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diff --git a/78182-0.txt b/78182-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a42f050 --- /dev/null +++ b/78182-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2349 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78182 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 17.] SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + THE GHOST OF ART. + + +I am a bachelor, residing in rather a dreary set of chambers in the +Temple. They are situated in a square court of high houses, which would +be a complete well, but for the want of water and the absence of a +bucket. I live at the top of the house, among the tiles and sparrows. +Like the little man in the nursery-story, I live by myself, and all the +bread and cheese I get—which is not much—I put upon a shelf. I need +scarcely add, perhaps, that I am in love, and that the father of my +charming Julia objects to our union. + +I mention these little particulars as I might deliver a letter of +introduction. The reader is now acquainted with me, and perhaps will +condescend to listen to my narrative. + +I am naturally of a dreamy turn of mind; and my abundant leisure—for I +am called to the bar—coupled with much lonely listening to the +twittering of sparrows, and the pattering of rain, has encouraged that +disposition. In my “top set,” I hear the wind howl, on a winter night, +when the man on the ground floor believes it is perfectly still weather. +The dim lamps with which our Honourable Society (supposed to be as yet +unconscious of the new discovery called Gas) make the horrors of the +staircase visible, deepen the gloom which generally settles on my soul +when I go home at night. + +I am in the Law, but not of it. I can’t exactly make out what it means. +I sit in Westminster Hall sometimes (in character) from ten to four; and +when I go out of Court, I don’t know whether I am standing on my wig or +my boots. + +It appears to me (I mention this in confidence) as if there were too +much talk and too much law—as if some grains of truth were started +overboard into a tempestuous sea of chaff. + +All this may make me mystical. Still, I am confident that what I am +going to describe myself as having seen and heard, I actually did see +and hear. + +It is necessary that I should observe that I have a great delight in +pictures. I am no painter myself, but I have studied pictures and +written about them. I have seen all the most famous pictures in the +world; my education and reading have been sufficiently general to +possess me beforehand with a knowledge of most of the subjects to which +a Painter is likely to have recourse; and, although I might be in some +doubt as to the rightful fashion of the scabbard of King Lear’s sword, +for instance, I think I should know King Lear tolerably well, if I +happened to meet with him. + +I go to all the Modern Exhibitions every season, and of course I revere +the Royal Academy. I stand by its forty Academical articles almost as +firmly as I stand by the thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England. +I am convinced that in neither case could there be, by any rightful +possibility, one article more or less. + +It is now exactly three years—three years ago, this very month—since I +went from Westminster to the Temple, one Thursday afternoon, in a cheap +steam-boat. The sky was black, when I imprudently walked on board. It +began to thunder and lighten immediately afterwards, and the rain poured +down in torrents. The deck seeming to smoke with the wet, I went below; +but so many passengers were there, smoking too, that I came up again, +and buttoning my pea-coat, and standing in the shadow of the paddle-box, +stood as upright as I could, and made the best of it. + +It was at this moment that I first beheld the terrible Being, who is the +subject of my present recollections. + +Standing against the funnel, apparently with the intention of drying +himself by the heat as fast as he got wet, was a shabby man in +threadbare black, and with his hands in his pockets, who fascinated me +from the memorable instant when I caught his eye. + +Where had I caught that eye before? Who was he? Why did I connect him, +all at once, with the Vicar of Wakefield, Alfred the Great, Gil Blas, +Charles the Second, Joseph and his Brethren, the Fairy Queen, Tom Jones, +the Decameron of Boccaccio, Tam O’Shanter, the Marriage of the Doge of +Venice with the Adriatic, and the Great Plague of London? Why, when he +bent one leg, and placed one hand upon the back of the seat near him, +did my mind associate him wildly with the words, “Number one hundred and +forty-two, Portrait of a gentleman?” Could it be that I was going mad? + +I looked at him again, and now I could have taken my affidavit that he +belonged to the Vicar of Wakefield’s family. Whether he was the Vicar, +or Moses, or Mr. Burchill, or the Squire, or a conglomeration of all +four, I knew not; but I was impelled to seize him by the throat, and +charge him with being, in some fell way, connected with the Primrose +blood. He looked up at the rain, and then—oh Heaven!—he became Saint +John. He folded his arms, resigning himself to the weather, and I was +frantically inclined to address him as the Spectator, and firmly demand +to know what he had done with Sir Roger de Coverley. + +The frightful suspicion that I was becoming deranged, returned upon me +with redoubled force. Meantime, this awful stranger, inexplicably linked +to my distress, stood drying himself at the funnel; and ever, as the +steam rose from his clothes, diffusing a mist around him, I saw through +the ghostly medium all the people I have mentioned, and a score more, +sacred and profane. + +I am conscious of a dreadful inclination that stole upon me, as it +thundered and lightened, to grapple with this man, or demon, and plunge +him over the side. But, I constrained myself—I know not how—to speak to +him, and in a pause of the storm, I crossed the deck, and said: + +“What are you?” + +He replied, hoarsely, “A Model.” + +“A what?” said I. + +“A Model,” he replied. “I sets to the profession for a bob a-hour.” (All +through this narrative I give his own words, which are indelibly +imprinted on my memory.) + +The relief which this disclosure gave me, the exquisite delight of the +restoration of my confidence in my own sanity, I cannot describe. I +should have fallen on his neck, but for the consciousness of being +observed by the man at the wheel. + +“You then,” said I, shaking him so warmly by the hand, that I wrung the +rain out of his coat-cuff, “are the gentleman whom I have so frequently +contemplated, in connection with a high-backed chair with a red cushion, +and a table with twisted legs.” + +“I am that Model,” he rejoined moodily, “and I wish I was anything +else.” + +“Say not so,” I returned. “I have seen you in the society of many +beautiful young women;” as in truth I had, and always (I now remembered) +in the act of making the most of his legs. + +“No doubt,” said he. “And you’ve seen me along with warses of flowers, +and any number of table-kivers, and antique cabinets, and warious +gammon.” + +“Sir?” said I. + +“And warious gammon,” he repeated, in a louder voice. “You might have +seen me in armour, too, if you had looked sharp. Blessed if I ha’n’t +stood in half the suits of armour as ever came out of Pratts’s shop; and +sat, for weeks together, a eating nothing, out of half the gold and +silver dishes as has ever been lent for the purpose out of Storrses, and +Mortimerses, or Garrardses, and Davenportseseses.” + +Excited, as it appeared, by a sense of injury, I thought he never would +have found an end for the last word. But, at length it rolled sullenly +away with the thunder. + +“Pardon me,” said I, “you are a well-favored, well-made man, and +yet—forgive me—I find, on examining my mind, that I associate you +with—that my recollection indistinctly makes you, in short—excuse me—a +kind of powerful monster.” + +“It would be a wonder if it didn’t,” he said. “Do you know what my +points are?” + +“No,” said I. + +“My throat and my legs,” said he. “When I don’t set for a head, I mostly +sets for a throat and a pair of legs. Now, granted you was a painter, +and was to work at my throat for a week together, I suppose you’d see a +lot of lumps and bumps there, that would never be there at all, if you +looked at me, complete, instead of only my throat. Wouldn’t you?” + +“Probably,” said I, surveying him. + +“Why, it stands to reason,” said the Model. “Work another week at my +legs, and it’ll be the same thing. You’ll make ’em out as knotty and as +knobby, at last, as if they was the trunks of two old trees. Then, take +and stick my legs and throat on to another man’s body, and you’ll make a +reg’lar monster. And that’s the way the public gets their reg’lar +monsters, every first Monday in May, when the Royal Academy Exhibition +opens.” + +“You are a critic,” said I, with an air of deference. + +“I’m in an uncommon ill humour, if that’s it,” rejoined the Model, with +great indignation. “As if it warn’t bad enough for a bob a-hour, for a +man to be mixing himself up with that there jolly old furniter that one +‘ud think the public know’d the wery nails in by this time—or to be +putting on greasy old ats and cloaks, and playing tambourines in the Bay +o’ Naples, with Wesuvius a smokin’ according to pattern in the +background, and the wines a bearing wonderful in the middle distance—or +to be unpolitely kicking up his legs among a lot o’ gals, with no reason +whatever in his mind, but to show ’em—as if this warn’t bad enough, I’m +to go and be thrown out of employment too!” + +“Surely no!” said I. + +“Surely yes,” said the indignant Model. “BUT I’LL GROW ONE.” + +The gloomy and threatening manner in which he muttered the last words, +can never be effaced from my remembrance. My blood ran cold. + +I asked of myself, what was it that this desperate Being was resolved to +grow? My breast made no response. + +I ventured to implore him to explain his meaning. With a scornful laugh, +he uttered this dark prophecy: + +“I’LL GROW ONE. AND, MARK MY WORDS, IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!” + +We parted in the storm, after I had forced half-a-crown on his +acceptance, with a trembling hand. I conclude that something +supernatural happened to the steam-boat, as it bore his reeking figure +down the river; but it never got into the papers. + +Two years elapsed, during which I followed my profession without any +vicissitudes; never holding so much as a motion, of course. At the +expiration of that period, I found myself making my way home to the +Temple, one night, in precisely such another storm of thunder and +lightning as that by which I had been overtaken on board the +steam-boat—except that this storm, bursting over the town at midnight, +was rendered much more awful by the darkness and the hour. + +As I turned into my court, I really thought a thunderbolt would fall, +and plough the pavement up. Every brick and stone in the place seemed to +have an echo of its own for the thunder. The water-spouts were +overcharged, and the rain came tearing down from the house-tops as if +they had been mountain-tops. + +Mrs. Parkins, my laundress—wife of Parkins the porter, then newly dead +of a dropsy—had particular instructions to place a bedroom candle and a +match under the staircase lamp on my landing, in order that I might +light my candle there, whenever I came home. Mrs. Parkins invariably +disregarding all instructions, they were never there. Thus it happened +that on this occasion I groped my way into my sitting-room to find the +candle, and came out to light it. + +What were my emotions when, underneath the staircase lamp, shining with +wet as if he had never been dry since our last meeting, stood the +mysterious Being whom I had encountered on the steam-boat in a +thunderstorm, two years before! His prediction rushed upon my mind, and +I turned faint. + +“I said I’d do it,” he observed, in a hollow voice, “and I have done it. +May I come in?” + +“Misguided creature, what have you done?” I returned. + +“I’ll let you know,” was his reply, “if you’ll let me in.” + +Could it be murder that he had done? And had he been so successful that +he wanted to do it again, at my expense? + +I hesitated. + +“May I come in?” said he. + +I inclined my head, with as much presence of mind as I could command, +and he followed me into my chambers. There, I saw that the lower part of +his face was tied up, in what is commonly called a Belcher handkerchief. +He slowly removed this bandage, and exposed to view a long dark beard, +curling over his upper lip, twisting about the corners of his mouth, and +hanging down upon his breast. + +“What is this?” I exclaimed involuntarily, “and what have you become?” + +“I am the Ghost of Art!” said he. + +The effect of these words, slowly uttered in the thunderstorm at +midnight, was appalling in the last degree. More dead than alive, I +surveyed him in silence. + +“The German taste came up,” said he, “and threw me out of bread. I am +ready for the taste now.” + +He made his beard a little jagged with his hands, folded his arms, and +said, + +“Severity!” + +I shuddered. It was so severe. + +He made his beard flowing on his breast, and, leaning both hands on the +staff of a carpet-broom which Mrs. Parkins had left among my books, +said: + +“Benevolence.” + +I stood transfixed. The change of sentiment was entirely in the beard. +The man might have left his face alone, or had no face. The beard did +everything. + +He laid down, on his back, on my table, and with that action of his head +threw up his beard at the chin. + +“That’s death!” said he. + +He got off my table and, looking up at the ceiling, cocked his beard a +little awry; at the same time making it stick out before him. + +“Adoration, or a vow of vengeance,” he observed. + +He turned his profile to me, making his upper lip very bulgy with the +upper part of his beard. + +“Romantic character,” said he. + +He looked sideways out of his beard, as if it were an ivy-bush. +“Jealousy,” said he. He gave it an ingenious twist in the air, and +informed me that he was carousing. He made it shaggy with his +fingers—and it was Despair; lank—and it was avarice; tossed it all kinds +of ways—and it was rage. The beard did everything. + +“I am the Ghost of Art,” said he. “Two bob a day now, and more when its +longer! Hair’s the true expression. There is no other. I SAID I’D GROW +IT, AND I’VE GROWN IT, AND IT SHALL HAUNT YOU!” + +He may have tumbled down stairs in the dark, but he never walked down or +ran down. I looked over the bannisters, and I was alone with the +thunder. + +Need I add more of my terrific fate? It HAS haunted me ever since. It +glares upon me from the walls of the Royal Academy, (except when MACLISE +subdues it to his genius,) it fills my soul with terror at the British +Institution it lures young artists on to their destruction. Go where I +will, the Ghost of Art, eternally working the passions in hair, and +expressing everything by beard, pursues me. The prediction is +accomplished, and the Victim has no rest. + + + + + THE WONDERS OF 1851. + + +A certain Government office having a more than usual need of some new +ideas, and wishing to obtain them from the collective mind of the +country, consulted Mr. Trappem, the official solicitor—a gentleman of +great experience—on the subject. “A new idea,” said he, “is not the only +thing you will want; these new ideas, to be worth anything, must be +reduced to practical demonstration, by models, plans, or experiments. +This will cost much time, labour, and money, and be attended through its +progress with many disappointments. The rule, therefore, is to _throw it +open_ to the public. Let the inventive spirits of the whole public be +set to work; let them make the calculations, designs, models, plans; let +them try all the experiments at their own expense; let them all be +encouraged to proceed by those suggestions which are sure to excite the +greatest hopes and the utmost emulation, without committing the +Honourable Board to anything. When at length two or three succeed, then +the Honourable Board steps in, and taking a bit from one, and a bit from +another, but the whole, or chief part, from no one in a direct way, +rejects them all individually and collectively, and escapes all claims +and contingencies. A few compliments, enough to keep alive hope, and at +the same time keep the best men quiet, should finally be held out, and +the competitors may then be safely left to long delays and the course of +events. That’s the way.” + +Too true, Mr. Trappem—that _is_ the way; and many a Government office, +or other imposing array of Committee-men, and Honourable Boards, have +practised this same expedient upon the inventive genius and collective +knowledge and talent of the public. The last instances which deserve to +be recorded, not merely because they are the most recent, but rather on +account of their magnitude and completeness, are the invitations to +competitors for models and plans, issued by the Metropolitan +Commissioners of Sewers,—and by the Commissioners of the Exhibition of +Industry of all Nations. + +In order to supersede prevaricating denials and evasions of what we have +to say concerning the Metropolitan Commissioners of Sewers, it may be as +well to premise that they have for some time adopted the cunning “fence” +of a “_Committee_ of Commissioners,” behind which the Commissioners make +a dodge on all difficult, alarming, and responsible occasions. When all +is safe, and clear, and sunshiny, it is the Commissioners who have done +the thing; directly matters look awkward, and a bad business, the +diplomatic bo-peeps leap away from the bursting clouds—and the Committee +of Commissioners have done it all, for which the main body of the Right +Honourable Board is by no means responsible. A similar manœuvre has been +adopted by the Commissioners of the Exhibition of Industry, who have got +two Committees to screen them. + +Now, in the name of all worthily striving spirits,—of all those who have +devoted their talents, time, and money to the production of models, +designs, or plans,—of all those who have laboured hard by day or by +night, perhaps amidst other arduous and necessary avocations,—in the +name of all those, who, possessing real knowledge and skill, have +naturally and inevitably been led to indulge in high hopes, if not of +entire success, at least of fair play and of some advantage to +themselves in reward, remuneration for reasonable and necessary expenses +incurred, or, at any rate, in receiving honourable mention,—and, +finally, in the name of common justice, we do most loudly and earnestly +protest against all these and similar appeals to the collective +intellect of the public, unless conducted upon some liberal and definite +method of compensation for all eminently meritorious labours. + +That one great prize—either as a substantial tribute, or in the +exclusive adoption of an entire plan—should be awarded to one man, and +that the half-dozen next to him in merit, perhaps equal or superior, +should derive no benefit at all, is manifestly a most clumsy and unjust +arrangement. But when we find great appeals to the public, nobly +answered, and yet _no one_ work selected as the work desired,—no one +rewarded—but every one _used_ and got rid of—then, indeed, we see an +abuse of that kind which ought to be most fully exposed, so that it may +serve as a warning in future “to all whom it may concern.” + +It is curious to observe how much more quickly some nations, as well as +individuals, take a hint than others. Among the models and plans sent in +answer to the public invitation of the Commissioners of the Exhibition +of Industry, there are a great many, and of a most excellent kind, from +our sprightly and sanguine friends, the French—while, notwithstanding +the chief originator and patron is from the _Faderland_, not one of +those who are more especially distinguished as entitled to the highest +honours, is from Germany! Out of the eighteen names thus selected, no +less than twelve are Frenchmen; four are English; one Austrian; and a +solitary Dutchman. In all Prussia, there was not found one man to +venture. It would seem as though they were aware of these tricks. But +how is it that so few of our own countrymen are thus distinguished and +complimented? Is it because they are deficient in the requisite talent, +or do they not take sufficient interest in the matter? Surely neither of +these reasons will be satisfactory to account for the fact of our native +architects and designers having been so palpably beaten at this first +trial of skill. We shall probably be told that the best men of France +have entered the lists in this competition; whereas our best men have +stood aloof. Why is this? May it not be that “old birds are not caught +with chaff?” Our best men are generally well employed, and it is not +worth their while to waste their time in competitions which almost +invariably end in so unsatisfactory a manner. The same thing occurred, +and may be answered in the same way, with regard to the hundred and +sixty or seventy Plans sent in for the Drainage of London. Our most +eminent civil engineers stood aloof. A few very able men, it is true, +entered into the contest with enthusiasm, at great expense of time, +labour, and money, (one of them, Mr. J. B. M‘Clean, spent nearly 500_l._ +in surveys, &c.) but very few of them will ever do this again. Out of +the two hundred and forty-five competitors who have sent designs and +plans, in reply to the equally vague and formal invitation of the +Commissioners of the Exhibition of 1851, not a single name of the +hundred and sixty or seventy engineers, surveyors, architects, builders, +&c., who sent in designs for the Drainage of London, is to be found +either in List A, or List B, of those whom the Commissioners of the +Exhibition have mentioned as entitled to honorary distinction. They +were, no doubt, very thoroughly sickened by the previous affair. + +We have said that, at the very least, those who have sent in excellent +designs should receive honourable mention. This is liberally bestowed by +the Commissioners of the Exhibition on eighteen individuals; but that is +not sufficient. Neither is the longer list of names, thus honoured, +perfectly just, inasmuch as it excludes many whose plans display very +great merit. As for the Commissioners of Sewers, the report they issued +concerning the plans sent to them, was meagre and mean to the last +degree. Its timidity at a just and decent compliment, absolutely +amounted to the ludicrous. If they thanked anybody at all, the thanks +seemed warily pushed towards the parties by the Solicitor of the +Commission at the end of a long pole. They had not even a word of +commendation to offer to two or three men who had sent in designs of the +most comprehensive and original character,—designs which were, at least, +as practicable as any of the “tunnel schemes,” or others which they +ventured, in their caustic way, to applaud. We would more especially +mention the plans of Mr. Richard Dover, Mr. John Martin, Mr. John Sutton +(_The Margin Sewer_), Mr. Jasper Rogers, Mr. William H. Smith (_Second +Series_), and the one signed “_Nunc aut Nunquam_,” which latter, for +grandeur of conception, equals the very greatest works of ancient and +modern times. Placed beside such unmannerly treatment as this, and +comparing the two reports, that of the Commissioners of the Exhibition +reads like the production of gentlemen and scholars, beside the +penurious reservations and dryness of the Commissioners of Sewers. + +With regard, however, to the great superiority of foreign artists over +our own in the present matter of competition, and our utter defeat in +the first trial of the respective strength of Nations, some very +excellent remarks have been put forth by the “Athenæum.” “Let us see,” +says the writer, “if the men who did come up to this architectural +battle have been fairly dealt with. It is essential to the integrity of +a combat that it should be fought with the weapon prescribed. If one of +two combatants bring a sword double the length of his adversary’s, or a +rifle to his rival’s pistol, we should scarcely hold that the defeat of +the latter is proof that he is inferior in fence or in aim.” This is +closely and fairly put. The answer must be, that our artists have _not_ +been fairly beaten. The advertisement of the Committee requested +“information and suggestions” on the general form of the building in +plan, &c., and they laid down rules and regulations to which “they +earnestly requested the contributors to conform,” declaring that they +would not recognise any plans which were “sent in a form inconsistent +with these rules.” They were clearly defined. For instance—they directed +that the communications must consist of a single sheet of paper of given +dimensions; that the drawing should be a simple ground-plan, also of +limited dimensions; and that it should _only_ contain “such elevations +and sections of the building, on the same sheet, as might be necessary +to elucidate the system proposed.” Surely all this is clear enough. + +Let us now see how some of the most successful of the competitors have +attended to these conditions on which they were to enter the arena. + +What extensive pleasure-grounds are those?—and adorned with such +architectural displays? They are the work of Monsieur Cailloux. But, a +little further on, we behold pleasure-grounds and architectural +structures yet more ornate and refined. They are from the hand of +Monsieur Charpentier. Further on, another, by Monsieur Cleemputte; and +another by Monsieur Gaulle—a complicated work of thoughtful elaboration. +Yet even these are destined to be surpassed by the luxurious fancies of +other artists. + +So far from denying or doubting that many of these designs are +beautiful, we close our eyes, and see in imagination the exquisite +magnificence of the structures, into which no coarse and profane hands +should dare to wheel or carry rude raw materials of any kind; there, +everything must be finished to the highest degree of polished art and +refined taste. Also, no lumbering pieces of machinery or mechanism must +risk doing injury to the walls, and pillars, and profusion of glass—no +uncouth agricultural implements, or other tools of horny-handed +Industry. Hither, let no enthusiasts in smoke-jacks, patent capstans, +door-hinges, dock-gates, double-barred gridirons, humane +chimney-sweeping apparatuses, peat-charcoal, bachelor’s broilers, +fire-annihilators, patent filters, portable kitchens, or electric +telegraphs, dare to send their uncouth machinery and compounds; but only +such things as are delicate of texture, rainbow-coloured, and exquisite +to the smell, while the visitors (none of whom will be admitted except +in full dress, and great numbers of whom will always appear in court +dresses) perambulate about, gazing now on this side, and now on that, to +the sound of the seraphine and Moorish flutes. + +Let us awake from this charming vision; but it was natural to fall into +it on such suggestions. Again we are in danger. For who can contemplate +the elegant originality of Monsieur Jacquet (No. 25) without emotion, or +a “wish to be there?” His ground-plan resembles a section of some +enormous fan-light of painted glass, or like part of a gigantic Oriental +fan, made of the plumes of some fabulous peacock. Nor must we pass over +the suggestion of our countrymen, Messrs. Felix and White (No. 72), +because they are not equally imaginative, for they certainly manifest +very much and excellent thought in their architectural display; though, +like our foreign friends, no thought at all of the cost of such a work. +The same may be said of the beautiful pleasure-grounds designed by Mr. +Reilly (No. 102), with circular, oval, and serpentine garden-plots, +flower-beds, and shrubberies, and labyrinthine walks or covered ways of +glass. + +But there are more—yet more of these delightful and deliberate +violations of the terms on which competitors were to enter the lists—one +vieing with another, not in producing the most excellently useful and +economical structure for the purpose required, but the most perfect +exhibition of the artist’s especial taste, “regardless of expense.” Yes, +there are more of these deserving notice. One competitor—nay, three of +them—propose that the entire building should be made of iron, domes and +towers inclusive; another, that it shall be all made of glass, such as +we might find in an Arabian Nights’ Tale. Monsieur Soyer, the mighty +cook (No. 165), begins the synopsis of his design by proposing to take +up, and remove the great marble arch from Buckingham Palace, as though +it were a “trifle,” and serve it up for a grand entrance opposite the +Prince of Wales’s Gate. Here, also, is a structure which arrests the +attention even amidst the surrounding wonders, and appears to be several +conservatories and libraries on a colossal scale of glass frame-work, +delightfully intermingled with domes and turrets, and observatories, +with here and there minarets and pagodas, of the delicious character +presented by those fragile structures which make such a tempting figure +on the festive board, standing erect among the dessert-plates. Yet, once +more, behold the prodigal laying out of palace-gardens, not to speak of +the ante-industrial palace itself (which reminds one of Thomson’s +“Castle of Indolence”), gardens with alcoves and aviaries, and +fountains, glass temples, green labyrinths, flower-beds and +flower-stands, vases and _jets-d’eaux_, sculpture, shrubberies, shaded +lovers’ walks, public promenades, with lords and ladies and princes and +princesses, of all nations, sauntering about, and the clouds and sky of +an Italian sunset lighting up and colouring the whole. For this, and +similar _chateaux_, we are quite at a loss to conjecture the principle +on which they present themselves on this occasion; but we have no doubt +that they all belong to that munificent patron of art, and great landed +proprietor, the Marquis of Carrabas. + +Now, that our own architects are able to compete successfully with the +best of our foreign friends in works of imaginative design, we do not +affirm; neither, for the reasons previously adduced by the “Athenæum,” +do we consider ourselves justified in denying it, from the result of the +present struggle. But for our own artists and others, who have confined +themselves to the terms and preliminaries announced by the +Commissioners, have they succeeded?—that is the question. Not +satisfactorily, we think. Our architects are, for the most part, +impracticable, from the expense required, and the wilful forgetfulness +that the building is to be of a temporary character; while our surveyors +and builders have been thinking too much of railway-stations, not of +that sober, simple, and sufficient kind which the occasion requires, but +(according to the error in these stations) of that large, ornate, and +redundant kind which is meant to be admired as much as used, and also to +last for ages. This latter mistake is very characteristic of our +countrymen. They do not feel, nor comprehend, the act of knocking up a +temporary structure; they are always for something that will endure. + +In certain matters requiring great skill and many forethoughts, most of +these plans are not very successful. For instance, the prevention of +terrible confusion and danger in the constant arrivals and departures of +visitors—carriages, vehicles of all sorts, horsemen, and shoals of +pedestrians. This relates to the approaches and entrances outside; and +the position and approaches of the exit-doors inside; also, the best +means of directing and managing the currents of visitors within. It +seems pretty clear that everybody must not be allowed to follow his “own +sweet will” in all respects, or there will be many a deadlock, and +perhaps a deadly struggle, with all the usual disastrous consequences. +Many of the plans seek to direct the current of visitors (indicated by +shoals of little arrows with their heads pointing the same way) not so +much for the convenience and freedom of the public, as in accordance +with the architectural points to be displayed. Others appear to intend +that the direction of the current shall be forced by the pressure from +the column constantly advancing behind. This might be dangerous. The +current might surely be managed so as to combine direction on a large +scale with a considerable amount of individual freedom; and, in any +case, the amount of pressure from the masses behind should be regulated +by sectional barriers. + +How to find your way out? This may be a question well worth +consideration. Of course there will be a sufficient number of +exit-doors; but if you have to walk and struggle through several miles +of bazaar-counters or winding ways, amidst dense crowds, before you can +discover a means of egress, your amount of pleasure is not likely to +induce a second visit. Mr. Brandon for instance (No. 207), has beautiful +domed temples and libraries (so they appear) or other “glass cases,” +while the ground-plan presents a series of circuitous batches of stalls, +or bazaar-counters, not unlike large circles of sheep-pens, except that +there is a free passage between them. Hence, the currents, or rather, +the “rapids,” of visitors must inevitably be going and coming, and +jostling, and conflicting; and others arriving at a dead stand, and +having no chance of progression, or retreat, without a “trial of +strength,”—the whole producing of necessity an inextricable maze and +confusion, with an impossibility for a long time of finding a way out, +even when able to move. + +This question of the current of visitors, and of movement in general, is +ingeniously settled by one gentleman, who proposes to have a railway +along the grand central line, for the conveyance up and down of all +sorts of goods and articles, heavy or light. We presume that the +progress of the carriages and trucks would be very slow, so that the +visitors, when fatigued, might, at their pleasure, step up to a seat, +and be quietly conveyed along to any part of the line. This notion has, +of course, been laughed at, and we confess to having amused ourselves +considerably with the “train” of thought induced by it; but we are not +sure, in the present state of mechanical science, whether something very +commodious might not result from a modification of the idea. The fares, +if any (and we think there should be a trifle paid to check reckless +crowding), should not exceed a penny. The inventor will thus perceive +that, if we have laughed, we have also sympathised, and are quite ready +to get up and have a ride. One gentleman (Mr. C. H. Smith) proposes to +erect three octagonal vestibules, communicating with all principal +compartments; the roof to be upheld by suspension chains. Cast-iron +frames are to hold rough glass, laid in plates lapping over each other, +like tiles. This is certainly a sensible provision against a hail-storm, +which has occurred to no one else, amidst their prodigalities in glass. + +But, amidst all these wonders of 1851, are there no plain, simple, +practical plans sent in? There are a good many. Some of these are +certainly not very attractive, presenting, as they do, the appearance of +a superior kind of barracks, hospitals, alms-houses, nursery-grounds; +and one of these plans is laid out entirely like a series of +cucumber-frames, with shifting lights at top. There are, however, +several of these sober designs which possess great practical merit, and +have preserved a due consideration of the terms on which the competition +was proposed. Of these, the Commissioners and Committees have availed +themselves in all respects suited to their own views and wishes; and out +of all these, combined with their own especial fancies, they seem likely +to produce an interminable range of cast-iron cow-sheds, having (as a +specimen of the present high state of constructive genius) an enormous +slop-basin, of iron frame-work, inverted in the centre, as an attraction +for the admiring eyes of all the nations. + +But other problems have to be solved. The classification and arrangement +of the raw materials, the manufactured articles, the machinery, and the +works of plastic art, is a question of very great importance. It not +only involves the things themselves, but their respective countries. +Should the productions of each country be kept separate? This appears +the natural arrangement, or how should any one make a study of the +powers of any special country. Prince Albert, it seems, wishes +otherwise. He thinks that a fusion of the productions of all nations +will be more in accordance with the broad general principle of the +Exhibition—more tending to amalgamate and fraternise one country with +another. This feeling is excellent; but we fear it would cause an utter +confusion, and amidst the heterogeneous masses, nobody would be able to +make a study of the productions of any particular nation. An eminent +civil engineer suggests that the productions of the respective countries +should be ranged together from side to side of the entire width of the +edifice—thus you can at once see the works of industry of England, +France, Germany, America, Switzerland, &c., &c., by walking up and down +from one side to the other; and you can obtain a collective view of the +works of all these countries by walking longitudinally, or from end to +end of the building. To some such classification and arrangement as +this, we think, the Committee will be compelled to have recourse at +last. + +The other problem to which we adverted, is one which is not so liable to +be solved as saturated with hot water, and then dragged from one quarter +of the metropolis to another before it is settled by some arbitrary +decision. We allude to the spot on which the buildings of the Exhibition +are to be erected. Hyde Park is not unlikely to be a subject of much +contest. The latent idea of preserving the most important part of the +“temporary” structure has alarmed all the drivers and riders in Hyde +Park, and all those whose windows overlook it. And no wonder;—to say +nothing of the crowds and stoppages outside the park, and the slough +within, produced by the enormous traffic of heavy wheels, long before +the Exhibition opens. Battersea Fields was next mentioned, and thought +advantageous, not only from the open space they present, but the +facilities of water-conveyance for goods and passengers. Still, the +distance is rather against such a choice. It would probably reduce the +number of times each visitor would go to the Exhibition, and, +consequently, be a check upon the money taken at the doors. Hundreds of +thousands flock daily to Greenwich during the Fair; but the argument +will not hold good, in all respects, as regards the present question. +Regent’s Park has been named as more appropriate; but there is a strong +and manifest objection to any interference with that much-used place of +public recreation. To cut up its green turf, and gravelled roads, would +be even more monstrous than any spoliation of Hyde Park. No locality +could be selected, perhaps, for such a purpose that would be perfectly +free from all objections. Still we are so convinced of the multitude of +inconveniences inevitably attendant on such an Exhibition in the midst +of the metropolis—and we feel so strongly the cool, high-handed +injustice of parcelling out the public property at Court, and stopping +up the public breathing-places, for any purpose—that we urge its removal +to some spot out of the town, easily accessible both by railway and +river. + + + + + “I WOULD NOT HAVE THEE YOUNG AGAIN.” + + + I would not have thee young again + Since I myself am old; + Not that thy youth was ever vain, + Or that my age is cold; + But when upon thy gentle face + I see the shades of time, + A thousand memories replace + The beauties of thy prime. + + Though from thine eyes of softest blue + Some light hath passed away, + Love looketh forth as warm and true + As on our bridal day. + I hear thy song, and though in part + ’Tis fainter in its tone, + I heed it not, for still thy heart + Seems singing to my own. + + + + + LITTLE MARY. + + A TALE OF THE BLACK YEAR. + + +That was a pleasant place where I was born, though ’twas only a thatched +cabin by the side of a mountain stream, where the country was so lonely, +that in summer time the wild ducks used to bring their young ones to +feed on the bog, within a hundred yards of our door; and you could not +stoop over the bank to raise a pitcher full of water, without +frightening a shoal of beautiful speckled trout. Well, ’tis long ago +since my brother Richard, that’s now grown a fine clever man, God bless +him!—and myself, used to set off together up the mountain to pick +bunches of the cotton plant and the bog myrtle, and to look for birds’ +and wild bees’ nests. ’Tis long ago—and though I’m happy and well off +now, living in the big house as own maid to the young ladies, who, on +account of my being foster-sister to poor darling Miss Ellen, that died +of decline, treat me more like their equal than their servant, and give +me the means to improve myself; still at times, especially when James +Sweeney, a dacent boy of the neighbours, and myself are taking a walk +together through the fields in the cool and quiet of a summer’s evening, +I can’t help thinking of the times that are passed, and talking about +them to James with a sort of peaceful sadness, more happy maybe than if +we were laughing aloud. + +Every evening, before I say my prayers, I read a chapter in the Bible +that Miss Ellen gave me; and last night I felt my tears dropping for +ever so long over one verse,—“And God shall wipe away all tears from +their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor +crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are +passed away.” The words made me think of them that are gone—of my +father, and his wife that was a true fond mother to me; and, above all, +of my little sister Mary, the _clureen bawn_[1] that nestled in her +bosom. + +Footnote 1: + + White dove. + +I was a wild slip of a girl, ten years of age, and my brother Richard +about two years older, when my father brought home his second wife. She +was the daughter of a farmer up at Lackabawn, and was reared with care +and dacency; but her father held his ground at a rack-rent, and the +middleman that was between him and the head landlord did not pay his own +rent, so the place was ejected, and the farmer collected every penny he +had, and set off with his family to America. My father had a liking for +the youngest daughter, and well become him to have it, for a sweeter +creature never drew the breath of life; but while her father passed for +a _strong_[2] farmer, he was timorous-like about asking her to share his +little cabin; however, when he found how matters stood, he didn’t lose +much time in finding out that she was willing to be his wife, and a +mother to his boy and girl. _That_ she was, a patient loving one. Oh! it +often sticks me like a knife, when I think how many times I fretted her +with my foolishness and my idle ways, and how ’twas a long time before +I’d call her “mother.” Often, when my father would be going to chastise +Richard and myself for our provoking doings, especially the day that we +took half-a-dozen eggs from under the hatching hen, to play “Blind Tom” +with them, she’d interfere for us, and say,—“Tim, _aleagh_, don’t touch +them this time; sure ’tis only _arch_ they are: they’ll get more sense +in time.” And then, after he was gone out, she’d advise us for our good +so pleasantly, that a thundercloud itself couldn’t look black at her. +She did wonders too about the house and garden. They were both dirty and +neglected enough when she first came over them; for I was too young and +foolish, and my father too busy with his out-door work, and the old +woman that lived with us in service too feeble and too blind to keep the +place either clean or decent; but my mother got the floor raised, and +the green pool in front drained, and a parcel of roses and honeysuckles +planted there instead. The neighbours’ wives used to say ’Twas all pride +and upsetting folly, to keep the kitchen-floor swept clean, and to put +the potatoes on a dish, instead of emptying them out of the pot into the +middle of the table; and, besides, ’twas a cruel unnatural thing, they +said, to take away the pool from the ducks, that they were always used +to paddle in so handy. But my mother was always too busy and too happy +to heed what they said; and, besides, she was always so ready to do a +kind turn for any of them, that, out of pure shame, they had at last to +leave off abusing her “fine English ways.” + +Footnote 2: + + Rich. + +West of our house there was a straggling, stony piece of ground, where, +within the memory of man, nothing ever grew but nettles, docks, and +thistles. One Monday, when Richard and myself came in from school, my +mother told us to set about weeding it, and to bring in some basketsful +of good clay from the banks of the river: she said that if we worked +well at it until Saturday, she’d bring me a new frock, and Dick a +jacket, from the next market-town; and encouraged by this, we set to +work with right good will, and didn’t leave off till supper time. The +next day we did the same; and by degrees, when we saw the heap of weeds +and stones that we got out, growing big, and the ground looking nice and +smooth and red and rich, we got quite anxious about it ourselves, and we +built a nice little fence round it to keep out the pigs. When it was +manured, my mother planted cabbages, parsnips, and onions in it; and, to +be sure, she got a fine crop out of it, enough to make us many a nice +supper of vegetables stewed with pepper, and a small taste of bacon or a +red herring. Besides, she sold in the market as much as bought a Sunday +coat for my father, a gown for herself, a fine pair of shoes for Dick, +and as pretty a shawl for myself, as e’er a colleen in the country could +show at mass. Through means of my father’s industry and my mother’s good +management, we were, with the blessing of God, as snug and comfortable a +poor family as any in Munster. We paid but a small rent, and we had +always plenty of potatoes to eat, good clothes to wear, and cleanliness +and decency in and about our little cabin. + +Five years passed on in this way, and at last little Mary was born. She +was a delicate fairy thing, with that look, even from the first, in her +blue eyes, which is seldom seen, except where the shadow of the grave +darkens the cradle. She was fond of her father, and of Richard, and of +myself, and would laugh and crow when she saw us, but _the love in the +core of her heart_ was for her mother. No matter how tired, or sleepy, +or cross the baby might be, one word from _her_ would set the bright +eyes dancing, and the little rosy mouth smiling, and the tiny limbs +quivering, as if walking or running couldn’t content her, but she must +fly to her mother’s arms. And how that mother doted on the very ground +she trod! I often thought that the Queen in her state carriage, with her +son, God bless him! alongside of her, dressed out in gold and jewels, +was not one bit happier than my mother, when she sat under the shade of +the mountain ash near the door, in the hush of the summer’s evening, +singing and _cronauning_ her only one to sleep in her arms. In the month +of October, 1845, Mary was four years old. That was the bitter time, +when first the food of the earth was turned to poison; when the gardens +that used to be so bright and sweet, covered with the purple and white +potato blossoms, became in one night black and offensive, as if fire had +come down from heaven to burn them up. ’Twas a heart-breaking thing to +see the labouring men, the crathurs! that had only the one half-acre to +feed their little families, going out, after work, in the evenings to +dig their suppers from under the black stalks. Spadeful after spadeful +would be turned up, and a long piece of a ridge dug through, before +they’d get a small kish full of such withered _crohauneens_,[3] as other +years would be hardly counted fit for the pigs. + +Footnote 3: + + Small potatoes. + +It was some time before the distress reached us, for there was a trifle +of money in the savings’ bank, that held us in meal, while the +neighbours were next door to starvation. As long as my father and mother +had it, they shared it freely with them that were worse off than +themselves; but at last the little penny of money was all spent, the +price of flour was raised; and, to make matters worse, the farmer that +my father worked for, at a poor eight-pence a day, was forced to send +him and three more of his labourers away, as he couldn’t afford to pay +them even _that_ any longer. Oh! ’twas a sorrowful night when my father +brought home the news. I remember, as well as if I saw it yesterday, the +desolate look in his face when he sat down by the ashes of the turf fire +that had just baked a yellow meal cake for his supper. My mother was at +the opposite side, giving little Mary a drink of sour milk out of her +little wooden piggin, and the child didn’t like it, being delicate and +always used to sweet milk, so she said: + +“Mammy, won’t you give me some of the nice milk instead of that?” + +“I haven’t it _asthore_, nor can’t get it,” said her mother, “so don’t +ye fret.” + +Not a word more out of the little one’s mouth, only she turned her +little cheek in towards her mother, and stayed quite quiet, as if she +was hearkening to what was going on. + +“Judy,” said my father, “God is good, and sure ’tis only in Him we must +put our trust; for in the wide world I can see nothing but starvation +before us.” + +“God _is_ good, Tim,” replied my mother; “He won’t forsake us.” + +Just then Richard came in with a more joyful face than I had seen on him +for many a day. + +“Good news!” says he, “good news, father! there’s work for us both on +the Droumcarra road. The government works are to begin there to-morrow; +you’ll get eight-pence a day, and I’ll get six-pence.” + +If you saw our delight when we heard this, you’d think ’twas the free +present of a thousand pounds that came to us, falling through the roof, +instead of an offer of small wages for hard work. + +To be sure the potatoes were gone, and the yellow meal was dear and dry +and chippy—it hadn’t the _nature_ about it that a hot potato has for a +poor man; but still ’twas a great thing to have the prospect of getting +enough of even that same, and not to be obliged to follow the rest of +the country into the poorhouse, which was crowded to that degree that +the crathurs there—God help them!—hadn’t room even to die quietly in +their beds, but were crowded together on the floor like so many dogs in +a kennel. The next morning my father and Richard were off before +daybreak, for they had a long way to walk to Droumcarra, and they should +be there in time to begin work. They took an Indian meal cake with them +to eat for their dinner, and poor dry food it was, with only a draught +of cold water to wash it down. Still my father, who was knowledgeable +about such things, always said it was mighty wholesome when it was well +cooked; but some of the poor people took a great objection against it on +account of the yellow colour, which they thought came from having +sulphur mixed with it—and they said, Indeed it was putting a great +affront on the decent Irish to mix up their food as if ’twas for mangy +dogs. Glad enough, poor creatures, they were to get it afterwards, when +sea-weed and nettles, and the very grass by the roadside, was all that +many of them had to put into their mouths. + +When my father and brother came home in the evening, faint and tired +from the two long walks and the day’s work, my mother would always try +to have something for them to eat with their porridge—a bit of butter, +or a bowl of thick milk, or maybe a few eggs. She always gave me plenty +as far as it would go; but ’twas little she took herself. She would +often go entirely without a meal, and then she’d slip down to the +huckster’s, and buy a little white bun for Mary; and I’m sure it used to +do her more good to see the child eat it, than if she got a meat-dinner +for herself. No matter how hungry the poor little thing might be, she’d +always break off a bit to put into her mother’s mouth, and she would not +be satisfied until she saw her swallow it; then the child would take a +drink of cold water out of her little tin porringer, as contented as if +it was new milk. + +As the winter advanced, the weather became wet and bitterly cold, and +the poor men working on the roads began to suffer dreadfully from being +all day in wet clothes, and, what was worse, not having any change to +put on when they went home at night without a dry thread about them. +Fever soon got amongst them, and my father took it. My mother brought +the doctor to see him, and by selling all our decent clothes, she got +for him whatever was wanting, but all to no use: ’twas the will of the +Lord to take him to himself, and he died after a few days’ illness. + +It would be hard to tell the sorrow that his widow and orphans felt, +when they saw the fresh sods planted on his grave. It was not grief +altogether like the grand stately grief of the quality, although maybe +the same sharp knife is sticking into the same sore bosom _inside_ in +both; but the _outside_ differs in rich and poor. I saw the mistress a +week after Miss Ellen died. She was in her drawing-room with the blinds +pulled down, sitting in a low chair, with her elbow on the small +work-table, and her cheek resting on her hand—not a speck of anything +white about her but the cambric handkerchief, and the face that was +paler than the marble chimney-piece. + +When she saw me, (for the butler, being busy, sent me in with the +luncheon-tray,) she covered her eyes with her handkerchief, and began to +cry, but quietly, as if she did not want it to be noticed. As I was +going out, I just heard her say to Miss Alice in a choking voice:— + +“Keep Sally here always; our poor darling was fond of her.” And as I +closed the door, I heard her give one deep sob. The next time I saw her, +she was quite composed: only for the white cheek and the black dress, +you would not know that the burning feel of a child’s last kiss had ever +touched her lips. + +My father’s wife mourned for him after another fashion. _She_ could not +sit quiet, she must work hard to keep the life in them to whom he gave +it; and it was only in the evenings when she sat down before the fire +with Mary in her arms, that she used to sob and rock herself to and fro, +and sing a low wailing keen for the father of the little one, whose +innocent tears were always ready to fall when she saw her mother cry. +About this time my mother got an offer from some of the hucksters in the +neighbourhood, who knew her honesty, to go three times a week to the +next market-town, ten miles off, with their little money, and bring them +back supplies of bread, groceries, soap, and candles. This she used to +do, walking the twenty miles—ten of them with a heavy load on her +back—for the sake of earning enough to keep us alive. ’Twas very seldom +that Richard could get a stroke of work to do: the boy wasn’t strong in +himself, for he had the sickness too; though he recovered from it, and +always did his best to earn an honest penny wherever he could. I often +wanted my mother to let me go in her stead and bring back the load; but +she never would hear of it, and kept me at home to mind the house and +little Mary. My poor pet lamb! ’twas little minding she wanted. She +would go after breakfast and sit at the door, and stop there all day, +watching for her mother, and never heeding the neighbours’ children that +used to come wanting her to play. Through the live-long hours she would +never stir, but just keep her eyes fixed on the lonesome _boreen_;[4] +and when the shadow of the mountain ash grew long, and she caught a +glimpse of her mother ever so far off, coming towards home, the joy that +would flush on the small patient face, was brighter than the sunbeam on +the river. And faint and weary as the poor woman used to be, before ever +she sat down, she’d have Mary nestling in her bosom. No matter how +little she might have eaten herself that day, she would always bring +home a little white bun for Mary; and the child, that had tasted nothing +since morning, would eat it so happily, and then fall quietly asleep in +her mother’s arms. + +Footnote 4: + + By-road + +At the end of some months I got the sickness myself, but not so heavily +as Richard did before. Any way, he and my mother tended me well through +it. They sold almost every little stick of furniture that was left, to +buy me drink and medicine. By degrees I recovered, and the first evening +I was able to sit up, I noticed a strange wild brightness in my mother’s +eyes, and a hot flush on her thin cheeks—she had taken the fever. + +Before she lay down on the wisp of straw that served her for a bed, she +brought little Mary over to me: “Take her, Sally,” she said—and between +every word she gave the child a kiss—“Take her; she’s safer with you +than she’d be with me, for you’re over the sickness, and ’tisn’t long +any way I’ll be with you, my jewel,” she said, as she gave the little +creature one long close hug, and put her into my arms. + +’Twould take long to tell all about her sickness—how Richard and I, as +good right we had, tended her night and day; and how, when every +farthing and farthing’s worth we had in the world was gone, the mistress +herself came down from the big house, the very day after the family +returned home from France, and brought wine, food, medicine, linen, and +everything we could want. + +Shortly after the kind lady was gone, my mother took the change for +death; her senses came back, she grew quite strong-like, and sat up +straight in the bed. + +“Bring me the child, Sally _aleagh_,” she said. And when I carried +little Mary over to her, she looked into the tiny face, as if she was +reading it like a book. + +“You won’t be long away from me, my own one,” she said, while her tears +fell down upon the child like summer-rain. + +“Mother,” said I, as well as I could speak for crying, “sure you _know_ +I’ll do my best to tend her.” + +“I know you will, _acushla_; you were always a true and dutiful daughter +to me and to him that’s gone; but, Sally, there’s _that_ in my weeney +one that won’t let her thrive without the mother’s hand over her, and +the mother’s heart for her’s to lean against. And now—.” It was all she +could say: she just clasped the little child to her bosom, fell back on +my arm, and in a few moments all was over. At first, Richard and I could +not believe that she was dead; and it was very long before the orphan +would loose her hold of the stiffening fingers; but when the neighbours +came in to prepare for the wake, we contrived to flatter her away. + +Days passed on; the child was very quiet; she used to go as usual to sit +at the door, and watch hour after hour along the road that her mother +always took coming home from market, waiting for her that could never +come again. When the sun was near setting, her gaze used to be more +fixed and eager; but when the darkness came on, her blue eyes used to +droop like the flowers that shut up their leaves, and she would come in +quietly without saying a word, and allow me to undress her and put her +to bed. + +It troubled us and the young ladies greatly that she would not eat. It +was almost impossible to get her to taste a morsel; indeed the only +thing she would let inside her lips was a bit of a little white bun, +like those her poor mother used to bring her. There was nothing left +untried to please her. I carried her up to the big house, thinking the +change might do her good, and the ladies petted her, and talked to her, +and gave her heaps of toys and cakes, and pretty frocks and coats; but +she hardly noticed them, and was restless and uneasy until she got back +to her own low sunny door-step. + +Every day she grew paler and thinner, and her bright eyes had a sad fond +look in them, so like her mother’s. One evening she sat at the door +later than usual. + +“Come in, _alannah_,” I said to her. “Won’t you come in for your own +Sally?” + +She never stirred. I went over to her; she was quite still, with her +little hands crossed on her lap, and her head drooping on her chest. I +touched her—she was cold. I gave a loud scream, and Richard came +running—he stopped and looked, and then burst out crying like an infant. +Our little sister was dead! + +Well, my Mary, the sorrow was bitter, but it was short. You’re gone home +to Him that comforts as a mother comforteth. _Agra machree_, your eyes +are as blue, and your hair as golden, and your voice as sweet, as they +were when you watched by the cabin-door; but your cheeks are not pale, +_acushla_, nor your little hands thin, and the shade of sorrow has +passed away from your forehead like a rain-cloud from the summer sky. +She that loved you so on earth, has clasped you for ever to her bosom in +heaven; and God himself has wiped away all tears from your eyes, and +placed you both and our own dear father far beyond the touch of sorrow +or the fear of death. + + + + + A GREAT MAN DEPARTED. + + + There was a festive hall with mirth resounding; + Beauty and wit, and friendliness surrounding; + With minstrelsy above, and dancing feet rebounding. + + And at the height came news, that held suspended + The sparkling glass!—till slow the hand descended— + And cheeks grew pale and straight—and all the mirth was ended. + + Beneath a sunny sky, ’twas heard with wonder, + A flash had cleft a lofty tree asunder, + Without a previous cloud—and with no rolling thunder. + + Strong was the stem—its boughs above all ’thralling— + And in its roots and sap no cankers galling— + Prosperity was perfect, while Death’s hand was falling. + + Man’s body is less safe than any tree; + We build our ship in strong security— + A Finger, from the dark, points to the trembling sea. + + Man, like his knowledge, and his soul’s endeavour, + Is framed for no fixed altitude—but ever + Moves onward: the first pause, returns all to the Giver. + + Riches and health, fine taste, all means of pleasure; + Success in highest efforts—fame’s best treasure— + All these were thine,—o’ertopped—and over-weighed the measure. + + But in recording thus life’s night-shade warning, + We hold the memory of thy kind heart’s morning:— + Man’s intellect is not man’s sole nor best adorning. + + + + + THE ADVENTURES OF THE PUBLIC RECORDS. + + +“Burn all the records of the realm! _My_ mouth shall be the parliament.” +Thus spoke Jack Cade; and it would appear from the manner in which the +public records are at the present time “bestowed,” that those who have +had the stowing of them, cordially echo the sentiment. The historical, +legal, and territorial archives of this country—believed to be, when +properly arranged and systematised, the most complete and valuable in +existence—are spread and distributed over six depositories. Some little +description of three of these only, will show the jeopardy in which such +records of the Wisdom of our ancestors, as we yet possess, are placed, +and the adventures which have befallen many of them. + +Many of the most valuable documents of the past—including the Chancery +Records from the reign of John to Edward I.—are kept in the Tower of +London. Some in the White and some in the Wakefield Tower, close to +which is an hydraulic steam-engine in daily operation. The basement of +the former contains tons of gunpowder, the explosion of which would +destroy all Tower Hill, and change even the course of the Thames; while +the fate of paper and parchment thrown up by such a volcano, it is not +even possible to imagine. The White Tower is also replenished with +highly inflammable ordnance stores, tarpaulins carefully pitched, +soldiers’ kits, and all kinds of wood-work, among which common labourers +not imbued with extra-carefulness are constantly moving about. That no +risk may be wanting, an eye-witness relates that he has seen boiling +pitch actually in flames, quite close to this repository. When the fire +of the Tower _did_ take place, its flames leaped and darted their +dangerous tongues within forty feet of it. So alarmed were the +authorities on that occasion, that this tower underwent a constant +nocturnal shower-bath during the time the small Armoury was burning. But +when the danger was over, though fireproof barrack-houses were built for +the soldiers, the records were still left to be lodged over the +gunpowder. + +Among the treasures in these ill-kept “keeps,” are the logs and other +Admiralty documents, state papers, and royal letters, many of which have +never been consulted; because the manner in which they are stowed away +rendered consultation impossible. They are, no doubt, silently waiting +to clear up many of the disputed points, and to set right many of the +false impressions and unmitigated untruths of history. Inquisitions—the +antiquity of which may be guessed when we state that those up to the +14th of Richard II. have only yet been arranged in books—are also massed +together ready for explosion or ignition. These are amongst the most +curious of our ancient documents, being the notes of the oldest of our +legal rituals—the “Crowner’s quest.” The Chancery proceedings and privy +seals piled in the White Tower, are endless. + +In the Rolls’ House, in Chancery Lane—which, with its chapel, was +annexed by Edward III., in 1377, to the office of Custos Rotulorum, or +Keeper of the Rolls—are located the Records of the Court of Chancery +from that year to the present time. That every public document, wherever +situated, may be rendered in as great jeopardy as possible, a temporary +shed, like a navvy’s hut, has been recently knocked up for the Treasury +papers in the Rolls’ Garden; other of the Records are quietly +accommodated in the pews and behind the communion-table in the Rolls’ +Chapel—a building which is heated by hot-air flues, in a manner similar +to that which originated the burning of the Houses of Parliament. + +Perhaps, however, our most valuable muniments repose in the +Chapter-House of Westminster Abbey, a building still surrounded by the +same facilities for fire as those which the late Charles Buller detailed +to the House of Commons fourteen years ago. “Ever since 1732,” he said, +“it had been reported to the House of Commons that there was a brewhouse +and a washhouse at the back of the Chapter-House, where the Records were +kept, and by which the Chapter-House was endangered by fire. In 1800, +this brewhouse and this washhouse were again reported as dangerous. In +1819, this brewhouse and washhouse again attracted the serious notice of +the Commissioners. In 1831, it was thought expedient to send a +deputation to the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, and to request His +Majesty’s Surveyor General to report upon the perils of this brewhouse +and washhouse, and endeavour to get the Dean and Chapter to pull them +down. But the Dean and Chapter asserted the vested rights of the Church, +and no redress was obtained against the brewhouse and washhouse. In +1833, another expedition, headed by the Right Honourable Sir R. Inglis, +was made to the Chapter-House; but the right honourable baronet, +desiring not to come into collision with the Church, omitted all mention +of the brewhouse and washhouse. And thus the attention of the +Commissioners had been constantly directed to this eternal brewhouse and +this eternal washhouse, without any avail. There they still remain, as a +monument of the inefficiency of the Commissioners, and of the great +power and pertinacity of the Church of this country.” The newspaper +reports of this speech end with “Loud laughter from all parts of the +House.” + +In the Chapter-House of Westminster Abbey, the Conqueror’s Domesday +Book, an unequalled collection of treaties and state documents from the +twelfth to the seventeenth centuries; others bearing upon the important +events during the York and Lancastrian wars, and excambial returns +belonging to the English Crown, of the most minute and precise +character, are still at the mercy of the brewhouse and washhouse. There +is a little adventure connected with the proceedings of the Courts of +Star Chamber which we must here introduce:—Their registries and records +were kept in an apartment of the Royal Palace of Westminster from the +time of the dissolution of the Courts. They were shifted from room to +room at the mercy of the Officers of the Palace. Committees of the House +of Commons from time to time examined them, and reported equally as to +their value, and the dirt, confusion, and neglect in which they were set +apart for the public use. But it was not till the fire in the Cottonian +Library, in 1731, frightened the custodian, that an order from the Privy +Council was obtained for the removal of these documents to the +Chapter-House. This house also possesses a unique collection of the +disused dies for coining; and when the Nepaulese Minister and his suite +visited the Office, they were particularly attracted by these primitive +dies, which were at once recognised as being now used in the north-west +of India. There are the washhouse and the brewhouse still. + +But the most monstrous instance furnished to us of the disregard and +contempt in which our civil, political, legal, or ecclesiastical +authorities hold the very pedigrees of their professional avocations, is +to be found in the ludicrously huge and unsuitable storehouse called +Carlton Ride—a low, brick-slated roof, workhouse-looking building, at +the east end of Carlton Terrace. Mr. Braidwood, the superintendent of +the London Fire-Brigade, has pithily said, that “The Public Records in +the Tower of London and Carlton Ride are exposed to risks of fire to +which no merchant of ordinary prudence would subject his books of +accounts.” The protective staff of this establishment, besides the +clerks and workmen during the day, consists of two soldiers, two +policemen, and two firemen, four thousand gallons of water—a sort of +open air bath at the top of the building—three rows of buckets, +ready-charged fire-mains, two tell-tale clocks, five dark lanthorns, and +a cat. + +Carlton Ride was, originally, the Riding-House of the Prince of Wales’s +residence, Carlton House. Under it are arched storehouses for carriages +and horse furniture; and these were used for the carriages and horses of +the late good Queen Dowager. When a question was raised as to the +capability of the structure to support the thousands of tons of records +which were to be treasured therein, the district Clerk of the Works +satisfied all enquiries by noticing the fact, that the strength of the +building had been tested to the utmost during the Spa Fields riots, when +it was occupied by the horses and ammunition-waggons of the Royal +Artillery, packed together as close as they could stand. + +To adapt the interior of this place for the public archives, the first +process of building, and that only, was resorted to;—scaffolding was put +up, so that, on entering this receptacle of the national records of +Great Britain, the visitor finds himself in one of a series of gloomy, +dimly-lighted, mouldy-smelling alleys, or stacks, of wooden scaffolding, +the sides of which are faced with records, reaching to some thirty feet +high. At first sight it reminds him of an immense mediæval timber-yard, +in which no business has been done since the time of the Tudors. Here +two-thirds of our country’s public and private history are huddled +together; not with the systematic red tapery of a public office, but,—to +use an expressive vulgarism—“anyhow.” Whichever way the eye turns, it +meets reams of portfolios, piles of boxes, stacks of wills—rolls of +every imaginable shape, like those of a baker—square, round, flat, +oblong, short, and squat; some plaited like twopenny twists, others +upright as rolls of tobacco; a few in thick convolutions, jammed +together as if they were double Gloucester cheeses; there are heaps laid +lengthwise, like mouldering coffins; some stacked up on end, like +bundles of firewood, and others laid down, like the bottles in a +wine-bin. The hay-loft which extends over the riding-school is similarly +occupied, and all the racks, presses, shelves, boxes, beams, and +scaffolding, being of wood, Mr. Braidwood has good right for estimating +that a fire would burn it up “like matches” in less than twenty minutes. +That, however, there should be no accidental deficiency of combustibles, +the riding-school was partitioned into two divisions, one side for the +records of the Courts of Common Pleas and Exchequer, and the other for +the domestic furniture, china, paintings, weapons of warfare of all +kinds, books, prints, &c., belonging to Carlton House. It is evident +that in the estimation of the powers that were, the records were classed +with the other lumber. But this store of second-hand furniture could not +take fire of itself; and that no chance might be lost, the functionary +in charge of it, finding his half of the “ride” a dreary, comfortless, +and cold place, even for a lumber store, warmed it by means of a large +stove with a chimney-flue which perforated one side of the building. On +several occasions he was observed during the winter months—particularly +after meal-time—to be somnolently reposing by the stove, while the flue +was judiciously emulating his example, by acquiring all the heat +possible from the fire—and, indeed, once or twice its face was illumined +by a red glow of satisfaction rather alarming to those in charge of the +records, who witnessed it. Some five or six years ago, by the +instigation of Lord Lincoln, who was then Chief Commissioner of Woods +and Forests, Prince Albert paid a visit to Carlton Ride, and after +examining the furniture, &c., directed that it should be all removed, +and that the remainder of the building should be given up for the +records; consequently, a variety of important parchments were removed +into it—chiefly ecclesiastical records, touching the property belonging +to the religious houses dissolved in King Henry VIII.’s time, together +with a most valuable and minute series of documents, relating to the +receipt and expenditure of the royal revenue, from Henry II. down to +Charles II. To these were added various Exchequer and Common Pleas +records. + +The water as well as the fire test of destruction has been also applied +to our national muniments. The Common Pleas records previous to the +coronation of George IV. were deposited in a long room, called “Queen +Elizabeth’s Kitchen,” lying under the Old Court of Exchequer on the west +side of Westminster Hall. This room was frequently flooded during the +prevailing high tides of spring or autumn. Rats and vermin abounded, and +neither candle nor soap could be kept in the rooms, although mere public +documents were deemed quite safe there. The consequence was, that before +these could be removed, the authorities had to engage in a little +sporting. The rats had to be hunted out by means of dogs. We believe +this was about the time that the celebrated dog “Billy” was in the +height of fame; and we are not quite sure that his services were not +secured for this great Exchequer Hunt. After several fine “bursts” the +rats allowed the documents to be removed, and turned into a temporary +wooden building, which was so intensely cold during winter time, that +those wishing to make searches prepared themselves with clothing as if +they were going on an Arctic expedition. Here mice abounded in spite of +the temperature; and the candles, which the darkness of this den +rendered necessary, were gradually consumed by them. But this light sort +of food wanted a more consolidating diet, and they found a relishing +_piece de resistance_ in the prayer-book of the Court, a great portion +of which they nibbled away. Ten years afterwards the records were packed +off to the King’s Mews, Charing Cross, into stables and harness lofts; +and on the demolition of this building in 1835, Carlton Ride was +selected as their resting-place. The records of the Queen’s Remembrancer +of the Exchequer (an officer who was presumed to preserve “memoranda or +remembrances” of the condition of the royal exchequer) kept company with +the Common Pleas muniments in their trials and journeyings. + +At present, we repeat, the whole of the records of the three Courts, +Queen’s Bench, Exchequer, and Common Pleas, are located under the same +roof at Carlton Ride. Such of the records as are in this building are +reasonably accessible to the public. Many of them are of intense +interest. Fees only nominal in amount are imposed, to restrain +inquisitive, troublesome, or merely idle inquirers; a restriction highly +necessary against pedigree-hunters and lady-searchers. One poor deluded +female, who fancied herself Duchess of Cornwall, and claimed the +hereditary fee-simple of the counties of Devon and Cornwall, caused the +employment of more clerks and messengers to procure the documents for +her extravagant humours than any legion of lawyers’ clerks hot with the +business of term time. She begged, she implored, she raved, she +commanded, she threatened, she cried aloud for “all the fines,” for “all +the recoveries,” for “all the indentures of lease and release” touching +the landed property of these two counties. + +Pedigree-hunters abound. One of these requested to be allowed to remain +among these founts of antiquity day and night. In his unwearied and +invincible zeal he brought his meals with him, and declared that rest +was out of the question until he was satisfied which of his ancestors +were “Roberts,” and which “Johns,” from the time of the Seventh Henry. A +hair-brained quack doctor has seriously asserted his claim to a large +quantity of these public documents. + +On the other hand, persons really interested in these records take no +heed of them. Messrs. Brown, Smith, and Tomkins buy and sell manors and +advowsons, Waltons and Stokes, and Combes cum Tythings, without knowing +or caring that there are records of the actual transfers of the same +properties between the holders of them since the days of King John! +There is no sympathy for these things, even with those who might fairly +be presumed to have a direct interest in the preservation of them, or +with the public at large. Out of many examples of this sort, we need +only cite one from the “Westminster Review:”—The Duke of Bedford +inherits the Abbey of Woburn, and its monastic rights, privileges, and +hereditaments; and there are public records, detailing with the utmost +minuteness the value of this and all the church property which “Old +Harry” seized, and all the stages of its seizure; the preliminary +surveys to learn its value; perhaps the very surrender of the monks of +Woburn; the annual value and detail of the possessions of the monastery +whilst the Crown held it; the very particulars of the grant on which the +letters patent to Lord John Russell were founded; the inrolment of the +letters patent themselves. But neither his Grace of Bedford, the duke +and lay impropriator, nor his brother, the Prime Minister and the +historian, have seemed to regard these important documents as worthy of +safe keeping. + +On public grounds, nothing was for a long time done, although, as Bishop +Nicholson said in 1714, “Our stores of Public Records are justly +reckoned to excel in age, beauty, correctness, and authority, whatever +the choicest archives abroad can boast of the like sort.” + +We are happy to perceive by the “Eleventh Report of the Deputy Keeper of +the Public Records” that the work of arranging, repairing, cleaning, +cataloguing, and rendering accessible these documents, proceeds +diligently. But we are more happy to discover that the disastrous +adventures of our Public Records are nearly at an end. The Deputy Keeper +acknowledges “with extreme satisfaction the receipt of communications +made to Lord Langdale from the Lords Commissioners of Your Majesty’s +Treasury, intimating that their Lordships propose to commence the +building of the Repository so emphatically urged by his Lordship the +Master of the Rolls, and so long desired; the site thereof to be the +Rolls Estate, and the Building to be comprehended within the boundaries +of such Estate, the said site being in all respects the best and most +convenient which the metropolis affords.” + + + + + A MIGHTIER HUNTER THAN NIMROD. + + +A great deal has been said about the prowess of Nimrod, in connexion +with the chase, from the days of him of Babylon to those of the late Mr. +Apperley of Shropshire; but we question whether, amongst all the +sporting characters mentioned in ancient or modern story, there ever was +so mighty a hunter as the gentleman whose sporting calendar now lies +before us.[5] The annals of the chase, so far as we are acquainted with +them, supply no such instances of familiar intimacy with Lions, +Elephants, Hippopotami, Rhinoceroses, Serpents, Crocodiles, and other +furious animals, with which the human species in general is not very +forward in cultivating an acquaintance. + +Footnote 5: + + A Hunter’s Life in South Africa. By R. Gordon Cumming, Esq., of + Altyre. + +Mr. Cumming had exhausted the Deer forests of his native Scotland; he +had sighed for the rolling prairies and rocky mountains of the Far West, +and was tied down to military routine as a Mounted Rifleman in the Cape +Colony, when he determined to resign his commission into the hands of +Government, and himself to the delights of hunting amidst the untrodden +plains and forests of Southern Africa. Having provided himself with +waggons to travel and live in, with bullocks to draw them, and with a +host of attendants; a sufficiency of arms, horses, dogs, and ammunition, +he set out from Graham’s-Town, in October 1843. From that period his +hunting adventures extended over five years, during which time he +penetrated from various points and in various directions from his +starting-place in lat. 33 down to lat. 20, and passed through districts +upon which no European foot ever before trod; regions where the wildest +of wild animals abound—nothing less serving Mr. Cumming’s ardent +purpose. + +A lion story in the early part of his book will introduce this fearless +hunter-author to our readers better than the most elaborate dissection +of his character. He is approaching Colesberg, the northernmost military +station belonging to the Cape Colony. He is on a trusty steed, which he +calls also “Colesberg.” Two of his attendants on horseback are with him. +“Suddenly,” says the author, “I observed a number of vultures seated on +the plain about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, and close beside them +stood a huge lioness, consuming a blesblok which she had killed. She was +assisted in her repast by about a dozen jackals, which were feasting +along with her in the most friendly and confidential manner. Directing +my followers’ attention to the spot, I remarked, ‘I see the lion;’ to +which they replied, ‘Whar? whar? Yah! Almagtig! dat is he;’ and +instantly reining in their steeds and wheeling about, they pressed their +heels to their horses’ sides, and were preparing to betake themselves to +flight. I asked them, what they were going to do? To which they +answered, ‘We have not yet placed caps on our rifles.’ This was true; +but while this short conversation was passing, the lioness had observed +us. Raising her full round face, she overhauled us for a few seconds and +then set off at a smart canter towards a range of mountains some miles +to the northward; the whole troop of jackals also started off in another +direction; there was, therefore, no time to think of caps. The first +move was to bring her to bay, and not a second was to be lost. Spurring +my good and lively steed, and shouting to my men to follow, I flew +across the plain, and, being fortunately mounted on Colesberg, the +flower of my stud, I gained upon her at every stride. This was to me a +joyful moment, and I at once made up my mind that she or I must die.” +The lioness soon after “suddenly pulled up, and sat on her haunches like +a dog, with her back towards me, not even deigning to look round. She +then appeared to say to herself, ‘Does this fellow know who he is +after?’ Having thus sat for half a minute, as if involved in thought, +she sprang to her feet, and facing about, stood looking at me for a few +seconds, moving her tail slowly from side to side, showing her teeth, +and growling fiercely. She next made a short run forwards, making a +loud, rumbling noise like thunder. This she did to intimidate me; but, +finding that I did not flinch an inch, nor seem to heed her hostile +demonstrations, she quietly stretched out her massive arms, and lay down +on the grass. My Hottentots now coming up, we all three dismounted, and +drawing our rifles from their holsters, we looked to see if the powder +was up in the nipples, and put on our caps. While this was doing, the +lioness sat up, and showed evident symptoms of uneasiness. She looked +first at us, and then behind her, as if to see if the coast were clear; +after which she made a short run towards us, uttering her deep-drawn +murderous growls. Having secured the three horses to one another by +their reins, we led them on as if we intended to pass her, in the hope +of obtaining a broadside; but this she carefully avoided to expose, +presenting only her full front. I had given Stofolus my Moore rifle, +with orders to shoot her if she should spring upon me, but on no account +to fire before me. Kleinboy was to stand ready to hand me my Purdey +rifle, in case the two-grooved Dixon should not prove sufficient. My men +as yet had been steady, but they were in a precious stew, their faces +having assumed a ghastly paleness; and I had a painful feeling that I +could place no reliance on them. Now, then, for it, neck or nothing! She +is within sixty yards of us, and she keeps advancing. We turned the +horses’ tails to her. I knelt on one side, and, taking a steady aim at +her breast, let fly. The ball cracked loudly on her tawny hide, and +crippled her in the shoulder; upon which she charged with an appalling +roar, and in the twinkling of an eye she was in the midst of us. At this +moment Stofolus’s rifle exploded in his hand, and Kleinboy, whom I had +ordered to stand ready by me, danced about like a duck in a gale of +wind. The lioness sprang upon Colesberg, and fearfully lacerated his +ribs and haunches with her horrid teeth and claws; the worst wound was +on his haunch, which exhibited a sickening, yawning gash, more than +twelve inches long, almost laying bare the very bone. I was very cool +and steady, and did not feel in the least degree nervous, having +fortunately great confidence in my own shooting; but I must confess, +when the whole affair was over, I felt that it was a very awful +situation, and attended with extreme peril, as I had no friend with me +on whom I could rely. When the lioness sprang on Colesberg, I stood out +from the horses, ready with my second barrel for the first chance she +should give me of a clear shot. This she quickly did; for, seemingly +satisfied with the revenge she had now taken, she quitted Colesberg, +and, slewing her tail to one side, trotted sulkily past within a few +paces of me, taking one step to the left. I pitched my rifle to my +shoulder, and in another second the lioness was stretched on the plain a +lifeless corpse.” + +This is, however, but a harmless adventure compared with a subsequent +escapade—not with one, but with six lions. It was the hunter’s habit to +lay wait near the drinking-places of these animals, concealed in a hole +dug for the purpose. In such a place on the occasion in question, Mr. +Cumming—having left one of three rhinoceroses he had previously killed +as a bait—ensconsed himself. Such a savage festival as that which +introduced the adventure, has never before, we believe, been introduced +through the medium of the softest English and the finest hot-pressed +paper to the notice of the civilised public. “Soon after twilight,” the +author relates, “I went down to my hole with Kleinboy and two natives, +who lay concealed in another hole, with Wolf and Boxer ready to slip, in +the event of wounding a lion. On reaching the water I looked towards the +carcase of the rhinoceros, and, to my astonishment, I beheld the ground +alive with large creatures, as though a troop of zebras were approaching +the fountain to drink. Kleinboy remarked to me that a troop of zebras +were standing on the height. I answered, ‘Yes;’ but I knew very well +that zebras would not be capering around the carcase of a rhinoceros. I +quickly arranged my blankets, pillow, and guns in the hole, and then lay +down to feast my eyes on the interesting sight before me. It was bright +moonlight, as clear as I need wish, and within one night of being full +moon. There were six large lions, about twelve or fifteen hyænas, and +from twenty to thirty jackals, feasting on and around the carcases of +the three rhinoceroses. The lions feasted peacefully, but the hyænas and +jackals fought over every mouthful, and chased one another round and +round the carcases, growling, laughing, screeching, chattering, and +howling without any intermission. The hyænas did not seem afraid of the +lions, although they always gave way before them; for I observed that +they followed them in the most disrespectful manner, and stood laughing, +one or two on either side, when any lions came after their comrades to +examine pieces of skin or bones which they were dragging away. I had +lain watching this banquet for about three hours, in the strong hope +that, when the lions had feasted, they would come and drink. Two black +and two white rhinoceroses had made their appearance, but, scared by the +smell of the blood, they had made off. At length the lions seemed +satisfied. They all walked about with their heads up, and seemed to be +thinking about the water; and in two minutes one of them turned his face +towards me, and came on; he was immediately followed by a second lion, +and in half a minute by the remaining four. It was a decided and general +move, they were all coming to drink right bang in my face, within +fifteen yards of me.” + +The hunters were presently discovered. “An old lioness, who seemed to +take the lead, had detected me, and, with her head high and her eyes +fixed full upon me, she was coming slowly round the corner of the little +vley to cultivate further my acquaintance! This unfortunate coincidence +put a stop at once to all further contemplation. I thought, in my haste, +that it was perhaps most prudent to shoot this lioness, especially as +none of the others had noticed me. I accordingly moved my arm and +covered her; she saw me move and halted, exposing a full broadside. I +fired; the ball entered one shoulder, and passed out behind the other. +She bounded forward with repeated growls, and was followed by her five +comrades all enveloped in a cloud of dust; nor did they stop until they +had reached the cover behind me, except one old gentleman, who halted +and looked back for a few seconds, when I fired, but the ball went high. +I listened anxiously for some sound to denote the approaching end of the +lioness; nor listened in vain. I heard her growling and stationary, as +if dying. In one minute her comrades crossed the vley a little below me, +and made towards the rhinoceros. I then slipped Wolf and Boxer on her +scent, and, following them into the cover, I found her lying dead.” + +Mr. Cumming’s adventures with elephants are no less thrilling. He had +selected for the aim of his murderous rifle two huge female elephants +from a herd. “Two of the troop had walked slowly past at about sixty +yards, and the one which I had selected was feeding with two others on a +thorny tree before me. My hand was now as steady as the rock on which it +rested, so, taking a deliberate aim, I let fly at her head, a little +behind the eye. She got it hard and sharp, just where I aimed, but it +did not seem to affect her much. Uttering a loud cry, she wheeled about, +when I gave her the second ball, close behind the shoulder. All the +elephants uttered a strange rumbling noise, and made off in a line to +the northward at a brisk ambling pace, their huge fanlike ears flapping +in the ratio of their speed. I did not wait to load, but ran back to the +hillock to obtain a view. On gaining its summit, the guides pointed out +the elephants; they were standing in a grove of shady trees, but the +wounded one was some distance behind with another elephant, doubtless +its particular friend, who was endeavouring to assist it. These +elephants had probably never before heard the report of a gun; and +having neither seen nor smelt me, they were unaware of the presence of +man, and did not seem inclined to go any further. Presently my men hove +in sight, bringing the dogs; and when these came up, I waited some time +before commencing the attack, that the dogs and horses might recover +their wind. We then rode slowly towards the elephants, and had advanced +within two hundred yards of them, when, the ground being open, they +observed us, and made off in an easterly direction; but the wounded one +immediately dropped astern, and next moment she was surrounded by the +dogs, which, barking angrily, seemed to engross her attention. Having +placed myself between her and the retreating troop, I dismounted, to +fire within forty yards of her, in open ground. Colesberg was extremely +afraid of the elephants, and gave me much trouble, jerking my arm when I +tried to fire. At length I let fly; but, on endeavouring to regain my +saddle, Colesberg declined to allow me to mount; and when I tried to +lead him, and run for it, he only backed towards the wounded elephant. +At this moment I heard another elephant close behind; and on looking +about I beheld the ‘friend,’ with uplifted trunk, charging down upon me +at top speed, shrilly trumpeting, and following an old black pointer +named Schwart, that was perfectly deaf, and trotted along before the +enraged elephant quite unaware of what was behind him. I felt certain +that she would have either me or my horse. I, however, determined not to +relinquish my steed, but to hold on by the bridle. My men, who of course +kept at a safe distance, stood aghast with their mouths open, and for a +few seconds my position was certainly not an enviable one. Fortunately, +however, the dogs took off the attention of the elephants; and just as +they were upon me I managed to spring into the saddle, where I was safe. +As I turned my back to mount, the elephants were so very near, that I +really expected to feel one of their trunks lay hold of me. I rode up to +Kleinboy for my double-barrelled two-grooved rifle: he and Isaac were +pale and almost speechless with fright. Returning to the charge, I was +soon once more alongside, and, firing from the saddle, I sent another +brace of bullets into the wounded elephant. Colesberg was extremely +unsteady, and destroyed the correctness of my aim. The ‘friend’ now +seemed resolved to do some mischief, and charged me furiously, pursuing +me to a distance of several hundred yards. I therefore deemed it proper +to give her a gentle hint to act less officiously, and accordingly, +having loaded, I approached within thirty yards, and gave it her sharp, +right and left, behind the shoulder; upon which she at once made off +with drooping trunk, evidently with a mortal wound. Two more shots +finished her: on receiving them she tossed her trunk up and down two or +three times, and falling on her broadside against a thorny tree, which +yielded like grass before her enormous weight, she uttered a deep hoarse +cry and expired.” + +Mr. Cumming’s exploits in the water are no less exciting than his land +adventures. Here is an account of his victory over a hippopotamus, on +the banks of the Limpopo river, near the northernmost extremity of his +journeyings. + +“There were four of them, three cows and an old bull; they stood in the +middle of the river, and, though alarmed, did not appear aware of the +extent of the impending danger. I took the sea-cow next me, and with my +first ball I gave her a mortal wound, knocking loose a great plate on +the top of her skull. She at once commenced plunging round and round, +and then occasionally remained still, sitting for a few minutes on the +same spot. On hearing the report of my rifle two of the others took up +stream, and the fourth dashed down the river; they trotted along, like +oxen, at a smart pace as long as the water was shallow. I was now in a +state of very great anxiety about my wounded sea-cow, for I feared that +she would get down into deep water, and be lost like the last one; her +struggles were still carrying her down stream, and the water was +becoming deeper. To settle the matter I accordingly fired a second shot +from the bank, which, entering the roof of her skull, passed out through +her eye; she then kept continually splashing round and round in a circle +in the middle of the river. I had great fears of the crocodiles, and I +did not know that the sea-cow might not attack me. My anxiety to secure +her, however, overcame all hesitation; so, divesting myself of my +leathers, and armed with a sharp knife, I dashed into the water, which +at first took me up to my arm-pits, but in the middle was shallower. As +I approached Behemoth her eye looked very wicked. I halted for a moment, +ready to dive under the water if she attacked me, but she was stunned, +and did not know what she was doing; so, running in upon her, and +seizing her short tail, I attempted to incline her course to land. It +was extraordinary what enormous strength she still had in the water. I +could not guide her in the slightest, and she continued to splash, and +plunge, and blow, and make her circular course, carrying me along with +her as if I was a fly on her tail. Finding her tail gave me but a poor +hold, as the only means of securing my prey, I took out my knife, and +cutting two deep parallel incisions through the skin on her rump, and +lifting this skin from the flesh, so that I could get in my two hands, I +made use of this as a handle, and after some desperate hard work, +sometimes pushing and sometimes pulling, the sea-cow continuing her +circular course all the time and I holding on at her rump like grim +Death, eventually I succeeded in bringing this gigantic and most +powerful animal to the bank. Here the Bushman quickly brought me a stout +buffalo-rheim from my horse’s neck, which I passed through the opening +in the thick skin, and moored Behemoth to a tree. I then took my rifle, +and sent a ball through the centre of her head, and she was numbered +with the dead.” + +There is nothing in “Waterton’s Wanderings,” or in the “Adventures of +Baron Munchausen” more startling than this “Waltz with a Hippopotamus!” + +In the all-wise disposition of events, it is perhaps ordained that wild +animals should be subdued by man to his use at the expense of such +tortures as those described in the work before us. Mere amusement, +therefore, is too light a motive for dealing such wounds and death Mr. +Cumming owns to; but he had other motives,—besides a considerable profit +he has reaped in trophies, ivory, fur, &c., he has made in his book some +valuable contributions to the natural history of the animals he wounded +and slew. + + + + + CHIPS. + + A MARRIAGE IN ST. PETERSBURG. + + +A fair Correspondent supplies us with the following “Chip” from St. +Petersburg:— + +In England we used to think the marriage ceremony, with all its solemn +adjuncts, an impressive affair; but it is child’s play when compared +with the elaborate formalities of a Russian wedding. In England, the +bride, though a principal, is a passive object; but in Russia she has, +before and at the ceremony, to undergo as much physical fatigue and +exertion as a prima donna who has to tear through a violent opera, +making every demonstration of the most passionate grief. But you shall +hear how they manage on these occasions. + +The housekeeper of Mons. A., who has been in his service for eighteen +years, and consequently no very youthful bride, took it into her head to +marry a shoemaker, who, like his intended, is not remarkable for his +personal beauty. Friday was fixed for the happy day, and about two in +the afternoon I caught sight of the bride, weeping and wailing in a most +doleful manner. I saw or heard no more of her till six in the evening, +when she appeared in Mad. A.’s room, attired for the ceremony. Her dress +was of dark silk, (she not being allowed to wear white, in consequence +of some early indiscretions,) with a wreath of white roses round her +head, and a long white veil, which almost enveloped her. She sobbed, +howled, went off into hysterics, and fainted; I felt excessively sorry +for her, but did all my soothing in vain, for she refused to be +comforted. As soon as she became calm, we all assembled in the +drawing-room, and Mons. A.’s godson, a little fellow of five years old, +entered the room first, bearing the patron saint, St. Nicholas, then +came the bride, followed by her train of female friends. She knelt down +before Mons. and Mad. A., and they each in turn held the image over her +head, saying they blessed her, and hoped she would “go to her +happiness.” She kissed their feet frantically; and they then assisted +her up, kissed her, and she was conducted weeping to the carriage. + +On arriving at the church about half-past seven we were met by friends +of the bridegroom, who stood at one end of the church, surrounded by his +family, and every now and then casting anxious and tender looks at the +beloved one, who was again howling and sobbing like a mad woman. I +thought how painful it must be for him, poor man, to witness such +distress, and wondered why she should marry any one for whom she +manifested so much dislike. After administering restoratives, she became +calmer, and the priests appeared—when off she went again into a fit of +hysterics more sudden, though not so violent as her previous +performances; but, this time, was soon restored, and the ceremony +commenced. + +One priest stood at the altar, and two others at a kind of table or +reading-desk at some distance. The un-happy couple were placed beside +each other, behind the priests, who commenced chaunting the service in +beautiful style. The bride and bridegroom held each a lighted wax taper +in their hand; a little more chaunting, and rings were exchanged; more +chaunting, and then a small piece of carpet was brought, upon which they +both stood; two crowns were then presented to them, and after they had +kissed the saint upon them, these were held over their heads by the +bridesmen. More chaunting; then there was wine brought, which they were +obliged to drink, first he and then she; they made three sups of it, +though, at first, there appeared only about a wine-glassful; after this +the Priest took hold of them and walked them round the church three +times, the bridegroom’s man following holding the crowns over their +heads to the best of his ability; but he fell short of his duty, for the +bridegroom was rather tall and his man rather short: hence there was +some difficulty and slight awkwardness in this part of the proceedings; +then followed a kind of exhortation, delivered in a very impressive +manner by the senior Priest. After this, they proceeded to the altar, +prostrated themselves before it, kissing the ground with great apparent +fervour; then all the saints on the wall were kissed, and lastly the +whole of the party assembled. We then adjourned to the carriages, and +after a quick ride soon found ourselves at home. + +Here Monsieur and Madame A. performed the part of _Père et Mère_, met +the bridal party, carrying the black bread and salt which is always +given on such occasions. This was, with some words—a blessing, of +course—waved over the heads of the newly married couple, who were on +their knees kissing most vehemently the feet of their _Père et Mère_. +After this ceremony, which means “May you never want the good here +offered you,” they arose, and again the kissing mania came upon the +whole party with greater vehemence than ever. Nothing was heard for some +time but the sound of lips; at length a calm came, and with it +champagne, in which every one of them drank “Long life and happiness to +the newly-wed pair,” all striking their glasses till I thought there +would be a universal smash, so violently were they carried away by their +enthusiasm; then came chocolate, and lastly fruit. + +As soon as the feasting was over, the dancing commenced with a +Polonaise; the steward, a great man in the house, leading off the bride, +who by this time had forgotten all her sorrows. About twenty couple +followed, and away they went, through one room, out at another, until +they had made the whole circuit of the apartments. + +We left them at half-past eleven, but they kept up the fun till five in +the morning, when they conducted the happy pair to their dwelling. + +Upon my expressing pity for the bride, and also my astonishment why she +married a man who appeared so very repugnant to her, I learnt that she +would not be considered either a good wife or a good woman unless she +was led to the altar in a shower-bath of tears; in fact, in Russia, the +more tears a woman sheds, the better her husband likes her! + + + + + A NEW JOINT-STOCK PANDEMONIUM COMPANY. + + +Gaming without risk, certainty in chance, Fortune showering her favours +out of the dice-box, are promised by the promoters of a New Joint-Stock +Company just set on foot in Paris, the prospectus of which now lies +before us. This is nothing less than a society for the propagation of +gambling in San Francisco; “capital, one hundred and fifty thousand +francs, in three hundred shares of five hundred francs each, +provisionally registered on May 10, 1850. Chief Office, No. 17, Rue +Vivienne.” + +The promoters of this precious CERCLE DE SAN FRANCISCO declare that +certainty will be the issue of this notable scheme, the essence of which +is hazard. “There never was,” they say, “an enterprise more sure of +gain. Three years, with twelve dividends, paid once a quarter, will +produce enormous results. These have been accurately tested by the most +conscientious (?) calculations, based on the produce of the German +gaming-houses, and we have ascertained that each share of five hundred +francs will yield an annual dividend of three thousand francs over and +above interest at six per cent!” + +The future House itself is thus painted in bright perspective:—“A fine +house of wood, of two stories, with a magnificent coffee-room on the +ground floor; a vast saloon on the first-floor for two roulette-tables; +on the second, apartments for the manager, the servants; and the +officers; the whole completely furnished, with all necessary +appurtenances for warming and lighting. Tables, implements, counters, +iron coffers for the specie, &c., are to be immediately exported by a +sailing vessel. M. Mauduit, the manager, will accompany these immense +munitions, together with subordinates of known probity. M. Charles, +chief-of-the-play at Aix, in Savoy, is to follow, as director of the +expedition, at the end of October, by steamer. It is expected that +preparations will be complete, so as to open the Cercle in San Francisco +on the 31st December of this year.” + +Of all the bare-faced schemes that was ever presented to a French +public, this is surely the most extravagant. There is nothing in _Jerome +Patûrot_ that equals it in impudence. + + + + + YOUTH AND SUMMER. + + +It is Summer. Day is now at its longest, the season at its brightest; +and the heat comes down through the glowing heavens—broiling the sons of +labour, but whitening the fields for the harvest. Like hapless Semele, +consumed by the splendours of her divine lover, Earth seems about to +perish beneath the ardent glances of the God of Day. The sun comes +bowling from the Tropics to visit the Hyperboreans. The strange +phenomenon of the Polar day—when for six months he keeps careering +through the sky, without a single rising or setting, rolling like a +fiery ball along the edge of the horizon, glittering like a thousand +diamonds on the fields of ice—is now melting the snows that hide the +lichens, the rein-deer’s food; and, quivering down through the azure +shallows of the Greenland coast, infuses the fire of love and the lust +for roaming into the “scaly myriads” of the herring tribe. + +On ourselves, the Summer sun is shining, glowing—robing in gold the +declining days of July, and taking her starry jewels from the crown of +Night—nay, lifting the diadem from her sable brow, and invading the +skies of midnight with his lingering beams. Oh, what a glory in those +evening skies! The sun, just set, brings out the summits of the far-off +hills sharp and black against his amber light: Nature is dreaming; +yonder sea is calm as if it had never known a storm. It is the hour of +Reverie: old memories, half-forgotten poetry, come floating like dreams +into the soul. We wander in thought to the lonely Greek Isle, where Juan +and Haidee are roaming with encircling arms upon the silvery sands, or +gaze in love’s reverie from the deserted banquet-room upon the +slumbering waters of the Ægean. We see the mariner resting on his oars +within the shadow of Ætna, and hear the “Ave Sanctissima” rising in +solemn cadence from the waveless sea. We stand beneath the lovely skies +of Italy—we rest on the woody slopes of the Apennines, where the bell of +some distant convent is proclaiming sundown, and the vesper hymn floats +on the rosy stillness, a vocal prayer. + + “Ave Maria! blessed be the hour, + The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft + Have felt that moment in its fullest power + Sink o’er the earth so beautiful and soft; + While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, + And the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft; + While not a breath stole through the rosy air, + And yet the forest leaves seem’d stirr’d with prayer!” + +Study is impossible in the Summer evenings—those long, clear, mellow +nights, when the Evening Star hangs like a diamond lamp in the amber +skies of the West, and the hushed air seems waiting for serenades. The +very charm of our Study is then our ruin. Whenever we lift our eyes from +the page, we look clear away, as from a lofty turret, upon the +ever-shifting glories of sunset, where far-off mountains form the magic +horizon, and a wide arm of the sea sleeps calmly between, reflecting the +skyey splendours. Our heart is not in our task. There is a vague +yearning within us, for happiness more ethereal than any we have yet +beheld, a happiness which the eye cannot figure, which only the soul can +feel—it is the Spirit dreaming of its immortal home. Now and then we +pause—the beauty without, half-unconsciously fixes upon itself our +dreamy gaze. + + “Oh, Summer night! + So soft and bright!” + +That air, that lovely serenade of Donizetti’s, seems floating in the +room. A sweet voice is singing it in my ear, in my heart. Ah, those old +times! I think of the hour when first I heard that strain, and of the +fair creature singing it—with the twilight shadows around us, and her +lip, that might have tempted an Angel, curling, half-proudly, +half-kindly, as “upon entreaty” she resumed the strain. I fall into +deeper reverie as I recollect it all—those evenings of entrancement, +those days of boyish pain and jealousy. And ever the melody comes +floating in through my brain, yet without attracting my thoughts—a +strain of sweetest sounds accompanying the dissolving views which are +dreamily, perpetually, forming and changing, gathering and dispersing, +before my mind’s eye, like the rose-clouds of sunset. Those shapes are +too ethereal for the mind to grasp them. Is it a Juno-like form, beneath +the skies and amid the flowers of Summer—with Zephyr playing among her +golden curls, as she lifts from her neck a hair-chain to yield it to the +suit of love! Or is it a zigzag path on a hill-side—a steed backing on a +precipice—a lovely girl on the green bank, clinging to her +preserver—sinking, swooning, quivering from that vision of sudden death! +Who shall daguerreotype those airy shapes? We feel their presence rather +than know their form, and the instant we try to see what we are seeing, +they are gone! + +We are no bad risers in the morning, but we never saw the sun rise on +Midsummerday but once. It is many years ago, yet we remember it as +vividly as if it had been this morning. It was from the summit of the +Calton Hill, the unfinished Acropolis, the still-born ruin of Modern +Athens. The whole sky in the south and west, opposite to where the sun +was about to appear, was suffused from the horizon to the zenith with a +deep pink or rose hue; and in the midst, spanning the heavens, stood a +magnificent Rainbow! A symbol of peace in a sea of blood! There lay the +palatial edifices of the New Town, white and still in the hush of early +morning, and high above them and around them rose that strange emblem of +mercy amid judgment. Such an apparition might fitly have filled the +skies of the Cities of the Plain on that woeful morn, the last the +blessed sun ever rose upon them;—ere amid mutterings in the earth and +thunders in the clouds, the volcano awoke from its sleep, and the red +lava poured from its sources of fire—when clouds of stones and ashes, +falling, falling, falling, gathered deeper and deeper above the Plain, +and the descending lightnings set fire to the thousand founts of naphtha +bubbling up from their subterranean reservoirs—when a whirlwind of flame +shot up against the face of the sky, like the last blasphemy of a +godless world; and with a hollow groaning, the sinking, convulsed earth +hid the scene of pollution and wrath beneath the ever mournful-looking +waters of the Dead Sea. The skies of night and morning are familiar to +me as those of day, but never but that once did that Heavenly Spectre +meet my eye. + +As I reached the northern brow of the hill, it wanted but a minute or +two of sunrise; in a few seconds a new Day would dawn—a flake would +separate itself from the infinite Future, and be born into the world. I +stood awaiting the Incarnation of Time. A flapping wing broke on the +solemn stillness. Two rooks rose slowly from the ground, where they had +been preying upon the tenants of the turf. Below me, to the east and +north, spread out the waters of the Firth of Forth—not a billow breaking +against its rocky islets—its broad expanse of the colour of lead, sombre +and waveless, like the lifeless waters of the Asphaltite Sea; while, +toiling like an imp of darkness, a small steam-boat tore up its +leaden-like surface, disappearing behind the house-tops of Leith. The +spirits of night seemed hurrying to their dens, to escape the golden +arrows of the God of Day. In the bowery gardens below me, the birds +began an overture as the curtain of the Dawn was lifting. At length the +sun shot up into the sky; then seemed to pause for some time, his lower +limb resting on the dark sea, his upper almost touching a bank of +overhanging cloud. Pale tremulous rays, like those of the aurora +borealis, darted laterally from the orb, shooting quiveringly along the +sky, and returning: the waves of light were ebbing and flowing on the +sands of Night. The sea and the slopes of the Calton still lay in the +dull hues of dawn; but a strange cold sun-gleam which one felt +instinctively would be short-lived, glittered around me on the crest of +the hill, and on the white stone monuments that crown it as with a +diadem. Foremost and loftiest rose the noble columns of the National +Monument, even in their imperfection the most Grecian of British +edifices, standing aloft like the ruins of Minerva’s temple on the bluff +Cape of Sunium, visible from afar to mariners entering the romantic Bay +of the Forth. The glitter which now tinged them with gold was bright and +brief as the national fervour which gave them birth. In a few minutes +the sun passed up behind the bank of cloud, and nothing remained of his +beams but a golden streak on the far edge of the waters. + +Fair Summer has come, and the ocean wooes us. Breaking her ward, she has +leapt like a lovely Bacchante to our arms; while men who have been +“sighing like furnace” for her, and chiding the dull delay of her +coming, now fly from her embraces into the sea—plunge into the haunts of +the Nereids. In what “infernal machines” do they go a-wooing! And yet +they appear to have every confidence in their natural powers of +attraction; the Nereids run no danger of being deceived as to the +_physique_ of their human admirers. Queer fishes some of them are +certainly! Only look at yon big fat old fellow, for all the world like a +skinned porpoise, floundering and blowing in the shallows like a +stranded whale! while another more modest animal, of like dimensions, +floats like cork or blubber in deep water, thumping energetically with +leg and arm, and hides obesity in a cataract of foam. Yonder, over the +clear blue depths, breasting at his ease the flood, goes the long steady +stroke of the practised swimmer—an animal half-amphibious, seen at times +afar off, lifting on the crest of a wave a mile at sea. With laugh and +splutter a band of juveniles rub their heads with water in the most +approved manner, as if they were a set of old topers afraid of apoplexy; +or with whoop and hollo engage in a water-combat, or in a race in +bunting that reminds one of running in sacks; while a still younger +member of the human family roars lustily as he clings to his pitiless +nurse’s neck, or emerges half-suffocated from the prescriptive +thrice-repeated dip. Yet there is something gladsome in the flash of the +waters around the sportive bathers, and in the glancing glitter of the +sun-beams on the ivory-like arms that are swaying to and fro upon the +blue waters. It speaks of Summer; and that of itself awakens gladness. + +As we look upon the earth in a glorious summer-day, we feel as if all +nature loved us, and that a spirit within is answering to the loving +call of the outer world. We feel as if _caressed_ by the beauty floating +around—as if the mission of nature were to delight us. And it is so. It +was to be a joy for Man that this glorious world sprang out of Chaos, +and it was to enjoy it that we were gifted with our many senses of +beauty. How narrow the enjoyment of the body to the domain of the +spirit! The possessions and enjoyments of man consist less in the acres +we can win from our fellows, than in the wide universe around us. +Creature-comforts are unequally divided, but the charm of existence, the +joy that rays from all nature, are the property of all. Who can set a +price upon the colours of the rose or the hues of sunset? Yet, would the +Vernon Gallery be an adequate exchange? Water and air, prime necessaries +of physical life, are not more free to all, than is its best and highest +food everywhere accessible to the spirit. What we want is, to rub the +dust of the earth off our souls, and let them mirror the beauty of the +universe. What we want is, to open the nature within to the nature +without—to clear the mind from ignorance, the heart from prejudice. We +must learn to see things as they are—to find beauty in nature, love in +man, good everywhere; not to shut our eyes or look through a distorting +medium. We scramble for the crumbs of worldly success, and too often +have neglected the higher delights that are free to our taking. Like the +groveller in the Pilgrim’s Progress, we rake amid straws on the ground, +when a crown of joy is ready to descend upon us if we will only look up. +We turn aside the river from its bed, and toil in the sand for golden +dust, destroying happiness in the search for its symbol, and forget that +the world itself may be made golden, that the art of the Alchemist may +be ours. The true sunshine of life is in the heart. It is there that the +smile is born that makes the light of life, the rosy smile that makes +the world of beauty, and keeps life sweet—the smile that “makes a summer +where darkness else would be.” + +We are in one of the pretty lanes of England. The smoke of a great city +is beginning to curl up into the morning skies, but the sounds of that +wakening Babylon cannot reach us in our green seclusion. As we step +along lightly, cheerily, in the cool sunlight, hark to the glad voices +of children; and lo! a cottage-home, sweeter-looking than any we have +yet passed. Honeysuckles and jessamine wreathe the wooden trellis of the +porch with verdure and flowers. In those flowers the early bee is +hanging and humming, birds are chirping aloft, and cherubs are singing +below. An urchin, with his yellow curls half-blinding his big blue eyes, +sits on the sunny gravelwalk, playing with a frisky, red-collared +kitten. On the steps of the door, beneath the shade of the trellis-work, +sit two girls, a lapful of white roses before them, which they are +gathering into a bouquet, or sticking into each other’s hair. What are +they singing? + + Come, come, come! Oh, the merry Summer morn! + From dewy slumbers breaking, + Birds and flowers are waking. + Come, come, come! and leave our beds forlorn! + + Hark, hark, hark! I hear our playmates call! + Hurrah! for merry rambles! + Morn is the time for gambols. + Yes, yes, yes! Let’s go a-roving all! + + Haste, haste, haste! To woodland dells away! + There flowers for us are springing, + And little birds are singing— + “Come, come, come! Good-morrow! come away!” + +A wiseacre lately remarked, as a proof of the _sober sense_ of the age, +that no one now sang about the happiness of childhood! _Sombre_ sense, +he should have said,—if he misused the word “sense” at all. No +happiness,—nay, no peculiar happiness in childhood! Does he mean to +maintain that we get happier as we get older?—that life, at the age of +Methuselah, is as joyous as at fifteen? Has novelty, which charms in all +the details of existence, no charm in existence itself? Is +suspicion—that infallible growth of years, that baneful result of +knowledge of the world—no damper on happiness? Is innocence nothing? Is +_ennui_ known to the young? No, no! + +Youth is the summer of life; it is the very heyday of joy,—the poetry of +existence. Youth beholds everything through a golden medium,—through the +prism of fancy, not in the glass of reason; in the rose hue of idealism, +not the naked forms that we call reality. + + “All that’s bright must fade, + The brightest still the fleetest!” + +We have but to look around us and within us to see the sad truth +exemplified. Summer is fading with its roses—Youth vanishes with its +dreams. “Passing away” is written on all things earthly. Yet “a thing of +beauty is a joy for ever.” We have a compensating faculty, which gives +immortality to the mortal in the cells of memory; the joys of which Time +has robbed us still live on in perennial youth. Nay, more, they live +unmarred by the sorrows that in actual life grow up along with them. As +the colours of fancy fade from the Present, they gather in brighter +radiance around the Past. We conserve the roses of Summer—let us embalm +the memories of Youth. + + + + + THE POWER OF SMALL BEGINNINGS. + + +A grim Lion obstructs the paths of ardent Benevolence in its desire to +lessen the monster evils of society, and constantly roars “Impossible! +Impossible!” Well-disposed Affluence surveys the encroaching waves of +destitution and crime as they roll onwards, spreading their dark waters +over the face of society, and folds its hands in powerless despair,—a +despair created by a false notion of the inefficacy of individual or +limited action. “Who can stem such a tide?” it exclaims; “we must have +some great comprehensive system. Without that, single efforts are +useless.” + +Upon this untrue and timid premise many a purse is closed, many a +generous impulse checked. It is never remembered that all great facts, +for evil or for good, are an aggregate of small details, and must be +grappled with _in_ detail. Every one who hath and to spare, has it in +his power to do some good and to check some evil; and if all those to +whom the ability is given were to do their part, the great +“Comprehensive System” which is so much prayed for would arrange itself. +The hand of Charity is nowhere so open as in this country; but is often +paralysed for the want of being well directed. + +Of what individual energy can accomplish in a very limited sphere, we +can now afford a practical instance. What a single individual in +energetic earnest has effected in the “Devil’s Acre,” described in a +former number,[6] can be done by any other single individual in any +other sink of vice and iniquity, in every other part of the globe. + +Footnote 6: + + At page 297. + +In the spring of 1848 the attention of Mr. Walker, the Westminster +Missionary of the City Mission, was called to the necessity of applying +some remedy to the alarming vice and destitution that prevailed amongst +a large section of a densely peopled community, whose future prospects +seemed to be totally neglected. A vast mass of convicted felons, and +vagrants, who had given themselves up as entirely lost to human society, +and whose ambition was solely how they could attain the skill of being +the most accomplished burglars, congregate upon the “Devil’s Acre.” Most +of these degraded youths were strangers to all religious and moral +impressions—destitute of any ostensible means of obtaining an honest +livelihood, and having no provision made for them when sent from prison. +They had no alternative but again resorting to begging or stealing for a +miserable existence; and not only they themselves being exposed to all +the contaminating influences of bad example, and literally perishing for +lack of knowledge, but also leading others astray—such as boys from nine +to twelve years of age, whom, in a short time, they would train as +clever in vice as themselves, and make them useful in their daily +avocations. + +Nearly ten years’ experience in visiting their haunts of misery and +crime, and entering into friendly conversation with them, taught Mr. +Walker that punishment acted with but little effect as a check upon +criminal offenders; and it was thought more worthy of the Christian +philanthropists to set on foot a system of improvement, which should +change the habits and elevate the character of this degraded part of our +population,—a system which should rescue them from the haunts of infamy, +instil into their minds the principles of religion and morality, and +train them to honest and industrious occupations. With these great +objects in view, a scheme of training was commenced which has since +flourished. _One lad_ was selected from the Ragged School, fed, and +lodged, as an experiment. The boy had been a thief and vagrant for +several years, was driven from his home through the ill-usage of a +step-grandfather: the only clothing he possessed was an old tattered +coat, and part of a pair of trousers, and these one complete mass of +filth. After five months’ training, through the kindness of Lord Ashley, +he was accepted as an emigrant to Australia. Finding he was successful, +his joy and gratitude were unbounded. A short time before he embarked, +he said, “If ever I should be possessed of a farm, it shall be called +Lord Ashley’s Farm. I shall never forget the Ragged Schools; for if it +had not been for it, instead of going to Australia with a good +character, I should have been sent to some other colony loaded with +chains.” He has since been heard of as being in a respectable situation, +conducting himself with the strictest propriety. + +Being successful in reclaiming one, Mr. Walker was encouraged to select +six more from the same Ragged School, varying from the age of fifteen to +nineteen years; although at the time it was not known where a shilling +could be obtained towards their support, he was encouraged to persevere. +A small room was taken at two shillings per week; a truss of straw was +purchased, and a poor woman was kind enough to give two old rugs, which +was the only covering for the six. They were content to live on a small +portion of bread and dripping per day, and attend the Ragged School; at +last an old sack was bought for the straw, and a piece of carpet, in +addition to the two rugs, to cover them. One of them was heard to say +one night, while absolutely enjoying this wretched accommodation, “Now, +are we not comfortable?—should we not be thankful? How many poor +families there are who have not such good beds to lie on!” One of those +he addressed, aged nineteen years, had not known the comfort of such a +bed for upwards of three years, having slept during that time in an +empty cellar. Five of those lads are now in Australia, and the other—who +had been the leader of a gang of thieves for several years—is now a +consistent member and communicant in the Church, and fills a responsible +situation in England. + +When the experiment was in this condition, a benevolent lady not only +contributed largely towards the support of the inmates, but also +recommended her friends to follow her example. A larger room was taken; +the lady ordered beds and bedding to be immediately purchased: the +merits of the system became more publicly known; two additional rooms +were taken, and ultimately the whole premises converted into a public +institution, known as the Westminster Ragged Dormitory, and particularly +alluded to in the article before mentioned. + +Since its establishment, there have been one hundred and sixty-three +applications. Seventy-six have been admitted from the streets; thirteen +from various prisons, recommended by the Chaplains; twenty-three did not +complete their probation; four were dismissed for misconduct; three +absconded after completing their probation; five were dismissed for want +of funds; two restored to their friends; two are filling situations in +England; fifteen emigrated to Australia; five to the United States; and +thirty are at present in the Institution. + +The expense at which fifty-four young persons were thus, between April +1848 and May 1850, rescued from perdition, has been 376_l._ 16_s._ +3_d._, which took two years to collect and disburse. More than double +the number of cases presented themselves than could be admitted, and +five were obliged to be hurled back into crime and want after admission, +for want of funds. We mention this to show what might have been done, +had Mr. Walker’s efforts been seconded with anything like liberality. + +As a specimen of the sort of stuff the promoters of this humble +Institution had to work upon, we add the “case” of a couple of the +inmates which was privately communicated to us. We shall call the boys +Borley and Pole. + +“R. Borley, 14 years of age, born in Kent Street, Borough; never knew +his father; his mother died two years ago; she lived by hawking. Since +her death he has lived by begging, sometimes got a parcel to carry at +the Railway Station; also got jobs to carry baskets and hold horses at +the Borough Market; when he had money, lodged in low lodging-houses, +near the London Docks and in the Mint in the Borough. The most money he +ever got in one day was 9_d._ He has been in the habit of attending the +different markets in London. He has been weeks together without ever +being in a bed; he generally slept about the markets, in passages, under +arches, and in carts. He had no shirt for the last twelve months, no +cap, no shoes; an old jacket and a pair of trousers were his only +covering; sometimes two days without food, and when he had food, seldom +anything but dry bread; sometimes in such a state of hunger, that he has +been compelled to eat raw vegetables, this was the case when he took the +fever; he had been lying out in the streets for some nights; he was in +such a weak state that he dropped down in the streets. A gentleman +lifted him up, took him to a shop and gave him some bread and cheese, +afterwards took him to a magistrate, who sent him to the workhouse, +where it was found the poor boy had fever, and was immediately sent to +the fever hospital. When brought to Pear Street yesterday, he was not a +little surprised to find the boy Pole in the school; he would not have +known him but for his speech, so much had he improved in appearance. +Pole had lived in the lodging-houses with him. He said he has cause to +remember Pole. On one occasion he was Pole’s bedfellow, they were both +in a most destitute state for want of clothing; neither of them had a +shirt, but of the two, Borley had the best trousers; when he rose in the +morning Pole was off and had put on Borley’s trousers, leaving behind +him a pair that had but one leg, and that was in rags; although +yesterday was their first meeting after this robbery, still it was a +very happy one! They congratulated each other at the good fortune of +being received into such an Institution. Borley tells me that Pole was a +dreadful thief. He stole wherever he could; he brought the articles he +stole to the lodging-house keepers, who bought them readily. So +notorious did Pole become, that before morning he would have stolen the +article he had sold or anything else, and sold it to another +lodging-house keeper. Thus he went on until he could scarce get lodgings +either in the Borough or Whitechapel. Since Pole has been in Pear +Street, he has never shown anything but a desire to do what is right. +Borley is an interesting lad, and will do well.” + + May 16, 1850. + +One Mr. Walker, who would begin, as he did, with one wretched boy in +each metropolitan district, and in each town throughout Great Britain, +would do more to reduce poor’s rates, county rates, police rates—to +supersede “great penal experiments,” and to diminish enormous judicial +and penal expenditure, than all the political economists and “great +system” doctors in the world. But the main thing is to begin at the +cradle. It is many millions of times more hopeful to prevent, than to +cure. + + + Published at the Office, No 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. + Printed by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefriars, London. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + Page Changed from Changed to + + 400 rheims, we led them on as if we reins, we led them on as if we + intended to intended to + + ● 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 78182 *** |