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diff --git a/old/suths10h.htm b/old/suths10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04a3c12 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/suths10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1347 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Sunday Under Three Heads</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Sunday Under Three Heads, by Charles Dickens</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sunday Under Three Heads, by Charles Dickens +(#27 in our series by Charles Dickens) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Sunday Under Three Heads + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: May, 1997 [EBook #922] +[This file was first posted on May 29, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>SUNDAY UNDER THREE HEADS</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>To The Right Reverend<br />THE BISHOP OF LONDON</p> +<p>MY LORD,</p> +<p>You were among the first, some years ago, to expatiate on the vicious +addiction of the lower classes of society to Sunday excursions; and +were thus instrumental in calling forth occasional demonstrations of +those extreme opinions on the subject, which are very generally received +with derision, if not with contempt.</p> +<p>Your elevated station, my Lord, affords you countless opportunities +of increasing the comforts and pleasures of the humbler classes of society—not +by the expenditure of the smallest portion of your princely income, +but by merely sanctioning with the influence of your example, their +harmless pastimes, and innocent recreations.</p> +<p>That your Lordship would ever have contemplated Sunday recreations +with so much horror, if you had been at all acquainted with the wants +and necessities of the people who indulged in them, I cannot imagine +possible. That a Prelate of your elevated rank has the faintest +conception of the extent of those wants, and the nature of those necessities, +I do not believe.</p> +<p>For these reasons, I venture to address this little Pamphlet to your +Lordship’s consideration. I am quite conscious that the +outlines I have drawn, afford but a very imperfect description of the +feelings they are intended to illustrate; but I claim for them one merit—their +truth and freedom from exaggeration. I may have fallen short of +the mark, but I have never overshot it: and while I have pointed out +what appears to me, to be injustice on the part of others, I hope I +have carefully abstained from committing it myself.</p> +<p>I am,<br />My Lord,<br />Your Lordship’s most obedient,<br />Humble +Servant,<br />TIMOTHY SPARKS.<br /><i>June</i>, 1836.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER I—AS IT IS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There are few things from which I derive greater pleasure, than walking +through some of the principal streets of London on a fine Sunday, in +summer, and watching the cheerful faces of the lively groups with which +they are thronged. There is something, to my eyes at least, exceedingly +pleasing in the general desire evinced by the humbler classes of society, +to appear neat and clean on this their only holiday. There are +many grave old persons, I know, who shake their heads with an air of +profound wisdom, and tell you that poor people dress too well now-a-days; +that when they were children, folks knew their stations in life better; +that you may depend upon it, no good will come of this sort of thing +in the end,—and so forth: but I fancy I can discern in the fine +bonnet of the working-man’s wife, or the feather-bedizened hat +of his child, no inconsiderable evidence of good feeling on the part +of the man himself, and an affectionate desire to expend the few shillings +he can spare from his week’s wages, in improving the appearance +and adding to the happiness of those who are nearest and dearest to +him. This may be a very heinous and unbecoming degree of vanity, +perhaps, and the money might possibly be applied to better uses; it +must not be forgotten, however, that it might very easily be devoted +to worse: and if two or three faces can be rendered happy and contented, +by a trifling improvement of outward appearance, I cannot help thinking +that the object is very cheaply purchased, even at the expense of a +smart gown, or a gaudy riband. There is a great deal of very unnecessary +cant about the over-dressing of the common people. There is not +a manufacturer or tradesman in existence, who would not employ a man +who takes a reasonable degree of pride in the appearance of himself +and those about him, in preference to a sullen, slovenly fellow, who +works doggedly on, regardless of his own clothing and that of his wife +and children, and seeming to take pleasure or pride in nothing.</p> +<p>The pampered aristocrat, whose life is one continued round of licentious +pleasures and sensual gratifications; or the gloomy enthusiast, who +detests the cheerful amusements he can never enjoy, and envies the healthy +feelings he can never know, and who would put down the one and suppress +the other, until he made the minds of his fellow-beings as besotted +and distorted as his own;—neither of these men can by possibility +form an adequate notion of what Sunday really is to those whose lives +are spent in sedentary or laborious occupations, and who are accustomed +to look forward to it through their whole existence, as their only day +of rest from toil, and innocent enjoyment.</p> +<p>The sun that rises over the quiet streets of London on a bright Sunday +morning, shines till his setting, on gay and happy faces. Here +and there, so early as six o’clock, a young man and woman in their +best attire, may be seen hurrying along on their way to the house of +some acquaintance, who is included in their scheme of pleasure for the +day; from whence, after stopping to take “a bit of breakfast,” +they sally forth, accompanied by several old people, and a whole crowd +of young ones, bearing large hand-baskets full of provisions, and Belcher +handkerchiefs done up in bundles, with the neck of a bottle sticking +out at the top, and closely-packed apples bulging out at the sides,—and +away they hurry along the streets leading to the steam-packet wharfs, +which are already plentifully sprinkled with parties bound for the same +destination. Their good humour and delight know no bounds—for +it is a delightful morning, all blue over head, and nothing like a cloud +in the whole sky; and even the air of the river at London Bridge is +something to them, shut up as they have been, all the week, in close +streets and heated rooms. There are dozens of steamers to all +sorts of places—Gravesend, Greenwich, and Richmond; and such numbers +of people, that when you have once sat down on the deck, it is all but +a moral impossibility to get up again—to say nothing of walking +about, which is entirely out of the question. Away they go, joking +and laughing, and eating and drinking, and admiring everything they +see, and pleased with everything they hear, to climb Windmill Hill, +and catch a glimpse of the rich corn-fields and beautiful orchards of +Kent; or to stroll among the fine old trees of Greenwich Park, and survey +the wonders of Shooter’s Hill and Lady James’s Folly; or +to glide past the beautiful meadows of Twickenham and Richmond, and +to gaze with a delight which only people like them can know, on every +lovely object in the fair prospect around. Boat follows boat, +and coach succeeds coach, for the next three hours; but all are filled, +and all with the same kind of people—neat and clean, cheerful +and contented.</p> +<p>They reach their places of destination, and the taverns are crowded; +but there is no drunkenness or brawling, for the class of men who commit +the enormity of making Sunday excursions, take their families with them: +and this in itself would be a check upon them, even if they were inclined +to dissipation, which they really are not. Boisterous their mirth +may be, for they have all the excitement of feeling that fresh air and +green fields can impart to the dwellers in crowded cities, but it is +innocent and harmless. The glass is circulated, and the joke goes +round; but the one is free from excess, and the other from offence; +and nothing but good humour and hilarity prevail.</p> +<p>In streets like Holborn and Tottenham Court Road, which form the +central market of a large neighbourhood, inhabited by a vast number +of mechanics and poor people, a few shops are open at an early hour +of the morning; and a very poor man, with a thin and sickly woman by +his side, may be seen with their little basket in hand, purchasing the +scanty quantity of necessaries they can afford, which the time at which +the man receives his wages, or his having a good deal of work to do, +or the woman’s having been out charing till a late hour, prevented +their procuring over-night. The coffee-shops too, at which clerks +and young men employed in counting-houses can procure their breakfasts, +are also open. This class comprises, in a place like London, an +enormous number of people, whose limited means prevent their engaging +for their lodgings any other apartment than a bedroom, and who have +consequently no alternative but to take their breakfasts at a coffee-shop, +or go without it altogether. All these places, however, are quickly +closed; and by the time the church bells begin to ring, all appearance +of traffic has ceased. And then, what are the signs of immorality +that meet the eye? Churches are well filled, and Dissenters’ +chapels are crowded to suffocation. There is no preaching to empty +benches, while the drunken and dissolute populace run riot in the streets.</p> +<p>Here is a fashionable church, where the service commences at a late +hour, for the accommodation of such members of the congregation—and +they are not a few—as may happen to have lingered at the Opera +far into the morning of the Sabbath; an excellent contrivance for poising +the balance between God and Mammon, and illustrating the ease with which +a man’s duties to both, may be accommodated and adjusted. +How the carriages rattle up, and deposit their richly-dressed burdens +beneath the lofty portico! The powdered footmen glide along the +aisle, place the richly-bound prayer-books on the pew desks, slam the +doors, and hurry away, leaving the fashionable members of the congregation +to inspect each other through their glasses, and to dazzle and glitter +in the eyes of the few shabby people in the free seats. The organ +peals forth, the hired singers commence a short hymn, and the congregation +condescendingly rise, stare about them, and converse in whispers. +The clergyman enters the reading-desk,—a young man of noble family +and elegant demeanour, notorious at Cambridge for his knowledge of horse-flesh +and dancers, and celebrated at Eton for his hopeless stupidity. +The service commences. Mark the soft voice in which he reads, +and the impressive manner in which he applies his white hand, studded +with brilliants, to his perfumed hair. Observe the graceful emphasis +with which he offers up the prayers for the King, the Royal Family, +and all the Nobility; and the nonchalance with which he hurries over +the more uncomfortable portions of the service, the seventh commandment +for instance, with a studied regard for the taste and feeling of his +auditors, only to be equalled by that displayed by the sleek divine +who succeeds him, who murmurs, in a voice kept down by rich feeding, +most comfortable doctrines for exactly twelve minutes, and then arrives +at the anxiously expected ‘Now to God,’ which is the signal +for the dismissal of the congregation. The organ is again heard; +those who have been asleep wake up, and those who have kept awake, smile +and seem greatly relieved; bows and congratulations are exchanged, the +livery servants are all bustle and commotion, bang go the steps, up +jump the footmen, and off rattle the carriages: the inmates discoursing +on the dresses of the congregation, and congratulating themselves on +having set so excellent an example to the community in general, and +Sunday-pleasurers in particular.</p> +<p>Enter a less orthodox place of religious worship, and observe the +contrast. A small close chapel with a white-washed wall, and plain +deal pews and pulpit, contains a closely-packed congregation, as different +in dress, as they are opposed in manner, to that we have just quitted. +The hymn is sung—not by paid singers, but by the whole assembly +at the loudest pitch of their voices, unaccompanied by any musical instrument, +the words being given out, two lines at a time, by the clerk. +There is something in the sonorous quavering of the harsh voices, in +the lank and hollow faces of the men, and the sour solemnity of the +women, which bespeaks this a strong-hold of intolerant zeal and ignorant +enthusiasm. The preacher enters the pulpit. He is a coarse, +hard-faced man of forbidding aspect, clad in rusty black, and bearing +in his hand a small plain Bible from which he selects some passage for +his text, while the hymn is concluding. The congregation fall +upon their knees, and are hushed into profound stillness as he delivers +an extempore prayer, in which he calls upon the Sacred Founder of the +Christian faith to bless his ministry, in terms of disgusting and impious +familiarity not to be described. He begins his oration in a drawling +tone, and his hearers listen with silent attention. He grows warmer +as he proceeds with his subject, and his gesticulation becomes proportionately +violent. He clenches his fists, beats the book upon the desk before +him, and swings his arms wildly about his head. The congregation +murmur their acquiescence in his doctrines: and a short groan, occasionally +bears testimony to the moving nature of his eloquence. Encouraged +by these symptoms of approval, and working himself up to a pitch of +enthusiasm amounting almost to frenzy, he denounces sabbath-breakers +with the direst vengeance of offended Heaven. He stretches his +body half out of the pulpit, thrusts forth his arms with frantic gestures, +and blasphemously calls upon The Deity to visit with eternal torments, +those who turn aside from the word, as interpreted and preached by—himself. +A low moaning is heard, the women rock their bodies to and fro, and +wring their hands; the preacher’s fervour increases, the perspiration +starts upon his brow, his face is flushed, and he clenches his hands +convulsively, as he draws a hideous and appalling picture of the horrors +preparing for the wicked in a future state. A great excitement +is visible among his hearers, a scream is heard, and some young girl +falls senseless on the floor. There is a momentary rustle, but +it is only for a moment—all eyes are turned towards the preacher. +He pauses, passes his handkerchief across his face, and looks complacently +round. His voice resumes its natural tone, as with mock humility +he offers up a thanksgiving for having been successful in his efforts, +and having been permitted to rescue one sinner from the path of evil. +He sinks back into his seat, exhausted with the violence of his ravings; +the girl is removed, a hymn is sung, a petition for some measure for +securing the better observance of the Sabbath, which has been prepared +by the good man, is read; and his worshipping admirers struggle who +shall be the first to sign it.</p> +<p>But the morning service has concluded, and the streets are again +crowded with people. Long rows of cleanly-dressed charity children, +preceded by a portly beadle and a withered schoolmaster, are returning +to their welcome dinner; and it is evident, from the number of men with +beer-trays who are running from house to house, that no inconsiderable +portion of the population are about to take theirs at this early hour. +The bakers’ shops in the humbler suburbs especially, are filled +with men, women, and children, each anxiously waiting for the Sunday +dinner. Look at the group of children who surround that working +man who has just emerged from the baker’s shop at the corner of +the street, with the reeking dish, in which a diminutive joint of mutton +simmers above a vast heap of half-browned potatoes. How the young +rogues clap their hands, and dance round their father, for very joy +at the prospect of the feast: and how anxiously the youngest and chubbiest +of the lot, lingers on tiptoe by his side, trying to get a peep into +the interior of the dish. They turn up the street, and the chubby-faced +boy trots on as fast as his little legs will carry him, to herald the +approach of the dinner to ‘Mother’ who is standing with +a baby in her arms on the doorstep, and who seems almost as pleased +with the whole scene as the children themselves; whereupon ‘baby’ +not precisely understanding the importance of the business in hand, +but clearly perceiving that it is something unusually lively, kicks +and crows most lustily, to the unspeakable delight of all the children +and both the parents: and the dinner is borne into the house amidst +a shouting of small voices, and jumping of fat legs, which would fill +Sir Andrew Agnew with astonishment; as well it might, seeing that Baronets, +generally speaking, eat pretty comfortable dinners all the week through, +and cannot be expected to understand what people feel, who only have +a meat dinner on one day out of every seven.</p> +<p>The bakings being all duly consigned to their respective owners, +and the beer-man having gone his rounds, the church bells ring for afternoon +service, the shops are again closed, and the streets are more than ever +thronged with people; some who have not been to church in the morning, +going to it now; others who have been to church, going out for a walk; +and others—let us admit the full measure of their guilt—going +for a walk, who have not been to church at all. I am afraid the +smart servant of all work, who has been loitering at the corner of the +square for the last ten minutes, is one of the latter class. She +is evidently waiting for somebody, and though she may have made up her +mind to go to church with him one of these mornings, I don’t think +they have any such intention on this particular afternoon. Here +he is, at last. The white trousers, blue coat, and yellow waistcoat—and +more especially that cock of the hat—indicate, as surely as inanimate +objects can, that Chalk Farm and not the parish church, is their destination. +The girl colours up, and puts out her hand with a very awkward affectation +of indifference. He gives it a gallant squeeze, and away they +walk, arm in arm, the girl just looking back towards her ‘place’ +with an air of conscious self-importance, and nodding to her fellow-servant +who has gone up to the two-pair-of-stairs window, to take a full view +of ‘Mary’s young man,’ which being communicated to +William, he takes off his hat to the fellow-servant: a proceeding which +affords unmitigated satisfaction to all parties, and impels the fellow-servant +to inform Miss Emily confidentially, in the course of the evening, ‘that +the young man as Mary keeps company with, is one of the most genteelest +young men as ever she see.’</p> +<p>The two young people who have just crossed the road, and are following +this happy couple down the street, are a fair specimen of another class +of Sunday—pleasurers. There is a dapper smartness, struggling +through very limited means, about the young man, which induces one to +set him down at once as a junior clerk to a tradesman or attorney. +The girl no one could possibly mistake. You may tell a young woman +in the employment of a large dress-maker, at any time, by a certain +neatness of cheap finery and humble following of fashion, which pervade +her whole attire; but unfortunately there are other tokens not to be +misunderstood—the pale face with its hectic bloom, the slight +distortion of form which no artifice of dress can wholly conceal, the +unhealthy stoop, and the short cough—the effects of hard work +and close application to a sedentary employment, upon a tender frame. +They turn towards the fields. The girl’s countenance brightens, +and an unwonted glow rises in her face. They are going to Hampstead +or Highgate, to spend their holiday afternoon in some place where they +can see the sky, the fields, and trees, and breathe for an hour or two +the pure air, which so seldom plays upon that poor girl’s form, +or exhilarates her spirits.</p> +<p>I would to God, that the iron-hearted man who would deprive such +people as these of their only pleasures, could feel the sinking of heart +and soul, the wasting exhaustion of mind and body, the utter prostration +of present strength and future hope, attendant upon that incessant toil +which lasts from day to day, and from month to month; that toil which +is too often protracted until the silence of midnight, and resumed with +the first stir of morning. How marvellously would his ardent zeal +for other men’s souls, diminish after a short probation, and how +enlightened and comprehensive would his views of the real object and +meaning of the institution of the Sabbath become!</p> +<p>The afternoon is far advanced—the parks and public drives are +crowded. Carriages, gigs, phaetons, stanhopes, and vehicles of +every description, glide smoothly on. The promenades are filled +with loungers on foot, and the road is thronged with loungers on horseback. +Persons of every class are crowded together, here, in one dense mass. +The plebeian, who takes his pleasure on no day but Sunday, jostles the +patrician, who takes his, from year’s end to year’s end. +You look in vain for any outward signs of profligacy or debauchery. +You see nothing before you but a vast number of people, the denizens +of a large and crowded city, in the needful and rational enjoyment of +air and exercise.</p> +<p>It grows dusk. The roads leading from the different places +of suburban resort, are crowded with people on their return home, and +the sound of merry voices rings through the gradually darkening fields. +The evening is hot and sultry. The rich man throws open the sashes +of his spacious dining-room, and quaffs his iced wine in splendid luxury. +The poor man, who has no room to take his meals in, but the close apartment +to which he and his family have been confined throughout the week, sits +in the tea-garden of some famous tavern, and drinks his beer in content +and comfort. The fields and roads are gradually deserted, the +crowd once more pour into the streets, and disperse to their several +homes; and by midnight all is silent and quiet, save where a few stragglers +linger beneath the window of some great man’s house, to listen +to the strains of music from within: or stop to gaze upon the splendid +carriages which are waiting to convey the guests from the dinner-party +of an Earl.</p> +<p>There is a darker side to this picture, on which, so far from its +being any part of my purpose to conceal it, I wish to lay particular +stress. In some parts of London, and in many of the manufacturing +towns of England, drunkenness and profligacy in their most disgusting +forms, exhibit in the open streets on Sunday, a sad and a degrading +spectacle. We need go no farther than St. Giles’s, or Drury +Lane, for sights and scenes of a most repulsive nature. Women +with scarcely the articles of apparel which common decency requires, +with forms bloated by disease, and faces rendered hideous by habitual +drunkenness—men reeling and staggering along—children in +rags and filth—whole streets of squalid and miserable appearance, +whose inhabitants are lounging in the public road, fighting, screaming, +and swearing—these are the common objects which present themselves +in, these are the well-known characteristics of, that portion of London +to which I have just referred.</p> +<p>And why is it, that all well-disposed persons are shocked, and public +decency scandalised, by such exhibitions?</p> +<p>These people are poor—that is notorious. It may be said +that they spend in liquor, money with which they might purchase necessaries, +and there is no denying the fact; but let it be remembered that even +if they applied every farthing of their earnings in the best possible +way, they would still be very—very poor. Their dwellings +are necessarily uncomfortable, and to a certain degree unhealthy. +Cleanliness might do much, but they are too crowded together, the streets +are too narrow, and the rooms too small, to admit of their ever being +rendered desirable habitations. They work very hard all the week. +We know that the effect of prolonged and arduous labour, is to produce, +when a period of rest does arrive, a sensation of lassitude which it +requires the application of some stimulus to overcome. What stimulus +have they? Sunday comes, and with it a cessation of labour. +How are they to employ the day, or what inducement have they to employ +it, in recruiting their stock of health? They see little parties, +on pleasure excursions, passing through the streets; but they cannot +imitate their example, for they have not the means. They may walk, +to be sure, but it is exactly the inducement to walk that they require. +If every one of these men knew, that by taking the trouble to walk two +or three miles he would be enabled to share in a good game of cricket, +or some athletic sport, I very much question whether any of them would +remain at home.</p> +<p>But you hold out no inducement, you offer no relief from listlessness, +you provide nothing to amuse his mind, you afford him no means of exercising +his body. Unwashed and unshaven, he saunters moodily about, weary +and dejected. In lieu of the wholesome stimulus he might derive +from nature, you drive him to the pernicious excitement to be gained +from art. He flies to the gin-shop as his only resource; and when, +reduced to a worse level than the lowest brute in the scale of creation, +he lies wallowing in the kennel, your saintly lawgivers lift up their +hands to heaven, and exclaim for a law which shall convert the day intended +for rest and cheerfulness, into one of universal gloom, bigotry, and +persecution.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER II—AS SABBATH BILLS WOULD MAKE IT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The provisions of the bill introduced into the House of Commons by +Sir Andrew Agnew, and thrown out by that House on the motion for the +second reading, on the 18th of May in the present year, by a majority +of 32, may very fairly be taken as a test of the length to which the +fanatics, of which the honourable Baronet is the distinguished leader, +are prepared to go. No test can be fairer; because while on the +one hand this measure may be supposed to exhibit all that improvement +which mature reflection and long deliberation may have suggested, so +on the other it may very reasonably be inferred, that if it be quite +as severe in its provisions, and to the full as partial in its operation, +as those which have preceded it and experienced a similar fate, the +disease under which the honourable Baronet and his friends labour, is +perfectly hopeless, and beyond the reach of cure.</p> +<p>The proposed enactments of the bill are briefly these:- All work +is prohibited on the Lord’s day, under heavy penalties, increasing +with every repetition of the offence. There are penalties for +keeping shops open—penalties for drunkenness—penalties for +keeping open houses of entertainment—penalties for being present +at any public meeting or assembly—penalties for letting carriages, +and penalties for hiring them—penalties for travelling in steam-boats, +and penalties for taking passengers—penalties on vessels commencing +their voyage on Sunday—penalties on the owners of cattle who suffer +them to be driven on the Lord’s day—penalties on constables +who refuse to act, and penalties for resisting them when they do. +In addition to these trifles, the constables are invested with arbitrary, +vexatious, and most extensive powers; and all this in a bill which sets +out with a hypocritical and canting declaration that ‘nothing +is more acceptable to God than the <i>true</i> <i>and sincere</i> worship +of Him according to His holy will, and that it is the bounden duty of +Parliament to promote the observance of the Lord’s day, by protecting +every class of society against being required to sacrifice their comfort, +health, religious privileges, and conscience, for the convenience, enjoyment, +or supposed advantage of any other class on the Lord’s day’! +The idea of making a man truly moral through the ministry of constables, +and sincerely religious under the influence of penalties, is worthy +of the mind which could form such a mass of monstrous absurdity as this +bill is composed of.</p> +<p>The House of Commons threw the measure out certainly, and by so doing +retrieved the disgrace—so far as it could be retrieved—of +placing among the printed papers of Parliament, such an egregious specimen +of legislative folly; but there was a degree of delicacy and forbearance +about the debate that took place, which I cannot help thinking as unnecessary +and uncalled for, as it is unusual in Parliamentary discussions. +If it had been the first time of Sir Andrew Agnew’s attempting +to palm such a measure upon the country, we might well understand, and +duly appreciate, the delicate and compassionate feeling due to the supposed +weakness and imbecility of the man, which prevented his proposition +being exposed in its true colours, and induced this Hon. Member to bear +testimony to his excellent motives, and that Noble Lord to regret that +he could not—although he had tried to do so—adopt any portion +of the bill. But when these attempts have been repeated, again +and again; when Sir Andrew Agnew has renewed them session after session, +and when it has become palpably evident to the whole House that</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>His impudence of proof in every trial,<br />Kens no polite, and heeds +no plain denial -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>it really becomes high time to speak of him and his legislation, +as they appear to deserve, without that gloss of politeness, which is +all very well in an ordinary case, but rather out of place when the +liberties and comforts of a whole people are at stake.</p> +<p>In the first place, it is by no means the worst characteristic of +this bill, that it is a bill of blunders: it is, from beginning to end, +a piece of deliberate cruelty, and crafty injustice. If the rich +composed the whole population of this country, not a single comfort +of one single man would be affected by it. It is directed exclusively, +and without the exception of a solitary instance, against the amusements +and recreations of the poor. This was the bait held out by the +Hon. Baronet to a body of men, who cannot be supposed to have any very +strong sympathies in common with the poor, because they cannot understand +their sufferings or their struggles. This is the bait, which will +in time prevail, unless public attention is awakened, and public feeling +exerted, to prevent it.</p> +<p>Take the very first clause, the provision that no man shall be allowed +to work on Sunday—‘That no person, upon the Lord’s +day, shall do, or hire, or employ any person to do any manner of labour, +or any work of his or her ordinary calling.’ What class +of persons does this affect? The rich man? No. Menial +servants, both male and female, are specially exempted from the operation +of the bill. ‘Menial servants’ are among the poor +people. The bill has no regard for them. The Baronet’s +dinner must be cooked on Sunday, the Bishop’s horses must be groomed, +and the Peer’s carriage must be driven. So the menial servants +are put utterly beyond the pale of grace;—unless indeed, they +are to go to heaven through the sanctity of their masters, and possibly +they might think even that, rather an uncertain passport.</p> +<p>There is a penalty for keeping open, houses of entertainment. +Now, suppose the bill had passed, and that half-a-dozen adventurous +licensed victuallers, relying upon the excitement of public feeling +on the subject, and the consequent difficulty of conviction (this is +by no means an improbable supposition), had determined to keep their +houses and gardens open, through the whole Sunday afternoon, in defiance +of the law. Every act of hiring or working, every act of buying +or selling, or delivering, or causing anything to be bought or sold, +is specifically made a separate offence—mark the effect. +A party, a man and his wife and children, enter a tea-garden, and the +informer stations himself in the next box, from whence he can see and +hear everything that passes. ‘Waiter!’ says the father. +‘Yes. Sir.’ ‘Pint of the best ale!’ +‘Yes, Sir.’ Away runs the waiter to the bar, and gets +the ale from the landlord. Out comes the informer’s note-book—penalty +on the father for hiring, on the waiter for delivering, and on the landlord +for selling, on the Lord’s day. But it does not stop here. +The waiter delivers the ale, and darts off, little suspecting the penalties +in store for him. ‘Hollo,’ cries the father, ‘waiter!’ +‘Yes, Sir.’ ‘Just get this little boy a biscuit, +will you?’ ‘Yes, Sir.’ Off runs the waiter +again, and down goes another case of hiring, another case of delivering, +and another case of selling; and so it would go on <i>ad infinitum</i>, +the sum and substance of the matter being, that every time a man or +woman cried ‘Waiter!’ on Sunday, he or she would be fined +not less than forty shillings, nor more than a hundred; and every time +a waiter replied, ‘Yes, Sir,’ he and his master would be +fined in the same amount: with the addition of a new sort of window +duty on the landlord, to wit, a tax of twenty shillings an hour for +every hour beyond the first one, during which he should have his shutters +down on the Sabbath.</p> +<p>With one exception, there are perhaps no clauses in the whole bill, +so strongly illustrative of its partial operation, and the intention +of its framer, as those which relate to travelling on Sunday. +Penalties of ten, twenty, and thirty pounds, are mercilessly imposed +upon coach proprietors who shall run their coaches on the Sabbath; one, +two, and ten pounds upon those who hire, or let to hire, horses and +carriages upon the Lord’s day, but not one syllable about those +who have no necessity to hire, because they have carriages and horses +of their own; not one word of a penalty on liveried coachmen and footmen. +The whole of the saintly venom is directed against the hired cabriolet, +the humble fly, or the rumbling hackney-coach, which enables a man of +the poorer class to escape for a few hours from the smoke and dirt, +in the midst of which he has been confined throughout the week: while +the escutcheoned carriage and the dashing cab, may whirl their wealthy +owners to Sunday feasts and private oratorios, setting constables, informers, +and penalties, at defiance. Again, in the description of the places +of public resort which it is rendered criminal to attend on Sunday, +there are no words comprising a very fashionable promenade. Public +discussions, public debates, public lectures and speeches, are cautiously +guarded against; for it is by their means that the people become enlightened +enough to deride the last efforts of bigotry and superstition. +There is a stringent provision for punishing the poor man who spends +an hour in a news-room, but there is nothing to prevent the rich one +from lounging away the day in the Zoological Gardens.</p> +<p>There is, in four words, a mock proviso, which affects to forbid +travelling ‘with any animal’ on the Lord’s day. +This, however, is revoked, as relates to the rich man, by a subsequent +provision. We have then a penalty of not less than fifty, nor +more than one hundred pounds, upon any person participating in the control, +or having the command of any vessel which shall commence her voyage +on the Lord’s day, should the wind prove favourable. The +next time this bill is brought forward (which will no doubt be at an +early period of the next session of Parliament) perhaps it will be better +to amend this clause by declaring, that from and after the passing of +the act, it shall be deemed unlawful for the wind to blow at all upon +the Sabbath. It would remove a great deal of temptation from the +owners and captains of vessels.</p> +<p>The reader is now in possession of the principal enacting clauses +of Sir Andrew Agnew’s bill, with the exception of one, for preventing +the killing or taking of ‘<i>fish, or other wild animals</i>,’ +and the ordinary provisions which are inserted for form’s sake +in all acts of Parliament. I now beg his attention to the clauses +of exemption.</p> +<p>They are two in number. The first exempts menial servants from +any rest, and all poor men from any recreation: outlaws a milkman after +nine o’clock in the morning, and makes eating-houses lawful for +only two hours in the afternoon; permits a medical man to use his carriage +on Sunday, and declares that a clergyman may either use his own, or +hire one.</p> +<p>The second is artful, cunning, and designing; shielding the rich +man from the possibility of being entrapped, and affecting at the same +time, to have a tender and scrupulous regard, for the interests of the +whole community. It declares, ‘that nothing in this act +contained, shall extend to works of piety, charity, or necessity.’</p> +<p>What is meant by the word ‘necessity’ in this clause? +Simply this—that the rich man shall be at liberty to make use +of all the splendid luxuries he has collected around him, on any day +in the week, because habit and custom have rendered them ‘necessary’ +to his easy existence; but that the poor man who saves his money to +provide some little pleasure for himself and family at lengthened intervals, +shall not be permitted to enjoy it. It is not ‘necessary’ +to him:- Heaven knows, he very often goes long enough without it. +This is the plain English of the clause. The carriage and pair +of horses, the coachman, the footman, the helper, and the groom, are +‘necessary’ on Sundays, as on other days, to the bishop +and the nobleman; but the hackney-coach, the hired gig, or the taxed +cart, cannot possibly be ‘necessary’ to the working-man +on Sunday, for he has it not at other times. The sumptuous dinner +and the rich wines, are ‘necessaries’ to a great man in +his own mansion: but the pint of beer and the plate of meat, degrade +the national character in an eating-house.</p> +<p>Such is the bill for promoting the true and sincere worship of God +according to his Holy Will, and for protecting every class of society +against being required to sacrifice their health and comfort on the +Sabbath. Instances in which its operation would be as unjust as +it would be absurd, might be multiplied to an endless amount; but it +is sufficient to place its leading provisions before the reader. +In doing so, I have purposely abstained from drawing upon the imagination +for possible cases; the provisions to which I have referred, stand in +so many words upon the bill as printed by order of the House of Commons; +and they can neither be disowned, nor explained away.</p> +<p>Let us suppose such a bill as this, to have actually passed both +branches of the legislature; to have received the royal assent; and +to have come into operation. Imagine its effect in a great city +like London.</p> +<p>Sunday comes, and brings with it a day of general gloom and austerity. +The man who has been toiling hard all the week, has been looking towards +the Sabbath, not as to a day of rest from labour, and healthy recreation, +but as one of grievous tyranny and grinding oppression. The day +which his Maker intended as a blessing, man has converted into a curse. +Instead of being hailed by him as his period of relaxation, he finds +it remarkable only as depriving him of every comfort and enjoyment. +He has many children about him, all sent into the world at an early +age, to struggle for a livelihood; one is kept in a warehouse all day, +with an interval of rest too short to enable him to reach home, another +walks four or five miles to his employment at the docks, a third earns +a few shillings weekly, as an errand boy, or office messenger; and the +employment of the man himself, detains him at some distance from his +home from morning till night. Sunday is the only day on which +they could all meet together, and enjoy a homely meal in social comfort; +and now they sit down to a cold and cheerless dinner: the pious guardians +of the man’s salvation having, in their regard for the welfare +of his precious soul, shut up the bakers’ shops. The fire +blazes high in the kitchen chimney of these well-fed hypocrites, and +the rich steams of the savoury dinner scent the air. What care +they to be told that this class of men have neither a place to cook +in—nor means to bear the expense, if they had?</p> +<p>Look into your churches—diminished congregations, and scanty +attendance. People have grown sullen and obstinate, and are becoming +disgusted with the faith which condemns them to such a day as this, +once in every seven. And as you cannot make people religious by +Act of Parliament, or force them to church by constables, they display +their feeling by staying away.</p> +<p>Turn into the streets, and mark the rigid gloom that reigns over +everything around. The roads are empty, the fields are deserted, +the houses of entertainment are closed. Groups of filthy and discontented-looking +men, are idling about at the street corners, or sleeping in the sun; +but there are no decently-dressed people of the poorer class, passing +to and fro. Where should they walk to? It would take them +an hour, at least, to get into the fields, and when they reached them, +they could procure neither bite nor sup, without the informer and the +penalty. Now and then, a carriage rolls smoothly on, or a well-mounted +horseman, followed by a liveried attendant, canters by; but with these +exceptions, all is as melancholy and quiet as if a pestilence had fallen +on the city.</p> +<p>Bend your steps through the narrow and thickly-inhabited streets, +and observe the sallow faces of the men and women who are lounging at +the doors, or lolling from the windows. Regard well the closeness +of these crowded rooms, and the noisome exhalations that rise from the +drains and kennels; and then laud the triumph of religion and morality, +which condemns people to drag their lives out in such stews as these, +and makes it criminal for them to eat or drink in the fresh air, or +under the clear sky. Here and there, from some half-opened window, +the loud shout of drunken revelry strikes upon the ear, and the noise +of oaths and quarrelling—the effect of the close and heated atmosphere—is +heard on all sides. See how the men all rush to join the crowd +that are making their way down the street, and how loud the execrations +of the mob become as they draw nearer. They have assembled round +a little knot of constables, who have seized the stock-in-trade, heinously +exposed on Sunday, of some miserable walking-stick seller, who follows +clamouring for his property. The dispute grows warmer and fiercer, +until at last some of the more furious among the crowd, rush forward +to restore the goods to their owner. A general conflict takes +place; the sticks of the constables are exercised in all directions; +fresh assistance is procured; and half a dozen of the assailants are +conveyed to the station-house, struggling, bleeding, and cursing. +The case is taken to the police-office on the following morning; and +after a frightful amount of perjury on both sides, the men are sent +to prison for resisting the officers, their families to the workhouse +to keep them from starving: and there they both remain for a month afterwards, +glorious trophies of the sanctified enforcement of the Christian Sabbath. +Add to such scenes as these, the profligacy, idleness, drunkenness, +and vice, that will be committed to an extent which no man can foresee, +on Monday, as an atonement for the restraint of the preceding day; and +you have a very faint and imperfect picture of the religious effects +of this Sunday legislation, supposing it could ever be forced upon the +people.</p> +<p>But let those who advocate the cause of fanaticism, reflect well +upon the probable issue of their endeavours. They may by perseverance, +succeed with Parliament. Let them ponder on the probability of +succeeding with the people. You may deny the concession of a political +question for a time, and a nation will bear it patiently. Strike +home to the comforts of every man’s fireside—tamper with +every man’s freedom and liberty—and one month, one week, +may rouse a feeling abroad, which a king would gladly yield his crown +to quell, and a peer would resign his coronet to allay.</p> +<p>It is the custom to affect a deference for the motives of those who +advocate these measures, and a respect for the feelings by which they +are actuated. They do not deserve it. If they legislate +in ignorance, they are criminal and dishonest; if they do so with their +eyes open, they commit wilful injustice; in either case, they bring +religion into contempt. But they do NOT legislate in ignorance. +Public prints, and public men, have pointed out to them again and again, +the consequences of their proceedings. If they persist in thrusting +themselves forward, let those consequences rest upon their own heads, +and let them be content to stand upon their own merits.</p> +<p>It may be asked, what motives can actuate a man who has so little +regard for the comfort of his fellow-beings, so little respect for their +wants and necessities, and so distorted a notion of the beneficence +of his Creator. I reply, an envious, heartless, ill-conditioned +dislike to seeing those whom fortune has placed below him, cheerful +and happy—an intolerant confidence in his own high worthiness +before God, and a lofty impression of the demerits of others—pride, +selfish pride, as inconsistent with the spirit of Christianity itself, +as opposed to the example of its Founder upon earth.</p> +<p>To these may be added another class of men—the stern and gloomy +enthusiasts, who would make earth a hell, and religion a torment: men +who, having wasted the earlier part of their lives in dissipation and +depravity, find themselves when scarcely past its meridian, steeped +to the neck in vice, and shunned like a loathsome disease. Abandoned +by the world, having nothing to fall back upon, nothing to remember +but time mis-spent, and energies misdirected, they turn their eyes and +not their thoughts to Heaven, and delude themselves into the impious +belief, that in denouncing the lightness of heart of which they cannot +partake, and the rational pleasures from which they never derived enjoyment, +they are more than remedying the sins of their old career, and—like +the founders of monasteries and builders of churches, in ruder days—establishing +a good set claim upon their Maker.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER III—AS IT MIGHT BE MADE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The supporters of Sabbath Bills, and more especially the extreme +class of Dissenters, lay great stress upon the declarations occasionally +made by criminals from the condemned cell or the scaffold, that to Sabbath-breaking +they attribute their first deviation from the path of rectitude; and +they point to these statements, as an incontestable proof of the evil +consequences which await a departure from that strict and rigid observance +of the Sabbath, which they uphold. I cannot help thinking that +in this, as in almost every other respect connected with the subject, +there is a considerable degree of cant, and a very great deal of wilful +blindness. If a man be viciously disposed—and with very +few exceptions, not a man dies by the executioner’s hands, who +has not been in one way or other a most abandoned and profligate character +for many years—if a man be viciously disposed, there is no doubt +that he will turn his Sunday to bad account, that he will take advantage +of it, to dissipate with other bad characters as vile as himself; and +that in this way, he may trace his first yielding to temptation, possibly +his first commission of crime, to an infringement of the Sabbath. +But this would be an argument against any holiday at all. If his +holiday had been Wednesday instead of Sunday, and he had devoted it +to the same improper uses, it would have been productive of the same +results. It is too much to judge of the character of a whole people, +by the confessions of the very worst members of society. It is +not fair, to cry down things which are harmless in themselves, because +evil-disposed men may turn them to bad account. Who ever thought +of deprecating the teaching poor people to write, because some porter +in a warehouse had committed forgery? Or into what man’s +head did it ever enter, to prevent the crowding of churches, because +it afforded a temptation for the picking of pockets?</p> +<p>When the Book of Sports, for allowing the peasantry of England to +divert themselves with certain games in the open air, on Sundays, after +evening service, was published by Charles the First, it is needless +to say the English people were comparatively rude and uncivilised. +And yet it is extraordinary to how few excesses it gave rise, even in +that day, when men’s minds were not enlightened, or their passions +moderated, by the influence of education and refinement. That +some excesses were committed through its means, in the remoter parts +of the country, and that it was discontinued in those places, in consequence, +cannot be denied: but generally speaking, there is no proof whatever +on record, of its having had any tendency to increase crime, or to lower +the character of the people.</p> +<p>The Puritans of that time, were as much opposed to harmless recreations +and healthful amusements as those of the present day, and it is amusing +to observe that each in their generation, advance precisely the same +description of arguments. In the British Museum, there is a curious +pamphlet got up by the Agnews of Charles’s time, entitled ‘A +Divine Tragedie lately acted, or a Collection of sundry memorable examples +of God’s Judgements upon Sabbath Breakers, and other like Libertines +in their unlawful Sports, happening within the realme of England, in +the compass only of two yeares last past, since the Booke (of Sports) +was published, worthy to be knowne and considered of all men, especially +such who are guilty of the sinne, or archpatrons thereof.’ +This amusing document, contains some fifty or sixty veritable accounts +of balls of fire that fell into churchyards and upset the sporters, +and sporters that quarrelled, and upset one another, and so forth: and +among them is one anecdote containing an example of a rather different +kind, which I cannot resist the temptation of quoting, as strongly illustrative +of the fact, that this blinking of the question has not even the recommendation +of novelty.</p> +<p>‘A woman about Northampton, the same day that she heard the +booke for sports read, went immediately, and having 3. pence in her +purse, hired a fellow to goe to the next towne to fetch a Minstrell, +who coming, she with others fell a dauncing, which continued within +night; at which time shee was got with child, which at the birth shee +murthering, was detected and apprehended, and being converted before +the justice, shee confessed it, and withal told the occasion of it, +saying it was her falling to sport on the Sabbath, upon the reading +of the Booke, so as for this treble sinfull act, her presumptuous profaning +of the Sabbath, wh. brought her adultory and that murther. Shee +was according to the Law both of God and man, put to death. Much +sinne and misery followeth upon Sabbath-breaking.’</p> +<p>It is needless to say, that if the young lady near Northampton had +‘fallen to sport’ of such a dangerous description, on any +other day but Sunday, the first result would probably have been the +same: it never having been distinctly shown that Sunday is more favourable +to the propagation of the human race than any other day in the week. +The second result—the murder of the child—does not speak +very highly for the amiability of her natural disposition; and the whole +story, supposing it to have had any foundation at all, is about as much +chargeable upon the Book of Sports, as upon the Book of Kings. +Such ‘sports’ have taken place in Dissenting Chapels before +now; but religion has never been blamed in consequence; nor has it been +proposed to shut up the chapels on that account.</p> +<p>The question, then, very fairly arises, whether we have any reason +to suppose that allowing games in the open air on Sundays, or even providing +the means of amusement for the humbler classes of society on that day, +would be hurtful and injurious to the character and morals of the people.</p> +<p>I was travelling in the west of England a summer or two back, and +was induced by the beauty of the scenery, and the seclusion of the spot, +to remain for the night in a small village, distant about seventy miles +from London. The next morning was Sunday; and I walked out, towards +the church. Groups of people—the whole population of the +little hamlet apparently—were hastening in the same direction. +Cheerful and good-humoured congratulations were heard on all sides, +as neighbours overtook each other, and walked on in company. Occasionally +I passed an aged couple, whose married daughter and her husband were +loitering by the side of the old people, accommodating their rate of +walking to their feeble pace, while a little knot of children hurried +on before; stout young labourers in clean round frocks; and buxom girls +with healthy, laughing faces, were plentifully sprinkled about in couples, +and the whole scene was one of quiet and tranquil contentment, irresistibly +captivating. The morning was bright and pleasant, the hedges were +green and blooming, and a thousand delicious scents were wafted on the +air, from the wild flowers which blossomed on either side of the footpath. +The little church was one of those venerable simple buildings which +abound in the English counties; half overgrown with moss and ivy, and +standing in the centre of a little plot of ground, which, but for the +green mounds with which it was studded, might have passed for a lovely +meadow. I fancied that the old clanking bell which was now summoning +the congregation together, would seem less terrible when it rung out +the knell of a departed soul, than I had ever deemed possible before—that +the sound would tell only of a welcome to calmness and rest, amidst +the most peaceful and tranquil scene in nature.</p> +<p>I followed into the church—a low-roofed building with small +arched windows, through which the sun’s rays streamed upon a plain +tablet on the opposite wall, which had once recorded names, now as undistinguishable +on its worn surface, as were the bones beneath, from the dust into which +they had resolved. The impressive service of the Church of England +was spoken—not merely <i>read—</i>by a grey-headed minister, +and the responses delivered by his auditors, with an air of sincere +devotion as far removed from affectation or display, as from coldness +or indifference. The psalms were accompanied by a few instrumental +performers, who were stationed in a small gallery extending across the +church at the lower end, over the door: and the voices were led by the +clerk, who, it was evident, derived no slight pride and gratification +from this portion of the service. The discourse was plain, unpretending, +and well adapted to the comprehension of the hearers. At the conclusion +of the service, the villagers waited in the churchyard, to salute the +clergyman as he passed; and two or three, I observed, stepped aside, +as if communicating some little difficulty, and asking his advice. +This, to guess from the homely bows, and other rustic expressions of +gratitude, the old gentleman readily conceded. He seemed intimately +acquainted with the circumstances of all his parishioners; for I heard +him inquire after one man’s youngest child, another man’s +wife, and so forth; and that he was fond of his joke, I discovered from +overhearing him ask a stout, fresh-coloured young fellow, with a very +pretty bashful-looking girl on his arm, ‘when those banns were +to be put up?’—an inquiry which made the young fellow more +fresh-coloured, and the girl more bashful, and which, strange to say, +caused a great many other girls who were standing round, to colour up +also, and look anywhere but in the faces of their male companions.</p> +<p>As I approached this spot in the evening about half an hour before +sunset, I was surprised to hear the hum of voices, and occasionally +a shout of merriment from the meadow beyond the churchyard; which I +found, when I reached the stile, to be occasioned by a very animated +game of cricket, in which the boys and young men of the place were engaged, +while the females and old people were scattered about: some seated on +the grass watching the progress of the game, and others sauntering about +in groups of two or three, gathering little nosegays of wild roses and +hedge flowers. I could not but take notice of one old man in particular, +with a bright-eyed grand-daughter by his side, who was giving a sunburnt +young fellow some instructions in the game, which he received with an +air of profound deference, but with an occasional glance at the girl, +which induced me to think that his attention was rather distracted from +the old gentleman’s narration of the fruits of his experience. +When it was his turn at the wicket, too, there was a glance towards +the pair every now and then, which the old grandfather very complacently +considered as an appeal to his judgment of a particular hit, but which +a certain blush in the girl’s face, and a downcast look of the +bright eye, led me to believe was intended for somebody else than the +old man,—and understood by somebody else, too, or I am much mistaken.</p> +<p>I was in the very height of the pleasure which the contemplation +of this scene afforded me, when I saw the old clergyman making his way +towards us. I trembled for an angry interruption to the sport, +and was almost on the point of crying out, to warn the cricketers of +his approach; he was so close upon me, however, that I could do nothing +but remain still, and anticipate the reproof that was preparing. +What was my agreeable surprise to see the old gentleman standing at +the stile, with his hands in his pockets, surveying the whole scene +with evident satisfaction! And how dull I must have been, not +to have known till my friend the grandfather (who, by-the-bye, said +he had been a wonderful cricketer in his time) told me, that it was +the clergyman himself who had established the whole thing: that it was +his field they played in; and that it was he who had purchased stumps, +bats, ball, and all!</p> +<p>It is such scenes as this, I would see near London, on a Sunday evening. +It is such men as this, who would do more in one year to make people +properly religious, cheerful, and contented, than all the legislation +of a century could ever accomplish.</p> +<p>It will be said—it has been very often—that it would +be matter of perfect impossibility to make amusements and exercises +succeed in large towns, which may be very well adapted to a country +population. Here, again, we are called upon to yield to bare assertions +on matters of belief and opinion, as if they were established and undoubted +facts. That there is a wide difference between the two cases, +no one will be prepared to dispute; that the difference is such as to +prevent the application of the same principle to both, no reasonable +man, I think, will be disposed to maintain. The great majority +of the people who make holiday on Sunday now, are industrious, orderly, +and well-behaved persons. It is not unreasonable to suppose that +they would be no more inclined to an abuse of pleasures provided for +them, than they are to an abuse of the pleasures they provide for themselves; +and if any people, for want of something better to do, resort to criminal +practices on the Sabbath as at present observed, no better remedy for +the evil can be imagined, than giving them the opportunity of doing +something which will amuse them, and hurt nobody else.</p> +<p>The propriety of opening the British Museum to respectable people +on Sunday, has lately been the subject of some discussion. I think +it would puzzle the most austere of the Sunday legislators to assign +any valid reason for opposing so sensible a proposition. The Museum +contains rich specimens from all the vast museums and repositories of +Nature, and rare and curious fragments of the mighty works of art, in +bygone ages: all calculated to awaken contemplation and inquiry, and +to tend to the enlightenment and improvement of the people. But +attendants would be necessary, and a few men would be employed upon +the Sabbath. They certainly would; but how many? Why, if +the British Museum, and the National Gallery, and the Gallery of Practical +Science, and every other exhibition in London, from which knowledge +is to be derived and information gained, were to be thrown open on a +Sunday afternoon, not fifty people would be required to preside over +the whole: and it would take treble the number to enforce a Sabbath +bill in any three populous parishes.</p> +<p>I should like to see some large field, or open piece of ground, in +every outskirt of London, exhibiting each Sunday evening on a larger +scale, the scene of the little country meadow. I should like to +see the time arrive, when a man’s attendance to his religious +duties might be left to that religious feeling which most men possess +in a greater or less degree, but which was never forced into the breast +of any man by menace or restraint. I should like to see the time +when Sunday might be looked forward to, as a recognised day of relaxation +and enjoyment, and when every man might feel, what few men do now, that +religion is not incompatible with rational pleasure and needful recreation.</p> +<p>How different a picture would the streets and public places then +present! The museums, and repositories of scientific and useful +inventions, would be crowded with ingenious mechanics and industrious +artisans, all anxious for information, and all unable to procure it +at any other time. The spacious saloons would be swarming with +practical men: humble in appearance, but destined, perhaps, to become +the greatest inventors and philosophers of their age. The labourers +who now lounge away the day in idleness and intoxication, would be seen +hurrying along, with cheerful faces and clean attire, not to the close +and smoky atmosphere of the public-house but to the fresh and airy fields. +Fancy the pleasant scene. Throngs of people, pouring out from +the lanes and alleys of the metropolis, to various places of common +resort at some short distance from the town, to join in the refreshing +sports and exercises of the day—the children gambolling in crowds +upon the grass, the mothers looking on, and enjoying themselves the +little game they seem only to direct; other parties strolling along +some pleasant walks, or reposing in the shade of the stately trees; +others again intent upon their different amusements. Nothing should +be heard on all sides, but the sharp stroke of the bat as it sent the +ball skimming along the ground, the clear ring of the quoit, as it struck +upon the iron peg: the noisy murmur of many voices, and the loud shout +of mirth and delight, which would awaken the echoes far and wide, till +the fields rung with it. The day would pass away, in a series +of enjoyments which would awaken no painful reflections when night arrived; +for they would be calculated to bring with them, only health and contentment. +The young would lose that dread of religion, which the sour austerity +of its professors too often inculcates in youthful bosoms; and the old +would find less difficulty in persuading them to respect its observances. +The drunken and dissipated, deprived of any excuse for their misconduct, +would no longer excite pity but disgust. Above all, the more ignorant +and humble class of men, who now partake of many of the bitters of life, +and taste but few of its sweets, would naturally feel attachment and +respect for that code of morality, which, regarding the many hardships +of their station, strove to alleviate its rigours, and endeavoured to +soften its asperity.</p> +<p>This is what Sunday might be made, and what it might be made without +impiety or profanation. The wise and beneficent Creator who places +men upon earth, requires that they shall perform the duties of that +station of life to which they are called, and He can never intend that +the more a man strives to discharge those duties, the more he shall +be debarred from happiness and enjoyment. Let those who have six +days in the week for all the world’s pleasures, appropriate the +seventh to fasting and gloom, either for their own sins or those of +other people, if they like to bewail them; but let those who employ +their six days in a worthier manner, devote their seventh to a different +purpose. Let divines set the example of true morality: preach +it to their flocks in the morning, and dismiss them to enjoy true rest +in the afternoon; and let them select for their text, and let Sunday +legislators take for their motto, the words which fell from the lips +of that Master, whose precepts they misconstrue, and whose lessons they +pervert—‘The Sabbath was made for man, and not man to serve +the Sabbath.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SUNDAY UNDER THREE HEADS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named suths10h.htm or suths10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, suths11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, suths10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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