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diff --git a/78178-0.txt b/78178-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4711e39 --- /dev/null +++ b/78178-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2329 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78178 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 14.] SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + THE GOLDEN CITY. + + +“The fitful flame of Young Romance,” fed by the Arabian Nights’ +Entertainments, Fairy tales and Heathen Mythologies; the wonderful +fables of Genii and Magicians; stories of towns springing up, +ready-built, out of deserts; tales of cities paved with gold; the Happy +Valley of Rasselas; the territories of Oberon and Titania, Robert Owen’s +New Harmony, and the land of Cockaigne; Gulliver’s Travels, the +Adventures of Peter Wilkins, legends of beggars made kings, and +mendicants millionaires; Sinbad the Sailor, Baron Munchausen, Law of +Laurieston, Major Longbow, Colonel Crocket, the Poyais loan; illimitable +exaggeration; undaunted lying; the most rampant schemes of the most +rabid speculators; the wildest visions of the maddest poet; the airiest +castle of the most Utopian lunatic—any one of these, and all of them put +together, do not exceed the wondrous web of realities that is being +daily woven around both hemispheres of the globe. Not to mention +conversations carried on thousands of miles apart, by means of +electricity, and a hundred other marvels that Science has converted into +commonplaces, we would now confine ourselves to the latest “wonderful +wonder that has ever been wondered at”—the gold region of California; +but more especially to its capital, San Francisco. + +The story of the magic growth of this city would have defied belief, had +it not rapidly grown up literally under the “eyes of Europe.” When the +returns were made to the United States’ authorities in 1831, it +contained three hundred and seventy-one individuals, and very few more +resided in it up to the discovery of gold at Sutter’s Mill, in the +Sacramento River. Even in April, 1849, we learn from a credible +eye-witness, that there were only from thirty to forty houses in San +Francisco; and that the population was so small, that so many as +twenty-five persons could never be seen out of doors at one time. There +now lie before us two prints; one of San Francisco, taken in November, +1848, soon after the discovery was made, and another exactly a year +afterwards. In the first, we are able to count twenty-six huts and other +dwellings dotted about at uneven distances, and four small ships in the +harbour. In the second, the habitations are countless. The hollow, upon +which the city partly stands, presents a bird’s-eye view of roofs, +packed so closely together, that the houses they cover are innumerable; +while the sides of the surrounding hills are thickly strewed with tents +and temporary dwellings. On every side are buildings of all kinds, begun +or half-finished, but the greater part of them mere canvas sheds, open +in front, and displaying all sorts of signs, in all languages. Great +quantities of goods are piled up in the open air, for want of a place to +store them. The streets are full of people, hurrying to and fro, and of +as diverse and bizarre a character as the houses: Yankees of every +possible variety, native Californians in _sarapes_ and sombreros, +Chilians, Sonorians, Kanakas from Hawaii, Chinese with long tails, +Malays and others in whose embrowned and bearded visages it is +impossible to recognise any especial nationality. In the midst is the +plaza, now dignified by the name of Portsmouth Square. It lies on the +slope of the hill; and, from a high pole in front of a long one-story +adobe building used as the Custom House, the American flag is flying. On +the lower side is the Parker House Hotel. The Bay of San Francisco is +black with the hulls of ships, and a thick forest of masts intercepts +the landscapes of the opposite coast and the islet of Yerba Buena. Flags +of all nations flutter in the breeze, and the smoke of three steamers is +borne away on its wings in dense wreaths.—The first picture is one of +stagnation and poverty, the other presents activity and wealth in +glowing colours. + +“Verily,” says the correspondent of a Boston Paper, “the place was in +itself a marvel. To say that it was daily enlarged by from twenty to +thirty houses may not sound very remarkable after all the stories that +have been told; yet this, for a country which imported both lumber and +houses, and where labour was then ten dollars a day, is an extraordinary +growth. The rapidity with which a ready-made house is put up and +inhabited, strikes the stranger in San Francisco as little short of +magic. He walks over an open lot in his before-breakfast stroll—the next +morning, a house complete, with a family inside, blocks up his way. He +goes down to the bay and looks out on the shipping—two or three days +afterward a row of storehouses, staring him in the face, intercepts the +view.” + +An intelligent traveller from the United States, has recorded his +impressions of this marvellous spot, as he saw it in August, 1849:— + +“The restless, feverish tide of life in that little spot, and the +thought that what I then saw and was yet to see will hereafter fill one +of the most marvellous pages of all history, rendered it singularly +impressive. The feeling was not decreased on talking that evening with +some of the old residents, (that is of six months’ standing,) and +hearing their several experiences. Every new comer in San Francisco is +overtaken with a sense of complete bewilderment. The mind, however it +may be prepared for an astonishing condition of affairs, cannot +immediately push aside its old instincts of value and ideas of business, +letting all past experiences go for nought and casting all its faculties +for action, intercourse with its fellows, or advancement in any path of +ambition, into shapes which it never before imagined. As in the turn of +the dissolving views, there is a period when it wears neither the old +nor the new phase, but the vanishing images of the one and the growing +perceptions of the other are blended in painful and misty confusion. One +knows not whether he is awake or in some wonderful dream. Never have I +had so much difficulty in establishing, satisfactorily to my own senses, +the reality of what I saw and heard.”[1] + +Footnote 1: + + “Eldorado,” by Bayard Taylor, correspondent to the “Tribune” + newspaper. + +The same gentleman, after an absence in the interior of four months, +gives a notion of the rapidity with which the city grew, in the +following terms:— + +“Of all the marvellous phases of the history of the Present, the growth +of San Francisco is the one which will most tax the belief of the +Future. Its parallel was never known, and shall never be beheld again. I +speak only of what I saw with my own eyes. When I landed there, a little +more than four months before, I found a scattering town of tents and +canvas houses, with a show of frame buildings on one or two streets, and +a population of about six thousand. Now, on my last visit, I saw around +me an actual metropolis, displaying street after street of well-built +edifices, filled with an active and enterprising people and exhibiting +every mark of permanent commercial prosperity. Then, the town was +limited to the curve of the Bay fronting the anchorage and bottoms of +the hills. Now, it stretched to the topmost heights, followed the shore +around point after point, and sending back a long arm through a gap in +the hills, took hold of the Golden Gate and was building its warehouses +on the open strait and almost fronting the blue horizon of the Pacific. +Then the gold-seeking sojourner lodged in muslin rooms and canvas +garrets, with a philosophic lack of furniture, and ate his simple though +substantial fare from pine boards. Now, lofty hotels, gaudy with +verandas and balconies, were met with in all quarters, furnished with +home luxury, and aristocratic restaurants presented daily their long +bills of fare, rich with the choicest technicalities of the Parisian +cuisine. Then, vessels were coming in day after day, to lie deserted and +useless at their anchorage. Now scarce a day passed, but some cluster of +sails, bound _outward_ through the Golden Gate, took their way to all +the corners of the Pacific. Like the magic seed of the Indian juggler, +which grew, blossomed, and bore fruit before the eyes of his spectators, +San Francisco seemed to have accomplished in a day the growth of half a +century.” + +In San Francisco, everything is reversed. The operations of trade are +exactly opposite to those of older communities. There the rule is +scarcity of money and abundance of labour, produce, and manufactures; +here cash overflows out of every pocket, and the necessaries of +existence will not pour in fast enough. Mr. Taylor tells us, that “a +curious result of the extraordinary abundance of gold and the facility +with which fortunes were acquired, struck me at the first glance. All +business was transacted on so extensive a scale that the ordinary habits +of solicitation and compliance on the one hand, and stubborn cheapening +on the other, seemed to be entirely forgotten. You enter a shop to buy +something; the owner eyes you with perfect indifference, waiting for you +to state your want: if you object to the price, you are at liberty to +leave, for you need not expect to get it cheaper; he evidently cares +little whether you buy it or not. One who has been some time in the +country will lay down the money, without wasting words. The only +exception I found to this rule was that of a sharp-faced Down-Easter +just opening his stock, who was much distressed when his clerk charged +me seventy-five cents for a coil of rope, instead of one dollar. This +disregard for all the petty arts of money-making was really a refreshing +feature of society. Another equally agreeable trait was the punctuality +with which debts were paid, and the general confidence which men were +obliged to place, perforce, in each other’s honesty. Perhaps this latter +fact was owing, in part, to the impossibility of protecting wealth, and +consequent dependence on an honourable regard for the rights of others.” + +While this gentleman was in San Francisco, an instance of the fairy-like +manner in which fortunes are accumulated, came under his observation. A +citizen of San Francisco died insolvent to the amount of forty-one +thousand dollars the previous autumn. His administrators were delayed in +settling his affairs, and his real estate advanced so rapidly in value +meantime, that after his debts were paid, his heirs derived a yearly +income from it of forty thousand dollars! + +The fable of a city paved with gold is realised in San Francisco. Mr. +Taylor reports:—“Walking through the town, I was quite amazed to find a +dozen persons busily employed in the street before the United States +Hotel, digging up the earth with knives and crumbling it in their hands. +They were actual gold-hunters, who obtained in this way about five +dollars a day. After blowing the fine dirt carefully in their hands, a +few specks of gold were left, which they placed in a piece of white +paper. A number of children were engaged in the same business, picking +out the fine grains by applying to them the head of a pin, moistened in +their mouths. I was told of a small boy having taken home fourteen +dollars as the result of one day’s labour. On climbing the hill to the +Post Office I observed in places, where the wind had swept away the +sand, several glittering dots of the real metal, but, like the Irishman +who kicked the dollar out of his way, concluded to wait till I should +reach the heap. The presence of gold in the streets was probably +occasioned by the leakings from the miners’ bags and the sweepings of +stores; though it may also be, to a slight extent, native in the earth, +particles having been found in the clay thrown up from a deep well.” + +The prices paid for labour were at that time equally _romantic_. The +carman of one firm (Messrs. Mellus, Howard, and Co.) drew a salary of +twelve hundred a year; and it was no uncommon thing for such persons to +be paid from fifteen to twenty dollars, or between three and four pounds +sterling per day. Servants were paid from forty to eighty pounds per +month. Since this time (August, 1849), however, wages had fallen; the +labourers for the rougher kinds of work could—poor fellows—get no more +than something above the pay of a Lieutenant-Colonel in the British +army, or about four hundred per annum. The scarcity of labour is best +illustrated by the cost of washing, which was one pound twelve shillings +per dozen. It was therefore found cheaper to put out washing to the +antipodes; and to this day, San Francisco shirts are washed and “got up” +in China and the Sandwich Islands. So many hundred dozens of dirty, and +so many hundred dozens of washed linen form the part of every outward +and inward cargo to and from the Golden City. + +The profits upon merchandise about the time we are writing of, may be +judged of by one little transaction recorded by Mr. Taylor:—“Many +passengers,” he writes, “began speculation at the moment of landing. The +most ingenious and successful operation was made by a gentleman of New +York, who took out fifteen hundred copies of ‘The Tribune’ and other +papers, which he disposed of in two hours, at one dollar a-piece! +Hearing of this I bethought me of about a dozen papers which I had used +to fill up crevices in packing my valise. There was a newspaper merchant +at the corner of the City Hotel, and to him I proposed the sale of them, +asking him to name a price. ‘I shall want to make a good profit on the +retail price,’ said he, ‘and can’t give more than ten dollars for the +lot.’ I was satisfied with the wholesale price, which was a gain of just +four thousand per cent.” + +The prices of food are enormous, and, unhappily, so are the appetites; +“for two months after my arrival,” says a respectable authority, “my +sensations were like those of a famished wolf;” yet the first glance at +the tariff of a San Francisco bill of fare is calculated to turn the +keenest European stomach. “Where shall we dine to-day?” asked Mr. +Taylor, during his visit. “The restaurants display their signs +invitingly on all sides; we have choice of the United States, Tortoni’s, +the Alhambra, and many other equally classic resorts, but Delmonico’s, +like its distinguished original in New York, has the highest prices and +the greatest variety of dishes. We go down Kearney Street to a two-story +wooden house on the corner of Jackson. The lower story is a market; the +walls are garnished with quarters of beef and mutton; a huge pile of +Sandwich Island squashes fills one corner, and several cabbage-heads, +valued at two dollars each, show themselves in the window. We enter a +little door at the end of the building, ascend a dark, narrow flight of +steps and find ourselves in a long, low room, with ceiling and walls of +white muslin and a floor covered with oil-cloth. There are about twenty +tables disposed in two rows, all of them so well filled that we have +some difficulty in finding places. Taking up the written bill of fare, +we find such items as the following:— + + SOUPS. + Dol. Cents. + Mock Turtle 0 75 + St. Julien 1 00 + + FISH. + Boiled Salmon Trout, Anchovy + Sauce 1 75 + + BOILED. + Leg of Mutton, Caper Sauce 1 00 + Corned Beef, Cabbage 1 00 + Ham and Tongues 0 75 + + ENTRÉES. + Fillet of Beef, Mushroom sauce 1 75 + Veal Cutlets, breaded 1 00 + Mutton Chop 1 00 + Lobster Salad 2 00 + Sirloin of Venison 1 50 + Baked Maccaroni 0 75 + Beef Tongue, Sauce piquante 1 00 + +So that, with but a moderate appetite, the dinner will cost us five +dollars, if we are at all epicurean in our tastes. There are cries of +‘steward!’ from all parts of the room—the word ‘waiter’ is not +considered sufficiently respectful, seeing that the waiter may have been +a lawyer or a merchant’s clerk a few months before. The dishes look very +small as they are placed on the table, but they are skilfully cooked and +are very palatable to men that have ridden in from the diggings.” + +Lodging was equally extravagant. A bedroom in an hotel, 50_l._ per +month, and a sleeping berth or “bunk”—one of fifty in the same +apartment—1_l._ 4_s._ per week. Social intercourse is almost unknown. +There are no females, and men have no better resource than gambling, +which is carried on to an extent, and with a desperate energy, hardly +conceivable. “Gambling,” says a private correspondent, whose letter, +dated April 20, 1850, now lies before us, “is carried on here with a +bold and open front, so as to alarm and astonish one. Thousands and +thousands change hands nightly. Go in, for instance, to a place called +‘Parker House,’ which is a splendid mansion, fitted up as well as any +hotel in England; step into the front room, and you see five or six +Monte, Roulette, and other gaming-tables, each having a bank of nearly +half a bushel of gold and silver, piled up in the centre. That the +excitement shall not be wholly devoid of diversion, the Muses lend their +aid, and a band plays constantly to crowded rooms! Step into the next +building, called ‘El Dorado,’ and there a similar scene is presented, +and which is repeated, on a smaller scale, all over the town. The +gamblers seem to control the town, but of course their days must be +numbered. Fortunes are made or lost daily. People gamble with a freedom +and recklessness which you can never dream of. Young men who come here +must at all times resist gaming, or it must eventually end in their +ruin: the same with drinking, as there is much of it here.” + +The variety of habits, manners, tastes, and prejudices, occasioned by +the confluence in one spot of almost every variety of the human species, +is another bar to a speedy deposit of all these floating and opposite +elements into a compact and well assimilated community. “Here,” writes +the same gentleman, “we see the character and habits of the English, +Irish, Scotch, German, Pole, French, Spaniard, and almost every other +nation of Europe. Then you have the South American, the Australian, the +Chilian; and finally, the force of this golden mania has dissolved the +chain that has hitherto bound China in national solitude, and she has +now come forth, like an anchorite from his cell, to join this varied +mass of golden speculators. Here we see in miniature just what is done +in the large cities of other countries; we have some of our luxuries +from the United States and the tropics, butter from Oregon, and for the +most part California, Upper or Lower, furnishes us with our beef, &c. +The streets are all bustle, as you may imagine, in a place now of nearly +thirty thousand inhabitants, independent of a small world of floating +population.” + +Not the smallest wonder, however, presented in this region, is the rapid +manner in which social order was shaped out of the human chaos. When a +new placer or “gulch” was discovered, the first thing done was to elect +officers and extend the area of order. The result was, that in a +district five hundred miles long, and inhabited by one hundred thousand +people—who had neither government, regular laws, rules, military or +civil protection, nor even locks or bolts, and a great part of whom +possessed wealth enough to tempt the vicious and depraved,—there was as +much security to life and property as in any part of the Union, and as +small a proportion of crime. The capacity of a people for +self-government was never so triumphantly illustrated. Never, perhaps, +was there a community formed of more unpropitious elements; yet from all +this seeming chaos grew a harmony beyond what the most sanguine apostle +of Progress could have expected. Indeed, there is nothing more +remarkable connected with the capital of El Dorado, than the centre +point it has become. + +The story of Cadmus, who sowed dragons’ teeth, and harvested armed men, +who became the builders of cities; the confusion of tongues at the Tower +of Babel; and the beautiful allegory of the lion lying down with the +lamb; are all types of San Francisco. The first, of its sudden rise; the +second, of the varieties of the genus Man it has congregated; and the +third, of the extremes of those varieties, which range from the +Polynesian savage to the most civilised individuals that Europe can +produce. It is a coincidence well worthy of note, that, besides the +intense attraction possessed from its gold, Upper or New California is +of all other places the best adapted, from its geographical position, to +become a rendezvous for all nations of the earth, and that the Bay of +San Francisco is one of the best and most convenient for shipping +throughout the western margin of the American continent. It is precisely +the locality required to make a constant communication across the +Pacific Ocean with the coasts of China, Japan, and the Eastern +Archipelago commercially practicable. Its situation is that which would +have been selected from choice for a concentration of delegates from the +uttermost ends of the earth. If the Chinese, the Malay, the Ladrone, or +the Sandwich Islander had wished to meet his Saxon or Celtic brother on +a matter of mutual business, he would—deciding geographically—have +selected California as the spot of assembly. The attractive powers of +gold could not, therefore, have struck forth over the world from a +better point than in and around San Francisco, both for the interests of +commerce and for those of human intercourse. + +The practical question respecting the Golden City remains yet to be +touched. Does it offer wholesome inducements for emigration? On this +subject we can do no more than quote the opinions of the intelligent and +enterprising gentleman, to whose private letter we have already +referred:—“This, I should say, is the best country in the world for an +active, enterprising, steady young man, provided he can keep his health, +as the climate, without due precaution, is not a healthy one. In the +summer season, the weather is pleasantly warm from morning till noon, +then it is windy till evening, and dusty, and then becomes so cold as to +require an over-coat. This weather lasts to October, when the wind gets +round to the south-west. It is dry, warm, and pleasant now (April). This +and the rainy season are the pleasantest and warmest here. Thousands, on +arriving, fall victims to the prevailing disease of dysentery. On the +latter account, therefore, I should not advise, or be the indirect means +of inducing, any one to make the adventure here, because it is +impossible to foresee or calculate whether or not he can stand the +climate and inconveniences of this country; and, if so, he is sure to be +exposed to a miserable and too often neglected sickness, and ending in a +miserable death. I have not been ill myself so far, as my general health +has been extremely good, and I never looked so well as now. The climate +seems to operate injuriously on bilious habits; but to those who can +stand it, it is decidedly pleasanter than England. Fires are never +necessary. Out of doors, at night, a great-coat is required, but in the +house it is always warm. The whole and only question, with a man making +up his mind to locate in California, should be in regard to his health. +Business of all descriptions is better here than in any other part of +the world, and he who perseveres is sure to succeed. + +“There are various opinions afloat, in regard to the fertility of the +soil, some holding that there are productive valleys in the interior +which would supply sufficient sustenance for home consumption: others +assert the reverse. Certain it is, however, that in many parts in the +interior, the climate is delightful, but owing to the long continued dry +season, I have doubts as to her ever raising a sufficient supply of +vegetable necessaries of life: our market now is supplied from the +Sandwich Islands and Oregon. + +“As to gold mining, it is altogether a lottery; one man may make a large +amount daily, another will but just live. There is an inexhaustible +quantity of gold, however, but with many it is inconceivably hard to +get, as the operations are so many, and health so very precarious, that +it is a mere chance matter if you succeed in getting a large sum +speedily. It seems a question, whether it would not be advisable for the +American Government to work the mines ultimately: + +“California must ‘go-a-head:’ the east will pour through the country her +immense commerce into the States, and the mines will last for ages. +Finally, I would now say to my friends, that, if you are inclined to +come to this country, upon this my report of it, you must, to succeed, +attend to my warnings as to drinking and gambling, and to my precautions +against climate.” + + + + + THE MODERN “OFFICER’S” PROGRESS. + + + II.—A SUBALTERN’S DAY. + +However interesting it might prove to the noble relatives of Ensign +Spoonbill to learn his progress, step by step, we must—for reasons of +our own—pass over the first few weeks of his new career with only a +brief mention of the leading facts. + +His brother officers had instructed him in the art of tying on his sash, +wearing his forage cap on one side, the secret of distinguishing his +right hand from his left, and the mysteries of marching and +counter-marching. The art of holding up his head and throwing out his +chest, had been carefully imparted by the drill-serjeant of his company, +and he had, accordingly, been pronounced “fit for duty.” + +What this was may best be shown, by giving an outline of “a subaltern’s +day,” as he and the majority of his military friends were in the habit +of passing it. It may serve to explain how it happens that British +officers are so far in advance of their continental brethren in arms in +the science of their profession, and by what process they have arrived +at that intellectual superiority, which renders it a matter of regret +that more serious interests than the mere discipline and well-being of +only a hundred and twenty thousand men have not been confided to their +charge. + +The scene opens in a square room of tolerable size which, if simply +adorned with “barrack furniture,” (to wit, a deal table, two +windsor-chairs, a coal scuttle, and a set of fire-irons,) would give an +idea of a British subaltern’s “interior,” of rather more Spartanlike +simplicity than is altogether true. But to these were added certain +elegant “extras,” obtained not out of the surplus of five and +three-pence a day—after mess and band subscriptions, cost of uniform, +servant’s wages, &c., had been deducted—but on credit, which it was +easier to get than to avoid incurring expense. A noble youth, like +Ensign Spoonbill, had only to give the word of command to be obeyed by +Messrs Rosewood and Mildew, with the alacrity shown by the slaves of the +lamp, and in an incredibly short space of time, the bare walls and floor +of his apartment were covered with the gayest articles their +establishment afforded. They included those indispensable adjuncts to a +young officer’s toilette, a full length cheval, and a particularly lofty +pier-glass. A green-baize screen converted the apartment into as many +separate rooms as its occupant desired, cutting it up, perhaps, a little +here and there, but adding, on the whole, a great deal to its comfort +and privacy. What was out of the line of Messrs Rosewood and Mildew—and +that, as Othello says, was “not much”—the taste of Ensign Spoonbill +himself supplied. To his high artistic taste were due the presence of a +couple of dozen gilt-framed and highly-coloured prints, representing the +reigning favorites of the ballet, the winners of the Derby and Leger, +and the costumes of the “dressiest,” and consequently the most +distinguished corps in the service; the nice arrangement of cherry-stick +tubes, amber mouth-pieces, meerschaum bowls, and embroidered bags of +Latakia tobacco; pleasing devices of the well-crossed foils, riding +whips, and single sticks evenly balanced by fencing masks and boxing +gloves; and, on the chimneypiece, the brilliant array of nick-nacks, +from the glittering shop of Messrs Moses, Lazarus and Son, who called +themselves “jewellers and dealers in curiosities,” and who dealt in a +few trifles which were not alluded to above their door-posts. + +The maxim of “Early to bed” was not known in the Hundredth; but the +exigencies of the service required that Ensign Spoonbill should rise +with the _reveillée_. He complained of it in more forcible language than +Dr. Watts’ celebrated sluggard; but discipline is inexorable, and he was +not permitted to “slumber again.” This early rising is a real military +hardship. We once heard a lady of fashion counselling her friend never +to marry a Guardsman. “You have no idea, love, what you’ll have to go +through; every morning of his life—in the season—he has to be out with +the horrid regiment at half-past six o’clock!” + +The Hon. Ensign Spoonbill then rose with the lark, though much against +his will, his connection with that fowl having by preference a midnight +tendency. Erect at last, but with a strong taste of cigars in his mouth, +and a slight touch of whiskey-headache, the Ensign arrayed himself in +his blue frock coat and Oxford grey trowsers; wound himself into his +sash; adjusted his sword and cap; and, with a faltering step, made the +best of his way into the barrack-square, where the squads were forming, +which, with his eyes only half-open, he was called upon to inspect, +prior to their being re-inspected by both lieutenant and captain. He +then drew his sword, and “falling in” in the rear of his company, +occupied that distinguished position till the regiment was formed and +set in motion. + +His duties on the parade-ground were—as a supernumerary—of a very +arduous nature, and consisted chiefly in getting in the way of his +captain as he continually “changed his flank,” in making the men “lock +up,” and in avoiding the personal observation of the adjutant as much as +possible; storing his mind, all the time, with a few of the epithets, +more vigorous than courtly, which the commanding officer habitually made +use of to quicken the movements of the battalion. He enjoyed this +recreation for about a couple of hours, sometimes utterly bewildered by +a “change of front,” which developed him in the most inopportune manner; +sometimes inextricably entangled in the formation of “a hollow square,” +when he became lost altogether; sometimes confounding himself with “the +points,” and being confounded by the senior-major for his awkwardness; +and sometimes following a “charge” at such a pace as to take away his +voice for every purpose of utility, supposing he had desired to exercise +it in the way of admonitory adjuration to the rear-rank. In this manner +he learnt the noble science of strategy, and by this means acquired so +much proficiency that, had he been suddenly called upon to manœuvre the +battalion, it is possible he might have gone on for five minutes without +“clubbing” it. + +The regiment was then marched home; and Ensign Spoonbill re-entered the +garrison with all the honours of war, impressed with the conviction that +he had already seen an immense deal of service; enough, certainly, to +justify the ample breakfast which two or three other famished subs—his +particular friends—assisted him in discussing, the more substantial part +of which, involved a private account with the messman, who had a good +many more of the younger officers of the regiment on his books. At these +morning feasts—with the exception, perhaps, of a few remarks on drill as +“a cussed bore”—no allusion was made to the military exercises of the +morning, or to the prospective duties of the day. The conversation +turned, on the contrary, on lighter and more agreeable topics;—the +relative merits of bull and Scotch terriers; who made the best boots; +whether “that gaerl at the pastrycook’s” was “as fine a woman” as “the +barmaid of the Rose and Crown;” if Hudson’s cigars didn’t beat Pontet’s +all to nothing; who married the sixth daughter of Jones of the +Highlanders; interspersed with a few bets, a few oaths, and a few +statements not strikingly remarkable for their veracity, the last having +reference, principally, to the exploits for which Captain Smith made +himself famous, to the detriment of Miss Bailey. + +Breakfast over, and cigars lighted, Ensign Spoonbill and his friends, +attired in shooting jackets of every pattern, and wearing felt hats of +every colour and form, made their appearance in front of the officers’ +wing of the barracks; some semi-recumbent on the doorsteps, others +lounging with their hands in their coat pockets, others gracefully +balancing themselves on the iron railings,—all smoking and talking on +subjects of the most edifying kind. These pleasant occupations were, +however, interrupted by the approach of an “orderly,” who, from a +certain clasped book which he carried, read out the unwelcome +intelligence that, at twelve o’clock that day, a regimental +court-martial, under the presidency of Captain Huff, would assemble in +the officers’ mess-room “for the trial of all such prisoners as might be +brought before it,” and that two lieutenants and two ensigns—of whom the +Hon. Mr. Spoonbill was one—were to constitute the members. This was a +most distressing and unexpected blow, for it had previously been +arranged that a badger should be drawn by Lieutenant Wadding’s bull +bitch Juno, at which interesting ceremony all the junior members of the +court were to have “assisted.” It was the more provoking, because the +proprietor of the animal to be baited,—a gentleman in a fustian suit, +brown leggings, high-lows, a white hat with a black crape round it, and +a very red nose, indicative of a most decided love for “cordials and +compounds”—had just “stepped up” to say that “the bedger _must_ be +dror’d that mornin’,” as he was under a particular engagement to repeat +the amusement in the evening for some gents at a distant town and +“couldn’t no how, not for no money, forfeit his sacred word.” The +majority of the young gentlemen present understood perfectly what this +corollary meant, but, with Ensign Spoonbill amongst them, were by no +means in a hurry to “fork out” for so immoral a purpose as that of +inducing a fellow-man to break a solemn pledge. That gallant officer, +however, laboured under so acute a feeling of disappointment, that, +regardless of the insult offered to the worthy man’s conscience, he at +once volunteered to give him “a couple of sovs” if he would just “throw +those snobs over,” and defer his departure till the following day; and +it was settled that the badger should be “drawn” as soon as the patrons +of Joe Baggs could get away from the court-martial,—for which in no very +equable frame of mind they now got ready,—retiring to their several +barrack-rooms, divesting themselves of their sporting costume and once +more assuming military attire. + +At the appointed hour, the court assembled. Captain Huff prepared for +his judicial labours by calling for a glass of his favourite “swizzle,” +which he dispatched at one draught, and then, having sworn in the +members, and being sworn himself, the business began by the appointment +of Lieutenant Hackett as secretary. There were two prisoners to be +tried: one had “sold his necessaries” in order to get drunk; the second +had made use of “mutinous language” _when_ drunk; both of them high +military crimes, to be severely visited by those who had no temptation +to dispose of their wardrobes, and could not understand why a soldier’s +beer money was not sufficient for his daily potations; but who omitted +the consideration that they themselves, when in want of cash, +occasionally sent a pair of epaulettes to “my uncle,” and had a +champagne supper out of the proceeds, at which neither sobriety nor +decorous language were rigidly observed. + +The case against him who had sold his necessaries—to wit, “a new pair of +boots, a shirt, and a pair of stockings,” for which a Jew in the town +had given him two shillings—was sufficiently clear. The captain and the +pay-serjeant of the man’s company swore to the articles, and the Jew who +bought them (an acquaintance of Lieutenant Hackett, to whom he nodded +with pleasing familiarity), stimulated by the fear of a civil +prosecution, gave them up, and appeared as evidence against the +prisoner. He was found “guilty,” and sentenced to three months’ solitary +confinement, and “to be put under stoppages,” according to the +prescribed formulæ. + +But the trial of the man accused of drunkenness and mutinous language +was not so readily disposed of; though the delay occasioned by his +calling witnesses to character served only to add to the irritation of +his virtuous and impartial judges. He was a fine-looking fellow, six +feet high, and had as soldier-like a bearing as any man in the Grenadier +company, to which he belonged. The specific acts which constituted his +crime consisted in having refused to leave the canteen when somewhat +vexatiously urged to do so by the orderly serjeant, who forthwith sent +for a file of the guard to compel him; thus urging him, when in an +excited state, to an act of insubordination, the gist of which was a +threat to knock the serjeant down, a show of resistance, and certain +maledictions on the head of that functionary. In this, as in the former +instance, there could be no doubt that the breach of discipline +complained of had been committed, though several circumstances were +pleaded in extenuation of the offence. The man’s previous character, +too, was very good; he was ordinarily a steady, well-conducted soldier, +never shirked his hour of duty, was not given to drink, and, therefore, +as the principal witness in his favour said, “the more aisily overcome +when he tuck a dhrop, but as harrumless as a lamb, unless put upon.” + +These things averred and shown, the Court was cleared, and the members +proceeded to deliberate. It was a question only of the nature and extent +of the punishment to be awarded. The general instructions, no less than +the favourable condition of the case, suggested leniency. But Captain +Huff was a severe disciplinarian of the old school, an advocate for +red-handed practice—the drum head and the halberds—and his opinion, if +it might be called one, had only too much weight with the other members +of the Court, all of whom were prejudiced against the prisoner, whom +they internally—if not openly—condemned for interfering with their day’s +amusements. “Corporal punishment, of course,” said Captain Huff, +angrily; and his words were echoed by the Court, though the majority of +them little knew the fearful import of the sentence, or they might have +paused before they delivered over a fine resolute young man, whose chief +crime was an ebullition of temper, to the castigation of the lash, which +destroys the soldier’s self-respect; degrades him in the eyes of his +fellows; mutilates his body, and leaves an indelible scar upon his mind. +But the fiat went forth, and was recorded in “hundreds” against the +unfortunate fellow; and Captain Huff having managed to sign the +proceedings, carried them off to the commanding officer’s quarters, to +be “approved and confirmed;” a ratification which the Colonel was not +slow to give; for he was one of that class who are in the habit of +reconciling themselves to an act of cruelty, by always asserting in +their defence that “an example is necessary.” He forgot, in doing so, +that this was not the way to preserve for the “Hundredth” the name of a +crack corps, and that the best example for those in authority is Mercy. + +With minds buoyant and refreshed by the discharge of the judicial +functions, for which they were in every respect so admirably qualified, +Ensign Spoonbill and his companions, giving themselves leave of absence +from the afternoon parade, and having resumed their favourite “mufty,” +repaired to an obscure den in a stable-yard at the back of the Blue +Boar—a low public house in the filthiest quarter of the town—which Mr. +Joseph Baggs made his head-quarters, and there, for a couple of hours, +solaced themselves with the agreeable exhibition of the contest between +the badger and the dog Juno, which terminated by the latter being bitten +through both her fore-paws, and nearly losing one of her eyes; though, +as Lieutenant Wadding exultingly observed, “she was a deuced deal too +game to give over for such trifles as those.” The unhappy badger, that +only fought in self-defence, was accordingly “dror’d,” as Mr. Baggs +reluctantly admitted, adding, however, that she was “nuffin much the +wuss,” which was more than could be said of the officers of the +“Hundredth” who had enjoyed the spectacle. + +This amusement ended, which had so far a military character that it +familiarised the spectator with violence and bloodshed, though in an +unworthy and contemptible degree, badgers and dogs, not men, being their +subject, the young gentlemen adjourned to the High Street, to loiter +away half an hour at the shop of Messrs. Moses, Lazarus and Son, whose +religious observances and daily occupations were made their jest, while +they ran in debt to the people from whom they afterwards expected +consideration and forbearance. But not wholly did they kill their time +there. The pretty pastry-cook, an innocent, retiring girl, but compelled +to serve in the shop, came in for her share of their half-admiring and +all-insolent persecutions, and when their slang and sentiment were alike +exhausted, they dawdled back again to barracks, to dress for the fifth +time for mess. + +The events of the day, that is, the events on which their thoughts had +been centered, again furnished the theme of the general conversation. +Enough wine was drunk, as Captain Huff said, with the wit peculiar to +him, “to restore the equilibrium;” the most abstinent person being +Captain Cushion, who that evening gave convincing proof of the +advantages of abstinence, by engaging Ensign Spoonbill in a match at +billiards, the result of which was, that Lord Pelican’s son found +himself, at midnight, minus a full half of the allowance for which his +noble father had given him liberty to draw. But that he had fairly lost +the money there could be no doubt, for the officer on the main-guard, +who had preferred watching the game to going his rounds, declared to the +party, when they afterwards adjourned to take a glass of grog with him +before he turned in, that “except Jonathan, he had never seen any man +make so good a bridge as his friend Spoonbill,” and this fact Captain +Cushion himself confirmed, adding, that he thought, perhaps, he could +afford next time to give points. With the reputation of making a good +bridge—a _Pons asinorum_ over which his money had travelled—Ensign +Spoonbill was fain to be content, and in this satisfactory manner he +closed one Subaltern’s day, there being many like it in reserve. + + + + + THE BELGIAN LACE-MAKERS. + + +The indefatigable, patient, invincible, inquisitive, sometimes tedious, +but almost always amusing German traveller, Herr Kohl, has recently been +pursuing his earnest investigations in Belgium. His book on the +Netherlands[2] has just been issued, and we shall translate, with +abridgments, one of its most instructive and agreeable chapters;—that +relating to Lace-making. + +Footnote 2: + + Reisen in den Niederlanden. Travels in the Netherlands. + +The practical acquaintance of our female readers with that elegant +ornament, lace, is chiefly confined to wearing it, and their researches +into its quality and price. A few minutes’ attention to Mr. Kohl will +enlighten them on other subjects connected with, what is to them a most +interesting topic, for lace is associated with recollections of mediæval +history, and with the palmy days of the Flemish school of painting. More +than one of the celebrated masters of that school have selected, from +among his laborious countrywomen, the lace-makers (or, as they are +called in Flanders, _Speldewerksters_), pleasing subjects for the +exercise of his pencil. The plump, fair-haired Flemish girl, bending +earnestly over her lace-work, whilst her fingers nimbly ply the +intricately winding bobbins, figure in many of those highly esteemed +representations of homely life and manners, which have found their way +from the Netherlands into all the principal picture-galleries of Europe. + +Our German friend makes it his practice, whether he is treating of the +geology of the earth, or of the manufacture of Swedish bodkins, to begin +at the very beginning. He therefore commences the history of +lace-making, which, he says, is, like embroidery, an art of very ancient +origin, lost, like a multitude of other origins, “in the darkness of +by-gone ages.” It may, with truth, be said that it is the national +occupation of the women of the Low Countries, and one to which they have +steadily adhered from very remote times. During the long civil and +foreign wars waged by the people of the Netherlands, while subject to +Spanish dominion, other branches of Belgic industry either dwindled to +decay, or were transplanted to foreign countries; but lace-making +remained faithful to the land which had fostered and brought it to +perfection, though it received tempting offers from abroad, and had to +struggle with many difficulties at home. This Mr. Kohl explains by the +fact, that lace-making is a branch of industry chiefly confined to +female hands, and, as women are less disposed to travel than men, all +arts and handicrafts exclusively pursued by women, have a local and +enduring character. + +Notwithstanding the overwhelming supply of imitations which modern +ingenuity has created, _real Brussels lace_ has maintained its value, +like the precious metals and the precious stones. In the patterns of the +best bone lace, the changeful influence of fashion is less marked than +in most other branches of industry; indeed, she has adhered with +wonderful pertinacity to the quaint old patterns of former times. These +are copied and reproduced with that scrupulous uniformity which +characterises the figures in the Persian and Indian shawls. Frequent +experiments have been tried to improve these old patterns, by the +introduction of slight and tasteful modifications, but these innovations +have not succeeded, and a very skilful and experienced lace-worker +assured Mr. Kohl, that the antiquated designs, with all their formality, +are preferred to those in which the most elegant changes have been +effected. + +Each of the lace-making towns of Belgium excels in the production of one +particular description of lace: in other words, each has what is +technically called its own _point_. The French word _point_, in the +ordinary language of needlework, signifies simply _stitch_; but in the +terminology of lace-making, the word is sometimes used to designate the +pattern of the lace, and sometimes the ground of the lace itself. Hence +the terms _point de Bruxelles_, _point de Malines_, _point de +Valenciennes_, &c. In England we distinguish by the name of Point, a +peculiarly rich and curiously wrought lace formerly very fashionable, +but now scarcely ever worn except in Court costume. In this sort of lace +the pattern is, we believe, worked with the needle, after the ground has +been made with the bobbins. In each town there prevail certain modes of +working, and certain patterns which have been transmitted from mother to +daughter successively, for several generations. Many of the lace-workers +live and die in the same houses in which they were born; and most of +them understand and practise only the stitches which their mothers and +grandmothers worked before them. The consequence has been, that certain +_points_ have become unchangeably fixed in particular towns or +districts. Fashion has assigned to each its particular place and +purpose; for example:—the _point de Malines_ (Mechlin lace) is used +chiefly for trimming nightdresses, pillow-cases, coverlets, &c.; the +_point de Valenciennes_ (Valenciennes lace) is employed for ordinary +wear or negligé; but the more rich and costly _point de Bruxelles_ +(Brussels lace) is reserved for bridal and ball-dresses, and for the +robes of queens and courtly ladies. + +As the different sorts of lace, from the narrowest and plainest to the +broadest and richest, are innumerable; so the division of labour among +the lace-workers is infinite. In the towns of Belgium there are as many +different kinds of lace-workers, as there are varieties of spiders in +Nature. It is not, therefore, surprising that in the several departments +of this branch of industry there are as many technical terms and phrases +as would make up a small dictionary. In their origin, these expressions +were all Flemish; but French being the language now spoken in Belgium, +they have been translated into French, and the designations applied to +some of the principal classifications of the workwomen. Those who make +only the ground, are called _Drocheleuses_. The design or pattern, which +adorns this ground, is distinguished by the general term “the Flowers;” +though it would be difficult to guess what flowers are intended to be +portrayed by the fantastic arabesque of these lace-patterns. In Brussels +the ornaments or flowers are made separately, and afterwards worked into +the lace-ground: in other places the ground and the patterns are worked +conjointly. The _Platteuses_ are those who work the flowers separately; +and the _Faiseuses de point à l’aiguille_ work the figures and the +ground together. The _Striquese_ is the worker who attaches the flowers +to the ground. The _Faneuse_ works her figures by piercing holes or +cutting out pieces of the ground. + +The spinning of the fine thread used for lace-making in the Netherlands, +is an operation demanding so high a degree of minute care and vigilant +attention, that it is impossible it can ever be taken from human hands +by machinery. None but Belgian fingers are skilled in this art. The very +finest sort of this thread is made in Brussels, in damp underground +cellars; for it is so extremely delicate, that it is liable to break by +contact with the dry air above ground; and it is obtained in good +condition only, when made and kept in a humid subterraneous atmosphere. +There are numbers of old Belgian thread-makers who, like spiders, have +passed the best part of their lives spinning in cellars. This sort of +occupation naturally has an injurious effect on the health, and +therefore, to induce people to follow it, they are highly paid. + +To form an accurate idea of this operation, it is necessary to see a +Brabant Threadspinner at her work. She carefully examines every thread, +watching it closely as she draws it off the distaff; and that she may +see it the more distinctly, a piece of dark blue paper is used as a +background for the flax. Whenever the spinner notices the least +unevenness, she stops the evolution of her wheel, breaks off the faulty +piece of flax, and then resumes her spinning. This fine flax being as +costly as gold, the pieces thus broken off are carefully laid aside to +be used in other ways. All this could never be done by machinery. It is +different in the spinning of cotton, silk, or wool, in which the +original threads are almost all of uniform thickness. The invention of +the English Flax-spinning Machine, therefore, can never supersede the +work of the Belgian Fine Thread Spinners, any more than the Bobbin-Net +Machine can rival the fingers of the Brussels lace-makers, or render +their delicate work superfluous. + +The prices current of the Brabant spinners usually include a list of +various sorts of thread suited to lace-making, varying from 60 francs to +1800 francs per pound. Instances have occurred, in which as much as +10,000 francs have been paid for a pound of this fine yarn. So high a +price has never been attained by the best spun silk; though a pound of +silk, in its raw condition, is incomparably more valuable than a pound +of flax. In like manner, a pound of iron may, by dint of human labour +and ingenuity, be rendered more valuable than a pound of gold. + +Lace-making, in regard to the health of the operatives, has one great +advantage. It is a business which is carried on without the necessity of +assembling great numbers of workpeople in one place, or of taking women +from their homes, and thereby breaking the bonds of family union. It is, +moreover, an occupation which affords those employed in it a great +degree of freedom. The spinning-wheel and lace-pillows are easily +carried from place to place, and the work may be done with equal +convenience in the house, in the garden, or at the street-door. In every +Belgian town in which lace-making is the staple business, the eye of the +traveller is continually greeted with pictures of happy industry, +attended by all its train of concomitant virtues. The costliness of the +material employed in the work, viz., the fine flax thread, fosters the +observance of order and economy, which, as well as habits of +cleanliness, are firmly engrafted among the people. Much manual +dexterity, quickness of eye, and judgment, are demanded in lace-making; +and the work is a stimulater of ingenuity and taste; so that, unlike +other occupations merely manual, it tends to rouse rather than to dull +the mind. It is, moreover, unaccompanied by any unpleasant and harassing +noise; for the humming of the spinning-wheel, and the regular tapping of +the little bobbins, are sounds not in themselves disagreeable, or +sufficiently loud to disturb conversation, or to interrupt the social +song. + +In Belgium, female industry presents itself under aspects alike +interesting to the painter, the poet, and the philanthropist. Here and +there may be seen a happy-looking girl, seated at an open window, +turning her spinning-wheel or working at her lace-pillow, whilst at +intervals she indulges in the relaxation of a curious gaze at the +passers-by in the street. Another young _Speldewerkster_, more +sentimentally disposed, will retire into the garden, seating herself in +an umbrageous arbour, or under a spreading tree, her eyes intent on her +work, but her thoughts apparently divided between it and some object +nearer to her heart. At a doorway sits a young mother, surrounded by two +or three children playing round the little table or wooden settle on +which her lace-pillow rests. Whilst the mother’s busy fingers are thus +profitably employed, her eyes keep watch over the movements of her +little ones, and she can at the same time spare an attentive thought for +some one of her humble household duties. + +Dressmakers, milliners, and other females employed in the various +occupations which minister to the exigencies of fashion, are confined to +close rooms, surrounded by masses of silk, muslin, &c. They are debarred +the healthful practice of working in the open air, and can scarcely +venture even to sit at an open window, because a drop of rain or a puff +of wind may be fatal to their work and its materials. The lace-maker, on +the contrary, whose work requires only her thread and her fingers, is +not disturbed by a refreshing breeze or a light shower; and even when +the weather is not particularly fine, she prefers sitting at her +street-door or in her garden, where she enjoys a brighter light than +within doors. + +In most of the principal towns of the Netherlands there is one +particular locality which is the focus of lace-making industry; and +there, in fine weather, the streets are animated by the presence of the +busy workwomen. In each of these districts there is usually one wide +open street which the _Speldewerksters_ prefer to all others, and in +which they assemble, and form themselves into the most picturesque +groups imaginable. It is curious to observe them, pouring out of narrow +lanes and alleys, carrying with them their chairs and lace-pillows, to +take their places in the wide open street, where they can enjoy more of +bright light and fresh air than in their own places of abode. + +“I could not help contrasting,” says Kohl, “the pleasing aspect of these +streets with the close and noisy workrooms in woollen and cotton +manufactories. There the workpeople are all separated and classified +according to age and sex, and marshalled like soldiers. There domestic +and family ties are rudely broken. There chance or exigency separates +the young factory girl from her favourite companions, and dooms her to +association with strangers. There social conversation and the merry song +are drowned in that stunning din of machinery, which in the end +paralyses even the power of thought.” + +Our German friend is a little hard upon factory life. Though not so +picturesque, it does not, if candidly viewed, offer so very unfavourable +a contrast to that passed by the Belgian Lace Workers. + + + + + THE POWER OF MERCY. + + +Quiet enough, in general, is the quaint old town of Lamborough. Why all +this bustle to-day? Along the hedge-bound roads which lead to it, carts, +chaises, vehicles of every description are jogging along filled with +countrymen; and here and there the scarlet cloak or straw bonnet of some +female occupying a chair, placed somewhat unsteadily behind them, +contrasts gaily with the dark coats, or grey smock-frocks of the front +row; from every cottage of the suburb, some individuals join the stream, +which rolls on increasing through the streets till it reaches the +castle. The ancient moat teems with idlers, and the hill opposite, +usually the quiet domain of a score or two of peaceful sheep, partakes +of the surrounding agitation. + +The voice of the multitude which surrounds the court-house, sounds like +the murmur of the sea, till suddenly it is raised to a sort of shout. +John West, the terror of the surrounding country, the sheep-stealer and +burglar, had been found guilty. + +“What is the sentence?” is asked by a hundred voices. + +The answer is “Transportation for Life.” + +But there was one standing aloof on the hill, whose inquiring eye +wandered over the crowd with indescribable anguish, whose pallid cheek +grew more and more ghastly at every denunciation of the culprit, and +who, when at last the sentence was pronounced, fell insensible upon the +greensward. It was the burglar’s son. + +When the boy recovered from his swoon, it was late in the afternoon; he +was alone; the faint tinkling of the sheep-bell had again replaced the +sound of the human chorus of expectation, and dread, and jesting; all +was peaceful, he could not understand why he lay there, feeling so weak +and sick. He raised himself tremulously and looked around, the turf was +cut and spoilt by the trampling of many feet. All his life of the last +few months floated before his memory, his residence in his father’s +hovel with ruffianly comrades, the desperate schemes he heard as he +pretended to sleep on his lowly bed, their expeditions at night, masked +and armed, their hasty returns, the news of his father’s capture, his +own removal to the house of some female in the town, the court, the +trial, the condemnation. + +The father had been a harsh and brutal parent, but he had not positively +ill-used his boy. Of the Great and Merciful Father of the fatherless the +child knew nothing. He deemed himself alone in the world. Yet grief was +not his pervading feeling, nor the shame of being known as the son of a +transport. It was revenge which burned within him. He thought of the +crowd which had come to feast upon his father’s agony; he longed to tear +them to pieces, and he plucked savagely a handful of the grass on which +he leant. Oh, that he were a man! that he could punish them all—all,—the +spectators first, the constables, the judge, the jury, the +witnesses,—one of them especially, a clergyman named Leyton, who had +given his evidence more positively, more clearly, than all the others. +Oh, that he could do that man some injury,—but for him his father would +not have been identified and convicted. + +Suddenly a thought occurred to him,—his eyes sparkled with fierce +delight. “I know where he lives,” he said to himself; “he has the farm +and parsonage of Millwood. I will go there at once,—it is almost dark +already. I will do as I have heard father say he once did to the Squire. +I will set his barns and his house on fire. Yes, yes, he shall burn for +it,—he shall get no more fathers transported.” + +To procure a box of matches was an easy task, and that was all the +preparation the boy made. + +The autumn was far advanced. A cold wind was beginning to moan amongst +the almost leafless trees, and George West’s teeth chattered, and his +ill-clad limbs grew numb as he walked along the fields leading to +Millwood. “Lucky it’s a dark night; this fine wind will fan the flame +nicely,” he repeated to himself. + +The clock was striking nine, but all was quiet as midnight; not a soul +stirring, not a light in the parsonage windows that he could see. He +dared not open the gate, lest the click of the latch should betray him, +so he softly climbed over; but scarcely had he dropped on the other side +of the wall before the loud barking of a dog startled him. He cowered +down behind the hay-rick, scarcely daring to breathe, expecting each +instant that the dog would spring upon him. It was some time before the +boy dared to stir, and as his courage cooled, his thirst for revenge +somewhat subsided also, till he almost determined to return to +Lamborough; but he was too tired, too cold, too hungry,—besides, the +woman would beat him for staying out so late. What could he do? where +should he go? and as the sense of his lonely and forlorn position +returned, so did also the affectionate remembrance of his father, his +hatred of his accusers, his desire to satisfy his vengeance; and, once +more, courageous through anger, he rose, took the box from his pocket +and boldly drew one of them across the sand-paper. It flamed; he stuck +it hastily in the stack against which he rested,—it only flickered a +little, and went out. In great trepidation, young West once more grasped +the whole of the remaining matches in his hand and ignited them but at +the same instant the dog barked. He hears the gate open, a step is close +to him, the matches are extinguished, the lad makes a desperate effort +to escape,—but a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and a deep calm +voice inquired, “What can have urged you to such a crime?” Then calling +loudly, the gentleman, without relinquishing his hold, soon obtained the +help of some farming men, who commenced a search with their lanterns all +about the farm. Of course they found no accomplices, nothing at all but +the handful of half-consumed matches the lad had dropped, and he all +that time stood trembling, and occasionally struggling, beneath the firm +but not rough grasp of the master who held him. + +At last the men were told to return to the house, and thither, by a +different path, was George led till they entered a small, +poorly-furnished room. The walls were covered with books, as the bright +flame of the fire revealed to the anxious gaze of the little culprit. +The clergyman lit a lamp, and surveyed his prisoner attentively. The +lad’s eyes were fixed on the ground, whilst Mr. Leyton’s wandered from +his pale, pinched features to his scanty, ragged attire, through the +tatters of which he could discern the thin limbs quivering from cold or +fear; and when at last impelled by curiosity at the long silence, George +looked up, there was something so sadly compassionate in the stranger’s +gentle look, that the boy could scarcely believe that he was really the +man whose evidence had mainly contributed to transport his father. At +the trial he had been unable to see his face, and nothing so kind had +ever gazed upon him. His proud bad feelings were already melting. + +“You look half-starved,” said Mr. Leyton, “draw nearer to the fire, you +can sit down on that stool whilst I question you; and mind you answer me +the truth. I am not a magistrate, but of course can easily hand you over +to justice if you will not allow me to benefit you in my own way.” + +George still stood twisting his ragged cap in his trembling fingers, and +with so much emotion depicted on his face, that the good clergyman +resumed, in still more soothing accents; “I have no wish to do you +anything but good, my poor boy; look up at me, and see if you cannot +trust me: you need not be thus frightened. I only desire to hear the +tale of misery your appearance indicates, to relieve it if I can.” + +Here the young culprit’s heart smote him. Was this the man whose house +he had tried to burn? On whom he had wished to bring ruin and perhaps +death? Was it a snare spread for him to lead to confession? But when he +looked on that grave compassionate countenance, he felt that it was +_not_. + +“Come, my lad, tell me all.” + +George had for years heard little but oaths, and curses, and ribald +jests, or the thief’s jargon of his father’s associates, and had been +constantly cuffed and punished; but the better part of his nature was +not extinguished; and at those words from the mouth of his _enemy_, he +dropped on his knees, and clasping his hands, tried to speak; but could +only sob. He had not wept before during that day of anguish; and now his +tears gushed forth so freely, his grief was so passionate as he half +knelt, half rested on the floor, that the good questioner saw that +sorrow must have its course ere calm could be restored. + +The young penitent still wept, when a knock was heard at the door, and a +lady entered. It was the clergyman’s wife, he kissed her as she asked +how he had succeeded with the wicked man in the jail? + +“He told me” replied Mr. Leyton, “that he had a son whose fate tormented +him more than his punishment. Indeed his mind was so distracted +respecting the youth, that he was scarcely able to understand my +exhortations. He entreated me with agonising energy to save his son from +such a life as he had led, and gave me the address of a woman in whose +house he lodged. I was, however, unable to find the boy in spite of many +earnest inquiries.” + +“Did you hear his name?” asked the wife. + +“George West,” was the reply. + +At the mention of his name, the boy ceased to sob. Breathlessly he heard +the account of his father’s last request, of the benevolent clergyman’s +wish to fulfil it. He started up, ran towards the door, and endeavoured +to open it; Mr. Leyton calmly restrained him, “You must not escape,” he +said. + +“I cannot stop here. I cannot bear to look at you. Let me go!” The lad +said this wildly, and shook himself away. + +“Why, I intend you nothing but kindness.” + +A new flood of tears gushed forth; and George West said between his +sobs, + +“Whilst you were searching for me to help me, I was trying to burn you +in your house. I cannot bear it.” He sunk on his knees, and covered his +face with both hands. + +There was a long silence, for Mr. and Mrs. Leyton were as much moved as +the boy, who was bowed down with shame and penitence, to which hitherto +he had been a stranger. + +At last the clergyman asked, “What could have induced you to commit such +a crime?” + +Rising suddenly in the excitement of remorse, gratitude, and many +feelings new to him, he hesitated for a moment, and then told his story; +he related his trials, his sins, his sorrows, his supposed wrongs, his +burning anger at the terrible fate of his only parent, and his rage at +the exultation of the crowd: his desolation on recovering from his +swoon, his thirst for vengeance, the attempt to satisfy it. He spoke +with untaught, child-like simplicity, without attempting to suppress the +emotions which successively overcame him. + +When he ceased, the lady hastened to the crouching boy, and soothed him +with gentle words. The very tones of her voice were new to him. They +pierced his heart more acutely than the fiercest of the upbraidings and +denunciations of his old companions. He looked on his merciful +benefactors with bewildered tenderness. He kissed Mrs. Leyton’s hand +then gently laid on his shoulder. He gazed about like one in a dream who +dreaded to wake. He became faint and staggered. He was laid gently on a +sofa, and Mr. and Mrs. Leyton left him. + +Food was shortly administered to him, and after a time, when his senses +had become sufficiently collected, Mr. Leyton returned to the study, and +explained holy and beautiful things, which were new to the neglected +boy: of the great yet loving Father; of Him who loved the poor, forlorn +wretch, equally with the richest, and noblest, and happiest; of the +force and efficacy of the sweet beatitude, “Blessed are the Merciful for +they shall obtain Mercy.” + +I heard this story from Mr. Leyton, during a visit to him in May. George +West was then head ploughman to a neighbouring farmer, one of the +cleanest, best behaved, and most respected labourers in the parish. + + + + + FLOWERS. + + + Dear friend, love well the flowers! Flowers are the sign + Of Earth’s all gentle love, her grace, her youth, + Her endless, matchless, tender gratitude. + When the Sun smiles on thee,—why thou art glad: + But when on Earth he smileth, _She_ bursts forth + In beauty like a bride, and gives him back, + In sweet repayment for his warm bright love, + A world of flowers. You may see them born + On any day in April, moist or dry, + As bright as are the Heavens that look on them: + Some sown like stars upon the greensward; some + As yellow as the sunrise; others red + As Day is when he sets; reflecting thus, + In pretty moods, the bounties of the sky. + + And now, of all fair flowers, which lovest thou best? + The Rose? She is a queen, more wonderful + Than any who have bloomed on Orient thrones: + Sabæan Empress! in her breast, though small, + Beauty and infinite sweetness sweetly dwell, + Inextricable. Or dost dare prefer + The Woodbine, for her fragrant summer breath? + Or Primrose, who doth haunt the hours of Spring, + A wood-nymph brightening places lone and green? + Or Cowslip? or the virgin Violet, + That nun, who, nestling in her cell of leaves, + Shrinks from the world, in vain? + + Yet, wherefore choose, when Nature doth not choose, + Our mistress, our preceptress? _She_ brings forth + Her brood with equal care, loves all alike, + And to the meanest as the greatest yields + Her sunny splendours and her fruitful rains. + Love _all_ flowers, then. Be sure that wisdom lies + In every leaf and bloom; o’er hills and dales; + And thymy mountains; sylvan solitudes, + Where sweet-voiced waters sing the long year through; + In every haunt beneath the Eternal Sun, + Where Youth or Age sends forth its grateful prayer, + Or thoughtful Meditation deigns to stray. + + + + + THE CATTLE-ROAD TO RUIN. + + +There is more animal food consumed in England than in any other country +in the world. We do not merely say more, in proportion to the size of +England, and the numbers of its inhabitants—for then we should only +utter what every-body must know—but we mean actually _more_, without any +such proportional considerations. Considering, then, this vast amount of +animal food, in all its manifold bearings, it is impossible not to be +struck with a sense of what vital importance it is to the health and +general well-being of the community that this food should be of a +perfectly wholesome kind. That very great quantities are not only +unwholesome, but of the worst and most injurious kind, we shall now +proceed to show. We will set this question clearly before the eyes of +the reader, by tracing the brief and eventful history of an ox, from his +journey to Smithfield, till he rolls his large eye upward for the last +time beneath the unskilful blows of his slaughterer. + +A good-natured, healthy, honest-faced ox, is driven out of his meadow at +break of day, and finds a number of other oxen collected together in the +high road, amidst the shouting and whistling of drovers, the lowing of +many deep voices, and the sound of many cudgels. As soon as the expected +numbers have all arrived from the different stalls and fields, the +journey of twenty miles to the railway commences. Some are +refractory—the thrusting and digging of the goad instantly produces an +uproar, and even our good-natured ox cannot help contributing his share +of lowing and bellowing, in consequence of one of these poignant digs +received at random while he was endeavouring to understand what was +required of him. From this moment there is no peace or rest in his life. +The noise and contest is nearly over after a few miles, though renewed +now and then at a cross-road, when the creatures do not know which way +they are to go, and some very naturally go one way, and some the other. +The contest is also renewed whenever they pass a pond, or brook, as the +weather is sultry; and the roads are so dusty, besides the steam from +the breath and bodies of the animals, that their journey seems to be +through a dense, continuous, stifling cloud. It is noon; and the sun is +glaring fiercely down upon the drove. They have as yet proceeded only +twelve miles of their journey, but the sleek and healthy skin of our +honest-faced ox has already undergone a considerable change—and as for +his countenance, it is waxing wroth. His eye has become blood-shot since +they passed the last village ale-house, where he made an attempt, in +passing, just to draw his feverish tongue along the water of the +horse-trough, but was suddenly prevented by a violent blow of the hard +nob-end of a drover’s stick across the tip of his nose. Besides this, +the wound he has received from the goad, has laid bare the skin on his +back, and the sun is beginning to act upon this, as well as the flies. +By the time the twenty miles are accomplished, he is in no mood at all +for the close jam in which he is packed with a number of others in one +of the railway cattle-waggons. He bellows aloud his pain and +indignation; in which sonorous eloquence he is joined by a bullock at +his side, who has lost half one horn by a violent blow from a drover’s +stick, because he had stopped to drink from a ditch at the road-side, +and persisted in getting a taste. Our ox makes the acquaintance of this +suffering individual, and they recount their wrongs to each other; but +the idea of escape does not occur to them; they rather resign themselves +to endure their destiny with stolidity, if possible. Hunger, however, +and worse than this, thirst, causes sensations which are quite beyond +all patient endurance; and again they uplift their great voices in anger +and distress. + +Our rather slow-minded ox has now arrived at the opinion that some +mischief is deliberately intended him, and feels convinced that +something more is needed in this world than passive submission. But what +to do, he knows not. His courage is high—only he does not comprehend his +position. Man, and his doings, are a dreadful puzzle to him. His +one-horned friend fully coincides in all this. Meantime, they are +foaming with heat, and thirst, and fever. + +After a day’s torture in this way, the animals are got out of the +waggon, by a thrashing process which brings them pell-mell over each +other, many landing on their knees, some head foremost, and one or two +falling prostrate beneath the hoofs of the rest. The journey to London +then commences, the two friends having been separated in the recent +confusion. + +With the dreadful scenes, among the live cattle, which regularly take +place in Smithfield market, our readers have already been made +acquainted; it will now be our duty to display before them several +equally revolting, and, though in a different way, still more alarming, +scenes and doings which occur in this neighbourhood, and in other +markets and their vicinities. + +Look at this ox, with dripping flanks, half-covered with mud; a horrid +wound across his nose; the flesh laid bare in a rent on his back, and +festering from exposure to the sun and the flies; his eye-balls rolling +fiercely about, and clots of foam dropping from his mouth! Would any one +believe that three days ago he was a good-natured, healthy, honest-faced +ox? He is waiting to be sold. But who will give a decent price for a +poor beast in this unsound condition? He is waiting with a cord round +his neck, by which he is fastened to a rail, and in his anguish he has +drawn it so tight that he is half-strangled; but he does not care now. +He can endure no more, he thinks, because he is becoming insensible. +Presently, among several others brought to the same rail, he recognises +his friend with the broken horn. They get side by side, and gasp deeply +their mutual torments. There are no more loud lowings and bellowings; +they utter nothing but gasps and groans. Besides the fractured horn, +this bullock has since received a thrust from a goad in his right eye, +by which the sight is not only destroyed, but an effect produced which +makes it requisite to sell him at any price he will bring. This being +agreed upon, he is led away to a slaughter-house near at hand. Our poor +ox makes a strong effort to accompany his friend, and with his eye-balls +almost starting from his head, tugs at the cord that holds him by the +throat, until it breaks. He then hastens after the other, but is quickly +intercepted by a couple of drovers, who assail him with such fury, that +he turns about, and runs out of the market. + +He is in too wretched and worn-out a condition to run fast, so he merely +staggers onward amidst the blows, till suddenly a water-cart happens to +pass. The sight of the shining drops of water seems to give the poor +beast a momentary energy. He runs staggering at it head foremost—his +eyes half-shut,—falls with his head against the after-part of the wheel +as the cart passes on,—and there lies lolling out his tongue upon the +moistened stones. He makes no effort to rise. The drovers form a circle +round him, and rain blows all over him; but the ox still lies with his +tongue out upon the cool wet stones. They then wrench his tail round +till they break it, and practise other cruelties upon him; but all in +vain. There he lies. + +While the drovers are pausing to wipe their sanguinary and demoniac +foreheads, and recover their breath, the ox slowly, and as if in a sort +of delirium, raises himself on his legs, and stands looking at the +drovers with forlorn vacancy. At this juncture the Market Inspector +joins the crowd, and after a brief glance at the various sores and +injuries, condemns the ox as diseased—therefore unfit for sale. He is +accordingly led off, limping and stumbling to the horse-slaughterer’s in +Sharp’s Alley, duly attended by the Inspector, to see that his order of +condemnation be carried into effect. They are followed at a little +distance by two fellows, whose filthy habiliments show that they have +slept amidst horrors, who keep the diseased ox in view with a sort of +stealthy, wolfish “eye to business.” + +The dying ox, with the drover, and the Inspector, having slowly made +their way through the usual market difficulties, and (to those who are +not used to it) the equally revolting horrors of the outskirts, finally +get into Sharp’s Alley, and enter the terrific den of the licensed +horse-slaughter-house. + +It is a large knacker’s yard, furnished with all the usual apparatus for +slaughtering diseased or worn-out horses, and plentifully bestrewn with +the reeking members and frightful refuse of the morning’s work. But even +before the eye,—usually the first and quickest organ in action,—has time +to glance round, the sense of smell is not only assailed, but taken by +storm, with a most horrible, warm, moist, effluvium, so offensive, and +at the same time so peculiar and potent, that it requires no small +resolution in any one, not accustomed to it, to remain a minute within +its precincts. Three of the corners are completely filled up with a heap +of dead horses lying upon their backs, with their hoofs sticking bolt +upright; while two other angles in the yard are filled with a mass of +bodies and fragments, whose projecting legs and other members serve as +stretchers for raw skins,—flayed from their companions, or from +themselves, lying all discoloured, yet in all colours, beneath. By this +means the skins are stretched out to dry. A few live animals are in the +yard. There is one horse—waiting for his turn—as the ox-party come in; +his knees are bent, his head is bowed towards the slushy ground, his +dripping mane falling over his face, and almost reaching with its lank +end to the dark muddled gore in which his fore hoofs are planted. A +strange, ghastly, rattling sound, apparently from the adjoining +premises, is kept up without intermission; a sort of inconceivably rapid +devil’s-tattoo, by way of accompaniment to the hideous scene. + +Two dead horses are being skinned; but all the other animals—of the +four-footed class we mean—are bullocks, in different stages of disease, +and they are seven in number. These latter have not been condemned by +the Inspector, but have been brought here to undergo a last effort for +the purpose of being made saleable—washed and scrubbed, so as to have +the chance of finding a purchaser by torchlight at some very low price; +and failing in this, to be killed before they die, or cut up as soon +after they die as possible. They were all distinguished by slang terms +according to the nature and stage of their diseases. The two best of +these bad bullocks are designated as “choppers;” the three next, whose +hides are torn in several places, are called “rough-uns;” while those +who are in a drooping and reeking condition, with literally a +death-sweat all over them, are playfully called “wet-uns.” To this +latter class belongs our poor ox, who is now brought in, and formally +introduced by the Inspector, as diseased, and _condemned_. The others he +does not see—or, at least, does not notice—his business being with the +ox, who was the last comer. Having thus performed his duty, the +Inspector retires! + +But what _is_ this ceaseless rattling tattoo that is kept up in the +adjoining premises? The walls vibrate with it! Machinery of some kind? +Yes—it is a chopping machine; and here you behold the “choppers,” both +horses and diseased bullocks, who will shortly be in a fit state for +promotion, and will then be taken piece-meal next door. Ay, it is so, in +sober and dreadful seriousness. Here, in this Sharp’s Alley, you behold +the largest horse-slaughter-house in the city; and here, next door, you +will find the largest sausage manufactory in London. The two +establishments thus conveniently situated, belong to near +relations—brothers, we believe, or brothers-in-law. + +Now, while the best of the diseased bullocks or “choppers” are taken to +the sausage machine, to be advantageously mixed with the choppings of +horse-flesh (to which latter ingredient the angry redness of so many +“cured” sausages, _saveloys_, and all the class of _polonies_ is +attributable), who shall venture to deny that, in the callousness of old +habits, and the boldness derived from utter impunity and profitable +success, a very considerable addition is often made to the stock of the +“choppers,” from many of the “rough-uns,” and from some of the more +sound parts of the miserable “wet-uns?” Verily this thing may be—“’tis +apt, and of great credit,” to the City of London. + +But a few words must be said of the “closing scene” of our poor +condemned ox. We would, most willingly, have passed this over, leaving +it to the imagination of the reader; but as no imagination would be at +all likely to approach the fact, we hope we shall be rendering a service +to common humanity in doing some violence to our own, and the readers’ +feelings, by exposing such scenes to the gaze of day. + +Owing to some press of business, the ox was driven to a neighbouring +slaughter-house in the Alley. He was led to the fatal spot, sufficiently +indicated, even amidst all the rest of the sanguinary floor, by its +frightful condition. They placed him in the usual way; the slaughterman +approached with his pole-axe, and swinging it round in a half-jocose and +reckless manner, to hide his want of practice and skill, he struck the +ox a blow on one side of his head, which only made him sink with a groan +on his knees, and sway over on one side. In this attitude he lay +groaning, while a torrent of blood gushed out of his mouth. He could not +be made to rise again to receive the stroke of death or further torment. +They kicked him with the utmost violence in the ribs and on the cheek +with their iron-nailed shoes, but to no purpose. They then jumped upon +him; he only continued to groan. They wrenched his already-broken tail +till they broke it again, higher up, in two places. He strove to rise, +but sank down as before. Finally they had recourse to the following +torture: they closed his nostrils with wet cloths, held tightly up by +both hands, so that no breath could escape, and they then poured a +bucketful of dirty slaughter-house water into his mouth and down his +throat, till with the madness of suffocation the wretched animal was +roused to a momentary struggle for life, and with a violent fling of the +head, which scattered all his torturers, and all their apparatus of wet +rags and buckets, he rose frantically upon his legs. The same +slaughterman now advanced once more with his pole-axe, and dealt a blow, +but again missed his mark, striking only the side of the head. A third +blow was more deliberately levelled at him, and this the ox, by an +instinct of nature, evaded by a side movement as the axe descended. The +slaughterman, enraged beyond measure, and yet more so by the jeers of +his companions, now repeated his blows in quick succession, not one of +which was effective, but only produced a great rising tumour. The +elasticity of this tumour which defeated a death-blow, added to the +exhaustion of the slaughterman’s strength, caused this scene of +barbarous butchery to be protracted to the utmost, and the groaning and +writhing ox did not fall prostrate till he had received as many as +fifteen blows. What followed cannot be written. + +It is proper to add that scenes like these, resulting from want of skill +in the slaughterman, are by no means so common in Smithfield, as in some +other markets—Whitechapel more especially. But they occur occasionally +in an equal or less degree, in every market of the metropolis. + +The two haggard, wolf-eyed fellows who had prowled after the ox, and his +Inspector, now step forward and purchase the bruised and diseased corpse +of the slaughtered (murdered) animal, and carry it away to be sold to +the poor, in small lots by gas-light, on Saturday nights, or in the form +of soup; and to the rich, in the disguise of a well-seasoned English +German-sausage, or other delicious preserved meat! So much for the +Inspector, and the amount of duty he so ably performed! + +We make the following extract from a pamphlet recently published, +entitled, “An Enquiry into the present state of the Smithfield Cattle +Market, and the Dead Meat Markets of the Metropolis.” + + “The _wet-uns_ are very far gone in disease, and are so bad that those + who have to touch them, carefully cover their hands to avoid immediate + contact with such foul substances, naturally fearing the communication + of poison. A servant of a respectable master butcher, about a + twelvemonth ago, slightly scratched his finger with a bone of one of + these diseased animals; the consequence was that he was obliged to go + to the hospital, where he was for upwards of six weeks, and the + surgeons all agreed that it was occasioned by the poison from the + diseased bone. It is also a fact, that if the hands at any time come + in contact with this meat, they are frequently so affected by the + strong smell of the medicine which had been given to the animal when + alive, that it is impossible for a considerable time to get rid of it; + and yet, it will scarcely be believed, none of these poisonous + substances are thrown away—all goes in some shape or form into the + craving stomachs of the hungry poor, or is served up as a dainty for + the higher classes. Even cows which die in calving, and still-born + calves, are all brought to market and sold. Let these facts be + gainsayed; we defy contradiction.” + +We must by no means overlook the adventures and sufferings of sheep; nor +the unwholesome condition to which great numbers of them are reduced +before they are sold as human food. + +A sheep is scudding and bouncing over a common, in the morning, with the +dew glistening on her fleece. She is full of enjoyment, and knows no +care in life. In the evening of the same day, she is slowly moving along +a muddy lane, among a large flock; fatigued, her wool matted with dust +and slush, her mouth parched with thirst, and one ear torn to a red rag +by the dog. He was sent to do it by the shepherd, because she had lagged +a little behind, to gaze through a gap in the hedge at a duck-pond in +the field. She has been in a constant state of fright, confusion, and +apprehension, ever since. At every shout of the shepherd’s voice, or +that of his boy, and at every bark of the dog, or sound of the rapid +pattering of his feet as he rushes by, she has expected to be again +seized, and perhaps torn to pieces. As for the passage of the dog over +her back, in one of his rushes along the backs of the flock, as they +huddle densely together near some crooked corner or cross-way—in utter +confusion as to what they are wanted to do—what they themselves want to +do—what is best to do—or what in the world is about to be done—no word +of man, or bleat of sheep, can convey any adequate impression of the +fright it causes her. On one of these occasions, when going through a +narrow turnpike, the dog is sent over their backs to worry the leaders +who are going the wrong way, and in her spring forward to escape the +touch of his devilish foot, she lacerated her side against a nail in the +gatepost, making a long wound. + +The sudden pain of this causes her to leap out of the rank, up a bank; +and seeing a green field beneath, the instinct of nature makes her leap +down, and scour away. In a moment, the dog—the fury—is after her. She +puts forth all her strength, all her speed—the wind is filled with the +horrors of his voice—of the redoubling sound of his feet—he gains upon +her—she springs aside—leaps up banks—over hurdles—through hedges—but he +is close upon her;—without knowing it, she has made a circle, and is +again nearing the flock, which she reaches just as he springs upon her +shoulders and tears her again on the head, and his teeth lacerate anew +her coagulated ear. She eventually arrives at the railway station, and +is crushed into one of the market waggons; and in this state of +exhaustion, fever, and burning thirst, remains for several hours, until +she arrives in the suburbs of Smithfield. What she suffers in this place +has been already narrated, till finally she is sold, and driven off to +be slaughtered. The den where this last horror is perpetrated (for in +what other terms can we designate all these unnecessary brutalities?) is +usually a dark and loathsome cellar. A slanting board is sometimes +placed, down which the sheep are forced. But very often there is no such +means of descent, and our poor jaded, footsore, wounded sheep—all foul +and fevered, and no longer fit food for man—is seized in the half-naked +blood-boltered arms of a fellow in a greasy red nightcap, and flung down +the cellar, both her fore-legs being broken by the fall. She is +instantly clutched by the ruffians below—dragged to a broad and dripping +bench—flung upon it, on her back—and then the pallid face and patient +eye looks upward!—and is understood. + +And shall not we also—the denizens of a Christian land—understand it? +Shall we not say—“Yes, poor victim of man’s necessities of food, we know +that your death is one of the means whereby we continue to exist—one of +the means whereby our generations roll onward in their course to some +higher states of knowledge and civilisation—one of the means whereby we +gain time to fill, to expand, and to refine the soul, and thus to make +it more fitting for its future abode. But, knowing this, we yet must +recognise in you, a fellow-creature of the earth, dwelling in our sight, +and often close at our side, and trusting us—a creature ever harmless, +and ever useful to us, both for food and clothing; nor do we deserve the +good with which you supply us, nor even the proud name of Man, if we do +not, at the same time, recognise your rightful claim to our humane +considerations.” + +In the course of last year, there were sold in Smithfield Market, the +enormous number of two hundred and thirty-six thousand cattle; and one +million, four hundred and seventeen thousand sheep. A practical +authority has curiously calculated the number of serious and extensive +bruises, caused by sheer brutality, rather than any accidents, in the +course of a year. He finds that the amount could not be less than five +hundred and twelve thousand. These are only the body-bruises, and do not +include any of the various cruelties of blows and cuts on the nose, +hocks, horns, tails, ears, legs, &c. Of course, this fevered and bruised +flesh rapidly decomposes, and is no longer fit for human food. The flesh +of many an animal out of Smithfield, killed on Monday, has become +diseased meat by Tuesday evening—a fact too well known. The loss on +bruised meat in the year has been calculated, by a practical man, at +three shillings a head on every bullock, and sixpence on every sheep, +making a total loss of Sixty-Three Thousand Pounds per annum. This loss, +it is to be understood, is independent of the quantity of bruised and +diseased meat, which _ought_ to be lost, but is sold at various markets, +as human food. It is also independent of the numbers of diseased calves +and pigs brought to market every week, and sold. Very much of this +diseased meat is sold publicly—in Newgate Market, and Tyler’s Market +more especially—and at any rate there is a special and regular trade +carried on in it. One soup establishment, for the working classes, is +said to carry on a business amounting to between four hundred and five +hundred pounds weekly, in diseased meat. It is also used by sausage, +polony, and saveloy makers; for meat pies, and a-la-mode beef shops; and +is very extensively by many of the concocters of preserved meats for +home and foreign consumption. It is said that one of the Arctic +Expeditions failed, chiefly, in consequence of the preserved meats +failing them. They would not keep. Is it any wonder that they would not +keep? What they were made of—wholly, or in part—has been sufficiently +shown. + + “In Newgate Market,” says the writer previously quoted, “the most + disgraceful trade is carried on in diseased meat; as a proof of which, + we assert that one person has been known to purchase from one hundred + and twenty, to one hundred and thirty diseased carcases of beasts + weekly; and when it is known that there are from twenty to thirty + persons, at the least, engaged in this nefarious practice in this + market alone, some idea may be formed of its extent. + + “The numbers of diseased sheep from _variola ovina_, of small-pox, + sent to this market, are alarmingly on the increase, and it is much to + be feared that this complaint is naturalised among our English flocks. + It is very much propagated in the metropolis. It is an acknowledged + fact that upwards of one hundred sheep in this state were weekly, and + for a considerable period, consigned for sale from one owner, who had + purchased largely from abroad, and this took place at the early part + of the present year (1848), and was one of the causes of the inquiry + in Parliament, and the subsequent act. + + “An Inspector is appointed to this market with full powers, acting + under a deputation from the Lord Mayor; but the duties of the office + must be of a very difficult nature, and probably _interfere materially + with the other avocations_ of the Inspector, as we find but little + evidence of his activity. Compare our statement above with the return + laid before the Board of Trade, and it will appear that of fifty + diseased carcases not one on an average is seized. + + “Close adjoining to Newgate Market, is Tyler’s Market, it is only + separated by Warwick Lane. This market is said to be private property, + and that no Inspector has ever been appointed. Every description of + diseased meat is sold here in the most undisguised manner: it is + _celebrated_ for _diseased pork_. It has been stated by a practical + man, one well acquainted with the facts, and fully capable of forming + a correct opinion, that nearly one half of the pigs sold in this + market during the pork season of 1847, ending March, 1848, was + diseased and unfit for human food; and of all other diseased animals, + what has been said of Newgate applies with far greater force to this + market. In Leadenhall Market diseased meat is also sold, though not to + the same extent. Whitechapel Market is situate to the south of the + main or high street bearing the above name. It is rather difficult to + describe the trade carried on here. The situation of the shops—_long, + dark, and narrow_, with the _slaughterhouses behind_—is well adapted + for carrying on the disgraceful practices in either a wholesale or + retail manner to a very great extent. Some of the very worst + description of diseased animals brought to Smithfield alive are here + slaughtered, and large quantities of meat from the country, totally + unfit for food, arrive in every stage of disease, and are sold by the + pound and the stone, to a fearful extent. The following are the names + of the other meat markets, to all of which some diseased animals and + meat find their way,—and to _none_ of them is any Inspector + appointed:— + + “Clare Market, retail; Newport, wholesale and retail: St. George’s, + retail; Oxford, retail; Portman, retail; Brook’s, retail; Sheppard’s, + retail; Boro’, retail; Carnaby, retail; Spitalfields, retail; + Finsbury, retail. At all of these markets the meat is exposed for sale + on Saturday evenings, under the glare of projecting gas burners; and + the poor, who receive their wages on that day, and are the principal + customers, are deceived by its appearance in this light; their object + is of course to obtain the cheapest and the most economical joints; + the meat without fat, which is generally most diseased, is selected by + them, being considered the most profitable, though the fact is that + this species of meat has been proved to be the cause of cancerous + diseases, and diseases of the chest and lungs.” + +The above was attested by one of the witnesses before the Committee of +1828. To think of these abominations having gone on regularly ever +since! Why, it looks as though our legislators had received a +communication from one of the Inspectors, assuring honourable gentlemen +that “it was all nonsense, all this talk about diseased meat! If the +meat was now and then a little queer—though _he_ had never seen such a +thing—none of the poor were any the worse for eating it!” But we will +answer for one thing;—the Inspector never breathed a word about the +_preserved meats_ which so frequently present themselves with a modest +air in purple and white china as delicacies for rich men’s tables! + +The _foreign stock_, and the circumstances under which they arrive, must +not be passed over. They are confined during four or five, or even six +days, in the dark and stifling hold of the vessel, and it frequently +occurs that in all this time there is scarcely any food given them (we +are assured, on good authority, that there is often _none_) nor one drop +of water. The condition in which they arrive may be conjectured. Besides +the extensive preparations for the Monday’s market, which are made by +the drovers and salesmen of the home stock during Sunday, the +desecration of the “day of rest” is immensely increased by the supply of +foreign stock, which arrives at the railway at the same time. Foreign +vessels, (we are quoting from evidence before a Committee) bringing +cattle, endeavour to arrive here on Sunday as early as possible, in +order that the salesman may see the stock before the animals are brought +into the market. There is also a very large supply of calves from +Holland, which are all carted from Blackwall; and the confusion and +uproar there, and at Brewer’s Quay on a Sunday morning, passes all +belief. Great quantities of cattle are also sent on Sunday in order to +avoid the expense of _lairage_, or standing-room. About two thousand men +and boys are employed in this real Sunday desecration. Need we say, it +is of the most shocking and cruel nature? _Here_ is something really +worthy of the storm that is so much wasted on minor matters in this +much-vexed question. + + + + + CLASS OPINIONS. + + A FABLE. + + +A Lamb strayed for the first time into the woods, and excited much +discussion among other animals. In a mixed company, one day, when he +became the subject of a friendly gossip, the goat praised him. + +“Pooh!” said the lion, “this is too absurd. The beast is a pretty beast +enough, but did you hear him roar? I heard him roar, and, by the manes +of my fathers, when he roars he does nothing but cry ba-a-a!” And the +lion bleated his best in mockery, but bleated far from well. + +“Nay,” said the deer, “I do not think so badly of his voice. I liked him +well enough until I saw him leap. He kicks with his hind legs in +running, and, with all his skipping, gets over very little ground.” + +“It is a bad beast altogether,” said the tiger. “He cannot roar, he +cannot run, he can do nothing—and what wonder? I killed a man yesterday, +and, in politeness to the new comer, offered him a bit; upon which he +had the impudence to look disgusted, and say, ‘No, sir, I eat nothing +but grass.’” + +So the beasts criticised the Lamb, each in his own way; and yet it was a +good Lamb, nevertheless. + + + + + THE REGISTRAR-GENERAL ON “LIFE” IN LONDON. + + +The Modern Babylon, so great in other things, has a giant’s appetite for +mortality. On an average, a thousand persons die in London weekly, and +are, as a rule, buried under the ground on which they fall. In old days +there was no general record of the character and locality of this great +concentrated mortality; but since the establishment of our present +system of registration of births, marriages, and deaths, we are able to +test not only how many people die, but where they die and what they die +of; and are able to tell moreover, to a considerable extent, how far the +mortality may be ascribed to inevitable and how far to removable causes. +We can now, in fact, almost say, how many die by the folly of man and +how many by the law of nature. + +The volumes in which this information is given are by no means +attractive at a first glance. They appear under the authority of a +government office, and contain column after column and page after page +of forbidding-looking figures, printed in the smallest and closest of +type. Yet these account-books, in which the business done by the great +destroyer is posted up from day to day, and year to year, contain some +highly curious and important facts. + +The average of a thousand deaths a week in London is by no means evenly +distributed over the year, or over all parts of the metropolis. Each +season and each parish has its peculiarities. Nor is mortality spread +evenly over the various years of life, for the grim tyrant has a special +appetite for humanity at particular ages. + +We have already, in some words about weather wisdom, spoken of certain +diagrams in which the changes of our English seasons have been +delineated, and in which the characteristics of succeeding years are +shown by curved lines. At the Registrar-General’s sanctum—a quiet office +in the quietest part of Somerset House—Mr. Farr has reduced those curves +to circles, and the results display themselves in the shape of coloured +diagrams, showing the varying temperature of years, and the degree in +which temperature influences mortality. The mean temperature of the year +arrives in spring about the 115th day, and in autumn about the 293rd day +of the year. The coldest period is the first three weeks in January, the +hottest days being from about the 200th to the 220th of the year. In the +diagrams that exhibit these facts, certain spaces represent each one +hundred deaths, and we soon see how much more favourable to life in +England warm weather is than cold. In hot countries the reverse is the +rule, hot seasons being fatal seasons, because excess at either end of +the scale it is which does the mischief. In England the plague and other +epidemics, which made such havoc amongst our forefathers were brought to +killing intensity, in unusually hot seasons. But deficient as our +sanitary regulations now are, they have been so greatly improved within +the last century or two, that summer is no longer our period of greatest +average mortality, unless we suffer from some terrible visitant like +cholera, and then, of course, all ordinary calculations are set at +nought. Moderation suits all human beings. Our excess of heat or of cold +raises the mortality; moderate warmth being more favourable, however, +than moderate cold. + +Mortality in the Metropolis seems regulated by a variety of +circumstances, the principal being the elevation of each district above +the level of the river Thames; the number of persons who live in the +same house; the size and character of the house as regards ventilation +and cleanliness; the state of the sewerage; the number of paupers in the +neighbourhood; and the abundant and good, or scanty and bad, supply of +water. Each London parish has its rank and value in the registrar’s +records of health and death; and the figures are so exact, that there is +no evading the verdict they pronounce. At first thought, one might be +inclined to expect that all the health would be found where all the +wealth and fashion are congregated. But it is not so. As a rule, those +districts stand well whose inhabitants are most blessed with the good +things of this life, but, running through the catalogue as arranged in +the order of their salubrity, we find some localities above the average +of health—nay, one at the very top—which fashion knows nothing of. + +In these statements of the registrar, the different districts of the +Metropolis are placed in a list according to their healthiness, those in +which the fewest persons die in a year out of a given equal number, +standing first, followed by those next in sanitary order, until we come +down to those which are but just above the average for all London. +Passing that Rubicon, we see the names of those parishes in which death +gets more than his proper proportion of victims every year; and then, +one after another, down, down the list, until we reach its lowest +depths, in those places where filth and fever reign paramount, and where +such a destroyer as Cholera finds hundreds of victims already weakened +by previous unhealthy influences, and ready to fall a rapid and easy +prey. + +Let us go through this graduated scale, that shows how health and +disease struggle for the mastery, and how death turns the balance. + +First on the list stands Lewisham, a large parish stretching from +Blackheath across the open hilly fields towards Norwood, and including +the hamlet of Sydenham. Its rural character, scattered population, and +good water, explain its pre-eminence on the sanitary scale. The second +name on the list carries us at once from a green suburban parish to one +of the centres of fashion and aristocracy,—to St. George, Hanover +Square. The presence of this parish, so high up on the scale, is due to +several circumstances; and its claims to such prominence are more +artificial than those of its rural competitor for the palm of +healthfulness. The scale is made out from the census of 1841, which was +taken during the height of the London season, when St. George’s was of +course much fuller than it is on the general average of the year. Its +population, too, is to a great extent composed of servants “in place,” +and, therefore, generally young and in good health, and who, when +dangerously sick, are sent to the hospitals, or to the country to die. +The masters and mistresses of St. George’s, also, are so circumstanced, +that when in bad health they can try the sea-air, or retire to country +seats. All these facts tend to lessen the mortality of the district, and +thus tend to place it high up on the sanitary scale. Its advantages are, +an average elevation of forty-nine feet above the high water mark of the +Thames; its neighbourhood to the parks; its wide open streets; a supply +of water drawn from a Company whose system of filtration is very good; a +comparatively thin population, compared with its extent, there being, in +this parish, only sixty-six persons to an acre; and the size and +character of its houses, which return an average rental of 153_l._ a +year. + +From the fashionable “west end” we have to travel to a suburban spot for +the third place in rank on the health-scale. It is the sub-district of +Hampstead. All who have been upon its breezy heath, with its elevation +three or four hundred feet above the river, and its open view of the +surrounding country, will readily understand why Hampstead should rank +high in salubrity—though its average of rental may be low, and though +more persons (as they do) live in each house than in the houses of +Bermondsey and Rotherhithe. + +Fourth on the list comes Hackney, which has only thirteen persons to an +acre. This advantage will be seen more strongly, when we know that +Hampstead has but six, and Lewisham, but two; whilst East London has two +hundred and eighty, and Southwark, one hundred and sixty-five persons +per acre. Hackney also has water from the New River, a comparatively +pure source; and, though its houses are small, with a rental of but +35_l._, the number of occupants to each is but seven. + +For the fifth in order of salubrity we have again to cross the Thames. +It is Camberwell. This parish lies very low, being only four feet above +the water mark; but, then, it is fringed on one side by the open +country; is sheltered from cold winds; is thinly peopled, having only +twelve persons to an acre, and only six occupants to a house. Its +drainage is, almost necessarily, bad, but its neighbourhood to the green +fields compensates for many sanitary evils. + +Wandsworth, with a burden of poor rates almost equal in poundage to that +inflicted upon Southwark and Lambeth comes next. The recommendations of +Wandsworth are, a population of only four to an acre. This indication of +ample open spaces explains the general healthiness of the parish. Its +position and bad drainage have rendered it liable to very heavy loss +from epidemics. Cholera found a larger proportion of victims in +Wandsworth than in the densest peopled parish on the north of the river. + +“Merry Islington” ranks only seventh in spite of its high and dry +position, and its New River water, and its neighbouring fields. Its +elevation is eighty-eight feet above the river; its density of +population, twenty-five to an acre; its average rental 35_l._; its +annual deaths, one in fifty. + +Kensington and Chelsea follow next, and with them are included Brompton, +Hammersmith, and Fulham. They all lie low, but are in pleasant company +with fields and open spaces; their people are well to do in the world, +and a large portion drink good water. + +The City of London district—that is, the portion of the city round about +the Mansion House, and including the houses and warehouses of the rich +traders, who cluster near the Lord Mayor’s chosen dwelling-place—comes +next in order. This is explained by the elevation of the ground, which +is thirty-eight feet above the river; by the value of the property +(average rental 117_l._) which excludes the poor; by the fact that the +Lord Mayor and his neighbours do not drink Thames water; and that their +wealth enables them to live well, and to obtain the best medical +aid,—both for rich and poor. The most affluent also reside out of town, +and many of their old people are drafted off in their old age to +alms-houses, and to country unions. The mortality of this part of the +city is two hundred and fourteen a year out of ten thousand living. + +Next after the neighbourhood of the civic ruler, we have the locality +which has been chosen for the palace of the sovereign—St. James’s. The +population of this parish is dense,—being two hundred and nine to an +acre, though its rentals are high. The palace stands in by no means the +best portion of the district, but the saving points are the parks and +the absence of Thames water. + +St. Pancras follows St. James’s, its recommendations being an elevation +of eighty feet above the river, and a population not one-third so +closely packed as that of the parish occupied by the palace. Its density +is sixty persons to an acre. Pancras, however, has many poor, and +consequently heavy rates. + +Marylebone, its neighbour, claims to follow Pancras, with a greater +elevation and a better class of houses, yet with bad drainage and a +heavier mortality. In Marylebone two hundred and twenty-two persons die +in a year out of ten thousand. The population is more dense than in the +poorer district of Pancras, but the near neighbourhood of Regent’s Park +and open country about Primrose Hill has, of course, a favourable +influence. + +We have now to re-cross the river for the thirteenth place upon this +London Sanitary Scale. It is Newington, a suburban parish, with a level +two feet below the water mark, and with bad water, yet having fewer +deaths than more noted and more wealthy quarters. Like Wandsworth, +however, it suffered severely from Cholera, as its swampy position would +lead one to expect. + +The district round the palace of the Archbishop—Lambeth—follows next in +order. It is raised but a very few feet above the high water level; its +rents are low, its poor rates high, its nuisances many; and its water +supply bad. But it has the air-draught from the river on one side, and +it is not very far from the fields on the other; and more than all, it +has but thirty-nine persons to an acre, and so it escapes with fewer +deaths in a year than its unfavourable position would lead one to +anticipate. It is, however, another of those spots where Cholera made +great havoc. + +From what may be called one river side extremity of South London, we +skip over the central water-side parishes, and go to the opposite +extremity of the metropolis to find at Greenwich our next healthiest +district. Like Lambeth, this place lies low, is badly drained, and has a +poor class of houses, and consequently of people. The secret of its +position on the scale of health is to be found in the fact that the +population is not dense, being only twenty-one to an acre; that it has a +fine park for a playground, and is in near neighbourhood to Blackheath, +and thence to the open and healthy hills and fields of Kent. + +Now we must return again to the centre of London for its next most +healthy parish. It is St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields; but having, it is +almost needless to say, no rural character, except by name. Trafalgar +Square, with its fountains, is almost its only enjoyable open space. The +density of population is not over great for such a position; the rental +high; the deaths two hundred and forty to ten thousand living each year. + +Away east again for our next and last parish that stands above the +general average of London. Stepney is the place, with its multitude of +small houses at low rentals. It has its water from the river Lea, and +its inhabitants have not very far to go when they wish for a ramble in +the fields. Its yearly contribution to our total mortality is two +hundred and forty-two out of ten thousand souls. + +And here a dark line has to be drawn; for Stepney is close down upon the +average mortality of all London. Each parish already named pays less +than the average tribute to death—those presently to be enumerated pay +more. The contributions vary from Clerkenwell, which is the least +unhealthy on the black list to Whitechapel, which is the most unhealthy. +This last parish indeed is the worst in all the metropolis. Between the +two extremes of insalubrity, the districts range in the following order: +Clerkenwell, brought down in the scale by its nests of poverty, and +doubtless, by its huge over-gorged grave-yard. Bethnal Green, with its +host of small houses, and average rental of only 9_l._ The Strand—the +great thoroughfare of fine shops—with a back neighbourhood of filthy +alleys and riverside abominations. Shoreditch, with its stock of poor +people and old clothes. Westminster—regal, historical Westminster—raised +but two feet above the water level, and famous alike for its abbey, its +palace, and its rookeries. Bermondsey, just level with the water line, +and poisoned by open drains and unsavoury factories. Rotherhithe, damp +and foggy. St. Giles’s, another spot renowned for vice, poverty, and +dirt. St. George’s, Southwark, low, poor, and densely crowded. Next come +the two portions of the City of London, technically described as East +London and West London, being in fact those parts beyond the centre +surrounding the Mansion House—the portions indeed especially indulged +with the frowsiness of Cripplegate and the choked-up smells of +Leadenhall; the abominations of Smithfield; the exhalations of the Fleet +ditch; the fever-engendering closeness of the courts off Fleet Street; +and the smoky, ill-smelling sinuosities of Whitefriars. Next below these +“City of London districts” we have Holborn, with a density of two +hundred and thirty-seven to an acre, and a yearly mortality of two +hundred and sixty-six to ten thousand living. Then St. George’s in the +East, with a population far less closely packed than that of Holborn, +yet sending two hundred and eighty-nine souls to judgment every year out +of ten thousand living. Next St. Saviour’s and St. Olave’s, the two +other Southwark parishes who drink Thames water taken from the stream +near their own bridge, and therefore below the Fleet ditch. St. Luke’s, +the locality of another rookery. And, lastly, the zero of this register, +Whitechapel—with its shambles, its poverty, its vice, and its heavy +quota of two hundred and ninety deaths a year out of ten thousand +living. + +This glance at the results displayed in the registrar’s thick volume of +figures, published last year, gives us not only an idea of the curious +information to be gleaned from the labours of Mr. Farr and his brother +officers, but shows also how unevenly death visits the different +portions of our huge city. If from our family of two millions the +destroyer takes a thousand souls a week to their final account, the +first and most certain to fall victims are those who, from ignorance, or +recklessness, or poverty, outrage the natural laws by which alone health +and life can be preserved. + +A comparison between the chances of death which the Londoner runs as +compared with those suffered by his fellow countrymen in other districts +of England, might be put familiarly somewhat after this fashion. If a +man’s acquaintances were fixed at fifty-two in number, and they lived in +scattered places over England, he would annually lose one by death in +forty-five. If they lived in the southeastern counties, the loss would +be at the lower rate of one in fifty-two. If they all lived in London, +he would lose one out of thirty-nine. + +This additional mortality is the penalty now being, day by day, +inflicted upon sinners against sanitary laws in the English metropolis. + + + + + BED. + + “Oh, Sleep! it is a gentle thing, + Beloved from pole to pole!” + + +Was the heart’s cry of the Ancient Mariner at the recollection of the +blessed moment when the fearful curse of life in death fell off him and +the heavenly sleep first “slid into his soul.” “Blessings on sleep!” +said honest Sancho Panza: “it wraps one all round like a mantle!”—a +mantle for the weary human frame, lined softly, as with the down of the +eider-duck, and redolent of the soothing odours of the poppy. The fabled +Cave of Sleep was in the Land of Darkness. No ray of the sun, or moon, +or stars, ever broke upon that night without a dawn. The breath of +somniferous flowers floated in on the still air from the grotto’s mouth. +Black curtains hung round the ever-sleeping god; the Dreams stood around +his couch; Silence kept watch at the portals. Take the winged Dreams +from the picture, and what is left? The sleep of matter. + +The dreams that come floating through our sleep, and fill the dormitory +with visions of love or terror—what are they? Random freaks of the +fancy? Or is sleep but one long dream, of which we see only fragments, +and remember still less? Who shall explain the mystery of that loosening +of the soul and body, of which night after night whispers to us, but +which day after day is unthought of? Reverie, sleep, trance—such are the +stages between the world of man and the world of spirits. Dreaming but +deepens as we advance. Reverie deepens into the dreams of sleep—sleep +into trance—trance borders on death. As the soul retires from the outer +senses, as it escapes from the trammels of the flesh, it lives with +increased power within. Spirit grows more spirit-like as matter +slumbers. We can follow the development up to the last stage. What is +beyond? + + “And in that _sleep of death_, what dreams may come!” + +says Hamlet—pausing on the brink of eternity, and vainly striving to +scan the inscrutable. Trance is an awful counterpart of sleep and +death—mysterious in itself, appalling in its hazards. Day after day +noise has been hushed in the dormitory—month after month it has seen a +human frame grow weaker and weaker, wanner, more deathlike, till the +hues of the grave coloured the face of the living. And now he lies, +motionless, pulseless, breathless. It is not sleep—is it death? + +Leigh Hunt is said to have perpetrated a very bad pun connected with the +dormitory, and which made Charles Lamb laugh immoderately. Going home +together late one night, the latter repeated the well-known proverb, “A +home’s a home, however homely.” “Aye,” added Hunt, “and a bed’s a bed +however _bedly_.” It is a strange thing, a bed. Somebody has called it a +bundle of paradoxes: we go to it reluctantly, and leave it with regret. +Once within the downy precincts of the four posts, how loth we are to +make our exodus into the wilderness of life. We are as enamoured of our +curtained dwelling as if it were the Land of Goshen or the Cave of +Circe. And how many fervent vows have those dumb posts heard broken! +every fresh perjury rising to join its cloud of hovering fellows, each +morning weighing heavier and heavier, on our sluggard eyelids. A caustic +proverb says;—we are all “good risers at night;” but woe’s me for our +agility in the morning. It is a failing of our species, ever ready to +break out in all of us, and in some only vanquished after a struggle +painful as the sundering of bone and marrow. The Great Frederic of +Prussia found it easier, in after life, to rout the French and +Austrians, than in youth to resist the seductions of sleep. After many +single-handed attempts at reformation, he had at last to call to his +assistance an old domestic, whom he charged, on pain of dismissal, to +pull him out of bed every morning at two o’clock. The plan succeeded, as +it deserved to succeed. All men of action are impressed with the +importance of early rising. “When you begin to turn in bed, its time to +turn out,” says the old Duke; and we believe his practice has been in +accordance with his precept. Literary men—among whom, as Bulwer says, a +certain indolence seems almost constitutional—are not so clear upon this +point: they are divided between Night and Morning, though the best +authorities seem in favour of the latter. Early rising is the best +_elixir vitæ_: it is the only lengthener of life that man has ever +devised. By its aid the great Buffon was able to spend half a century—an +ordinary lifetime—at his desk; and yet had time to be the most modish of +all the philosophers who then graced the gay metropolis of France. + +Sleep is a treasure and a pleasure; and, as you love it, guide it +warily. Over-indulgence is ever suicidal, and destroys the pleasure it +means to gratify. The natural times for our lying down and rising up are +plain enough. Nature teaches us, and unsophisticated mankind followed +her. Singing birds and opening flowers hail the sunrise, and the hush of +groves and the closed eyelids of the parterre mark his setting. But “man +hath sought out many inventions.” We prolong our days into the depths of +night, and our nights into the splendour of day. It is a strange result +of civilisation! It is not merely occasioned by that thirst for varied +amusement which characterises an advanced stage of society—it is not +that theatres, balls, dancing, masquerades, require an artificial light, +for all these are or have been equally enjoyed elsewhere beneath the eye +of day. What _is_ the cause, we really are not philosopher enough to +say; but the prevalence of the habit must have given no little pungency +to honest Benjamin Franklin’s joke, when, one summer, he announced to +the Parisians as a great discovery—that the sun rose each morning at +four o’clock; and that, whereas, they burnt no end of candles by sitting +up at night, they might rise in the morning and have light for nothing. +Franklin’s “discovery,” we dare say, produced a laugh at the time, and +things went on as before. Indeed so universal is this artificial +division of day and night, and so interwoven with it are the social +habits, that we shudder at the very idea of returning to the natural +order of things. A Robespierre could not carry through so stupendous a +revolution. Nothing less than an avatar of Siva the Destroyer—Siva with +his hundred arms, turning off as many gaspipes, and replenishing his +necklace of human skulls by decapitating the leading conservatives—could +have any chance of success; and, ten to one, with our gassy splendours, +and seducing glitter, we should convert that pagan devil ere half his +work was done. + +But of all the inventions which perverse ingenuity has sought out, the +most incongruous, the most heretical against both nature and art, is +Reading in Bed. Turning rest into labour, learning into ridicule. A man +had better be up. He is spoiling two most excellent things by attempting +to join them. Study and sleep—how incongruous! It is an idle coupling of +opposites, and shocks a sensible man as much as if he were to meet in +the woods the apparition of a winged elephant. Only fancy an elderly or +middle-aged man (for youth is generally orthodox on this point,) sitting +up in bed, spectacles on his nose, a Kilmarnock on his head, and his +flannel jacket round his shivering shoulders,—doing what? Reading? It +may be so—but he winks so often, possibly from the glare of the candle, +and the glasses now and then slip so far down on his nose, and his hand +now and then holds the volume so unsteadily, that if he himself didn’t +assure us to the contrary, we should suppose him half asleep. We are +sure it must be a great relief to him when the neglected book at last +tumbles out of bed, to such a distance that he cannot recover it. + +Nevertheless, we have heard this extraordinary custom excused on the no +less extraordinary ground of its being a soporific. For those who +require such things, Marryat gives a much simpler recipe—namely, to +mentally repeat any scraps of poetry you can recollect; if your own, so +much the better. The monks of old, in a similar emergency, used to +repeat the seven Penitential Psalms. Either of these plans, we doubt +not, will be found equally efficacious, if one is able to use them—if +anxiety of mind does not divert him from his task, or the lassitude of +illness disable him for attempting it. Sleep, alas! is at times fickle +and coy; and, like most sublunary friends, forsakes us when most wanted. +Reading in that repertory of many curious things, the “Book of the +Farm,” we one day met with the statement that “a pillow of hops will +ensure sleep to a patient in a delirious fever when every other +expedient fails.” We made a note of it. Heaven forbid that the recipe +should ever be needed for us or ours! but the words struck a chord of +sympathy in our heart with such poor sufferers, and we saddened with the +dread of that awful visitation. The fever of delirium! when incoherent +words wander on the lips of genius; when the sufferer stares strangely +and vacantly on his ministering friends, or starts with freezing horror +from the arms of familiar love! Ah! what a dread tenant has the +dormitory then. No food taken for the body, no sleep for the brain! a +human being surging with diabolic strength against his keepers—a human +frame gifted with superhuman vigour only the more rapidly to destroy +itself! Less fearful to the eye, but more harrowing to the soul, is the +dormitory whose walls enclose the sleepless victim of Remorse. No +poppies or mandragora for him! His malady ends only with the fever of +life. _Ends?_ Grief, anxiety, “the thousand several ills that flesh is +heir to,” pass away before the lapse of time or the soothings of love, +and sleep once more folds its dove-like wings above the couch. + +“If there be a regal solitude,” says Charles Lamb, “it is a bed. How the +patient lords it there; what caprices he acts without control! How +king-like he sways his pillow,—tumbling and tossing, and shifting and +lowering, and thumping, and flatting, and moulding it to the +ever-varying requisitions of his throbbing temples. He changes _sides_ +oftener than a politician. Now he lies full length, then half-length, +obliquely, transversely, head and feet quite across the bed; and none +accuses him of tergiversation. Within the four curtains he is absolute. +They are his Mare Clausum. How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a +man’s self to himself! He is his own exclusive object. Supreme +selfishness is inculcated on him as his only duty. ’Tis the two Tables +of the Law to him. He has nothing to think of but how to get well. What +passes out of doors or within them, so he hear not the jarring of them, +affects him not.” + +In this climate a sight of the sun is prized; but we love to see it most +from bed. A dormitory fronting the east, therefore, so that the early +sunbeams may rouse us to the dewy beauties of morning, we love. Let +there also be festooned roses without the window, that on opening it the +perfume may pervade the realms of bed. Our night-bower should be +simple—neat as a fairy’s cell, and ever perfumed with the sweet air of +heaven. It is not a place for showy things, or costly. As fire is the +presiding genius in other rooms, so let water, symbol of purity, be in +the ascendant here; water, fresh and unturbid as the thoughts that here +make their home—water, to wash away the dust and sweat of a weary world. +Let no _fracas_ disturb the quiet of the dormitory. We go there for +repose. Our tasks and our cares are left outside, only to be put on +again with our hat and shoes in the morning. It is an asylum from the +bustle of life—it is the inner shrine of our household gods—and should +be respected accordingly. We never entered during the ordinary process +of bed-making—pillows tossed here, blankets and sheets pitched hither +and thither in wildest confusion, chairs and pitchers in the middle of +the floor, feathers and dust everywhere—without a jarring sense that +sacrilege was going on, and that the _genius loci_ had departed. Rude +hands were profaning the home of our slumbers! + +A sense of security pervades the dormitory. A healthy man in bed is free +from everything but dreams, and once in a lifetime, or after adjudging +the Cheese Premium at an Agricultural Show—the nightmare. We once heard +a worthy gentleman, blessed with a very large family of daughters, +declare he had no peace in his house except in bed. There we feel as if +in a City of Refuge, secure alike from the brawls of earth and the +storms of heaven. Lightning, say old ladies, won’t come through +blankets. Even tigers, says Humboldt, “will not attack a man in his +hammock.” Hitting a man when he’s down is stigmatised as villainous all +the world over; and lions will rather sit with an empty stomach for +hours than touch a man before he awakes. Tricks upon a sleeper! Oh, +villainous! Every perpetrator of such unutterable treachery should be +put beyond the pale of society. The First of April should have no place +in the calendar of the dormitory. We would have the maxim “Let sleeping +dogs lie,” extended to the human race. And an angry dog, certainly, is a +man roused needlessly from his slumbers. What an outcry we Northmen +raised against the introduction of Greenwich time, which defrauded us of +fifteen minutes’ sleep in the morning; and how indiscriminate the +objurgations lavished upon printers’ devils! Of all sinners against the +nocturnal comfort of literary men, these imps are the foremost; and +possibly it was from their malpractices in such matters that they first +acquired their diabolic cognomen. + +The nightcap is not an elegant head-dress, but its comfort is +undeniable. It is a diadem of night; and what tranquillity follows our +self-coronation! It is priceless as the invisible cap of Fortunatus; +and, viewless beneath its folds, our cares cannot find us out. It is +graceless. Well; what then? It is not meant for the garish eye of day, +nor for the quizzing-glass of our fellow-men, or of the ridiculing race +of women; neither does it outrage any taste for the beautiful in the +happy sleeper himself. We speak as bachelors, to whom the pleasures of a +manifold existence are unknown. Possibly the æsthetics of night are not +uncared for when a man has another self to please, and when a pair of +lovely eyes are fixed admiringly on his upper story; but such is the +selfishness of human nature, that we suspect this abnegation of comfort +will not long survive the honeymoon. The French, ever enamoured of +effect, and who, we verily believe, even _sleep_ “_posé_,” sometimes +substitute the many-coloured silken handkerchief for the graceless +“_bonnet-de-nuit_.” But all such substitutes are less comfortable and +more troublesome; and of all irritating things, the most irritating is a +complex operation in undressing. Æsthetics at night, and for the weary! +No, no. The weary man frets at every extra button or superfluous knot, +he counts impatiently every second that keeps him from his couch, and +flies to the arms of sleep as to those of his mistress. Nevertheless, +French novelette writers make a great outcry against nightcaps. We +remember an instance. A husband—rather a good-looking fellow—suspects +that his wife is beginning to have too tender thoughts towards a +glossy-ringletted Lothario who is then staying with them. So, having +accidentally discovered that Lothario slept in a huge peeked nightcowl, +and knowing that ridicule would prove the most effectual disenchanter, +he fastened a string to his guest’s bell, and passed it into his own +room. + +At the dead of night, when all were fast asleep, suddenly Lothario’s +bell rang furiously. Upstarted the lady—“their guest must be ill;”—and +accompanied by her husband, elegantly coiffed in a turbaned silk +handkerchief, she entered the room whence the alarum had sounded. They +find Lothario sitting up in bed—his cowl rising pyramid-fashion, a +fool’s cap all but the bells—bewildered and in ludicrous consternation +at being surprised thus by the fair Angelica; and, unable to conceal his +chagrin, he completes his discomfiture by bursting out in wrathful abuse +of his laughing host for so betraying his weakness for nightcaps. + +The Poetry of the Dormitory! It is an inviting but too delicate a +subject for our rough hands. Do not the very words call up a vision? By +the light of the stars we see a lovely head resting on a downy pillow; +the bloom of the rose is on that young cheek, and the half-parted lips +murmur as in a dream: “Edward!” Love is lying like light at her heart, +and its fairy wand is showing her visions. May her dreams be happy! +“Edward!” Was it a sigh that followed that gentle invocation? What would +the youth give to hear that murmur,—to gaze like yonder stars on his +slumbering love. Hush! are the morning-stars singing together—a lullaby +to soothe the dreamer? A low dulcet strain floats in through the window; +and soon, mingling with the breathings of the lute, the voice of youth. +The harmony penetrates through the slumbering senses to the dreamer’s +heart; and ere the golden curls are lifted from the pillow, she is +conscious of all. The serenade begins anew. What does she hear? + + “Stars of the summer night! + Far in yon azure deeps, + Hide, hide your golden light! + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! + + Dreams of the summer night! + Tell her her lover keeps + Watch! while in slumbers light + She sleeps! + My lady sleeps! + Sleeps!”[3] + +Footnote 3: + + The first and last stanzas of a Serenade of Longfellow’s. + + + + + Published at the Office, No 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. + Printed by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefriars, London. + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + Page Changed from Changed to + + 320 Reisen in der Niederlanden. Reisen in den Niederlanden. + Travels in the Netherlands Travels in the Netherlands + + ● 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 78178 *** |