should be stated somewhere. And it is, +indisputably, that three-fourths of us are laborers who work hard for +our living; and that the condition of what we call the working man, has +its parallel, at a remove of certain degrees, in almost all professions +and pursuits. Running through the middle classes, is a broad deep vein +of constant, compulsory, indispensable work. There are innumerable +gentlemen, and sons and daughters of gentlemen, constantly at work, who +have no more hope of making fortunes in their vocation, than the working +man has in his. There are innumerable families in which the day of rest, +is the only day out of the seven, where innocent domestic recreations +and enjoyments are very feasible. In our mean gentility, which is the +cause of so much social mischief, we may try to separate ourselves, as +to this question, from the working man; and may very complacently +resolve that there is no occasion for his excursion-trains and +tea-gardens, because we don’t use them; but we had better not deceive +ourselves. It is impossible that we can cramp his means of needful +recreation and refreshment, without cramping our own, or basely cheating +him. We cannot leave him to the Christian patronage of the Honourable +Member for Whitened Sepulchres, and take ourselves off. We cannot +restrain him and leave ourselves free. Our Sunday wants are pretty much +the same as his, though his are far more easily satisfied; our +inclinations and our feelings are pretty much the same; and it will be +no less wise than honest in us, the middle classes, not to be +Janus-faced about the matter. + +What is it that the Honorable Member for Whitened Sepulchres, for whom +Lord Ashley clears the way, wants to do? He sees on a Sunday morning, in +the large towns of England, when the bells are ringing for church and +chapel, certain unwashed, dim-eyed, dissipated loungers, hanging about +the doors of public-houses, and loitering at the street corners, to whom +the day of rest appeals in much the same degree as a sunny summer-day +does to so many pigs. Does he believe that any weight of handcuffs on +the Post-Office, or any amount of restriction imposed on decent people, +will bring Sunday home to these? Let him go, any Sunday morning, from +the new Town of Edinburgh where the sound of a piano would be +profanation, to the old Town, and see what Sunday is in the Canongate. +Or let him get up some statistics of the drunken people in Glasgow, +while the churches are full—and work out the amount of Sabbath +observance which is carried downward, by rigid shows and sad-colored +forms. + +But, there is another class of people, those who take little jaunts, and +mingle in social little assemblages, on a Sunday, concerning whom the +whole constituency of Whitened Sepulchres, with their Honorable Member +in the chair, find their lank hair standing on end with horror, and +pointing, as if they were all electrified, straight up to the skylights +of Exeter Hall. In reference to this class, we would whisper in the ears +of the disturbed assemblage, three short words, “Let well alone!” + +The English people have long been remarkable for their domestic habits, +and their household virtues and affections. They are, now, beginning to +be universally respected by intelligent foreigners who visit this +country, for their unobtrusive politeness, their good-humour, and their +cheerful recognition of all restraints that really originate in +consideration for the general good. They deserve this testimony (which +we have often heard, of late, with pride) most honorably. Long maligned +and mistrusted, they proved their case from the very first moment of +having it in their power to do so; and have never, on any single +occasion within our knowledge, abused any public confidence that has +been reposed in them. It is an extraordinary thing to know of a people, +systematically excluded from galleries and museums for years, that their +respect for such places, and for themselves as visitors to them, dates, +without any period of transition, from the very day when their doors +were freely opened. The national vices are surprisingly few. The people +in general are not gluttons, nor drunkards, nor gamblers, nor addicted +to cruel sports, nor to the pushing of any amusement to furious and wild +extremes. They are moderate, and easily pleased, and very sensible to +all affectionate influences. Any knot of holiday-makers, without a large +proportion of women and children among them, would be a perfect +phenomenon. Let us go into any place of Sunday enjoyment where any fair +representation of the people resort, and we shall find them decent, +orderly, quiet, sociable among their families and neighbours. There is a +general feeling of respect for religion, and for religious observances. +The churches and chapels are well filled. Very few people who keep +servants or apprentices, leave out of consideration their opportunities +of attending church or chapel; the general demeanour within those +edifices, is particularly grave and decorous; and the general +recreations without, are of a harmless and simple kind. Lord Brougham +never did Henry Brougham more justice, than in declaring to the House of +Lords, after the success of this motion in the House of Commons, that +there is no country where the Sabbath is, on the whole, better observed +than in England. Let the constituency of Whitened Sepulchres ponder, in +a Christian spirit, on these things; take care of their own consciences; +leave their Honorable Member to take care of his; and let well alone. + +For, it is in nations as in families. Too tight a hand in these +respects, is certain to engender a disposition to break loose, and to +run riot. If the private experience of any reader, pausing on this +sentence, cannot furnish many unhappy illustrations of its truth, it is +a very fortunate experience indeed. Our most notable public example of +it, in England, is just two hundred years old. + +Lord Ashley had better merge his Pariahs into the body politic; and the +Honorable Member for Whitened Sepulchres had better accustom his +jaundiced eyes to the Sunday sight of dwellers in towns, roaming in +green fields, and gazing upon country prospects. If he will look a +little beyond them, and lift up the eyes of his mind, perhaps he may +observe a mild, majestic figure in the distance, going through a field +of corn, attended by some common men who pluck the grain as they pass +along, and whom their Divine Master teaches that he is the Lord, even of +the Sabbath-Day. + + + + + THE YOUNG ADVOCATE. + + +Antoine de Chaulieu was the son of a poor gentleman of Normandy, with a +long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and a large family. Jacques Rollet +was the son of a brewer, who did not know who his grandfather was; but +he had a long purse and only two children. As these youths flourished in +the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and were near +neighbours, they naturally hated each other. Their enmity commenced at +school, where the delicate and refined De Chaulieu being the only +gentil-homme amongst the scholars, was the favorite of the master (who +was a bit of an aristocrat in his heart) although he was about the worst +dressed boy in the establishment, and never had a sou to spend; whilst +Jacques Rollet, sturdy and rough, with smart clothes and plenty of +money, got flogged six days in the week, ostensibly for being stupid and +not learning his lessons—which, indeed, he did not—but, in reality, for +constantly quarrelling with and insulting De Chaulieu, who had not +strength to cope with him. When they left the academy, the feud +continued in all its vigour, and was fostered by a thousand little +circumstances arising out of the state of the times, till a separation +ensued in consequence of an aunt of Antoine de Chaulieu’s undertaking +the expense of sending him to Paris to study the law, and of maintaining +him there during the necessary period. + +With the progress of events came some degree of reaction in favour of +birth and nobility, and then Antoine, who had passed for the bar, began +to hold up his head and endeavoured to push his fortunes; but fate +seemed against him. He felt certain that if he possessed any gift in the +world it was that of eloquence, but he could get no cause to plead; and +his aunt dying inopportunely, first his resources failed, and then his +health. He had no sooner returned to his home, than, to complicate his +difficulties completely, he fell in love with Mademoiselle Natalie de +Bellefonds, who had just returned from Paris, where she had been +completing her education. To expatiate on the perfections of +Mademoiselle Natalie, would be a waste of ink and paper; it is +sufficient to say that she really was a very charming girl, with a +fortune which, though not large, would have been a most desirable +acquisition to De Chaulieu, who had nothing. Neither was the fair +Natalie indisposed to listen to his addresses; but her father could not +be expected to countenance the suit of a gentleman, however well-born, +who had not a ten-sous piece in the world, and whose prospects were a +blank. + +Whilst the ambitious and love-sick young barrister was thus pining in +unwelcome obscurity, his old acquaintance, Jacques Rollet, had been +acquiring an undesirable notoriety. There was nothing really bad in +Jacques’ disposition, but having been bred up a democrat, with a hatred +of the nobility, he could not easily accommodate his rough humour to +treat them with civility when it was no longer safe to insult them. The +liberties he allowed himself whenever circumstances brought him into +contact with the higher classes of society, had led him into many +scrapes, out of which his father’s money had one way or another released +him; but that source of safety had now failed. Old Rollet having been +too busy with the affairs of the nation to attend to his business, had +died insolvent, leaving his son with nothing but his own wits to help +him out of future difficulties, and it was not long before their +exercise was called for. Claudine Rollet, his sister, who was a very +pretty girl, had attracted the attention of Mademoiselle de Bellefonds’ +brother, Alphonso; and as he paid her more attention than from such a +quarter was agreeable to Jacques, the young men had had more than one +quarrel on the subject, on which occasions they had each, +characteristically, given vent to their enmity, the one in contemptuous +monosyllables, and the other in a volley of insulting words. But +Claudine had another lover more nearly of her own condition of life; +this was Claperon, the deputy governor of the Rouen jail, with whom she +had made acquaintance during one or two compulsory visits paid by her +brother to that functionary; but Claudine, who was a bit of a coquette, +though she did not altogether reject his suit, gave him little +encouragement, so that betwixt hopes, and fears, and doubts, and +jealousies, poor Claperon led a very uneasy kind of life. + +Affairs had been for some time in this position, when, one fine morning, +Alphonse de Bellefonds was not to be found in his chamber when his +servant went to call him; neither had his bed been slept in. He had been +observed to go out rather late on the preceding evening, but whether or +not he had returned, nobody could tell. He had not appeared at supper, +but that was too ordinary an event to awaken suspicion; and little alarm +was excited till several hours had elapsed, when inquiries were +instituted and a search commenced, which terminated in the discovery of +his body, a good deal mangled, lying at the bottom of a pond which had +belonged to the old brewery. Before any investigations had been made, +every person had jumped to the conclusion that the young man had been +murdered, and that Jacques Rollet was the assassin. There was a strong +presumption in favour of that opinion, which further perquisitions +tended to confirm. Only the day before, Jacques had been heard to +threaten Mons. de Bellefonds with speedy vengeance. On the fatal +evening, Alphonse and Claudine had been seen together in the +neighbourhood of the now dismantled brewery; and as Jacques, betwixt +poverty and democracy, was in bad odour with the prudent and respectable +part of society, it was not easy for him to bring witnesses to +character, or prove an unexceptionable alibi. As for the Bellefonds and +De Chaulieus, and the aristocracy in general, they entertained no doubt +of his guilt; and finally, the magistrates coming to the same opinion, +Jacques Rollet was committed for trial, and as a testimony of good will, +Antoine de Chaulieu was selected by the injured family to conduct the +prosecution. + +Here, at last, was the opportunity he had sighed for! So interesting a +case, too, furnishing such ample occasion for passion, pathos, +indignation! And how eminently fortunate that the speech which he set +himself with ardour to prepare, would be delivered in the presence of +the father and brother of his mistress, and perhaps of the lady herself! +The evidence against Jacques, it is true, was altogether presumptive; +there was no proof whatever that he had committed the crime; and for his +own part he stoutly denied it. But Antoine de Chaulieu entertained no +doubt of his guilt, and his speech was certainly well calculated to +carry that conviction into the bosom of others. It was of the highest +importance to his own reputation that he should procure a verdict, and +he confidently assured the afflicted and enraged family of the victim +that their vengeance should be satisfied. Under these circumstances +could anything be more unwelcome than a piece of intelligence that was +privately conveyed to him late on the evening before the trial was to +come on, which tended strongly to exculpate the prisoner, without +indicating any other person as the criminal. Here was an opportunity +lost. The first step of the ladder on which he was to rise to fame, +fortune, and a wife, was slipping from under his feet! + +Of course, so interesting a trial was anticipated with great eagerness +by the public, and the court was crowded with all the beauty and fashion +of Rouen. Though Jacques Rollet persisted in asserting his innocence, +founding his defence chiefly on circumstances which were strongly +corroborated by the information that had reached De Chaulieu the +preceding evening,—he was convicted. + +In spite of the very strong doubts he privately entertained respecting +the justice of the verdict, even De Chaulieu himself, in the first flush +of success, amidst a crowd of congratulating friends, and the approving +smiles of his mistress, felt gratified and happy; his speech had, for +the time being, not only convinced others, but himself; warmed with his +own eloquence, he believed what he said. But when the glow was over, and +he found himself alone, he did not feel so comfortable. A latent doubt +of Rollet’s guilt now burnt strongly in his mind, and he felt that the +blood of the innocent would be on his head. It is true there was yet +time to save the life of the prisoner, but to admit Jacques innocent, +was to take the glory out of his own speech, and turn the sting of his +argument against himself. Besides, if he produced the witness who had +secretly given him the information, he should be self-condemned, for he +could not conceal that he had been aware of the circumstance before the +trial. + +Matters having gone so far, therefore, it was necessary that Jacques +Rollet should die; so the affair took its course; and early one morning +the guillotine was erected in the court yard of the jail, three +criminals ascended the scaffold, and three heads fell into the basket, +which were presently afterwards, with the trunks that had been attached +to them, buried in a corner of the cemetery. + +Antoine de Chaulieu was now fairly started in his career, and his +success was as rapid as the first step towards it had been tardy. He +took a pretty apartment in the Hôtel Marbœuf, Rue Grange-Batelière, and +in a short time was looked upon as one of the most rising young +advocates in Paris. His success in one line brought him success in +another; he was soon a favourite in society, and an object of interest +to speculating mothers; but his affections still adhered to his old love +Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family now gave their assent to the +match—at least, prospectively—a circumstance which furnished such an +additional incentive to his exertions, that in about two years from the +date of his first brilliant speech, he was in a sufficiently flourishing +condition to offer the young lady a suitable home. In anticipation of +the happy event, he engaged and furnished a suite of apartments in the +Rue du Helder; and as it was necessary that the bride should come to +Paris to provide her trousseau, it was agreed that the wedding should +take place there, instead of at Bellefonds, as had been first projected; +an arrangement the more desirable, that a press of business rendered +Mons. de Chaulieu’s absence from Paris inconvenient. + +Brides and bridegrooms in France, except of the very high classes, are +not much in the habit of making those honeymoon excursions so universal +in this country. A day spent in visiting Versailles, or St. Cloud, or +even the public places of the city, is generally all that precedes the +settling down into the habits of daily life. In the present instance St. +Denis was selected, from the circumstance of Natalie’s having a younger +sister at school there; and also because she had a particular desire to +see the Abbey. + +The wedding was to take place on a Thursday; and on the Wednesday +evening, having spent some hours most agreeably with Natalie, Antoine de +Chaulieu returned to spend his last night in his bachelor apartments. +His wardrobe and other small possessions, had already been packed up and +sent to his future home; and there was nothing left in his room now, but +his new wedding suit, which he inspected with considerable satisfaction +before he undressed and lay down to sleep. Sleep, however, was somewhat +slow to visit him; and the clock had struck _one_, before he closed his +eyes. When he opened them again, it was broad daylight; and his first +thought was, had he overslept himself? He sat up in bed to look at the +clock which was exactly opposite, and as he did so, in the large mirror +over the fire-place, he perceived a figure standing behind him. As the +dilated eyes met his own, he saw it was the face of Jacques Rollet. +Overcome with horror he sunk back on his pillow, and it was some minutes +before he ventured to look again in that direction; when he did so, the +figure had disappeared. + +The sudden revulsion of feeling such a vision was calculated to occasion +in a man elate with joy, may be conceived! For some time after the death +of his former foe, he had been visited by not unfrequent twinges of +conscience; but of late, borne along by success, and the hurry of +Parisian life, these unpleasant remembrancers had grown rarer, till at +length they had faded away altogether. Nothing had been further from his +thoughts than Jacques Rollet, when he closed his eyes on the preceding +night, nor when he opened them to that sun which was to shine on what he +expected to be the happiest day of his life! Where were the high-strung +nerves now! The elastic frame! The bounding heart! + +Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time to do so; and +with a trembling hand and quivering knees, he went through the processes +of the toilet, gashing his cheek with the razor, and spilling the water +over his well polished boots. When he was dressed, scarcely venturing to +cast a glance in the mirror as he passed it, he quitted the room and +descended the stairs, taking the key of the door with him for the +purpose of leaving it with the porter; the man, however, being absent, +he laid it on the table in his lodge, and with a relaxed and languid +step proceeded on his way to the church, where presently arrived the +fair Natalie and her friends. How difficult it was now to look happy, +with that pallid face and extinguished eye! + +“How pale you are! Has anything happened? You are surely ill?” were the +exclamations that met him on sides. He tried to carry it off as well as +he could, but felt that the movements he would have wished to appear +alert were only convulsive; and that the smiles with which he attempted +to relax his features, were but distorted grimaces. However, the church +was not the place for further inquiries; and whilst Natalie gently +pressed his hand in token of sympathy, they advanced to the altar, and +the ceremony was performed; after which they stepped into the carriages +waiting at the door, and drove to the apartments of Madme. de +Bellefonds, where an elegant _déjeuner_ was prepared. + +“What ails you, my dear husband?” enquired Natalie, as soon as they were +alone. + +“Nothing, love,” he replied; “nothing, I assure you, but a restless +night and a little overwork, in order that I might have to-day free to +enjoy my happiness!” + +“Are you quite sure? Is there nothing else?” + +“Nothing, indeed; and pray don’t take notice of it, it only makes me +worse!” + +Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that what he said was true; notice +made him worse; so she contented herself with observing him quietly, and +saying nothing; but, as he _felt_ she was observing him, she might +almost better have spoken; words are often less embarrassing things than +too curious eyes. + +When they reached Madame de Bellefonds’ he had the same sort of +questioning and scrutiny to undergo, till he grew quite impatient under +it, and betrayed a degree of temper altogether unusual with him. Then +everybody looked astonished; some whispered their remarks, and others +expressed them by their wondering eyes, till his brow knit, and his +pallid cheeks became flushed with anger. Neither could he divert +attention by eating; his parched mouth would not allow him to swallow +anything but liquids, of which, however, he indulged in copious +libations; and it was an exceeding relief to him when the carriage, +which was to convey them to St. Denis, being announced, furnished an +excuse for hastily leaving the table. Looking at his watch, he declared +it was late; and Natalie, who saw how eager he was to be gone, threw her +shawl over her shoulders, and bidding her friends _good morning_, they +hurried away. + +It was a fine sunny day in June; and as they drove along the crowded +boulevards, and through the Porte St. Denis, the young bride and +bridegroom, to avoid each other’s eyes, affected to be gazing out of the +windows; but when they reached that part of the road where there was +nothing but trees on each side, they felt it necessary to draw in their +heads, and make an attempt at conversation. De Chaulieu put his arm +round his wife’s waist, and tried to rouse himself from his depression; +but it had by this time so reacted upon her, that she could not respond +to his efforts, and thus the conversation languished, till both felt +glad when they reached their destination, which would, at all events, +furnish them something to talk about. + +Having quitted the carriage, and ordered a dinner at the Hôtel de +l’Abbaye, the young couple proceeded to visit Mademoiselle Hortense de +Bellefonds, who was overjoyed to see her sister and new brother-in-law, +and doubly so when she found that they had obtained permission to take +her out to spend the afternoon with them. As there is little to be seen +at St. Denis but the Abbey, on quitting that part of it devoted to +education, they proceeded to visit the church, with its various objects +of interest; and as De Chaulieu’s thoughts were now forced into another +direction, his cheerfulness began insensibly to return. Natalie looked +so beautiful, too, and the affection betwixt the two young sisters was +so pleasant to behold! And they spent a couple of hours wandering about +with Hortense, who was almost as well informed as the Suisse, till the +brazen doors were open which admitted them to the Royal vault. +Satisfied, at length, with what they had seen, they began to think of +returning to the inn, the more especially as De Chaulieu, who had not +eaten a morsel of food since the previous evening, owned to being +hungry; so they directed their steps to the door, lingering here and +there as they went, to inspect a monument or a painting, when, happening +to turn his head aside to see if his wife, who had stopt to take a last +look at the tomb of King Dagobert, was following, he beheld with horror +the face of Jacques Rollet appearing from behind a column! At the same +instant, his wife joined him, and took his arm, inquiring if he was not +very much delighted with what he had seen. He attempted to say yes, but +the word would not be forced out; and staggering out of the door, he +alleged that a sudden faintness had overcome him. + +They conducted him to the Hôtel, but Natalie now became seriously +alarmed; and well she might. His complexion looked ghastly, his limbs +shook, and his features bore an expression of indescribable horror and +anguish. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary a change in the +gay, witty, prosperous De Chaulieu, who, till that morning, seemed not +to have a care in the world? For, plead illness as he might, she felt +certain, from the expression of his features, that his sufferings were +not of the body but of the mind; and, unable to imagine any reason for +such extraordinary manifestations, of which she had never before seen a +symptom, but a sudden aversion to herself, and regret for the step he +had taken, her pride took the alarm, and, concealing the distress she +really felt, she began to assume a haughty and reserved manner towards +him, which he naturally interpreted into an evidence of anger and +contempt. The dinner was placed upon the table, but De Chaulieu’s +appetite of which he had lately boasted, was quite gone, nor was his +wife better able to eat. The young sister alone did justice to the +repast; but although the bridegroom could not eat, he could swallow +champagne in such copious draughts, that ere long the terror and remorse +that the apparition of Jacques Rollet had awakened in his breast were +drowned in intoxication. Amazed and indignant, poor Natalie sat silently +observing this elect of her heart, till overcome with disappointment and +grief, she quitted the room with her sister, and retired to another +apartment, where she gave free vent to her feelings in tears. + +After passing a couple of hours in confidences and lamentations, they +recollected that the hours of liberty granted, as an especial favour, to +Mademoiselle Hortense, had expired: but ashamed to exhibit her husband +in his present condition to the eyes of strangers, Natalie prepared to +re-conduct her to the _Maison Royale_ herself. Looking into the +dining-room as they passed, they saw De Chaulieu lying on a sofa fast +asleep, in which state he continued when his wife returned. At length, +however, the driver of their carriage begged to know if Monsieur and +Madame were ready to return to Paris, and it became necessary to arouse +him. The transitory effects of the champagne had now subsided; but when +De Chaulieu recollected what had happened, nothing could exceed his +shame and mortification. So engrossing indeed were these sensations that +they quite overpowered his previous ones, and, in his present vexation, +he, for the moment, forgot his fears. He knelt at his wife’s feet, +begged her pardon a thousand times, swore that he adored her, and +declared that the illness and the effect of the wine had been purely the +consequences of fasting and overwork. It was not the easiest thing in +the world to re-assure a woman whose pride, affection, and taste, had +been so severely wounded; but Natalie tried to believe, or to appear to +do so, and a sort of reconciliation ensued, not quite sincere on the +part of the wife, and very humbling on the part of the husband. Under +these circumstances it was impossible that he should recover his spirits +or facility of manner; his gaiety was forced, his tenderness +constrained; his heart was heavy within him; and ever and anon the +source whence all this disappointment and woe had sprung would recur to +his perplexed and tortured mind. + +Thus mutually pained and distrustful, they returned to Paris, which they +reached about nine o’clock. In spite of her depression, Natalie, who had +not seen her new apartments, felt some curiosity about them, whilst De +Chaulieu anticipated a triumph in exhibiting the elegant home he had +prepared for her. With some alacrity, therefore, they stepped out of the +carriage, the gates of the Hôtel were thrown open, the _concierge_ rang +the bell which announced to the servants that their master and mistress +had arrived, and whilst these domestics appeared above, holding lights +over the balusters, Natalie, followed by her husband, ascended the +stairs. But when they reached the landing-place of the first flight, +they saw the figure of a man standing in a corner as if to make way for +them; the flash from above fell upon his face, and again Antoine de +Chaulieu recognised the features of Jacques Rollet! + +From the circumstance of his wife’s preceding him, the figure was not +observed by De Chaulieu till he was lifting his foot to place it on the +top stair: the sudden shock caused him to miss the step, and, without +uttering a sound, he fell back, and never stopped till he reached the +stones at the bottom. The screams of Natalie brought the concierge from +below and the maids from above, and an attempt was made to raise the +unfortunate man from the ground; but with cries of anguish he besought +them to desist. + +“Let me,” he said, “die here! What a fearful vengeance is thine! Oh, +Natalie, Natalie!” he exclaimed to his wife, who was kneeling beside +him, “to win fame, and fortune, and yourself, I committed a dreadful +crime! With lying words I argued away the life of a fellow-creature, +whom, whilst I uttered them, I half believed to be innocent; and now, +when I have attained all I desired, and reached the summit of my hopes, +the Almighty has sent him back upon the earth to blast me with the +sight. Three times this day—three times this day! Again! again!”—and as +he spoke, his wild and dilated eyes fixed themselves on one of the +individuals that surrounded him. + +“He is delirious,” said they. + +“No,” said the stranger! “What he says is true enough,—at least in +part;” and bending over the expiring man, he added, “May Heaven forgive +you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I was not executed; one who well knew my +innocence saved my life. I may name him, for he is beyond the reach of +the law now,—it was Claperon, the jailer, who loved Claudine, and had +himself killed Alphonse de Bellefonds from jealousy. An unfortunate +wretch had been several years in the jail for a murder committed during +the phrenzy of a fit of insanity. Long confinement had reduced him to +idiocy. To save my life Claperon substituted the senseless being for me, +on the scaffold, and he was executed in my stead. He has quitted the +country, and I have been a vagabond on the face of the earth ever since +that time. At length I obtained, through the assistance of my sister, +the situation of concierge in the Hôtel Marbœuf, in the Rue +Grange-Batelière. I entered on my new place yesterday evening, and was +desired to awaken the gentleman on the third floor at seven o’clock. +When I entered the room to do so, you were asleep, but before I had time +to speak you awoke, and I recognised your features in the glass. Knowing +that I could not vindicate my innocence if you chose to seize me, I +fled, and seeing an omnibus starting for St. Denis, I got on it with a +vague idea of getting on to Calais, and crossing the Channel to England. +But having only a franc or two in my pocket, or indeed in the world, I +did not know how to procure the means of going forward; and whilst I was +lounging about the place, forming first one plan and then another, I saw +you in the church, and concluding you were in pursuit of me, I thought +the best way of eluding your vigilance was to make my way back to Paris +as fast as I could; so I set off instantly, and walked all the way; but +having no money to pay my night’s lodging, I came here to borrow a +couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who lives in the fifth story.” + +“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the dying man; “that sin is off my soul! +Natalie, dear wife, farewell! Forgive! forgive all!” + +These were the last words he uttered; the priest, who had been summoned +in haste, held up the cross before his failing sight; a few strong +convulsions shook the poor bruised and mangled frame; and then all was +still. + +And thus ended the Young Advocate’s Wedding Day. + + + + + EARTH’S HARVESTS. + + “Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.”— + MILTON’S _Sonnet to Cromwell_. + + + Two hundred years ago,[1] the moon + Shone on a battle plain; + Cold through that glowing night of June + Lay steeds and riders slain; + And daisies, bending ’neath strange dew, + Wept in the silver light; + The very turf a regal hue + Assumed that fatal night. + + Time past—but long, to tell the tale, + Some battle-axe or shield, + Or cloven skull, or shattered mail, + Were found upon the field; + The grass grew thickest on the spot + Where high were heaped the dead, + And well it marked, had men forgot, + Where the great charge was made. + + To-day—the sun looks laughing down + Upon the harvest plain, + The little gleaners, rosy-brown, + The merry reaper’s train; + The rich sheaves heaped together stand, + And resting in their shade, + A mother, working close at hand, + Her sleeping babe hath laid. + + A battle-field it was, and is, + For serried spears are there, + And against mighty foes upreared— + Gaunt hunger, pale despair. + We’ll thank God for the hearts of old, + Their strife our freedom sealed; + We’ll praise Him for the sheaves of gold + Now on the battle-field. + +Footnote 1: + + Naseby, June 14, 1646. + + + + + “THE DEVIL’S ACRE.” + + +There are multitudes who believe that Westminster is a city of palaces, +of magnificent squares, and regal terraces; that it is the chosen seat +of opulence, grandeur and refinement; and that filth, squalor, and +misery are the denizens of other and less favoured sections of the +metropolis. The error is not in associating with Westminster much of the +grandeur and splendour of the capital, but in entirely dissociating it +in idea from the darker phases of metropolitan life. As the brightest +lights cast the deepest shadows, so are the splendours and luxuries of +the Westend found in juxta-position with the most deplorable +manifestations of human wretchedness and depravity. There is no part of +the metropolis which presents a more chequered aspect, both physical and +moral, than Westminster. The most lordly streets are frequently but a +mask for the squalid districts which lie behind them, whilst spots +consecrated to the most hallowed of purposes are begirt by scenes of +indescribable infamy and pollution; the blackest tide of moral turpitude +that flows in the capital rolls its filthy wavelets up to the very walls +of Westminster Abbey; and the law-makers for one-seventh of the human +race sit, night after night, in deliberation, in the immediate vicinity +of the most notorious haunt of law-breakers in the empire. There is no +district in London more filthy and disgusting, more steeped in villany +and guilt, than that on which every morning’s sun casts the sombre +shadows of the Abbey, mingled, as they soon will be, with those of the +gorgeous towers of the new “Palace at Westminster.” + +The “Devil’s Acre,” as it is familiarly known in the neighbourhood, is +the square block comprised between Dean, Peter, and Tothill Streets, and +Strutton Ground. It is permeated by Orchard Street, St. Anne’s Street, +Old and New Pye Streets, Pear Street, Perkins’ Rents, and Duck Lane. +From some of these, narrow covered passage-ways lead into small +quadrangular courts, containing but a few crazy, tumble-down-looking +houses, and inhabited by characters of the most equivocal description. +The district, which is small in area, is one of the most populous in +London, almost every house being crowded with numerous families, and +multitudes of lodgers. There are other parts of the town as filthy, +dingy, and forbidding in appearance as this, but these are generally the +haunts more of poverty than crime. But there are none in which guilt of +all kinds and degrees converges in such volume as on this, the moral +plague-spot not only of the metropolis, but also of the kingdom. And yet +from almost every point of it you can observe the towers of the Abbey +peering down upon you, as if they were curious to observe that to which +they seem to be indifferent. + +Such is the spot which true Christian benevolence has, for some time, +marked as a chosen field for its most unostentatious operations. It was +first taken possession of, with a view to its improvement, by the London +City Mission, a body represented in the district by a single missionary, +who has now been for about twelve years labouring—and not without +success—in the arduous work of its purification; and who, by his energy, +tact, and perseverance, has acquired such an influence over its +turbulent and lawless population, as makes him a safer escort to the +stranger desirous of visiting it, than a whole posse of police. By the +aid of several opulent philanthropists whom he has interested in his +labours, he has reared up within the district two schools, which are +numerously attended by the squalid children of the neighbourhood—each +school having an Industrial Department connected with it. An exclusively +Industrial School for boys of more advanced age has also been +established, which has recently been attached to the Ragged School +Union. In addition to these, another institution has been called into +existence, to which and to whose objects the reader’s attention will be +drawn in what follows. + +The Pye Street Schools being designed only for children—many of whom, on +admission, manifest an almost incredible precocity in crime—those of a +more advanced age seeking instruction and reformation were not eligible +to admission. In an applicant of this class, a lad about sixteen, the +master of one of the schools took a deep interest from the earnestness +with which he sought for an opportunity of retrieving himself. He was +invited to attend the school, that he might receive instruction. He was +grateful for the offer, but expressed a doubt of its being sufficient to +rescue him from his criminal and degraded course of life. + +“It will be of little use to me,” said he, “to attend school in the +daytime, if I have to take to the streets again at night, and live, as I +am now living, by thieving.” + +The master saw the difficulty, and determined on trying the experiment +of taking him entirely off the streets. He accordingly paid for a +lodging for him, and secured him bread to eat. For four months the lad +lived contentedly and happily on “bread and dripping,” during which time +he proved his aptitude for instruction by learning to read, to write +tolerably well, and to master all the more useful rules in arithmetic. +He was shortly afterwards sent to Australia, through the kindness of +some individuals who furnished the means. He is now doing well in the +new field thus opportunely opened up to him, and the experiment of which +he was the subject laid the germ of the Institution in question. + +In St. Anne Street, one of the worst and filthiest purlieus of the +district, stands a house somewhat larger and cleaner than the miserable, +rickety, and greasy-looking tenements around it. Over the door are +painted, in large legible characters, the following words: “The Ragged +Dormitory and Colonial Training School of Industry.” On one of the +shutters it is indicated, in similar characters, that the house is a +refuge for “Youths who wish to Reform.” None are admitted under sixteen, +as those under that age can get admission to one or other of the +schools. Those eligible are such vagrants and thieves as are between +sixteen and twenty-two, and desire to abandon their present mode of +life, and lead honest and industrious courses for the future. + +It is obvious that such an institution, if not carefully watched, would +be liable to being greatly abused. The pinching wants of the moment +would drive many into it, whose sole object was to meet there, instead +of to subject themselves to the reformatory discipline of the +establishment. Many would press into it whose love of idleness had +hitherto been their greatest vice. As it is, this latter class is +deterred, to a great extent, from applying, by the Institution confining +its operations to the thief and the vagrant. Each applicant, by applying +for admission, confesses himself to belong to one or other of these +classes, or to both. If he is found to be a subject coming within the +scope of the establishment, he is at once admitted, and subjected to its +discipline. The natural inference would be, that the avowed object of it +would turn applicants from its doors. But this is far from being the +case; upwards of two hundred having applied during the past year, the +second of its existence. + +To distinguish those who are sincere in their application from those who +merely wish to make a convenience, for the time being, of the +establishment, each applicant, on admission, is subjected to a rigid +test. In the attic story of the building is a small room, the walls and +ceiling of which are painted with yellow ochre. Last year, for it is +only recently that the house has been applied to its present purpose, +this room was occupied by a numerous and squalid family, some of whose +members were the first victims of cholera, in Westminster. The massive +chimney-stack projects far into the room, and in the deep recesses +between it and the low walls on either side are two beds formed of +straw, with a coarse counterpane for a covering. Beyond this there is +not a vestige of furniture in the apartment. This is the Probation-room, +the ordeal of which every applicant must pass ere he is fully received +into the Institution. But he must pass a whole fortnight, generally +alone, his fare being bread and water. His allowance of bread is a pound +a-day, which he may dispose of as he pleases, either at a meal or at +several. He does not pass the entire day in solitude, for during +class-hours he is taken down to the school-room, where he is taught with +the rest. But, with that exception, he is not allowed to mingle with the +rest of the inmates, being separated from them for the remainder of the +day, and left to his own reflections in his lonely cell. + +A man, compulsorily subjected to solitude and short commons, may make up +his mind to it, and resign himself to his fate. But no one will +voluntarily subject himself to such a test who is not tired of a +dishonest life, and anxious to reform. In nearly nine cases out of ten +it unmasks the impostor. Many shrink at once from the ordeal, and +retire. Others undergo it for a day or two, and then leave; for, as +there was no compulsion on them to enter, they are at all times at +liberty to depart. Some stay for a week, and then withdraw, whilst +instances have been known of their giving up after ten or twelve days’ +endurance. The few that remain are readily accepted as objects worthy +the best efforts of the establishment. + +The applicants, particularly the vagrants, are generally in the worst +possible condition, as regards clothing. In many cases they are +half-naked, like the wretched objects who make themselves up for charity +in the streets. Their probation over, they are clad in comparatively +decent attire, consisting chiefly of cast-off clothing, furnished by the +contributors to the institution. They are then released from their +solitary dormitory, and admitted to all the privileges of the house. + +The tried and accepted inmates of the Institution have, for the two past +years, averaged about thirty each year. They get up at an early hour, +their first business being to clean out the establishment from top to +bottom. They afterwards assemble at breakfast, which consists of cocoa +and bread, of which they make a hearty meal. The business of instruction +then commences, there being two school-rooms on the first floor, into +one of which the more advanced pupils are put by themselves, the other +being reserved for those that are more backward and for the new comers. +It is into this latter room that the probationers are admitted during +school-hours. During school-hours they are instructed in the fundamental +doctrines of religion, and in the elements of education, including +geography—particularly the geography of the colonies. The master +exercises a general control over the whole establishment. The upper +class is taught by a young man, who was himself one of the earliest +inmates of the Institution, and who is now being trained for becoming a +regular teacher. The other class is usually presided over by a monitor, +also an inmate—but one who is in advance of his fellows. Most of those +now in the house are able to read, and many to read well. Such as have +been thieves are generally able to read when they enter, having been +taught to do so in the prisons; those who cannot read being generally +vagrants, or such as have been thieves without having been apprehended +and convicted. They present a curious spectacle in their class-rooms. +Their ages vary from twenty-one to sixteen, there being two in at +present under sixteen, but they were admitted under special +circumstances. With the exception of the probationers, they are all +dressed comfortably, but in different styles, according to the character +and fashion of the clothing at the command of the establishment. Some +wear the surtout, others the dress-coat; some the short jacket, and +others again the paletot. They are all provided with shoes and +stockings, each being obliged to keep his own shoes scrupulously clean. +Indeed, they are under very wholesome regulations as to their ablutions, +and the general cleanliness of their persons. As they stand ranged in +their classes, the diversity of countenances which they exhibit is as +striking as are the contrasts presented by their raiment. In some faces +you can still trace the brutal expression which they wore on entering. +In others, the low cunning, begotten by their mode of life, was more or +less distinguishable. You could readily point to those who had been +longest in the establishment, from the humanising influences which their +treatment had had upon their looks and expressions. The faces of most of +them were lit up with new-born intelligence, whilst it was painful to +witness the vacant and stolid looks of two of them, who had but recently +passed the ordeal of the dormitory. Generally speaking, they are found +to be quick and apt scholars, their mode of life having tended, in most +instances, to quicken their perceptions. + +Between the morning and afternoon classes they dine,—their dinner +comprising animal food three times a week, being chiefly confined on +other days to bread and dripping. They sup at an early hour in the +evening, when cocoa and bread form again the staple of their meal. After +supper, they spend an hour or two in the training school, which is a +large room adjoining the probationers’ dormitory, where they are +initiated into the mysteries of the tailors’ and shoemakers’ arts, under +the superintendence of qualified teachers. They afterwards retire to +rest, sleeping on beds laid out upon the floor, each bed containing one. +When the house is full, the two class-rooms are converted at night into +sleeping apartments. They are also compelled to attend some place of +worship on the Sunday, and, in case of sickness, have the advantage of a +medical attendant. During a part of the day they are allowed to walk +out, in different gangs,—each gang under the care of one of their +number. In their walks they are restricted as to time, and are required +to avoid, as much as possible, the low neighbourhoods of the town. +Should any of them desire to learn the business of a carpenter; they +have the means of doing so; and two are now engaged in acquiring a +practical knowledge of this useful trade. + +Such is the curriculum which they undergo after being fully admitted +into the house. They are so instructed as to wean them as much as +possible from their former habits, to inspire them with the desire of +living honest lives, and to fit them for becoming useful members of +society, in the different offices for which they are destined. They must +be six months at least in the house before they are deemed ready to +emigrate. Some are kept longer. They are all eager to go,—being, without +exception, sickened at the thought of recurring to their previous habits +of life. From twenty to thirty have already been sent abroad. The +committee who superintend the establishment are anxious to keep forty on +the average in the house throughout the year, in addition to sending +twenty each year abroad. This, however, will require a larger fund than +they have at present at their disposal. + +Such is the Institution which, for two years past, has been silently and +unostentatiously working its own quota of good in this little-known and +pestilential region. It is designed for the reclamation of a class on +which society turns its back. Its doors are open alike to the convicted +and the unconvicted offender. Five-sixths of its present inmates have +been the denizens of many jails—and some of them have only emerged from +the neighbouring Penitentiary. It is not easy to calculate the amount of +mature crime which, in the course of a few years, it will avert from +society, by its timely rescue of the precocious delinquent. It is thus +an institution which may appeal to the selfishness, as well as to the +benevolence, of the community for aid: though not very generally known, +it is visited by many influential parties; and some of the greatest +ornaments of Queen Victoria’s Court have not shrunk from crossing its +threshold and contributing to its support. + +Curious indeed would be the biographies which such an institution could +furnish. The following, extracted from the Master’s Record, will serve +as a specimen. The name is, for obvious reasons, suppressed. + +“John ——, 16 years of age. Admitted June 3rd, 1848. Had slept for four +months previously under the dry arches in West-street. Had made his +livelihood for nearly five years by picking pockets. Was twice in +jail—the last time in Tothill-Fields Prison. The largest sum he ever +stole at a time, was a sovereign and a half. Could read when admitted. +Learnt to write and cipher. Remained for eight months in the house. +Behaved well. Emigrated to Australia. Doing well.” + +It is encouraging to know that the most favourable accounts have been +received both of and from those who have been sent out as emigrants, not +only from this, but also from the Pear Street School. It is now some +time since a lad, who, although only fourteen, was taken into the +latter, was sent to Australia. He had been badly brought up; his mother, +during his boyhood, having frequently sent him out, either to beg or to +steal. About a year after her son’s departure, she called, in a state of +deep distress, upon the missionary of the district, and informed him +that her scanty furniture was about to be seized for rent, asking him at +the same time for advice. He told her that he had none to give her but +to go and pay the rent, at the same time handing her a sovereign. She +received it hesitatingly, doubting, for a moment, the evidence of her +senses. She went and paid the rent, which was eighteen shillings, and +afterwards returned with the change, which she tendered to the +missionary with her heartfelt thanks. He told her to keep the balance, +as the sovereign was her own—informing her, at the same time, that it +had been sent her by her son, and had that very morning so opportunely +come to hand, together with a letter, which he afterwards read to her. +The poor woman for a moment or two looked stupified and incredulous, +after which she sank upon a chair, and wept long and bitterly. The +contrast between her son’s behaviour and her own conduct towards him, +filled her with shame and remorse. She is now preparing to follow him to +Australia. + +Another case was that of a young man, over twenty years of age, who had +likewise been admitted, under special circumstances, to the same +Institution. He had been abandoned by his parents in his early youth, +and had taken to the streets to avert the miseries of destitution. He +soon became expert in the art of picking pockets, on one occasion +depriving a person in Cornhill of no less than a hundred and fifty +pounds in Bank notes. With this, the largest booty he had ever made, he +repaired to a house in the neighbourhood, where stolen property was +received. Into the room into which he was shown, a gloved hand was +projected, through an aperture in the wall, from an adjoining room, into +which he placed the notes. The hand was then withdrawn, and immediately +afterwards projected again with twenty sovereigns, which was the amount +he received for the notes. He immediately repaired to Westminster, and +invested ten pounds of this sum in counterfeit money, at a house not a +stone’s throw from the Institution. + +For the ten pounds he received, in bad money, what represented fifty. +With this he sallied forth into the country with the design of passing +it off—a process known amongst the craft as “shuffle-pitching.” The +first place he went to was Northampton, and the means he generally +adopted for passing off the base coin was this:—Having first buried in +the neighbourhood of the town all the good and bad money in his +possession, with the exception of a sovereign of each, so that, if +detected in passing a bad one, no more bad money would be found upon his +person; he would enter a retail shop, say a draper’s, at a late hour of +the evening, and say that his master had sent him for some article of +small value, such as a handkerchief. On its being shown him, he would +demand the price of it, and make up his mind to take it; whereupon he +would lay down a good sovereign, which the shopkeeper would take up, +but, as he was about to give him change, a doubt would suddenly arise in +his mind as to whether his master would give the price asked for the +article. He would then demand the sovereign back, with a view to going +and consulting his master, promising, at the same time, to be back again +in a few minutes. Back again he would come, and say that his master was +willing to give the price, or that he wished the article at a lower +figure. He took care, however, that a bargain was concluded between him +and the shopkeeper; whereupon he would again lay down the sovereign, +which, however, on this occasion, was the bad and not the good one. The +unsuspecting shopkeeper would give him the change, and he would leave +with the property and the good money. Such is the process of +“shuffle-pitching.” In the majority of instances he succeeded, but was +sometimes detected. In this way he took the circuit twice of Great +Britain and Ireland; stealing as he went along, and passing off the bad +money, which he received, for good. There are few jails in the United +Kingdom of which he has not been a denizen. His two circuits took him +nine years to perform, his progress being frequently arrested by the +interposition of justice. It was at the end of his second journey that +he applied for admission to the Pear Street School. He had been too +often in jail not to be able to read; but he could neither write nor +cipher when he was taken in. He soon learnt, however, to do both; and, +after about seven months’ probation, emigrated to America from his own +choice. The missionary of the district accompanied him on board as he +was about to sail. The poor lad wept like a child when he took leave of +his benefactor, assuring him that he never knew the comforts of a home +until he entered the Pear Street School. Several letters have been +received from him since his landing, and he is now busily employed, +and—doing well! + +Instances of this kind might be multiplied, if necessary, of what is +thus being done daily and unostentatiously for the reclamation of the +penitent offender, not only after conviction, but also before he +undergoes the terrible ordeal of correction and a jail. + + + + + “PRESS ON.” + + + A RIVULET’S SONG. + + “Just under an island, ’midst rushes and moss, + I was born of a rock-spring, and dew; + I was shaded by trees, whose branches and leaves + Ne’er suffered the sun to gaze through. + + “I wandered around the steep brow of a hill, + Where the daisies and violets fair + Were shaking the mist from their wakening eyes, + And pouring their breath on the air. + + “Then I crept gently on, and I moistened the feet + Of a shrub which enfolded a nest— + The bird in return sang his merriest song, + And showed me his feathery crest. + + “How joyous I felt in the bright afternoon, + When the sun, riding off in the west, + Came out in red gold from behind the green trees + And burnished my tremulous breast! + + “My memory now can return to the time + When the breeze murmured low plaintive tones, + While I wasted the day in dancing away, + Or playing with pebbles and stones. + + “It points to the hour when the rain pattered down, + Oft resting awhile in the trees; + Then quickly descending it ruffled my calm, + And whispered to me of the seas! + + “’Twas _then_ the first wish found a home in my breast + To increase as time hurries along; + ’Twas then I first learned to lisp softly the words + Which I now love so proudly—‘_Press on!_’ + + “I’ll make wider my bed, as onward I tread, + A deep mighty river I’ll be— + ‘_Press on_’ all the day will I sing on my way, + Till I enter the far-spreading sea.” + + It ceased. A youth lingered beside its green edge + Till the stars in its face brightly shone; + He hoped the sweet strain would re-echo again— + But he just heard a murmur,—“_Press on!_” + + + + + ADDRESS FROM AN UNDERTAKER TO THE TRADE. + + (STRICTLY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.) + + +I address you, gentlemen, as an humble individual who is much concerned +about the body. This little joke is purely a professional one. It must +go no further. I am afraid the public thinks uncharitably of +undertakers, and would consider it a proof that Dr. Johnson was right +when he said that the man who would make a pun would pick a pocket. +Well; we all try to do the best we can for ourselves,—everybody else as +well as undertakers. Burials may be expensive, but so is legal redress. +So is spiritual provision; I mean the maintenance of all our reverends +and right reverends. I am quite sure that both lawyers’ charges and the +revenues of some of the chief clergy are very little, if any, more +reasonable than our own prices. Pluralities are as bad as crowded +gravepits, and I don’t see that there is a pin to choose between the +church and the churchyard. Sanitary revolutionists and incendiaries +accuse us of gorging rottenness, and battening on corruption. We don’t +do anything of the sort, that I see, to a greater extent than other +professions, which are allowed to be highly respectable. Political +military, naval, university, and clerical parties of great eminence +defend abuses in their several lines when profitable. We can’t do better +than follow such good examples. Let us stick up for business, and—I was +going to say—leave society to take care of itself. No; that is just what +we should endeavour to prevent society from doing. The world is growing +too wise for us, gentlemen. Accordingly, this Interments Bill, by which +our interests are so seriously threatened, has been brought into +Parliament. We must join heart and hand to defeat and crush it. Let us +nail our colours—which I should call the black flag—to the mast, and let +our war-cry be, “No surrender!” or else our motto will very soon be, +“Resurgam;” in other words, it will be all up with us. We stand in a +critical position in regard to public opinion. In order to determine +what steps to take for protecting business, we ought to see our danger. +I wish, therefore, to state the facts of our case clearly to you; and I +say let us face them boldly, and not blink them. Therefore, I am going +to speak plainly and plumply on this subject. + +There is no doubt—between ourselves—that what makes our trade so +profitable is the superstition, weakness, and vanity of parties. We +can’t disguise this fact from ourselves, and I only wish we may be able +to conceal it much longer from others. As enlightened undertakers, we +must admit that we are of no more use on earth than scavengers. All the +good we do is to bury people’s dead out of their sight. Speaking as a +philosopher—which an undertaker surely ought to be—I should say that our +business is merely to shoot rubbish. However, the rubbish is human +rubbish, and bereaved parties have certain feelings which require that +it should be shot gingerly. I suppose such sentiments are natural, and +will always prevail. But I fear that people will by and by begin to +think that pomp, parade, and ceremony are unnecessary upon melancholy +occasions. And whenever this happens, Othello’s occupation will, in a +great measure, be gone. + +I tremble to think of mourning relatives considering seriously what is +requisite—and all that is requisite—for decent interment, in a rational +point of view. Nothing more, I am afraid Common Sense would say, than to +carry the body in the simplest chest, and under the plainest covering, +only in a solemn and respectful manner, to the grave, and lay it in the +earth with proper religious ceremonies. I fear Common Sense would be of +opinion that mutes, scarfs, hatbands, plumes of feathers, black horses, +mourning coaches, and the like, can in no way benefit the defunct, or +comfort surviving friends, or gratify anybody but the mob, and the +street-boys. But happily, Common Sense has not yet acquired an influence +which would reduce every burial to a most low affair. + +Still, people think now more than they did, and in proportion as they do +think, the worse it will be for business. I consider that we have a most +dangerous enemy in Science. That same Science pokes its nose into +everything—even vaults and churchyards. It has explained how grave-water +soaks into adjoining wells, and has shocked and disgusted people by +showing them that they are drinking their dead neighbours. It has taught +parties resident in large cities that the very air they live in reeks +with human remains, which steam up from graves; and which, of course, +they are continually breathing. So it makes out churchyards to be worse +haunted than they were formerly believed to be by ghosts, and, I may +add, vampyres, in consequence of the dead continually rising from them +in this unpleasant manner. Indeed, Science is likely to make people +dread them a great deal more than Superstition ever did, by showing that +their effluvia breed typhus and cholera; so that they are really and +truly very dangerous. I should not be surprised to hear some sanitary +lecturer say, that the fear of churchyards was a sort of instinct +implanted in the mind, to prevent ignorant people and children from +going near such unwholesome places. + +It would be comparatively well if the mischief done us by +Science—Medicine and Chemistry, and all that sort of thing—stopped here. +The mere consideration that burial in the heart of cities is unhealthy, +would but lead to extramural interment, to which our only +objection—though even that is no very trifling one—is that it would +diminish mortality, and consequently our trade. But this +Science—confound it!—shows that the dead do not remain permanently in +their coffins, even when the sextons of metropolitan graveyards will let +them. It not only informs Londoners that they breathe and drink the +deceased; but it reveals how the whole of the defunct party is got rid +of, and turned into gases, liquids, and mould. It exposes the way in +which all animal matter—as it is called in chemical books—is dissolved, +evaporates, and disappears; and is ultimately, as I may say, eaten up by +Nature, and goes to form parts of plants, and of other living creatures. +So that, if gentlemen really wanted to be interred with the remains of +their ancestors, it would sometimes be possible to comply with their +wishes only by burying them with a quantity of mutton—not to say with +the residue of another quadruped than the sheep, which often grazes in +churchyards. Science, in short, is hammering into people’s heads truths +which they have been accustomed merely to gabble with their mouths—that +all flesh is indeed grass, or convertible into it; and not only that the +human frame does positively turn to dust, but into a great many things +besides. Now, I say, that when they become really and truly convinced of +all this; when they know and reflect that the body cannot remain any +long time in the grave which it is placed in; I am sadly afraid that +they will think twice before they will spend from thirty to several +hundred pounds in merely putting a corpse into the ground to decompose. + +The only hope for us if these scientific views become general, is, that +embalming will be resorted to; but I question if the religious feeling +of the country will approve of a practice which certainly seems rather +like an attempt to arrest a decree of Providence; and would, besides, be +very expensive. Here I am reminded of another danger, to which our +prospects are exposed. It is that likely to arise from serious parties, +in consequence of growing more enlightened, thinking consistently with +their religious principles, instead of their religion being a mere +sentimental kind of thing which they never reason upon. We often, you +know, gentlemen, overhear the bereaved remarking that they trust the +departed is in a better place. Why, if this were not a mere customary +saying on mournful occasions—if the parties really believed this—do you +think they would attach any importance to the dead body which we bury +underground? No; to be sure: they would look upon it merely as a suit of +left-off clothes—with the difference of being unpleasant and offensive, +and not capable of being kept. They would see that a spirit could care +no more about the corpse it had quitted, than a man who had lost his +leg, would for the amputated limb. The truth is—don’t breathe it, don’t +whisper it, except to the trade—that the custom of burying the dead with +expensive furniture; of treating a corpse as if it were a sensible +being; arises from an impression—though parties won’t own it, even to +themselves—that what is buried, is the actual individual, the man +himself. The effect of thinking seriously, and at the same time +rationally, will be to destroy this notion, and with it to put an end to +all the splendour and magnificence of funerals, arising from it. +Moreover, religious parties, being particular as to their moral conduct, +would naturally consider it wrong and wicked to spend upon the dead an +amount of money which might be devoted to the benefit of the living; and +no doubt, when we come to look into it, such expenditure is much the +same thing with the practice of savages and heathens in burying bread, +and meat, and clothes, along with their deceased friends. + +I have been suggesting considerations which are very discouraging, and +which afford but a poor look-out to us undertakers. But, gentlemen, we +have one great comfort still. It has become the fashion to inter bodies +with parade and display. Fashion is fashion; and the consequence is that +it is considered an insult to the memory of deceased parties not to bury +them in a certain style; which must be respectable at the very least, +and cost, on a very low average, twenty-five or thirty pounds. Many, +such as professional persons and tradespeople, who cannot afford so much +money, can still less afford to lose character and custom. That is where +we have a pull upon the widows and children, many of whom, if it were +not for the opinion of society, would be only too happy to save their +little money, and turn it into food and clothing, instead of funeral +furniture. + +Now here the Metropolitan Interments Bill steps in, and aims at +destroying our only chance of keeping up business as heretofore. We have +generally to deal with parties whose feelings are not in a state to +admit of their making bargains with us—a circumstance, on their parts, +which is highly creditable to human nature; and favourable to trade. +Thus, in short, gentlemen, we have it all our own way with them. But +this Bill comes between the bereaved party and the undertaker. By the +twenty-seventh clause, it empowers the Board of Health to provide houses +and make arrangements for the reception and care of the dead previously +to, and until interment; in order, as it explains in a subsequent +clause, to the accommodation of persons having to provide the +funerals—supposing such persons to desire the accommodation. Clause the +twenty-eighth enacts “That the said Board shall make provision for the +management and conduct, by persons appointed by them, of the funerals of +persons whose bodies are to be interred in the Burial Grounds, to be +provided under this Act, where the representatives of the deceased, or +the persons having the care and direction of the funeral, desire to have +the same so conducted; and the said Board shall fix and publish a scale +of the sums to be payable for such funerals, inclusive of all matters +and services necessary for the same, such sums to be proportioned to the +description of the funeral, or the nature of the matter and services to +be furnished and rendered for the same; but so that in respect of the +lowest of such sums, the funerals may be conducted with decency and +solemnity.” Gentlemen, if this enactment becomes law, we shall lose all +the advantages which we derive from bereaved parties’ state of mind. The +Board of Health will take all trouble off their hands, at whatever sum +they may choose to name. Of course they will apply to the Board of +Health instead of coming to us. But what is beyond everything +prejudicial to our interests, is the proviso “that in respect of the +lowest of such sums, the funerals may be conducted with decency and +solemnity.” Hitherto it has been understood that so much respect could +not be paid in the case of what we call a low affair as in one of a +certain style. We have always considered that a funeral ought to cost so +much to be respectable at all. Therefore relations have gone to more +expense with us, than they would otherwise have been willing to incur, +in order to secure proper respect. But if proper respect is to be had at +a low figure, the strongest hold that we have upon sorrowing relatives, +will be taken away. + +It is all very fine to say that we are a necessary class of tradesmen, +and if this Bill passes must continue to be employed. If this Bill does +pass we shall be employed simply as tradesmen, and shall obtain, like +other tradesmen, a mere market price for our articles, and common hire +for our labour. I am afraid that it will be impossible to persuade the +public that this would not be perfectly just and right. I think, +therefore, that we had better not attack the Bill on its merits, but try +to excite opposition against it on the ground of its accessary clauses. +Let us oppose it as a scheme of jobbery, devised with a view to the +establishment of offices and appointments. Let us complain as loudly as +we can of its creating a new rate to defray the expenses of its working, +and let us endeavour to get up a good howl against that clause of it +which provides for compensation to incumbents, clerks, and sextons. We +must cry out with all our might upon its centralising tendency, and of +course make the most we can out of the pretence that it violates the +sanctity of the house of mourning, and outrages the most fondly +cherished feelings of Englishmen. Urge these objections upon +church-wardens, overseers, and vestrymen; and especially din the +objection to a burial rate into their ears. Recollect, our two great +weapons—like those of all good old anti-reformers—are cant and clamour. +Keep up the same cry against the Bill perseveringly, no matter how +thoroughly it may be refuted or proved absurd. Literally, make the +greatest noise in opposition to it that you are able, especially at +public meetings. There, recollect a groan is a groan, and a hiss a hiss, +even though proceeding from a goose. On all such occasions do your +utmost to create a disturbance, to look like a popular demonstration +against the measure. In addition to shouting, yelling, and bawling, I +should say that another rush at another platform, another upsetting of +the reporters’ table, another terrifying of the ladies, and another +mobbing the chairman, would be advisable. Set to work with all your +united zeal and energy to carry out the suggestions of our Central +Committee for the defeat of a Bill which, if passed, will inflict a blow +on the undertaker as great as the boon it will confer on the widow and +orphan—whom we, of course, can only consider as customers. The +Metropolitan Interments Bill goes to dock us of every penny that we make +by taking advantage of the helplessness of afflicted families. And just +calculate what our loss would then be; for, in the beautiful language of +St. Demetrius, the silversmith, “Sirs, ye know that by this craft we +have our wealth.” + + + + + THE TWO SACKS. + + + IMITATED FROM PHÆDRUS. + + At our birth, the satirical elves + Two sacks from our shoulders suspend: + The one holds the faults of ourselves; + The other, the faults of our friend: + + The first we wear under our clothes + Out of sight, out of mind, at the back; + The last is so under our nose, + We know every scrap in the sack. + + + + + THE MODERN “OFFICER’S” PROGRESS. + + + I.—JOINING THE REGIMENT. + +“I have got some very sad news to tell you,” wrote Lady Pelican to her +friend, Mrs. Vermeil, a faded lady of fashion, who discontentedly +occupied a suite of apartments at Hampton Court; “our Irish estates are +in such a miserable condition—absolutely making us out to be in debt to +_them_, instead of adding to _our_ income, that poor George—you will be +shocked to hear it—is actually obliged to go into the Infantry!” + +The communication of this distressing fact may stand instead of the +regular Gazette, announcing the appointment of the Hon. George Spoonbill +to an Ensigncy, by purchase, in the 100th regiment of foot. His military +aspirations had been “Cavalry,” and he had endeavoured to qualify +himself for that branch of the service by getting up an invisible +moustache, when the Irish agent wrote to say that no money was to be had +in that quarter, and all thoughts of the Household Brigade were, of +necessity, abandoned. But, though the more expensive career was shut +out, Lord Pelican’s interest at the Horse Guards remained as influential +as before, and for the consideration of four hundred and fifty pounds +which—embarrassed as he was—he contrived to muster, he had no difficulty +in procuring a commission for his son George, in the distinguished +regiment already named. There were, it is true, a few hundred prior +claimants on the Duke’s list; “but,” as Lord Pelican justly observed, +“if the Spoonbill family were not fit for the army, he should like to +know who were!” An argument perfectly irresistible. Gazetted, therefore, +the young gentleman was, as soon as the Queen’s sign-manual could be +obtained, and, the usual interval for preparation over, the Hon. George +Spoonbill set out to join. But before he does so, we must say a word of +what that “preparation” consisted in. + +Some persons may imagine that he forthwith addressed himself to the +study of Polybius, dabbled a little in Cormontaigne, got up Napier’s +History of the Peninsular War, or read the Duke’s Despatches; others, +that he went down to Birdcage-Walk, and placed himself under the tuition +of Colour-Sergeant Pike, of the Grenadier Guards, a warrior celebrated +for his skill in training military aspirants, or that he endeavoured by +some other means to acquire a practical knowledge, however slight, of +the profession for which he had always been intended. The Hon. George +Spoonbill knew better. The preparation _he_ made, was a visit, at least +three times a day, to Messrs. Gorget and Plume, the military tailors in +Jermyn Street, whose souls he sorely vexed by the persistance with which +he adhered to the most accurate fit of his shell-jacket and coatee, the +set of his epaulettes, the cut of his trowsers, and the shape of his +chako. He passed his days in “trying on his things,” and his +evenings—when not engaged at the Casino, the Cider Cellar, or the +Adelphi—in dining with his military friends at St. James’s Palace, or at +Knightsbridge Barracks. In their society he greatly improved himself, +acquiring an accurate knowledge of lansquenet and ecarté, cultivating +his taste for tobacco, and familiarising his mind with that reverence +for authority which is engendered by the anecdotes of great military +commanders that freely circulate at the mess-table. His education and +his uniform being finished at about the same time, George Spoonbill took +a not uncheerful farewell of the agonised Lady Pelican, whose maternal +bosom streamed with the sacrifice she made in thus consigning her +offspring to the vulgar hardships of a marching regiment. + +An express train conveyed the honourable Ensign in safety to the country +town where the “Hundredth” were then quartered, and in conformity with +the instructions which he received from the Assistant Military Secretary +at the Horse Guards—the only instructions, by the bye, which were given +him by that functionary—he “reported” himself at the Orderly-room on his +arrival, was presented by the Adjutant to the senior Major, by the +senior Major to the Lieutenant-Colonel, and by the Lieutenant-Colonel to +the officers generally when they assembled for mess. + +The “Hundredth,” being “Light Infantry,” called itself “a crack +regiment:” the military adjective signifying, in this instance, not so +much a higher reputation for discipline and warlike achievements, as an +indefinite sort of superiority arising from the fact that no man was +allowed to enter the _corps_ who depended upon his pay only for the +figure he cut in it. Lieutenant-Colonel Tulip, who commanded, was very +strict in this particular, and, having “the good of the service” greatly +at heart, set his face entirely against the admission of any young man +who did not enjoy a handsome paternal allowance or was not the possessor +of a good income. He was himself the son of a celebrated army clothier, +and, in the course of ten years, had purchased the rank he now held, so +that he had a right, as he thought, to see that his regiment was not +contaminated by contact with poor men. His military creed was, that no +man had any business in the army who could not afford to keep his horses +or tilbury, and drink wine every day; _that_ he called respectable, +anything short of it the reverse. If he ever relaxed from the severity +of this rule, it was only in favour of those who had high connections; +“a handle to a name” being as reverently worshipped by him as money +itself; indeed, in secret, he preferred a lord’s son, though poor, to a +commoner, however rich; the poverty of a sprig of nobility not being +taken exactly in a literal sense. Colonel Tulip had another theory also: +during the aforesaid ten years, he had acquired some knowledge of drill, +and possessing an hereditary taste for dress, considered himself, thus +endowed, a first-rate officer, though what he would have done with his +regiment in the field is quite another matter. In the meantime he was +gratified by thinking that he did his best to make it a crack corps, +according to his notion of the thing, and such minor points as the moral +training of the officers, and their proficiency in something more than +the forms of the parade ground, were not allowed to enter into his +consideration. The “Hundredth” were acknowledged to be “a devilish +well-dressed, gentlemanly set of fellows,” and were looked after with +great interest at country balls, races, and regattas; and if this were +not what a regiment ought to be, Colonel Tulip was, he flattered +himself, very much out in his calculations. + +The advent of the Hon. George Spoonbill was a very welcome one, as the +vacancy to which he succeeded had been caused by the promotion of a +young baronet into “Dragoons,” and the new comer being the second son of +Lord Pelican, with a possibility of being graced one day by wearing that +glittering title himself, the hiatus caused by Sir Henry Muff’s removal +was happily filled up without any derogation to the corps. Having also +ascertained, in the course of five minutes’ conversation, that Mr. +Spoonbill’s “man” and two horses were to follow in a few days with the +remainder of his baggage; and the young gentleman having talked rather +largely of what the Governor allowed him (two hundred a-year is no great +sum, but he kept the actual amount in the back ground, speaking +“promiscuously” of “a few hundreds”), and of his intimacy with “the +fellows in the Life Guards;” Colonel Tulip at once set him down as a +decided acquisition to the “Hundredth,” and intimated that he was to be +made much of accordingly. + +When we described the regiment as being composed of wealthy men, the +statement must be received with a certain reservation. It was Colonel +Tulip’s hope and intention to make it so in time, when he had +sufficiently “weeded” it, but _en attendant_ there were three or four +officers who did not quite belong to his favourite category. These were +the senior Major and an old Captain, both of whom had seen a good deal +of service, the Surgeon, who was a necessary evil, and the +Quartermaster, who was never allowed to show with the rest of the +officers except at “inspection,” or some other unusual demonstration. +But the rank and “allowance” of the first, and something in the +character of the second, which caused him to be looked upon as a +military oracle, made Colonel Tulip tolerate their presence in the +corps, if he did not enjoy it. Neither had the Adjutant quite as much +money as the commanding officer could have desired, but as his position +kept him close to his duties, doing that for which Colonel Tulip took +credit, he also was suffered to pass muster; he was a brisk, precise, +middle-aged personage, who hoped in the course of time to get his +company, and whose military qualifications consisted chiefly in knowing +“Torrens,” the “Articles of War,” the “Military Regulations,” and the +“Army List,” by heart. The last-named work was, indeed, very generally +studied in the regiment, and may be said to have exhausted almost all +the literary resources of its readers, exceptions being made in favour +of the weekly military newspaper, the monthly military magazine, and an +occasional novel from the circulating library. The rest of the officers +must speak for themselves, as they incidentally make their appearance. +Of their character, generally, this may be said; none were wholly bad, +but all of them might easily have been a great deal better. + +Brief ceremony attends a young officer’s introduction to his regiment, +and the honourable prefix to Ensign Spoonbill’s name was anything but a +bar to his speedy initiation. Lieutenant-Colonel Tulip took wine with +him the first thing, and his example was so quickly followed by all +present, that by the time the cloth was off the table, Lord Pelican’s +second son had swallowed quite as much of Duff Gordon’s sherry as was +good for him. Though drinking is no longer a prevalent military vice, +there are occasions when the wine circulates rather more freely than is +altogether safe for young heads, and this was one of them. Claret was +not the habitual “tipple,” even of the crack “Hundredth;” but as Colonel +Tulip had no objection to make a little display now and then, he had +ordered a dozen in honour of the new arrival, and all felt disposed to +do justice to it. The young Ensign had flattered himself that, amongst +other accomplishments, he possessed “a hard head;” but, hard as it was, +the free circulation of the bottle was not without its effect, and he +soon began to speak rather thick, carefully avoiding such words as began +with a difficult letter, which made his discourse somewhat periphrastic, +or roundabout. But though his observations reached his hearers +circuitously, their purpose was direct enough, and conveyed the +assurance that he was one of those admirable Crichtons who are “wide +awake” in every particular, and available for anything that may chance +to turn up. + +The conversation which reached his ears from the jovial companions who +surrounded him, was of a similarly instructive and exhilarating kind, +and tended greatly to his improvement. Captain Hackett, who came from +“Dragoon Guards,” and had seen a great deal of hard service in Ireland, +elaborately set forth every particular of “I’ll give you my honour, the +most remarkable steeple-chase that ever took place in the three +kingdoms,” of which he was, of course, the hero. Lieutenant Wadding, who +prided himself on his small waist, broad shoulders, and bushy whiskers, +and was esteemed “a lady-killer,” talked of every woman he knew and +damaged every reputation he talked about. Lieutenant Bray, who was +addicted to sporting and played on the French horn, came out strong on +the subject of hackles, May-flies, grey palmers, badgers, terriers, +dew-claws, snap-shots and Eley’s cartridges. Captain Cushion, a great +billiard-player, and famous—in every sense—for “the one-pocket game,” +was eloquent on the superiority of his own cues, which were tipped with +gutta percha instead of leather, and offered, as a treat, to indulge +“any man in garrison with the best of twenty, one ‘up,’ for a hundred +aside.” Captain Huff, who had a crimson face, a stiff arm, and the voice +of a Stentor, and whose soul, like his visage, was steeped in port and +brandy, boasted of achievements in the drinking line, which, +fortunately, are now only traditional, though he did his best to make +them positive. From the upper end of the table, where sat the two +veterans and the doctor, came, mellowed by distance, grim recollections +of the Peninsula, with stories of Picton and Crawford, “the fighting +brigade” and “the light division,” interspersed with endless Indian +narratives, equally grim, of “how our fellows were carried off by the +cholera at Cawnpore,” and how many tigers were shot, “when we lay in +cantonments at Dum-dum;” the running accompaniment to the whole being a +constant reference to so-and-so “of _ours_,” without allusion to which +possessive pronoun, few military men are able to make much progress in +conversation. + +Nor was Colonel Tulip silent, but his conversation was of a very lofty +and, as it were, ethereal order,—quite transparent, in fact, if any one +had been there to analyse it. It related chiefly to the magnates at the +Horse Guards,—to what “the Duke” said to him on certain occasions +specified,—to Prince Albert’s appearance at the last levee,—to a +favourite bay charger of his own,—to the probability that Lord Dawdle +would get into the corps on the first exchange,—and to a partly-formed +intention of applying to the Commander-in-Chief to change the regimental +facings from buff to green. + +The mess-table, after four hours’ enjoyment of it in this intellectual +manner, was finally abandoned for Captain Cushion’s “quarters,” that +gallant officer having taken “quite a fancy to the youngster,”—not so +much, perhaps, on account of the youngster being a Lord’s youngster, as +because, in all probability, there was something squeezeable in him, +which was slightly indicated in his countenance. But whatever of the +kind there might indeed have been, did not come out that evening, the +amiable Captain preferring rather to initiate by example and the show of +good fellowship, than by directly urging the neophyte to play. The +rubber, therefore, was made up without him, and the new Ensign, with two +or three more of his rank, confined themselves to cigars and brandy and +water, a liberal indulgence in which completed what the wine had begun, +and before midnight chimed the Hon. George Spoonbill was—to use the +mildest expression,—as unequivocally tipsy as the fondest parent or +guardian could possibly have desired a young gentleman to be on the +first night of his entering “the Service.” + +Not yet established in barracks, Mr. Spoonbill slept at an hotel, and +thither he was assisted by two of his boon companions, whom he insisted +on regaling with devilled biscuits and more brandy and water, out of +sheer gratitude for their kindness. Nor was this reward thrown away, for +it raised the spirits of these youths to so genial a pitch that, on +their way back—with a view, no doubt, to give encouragement to +trade—they twisted off, as they phrased it, “no end to knockers and +bell-handles,” broke half a dozen lamps, and narrowly escaping the +police (with whom, however, they would gloriously have fought rather +than have surrendered) succeeded at length in reaching their quarters,—a +little excited, it is true, but by no means under the impression that +they had done anything—as the articles of war say—“unbecoming the +character of an officer and a gentleman.” + +In the meantime, the jaded waiter at the hotel had conveyed their +fellow-Ensign to bed, to dream—if he were capable of dreaming—of the +brilliant future which his first day’s experience of actual military +life held out. + + + + + PICTURES OF LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. + + + GOING TO CHURCH. + +There is something in the dress of an Australian Settler that is no less +characteristic than becoming,—what a splendid turn-out of this class may +be seen at some of the townships as they meet on the Sunday for Divine +service. I have looked at such assemblages in all parts of the colony, +until my eyes have dimmed with national pride, to think that to England +should belong the right to own them; the old-fashioned Sunday scenes and +manners of England, seen in her younger colonies, being thus revived. +The gay carts, the dashing gigs, that are drawn round the fence of the +churchyard enclosures,—the blood-horses, with side saddles, that are +seen quietly roaming about, add much to the interest of the scene. True, +there are no splendid equipages, but, then, there are no poor. The +dress,—the appearance of the men,—the chubby faces of the children,—the +neat and comfortable habiliments of the women (and here let me +remark,—for the information of some of the gay young bachelors of +England, that, among these Sabbath meetings may be seen here and there +the blooming native maiden in a riding habit of the finest cloth, and of +the newest fashion, the substantial settler’s daughter riding her own +beautiful and pet mare; I say “pet mare,” because some of these maidens +have a little stud of their own)—all these realities of rural life +strongly impress a stranger with the real comforts which these people +enjoy. + + + CHRISTIAN CHARITY. + +As people of different religions meet at times on the highway, somewhere +near their respective places of worship, it is delightful to observe +that, whatever faith they possess, Christian charity reigns. As +neighbours, the men group together, sitting upon, or resting their backs +against the fence, whilst a brilliant sun smiles on them. At the same +time, their children may be seen decorating themselves with flowers, or +dragging a splendid creeper, in order to beautify the horses, and make +fly-brushes for them. After the weather has been commented upon, a +political shade is seen to pass over the countenances of the assembly. +There is great earnestness amongst them. The females arrange for their +own comfort, by resting on the shafts of the carts, or seating +themselves on the grass. Matrimony and muslins, births and milch cows, +by turns engross their attention, while the men make free with matters +of State. + +As the soft sound of the bell gives notice that the hour of service is +near, the party may be seen to break up: children throw aside their +garlands, wives join their husbands, and with sober countenances and +devout demeanour enter the House of God. There is one circumstance +worthy of remark, namely, the perfect security with which they all leave +their conveyances—great coats, and shawls, whips and saddles, in gigs +and carts; proving that a fair day’s labour for a fair day’s work is a +better protection for property than the police. + +When divine service is over, the families keep more together. There is a +sober reverence about them which shows that they have listened +attentively. As they move to their conveyances, or walk on, it is +pleasing to see that if their neighbours have been kept longer at +another church, the first party out will often delay their departure +till they arrive. These charitable pauses are delightful to witness; +these neighbourly greetings make bigotry in dismay crouch to the earth, +and show, that when the mind is rightly directed, the being of different +religions is not inimical to friendship, for frequently in these cases +the elder girl of a Catholic family may be seen in the cart of a +Protestant neighbour; the wife of one carrying the younger child of the +other, at the same time that the two husbands, as they get into the open +road, slowly pace their horses, so that they may converse on their way +home, occasionally interrupted perhaps by their sons, who, mounted on +good horses, try their speed to please their fathers, and throw bunches +of wild flowers to their mothers, while younger hands catch at the +prize. + + + DINNER IN THE BUSH. + +I unexpectedly joined the party I am now attempting to describe, and +leaving my own travelling spring-van at the church-door, took a seat in +their cart. On arriving at the farm, the elder son met the party at the +slip-rail (homely gate). He was a tall, healthy, open-hearted lad, who +greeted us with— + +“Come, Mother, be careful. Jump out, girls. Now, Mrs. C——, how welcome +you are; and the dinner just ready! Ah! you need not tell me who gave +you the sermon: he’s as good as the clock.” + +As the girls had all been to church, and there was no female servant in +the house, the description of this rural home, and a short detail of the +dinner, may be acceptable. + +The family room was large, with a commodious fire-place. The table was +laid for twelve; the plates and dishes were of blue delf; the knives and +forks looked bright and shiny. It may be remarked, that the Settler’s +table in New South Wales is somewhat differently arranged from what one +is accustomed to see in England, for here the knife and fork were placed +at the right of the plate, while a chocolate-coloured tea-cup and saucer +stood at the left; a refreshing cup of tea being made a part of the +dinner repast. By the fire-place might be seen a large black pot, full +of potatoes, with a white cloth laid on the top for the purpose of +steaming them. Again, at the outer door might be noticed the son with a +man-servant, looking into an oven, and drawing from thence a large +hind-quarter of pork, followed by a peach pie. + +“Lend a hand here!” shouted the son. + +“Ah! I thought you could not do without me,” said the father. + +“Keep the youngsters out of the way, and look about you, girls;” cried +the mother. + +Moving where I could better see the cause of the outcry, a round of +beef, cut large and “handsome,” as the settlers say in the Bush, had +been forced into a pot; but no fork, although a Bush-fork is rather a +formidable tool, could remove it. + +“You ought to have put a cord round it,” remarked the mother. + +“Turn the pot on one side,” said the father. + +“Over with it; out with it; shake!—oh, here we have it now.” + +As the pot was removed, the beef was seen to advantage, reeking in a +bright clean milk-pan. + +“Now, let us make it look decent,” said the self-trained cook, as with +his knife he cut the out-pieces off to improve its appearance. His +trimmings were substantial cuttings, and displayed to advantage the fine +quality of the beef; each cutting he threw to his dogs, as they watched +at a respectful distance his operations. Now, though some of my readers +may not much admire this bush-culinary art, and this mode of dishing-up +a dinner, still there was in the whole scene so much of honest +hospitality, so much of cheerful and good humoured hilarity, exhibiting +in the most pleasing form the simple manners of a primitive people,—the +germs, in fact, of the class of English yeomanry, too often unable to +flourish in their own native land, ingrafted and revived in a foreign +distant shore, that even the most fastidious and refined could not but +feel at such a moment a peculiar zest in joining a family so innocently +happy and guileless as this, surrounded as they were by abundance of all +the essential necessaries of life. Not a shade of care clouded the +party, as they sat down with thankfulness to partake of those things +with which God had blessed their labour. + +The arrangement of the table was something in unison with the rest. The +pork, so well seasoned, graced the head of the table, while the burly +piece of beef, now reeking and streaming from its late trimming, was +placed before the honest master of this patriarchal family, with a +plentiful supply of potatoes, peas, and greens, ranged in their proper +places. As soon as the party had partaken of the substantials, the +eldest daughter poured tea into the cups set by each one’s plate—for +this is the custom amongst the Australian settlers; at the same time the +good landlady cut up the peach pie. + +The eldest son could now be seen through an open doorway, peering again +into the rudely constructed oven, from which he pulled, with a good deal +of self-importance and glee, an orange tart, whilst his assistant-cook +placed custards on the table in tumblers. The good wife looked amazed, +the husband thoughtful. + +“How did you get the oranges,” asked the mother. + +“Why, Frank Gore brought ’em,” he replied. + +“And who made the custards?” + +“_I_ made ’em!” + + + WANTED, A GOOD WIFE. + +“What! our Tom make custards!” exclaimed the mother. + +“Why not?” replied the young man, evidently anxious to show that he +could turn his hand to anything useful. + +“I see, I see how it is,” said the father, “Tom heard that Mrs. C. was +coming, and he wants a wife.” + +“A wife! the like of him want a wife,” said the mother, who, for the +first time, looked on his athletic and manly form with sad anxiety. + +“Tom made the custard,” said Jane, “and William the tart.” + +“I did not bring the oranges,” replied Tom, as Frank Gore entered with a +dish of grapes. + +“It’s a regular plot,” said the mother. + +“A down right contrivance—and I expect it is a settled affair,” observed +the father. + +“Jane, don’t blush,” sportively remarked Lucy. + +“Let me see,” said the father, thoughtfully. “Tom is four years older +than I was when I married, so he is,—but Jane is too young.” + +“Say a word,” whispered the mother to me; “say a word, Mrs. C.” + +“A snug home indeed,—I only wish my father could have seen the comforts +I now enjoy.” + +The young people, seeing the turn matters were taking, scampered off +with glowing cheeks. + +“We have four farms I can say master to,” pursued the father, “and eight +hundred sheep, and six hundred head of cattle, forty pigs, and a bit of +money in the bank, too, that the youngsters don’t know of. Well, all the +lad will want is a good wife. Let me see,—I’ll be in Sydney next Monday +five weeks,—I must buy them a few things, a chest of drawers,—yes, +they’d be handy; and I might as well buy one for Jane, poor girl. Like +to deal out to all alike; and the wife wants one. I only thought of +taking the cart, but I will want a dray, and eight good bullocks, +besides,—that’s easy enough to be seen. Well, well; it’s a nice snug +home—one hundred and four acres,—two acres laid out for a +vineyard,—forty under crop,—handy for the station, too.” Thus the good +man musingly spoke, partly to himself, and partly addressing his wife, +who, with a cheerful and approving look, nodded consent. + + + HOMELY HINTS TO MARRIED STATESMEN. + +At this little homestead there were five men, whose savings would have +enabled them to have taken farms, if they could have met with suitable +girls as wives; and they pretty plainly animadverted upon the policy of +those whom they considered the proper persons to have rectified their +grievances. One remarked, “What does Lord Stanley care, so that he has a +wife himself!” + +“Ah!” responded another; “and Peel, with all his great speeches, never +said a single word about wives for us.” + +“Lord John Russell, too,” said Tom Slaney, “seems just as bad as the +rest. What does he think we’re made of? wood, or stone, or dried +biscuit?” + +“It ought to be properly represented to Earl Grey,” observed the fourth. +“Do they call this looking after a young colony? Has nobody no sense?” + +“Yes,” replied the most sensitive of the party, “the _Queen_ ought to +know it,—it is a cruel shame.” + + + A COTTAGE, ROMANTIC AND REAL. + +John Whitney had now made his hut a comfortable cottage. In the centre +of the room stood a neat table, shelves were arranged over a +bush-dresser, and at one corner of the room could be seen a neat little +plate-rack. A young carpenter in Australia cannot make these things +without thinking of matrimony; and the one in Whitney’s cottage was +beautifully made, evidently intended as a bridal gift. At the opening of +the small window was a neat box of mignonette; whilst a footstool, a +salt-box, a board, a rolling-pin, afforded sufficient evidence that a +wife was all that was wanted to make this abode a happy home. + +Nor did the exterior lack any of those embellishments that are required +to invest a cottage with those charms which the hand of nature alone can +fully set forth. The tasteful mind and apt hand of Whitney mingled art +and nature so well that the first could hardly be distinguished by the +luxuriance of the latter. The workman laid first the train, and then +allured nature in a manner to follow and adorn his handy-work. He first +erected an open verandah of posts, saplings, and laths along the whole +front of his cottage, leaving three or four door-ways, or spacious +apertures for entrance. Against these posts he planted rose-trees, which +in Australia grow to an extraordinary height; and around them he +carefully trained beautiful creepers, passionflower, and other wild +plants of the Bush, so that in the course of a short time the framework +became almost invisible. The posts seemed to have grown into pillars of +rosebush, thickly entwined with flowery creepers, threading their way +the whole length and height of the verandah, and here and there forming +the most fanciful festoons over the doorway, or round the tiny windows, +thus throwing a coolness and a freshness of shade into the inmost +recesses of the little cottage. There also might be observed two or +three well-trained vines intermixed with all, which produced the most +tempting clusters of grapes, as they could be seen to hang through the +open lattice of the verandah; while, all over the roof of the house grew +fine water-melons, the strong stems of which closely encircled the +chimney. + +It was truly delightful to view this sylvan cottage in the calm and +balmy coolness of a dewy morning, and to behold this structure, as it +were, of rose-trees and creepers, as the warmth of the morning sun +opened those closed flowers that seem thus to take their rest for the +night, and the fresh-blown rosebuds that were hardly to be seen the +evening before; most of those could now be observed to be tenanted by +that busy little creature, the bee, sent “as a colonist,” from England +to Australia, humming, in all the active vivacity of its nature, a +joyful morning carol to the God of Nature. Indeed, were it not that +there were appearances of some more substantial domestic comforts to be +seen in the background—such as rows of beans, sweet peas, beds of +cabbages, &c., set in the garden, and some young fruit-trees; while near +a shady corner might be noticed young ducks feeding under a coop, and +“little roasters” gambolling outside the pig-stye, which by the way was +deeply shaded by large bushy rose-trees, this cottage at a distance +might have been mistaken for a green-house. We ought not to omit that a +number of fowls could be observed quietly roosting in some trees at the +end of one of the outer buildings. + +Truly, it was a little fairy home, with no rent, no taxes, no rates, to +disturb the peace of the occupier; and no one, who has not lived in +Australia, can conceive with what ease and little expense such rural +beauties, such little paradises, and domestic comforts can be formed and +kept up in that country. Notwithstanding, however, the beauty of all +this—the variety of flowers—the magnificence of the creepers—the +stillness and quietness that reigned around, it must be frankly +confessed there was a certain vacuum that required filling up. If the +animal senses were gratified, the mind felt somehow dissatisfied. There +was a coldness, a death-like silence, which hung over the place; there +appeared to be a want of rationality in the thing, for there seemed to +be no human beings to enjoy it, or not a sufficient number. Yes, this +spot of beauty, to make it a delightful happy home, required, what one +of our favourite poets, and the poet of nature, calls nature’s “noblest +work”—woman. ’Tis but too true—John Whitney wanted a wife to make his +home a fit habitation for man. What is John Whitney without her? He may +be an excellent carpenter, but he is at the same time a desolate, morose +being, incapable of enjoying these beauties of nature. Poor John Whitney +keenly felt this; and it was the hope alone, warming and clinging to his +heart, that some day he could call himself the father of a family, that +inspired him to gather all these beauties and comforts around him. + + + + + EBENEZER ELLIOTT. + + +The name of Ebenezer Elliott is associated with one of the greatest and +most important political changes of modern times;—with events not yet +sufficiently removed from us, to allow of their being canvassed in this +place with that freedom which would serve the more fully to illustrate +his real merits. Elliott would have been a poet, in all that constitutes +true poetry, had the Corn Laws never existed. + +He was born on 25th March, 1781, at the New Foundry, Masborough, in the +parish of Rotherham, where his father was a clerk in the employment of +Messrs. Walker, with a salary of 60_l._ or 70_l._ per annum. His father +was a man of strong political tendencies, possessed of humorous and +satiric power, that might have qualified him for a comic actor. Such was +the character he bore for political sagacity that he was popularly known +as “Devil Elliott.” The mother of the poet seems to have been a woman of +an extreme nervous temperament, constantly suffering from ill health, +and constitutionally awkward and diffident. + +Ebenezer commenced his early training at a Dame’s school; but shy, +awkward, and desultory, he made little progress; nor did he thrive much +better at the school in which he was afterwards placed. Here he employed +his comrades to do his tasks for him, and of course laid no foundation +for his future education. His parents, disheartened by the lad’s +apparent stolidity, sent him next to Dalton School, two miles distant; +and here he certainly acquired something, for he retained, to old age, +the memory of some of the scenes through which he used to pass on his +way to and from this school. For want of the necessary preliminary +training, he could do little or nothing with letters: he rather +preferred playing truant and roaming the meadows in listless idleness, +wherever his fancy led him. This could not last. His father soon set him +to work in the Foundry; and with this advantage, that the lad stood on +better terms with, himself than he had been for a considerable period, +for he discovered that he could compete with others in work,—sheer +hand-labour,—if he could not in the school. One disadvantage, however, +arose, as he tells us, from his foundry life; for he acquired a relish +for vulgar pursuits, and the village alehouse divided his attentions +with the woods and fields. Still a deep impression of the charms of +nature had been made upon him by his boyish rambles, which the debasing +influences and associations into which he was thrown could not wholly +wipe out. He would still wander away in his accustomed haunts, and +purify his soul from her alehouse defilements, by copious draughts of +the fresh nectar of natural beauty imbibed from the sylvan scenery +around him. + +The childhood and youth of the future poet presented a strange medley of +opposites and antitheses. Without the ordinary measure of adaptation for +scholastic pursuits, he inhaled the vivid influences of external things, +delighting intensely in natural objects, and yet feeling an infinite +chagrin and remorse at his own idleness and ignorance. We find him +highly imaginative; making miniature lakes by sinking an iron vessel +filled with water in a heap of stones, and gazing therein with wondrous +enjoyment at the reflection of the sun and skies overhead; and +exhibiting a strange passion for looking on the faces of those who had +died violent deaths, although these dead men’s features would haunt his +imagination for weeks afterwards. + +He did not, indeed, at this period, possess the elements of an ordinary +education. A very simple circumstance sufficed to apply the spark which +fired his latent energies, and nascent poetical tendencies: and he +henceforward became a different being, elevated far above his former +self. He called one evening, after a drinking bout on the previous +night, on a maiden aunt, named Robinson, a widow possessed of about +30_l._ a-year, by whom he was shown a number of “Sowerby’s English +Botany,” which her son was then purchasing in monthly parts. The plates +made a considerable impression on the awkward youth, and he essayed to +copy them by holding them to the light with a thin piece of paper before +them. When he found he could trace their forms by these means his +delight was unbounded, and every spare hour was devoted to the agreeable +task. Here commenced that intimate acquaintance with flowers, which +seems to pervade all his works. This aunt of Ebenezer’s, (good soul! +would that every shy, gawky Ebenezer had such an aunt!) bent on +completing the charm she had so happily begun, displayed to him still +further her son’s book of dried specimens; and this elated him beyond +measure. He forthwith commenced a similar collection for himself, for +which purpose he would roam the field still more than ever, on Sundays +as well as week days, to the interruption of his attendances at chapel. +This book he called his “Dry Flora,” (_Hortus Siccus_) and none so proud +as he when neighbours noticed his plants and pictures. He was not a +little pleased to feel himself a sort of wonder, as he passed through +the village with his plants; and, greedy of praise, he allowed his +acquaintance to believe that his drawings were at first hard, and made +by himself from nature. “Thompson’s Seasons,” read to him about this +time by his brother Giles, gave him a glimpse of the union of poetry +with natural beauty; and lit up in his mind an ambition which finally +transformed the illiterate, rugged, half-tutored youth into the man who +wrote “The Village Patriarch,” and the “Corn Law Rhymes.” + +From this time he set himself resolutely to the work of self-education. +His knowledge of the English language was meagre in the extreme; and he +succeeded at last only by making for himself a kind of grammar by +reading and observation. He then tried French, but his native indolence +prevailed, and he gave it up in despair. He read with avidity whatever +books came in his way; and a small legacy of books to his father came in +just at the right time. He says he could never read through a +second-rate book, and he therefore read masterpieces only;—“after +Milton, then Shakespeare; then Ossian; then Junius; Paine’s ‘Common +Sense;’ Swift’s ‘Tale of a Tub;’ ‘Joan of Arc;’ Schiller’s ‘Robbers;’ +Bürger’s ‘Lenora;’ Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall;’ and long afterwards, +Tasso, Dante, De Staël, Schlegel, Hazlitt, and the ‘_Westminster +Review_.’” Reading of this character might have been expected to lead to +something; and was well calculated to make an extraordinary impression +on such a mind as Elliott’s; and we have the fruit of this course of +study in the poetry which from this time he began to throw off. + +He remained with his father from his sixteenth to his twenty-third year, +working laboriously without wages, except an occasional shilling or two +for pocket-money. He afterwards tried business on his own account. He +made two efforts at Sheffield; the last commencing at the age of forty, +and with a borrowed capital of 150_l._ He describes in his nervous +language the trials and difficulties he had to contend with; and all +these his imagination embodied for him in one grim and terrible form, +which he christened “Bread Tax.” With this demon he grappled in +desperate energy, and assailed it vigorously with his caustic rhyme. +This training, these mortifications, these misfortunes, and the demon +“Bread Tax” above all, made Elliott successively despised, hated, +feared, and admired, as public opinion changed towards him. + +Mr. Howitt describes his warehouse as a dingy, and not very extensive +place, heaped with iron of all sorts, sizes, and forms, with barely a +passage through the chaos of rusty bars into the inner sanctum, at once, +study, counting-house, library, and general receptacle of odds and ends +connected with his calling. Here and there, to complete the jumble, were +plaster casts of Shakspeare, Achilles, Ajax, and Napoleon, suggestive of +the presidency of literature over the materialism of commerce which +marked the career of this singular being. By dint of great industry he +began to flourish in business, and, at one time, could make a profit of +20_l._ a-day without moving from his seat. During this prosperous period +he built a handsome villa-residence in the suburbs. He now had leisure +to brood over the full force and effect of the Corn Laws. The subject +was earnestly discussed then in all manufacturing circles of that +district. Reverses now arrived. In 1837 he lost fully one-third of all +his savings, getting out of the storm at last with about 6000_l._, which +he wrote to Mr. Tait of Edinburgh, he intended, if possible, to retain. +The palmy days of 20_l._ profits had gone by for Sheffield, and instead, +all was commercial disaster and distrust. Elliott did well to retire +with what little he had remaining. In his retreat he was still vividly +haunted by the demon “Bread Tax.” This, then, was the period of the Corn +Law Rhymes, and these bitter experiences lent to them that tone of +sincerity and earnestness—that fire and frenzy which they breathed, and +which sent them, hot, burning words of denunciation and wrath, into the +bosoms of the working classes,—the toiling millions from whom Elliott +sprang. “Bread Tax,” indeed, to him, was a thing of terrible import and +bitter experience: hence he uses no gentle terms, or honeyed phrases +when dealing with the obnoxious impost. Sometimes coarse invective, and +angry assertion, take the place of convincing reason, and calm +philosophy. At others, there is a true vein of poetry and pathos running +through the rather unpoetic theme, which touches us with its +Wordsworthian feeling and gentleness. Then he would be found calling +down thunders upon the devoted heads of the monopolists, with all a +fanatic’s hearty zeal, and in his fury he would even pursue them, not +merely through the world, but beyond its dim frontiers and across the +threshold of another state. Take them, however, as they stand—and more +vigorous, effective, and startling political poetry has not graced the +literature of the age. + +It was not to be supposed but that this trumpet-blast of defiance, and +shrill scream of “war to the knife,” should bring down upon him much +obloquy, much vituperation: but all this fell harmlessly upon him; he +rather liked it. When people began to bear with the turbid humour and +angry utterances of the “Corn Law Rhymer,” and grew familiar with the +stormy march of his verse, it was discovered that he was something more +than a mere political party song-writer. He was a true poet, whose +credentials, signed and sealed in the court of nature, attested the +genuineness of his brotherhood with those children of song who make the +world holier and happier by the mellifluous strains they bring to us, +like fragments of a forgotten melody, from the far-off world of beauty +and of love. + +Elliott will not soon cease to be distinctively known as the “Corn Law +Rhymer;” but it will be by his non-political poems that he will be +chiefly remembered by posterity as the Poet of the People;—for his name +will still be, as it has long been, a “Household Word,” in the homes of +all such as love the pure influences of simple, sensuous, and natural +poetry. As an author he did not make his way fast: he had written poetry +for twenty years ere he had attracted much notice. A genial critique by +Southey in the “Quarterly;” another by Carlyle in the “Edinburgh;” and +favourable notices in the “Athenæum” and “New Monthly,” brought him into +notice; and he gradually made his way until a new and cheap edition of +his works in 1840 stamped him as a popular poet. His poetry is just such +as, knowing his history, we might have expected; and such as, not +knowing it, might have bodied forth to us the identical man as we find +him. + +As we have said, Nature was his school; but flowers were the especial +vocation of his muse. A small ironmonger—a keen and successful +tradesman—we should scarcely have given him credit for such an exquisite +love of the beautiful in Nature, as we find in some of those lines +written by him in the crowded counting-room of that dingy warehouse. The +incident of the floral miscellany: the subsequent study of “The +Seasons;” the long rambles in meadows and on hill-sides, +specimen-hunting for his _Hortus Siccus_;—sufficiently account for the +exquisite sketches of scenery, and those vivid descriptions of natural +phenomena, which showed that the coinage of his brain had been stamped +in Nature’s mint. The most casual reader would at once discover that, +with Thompson, he has ever been the devoted lover and worshipper of +Nature—a wanderer by babbling streams—a dreamer in the leafy +wilderness—a worshipper of morning upon the golden hill-tops. He gives +us pictures of rural scenery warm as the pencil of a Claude, and glowing +as the sunsets of Italy. + +A few sentences will complete our sketch, and bring us to the close of +the poet’s pilgrimage. He had come out of the general collapse of +commercial affairs in 1837, with a small portion of the wealth he had +realised by diligent and continuous labour. He took a walk, on one +occasion, into the country, of about eighteen miles, reached Argilt +Hill, liked the place, returned, and resolved to buy it. He laid out in +house and land about one thousand guineas. His family consisted of Mrs. +Elliott and two daughters—a servant-maid—an occasional helper—a Welch +pony and small gig,—“a dog almost as big as the mare, and much wiser +than his master; a pony-cart; a wheel-barrow; and a grindstone—and,” +says he, “turn up your nose if you like!” + +From his own papers we learn that he had one son a clergyman, at +Lothedale, near Skipton; another in the steel trade, on Elliott’s old +premises at Sheffield; two others unmarried, living on their means; +another “druggisting at Sheffield, in a sort of chimney called a shop;” +and another, a clergyman, living in the West Indies. Of his thirteen +children, five were dead, and of whom he says—“They left behind them no +memorial—but they are safe in the bosom of Mercy, and not quite +forgotten even here!” + +In this retirement he occasionally lectured and spoke at public +meetings; but he began to suffer from a spasmodic affection of the +nerves, which obliged him wholly to forego public speaking. This disease +grew worse; and in December, 1839, he was warned that he could not +continue to speak in public, except at the risk of sudden death. This +disorder lingered about him for about six years: he then fell ill of a +more serious disease, which threatened speedy termination. This was in +May, 1849. In September, he writes, “I have been _very, very_ ill.” On +the first of December, 1849, the event, which had so long been +impending, occurred; and Elliott peacefully departed in the 69th year of +his age. + +Thus, then, the sun set on one whose life was one continued heroic +struggle with opposing influences,—with ignorance first, then trade, +then the corn laws, then literary fame, and, last of all, disease: and +thus the world saw its last of the material breathing form of the rugged +but kindly being who made himself loved, feared, hated, and famous, as +the “CORN LAW RHYMER.” + + * * * * * + + 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._ + + + Published at the Office, No 16, Wellington Street North, Stand. Printed + by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefriars, London. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Renumbered footnotes. + ● 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 78177 *** |