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 State College of Agriculture 
 
 At Cornell University 
 
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 Library 
 
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The original of tliis book is in 
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LITEEATUM, POLITICS, FINANCE. 
 
 THE CKEDntlTY OP DDPK8 IS AS INEXHAUSTIBLE A3 
 THE INVENIIO-"( OF KNAVES. Burke. 
 
 LONDON: DANIEL F. OAKET, 10, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 LIVEEPOOL: PHILIP AND SON. MANCHE8TBK: DINHAM AND CO. EDINBOEQH : 
 
 MENZIE8. OLA8G0W: LOVE. DUBLIN: W. EOBEETSON. OXFOUD : E. T. 6PIEE3. 
 
 CAMBBIDOE : HALL AND SON. 
 
 1858. 
 
We say, notes issued in the nation's name, bearing proportion to the wants of trade, are 
 money fit to measure man's eichange of mutual aid in living. Human need of money stamps 
 its value, not the Mint. And money's uses in the commonwealth of industry, should measure 
 the supply of legal tender, not the ebb and flow of golden quicksands in Threadneedle Street, 
 
INDEX. 
 
 TABS 
 
 Adventures in Search of a Country Eesidenee ... ,■ 330 
 
 Art Season, the now 
 
 Bank Charter Act, the 72,144,216,296,360,432 
 
 Blind Leaders of our Times, the 324 
 
 Bone from Blackfriars, a 250 
 
 Brief Notices 
 
 64 
 
 Country Gentleman, Reminiscences of a 397 
 
 Court Sword, the Making and the Wearing of My 414 
 
 Crowner's Quest, the 254 
 
 Daddy Hubbard's Currency Pie 58 
 
 Des Preaux's Kansom ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 354 
 
 Draft Beport of the Select Committee on the Bank Acts 265 
 
 Dramatic College, the ... ... ... 319 
 
 Edith Clarel 1,73,145,217,297,361 
 
 Esther Thames on Trial " 198 
 
 Flower (the), the Feather, and the Leaves 295 
 
 French Manners ... ... ... ... 168 
 
 Q-rundy, Mrs., and the Committee on the Cause of the Panic ... ... 241 
 
 Hard Calculator, the ... ... 40 
 
 Holes in the National Money Bag ... ... 115 
 
 Joshua Squaretoes, Esq., Mayor of Flamborough, (to) ... 427 
 
 Letter (a) on Political Responsibility "' - "iM ^^'^ 
 
 Lizzy's Loeket '"^sl., 342 
 
 London Joint Stock Banks, the ... .;.' 43 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Money (the) of British India ... 
 Month, the 
 
 Notes of the Month ... 
 
 Opium Trade (the), and Salt Tax in India 
 
 Oude and the Land Tenures of India 
 Overstone Theory of Trade, the 
 
 Paper and Gold ... 
 
 Perch for our Jail Birds, a 
 
 Piedmont and Naples ... 
 
 Pigeons and Crows ... ... ... ... 
 
 Pitt's Ghost, and the late Chancellor of the Exchequer 
 
 Polities of the Month ... . 
 
 Putting on ye Screw ; or John Bull his Martyrdom 
 
 Query for Theorists, a . . . 
 
 Kail ways : their Prospects and Retrospects ... 
 
 Kaisingofthe Siege, the 
 
 Kichmond Forest : an Eclogue 
 
 Shelley, and the Poets of his Age 
 
 Situation, the 
 
 Slavery and the Cotton Trade... 
 
 Sonnet ... 
 
 Starving Operatives, Advice to our ... ... ... 
 
 Stepfather, the ... 
 
 Taxation and Bullionism 
 
 They told me when My Heart was Young ... 
 
 Time Breaks upon Eternity ... 
 
 Traps for Testators 
 
 Twaddle of " The Times," the 
 
 Where shall "We Play ? 
 
 Woe is Me, My Party.,. 
 
 52 
 358 
 
 66, 139 
 
 32 
 
 121 
 
 ... Ill 
 
 .,. 420 
 352 
 
 ... 163 
 46 
 24 
 
 211, 260 
 
 ... 183 
 
 ... 138 
 
 ... 312 
 90 
 38 
 
 59, 200 
 17 
 175 
 296 
 403 
 407 
 
 106 
 232 
 351 
 233 
 
 55, 130, 190 
 
 ... 101 
 ... 127 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The Monet Bag originated in our desire to draw the attention of 
 the over-burdened people of England to the practical causes, gene- 
 rating periodical paroxyama of commercial disaster with such fatal 
 regularity of recurrence, that the sufferers seemed in danger of 
 sinking into a predestinarian apathy, cowering beneath the scourge 
 as a grievous but inevitable dispensation of Providence, instead of 
 girding themselves to extirpate it as a canker in the commonwealth, 
 resulting from human bigotry, selfishness and folly. 
 
 Our object has been to rouse the people from their lethargic 
 gloom of helpless, uninvestigating fatalism, to a sense of their real 
 interests, and the power to assert them which slumbers in the 
 people's hands, 
 
 "We have attempted to show that commerce lies fettered and 
 crippled by what might be called an insane financial system, if it had 
 not been invented, imposed and upheld by that self-ended and dog' 
 matic money-dealing clique, whose wisdom lies in deluding the judg- 
 ment, and whose interests are served by undermining the prosperity 
 of the great productive community. 
 
 Producers, who have invested their capital in appliances for the 
 elaboration of Nature's bounty to supply human wants with those 
 necessaries, comforts and luxuries, the command of which makes 
 human weal, cannot feel secure, however sound their trade, while the 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 free mutual interdistribution of the substantial wealth they hold is 
 liable at any moment to sudden and spasmodic cramp from a dearth 
 of the medium of exchange. They know, or should know by this time, 
 that such dearth can double the weight of their current liabilities, and 
 force not only their stock but their establishment on a bankrupt 
 market. It is therefore to the producer's interest that the circulating 
 medium should be steadily maintained — in quantity proportionate to 
 the work and stuff it has to distribute — in value equable, as measured 
 in rates of interest and discount, or as tested by its general purchas- 
 ing power over commodities. 
 
 Usurers, on the other hand, who reserve their capital (uninvested 
 in productive enterprise) for favourable operations during special 
 phases of commercial fluctuation, obviously find it to their interest 
 that the quantity and purchasing power of the circulating medium 
 should be as variable as possible ; so that their stagnant hoard 
 may, when money is scarce, purchase commodities (depreciated by 
 money tightness), which commodities (when money is plentiful 
 again, and prices have risen in consequence), they willbe able to 
 sell at a profit proportionate to the violence of the jolt in the 
 purchasing power of money. 
 
 Our existing money laws, whatever may be urged in favour of their 
 theoretical plausibility, are incontestibly successful in securing that 
 swift and violent fluctuation in the quantity, purchasing power, 
 interest, and discount of money, so desirable to the money dealer, 
 but so disastrous to the producer. "With the producer's interest 
 we must connect those of the distributor of produce— the wholesale 
 and retail tradesman, whose loss in pressure may arise from a de- 
 preciation of the stock he holds, or from a falling off in the custom 
 of operatives, whom the producer, during such periods, ceases to ' 
 employ. The operative's share, in national disaster is the bitterest 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 and most palpable of all. He experiences in a living stomacli the 
 pangs which his employer feels in an iron safe. 
 
 The Bank Charter Act is the dry rot in our English heart 
 of oak. 
 
 Money exists to effect the mutual interchange of wealth. "Wealth 
 is the offspring of nature's womb, engendered by human work. The 
 quantity of lawful circulating medium in a country ouffht to depend 
 on and be proportioned to the quantity of work that can be done 
 and the quantity of stuff that can be used by a nation. Such a 
 supply of circulating medium would be national money.- The 
 Bank Charter Act makes the quantity of lawful circulating medium 
 depend on the capriciously accidental fluctuation of a particular 
 metal which is not even allowed to find its level at the market price. 
 The Bank Charter Act practically forces England to buy gold dearer 
 and to seU it cheaper than the market value of gold in the world at 
 large, thereby causing those expansions and contractions of money 
 which bring grist to the money dealer and gruel to trade. Interest 
 and discount, fluctuating in reference to a few tens of millions in 
 gold and Bank of England notes, vitally affect the profits of trade on 
 'thousands of millions worth of goods, through the gigantic surface of 
 biUs which (in the absence o£ sufficient national money) form the 
 practical medium of exchange among the dealers who hold these 
 goods. At a moment when our domestic commerce is most pros- 
 perous, a draia of bullion, from foreign causes, can raise discount, 
 stagnate the circulation of bills, throw goods wholesale on the 
 market, paralyse labour, and bring a country full of wealth to ruin. 
 
 When goods have fallen to panic prices, gold returns. The 
 foreigner having bought our gold for less than it was worth, keeps it 
 tiU its absence, by tightening the money market, has driven down 
 our prices far below cost level. Then he brings back the bullion to 
 purchase our depreciated commodities. The Bant coffers are glutted, 
 
viii PBEPACE. 
 
 but trade has burnt her fingers, and dare not touch it. Money is ' 
 plentiful, but no one wilt venture his capital— no one dares trust his 
 neighbour. Money in plenty! but the mutual confidence which 
 solders the relations of commerce, where is that ? The base shifts 
 of lawless need have destroyed the sacred bond between man and 
 man. The commercial energy and honour of England, once our 
 pre-eminent pride among the nations, are paralysed to the extremi- 
 ties and corrupted to the core. 
 
 As to our magazine, our first effort was to make it readable ; for 
 unless it succeeded in offering a shilling's worth of palatable reading 
 to average readers, the truths we intended it to spread must remain 
 smothered in the lump under our bushel of prose. Some of our 
 literary antagonists, on the usurer's side, have reproached us with 
 being less dull, and harping less monotonously on one string than 
 was legitimately to be expected of financial reformers. We can 
 only say we have done our best to be instructive, without aspiring to 
 the dignity of didactic boredom. We have at least been earnest and 
 plain spoken. If any of our suggestions have aided the people of 
 England in extracting the sweet uses of political economy out of the 
 bitter dregs of their adversity, we are sufficiently rewarded for our 
 endeavours to point the moral of the panic. Por we firmly believe 
 that this season of calamity will not pass over us in vain. These 
 nipping frosts of national discontent are ripening the backward 
 harvest of reform. When the people are out of work the Consti- 
 tution is iii labour ; and we hope this time the country's deliverers 
 may not coiltrive, with their usual obstetric felicity, to render the 
 birth abortive. 
 
EDITH CLAREL: 
 
 A STORY FROM THREE POINTS OP VIEW. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 DENZILS ELITE BOOK. 
 
 " Theee are several ways of taking it. You may take it as a trial 
 and au education for a better life ; that is perhaps the true way of 
 taking life, but unfortunately very uncommon. 
 
 " Tou may take it as a very sound and serious thing in itself, and 
 set yourself earnestly and indefatigably to win the prizes of Mammon. 
 That would be a tolerably true way too, if this life were only a little 
 more, durable, and if wo could only be sure that the prizes of Mammon 
 were worth pretty near as much as they cost. 
 
 " But the usual, and therefore of course the most respectable way 
 of taking life is the practico-draraatic method, in pursuance of which 
 ve &gree to make a, plausible j)retence of treating life as sound and 
 serious — performing our respective parts in that crowded, unwieldy 
 and dull tragi-comedy, ' The Triumph of Mammon.' 
 
 "This undeniably tedious drama, however, notwithstanding all that 
 criticism may have said, or may have yet to say against it, continues 
 nevertheless to be daily and nightly represented to an audience 
 of weeping angels in the upper circles and of grinning demons in the 
 pit, who are highly amused or profoundly affected according to their 
 divers instincts. 
 
 "As to the performers, they keep it up with a perseverance worthy 
 of a better cause, though in the bearing of most of them you may 
 
 No. 1.— Vol. I. b 
 
a EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 see an anxious sbabby-genteel consciousness that they are badly paid 
 for their dreary efforts to make the thing go off cheerfully. 
 
 " But there are a few spare places in the lower stage boxes, where 
 performers, weary of the heat and turmoil and elbow-jostling of the 
 stage, may retire from its feverish huddle and become spectators, 
 laughing with the demons or weeping with the angels as the humour 
 stirs them. They have had their tussle in the property room for the 
 gilt-pasteboard, glass-gemmed diadems, and the rabbit-skin and horse- 
 hair ermines. They have had their solemn strut up to the sumptuous 
 banqueting-table. They have had their 'choice cat out of the 
 papier mach6 pasty. They have tossed off their glittering goblet of 
 embossed and gilded copper with such eager apparent relish that 
 the dust and verdigris at the bottom fell in their eyes. They have 
 courted the rouged and whitewashed maiden of the golden wig, and 
 have received at her hands a bunch of the most fragrant artificial 
 violets, gathered from; a sliding property flower-bed by the light of 
 the muslin moon. 
 
 " I think all the men and women have occasional glimpses of 
 suspicion that they are ' merely players ;' but they do not like to 
 think so, and are a little shocked and annoyed if they are reminded 
 of it, except on Sundays, when they have become accustomed, as a 
 matter of form, to hear that things temporal are dust and ashes. There 
 are occasional subterraneous rumblings and earthquake shocks that 
 drown the theatre's thunder machine ; and even now and then rift 
 open the painted heaven of the roof, so that the true daylight from 
 above breaks in and makes the chandelier and foot-lights turn pale. 
 The rant and revelry of the stage pause in grotesque attitudes of 
 ghastly pantomime. But the carpenters soon patch up these 
 temporary gaps, and the performance goes on as before." 
 
 The above is not my writing. I couldn't write such stuff as that, 
 not if I was paid ever so much for it. It is an extract from Denzil's 
 Diary. Not a regular diary ; he had a thick quarto volume of satin- 
 wove, gilt-edged rhodomontades and rhapsodies bound in sky-blue 
 morocco, with a large silver lock made on purpose for the book by 
 Bramah. It was a queer fancy ; but Denzil was full of queer 
 fancies. He needn't have been the least afraid of anybody reading 
 his meanderings, they are scribbled in the most illegible hand. I 
 don't think he would have got anybody to read much of them even 
 if he asked them as a particular favour. There was no connected 
 journal, but whatever whims were uppermost in his mind, he 
 scratched them into his Blue Book. 
 
 He thought he had a turn for literature ; and I dare say if he 
 hadn't had three thousand a-year he might have learned to string his 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 6 ' 
 
 wits together. As it was, his style was the desultory run mad ; and 
 indeed he had no perseverance. JSTobody knows what he meant by 
 his multifarious beginnings. He sickened of everything he put his 
 hand to. He used to read his scraps to his friends sometimes, 
 especially to me, as I used to praise it whatever it was ; for he was 
 very sensitive to praise and blame, and his friendship was valuable 
 to me. As to his rigmaroles, I never much understood what he was at. 
 But I have often observed in his case as well as many others, that 
 one gains a great deal more popularity with, clever people and people 
 who fancy themselves clever, by looking as if you understood them, 
 and saying that it's devilish fine, than by really understanding what 
 they are at. For your conscientious folks who trouble their wits 
 really to get to the bottom of the oracular stuff your man of genius 
 will deliver, are sure to have something or other to say in return 
 which qualifies or contradicts, or someway puts your man of genius 
 out of conceit with his idea. It's a very great mistake to put a man 
 of genius out of conceit with his ideas if he is of any use to you. A 
 man of genius is easier guided than a fool. And, indeed, you can 
 guide most men with praise and blame as easy as you can a horse 
 with a snaffle. Your man of genius has always a tender mouth, but 
 a fool will often take the bit in his teeth when you least expect him. 
 
 Peect Denzil was a strange feUow. There was something about 
 him different from other fellows, and yet I cannot exactly say what 
 it was. His manner was certainly not awkward, though he was 
 perhaps a little shy sometimes. His looks too were in his favour — 
 rather distinguished. He was not regularly handsome, but he had 
 wavy brown hair, and deep blue eyes, with eyelashes darker than the 
 hair, which seemed to mean something. His figure was rather 
 gaunt and bony, but he had good hands and feet and held himself 
 well, so that his clothes hung well upon him, and women were not 
 indisposed to look upon him as a hero. 
 
 He had seen a deal of life ; in fact he had done almost everything^ 
 and been almost everywhere. He had hunted buffalo in the 
 prairies, and ostriches in the African deserts. But he had no more 
 practical knowledge of the world than a chUd. He lived in a sort of 
 dream, and saw everything through a haze of imagination. He was 
 apt to be melancholy at times, from my first knowledge of him at 
 Oxford, where, however, he only kept a term or two. But about the 
 time I am writing of, it had fixed upon him more firmly. 
 
 He was about seven and twenty. That extract is from about the 
 middle of the blue book. He read it me at the time, and said it was 
 the beginning of an essay, in which he meant to show that life was 
 not worth having. I did not pay much attention to it then, and 
 
4: EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 oaly said it was very deep and brilliant philosophy, and promised to 
 be a first-rate thing. But it set me thinking afterwards, especially 
 as, a few days later, he had begun a discontented poem on the next 
 page, that seemed to be a bad imitation of Byron. I may perhaps as 
 well give it ; for these papers (except a few comments of my own 
 here and there, to keep the reader straight) will be principally com- 
 posed of extracts from the Blue Book, with collateral fragments from 
 the journal of a woman who has yet to be introduced. 
 
 How I became possessed of these two books cannot be told yet 
 without damaging the interest of the story, which the extracts and 
 commentary will develope by degrees. The verses are not much to 
 the purpose, but they will serve to show the state of mind Denzil 
 was in at the time the story begins. 
 
 " la anything worth doing? That I aak; 
 Not that I care that any one should say, 
 ' If you perform this, that, or t'other task. 
 
 We guarantee that you will find it pay—' 
 Because I know the world 's an ebbing cask. 
 
 That stinks of sour small beer. And day by day 
 I, for my part, am growing sick and sicker 
 Of that stale, flat, unprofitable liquor. 
 
 " Is anything worth doing ? I repeat. 
 
 Is anything at all on earth worth doing ? 
 Sail round the world, or walk across the street— 
 
 ^ Try letters, sloth, trade, politics, or wooing ! 
 And every shift is but a new receipt 
 
 For that small beer which all mankind are brewing — 
 That small beer, flat, unprofitable, stale. 
 Which never was, may, can, or will be ale ! 
 
 " Try courts or camps, where they make wars and peaces ! 
 You'll find them both so dull they can't be duller. 
 Try savage life ! Lo, calumets and creeses ! 
 
 The same materials, of another colour. 
 As novelty wears off, excitement ceases : 
 Experience, the inexorable annuUer, 
 
 Soon blunts the edge of everything we try. 
 Till, as our last expedient, we die. 
 
 " If this be so, is poetry worth -writing ? 
 
 Or, haply written, reading ? No, of course. 
 Yet quite as much worth while as trade or fightin". 
 
 Ambition, love, or betting on a horse, 
 Or cards or dice— with which men, first deHghting, 
 Soon bored, then ruined, the world keeps in force. 
 Give me the odds ! I back my winged hobby 
 To give your field of foundered hacks the go-by 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 5 
 
 " Hail, Muse ! I've no pretence to be inspired ; 
 But greatly bored I am. Sing, therefore, Muse, 
 Of Boredom. Let my harp twang brazen-wired, 
 
 Jai-ring the teeth of every soul that chews. 
 I will grind music (such as might be hired 
 To leave the street), and every bribe refuse. 
 In joy or sorrow — bury, wed, or christen — 
 I'll sing so shrill you cannot choose but listen.'" 
 
 Here the poem, as was usual with Denzil's literary undertakings, 
 stopped short in a black quagmire of acratchings in and scratchiugs 
 out, where he appeared to have got entangled in a stanza which he 
 couldn't bring up to quite a shrill enough pitch. But from these 
 and other signs I got the impression that he was considerably bored ; 
 and might very likely leave England on one of his wildgoose chases, 
 unless he was looked after. This would not have suited me at all— 
 for I was hardish up, and had made a most confounded book on the 
 Derby which, without his assistance, would probably wind me up for 
 good. So I cast about for some way of keeping him safe. I could 
 hit on nothing better than making him fall in love — which I accord- 
 ingly did. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 I HAT) been for some time very intimate with the Clarels. Edith 
 Clarel was a very pretty girl at that time — certainly very cjiarming 
 and calculated to create an interest. She was rather small, but 
 beautifully made, with a small thoroughbred-looking head. She was 
 light and quick, but not undignified in her movements. She had 
 rich deep auburn hair — brown auburn with no suspicion of red — 
 with a slight wave in it. She had liquid brown eyes with a deal of 
 life in them ; her complexion was transparent like the inside of a 
 shell ; the features were very variable in expression, and the colour 
 often changed, lightening or deepening with her humour, though she 
 very seldom blushed outright. 
 
 Indeed, I don't think I ever saw her blush. I have seen her grow 
 deadly pale when any other woman would have blushed. But she 
 was never floored by anything — as sharp as a needle and as bold as 
 a lion, with a pride and devil in her that was beyond belief. But of 
 that I did not know so much then as now. I had been struck with 
 her looks at some indifferent little third-rate party where I went, 
 rather against the grain, to look after a vulgar heiress on the out- 
 skirts of society — only there because of her money — and her money 
 
6 EDITH CLAEEL. 
 
 was so tied up that I never thought more of her after I had seen 
 her soap-chandling father's will at Doctors' Commons. 
 
 Besides which I really was very much struck with Edith Clarel, 
 so that the very day after making her acquaintance, I went to look 
 up the will and calculate the soap-chandling proceeds. They turned 
 out as such things always do in practice, much below the current 
 figure ; and, moreover, the soap-chandling mamma was a coarse, 
 healthy widow of forty, with a heavy jointure ; so I washed my 
 hands of the soap, and for a time turned my whole attention to the 
 Clarel speculation. 
 
 The Clarel speculation looked very well, at first. Edith was an 
 only daughter. Clarel was a man of good family. I looked him out 
 in Burke's Commoners. It was an immemorial squiredom in Devon- 
 shire. Clarel, of Caercombe, since the Conquest, or the Deluge, for 
 anything I know. Name in Battle Abbey roll. Clarels knighted 
 under the royal banner at Cressy or Agincourt. In short, very 
 respectable, and I went in with great vigour. 
 
 The lovely Edith was highly educated and accomplished. Her 
 talk was rather diflELcult to stand before; and she had a way of stop- 
 ping short for an answer, and looking through you with her eyes, 
 that required some tact and management. Still, though I knew very 
 little, and cared less, about her subjects, I am well up in the art of 
 conversation. In order to converse well with women it is not neces- 
 sary to know anything, though of course knowing something makes 
 it easier. If you listen well, look interested, and follow the expression 
 of the eyes you are talking to as near as you can with your own ; if 
 you never hazard a remark you are not pretty sure of, and only in 
 places where your talker's knowledge seems weakest ; if, in your 
 dealings with women (who, on proper encouragement, are almost 
 all loquacious), you adopt, in listening, an air of courtly deference for 
 the sex, mingled with an assumed condescension of the male mind ; 
 if, above all, you veil your commonplace in mysterious reserve, you 
 may manage to talk and act a very tolerable bass accompaniment, to 
 which they will cheerfully trill away their treble prattle, and ten to 
 one find you a most interesting companion. 
 
 Tour young men of talent, who love the sound of their own voices, 
 are almost always offensive to women. If you speak out to a woman you 
 ten to one offend her prejudices or hurt her vanity. To win a woman's 
 aifections it is usually quite sulScient to make her think that you 
 appreciate her, which is done by giving her sympathetic opportuni- 
 ties of setting herself out before you in all her most attractive points 
 of view ; if you do this skilfully, she will soon love you as she loves 
 her looking-glass. But your clever fellows usually make the most 
 fatal mistake in the world. What they are bothering and driving at 
 
EDITH CLAKEL. 7 
 
 is to make the poor dear creature appreciate them. Then, as both 
 parties are aiming at the same thing, there is a struggle, and they 
 nettle one another's vanity, which is very good sport for by- 
 standers. But it is a death-blow to a woman's respect for a man to 
 see that she can nettle his vanity ; and I must allow this in favour of 
 women, that they are very little inclined to love a man whom they 
 don't respect ; whereas men very often fall violently in love with 
 women for whom they have the greatest contempt. But, on the 
 other hand, it must equally be confessed, that women often have a 
 great deal of respect for very contemptible fellows. 
 
 Be that as it may, I saw that I made way with Edith, and that I 
 excited her curiosity. She made up her mind there was some 
 mystery about me, in which she was right enough ; for there were 
 two features of my character I kept very dark; my profound 
 ignorance of literature, art, and politics, which she had at her finger 
 ends ; and my almost equally profound science and application of all 
 the secret self-ended machinery of human motives, which, being of 
 an open impulsive nature herself, she had but little key to. 
 
 She was full of absurd, enthusiastic notions of romantic devotion 
 to what she called " great causes," disinterested heroism, and the sort 
 of bosh that is written about in " high art " novels. It used to bore 
 me rather, of course. But it is quite fatal to a courtship if you 
 check a woman's enthusiasm. Besides, whatever she prattled about, 
 I liked the sound of her voice ; and I am not such a lover of the 
 ugly truth as to be tempted to contradict her amiable fancies with 
 my unsatisfactory experiences. When she was botanising the pretty 
 mosses on the sunny surface of the human heart, it was obviously 
 not my interest officiously to turn the stone, and show her the ugly 
 truth, like a clammy, venomous toad, squatted among the bleached 
 grass-roots below. She thought I sympathised with her. I knew 
 by her smile whenever we met that it was beginning to work a little. 
 But I have it written in her journal. " Mr. Knyvett, " she writes, 
 " improves with acquaintance. His opinions are still a mystery to 
 me. There is something strange and gloomy in his views of life 
 which I gather more from his manner than his words. I used to 
 think there was something in bis smile and in the sound of his laugh, 
 a shadow of a sneer, that gave me rather the idea of an amiable and 
 polite fiend. But I feel my influence in the echo of his mind, and 
 fancy I am helping to purify its tone, &c." There is a good deal 
 more about me, but this extract is from an eairlier part of her journal 
 than much affects my story of Denzil's courtship. 
 
 Meanwhile I had not neglected to make all the proper iuquiries. 
 The Olarels were not much in society. They had lived a great deal 
 abroad in out-of-the-way places. I made out who Mrs. Clarel had 
 
8 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 been. She was half a foreigner, daughter of a British consul some- 
 where in Sicily ; one Macarthy, who had married the daughter of 
 some small Sicilian count. Mrs. Clarel had the remains of great 
 beauty. She was not precisely vulgar, hut had a foreign manner 
 and a consular weakness for rank. She favoured my suit. I am the 
 second brother of an Irish viscount, not of Irish descent, but Mrs. 
 Clarel would have it that the IMacarthys were connected with my 
 family, and as I frequented the house very much it was convenient 
 to accept the cousinhood. 
 
 Clarel had been kidnapped by the hospitable Macarthy very young. 
 He was not forty now — a good-looking, accomplished, flighty man — 
 blase with the world, rather weary of his wife, and very fond of his 
 daughter. They had only come to live in London on the daughter 
 becoming marriageable ; of course society was not easy to them. 
 Clarel belonged to the Travellers', and was a gentleman. But his 
 acquaintance were chiefly unmarried men of his own age. He was 
 not a man either to push his way in society, much less his wife's 
 way. He left his wife to take very much her own course. She 
 knew as much about London as I do about Palermo. 
 
 If she had lield back prudently and kept aloof from all but the 
 right sort of people, she would have got into society well enough in 
 a year or so ; but she fell into the common error of being in too 
 great a hurry. If you take tlie first acquaintances that come, they 
 are always bad acquaintances. People who are worth knowing 
 always have quite plenty of acquaintance already, often more than 
 they want. So Mrs. Clarel swamped herself with third-rate people. 
 I could help her to a profusion of third-rate parties of rather a better 
 class, where I should never have gone (except to meet Edith), and 
 whose cards never stood in my looking-glass. The mother was 
 grateful, and Edith ran very little risk of meeting anybody who 
 might be likely to cut me out. Parties given by smirking dames of 
 agricultural baronets, where the men were either callow chicks of 
 fashion learning to dance, or full-grown bumpkins with an ill- 
 disguised dialect and country manners. 
 
 The mother encouraged my suit. She knew my brother had been 
 married five years, and had no children. She had heard he was 
 worth twelve thousand a year, and did not precisely know what an 
 Irish estate of twelve thousand a year meant. She had heard that 
 my fortune was twenty thousand. It was fifteen, not paid up, and 
 the interest not very easy to come at. She often asked me to dine. 
 The dinners were not good. They had an Italian cook, whose style 
 was greasy. But my heart was beginning to be afi"ected ; so I ate 
 the dinners and thought of making a declaration. 
 
 But before I did anything desperate, I thought it better to go down 
 
EDITH CLAREL. \) 
 
 to Devonshire on a fishing expedition. The Caer, which runs through 
 the estate, is a very fair trout stream. The place built in the. reign 
 of Henry the Seventh. Handsome trees in the park — pretty scenery. 
 The property was something under four thousand acres, in a ring- 
 fence : but I was very much taken a-back to fi.nd it was mortgaged 
 over head and ears. They did not get more than fifteen hundred a 
 year out of it. Clarel was constantly increasing his debt — had a 
 shyish agent — and was outrunning the constable much faster in 
 London, of course, than while he lived abroad. 
 
 When I came back to town, I began gradually to back out of 
 the business. I was sometimes engaged when they asked me to 
 dinner ; and when I went, I let my character show a little more 
 freely in my conversations with Edith. I let some cold draughts of 
 night air in upon her pet enthusiasms. She did not know what was 
 the reason, poor child, but I saw she felt a change in the temperature. 
 The mother was still more in the dark — she thought I was in the 
 intermitting chills which usually precede a proposal. "When she 
 asked me why I came less often, I always said it was because Denzil, 
 who was my greatest friend, was come back from the East. 
 
 Meanwhile, I talked to Denzil enthusiastically about Edith. He 
 was going out in great society, which rather bored him, of course, as 
 he had as yet few acquaintances in it, and writing his discontented 
 scraps about the hollow mockeries of it. This brings me to the 
 legitimate beginning of my story. I awakened his curiosity about 
 Edith, and the mother's curiosity about him. 1 caused them to 
 meet at the house of a country baronet. I caused him to leave 
 a card at the Clarels'. We were asked to dinner, and were not 
 engaged. 
 
 Now I have brought them on the scene, and they can go alone, in 
 their own language, for I have both their lock-up books. (Her's is 
 the pinlc book, and his the hlue), and the less of my heartless com- 
 mentary probably the better for the interest of the story. Eor if 
 the reader is romantic and enthusiastic (as I fully calculate on his or 
 her being, at least in the theoretical life of literature, however 
 self-ended and worldly he or she may be in practical conduct), it will 
 by this time have become evident to her or him that the transcriber 
 and elucidator of these interesting fragments is not what Denzil calls 
 " a sympathetic spirit." 
 
 The compiler will therefore for the future only put in his Mephis- 
 tophelian interpolations of commentary when the principal per- 
 formers are misled by their glowing imaginations— or where, amid 
 their flights of fancy, they omit material particulars, of which the 
 reader should not be left in ignorance. 
 
10 
 
 EDITH CLAllEL. 
 
 OHAPTEE III. 
 
 [Here follows the next entry iu the blue morocco volume after the rerses ; only 
 divided from the last legible stanza by a page of such inextricable blottings and 
 blurrings that nothing could be made of it. And, indeed, he had crossed the 
 whole page out in disgust.] 
 
 I HAVE not written a word for a fortnight. I was seized with 
 a loathing of pen and ink the morning after I had written those 
 foolish ill-natured stanzas, in which I had overnight set about to 
 disabuse the world of its errors. 
 
 I have often thought overnight that I could write a book which 
 should live for ever — but criticism cometh with sorrow in the morn- 
 ing ; and what seemed brilliant at the time of writing, grows dull 
 and pale almost before the ink is dry. 
 
 Is this so with all human effort? All performance must fall short 
 of the ideal. Man is a school-boy and his life is a copy-boob. Line 
 after line with unsteady hand he scrawls his hopeless, weak-backed, 
 sputtering imitation of the text at the top of the page — the unat- 
 tainable text, in all the smooth, sharp, flourishing vigour of the master 
 hand. That text is the ideal, written fair on our souls in the great 
 schoolmaster's autograph, and the shaky straggling pothooks in weary 
 reiteration, only varied by unseemly blots— that is our actual ! 
 
 But the text we each copy from is visible only to the copier. 
 Surely it was written fairer in some souls. The same hand and pen 
 may vary with the roughness or smoothness of the paper. 
 
 Perhaps the most gifted and successful men feel themselves as far 
 behind their ideal as I do. If they are complacent with themselves, 
 it is, perhaps, not because they did as well, or nearly as well as they 
 imagined — but because they found on experiment they did as well, or 
 better than other men expected of them. 
 
 Tet some things which men have written are absolutely good. As 
 good as they possibly could be ^ and surely the man who fashions a 
 noble thought must feel its value. Or are noble thoughts sown 
 broad-cast in this base existence, like golden grains in the slime of 
 some barbarian river ? Are men finders not fashioners of noble 
 thoughts ? Do they pick them up at random like the squalid savage 
 who is willing to sell his nugget for a few glass beads ? 
 
 How many finders of noble wit-nuggets have never minted their 
 gatherings into current coin of practice for their own use ! Like the 
 squalid savage, they took the gay bubble-beads of vanity in exchange, 
 and played with them till they burst and cut their fingers. 
 
 And of modern celebrities. How many of the men who have 
 written the most remarkable books of the day would never have been 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 11 
 
 found out to have anything more in them than their neighbours, if 
 they had not taken to pen and inli ! And even after their writings 
 have drawn attention to them and made people willing to listen 
 how little traces you can see of the genius of the book in the con- 
 versation of the author ! It is only in their moments of inspiration 
 that they seem to rise above the level of their feUow-men. And it 
 seems that the men who have moments of inspiration at their desk, 
 never have them anywhere else. Inspired speakers, too, are very 
 seldom good writers. So that if you have read an excellent book 
 and meet the author, he is almost sure to disappoint you ; whereas 
 if you meet an eloquent author and afterwards read his book, it is 
 almost sure to disappoint you too. 
 
 People will say that speaking and writing are two very different 
 talents. But it is only putting words to thoughts. The thinking is 
 the heart and substance of both speaking and writing. The only 
 difference is in the pace at which thought has to flow. 
 
 I, for my part, in writing always find that thought runs round 
 about my pen like a scampering ill-trained pointer round a slow- 
 going gun, often putting up excellent coveys of ideas quite out of shot. 
 But speech is a long-legged, long-winded sportsman, who walks well 
 up to his dog, and keeps him steady by shooting everything that 
 is put up. In speaking there is a succession of ideas one by one — 
 while the one idea is present you have enough to do to express it as 
 best you can, and when it is expressed you must (in order to go on) 
 perforce take the next idea that presents itself. 
 
 If your mind has the faculty, in speaking, of presenting even 
 tolerably good ideas in succession, you will be more than a tolerable 
 extempore speaker. For very few men venture to trust to the next 
 idea that may happen to turn up, at least in public speaking ; nay, 
 I fancy a great deal of the prose of conversation is so prosy because 
 its utterers form their sentence in their minds before they begin to 
 speak, or only venture on sentences they already have by heart in 
 stock. Such people seem never to have tiny moments of inspiration 
 at all, at least they never show it in speaking or writing. But then, 
 like the sailor's parrot who " didn't talk none," they may be " stun- 
 ners to think !" 
 
 After all, what is inspiration ? Surely it is only that fulness of 
 the heart from which the mouth speaketh — that intense concen- 
 tration of the soul's faculties which, whether in speaking or writing, 
 so occupies and possesses the imagination with its subject, as to 
 wrap it in a fiery oblivion of all disturbing influences, all cowardly 
 self-conscious qualms, and allow it to career along with the fearless 
 freedom of a dream. 
 
 The mind is like a crucible. Tou throw into it bits of information 
 
12 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 of chance shapes and sizes, which, if you attempt to pour them out 
 again while the cracible is cold, catch and hitch, and hesitate as if 
 there were a moral stammer in one's intellect. But when the cru- 
 cible is heated in the furnace of excitement, the loose rattling heap 
 melts down into a glowing pool of liquid metal, which will run like 
 quicksilver, and take the form of any mould you please. 
 
 By the way, that old metaphor of a mercurial temperament is no 
 doubt a part of this time-honoured comparison of spirit and metal 
 which, in all probability, first occurred to Tubal Cain — a metal in 
 a constant state of fusion — ready at any moment to take any shape, 
 but capable of retaining none. All metaphors are old ; and every 
 other word in language is originally a metaphor. 
 
 Well, I am not mercurial. I have only my fits of fusion now and 
 then ; sometimes degenerating into diffusion and confusion, as 
 perhaps at present, but, on rarer occasions, rising to what the 
 Trerich call effusion. 
 
 I think this higher and more brilliant state of mind certainly 
 oftener occurs to me in speaking than in writing, and when it does 
 occur lasts longer. Perhaps, as I said before, that the process of 
 writing is so much slower than speech ; and by more retarding the 
 current of thought gives greater room for irrelevant ideas to break 
 in upon it.- 
 
 Possibly because the written effusion remains, and in a cooler 
 moment may appear to be rabid common-place, while we give our- 
 selves credit for having been really brilliant in conversation if we 
 succeeded in fancying so at the time — especially if we were lucky 
 enough to make some other common-place person fancy so too. 
 
 Perhaps it is that as man is an animal of pre-eminently social 
 instincts, intended to derive his chief pleasures, and attain his 
 worthiest ends through the exercise of his faculties, in communion 
 with his fellow- creatures, the human mind does truly operate with 
 greater vigour and brilliancy while interchanging its functions with 
 those of a sympathetic spirit, than it ever can in its abstracted 
 speculation. 
 
 Be that as it may, I think I have at last found a sympathetic 
 spirit. 
 
 I never loved but once. In poor Zanthe I knew a sympathetic heart. 
 But her mental and spiritual development was a blank, though noble 
 germs lay hid in the wild unbroken soil. I have met with a good many 
 clever and agreeable dames cle par Je inonde. My judgment has often 
 been carried away by some peculiar charm in a woman's society, which 
 made me slow to discover flaws and blemishes of character, which in 
 the end effected my disenchantment. But even in these cases I was 
 never long undisturbed by some vague whisper of suspicion that I was 
 
EDITH CLAKKL. 13 
 
 worshipping an idol of my own manufacture— ihut I was the dupe of a 
 fiction of my own invention. And so, one by one, each successive 
 bubble world so delicately painted with imagination's iridescent colours, 
 fell in a melancholy bleb of soap and water. 
 
 "Will it be so again? It is difficult to compare the strength and 
 seeming truth of present and yet unproved emotions with what one 
 remembers to have felt under former delusions since exploded. 
 
 And yet I surely never before met with such a sudden and com- 
 plete attraction Mostly a woman's influence lights upon you unper- 
 ceived, like a gossamer-winged seed ; grows upon you like a flower 
 (or a thistle, as the case may be), and withers when the moisture of 
 your imagination is exhausted. But Edith has taken possession of 
 me — heart and mind and soul — all at once. 
 
 There is something to be deducted, no doubt, from the moral force 
 of this attraction, because she has bright eyes, delicately-moulded 
 features, and all that glossy wealth of auburn waves — like a Greek 
 gem in a rich Etruscan setting. But her beauty was not what struck 
 me first. 
 
 The first time I saw her, indeed, I was a little disappointed after 
 Knyvett's glowing descriptions. I said, " Tes ! she seems a pretty 
 little girl, but she is too small to be very striking!" He said, " As 
 you get to know her, she will grow upon you till she makes you treat 
 her as a giantess." 
 
 And when she spoke to me — and looked through and through me 
 with those wonderful deep searching hazel eyes — I forgot to think 
 any more about her looks. 
 
 I saw nothing but the eyes — and yet not so much the eyes them- 
 selves — it was like looking at something, too beautiful and precious 
 to be handled, through perfect crystal, where you do not remark the 
 intervening plane because there is no flaw to break or blur the out- 
 line of the treasure beneath it. 
 
 I cannot help fancying that the physical frame is a sort of rude 
 translation, into material form, of the spirit it masks and veils. The 
 original essence doubtless differs very much, but the mask and drapery 
 differ perhaps still more in the fineness and flexibility of material, 
 which in various degrees reveal or disguise the form and move- 
 ment and expression. How often it is a pasteboard mask and a 
 buckram cloak in which our fellow spirits shuffle across the scene, so 
 that though we get to know the mask and cloak, we never become 
 acquainted with our fellow spirit at all ! The body is usually a 
 rude unshapely hieroglyphic, of which the soul is a very imper- 
 spicuous meaning. But it seems as if Nature in creating her had hit 
 on some clear alphabet of flesh, in which (instead of puzzling doubt- 
 fully as over the ancient cramped hieroglyphic) you may read at 
 
14 EDITH CLAREL. * 
 
 sigbt without remarking the form of the letters. The beauty of 
 Edith is the beauty of perfect transparency. 
 
 Knyvett says he feels afraid of her. I think it is her purity which 
 awes him. There certainly is an awe which belongs to the sacred 
 presence of purity ; some sympathetic touch that freshens up one's 
 better nature, so that the old indelible stains come out blacker by 
 contrast. Knyvett is a good fellow, for whom I have a strong 
 aifection, and I believe he is really my friend. But 'l fear he is 
 naturally almost without the religious element, and believes in the 
 world much more firmly than in anything beyond it. His life, too, 
 has been far from immaculate, and his conscience seems to disturb 
 him far less than mine does. He is a little in love with Edith, but 
 says she is rather too exaltee for his taste. Moreover he is entangled 
 in the braid and gimp meshes of a fair and frail milliner, who loves 
 him devotedly— is distracted by jealousy, and in the tenderness and 
 tempestuosity of her aspirations and exasperations equally ignores the 
 existence of the letter h. No' wonder he is a little embarrassed 
 between the two objects of his attention. 
 
 My heart has been long free from all but memories. The loss of 
 my poor Zanthe seemed to have torn out of it all capacity for loving 
 any more — just as a strong-stemmed, deep-rooted flower, wrenched out 
 of a flower-pot, carries away most of the soil entangled in the fibres. 
 That is not a bad simile, but it wouldn't do in print. After all, there 
 is something ridiculous in comparing one's heart to a flower-pot — and 
 I fear I have the vice of unnecessary similitudes. Here I am, lapsed 
 from sentiment into criticism. 
 
 That is the curse of Cadmus, which clings to men of letters, and 
 perhaps still more to amateurs than to those who are regularly 
 harnessed to the alphabet. "We get the habit of looking upon all 
 emotion from the literary point of view. And there could be no 
 better proof that the simile was unnecessary (and therefore bad art) 
 than that it has caused me this awkward digression. Mem. — If I ever 
 write a novel to avoid all ambitious ornament. 
 
 Ah, poor darling Zanthe ! To think that my grief for thee should 
 ever have dwindled to such lackadaisical lukewarmth that I should 
 go about gathering horticultural parallels for it. Tet Zanthe ha:d the 
 whole heart of my body in her dominion, and the life-blood of all its 
 passion seemed to ebb away for ever in the tears that fell on her 
 grave. Ah, my lost darling, it is little merit I have in being faithful 
 to thy memory till now ! To have known what perfect love is in the 
 stormy freedom of a barbarian soul, Avhere passion has room to take 
 possession of the whole being, must dwarf and pale by comparison 
 the timid conventional manoeuvres and mixed motives of civilised 
 flirtation. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 15 
 
 But it has overtaken me at last — a new spell has seized me. I 
 feel myself to be changed. It is not the wild, cloudy, turbulent 
 delirium of my early love ! I feel in Edith's presence, as I can imagine 
 I might have felt if I had met with Zauthe's disembodied and 
 chastened spirit in the calm pure light of another world — a world 
 where only the fairer and nobler part of our love was remembered, 
 with much more of fairer and nobler still in our mutual natures, 
 which then our eyes — amid passion's volcanic vapour — were blind to, 
 since revealed. 
 
 I saw thee — and to thine my soul was drawn, 
 
 Ta'en by surprise. 
 After long years, once more upon me dawn 
 My lost lore's eyes. 
 
 Thou hast my Zanthe's eyes. They closed on me, 
 
 Sad years ago, 
 In that fair island of the eastern sea 
 
 Where myrtles grow. 
 
 I never thought I might behold again 
 
 A glance like hers. 
 But thine, deep, liquid-dark, ethereal soul'd, 
 
 My spirit stirs 
 
 As when I met her in the land of dreams. 
 
 And joy and pain 
 Mix dimly in a tender look that beams. 
 
 And fades again. 
 
 Thou hast her eyes — those eyes that loTcd me well, — 
 
 My lost love's eyes ! 
 Hast thou a soul like hers ? Such spirits dweU 
 
 In Paradise ! 
 
 Yet since the heart speaks through the eyes, they say. 
 
 Those eyes must mean 
 Some pure deep tender feeling. And a ray 
 
 Of hope serene 
 
 Sheds its soft influence on a heart long bound 
 
 In wintry frost ; 
 An influence like the spring on frozen ground 
 
 "Whose flowers are lost. 
 
 Is not all this a mere sentimental sophism ? Am I not simply 
 and vulgarly beginning to forget Zauthe, to whom I swore so many 
 times that she should be, in life or death, sole and only mistress of 
 my love ? I loved her, indeed, as I knew I had never loved before, 
 and as I fondly believed I could never love again. But she is 
 reabsorbed into the spirit world. And I am no longer the same rash 
 boy who swore those oaths before the veiled shrine of the unfore- 
 seen Future ; and who marked not, in the sunshiny morning of life, 
 how slow and sure the lights and shadows move. 
 
16 EDITH CLABEL. 
 
 Nay, however beautiful it may sound in theoretical romance to 
 seal up the fountains of existence and. live only in the Past ; man is 
 not the master of his destiny in this changeful world. He may close 
 his eyes in despair, and keep them shut against the phantasmagoria 
 of life for a time. But it is only a spasmodic trance— a temporary 
 access of death which he cannot voluntarily prolong. The heart 
 resumes its suspended functions; the whirring tumult of life's 
 machinery hisses vaguely in the wakening ears ; the eyes open ; the 
 world swims, and settles to its accustomed forms. Memory comes at 
 last, and traces the sufferer's history up to that supreme paroxysm of 
 anguish to which, while present, the faculties succumbed ; but which, 
 now hazed over by the interval of unconsciousness, is dimmed and 
 softened into the faint complexion of dreams. 
 
 I make my case no more excusable, according to the morality o^ 
 romance, by thus dwelling on the phases of my defection. I am 
 forgetting a dead love in a living one, like any other heartless man. 
 
 Heartless ? let us say, like any other man that has a live heart. 
 Let me join the scoffers at constancy ! 
 
 Kdelity to love in the grave may exist for a little while on earth, 
 but it is a mortal malady, which, to be complete, must speedily carry 
 off its patient. 
 
 However convinced the patient himself may be of the seriousness 
 of his seizure and the fatal character of his symptoms, if he long 
 survives, his complaint declares itself to be something else by ceasing 
 in time to be fidelity at all. 
 
 There are of course fanciful valetudinarians in heart complaints, as 
 in all other departments of life's ills, who go on for years with an old 
 chronic broken heart. But as far as I have been able to observe, 
 such persons have usually had a very feeble constitution of heart to 
 begin with. 
 
 Having passed through some juncture where hearts have a reason- 
 able pretence for breaking, and having conceived at the time that 
 their hearts ought to break — they take to a tepid atmosphere of 
 sighs — get used to it ; and continue to live on slops of sentiment till 
 they happen to die of something else. 
 
 Grief in its action on the mind is like those deadly poisons which 
 do not kill by destroying the structure of the body so as to render it 
 incapable of performing the functions of life, but by wrenching the 
 nerves with such vehemence that the vital energy cannot keep pace 
 with the frantic orgasms of its convulsed machinery. If the culmi- 
 nating crisis does not kill, the succeeding fits wane, and the patient 
 recovers. 
 
 Small doses of grief are rather beneficial than otherwise to torpid 
 natures — ^as paralysis may be successfully treated with strychnine. 
 
17 
 
 THE SITUATION. 
 
 The good old maxim of " measures, not men," wears well. Prin- 
 cipally, perhaps, because' — though much hackneyed as a theory, often put 
 forward as a pretext, sometimes even used as a cry — it has practically 
 been very little acted upon. It is only when great principles are at 
 ■ stake, and right seems the watchword of one party and wrong- or error 
 that of. the other, and delay is dangerous, that men ought to choose 
 their side and rally round specific leaders. Such occasions existed 
 when the towering majority of Mr. Pitt carried all before it in defence 
 of the liberties of Europe, and when boroughmongering and over- 
 taxation ranged four-^fifths of the House of Commons under the colours 
 of Eeform. 
 
 i Those days are past. In the inner heart of public men now-a-days 
 there is small difference of principle. Tories have acquiesced at length in 
 Eeform as a great fact, and Peel the Conservative outbid his opponents 
 at the sacrifice of his party. Of the two great divisions of the political 
 world, the one which of late years has advanced is the Conservative, 
 the one which has been stationary is the Whig. Possession is obstruc- 
 tive, on however liberal principles obtained. Political hunger is 
 suggestive even to the most costive advocates of constitutional stag- 
 nation. With purity in their mouth, the Whigs have jobbed and 
 traded on the sacred trust in their keeping. An unchangeable legend 
 still on their banner, the Tories, nevertheless, rush into the evacu- 
 • ated defences of Downing Street with a war cry of practical reform 
 which they have learnt in the weary trenches of their long hopeless 
 siege. The court cards of the political pack have indeed been shuffled 
 and cut so many times that all original sequence of suits seems at an 
 end. Lord Derby began life as a Whig, Lord Palmerston as a Tory, 
 and the Bedford Level of reform once had its boundaries laid down by 
 " Finality John.'' No great distinction of policy being now at stake, 
 partisanship is a mere adherence to the letter, whose spirit has gone. 
 Whatever Government wants support to defend the right, should find 
 it from reasonable men ; whatever ministry denies redress of grievance, 
 screens corruption, palters with truth, is illiberal in the true sense of 
 the word, unnational and unjust, especially to labour and productive 
 industry, should find no quarter here — or elsewhere. 
 
 Honest government — just government — capable government — seem 
 to us the real wants of the day. 
 
 The time is stagnant — yet pregnant ; the public — apathetic as to the 
 fate of particular ministries — broods sullenly on the general incapacity 
 which modern events have brought to light. Strenuous for Palmerston 
 
 c 
 
18 THE SITUATION. 
 
 in April '57— willing for Derby in AprilJSS ! How has this arisen ? 
 And what will be its end ? 
 
 First, of the three statesmen grouped most prominently in " the 
 situation." 
 
 Constitutionally learned, a man of books, next to Sir Kobert Peel, 
 indeed, on the whole, the greatest leader of the House of Commons this 
 generation has seen; yet from dry unsocial habits and a practical 
 ignorance of men unable to manage his own cabinet; when in opposition 
 grasping at power by bids of liberality ; when in office unequal to com- 
 prehend the public mind, or to originate a generous policy in 
 accordance with its real desire — Lord John Eussell has always failed as " 
 a first minister. 
 
 Seizing the helm with singular dexterity at a critical period, amid 
 the calamitous mismanagement of the Crimean campaign, for the first 
 six weeks of his administration Lord Palmerston seemed daily, almost 
 hourly, on the verge of downfall. Long experience of office and of the 
 House of Commons, however, together with a shrewd knowledge 
 of men and the world, a popular manner, pithy appeals to national 
 prejudice, energetic efforts to retrieve disasters abroad, and an 
 eventual peace sufficient for its purpose, although not too glorious, 
 gave to Lord Palmerston a reputation in the country which, on his 
 appeal to it a year ago, resulted in what appeared a good working 
 majority in the House of Commons of between 100 and 150, the largest 
 since the glorious days of Grey. 
 
 How such strength was frittered away and became the proximate cause 
 of his sudden fall, is a notable illustration of the old French adage which 
 says, " Nothing is certain but the unforeseen !" Over-confidence, pre- 
 sumption on his large following, betrayed him into rashness. The 
 minister of seventy could not forget the favouritism and nepotism 
 of fifty years. Prior to the general election, almost in the very hour 
 when that cry of administrative reform hooted Lord Aberdeen from 
 power, and opened the door of office to himself, Lord Palmerston 
 sent Lord Canning as Governor-general to India. By what title ? Lord 
 Canning's father, the great orator, had been his own leader and patron. 
 Was this the proper answer to the demand for " the right man in the 
 right place" ? "When the secrets of the first six months of 1857 in 
 India are disclosed, the world will judge. This indiscreet act was 
 overlooked in the concluding interests of the war and the discussions 
 for the treaty of peace, as Lord Canning's purblind tolerance of mutiny 
 during the first half of last year was forgotten in the successes of the 
 latter half. 
 
 No such interests or events have served to cloak or disguise an ap- 
 pointment like that of Lord Mulgrave to the governorship of Nova 
 Scotia; such a depreciation of the honours which the nation was eager 
 
THE SITUATION. 19 
 
 to lavish on its heroes of India as the insertion among their immortal 
 names in the Gazette, of Sir Something Phipps, a mere court under- 
 ling, distinguished only in the annals of aristocratic flunkey doni. 
 Nothing could mask or palliate the introduction into the cabinet 
 of such a man as the Marquis of Clanricarde. Acts of judicial blind- 
 ness like these, following on a money panic, which always, more or 
 less, for the time, alienates the mind of the sufferers from the governing 
 power, engendered a disaffection and distrust in the nation, which 
 was reflected in the marked indifference his followers exhibited in the 
 House of Commons when Parliament assembled in February last. 
 Between November and Tebruary the change was something marvellous 
 in the eyes of those who witnessed it. From no malice prepense on the 
 part of his principal body of supporters, but simply an indifference 
 to his retention of power, he was suffered to fall into the ambuscade 
 prepared for him by a combination of malcontents, whose retentive 
 memories had funded a long debt of insults and injuries unavenged, 
 against the day of reckoning — the Manchester clique. Lord John 
 Eussell, and the Peelites. Mr. Disraeli (always ready for a raid into the 
 enemy's country) stultifying his vote a few days before against Mr. King- 
 lake's amendment, lent his aid and the best part of his troops. So fell 
 the Palmerston administration. — an administration which contained 
 within itself no one element of strength save the fleeting popularity of 
 its chief. Singular retribution, that the very minister whose official 
 life had been one continuous liberal game of brag, and whose name had 
 really protected his countrymen abroad, should be condemned at last as 
 a truckler to a foreign despot I 
 
 Far different from his rivals are the qualifications and character of 
 the Earl of Derby. Invited by his sovereign to aid her in forming a 
 government, he hesitates — reluctantly consents — and at last unwillingly 
 accepts the charge ; partly as it would seem in deference to his gracious 
 Mistress — partly as a duty to his hungry followers. The inheritor of 
 princely possessions, and of the senior earldom, which dates back into 
 inediseval times ; with parts of surpassing brilliancy, seizing at a glance 
 what others laboriously acquire by patient toil ; of a rapidity of pene- 
 tration which will not always condescend to dig to the depth where 
 alone the precious ore is to be found ; although gifted v;ith a rare intuition 
 —impatient of drudgery — frolicksome as a boy — a lover of ease, what 
 temptations, speaking in the ordinary sense, what bribe could office offer 
 to a man like this ? "We all know that power is attractive. Lord 
 Derby has, however, tried the picturesque bed of thorns whereof the 
 inexperienced many mainly remark the roses. Lord Derby, at any 
 rate, was not so indecently eager to be Prime Minister as is usual among 
 statesmen. 
 
 A master of all the flash and flourish of rhetoric, of all the cunning 
 
20 XHE SITUATION. 
 
 fence of argument, all the trenchant impetus of eloquent invective— as 
 clear and felicitous in exposition as he is ready and stinging in reply, Lord 
 Derby began Parliamentary life, and has continued in it to this day, 
 without a rival in debate. Possessing thus these natural gifts, ample 
 satisfaction is afforded to his ambition by being facile princeps of the 
 august assembly which he leads, without trouble to himself. Office 
 adds little lustre to such a position compared with the heavy drawback 
 of anxious responsibility. Yet in ofSce we find him, willing or against 
 his will — how long to remain ? 
 
 Will he be out before Whitsuntide ? will he be minister in 1859 ? 
 What are his chances ? Clearly none founded on his own strength ; 
 although in the personnel of his government, whether in or out 
 of the cabinet, it is strikingly superior, taken as a whole, to the last, 
 " We could not have found on all our side," said a veteran Whig, " such 
 a set of efficient subordinates as the new government have selected, 
 even if we had tried, which we never did." "Lord Derby," (Mr. Bright 
 is reported to have said,) " ought to have a fair trial, for he has not re- 
 sorted to a mere family coterie, as the Whigs have always done; but has 
 got the best men he could find to help him, whoever they were." What 
 then are his chances ? Is he 220 strong in the Commons ? How is that 
 to be converted into a working majority ? Can Lord Palmerston bring 
 into the field 250 against him ? We doubt it. Eighty members of his 
 former majority appear to have sworn that Palmerston shall not return 
 to the helm as premier. He, on the other hand, is as resolved that Lord 
 John, the Coryphajus of the 80, shall not be the next prime minister. 
 Apart these two noble Lords appear to be, and apart resolved to remain, 
 spite of all attempts of great Duchesses and others to bring them to- 
 gether. 
 
 The cry of "Derby in danger" would, therefore, at once summon 
 one or the other, but never both at the same time, of these political 
 friends into the field to his rescue. These numbers account for 550 
 of the House of Commons. More will not be brought into action this 
 parliament, circumstances remaining the same, for the neutrals will be 
 absentees, when not supporters of Government. The real animus of this 
 parliament (except originally to support Palmerston as minister) has 
 never been tested. 
 
 In the country there seems little preference at the moment for any 
 one of the three ministers. Certainly none for the return of Palmerston, 
 perhaps less for that of Lord John ; little, if any, more for Lord Derby, 
 although the feeling is growing that he should not be jostled in the race, 
 and have time to settle in his saddle. We have said there is at bottom 
 little difference in real principle between these leaders. But there is the 
 widest room for difference in their mode of administration. If the 
 present set can only fall back on the dilution of thought, the shallow 
 
THE SITUATION. 21 
 
 common-place, the indifference to justice, and pompous insignificance 
 of the last set, and others which have preceded, we are, indeed, at a low 
 ebb, and it is time we looked a-head to the rising generation. We 
 trust these men have something more than paper experience ; that 
 although not graduated in office they know business and the wants 
 of men. We want something more than a clique acquaintance, a 
 benevolent providence for the wants of a few official families, and a 
 system of political economy which enables modern philosophers to 
 strangle a nation's commerce with complacency rather than subtract a 
 single figure from the arithmetic chaos of a pet financial blunder. The 
 ti-ump cards of Whiggery are played out. Let us see if Lord Derby 
 has any in his hand. 
 
 He has one, indeed, of which his adversaries never could appreciate the 
 value: will he play it ? Honest Goveunment. Purity in the distribu- 
 ti6n of patronage; always, and at all hazards of losing a fleeting support, 
 putting the best man in the place to be filled, and thus rising superior to 
 all the nepotism which has rendered the incapacity of our departments, 
 whether for peace or war, a by-word and an astonishment to Europe. 
 Is there one single department of the government, save perhaps that of 
 the Enclosure Commissioners, to which any sane man would entrust the 
 management of his estate? Let Lord Derby show that he has only one 
 motive, one principle in view in his appointments — real merit and fitness ; 
 and he will, ere six months be over, go far to raise himself considerably 
 above his rivals in the opinion of the public, who are just now cfose 
 Catchers of appointments. No doubt he has difficult cards to play, but 
 the difficulties are not such but that honesty, purity, straightforward- 
 ness and earnestness may overcome them. 
 
 Mr. Disraeli will carry his budget. It is skilfully adapted to the wants 
 of the revenue and the humour of the house. 
 
 Will an Indian Bill pass this year ? We doubt it. Nor would one 
 have been brought forward if parliament had not met in December; 
 when Lord Palmerston, in obsequious deference to a temporary cry, 
 promised it in the Queen's speech. It has had the advantage of 
 housing the House of Commons from its usual apathy on the subject. 
 It wotild have been better to have legislated even in haste under excite- 
 ment, than at leisure to have left this great subject to empty benches 
 and ministerial trickery and dictation. Better still will it be to deli- 
 berate for another year npw the interest has been excited. The 
 orochetty contrivance of Lord EUenborough will scarcely be submitted 
 for a second reading. The fittest man, and most vigorous for a war 
 minister, and for sweeping away the rubbish of a century of military 
 routine, — he was, from his antecedents, the most dangerous man for 
 the Board of Control. 
 
 Lord-John is master of the Indian situation. It is possible that he 
 
22 THE SITUATION. 
 
 and Lord Derby may have made the most of their joint residence at 
 Kichmond, and understand each other, so that the Resolutions shall not 
 share the fate of the bill. One thing the House of Commons is resolved 
 on, so far as we gather its present spirit, is, that there shall be substan- 
 tial independence in the council, however chosen. The majority of 
 200 for bringing in Lord Palmerston's bill, meant nothing more than an 
 acquiescence in legislation. The truth is, the act of 1853 went far to give 
 the best government for India, except in two respects — proclaiming 
 the Queen in India, and bringing together for business and delibera- 
 tion Leadenhall Street and Cannon Row, with the lash of parlia- 
 ment over them both. To have no independent continuity of knowledge 
 and' action and check — to expose that mighty empire to the changing ca- 
 prices of successive secretaries, responsible only to apathetic benches in 
 the dog-days, might correspond well enough to the letter of our constitu- 
 tional system, but the implied responsibility would be a dangerous sham, 
 and the certain consequence must be gross neglect, and ultimate loss of 
 the brightest jewel in the imperial crown. 
 
 Purity in the distribution of patronage — administrative reform car- 
 ried into practice— an earnest regard to the material condition of the 
 people, and a solution of the question, why they have their wages re- 
 duced and their profits wrested from them by periodical panics, should 
 be subjects of primary import to the new government. Should these 
 be neglected, Parliamentary jEeform will, from mere claptrap, rise into 
 a grave and real cry. ^ 
 
 The oppressive weight of taxation at the end of the great Revolu- 
 tionary French war in 1815, was aggravated unduly by the too hasty 
 preparation for cash payments ; the medium in which taxes were paid was 
 unduly enhanced in value, industry was prostrated, discontent the con- 
 sequence, and the Reform Act passed in 1832. Through a coincident 
 and sympathetic influence of commercial pressure and fiscal uneasiness 
 in a less stable realm, the Bourbons fell in 1830 ; the change of Govern- 
 ment in 1841 resulted from the distress of 1839-40-41 ; and Lord 
 Palmerston's fall followed the panic of Nov. 1857; just as the panic of 
 '47 led the way to Louis Philippe's flight and Louis Napoleon's arrival 
 in 1848. The present grave uneasiness in France is the political ex- 
 pression of what is at bottom a financial embarrassment. The paralysis 
 of trade and the long faces on the Bourse, are serious symptoms of 
 general disease, not incidental bruises of a particular diplomatic 
 sparring match. Just the sort of feeling which in England forbodes a 
 sweeping measure of reform, and in France a new explosion of the 
 smouldering revolutionarj-^ volcano. The Emperor is a thinker; let 
 him ponder these things candidly and deliberately. Let him remem- 
 ber that his subjects buy money with labour and produce, and that 
 dear money means low wages and unremunerative prices and oppressive 
 
THE SITUATION. 23 
 
 taxation. The blades of all his six hundred thousand bayonets are 
 danger instead of strength, -when the electric fluid begins to play- 
 about the glittering points, preparatory to a real national shock of 
 discontent. 
 
 In England administrative capacity is the question of 1858. This 
 tendency is indicated by some of the Select Committees now sitting in 
 the House of Commons. There is one on the transport of troops to 
 India; another on the contracts of public departments; a third on con- 
 sular services and appointments; a fourth on the billeting system, 
 (all in the way of sharp criticism on existing practice) ; a fifth, g.boufc 
 to be named, on the Thames nuisance ; and a sixth, a commission on 
 the lighthouses abuse. That important one on the Bank Acts, and 
 those on harbours of refuge (a most serious neglect of some department 
 or another), and on tribunals of commerce and savings banks, pretty 
 well make up the catalogue. Out of questions like these. Lord Derby 
 will have the opportunity of making clear both his integrity of purpose, 
 his skill in the practical redress of grievance, and his resolution to put the 
 right man in the right place. In the Lords he is safe. The Commons 
 will be the court where he must stand in the dock for trial, with Mr. 
 Disraeli for his leading counsel. 
 
 Mr. Disraeli is indeed a man of unquestionable powers. His writings 
 prove him to be no inconsiderable observer of human nature. He is 
 a man of great ambition; without him, perhaps, the Conservative party 
 would not have occupied the position they now do. At all events, be- 
 tween 1846 and February 1853 he did good service to them, and pro- 
 duced the best budget perhaps of the century, only too honest for the 
 assembly to which it was proposed for sanction. Since then, Mr. Disraeli 
 has not increased his reputation. It would have been well for the belief 
 in public principle, and not less for himself, had he acted a Conservative 
 part as the leader of a Conservative party, instead of rushing into the 
 lobby with every malcontent that offered him an occasion of embarrass- 
 ing a Government. It was not by such means that Sir Eobert Peel, against 
 much greater odds, reconstructed the majority of 90, which hailed his 
 entrance into the new parliament of 1841. In opposition from 1853 to 
 1858, we have scarce ever seen Mr. Disraeli act as a true Conservative 
 leader, except perhaps in his acquiescence in the grant to his opponents 
 of all necessary supplies for carrying on the Eussian war. What En- 
 glishmen like in public men is straightforwardness, earnestness, direct- 
 ness of speech and purpose, and acting up to professions. What they 
 do not like is an over subtlety of speech and an over astuteness in 
 management, which spoils every great business. Mr. Disraeli never 
 seems to speak from his heart; if he has one, let him turn it to account. 
 His hesitation of expression, and painful twisting of phrases, his tedious 
 circumlocutions, however they may lengthen a report, do not convince 
 
24 Pitt's, ghost and the late chancellor. 
 
 the house or deceive the country, and are certainly anything but 
 eloquence. What a contrast is Mr. Henley's downright hammering 
 and stammering, after the manner of the genial Althorp, and yet 
 every one believes every word he says ; not a creature doubts his sin- 
 cerity, although a large majority differ from his Tory views ! 
 
 Mr. Disraeli has often taunted his opponents with the want of a policy, 
 Let him cease to appear to be acting a part, and show himself earnest 
 for something or another. We may, perhaps, be permitted to suggest, 
 as at the beginning so at the close, that no minister has, and no minister 
 can have next to his heart a better principle of action than that good 
 old-fashioned one, that " Honesty is the best policy." Let the Derby 
 Government act well up to this good old maxim, and in another twelve 
 months they will not be dependent for existence on the toleration of an 
 adversary, and Mr. Disraeli will have acquired, which certainly he is 
 now far from possessing, the confidence of the House of Commons and 
 the countr}'. 
 
 Arrived at the end of April we have Bernard acquitted, France 
 excited, the Channel fleet preparing (with Keppel, let us hope, for its 
 Admiral). May we have a ministry which knows not how to 
 truckle to the foreigner, and yet, under Providence, the tact and temper 
 to keep the peace,* 
 
 INTERVIEW BETWEEN PITT'S GHOST AND THE 
 LATE CHANCELLOE OP THE EXCHEQUER. 
 
 SCENE I. — Library, Harpton Court. 
 
 The ex-Chancellor in a state of dreamy incapacity. The Economist, 
 Bankers' Circular, Chronicle, Herald, Sun, and Times on the table. 
 
 The Ghost of Mr. Pitt stalks majestically into the room. 
 
 Mr. Pitt. What, Sir George, asleep over your figures ! 
 
 The Ew-Chancellor. Excuse me. Mr. Pitt, I believe — ^proud of the 
 honour you do me {aside — of all the ghosts in the universe the one I'm 
 most afraid of). 
 
 P. What are you about, Sir George ? 
 
 * Ere wo go to press the " mmistry on good behaviour " have hastened to com- 
 mit themaelTes. What an exhibition is this of the 26th i where Mr. Disraeli 
 returns to the ^omit of his India Bill, and lays his flank open to Lord Palmerston's 
 keen and ready lash. With as deplorable a lack of common discretion General 
 Peel and Mr. Walpole waver and stumble over Mr. Monsell's motion, on which 
 the House has palpably made up its mind. They acquiesce in substance, without 
 withdrawing a lingering, ineffectual opposition which seems to court a gratuitous 
 minority. A minority unimportant in itself, but damaging as an indication of 
 tactless gaucherie at a critical moment. 
 
L. About, sir, why, much as usual, nothing in particular — taking a 
 look at my friend, Wilson's Economist. You read the Economist, of 
 course, Mr. Pitt ? Great hand at statistics is Wilson — but really of 
 late, his paper does not support our views exactly as I could wish — not 
 quite satisfactory. {To himself — Wilson's off his head since we were 
 turned out, I do believe — mad as a hatter.) 
 
 P. Does Mr. Wilson point out an effectual remedy for the evils of 
 your pernicious monetary system, and tell you what to do touching the 
 Bank Charter, Mr. Ex-Chancellor? 
 
26 Pitt's ghost and 
 
 L. Oh! Mr. Pitt, you are, I assure you, quite under a mistake about 
 our monetary affairs. I fully recognise the transcendant ability with 
 which you conducted this nation through a period of unexampled diffi- 
 culty, political and financial. But circumstances are entirely changed. 
 Monetary science has made vast strides since your days. A whole 
 galaxj' of philosophers has arisen on the financial horizon. We have had 
 Horner and Ricardo — Oracle Eicardo — Huskisson, and the great Sir 
 Eobert Peel. And now, Mr. Pitt, we have Macculloch and Mill, Mr. 
 Norman, a gentleman, as I said in the House, " whose character and 
 abilities it is not necessary to eulogise," and Mr. Newmarch, a writer 
 of great ability, " who assisted Mr. Tooke" — the lamented Tooke — in 
 his work " On Prices." And we have, last not least, Lord Overstone, 
 the great and successful usu ... I beg pardon — the eminent banker- 
 philosopher, a man, sir, worth millions. These eminent men have re- 
 duced monetary science, as my predecessor, Mr. Goulburn, said, to a 
 " perfect system." 
 
 P. And how does your perfect system work, Sir George? 
 
 L. Why, as to the system itself, it is philosophically perfect, as we 
 all agree. But, — I speak with perfect candour, Mr. Pitt, — practically, 
 I am free to admit, that a TiitcJi occurs occasionally — only occasionally. 
 
 P. Your perfect system came into complete operation in 1844, as 
 I understood. How many liitcTies have you had since then? 
 
 L. Merely two, two decided hitches. A few temporary depressions, 
 fluctuations in the rate of discount, passing clouds — but nothing worth 
 notice. 
 
 P. Your hitches in 1847 and 1857 brought the Bank to the very 
 verge of stopping payment, I believe ? 
 
 L. I am not prepared to deny that. And very extraordinary it is, 
 certainly. It is a splendid system, philosophically perfect, as I said. 
 Gold standard maintained, convertibility of the note secured, commerce 
 of the country placed upon a solid basis. Nothing but untoward 
 circumstances of the most remarkable character interfere with the self- 
 action of the perfect machinery we have established. 
 
 P. And when "untoward circumstances" occur, Sir George, your 
 standard becomes mutable, the convertibility of the note is nominally 
 preserved by a power of unlimited issues of notes on securities given 
 to the National Bank, and commerce lies in ruins. 
 
 L. You are hard upon us. I admit that our system is not absolutely 
 perfect. Nothing human is. But it approaches perfection. It is 
 founded on scientific, philosophical, incontrovertible principles. 
 
 P. And the principles give way, and the whole thing signally fiiils 
 whenever the time of trial arrives. 
 
 L. But, Mr. Pitt, allow me to say that it is — it must be. allowed to 
 be— the right system. Why, Lord Overstone will tell you that it secures 
 
THE LATE CHANCELLOR. 27 
 
 that our mixed system of Paper and Coin shall fluctuate just as a purely 
 metallic currency would do. Our currency is as good as gold. 
 
 P. Say as bad as gold. Do you know that 160 mercantile houses 
 have failed at Hamburgh and Altona within the last six months ? Does 
 this say much for a metallic currency ? 
 
 L. Ah, my dear sir, I see you are — excuse me — behind the age. 
 Why, your principles would lead to inconvertibility — to that absurd, 
 ridiculous, unsafe, unphilosophical notion that the instrument of exchange 
 need not possess intrinsic value ! 
 
 P. Mere words without sense, Mr. Ex-Chancellor. With what you 
 call inconvertible paper money, I raised taxes, subsidised armies, and 
 fought all Europe ; and the country advanced in internal wealth, and 
 extended its commerce with all the world, with a rapidity never witnessed 
 since the days of the Norman Conquest. 
 
 L. But it was a dreadful state of things : the note Avas incon- 
 vertible. 
 
 P. Nothing of the kind. It was convertible into every thing — gold 
 and silver included. I bought millions of gold, and exported them 
 without difficulty, and without detriment to the internal trade of the 
 country. We had no hitches then. Sir George. Our system stood 
 storms and tempests. Nobody called it " only a fair weather system." 
 
 L. Might I be allowed to ask, sir, if you really think your paper 
 money was as safe and secure as ours ? 
 
 P. I should scorn to compare them. It was safety and security 
 itself, compared with yours. By attempting to secure that the bank 
 note shall always exchange, to the fraction of a penny, for gold at a 
 fixed rate, you endanger its convertibility, at any rate. Why even the 
 French system of buying gold at a premium, works practically better 
 than yours. When the Bank is drained of gold, you step in with a 
 Government letter to violate your own Act of Parliament, and allow 
 more promises to pay to be issued, when the Bank is unable to keep the 
 promises to pay it has already made ; and you depreciate all commodities 
 forty or fifty per cent, and make the foreigner a present of one hundred 
 millions' worth of goods, to coax him to bring you back a few millions of 
 gold. Nothing of this kind happened under the Bank Eestriction Act. 
 
 L. But this is very strong language. My Honourable and Eight 
 Honourable friends are not accustomed to such views. Sir, the coun^ 
 try is with us. — We all stand upon our convertibility. 
 
 P. Your friends and the country may cry for the moon — but you 
 cannot have it. You require an impossibility. The immense wealth, 
 the commercial transactions of England, cannot by any possibilitj' be 
 convertible into one comparatively small commodity, i.e. Gold. Even 
 the Gold Discoveries cannot supply metal enough for this unreasonable, 
 this childish demand. Sir George, you sacrifice the substance of con- 
 
28 Pitt's ghost and 
 
 vertibility for the shadow. Convert, as you call it, the Bank Note at the 
 marhet price o^ gold, and you have the reality. Convert it at a fixed 
 rate, and convertibility becomes a snare, a delusion, and a pretence. 
 
 Tell the GREAT INCONVERTIBLE LORD OVEKSTONE this. 
 
 L. Mr. Pitt ! Mr. Pitt ! Lord Overstone inconvertible ! Why, sir, he 
 is the modern Midas. Sir, every thing he touches turns to gold. The 
 INCONVERTIBLE OvEESTONE ! This is too bad. 
 
 [The Ex-Chancellor becomes, for once in his life, wide awake. 
 Mr. Pitt pauses in contemptuons silence.] 
 
 Mr. Pitt. Well, Sir George, have you recovered your equanimity ? 
 
 Sir G. C. Lewis. Perfectly. I am never excited. The age, sir, 
 laughs at excitement and enthusiasm, and all that sort of thing. Why, 
 a reformed House of Commons scouts the notion of Patriotism and all 
 that excited nonsense. On our side now we have no Fox, or Wyndham, 
 or Burke. All serene, Mr. Pitt. I should scorn to manifest any feeling 
 if all the merchants in England were ruined, and half the population 
 starved. I never go beyond a sneer or a misrepresentation ; and then 
 only when I can do it safely, behind a man's back. 
 
 P. Every creature obeys its instinct. Sir George; but I ask again, 
 What do you intend to do about the Bank Charter Act, this Session or 
 the next ? 
 
 L. Why, as my lamented friend, Sir Eobert — with that lucid 
 placidity which only Lord G. Bentinck disturbed — used to say, there 
 are three courses open to us. We can talk a good deal, and do nothing; 
 or we can talk a good deal, and do next to nothing ; or we can neither 
 talk nor do anything about the afiuir. I prefer the last course. 
 
 P. Sir George, do you ever read the Times ? 
 
 L. Of course. How should I know what to think, if I did not read 
 the Times ? 
 
 P. Ah 1 I thought for myself, and for the people too. 
 ^ L. But permit me to say again, circumstances are changed. A 
 Cabinet Minister — or even an Ex-minister — now has so much to do, 
 that he is glad to get some one to do the thinking for him. 
 
 P. But what do you intend to do ? 
 
 L. Nothing. I always find that when I am in a difficulty that's the 
 best course to take. Do that. The House will say that the Committee 
 on Bank Acts is taking a prudent course in leaving the currency alone. 
 And then, when the country and the Times think that " something must 
 be done," it will be time enough to act. 
 
 P. But do you see in the Times what the state of the country is ? 
 Do you know that the operatives are living on their money withdrawn 
 from the savings-bank ? Do you know the state of the working 
 classes in the manufacturing districts of Lancashire and Yorkshire ? 
 
THE LATE CHANCELLOE. 39 
 
 Do you know that the mills and factories are stopped ; that the work- 
 houses are crowded ? Do you know that the people in the iron districts 
 are out of work ? Do you know that iu Nottingham, and Bradford, 
 and Kidderminster, and Leicester thousands are even yet on the verge of 
 starvation ? Do you know that, bad as the usual condition of the 
 Spitalfields weavers is, they are worse off now than they were in 1847, 
 or have been for the last thirty years ? Do you see that the papers 
 state that : " Since November last, upwards of 10,000 heads of families 
 have been relieved by the Committee for the EeJief of the Unemployed 
 and taking into account the other members of those families, an aggre- 
 gate of from 40,000 to 50,000 individuals has, during that period, been 
 provided with the necessaries of existence ?" 
 
 L. Very lamentable, no doubt ; all caused by the " derangement of 
 capital and credit." 
 
 P. {40 Himself — What senseless jargon the creature talks 1) I 
 suppose, what you term " a derangement of capital and credit," has 
 some cause. 
 
 Xi. Oh, of course^-over-speculation and bad banking by the joint stock 
 companies. 
 
 JP. Do you really imagine. Sir George, that you can tamper with 
 the currency as you have done by means of the Bank Charter Act, 
 raising discounts to 8 and 10 per cent., and depreciating the value of all 
 commodities 50 per cent, in a few weeks, without creating by these 
 means " a derangement of capital and credit ?" If half the taxes were 
 abstracted from the Exchequer, it would produce a " derangement " of 
 the Budget, and there would be " distress " in Downing-street. Should 
 you say the distress was produced by the derangement of the Budget, or 
 by the abstraction of the ways and means from the Exchequer ? If 
 this " derangement of capital and credit " were not caused by the opera- 
 tion of Peel's Bill, how could the suspension of that operation put an 
 immediate check to the " derangement of capital and credit ?" No 
 Sir George, speculation, and American failures, and accommodation bills 
 are evils, and the parties engaged in these matters would, undoubtedly, 
 suffer ; but, to create a national and general convulsion, the cause must 
 be general and national. Touch the universal agent, the circulating 
 medium, and you affect all interests, all classes, the affairs of the whole 
 nation. 
 
 L. Why, I confess that, when I remember the glowing picture which 
 my friend Lord Overstone drew, in July last, of the healthy and pros- 
 perous condition of the whole country, and particularly of commercial 
 affairs, I am rather puzzled at the occurrence of such a general " derange- 
 ment" in October. But, sir, you asked me Avhat ought to be done. 
 Permit me to ask, wh,at would you do under such circumstances? 
 
 P. Listen. It is my opinion that the first duty of a minister of the 
 
30 pitt's ghost and 
 
 Crown is to guard the commonwealth from injury, and particularly to 
 attend to the wants and interests of the great mass of the people. The 
 comfort and happiness of the patient, enduring, industrious, and self- 
 reliant people of England, should be a minister's waking thought by 
 day, and his dream by night — it was mine. Could I hear such a state- 
 ment as this and remain unmoved? " The commercial houses and 
 manufacturers in Glasgow are in the greatest distress, from the late 
 stagnation of commercial credit, and total want of private confidence. 
 The manufacturers have plenty of goods on hand in London and 
 Glasgow, which they cannot sell but at so reduced a price as renders it 
 perfectly absurd for them to think of disposing of their goods in order 
 to obtain immediate relief. The manufacturers, and those who have 
 cotton-mills, have discharged a very great number of workmen. There 
 are employed in Glasgow, Paisley, and their dependencies in different 
 parts of Scotland, about 160,000 men, women, and children. Any 
 relief to be administered must be immediately given, to render it 
 effectual." 
 
 L. The Glasgow Deputation. Of course we could do nothing; it 
 was not the province of Government to interfere. 
 
 P. Pardon me. Sir George, this statement refers to the state of things 
 in 1793. I thought it my province, as a minister of the Crown, to inter- 
 fere immediately. 
 
 L. In what way? 
 
 P. On the 25th April, I moved for a Select Committee of fifteen, to 
 take into consideration the state of Commercial Credit. We inquired 
 into the cause of the distress from gentlemen able to give us good in- 
 formation. We found that " many houses of great solidity, and possessed 
 of goods ultimately much more than sufficient to answer all demands 
 upon them, had not the means of converting those goods into money, or 
 negotiable securities, in time to meet the pressure of the moment." 
 That the failure of certain improvident banks had produced " a defi- 
 ciency of the circulating medium." That money was kept hy 
 bankers in their hands as a matter of necessary precaution ; that trade 
 was suspended, and workmen thrown out of employment. That many 
 mercantile houses, who were in possession of large quantities of goods 
 were, from the impossibility of converting those goods into money, 
 under great apprehension of being obliged to stop payment. That the 
 distress did not arise from a want of property in goods, but from the 
 banks being unable to discount bills as usual, from " their notes being 
 poured in upon them for gold, and from the alarm which the present 
 situation of credit in London had occasioned." Having ascertained the 
 cause of the evil, I proceeded to its remedy. The Committee was ap- 
 pointed on the 25th of April, we reported on the 29th, and, on the 3rd 
 of May, I brought a bill into the House of Commons, to direct the issue 
 
THE LATE CHANCELLOR. 31 
 
 of five millions of Exchequer Bills, to aid the commercial credit of the 
 country. The places where the goods were to be deposited, as a secu- 
 rity under this bill, for the aid to be given, were London, Bristol, Hull, 
 Liverpool, Glasgow, and Leith. On the 6th of May the Bill passed the 
 Commons; on the 8th it passed the Lords without a division, and 
 received the Royal Assent. 
 
 L. Did the plan succeed to your satisfaction, sir ? 
 
 P. Perfectly. Two millions and a half of Exchequer Bills were 
 sufficient to restore confidence and invigorate commerce. The loan was 
 redeemed without a single defaulter; and, after all the expenses 
 attendant on the project were paid, Government gained several 
 thousands of pounds. 
 
 L. Ah! — {after a long pause) — I wish you had told me of that 
 sooner; but at all events I am now relieved from all responsibility. 
 You must talk to Dizzy, now, Mr. Pitt. 
 
 P. No, Sir George, you cannot escape from your responsibility. As 
 an Englishman, an ex-minister, a member of the legislature, and a 
 member of the Bank Acts Committee, a heavy weight of respon- 
 sibility rests on you. You did your little all while in office to 
 bolster up a fraudulent and iniquitous system, by which thousands of 
 honest traders have been ruined, hundreds of thousands of hard working 
 operatives nearly starved. On you, and on those who aided and abetted 
 the system, rests the responsibility. If you lived a thousand years you 
 could not undo the evil which you took a prominent part in promoting. 
 
 L. But, Mr. Pitt, I really had not ability to resist the money power. 
 The great capitalists, sir, have immensely increased in power and 
 influence since your time. Even in 1793 the plans which you pro- 
 posed for the relief of the country met with a good deal of opposition, 
 I think 
 
 P. With very great opposition. — Why, political enemies all foretold 
 the failure of my scheme ; the merchants who were rescued from ruin 
 doubted of its [success ; and the parties entrusted by Parliament with 
 carrying it out, suspected the efficacy of its operations. It was sufficient 
 reward for all the dire forebodings, trembling apprehensions, and 
 pointed ridicule with which I was assailed, that in this year of revolution 
 and excitement throughout Europe, when France led its sovereign to 
 the scaffi)ld, I restored prosperity to the great productive class of my 
 fellow-countrymen. 
 
 L. But, sir, you had a return of the evil. 
 
 P. We had, in 1797. I had felt my way then, and knew the power 
 of an adequate circulating medium. 
 
 L. You took a very decided step, then, sir. 
 
 P. Yes. 
 
 L. And, in reviewing the whole, do you think it a right course 
 
32 THE OPIUM TRADE AND 
 
 which you pursued in 1797; I mean as to the Bank Restriction 
 Act? 
 
 P. I do. What you call " inconvertible " paper money saved the 
 nation. This is my deliberate opinion. 
 
 (Sir George here opens his eyes to their utmost extent, and manifests 
 a decided " derangement " of his serenity. Mr. Pitt regards him 
 for a moment, with pity and contempt, and withdraws.) 
 
 THE OPIUM TRADE AND SALT TAX IN INDIA, 
 
 The transference of the Government of India from the Company to 
 the Crown, unless accompanied by justice to the natives, would be a 
 satire on legislation ; and a parliament that has expended, and continues 
 to expend, enormous sums of money to suppress the slave trade, will be 
 self-convicted of the most flagrant immortality, unless it insists on the 
 immediate and total suppression of smuggling opium into China in 
 direct violation of the laws of a friendly power. By a Christian commu- 
 nity these questions ought to be settled on religious and moral grounds 
 alone, but, unfortunately, modern statesmanship is too prone to view 
 them' through a financial medium, and thus loftier considerations and 
 nobler aspirations are made to succumb before the worldly necessities of 
 revenue. It is an unfortunate truth, that for a long series of years the 
 Indian treasury has exhibited a state of complete exhaustion, the expen- 
 diture ever being in excess of income. The total revenue of India for 
 the year ending 30th April, 1856, according to the accounts presented 
 to Parliament, amounted to £28,891,299, chiefly derived from the 
 following sources : — ■ 
 
 1. The Land Eevenue, including tributes and ") n-in oAn A,-ia 
 subsidies from native states j ' ' 
 
 2. Customs 1,974,999 
 
 3. Salt 2,485,736 
 
 4. Opium 4,871,227 
 
 £27,172,378 
 
 The remainder, £1,718,921, is made up of post office receipts, stamp 
 duties, revenues of Singapore and Coorg, and various small items. 
 The expenditure was £29,864,090, leaving a deficiency of £972,791. 
 The Indian debt is about fifty millions. - Bengal, Madras, and Bombay, 
 including Scinde and Sattara, exhibited a deficiency, the north-west pro- 
 vinces alone yielding a surplus. Now if the revenue derived from opium and 
 salt ceased, no doubt a financier would be greatly embarrassed to make 
 
SALT TAX IN INDIA. 3 
 
 up a budget; but we intend to treat the subject as a moralist, having 
 faith in the memorable expression of Mr. Jefferson, President of the 
 United States, that " whatever is morally wrong can never be politically 
 right." 
 
 Opium, produced from the culture of the poppy, was a source of 
 revenue under the Mogul emperors, farmed out to contractors as a 
 monopoly for an annual payment in advance. The East India Company 
 readily appreciated the value of this drug, and from 1776 to the present 
 time it has yielded large returns to the treasury. In modern practice, no 
 person within the territories of Bengal is allowed to grow the poppy 
 except on government account. When the leaves fall from the plant, 
 it is ripe for incision, a white milky juice escaping, which is con- 
 creted into a dark-brown mass by the next day's sun, and this scraped 
 off every evening as the plant continues to exude, constitutes opium ia 
 its crude state. It is then converted into balls or cakes, and packed in 
 chests of mango wood. Each chest weighs in Bengal 1641bs., and 1401bs. 
 in Bombay. The importation of opium into Bengal is virtually prohibited, 
 the duty being fixed at 24 rupees per seer of 21bs., or about double the 
 amount of its selling price at the Calcutta Government sales. 
 
 The export of opium from Bengal to China was first undertaken by 
 the Company for revenue purposes in 1767. Previously to that date, a 
 small trade, not exceeding iwo hundred chests, had been carried on 
 with the Chinese by Portuguese merchants, who brought their opium 
 from Turkey. The earliest attempts of the Company were imsuocessful, 
 but in 1794 they stationed one of their ships, exclusively laden with 
 opium, at Whampoa, whence she retailed her cargo as from a floating 
 warehouse. The Chinese authorities remonstrated and threatened, but 
 the illicit traffic was pursued at Whampoa for about twenty-five years. 
 In the year 1800, the Emperor prohibited the importation of the drug 
 by an edict, but smuggling increased and was regularly organised along 
 the coast. Against their own subjects the Mandarins awarded the pun- 
 ishment of death if detected in aiding the English. At length, when all 
 pacific overtures had been exhausted, and internal regulations of police 
 had been tried in vain, the Court of Pekin ordered the seizure of all 'the 
 opium on hand, and destroyed the whole, amounting to about 20,000 
 chests. This happened in 1838-39, and gave rise to the opium war — 
 our merchants demanding compensation for their destroyed property, 
 which indeed richly merited confiscation, as it was not an article of 
 legitimate commerce, but one specially prohibited by positive enactment. 
 When hostilities liad ceased, and Hong Kong had been given up to the 
 British, Governor Davis proposed to convert it into a legalised d^pot of 
 opium, from which the Emperor would derive a revenue; but his 
 Majesty made this noble answer : " It is true, I cannot prevent the intro- 
 duction of this flowing poison; gain-seeking and corrupt men will, for 
 
34 THE OPIUM TRADE AND 
 
 profit and sensuality, defeat my wishes ; but nothing will induce me ta 
 derive a revenue from tlie vice and misery of my people." The East 
 India Company, professing Christianitj', have no such scruples. 
 
 Opium is one of the oldest and most valuable articles in the Materia 
 Medica, and were it struck out of the list of therapeutical remedies, it 
 would be difficult to replace it out of the whole known class of narco- 
 tics and sedatives ; but used in excess it is most destructive. Its first 
 and most common effect is to excite the intellect, stimulate the imagi- 
 nation, and exalt the feelings into activity and buoyancy. Hence 
 gorgeous dreams and a state of ecstasy, which transport those who 
 indulge in it habitually into what is called in the Central Flowery Land 
 the " Chinese Heaven.'' It is the secondary effect of this drug which 
 produces the most pernicious results on the constitution. It destroys the 
 natural appetite, deranges the digestive organs, impedes the circulation, 
 and vitiates the quality of the blood, depresses the spirits, and gradually 
 vireakens the power of the involuntary nerves, as well as the volitions of 
 the mind, thereby taking away the powers of free agency, and reducing 
 man to the condition of a brute. The practice of eating opium as a 
 luxury has prevailed for more than a century in Persia and Turkey, but 
 that of smoking it originated at a much later period, and has been con- 
 fined mostly to China and its adjacent provinces. To smoke it is far 
 more pernicious than to eat it. When opium is taken into the stomach, 
 besides its local effects, its influence is communicated both by the sen- 
 tient nerves of the stomach to the cerebro-spinal system, and thence to 
 the whole animal economy, and by absorption into the blood through the 
 veins and lymphatics. But when opium is inhaled into the ungs, it 
 comes into direct contact with a far more extended and delicate tissue, 
 composed in a great measure of nerves, and not onlj' enters the circula- 
 tion more or less by absorption, but, at the same time, by its inherent 
 nature, contracts the air cells of the lungs in such a manner as to pre- 
 vent the blood from receiving its due proportion of oxygen. 
 
 The Chinese Government instituted elaborate inquiries into the effects 
 of opium. One of the chief mandarins addressed a memorial to the 
 Emperor, in which he made the following statement: — " At first the use 
 of opium was confined to the pampered sons of fortune, with whom it 
 was an idle luxury, but still used with moderation and under the power 
 of restraint. Since then, its use has extended upwards to the officers 
 and belted gentry, and downwards to the labourer and tradesman, to the 
 traveller, and even to women, monks, nuns, and priests. In every place 
 Its inhalers are to be found; and the implements required for smoking it 
 are now sold publicly in the face of day." In a memorial addressed to the 
 Emperor by a Chinese scholar, he says, " Opium is a poisonous drug, 
 brought from foreign countries, and when the poison takes effect, the 
 habit becomes fixed, and the sleeping smokers are like corpses, lean and 
 
SALT TAX IN INDIA. 35 
 
 haggard as demons. When the habit becomes inveterate, it is necessary 
 to smoke at certain fiaied hours. Time is consumed, the duties of men 
 are forgotten, and they can no longer live without this poison. Its 
 symptoms are, difficulty of breathing, chalky paleness, discoloured 
 teeth, and a withered skin. People perceive that it hurries them to 
 destruction, but it leaves them without spirit to desist." We must give 
 one more extract from another mandarin's letter to Sir Henry Pottinger: 
 — " Opium is an article whose flowing poison spreads like flames. It is 
 neither pulse nor grain, yet multitudes of our Chinese subjects consume 
 it, wasting their property and destroying their lives ; and the calamities 
 arising therefrom are unutterable! How is it possible to refrain from 
 forbidding our people to use it 1 It is a fearful desolating pestilence." 
 
 After such statements we cease to wonder at the anxiety of the 
 Chinese Government to prohibit the introduction of opium ; but accord- 
 ing to Mr. Macleod Wylie, a Calcutta merchant, since the war to which 
 we have referred the import into China has risen from 20,000 to 30,000 
 chests. The Chinese ship to Great Britain tea and silk to a large 
 amount, w^ithout taking anything like a commensurate amount of British 
 manufacture in return. Those two articles are, in fact, paid for in opium, 
 to the injury of our spinners and weavers. Had the influence of that 
 drug never been felt in China, it would have proved an annually in- 
 creasing market for the products of Lancashire and Yorkshire. In 1834| 
 Lord Napier said, " The Chinese are most anxious to trade with us, from 
 the great wall to the southern extremity of the empire." In 1835 
 Sir George Eobinson stated : "The people are intensely desirous to engage 
 in traffic." Mr. Gutzlaff affirms that " the English woollens are in great 
 demand, yet we have still to look for that time when the spirit of Bri- 
 tish enterprise shall be roused; for, in regard to China, it is almost 
 dormant." Mr. Montgomery Martin inquired of one of the chief officers 
 of Shanghae, how trade could be best promoted ; he immediately and with 
 great sternness answered, " Cease sending us millions worth of opium, 
 and our people will have more money to purchase your manufactures." 
 
 Smuggling is a great evil, for it tends to ruin the honourable trades- 
 man, and not unfrequently tempts him to adulterate his goods ; but to 
 smuggle poison is a crime of the blackest turpitude. At home, our 
 druggists are expressly forbidden to sell arsenic, laudanum, or other 
 poison, if they have the least suspicion that the customer intends to 
 commit suicide ; and they must mark the word '' poison" distinctly on 
 their parcels and bottles. But in China every facility is afibrded, and 
 the deadly material itself supplied under the protection of the British 
 flag for destroying the minds and bodies of millions. How much longer 
 will an enlightened and Christian nation continue to grow a pernicious 
 drug, with the proceeds of which, even when in possession, a benighted 
 and pagan nation disdains to replenish her treasury, knowing thut it 
 
36 THE OPIUM TBADE AND 
 
 would be drawn from the misery and murder of her people! It is vain 
 to pretend that it is our mission to civilise Hindostan, when we there 
 grow a poppy to demoralise China. The advocates of the Company, by 
 putting in a plea of " Not Guilty," add hypocrisy to crime. They con^ 
 tend that the revenue derived from opium is to be considered wholly as 
 an export duty. But what is the motive to its culture ? Why is that 
 culture a strict monopoly? It is notorious that the buyers of the drug 
 intend to introduce it into China after its sale at Calcutta. The mode 
 of packing the opium strips the last rag from the paltry equivocation ; 
 for it is made in balls according to Chinese weights; the weights 
 show the destined market. Moreover, none would buy it at the Calcutta 
 auctions unless they could smuggle it into China; so that the export 
 duty is really paid by an illicit traffic rigorously interdicted under the 
 penalty of death by an independent nation, with which we pretend to 
 be on terms of amity. 
 
 It has indeed been doubted, considering that the Charter of 1833 
 deprived the Company of all its commercial and trading privileges, 
 whether, under the Act 3 & 4 of William lY. they are authorised to 
 continue the monopoly of opium. However, the law oiEoers of the Crown, 
 conjointly with the Queen's Advocate, and the standing counsel of the 
 Company, in an opinion given by them, and dated 5th August, 1857, 
 have decided that " the manufacture and sale of opium, by which a 
 revenue is acquired and expended for the purpose of government, is not 
 in contravention of the Act 3 & 4 of William IV. c. 85; " and they are 
 also of opinion that the legality of the manufacture and sale of opium by 
 the East India Company, is not directly aifected by the supplemental 
 treaty entered into by her Majesty with the Emperor of China, in Octo- 
 ber, 1843. Opium is not mentioned in that treaty; and we are of 
 opinion that the East India Company may manufacture and sell opium 
 (the revenue of which is applied for the purposes of government) with- 
 out infringing the treaty." However, these learned gentlemen appended 
 the following remarks, after observing that the opium was made up into 
 balls, and packed in chests according to Chinese weights : " Still, we 
 think, now that opium is made contraband by the law of China, and 
 that its importation into China is made by Chinese law a capital crinle, 
 the continuance of the Company's practice of manufacturing and selling 
 this opium in a form especially adapted to the Chinese contraband trade, 
 though not an actual and direct infringement of the treaty, is yet at 
 variance with its spirit and intention, and with the conduct due to the- 
 Chinese Government by that of Great Britain as a friendly power, bound 
 by a treaty which implies that all smuggling into China will be dis- 
 countenanced by Great Britain." These concluding remarks seal the 
 condemnation of the traffickers in poison; and when the subject is fairly 
 brought before Parliament, we have no doubt of their deciding that it is 
 
SALT TAX IN INDIA. 37 
 
 better to lose revenue than to acqiiire it by being accessories to slow but 
 certain murder. 
 
 "We now direct attention to the tax on salt. It is known that rice in 
 India is as truly the staff of life as wheaten bread is in England. We 
 have taken off the duty on corn, but the duty on salt still presses cruelly 
 on the Hindoo. Rice is not only insipid without salt, but the antiseptic 
 qualities of that condiment are the best preventives against disease, par- 
 ticularly the loathsome elephantiasis, which is the most cruel scourge of 
 the natives of India. At Calcutta, the price of salt is Id. per pound, which 
 is thus made up: the cost of manufacture, one farthing, the duty at 2| 
 rupees per maund of 82 lbs., three farthings. The badness of the roads 
 seriously aggravates the pressure of this monopoly ; for at Benares, 400 
 miles from Calcutta, salt is there sold, according to the government 
 gazette, at 2d. per pound, or at the rate of 12 lbs. the rupee. The selling 
 prioe of the article is arbitrarily fixed by government, and at such a 
 scale as to place it beyond the sphere of general consximption. In Ap- 
 pendix D. to the Eeport on Indian Territories, printed in 1853 by order 
 of the House of Commons, there is a petition from the British Indian 
 Association, and other native inhabitants of the Bengal Presidency, in 
 which it is stated that " the dearness of the article (salt) induces even 
 those who live near the salt manufactories to use earth scraped from salt 
 lands, while those who reside in the interior have recourse to the alkali 
 found in the ashes of burnt vegetables." The Company forbid saline 
 lands, unfit for cultivation, being turned to the use for which they were 
 evidently designed by nature. Poverty incites the ryots to obtain salt 
 from them by stealth, but they are severely punished on detection. A 
 large force of excisemen are speciallj' employed to protect the saline lands 
 from being utilised. The proprietors of land are compelled to act as 
 watchers and police, and it is recorded in the petition to which we have 
 referred, that a single zemindar has been fined as much as 12,000 rupees 
 at one time, because illicit salt had been found on his grounds, though 
 there was no evidence that he was a party to the act. The cruelty of 
 the system and the vexation by which it is accompanied, render this 
 source of revenue indefensible. It is one of the most odious monopolies. 
 Abundance is in sight and at hand. Men tread on salt but may not 
 pick it up. This is the very refinement of despotism. 
 
 Colonel Cotton, the celebrated Indian engineer, who has so- vastly im- 
 proved the navigation and irrigation of the Godavery Delta, gives the 
 following calculations: "A single square mile flooded with sea- water 
 will make about 140,000 tons of salt in a season, and, with proper 
 arrangetaents, the salt would be perfectly white, and certainly would not 
 cost above 2s. per ton. The revenue thus obtained would be very great, 
 even if the duty were very much reduced. The present duty is about 
 £2 10s. per fon; even at f 1 per ton the supply of this tract would 
 
38 
 
 RICHMOND FOREST, 
 
 yield £90,000 per annum; and thus clean white salt might be sold at 
 £1 5s. in the heart of the country, where the present dirty black salt is 
 sold at about £8 per ton.'' 
 
 We grow opium to poison the Chinese ; we prevent the manufacture 
 of salt, to create disease among the Hindoos ; the motive to both these 
 crimes is revenue. When the government of India is transferred from 
 the Company to the Crown, will the constituencies of the United Eng- 
 dom return men to Parliament who will permit the continuance of this 
 double iniquity ? Is all honour and justice to be outraged to meet fiscal 
 exigencies ? We willingly answer these questions in a most decided 
 negative. India abounds in all the elements of material wealth, but we 
 must first elevate the people, and allow them to become self-sustaining, 
 before we can realise the benefits which those elements place at our dis- 
 posal. We can best attach the natives to our rule by developing their 
 industry, and permitting them to enjoy a fair proportion of its fruits. 
 
 RICHMOND FOREST. 
 
 AN ECLOGUE. 
 
 On a mild April morning, ere the close 
 Of Easter's parliamentary repose, 
 By velvet lawn, green glade, and forest knoll, 
 Through Richmond's pleasaunce, lo ! two statesmen stroll- 
 At random stroll in meditation lone, 
 Each rapt on Public interests, or his own — 
 Nay, were it haply on his own ! what then ? 
 The public weal 's the weal of public men. 
 Weal within weal our constitution moves 
 Down ruts ancestral, old official grooves. 
 The Queen bee's health is wealth to all the hive — 
 And the realm prospers when the Eussells thrive. 
 The realm is plunged in ruin and disgrace 
 When Greys and JEUiots languish out of place. 
 The statesmen meet, and catching mutual eyes, 
 Exclaim with bland conventional surprise: 
 
 Derby. What ! you. Lord John! 
 
 Lord John. What! my Lord Derby! you ? 
 
 Derby. Well met! Fine day! 
 
 Lord J. What news? 
 
 Derby. Pshaw! nothing's newt 
 
RICHMOND FOREST. 
 
 39 
 
 LoKD J. The sun is quite oppressive. From the heat 
 
 I drew toward yonder pine-tree's shadj' seat. 
 Derbv. Whatl tired of sunshine? we were all afraid 
 
 You might feel tired of being in the shade. 
 Lord J. Full of your jokes as ever 1 out or in, 
 
 With you state cares seem not to weigh a pin. 
 Derby. Though pins and needles be not things of weight, 
 They're no light stuffing in the chair of state ; 
 This rude, though knobby seat hath far more ease — 
 Those boughs suspend no blade of Damocles. 
 Not feel the irk of office? Do you doubt 
 Which I like better, to be in or out? 
 Lord J. Between old hands, the phrases feel but thin. 
 
 Had you as lieve be out, why are you in? 
 Derby. In ? Why, because old Palmy lost his head — 
 Walewski by the nose poor Clarry led, 
 The Privy Seal into bad odour brought 
 The Cabinet d'aisance, as well he ought — 
 Orsini funked the Emperor of the French — 
 And I have friends who like the Treasury bench. 
 Lord J. Have you no kindred instincts with your friends. 
 
 Or do you will the means, yet nil the ends? 
 Derby. Scour across country on a burning scent, 
 
 The run's the sport — the kill a mere event. 
 But, when the whimpering pack, with one last cry. 
 Throng as the huntsman flings the carcass high — 
 When greedy snouts are grappling down to flay, 
 To tear and cranch, and gulp the gory prey. 
 Would those who rode the keenest in the run. 
 Relish the carrion when the chase was done? 
 I like hard riding — and I go the pace! 
 Let my hounds hunger for the sweets of place. 
 Lord J. Your hounds will hunger soon enough, alas! 
 
 That foolish India Bill can never pass. 
 Derby. Then let them cut and slash it as they will, 
 
 I don't much care about the India Bill ! 
 Lord J. Nor does the country now! But there it is, 
 Drawn up by Nelly, and laid down by Diz. 
 I don't see how you safely can retreat — 
 Yet if you persevere you must be beat. 
 Derby. And 'twould give you a conscientious pain, 
 
 To see the Knave of Trumps come in again! 
 Lord J. The country 's lost all confidence in P. 
 Derby. And found but little faith in you or me. 
 
40 
 
 THE HARD CALCULATOR. 
 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 
 Derby, 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 
 Derby. 
 Lord J. 
 Derby. 
 
 We must gain time. The country will come round. 
 The country's apathy is most profound. 
 WhatI see no choice 'twixt you and me and Pam? 
 Where's public spirit? 
 
 They don't care a d ! 
 
 Would you dissolve? 
 
 It wouldn't be much use! 
 The Tory party's gone — gone to the deuce! 
 What shall you do then? 
 
 Let things take their chance. 
 What do you think? 
 
 There'll be a war with France. 
 But of the India Bill? 
 
 Oh, bother that! 
 I might move something! 
 
 What would you be at? 
 Wh}', Resolutions! We might smudge it down 
 To nominal dominion of the crown, 
 With a machinery about the same 
 As now exists, with some slight change of name. 
 Truly you speak like a reformer true ! 
 Say what you will, that 's what we 'd better do. 
 Well, if that suits you, I will warn my men. 
 Their pension time will soon be up ! and then 
 
 Here Derby winked, and Russell blew his nose, 
 Which brought the conversation to a close. 
 
 THE "HABD CALCTJLATOB.' 
 
 The Times newspaper was extremely indignant with Lord Palmerston 
 for suspending the Bank Charter Act of 1844 on the 12th of last Novem- 
 ber. The City Editor of that journal was so frantic with rage, that his 
 friends deemed it necessary to have him measured for a strait waistcoat. 
 He complained that Government had prevented the rise of discount from 
 10 per cent, to 20 and 30 per cent., and thus deprived the " hard calcu- 
 lator " of his expected profit. 
 
 Every person can form some idea of sacking a town, after it has been 
 stormed by soldiers, and pillaging the peaceable inhabitants of all their 
 property. The " hard calculator " is too great a coward to mount the 
 deadly breach in quest of plunder, and hence he is a disciple of that 
 
THE HAKD CALCULATOK. 
 
 41 
 
 school of political economists who have constructed a sj'stem of money, 
 by which, at regular periods, easily foreseen, the industrious classes are 
 sacrificed to the capitalists and money-dealers. 
 
 It is most falsely assumed that there is no money in England except 
 gold. This is known to be the scarcest of metals, bearing no 
 appreciable proportion to the other commodities which labour must 
 create, which if labour does not create, it must starve. None 
 of those commodities, however, can be bought or sold, except at a 
 ruinous loss, unless gold be present. It is the policy of the " hard cal- 
 culators " to make money as scarce as possible ; and for that reason they 
 selected gold as the standard of value, as they call it. Now observe how 
 the Act which the bullionists have enacted works. By it, the Bank is 
 obliged to purchase gold, though their coffers are already overflowing. 
 Gold is bought with Bank notes, consequently, the circulating medium 
 is expanded, and money becomes cheap. Discounts go down to 2 or 3 
 per cent. The employers of labour are thus tempted to extend their 
 business ; and for a time everything is prosperous. The merchant and ■ 
 manufacturer obtain good profits, and working men receive good wages. 
 When trade has thus been brought into activity, and prices rise, it 
 becomes the interest of the foreigner to export gold. Now, for every 
 
42 THE HARD CALCULATOR. 
 
 five sovereigns taken from the Bank of England, the law compels the 
 directors to destroy a Bank note for five pounds, and thus money 
 begins to become scarce; and the immediate consequence is, that the 
 rate of discount rises. The merchant and manufacturer have come 
 under various engagements, and these they must complete, so they are 
 forced to pay the increased discount. They are, indeed, alarmed; but as 
 they are, with rare exceptions, utterly ignorant of the " money dodge," 
 they stupidlj' indulge in the hope of " something turning up." But the 
 " hard calculators " have got them fast in the meshes of the net of usury. 
 All classes dread a panic ; and as the gold disappears from the cellars of 
 the Bank, hoarding commences. The private bankers, well aware of the 
 trick and swindle, which is called legislation, prepare for the approach- 
 ing storm, by largely augmenting their reserves of gold and Bank of 
 England notes. The Bank of England, thus drained, must protect itself; 
 and it can only do so by raising the rate of discount to 7, 8, and 10 per 
 cent., as was the case in the last panic. But 10 per cent, only applies 
 to the very first-class bills ; for on all others a commission is charged, in 
 addition to the discount, of 20 and even 30 per cent., as was stated in 
 evidence by Mr. William Browne, M.P. for Lancashire before the Par- 
 liamentary Committee of 1848. Then arrives the rich opportunity, for 
 which the "hard calculators" have been waiting. All the productive 
 classes are involved in ruin. The merchants and manufacturers must 
 sell their stock of goods at any sacrifice, for less than prime cost, aye for 
 less that 50 per cent, below prime cost. The " hard calculators " are 
 the buyers ; they can well afford to put the goods into store for a few 
 months, and during that time lose the interest of their money. At the 
 end of that time, the hoarded notes and gold are returned to the Bank 
 discount rapidly falls, trade revives, prices rise, and then the goods 
 which were bought for fifty per cent, under the cost of production are 
 sold for their full value; and the " hard calculators '' are enriched out 
 of the spoils of plundered industry. 
 
 Now while these most unjust operations are going on, the factories are 
 closed, or are only worked at short time, and mechanics and artisans are 
 deprived of work, wages, and food. Many have to part with their fur- 
 niture, and even their clothes, to escape starvation, to the pawnbroker, 
 just as their employers had to part with their stock of goods to the 
 usurer. Such is the horrible and heart-rending result of this vile con- 
 spiracy of the bullionists. They are the real authors of bankruptcies, of 
 compositions with creditors, of strikes among working men, of broken 
 hearts, and of ruin: and they add insult to injury; for, to cover their 
 evil deeds they assume the air of moral censors, and reproach 
 their victims with having overtraded ; which they were tempted to do by 
 a low rate of discount, brought about by these Acts of Peel. After all 
 what is this pretended over-trading ? Can it be said that too many 
 
THE LONDON JOINT-STOCK BANKS, 43 
 
 commodities have been produced, when great numbers of the people 
 live in wretched and unventilated hovels, wanting food, clothing, and 
 furniture ? No — a thousand times no ; it is a deliberate falsehood in- 
 vented by the rich capitalist, to excuse the work of ruin which his mone- 
 tary system has caused. 
 
 Such is the money-system under which we live. It spread desolation 
 through the ranks of honest industry in 1819, in 1825, in 1837, in 1839, 
 in 1847, and in 1857. In each of these years, the heartless usurers 
 made fortunes. As pirates lurk in a cove, concealed from view, till an 
 unsuspecting merchantman heaves in sight, so do the " hard calculators " 
 bide their time, watching for the turns of the money market, and seize 
 the moment for pillaging the unwary and confiding trader. These are 
 the men whom society calls " respectable," because they can draw 
 cheques on their banker for the plunder they have deposited, not for 
 any honest gains earned by industry. Working men ! small shop- 
 keepers! employers of every class! be not deceived; the real cause of 
 privations and vicissitudes is gold money, here to-day, gone to-morrow. 
 You have tried every remedy but the right one. We do earnestly im- 
 plore you to study the monetary laws— those laws which hold you fast 
 as slaves' in a golden net. You are trammelled in bullion meshes. You 
 are the victims of a vile conspiracy, the bondsmen of a foreign metal. 
 The possessors of that foreign metal make you toil sixteen hours a day 
 for a few grains of it. Your very manhood is measured in those grains. 
 Your brains and sinews count for nothing, though they are of God, who 
 gave them to you as j'our supporters. The grains of gold measure those 
 brains and sinews ; and Mammon weighs them in his scales. He who 
 holds those scales is your master, nay, your tyrant, however lustily you 
 may shout the chorus to " Rule Britannia." Shylock hears that chorus, 
 chuckles at your folly and whets his knife! 
 
 THE LONDON JOINT-STOCK BANKS. 
 
 These institutions have arisen from the growing exigencies of the 
 times. Peel endeavoured, most unwarrantably, to throw the blame of 
 the panic of 1825, which was justly attributable to his Bill of 1819, 
 upon the private banks, just as Lord Overstone throws the blame of 
 the monetary crisis of 1857 on the joint-stock banks. An Act was, 
 therefore, passed about 1829, to authorise the establishment of joint- 
 stock banks. The public, however, did not, for several years, seem 
 disposed to avail themselves of this enactment. But about 1833, the 
 
44 THE LONDON JOINT-STOCK BANKS. 
 
 spirit of commercial enterprise took this direction, and several banks 
 were established on the joint-stock principle. As might naturally be 
 expected, these institutions were not at first regarded with favour by 
 the private bankers, who felt that they had been unjustly accused by 
 Peel of over-issuing and bad banking, in order to conceal the defects of 
 his own unwise and unsound monetary system. 
 
 The years of prosperity which, during the inactivity of the principle 
 of the Act of 1819, followed, encouraged a wider and more extensive 
 system of banking operations. The necessity, also, for economising the 
 currency inclined more persons to avail themselves of the advantages of 
 keeping an account at their bankers. The judicious and prudent man- 
 ner in which the London and Westminster, the London, the Union, the 
 Commercial, and other large joint-stock companies both in town and 
 in the provinces, and especially in Ireland and Scotland, were conducted, 
 gradually drew public support and confidence towards them. It became 
 the interest of the private bankers, therefore, to admit these large joint- 
 stock companies to a participation in the advantages of the system 
 which the private banks had, with much trouble and expense, esta- 
 blished for their own convenience. The clearing house was thrown 
 open to them, the Bank of England ceased to oppose them, and, to the 
 credit of all parties, it may be stated, that a system of mutual good-will 
 and fair dealing is now established between the private bankers and the 
 joint-stock bankers. 
 
 As the formation of metropolitan joint-stock banks had been sanc- 
 tioned by the 3rd and 4th of William IV., the directors of the London 
 and Westminster reasonably presumed that they had power to sue their 
 debtors; but they were mistaken. To remedj' this defect, within three 
 months after they had commenced business, they petitioned the House 
 of Commons for power to su^ and be sued ; and the Bank of England 
 prayed to be heard by counsel against those powers being granted. The 
 opposition failed in the House of Commons, which passed a Bill in favour 
 of the London and Westminster : but it only appears to have been read 
 once in the House of Lords ; for Mr. Lawson says, " No further trace 
 of it can be found in the journals." Bills of exchange were drawn on 
 them from the country, which were accepted ; and the Bank of England, 
 jealous of its privileges and monopoly, gave legal notice to the London 
 and Westminster, that, by accepting bills, they were infringing the 
 privileges of the Bank. Suits were instituted, both in the Courts of 
 Law and Equity. The dispute was carried before the House of Lords, 
 who called in the assistance of the twelve judges, and a decision was 
 pronounced in favour of the Bank. This brief statement shows the 
 nature and extent of the diflaculties which the founders of metropolitan 
 joint-stock banks had to encounter. 
 
 Every Londoner is aware of the immense benefits conferred on trade 
 
THE LONDON JOINT-STOCK BANKS. 45 
 
 by these institutfons. They have been, for the most part, conducted 
 efficiently and with the utmost prudence. The directors have proved 
 themselves fully capable of performing their duties, and their integrity is 
 unimpeached. Publicity is one of the best guarantees of justice ; and 
 as these establishments periodically publish a balance-sheet of their 
 debits and credits, the best security is afforded to the public. We 
 believe that the joint-stocks have not only rendered large facilities to 
 trade, but done much to elevate the character of the trader, as a man 
 feels himself raised in respectability by keeping a banking account, 
 and fears to lose a social position he has once secured .An inci- 
 dental advantage has also arisen, cash now being sent to a banker 
 for safe custody, instead of being retained in the dwellhig-house liable 
 to be broken open by burglars. But the mo.st important fact is, that a 
 trader, known for his probity and punctuality, will always obtain 
 assistance from the joint-stocks in temporary difficulties, and thus 
 escape the extortions of the usurer and the discounting attorney. 
 They are, in fact, harbours of refuge when the tempest most fiercely 
 menaces. 
 
 We have referred to the friendly feeling which very generally happily 
 now exists between these institutions and other members of the great 
 banking community. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. And 
 among these exceptions there are some who complain who are least entitled 
 to find fault. Lord Overstone, a professed disciple of Peel, not knowing 
 whom to blame for the ignominious failure of the Bank Charter Acts, 
 endeavours to throw the responsibility of its failure on those institutions 
 which were called into existence by Sir Robert to render the banking 
 system of this country more safe and ssitisfactory. We direct attention 
 to the following extracts from the speech of Lord Overstone in the 
 House of Lords on the 3rd of December, 1857: 
 
 " There had grown up in this country and had been rapidly developed 
 within the last ten or fifteen years, a false system of credit and of holding 
 deposits at call carrying interest, a system which had grown up to an 
 enormous extent, and which was still growing, and if that evil was not 
 corrected, it would certainly overturn our monetary system altogether. 
 That was not an isolated opinion of his own ; but there was scarcely a 
 man, of enlarged views and experience, in the city of London who did 
 not entertain the same views. It was indispensable that the attention 
 of Parliament should be directed to that subject. Let them look at the 
 difficulty in which the country was placed, notwithstanding the relief 
 supposed to be afforded by an exceptional dealing with the Act of 
 Parliament, He did not mean to say, that the Government ought not 
 to have taken the steps they had; but he did say that if the Act had 
 been maintained only twenty-four hours longer, the whole of the vicious 
 system to which he had referred would have been got rid of by the 
 
46 PIGEONS AND CROWS. 
 
 crumbling to atoms of the institutions which fostered it. Irretrievable 
 ruin would have followed ; and the commercial atmosphere would have 
 been cleared." 
 
 We have taken these passages from the parliamentary report of the 
 Times, the faithful ally of Lord Overstone, to which journal his lord- 
 ship contributes under the signature of Mercator, and to whose writings 
 no reply is ever allowed insertion, and }'et the Times is called a liberal 
 newspaper. Our readers, then, may be satisfied that Avhat we have 
 cited is genuine and uncoloured, however startling and incredible such 
 sentiments may appear. Not one word of commiseration is expressed 
 for the dreadful sufferings that must have ensued had the suspension of 
 the Act been postponed. Thousands of families must have been involved 
 in wretchedness, and all their prospects in life have been blighted. 
 These excellent institutions would have been annihilated, and the profits 
 of the " Pig upon Bacon " Bank in Lothbury would have been increased ; 
 and this greed of Mammon is described as a purification of the commercial 
 atmosphere. So far from manifesting the slightest sympathy for those 
 who might literally have been beggared. Lord Overstone seemed to regret 
 that the catastrophe of "irretrievable ruin" had been averted. He 
 denounced the joint-stock banks as a " vicious system," and as creating 
 a false system of credit ; but he gave no proof of either of these reckless 
 assertions. 
 
 Surely the directors of those institutions are as honest, as disin- 
 terested, and as intelligent as he, and if they have curtailed the business 
 and diminished the gains of the bank to which he owes everything, he 
 should have been content with being a grumbler, without becoming an 
 accuser and denunciator. Tt is an old remark, that comparisons are odious ; 
 but when the subject which provokes them is odious, truth and justice 
 require that they should be used. Those who play at bowls must 
 expect rubbers, and those who live in glass houses have long since been 
 advised not to throw stones. 
 
 PIGEONS AND CROWS. 
 
 Dat vcniam corvis, vexat censvira cokimbas. 
 
 It often occurs that in dealing our blows 
 We punish the pigeons and pardon the crows. 
 
 Last Sunday afternoon, in the course of one of those thoughtful and 
 solitary peregrinations to which I am rather addicted, and which my 
 wife pleasantly calls the march of intellect, it so luippened that I 
 stumbled upon Buckingham Palace. Not literally, of course, as the 
 
PIGEONS AND CROWS. 47 
 
 stiff sentries, stiffer palisades, and sprawling stone heraldry, may easily 
 explain; but I walked witbin ear-shot of that regal edifice, and the 
 previous current of my thoughts, whatever that may have been, was at 
 once diverted into an extremely loyal channel. 
 
 " It is a fine thing," said I to myself, " to live in a land like this 1 
 Thank Heaven we know nothing here of passports, vis^s, dossiers, 
 domiciliary visits, or patroles gris ! Civis Anglicanus sum ! O fortu- 
 nate self and fellow-countrymen, who dwell in the light of a Government 
 strong and wise enough to protect all without molesting any !" 
 
 I don't wish you to consider this little play of internal eloquence as 
 even a fair sample of the jets in which I occasionally indulge — ^jets which 
 are, unfortunately, but sealed fountains to the world at large ; but it 
 may serve to introduce the topic which has provoked me to draw the 
 pen. For, just as I was mentally soaring to a much more exalted 
 pinnacle of reflection than any already indicated, I found myself the 
 centre of a row. 
 
 The dramatis personse were five young ladies and a policeman. 
 
 How the difference began^ I can't exactly say. One never does know 
 exactly how a row begins. It is as uunoticeable as the first shy twinkle 
 of the evening star. Anyhow, these five young ladies, each of whom 
 carried a well-filled pannier of ripe St. Michael oranges, were flying 
 before the strong arm of the law, in the person of the policeman afore- 
 said, and the road all round me was strewn with spilt fruit, hopping and 
 rolling in every direction. I picked up a dozen at least, and restored 
 them, as equitably as I could, among the baskets of their different 
 owners, who were much too frightened and excited to express their 
 thanks. Their principal difficulty, however, seemed to be in under- 
 standing the motive of their enemy, — in discovering,' in short, what he 
 expected them to do. I confess I was as much in the dark as they, 
 but since an indiscreet question might probably have subjected me to a 
 charge of interfering with the police in the execution of their duty, I 
 held my tongue. Privately, however, I agreed with them, that it was 
 embarrassing to be chased and hustled and told to move on, or you'd be 
 walked off to the station pretty quick; yes, that you would; when you 
 couldn't for the life of you conceive in what you had offended, or what 
 sort of submission would be considered sufiicient to meet the justice of 
 the case. 
 
 At last, one young daughter of Erin dropped her basket in the middle 
 of the road, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Then was the 
 enemy exo(?edingly triumphant. " Now then YOU ! If you don't pick up 
 that basket directly and move along, I'll just move you and them there 
 oranges off where you won't like. Pick 'em up, you, directly !" 
 
 " I'll not pick them up !" sobbed the maiden. " Where's the good of 
 my picking them up, when I'm to be pushed about this way ? "What 
 
48 PIGBONS AND CROWS. 
 
 have I done ? How'd you like to be pushed about by policemen, if you 
 was a trying to earn your bread ?" 
 
 Ultimately, after a great deal of constabular expostulation, and after 
 being pushed left face and right face several times, the poor girl was 
 induced to pick up her basket and walk away with it, a termination of 
 the contest which the policeman evidently regarded as highly satisfactory 
 and well worthy of all the energy and diplomacy by which it had been 
 obtained. In fact, after looking around him with the calm, dignified 
 demeanour of true courage, and ascertaining that of the five fair rebels 
 not one remained upon the field, he proceeded along his beat with the air 
 of a man who has done what England expected of him. Perhaps he 
 indulged in the animating idea that gracious Majesty itself, whose draw- 
 ing-room is doubtless upon the first floor front, might possibly have 
 been a not very distant spectator of his dauntless deeds. 
 
 Now, if I were on my corporal oath at this very moment, I couldn't 
 answer, as to my belief or otherwise, as to what this man's object was, 
 or in obedience to what conceivable instructions he could have been 
 acting. Whether policemen, as some think, are " entered " at this sort 
 of humble game as a preparation for more difficult exploits, I don't - 
 know. "We have heard how rats with their teeth drawn used to be pre- 
 sented to juvenile terriers to fortify them in confidence and dash. In 
 this respect, orange-girls are no doubt discreetly selected. They are 
 usually quite friendless and not very strong, and yet capable of great 
 fluency of speech under sufficient provocation. And it is a part of a 
 policeman's training not to be easily daunted or distressed by " chaff," 
 which, among the lower orders in this metropolis, is what war- 
 palaver is to a Red Indian, or the custom of battle-hooting to the Tartar 
 infantry. If, therefore, there be really both pros and cons as to the 
 matter in question, I sit here prepared to hear reason on behalf of the 
 former. 
 
 Only I should suppose that, in any event, there must be an advanced 
 class of policemen ; not competent perhaps to the more arduous feat of 
 apprehending felons and outlaws and Simon Bernards, but still capable 
 of greater things than the chasing and evil-entreating of little fruit- 
 girls. And I am readj' to point out to them a very useful field of 
 enterprise — a field which has been neglected to the extent of becoming, 
 as it is, a metropolitan disgrace. I allude to those intolerable evening 
 nuisances, the hawkei-s of important intelligence. 
 
 I know that this is not a new grievance. I don't profess to have 
 made a discovery. I know that people who stormed and grumbled and 
 wrote to the Times upon the subject years ago, are now becoming case- 
 hardened to an infliction which seems to be regarded as a necessary evi 
 — an inevitable incubus of the West End. This is no comfort to me. 
 I have not been scarified into insensibility. Quite the reverse. And 
 
PIGEONS AND CROWS. 49 
 
 as to the grievance being an established one, I recollect the story of a 
 certain philosopher, who cried when his son died. "Why do you cry ? '' 
 asked a considerate friend; "as a philosopher you ought to know 
 that your grief will never bring back your son." " I know it," replied 
 the sage ; " I weep to think that such grief as mine should be 
 ineffectual." So, my present indignation arises , not so much from a 
 direct sense of injury, as from the fact that a weak, indolent, unaccount- 
 able apathy is rapidly rendering indignation ridiculous. 
 
 What should we think, I wonder, if our own correspondent in China were 
 to write word that, there, in a certain capital city, gangs of men paraded 
 the streets after night-fall, shouting in concert, at the full pitch of their 
 voices, intelligence very often as false as it was alarming ; that thoy did 
 this simply for the purpose of turning to their own pecuniary profit the 
 fears of miserable mothers with sons in the wars, or the curiosity of 
 foolish servants; that these roaring gangs chiefly and by choice fre- 
 quented the wealthy parts of the city, where dwell the mandarins of 
 many buttons and feathers, and others of distinguished note, and bellowed 
 their loudest under the drawing-room windows of Yeh himself (before he 
 slung his hammock on board the Inflexible); that Yeh and all these 
 mandarins hated the practice more than could easilj' be told, and often 
 condoled with each other upon the subject, and wished that there were 
 some law or means to stop it, but that there being no such law, and the 
 street police being indifferent and contented, the said practice was likely 
 to continue and flourish for ever. Wouldn't such a story sound only 
 too outlandish and grotesque ? Should we applaud the placid benevo- 
 lence of those good Chinese, or should we conclude that their minister 
 of police was a funny old fool, who had much better be winding silk, 
 flying his kite, or chin-chinning Joss, than drivelling over the affairs of 
 the nation ? I don't know; but I know that I have just described a per- 
 formance nightly enacted under the very beards of our bishops, 
 senators, and privy-councillors, to their infinite dislike; and that not one 
 single voice has yet been effectually raised for its arrest. 
 
 It can hardly be necessary to enlarge upon the atrocious cruelty of 
 which these noisy men are the nightly agents. Few large squares, few 
 long streets, but contain some sick, suffering, or dying persons, to whom 
 sudden, startling excitement is misery, or worse. In times such as 
 those which we have but just passed through, how many a heart has 
 been chilled with deadly fear, as the shout, "Dreadful massacre in India I 
 Great loss of life !" rang and rebounded through the darkness outside. 
 
 I was sent out, upon one of these occasions, by a lady with whom I 
 was dining, and who was in perfect agony on account of her son then in 
 the thick of the rebellion. The vociferous rascal whom I accosted 
 thrust his paper in my face with the remark, " There yer are 1 Bloody 
 news from Inger ! Twopence !" 
 
 E 
 
50 PIGEONS AND CROWS. 
 
 " Show me the news," said I. 
 
 The man had the effrontery to point to the report of a cosy meeting 
 held that morning iti Leadenhall Street, and aslied if that warn't 
 Ingern news ? and if that wouldn't suit, what did I want ? and so 
 went bellowing on his way. Truly I am sorry for the orange-girls, 
 but I think that our pity ought to be reciprocal. 
 
 Not so very long ago, during the late Crimean conflict, one of these 
 horrible men (falsely) announced the death of a distinguished general 
 officer, a neighbour of mine, upon the steps of his own hall-door. The 
 chieftain's indignant butler sallied forth in reply, and laid the miscreant 
 roaring in the gutter. I should like to have had that excellent servant 
 brought before me, as a magistrate, charged with the said assault. I 
 should like to have asked the complainant, with a curious look of blank 
 wonder, what he expected ? Did he anticipate that the general's 
 lady would step down herself to tender twopence and thank him 
 personally for the delicate and considerate manner in which he had 
 volunteered to break to her the news that she was a widow and her 
 children fatherless ? I should like to have extracted from him his idea 
 as to what the bluff old butler ought to have done, and whether he, the 
 complainant, was, upon consideration, perfectly satisfied with what had 
 been done, and, if not, why not, and how otherwise? as lawyers ask in 
 Chancery. 
 
 "We shall be shamed, some day, when this outrageous nuisance is 
 abolished for ever, by the reflection that we tolerated it so meekly and 
 so long. To suffer submissively, in the hope that some day or another 
 somebody bolder than ourselves will take the matter in hand, is very 
 dainty strategy. Our present trouble is worse than those unmelodious 
 horns and bells which our fathers knew how to silence. 
 
 One word about street music before I conclude. I disclaim all indis- 
 criminate hostility to performers of this class, from the bird-organ to the 
 Bohemian band inclusive ; neither should I advert to the subject at all, 
 but for a suggestion which I wish to make. Why not cause every 
 person whose deliberate intention it is to earn a livelihood by making a 
 noise more or less disagreeable in the public streets, to take out a license 
 and wear a badge, like a cabman — penalty of unlicensed playing, the 
 confiscation of the offending organ. Then we should have some check 
 — practically a very substantial one — where at present we have none at 
 all. I will illustrate my meaning by a fact. 
 
 Last year, my knocker was tied up with what had once been a white 
 kid glove. The doctor's brougham stood at the door, and the blinds of 
 the best bedroom were down. A certain little stranger was expected to 
 make his first appearance upon the stage of this world in the course of 
 a few anxious hours. 
 A dark Italian man, with a high hurdy-gurdy, and a monkey in his 
 
PIGEONS AND CROWS. 51 
 
 bosom, saw this, and knew as well as the doctor what was going to 
 happen. He calculated that, cost what it might, he must be bribed into 
 silence if he only chose to play. And so play he did, and standing full 
 before the muffled door and under the blinded windows, he struck up 
 "The low-backed car," whistling at the same time, his monkey accom- 
 panying him upon cymbals. Down I darted, of course, and began, 
 rather Mrs. Plornish fashion, " Mustn't play here — lady very sick — you 
 go 'way." 
 
 " Give me a shilling, then !" was the reply, while a click in the organ- 
 flank announced that a new tune was being turned on. 
 
 I don't know whether I ever foamed with rage. I am not certain, 
 indeed, that I am physically capable of exhibiting that fierce pheno- 
 menon ; but I feel positive that I shall never be so angry again. I only 
 said, in hoarse monosyllabic staccato, and with a look which I dare say 
 was effective by gaslight, " Play one more note if you dare !" The 
 scoundrel looked me in the face for a moment, and then perceiving that 
 something more than a silver shilling depended upon his reply, made an 
 atrocious grimace, twisted the cymbals out of his monkey's fingers, and 
 went gobbling away. I shall not easily forget the sympathising, 
 inquisitive look with which that degraded monkey gazed up into his 
 master's face, on finding liis own part in the expected performance so 
 summarily cut short. It must have been very aggravating to the man. 
 Now, supposing that I had then, as for a moment seemed not very 
 improbable, committed homicide, or simicide, or both, — might not 
 some excuse have been found for the misfortune ? If every street- 
 player wore an identifying badge, each would have a clear, individual, 
 restraining sense of responsibility ; whereas at present, being almost as 
 much alike as their own monkeys, they know perfectly well that by 
 slipping round the nearest corner all their misdeeds are left for ever 
 behind them. 
 
 I began this article with some reflections about a certain Government 
 which protected all without molesting any. In some small matters, 
 perhaps, my fellow-subject, the little orange-girl, and I, might come to 
 not very opposite conclusions. If she was molested, poor little soul, I 
 don't admit that I'm sufficiently protected ; and I am sure that she is 
 less responsible for her grievances than I for mine. My sentiments in 
 the matter of loyalty are, I hope, as orthodox as ever ; but, upon con- 
 sideration, I request that the reflections above referred to may be taken 
 sub modo. I deposit these ugly words in their native Latin, because my 
 wife, whose veneration for the powers that be is intense and unaccom- 
 modating, has undertaken to revise this manuscript. 
 
52 
 
 THE MONEY OF BRITISH INDIA. 
 
 In the discussion of financial questions, we should ill fulfil our duty 
 were we to overlook our vast eastern empire, British India, and the 
 difficulties of its present rulers, the East India Company. That empire 
 has just been saddled with an additional debt of £5,000,000, to be 
 extended to £8,000,000, as sanctioned by Parliament. Now we hesi- 
 tate not to say that, under proper management and with a rational 
 monetary system, one adapted to the present age, not only might this 
 burden have been altogether avoided, but a vast increase of the revenues 
 of India secured, and her existing liabilities proportionally reduced. 
 
 The whole financial fabric is a crude, disjointed thing, betraying at 
 every point its barbarous origin. But it is more especially in the 
 anomalous monetary system that we discover how closely and servilely 
 we have adopted and followed, in everything relating to finance, the 
 organization of our predecessor in power, the ignorant and half-civilised 
 Mogul. It would seem as if the kingdom thrust upon us in India were 
 too vast for our grasp, judging from the powerlessness displayed either 
 to originate any new measures for the more perfect government of the 
 country, or to improve iipon the systems which obtained when we 
 found ourselves transformed from a small body of traders, occupying, 
 on sufferance, a mere nook on the banks of the Flooghly, into the abso- 
 lute rulers of a mighty empire. 
 
 As we cannnot enter fully into the history and nature of the monetary 
 system of India, we must be satisfied for the present with giving a 
 brief sketch of the practical working of that system in one particular 
 operation. And we believe this will sufficiently expose the rude and 
 cumbrous character of the machine, and satisfy every unprejudiced 
 mind of the urgent necessity for reform. 
 
 The money of India continues the same rude and barbarous instru- 
 ment as in the days of the Emperor Akhbar; while it is far less effective 
 in its operations, owing to the currency being now restricted to silver 
 coin only ; for under the Mogul dynasty both gold and silver were 
 employed. But we not only adopted the primitive money of the Mogul, 
 with the above restriction, but also their rule of paying the troops and 
 establishments monthhj. And while with them the rule was one thing 
 and the practice another — for they only paid their troops and others 
 when convenient — with us the rule and practice coincide. Our pay- 
 ments are made regularly every thirty days ! Our enormous armies, 
 the whole of the civil services, and all other Government establishments, 
 are paid monthly in rupees, a silver coin of the value of two shillings ! 
 
THE MONEY OF BRITISH INDIA. 53 
 
 Imagine the salaries of all state servants, the army, navy, and other 
 public departments in this country, paid every month in two-shilling 
 pieces! And if we take for illustration of the system a single station 
 or cantonment in India, and describe the monthly process which takes 
 place in distributing the salaries and pay of the civil and military esta- 
 blishments located there, our readers may form some faint idea of the 
 vast amount of silver which the Government must keep locked up in their 
 treasuries to meet this demand throughout the country. First comes the 
 civil service, with its commissioner, judge, magistrate, collector, their 
 assistantj and deputies, the " Omlah" of their courts, and the vast 
 establishments attached to these, involving salaries from 3,000 rupees 
 to the commissioner, to- five, the pay of the peon, or chupprassie. 
 Then the military branch of the service, composed of, perhaps, two or 
 three corps of cavalry, a battalion of artillery, and several regiments of 
 infantry, receiving monthly pay varying individually from 1,450 rupees, 
 that of lieutenant-colonel commanding a corps, to the seven rupees paid 
 the Sepoy or private in a native infantry regiment. Next we have 
 the commissariat department, with its vast expenditure and host of 
 annuitants; the executive engineers' department, with the multitudes 
 employed by it in public works; the staff of the station; the hospital 
 establishments of each regiment ; the regimental bazaars; the pay- 
 master's, judge-advocate's departments, and others which we cannot 
 enumerate. 
 
 From this statement we may judge of the amount of hard coin re- 
 quired to meet the wants of a single station at the beginning of each 
 month. And if we extend our view to the hundreds of such stations, 
 and embrace all the higher ranks of officers, civil and military, with 
 the extra establishments entertained upon the constant movement of 
 troops by land and water, we can understand why the Government, 
 under the present system of monthly payments and with the existing 
 currencj', must monopolise and lock up a vast amount of the sole 
 current medium of exchange, and thus greatly reduce the circulation 
 and press heavily upon the springs of industry. 
 
 To pay every one with heaps of two-shilling pieces is bad enough in 
 a nation like our own, professing to be civilised ; but the senseless system 
 of paying all state servants and other state claims monthly, which we 
 adopted from our Moslem predecessors, has greatly aggravated the evil. 
 There is something ludicrous as well as humiliating, from its clumsi- 
 ness and barbarity, in the very process of paying a regiment in India. 
 Pay-day is one of great excitement and much commotion in a canton- 
 ment ; and the scene enacted is such that did it not take place before our 
 eyes every thirty days, we could never have believed that in the nine- 
 teenth century such a process could be carried on under a civilised 
 Government, and by a people making some pretensions to science. 
 
54 THE MONEY OF BRITISH INDIA. 
 
 Early in the morning of the eventful' day we see the empty gun- 
 limber from the artillery, and the quartermaster's cart from each cavalry 
 and infantry regiment, under a guard of soldiers duly armed, taking 
 their departure from the lines of their respective corps, so as to reach 
 the pay-office — perhaps some miles distant — by ten o'clock in the 
 morning. There the several parties remain in the shade, if that can be 
 had, until they are called upon to receive the amount of silver due 
 on their respective regimental abstracts ; and then begin the real 
 labours of the day, which do not end till nightfall. The pay-sergeants, 
 or havildars, and moonshees, now set to work manfully to count the 
 heaps of rupees that lie around them on the floor of the pay-office ; and, 
 from long practice, these men possess a maryellous power of counting, 
 and are most expert in detecting spurious coins. Hours, however, are 
 consumed in the tedious process, and the parties return to their lines 
 tired and worn out. But instead of finding rest, they have to go 
 through the same operation again. The amount of the pay of each 
 company of a regiment is taken to the barracks in the case of an 
 European one, and to the dwelling-house of the captain in that of a 
 native corps. Then comes the assembling the regiment and all 
 the native establishments attached to it, the tent-lascars, bheesties, 
 cook-boys, barbers, "et hoc geniis omne," to receive their quota of 
 two-shilling pieces, those nuggets from the mine at the pay-office. 
 
 It would be unprofitable to pursue further the description of this 
 tedious and most primitive operation. It is a relic of those rude ages 
 when printing was unknown, and barter was the order of the day. 
 Enough, we hope, has been said to prove our case, that currency reform 
 i»much needed in the East, even more so than at home. 
 
 When we consider the loss to the country in the vast amount of 
 capital thus locked up in the Government treasuries, and utterly un- 
 profitable, and also the evil consequences to the productive industry of 
 the country from the deficient circulating medium caused by the 
 exclusive use of one metal as money, and the monopoly of so much of 
 this by the Government, the fact is placed beyond dispute that the first 
 and most important reform required in India — as soon as we have 
 crushed the mutinous rebels now in arms against us — is a complete 
 change in her currency, and an entire reorganization of her system of 
 finance. Instead of the existing money of the Mogul dynasty, let the 
 Government establish the imperial currency of Great Britain, composed 
 of paper, gold, and silver. "Who ever before heard of the rulers of a 
 conquered country coining and making use of the money of those Avho 
 had ruled before them ? Let us for the future have British money as the 
 currency of British India, And were this done, and an issue of State 
 notes made on the same principle as that on which we issue such in 
 this country, to the amount of £14,475,000, and to an extent proper- 
 
THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 55 
 
 tionate to the revenues of our eastern empire, there would no longer 
 exist the necessity for any such application as that about to be made to 
 Parliament for permission to the East India Company to raise a loan in 
 this country to meet the public expenditure. 
 
 THE TWADDLE OP THE "TIMES." 
 
 The rise and progress of the " City " Twaddle of the Times is 
 amusing and instructive. 
 
 Before the panic of 1825 the papers had little to narrate of City 
 matters but the rise and fall of stocks and the prices of securities. 
 But the monetary convulsion of that period invested banking and 
 commercial affairs with an important public interest. The clerk, 
 or the penny-a-liner, could tell of the ruin of great merchant-houses 
 and the impending ruin of others; and numbers whose interests 
 were involved listened with anxiety and avidity. So the Times began 
 to keep a City writer, and as commercial difBculties, pressures, and 
 panics continued to increase and multiply under the operation of Peel's 
 Bill, the chronicler of these events increased in importance. The panic 
 of 1847 advanced the City writer another step. Public curiosity and 
 interest were again excited. People began to ask about the reason of 
 panics, and the Times writer became a little oracle as to monetary 
 matters. He is, then, the creature of the panic-makers; called into 
 political existence by panics, sinking into his pristine insignificance in 
 times of prosperity and commercial repose, and magnified into im- 
 portance again by alarm, convulsion, and ruin. With very limited 
 knowledge and unbounded audacity of assertion, (cold-blooded and 
 spiteful,) in trampling upon the fallen, with just sufficient "sharpness" to 
 give plausibility to his sophistries, the City writer became a leading 
 twaddler to persons more ignorant and superficial than himself. A 
 hold being thus established on the attention of that large portion of the 
 public who "do not know what to think" about the currency, Mercator 
 shuffles upon the stage, growling out his contradictory and splenetic 
 apologies for his insolvent theory, the Bank Charter Act ; that " vicious 
 institution" which failed in 1847, and "crumbled to atoms" in 1857. 
 Who would take the trouble of examining his quibbling defences of 
 his broken-down and self-condemned system? No one who did not 
 know that the most important interests of the people are involved, 
 and that while, as all are forced to admit, Peel's Bills have been the 
 most signal failures of modern legislation, the greatest ignorance on the 
 
56 THE TWADDLE 01' THE "TIMES/ 
 
 subject pervades the minds of our law-makers, and also of the victims 
 of their folly. 
 
 Let us then inflict on ourselves and our readers the trouble of 
 examining a little of the Times twaddle during the Monetary Crisis. 
 
 On October 12th, 1857, the Bank raised its rate of discount from 6 
 to 7 per cent. The Times then uttered this soothing twaddle:— 
 "When," it said, "the advance to 7 per cent, was announced, every 
 one saw that the work of protection was in progress; and the convic- 
 tion that, in case of need, there would be no hesitation in making 
 another movement, esfablished a sense of perfect security." "Altogether 
 the feeling exhibited was such as to excite pride in our healthful 
 system of finance, and to confirm the impression that, although this 
 shock from America has come upon us in the midst of the Indian 
 mutiny, we shall be able to withstand it; so that its consequences, 
 heavy as they must necessarily be, shall not destroy confidence or inter- 
 rupt the general icelfare of the country." — We suppose there were found 
 people to believe this. A few weeks afterwards " perfect security" had 
 given way to universal alarm and wide-spread ruin, " confidence" was 
 at an end, and the "general welfare of the country" was suspended — 
 as the Bank Charter Act was, and as its authors deserved to be. 
 
 A few days later the Times prated about the " renewal of confidence," 
 and while it sneered, not without reason, at the Tookites, declared that 
 England presented at that moment " an example of financial steadiness 
 to the whole world." 
 
 On October 19 the Bank raised their rate of discount to 8 per cent. 
 The Times then twaddled prophetically. "It was," it said, "unlikely that 
 the pressure would last even so long as four weeks." " Meanwhile,'' the 
 writer said, " as regards our own position in all those branches of trade 
 not connected with America, there is a total freedom from uneasiness. 
 The circumstance merely of an advance in the rate of discount to 8 per 
 cent, for a few weeks, to meet a temporary evil in which all other 
 nations participate, can inspire no dread on the part of any solvent houses. 
 The difference between that and 5 per cent., even for two months, would 
 amount only to an extra 10s. per cent, on all the accommodation they 
 might require; and if their capital and current profits are inadequate 
 for such a contingency, they can scarcely be considered fit to he in business 
 at all on their own account." "There ought," it was affirmed, "to be 
 no terrors in 8 per cent., or any other rate of discount," and the announce- 
 ment, the public were told, was received in the metropolis " without the 
 slightest indication of confusion or alarm," 
 
 We will first give the writer of this most ridiculous twaddle the benefit 
 of the supposition that he sincerely believed what he said. We then 
 affirm, that a person so ignorant and so devoid of the perception of the 
 first principles of the Bank Charter Act, should not presume to enter 
 
THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 57 
 
 on the subject at all. Lord Overstone was asked, in his examination 
 before the House of Commons' Committee, in July — ■ 
 
 " What is the effect of a rise in the rate of discount upon the prices of 
 securities and goods?" and he replied— "It is very direct and simple. 
 When the money of the country is diminished, the remaining quantity 
 becomes more valuable; the rate of interest rises; that rise in the rate 
 of interest acts upon public feeling ; the public becomes more cautious ; 
 credit and confidence are more or less affected ; the remaining money per- 
 forms its functions more slowly, and in that ivay the value of the money 
 is increased, and increased to ivhatever extent may be necessary to prevent 
 the further export of it (i.e. coin or bullion), and to bring bach again 
 that luhich has gone.'' All this is plain enough. When gold goes out 
 of the country, the device of Peel's Bill is to diminish the circulating 
 medium. This diminution acts upon credit and confidence, causes the 
 money left in circulation to " perform its functions more slowly" (being 
 hoarded for security), and increases the value of money, that is, 
 causes the price of all commodities to fall. This process, Lord Over- 
 stone says, " is increased to whatever extent may be necessary to check the 
 further export of money ;" i.e. of coin or bullion. 
 
 Now, with such a process as this in prospect, the Times twaddler 
 tells the commercial public that " there ought to be no terrors in 8 per 
 cent., or any other rate of discount;'" that 8 per cent, should inspire no 
 dread in "any solvent houses;" and, taking the view of a mere bank 
 clerk, he twaddles about the difference between 5 and 8 per cent, for 
 two months being only an extra 10s. per cent. There were, as we 
 said, no doubt members of the commercial public who, at the time, 
 tried to swallow this, and to believe, as the Times told them to believe, 
 that there were no grounds of alarm. 
 
 Pursuing the same childish idea, the Times, on the 26th October, 
 repeated, that " our merchants vinconneoted with the United States are 
 merely called to meet the inconvenience of a high rate of discount;" 
 — not the " inconvenience" of a depreciation of their commodities, 30, 
 40, or 50 per cent. The twaddler added: "If any house is in a con- 
 dition to be extinguished [we suppose the City Editor is under the 
 delusion that he writes English as well as sense] by a mere increase, 
 during a month or two, of a few pounds per cent, in the charge for 
 such accommodation as it may require, the sooner it is extinguished 
 the better." Our City scribbler then becomes grandiloquent, and 
 announces it as his opinion, that " any wide-spread distress would be ^n 
 anomaly. It is a moment to test our courage and self-possession, but 
 nothing more. We have obviously no trials before us but such as we 
 should be prepared to meet with cheerfulness ;" and as we are " sound 
 internally'' (we suppose this means something desirable in the City), 
 " we can face our disasters with dignity, and by mutual confidence keep 
 
58 DADDY Hubbard's currency tie. 
 
 them withiu control." Highly consolatory this rubbish to merchants 
 and traders who see their property daily diminishing in value, and know 
 that they must relinquish the hardly earned savings of years of patient 
 and energetic industry into the hands of the panic-mongers and usurers! 
 
 The trade returns in the Times, a few days later, showed how the 
 contraction in the currency had already done its work. Trade depressed, 
 mills stopped by the score, and operatives thrown out of employment by 
 the thousand, contradicted every word uttered by the selfish and super- 
 ficial writer of this City trash. 
 
 But it is almost impossible to believe that this writer could be so 
 weak as to believe what he asserted. Why then did he utter it ? Credit 
 and confidence were shaking, as he well knew. But something else was 
 shaking. The Bank Charter Act, and the entire superstructure of Peel's 
 monetary system, were shaking to the foundation. To this absurd and 
 impracticable system he was pledged. The Act had shamefully broken 
 down in 1847. But if, by cajoling or frightening the commercial public, 
 he could induce them to submit to the confiscation of half their property, 
 this precious Bill might escape without a second suspension, and be 
 saved for its future work of desolation. 
 
 Therefore it was, that the writer in the Times twaddled advisedly of 
 an addition of only lOs. per cent., declared that no solvent houses ought 
 to fail, and laboured to revive that confidence which the operation of the 
 Act was destroying day by day. 
 
 With arguments as weak and contradictory as they were impudent and 
 audacious, and with a recklessness of assertion which regarded nothing 
 but serving the purpose of the day, this creature of circumstance, ele- 
 vated into a position for doing mischief which nature and natural capa- 
 city never intended him to occupy, laboured in his vocation of supporting 
 the iniquitous injustice of Peel's atrocious system of confiscation and 
 usury. 
 
 It was therefore that, by turns, he raved and drivelled. But his 
 labour was thrown away. The flimsy sophistries of the supporters of 
 the Act, and the Act itself, have " crumbled to atoms " in the day of 
 trial. 
 
 We have only begun with the Twaddler. 
 
 DADDY HUBBARD'S CURRENC'S' PIE. 
 
 Old Daddy Hubbard Though bills of exchange 
 
 Went to the cupboard, Have a pretty wide range, 
 
 To dish up a currency pie ; Yet their currency Daddy denies ; 
 
 And what he did there, While dormant deposits, 
 
 Made every one stare, Asleep in their closets, 
 
 And turn up the white of his eye. Are current, says Daddy the wise. 
 
59 
 
 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OP HIS AGE.* 
 
 The knotty point of a " pre-established harmony " in nature, has 
 been discussed ponderously by Leibnitz, sooffingly by Voltaire in his 
 " Candide." Non nostra — on the universal prevalence of such a law we 
 do not presume to give an opinion ; but we do incline to the belief that 
 in the world of literature there is a " pre-established harmony." When- 
 ever the public taste has a longing for some peculiar literary product, 
 an author is pretty sure to start up who can gratify it. And when an 
 author is born with an irresistible predilection for a certain kind of 
 literary work, he may boldly " throw his bread on the waters," secure 
 of finding a public of some kind or another — " fit audience he will find, 
 though few." Holding this faith — or heresy — we necessarily infer I'rom 
 the recent appearance of sundry and divers dissertations on Shelley, that 
 the literary public are not indisposed to revert to the study of his 
 poems, and that it will not turn a deaf ear to some talk about his 
 works, himself, and the moral and intellectual atmosphere in which his 
 genius was developed. 
 
 No author — not even any author of the highest class — stands entirely 
 alone. Every author receives impulses from his contemporaries, at the 
 same time that he re-acts upon them. The smallest part of the ideas, 
 even of a Bacon or a Shakespeare, are originally their own. The 
 originality of these mighty minds consists in their power of fusing all 
 the notions which find their way into their thoughts or imaginings into 
 one homogeneous whole. All who are capable of appreciating truly 
 great writers, will, at the moment of perusal, surrender themselves 
 implicitly to their influence, and submit to the impression of the aggre- 
 gate work, without inquiring with an impertinent curiosity, from what 
 sources its component elements have been drawn. Yet is it no unworthy 
 or uninstructive task — provided it be undertaken in a candid and rever- 
 ential spirit — to endeavour at leisure to analyze their works ; to seek 
 to learn how far the social circumstances of their time drew them to 
 look upon things from their peculiar point of view ; to conjecture to 
 what extent their thoughts were suggested by interchange of ideas, 
 through books or in oral converse, with their contemporaries. Such 
 a scrutiny throws important light on the action and reaction of mind 
 upon mind in society; and inasmuch as the individual minds thus 
 subjected to analysis are poets and philosophers, the highest and the 
 clearest intellects and imaginations, the study is of the healthiest. It may 
 almost be said to be in the metaphysical world what the pursuit of 
 botany is in the physical world, that research which prosecuted amongst 
 the fairest and the sweetest objects of vision and smell is, as it were, the 
 very poetry of natural history. 
 
 * Secollections oftlie Last Days of Shelley and Byron. By B. J. Tebiawket. 
 London : Edward Moxon. 
 
 The Life of Fercy Bysshe Shelley. By Thomas Jeffeeson Hoaa. In four 
 volume's. London : Edward Moxon. 
 
 Autobiography and Seminiscenees of Leigh Hunt, London : Smith and Elder. 
 
 The Poetical Works of Fercy Bysshe Shelley. Complete in one volume. 
 London : Edward Moxon. 
 
60 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 The age to which Shelley and his poems belong, was one of Titanic 
 effort. It begins — in so far as poetry is concerned — with Coleridge, 
 Southey, and Wordsworth, and terminates with Byron, Shelley, and 
 Keats. It is the epoch in the political world of the first French Revo- 
 lution, of the earlier wars of Napoleon, of the great revulsion when all 
 Europe rose figainst his domination, of the pangs and throes of a 
 panting world, under the ruthless trampling of those paltry despots wlio 
 availed themselves of its temporary exhaustion to attempt, in combi- 
 nation, what Napoleon had failed to accomplish alone. It was in our 
 English world an age of great social advancement — the period during 
 which the emancipation of the negro from bondage, and the emancipa- 
 tion of the Dissenters and Eoman Catholics from political disqualification 
 were commenced and all but completed. It was an ago of bold pole- 
 mical discussion. The great European Revolution had efiectually 
 shaken men's minds out of the ruts of conventionality. Greater earnest- 
 ness and sincerity, as well as greater originality and independence of 
 thought, as compared with the controversialists of the preceding age, 
 characterise alike the champions of scepticism and of revealed religion. 
 It was at this time that Protestant Missions received their first real 
 development; that Chalmers inaugurated his efibrts to reconcile political 
 economy with Christianity; that Bentham, despairing of accomplishing 
 anything b}' the aid of the politically powerful classes, threw himself into 
 the ranks of the radicals ; and the almost unheard-of labours of St. Simon 
 and Fourier were laying the foundation of a sect whose first public mani- 
 festation shook the throne of the Barricades, while it seems destined 
 to play a prominent part in the coming perturbations of France. But 
 loud above all the noisy clamour of the controversies which arose out 
 of this seething and ferment of men's intellects and passions, was heard — 
 throughout more than two-thirds of the epoch whose character we 
 have been feebly endeavouring to shadow forth — the uninteruiitting 
 din and clang of arms. There was scarcelj' a corner of our earth that 
 remained altogether imvisited by the scourge of war. And not only was 
 the struggle spread over a field of unprecedented extent ; the multitudes 
 engaged in combat exceeded what had been recorded in the fabulous 
 legends of Egyptian, Assyrian, or Persian armies, while science had 
 augmented the destructive powers of war's implements, and trained in 
 the art of combination intellects perhaps mightier than had ever before 
 been trained to that dreadful trade. The lava flood of conquest swelled 
 out on all sides from the central crater of France, scorching and wither- 
 ing for the moment every growth on the fields over which it rolled. Amid 
 the smothering hot sand-drifts of Africa, through the accumulatin"- snow- 
 drift of Russia, across the glaciers of the Alps, upon the billows of the 
 tempest-tossed ocean, hostile legions closed wdth a hurricane crash, and 
 inveterate hatred clung in the indissoluble death grapple. The revulsion 
 that ensued, and drove the long victorious ranks of Napoleon back to 
 the very walls of Paris, was not an ebb of that sanguine sprino--tide it 
 was the foaming and rush and roar of a higher and more stormy counter- 
 tide. And yet though for well-nigh thirty years the demon of war 
 caracolled in mad triumph over an ensanguined world, the rapid course 
 and progress of the productive arts and the accumulation of wealth was 
 not for a moment arrested. Thanks to chemistry and mechanical 
 
SHELLEV, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 61 
 
 science, the forge roared and the loom rattled with accelerating and 
 accelerated speed throughout this period of deadly contention, rivaling 
 with their clangour even the dread noise of battle; and when peace 
 returned it found Europe and America infinitely more wealth)' and 
 luxurious than at any preceding era of their history. Familiarity with 
 the soldier's trade had no doubt imparted a.rough and reckless tone to 
 the minds of many ; but adversity had braced the minds of all classes, 
 and infused a manly heart into society. Men had learned to feel for 
 others, and to endure themselves with uncomplaining magnanimity. It 
 was an heroic age, an age of great resources; and the suffering which, 
 subsequent to the peace, visited so many firesides, especially of the less 
 wealthy classes, was not the consequence of an inadequate supply of 
 material wealth, but of obstructions in its distribution, aggravated by 
 the sudden transition from a state of war, which had become the normal 
 state of society, to universal peace. 
 
 So stirring a period could not fail to rouse the emotions and fill the 
 imaginations of all who had any spark of jioetry in them. Perhaps at 
 no ejiooh in the history of England has such a preternatural activity 
 informed the national soul. There have been stirring passages in our 
 comparatively recent annals, but those of us who remember the earlier 
 years of the century, have felt that even the commotion of the Reform 
 Bill era was tame in comparison. There was a proud elation in the 
 minds of every sex and every age at the time when every adult male 
 wore a red coat for at least a part of the year ; when England stood alone 
 against a banded world ; and when her allies, one after another, proved 
 false, or were beaten down, instead of quailing before the peril, the men 
 of England laughed in the faces of their foes — caricatured and fought 
 with them at the same time. Gilray, the Michael Angelo of carica- 
 ture, caught in his happier works the impassioned imaginative spirit 
 of the hour, while Campbell, of a more earnest mood, was roused to 
 sing "Of Nelson and the North." The impulse which was felt by poet 
 and artist thrilled even the most commonplace minds, and all in a 
 spirit of deriding defiance, blended with an imaginative enthusiasm. And 
 when the turn of the arduous struggle came at last, how every heart 
 beat high! Moore had died a hero's death at Corunna; England quailed 
 not, but prepared for the worst. The first efforts of Wellesley on the 
 frontiers of Spain and Portugal were tardy, and of dubious promise. 
 But first came the news of one victory, then of another; and then, day 
 after day, tales of triumph trod in such rapid successioia on each other's 
 heels, that the beginning of the one abruptly interrupted the close of 
 that which preceded it. Who that was then alive to witness in the 
 thronged streets of every town and village in England — where eager 
 crowds obstructed the mail-coach, on which the Union-Jack displayed 
 intimated that another field had been fought and won — men, women, and 
 children, deep-toned and shrill, questioning, repeating, rending the welkin 
 with cheers — can forget the emotions that stirred within him, though 
 he should live to the age of Methusalem ? The mighty heart of 
 England beat with one huge pulse. One jubilant sentiment pervaded 
 the nation. And Avhen, in addition to their own triumphs in the Penin- 
 sula and at sea, the English people heard of the successive risings of 
 Eussia and Germany in their might, enthusiasm grew well nigh frantic. 
 
Q2 SHBLLEV, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 The passion which pervaded society was echoed in statelier and more 
 harmonious tones by the great living poets. And their " numerous 
 verse," even in the dreariest hour, shared the attention of the public 
 with the most stirring tales of real life. The present generation is proud 
 of its quick despatch of mails by railway and steam-boat, of its com- 
 munication by electric telegraph, of its large impressions of popular 
 works ; but we of a former age must be allowed to doubt if the thrill of 
 expectation with which new books are waited for, and the acclaim with 
 which they are received, equal in earnestness and power the emotions 
 and their manifestions of the reading public, throughout the first five 
 lustres of the century. When the Quarterly and Edinburgh Keviews 
 were in the first flush of their fame — when a poem by Byron, or Moore 
 or Scott, or a novel by Scott or the author of Anastasius, was waited for 
 with as much anxiety as the news of a victory from the Peninsula, it 
 was worth while to be a successful author. And the other great poets 
 of that day, if they had narrower and less clamorous circles of admirers 
 than those we have named, had perhaps their works received and 
 cherished with a deeper veneration. What interest used to be made in 
 those days for a furtive peep at the forthcoming volumes before publica- 
 tion ! What intriguing there was to get an early sight of " mail coach 
 copies !" And oh ! what fabulous sums were earned by the drawers 
 of prizes in the lottery of literature, in the days when Murray in 
 Albemarle Street, and Constable in Auld Reekie, were scattering gold 
 with all the lavishness of two rival Haroun Alraschids ! This may 
 appear to the unprofessional an anti-climax, but our brethren of the 
 quill, who contrast our own barren field of exertion with the El Dorado 
 of the times which preceded the great commercial crash of the leading 
 publishers, and the success of the cheap publication mania in teaching 
 literatews to sing a " song of the shirt" of their own, will know better, 
 and sympathise with our involuntary sigh. 
 
 In that time, as at all times, adventitious circumstances had a large 
 share in creating the popularity of poets. The relative positions of the 
 great rivals on the scale of merit are somewhat differently adjusted now 
 from what they were then. It may even be that what was then 
 esteemed the chief merit of some of their works, may now be regarded 
 in the light of a blemish, and that beauties may be recognised in them 
 which were formerly overlooked. If, however, the judgment passed 
 upon these distinguished poets in the present day be more discriminating 
 than that pronounced by their contemporaries, it is not less favourable, 
 for the irrevocable fiat has gone forth, that they have shown " titles 
 manifold" to take their place among the mighty masters of English song. 
 It is felt that their works participate in the fulness and power of the age 
 in which they lived ; and the most distinguished of our contemporary 
 bards will be the foremost to acknowledge that their own works, how- 
 ever beautiful and replete with fine and subtle thoughts, are charac- 
 terised by less breadth and weight, have less of fully developed 
 imaginative muscle, are inferior in simple and commanding majesty to 
 those of their great predecessors. To us, whose young hearts and 
 ears were enchained by the spells of these mighty masters when first 
 breathed forth, it is a calm and elevating source of pleasure to sit, in 
 our green old age, feeding on their melodious verse and inspiring 
 
SHELLEYj AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE, 63 
 
 thoughts, and endeavouring to apportion to each his relative degree of 
 merit. It has often occurred to us that the generation which has come 
 to maturity subsequently to the time when their works were ushered 
 into the world, may not be indisposed to listen to our comments. The 
 reception given to the notices of Shelley which have prompted these 
 reminiscences, and our faith in that "pre-established harmony" between 
 the writing public's propensity to gossip and the reading, public's pro- 
 pensity to listen, which we have acknowledged we hold, encourage us to 
 proceed. 
 
 Shelley is not exactly the one of the gifted band who illustrated the 
 close of the eighteenth and the opening of the nineteenth centuries 
 whom we should have chosen to begin with, had we contemplated 
 essaying a profound and systematic series of criticisms. The relation 
 in which he stands to others, both in respect of chronological sequence 
 and of greatness and originality, would have assigned him another 
 place. But as it is the accident of the re-awakened attention to his 
 writings which, has suggested the papers of which this is the first, it 
 seems more in accordance with their unambitious character to follow the 
 first hint, and discourse first of him whom accident thus recalls to our 
 memory. 
 
 A more systematic and exhaustive criticism might have called for an 
 arrangement in accordance with the following considerations. 
 
 Coleridge and Wordsworth, whose earlier poems were composed upon 
 a preconceived theory, and published together, first require our 
 attention. Southey, the friend and intimate associate of both, although 
 not to the full extent a participator in their literary theories, is entitled 
 to the next notice, as having walked along with them, although hand 
 ■passibus cequis. Scott, a poet of a very different class, comes next in 
 order, owing to the influence which the communication of the yet 
 unpublished verses of Coleridge and Wordsworth by their friend 
 Stoddart exercise both on his sentiments and versification. Moore is re- 
 markable for being almost the only poet of his day who entirely escaped 
 the influence of what came to be called " the Lake School," and he 
 would have come next in order. Crabbe and Campbell it is difficult to 
 place, though in the latest writings of the former may be found undeni- 
 able traces of the influence of poets who were much his juniors. Byron, 
 whose impassioned nature and great powers of condensed declamation 
 enabled him to make a more instantaneous impression on his contem- 
 poraries than any of his rivals, must yet be admitted to have caught much 
 reflected light from Coleridge and Wordsworth, chiefly, however, through 
 the medium of Shelley. Leigh Hunt, though inferior in power to any of 
 those already named, except Campbell, was inspired with a genial 
 originality which entitles him to a place in our records. In his poems 
 also we can observe, however, the influence of the " Lakers." Keats 
 and Shelley are inseparable from Leigh Hunt, though the association of 
 the latter is little more than that of a congenial fellow-labourer, while 
 that of the former is rather that of a pupil. In our poetical reminis- 
 cences it would be unpardonable to pass over Charles Lamb, subsisting 
 between the spheres of Coleridge and Hunt. Walter Savage Landor, 
 though better known by his prose, may not be passed over in silence, 
 Others there are who attained to more or less of a name in the course 
 
64 
 
 MTERATURB, 
 
 of the tliirly years to which our recollections have carried us back; but 
 if we shall succeed in conveying to our readers a true and life-like idea 
 of the characteristic beauties of the poets we have already enumerated, 
 we shall have put them in possession of a tolerably just estimate of the 
 poetical character of their age. And this we do not altogether despair 
 of accomplishing, though we take them "promiscuously," instead of 
 arranging them in strict chronological order. Here ends our epilogue, 
 and — Enter Shelley, solus. 
 
 (To le conlimied.) 
 
 BEIEF NOTICES. 
 
 The admirers of Mr. Charles Keade will be glad to have from himself 
 an exposition of his " method in writing." Apropos of a new volume 
 vaguely entitled Cream (Triibner), he gives the clue. " I feign probabili- 
 ties," he says, " and record improbabilities: the former are conjectures, 
 the latter truths : mixed, they make a thing not so true as gospel, nor 
 so false as liistory: viz. Fiction. When I startle you most, think twice 
 before you disbelieve me. AVhat able deceiver aims at shocking cre- 
 dulity ? Distrust rather my oily probabilities. They should be true 
 too, if I could make them ; but I can't : they are guesses." To this 
 Mr. Reade should have appended a brief explanation of the principle on 
 •which he christens his books. The Cream he offers " contains "■ — the 
 right word in the right place, as the title-page assuVes us — two narratives, 
 the Autobiography of a Thief, and Jack of all Trades, a Matter-of-JPact 
 Eomance. Of these the former has floated to the top out of the good things 
 put aside for use, when " Never too Late to Mend " was published. It is 
 the story of Thomas Robinson, who, it will be remembered, while in gaol, 
 was set by the chaplain to write his life honestly ; and a sadly sugges- 
 tive tale it is of temptation and crime, of restless daring and perverted 
 talent. As we understand it, its substantial truth is its chief interest. 
 In Jack of all Trades, which is also cast in the form of an autobio- 
 graphy, Mr. Reade writes with his accustomed vigour ; but while 
 there is much to amuse, there is nothing to add to his reputation. The 
 hero, the son of a fiddle-maker, starting from Seven Dials to live upon 
 his wits, passes rapidly through many small vicissitudes of fortune, and 
 seems likely to end as proprietor of Mademoiselle Djek, an elephant 
 whose accomplishments almost rival his own ; but that celebrity being 
 shot by authority for its cruel vagaries while on a continental tour, he 
 returns home with a pretty wife to begin the \Yorld anew, and to take, 
 we trust, — " sober, watchful, enterprising, energetic, and unlucky " as 
 he may have been — a few lessons in morality that shall teach him how 
 to deserve success. The main portion of his narrative relates to his 
 elephant — one true to its nature, for the full-grown animal is, according 
 to Jack, " the cunningest, most treacherous, and bloodthirsty beast that 
 ever played the butcher among mankind." Dr. Livingstone has 
 demolished the lion — made of him a skulking coward. Jack would 
 reverse our notions in a wholesale way ; and herein appears to lie the 
 moral of his history. " Almost all you have ever lieard about the full- 
 grown elephant's character is a pack of falsities. They are your 
 
LITEHATtJRE. 65 
 
 servants by fear, or they are your masters. Spare the pitchfork, spoil 
 the elephant. There is another animal people misconstrue just as bad : 
 the hyena. Terrible fierce animal the hyena, say BufFon and Co. ; 
 and the world echoes the chant. Fierce, are they ? You get a score of 
 them together into a yard, and you shall see me walk into the lot with 
 nothing but a switch, and see them try to get between the brick and the 
 mortar with the funk ; that is how fierce they are : and they are not 
 only cowardly, but innocent and affectionate into the bargain is the 
 fierce hyena of Buffon and Co. ; but indeed wild animals are sadly 
 misunderstood : it is pitiable : and those that have the best characters 
 deserve it less than those that have the worst." Surely Jack, as the 
 first achievement in his second outstart, has qualified himself for enrol- 
 ment among the Fellows of the Zoological Society. 
 
 "We have laid bare in The Service and the Reward, a Memoir of the 
 late Robert Wilson Roberts, R.N'., by George John Cayley (Oakey), 
 one of the most scandalous cases of official injustice on record. Mr. 
 Koberts, a noble type of the thorough English sailor, was appointed at 
 the_ commencement of the Eussian war — being then a master in Her 
 Majesty's navy — to command the war steamer Cyclops. His efficiency 
 as a vigorous practical officer was soon put to the proof in a manner that 
 none had anticipated, for by him alone was the Crimean expedition 
 rendered possible at the time it was resolved upon. Observing that no 
 sufficient pi-ovision was being made for the embarkation and landing 
 of the cavalry and artillery, on his own responsibility he secured — when 
 Admiral Boxer replied to his representations with the plea of " no 
 orders " — a quantity of the materials which he knew would be wanted, 
 elaborated in his own mind a scheme for constructing pontoons in a simple, 
 rapid, and effectual manner, and on a small scale tested the truth of his 
 theory. When the authorities at last discovered their dilemma, that the 
 French were ready, and everything depended on immediate action, they 
 sent for Roberts — " Was he aware the shipwrights of Constantinople 
 estimated the work at three months, and said there was no material, and 
 could he pretend to do the thing in a week ? " He undertook to do it, and 
 did it, by dint of almost superhuman energy ; five or six of his work- 
 men died in the effort, and he himself, when the strain of anxiety was 
 over, fainted, and remained insensible for some hours. But the thing 
 was done, and the expedition sailed. This was the service ; what was ' 
 the reward ? Sir George Brown had said, " If you do it, you will 
 deserve the thanks of the whole army." Admiral Lyons wrote, " I 
 really do not know what we could have done without you." Sub- 
 sequently, before Sebastopol, the Cyclops towed in the Bellerophon, and 
 fought her own guns in the attack. For the management of his vessel 
 on this occasion. Admiral Lyons declared also that " too much praise 
 could not be given to Mr. Roberts. " When the promotions came out, 
 all lieutenants in copimand received commanders' commissions ; all 
 commanders were made post captains and C.B.s ; but Roberts, as a 
 master, was passed over altogether. Even Lord Raglan asked, " How 
 is it, among all the promotions, there is no mention of Roberts, who 
 really did more for us than anybody?" Admiral Lyons professed^ 
 himself " quite distressed " at the omission, and wrote home as strongly 
 
 p 
 
66 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 as possible in his favour. Lord Eaglan and Sir George Brown both 
 did the same ; but the Admiralty remained deaf to every suggestion, 
 and did nothing for Eoberts but promise " to avail themselves of any 
 fitting opportunity of marking the sense they entertained of his 
 services." It is true, they nominated him to receive twelve shillings a 
 day instead of six ; it is true, they persisted in thrusting upon him 
 the appointment of Master-attendant at Haulbowline, so " fitting " that 
 the doctors advised him it would endanger his life to accept it ; but 
 they steadily refused him his commander's commission, although by 
 an order in council a master is entitled to such " in the event of any 
 particularly distinguished conduct." Meanwhile, disappointment and 
 disease, the consequence of over-exertion, wrought out their own disas- 
 trous issue; and at the close of last year Mr. Eoberts terminated his 
 career, once so full of promise, in a premature death. The facts of 
 this disgraceful case have already received some notice from the public 
 press ; here we have them, with the authenticating documents, in a 
 small compass. There is not a true man but will cry shame. 
 
 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 Altiiohgh the parliamentary month of April has been shortened by the 
 Easter holidays, many interesting topics have been debated. The India 
 Bills of the late and present Government have attracted considerable 
 attention, and the defects of both are admitted. Those who have most 
 strongly opposed the East India Company, complain of the double 
 government, composed of the Court of Directors and of the Board of 
 Control, the former being a screen behind which the latter acts, this 
 division of power really amounting to irresponsibility; while another 
 vicious element in this system of bureaucracy is the Secret Committee, 
 which practically means the autocracy of the President of the Board of 
 Control. In the Bills proposed by Lord Palmerston and Lord Derby, 
 these evils are retained. The former recommends a council of eight 
 members, to be nominated by the Crown; the latter introduces a council 
 of eighteen members, nine of whom are to be appointed by the Queen; 
 the other nine to be elected by certain constituencies. These councils 
 would be as complete a screen to the Indian Secretary of State as the 
 Court of Directors now is to the President of the Board of Control. In 
 both schemes a Secret Committee is established, and the Indian Secretary 
 of State or President is empowered to overrule the advice of the council, 
 and decide all matters according to his own pleasure, will, or caprice. 
 If nothing better can be devised, there is small inducement to abolish 
 the East India Company, for it is unworthy of statesmanship to denounce 
 evils, and perpetuate them under a mere mutation of form. It has been 
 urged with reason, that the Secretary for India should be placed in a 
 position similar to that of the Secretary for the Colonies, who conducts 
 the business of his department without board or council, and thus be- 
 comes in the fullest sense personally responsible for all his acts. 
 
 It was very evident that the plan enunciated by Lord Derby's 
 Government would never receive the sanction of Parliament; to have 
 withdrawn it unconditionally woiild have been a bitter condemnation of 
 
NOTES OF THE MONTH. 67 
 
 the cabinet by which it was framed ; to have pushed it to a division, 
 would have ensured a defeat, in which case no other alternatives were 
 left but resignation or dissolution of the House of Commons. In this 
 crisis Lord John Russell held out a friendly hand to the ministry, which 
 Mr. Disraeli eagerly grasped. Instead of proceeding by bill, Lord John 
 proposed to proceed by resolutions, so that a separate division might be 
 taken on each one of the series. In the warmth of his gratitude, the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer even proposed that the Noble Lord who 
 had rushed to his rescue should himself frame and move the resolutions, 
 but he was soon reminded that a course so exceedingly deferential was 
 tantamount to an abdication of the functions of Government. Mr. Disraeli 
 therefore framed his own resolutions, which retain nearly all that was 
 vicious in the bill, for though they do not avowedly insist on a Secret 
 Committee, the necessity for such a body is impliedly assumed; and 
 as it is not specifically declared that the elected members shall be chosen 
 by the parliamentary votes of the great cities mentioned in the bill, this 
 may be regarded as a concession. 
 
 Many have asked why did Lord John Russell extricate the Govern- 
 ment from their difSculties ? He may have done so conscientiously; 
 and as we deny the right of any man to impute motives to another, we 
 are willing to give him all the merit due to a virtuous impulse. But 
 the spirit of party is not so generous, and attributes his intercession to 
 political tactics. Had Lord Derby been left in a minority, it was on 
 the cards that Lord Palmerston would have been restored to office, 
 which would have prolonged the period of Lord John's banishment from 
 Downing-street. This misfortune was to be avoided. Any immediate 
 attempt by the chief of the historic Whigs to scale the heights of power 
 would be premature, and that section are content that Conservatism 
 shall reign, without governing, till next year, by which time arrange- 
 ments will be matured for their displacement. Then we are told that a 
 coalition will be formed between the historic Whigs and -the advanced 
 liberals, Mr. Bright and Mr. Milner Gibson being admitted into the 
 cabinet. This decisive blow is to be struck through a New Reform Bill, 
 and, to become first minister, Lord John Russell is to accept Vote by 
 Ballot, which he has hitherto opposed. Such is the combination 
 announced by the organs of Lord Palmerston, who may indeed defeat 
 it by joining Lord Derby, when the extreme hour arrives, for a survey 
 of his long career shows him to be the chameleon of politics. 
 
 When Mr. Disraeli first essayed his " 'prentice hand" in framing a 
 budget, he displayed considerable ingenuity in its construction, and 
 candour must admit that, in many of its essential points, it served afe a 
 model to his successor, Mr. Gladstone; but the unwise, if not the politi- 
 callj' insane attempt to double the tax on the £10 householders was his 
 ruin. On the present occasion he has shown more tact and less genius. 
 He has added nothing to his reputation as a financier, but he has kept 
 his place. In all justice it must be admitted that he had to deal with a 
 deficiency, and, to add to his embarrassment, a stagnant trade, the con- 
 sequence of the money panic of 1857. He had to provide for obliga- 
 tions amounting to £67,110,000, while his resources only yielded 
 £63,120,000, thus leaving a deficit of £3,990,000. In this emergency 
 it redounds to his credit that he did not seek to recruit the exhausted 
 
68 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 Exchequer by violating a former understanding which really amounted 
 to the sacredness of a pledge. He allowed the Income Tax to fall from 
 7d to bd., and proposed the discontinuance of the annual payment of 
 the sinking fund for redeeming the Russian War debt, amounting to 
 one million and a half, and postponed the liquidation of two millions of 
 Exchequer Bonds, till the years 1862 and 1863. The next measure 
 was to equalize the Irish Spirit Duties with those of England and Scot- 
 land, from which half a million are anticipated. In this manner provi- 
 sion is made for the four millions of deficit. A new tax was proposed of 
 Id., in the form of a stamp on the cheques drawn on bankers, to be paid 
 by the drawers, from which £300,000 annually is expected. This 
 budget was greatly applauded, and not a single voice was heard in its 
 condemnation; some may have admired it for a simplicity which closely 
 approximates to nothingness, but probably it received general -favour 
 by eluding instead of conquering difficulties. True it is that some of 
 the Irish members complained, but they elicited no sympathy among 
 the representatives of England and Scotland. 
 
 When Lord Derby was last in office, the expenditure for 1852-53 
 was only £50,770,000, while the estimated amount for 1858-59 is put 
 down at £63,600,000. The difference is £12,830,000. The National 
 Debt now figures for £807,000,000, and it is to be increased by the 
 liabilities contracted for the late Russian war. We are proceeding 
 from bad to worse. Of course there will be a certain and ascertained 
 relief in 1860, when the Long Annuities will expire, at which happy 
 period we are promised an extinction of the Income Tax, which we fear 
 will prove an illusion. In our opinion, the debt ought to be a charge 
 on property realised, not on productive industry. A patriotic financier, 
 loving justice and having the moral courage to enforce it, would place 
 the income to be raised within the year in two distinct schedules. In 
 Schedule A, he would insert the interest of the National Debt, now 
 representing £28,400,000, and levy it by a direct tax on realised pro- 
 perty, visible and tangible. It is that property which was mortgaged, 
 and on it the public creditor has a legal and equitable lien; and if it is 
 inconvenient for the debtor to redeem the principal, in all honour he 
 is bound to discharge the annually accruing interest. In Schedule B, 
 should be classed all other items of annual expenditure, which would 
 continue to be raised in the ordinary manner. A budget of this charac- 
 ter would enable us to effect very considerable reductions in customs 
 and excise, and approximate more closely to those principles of free 
 trade which we profess only to violate, for we are deriving £23,400,000 
 from customs, and £18,100,000 from excise — bitter protests against our 
 nominal advocacy of unfettered commerce. Let us be consistent, and 
 willing the end, let" us will the means by which alone that end can be 
 reached. 
 
 In connection with this view of raising revenue by an equitable dis- 
 tribution of the burdens between property and labour, we must offer 
 some few remarks on the true principle of free trade, about which some 
 grave errors are prevalent. From the configuration of this globe, the 
 difference of climates, the diversity of products, the phenomena of the 
 trade winds, and the properties of the magnetic needle, we may safely 
 pronounce international exchanges as ordained in the moral government 
 
NOTES OF THE MONTH. 69 
 
 of God ; but it by no means follows that such exchanges should be indis- 
 criminate and unregulated. To us the true principle seems to be this: 
 let each nation admit freely such commodities as it may require, but 
 which it cannot produce in sufficient abundance, and rigidly exclude all 
 those which it can produce in sufficient abundance. This line of dis- 
 tinction is broad and clear. Why tax the products of tropical realms, the 
 growth of which our climate denies? Why add to the cost of tea, sugar, 
 coffee, or wine? Is not such conduct a wilful and wicked interception 
 of the bounties of Providence? On the other hand, why admit on any 
 terms foreign goods which native industry can create ? In the former 
 case we deprive our mechanics and artisans of the comforts and neces- 
 saries of life ; in the latter case we reduce their wages, and even deprive 
 them of work. The foreigner, having the same goods to dispose of as 
 our people can produce, only brings them inljo our market because he 
 can undersell us, and thus aggravates a competition already too severe. 
 The result is that form of cheapness which means much labour for little 
 money, enhancing the purchasing power of all those classes who live on 
 fixed annuities, while it lowers the wages of all those classes by whose 
 labour those annuities are paid. It is the cruel and selfish triumph of 
 the drones over the working bees. 
 
 During the first nine months of last year, the declared value of our ex- 
 ports kept rising higher and higher. The city editor of The Times was 
 in ecstasy, and sang the praises of free trade in the loftiest strain. These 
 exports had indeed augmented since 1849, and all the results were 
 ascribed to the commercial policy of Sir Robert Peel. Not one word 
 was said of the facilities afforded by the auriferous discoveries of 
 Australia and California, of the natural increase of mankind, of the 
 enlarging population of our colonies, or of the more vigorous prosecution 
 of the industrial arts throughout Europe and the United States, after a 
 long cessation from hostilities. The vaunted prosperity was described 
 as solid and enduring. There was no undue speculation, no overtrading. 
 The Bank Charter Act and open ports, that is, a fettered currency and 
 free trade, curious contradictions, had achieved a miracle. Towards the 
 close of 1857, a monied panic broke out. Millions of property were 
 annihilated, as proved in the Courts of Bankruptcy ; and millions more 
 were lost by private compositions. As in 1847, so in 1857, the Bank 
 Charter Act was suspended, but with this important difference. In the 
 former the Bank did not exceed its issues, in the Iiitter they did by two 
 millions. It was now ascertained that the boasted prosperity was a foul 
 tumefaction, an inflated bubble, and soon it burst reeking with rottenness. 
 Speculative consignments, to raise money on bills of lading, had been 
 made to distant markets, and sold by auction for what they would fetch, 
 very frequently less than the cost of production; and it was proved that 
 the extent of trade, measured by increasing exports, was the measure of 
 increasing loss. Internal trade had expanded to colossal dimensions by 
 swindling acceptances, and the city editor of The Times had to recant 
 his fulsome panegyrics. Free trade had tu^-ned out nothing more than 
 free booty. 
 
 The Board of Trade accounts for the month of March, and for the 
 first three montlis of the year, continue to prove that the country has 
 not yet recovered from the late disastrous convulsions. The following 
 firtiires exhibit the decrease in the exports. 
 
70 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 Month ending Three Months ending 
 E:tport3. 3l8t March. 3Ist March. 
 
 1856 £9,448,570 £25,149,103 
 
 1857 10,456,348 28,827,493 
 
 1858 9,000,274 23,510,290 
 
 Upon the month compared with the corresponding month of 1856, the 
 diminution amounts to £448,296, and compared with that of 1857, it is 
 no less than £1,456,074. If we take the three months, the falling oif 
 is £1,088,813 as against the year 1856, and no less than £5,317,203 
 as compared with 1857. Thus the first quarter of the current year 
 exhibits a decline in exports which, calculated on the whole year, 
 amounts to £21,000,000, while our expenditure increases and our 
 revenue contracts. However, we are reminded for our consolation, that 
 if we are doing a smaller trade, it is sound; but even that remains to 
 be proved. We have no reason to repose faith in the prophets who 
 deceived us in 1857. 
 
 One of the most important events of the last month was the trial of 
 Dr. Bernard, as an accessary before the fact to the attempted assassina- 
 tion of the Emperor Napoleon. After a protracted trial of five days 
 and a half he was acquitted by the jury of the felony with which he was 
 charged, and the Attorney- General has since declared that he will 
 abandon the prosecution for misdemeanour. Some of the French journals, 
 especially those under ultramontane influence, and who hate England 
 because she holds the Protestant faith, are very indignant at the verdict, 
 forgetting that a French jury acquitted Cantillon of attempting to murder 
 the Duke of Wellington, though he was seized with the pistol in his 
 hand, so that the evidence of guilt was direct, whereas in the case of 
 Dr. Bernard it was circumstantial. At the banquet held in honour of 
 Marshal Pelissier, Duke of MalakofF, at the United Service Club, that 
 illustrious soldier, speaking of the alliance between France and England, 
 truly said that it could only be durable so long as each nation respected 
 the honour of the other. In what is national honour more delicate and 
 more sacred than in the administration of justice ? On a criminal 
 trial there can be no appeal from the sentence profiounced, and wise 
 men are silent when the voice of the jury has been heard. Mr. James 
 did not exceed the privilege of a barrister, or the judge would have 
 called him to order ; but whether he executed his duty with good taste 
 may be doubted. His eloquence was not of a high order ; all its strenn-th 
 was derived from coarseness, for it displayed neither polish nor refine- 
 ment. He did not wield the shining rapier, but the sledge-hammer. 
 In solemnity it was wholly deficient, and compared with the impressive 
 peroration of Jules Favre, who defended Orsini, it pales before that 
 brilliant contrast. It was moreover injudicious. The question was not 
 whether Louis Napoleon was a despot, but whether Bernard was an 
 assassin, and the abuse of the former could in no way aid the acquittal 
 of the latter. To adopt any such conclusion would be a libel on the 
 jury, who conscientiously pronounced a verdict on the merits of the 
 case, as proved in evidence. Louis Napoleon, however men may judge 
 his general conduct, is a man of sagaciry, well acquainted with our 
 institutions, of which he formerly wrote in terms of the highest admira- 
 tion ; and though he may have been disappointed at the result of the 
 
NOTES OF THE MONTH. 71 
 
 trial, he will not remonstrate against the decision. He is well aware 
 that the existing alliance is more valuable to himself than to us. 
 
 The Emperor of the French is perfectly familiar with English habits, 
 and is not to be misled as to the real desire of the English people 
 for a cordial alliance between England and France by the casual 
 cheers of a metropolitan populace, or by the cheap virulence of (not 
 altogether the most modest) hired advocacy. Doubtless the 'passions 
 to which the advocate appealed may have had their effect in inducing 
 the jury to grasp more readily at a doubt within their reach. The 
 doubt was, and is, whether the prisoner was not the dupe rather 
 than the accessary of the conspirators; whether he did not genuinely 
 believe in the rising in Italy, and the weapons were prepared for such 
 an outbreak — a crime which, though undoubtedly treason at common 
 law (an encroachment on the royal prerogative of peace and war), 
 was, in the first place, not the charge on which he was indicted, and 
 secondly, was not treason by statute. 
 
 The legal difficulties were great. How could a man be convicted 
 as accessary till some one was convicted as principal ? and how could 
 any one be convicted as principal if he were not present — or after his 
 death ? Perhaps it is as well that they have not to be solved in this 
 case. What ministers may do, we know not; but as the law is in a 
 most unsatisfactory condition, their proper course'is clearly to appoint 
 a commission to inquire, and, having inquired, to pass a declaratory 
 act, stating what the law is on the subject. Evidently it will never do 
 to let fillibustering expeditions be fitted out ad libitum on both sides of 
 the Atlantic. 
 
 Another leading topic of the past month involves the future stability 
 of our banking system. The Royal British Bank has been prosecuted, 
 and several of its directors committed to prison, though attempts have 
 been made to obtain a new trial on the ground of misdirection by the 
 judge. It has been complained that this prosecution was exceptional, 
 however justly merited, and that similar proceedings ought to have been 
 instituted against the Tipperary, the London and Eastern, the Borough 
 Bank of Liverpool, and the Northumberland and Durham, which last 
 the lords justices consider must be wound up in Bankruptcy. Perhaps 
 in "bad pre-eminence" the Western of Scotland stands foremost. Mr. 
 Brady brought its failure before the House of Commons on the 16th 
 ult. It has been established for about a quarter of a century, starting 
 with a capital of £1,500,000, and possessed the power of issuing bank 
 notes to the extent of £337,000. It soon acquired popularity and 
 confidence, and received deposits to the amount of five millions, so that 
 its trading capital represented nearly seven millions sterling, an enor- 
 mous sum to be concentrated in a single establishment. This was one 
 of the consequences of Peel's Act of 184.5, which forbade the creation of 
 new banks, and gave a future monopoly to all existing at that date. 
 This, indeed, was the notorious bribe by which opposition to the 
 measure in Scotland had been disarmed. It is also known that at the 
 very period of this intrusive legislation four or five new banks were 
 about being established, and the dread of competition induced the pro- 
 prietary of the old institutions to abandon their recorded convictions, 
 and accede to the monetary revolution which they had previously 
 denounced in bitter terms. Business increased, but as the banking 
 
72 THE BANK CHARTER ACT. 
 
 channels were not enlarged, it was tightly compressed within a narrow 
 space, and hence the enormous deposits accumulated in the western 
 Bank, and the magnitude of the disaster we have witnessed.^ Ignorant 
 legislation, therefore, has much to answer for in this calamity ; never- 
 theless the guilty parties ought not to be screened, especially as the 
 articles of copartnership bound the directors, upon the loss of one- 
 fourth of the capital, to convene the shareholders and wind up the 
 business. When Mr. Brady brought the subject before Parliament, 
 the Lord Advocate justified himself in not interfering on the ground 
 that the public prosecutor in Scotland was not a police officer, and that 
 the parties aggrieved must seek reparation at their own cost. As an 
 instance of this disastrous trading, Mr. Cowan stated that in 1849 the- 
 firm of Macdonald and Co., now bankrupt, paid for interest £2,800; 
 in 1856, £19,000 ; and in 1857, £40,000. No business could stand 
 against such heavy exactions. Without extending our remarks on the 
 Western of Scotland, perhaps not more guilty than others which have 
 failed, so far as moral principle is involved, it appears to us that a clear 
 case is made out, not only for judicial but also for legislative action. 
 
 THE BANK CHAE.TEB ACT 
 
 " CONVEETIBILITr." 
 
 We are now, perhaps, sufficiently recovered from the Panic of 1857, 
 to be able to consider calmly the amount of success which has attended 
 our sacrifices for a Gold Standard. The following Table, which will be 
 continued in every future number, shows how far the Bank of England 
 can contribute, by exhausting her last sovereign and her last shilling, to 
 the fiction of a " Metallic Currency." 
 
 BANK EETUEN 0¥ APEIL' 22nd, 1858. 
 
 LI.\BIL1TIES. 
 
 Notes Issued .' £32,273,405 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 11,755,375 
 
 20,518,030 
 
 Public Deposits 3,324,285 
 
 Other Deposits 16,007,987 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 875,458 
 
 40,725,760 
 
 ASSETS. 
 
 In the Issue Department : 
 Gold Coin and Bullion £17,798,405 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 
 Gold and Silver Coin 785,978 
 
 ■ 18,584,383 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not fat, on April 20th, 
 
 1858, in gold or silver £22,141,377 
 
73 
 
 EDITH CLAREL: 
 
 A STOEY I'EOM THREE POINTS OF VIEW. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A MEPHISTOPHEIilAir INTEIifOLATION'. 
 
 Denzil -wrote the greater part of the above rhapsody after comiDg 
 home from the Clarels' the night we dined there together for the 
 first time. It was only the third or fourth, time they had met. Their 
 acquaintance was little more than a week old ; but it was plain 
 enough to me that it was a case. 
 
 My pretensions were distanced in no time.' To be sure, I knew 
 beforehand that they would suit one another to a turn ; but I must 
 confess it hurt my vanity a little to see how suddenly he had wiped 
 out in a few days all the impression I had been so patiently and 
 elaborately studying to create in as many mouths. But that's au 
 old story. "Women are as changeable as the wind. It is true, I had 
 lately been doing my best to break oif; but still I had flattered 
 myself that it would have been rather a more delicate and painful 
 job than it turned out. 
 
 Pshaw ! it's the same with all these women of high cultivation and 
 acute sensations. Their love is all a wilful whim — there's no sub- 
 staace in it. Why, poor Betsy, false as she was, had a heart that 
 would make three or four such as that galvanised doll's. 
 
 A fine lady's feelings are all like guitar strings. There's a fine 
 little shrill tinkling music when they're in tune ; but every now and 
 then comes a snap and a crash. It's all done at such an unnaturally 
 high pitch of tension. 
 
 Well ! I'm getting bitten with the philosophic maundering style — 
 I suppose from puzzling over Denzil's disquisitions. I must go to 
 the point and tell the reader a little of what was to be observed by 
 anybody who had his eyes open at.that dinner party, since Denzil's 
 rhapsody is very little to the purpose. 
 
 There was nobody there but ourselves. Denzil took her down. 
 At first they were rather shy, and I had to work a little small-talk 
 with the mother. But at last some subject broke cover, and their 
 cohversation ran rather wild. Denzil was never a very certain talker; 
 he had no art of talking unless he was interested. But when 
 he once got a start he could talic for hours in a fanciful flighty way. 
 
 JS[o, 2.— Vol. I. * a 
 
74 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 She kept it up very well too ; and I soon saw that she talked to 
 liim in a diiFerent way from what she used to talk to me. She used 
 to throw ilies over me to get a rise, and lay ingenious conversation 
 traps, such as a fellow might easy put his foot in if he didn't keep a 
 bright look out. But with Denzil she seemed to pour herself out 
 with full confidence, and let loose all her quiverful of strange 
 opinions. 
 
 They went on the same after dinner, but I couldn't follow it. I 
 was left high and dry on a sofa, talking fashionable gossip to the 
 mother. 
 
 Occasionally in our pauses we heard snatches of their colloquy — 
 Italy and Greece— pictures, statues, churches, ruins, history, poetry, 
 and philosophy. Both were talking their share and seemed to listen 
 as intently as they talked. 
 
 Clarel, who is usually absorbed in a French novel, or goes to sleep 
 over some choice Italian poet bound in vellum, sat up in his arm 
 chair, laid down his book, and became partly conscious that something 
 was going on in real life. He joined in the conversation too, here 
 and there — and seemed to say something to the point. I had never 
 seen him talk with any show of interest before. He was generally 
 so lackadaisical and absent that this surprised me. Moreover he did 
 not seem to disturb the current of their tete-a-tete. So it was clear 
 they were not talking about themselves, which is the ordinary 
 resource of young ladies and gentlemen to make their conversation 
 interesting. 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Clarel, with that perspicuously uncon- 
 scious ingenuity which peculiarly belongs to the mothers of marriage- 
 able daughters, turned the channel of our fashionable gossip towards 
 the subject of my friend Denzil. What a handsome, agreeable, and 
 intelligent person he was, and how much he had travelled ! What a 
 pretty name it was! A historical name in Parliament she had under- 
 stood. (Evidently Edith had told her that, for I am sure she knew 
 nothing about English history.) And of what county was his family? 
 She had a curiosity about family genealogies (witness many weary 
 hours, when I was working the speculation on my own account, 
 devoted to tales of the greatness of the Macarthys.) She had 
 looked for his name in Burke's " Landed Gentry," but had not 
 found it. 
 
 To these significant inquiries I made reply, that in Burke's 
 " Landed Gentry" he was by no means to be found. That he was a 
 man of very ancient blood, but of no family whatever ; and of very 
 decent fortune, but not a square foot of landed property. 
 
 " Tou always speak in riddles, Mr. Knyvett," cries the worthy 
 dame in a paroxysm of curiosity. 
 
EDITH CLAUEL. 75 
 
 "The explanation of this wonderful enigma is exceedingly simple," 
 I replied ; " Denzil is the illegitimate son of the late Marquis of 
 Tunbridge." Mrs, Clarel'a countenance fell, and she seemed con- 
 siderably disheartened. 
 
 "Lord Tunbridge," I continued, "never married, and left no other 
 acknowledged children. His title became extinct, and he had quar- 
 relled with some distant relation who pretended to be his heir-at-law" 
 (here Mrs. C. brightened up a little) ; " so that he- bequeathed all 
 he had to leave to Denzil " (decided sensation) ; " it proved not to 
 be so much as might have been expected even from the wreck of a 
 fortune originally so princely" — here Mrs. C. coughed. " Lord Tun- 
 bridge was a man of great taste and accomplishment, but perfectly 
 reckless in his morality, expenditure, and play. He gave foolish 
 prices for pictures and statues, and was insanely fond of all sorts of 
 bricabraquerie, which he bought on his own judgment of its merit 
 without any other proof of genuineness. However, he certainly 
 picked up some beautiful things. 
 
 " When he died," I continued, "he left everything unconditionally 
 to Denzil, who was about seventeen at that time. The great estates 
 in Essex were over head and ears in mortgages. The great house in 
 Cavendish Square was let on a long lease to the Eussian Embassy. 
 There were considerable debts to tradesmen, and a few legacies princi- 
 pally to ladies. 
 
 " Denzil's inheritance, for so young a man, must have been a very 
 embarrassing one — the principal features of his case being a crowd 
 of troublesome mortgagees and hungry creditors, with a total absence 
 of ready money. To add to his complications, he was in great grief 
 at his father's loss, for the amiable side of the wicked old marquis's 
 character had been his parental affection for Denzil. 
 
 " What could he do, poor boy ? No doubt it would have been 
 wiser to sell only a part of the property and attempt to re-arrange 
 the interest of the mortgages. But he was in a hurry to get rid of 
 the responsibility. He sold off everything, except the small house 
 in Park Lane, where his father died, and where he now lives himself, 
 and a very pretty house it is, only too full of old curiosities. 
 
 " After he had paid off the mortgages, debts, and annuities, there 
 ■was ninety odd thousand pounds left, which he bought into the funds 
 and gets rather over three thousand a year — very respectable 
 pauperism for a batchelor, though there is no doubt he was done 
 shamefully. I have heard that Lord Tunbridge's attorney made a 
 fortune out of the transaction, and that Lord Polemarch, who 
 bought the greater part of the property, got it full ten per cent, below 
 its value. However, he has kept besides the family jewels and what 
 -plate, pictures, and statues there were in the Park Lane house, and 
 
76 JLDITH CLAKEI,, 
 
 they are said to be wotth a mint of money, though it's all locked up 
 in them so as to be of no particular use to anybody. 
 
 " But who was the mother ?" said Mrs. Clarel. 
 
 " She was the daughter of one Captain Denzil, a man of respect- 
 able birth and very disreputable life— an acquaintance of Lord Tun- 
 bridge's ; but to do him justice, he had no hand in the connection. 
 He gamed away his property, married an Italian woman of doubtful 
 character, and drank himself to death in Brussels, about the year 
 '22, leaving his widow and daughter entirely penniless. 
 
 " The daughter was about sixteen, and remarkably beautiful. I 
 have seen her picture. An auburn Titian beauty, with a sad expres- 
 sion. Denzil has her eyes. She died a year after his birth. Her 
 mother still lives on a pretty little property near Kesole — probably 
 purchased with the proceeds of her daughter's sale. Denzil and I 
 went to see her when we were in Italy three years ago — a wicked- 
 looking old witch, with white hair and black piercing eyes. She 
 hugged him, and howled over him in a way that was terrible even to 
 see." 
 
 " "What a" strange history!" said Mrs. Clarel, who did not seem 
 much to like the latter part of it. I was the more communicative 
 on the mother's side of the pedigree, because I saw that the money, 
 family jewels, and house in Park Lane, had taken decided eifect. 
 Besides it was not my cue to make things too easy for him. It was 
 not my object to make him marry oif in a hurry, or indeed at all. 
 I only wanted to tether him down in a tangled courtship, which I 
 thought I might trust to the accidents of a fanciful and romantic 
 temperament on either side to break off in due course, as romantic 
 courtships for the most part end. 
 
 I certainly felt jealous of Denzil and angry with Edith, in a 
 manner that I had not anticipated — for I could scarcely be said to be 
 in love with her — and had at that time altogether given up the idea 
 of marrying her. Still I began to feel a decided antagonism to the 
 courtship I had myself established. And as we walked home, and 
 Denzil was pouring Edith's eulogies into my ear, I said to myself, 
 " Tou are both of you putting your foot in it, my pretty couple, and 
 I shall be able to help to lead you a nice dance, I think, Tou will 
 have your doubts and cold fits before long, and I shall be the inter- 
 preter. We shall see." 
 
EDITH CLAREL. ^^ 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 (From EdiWs FinTc Boole.) 
 CAEECOMBE. 
 
 To-DAZ we came home. Home is to me a strange word. It is 
 a strange place, too, and yet not altogether unfamiliar. It seems 
 like some quaint old mansion one has read of in a story, and after- 
 wards dreamed about, assuming some character of the story in one's 
 dream. I was here only once before, and that was when I was quite 
 a child ; so that my recollections of Caercombe were very dim. 
 It must be nearly twelve years ago; 
 
 I should never have thought of the expression " coming home " if 
 it had not been for Mrs. Cruett, the faded old housekeeper. She 
 was standing on the hall-steps, in a limp grey silk gown that must be 
 at least a century old, as we drove over the rattling drawbridge, 
 under the portcullis arch, into the cloistered court. 
 
 She looked as grim and mediaeval — as much an immemorial part of 
 the establishment as the heraldic griffins carved in grey stone over the 
 doorway of the hall. Mrs. Cruett seemed overcome by her feudal 
 emotions at first. Her bony knuckles twitched, and her puckered lips 
 trembled as she clutched my father's hand and kissed it. When she 
 found her voice, she said in a very shaky treble, " God bless you, 
 Master Philip ! welcome home once more." 
 
 " Home !" thought I, as I looked round at the queer old mullioned 
 lattice windows above the cloister columns of the court, and the weird 
 grey stone faces of the spoutheads leering wickedly at one another 
 from the battlement, and then turned to the faded Mrs. Cruett again, 
 as she stood in the damp sepulchral Gothic folds of her grey silk 
 finery. 
 
 Mrs. Cruett had relapsed froin her effusion of feeling into prim 
 ceremonious courtesies and expressions for my mother's benefit, when 
 she caught my eye. " And, gracious me, is this little mis§ ?" she 
 cried, taking me by both hands as if I had been a child, and regarding 
 me with rather grim approbation. " She has grew quite a lady, I 
 declare. Now you'll hardly remember the old place at all, miss, I 
 dare say. Leastways, you've quite grew out of my recollections — 
 which a sweet little creature you was then, miss, and very wilful." 
 
 By this time we had got into the hall, which has a peaked roof, 
 with oaken rafters and a lantern. The walls are wainscotted about 
 eight feet up, and on rudely carved oaken pedestals in the corners 
 stand suits of armour like rusty iron husks of men, with mouldy 
 masks in the helmets. There was a smouldering log fire deep in 
 between the Gothic pillars of a great atone chimney. 
 
EDITH CLAllEL. 
 
 On tbe high mantle cornice stands a very massive and dismal bust 
 of the founder, with a bald head, broad square-cut beard, high ruif, 
 and Latin inscription. Over his head the oaken panelling goes up 
 in a kind of scroUy trophy (surmounted by faded and tattered pen- 
 nons) containing a carved and painted piece of blazonry, with innu- 
 merable quarterings. 
 
 The walls are hung above the wainscotting with full-length 
 parchment-faced, peak-bodied, puify-thighed, long-stockinged, round- 
 toed ancestors, in dilapidated black frames. 
 
 The sunshine slanted in through stained windows on a vast 
 collection of packages— arm-chairs, sofas, a grand piano, and other 
 furniture, watli their legs in the air; all clothed in sackcloth and swathed 
 in haywisps, being material newly arrived to smarten us up for 
 modern hospitalities. Some heavy oaken chairs stand about a huge 
 oaken table in the upper end of the hall, which is raised in a step 
 about a foot high, a little to the right of the doorway. 
 
 We turned the other way, towards what seemed to be a combina- 
 tion of a staircase and a bridge, the steps leading up under the 
 platform ; the whole of this strange contrivance of heavy stanchions, 
 steps, platform, and balustrades, being of black shiniug oak. Among 
 the stanchions lean some worm-eaten lances and rusty halberds — 
 apparently for the purpose of hooking and spearing any unfortunate 
 victim who might fall over; or as a warning to be cautious in 
 ascending or descending these formidable stairs. 
 
 The platform at the top opens upon a corridor going round the 
 interior of the upper story, over the cloister. Tlie rooms on the 
 upper story have been modernised, so far as furniture, carpets, cur- 
 tains, and mirrors. Some of the old oak carving has been painted 
 white, and picked out with gold. The white paint is .rather yellow^ 
 by this time, and the gilding is rather brown. But the front rooms 
 are cheerful, lit with broad deep bay windows. The two corner 
 rooms are the drawing-room and library, and there is a billiard-room 
 between. We dined in tlie library, and papa complained that the 
 dinner got cold coming such a distance, and says we must dine in the 
 hall, where I think we shall get cold ourselves. 
 
 The hall is a very dreary place by candle-light. I went round the 
 house before retiring for the night. It is a very "ghosty" house, 
 and I am sure must be haunted. Cousin Ambrose said at dinner 
 that I reminded him of some of the family pictures ; he thought it 
 was the pale lady in the tapestry chamber. I asked who she was, 
 but papa frowned at him, and he stopped short ; so there was a 
 pretty little mj^stery at once. 
 
 Papa is rather superstitious, and I should not at all wonder if 
 there was a ghost in the family. I said nothing more about it ; but 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 79 
 
 •when cousin Ambrose went home to the rectory, and they went to 
 bed, I went and peeped into all the spare bed-rooms round the 
 corridor; and sure enough, in the north-east turret, 1 found one 
 hung with faded arras. There was a wonderful ancient bed, and the 
 furniture had not been modernised like the other bed-rooms. 
 
 Over the chimney-piece was the portrait of the pale lady, a very 
 interesting face and a good picture. It looks like a Vandyke. The 
 expression is very melancholy; the eyes have a wild and wistful 
 look that is very strange and fascinating. I shall make out her 
 history to-morrow from Mrs. Cruett. 
 
 In the meantime the hoarse old belfry clock has struck twelve, 
 and I am not the least bit sleepy. I have been describing the place 
 in my journal in hopes of going to sleep over it, for descriptions are 
 drowsy things hoth to write and to read. And besides, some day, 
 when I am far away, and all the present time has faded into the dim 
 distance of memory, I shall like to be able to recur to the first im- 
 pressions of my home. 
 
 The moon is shining in through my muUion window. I think I 
 must do a little description of the out-door scenery to finish me oS 
 for the night. 
 
 I have been leaning out of my window till I am cold, and my fire 
 is gone out. I have been watching the broad moon's face in the 
 dappled water of the moat, where the stream comes rippling into it 
 from under one of the garden bridges. 
 
 The garden is a formal oblong of box-edged diagrams, through 
 which the Caer floats slowly along its bricked channel, crossed here 
 and there by bridges, and expanding into fish pools square and 
 round. The trees of the garden are trimmed into grotesque shapes, 
 as also is the venerable yew hedge which keepsthe kitchen garden 
 out of sight. In front of both gardens is a square piece of water 
 about as large as the two put together. 
 
 On the opposite side of it stand some weird old Scotch firs, whose 
 tortuous stems and arms at random swung, silvered by the moon, 
 stand out from the dark wood behind, and writhe down reflected in 
 the still black water. Beyond the corner of the wood, sloping down 
 towards the south, undulate the dark-plumed knolls of the park, 
 thwarting here and there the dimly-luminous horizon of the sea, 
 which lies some six or seven miles away. 
 
80 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 (From the Pink Boole.) 
 COUSIN AMBROSE. 
 
 I AM glad we have come down a week before the arrival of our 
 guests, so as to make acquaintance with the old place in the silence 
 of its long-untenanted desolation. It will be pleasant to see it 
 brighten up, as the brown sackcloth and hay-wisp furniture-buds of 
 the hall unfurl themselves into gay carpets and curtains, and the 
 house blossoms into a sense of habitableness once more. 
 
 Csusin Ambrose oiFered to arrange everything for us before our 
 arrival, and indeed has been most kind and thoughtful as it is, going 
 carefully over the house at first and sending us word of the things 
 wanted. And then, when he found, as he said, that we were dawd- 
 ling hopelessly, he got so fidgetty that he was obliged to come up to 
 town himself; and certainly did more in four or five days than we all 
 had done in as many weeks. 
 
 Cousin Ambrose has a great deal of taste and savoir faire. His 
 manner and appearance are a little' solemn, under which there is 
 sometimes a twinkle of sly humour. I have sometimes thought his 
 seriousness was rather afiected, as a part of clerical costume ; but 
 there is a vein of pomposity in his nature. Mr. Knyvett told me he 
 was called the Archdeacon at college. 
 
 Cousin Ambrose, by the way, seemed rather shocked on hearing 
 that Mr. Knyvett was invited to come here ; calling him " that profli- 
 gate," which is rather a hard word. He seemed also to have a 
 dislike to Mr. Denzil, of whom, however, he said no worse than that 
 he was flighty and Quixotic, full of wild vagaries, and without any 
 settled opinions. 
 
 I defended Mr. Denzil, whom I like very much, and said that lie 
 had a great range of imaginative thought. Upon vrhich cousin 
 Ambrose replied, " These imaginative thoughts are the winged seed 
 of the mind's weeds. Good seed is heavy and must be planted; 
 good fruit comes of careful grafting. The natural mind is a garden 
 of thistles and nettles, or an orchard of sour seedlings." He spoke 
 in so glossy and didactic a tone, that I (being a little hurt at the 
 depreciation of a person whom I had condescended to approve of) 
 said I was sure that eloquent passage vi as from the sermons of some 
 ancient divine, Tillotson, or Stillingfleet, or the judicious Hooker. 
 But though an excellent commonplace, I did not think it applicable 
 to Mr. Deuzil more than anybody else. At which he seemed a 
 little rufiled, and has said no more about either Mr. Denzil or Mr. 
 Knyvett since. 
 
EDITH CLABEL. 81 
 
 When I awoke this morning, Gaetana was drawing back the broad 
 curtain across my window bay, and the sunshine was streaming into 
 the room. My dreams had been in some other part of the world, 
 and I was a moment or two before I remembered where I was. 
 
 " Cara signorina mia," said she; "I do not kpow how you can 
 sleep so beautifully in this terrible house! I have passed a night — 
 and such anight! that — ^Madonna ! I have not been able to close 
 the eye, I was so frightened ; and I have such a headache, and feel 
 all cramped in my limbs this morning." 
 
 I looked at her and saw that her large dark fringed eyes were 
 swollen and watery ; and she wore that almost ludicrously profound 
 expression of grievous ill-usage under which her features always 
 remind me of a tragic mask in Grreek sculpture. So boldly cut in 
 form, and so deeply abandoned to the simplicity of despair unaffected 
 and undissembled, as to border on caricature ; but of that classic 
 period of art when even caricature could not dispense with beauty. 
 
 " What is Wie matter, my pretty Gaetana ?" said I ; " tell 
 me all your misfortunes, and I will try to comfort you." I 
 knew she could often be deeply "melancholy on very slight materials ; 
 that, since she came to England, loneliness has been a considerable 
 ingredient in her misfortunes ; and that a kind word and a little 
 Italian gossip often go near to remove her fit. She came and sat on 
 my bed, took one of my hands and kissed it, and held it to her 
 breast. 
 
 " You have a good heart, my mistress, but you will only laugh at 
 me ; for you English neither fear nor believe anything. But I was 
 very unhappy when I went' to bed. The iron grating before my 
 window made me think of my poor father that died a prisoner in the 
 Vicaria. And Madama Garrueta, the housekeeper, showed me a bad 
 countenance. I think that old woman has the evil eye. And the foot- 
 men with white legs said things to me that I could not understand, 
 thougli I am beginning to speak English, and can ask for nearly all I 
 want at table. But I knew that " they were mocking me, for the 
 housemaids laughed so much. And Monzu Crenon, the valet, 
 gave himself patronising airs, and spoke loftily to the men with 
 white legs, and they put their tongues in their cheeks. And Zulian, 
 the cook, who is usually kind to me, and takes my part (because we 
 are both Italians, though he is a Venetian and I am Ischian), was 
 very cross, because he said the charcoal was bad, and hardly a bar 
 at the bottom of the fornacelle. But I think in my own mind that it 
 was because Monzu Crenon made him jealous. It was not my fault 
 that Monzu sat on the box with me behind the carriage! I cannot 
 look at Monzu without horror. But Zulian said an ugly word to 
 mo, and did not sit nest to me at supper. I think Zulian has a dog's 
 
82 EDITH CLAllEL. 
 
 heart. Aud when I came up to undress you, and thought you 
 ■would say a word or two that perhaps would console me, you were 
 busy writing, abd only said, '<to to bed, Graetana! good night !' So 
 I went to my room, and when I touched the walls they seemed all 
 damp. So I got a pan of charcoal ; I think Zulian ia right : the 
 charcoal is bad in this country. It made a most ugly smell so that 
 I was almost suffocated. And the walls are damp, for this morning 
 the figures of the Madonna Delia Carmine and Saint Antonio, that I 
 pinned up over my bed, are quite limp, though they had been crisp 
 with being rolled in my box. Then I lay awake and thought of my 
 home, and cried. I thought of my poor mother who died of a broken 
 heart almost a year after my father. I thought of our cottage on the 
 mountain, where I used to sit before the door in the shadow of the 
 fig-trees and vines weaving at my ribbon loom, when my betrothed 
 Antonio would sit by me and tell me stories about the coast of 
 Barbary and the coral reefs, and the midst of the sea. I cannot 
 keep anything I love. I have a bad destiny. He was to have 
 married me that summer. How I waited for him with my whole 
 heart ! Day after day as the boats came in I waited at the Marina. 
 At last his boat came. I knew the sail, for there was a dark patch 
 in the corner; how my heart leaped for joy when I saw it! But 
 when I strained my eyes for my Antonio, and thought, ' Why does he 
 not wave something white that I may see him ?" the boat came nearer 
 and still I looked in vain, and the faces of the men were sad when 
 they saw me, and they said, ' Poor Gaetana !' At last they told me 
 he was dead with a sun stroke. He died raving of me they said. 
 His bones lie among the coral reefs without Christian burial. But I 
 have had masses said to refresh him, poor soul, and the souls of my 
 parents. And while I lay awake thinking of these things and 
 weeping, I heard strange voices in the house ; and I thought it was 
 the monacella. And then there was a wind came from the sea, and 
 with it there began such a groaning and creakiug and clanking of 
 chains at my very window, that. Madonna ! I nearly died of fright ; 
 and I thought every moment bhe monacella would break into my 
 room. And I should think that the monacella of a great sad old 
 paldezo like this, and an English monacella too, must be una cosa 
 terribile. This morning I have a headache — almost my head splits 
 itself. Why did I come so far away from my country to die ?" 
 
 " Ooraggio, car a Gaetana mia !" said I; "be of good heart ! Every- 
 body feels unsettled for a little while in a new house. The village 
 blacksmith wiU soon arrange Z\Aian'sfornacelle; and we have no hop 
 goblins in England that the ratcatcher cannot dispose of. As for 
 the creaking and clanking outside your window, it can have been 
 nothing but the drawbridge swaying in the wind. If the room is 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 83 
 
 really damp we will have your bed brought up and you shall sleep 
 here. A pan of charcoal was sure to give you a headache. Sad 
 memories of the past always rise when the mind is troubled, but 
 they will sink again. Do not be disconsolate. Eemember I love 
 you, and will take care no harm comes to you, my daughter. Perhaps 
 this winter we shall see Naples ; and now let me get up ! The sun 
 seems high, and we have a great deal to do to-day ; we shall have to 
 disperse all that mountain of movables over the house." 
 
 There was indeed a great deal to do. Soon after breakfast came 
 cousin Ambrose, and said he had sent the carpenter and his man 
 to unpack. The housemaids and footmen and grooms came to help, 
 and we fell to work in earnest. 
 
 There was such a tilting and hoisting, and ripping and wrenching, 
 and unrolling and fetching and carrying of heavy things to and fro — 
 such excursions to make out which things fitted what places — such 
 consultations about the situation of sofas and the harmonies of 
 curtains and carpets — and whether the grand piano could possibly 
 be got up the staircase — that mamma was seized with a headache, 
 and papa rode away with Mr. Pouchett, the agent, and I was left as 
 queen of the Chaos with cousin Ambrose for my prime minister. 
 
 CHAPTBE VII. 
 
 {From the PinJc Book.) 
 THE PALE LADT IN THE TAPESTEIED CHAMBEE. 
 
 Os one of our excursions along the corridor, when we were sort- 
 ing hearthrugs, there was a difficulty in finding one green enough 
 for the green bed-room ; and we had to look round the other 
 bed-rooms to see if we had not already misapplied one such as 
 was wanted, when we stumbled upon the mysterious tapestried 
 chamber. 
 
 " Ha!" said I, going in with premeditated unconsciousness, and 
 making my little exclamation, when, after a preparatory sweep over 
 the old-fashioned furniture and hangings, my glance settled on the 
 portrait — " here is the pale lady ! tell me her history !" 
 
 " How do you know it is the pale lady P" said he, looking rather 
 embarrassed. 
 
 " Because I have ears and eyes. Ton said yesterday at dinner 
 that I reminded you of the pale lady in the tapestried chamber ; and 
 here I see a tapestried chamber, and a portrait of a pale lady." 
 
84 
 
 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 " Why did you not ask me to tell you at the time, if my casual 
 remark awakened your curiosity ?" 
 
 " Because curiosity is said to be a female vice, and I make it a 
 rule, whenever I feel curious about anything which is not of imme- 
 diate importance, to wait till another opportunity. If the thing be 
 worth knowing, the other opportunity is sure to come — and by this 
 means I avoid frittering away my mind on a vague pursuit ot mo- 
 mentary trifles." 
 
 " Do you mean by momentary, things of a moment, or things of 
 no moment? My pretty cousin," continued he, quickening his 
 pace, after tripping on his pun, " where did you learn English ? your 
 style is quite Johnsonian." 
 
 " Don't put me off with quibbles — I can speak English plain 
 enough, wherever I may have learnt it. I have made my sacrifice to 
 patience. My other opportunity has come; and now I command 
 you to tell me the ■ story of the pale lady, under pain of my serious 
 displeasure." 
 
 " I am afraid the little sacrifice you mention has not been pro- 
 pitiously received by the long-enduring goddess ! You command 
 me ? You seem to be growing imperious in your manners and 
 customs ! If one season of come-out-young-ladyhood has set you 
 already on so lofty a pedestal, I am afraid after two or three more 
 we shall have to address you on our. knees !" 
 
 " When I am worshipped as a saint it will be time for you to say 
 masses at my shrine." It was thought when cousin Ambrose was 
 in Home that he was "going over." That was some years ago. It 
 was there I saw him first. He often provokes me by afiecting still 
 to treat me as a child : and I was a little nettled at his solemn, 
 patronising banter, or I should not have made this fling at his high- 
 church tendencies. 
 
 " I did not calculate on your becoming a saint in such a hurry. I 
 thought, perhaps, an erapressdom might suit you. You cannot be 
 canonised till you have been dead sixty years.'' 
 
 " And you cannot say your masses either, while you remain in the 
 land of the living — that is at least the glebe land." He winced a 
 little, for I dare say some good-natured friend had told him the joke 
 Father O'Neill made after he gave up^his hopes of him. " Mr. Clarel 
 agrees with us in theory, but, on the other hand, he has a living 
 faith !" 
 
 " Come, cousin Edith," said he, " don't let us take the buttons 
 off" our foils !" 
 
 " If you insinuate that my remark is not worth a button, it shows 
 you feel the point of it. Do you cry for quarter and confess your- 
 self foiled ?" 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 85 
 
 " Not foiled, but hurt with a more dangerous weapon, if you 
 imply that my faith is sordid. Remember, my cousia, that a church- 
 man's faith stands in the place of a layman's honour." 
 
 " Honour hath no skill in surgerj', but faith is a healing virtue," 
 said I, blushing ; for I felfc myself convicted of levity and unkiud- 
 ness. " I am sorry I spoke bo thoughtlessly ; forgive me, cousin 
 Ambrose 1" 
 
 " i forgive you, gentle-hearted Edith," said he. There was some- 
 thing in his tone and expression which startled me, and an unplea- 
 sant suspicion crossed my mind for the first time. 
 
 Meanwhile Gaetana, who had left us talking about the pale lady, 
 came back bringing a green hearth-rug, and looked at us both with 
 her large black eyes, and I felt it necessary to say something, so 
 I said, '\Eiciu si parroc ca me par entiero sto ritratto d'a nonn." 
 (The rector thinks this portrait of my ancestress like me) ; " what 
 do you think, Gaetana ?" 
 
 " I think she is white and wicked, and wretched, and you, dear 
 young lady, have such a pretty colour, and look so innocent and 
 happy." 
 
 " What does she say ?" asked cousin Ambrose, who talks very 
 fair Italian, but can make very little out of the Neapolitan dialect. 
 " She says the pale lady looks wicked — was she wicked ?" 
 " She is not a very creditable ancestress if the tradition about her 
 be true. The story has been hushed up ; that is to say it has been 
 carefully repeated in mysterious whispers from generation to genera- 
 tion. I wonder you have not heard it already. I saw the other 
 night by a look cousin Philip gave me that you had not been told. 
 That was why I stopped short. Perhaps he considers it a stain in 
 the family history and wishes it to die out. Perhaps he means to 
 tell it you himself some day. I have done wrong to tell you as 
 much as I have already. Por when a lady's curiosity is once roused, 
 it is sure, sooner or later, to get to the bottom of any mystery or 
 mischief there may be in the wind. If I tell you the story will you 
 be discreet and not tell anybody how you came by it ?" 
 
 " I will make no bargains for your contraband traditions — you 
 may trust my discretion as much or as little as you please.'" I saw 
 he had as strong a desire to tell me the forbidden legend as I had to 
 hear it — this I attributed partly to his love of the mysterious, and 
 the pleasure he takes in creating a sensation; but also in some 
 degree I suspected a design to involve me in a sort of clandestine 
 confidence. This by no means tended to increase my respect for liis 
 character ; and though my conscience made a faint struggle in the 
 first half of my reply, the other half, by its tone more than its words 
 ■ — and probably because it was accompanied by a look of awakened 
 
86 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 intel-est, encouraged him to proceed. My curiosity, in short, got the 
 better of my scruples, and I listened to 
 
 THE STORY OE THE PALE LADT OP CAERCOilBE. 
 
 "Tou may remember (said cousin Ambrose), if you have pro- 
 perly studied the family history in the pages of Burke, there were 
 two brothers, James and Philip Clarel, who took difterent sides in 
 the troubles of Charles the First's reign. James, the elder brother, 
 sat for the county in the Long Parliament. Philip was a gay 
 cavalier who fought under the banner of Eupert, and afterwards 
 followed his fortunes, and was followed by his misfortunes, abroad. 
 He married a Hungarian lady, who died, leaving a daughter. 
 
 " That daughter was the pale lady. 
 
 " James- Clarel had a son Walter. It appears there had been a 
 personal as well as a political feud between the brothers, which was 
 partially made up a year or two before the Restoration, when Philip 
 and his daughter came to Caercombe. 
 
 " The young people of course fell in love, and their marriage was a 
 self-evidently simple and natural manner of terminating the feud. 
 However, the old animosity stilL smouldered between the stiff-backed 
 old roundhead and the dissolute captain of dragoons. 
 
 " So the squire resolutely set his face against any such" marriage, 
 objecting, into the bargain, to the European education of his niece, 
 who had seen foreign courts, and acquired a cosmopolitan accom- 
 plishment and freedom of manner, which by no means accorded with 
 his insular and puritanical ideas of what an English country gentle- 
 man's wife ought to be. 
 
 " Philip and his daughter left Caercombe, and James made his son 
 marry Eleanor, daughter of Colonel "Warynge, a Parliamentarian 
 officer. 
 
 " In the meantime came the Restoration, when Philip (who had 
 known CharleS the Second in exile) managed by court intrigues to 
 have his brother excluded from the act of oblivion. James Clarel 
 was seized and imprisoned, and Philip took possession of the estate. 
 Walter escaped to the Continent. 
 
 " The old regicide soon died in prison. His brother did not long 
 survive him. He fell in a duel with some one he had cleaned out at 
 hazard, and who said, " Sir Philip has treated me almost like a 
 brother," at which the tavern company laughed so loud that Sir 
 Philip, being, with all his vices, brave and a good swordsman, drew 
 on the spot. His antagonist was a much younger man ; and greatly 
 preferred settling the account with the rapier on the body of his 
 creditor, to ink shed in deeds of mortgage on the body of his estate. 
 
 " Clara Clarel (for that was the name of the pale lady) lived for 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 87 
 
 some time in great seclusion at Caercombe. Slie occupied herself in 
 embellishing the house, on which she employed foreign workmen. 
 A good deal of the oak carving and panelling in this upper story is 
 said to have been put in by her, and I should think some of these 
 high-backed walnut chairs were of the same period. Indeed, all the 
 furniture of this room is as she left it. 
 
 " The peasantry about, got the impression that she dealt in the 
 black art, and that these foreign workmen of strange aspect were her 
 familiar spirits. Others reported that she had caused all the old 
 walls to be pierced with secret passages behind the wainscot, so that 
 she could go through the house like a ghost with every visible door 
 in it locked. 
 
 " Some two or three rash youths, who considered her beauty and 
 estate more than the estimation in which she was held, sought her 
 hand in vain. 
 
 " After a year or two, "Walter Clarel reappeared on sufferance as a 
 guest in the halls to which he had been born heir. His wife, too, 
 who had been living in great straits, and who had borne him a puny 
 little boy in his absence, returned to him. 
 
 " She is said to have lived in the greatest dread of the pale lady, 
 who nevertheless treated her with apparent kindness. After her 
 return she had two or three stiU-born children. She seemed gra- 
 dually to droop and wither, and the puny little boy never throve. 
 People whispered that there was an evil eye upon her. Do you 
 think those large, melancholy, wistful eyes can have carried a curse 
 in their glance ? Yet Gaetana, who comes from a country where 
 such things are still believed, says she looks wicked. 
 
 " The pale lady had always been veiy active in her superintend- 
 ence of the nursing of her cousin's wife on all those unprosperous 
 occasions. But at last, when she was drawing near her time again, 
 the pale lady fell ill herself, of what complaint no one knew but her 
 old nurse Migdal, who was a Hungarian, and had only been brought 
 to England after her mistress's accession to the property. 
 
 " Old Migdal hardly knew a word of English, and was very uncom- 
 municative. 
 
 " The peasantry, whatever they might think of her mistress, were 
 fully persuaded that old Migdal could swim in an egg-shell, and ride 
 on a broomstick. She was known to assist her mistress in the 
 decoction and distillation of mysterious herbs. And some were 
 ill-natured enough to affirm that they did not confine their chemistry 
 to simples. 
 
 " Mistress Eleanor was this time brought to bed of a fine boy, and 
 seemed to be doing unusually well. Eut some little time afterwards 
 she was seized with convulsions in . the night. The same fits came 
 
88 EDITH CLAKEL. 
 
 on night after night, and increasing in violence, till on the fifth night 
 she died, in spite of all the doctor could do for her. 
 
 " A night or two before her death, o)ie of the nurses who watched 
 the new-born child, dreamed a singular dream, ^vhich terrified her 
 exceedingly. The night-lamp was burniug low towards dawn, when 
 she fancied she heard a smothered cry from the cradle. She looked 
 and thought she saw a figure in black drapery, holding the child in 
 her arms. She seemed to kiss it and replace it in the cradle. Then 
 she fancied, being as it seemed between sleeping and waking, that the 
 figure was carrying the child away with a hand on its mouth, as if to 
 prevent its crying. She started up, and fancied she saw the figure 
 retreat rapidly, and sweep clear through the oak panelling of the wall. 
 
 " Greatly alarmed, she shook herself, pinched herself, and when 
 convinced that she was really awake, she awakened the other nurse who 
 had charge of the elder child. They got up and took the light to the 
 cradle, where they found the child sleeping tranquilly : so they made 
 up their minds it was all a dream. 
 
 " However, when the child was taken out of its cradle in the morn- 
 ing the nurse remarked it felt heavier. 'Can it have been changed? 
 said she, ' T don't remember this little mark under the left ear !' 
 ' Oh, it's so small one wouldn't notice it unless one looked par- 
 ticular,' said the other, ' besides, where could they find another 
 baby as like as two peas. It has his father's eyes to a turn.' 
 ' Unless it was by enchantment,' said the first. 
 
 " The nurses' dialogue seems to have been very wonderfully 
 rescued from oblivion," said I. 
 
 "I tell the story as it was told to me," said cousin Ambrose. 
 " Well, that morning Walter sent for the baby. Mistress Eleanor 
 had waked up delirious, declaring that her child was dead. When it 
 was brought into her room, she looked at it, and shrieked, ' That 
 is not my child. My child is dead. Take it away from me. Let 
 me die too.' 
 
 " Not quite a year after Mistress Eleanor's death, Walter married 
 the pale lady. She bore him no children, but she lavished the most 
 extravagant tenderness on the child last born, whose name was 
 Philip. The rickety little boy James, who was some six or seven 
 years older, she ia said to have treated rather harshly while he lived. 
 He died about the age of eleven. 
 
 " Nothing further is known of the pale lady, except that she was 
 subject to fits of the deepest melancholy. Some thought her mind 
 was affected. She had strange whims and oddities. Among other 
 things, she laid a curse on any one who should alter the fittings and 
 furniture of her chamber, which you see has been respected. She 
 lived to be little more tlian thirty. Walter married a third time. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 89 
 
 " My father, who was rector before me, had an antiquarian turn, and 
 collected, from old papers and traditions, what he could of the story. 
 But the most curious fact he discovered when the vaults utider the 
 chancel were being rearranged. They came upon the coffia of 
 'Eleanor D'' of Col"' Pra'- Warynge, Wife of "Walter Clarel, Esq"' 
 
 '• The coffin had been accidentally forced open, and on examinino' 
 its contents the remains of a new-born babe were discovered along 
 with the mother's. Now, as Philip lived, what baby could this be ? 
 There was no mention of any baby on the lid of the coffin, nor in 
 the burial register. 
 
 '' It seems darkly suggested by the evidence that the pale lady had 
 been the paramour of her cousin. That she was the mother of 
 Philip — that she had made away with Eleanor's child, and put hep 
 own in its place. Still let us be charitable to her memory, and give 
 her the benefit of any doubt which loose credulous tradition affords. 
 Let u^ hope we are not descended from her ; for if we are she is 
 guilty. There she hangs, looking to my eye more sad than wicked. 
 Tou certainly have a look of her though. Look at yourself in one of 
 these tall narrow looking-glasses, framed with inlaid ebony and ivory, 
 where she has so often been reflected at full length." 
 
 '■' Is there anything in these quaint cumbrous old presses and 
 cupboards ?" said I 
 
 " I believe some of her wardrobe." 
 
 " I should like to see them ; but does she haunt the room ?" 
 
 " Of course there is a tradition of the kind ; but no well-authen- 
 ticated ghost story. I don't think any one has slept in the room for 
 years to try. I don't think I should like to make the experiment — 
 should you?" 
 
 " Have any of the pale lady's secret passages been found ?" 
 
 " No ! I dare say it was all nonsense — in all these old houses there 
 are stories of secret passages. But there have been hardly any 
 material alterations in the house since her time." 
 
 " Is there any picture of the "Walter Clarel for whose sake these 
 crimes were committed ?" 
 
 " So you have condemned her on my evidence ?" 
 
 " If your evidence goes for anything, it means that she poisoned 
 Mistress Eleanor, and who knows how many of her children!" 
 
 " There is a picture of Walter Clarel ; the Kneller in the billiard- 
 room — a bloated squire of about fifty, with good features, in a curly 
 brown wig, and a long white embroidered satin waistcoat. He was 
 very handsome in his youth, and all his three wives are said to have 
 loved him with excessive devotion ; but as far as can be made out he 
 did nothing in his life that was the least worthy of remark, and was 
 altogether a most common-place country gentleman. "Who can guess 
 
90 
 
 THE BAISING OF THE SIEGE. 
 
 out of what humble material women have ingenuity to carve their 
 heroes ! Three women as different as could be possibly picked — a 
 Puritan maid, a modern Lady Macbeth, and a superannuated court 
 beauty — all concurred in adoring that fat ancestor in the curly 
 brown wig." ■ 
 
 Meanwhile Graetana stood looking at us patiently with the green 
 hearthrug over her arm, which at last reminded us of our duties, and 
 we betook ourselves to the furniture again. 
 
 THE BAISING OP THE SIEGE. 
 
 To those who casually become witnesses of a contention between in- 
 dividuals with whose private motives and intimate complications they 
 are imperfectly acquainted, much of the language and conduct of the 
 disputants will almost always appear inconsistent and unaccountable. 
 
 When they seem most friendly and reasonable in their apparent 
 willingness to come to a mutual understanding, some turn of phrase, in 
 which the bystander detects no offence, will rake up and rekindle the 
 smouldering embers of discord into an unexpected blaze. Or at the 
 very moment when an appeal to arms appears inevitably imminent, and 
 the crowd is most excited in the anticipation of a vehement onslaught, the 
 parties concerned, most enigmatically (and to the great disappointment 
 of parties not concerned) see reason to shake hands, and walk peaceably 
 away in opposite directions. Something of this perplexity and disap- 
 pointment may be felt by some of the honest public whom the sudden 
 collapse and extinction of the late discreditable broil in Parliament may 
 have taken by surprise. We propose to trace its history. First, as to 
 the pretext. 
 
 What were the real merits of a question so formidable to the 
 Government, so vital to India, and, from the impending incubus of pre- 
 mature dissolution, so embarrassing to the interests of trade at home ? 
 
 The method of disposing of the landholders of Oude was the matter 
 in hand. The landholders great and small. The last occasion in which 
 Oude occupied so large a share of public attention, was the impeach- 
 ment of Warren Hastings. His treatment of the Begums (or Princesses) 
 of Oude formed the staple of the finest oratory that ever graced the 
 courts of Parliament or the Bar. Those speeches lasted seven years. 
 In these railway times, seven days have sufficed for the discussion of 
 an outrage not inferior in magnitude. 
 
 After conquering Oude, and granting the crown to the Vizier, the 
 East India Company entered into a treaty with him by which we were 
 
THE EAISING OF THE SIEGE, 91 
 
 bound to protect him against all opponents. He, on his part, binding 
 himself to a proper and just government of his people. 
 
 But no penalty was provided for the non-fulfilment of this last-men- 
 tioned article of the treaty; and during a great portion of the century, 
 the persevering policy and desire of the East India Company has been 
 to incorporate Oude'within the British territory. As a means to this 
 end, a system of continuous depreciation of the state of* the people and 
 cultivation of Oude was resorted to. 
 
 These exaggerations are discredited by the impartial testimony of 
 persons of high station and character, visiting or residing in the neigh- 
 bourhood of that province. Bishop Heber travels in Oude in 1824-5. 
 " He has heard much of the misgoverned and desolate state of Oude." 
 In Luckuow, he meets " with invariable civility and good nature, and 
 a far greater spirit of hospitality and accommodation than foreigners 
 would have met with in London.'' He is pleased and surprised after 
 all he has heard of Oude, " to find the country so completely under the 
 plough,'' and " as populous and well cultivated as most of the Company's 
 provinces." The king complains of having " lent to the British Govern- 
 ment all the money that would have enabled him to ease the people of 
 their burdens." The people, when asked whether they would wish to 
 be put under English government, exclaim, " Miserable as we are, of all 
 miseries keep us from that." 
 
 The Hon. Frederick John Shore, Judge of the Civil Court of Criminal 
 Sessions of the neighbouring district of Furruckabad, writing in 1833, 
 more than confirms the account of the excellent bishop. A year or two 
 later he writes of the motives of the Court of Directors for annexation, 
 they "are^ obvious enough — gain." This from a servant ! 
 
 Those were the days of Lord William Bentinck, who (as Governor- 
 General) in 1831, probably by order, had threatened the ruler of Oude 
 that if his government were not reformed, it would need to be done by 
 British ofiicers. But Lord William Bentinck was a humane and just 
 man, and one who thought for himself. On investigation it struck him 
 that between the British resident and the King of Oude, the former was 
 the greater nuisance of the two ; and when the Court of Directors em- 
 powered him to dethrone the King of Oude, and annex his country. 
 Lord William remonstrated against such instructions almost as the last act 
 of his government (1835). 
 
 Well might this honest man protest, when Mr. Frederick Shore could 
 speak in language like the following: "The people of Oude are not 
 worse governed than our own subjects. In every part are to be found 
 . . . various degrees of rank and wealth, . . . instead of, as in 
 our provinces, the whole being reduced to the equality of a nation of 
 paupers . . . Without exception, there is not a single class which 
 does not possess more wealth and property than the corresponding class 
 
92 THE EAISING OF THE SIEGE. 
 
 in our own provinces. . . . They are not cursed with confisca- 
 tion laws, or special commissions, nor with salt, opium, and other 
 monopolies." 
 
 Still the furor of annexation went on, on the part of the Court of 
 Directors, until, in 1837, a treaty was entered into between the then 
 Governor-General and the King of Oude, which attached a penalty to 
 his misgovernment of his people. The penalty was that in such case 
 the king might be superseded, and the country governed by the Com- 
 pany for the benefit of Oude itself; any surplus revenue being appro- 
 priated for the advantage of the natives. 
 
 The Court of Directors refused to ratify this treaty. But that 
 refusal was kept secret from the King of Oude. The treaty was 
 even published in a volume of treaties by the home authorities. It was 
 referred to by Lord Hardinge, in a communication between him and the 
 government of Oude. But this treaty was one between the Governor- 
 General and Oude, and not one ostensibly with the Court of Directors. 
 
 The King of Oude having never been informed of the non-ratificatinn 
 of the treaty of 1837, that treaty is good in law, and by that treaty 
 the annexation is bad in law. 
 
 In this view, the very oflScers employed by the Court of Directors to 
 justify their grasping course, virtually concurred. In the two volumes 
 lately published, although passing judgment against the then condition 
 of Oude, Colonel Sleeman (British resident at Oude) shows in his letters 
 that he is distinctly opposed to annexation. Sir James Outram, the 
 agent of the Indian government in carrying out the annexation, and now 
 the first commissioner of Oude, even in the midst of the great rebellion 
 of India, tells the Governor- General in answer to his draft proclamation 
 of confiscation, that the landowners of Oude had been most unjustly 
 treated in reference to the annexation. 
 
 " But it was not alone the spoliation of Oude that turned the hearts 
 of all men against us,'' (writes a correspondent of the Daily News, 
 present at Cawnpore at the time, 1856,) "it was the manner in which 
 that spoliation was effected. I can recollect but as yesterday, the un- 
 settled state of the minds of men on the other side of the Ganges, on 
 account of the prevalent rumour as to the assemblage of a large camp. 
 This state of alarm penetrated even within the palaces of Lucknow. 
 Inquiries were made. The Grand Vizier went down to Captain Fletcher 
 Hayes, the assistant-resident, and asked whether there was any truth in 
 the report that a camp was preparing against Oude ? ' None at all,' 
 was the answer; 'it is merely a measure of precaution against NepauL' 
 When fears were thus calmed, and at a moment when opposition was 
 impossible, an irruption was made, and then notice was given, and then 
 only, ' to the King of Oude, that his territories were taken from him, 
 and that he had to resign.' 
 
THE RAISING 01' THE SIEGE. 93 
 
 " Sir, (continues this writer), I saw and felt the injustice perpetrated. 
 I witnessed its effects on natives of all classes ; . . . and the convic- 
 tion was forced upon me that we had by that act alienated the native 
 mind at once and for ever from our rule . . . 
 
 " We obtained Possession of Otoe by Fraud." 
 
 The King of Oude, while succumbing to force and surprise com- 
 bined, refused to cede his crown and kingdom, or to become a recipient 
 of our bounty; and resolved to lay his case before the people of England. 
 That case was submitted to Dr. Travers Twiss, one of our highest, if 
 not the very highest authority on such subjects, and he unequivocally 
 decided that the annexation was illegal. 
 
 But this was not all, as will be seen elsewhere in this number. 
 Upon taking possession of the country, we proceeded at once to ques- 
 tion every man's title, and, in spite of immemorial possession, commenced^ 
 the policy of confiscation in detail, which Lord Canning's proclamation 
 announced only on a grander and more universal scale. 
 
 Such being, in brief, the case of Oude, let us turn our eyes 
 to an interesting scene in No. 11 of the Committee Rooms of the 
 House of Commons. It is early in the week which commenced on 
 May 2. Above 100 members are present; Mr. Headlam in the 
 chair. Mutinous speeches are made against selfish leaders ; a 
 policy of independence is declared, whilst particular measures are 
 carefully tabooed. The chiefs shall feel the power of the ranks, who 
 (according to all authority on the law of nations) have no right or claim 
 to an exclusive monopoly of the plunder after a successful siege — whe- 
 ther of Sebastopol, Delhi, or Downing Street. Mr. Charles Foster is 
 sworn whipper-in, the general understanding and decision being, that 
 Lord Palmerston shall not turn out Lord Derby without their per- 
 mission. No leaders are present — none invited. 
 
 All this looked alarming enough to Mr. Hayter, whose adroitness is 
 sufficiently taxed at all times to keep his troops under proper discipline. 
 It was high time for Lord John Russell and Lord Palmerston to come 
 together again ; and the ladies of the respective chiefs appear to have 
 been commissioned to smooth the ruffled feathers of the political 
 cockpit. 
 
 On Thursday arrive the news and copy of the Canning Proclama- 
 tion from the Times' correspondent at Lucknow. Mr. Bright questions — 
 Mr. Disraeli answers — Lord Ellenborough publishes — and the curtain 
 rises on scene the first of an impending Tragedy of Errors. 
 
 The last week of April had witnessed the Derby Government floun- 
 dering deeper and deeper in the mire, and Mr. Disraeli more than 
 ever afraid to enunciate a principle, a policy, or an opinion of his own 
 Honesty and pluck, Mr. Disraeli ! Honesty and pluck 1 remember, 
 Mr. Disraeli, are the qualities in a British statesman most after the heart 
 
94 THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE. 
 
 of a British public. Such was the condition of the Ministry in the closing 
 days of April. "It's no use (Mr. R— b— k is reported to have whis- 
 pered to his neighbour in the House) picking these men out of the 
 kennel; they are resolved to be always rubbing their noses in it." But 
 the first week in May did wonders for Lord Derby. By some accident, 
 the business of the House was in the hands of other members of the 
 Government, who spoke out, and spoke plainly, and they had two or 
 three good majorities. 
 
 The rising reputation of the Government, combined with the growing 
 insubordination of the Liberal rank and file, precipitated immediate 
 action. Natural sympathy with the Governor of a distant depend- 
 ency, especially under great diflficulties ; the extra pungency of the 
 wording of the EUenborough despatch, and its premature publication, 
 furnished an opportunity not to be lost. 
 
 On Saturday, May 8, there were rumours of the concoction of an 
 attack, at Mr. Sidney Herbert's. The next day (Sunday) a select con- 
 clave assembled at Cambridge House; and, amidst a flourish of trum- 
 pets, a day or two afterwards, Mr. Cardwell gave notice of his attack 
 on the Government, to which Lord John lent his concurrence; and, as 
 a sacramental proof of reconciliation, Lord John dined with his rival 
 chief at Cambridge House on the Wednesday following. 
 
 From Monday, 10th, to the Monday following — if we were to believe 
 all our ears heard, and we were pretty close listeners — Mr. Cardwell's 
 vote of censure of the Government was to be carried, first, by a majo- 
 rity of 120, then by 80, and, on the latter day, by 50 or 60. After 
 Monday, 17th, it began to droop day by day, till, on the morning of 
 Friday, 21st, the day on which the division was to take place, it was 
 clear the Government would be- in the majority. Indeed, for a day or 
 two previous, the bets had been even. 
 
 On the previous evening, it is rumoured that Lord John Russell 
 and Mr. Cardwell made an overture to Mr. Disraeli, that, if he would 
 consent to Mr. Dillwyn's amendment being put as a substantive motion, 
 Mr. Cardwell's motion should be withdrawn. Mr. Disraeli refused; and 
 very properly so. 
 
 As members entered the House on the afternoon of Friday, they were 
 met by a buzz of rumours, all converging to the point that the motion 
 was to be withdrawn. On the usual early motion for adjournment to 
 Monday, commenced a dropping fire of appeals from his own side to 
 Mr. Cardwell to withdraw his motion. The fire was too feebly sustained 
 at first, for him to have a plea of yielding, and he declined. Then 
 began such a volley of importunate demands on the right hon. gentleman, 
 that it became clear that even the troops which had not already deserted 
 to the enemy or absented themselves, had become demoralised, and were 
 in course of being seized with a general panic. Mr. Cardwell is com- 
 
THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE, 95 
 
 pelled to retire from his seat to take counsel with Lord Palmerston, 
 who, on his |iart, leaves his seat to take counsel with Sir Charles Wood, 
 behind the Speaker's chair. Suddenly, there is a general call from the 
 Opposition benches, " Cardwell ! Cardwell !" on which the right hon. 
 gentleman runs back to his seat, stooping to advise with Lord John 
 Russell on his way. Meanwhile the shouts, " Cardwell ! Cardwell ! " 
 (who waits for his leader) are repeated and increased, till Lord Palmerston, 
 hurrying back from behind the Speaker's chair to the table of the 
 House, begins, amidst derisive cheers from the Government benches, to 
 recommend his right hon. friend to withdraw his motion. Then fol- 
 lowed a few words from Mr. Gladstone, recommending Mr. Dillwyn's 
 amendment to be acquiesced in as a substantive motion. To this many 
 members objected. Mr. Bright gave a parting rebuke to his friends 
 and chief, while Mr. Disraeli converted the great victory which the 
 Government had gained, through the ignominious retreat of their 
 enemies, almost into a defeat by his tactless manner of accepting it. 
 
 On the merits of the terms of the motion, little need be said; the very 
 narrowness of the issue sought to be raised, shows that it was a mere 
 vehicle for a party object. This is the motion, extracted from the 
 " Votes " of the Commons : — 
 
 " Mr. Cardwell,— Governor-General of India, — That this House, whilst 
 in its present state of information it abstains from expressing an 
 opinion on the policy of any proclamation which may have been 
 issued by the Governor-General of India in relation to Oude, has seen 
 with regret and serious apprehension that her Majesty's Government 
 have addressed to the Governor-General, through the Secret Committee 
 of the Court of Directors, and have published a despatch condemning 
 in strong terms the conduct 'of the Governor-General ; and is of opinion 
 that such a course on the part of the Government must tend, in the 
 present circumstances of India, to produce the most prejudicial effect, 
 by weakening the authority of the Governor-General, and encouraging 
 the further resistance of those who are in arms against us." 
 
 Here are two issues raised — the despatch, and the publication of it; 
 How could any body of reasonable men pretend to judge of a letter in 
 reply to a document without being permitted to consider the document 
 itself ? You might just as well condemn a man for an assault without 
 allowing him to speak of the provocation which led to it. The result 
 was, that the House at once broke loose from the fetters attempted to be 
 imposed on it. Mr. Cardwell, true to his nisi prius rearing, and to the 
 instincts of a mind not of the largest grasp, did confine himself to a few 
 insignificant dates. He was alone in this course. Of the other issue 
 raised — viz., the publication — it is sufiicient to say that, after Lord 
 Aberdeen's acknowledgment that Lord Ellenborough's voluntary retire- 
 
96 THE RAISING 01' THE SIEGE. 
 
 ment from office was an ample condonation, we need say no more ; for 
 the pretext of the motion throughout was consideration for Lord Can- 
 ning and his position under difficult circumstances. But, according to 
 Sir James Graham, who ought to know, the relations between Lord 
 Aberdeen and Lord Canning are of the closest character, approaching to 
 that between father and son. 
 
 Mr. Dillwyn's amendment was, to leave out from the word House to 
 the end of the question, in order to add the words, " generally approves 
 of Lord Canning's policy up to the time of the Oude Proclamation, and 
 is satisfied with the firmness and judgment he has evinced during the 
 crisis in India ; but this House declines to give any opinion upon the 
 Oude Proclamation until it has had further information on the state of 
 Oude when the Proclamation was issued, and also Lord Canning's 
 reasons for issuing it," instead thereof 
 
 The fallacy of this amendment is, that in order to offer a sop to 
 personal and friendly feeling towards Lord Canning, it prematurely 
 pledged the House, and begged the whole question of his adminiistration 
 without furnishing any materials from which to form an impartial 
 judgment. And, therefore, the motion and the amendment were both 
 ultimately lost. 
 
 The debate was a remarkable one. But chiefly remarkable from 
 the power in debate being exclusively on one side. Nothing could bt 
 feebler, balder, or narrower, either in its issue, spirit, or execution, than 
 Mr. Cardwell's opening speech. The speeches of the debate were the 
 Solicitor-General's (Sir Hugh Cairns), at the commencement, and Sir 
 James Graham's towards the close. The only speech on the Opposition 
 side was Lord Goderich's. This was as effective as the case admitted 
 of Sir Kobert Peel, in his usual slashing hrusquerie of style, 
 was telling in favour of the Government, in consequence of the quarter 
 from whence it came. Mr. Bright scarcely equalled himself, although 
 at the present hour he is clearly the popular orator of the Commons. 
 
 On the one side was indignant, but argumentative remonstrance 
 against the unprecedented policy of universal confiscation; on the other, 
 a tissue of quibbles, purporting to show that confiscation did not 
 mean confiscation; although Mr. Edmonstone's letter to Mr. Cooper, 
 enclosing the proclamation to Sir James Outram, shows plainly that 
 there shall be no mistake. 
 
 Since the withdrawal of the motion an attempt has been made out 
 of doors to throw a decent veil over this signal defeat. And it is just 
 possible, from the leading character of the journals making this effort, 
 that to the uninitiated the truth may be thus distorted. But, even 
 before the notable scene enacted on Friday, 21st, in the House of Com- 
 mons, the Government, it was known, must win by between twenty to 
 thirty votes. To any one who witnessed that scene as we did, it was 
 
THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE. 97 
 
 clear that the Government would win by 100. Indeed, such was the 
 demoralisation on the Opposition benches that night, that it would not 
 have been surprising had the motion gone to a division, if the ex-Treasury 
 Bench had been almost the exclusive supporters of Mr. Cardwell's 
 motion. Can we picture to ourselves Lord Palmerston and Mr. Card- 
 well the tellers of such a division ? 
 
 So failed this factious attempt, as it deserved to fail. At a moment 
 of great peril in India — at a moment of great weakness at home, the 
 legacy of the late monetary pressure, under the llimsy pretext of sup- 
 porting the authority of a distant Governor who was threatening to 
 counteract, by a civil outrage, the effects of brilliant military advan- 
 tages gained by our gallant countrymen in arms — party objects must, 
 at any cost, be pandered to and served. 
 
 Public opinion came to the rescue. Hour by hour the true nature 
 of the parliamentary contest became more transparent. That opinion 
 which, in times of less rapid consmunication, would have told on the 
 elections, now told on the division — told so strongly, indeed, that the 
 division lobby was shunned as some loathsome pest-house. It 
 became known that General Franks had returned home ; that he had 
 seen the Governor-General on his way, at Allahabad ; that he was 
 vacillating in tone ; in his conversation one way, and in his Proclama- 
 tion another ; and that he was clearly a tool in the grasping hands of 
 the Civil Service at Calcutta. It became known that Sir John Law- 
 rence, Sir James Outram, Sir Colin Campbell, General Mansfield — who 
 were on the spot — and Sir George Clerk (the best authority) at home, 
 all concurred in condemning the Proclamation as insane. 
 
 At last, on the Friday morning, were published the letters between 
 the Governor- General and Sir James Outram, announcing the fact that 
 the latter had written to the Governor-General as strongly against 
 the Proclamation as Lord EUenborough himself. It was the remon- 
 strances of Sir James Outram that caused the insertion of the mitigatory 
 clause in the Proclamation, subsequently inserted. This mitigatory 
 clause was not in the draft sent to Lord EUenborough. 
 
 Great exception has been taken to Lord EUenborough going into the 
 question of the annexation of Oude in his despatch. But how could he 
 avoid it if he was to give any reason at all for his condemnation of the Pro- 
 clamation ? It is to be remembered, that Lord EUenborough did not 
 know when the Proclamation would be issued, and that he distinctly stated . 
 in the House of Lords that he expected his. despatch to arrive before the 
 issue, and to prevent it ; which, if it had done, nothing would have trans- 
 pired concerning this now celebrated document. It was somewhat pungent, 
 no doubt, in style ; but was Lord Palmerston the man to throw stones 
 at saucy protocols ? 
 
 The point made by Lori Goderich was this :— " You condemn 
 
98 THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE. 
 
 (addressing the Government) the annexation of Oude. What is your 
 policy ? Do you intend to hold it after such condemnation ? We have a 
 right to know." The noble lord then went on to vindicate holding a 
 province on conquest by whatever means obtained. 
 
 On a previous evening, Lord John Russell adopted a similar view. 
 We doubt whether this principle, however palatable or current in the 
 eighteenth century, will prove so in the latter half of the nineteenth. 
 We sincerely trust it will not. There is a Power overruling all things 
 which will not permit injustice to prosper. Be sure your sin will find 
 you out. 
 
 Lord Goderich attempted another point less successfully: — " If you 
 allow Lord Canning thus to be lowered in reputation, what wUl th& army 
 think of him who has liad to direct the difficult operations in the 
 field?" This was somewhat unfortunate at a moment when it was 
 becoming generally known that Sir Colin Campbell and the civil ser- 
 vants at Calcutta, of whom the GoveMior-General was the mouth-piece, 
 had wholly differed as to the plan of the last Lucknow campaign. The 
 civilians were for taking Lucknow at once, coute qu'il coute. Sir Colin, 
 having relieved and brought away its garrison, was for conquering and 
 tranquilising every district whilst the rebel army was shut up in Lucknow ; 
 and by degrees driving every mutineer within the walls of that city, and 
 so catching them all at last in his net. The civilians wanted, prestige. 
 The General wanted by strategy to carry his object at the least cost of 
 men, time, and money. The wisdom of this latter course is now 
 sufficiently clear. When will civilians cease to think they can teach 
 the art of war to experienced Generals, and to attempt to direct a 
 campaign ? 
 
 Lord John Eussell, however, let fall in his speech one expression, 
 which, although inapplicable in its particular reference, is too true of 
 the whole of this melancholy affair. " The Solicitor-General," he said, 
 " had been guilty of suppression. His speech, though able, he could 
 have wished had been less forensic. He had been eloquent on his own 
 side of the question, but had ignored the opposite side." 
 
 Now, of Sir Hugh Cairns's speech it is unnecessary to say more than 
 this, — that in the writer's view, who heard it, and immediately after 
 Lord Derby in the House of Lords on Lord Shaftesbury's motion. Sir 
 Hugh Cairns's was the better of the two, and much the better. Forensic 
 it might be, if logic be forensic. Unparliamentary it undoubtedly was, 
 if truth be unparhamentary. But it was, in fact, a speech of beautiful 
 order and argument; the delivery was equal to the matter, and 
 exhibited qualities very like those so much wanted in a leader of the 
 Commons. 
 
 That word suppression, Lord John, is an awkward word. 
 
 How came we by Oude ? By the suppeession of a treaty. Would 
 
THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE. 99 
 
 any of us condescend to inherit if the condition were the smothering of 
 a will ? 
 
 By what means did we take possession when the Grand Vizier 
 demanded of Captain Fletcher Hayes the meaning of the camp forming 
 at Cawnpore ? By the suppression of the truth. 
 
 Through what instrumentality did Lord Canning's proclamation come 
 into Lord Ellenborough's hands without a word of explanation, and so 
 stimulated the writing of a dispatch, perfectly warranted under the 
 circumstances, but in terms that might have thus led, in the midst of the 
 insurrectionary war, to Lord Canning throwing up his office ? The 
 SUPPRESSION of letters. 
 
 O Smith of Smiths, how earnest thou, in thy small mind, to con- 
 ceive that those four letters were thine ? They were no more thine as 
 Smith than mine as Brown. A court of equity would have made thee 
 disgorge them. A court of law, some thirty years ago, might have 
 elevated thee for this to something higher than a Smith. Didst' thou 
 take counsel of the small Peelite mover of this vote of censure, as well as 
 of thy Palmerstonian chief, in this great matter to the peril of the State? 
 This is the greatest scandal committed by any public man during the 
 century. 
 
 What was the true object of the late motion ? Lord Canning or 
 party ? Party. Or otherwise, when Lord EUenborough condoned by his 
 resignation for indiscreet publication, the motion would have been with- 
 drawn, as Lord Aberdeen, political godfather to Lord Canning, declared 
 to Sir James Graham that it should have been, and that, therefore, he 
 (Lord Aberdeen) could not have voted for Mr. Cardwell's motion. 
 How happened it that in the midst of this debate, when the mails from 
 India arrived, and " Our Correspondents " were expected to tell us the 
 dread consequences of this proclamation, and of the healing balm of the 
 despatch, that we had no letters ? 
 
 Again a suppression. 
 
 Why, when the serried ranks of the Government were ready for the 
 onslaught, and panting for the victory which they knew they were to 
 win, did the Opposition, by every ingenious shift and trick, attempt to 
 conceal the fact of their impending defeat, and thus shabbily conclude 
 an affair which had begun by suppression ? 
 
 Was it right that principles and practice like this should restore the 
 Opposition to office ? Certainly not. For " without are &o., &o., and 
 whosoever loveth and maketh a lie." Here let us leave this sad exhibi- 
 tion, and, for a moment, before conclusion, revert to party prospects. 
 
 This great mistake of his adversaries ought, if any thing can, to seat 
 Lord Derby in his saddle more firmly than he has ever yet felt himself 
 seated. He is just in the position now in which Lord Palmerston was 
 placed at the end of his first six weeks' feeble tenurp of power in 1855, 
 
100 THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE. 
 
 by the failure of Mr. Disraeli's motion on the Vienna conferences. 
 " Ambiguity of language, uncertainty of conduct," was Mr. Disraeli's 
 charge against Lord Palmerston; the accuser himself being amenable still 
 more to the same accusation. That mistake of the Derby Opposition fur- 
 nished the fulcrum of the lever by which Lord Palmerston was raised to 
 great strength and power. 
 
 A similar mistake ought to do the same for Lord Derby. Will it ? 
 We doubt. Who is to be the new chief of the India Board ? PubUc 
 opinion pointed at Lord Stanley. Since the Opposition defeat, rumour 
 whispers the name of Mr. Gladstone for Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 with, of course, the Leadership, — and Mr. Disraeli for the India Board. 
 We have no great confidence in the soundness of Mr. Gladstone's views or 
 judgment, but we believe him to be honest. Still this would be a great 
 improvement. 
 
 But what does justice say to Mr. Card well's motion having driven Lord 
 EUenborough out of office, and to its withdrawal not driving him back 
 again ? For, to an impartial mind, from the very first his despatch was 
 substantially right, and Lord Canning's proclamation substantially 
 wrong. 
 
 There is something mysterious, after all, in this annexation of Oude. 
 On high authority, it has been rumoured that even Lord Dalhousie him- 
 self was against it. Certainly he demanded more force to occupy it before 
 the fatal step was taken. The Russian war prevented that. The Persian 
 war denuded him of the English troops he had previovsly had, and yet he 
 dared the deed. Our Bengal Sepoy army was chiefly enlisted among 
 the warlike population of Oude. Hence it required but a spark to set 
 India in a blaze. The cartridges furnished that spark. 
 
 Have we heard the last of Lord Canning ? We fear not. It does 
 not seem to have reached the public ear ; the press takes no cognizance 
 of it; but it is known that nearly on the da}' on which the proclamation 
 was published, a Commission was appointed by the Governor General, of 
 which the powers extend over Bengal, the North-west, and Central India, 
 with a corps of military police under its special authority, for the purpose 
 of hunting down mutineers (of whom some .'30,000 must remain) in the 
 manner the Thugs were hunted down formerly. The regimental rolls are 
 put in the hands of this Commission to enable them to follow the mutineers 
 to their villages; and they may give rewards not exceeding £100 for 
 intelligence. Under this system every village will be armed and fortified 
 for its own protection, and the Mood feud, which is our greatest danger, 
 will be rendered fiercer than ever. 
 
 Had it not been for the Proclamation, this might have been an eiFec- 
 tive step to take, and even a discreet one ; at the same time exiling the 
 fugitives for life to our West India Islands, where they would be useful. 
 But, taken in conjunction with Lord Canning's proclamation, and all the 
 
WHERE SHALL WE PLAY ? 101 
 
 circumstances connected with the annexation of Oude, and the uneasy 
 sense of insecurity with which, combined, they inspire every Indian pro- 
 prietor, we fear the worst. We can only in this, as in every other 
 embarrassment, danger, or difficulty, pray God to give us a good 
 deliverance, and acknowledge that if in his mercy He does so, it will be 
 a far better fortune than our conduct has deserved. 
 
 WHERE SHALL WE PLAY? 
 
 BY THE ATJTHOE OE " PIGEOKS AND CB0W3." 
 
 I HAVE before me a carefully-executed map of London and its 
 environs. It is an old one, certainly, although no curiosity in that 
 respect, for the father of many a man now living may have bought it 
 when it first came out, and moralised over it upon the steady, vigorous 
 growth of the great metropolis. It is dated 1756, — just four years 
 before George the Third was king. Five minutes will not be wasted in 
 an imaginary ramble through familiar streets, which were even then 
 counted wonders of the world for extent, population, and magnificence. 
 
 Let us begin at a well-known spot — say the corner of Tottenham 
 Court Koad, Oxford Street. We stand upon the very outskirts of the 
 metropolis. Within two hundred yards north, we find ourselves fairly 
 in the country, marching along the " Road to Hampstead," with the 
 fair expanse of Lamb's Conduit Fields open on our right, and a trim 
 house and grounds, called Tottenham Court, half a mile ahead. The 
 market-gardens on our left are intersected by " The Green Lane," which 
 nearly corresponds with the Goodge Street and Cleveland Street of 
 to-day. So, since town and not country is our mark, we will retrace 
 our steps and proceed west along Oxford Street. Here we are at the 
 Circus, or rather where the Circus ought to be. Portland Place is not 
 visible ;^ but it is represented by a narrow alley running north, through 
 which you may walk straight into Northiimberland, without encounter- 
 ing one bit moz-e of London on your way. If you like to turn to your 
 left at the top of the said alley, you can peep into Cavendish Square, 
 which, having only three sides, is, on the fourth, open to the " silver 
 spikes " of the northern morning. Back again, and westward ho ! — 
 still along Oxford Street. We are at the top of New Bond Street. 
 Here the town fails us on the right. There is nothing but sward and 
 furrow as far as the eye can reach. In front, at the fork of the road, 
 where Connaught Place and the Edgware Eoad now intersect, we dis- 
 cern the lone gallows-tree of Tyburn, rising from its repulsive acre of 
 black trampled grass. 
 
10.2 WHERE SHALL WE PLAY? 
 
 We will not complete the circuit, though a visit to the site of the 
 great southern city which now commands the right bank of the Thames 
 might be curious. A few insignificant streets and scattered blocks of 
 houses represent London beyond-bridge. No gentleman of Southwark 
 need walk a furlong from his own hall-door for the sake of a clear view 
 of the Surrey hills. 
 
 Such was London at the very day and hour when an ingenious 
 writer in The World (No. 61) delivered himself of an opinion as 
 follows : — " The buildings in London have been increased prodigiously 
 within these thirty years, and the ill consequences of this increase seem 
 not to have been enough considered. But it is certain that a large 
 metropolis is the greatest evil in any country, and the source and foun- 
 tain of all the corruption that is in it In what manner 
 
 our metropolis may be reduced, without injury to the proprietors of 
 houses and ground-rents, I do not pretend to determine, but it seems 
 absolutely necessary that a stop should be put to any further building.'' 
 
 Bravo, master Scribe ! Trim down the big town into something like 
 reasonable dimensions, and then bury the bricklayer. Unluckily, our 
 heedless grandpapas were deaf to the sound advice ; and we see the 
 result in 1858. 
 
 And so this grand old town of ours goes on, like some unquenchable 
 volcano, smothering the broad healthy fields, where once the cattle 
 browsed and the birds flew, under slabs of everlasting pavement and 
 ponderous leagues of masonry. We don't feel the harm of this — we 
 who can live in handsome streets and airy squares, and run down to 
 Brighton or St. Leonards when in want of a change. But of that 
 gigantic army whose doom is daily and incessant toil, what uncounted 
 thousands are by this very growth encircled with an impassable desert 
 of brick and mortar, — shut in almost as eflfectually from the enjoyment 
 of external nature, as if trees and clouds and flowers, and changing 
 lights existed only in dreams and fables, or were the decorations of some 
 distant planet ? 
 
 I can fancy the grim scorn with which some " practical party " — 
 business to the back-bone — will read those last few lines. " Trees and 
 flowers, indeed ! I should like to know what time a working man has 
 to kick his heels among the daisies ? I know I haven't got it myself. 
 I pay fair wages and 1 expect fair work. Intellectual culture, sir, is one 
 of the confounded humbugs of the day. It may rob the master, but it 
 won't pay the man. We can't afford it, either of us. Ladies and gen- 
 tlemen who don't know what work is had better let us alone.'' 
 
 Unfortunately the observations of our practical friend are not only 
 disagreeable, but true. It is not for us to dispute the irreversible decree 
 which consigns millions to wear away their lives in laborious bondage, 
 physically, intellectually, and morally pernicious. There seems to be 
 
WHERE SHALL WE PLAY ? 103 
 
 no help in this world for these devoted sons of toil. Sleek and com- 
 fortable people remind them that their Sundays are their own. They 
 are so : just as a man's time is his own while he is sitting in the stocks, 
 or as a man's hands are his own when they are tied behind his back. 
 The Sunday of a town mechanic is the very day upon which the incon- 
 veniences of his lot appear in most distinct relief. There is, I sincerely 
 believe, no one subject upon which really excellent and benevolent 
 people fall into such blind and foolish error as on that particular point. 
 It is so convenient to prescribe a well-spent Sabbath as a ready and 
 infallible antidote to all the ills of slavery. And it is infinitely easier to 
 do so ofF-hand, than to analyse one's own feelings in the matter, or to 
 inquire too minutely into the wants or condition of the patient. The 
 fair lady whose time is her own the whole week through — to whom 
 pleasure and excitement are daily ministers — enjoys the quiet alternation 
 of a church-going day and the observance of comparative repose. Her 
 lord, whose week is passed in the city, enjoys it likewise. The days of 
 his youth are numbered, and he believes himself wiser (instead of only 
 older) than formerly. A quiet stroll, after church, with an easy chair 
 and a good book until dinner time, fill up the measure of his desires. 
 
 People who only see and consider Sunday from this refined and placid 
 point of view are very indifferent judges as to the wants and necessities 
 of those whose lives are passed under conditions wholly dissimilar. 
 The humbler artisan, whose working days are spent in a confined and 
 vitiated atmosphere, over the loom, the printing-press, or the lathe, requires 
 something more than mere repose upon his weekly holiday. Repose, 
 indeed, is rather a fanciful figure of speech for the sort of dilassement 
 which he can command at home. A crowded third-floor flat, far too 
 small for his family, with nothing but chimney-pots visible through its 
 dead discoloured panes, is not very favourable to luxurious ease or quiet 
 meditation. Three miles of streets lie between him and the country: 
 so that for his wife and children is out of the question. The parks are 
 something, certainly, but still not exactly to his taste. He wants change 
 — he wants excitement — any thing in short that savours of real, vigorous, 
 animal enjoyment, to which on a week-day he is a total stranger. But 
 this is not to be had; and the public-house — his only club — presents 
 within easy reach a coarse, fascinating substitute, by far too tempting to 
 be resisted. 
 
 No one will I hope believe that, in what I have above written, I have 
 lost sight of the higher uses and purposes of the divine day. Far from 
 it. But I have read somewhere that of those to whom but little is 
 given much will not be required. And I know how little can, humanly 
 speaking, be expected from minds deadened and unstrung by mono- 
 tonous mechanical toil, and debarred from the ordinary physical con- 
 ditions indispensable to their sound development. This is at best but 
 
104 WHERE SHALL WE PLAY ? 
 
 sorrowful consolation; for it points at the worst — the soul-debaaing 
 features — of our social system. 
 
 I do not think that I have drawn an unfair or exaggerated picture of 
 the condition of many operatives of the poorer class, confined within the 
 prison of our enormous city. As I have before said, I see no very 
 distinct remedy for their fate. But it is not so much on their behalf, 
 as for the sake of those who have not yet been summoned to fall into 
 the ranks and take their part in the fierce battle of life, that these pages 
 are written. 
 
 I scarcely know any sight more pitiable than the herds of little help- 
 less children tumbled out of their crowded homes to divert themselves as 
 best they can in the disgusting courts, lanes, alleys, and semi-thorough- 
 fares of London. The appalling squalor, the rotten filth and misery 
 of some of these places, is almost inconceivable. Can any one, without 
 shame and sorrow, see little things who, not five years ago, were as 
 fresh and beautiful from the hand of God as the tiny ladies and gentle- 
 men who air themselves so daintily in Belgravian gardens, wallowing 
 amid the sights and scents of the worst back-avenues of a huge town I 
 How, Madam, would you like to hear that your own baby darling 
 was at this moment perseveringly trying to fish up a brass button 
 which has rolled down the poisonous gully of a street sewer, or was 
 cooing on the area-grating of a sausage-maker's cave, drinking in the 
 horrid steam, and inquisitive as to the everlasting patter-patter of the 
 mysterious machine below ? You might not like to think of him or 
 her making mud-pies at a slaughter-house door, or, worse still, gam- 
 bolling under the windoAvs of some disreputable public-house. I need 
 not pause for your answer. Part of it may, perhaps, be directed against 
 the impertinence of the implied comparison. Let me then unhesitatingly 
 admit, that not only are the children of the street neither so nice nor so 
 attractive as your own, but also that, in a social point of view, their 
 lives are possibly less valuable. But they die, nevertheless, for want of 
 healthy playground, — which is their quiet way of expressing their dis- 
 like to London and its inconveniences. 
 
 A scheme has just been set on foot, at once unselfish, benevolent, and 
 bold, for providing safe and healthy playgrounds for these luckless 
 little folk — playgrounds for the tiny, toddling things just out of baby- 
 hood — playgrounds for the more advanced enthusiasts of peg-top, cat, 
 and hoop, who make our streets hideous to gentlemen of middle ao-e. 
 
 How far the scheme may succeed it is not possible to foretell. The 
 difliculty of obtaining available sites will no doubt be considerable; 
 having regard to the fact that a special land-transport corps would re- 
 quire to be organised to convey the juvenile performers to and from any 
 distant theatre of play. But there is nothing insurmountable in this 
 Only let the public accept and encourage the undertaking, as one 
 
WHERE SHALL WE PLAY ? 105 
 
 worthy of the large and kindly spirit of the age, and we may feel con- 
 fident that an amount of good will be achieved, not only out of all pro- 
 portion to the pecuniary outlay, but perhaps in excess of even sanguine 
 expectations. It will be shameful indeed, should such a scheme fail 
 merely for want of a fair trial. 
 
 Charles Dickens, ever foremost in the cause of sound and manly 
 charity, has consented to preside at the inaugural dinner of " The Play- 
 ground Society," to take place upon the first of June. We wish him 
 success right heartily. 
 
 Annexation and confiscation are such very delicate ground now-a- 
 days, that I may chance to catch crabs with Lord Canning if I finish 
 this page. Bat I cannot help saying, that if there be one especial bit 
 of grass in London which I should like to turn into a child's playground 
 it is the garden in Lincoln's Inn Fields.* Nobody ever uses it, that I can 
 perceive, and I pass it several times a week. For whom that immense 
 area is kept swept and garnished, I never hope to know. Couldn't it 
 be spared for a playground — if not altogether, at least during some por- 
 
 * The enclosure in Lincoln's Inn Fields appears to stand upon a different footing 
 from that of the gardens of ordinary London squares. The surrounding houses 
 are, generally speaking, not as formerly, private residences, but are let off in cham- 
 bers and ofEces to gentlemen whose homes and families are elsewhere. This of 
 course accounts for the ground being so little frequented. If necessary, an amply 
 sufficient space at the Lincoln's Inn end might stUl be retamed as a garden for the 
 occupants of the houses. A double row of substantial iron hurdles, fifteen or 
 twenty feet apart, with slirubs or rock-work to fill the intervening space, would 
 surely form a sufficient barrier for all conceivable purposes. It may be hoped thati 
 no jealous assertion of existing rights will interfere with a scheme at once so 
 practicable and so full of promise. Those for whom the concession is asked, are 
 not people who want to .play the Grood Samaritan at the expense of their neigh- 
 bours. They have given their own time and labour and money freely, to promote 
 what they believe will be a great public good, and they may fairly count upon 
 co-operation, wherever it can reasonably be afforded. It can hardly be necessary 
 to say that the above suggestion is not made with a vague disregard to difficulties 
 of different kinds which will inevitably present themselves. But that these diffi- 
 culties may be met and the details arranged, seems quite witliiu the limit of hope, 
 if not of actual probability. Such an attempt would bring with it a jDropor- 
 tionate measure of popularity and support. It is rather a singular, and to me 
 a very gratifying coincidence, that after the above remarks were in type, the hon 
 member for Shrewsbury, in moving for leave to bring in a Bill " to enable grant 
 of land to be made near populous places for the recreation of adults, and as play- 
 grounds for poor children," should have so exactly adopted my own view with 
 reference to Lincoln's Inn Fields. Mr. Slaney is reported to have said {Times^ 
 May 19th), " He saw no reason why a corner of Lincoln's Inn Fields might not 
 be appropriated to the recreation of poor childi'cn at proper hours of the day . 
 He scarcely ever saw any person walking there, and under proper regulations 
 his suggestion might reasonably be adopted. It might likewise apply to some 
 other squares— Soho Square for instance— which were in the immediate vicinity of 
 the abodes of dense masses of the poor pox)ulation." 
 
 I 
 
106 TAXATION AND BULLIONISM. 
 
 tion of the day? The children would do it no appreciable harm— at 
 least they never used to hurt the Temple Gardens, which, when I lived 
 in chambers there, used to be filled with one delighted swarm every 
 summer evening. And I will undertake to say that that worthy gar- 
 dener, Mr. Broom, can show choicer flowers grown under the windows 
 of Paper-buildings than any which you will find in " The Fields." In 
 point of locality, the latter would be perfection itself for our present 
 purpose, being within five minutes' walk of any point in Drury Lane, 
 whose tributary streets and blind alleys are among the most insufferable 
 in all ^.ondon. Holborn on the north, and the Strand on the south, 
 would each supply their thousand candidates for play. It would be a 
 famous beginning — worthy of London — worthy of the time — worthy of 
 the man who shall turn a vague wish into a noble reality, and cause 
 his own name to be written upon the list of those who were deserving of 
 ihe civic crown. 
 
 TAXATION AND BULLIONISM.* 
 
 It may appear somewhat strange to our readers, considering the views 
 ■and principles advocated by this periodical, that we should pronounce 
 the pamphlet before us to be a valuable contribution to monetary litera- 
 ture. In spite, however, of the fact, that the author is a bullionist 
 more ardent and uncomprising than even Lord Overstone himself, he 
 has, v>'e think, done the cause of truth a good service by the publication. 
 Mr. Cowell is evidently a sincere and an honest man, and his dissatis- 
 faction is great that those monetary principles which have been delibe-' 
 rately adopted by the Legislature should be so frequently annulled, if 
 not stultified, by the permission of a course of procedure, during a time 
 of commercial panic, which is in direct opposition to them. 
 
 Mr. Cowell condemns the Bill of 1844, not because he considers the 
 aim or intent of that Bill to be erroneous, but because it fails to accom- 
 plish its avowed purpose. Eeferring, in the first place, to the dogma of 
 the bullionists, that a mixed currency of gold and paper ought to 
 fluctuate precisely as would an entirely metallic currency ; and, secondly, 
 to the assertion of Lord Overstone, " That the paper money of the 
 country under the Act of 1844 conforms strictly in amount, and con- 
 sequent value to a metallic circulation," Mr. Cowell inquires where 
 is the proof that such has been the result of that Act. At page 26 he 
 
 * Further Letters on Cvirrency to the Right Hon. Sir F. T. Baring, Bart., M.P., 
 by John Welsford Cowell, B.A. London : Eidgway, Piccadilly. April, 1858. 
 
.TAXATION AND BULLIONISM. 107 
 
 sfiys, " I should be glad to know whether their action " (i.e. the aotion" 
 of the Bank directors) " as regulators, taking it from August last, com- 
 menced at the proper time, was carried on with proper increase' in 
 intensity, and eventuated in the result which they desired or expected. 
 In the beginning of that month they were, I believe, selling their cove- 
 nants to pay gold on demand* at 6 per cent.; they soon raised the price 
 of these to 14 per cent., and finally sold them to the amount of several 
 millions, disengaged from the obligation of paying them on demand 
 (although that obligation is written on the face of them) by the sanc- 
 tion of the Government — at 12 per cent. Is regulation, or its clear, 
 orderly, foreknowable effects, visible in proceedings of this character ? 
 I am unable to see in them anything but disturbance, confusion, bewil- 
 derment, and imbecility. Can any of those phrases so eulogistic of the 
 action of the system of 1844, be considered applicable to such a course 
 of proceedings ? On what day during the last six months was it ' that 
 the paper money of the country conformed strictly in amount, and conse- 
 quent value, to a metallic circulation, and that those fluctuations in 
 amount, and those only, which would have occurred under a purely 
 metallic circulation, did occur under our present mixed circulation of 
 gold and paper as regulated by the Act of 1844 '? Is any one, capable 
 of understanding the nature of the question, to be found, who is also 
 capable of believing that with a purely metallic currency in England^ 
 the price of gold — starting from 6 per cent, in August — would run up 
 to 14 per cent, in October, and down to 2\ per cent, in February? Yet 
 the true believer in the Act of 1844, as it is described by Lord Over- 
 stone, ought to believe that a purely gold currency would have gone 
 precisely through those identical perturbations, dilatations, and con- 
 tractions." 
 
 This quotation, and others of similar import, which we might make 
 are decisive of the utter worthlessness of the Bill of 1844, and of its 
 inability so to regulate our mixed system of paper and gold as to make 
 it act, precisely and in all circumstances, the same as it would if it 
 were purely metallic. And this is the principal worth of the work 
 now before us. The clear exhibition of this point is its most valuable 
 characteristic. It displays clearly enough the unsoundness of the present 
 system and its incapability of vindicating its pretensions when brought 
 to the test of actual practice ; but when we turn from this point in order 
 to ascertain what the author proposes in its place, we discover that this 
 little work, like all other contributions from the same school, is most 
 incomplete and unsatisfactory. For instance, it fails to give any con- 
 sideration whatever to a most important collateral point — namely, the 
 influence of a system of indirect taxation upon the prices of commo- 
 dities, and consequently upon the currency in which those prices have to 
 * The name given by the author to bank notes. 
 
108 TAXATION AND BULLIONISM. 
 
 be expressed. This is so entirely lost sight of, that it appears extremely- 
 doubtful whether Mr. Cowell has really any conception-that taxation and 
 currency are intimately related and cannot well be considered apart 
 from each other. That to consider currency without reference to the 
 system of taxation which is to accompany it, is to render nugatory and 
 valueless all the conclusions that may be drawn upon the subject. Has 
 it never occurred to Mr. Cowell that where direct taxation alone prevails, 
 "value" alone has to be provided for in the prices of commodities; but 
 that where indirect taxation is employed, taxation must be embodied in 
 the prices of the articles as well as the value ? If duties are placed upon 
 goods, it is not sufficient merely to secure to the producer of these goods 
 just so much gold as ^^ill be the equivalent of their intrinsic value 
 This is not enough. This merely pays for the natural value of the 
 articles, but does not repay that taxation which attaches to the manu- 
 facture in every stage of its production, and which is never intended to 
 rest upon him on whom it is first levied. This additional element of 
 cost renders necessary a price in excess of the natural or gold price, 
 in order to compensate for the burden it imposes. A pennyweight of gold, 
 or four shillings of our money, may be the fair natural and mercantile 
 equivalent of a bushel of wheat, and this quantity of gold may, in 
 countries like Poland or Russia, sufficiently remunerate the producer of 
 the wheat; but this price will not meet the necessities of the English 
 farmer, nor enable him to discharge the claims which our fiscal system 
 makes upon him. To enable hira to meet these, he must have the cost 
 of taxatioQ added to the natural cost, and both must be comprised in 
 the price for which he sells his wheat or other produce. This point 
 the buUionist school of currency theorists generally omit altogether, and 
 it is this omission which vitiates the whole of their reasoning. Their 
 conclusions may be sound if none other than direct taxation is employed, 
 but with indirect taxation they are fallacious in the highest degree. 
 
 For what is the great purpose aimed at by this theoretical school other 
 than the production of a general equilibrium of prices all over the world, 
 by means of the employment, as exclusively as possible, of the same 
 material for effecting exchanges in all countries? This is openly 
 avowed as the principal article of its ci-eed, and by none more 
 unreservedly than the author of the pamphlet before us. He 
 deprecates all interference with gold, and wishes it to have an un- 
 controlled operation everywhere, that it may effect the result spoken of. 
 After describing the incessant movements to and fro of the precious metals 
 during the late panic — now here, now there — resting scarcely a moment 
 in any one spot, Mr. Cowell says that all this incessant motion was for 
 the purpose of "measuring prices everywhere;" that is, of bringing all 
 things in all countries by means of its operation to one uniform level of 
 price ; that " it is essential to the proper solution of this problem that the 
 
TAXATION AND BULHONISM. 109 
 
 piiper instrument of exchange shall not operate in such a fashion as to 
 cause any alteration whatever, either in time, degree, or frequency, in 
 those fluctuations of the precious metals which would take place if the 
 paper instrument did not exist;" that " these fluctuations must be ab- 
 solutely identical in all their accidents, whether there is, or whether there 
 is not, a paper currency; and if they be not identical, then that paper 
 currency which destroys this indispensable identity, is unceasingly in- 
 juring public prosperity;" and again "that the natural and spontaneous 
 fluctuations of the universal commodity in any emporium afford the only 
 safe guide to manufacturers and merchants connected with that emporium 
 in the various paths that lead to profit and to loss." 
 
 Now this sole and universal employment of gold, or of paper represent- 
 atives of it, absolutely identical in value with the gold, tending, as it ever 
 will do, to produce one uniform level of prices, is the very thing that we 
 condemn. The very reason which is assigned for the alleged superiority 
 of gold as a currency, is that which we think is fatal to its employment 
 in a state laden with such peculiar and onerous fiscal obligations 
 as those which press upon us. One extract from SIcCulloch is suflScient 
 to cut away the ground beneath the feet of this theory — " When taxes 
 are placed upon commodities, prices must necessarily rise in a correspond- 
 ing proportion, otherwise the producer will not obtain the ordinary rate 
 of profit." Now with such a currency as Mr. Cowell and his coadjutors 
 would like to see in operation, such a rise of price as is here shown to be 
 indispensable by Mr. McCuIIoch could not possibly take place. 
 No matter what weight of indirect taxation might be heaped upon 
 commodities, the inexorable gold currency so portable as to be almost 
 ubiquitous in its nature, would bring the goods down to the level of the 
 lowest country, and thereby throw all the taxation upon the manufacturer 
 and the classes under him. 
 
 We believe that this important point is not seen by the greater portion 
 of those who advocate the rigid and inflexible currency reconmiended by 
 Mr. Cowell. It has never struck them that taxation has anything to 
 do with currency, and we could almost take it upon ourselves to affirm 
 that, with Mr. Cowell, they are two entirely distinct subjects, which 
 must stand or fall according to their own individual merits without the 
 slightest reference to the operation of either upon the other. The non- 
 perception of the intimate relations of currency and taxation is, we 
 believe, the reason why the honest portion of the bullionist school so 
 firmly uphold the hurtful system which they cherish so ardently. They 
 think that if gold is allowed to have, in all countries, free ingress and 
 egress, prices everywhere will' be assimilated ; and they hold that the 
 monetary system that accomplishes this, must be a perfect system. They 
 have not reflected that such an assimilation, while indirect taxation exists, 
 would be unjust, and could only be permitted, with any kind of consist- 
 
110 TAXATION AND BULLIONISM. 
 
 ency, by the repeal of all the duties which enhance the prices of the goods 
 beyond their natural level. As long as these duties are maintained, prices 
 must be allowed to rise in proportion. To arrange otherwise is to act 
 with oppressive cruelty towards the producing classes. 
 
 But we fear there are oChers who understand the practical working of 
 the system much better, and who desire its retention upon the sole ground 
 that it enables them to reap great and undue advantages in the employ- 
 ment of their capital. These are the " hard calculators," who perceive 
 that the fluctuations which the combined systems of currency and taxation 
 necessarily produce, furnish them with a much easier and a far more 
 profitable mode of acquiring wealth, than the pursuit of any industrial 
 occupation of their own. " Fools build and wise men buy," is one of their 
 favourite proverbs. " Let those labour that know no better, we can secure 
 all the fruit of their toil through the opportunities which the periodical 
 panics unfailingly afford us." 
 
 But there is not only an entire absence of all consideration of the effects 
 of indirect taxation upon prices in the work before us, but there is a 
 species of philosophy pervading it which we do not at all admire. The 
 author seems to think that gold and the human mind have been expressly 
 made for each other ; that there really is something in the very nature 
 of the material of the metal which is calculated, beyond all other sub- 
 stances, to draw out the latent powers of man, and, from the very 
 insatiableness which it inspires, to develop, most desirably, his productive 
 capabilities. 
 
 If this were really the fact, we should think it a most degrading one, 
 and one which would make us blush for the grovelling character of our 
 nature. But we do not believe it. All do not worship gold; and very 
 few of those who do worship it, worship it really as gold. They bow 
 before it in its character of money, and the same homage would be paid 
 to any money, whatever the nature of the material of which it was made 
 might be. Mr. Cowell must not therefore consider his three propositions 
 concerning gold to be axioms, self-evident and undisputed ; but postulates, 
 the proof of which has yet to be given. 
 
 The foregoing remarks apply more especially to the first of the two 
 letters of which the work consists. The author is, we think, more sitc- 
 eessful in the second letter, in which he treats of the costliness of employing 
 the Bank of England as the financial agent of the State. It certainly 
 appears very absurd that the country should annually pay large sums to 
 the Bank of England for the use of its notes, instead of using its own 
 notes at once. The Government obtains advances of Bank notes from 
 the Bank, giving its own Exchequer bills in return, and pays largely for 
 this substitution of one piece of paper for another. This procedure 
 would be reasonable if the Bank note were more valuable than the 
 Exchequer bill; but the truth is, that the latter has a security which the 
 
THE OVEESTONE THEORY OF TRADE. HI 
 
 Bank note cannot pretend to. The Bank note itself depends, for its 
 validity, upon the validity of the Exchequer note; for as the whole of 
 the capital of the Bank of England is lent to the Government, its notes 
 must be valueless if the Exchequer fail. Let the Government make use 
 of its own credit and resources, and save the large sums which it annually 
 pays the Bank of England for the use of its notes. Every one must, we 
 think, see that the notes of a Government in the receipt of an income of 
 fifty or sixty millions sterling per annum, which income is secured by 
 the whole property of the country, must be superior to those of a corpora- 
 tion whose income is, in; the first place, not a fiftieth part of that amount, 
 and in the second place, not secured by a direct power over the entire 
 nation, but only intermediately through the agency of the Government. 
 Just as we have concluded this short notice, we have accidentally met 
 with Mr. Cowell's former letters to Sir F. T. Baring on the same subject. 
 We perceive by a hasty glance, that the same views are expressed, and 
 the same principles propounded, as those in the pamphlet before us. But 
 as they are exhibited more at large, and as they touch the very essence 
 of the controversy between the various currency theorists, we shall 
 probably in a future number enter more largely into the consideration of 
 them. 
 
 THE OVERSTONE THEORY OF TRADE. 
 
 In 1837 Lord Overstone published his first pamphlet on the currencyr 
 under the title of " Reflections on Mr. J. Horsley Palmer's Pamphlet on 
 the Causes and Consequences of the Pressure on the Money Market." 
 
 This pamphlet contains the germ of all that Lord Overstone has since 
 written and said on the subject of currency. It is on that accqunt wor- 
 thy of perusal. In it we have stated, in the plainest manner, the monetary 
 principles which Lord Overstone had adopted, and which appear to be 
 the concentrated wisdom of the financial party known as Bullionists.. 
 " The sole duty," he says, " to be performed in regulating a paper cur- 
 rency is to make its amount vary,-as the amount of a currency exclu- 
 sively metallic would vary under the same circumstances." " The only 
 safe course is to consider a continuous drain of gold from the Bank as 
 conclusive evidence, without reference to vague and uncertain specula- 
 tions as to the precise cause of the drain, of the necessity of eiFecting a 
 corresponding reduction of circulation." Here, then, the public ascer- 
 tain the exact principle of the Bullionist theorj^, which was established 
 as law by Peel's Bill of 1819. The exertions of Lord Overstone, and 
 of those with whom he has acted for the last twenty years, have been 
 directed to the formation of machinery by which this principle of making 
 
113 THE OVEKSTONB THEOEY OP TRADE. 
 
 the circulation fluctuate " precisely as it would have fluctuated had the 
 currency been purely metallic," might be eiFectually carried out. The 
 repeal of the Usury Laws, allowing to the Bank an unfettering discre- 
 tion in raising the rate of discount to check the drain of bullion by an 
 action on the foreign exchanges, was considered by the supporters of 
 Peel's Bill an important step in the right direction. The separation, by 
 the Act of 1849, of the Bank of England into two departments, the Issue 
 Department to regulate the circulation, the Banking Department merely 
 to act as a bank of deposit and general business, was a device to give 
 greater precision to the working of the principle. The limit placed by 
 the Act of 1849 to the circulation of all banks of issue, had the same 
 object in view. A prohibition to the future establishment of any banks 
 of issue was also enacted, and Lord Overstone, in this pamphlet of 1837, 
 expressly directs the attention of the public to " the propriety of secur- 
 ing, strengthening, and, if possible, extending the monopoly, as regards 
 currency, of the central issuer (the Bank of England), with the view of 
 rendering the indirect control which she can exercise over subordinate 
 issuers more powerful and effectual." 
 
 Now, as a reason for thfe entire separation of the power of the issue 
 of paper money from the exercise of ordinary banking functions. Lord 
 Overstone promulgated his theory of trade. " The history," he says, 
 " of what we are in the habit of calling the ' state of trade' is an 
 instructive lesson. We find it subject to various conditions, which are 
 periodically returning ; it revolves apparently in an established cycle. 
 First, we find it in a state of quiescence, — next, improvement, — grow- 
 ing confidence, — prosperity, — excitement, — over-trading, — convulsion, — 
 pressure, — stygnation, — distress, — ending again in quiescence." 
 
 A more disheartening and repulsive theory was never propounded I 
 Eor every evil under the sun, progress, — civilisation, knowledge, 
 science, and a higher tone of public morals — held out the promise of at 
 least amelioration, if not of entire removal. If, however, this theory be 
 true, the commercial evils of the world are without hope of remedy. 
 But we cannot, for a moment, believe that this theory is true. Ancient 
 and modern history furnishes no evidence in support of it. There 
 have been, doubtless, periods of ridiculous gambling .speculation, as 
 those of the Mississippi Scheme and the South Sea Bubble, followed 
 inevitably by much suffering and great ruin; but such delusions, like 
 those of witchcraft or astrology, pass away never to return. Here, 
 however, we are presented with ten " states of trade," of which one is 
 indifferent, three are good, and six had, and are informed that such is 
 the " established cycle " of commerce ! 
 
 The theory is, in fact, adapted to the circumstances of the country 
 under Peel's monetary system. Every ten or twelve years we suffer 
 from a monetary crisis. We have had the panic of 1825, the diffi- 
 
THE OVEUSTONE THEORY OF TKADE. 113 
 
 culties of 1837 and 1839, tlie monetary crisis of 1847, and tliat of 
 1857. The whole "cycle" is, in our opinion, connected with the 
 pernicious monetary system now existing. 
 
 Take the present moment. We are now in a state of " quiescence," border- 
 ing on " improvement." The commercial storm is past, lluined merchants 
 are collecting their assets, and preparing for the payment of their dividends. 
 Trade is dormant. Nothing is doing but that which is absolutely necessarj'. 
 There is no employment for capital. Money, which men of business 
 were struggling to'get at nine or ten per cent, six months ago, can now 
 be obtained at two or three per cent. But there is no demand for 
 money, it therefore accumulates in the Bank, and in the hands of monej' 
 dealers. The Bank, which in November was on the verge of bank- 
 ruptcy, now holds nearly eighteen millions of gold and silver, and has a 
 reserve of notes of upwards of eleven millions. With this state of things 
 trade manifests symptoms of revival. Mills, whicli were closed, begin 
 to work ; those which were on short time, are put on full time. " Im- 
 provement " has set in. Meanwhile, foreign trade, under the stimulus of 
 increasing orders, also improves. If no check from the export of bullion 
 occurs, " confidence " will increase ; and so, in two or three years, the 
 country will advance to '' prosperity." The " prosperity " of England, 
 iinder Peel's Bills of 1819 and 1844, depends on a circulating medium 
 being provided adequate to the nation's wants, and this is made to depend 
 entirely on a sufficient amount of bullion being retained in the Bank 
 coffers. Sir Robert Peel never contemplated the amount of assistance 
 which his system would obtain from the extraordinary discoveries of gold 
 in California and Australia. Again and again has a pressure been 
 averted by the arrival of a ship with gold from Australia. But here 
 again the system commences its evil operations. Common sense would 
 say, that the Bank of England, having an ample sufficiency of gold in its 
 coffers to meet its demands, should not be expected to encumber itself 
 with more. But the BuUionist " principle " says, that as gold flows in, 
 the Issue Department must continue to give out notes in exchange for 
 gold to any amount at a fixed rate, otherwise we do not make our 
 • circulation fluctuate as a " purely metallic currency " would do. In 
 June, July, and August, 1852, the Bank had in the Issue Department 
 between twenty and twenty-two millions of gold. The active circula- 
 tion (including, as Lord Overstone correctly affirms it ought to do, the 
 reserve of notes in the Bank) was from thirty-four to thirty-six millions. 
 The rate of discount was two per cent. 
 
 Under such circumstances the period of " excitement " commences. 
 Observe, that we are not in tjie position which we should be with a 
 " purely metallic currency," for on the basis of the accumulated gold in 
 the Issue Department is built up an enormous amount of commercial 
 money, consisting of bills of exchange, cheques, &-c. The BuUionists 
 
114 THE OTEKSTONE THEORY OF TRADE. 
 
 falsely accuse the currency reformers of advocating an over-issue of 
 paper. We retort on our adversaries the accusation, and affirm that 
 their "principle" necessarily involves over-issues, and consequent " over- 
 trading," as they call it. 
 
 It is unquestionable that the working of their system has produced 
 greater fluctuations in the rate of discount than were ever before known 
 in this country. The low rate of discount indicates a superabundant 
 circulation. With this superabundance comes a struggle among capi- 
 talists to obtain employment for their money. Schemes which, in a 
 healthy state of the circulating medium would have obtained no coun- 
 tenance, spring up. Such men as Mr. Sadleir seize their opportunit}'. 
 Money is forced into unusual channels. Foreign mining companies, 
 foreign loans, unnecessary lines of railway, bubble banks, and joint- 
 stock companies of every shade of absurdity, are called into existence. 
 The Bullionist " principle " directly fosters and encourages these evils. 
 Then comes the collapse. The prices of all commodities have risen. It 
 becomes a profitable trade to export bullion. It may be obtained to 
 any extent from the Bank. Notes are withdrawn from circulation — 
 money becomes scarce — the rate of discount rises. " Convulsion, 
 pressure, stagnation, and distress," follow in rapid succession. Then 
 prices decline. The hardly earned savings of years of patient industry 
 are in a moment swept away. The man of moderate capital is ruined — 
 many a happy home is broken up — many a bright prospect for life is 
 destroyed — the workhouses are crowded with unemployed operatives — 
 the whole commercial machine is thrown " out of gear." 
 
 But not even the " principle " for which all this misery and ruin is 
 inflicted is preserved. The Bank Charter Act is suspended, and the 
 miserable farce is at end. 
 
 The Bullionists have for forty years been on their trial. They have 
 had it all their own way. They carried their Bill in 1819. They 
 asked for the repeal of the Usury Laws to perfect their system : it was 
 granted. They advocated the establishment of joint-stock banks to 
 improve the system : it was sanctioned by Parliament. In 184.4 dissa- 
 tisfied with the management of the Bank of England, they introduced 
 such reforms as they considered necessary to make their system- " per- 
 fect." They advocated the imposition of a limit on the issue of all other 
 banks. Their wishes became law. One thing remains to be done. 
 They may deprive all banks of issue of their privilege, and give, as Lord 
 Overstone proposed in 1837, and as Peel wished to do in 1844, a mono- 
 poly to the Bank of England, or establish a Government Paper Money 
 Circumlocution Office. 
 
 This, however, the Bullionists cannot do. They cannot carry out 
 their " principle " of causing the circulation of this country to fluctuate 
 as a purely metallic currency would do. 
 
HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 115 
 
 Lord Liverpool said truly that a metallic currency has this inheren 
 defect, it is composed of a commodity liable to fluctuations in value 
 Gold always has fluctuated in value, as compared with other commodi- 
 ties. It always will fluctuate. The pound which, in 14th century 
 contained 300 grains of gold, contained only 174 in 16th, 140 in 17th, 
 129 in 1750, and it is now 123 grains. Now if, instead of waiting till 
 it be necessary, in order to observe the semblance of justice to the 
 creditor, to make a violent and sudden change in the quantity of gold 
 in a pound, a fractional fluctuation in our paper circulation were 
 allowed to the sovereign, the evils of our existing system would cease . 
 With gold at its market price in bank notes, the efflux and influx of 
 bullion would regulate itself without any violent expanding of the cir- 
 culating medium at one time, or ruinous contractions at another. The 
 Bank note would then, under all circumstances and at all times, be 
 really and truly convertible, and the cycle of trade would become an 
 obsolete theory. The Bullionist system has been fully tested, and has 
 been proved to be as impracticable as it is disastrous. 
 
 We call upon Lord Overstone to reconsider his opinions. Such national 
 inflictions as those which wehave experienced for the last forty years involve 
 a heavy weight of responsibility. It has, on this occasion, been our wish 
 to avoid all references of a personal character. The earnest supporters, 
 and the not less earnest opponents, of the system he advocates. Sir 
 Eobert Peel and his son. Lord Ashburton and Mr. Huskisson, Mr. 
 Attwood and Mr. Eicardo, have passed from the scene. At a ripe old 
 age the name of Mr. Lewis Loyd has been added to the list. We 
 pause in the heat of controversy to reflect, " what shadows we are, and 
 what shadows we pursue." 
 
 HOLES IN THE NATIOJiTAL MONEY BAG. 
 
 If the Chancellor of the Exchequer is not, like the unlucky Danaides,. 
 doomed to draw water with a sieve, he has at least to solve the problem 
 of keeping serviceably full a vessel which is leaking at a thousand 
 gaping seams. Probably this is the only department of government in 
 this country in which the "how to do it "is really and seriously 
 studied. The money bag must be filled ; there must be cash, or else- 
 Chaos. In other departments there may be laxity or lukewarmness, 
 but here at least there is activity and eagerness, if there is not always 
 talent, and so the money bag is filled ; supplies are raised with more or 
 less ingenuity, and the annual tottles of debit and credit are evened 
 somehow or other, as we all know. Disraeli has a right, as Cockneys 
 •say, to manage this matter cleverly ; he comes of a race whose natural 
 
116 HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 
 
 instincts are all financial and on the right side of a bargain ; and if he 
 concocts the budget, we know well enough that the money will be 
 forthcoming. What becomes of all the money we don't know quite so 
 well; and that is the thing which some of us just now are trying to 
 find out. 
 
 It is tlie endless war expenses which cause the cash to fly and our 
 pockets to collapse. A few years back the Britisli lion reposed upon 
 his laurels, or if he awoke and opened his mouth at all, it was but to 
 " roar you as gently as a sucking dove." The empire was peace — at least 
 such was the favourite notion at home — Kaffirs, and Sikhs, and Chinese 
 might think differently, but theirs were exceptional cases, and not of 
 sufficient weight to trouble us much. 
 
 There was a pleasant postulate of our greatest thinker which was 
 growing popular before the blast of war came ; it ran to this effect — 
 that a better use might be made of Giles and Jeannot, after being at the 
 expense of rearing them to manhood, than setting them in rows to shoot 
 each other dead. Bull was beginning to see the absurdity of that sort 
 of thing, and to recognise the wisdom of a different economy — -witness 
 the peace movements and missions, the Olive Branches of the philolo- 
 gical blaoksmilh, the national congresses, &c., &c. — all vanished now, 
 like vapour licked up by the fiery Bellona, or, if not dissipated for ever, 
 condensed and bottled up in the pocket laohrjfmatories of John Bright 
 and his drab-coloured following. Not but that there were knowing 
 ones, even then, who saw very good practical utilities in the destiny of 
 Giles and Jeannot — dead in a ditch, or (more elegantly and heroically) 
 mort cm champ d'honneur. It might not be the best thing for them 
 individually, perhaps that much was provable ; but also it could not be 
 the worst thing — to die for one's country, dulce et decorum, &c., and the 
 muse of history in the guise of Mr. Russell, with a smart and smirking 
 sesquipedalian paragraph, or perhaps two, by way of apotheosis. Do j'ou 
 call thatnothing, for a clodhopper born to the plough-tail ? But, leaving 
 Jeannot out of the question — and be it best or worst for Giles — one thing 
 was certain, those glorious cut-throat institutions were an excellent 
 thing for the entail — for a number of highly' respectable vested interests 
 — and for all the elevated proprieties of life ; for when Giles was not 
 fighting abroad he was apt to be grumbling at home, and giving occa- 
 sion to meddlesome demagogues to interfere in his behalf with nonsense 
 about his rights. 
 
 When the Russian eagle flapped his sombre wing over Turkey, and 
 threatened to flesh his beak in the unguarded side of the Osmanli, the peace 
 delusion vanished at once— the great world congress idea was interred 
 with unuttered because unutterable solemnities, and the British lion, 
 ere half awake, snored a note of thunder that roused all Europe to the 
 consciousness of his existence. This time Giles colleagued with Jean- 
 
HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 117 
 
 not, and instead of cutting each other's throats, they flew together at the 
 throat of Ivan Ivanovitch, and pegged, and pummelled, and hacked, and 
 slashed at him in concert, like good patriots, until they fell, and died, 
 and rotted in the same ditch together — all for glory as aforetime — with 
 a remainder of advantage for a new species of vested interests. 
 
 For the knowing ones had made the discovery that Giles, whether 
 dead in a ditch, with a conical bullet in him, or alive and pipe-claying 
 himself to the music of martial airs, could be made a medium of profit, 
 a sort of commercial vehicle with sundry practicable margins fluttering 
 about him : that, alive, he could be rigged out, shakoed, shirted, pan- 
 talooned, booted, belted, sheltered and provisioned, upon a newly-invented 
 but by no means patent principle, with very considerable gain to his 
 providers ; and that, dead, he could be supplemented by a brother Giles, 
 who, as raw material, would prove no less useful and profitable in his 
 generation. This grand discovery was experimented upon in the Crimean 
 trenches, and was found to work extremely well, vastly to the satisfac- 
 tion of the knowing ones, though less to that of poor Giles, who starved 
 and took sick under it, and in some tliirty thousand instances died 
 outright before he could strike a fair blow against the enemy. That 
 the new invention wore hideous holes in the national money bag we all 
 know, and by the same token we raised a tremendous clamour about it, 
 what time the war-ninepence ran into our vitals, and we had to pay the 
 piper ; but the clamour died out, as it always does wlien it is allowed to 
 have free way and exhaust itself ; and beyond a good deal of windy 
 rhetoric, and much waste of both honourable and plebeian breath, nothing 
 came of it — then. 
 
 The Indian mutiny called out Giles again, and, as a matter of course, 
 the knowing ones who had managed matters so well in the Crimea, got 
 the provisioning him and the rigging of him out again, and not only of 
 him, but of brother Giles, who, in the capacity of militia-man, stayed at 
 home for the nonce. They say that Giles who went abroad to fight 
 under a tropical sun, got but a shabby outfit, but had to put up with it 
 as he might, and make the best of it ; while Giles at home was con- 
 stantly being buried in a mountain of accoutrements of all sorts and 
 descriptions— and yet the bumpkin could never he suited. Pantaloons 
 and coats,, belts and shakoes, straps and boots, though showered on him 
 like rain, fell from his corpus like rain from a duck's back. The 
 rumour ran that all were too long, too short, too broad, too narrow, too 
 heavy, too light, too this, too that, and too t'other, to be of any use, and 
 having first been contracted for, delivered, examined, approved, and paid 
 for, had to be condemned and sold again for what they would fetch, in 
 accordance with the newly-discovered and unpatented principle of tho 
 knowing ones. How it was that the War Department could not rig out 
 his poor Giles even at double the cost at which Noses and Co. would 
 
118 HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 
 
 have done the thing, and made a profit by it too ; how, in fact, paying 
 a, good deal more than double, they could not succeed in rigging him 
 out at all, that was a mystery which, while it perplexed Mr. Bull ex- 
 ceedingly, raised his choler and caused him to rile up, as the Yankees 
 say, some! Bull swore he would have the matter looked into, or he 
 would button up his breeches-pocket, clap the stopper on the supplies, 
 and leave the filling of the money bag to Old Nick. Bull got on the 
 platform and said as much as that, and more : he was determined to 
 know how his money was spent, he said ; he would have value for what 
 he paid, or he wouldn't pay at all, and he would have the invoices and 
 see the vouchers — and all that, and more of it. 
 
 The upshot was that Bull had to be pacified ; and so the big fellows 
 who work the State machine promised that the thing should be looked 
 into. When the promise would have been kept, had not the machine 
 taken a hitch through bad management, and got handed over to a dif- 
 ferent set of workmen, there is no knowing. But people who are new 
 brooms sweep clean, especially when they sweep other people's dirt — 
 and the new hands began looking into Giles's business without loss of 
 time, and all the quicker that the result was not expected to reflect any 
 great credit upon their predecessors in office. That inquiry is going on 
 now, and has been going on for some time, at the great wittenagemot 
 down in Westminster. A party of Bull's representatives have taken it 
 in hand, with an evident determination to get to the bottom of the 
 mystery if there be any bottom to it, and also, if it may be, to patch up 
 the rents in the money bag. They have cited to their bar Giles's pur- 
 veyors, who are supposed to know all about it, both Jews and Gentiles 
 — men of the last, men of the hot goose, men of the cloth-yard, and men 
 of the quill — and, by dint of a succession of earnest and affectionate 
 squeezings, are endeavouring to express from them such revelations as 
 are to be got. The inquiry is held with open doors; Bull and any 
 of his family are welcome to be present if they choose, and numbers of 
 them, as is but natural, avail themselves of the privilege. We have 
 ourselves, two or three times, in our wandering search after truth, 
 attended the investigation ; and though the process by which that rare 
 article is eliminated in that honourable conclave is not the most direct, 
 but rather of the circumbendibus order, we have yet picked up a few 
 facts relating to the outfit of Giles, and the peculiar ceremonial which 
 every particle of his military toggery is made to undergo before it is in 
 a condition to be shot at, which throws some small gleam of light on the 
 mystery of the leaky money bag, and which, therefore, we shall take the 
 liberty to jot down. 
 
 It does appear, then, from the evidence taken before the West- 
 minster conclave, that Bull's sagacious Government, out of a considerate 
 regard for the comfort and Avelfare of Giles, and for no other earthly 
 
HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 119 
 
 reason, has for some time past been most extensively engaged in the 
 slop trade. They have one huge shop for the reception and storing of 
 the slops at Doubleyou, and other like " establishments " at other 
 letters of the alphabet. From examination of the account-books of 
 these establishments — said books being not much more than two years 
 behind-hand in the ceremony of posting up — nothing very definite as to 
 the management of the business is to be learned. But from questions 
 put to contractors who supply goods, to functionaries who receive them, 
 and to others, some features of the system of management are made to 
 loom out of the mist. Thus we learn that when a contractor sends in a 
 batch of slops according to contract, they have to be submitted to the 
 inspection of viewers, who are supposed to be placed above the reach of 
 temptation and the possibility of corruption by the reception of salaries 
 somewhat less than the wages of a day-labourer. Of course, the 
 viewers are incorruptible, and have no vested interests of their own. 
 When a man has 15s. a week, and a responsible post, what more can he 
 want ? The opportunity that makes the thief only makes him stronger 
 in his integrity. Such a man would not take a bribe to pass a batch of 
 defective goods; and though the defective goods should pass into the 
 store, and have subsequently to be condemned, we, for our part, have 
 perfect confidence in the honesty of the official, and we take this oppor- 
 tunity of saying so. "We are bound to state, however, that in this 
 opinion we have not the unanimous concurrence of the investigating 
 conclave, for one elderly gentleman assisting in the inquiry (nae peer, 
 as the Scotch would say, but a paragon in his way) broadly blurted out 
 his conviction more than once, that bribery and corruption lay at the 
 root of the entire mystery. 
 
 On a subsequent peep at the conclave we chanced to stumble upon a 
 pleasant passage in the history of that part of Giles's outfit in which he 
 takes such unmitigated delight, and which is to his lump of pipe-clay what 
 the dowager's wrinkled cheek is to the rouge-pot — the subject of everlast- 
 ing anxiety and reparation. We found the conclave breathing an atmos- 
 phere of a leathery odour, and up to their eyes in pouch-belts. There was 
 a, difficulty about the pouch-belts, which wanted solution. It was upon 
 the record that seventy-odd thousand of them had been contracted for, 
 delivered, approved, and paid for, at the rate of 4s. Gd. each; and after 
 enjoying the protection of the Government shop at Doubleyou, had been 
 sold again, without having incurred the slightest deterioration, but 
 having rather improved by keeping, for the sum of 9d. each. That 
 stroke of business was evidently not to the credit of Government sagacity 
 in the science of slop-dealing ; and honourable gentlemen showed con- 
 siderable anxiety to get at the why and the wherefore of the transaction. 
 Their earnest questions, however, did not meet the most earnest 
 replies; nothing expository of the hidden wisdom which dictated the 
 
120 HOLES IN THE NATIONAL MONEY BAG. 
 
 bargain could be elicited : there was the bare fact of a mountain of re- 
 jected leather, in the shape of pouch-belts, and the loss of 82 per cent, in 
 their pmxhase and sale, to the grievous injury of the money bag; and 
 that was all. That fact, indeed, was brought prominently forth by the 
 praiseworthy efforts of the chairman. " Is it your opinion," said he to 
 the witness, " that Government can purchase these belts at is. Gd., and 
 sell them again at 9(.i, without suffering a serious loss by the transaction?" 
 The witness, with a degree of candour remarkable in a Government con- 
 tractor, was of opinion that only loss could ensue from such a mode of 
 doing business ! And so that fact was established ; and it should be 
 duly appreciated, because it is all that Bull will ever get in return for his 
 vanished 82 per cent. 
 
 A brief catechism on boots followed on the dismissal of the belts. 
 The boots which Giles wanted so much in the Crimea, but didn't get — 
 and which he would be glad to get in India — are, when made according to 
 specification and pattern, a substantial article, a real comfort and protec- 
 tion to Giles's toes, when he can but get into them. Such excellent boots, 
 it ajjpeared by the catechism, had been made and delivered by tens of 
 thousands, at a cost to the Grovernment of 10s. 6d. to lis. the pair, and 
 summarilj' sold again to the slop-dealers at 5s. 3d. the pair. An amusing 
 feature with regard to the boots — and one charmingly illustrative of the 
 financial dexterity of the Government slop-seller — came out incidentally. 
 It was nothing less than the fact that in this case the purchase and the 
 sale had been going on simultaneously; that there had been a running 
 traffic at the shop, a. sprightly issue of goods going on concurrently with 
 their delivery by the contractors, at a loss of only 50 per cent. On this 
 stroke of business, also, the chairman had grave doubts, and repeating 
 liis question, drew from the witness a declaration that it involved a 
 serious loss. 
 
 Some of the honourable gentlemen seemed to entertain doubts as to 
 the real and ultimate destimition of the boots after all. It did not 
 clearly appear whether the boots wore made for Giles, or, like Peter 
 Pindar's razors, made only to sell; and least of all did it appear how 
 often they might be sold and bought, and bought and sold again, 
 before Giles got them — if, indeed, he ever did get them. They put the 
 question to witnesses — did they, the witnesses, ever buy the Government 
 stores at the Government sales, and send them in again as part of 
 Government contracts? Nobody knew_anything about that, of course. 
 
 The history of Giles's outfit remains a mystery still ; meanwhile 
 it is a matter of curious speculation. Taking for data his pouch- 
 belt, and his boots, let us see what we can make of it. The belts, 
 bought at 4s. Qd., and sold at 9d. each, gives a loss on the one article 
 of about 82 per cent. The boots bought at 10s. 6d. a pair, and sold 
 at 5s. 'dd. a pair, gives a loss^on the other of 50 per cent : tottle — 
 
OUDE AND THE LAND TENURES OP INDIA. 121 
 
 an average loss of 66 per cent., and Giles without a belt for his pouch, 
 and his toes in the mud. The value of Giles's entire outfit, when he 
 gets it, we may put down at 40s. ; the loss on that at the above average, 
 would be 24s. Qd., or thereabouts, which spread over an army of a 
 hundred thousand men amounts to a comfortable sum. But who shall 
 say that that is all ? The buying dear and the selling cheap, for the 
 benefit of the knowing ones, may be rehearsed again and again, the 
 Lord knows how many times. There may be, for aught we know, 
 boots in existence, intended for Giles, and which Giles may get when 
 they are no longer too good for him, which have been stored not only 
 in Doubleyou, but in all the letters of the alphabet, and have brought 
 ,cent. per cent, to both Jew nnd Gentile ten times over. If that is the 
 case — and how the supposition, absurd as it looks, is to be disproved 
 we do not see — then Giles's outfit may cost Bull two or three hundred 
 per cent, over the market price, before the poor fellow is finally rigged 
 out for the battle-field. We are a little sceptical on the score of con ■ 
 tractors' consciences; we could tell a tale about stores returned from 
 the Crimea — returned without even being unpacked — bought back for 
 next to nothing, and which must now be sought for eastward of the 
 Indus. 
 
 The question is. Is the mj'stery likely to be cleared up ? Will the 
 knowing ones, who have utilised Giles so extensively, be fairly brought 
 face to face with Bull, that they may know each other ? We cannot 
 tell ; the conclave will continue their investigations, and publish the 
 results in a volume of cerulean hue, and Bull will know all that he is 
 destined to know about the business. Our own impression is, that, 
 beyond the already patent fact that he has been atrociously cheated and 
 plundered in the matter of poor Giles, the knowledge he will derive will 
 not be much. The knowing ones are too knowing to walk into the wide- 
 mouthed trap set for them by the wittenagemot : they ai'e not the sort 
 to gibbet themselves for the general advantage. As for the Government 
 officials, they will all come out of the ordeal pure and immaculate, and 
 not to be suspected, much less to be ignominiously kicked out of office. 
 
 " What !" says Bull, in a towering rage, " will nobody be walloped 
 for this ?" 
 
 " No, my dear Bull, nobody." 
 
 OTJDE ANT> THE LAND TENURES OE INDIA. 
 
 Apart from the violence of faction and the intrigues of party, let 
 us lay before the public the questions at issue with respect to Lord Can- 
 ning's proclamation and Lord EUenborough's despatch. 
 
 The case against the Government was this — (we collect it from the 
 
 K 
 
122 OXIDE AND THE LAND TENURES OF INDIA. 
 
 Various speeches and organs of their opponents): — Rightly or wrongly, 
 we took possession of Oude, and expelled the king. We occupied it 
 peaceably nearly two years. We seized it because the king permitted the 
 most horrible cruelties. The talookdars, or heads of divisions, were 
 little else than robber chiefs, who made war on the king, or on each 
 other. Each of them had followers of from five to twenty thousand 
 men. Each held fortifications surrounded by thick jungle, and possessed 
 guns and ammunition. They oppressed the people, seized their villages, 
 burned some, and destroyed or ravaged others. 
 
 The Koran acknowledges no hereditary title to land. Oude was a 
 state governed by a Mussulman sovereign, though the majority of the 
 inhabitants were Hindoos ; consequently, there was no property in the 
 soil. These talookdars were, therefore, only persons appointed by 
 the Government to collect the revenue ; the rent they received from the 
 cultivators was, in fact, due to the Government, and what they reserved 
 to themselves was mere peculation. They were tenants at will of 
 their offices. There was no such thing, generally, as a proprietary 
 right in the soil — the fee-simple of the land was in the Govern- 
 ment. The talookdar was a mere chief collector, the zemindar 
 a sub-collector, and the cultivators, in all cases, mere tenants at will. 
 In practice, however, in a few cases, a grant might have been given in 
 recent years of a hereditary property in the soil. On getting possession 
 of Oude, it became necessary to investigate these claims. Talookdars and 
 zemindars must be made to show the origin of their titles. No matter 
 how long they or their ancestors had been in possession, the original 
 grant must be shown, or they were to be treated as tenants at will ; 
 for all the land of Oude was held of the sovereign, and the sovereign 
 power having come into the hands of a new landlord, he was perfectly 
 justified in sending a notice to quit to troublesome tenants. It was neces- 
 sary to break up the warlike establishments of these feudal barons, and 
 bind them over to good behaviour. 
 
 Colonel Sleeman, it was said, had made out a very strong case 
 against the Oude Government. The people were treated in the 
 most barbarous manner. When the mutiny of our Sepoys broke 
 out, these savages joined the rebels ; the most fearful atrocities 
 were committed on the unarmed women and children; these horrors 
 deserved the severest retribution. The whole population of Oude 
 was hostile, and it was necessary to re-conquer the country. Any 
 show of hesitation or leniency would be mistaken for fear. The rebellion 
 gave an excellent opportunity to cut the difficulty of the land tenures by 
 forfeiting the whole land. And now it is urged that though Lord Canning's 
 proclamation threatens to confiscate the proprietary right in the soil, it did 
 not mean that, but merely to transfer the ultimate reversion to the Crown. 
 That it was very wrong in Lord Ellenborough to send a despatch in reply to 
 
OUDB AND THE LAND TENURES OF INDIAi 123 
 
 the proclamation, till he received an explanation of it from Lord Canning, 
 as it would tie his hands and diminish his authority. That it was wrong in 
 the Government to permit him to do so. That the despatch ought not 
 to have been sent, because it is not known that the proclamation has 
 ever been published. It was very wrong to permit the despatch to be 
 published, as it would encourage rebels in resistance. Besides, rebellion 
 is high treason, and the lawful punishment of high treason is confisca- 
 tion. And that, after all, they were savages. Such is the case for Lord 
 Canning. 
 
 On the other side it is urged that some of these allegations are not 
 altogether consistent. That Lord Ellenborough had resigned. He 
 was alone responsible for the publication. Again, if the whole popu- 
 lation of Oude was hostile, it shows that their previous Govern- 
 ment was more popular than ours. Were they singular in pre- 
 ferring " a boisterous freedom to a peaceful slavery ?" Even the 
 occasional exactions of the native chief might gall less than the systematic 
 oppression of the English official. The power of the chieftain depended 
 on the number of his people ; the success of the official on the rupees 
 he could extract. The chief had some hereditary interest in the people's 
 well-being — the official only residing among them for a short period 
 had none. The object of one was to increase the power of his family — 
 that of the other to make money as rapidly as he could, and return to 
 England. Can we say that the people of Oude are wholly mistaken in 
 their preference ? 
 
 The mutiny of the Sepoy and the revolt of Oude are events of a 
 wholly distinct character. The Sepoy had eaten our salt, had been petted, 
 humoured, pampered, spoiled; and, on a ridiculous pretext, he, out of 
 mere wantonness, rose and murdered his own officers j and it may be 
 still in the recollection of some, was rather encouraged by the Govern- 
 ment in so doing. Nothing he did could be wrong. 
 
 The inhabitants of Oude had, on the other hand, little to thank us 
 for, and nothing to be faithful for. We had broken treaties, we had 
 occupied their country, we had put the title of every landowner in 
 peril, raised the taxes, deprived many of their estates. Yet the atrocities 
 of the rebellion were committed by our spoiled Sepoys, and not by the 
 people of Oude. One of their greatest chieftains, Maun Sing, had been 
 deprived, on some pretext, of a great part of his estates. On the out- 
 break of the mutiny he saved the lives of several Europeans — women 
 and children. So considerable was his influence that his clan was 20,000 
 Strong in fighting men. At first he stood neuter, sending word that 
 on the promise to restore his property he would take an active part 
 for us. Our rulers hesitated. To extract rupees was the sum of their 
 policy ; to concede was to lose rupees. Lives, indeed, were at stake, but there 
 were rupees also. They hesitate. The immortal Havelock is forced to 
 
124 OUDE AND THE LAND TENURES OF INDIA. 
 
 retreat, and Maun Sing having sought justice in vain at the hands of 
 pertinacious incompetency, unwillingly takes the field against us. By 
 the time he had done so the Governor-General had just made up his 
 mind to accept his offer, but it was just too late. 
 
 Is there any Englishman who would not fight in such a cause ? The 
 hearths and homes of a whole people were the stake. If England were 
 overrun by an enemy who recognised no property in the soil, except 
 where an original grant from the crown could be proved, and the pro- 
 prietors of the soil had appealed to arms, and a single victory had been 
 gained over them, would a proclamation of universal confiscation, 
 excepting six lords from its oi)eration who had found it their interest to 
 intrigue with the public enemy, be conducive to the peaceable settlement 
 of the State? 
 
 Oh, but these are savages ; yoa can't deal with Mohammedans as you 
 can with Christians. Grotius is of another opinion ; so is Vatlel, who 
 dismisses the subject with a single contemptuous paragraph. 
 
 According to the latter authority, the law applicable to the case 
 is this: until a province be ceded by treaty, or irrecoverably lost by 
 long neglect — usueaption on the one side and prescription on the other — 
 the conqueror cannot make out a clear title to it. Now, as to Oude, it 
 had never been ceded by treaty, and our occupation had been more 
 nominal than real — the chiefs had repudiated our authority. These 
 were the great feudatories of the king bound by their tenure to serve 
 him in war. On the first opportunity they endeavour to drive us from 
 their country, which we got possession of quietly by fraud and falsehood. 
 There can be no question of the lawfulness of the war they waged against 
 us; there might be great question of the justice of the war we waged 
 against them. They cannot be legally treated as private persons without 
 order of their sovereign making war on their own account; and even if they 
 were not bound to fight by their tenure, there are things a subject may do 
 presuming on his sovereign's assent. "If," says Vattel, " the townsmen of a 
 Strong place taken by the enemy have not promised or sworn submis- 
 sion to him, and a favourable opportunity offers of surprising the 
 GARRISON AND RECOVERING THE PLACE for their Sovereign, they may con- 
 fidently presume that their prince will approve their spirited enterprise; 
 and who will censure it ?" He then gives the example of Genoa expel- 
 ling the Austrians a century ago, an event which is yearly celebrated 
 to this day in that city. Consequently, the rights of the respective 
 parties are as of those engaged in a regular and lawful war. 
 
 The laws of war do not permit the appropriation of the soil of the 
 conquered. " The conqueror," says Vattel, " lays his hand on the posses- 
 sions of the State, on what belongs to the public, whileprivate persons are 
 permitted to retain theirs." Therefore, to confiscate the soil of Oude is 
 a stretch of international law, not very easily to be reconciled with the 
 
OUDE AND THE LAND TENURES OF INDIA. 125 
 
 writers on that subject. Perhaps a similar opinion might be expressed 
 with regard to too many of our dealings with the Indian peninsula. 
 
 But it is urged, accordiog to the Mussulman theory, a permanent 
 inheritable property cannot exist in the soil. It may be so theoretically j 
 we do not know, we are not mollahs. But the practice is not so, and 
 never has been so. That property in land exists is evident, from Lord 
 Canning confiscating it to the State. In a discussion on the subject in 
 1841, at the India House, a Mr. Brown put in the title deeds of an 
 Indian estate which had been in one family 200 years. There are 
 grants of land extant of extreme antiquity. The tenure erf land is 
 universal from one end of India to the other, except where it has not 
 been destroyed by us. 
 
 The truth is that the soil is held of the sovereign, as it is in this country. 
 It used to be held by an allodial tenure, as land used to be held here in the 
 Saxon times. The Norman conquest here and the Blussulraan conquest in 
 India seem to have converted these allodial into feudal tenures. The 
 talookdar is tenant in capite (like Hugh Lupus or Roger Bigod, Earls of 
 Chester and Norfolk); he holds ten, twentj', or sometimes four or five- 
 hundred villages, as a sort of lord paramount. The zemindar seems to 
 hold sometimes under a talookdar, and sometimes directly from the 
 sovereign. He is nearly equivalent to our lord of the manor. ThV 
 villagers hold of him by a sort of customary tenure like our copyhold. 
 Some part of his manor, called the seer, the zemindar either occupies 
 himself or lets to tenants at will. He pays to the Government or to the 
 talookdar who pays to the Government, the tax for his manor, out of 
 the rents he receives. In every case the right to the property was 
 hereditary. It would not unfrequently occur that a village held a 
 manor directly of the sovereign, each sharer being a sort of joint lord 
 of the manor : each of them is called a zemindar. The tax was then 
 usually collected by officers who were sometimes elected by the village, 
 but not unfrequently hereditary. 
 
 The East India Company have systematically ignored all property in 
 the soil on gaining possession of a new province. This object has been 
 accomplished by various processes. They have treated the zemindar and 
 talookdar as mere Government collectors. It is true that they were Govern- 
 ment collectors and magistrates ; but it would be a strong measure to treat 
 the rent-roll of a country squire as State property on the ground of his 
 being a justice of the peace. The Company has arbitrarily raised the 
 tax on the freehold villages, to reduce them to the condition of occupants 
 instead of owners of the soil. There is no proprietor too great or too 
 small for this voracious appetite ; no man's property is safe. The 
 natural consequence of this impolitic greediness is, that no one im- 
 proves the soil ; there is no intermediate class between the English 
 official and the pauper. Lord Cornwallis, with the wisdom of a statesman, 
 
126 OUDE AND THE LAND TENURES OF INDIA. 
 
 fixed the assessment on each estate in the province of Bengal on a 
 permanent scale. The result has answered his expectation ; no famines 
 have occurred there. It has not been so in the rest of India. Bengal 
 has rapidly increased in prosperity and cultivation. Confiscation does 
 not beget confidence, but security of property does. Elsewhere 
 the government of the English made regular and systematic the occa- 
 sional oppression of a native rule. On the eve of a transfer of India to 
 the crown, surely it is a time to stop this mad career. 
 
 The importance of Lord EUenborough's despatch is that it recognises 
 a. juster and wiser policj'. 
 
 One of the main grounds on which we justified our seizure 
 of Oude was the misgovernment of the king. Much prejudice had 
 been excited by the publication of " The Private Life of an 
 Eastern King " — a book of little or no authority. The king has 
 been our faithful ally ; a resident and army have been maintained in 
 Oude at his cost, who prevented his measures for reform being carried 
 into execution ; expelled his ablest ministers ; protected rebels against 
 his authority, and refused to permit him to make roads and 
 canals, and otherwise to develop the resources of his country. A 
 last, under the pretext of bad government, we dispossessed him, 
 after borrowing his money and abusing his hospitality. Now, on 
 the authority of Bishop Heber, Oude is cultivated like a garden. In 
 spite of this bad government, it is notorious that our own Sepoys, 
 when they had saved enough to become small freeholders, bought 
 land in Oude, rather than settle in our own provinces. No emi- 
 gration took place from Oude ; a fact which Lord Dalhousie admits 
 he is unable to comprehend. And we have the evidence of Lord Canning 
 himself, that every landowner, great and small, except six, have leagued 
 with our enemies in an endeavour to wrest their country from our 
 civilising grasp. Truly, this passes comprehension. Our magistrates, who 
 were charged to get up a case against Oude, themselves admit that as many 
 crimes were committed by our own subjects across the border, on the 
 neighbouring kingdom of Oude, as were perpetrated within our borders 
 by malefactors from that State ; while the Oude police was much more 
 efficient than our own in delivering them up to justice. Can it be that 
 the hostility of the natives of Oude may originate in their finding under 
 their native princes a respect of property, and a justice of administration, 
 however imperfect, not to be met with in the British provinces? Is it 
 possible that jealousy of a more popular government may have something 
 to do with the ardent and long-continued passion for annexation expe- 
 rienced by the Company, who have only been deterred by the frequent 
 remonstrances of Governor Generals from seizing that State years back? 
 Whigs of this day seem satisfied with clandestine suppression of 
 treaties, and the concealment of despatches of public importance. 
 
WOE IS ME, MY PARTY ! 127 
 
 There was a time when such men as Fox, Burke, and Sheridan, made 
 the rights of the natives of India a subject of impassioned eloquence ; but 
 those were days when they had long been excluded from office. They 
 have now driven the minister who was the advocate of such claims from 
 the conduct of affairs. 
 
 Can it be that Lord Canning's present policy has been forced on him 
 by others? In the early days of the mutiny he was not distinguished 
 for inclemency to the mutineers. It is very marvellous that, mild where 
 he should have been severe, he should have also been harsh where he 
 ought to have been just. Dilatory and weak when the exigencies of 
 the State required promptness and energy, that he should have then 
 only breathed vengeance and confiscation, when justice and prudence 
 alike needed mercy and caution. Popular feeling oscillates too quickly 
 in England for public servants at a distance to truckle to it successfully. 
 If they change their course to suit the flow, they are just in time to 
 buffet with the ebb. 
 
 Can we wonder that the proprietors of Oude should energetically 
 resist a conqueror who treated property as if it were robbery, adopting 
 in practice the theory of the maddest French Socialists? The know 
 ledge which the late debate will convey to India, that confiscation is not 
 regarded as lawful in conquerors, is more likely to pacify than the check 
 on the absolute power of the Governor-General is likely to encouragS 
 resistance. Probably the natives, assured of the possession of their 
 hearths and homes, will cease a disastrous conflict, under the hope that 
 England is not insensible to the appeals of justice,- even if that hope 
 prove vain. ' 
 
 But, say the friends of Lord Canning, it is doubtful whether the 
 proclamation was ever published, and, at any rate. Lord EUenborough 
 should have waited for explanations. There are things which cannot 
 be explained; confiscation is one of them. That confiscation in 
 English is not confiscation in Hindustani, is too absurd to require argu- 
 ment. The very object of the despatch was, if possible, to prevent 
 the publication. The longer the delay, the greater the danger to the State. 
 
 Our policy in India has been so monstrous, that were it not vouched 
 for by the'most authentic documents, it would exceed belief. The very 
 bulk of the wrong makes it difficult of credence. 
 
 WOE IS ME, MY PARTY!* 
 
 A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD BY AN INDEPENDENT LIBERAL. 
 
 Ex-PKEMiER Pam rides up and down, 
 
 Catching the rumours of the town — 
 * Thee£fect of this ballad is likely to be such, that the professional minstrels of 
 the metropolis are recommended (by suggestion of Sir R. Mayne) not to sing it 
 within earshot of Cambridge House or Brookes's Club. 
 
128 WOE IS ME, MY PARTY ! 
 
 ) thoi 
 "Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 From Chesham Place's Gates to those 
 Of Piccadilly on he goes. 
 
 Hayter comes his chief to tell 
 How the Radicals rebel; 
 Pam into a passion flew, 
 And the whip looked very blue. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 He quits his hack with language coarse, 
 He gets upon his highest horse; 
 And, digging in each vicious spur. 
 He clatters down to Westminster. 
 
 Woe is me, my Partj- ! 
 
 " Cardwell up! my foes arraign 
 In thy very prosiest strain. 
 Let Lord John his trumpet sound ! 
 He can bring the waverers round. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 " Beat the loud alarum ! Blow 
 
 All your shrillest notes, Bob Lowe ! 
 
 Eoar, bully Times! roar yet again ! 
 
 Charge, Walter, charge ! On ! on ! Delane ! 
 
 Woe is me, my Party !" 
 
 But when the Liberal party heard. 
 Their faltering hearts were little stirred : 
 One by one, and two by two, 
 Muttered " This will never do !" 
 
 Woe is me, my Party 1 
 
 Out then spake the crafty Graeme, 
 " This is all a party scheme : 
 Lust of place, must have its fling. 
 Therefore is this gathering 1 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 " Downing Street not long ago 
 Yielded to the Tory foe. 
 But the worst is to be told — 
 Derby means the place to hold! 
 
 Woe is me, my Party!" 
 
 Out then spake John Alquakere 
 Unpleasant words for Whigs to hear, 
 " Good Pam, thou art rightly served! 
 Good Pam, this thou hast deserved 1 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 " By thee were snubbed in evil hour. 
 Of Manchester the pride and power; 
 And deputations met, from thee, 
 With uniform discourtesy. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party! 
 
WOE IS ME, MY PARTY. 129 
 
 " And for this on thee is sent 
 Long and well-earned chastisement, 
 Thee and thine who jobbed the realm 
 Wreck and ruin overwhelm 1 
 
 Woe is me, my Party 1 
 
 " Dotard rivals, do ye dine 
 Muddled with nepenthe wine. 
 And because ye hob-a-nob 
 Must we pledge ' The old Whig job' ? 
 
 Woe is toe, my Party 1 
 
 " Plucky bunkum — liberal bam, 
 Have their day, Lords John and Pam. 
 All impostures, Pam and John, 
 In the end are blown upon. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 " You may dine or you may sup, 
 You may sulk, or make it up : 
 England will not trust again 
 Worn-out, cast-off, shown-up men 1 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 " And let this house a lesson learn. 
 That honesty should have a turn; 
 For jobbery has by degrees 
 Got very shaky in the knees. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party ! 
 
 " So those who mean to hold the reins 
 Must study less their private gains; 
 For in the end no tactics tell 
 Unless they serve the country well. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party 1" 
 
 He spoke. The malcontents uprise 
 la cove3'S, with most piteous cries — 
 Beseeching Cardwell to withdraw. 
 Because Bright touched them in the raw. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party 1 
 
 Our game is up ! Their game is won I 
 A long farewell to Palmerston 1 
 The catalogue of all his crimes 
 Awaits, in type, next Tuesday's Times. 
 
 Woe is me, my Party 1 
 
 Reformers ! should we ever meet 
 To breach the walls of Downing Street, 
 Before we take the place by storm — 
 Let's really try to mean Reform ! 
 
 Woq is me, my Party ! 
 
130 
 
 THE TWADDLE OP THE "TIMES." 
 
 No. II. 
 
 We resume our examination of the mischievous trash put forth by the 
 City writer of the Times during the monetary crisis of last autumn. 
 
 On the 27th October the entire suspension of specie payments by the 
 New York and Boston Banks was declared by the Times to be " the most 
 satisfactory announcement that could have been looked for." 
 
 The banks are stated tohave induceda panic by their" mismanagement," 
 and then to have " sought to save themselves by the sacrifice of the whole 
 mercantile community ; but the public at last have taken the matter in 
 their own hands, and forced them to a stoppage, which will place them 
 in the same condition with their victims, and thus terminate the struggle." 
 The course of the banks is stated tohave been this : — " By a system of most 
 imprudent advances they had encouraged the public to rely on abundant 
 accommodation, not only on bills of exchange, but on the bonds and 
 promissory notes of railway and other corporations. When the over issue 
 of this latter class of securities began to excite alarm, and it was seen by 
 a hhot of speculators that if they could be brought into sudden discredit 
 general confusion would ensue, the banks turned round upon those they 
 had deluded, and not merely refused further accommodation, but called in, 
 as far as possible, all that had been granted. Of course, universal fright 
 followed; but as firm after firm went down the banks still boasted that 
 they were determined to maintain themselves, and actually excited some 
 soH of admiration at the grandeur of their resolve." "In the opinion of 
 calm lookers on,'' the Times' writer continues, " another week was alone 
 required to stop every house throughout the States." The banks, however, 
 *' continued blindly stubborn;" so the American community "with an 
 instinct of despair" arranged a concerted run and brought the banks to 
 an end. " Eighteen of these establishments had already been brought down, 
 and the thirty-three that remained saw that another day would seal their 
 fate." The banks have ruined the merchants, and the merchants have 
 stopped the banks. This is the " satisfactory announcement " of our 
 amiable Twaddler ! which reminds one of the Manchester boy's notion of 
 the advantages of a revolution when " everybody kills everybody till 
 bread becomes cheaper." 
 
 But the Tivaddler did his best to uphold the rotten system of our 
 English currency laws. With this object in view he had the face to admit 
 that " the inconvertible paper of the banks would now circulate at a value 
 in proportion to the discretion with which it might be issued ; and sup- 
 posing it to be kept within close limits, there is no reason that it" should 
 fall much, if at all, below par." " When the New York note circulation," 
 he tells us on 29th, "shall have been legalised as a tender, no one will 
 luant gold, except for the purpose of exportation or hoarding^ The want 
 
THE TWADDLE OP THE "TIMES." 131 
 
 of common honesty in a writer who can report favourably of principles 
 in America which he repudiates in England, is apparent. Why, then, do 
 so ? He had a purpose to serve. The suspension of specie pay- 
 ments in America might, he trusted, obviate the necessity of the sus- 
 pension of the Bank Charter Act in England. What he really endeavoured 
 to impress on the English commercial public was just this : " The grecfi 
 danger which has pressed upon our money-market during the past two or 
 three weeTcs is therefore lightened." Short-sighted theorist 1 
 
 We are not the apologists of the American banks, or indeed of the 
 American public ; but let it be remembered that the Americans have 
 adopted our monetary errors. "It has been," says Lord Overstone, " the 
 uniform practice of tlie different States of the Union to allow banks to be 
 established for the issue of notes payable in specie on demand." The 
 Americans — having been persuaded into the reception of the Peel fallacy, 
 the convertibility of the note into gold at a fixed rale — have had to take 
 the consequences. They, like ourselves, are subjected by the system to 
 depressions of trade, temporary prosperity, then a forced over-issue of 
 notes engendering speculation of every kind, the consequent withdrawal 
 of bullion, and violent contractions of the currency, terminating in ruin 
 to merchants, distress to the working classes, and suspension of specie 
 payments by the banks. 
 
 Day by day the City writer of the Times continued to attempt to inspire 
 confidence in the tottering system of Peel and Overstone. On November 
 2nd he predicted that "a month can scarcely elapse without the commence- 
 ment of a course of restoration." All kinds of securities continued to 
 decline in the United States ; and the Twaddler discovered that this arose 
 from the conduct of the banks in withholding one of the "chief benefits" 
 of a suspension of specie payments — viz. " a partial restoration of the note 
 circulation." Observe, the banks having issued more promises to pay 
 than they could fulfil, this inconsistent creature blames them for not 
 issuing an increased amount to meet the requirements of the country for 
 its internal trade. He advocates " inconvertible bank notes " as the 
 panacea for the ill effects of a panic 1 The American banks have put 
 forth, after all their specie was exhausted, some worthless rags. This, 
 «ays our twaddling friend, is an " immense gain." But why not issue a few 
 more " bits of paper with certain characters on them"? That is the way 
 he says, and says truly, in which the French Government " averted a 
 financial convulsion " in 1848. Keep up, says the Twaddler, the delusion 
 of " convertibility " while trade is prosperous, and everything quiet; but 
 the moment any difficulty arises, when people want you really to convert 
 your promises to pay into gold, then away with the fiction of " convert- 
 ibility," declare your notes a legal tender, issue enough of them for "the 
 requirements of internal trade," that is the way to establish a '* sound 
 paper circulation" according to Sir Robert Peel's " model" Act ! 
 
133 THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 The Twaddler is evidently a wag. He must be, after all, a good 
 fellow. "We see him rolling his fat good-natured form about, while his 
 merry cheerful eye twinkles with delight at the fun of the thing. 
 " Will nobody," says the Charley Bates of the Times, " hold nie ? I 
 shall kill myself with laughing ! Look at the public taking all this in ! 
 they are so jolly green! ah ! ah ! ah ! " 
 
 Order ! order ! On November 4th, the City writer anticipating the 
 advance in the Bank rate of discount to 9 per cent., assures the commercial 
 public that " should such a step be adopted, it will afford no reason for a 
 diminution of confidence. On the contrary, it will show that the Bank 
 are determined steadily to maintain a policy loldch will enable them to 
 continue discounting freely every sound hill that may he presented^ We 
 shall see directly the absurdity of this supposition. " All paper accommo- 
 dation," it is further affirmed, " will be obtainable upon paying the true 
 price for it, and it has already been remarked that, altliough the difference 
 between the rate of 5 and 9 per cent, per annum- — which amounts on three 
 months' bills to 1 per cent, [a wonderful discovery this] may be a serious 
 drawback from all mercantile profits ; it can never affect the solidity of any 
 house not otherwise imperilled." Then comes the usual consolatory twaddle 
 that "a turn must soon be witnessed." As a comment on this absurd 
 rubbish it may be recalled to recollection that on the day on which it was 
 written Naylor, Vicars, and Co. suspended payment, and that the same 
 thing happened to Dennistoun and Co. a day or two later. 
 
 On Thursday, November 5lh, the Bank rate was raised to 9, and in 
 the next day's Times the Twaddler assured his confiding friend, the 
 commercial public, that there was "not the slightest provocative to panic." 
 Every childish suggestion that occurs to the writer is pressed into his 
 service to keep the public quiet. The public, he says, have an average 
 amount of notes in their hands, "and business has recently been undergoing 
 rapid contraction ;" therefore they cannot want money — as if every prudent 
 and honest trader would not feel it his duty to supply himself at such a time 
 with amply sufficient means. There was no necessity for " pointing to 
 the low state of the reserve of unemployed notes " — the Bank return being 
 published for the very purpose of enabling people to judge of the 
 capability of the Bank for affording them accommodation, or rather of 
 the ability of that establishment to convert commercial bills, as good 
 or better than their own notes, into legal tender money. Again, the bills 
 receivable each day by the Bank were as large on the average as they were 
 ordinarily asked to let out — the increasing amount of discounts and the 
 diminishing reserve being direct evidence of the contrary. " There is con- 
 sequently ,"continued this writer, " not the shadow of a pretext for any cry 
 for Government palliatives." Amidst falling houses and impending ruin 
 the Twaddler ventures on the most unmitigated and puerile twaddle as 
 to the nation " losing its self-possession," and the " financial sense," of 
 
THE TWADDLE Or THE "TIMES." 133 
 
 the English people being so low as to cause the degrading contingency 
 of the panic to be regarded as possible and probable. 
 
 In this day's paper appear some suggestions, apparently by another 
 hand, as to the expediency of checking the drain of bullion to India by 
 the issue of " temporarily inconvertible paper." " The natives, it is 
 thought, would be found sufficiently keen to estimate the value of a 
 Government note carrying 6 or 7 per cent, interest, and receivable at 
 par in the course of six or twelve months for revenue dues." " Every 
 one," we are told, " with paper of this description in his pocket would feel 
 an access of loyalty and a proportionate desire for the maintenance of 
 order." Very true, no doubt. Save the country the interest by issuing 
 in England legal tender notes receivable for revenue at all times, and 
 you have, as currency reformers propose, a safe and adequate Govern- 
 ment paper money independent of the influx or efflux of bullion, and 
 conducive to the best interests of the nation. During a mone- 
 tar)' crisis we get the truth even from- our buUionist opponents. Why 
 did not this .writer follow up his suggestion with our Government ? 
 "Why, but because it was the preservation of the Bank Charter Act 
 which elicited these remarks, not the preservation of the commercial 
 and social interests of his country. 
 
 Now after having prated again and again about the trivial inconvenience 
 which a rise in the rate of discount would cause to all really solvent 
 houses, we find the Twaddler, in opposing the very proper application to 
 Government of the Glasgow deputation, arguing that no enlargement 
 of the circulation is required, because " trade has undergone contraction 
 in all directions, and there has been an enormous fall in prices." Can 
 this very superficial special pleader comprehend, or can he not, the effect 
 which a trade contracted in all directions, and an enormous fall in prices, 
 must have on commercial houses ? Can he understand that a merchant 
 of superabundant means, with not only American bills in his possession 
 which he cannot get discounted at any rate, but with his warehouses 
 filled with goods depreciated 30, 40, or 50 per cent., may be, must be, 
 brought into great difficulties ; will he take Lord Overstone's word for it 
 that the operation of a contracted currency and a high rate of discount 
 is intended by the authors of the Bank Charter Act to depress the 
 price of all commodities, and thus to attract bullion back to us ? If he 
 knew these things, all that he wrote in opposition to such facts was 
 as dishonest as it was erroneous. If he did not know them, he ought 
 never to presume to oifer an opinion on any subject connected with 
 monetary affairs more important than the fractional rise or fall in the 
 price of consols. 
 
 On the 9 th of November the Twaddler again takes the field, in 
 opposition to what he supposes to be the propositions for relief of the 
 Glasgow deputation. He, for the twentieth time, harps upon the 
 
134 THE TWABDLE OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 unimportance of the rise in the rate of discount. " Do the merchants 
 and mill-owners of Glasgow mean to assert," he says, " that the charge 
 of 9 or even 12 per cent, discount for a month or two, is more than 
 they can bear ? In justice to them, such an idea cannot be entertained. 
 The difference between 5 and 9 per cent, for two months is exactly 
 13s. 4d., and any merchant in a condition to be embarrassed by an 
 extra payment to that extent on all the accommodation he may require, 
 must obviouslj' have assumed a place to which from utter want of 
 capital he was not entitled." At the risk of being as tedious as the 
 Twaddler himself, we will again explain the absurdity of this statement. 
 The charge of so high a rate of discount as 9 per cent, as a means of 
 obtaining ready money for bills of exchange, is itself undoubtedly 
 a grievance. With the commission of 1 per cent, commission, which 
 was frequently charged at this time for bills having even a short time 
 to run, the price paid for discount often amounted to 20 per cent, per 
 annum. But the higli. price charged by the Bank and by discount houses 
 for money, indicated that money had become scarce, that the supply 
 ■was limited, and that therefore the price of the commodity was high. 
 The City writer does not appear to understand the meaning even of 
 the currency being contracted. On 6th November he says, " the 
 public have now an amount of notes in their hands equal to any recent 
 average." This was not the fact. The reserve of notes in the 
 Bank was decreasing in every return, and of this reserve Lord Overstone 
 correctly said, in his evidence before the House of Commons Committee, 
 in July 1857 "the notes in the Bank of England are far more active 
 in meeting the necessities of the public and the requirements of trade, 
 than those which are anywhere else; it is the most active part of the 
 circulation." The notes in the Banking department of the Bank of 
 England are like those held by the London and Westminster Bank, 
 or those held by any other Joint Stock or private Bank; they are 
 part of the active circulating medium of the country. They are day 
 by day available for the requirements of trade. The merchants and 
 mill-owners of Glasgow, therefore, were in this position. They had 
 to pay an extravagantly high rate of discount. That rate arose from 
 the contraction of the circulating medium. That contraction was 
 daily depreciating the value of all their commodities. The difficulty of 
 converting their commodities into legal tender money, at any rate, 
 was increasing. The still rapidly advancing contraction of the circulating 
 medium pointed to a time when the conversion of their goods into 
 money would be impossible; when we should have arrived at a 
 state of barter. When under these circumstances they applied to the 
 Prime Minister for relief, the flippant scribbler of a daily paper tells 
 them that they have only 13s. 4d. per cent, for two months additional 
 
THE TWADDLE OT THE " TIMES," 135 
 
 to pay, and that if they cannot pay that " they have assumed a place 
 to which from utter want of capital they are not entitled." 
 
 The whole attempt at argument on this sulyect, on the part of the 
 City writer of the Times, resolves itself into the most unmitigated 
 Twaddle. Not a bit less ridiculous was the assumption, held out we 
 suppose to frighten the Glasgow merchants into "honesty" that the 
 suspension of the Act would bring about a time when the "creditors of 
 the merchants and mill- owners, not only of Glasgow but of all England, 
 would be compelled to receive payment of their claims, not in gold as 
 contracted for (a G-lasgow merchant caring as little about a gold sovereign 
 as about a Bank of England note which will not " pass "), but in notes 
 intrinsically worth, perhaps " — observe the modest indefinity of the 
 Twaddler ! — "perhaps 18s. or 20s." We know that nothing of the kind 
 happened after the suspension of the Act in 1847 ; we know that nothing 
 of the kind has happened in 1857. And th§ Twaddler assured British 
 merchants, not a fortnight before, on the entire suspension of specie 
 payments in the United States, that " supposing the paper issues of the 
 banks, which are all based on the security of the State stocks, to be 
 kept, as there is little doubt they will be, within limits not exceeding the 
 actual requirements for carrying on the internal trade of the country, 
 this paper will be maintained at par — that is to say, it would he talcen 
 for its equivalent in English sovereigns or American eagles .'" 
 
 If the Glasgow deputation quietly sit down under the imputations 
 cast upon their " honesty," if they submit to be called " ignorant " of 
 the first principles of commerce, and to.be misrepresented as "chiefly 
 known from their connection with the Western Bank of Scotland," and to 
 have their respectful solicitation for justice stated to be "got up 
 expressly to disturb the public confidence in our existing laws "—if they 
 patiently submit to these things from either a noble or ignoble writer 
 in a public paper, then they certainly deserve to pay black mail to the 
 monetary Rob Koy to their lives' end. 
 
 The following day, November 10th, it was announced that the Bank 
 had raised their rate of discount to 10 per cent. " Whether," says our 
 friend in the City, " this movement will prove sufficient to check the 
 determination of each discounter to provide himself with two or three 
 times as much as he wants is doubtful." 20 or 25 per cent, is recom- 
 mended as an antidote for this " unreasoning selfishness." Is it possible 
 for anyone less prejudiced than this writer to believe that the most 
 selfish and unreasoning merchant or trader would pay 10 per cent, for 
 the means of meeting his engagements if he were not absolutely com- 
 pelled to do so ? Oar Ttvaddler, then, with a fine dash of melo-dramatic 
 gravity, worthy of the cause for which he sufiers, exclaims, " Thus far 
 let it be recorded that the working of our currency system has been 
 perfect, and has upheld us in a position to command the admiration of 
 
136 THE TWADDLE OF THE " TIMES." 
 
 the world!" Why should genius like this be confined within the 
 narrow limits of Printing House Square ? On the boards of the Sv/rrey, 
 amidst congenial spirits, such a glorious sentiment, amidst the thunders of 
 applause which it was so well calculated to elicit, would have achieved 
 its merited triumph! 
 
 The closing scene was at hand. " This day" (November 12th) the 
 great, the fatal day, big with the fate of Twaddler and the Bank Charter 
 Act — " this day," says he of the Times, " has been the most anxious day 
 in the City since the height of the panic in 1847." The Western Bank 
 had closed, drawing down with it the City of Glasgow Bank ; more than 
 a million of gold had in two days been despatched to Scotland. Sanderson, 
 Sandeman, and Co. failed for upwards of £3,500,000. The demands at 
 the Bank for disccunts continued to be excessive. We were approach- 
 ing the state of things in America, when " in the opinion of calm 
 lookers-on, another week ' was alone required to stop every house 
 throughout the State." It was a moment to try the nerves of even the 
 "prudent capitalist" and the "hard calculator." Lord Palmerston 
 became serious. Sir G. C. Lewis awoke up, the Governor and Deputy- 
 Governor no longer " continued blindly stubborn,'' Lord Overstone, in his 
 philosophic retreat at Nottingham, shook his head and said very little. Like 
 "the unrelenting Cafour" of Vathec, who "had a particular predilection 
 for a pestilence," one man was found equal to the situation. Need we 
 assure our readers that this man was Twaddler the Thunderer ? Still 
 he denounced the " ignorant impulse of caution " of the merchants who 
 would get money if they could. Still he assured them that " under any 
 circumstances the Bank will continue to afford at the fair market 
 price every accommodation it would ever have granted in the calmest 
 times." Here was " a spectacle worthy of the gods '' — a great man 
 contending ^yith adverse fate. Amidst " crumbling " Banks and ruined 
 merchant princes, "the wailings of beggared manufocturers and the out- 
 cries of distressed operatives, he still stood fast by " the Bill, the whole 
 Bill, and nothing but the Bill ! " Still he poured forth his torrent of 
 invective, misrepresentation, and abuse on the fallen merchant and the 
 ruined trader. 
 
 "Imbeciles! Don't I tell you it's only 6s. 8d. a month extra?" was his 
 parting objurgation as he rushed from the Bank, and the messenger with 
 the Ministers' Letter for the suspension of the act rushed in. 
 
 The " most anxious day in the City " was at an end. The Twaddler 
 sank into the peaceful repose of a brave and good man — his last thoughts 
 as in infancy turned to himself, as with the muttered accents of mournful 
 recollection he breathed forth the words — "at the cost of the consumer 
 
137 
 
 THE ART SEASON. 
 
 The Art Season is at its height. The great central Exhibition of 
 the Academy is open ; the satellite Exhibitions of the Portland Street, 
 Suffolk Street, and British Institution Galleries, and the two Societies 
 of Water Colour Painters, are also open. Foreign Art is represented 
 by the collection of French Paintings in Pall Mall, and the works of 
 Eosa Bonheur in Bond Street, and by Carl Werner's Water Colour 
 Drawings. Ancient Pictorial Art is only represented by the standing 
 dish of the National Gallery — with its newest of new acquisi- 
 tions; for the modern Paintings at the British Institution have not 
 yet been displaced to make room for the annual Exhibition of the Old 
 Masters. To" the collections enumerated we may add those which are 
 constantly being thrown open to the public, for a few days, previous 
 to sale, by the great picture dealers. London is at this moment, for 
 the works of British artists, and for those works of Foreign artists 
 which have found an abiding home among us, much the same that Leipzig 
 is for the literature of continental Europe during its annual book-fair. 
 
 To expatiate in detail on this busy world of artists and amateurs 
 is a manifest impossibility in our limited space. Mr. Ruskin requires 
 almost as much room for his notes on the Academy's Exhibition alone 
 as a whole number of our publication could afford. And yet it is a 
 tempting theme. Much might be said of the merits and demerits of 
 artists ; much of the blended hopes and fears of a whole year spent 
 in preparing a picture for the Exhibition; much of the chill of dis- 
 appointment, the result of inability to learn whether it has made any 
 impression at all ; much of the pride of amateurs in new acquisitions ; 
 much of their complacency in getting rid of former [^ favourites," which 
 have ceased to please, at the least possible loss of money. This world 
 of art is a world of itself. It has its hopes and fears, its courtiers and 
 its misanthropes, its speculative capitalists and generous patrons, its 
 mere bread-seeking professionals and aspirants after fame, all the same 
 as the political world, the literary world, the military world, and the 
 Stock Exchange. Many is the tragedy and many the farce that is daily 
 being enacted in its charmed circle. 
 
 Year after year the denizens of this world of art are becoming more 
 numerous in Great Britain. The schools of design are initiating even 
 the humblest operatives into its mysteries. Various exhibitions of the 
 works of amateurs have shown to what an extent art is cultivated bj' 
 the non-professional educated clstsses. There is a wider public in our 
 day susceptible of the charms of art than has ever before existed 
 among us. The collections of ancient art and of foreign art accessible 
 to the public are being augmented. All that is done in the National 
 Gallery is not. susceptible of praise. Much money is wasted upon mere 
 
 li 
 
138 A QTJEBY FOR THEORISTS. 
 
 curiosities — the works of ingenious men in tlie rude infancy of art. 
 The time will come when such are required to complete the collection, 
 but the great aim of the present moment ought to be to secure paintings 
 valuable in themselves without reference to the time or circumstances 
 in and under which they were produced. The first object is to create a 
 national taste for art ; erudite criticism will come soon enough of itself. 
 Till within these few years, English art had gone on developing itself 
 from the time of Sir Joshua, little alive to foreign influences. 
 The English school, as was strikingly illustrated at the great Parisian 
 " Exposition des Beaux Arts," is strictly sui generis. For colour it is 
 unrivalled by any modern school. English painters, like English poets, 
 silrpass all others in landscape. But in every other charm but colour, 
 and in «very other department but landscape — and perhaps portraits — 
 it is deficient. Our Wilkies have been few and far between. And in 
 what is called historical painting — in works calculated for the adorn- 
 ment of public buildings — we have as yet only a great need. The 
 encouragement recently held out in the ornamentation of the Houses of 
 Parliament, has as yet done little more than awaken emulation, and 
 show that our artists have everything to learn. So far, however, as can 
 be gathered from this year's Exhibition of the Royal Academy, there is 
 a moving among the dry bones. The principles of art stammered out 
 before they were well understood by the young men already called 
 Pre-Eaphaelites, have taken root in practice. Our artists are 
 looking round them for a wider range of subjects. The publishers of 
 illustrated works, and the amateurs of nice and cheap drawing-room 
 pictures, are no longer the only patrons of pictorial art. Purelj' con- 
 ventional reputations — like those of the present President of the Royal 
 Academy — are fading away, and more vigorous natures are coming 
 upon the stage. It is a period, indeed, more of promise than perform- 
 ance, but there can be no doubt that a new and brilliant art era is 
 dawning upon England. 
 
 A QUEBZ FOE THEORISTS. 
 
 Writers on " Currency" are frequently bringing forward as an un- 
 answerable assertion, that we must have always a supply of gold at 
 command to pay our balance to foreign countries when the course of 
 exchange is against us, or our foreign trade will be ruined. Will you 
 or any of your correspondents kindly inform us, how our foreign trade 
 was carried on' from 1797 to 1815, when we had little or no gold, and 
 how it could be that our exports and imports yearly increased durinf^ 
 that period? Why the course of exchange was left entirely to mer- 
 chants for their convenience in settling accounts with their foreign 
 friends, and had no eflfect whatever on our domestic currency, and still 
 the country was prosperous and contented; and why the measures of 
 France or America, or any other country, should in the slightest degree 
 aifect our monetary matters? An answer might enlighten us much. 
 
139 
 
 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 The absorbing event of the month has been the parliamentary debate 
 on the proclamation of Lord Canning, and the despatch of Lord EUenbo- 
 rough. The object of Mr. Cardwell's resolutions has been represented 
 as a vote of censure on Ministers, which the Opposition deny; it is, 
 however, certain, that had it been successful, either the Government 
 must have resigned or Parliament been dissolved. The result showed 
 that what is termed the Liberal party is completely disrupted; and 
 it will require a skilful reorganisation before it again becomes influ- 
 ential. The Conservatives are a compact body, well disciplined, and, 
 no doubt, their escape from an expected defeat will inspire them with 
 confidence, and probably add somewhat to their strength ; but this 
 drawn battle, in which both sides were content to shirk a division, leaves 
 the general policy of the nation in a state of irritating indecision ; and 
 the hollow truce must soon be followed by a war of extermination: 
 until that occurs no Cabinet can command a continuous majority. We 
 had prepared a brief historical sketch of the debate, but as the proceed- 
 ings within the House are graphically described by an eye-witness in a 
 preceding paper, and the general question is discussed iu another article, 
 we need only add that the circumstances which gave rise to the resolu- 
 tions of Mr. Cardwell are the following. Mr. Bright put a question to 
 Mr. Baillie, Secretary to the Board of Control, which elicited the following 
 answer. After referring to the proclamation of Lord Canning in general 
 terms, Mr. Baillie said, " It was, of course, taken into consideration by 
 her Majesty's Government as soon as it was received, and a despatch 
 was written, expressing the views and opinions with respect to it which 
 the Government entertained. That despatch, as well as the proclamation 
 itself, there can be no objection to lay on the table of the House. I may 
 add, that the proclamation was not made in consequence of any in- 
 structions which were ?ent out to the Governor-General from this 
 country." Mr. Bright, not fully satisfied with Mr. Baillie's answer, 
 wished to know what opinion Ministers had formed on the intended pro- 
 clamation of Lord Canning, when Mr. Disraelli replied, " I think it 
 right to take this opportunity of saying, that when we received notice 
 of this intended proclamation, we took the subject at once into considera- 
 tion, and the result was that we sent out a despatch to the Governor- 
 General disapproving of the policy he indicated in every sense." This 
 unqualified condemnation excited among politicians a lively desire to 
 know the precise contents of the despatch. On the 7th of May the docu- 
 ment vfas presented to the House of Commons unabridged ; in the House 
 of Lords only extracts were given. On the 10th of May Mr. Cardwell 
 gave notice of his resolutions condemnatory of the proceedings of the 
 Government; and on the following day Lord EUenboroiigh resigned his 
 
140 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 ofEce as President of the Board of Trade. Why did his lordship resign? 
 He stated in the House of Lords that it was original!}' intended to com- 
 municate the whole despatch to both Houses, and the Secretary to the 
 Board of Control had taken a copy of it with him to the House of Com- 
 mons for that purpose; but at a later period of the day, and just before 
 the House met, Lord Derby, Mr. Disraeli, and Lord EUenborough dis- 
 tinctly agreed among themselves that extracts only should be given, it 
 being deemed expedient that certain passages should be withheld. This 
 arrangement, however, was adopted too late; and the Secretary to the 
 Board of Control, not advised in time of this change of plan, laid the 
 ■whole despatch on the table of the House of Commons. To atone for 
 this indiscretion. Lord EUenborough, without intimating his intention 
 to his colleagues, tendered his resignation to her Majesty, by whom it 
 was accepted, and his lordship declared in the House of Peers that he 
 alone was responsible for the publication of the despatch. On the 
 14th of May, when Lord Shaftesbury brought forward his vote of 
 censure on the Government, Lord Derby, in the course of his replj', said : 
 "The moment we discovered the nature of the paragraphs, we sought 
 to exclude them, and we sent down a message to that effect to the 
 House of Commons. When the message arrived, the Secretary of the 
 Board of Control, in accordance with his promise of the previous night, 
 had laid the whole despatch on the table. I regret that the whole 
 despatch was produced, and, on the whole, I regret that any part of it 
 was produced at so early a period. I do not regret the character or 
 contents of the despatch ; on the contrary, I think the policy it indi- 
 cated was a just, sound, and necessary policy, and that we should have 
 neglected our duty if we had not taken the earliest opportunity of 
 enforcing that policy upon the attention of the Governor-General, more 
 especially at a moment when we feared the Governor- General was going 
 to abandon it." 
 
 The passages in Lord Ellenborough's despatch which the Earl of Derby •' 
 would have suppressed, related to the annexation of Oude. Lord Ellen- 
 borough himself avowed that he intended them for the private perusal 
 of the Governor-General, in an admonitory rather than in a re- 
 proving spirit. 
 
 One of the most prominent actors in the scene is Mr. Vernon Smith, 
 President of the Board of Control, under the administration of Lord 
 Palmerston. After his retirement from office he received a letter from 
 Lord Canning, which contained the following passage: " I intend to issue 
 a Proclamation to the talookdars, the landed proprietors of Oude, 
 which will reach you by this mail. I had hoped to accompany it by 
 an explanatory despatch, but more urgent business has prevented my 
 doing so from hour to hour." Lord Canning wrote this letter, being 
 ignorant at the time that the Governmnt of Lord Palmerston had 
 
NOTES OF THE MONTH; 141 
 
 been overthrown. The custom is that when a Ministry is displaced, 
 and a new one installed, those who have retired hand over all letters 
 relating to the public service to their successors ; and it is plain that 
 many such letters must arrive from our distant possessions before the 
 writers can be aware of a change of Government. Lord Clarendon 
 has acted on this rule, and forwarded all documents addressed to his 
 department to his successor, Lord Malmesbury. On what ground then 
 was Mr. Vernon Smith justified in withholding Lord Canning's letter 
 from Lord Ellei)b(*fough ? It could only be on the ground of its 
 being a strictly private letter, not relating to public business ; but the 
 extract, just cited and tardily given, proves that it was not a private, 
 but a public document. 
 
 On the lith May, when Lord Shaftesbury brought forward the vote 
 of censure in the House of Lords, the Lord Chancellor commented with 
 well-merited severity on the conduct of Mr. Smith in withholding Lord 
 Canning's letter from Lord Ellenborough, observing that the despatch 
 of the Government to the Governor-General was not sent out till the 
 26th of April, and Mr. Smith had received the letter eight days before 
 that date; so that if it had been at once sent to Lord Ellenborough, it 
 would have reached him in ample time to have enabled him to modify 
 his despatch. But Lord Ellenborough had received no intimation 
 whatever that Lord Canning intended to write a document explanatory 
 of his proclamation. He had nothing before him but the proclamation, 
 and he was alarmed lest its publication should drive the people of Oude 
 to despair, and protract the rebellion to an indefinite period. His 
 accusers permitted him to remain in ignorance of an official document, 
 and then reproached him for the severity and causticity of his reprimand. 
 Had they acted with honour, he might have suspended his judgment 
 till he had read the proclamation, and the evil complained of might 
 never have occurred. 
 
 The debate in the Commons was rendered the more perplexing on 
 account of the mode in which it was conducted. Mr. Cardwell argued 
 exclusively on the despatch, ignoring the draft proclamation which 
 Government had received on the 12th of April, and which had called 
 the despatch into existence. The Ministers dwelt on the proclamation. 
 The former declared that Lord Ellenborough had paralysed the arm of 
 Lord Canning; the latter avowed that the menace of confiscating all 
 the proprietary rights of Oude, those of six individuals alone excepted, 
 rendered the restoration of peace impossible. Thus issue was not 
 joined on any single point, and the debate became discursive in cha- 
 racter. Conflicting opinions spread disorganisation through the Liberal 
 camp. When they first made their onslaught they made sure of a 
 majority of 80 or 100, which would have rendered the threat of a dis- 
 solution of Parliament impossible of execution. As the debate pro- 
 
142 NOTES OF THE MONTH. 
 
 ceeded there were unmistakable signs of disaffection. The confidence 
 of Sir William Hayter declined from day to day, and nt length the 
 celebrated whipper-in, driven to despair, revealed to his chief the 
 weakness of their ranks. It is stated in the Morning Herald, the great 
 Conservative organ, that not a single Derbyite member was absent 
 from his post. Independent members vainly implored Mr. Cardwell to 
 withdraw his resolution ; to the last hour he refused, sanguine of victory, 
 and hopeful of his promised reward — the Presidency of the Board of 
 Trade. At length. Lord Palmerston, assured of defeat, asked his 
 coadjutor not to press a division, to which the obsequious Mr. Cardwell 
 instantly acceded. Thus terminated this protracted discussion, to the 
 discredit of the foresight of the Whig party, but to the honour of the 
 advanced Liberals, who displayed their independence. Ministers have 
 retained their seats, not through Conservative strength, but through an 
 unexpected alliance. The only one who can claim a triumph is Lord 
 Ellenborough. He stated in his despatch: — 
 
 " We desire to see British authority in India rest upon the willing 
 obedience of a contented people. There cannot be contentment where 
 there is general confiscation. Government cannot long be maintained 
 by any force in a country where the whole people is rendered hostile by 
 a sense of wrong, and, if it were possible so to maintain it, it would not 
 be a consummation to be desired." 
 
 To these sentiments we entirely subscribe, and we hope that a new 
 era is about to be opened in British India. The only method of quelling 
 rebellion is to take away the motives to disloyalty. Let the natives 
 feel that we are their protectors, not their oppressors, and no future 
 Nana Sahib will raise the standard of mutiny. 
 
 The monetary and commercial transactions of the past month have 
 been of a very quiet character. Confidence, according to Lord Chatham, 
 " is a plant of slow growth ; it is also one of tender constitution, easily 
 damaged and with difficulty restored." The panic, although almost 
 forgotten by the majority of the trading community, has left its sting 
 still rankling in the wound it inflicted upon commercial confidence; 
 and the paralysis that ensued is but slowly abating. 
 
 In the meanwhile the grand cause of this general relaxed state of 
 things, the Bank Charter Act of 1844, and its influence upon the 
 commerce of the country, is tabooed in Parliament by being placed 
 under the investigation of a " select Committee of the House of 
 Commons;" Heaven only knows why or wherefore, except to gain 
 time ; for certainly no new hght can be thrown upon it after the dis- 
 closures of the Committee of 1848. 
 
 Since our last " Notes," the state of the money-market has exhibited 
 no material variation. Money has been abundant, because trade is 
 dull, and the demand without activity. The rate of interest maintained 
 
NOTES OF THE MONTH. 143 
 
 by the Bank of England throughout the month has been 3 per cent., 
 whilst out of doors, good bills have been done at 2i to 21 per cent. 
 We subjoin a statement of the imports and exports of the precious metals 
 for the four- weeks up to the 19th ult. inclusive. 
 
 Imports and exports of the precious metals for the four weeks from 
 April 21st to May 19th inclusive. 
 
 ^ IMPORTS. 
 
 Gold. Silver. Total. 
 
 April 28t.h 186,134 26,531 212,665 
 
 May 5th 116,766 21,123 137,889 
 
 „ i2th 159,539 138,408 297,947 
 
 „ 19th 1,345,652 79,620 1,425,272 
 
 £1,808,091 £265,682 £2,073,773 
 
 EXPORTS. 
 
 April 28th 393,500 74,795 468,295 
 
 May 5th 221,256 108,641 329,897 
 
 „ 12th 462,195 108,452- 570,647 
 
 „ 19th 477,203 8,355 485,558 
 
 £1,554,1.54 £300,243 £1,854,397 
 
 This statement gives an excess of imports over the exports of only, 
 £219,379 out of an aggregate of upwards of two millions. In the 
 meantime the bullion in both departments of the Bank has decreased 
 to the extent of £747,770, as will be seen, thus; 
 
 April 28th £18,674,750 
 
 May 22nd 17,926,980 
 
 Decrease £747,770 
 
 The fluctuations in the public funds have been trifling throughout 
 the month. Consols which on the 30th April were quoted at 97|- to 
 97| for money, were on the 22nd May at 98 to 98^ being an improve- 
 ment of about I per -cent. 
 
 The Indian loan of £5,000,000 has met with considerable favour 
 and the scrip is at small premium. Smaller bonds were, on the 22nd 
 at a premium of 21s. ; almost all kinds of Government securities have 
 remained without any material fluctuations. 
 
 In foreign stock there has been but little change during the month. 
 The unsettled state of things in France, and the rumours of large and 
 increasing deficiency in the revenue of that country, have thrown a 
 dullness over the Bourse, and caused a tendency to declining prices. 
 
 The railway share-market which at the beginning of the month 
 showed a disposition to improve, became less active towards the close, 
 with the exception of a few of the lines; and some have declined. The 
 weekly traffic returns exhibit a falling off in the receipts as compared 
 with those of the corresponding weeks of last year. The London and 
 North Western and the Great Western shares have declined 1 to 1 1 
 per share. 
 
144 THE BANK CHARTER ACT. 
 
 Foreign railway stock have been quiet but firm. The French lines 
 generally are paying well, and the shares are at premiums. 
 
 The corn market has been well supplied with both English and 
 foreign grain, and remains nearly in the state it was in at the com- 
 mencement of' May. All attempts to obtain an advance on the part 
 of the merchants have been rendered abortive by the determination of 
 the millers not to give it, and prices have remained nearly the same 
 throughout the month. 
 
 In connection with this fixity of prices in almost all departments 
 of trade, it is worthy of remark that the circulation of the Bank of 
 England has remained almost the same throughout, the highest amount 
 on the four weeks being £21,415,311 on th3 5th and the. lowest, 
 £21,133,855 on the 19th of the month. 
 
 TO COREESPOWDENTS. 
 
 " Shelley, and the Poets of his Age," and two or three brief literary 
 notices, are unavoidably postponed till our next Number. 
 
 " S. N." will observe that we have availed ourselves of one of his 
 notes. 
 
 Correspondents should favour us with their names and addresses, or 
 we cannot take notice of their communications. 
 
 Books for review, and communications for the Editor, should be ad- 
 dressed " To the Editor of the Money Bag," care of Mr. Oakey, No. 10, 
 Paternoster-row, London, E.G. 
 
 THE BANK CHARTER ACT 
 
 " CONVEETIBILITr." 
 
 BANK BETUKN OP MAY 20th, 1858. 
 
 LL-VBILITIES. 
 
 Notes Issued £31,634,700 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 11,351,770 
 
 20,282,930 
 
 Public Deposits 4,735,910 
 
 Other Deposits 13,972,353 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 850,425 
 
 39,841,618 
 
 ASSETS. 
 
 In the Issue Department: 
 Gold Coin and Bullion £17,159,700 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 
 Gold and Silver Coin 767,280 
 
 17,926,980 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not pay, on May 19th, 
 
 1858, in gold or silver £21,914,638 
 
145 
 
 EDITH CLABEL: 
 
 A STOBY FROM THREE POINTS OP VIEW. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 {From the Pinh BooJc.) 
 
 EXPECTED GUESTS. 
 
 We have now been here five days. The house is quite revived and 
 rejuvenated. 
 
 We have got some brand-new swans, who keep sailing restlessly up 
 and down the canals, and round and round the moat. They arrived 
 yesterday in a hamper, poor things. They seem very frightened and 
 wild, and would take no notice of my attempts to conciliate their ac- 
 quaintance by bits of broken toast out of the library-window after 
 breakfast. Tliey only snorted and paddled away, with disdainful, side- 
 long glances over their fleecy backs. 
 
 Some of our company are to arrive to-morrow — ^Lady Theresa Tre- 
 maddock, with her son and daughter, Marmaduke and Maud. They are 
 what are called country neighbours in this singular island of distant 
 sociabilities and sociable distances. They live about three-and-twenty 
 miles from Caercombe, on the borders of Cornwall. We were introduced 
 as country neighbours in Rome. Lady Theresa has been very civil to 
 mamma, and I fancy has designs on me for her son. Am I not an heiress 
 worth looking after, with this fine old place ? 
 
 However, I don't like the Tremaddocks much. I am afraid her lady- 
 ship is a palavering old woman, half douaeweuse, half patronising in her 
 manner. The daughter is full of affectations, and Marmaduke is a 
 bumpkin thickly varnished. He is a tall, gaunt, ungainly man, with 
 red hair and high cheek-bones. He has a coarse, clumsily-made mouth, 
 which he perseveringly excruciates in efforts to smile with a refined 
 expression. He is equally unsuccessful in his attempt to look amiable, 
 with shy, shapeless eyes, under heavy, sulky brows. What his natural 
 voice may be I have no means of even guessing — perhaps it is as raw 
 and uncouth as his natural man. All I have ever heard of it is, a 
 gentle, husky, subdued croaking, with which he takes great pains to no 
 purpose — -just as a creaking door only creaks the worse the more pains 
 you take to open or shut it softlj'. 
 
 His movements, like his voice, are excruciatingly constrained. His 
 elbows seem to suffer under a perpetual consciousness of the imminent 
 No. 3.— Vol. I. m 
 
146 EDITH CLAKEL. 
 
 vicinity of valuable porcelain. He creeps, sidles, and skates about 
 delicately, and looks at his feet, as if the pattern of the carpet were laid 
 together of artificial flowers, and he were in bodily fear of deranging it. 
 
 I don't know why I should have done Mr. Tremaddock the honour of 
 describing him at such length in my journal, for his portrait is certainly 
 not ornamental. 
 
 Papa had a note this morning from Mr. Denzil, saying that he and 
 Mr. Knyvett will be here on Monday. To-day is Friday — that is one, 
 two, three days. Am I impatient that I count the days ? Am I begin- 
 ning to be in love with Mr. Denzil ? 
 
 I hardly know how I have ventured to put myself so indiscreet a 
 question, even in the confidential pages of my lock-up book ! There 
 have as yet been very few secrets between my heart and these faithful 
 records of its history. 
 
 But now I have gone so far I will confess to thee, oh my most intimate 
 volume, that I have not imparted to thee all I have felt lately with the 
 same unreserved candour as before my acquaintance with Mr. Denzil. 
 Is that itself not a sign ? And is not the queer, cramped style of 
 medicBval sentimentality into which I have been betrayed, apostrophising 
 my lock-up book, a sign ? 
 
 I am ashamed to confess to myself now how many times in the day 
 I think of him — what slight clues of association remind me of some- 
 thing he has said. Sometimes he comes into my head on no better 
 pretence than, " What would Mr. Denzil think of this or that or the 
 other circumstance ? " on which Mr. Denzil's opinion has no particular 
 business to be of any importance to me. 
 
 I suppose it is wrong to like people too suddenly — especially wrong 
 for young ladies. We, poor innocent creatures, are apt to catch at some 
 point of sympathy, which our inexperience may make us fancy much 
 rarer than it really is, and then set about framing a character to match, 
 almost entirely out of our amiable imaginations, concluding that the 
 whole must be consistent with the foolish little bit we have discovered. 
 
 What do we know of men's character ? How can we tell how much 
 evil may coexist with the appearance of pure and noble sentiments ? 
 Men do not precisely play a part before us ; but from their infancy they 
 are trained to veil the baser portions of their nature from the eyes of 
 women. The characters of English gentlemen go about in society as 
 carefully disguised as the countenances of ladies in Constantinople. It 
 is as difficult to choose a husband for his virtues here as a wife for her 
 beauty there. 
 
 Still no deception can last very long. Stormy weather comes sooner 
 or later. The veil is blown flat to the features or over the head, and 
 you are much oftener disappointed than otherwise when you see the real 
 in its unsymmetrical completion. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 147 
 
 We knew Zuleikha's • dark-fringed eyes, classic nose-bridge, her 
 alabaster strip of forehead, and the shell-tinted margin of her damask 
 cheek ; but who ever would have guessed that the flowing uncertainty 
 of her yashmak concealed pulpy, unmeaning lips, rabbit's teeth, and 
 such a shapeless chin ? 
 
 But as the prettiest of the Turkish women are said to wear the most 
 transparent veils, it seems to me that the men of noblest character have 
 the least disguise of reserve and affectation ; or as men whose figures 
 are naturally good, do not cramp themselves with stays nor encumber 
 themselves with padding. 
 
 All affectations must be confessions of shame or weakness in some 
 part of the character, which its owner thinks it advisable to cover with a 
 pretence. And how full of affectations men are — just as much as women ! 
 There is not one man in ten that speaks in his natural voice, without 
 some tone adopted from some one else, and so badly imitated as to betray 
 at once that it is an imitation. 
 
 Not one in fifty moves, laughs, listens, without some imitative element 
 of manner (or self-conscious distortion of what should be left to nature), 
 which is a grimace. Grimaces may be more or less skilfully performed, 
 but they are no less grimaces if the face or frame is consciously and 
 intentionally put into some shape which their wearer deems appropriate 
 to the occasion of the moments. 
 
 For instance, Mr. Knyvett's expressions of interest, which he performs 
 with great skill on a very handsome and pliable set of features while I 
 am talking to him, are as much grimaces as Mr. Tremaddock's gauche 
 attempts at graceful attitudes. 
 
 What a difference there is in the way men talk to you ! Mr. Tre- 
 maddock is entirely occupied with himself, and his laborious endeavours 
 to make a favourable impression. He distresses his voice, chooses his 
 words, and is painfully careful of his grammar ; so that his conversa- 
 tion seems like Madame de Genlis's dialogues, interlarded with the 
 dullest half of what one has already read in the papers and reviews. I 
 am convinced he could do it just as well to his looking-glass or a stone 
 wall. He talks to everybody alike. His companion has no influence on 
 him whatever. He is always doing polite conversation in a carefully 
 correct style. I think if by any accident an original idea^as to strike 
 him, he would be seriously alarmed. 
 
 Mr, Knyvett does not so much talk to me as encourage me to talk to 
 him. He treats me as if I were U delicately-constructed conversation- 
 machine (something on the principle of a musical snuff-box) which any 
 incautious handling might easily put out of order. He listens to me 
 attentively — not as if the things I said interested him, but as if I myself 
 was the object of his curiosity. I often see by his face, through all its 
 complaisant expressions of sympathy, that he thinks my profoundest 
 
l-iS EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 theories mere pretty nonsense in half notes of thought. He adopts an 
 attitude of patronising superior wisdom, as if he were some great musical 
 composer listening to a foolish little bird, singing, sweetly enough in its 
 simple way, without the slightest reference to the science of thorough bass. 
 
 I used to think Mr. Knyvett much deeper than I do now. Very 
 shallow pools will sometimes look deep if the water be dark-coloured and 
 calm. But when a wind ruffles the surface the ripples break on shoals 
 which did not show in the still water. I have now and then fancied 
 lately — but that is no matter, I shall see how that is better when they 
 are both here together. 
 
 Then there is cousin Ambrose, who is very watchful of both himself 
 and me; who always seems as if he was playing some critical game of 
 skill with a mysterious air of artificial frankness. He studies the effect 
 of all he says, and watches it in the expression of one's face, but with a 
 sly, side-long observation, as if he did not wish to seem over-vigilant. 
 
 Then he listens shrewdly to all one, says, and often warps its meaning 
 away towards some avenue to bring in something he has made up his 
 mind, beforehand, to say if an opportunity should occur. But he so 
 often discovers his premeditation by forcing the opportunity, that his 
 talk gives one the impression of being even more artificial than perhaps 
 it really is. 
 
 Mr. Denzil talks to me without any effort, or constraint, or watchful- 
 ness, or suspicion. He makes no pretence to preserve an attitude of 
 superior wisdom. He has neither a lecturing nor an obsequious tone, 
 which cousin Ambrose contrives to combine. 
 
 He talks with perfect confidence that he will be understood; and 
 when I speak to him, my thought seems to flash into his mind almost 
 before the words have left my lijjs. 
 
 Most of the clever men I have met had minds like the glitter of cut 
 steel — highly polished surfaces reflecting the exterior world. His 
 mind seems like a diamond, bright throughout, and lit with the prismatic 
 gleams of an original fancy. 
 
 I wonder whether he seems the same to all young ladies. I think 
 Maud Tremaddock will fall in love with him, and I shall see how he 
 behaves under those trying circumstances. She will flatter him with a 
 florid enthusiasm that will be very useful to show me if he is vain. I 
 remember when she was in love with Lord Lespervier in Eome last year, 
 before I was fairly come out. It was the first specimen I had seen of an 
 English young lady desirous to be married, and it rather surprised me 
 at the time. 
 
EDITH CI,AKEL. 149 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 {From the Pink Book.) 
 THE SECRET PASSAGES. 
 
 I HAVE discovered the secret passages. Two or three nights I have 
 passed an hour or so ferreting about the pale lady's chamber. There 
 was nothing to be found that showed any signs. 
 
 It -was evident that nothing short of a real ghost could go through 
 tapestry without leaving a mark. So my first researches were devoted 
 to the panneling beside and behind the window-shutters. Then I 
 thought there might have been some means of lifting up the tapestry ; 
 but it all proved to be tightly fastened down beneath a low rim of 
 wainscot surrounding the room. 
 
 I thought perhaps a strip of it, between the fireplace and the tall 
 mirrors, might be stretched on a framework, appearing externally to be 
 only a part of the oaken moulding which was nailed round the edges of 
 the tapestry, so that the whole strip and rim might be drawn out bodily 
 on an unseen hinge at the top. But though I got on a high chair with 
 my candle, and examined the mouldings on either side of these two 
 strips, I could find no break in the wood. 
 
 Afterwards I tried the mirrors, of which I had at first great hopes, 
 fancying the glass might move inward on an internal hinge; but when 
 I had severely scrutinised them, and pressed my thumb upon every 
 knob of the carved ebony frames for a secret spring, I gave up the 
 mirrors. 
 
 I even looked behind the portrait of the pale lady herself. The 
 tapestry was less faded where the picture had covered it, that was all. 
 The dark oak floor nowhere showed any signs of a trap-door. In short, 
 the thing seemed hopeless, and I resolved to trouble myself no farther 
 with so fruitless an investigation, 
 
 I turned to the picture. The features of the pale lady seemed to wear 
 a faint sneer of derision. The face alone was distinct, and the deep, 
 liquid, searching eyes were upon me. The dark background, and the 
 sad coloured drapery of her robe, blended and confused in the twilight 
 of my single candle, gave something dim and spectral to her appearance. 
 
 Almost at the same moment my own reflection in one of the tall 
 mirrors caught my eye. There certainly was a strong likeness. 
 
 " If I were to dress my hair like that, and put on one of her own old 
 dresses, and powder my face, I should make a most excellent ghost of 
 the pale lady myself," thought I. 
 
 So I went back to my room and got the queer old keys of the carved 
 walnut presses, which keys, after some hesitation, Mrs. Cruett had made 
 over to me two or three days ago when she came with me to look over the 
 
150 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 ancient wardrobe. I provided myself, at the same time, with a brush 
 and comb, hair-pins, bandoline, indian ink and a paint-brush for 
 wrinkles, and some camphor and chalk to whiten my face. 
 
 The heavy, deep walnut-press stands in a recess, which it fills, 
 between one of the tall mirrors and the window. The doors open from 
 top to bottom. Within there are drawers below, and shelves above on 
 either side. There is an empty space in the middle, with large square 
 wooden pegs to hang dresses upon. 
 
 I got several dresses out of the drawers, and selected something like a 
 wrapper (I think it used to be called a sack in ancient days), with large 
 loose sleeves scalloped at the wrist, and trimmed with ruches of the 
 stuff. The material is like gros de Naples, of a deadish fawn colour, 
 shot with a pale purply grey, which probably was violet before it faded. 
 I hunted out a pair of quaint old cuffs, and a Vandyke collar attached 
 to a kind of habit-shirt. These were all of the " oouleur Isabelle," and' 
 very limp, but not the less picturesque. I did my hair something like 
 Henrietta Maria. 
 
 When I had whitened my face and painted my wrinkles, I looked at 
 least five-and-thirty, and so very ghastly an object that I succeeded in 
 making my flesh creep by scowling at myself in the mirror with fiendish 
 grimaces of horror and remorse. So that I began to wish I had some- 
 body else to frighten. 
 
 When I had satisfied myself with my solitary pantomime, as it was 
 very late, and as, moreover, the dresses were very much crumpled by 
 lying so long folded in the drawers, I thought it would save trouble and 
 take out the creases a little if they were to hang on the pegs. 
 
 In hanging one of them hastily my Maltese filigree bracelet got 
 entangled in the braid, and (having the candle in my other hand) while 
 I was fumbling at it to get loose without taking the dress down again, 
 my foot slipped on the polished walnut base of the press, which is raised 
 some sis inches from the floor in a step. 
 
 Clutching instinctively at the peg to support myself, I let go of the 
 candle. It fell and went out among the rustling folds of the dress, which 
 slipped away, pulling the refractory bracelet off my wrist. 
 
 A good deal of my weight caine upon the peg. It creaked, seemed to 
 turn in my hands; there was a grating click like that of a rusty latch; 
 the back of the cupboard yielded before me, and a draught of cold, but 
 not fresh air — in fact, of a mouldy, vault-like smell — blew in upon me. 
 
 I was naturally rather surprised and alarmed, so that in my retreat I 
 forgot all about the slippery wooden step behind me, and fell backwards 
 all of a heap, my feet being besides entangled in the silk dress, which 
 had slipped down. 
 
 I was a little hurt, and a good deal frightened ; but when I found that 
 nothing supernatural came of it, I gathered myself up, and groped in the 
 
EDITH CLAREL. ] 51 
 
 dark to my own room, unfortunately upsetting the coal-pan (with a 
 clatter that echoed through the corridor) in the corner, by the draivinff- 
 room door. 
 
 I lit my candle without loss of time, and taking a box of matches with 
 me in case of further accident, returned, not without something of a 
 shuddering, stealthy, guilty feeling, to the tapestried chamber. " For," 
 said I to myself, "what is there to be afraid of ?— and it won't do to 
 leave it, in that state, with my dress lying about, and the entrance to my 
 secret passages open." 
 
 The room was as I left it: the door which formed the back of the 
 walnut-press swung half-open. I went in with my candle. There was 
 a narrow passage to the right, and a narrow stair to the left. I de- 
 scended. After eight or ten steps there was a level bit again, where 
 the passage went below the window. Then other steps rose again, in 
 the line of the exterior wall; and a second and still narrower stair 
 turned down inwards, at right angles, apparently inside of some par- 
 tition wall. 
 
 I went up again, not being disposed to pursue my discoveries in this 
 direction, as the lower storey is much more thickly peopled. In the 
 upper storey I need only avoid papa and mamma, who live quite on the 
 opposite side of the house. 
 
 The contrivance for opening the secret door was very simple when' 
 one knew it. The thick mahogany peg, coming out at the other side of 
 the door, had a strong wire-wound fiddle-string attached to it, so that 
 when the peg was screwed round, the cord winding itself shorter pulled 
 up the latch. The peg fitted very tight, and unless my weight had 
 come upon it, and against the door, in my struggle not to fall, I might 
 probably have never applied force enough to move it, even if I had ex- 
 amined and tested the interior of the press as closely as other parts of 
 the room. I found, too, that the key-hole of the outer door of the press 
 went through, so that it could be locked from the interior; and I felt- 
 ashamed of my stupidity in not having observed this before, and drawn 
 a consequence from it. 
 
 However, I now resolved, if possible, to make my way to some other 
 exit; so I gathered up my combs, and brushes, and things, and made a 
 bundle of them in my own wrapper (for I still had on the pale lady's 
 dress) ; I stopped a moment to consider the geography of the house, and 
 the length of the corridor, and "decided that about seventy feet to the 
 right would bring me in a straight line to the library corner of the 
 house. 
 
 So I locked the door of the press from the inside, and went along the 
 narrow passage, which sunk in steps under several windows — passed 
 several doors, of different shapes and sizes, with various contrivances for 
 their latches — till, after counting fifty-eight paces, I came to a square 
 
152 EDITH CliAREL. 
 
 low door opposite me, and a turn to the right. I knew this door must 
 lead into the library, so I lifted the latch, and pushed the door, which 
 opened about an inch, and stopped against the back of a heavy book- 
 case. I closed it again, and tried the turn to the right, which soon 
 brought me to a tall narrow door on my left. 
 
 The latch of this door was attached by a long slender wooden crank 
 to a small sliding panel, near the top of it, which was forced up as I 
 lifted the latch. This door opened inwards, from the side panelling of 
 the library doorway, and could be opened from the outside, by pressing 
 that small panel upwards. 
 
 I had satisfied myself that I was mistress of its mechanism, and was 
 just about to shvit it up, when the drawing-room door opened at the 
 other end of the corridor, and out came Mr. and Mrs. Cruett. They 
 had, no doubt, heard the upsetting of the unlucky coal-scuttle, for their 
 room is underneath, and had come up to see what was the matter. 
 
 My heart leapt, and my feet seemed nailed to the floor, and I felt 
 dreadfully ashamed of being detected; but, as they started and stared, 
 and seemed infinitely more aghast than I was, I had time to reflect that 
 if I vanished unaccountablj' I should certainljr pass for the pale lady's 
 ghost. So I quietly went in at my secret door, which, from tlieir point 
 of view, must have looked like walking sti-aight through the wall. 
 
 After T had vanished, Mrs. Cruett found her voice, and screamed. A 
 moment or two afterwards I heard them bundling oiF; and as soon as I 
 felt sure that the coast was clear, I came out, shut the secret door, and 
 ■went back to my own room. I looked up my costume in one of my 
 travelling boxes, which I had some difiiculty in getting out from imder 
 the bed. 
 
 I could not get to sleep for a long while, thinking what might 
 come of this, vifhich would, no doubt, be related by the witnesses as a 
 most circumstantial appaHtion. And when I did go to sleep, I had all 
 kinds of confused dreams, in which Mrs. Cruett, the pale lady, and 
 myself seemed to dance u most intricate and interminable reel with 
 Mr. Denzil, cousin Ambrose, and Mr. Knyvett, for partners. The 
 only thing I remember distinctly this morning is, that Mr. Denzil 
 neglected me, and attached himself, with what I thought a very indis- 
 creet preference, to the pale lady, and persevered in dancing with her 
 when he ought to have changed to me. And, moreover, he looked at 
 her with looks that I thought belonged only to me; so that I felt very 
 angry, and thought several times, when they came near, of whispering 
 to him that she was a wicked ghost, and not a real woman at all; but 
 just when I was going to say it, the pale lady always caught my eye, 
 with a strange sad kind of sneer, and prevented me from opening 
 my lips. 
 
EDITH CLAllEL. 133 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The reader has had a fairish slice of the Pink Book, which, if he has 
 had patience to read it, will have given him a better insight as to what 
 sort of a girl the fair Edith was, and a more vivid idea of the general 
 position of affairs, than I could have done any other way than by 
 quoting it at length. I thought at first of pruning it down a good deal, 
 but found it difficult and tedious work cutting out the unimportant parts 
 which did not seem to affect the story directly. So I have let it alone ; 
 and as the readers of this biography will be mostly young ladies, they 
 may possibly find a relevancy and interest in particulars which to the 
 obtuser male mind appear devoid of either. 
 
 Denzil went down to Caercombe on the appointed day. I was to have 
 gone with him, but my bets turned out even worse than I had expected, 
 and I had to settle with some disagreeable customers. Denzil could only 
 lend me seven hundred and fifty, and I wanted over eleven hundred. 
 I think the prospect of matrimony began to make him a little careful. So 
 I had to try the Hebrews, who but that does not concern the story.' 
 
 I had rather have been down at Caercombe from the first, as things 
 appeared likely to come to a head much more readily than I expected. I 
 had anticipated that he would be a difficult man to marry, and had 
 calculated on my own power over Edith to retard or encourage the 
 transaction as I thought fit. 
 
 Certainly, most men I have known could be talked in or out of love 
 by their confidential friend saying, on all proper occasions, and in a 
 variety of paraphrases, " She is, indeed, a lovely creature," or, " She is, 
 indeed, a heartless minx." But these two fell in love in a manner 
 beyond all calculation of odds. I brought my couple together, and lost 
 all management of them directl}'. 
 
 However, I took measures to be well informed of how things went on. 
 I made Denzil promise to write, though I knew he would only give a 
 nebulous account : still clouds will sometimes show you which way the 
 wind sets. For detail, I relied on Sapin,his Swiss valet, a most intelli- 
 gent scamp, who has his eyes about him, and can tell you what is taking 
 place on the superficial level of the earth in his neighbourhood more 
 accurately than many of his betters. 
 
 I had always been liberal to Monsieur Sapin, and, besides, had a hold 
 over him, so that he loved me, and feared me, at least as much as he 
 loved my money and feared to lose his place. 
 
 Denzil thought Sapin as honest and noble-hearted as he was intel- 
 ligent, principally because — like any other rascally Swiss— he could talk 
 
154? EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 enthusiastically about mountains, 'tell stories about chamois hunting, 
 and sing the " Eanz des vaches." I knew him better. It may not, 
 perhaps, be time thrown away to relate the circumstances by which I 
 was enabled to hang the sword of Damocles over Sapin's wages and 
 perquisites. They are characteristic of both master and man. Still, 
 as it has nothing to do with the present narration, and will take the 
 impatient reader out of the current, whoever objects to episodical 
 excrescences, and is willing to take my word for Sapin's villany, may 
 skip the story of 
 
 THE STARVING PAINTER, OR QUID VALET VALEAT. 
 
 One day, as Denzil and I were walking in the outskirts of Fiesole, a 
 sharp shower came on, and we took shelter in a cottage. We were 
 courteously received by a poor artist, who seemed to be living there 
 very wretchedly on what he made by rather pitiful oil sketches of the 
 scenery about. We had often seen samples of the same handiwork 
 exposed for sale at low prices, to attract tourists — things that one 
 wondered if anybody could possibly be stupid enough to purchase. 
 
 However, the man and his family had an air of well-bred hunger, 
 which at once interested Denzil; and the artist, when properly pressed, 
 after a little graceful embarrassment, told his pathetic story in very 
 choice Italian. And the pretty, faded wife dropped a tear — and the 
 pretty, lean children gathered round their father to listen with earnest 
 faces, in a picturesque group, just as if it was a thing they were not 
 accustomed to hear. 
 
 In short, Denzil's sympathies were profoundly moved, and he felt in 
 his pockets for gold pieces. However, either the gold pieces were not 
 there, or he thought it might be better done indirectly. So he pre- 
 tended to take a great interest in the largest, most ambitious, and 
 unsaleable of the unfinished pictures, which he said he would send and 
 purchase in a few days, if he would finish it up. 
 
 Next week accordingly he sent Sapin with thirty sequins. The 
 picture was brought home with a letter of thanks in the most classical, 
 florid, and grandiloquently obsequious Tuscan. I saw he was disap- 
 pointed with the letter. I looked at it. 
 
 Now it happened that when we had been in Florence the year before, 
 I had occasion to cause Sapin to find me a man who could write love- 
 letters for me to the fair Augusta Frangini, then a likely singer, who 
 lately went to America, and married a banker in Baltimore. Italian 
 handwritings are much alike, but there was a peculiar trick in the 
 flourish of some of the capital letters which remained in my memory. 
 
 " Oh, ho !" said I to myself, " this is the work of Sapin's distressed 
 author, not Denzil's distressed artist." 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 155 
 
 I said nothing ; but in a day or two I rode to the artist's cottage. He 
 received me coldly, and I saw by his face I was right. 
 
 " My friend," said I, " did not intend his servant to drive so hard a 
 bargain. He was shocked to hear how little had been paid for the 
 picture, which he esteems a masterpiece. I forget what the sum was, 
 but the rogue must have beat you down shamefully." 
 
 " He did, indeed 1 God knows I am not exorbitant in my prices ; 
 and if I had been selling to a dealer I might have been glad even of the 
 price I got; but after the interest and the sympathy your i'riend 
 expressed, it hurt my feelings to be so hard pressed. And, indeed, if 
 it had not been for hunger, my pride would have refused to sell the 
 picture. But pride cannot long listen to the cry of children for bread. 
 Besides, I laboured many days on that picture (not as I work away on 
 the ordinary ones to get them done, lest we starve), but with love. For, 
 till I lost hope, I thought to get it into the Academy ; and then, when 
 your friend re-encouraged me, I strove to make it worthy of his gene- 
 rosity. But, alas ! my hands lose their craft — my spirit is wasted in a 
 sordid struggle with penury. I thought, at least, I should get ten or 
 twelve francesconi, and the man bargained an hour, and would only 
 give me seven." 
 
 So Sapin had modestly contented himself with about six and twenty 
 out of the thirty sequins, and had probably spent a few coppers with 
 his friend the distressed author for the florid T uscan letter. 
 
 I was very glad to have caught Sapin tripping, for he was such an 
 acute knave that he very seldom left himself open ; and I had long seen 
 he was a man to be secured. Servants, especially confidential valets 
 and ladies' maids, are a most influential engine still, though they no 
 longer talk to their masters and mistresses quite as they did in Tom 
 Jones's time. I was sorry for the poor devil of a painter ; so, as 
 I owed him a turn for being the innocent means of unbagging Sapin, I 
 gave him a few sequins, as from Denzil, over and above the bargain, 
 which, after a slight show of declining, he, of course, accepted, and I 
 thought I came ofi" best of anybody in the transaction. I shall never 
 forget Sapin's face, when, on a subsequent occasion, he objected to some- 
 thing I proposed on " conscientious scruples,'' and I told him what I had 
 done in the case of the artist of Fiesole. 
 
 In that conversation I remember an epigrammatic observation of 
 Sapin's, which showed the shrewdness of his philosophy. I had 
 wondered at his indiscretion — 
 
 " For," said I, " supposing your master had revisited the artist's 
 cottage ?" 
 
 " Point de danger," he replied, " my master is generous, even to the 
 indiscretion, but he pursues almost never his benefits. The recon- 
 
15fi EDITH CLABEL. 
 
 naissance genes him, and the remercimens make to him fear. My master 
 is optimiste fort peu assure. Perhaps that it pleases him not to discover 
 the lie where he hopes the truth. That is what arrives often to the 
 amateurs trop investigateurs of the gratitude humaine. My master is 
 man of talent ; his sole default is that he have too good heart. It se 
 prete hii-meme a sefaire tromper, en voulant se figiirer que tout le monde 
 est 1)011 comme lui, pauvre cher enfant." 
 
 Three or four days after his arrival at Caercombe, Denzil wrote me 
 a letter, which I kept, and have found, in order to insert it here, after 
 considerable rummaging among my papers. Inside of it I had stuck 
 one from Sapin, which probably came by the same post. 
 
 denzil's letter. 
 
 " Caercombe. 
 
 " Dear old fellow,— I am far from being disappointed with the place. 
 It is quite as feudal as you represented it, but not^ near so gloomy. 
 You saw it in its desertion. But, with a lively party in it, and young 
 voices echoing through the corridors, I am sure you would hardly 
 know it again. I hope you will soon be able to come and convince 
 yourself that we are by no means so dull and mediaeval a household as 
 you imagine. Nevertheless^ I feel the want of you, not only for your 
 society in hours of confidential smoke, and for the benefit of your 
 acute observation and sagacious counsel in the conduct of my suit (for 
 suit it is), but also to take off Miss Tremaddook's attention. Whether 
 it be that I am the only young man, except her ungainly brother 
 Marmaduke ; or whether she wishes, by occupying my attention, to 
 leave a clearer field for Marmaduke to perform his zigzag approaches 
 to the fortalice of the fair Edith's affections ; or whether both these 
 motives combine with others I wot not of, the fact is so. She is like an 
 army of observation, a whole host in herself. She is in possession of 
 all bridges, passes and defiles of the garden, and turns up, always at 
 the wrong moment, from behind the yew hedge, or from among the 
 rosebushes and geranium pots. Then she has Marmaduke in ambush 
 somewhere, got up in the shiniest boots and most spotless lavender 
 gloves — primed with volumes of the dreariest prose. 
 
 " The worst of it is, that Edith seems to enjoy my confusion, and mis- 
 chievously encourages Marmaduke, who, being an obtuse individual, 
 does not perceive her amiablv persiflage. In the meantime I am despe- 
 rately in love, and she sees it. Indeed, what is there she does not see 
 with those searching, spirit eyes, which coax one's inmost thoughts out 
 of their hiding-places, so that it becomes impossible to keep one's coun- 
 tenance over any of the little conventional insincerities of life in their 
 presence. 
 
 " I know you will say it is totally contrary to all sound theories of 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 157 
 
 love-mating to show one's hand in the early stages of a courtship ; 
 that it is a shameful thing for a man to fall in love in such indecent 
 haste ; and that a young lady's curiosity should be kept on the stretch to 
 discover whether there really is anything in it, until curiosity has had 
 time to deepen into interest, so that there really is something in it on 
 her side as well as your own ! 
 
 " But what is the use of theories ? In practice your theories only occur 
 to me as soon as I have done something which, according to theory, I 
 ought to have avoided, or have missed an opportunity I ought to have 
 seized. 
 
 " The distressing part of my case is, that she wears no disguise over 
 her own sentiments. If she did I might imagine them anything my 
 sanguine fancy chose to represent. Her hea,rt is as clear as air, and as 
 free. 
 
 " Still she takes a pleasure in me, as an intelligent child does with 
 some ingenious toy of which it is investigating the mechanism, usually 
 very much to the toy's disadvantage. She is greatly amused with my 
 difficulty in keeping decently civil to Tremaddock when he interrupts 
 our conversation with some stupid remark, in which she maliciously 
 delights to discover and answer some subtle meaning totally foreign to 
 his intention. She is equally delighted with the faint efforts I make 
 from time to time to seem deeply interested in Miss Tremaddock. I 
 cannot awaken a spark of jealousy, and Miss Tremaddock becomes 
 oppressive beyond measure. ' Cousin Ambrose ' relieves me of her a 
 little now and then. They are well matched. His pompous and glossy 
 urbanity, with her flattering, over-expansive enthusiasm of pseudo 
 sympathy, make it quite a genteel comedy to hear them and see them 
 together. But they are not worth writing about, and I dare say I have 
 wearied you with this nonsense already. Good-bye, old fellow, and 
 come down here as soon as you can. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Pbkcy Denzil. 
 
 " P.S. I am getting a leaky old gondola caulked and pitched up for 
 service. You know there are lots of narrow canals here that remind 
 one of Venice, and I happened to say to Clarel it was a pity there was 
 not a gondola. 
 
 " ' There is one somewhere, if it is not broken up by this time,' said 
 she. ' I met with a Plymouth ship at Malaraocco, and, as I had a 
 gondola of my own and was leaving Venice, I shipped it ; but it was 
 never of much use, for I forgot to ship a gondolier, and nobody could 
 ever row it.' 
 
 " ' I will be your gondolier,' said I, ' I have studied the science of 
 premi and stali.' So we made search, and found the gondola, very 
 
158 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 much out of repair, across the beams of a lumber-room in the back 
 premises, with a family of young rats under the seat." 
 
 sapin's letter. 
 
 " Chateau de Querque Ombre. 
 
 " Puisque Monsieur m'a fait I'honneur de me le commander, j'ose lui 
 faire part de nos nouvelles. Depuis notre arrivee a la campagne nous 
 voici plonges dans un tohu-bohu tout-a-fait moyen age. Je crois que 
 Monsieur connait ce ch§,teau morne et humide au possible — aussi je ne 
 m'en chargerai point de la description. 
 
 " Nous y voila tres mal, maitre et valet. A la cuisine surtout il arrive 
 a chaque instant des scfenes orageuses, dont les suites ont plus d'une fois 
 manque d'etre funestes. Hier soir le chef Venitien pour plaire aux 
 beaux yeux de la petite Gaetane, s'est propose d'assassiner le brave Cre- 
 non — ce qui aurait eu lieu sur le champ si son couteau de cuisine n'eut 
 gliss^ sur I'os en acier du corset que porte men aimable compatriote a 
 cause d'un enbonpoint qu'il redoute beaucoup, bien que cela est arrive 
 a sauver ses jours. Apres cela, tout le monde d'en bas s'est diable- 
 ment inquiet^ au snjet d'une apparition toute recente, qu'on constate 
 tres positivement. Je oroyais qu'en Angleterre les fevenants dataient 
 deja d'epoques plus ou moins reculees. Monsieur me pardonnera que 
 je I'ennuye de ces betises vulgaires. Passons h. I'important. 
 
 " A ce qu'il parait, mon maitre devient de plus en plus amoureux. Ce 
 matin meme en assortissant un gilet a son pantalon, il achange de pro- 
 pos a trois reprises — ce qu'il ne ferait guere de son ordinaire. 
 
 " Le reverend M. Ambrose s'interesse singulieremeut aux mceurs de 
 mon maitre. II refusait de le croire si Joseph que nous le connaissons et 
 se moquait meme de cette idee comme d'une plaisanterie. Monsieur le 
 cure est un charmant gar9on, qui fait des interrogatoires d'une naivete 
 touchante — tout en se croyant le plus fin des inquisiteurs. En moins de 
 dix minutes il m'a fait comprendre qu'il pretend luit meme exploiter la 
 main et la fortune de sadelicieuse cousine ; et qu'il creuse dcja les mines 
 pour faire sauter les pretensions rivales. 
 
 " J'ai I'honneur, Monsieur, etc. 
 
 " Jules Sapin." 
 
 So the archdeacon was going in. I had not thought of that before, 
 and this was the first hint I had of it, though the reader has been made 
 aware of the fact some pages earlier than Sapin's letter, in Edith's Pink 
 Book. I might have guessed it, for I knew the archdeacon of old. He 
 is the smoothest of hypocrites—a hearty worshipper of notliing but the 
 pomps and vanities of this wicked world, with about as much real 
 piety as there is in his extra clerical superfine Saxony suit of sable 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 159 
 
 garments when it comes from the tailor's in a brown-paper parcel. One 
 of his strongest weaknesses is family pride. I have always observed 
 that younger branches are much more troubled with this absurd in- 
 firmity than their betters. They gather some strange inflation from 
 their emptiness. They start with the presumption that they must them- 
 selves be great people, because they belong to some ancient stock. This 
 being their argument, they are obliged by inference to place a most 
 exaggerated value on the headship of the family of which their own 
 dignity is only a vulgar fraction. I had heard the archdeacon talk 
 about his family at Oxford — how he was the next male heir to some- 
 thing which he appeared to consider little less than a dynasty. His 
 branch separated some generations back. The last of the branch in 
 possession was an extravagant absentee, letting the property run to seed, 
 and who had a foolish little girl, that would carry away the remains 
 into some other family. Still he seemed to contemplate the hungry 
 reversion of the family honours, as if it had been a dukedom instead of a 
 squiredom. 
 
 I perceived at once that good might come of this suit. I felt con- 
 vinced that Ambrose would use all means, fair or unfair, to put a spoke 
 in Denzil's wheel — which might save me some dirtyish work, for I was 
 resolved the Caercombe courtship should go on no quicker than I could 
 help-. As I had now tided through the worst of my settling difficulties, 
 I thought it time to appear in person on the scene of action, and accord- 
 ingly started for Devonshire. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The house stands well ; it has a good and ancient aspect with, its 
 queer old towers and gables. I hate your modern antique houses, but 
 there is certainly something solid and satisfactory in a real square old 
 fixture like Caercombe, which looks as if it had grown there along 
 with the trees ; or at least, as Denzil said, in his fantastic way, it seems 
 the natural sort of shell belonging to an old race that has crept like a 
 snail slowly down through the centuries. 
 
 I certainly should never have thought of comparing it to a snail-shell 
 myself, nor indeed see much in it, though it struck me as rather a good 
 idea at the time. In my opinion these extravagant conceits and meta- 
 phorical quirks of fancy are playing the Dickens with modern literature, 
 which seems to amuse its second childhood with the game of " What is 
 my thought like ? " 
 
 But though I did not think of snails as I drove up to the portcullis 
 
160 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 arch, I felt that I could a little understand the archdeacon's point of 
 view. " I may be the means of sending it your way yet, old sly-boots !" 
 thought I. Then I fell to regretting the mortgages which prevented me 
 going in myself ; for of course, with my debts and liabilities, it was out 
 of the question to embark in a water-logged ship. 
 
 By Jove though— sink the property— Edith is worth having of her- 
 self—besides things often come right somehow. I've a great mind to 
 come the romantic. And I'm not first favourite now. I might just as 
 well work myself up in the betting a little, for if I don't start for the 
 plate after all, there's no forfeit. Not that there's much chance of 
 saving my distance now — but Denzil might make a mistake. If not, 
 we must nobble the favourite. If I can't Avin myself, I pot Ambrose as 
 the best outsider — Marmaduke has no chance — but if I can make 
 Ambrose do the nobble, and then win myself by a neck, that will be 
 the double Gloucester. But then if I win, I quarrel with Denzil, and 
 Denzil is worth more ready money to me than this estate will ever be. 
 Indeed it is to keep Denzil's ready money out of this quagmire, that 
 I started on this expedition, and shall I myself run after the Wilhelmina 
 of the Wisp, who is leading him into it? Will of the Wisp to me, but 
 it's a good spec for Denzil! Half his money might be well invested 
 buying up these mortgages at 5 instead of 3i per cent. It would raise 
 his income about £600. I have got a good deal out of Denzil which I 
 shall most likely never repay, and I'm sure he never expects to see any 
 of it again. Shall I do the generous and leave him alone? Generosity 
 be hanged — I can't afford to be generous — moreover I'm jealous of him. 
 No, he sha'n't have her. 
 
 Here the gig rattled and rumbled over the drawbridge and under 
 the portcullis arch, and so ended my reflections. I was told the party 
 were in the garden. I first met Edith and Tremaddock. They were 
 pacing up and down the walk by the yew hedge. She seemed fidgety, 
 and he was doing his best as usual. She said her father and mother 
 were at the end of the yew hedge (after her salutations, which were 
 rather cavalier), and seemed to be passing on with Marmaduke. How- 
 ever they turned back with me. 
 
 The end of the yew hedge, where it runs down to the water's edge, 
 is cut about into arches and arbours. In one of these we found Clarel 
 languidly smoking, and still more languidly reading the Purgatorio 
 to Lady Theresa who sat literally and metaphorically in a cloud, with 
 an uncomfortable bewildered expression, no doubt intended to convey 
 that she understood Dante at hearing, and did not object to a cigar in 
 the open air. Lady Theresa's theory is humouring people — and she is 
 
 rather successful with stupid old dukes and fat dowao-er duchesses 
 
 which gives her her value in society. If she thought there was any 
 business to be done by humouring Clarel in order to get Edith for her 
 
EUITH CLAREL. 161 
 
 cub, the old girl was throwing away her time and talents. However, 
 managing mothers follow their instincts like turltey-hens, and will often 
 try to hatch a round stone or two along with their other eggs. 
 
 " Here is Mr. Knyvett at last, Papa!" 
 
 "Bravo! let him be welcome," said Clarel, looking up from his book 
 with a moonlit civil smile, and holding out his hand without stirring. 
 Then he read me a line out of his page with some emphasis. I suppose 
 there was some pointed allusion, for Edith laughed. So did Lady 
 Theresa when she saw that was the cue ; but what a diiferent laugh 
 from Edith's merry silver tinkle ! Lady Theresa laughed so as to show 
 she didn't understand the joke a bit more than I did, and was divided 
 between appreciating Clarel's allusion, echoing Edith's amusement and a 
 slight nervousness lest I should take it amiss, which last complication 
 she tried to neutralise by the extra cordiality with which she shook 
 hands, and the gas-light illumination of her countenance with a very 
 toothy smile. 
 
 " Come along," said Edith, " we shall find mamma in one of thosa 
 pigeon-holes. Don't you hear cousin Ambrose cooing theology to hei 
 round the corner ? And here comes our gondolier. Nobody can say 
 
 ' In Caercombe Tasso's echoes are no more,' " 
 
 Here all of a sudden, in a loud key and a very comical caricature of the 
 Venetian dialect, she took up the stave which Denzil was chanting 
 lustily as he bent over his oar, apparently with a view of drowning 
 Miss Tremaddock's conversation, for she was his companion in the gon- 
 dola which had just come shooting out into the broad piece of water 
 from under one of the garden bridges. 
 
 "We found Mrs. Clarel deep in conversation with Ambrose. She was 
 much more formal in her manner than usual ; and as Ambrose was very 
 aiFectionate in his greetings I couldn't help fancying that the theological 
 cooings of that pigeon in rook's plumage had been to my disadvantage. 
 
 In the meantime the gondola had made a great curve and came glid- 
 ing right up to us as if it was going to strike violently on the stone 
 edging of the pond, and I went and stood ready to break the shock. 
 But just as the battle-axe-shaped iron head seemed coming into my 
 hands, Denzil shifted his oar plumb and square down within the arm- 
 pit of the elbow-crooked rullock-timb6r ; the boat stopped short, and 
 swinging round, as if the oar had been a fixed pivot, came gently up 
 sideways to the margin. 
 
 " Hurrah, old fellow ! I'm glad you've got here at last," cried he, a 
 little out of breath, as he shook hands with a warm, friendly grasp. 
 What a clear, frank expression of pleasure there was in his eyes! It 
 gave me a sort of twinge somewhere. I don't exactly know where my 
 conscience lies : and as I proceeded to the not very absorbing process of 
 
162 EDITH CLABEL. 
 
 shaking hands with Miss Tremaddock, I could not help looking at him 
 over my shoulder. 
 
 I haven't got much of the high-art slang, but I think, in an unpro- 
 fessional way, I am rather a keen observer of nature, especially in human 
 character. I think one sees character more in repose than in action. 
 Both face and figure are more transparent when they are still. There 
 was something about Denzil's attitude and look that struck me as sin- 
 gularly graceful and picturesque. I should probably never have given 
 it a thought if we had been standing there alone, for then it would not 
 have signified how he looked. But I knew Edith's eye was upon him, 
 and that gave it a value. Its merit was in its unconscious grace and 
 dignity. It could not have been done on purpose, though it was very 
 simple when you saw it. Most men who have a good carriage have 
 taken pains to have it. There is a conscious squareness of drill- 
 sergeantry about their shoulders. Most men, who have not a perpetual 
 French perk and pose, slouch rather meanly when they are not thinking 
 about it, and hold themselves rather stiffly when they are. I always 
 think there is something noble in a man that can " stand well before a 
 company." It is very rare, so I am the less ashamed to confess I have 
 not the faculty. Denzil had it. If there had been ten thousand of us 
 it would have made no difference in his attitude. I have seen him face 
 a crowd. Edith's journal lies open before me. The page has no writing, 
 but the date of that day, below a very spirited etching of Denzil as he 
 stood in the stern of the gondola. She has caught the argutum caput 
 and ardua cervix. Keen head and lofty neck give a very indifferent 
 idea of Virgil's Latin. She has done careful justice to the breezy curls, 
 He is bare-headed. His shoulders and chest, naturally expanded by 
 recent exertion, are only indicated under the loose folds of a rather 
 degage shirt. The left arm, carelessly dropped, has a loose hold of the 
 half-floating oar. There is a most masterly sense of balance in the 
 elastic firmness with which she has planted him on his unstable footing. 
 Phsaw ! I am writing what sounds like letter-press to an engraving of 
 Lord Byron in some obsolete annual! 
 
 " Am I to have any more fares to-day, fair dames and gentle sirs ? " 
 said the unconscious model. 
 
 " Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors," said Edith, addressing 
 in turn Tremaddock, myself and Ambrose with an adjective apiece— 
 " Will you be charter-parties in this freight ? Hie we to the Rialto ! 
 Come, embark ! " 
 
 " Say rather chatter-parties in the prate this damsel keepeth up 
 from dawn to dark ! " said Denzil. 
 
 Edith. — " Silence, uncivil boatman. Know that thou 
 
 Should'st hold thy tongue, and row as with thine oar." 
 
 Denzil. — " I hold mine oar, and with my tongue I row.'' 
 
PIEDMONT AND NAPLES. 163 
 
 Edith.—" Thy speech is all at sea, thy boat ashore." 
 Dengil. — " You cut me up so small with sharp replies, 
 
 I will betake me to the bridge of sighs." 
 Edith. — " If size abridge your smallness, then you will 
 Beneath a bridge of sighs feel smaller still." 
 Dmzil. — « Let him who fears to see himself look small, 
 
 Glass not himself in ladies' eyes at all." 
 Edith. — « With Attic salt his humble pie he eats, 
 
 Come, gentlemen and ladies, take your seats."* 
 Whereupon we all got in except Mrs. Clarel, who said the boat was 
 much too full, and the pond was very deep. Here Lady Theresa came 
 forward, wringing her hands, and objected to her children being 
 drowned. 
 
 PIEDMONT AND NAPLES. 
 
 The concession made by Naples in giving a compensation to the two 
 unfortunate English engineers will be taken as an apology by England, 
 and probably the release of the Sardinian crew and of the Cagliari 
 herself may be accepted as such by the King of Sardinia, even though 
 they have been handed over to England, apparently with the view of 
 snubbing our Italian ally, and not to Sardinia herself The facts of the 
 case are too familiar to require repetition. 
 
 Naples has been forced to do right. Fortunately for the ends of 
 justice, a technical point of international law turned up, which, when 
 discovered, gave England an undoubted right to interfere ; had it not 
 been for that, the whole crew of a merchant vessel might have been 
 executed, and two Englishmen among them, for a crime of which it was 
 notorious they were wholly innocent. If the King of Naples will deli- 
 berately imprison and torture innocent persons more than a year, for 
 the purpose of insulting one of his neighbours, to what lengths might 
 he not have ventured ? 
 
 Justice obtained by threats has none of the essence of justice. A 
 thief whom you force to restore your property, though you -come by 
 your own, is no more respectable for his concession. Naples has lost 
 character — if it ever had a character — in the transaction. Ferdinand 
 of Naples, like any other barbarian chief, may probably neglect public 
 law when it suits his convenience ; but why has he this studious 
 desire to make himself disagreeable to Victor Emanuel ? This inquiry 
 is the subject of the following paper. 
 
 * These rhymes were preserved in a short entry of the day in Denzfl's blue- 
 boot. They are pretty much as I remember them, but I dare say he could'nt 
 resist touching them up a little. 
 
164 PIEDMONT AND NAPLES. 
 
 As Piedmont in the north, and Naples at the south, are the two 
 extremities of the Italian peninsula, so also are they the furthest apart 
 in their political tendencies. The late difficulty between them was not 
 alone the question of the legal or illegal capture of a merchant steamer ; 
 it was, rather — shall Italy progress with the rest of Europe in material 
 welfare and civilised government ? or shall it revert to happy influences 
 of despotic kings and a self-ended priesthood ? The actual dispute was 
 only a symptom of the general divergence of opinion. We often see 
 persons nominally quarrel about very unimportant points, as two men 
 courting one woman will snap and snarl at each other on the most indif- 
 ferent subjects. 
 
 Though this particular affair is patched up, it is, nevertheless, worth 
 our while to consider the relative positions of the two powers, for, 
 sooner or later, they will probably come to blows. Let us look at what 
 has been done in Italy, both north and south, during the last ten years, 
 whence we may be able to speculate on the possible occurrences during 
 the next ten. 
 
 Up to the outbreak of the revolution of 1848, the states under the 
 rule of the house of Savoy, though less harshly in practice, had, at 
 least in theory, been as absolutely governed as any part of the penin- 
 sula. But the King, Charles Albert, was an enthusiast, though neither 
 a statesman nor a strategist. He had dreamed of heading a united 
 Italy. This passionate longing of all Italians had been allowed freer 
 expression in Piedmont than elsewhere. Unable to restrain, he might 
 be able to guide the revolutionary excitement of 1848. And at the head of 
 his people, Charles Albert dashed at the flank of the retreating Austrians. 
 
 Unsupported and maligned — misled and betrayed by the boastful 
 patriots who were too intellectual to be honest — disappointed of the 
 Neapolitan contingent at the turning point of the campaign (owing to 
 its recall to Naples to repress an outburst of democracy at home) 
 —beaten, abdicating, and dying in exile, his memory was endeared to 
 his own people, in whose cause he had fought and fallen a martyr. 
 
 In the hour of defeat and misfortune, the reins were thrust into the 
 hands of Victor Emanuel. He succeeded to a kingdom with a beaten 
 and dispirited, and only partially disciplined army, in face of a victo- 
 rious foe under Marshal Eadetzky, one of the ablest generals in 
 Europe. It was obvious to all that the game was up, and that all that 
 remained was to make terms with the conqueror. The young King 
 had fought like a knight-errant in the cause of his people, and was the 
 more beloved, that he and they were sharers in the common misfortune 
 of defeat. Perhaps it is partially owing to the sympathy thus engen- 
 dered that he has been able to accomplish the project of giving liberty 
 to his country. How often do we see good arising out of evil ? — the 
 fountain of freedom flowing from the furnace of affliction ? 
 
PIEDMONT AND NAPLES. 165 
 
 Worsted in the field, the object of his policy became to demonstrate 
 to Europe that there was one Italian nation at least capable of self- 
 government ; while he strengthened himself abroad by foreign alliances, 
 in order to protect his country from the danger of Austrian interference. 
 No doubt it is the hope of Sardinia one day to be able to get possession 
 of Lombardy, to absorb Tuscany, to occupy Eome, and extinguish 
 tyranny in Naples. But these objects have hitherto been pursued by 
 the most legitimate means. The endeavour has been to win all the 
 talent of Italy to her side, to afford a home to political refugees from 
 the rest of the peninsula, and to become the leader of thought and action, 
 to whom all would look to lead an Italian federation, or to conquer an 
 Italian kingdom. This is a key to the whole Piedmontese policy, both 
 at home and abroad. The King's idea appears to be that, by ruling 
 according to their wishes, he might reign in his people's hearts, and in 
 the hearts of all Italy — that there is no service like service rendered for 
 love — one volunteer is worth half-a-dozen pressed men. 
 
 The protection afforded to that most ancient of Protestant commu- 
 nions, the Vaudois Church, and the permission granted it to build a 
 church at Turin, provoked remonstrances from the Vatican. Religious 
 liberty was a fundamental part of the constitution, and the King, 
 though a Roman Catholic, refused to be a tool in the hands of the 
 Sovereign Pontiff. The introduction of the Bible — a work regarded at 
 Rome as having heretical tendencies, — the determination of Sardinia to 
 take the monopoly of matrimony [out of the hands of the clergj'', — and the 
 expulsion of a refractory archbishop — produced growing uneasiness and 
 anile remonstrances from Pius the Ninth ; each screech in a louder 
 key. The comparative freedom of the press, the publication of an 
 impartial, but rather prolix, history of Roman affairs, by M. Farini, and 
 the hospitality received by Romans expelled from their own hearths by 
 the Father of Christendom, and the teaching of a professor of one of the 
 universities that Rome had no authority in civil concerns — all contri- 
 buted to widen the breach. At last the passing of the bill for the sup- 
 pression of convents brought down on the King and his people the 
 greater excommunication. But public opinion had become more pow- 
 erful than the anathemas of the Vatican. 
 
 Austria regarded with ill-disguised jealousy an Italian power strength- 
 ening her fortresses — giving an example of orderly popular govern- 
 jjjent — affording a welcome to Lombard emigrants and exiles, and per- 
 mitting the public press to criticise very freely the doings of her 
 neighbours — which, to say the truth, looked ill enough in the unaccus- 
 tomed light in which they were placed. Thus, when the imprudent 
 outbreak of a few crazy conspirators, in 1853, gave Austria an opportu- 
 nity of showing her displeasure, not only were the persons engaged 
 punished for their crime, but the property of the Lombards who had 
 
]66 PIEDMONT AND NAPLEiS. 
 
 emigrated to Sardinia (with the permission of the Austrian authorities) 
 was confiscated — a breach of faith against which Sardinia energetically 
 remonstrated, and finally with success. 
 
 At length, when the young Emperor visited his Lombard dominions, 
 Victor Emanuel, annoyed by the neglect of some usual courtesy on his 
 part, omitted to send a greeting to him on his arrival at Milan. This 
 slight greatly incensed Austria, and led to a cessation of diplomatic 
 intercourse. 
 
 We all remember how Sardinia, interested as a Mediterranean State 
 in the independence of Turkey — hoping, perhaps, that Austria might 
 be drawn to the side of the Czar, and desiring to draw closer her alliance 
 with the Western Powers — ^joined her contingent to the allied forces, 
 in the active prosecution of the war ; nor have we forgotten the gallant 
 services of General La Marmora, at the Tratkir Bridge, and on the 
 banks of the Tchernaya. Having taken her place in the field, she 
 was naturally not without considerable influence in the Congress of 
 Paris. 
 
 It was suggested in that Congress, that the condition of Italy was a 
 perpetual menace to the peace of Europe — that the enormous number 
 of political exiles — men soured by the oppression of their country, 
 and ready for any enterprise, however mad or wicked — was a con- 
 stant element of danger to the neighbouring states and monarchs. 
 Chloride of Nitrogen, may, no doubt, be manufactured in minute quan- 
 tities, and even then a chemist will every now and then be maimed 
 for life. But if your next door neighbour persists in making it by the 
 ton — especially if he chooses to pump it into your premises — it's perhaps 
 taking a stronger view of your Christian duty, than most men, if you 
 love him as yourself 
 
 The condition of the Kingdom of the two Sicilies was such as to 
 induce the representatives of Queen Victoria and the Emperor Napoleon 
 to address a memorandum to Naples on the subject. They joined in 
 suggesting a more clement mode of governing ; but at the same time dis- 
 avowed any intention of dictating to the King the policy to be persued, 
 or interfering in his domestic afiairs. The reply was neither candid nor 
 courteous, and eventually the English and French ministers withdrew. 
 Indeed there had for some time been only a species of undignified 
 diplomatic bickerings between them and that power, rising from studious 
 insult on the part of Naples, and perpetual remonstrances from the 
 Western States. 
 
 Really the kind of rule established in Naples sounds almost too 
 absurd to be true, and we dare hardly tell the following story, without 
 quoting our authority. (The " Amuaire des Deux Mondes, 1853-4"). 
 It seems that a member of the American diplomatic body, wishing 
 to purchase a white hat, applied to a French hatter to make that article. 
 
PIEDMONT AND NAPLES. 167 
 
 The tradesman refused to gratify him without a special authbrizatioa 
 from government. Upon inquiry, it turned out that the Neapohtan 
 ministry had conceived the idea that white hats had in some mysterious 
 manner, a democratic tendency ; and after having] bought up all that 
 were in the market, strict orders were given that no more should be 
 manufactured. Whether the indignant Yankee was eventually able to 
 present himself to the King of the Two Sicilies, in the full diplomatic 
 costume of a white hat and yellow waistcoat, the historian does not 
 relate. 
 
 Probably the spy system has gone further in Naples than in any 
 State except Russia. Plots are hatched by the discontented, or 
 invented by the police, at regular intervals, when arrests are effected 
 by the score. Prisoners are tried in a manner disgraceful to Europe ; 
 the object being as much to strike terror by the conviction of the inno- 
 cent, as to punish the guilty. We are not by any means prepared to 
 assert that the Italian patriots are immaculate persons, against whom 
 the King has no just ground of complaint ; on the contrary, they are many 
 of them, a most unruly, impatient, disreputable, dirty, unshaved, and un- 
 soaped set of ragamuffins ; very little removed in point of education and 
 intelligence from the rulers they detest. But who made them what they 
 are ? Kingcraft and priestcraft , The difference between Sardinia and 
 Naples, is that the policy of the former is to reform them ; that of the 
 latter to keep them what they are. 
 
 To show that we do not misrepresent the tendencies of the Neapolitan 
 government, here is an abstract of an official circular, giving instructions 
 to the secret police. " They were required to exercise incessant 
 vigilance over those suspected, following their movements in their own 
 houses and abroad — their meetings, both in town and country, and 
 to ascertain whether they associated with persons not compromised. To 
 take care to find out where they were in the habit of reading the 
 government newspapers — and to take particular notice of what they 
 said when they had finished reading, whether in private or public. 
 If they were in the habit of talking to persons of influence, to find 
 out what they talked of, in public or private. To listen attentively to 
 all sermons, in order to see if doctrines delivered any way were hostile 
 to government. To discover whether the suspected told lies, with the 
 intention of obtaining sympathy ; also to ascertain by what means they 
 succeeded in putting the King's party in a fright. To take particular 
 note of everybody who went from home without a sufficient reason. 
 They were to open all letters to or from suspected persons. They 
 were to make out a list with the most scrupulous care of persons who 
 wore clothes of a singular cut, and who did not cut their beards. In 
 arranging this list, the suspected were to be distinguished from those 
 unsuspected, and a date was to be attached to each name, showing the 
 
168 FRENCH MANNERS. 
 
 age of the beard— and stating, in addition, whether the hat was the 
 shape sanctioned by long custom, or was of any singular form that 
 could be considered an innovation ; a rule which was to be applied to 
 all but foreigners, who were to be permitted to wear hats and beards 
 of any size and shape with impunity, while a subject was to be ordered 
 to change the one and shave the other ; and, in default, sent to prison ; 
 and they were to take particular notice Avhere suspected persons went 
 of an evening." We again quote the " Aimuaire cles Deux HLondes" 
 1855-56, p. 271. 
 
 Sardinia and Naples, in material power, are not very unequally 
 matched ; the power of numbers is on the side of Naples, but of 
 public enthusiasm is in favour of the former. Sicily, which claims a 
 constitution of its own, may not improbably, in case of a rupture, 
 throw off the continental yoke, which has long rested heavily on its 
 neck, and repeat the offer of its crown to the House of Savoy. But 
 will France, ever jealous of the growth of any power in the Mediter- 
 ranean, contribute so materially to the increase of the strength of her 
 neighbour ? Would it be the interest of France to allow so large a 
 a step in the direction of an Italian kingdom. Philosophically, it 
 unquestionably would, for it is her interest to have a government in 
 Italy beloved by the people, and not likely to stir up commotions. But 
 are statesmen philosophers ? No ; not more than the people they rule. 
 At present, Sardinia reckons apparently on French, and, possibly too, 
 on British support. If France takes one side, will not Austria interfere 
 to assist absolutism in Italy ? Can she remain quiet, with a Lombard 
 population ready to rush into revolt ? Is dear old John Bull a bit more 
 of a philosopher than his neighbours ? Can he witness a fray without 
 longing to be in the midst of it — and when he flourishes his cudgel, who 
 can tell on what head it will fall ? Thus the condition of Italy is still a 
 perpetual menace to the peace of Europe. 
 
 FRENCH MANNERS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOll OF " PIGEONS AND CROWS," " WHEUE SH.'iLL WE PLAY ? " ETC. 
 
 " Arthur D was a young French gentleman of two-and- 
 
 twenty, who, after having cut an excellent figure at school, had travelled 
 over the greater part of Europe for the purpose of putting the last polish 
 upon his education. He was both well-informed and intelligent, and 
 possessed of all the qualities which go to constitute a man of the world, 
 except that he was shy to such a deplorable degree that he could make 
 no use whatever of his advantages. 
 
FRENCH MANNBHS. 169 
 
 " Upon his return from foreign travel, his father, a man of rank, was 
 anxious to bring him forward in society, trusting that his unfortunate 
 infirmity would gradually disappear, although aware that its complete 
 eradication might be a task of some difficulty. 
 
 " ' Arthur,' said he, one afternoon, ' we have just been invited to a 
 
 soiree at the Baron de T 's, one of my most intimate friends. 
 
 He wishes to make your acquaintance. You will find yourself, at his 
 house, among the prettiest women in all Paris. Do, for goodness' sake, 
 try if you can't shake off your college bashfulness, and come out like a 
 man. You are a good-looking fellow, with a rich old governor into the 
 bargain ; what more would you have ? By the way^ we shall have 
 time, before going, to drop in upon Horace Vernet, prince of modern 
 painters. We shall find him probably in his atelier, surrounded by his 
 brethren of the brush. Their jokes and sallies will be just the thing to 
 inspirit you for the rest of the evening. Come along.' 
 
 " Poor Arthur dreaded an encounter with these droll dogs more than 
 can well be conceived; however, there was nothing for it but to obey. 
 Luckily for him, his courage was not put to the test, for Horace Vernet 
 happened to be alone in his studio, engaged in putting the finishing touch 
 to one of his most celebrated pictures, the possession of which had 
 already been secured in advance by a prince of the blood. Encouraged 
 by the kind and easy manner of the great artist, Arthur talked both 
 fluently and well, to the infinite gratification of his father, who had never 
 heard him so eloquent before. 
 
 " But the paternal pride was destined to a speedy fell. The door sud- 
 denly flew open, and the royal prince himself was announced. Arthur's 
 father, who had the honour of being known to his highness, naturally 
 availed himself of the opportunity to present his son. The latter 
 executed a profound salaam. The prince addressed him with some good- 
 natured remark, which had the effect of producing a second obeisance, 
 still more complicated and bewildering than the first, in the course of 
 which the unlucky youth contrived to back into the glorious picture, 
 still wet with the last brilliant touch. 
 
 " Prince, painter, and papa, all shouted when it was too late. Arthur 
 wished to goodness gracious that the floor would open and swallow him ; 
 but it didn't. He was infinitely too much flurried even to disembarrass 
 himself of the prussian-blue and vermilion which adhered in considerable 
 quantities to a retired portion of his pantaloons. His father, after 
 countless apologies, hurried him away to the ball. Dancing began, and 
 the rash boy was ill-advised enough to select a partner. Hardly had his 
 first waltz concluded, when exclamations of ' O'est qffreux ! c'est une 
 Tiorreur ! ' were heard in every direction. Arthur, in the course of his 
 gyrations, had managed so effectually to present to his fair partner 
 that section of his exterior which had recently been in contact with 
 
170 FRENCH MANNERS. 
 
 M. Vernet's canvas, that every] flounce of snowy mualin was glowing 
 with the stamp of genius — in other words, effectually embroidered with 
 the rough transcript of an historical painting. ' Void un example,' says 
 my informant, ' des suites ordinaires de la timidite / ' " 
 
 I have translated the above precious anecdote from a certain " Manuel 
 du savoir-vivre," which I purchased a little while ago in the Oalerie 
 d' Orleans for a franc and a-half. I invested a similar sum in a rival 
 work, to wit, the "Manuel du Ion ton et de la politesse Frangaise — 
 nouveau guide pour se conduire dans le monde." " When you are in 
 Turkey," says the adage, " do as the turkeys do." In order to avail 
 myself of this oracular advice, I bought my manuals on the spot, and I 
 intend to devote the present paper to a brief glance at their contents. 
 
 It is difficult to deal gravely with professed treatises upon the art and 
 mystery of etiquette. They are, generally speaking, anonymous, and not 
 unfrequently profess to have been " revised by a lady of rank." Infi- 
 nite privilege 1 Fortunate author, whose every line seems fragrant with 
 some delicate whisper of his coronetted Egeria! The critic is at once 
 disarmed. The general reader resigns himself to gratitude, admiration, 
 and belief. Unfortunately, these brilliant books will begin at the 
 very beginning, in such appalling fashion, that one sometimes cannot 
 help supposing that they must have been designed to mend the manners 
 of people who had no manners to mend. "It is vulgar to say, 'How's 
 yourself? ' " — "It is atrocious to eat peas with your knife" — ^"It is 
 uncivil to wink at ladies" — " It is utterly incorrect to make grimaces by 
 way of expressing incredulity " — " It is equally so to nudge people with 
 your finger in order to make them ' take' your joke " — are all aphorisms 
 true enough in their way, but which one would hope might be arrived 
 at, even in the most formidable cases of neglected or misdirected educa- 
 tion, without the interference of author, printer, publisher, and retail 
 bookseller. 
 
 In fact, a philosophical treatise upon the whole art of society — a sound 
 and practical digest of the lex non scripfa to which all civilised people 
 defer — has yet to be written. It might be a book to live for ever. Not 
 that its perusal would suddenly turn a clown into a gentleman. No- 
 body ever yet learned manners out of an essay, any more than mere 
 reading ever taught a man to drive, or swim, or fag out at cricket. But 
 we are all the better for being occasionally reminded of much on which 
 our manners depend ; and if the world and its concerns be indeed the 
 stage-play as which they are sometimes represented, it is at least well 
 for the actor who can enter into the spirit, as well as the letter, of his 
 part. But let us listen to our French friends. A few scraps, picked 
 impartially from either " Manuel," and served up in solid Saxon, is all 
 that I pretend to offer in this day's bill of fare. 
 
 " An act of politeness compromises nobody, whatever may be his or 
 
FRENCH MANNERS. 171 
 
 her position in life. One day, Louis XIV., happening to walk into one 
 of the state-rooms at Versailles, which was but little frequented, dis- 
 covered a workman perched upon a ladder, trying to detach from its 
 bracket a magnificent^and ponderous clock. The august king perceiving 
 that the slipperiness of the wax-polished oak floor rendered the man's 
 footing very unsteady, and his task proportionably difficult, himself held 
 the ladder until the feat was safely accomplished. He was not afraid of 
 losing by this good-natured act one whit of his royal dignity. It is dis- 
 agreable to be obliged to add that this workman was a thief in disguise, 
 and never brought back the clock." 
 
 Politeness at the dinner-table is illustrated by the following anecdote : — 
 
 " One day, the Abb6 Cosson, who was a celebrated literary member 
 of the Mazariu College, was invited to dine with M. de Kadonvilliers. 
 At his table he found himself among gentlemen of the highest rank — 
 cordons-bleus, marshals of France, &c., &c. The good abbe (who was 
 weak enough to believe himself a perfect miracle of hoii ton) , on leaving 
 the dining-room, rather talkative after his tokay, couldn't forbear asking 
 his friend, M. de Lille, in something of a self-satisfied tone, whether his 
 behaviour during dinner hadn't been something conspicuously correct — 
 worthy, if possible, of the great occasion. 
 
 " ' Good gracious! ' replied De Lille, in a thrilling whisper, 'is it pos- 
 sible that you can be unaware of the awful things you have done? ' 
 
 "'What on earth do you mean?' replied the abb6, rather taken 
 aback. ' Anyhow, I suppose I behaved as well as my neighbours.' 
 
 " 'My poor friend, listen to me,and count upyour sins upon your fingers.' 
 
 " ' Imprimis. Instead of dropping your napkin unostentatiously across 
 your knees, you displayed it in the most elaborate and barbarous 
 manner; and, not content with having done so, you actually stuck the 
 corner into your button-hole. Shocking! 
 
 " ' Hem. You ate your soup with a spoon in one hand, and a fork in 
 the other. A fork to soup I Good heavens! 
 
 "'Item. You asked for "fowl," instead of saying "chicken." Fowls 
 are only talked about in the poultry-yard. 
 
 " ' Item. When the butler came round with the wine, you first blew 
 into your glass, and then wiped it carefully out with your napkin. 
 Miserable abbg! where did you fancy you were dining? 
 
 " ' Item. Tou behaved atrociously ill to the Baron de E and 
 
 myself. Why upon earth, whenever wine was offered you, did you in- 
 sist upon filling our glasses before your own? How did you know that 
 we wished for wine ? or for one wine more than another? Suppose our 
 host, as a matter of special favour, had kept some capital bottle for us — 
 of a kind, perhaps, for which he knew that we had a particular weak- 
 ness? Tou were guilty of a piece of officiousness which would not be 
 tolerated at the most vulgar table d'hote in Paris. 
 
172 FRENCH MANNERS. 
 
 " ' Item. Instead of managing your bread in the usual way, you 
 chopped it up with your knife. What a thing to dol 
 
 " ' Item. I saw you put plums in your pocket. 
 
 "'Item. You made use of your pocket-handkerchief, and then, 
 instead of replacing it at once in your pocket, stuck it in the arm of 
 your chair. That was not mere want of politeness ; it was an inde- 
 cency, and an insult to us all. 
 
 " ' Because your coffee after dinner was inconveniently hot, you 
 drank it out of your saucer. I can imagine few acts more shameless 
 or inexcusable. 
 
 " ' Finally, to crown your disgrace (pour coinble dHnfamie), on rising 
 from table you folded up that unfortunate napkin in the most offen- 
 sively careful manner, just as if anybody was likely to use it again 1 
 There ! Put your ten fingers in your pocket, and pray that you may be 
 spared from ever again sinning so egregiously." 
 
 " The poor abbe stood shocked and confounded, confessing to himself 
 that all his Greek and Latin had failed to make him even presentable 
 at dinner." 
 
 Apropos of the etiquette of the dinner-table, our author gallantly 
 denounces the barbarous Saxon prejudice which drives ladies from 
 the dining-room " before dinner is finished." Upon this point I am 
 not prepared to agree with him. I am given to understand that the 
 half-hour which separates the fair portion of the convives from their 
 claret-imbibing lords is rather prized and looked forward to by the 
 former, as just the very time when a vast variety of particularly inte- 
 resting topics can be discussed in full conclave, under every circum- 
 stance of comfort, and without the slightest fear of interruption. But 
 not having been retained to hold a brief for the ladies of England in 
 this matter, I beg to be excused further argument. 
 
 My author, however, very much to his credit, objects with equal 
 vigour to a certain French practice which has not yet been adopted by 
 the unpolished islanders of the wild North Sea — not at least in native 
 society — though I happen to know that it prevailed, at least as late as 
 last year, at the French embassy. I mean the frightful privilege 
 assumed by the gentlemen of retiring, parenthetically, to the smoking- 
 room immediately after coffee has been served upstairs, to return 
 to the ladies redolent of cigars and every vile variety of tabac de 
 regie. If this be manners, may my lot be cast among the clowns for 
 ever ! 
 
 A French christening is, according to the authorities which I am now 
 consulting, rather a complicated affair, and may involve an unsophisti- 
 cated god-papa in consequences which he could hardly be expected to 
 foresee. The twelve following rules are commended to such of my 
 readers as in th« course of their continental ramble this summer may 
 
PRENCH MANNERS. J 73 
 
 chance to be enticed into standing parrain or marraine to some squealing 
 little Gaul. 
 
 1. Farrainage is always an unprofitable piece of trouble (wne corvee 
 desagreable), because custom has encumbered it with certain rather 
 heavy liabilities. 
 
 2. You will have to make the mamma a present. Ascertain, pri- 
 vately, what sort of gift would be most acceptable — a bracelet, for 
 instance, or some similar piece of jewellery. Among the middle classes 
 perhaps a box of sugarplums {di'agees) may answer the purpose. 
 
 3. As godfather, you must present godmamma with from six to a 
 dozen pairs of white kid gloves, together with bon-bons in profusion, so 
 as to enable her to regale all her friends. 
 
 4. Should she happen to be young and pretty, you must not forget 
 to include in your offering a bouquet of orange-blossoms ; and it will 
 be just as well to add some fashionable trifle in the way of a trinket 
 (hrimloriori). 
 
 5. She is at liberty to decline anything beyond the bon-bons and 
 the bouquet. Should she accept anything further, she means to marry 
 you (elles^ engage). 
 
 6. Should she send you any present, however trifling, in return for 
 yonr own, you are engaged to her beyond the possibility of escape. 
 
 7. You will require at least twenty boxes of sugarplums to do the 
 thing creditably. These boxes should be tastefully gilt. The accou- 
 cheme, the nurse, and the wet-nurse will each expect one. 
 
 8. If you possess a vehicle of your own, )'ou will only have two 
 cabriolets to pay for. If not, you must provide three. It is the 
 etiquette that the leading carriage should contain nobody but the god- 
 father and godmother. 
 
 9. When you arrive at the church, the wet-nurse will enter first with 
 the infant and the beadle : then yourself and the godmamma, followed 
 by the father and the rest of the company. 
 
 10. Before you leave the church, you must present the priest with a 
 box of bon-bons, into which you will previously have slipped gold 
 coin a discretion. 
 
 11. You must likewise tip the beadle, the Suisse, and the choir. 
 You must drop a few francs into the box pmr les lesoins d'eglise, and 
 scatter small coin handsomely among the beggars who will await you 
 at the church door, 
 
 12. As a reward for all this, you will be the fortunate possessor of a 
 godson, to whom you will be expected to carry a present at least once 
 in every year, until he is old enough to come and ask for it himself. 
 
 As I should not like to have any " paper " of mine returned " disho- 
 noured" by the editor of the « Money Bag," or declared " inconver- 
 tible" into pica, or even accepted "supra protect," I feel that any 
 
174 FRENCH MANNERS. 
 
 further selections from these twin treasuries of etiquette must be con- 
 densed into very limited compass. I shall therefore only touch upon 
 one other passage, out of many which I had marked for translation. I 
 will take the chapter which treats of the laws and ceremonies apper- 
 taining to French duelling. 
 
 The subject is one of painful interest just at present. The fate of 
 poor M. Du Pene has filled all England, at least, with mingled pity and 
 indignation. For a joke so utterly innocent, that the only wonder is 
 that the most sensitive simpleton alive should have dreamed of accept- 
 ing it in earnest, this unlucky young satirist was deliberately butchered 
 under circumstances which must be too fresh in the recollection of my 
 reader to render any recapitulation necessary. A more savage, das- 
 tardly, and infamous act was probably never perpetrated by a body of 
 commissioned officers. To say that it reflects irremediable disgrace 
 upon all concerned is not enough. It reveals a low, ruffianly state of 
 feeling. It betrays the presence of that stolid, snarling brutality, which 
 is incapable of distinguishing between pleasantry and insult — which 
 always fancies itself the butt of somebody, and is always blustering 
 revenge. Fancy such a thing taking place on this side of the water. 
 Fancy some aggravating cut in Punch inspiring the officers of one of 
 our own cavalry corps to swear over the mess-t3,ble to spill the bleed of 
 Leech. Surely the grotesque extravagance of such an idea is the best 
 commentary on this villainous affair. 
 
 The following is a true translation of the " etiquette for duellists :" — 
 
 " Upon receiving an affront, it is customary to exchange cards with 
 the offender. The next day each of the hostile parties chooses two 
 seconds {temoins). A third upon each side may be appointed, if desir- 
 able, as is frequently the case in ' serious ' duels. These are, generally, 
 such as are fought out with the sword. 
 
 " The seconds of the aggrieved party, having deliberately acquainted 
 themselves with the occasion of the quarrel, forthwith wait upon the 
 person challenged, to learn the names of his seconds. Then follows a 
 general meeting and discussion among the seconds of both parties. 
 Should they fail to see their way to a reconciliation, they proceed to 
 determine upon the weapons to be employed, and to arrange the time 
 and place of meeting. If the matter is to be decided by the pistol, they 
 also agree upon the distance at which the combatants are to be stationed 
 in the first instance, and the number of paces which they may respec- 
 tively advance before delivering their fire. If the sword be the selected 
 weapon, they arrange whether the duel is to proceed a I'outrance, or 
 to terminate au premier sang. All this should be committed to writing, 
 and signed by each of the several seconds. 
 
 " It is a breach of etiquette not to be punctual to the appointed time. 
 Once upon the ground, the principals are bound to observe strict 
 
SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TKADE. 175 
 
 silence. The distance being stepped, the seconds load and deliver the 
 pistols, and then, stepping aside themselves, give signal to fire. 
 
 " The person challenged fires first. 
 
 "When two shots have been exchanged, it is the duty of the seconds 
 to suggest a reconciliation ; but if their principals choose to go on, they 
 have no business to interfere further. 
 
 " If the duel be fought with swords, it is the office of the seconds 
 to measure the weapons before handing them to the parties. The latter 
 should salute in the usual manner -before commencing the encounter. 
 It may so happen that a 'parade secJie de guinte disarms one of the 
 combatants. In that case, should his antagonist forget his duty, the 
 seconds must instantly interfere. 
 
 " Generally speaking, should no very calamitous result follow, Justice 
 does not trouble her head about the matter. But should death or a 
 bad wound ensue, criminal process and a prison form the inevitable 
 finale. When the authorities have information that a duel is about to 
 take place, the police agents take care to be upon the spot, and warn 
 off the offenders the moment they perceive them upon the point of 
 engaging. 
 
 " The courts will award both damages and costs of suit to the family 
 of a man killed in a duel. The penalty of imprisonment, moreover, 
 extends not only to the principal but to his seconds ; and it is in prison 
 that they must await their trial. Should either principal or second 
 succeed in escaping the hands of justice in the first instance, it is an 
 established point of honour that ^they should surrender in sufficient 
 time to take their places with the other gentlemen at the bar." 
 
 SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 
 
 The nineteenth century may justly boast of wonderful achievements, 
 mechanical and intellectual, moral and religious; but it is painful to 
 acknowledge that the extinction of slavery cannot be enumerated in the 
 brilliant catalogue. In flagrant violation of solemn treaties, Spain has 
 never discontinued the atrocious traffic; and, in a disguised form, it has 
 been recently revived by France. In 1806 the odious trade was 
 abolished by England; and in 1808 the United States followed the ex- 
 ample. In 1834 England redeemed her African bondsmen in the West 
 Indies by the payment of twenty millions sterling to their owners, and 
 thus acknowledged them to be property up to the hour of their deliver- 
 ance ; while the United States, excusing themselves by that unhappy 
 precedent, boldly proclaim, in the face of outraged humanity, that slavery 
 is a "domestic institution." The merchant of the north lends money on 
 
176 SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 
 
 mortgage to the planter of the south; and the slaves, liable to be sold by 
 auction, form the most valuable part of the security. The love of the 
 " almighty dollar " has almost crushed the moral sense among the descend- 
 ants of the Puritans and Quakers on the American continent ; but,whilewe 
 censure, we are conscious of our own short-comings ; and, indeed, nations, 
 as well as individuals, who cannot elevate themselves to the dignity of 
 self-sacrifice, are disqualified to pronounce condemnatory judgments on 
 their neighbours. At a heavy cost we keep afloat an African squadron 
 to capture slavers, and yet render support to the hateful trade by importing 
 slave-grown produce. With the one hand we coerce, with the other we 
 invite, and it is difficult to reply to those who charge us with inconsistency. 
 Our enemies must, however, admit that it is easier to criticise than to point 
 out how we can rectify the disturbed balance. If weadmit American cotton, 
 whj' exclude Cuban sugar? If itbe replied that theone is an absolute neces- 
 sity, while the other is but a superfluity, we may acknowledge the differ- 
 ence under commercial views, but the claims of justice remain unsatisfied 
 in the eyes of the sterner moralist. Were prohibition carried to the 
 extreme, involving a total cessation of trade, should we be justified in de- 
 stroying the manufacturing industry of Lancashire to aid in breaking the 
 shackles of the African? How can we reconcile the interests of the free 
 operatives of England with those of the slaves of Cuba and of the United 
 States? That is the problem which philanthropy would desire to soh-^e, 
 but it presents such various and formidable difiioulties as to discourage 
 the most hopeful, and baffle the most ingenious. 
 
 We must indulge in a brief retrospect, that we may the better com- 
 prehend how we have arrived at our present position. On England lies 
 the guilt of having first organised the slave trade. In 1562, Sir John 
 Hawkins, after firing an African city, seized 250 of the inhabitants, for- 
 cibly put them on board his vessels, and sold them in Hispaniola. He 
 brought back a rich cargo in exchange; and Queen Elizabeth, sharing 
 in the spoil, permitted a traffic which enriched her kingdom. Other 
 Europeans followed this bad example ; casuists preached up the doctrine 
 of the aristocracy of the skin; conscience was silenced; and all the re- 
 straints of religion unloosened among that class falsely assuming the 
 honourable name of merchants, 
 
 Who drire a loathsome traffic, guage and span, 
 And buy the muscles and the bones of man. 
 
 How many Africans have been the victims of this accursed trade, it is 
 impossible to determine, for the historian has not access to the horrible 
 statistics of the crime ; but we may approximate to a minimum. Accord- 
 ing to Mr. Bancroft, the celebrated historian of the United States, " the 
 English slave trade began to attain its great activity after the Assiento 
 treaty. Erom 1680 to 1700, the English took from Africa about 
 
SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 177 
 
 800,000 negroes, or about 15,000 a-year. The number during the con- 
 tinuance of the Assiento may have averaged not far from 30,000. Raynal 
 considers the number of Negroes exported by all European nations from 
 Africa, before 1776, to have been 9,000,000; and the considerate Ger- 
 man historian of the slave trade, Albert Hune, deems his statement too 
 small." "We shall not err very much," continues Mr. Bancroft, " if, for 
 the century previous to the prohibition of the slave trade by the Ameri- 
 can Congress, in 1776, we assume the number imported by the English 
 into the Spanish, French, and English West Indies, as well as the English 
 continental colonies, to have been, collectively, nearly three millions; to 
 which are to be added more than a quarter of a million, purchased in 
 ' Africa, and thrown into the Atlantic on the passage. The gross returns 
 to English merchants, for the whole traffic in that number of slaves, may 
 have been not far from four hundred millions of dollars. Yet, as at 
 least one-half of the Negroes exported from Africa to America were 
 carried in English ships, it should be observed that this estimate is by 
 far the lowest ever made by any inquirer into the statistics of human 
 wickedness. After every deduction, the trade retains its gigantic 
 character of crime." 
 
 These facts may be new to some ; their statement Tiefe may refresh 
 the memory of others to whom they may have once been familiar ; on 
 thoughtful minds they must leave a deep and melancholy impression. 
 Nor must it be forgotten that England, because we purchased the 
 freedom of our slaves in the West Indies, in 1834, by adding twenty 
 millions to our national debt, too many of our countrymen are apt 
 to reprove the Americans in terms of unqualified censure for 
 retaining, what they term their "domestic institution." England, on 
 many occasions, sternly reprimanded the colonial legislatures when they 
 voted its abolition, the Crown always refusing to sanction the generous 
 decree. Maryland, "Virginia, and Carolina, while dependencies of Great 
 Britain, had frequently protested against the continuance of the slave trade, 
 but their resolutions had always been negatived by the royal veto. Even 
 at so late a date as 1776, the Earl of Dartmouth, one, of the ministers of the 
 Crown, addressed to a colonial agent these memorable words : — " We 
 cannot allow the colonies to check or discourage, in any degree, a traffic 
 so beneficial to the nation." Thus England established slavery in the 
 colonies. But beside this her manufacturing necessities have induced her 
 to encourage the cultivation of cotton, and the unintentional effect of this 
 has, no doubt, been to rivet the fetters of the African. It is to that plant, 
 the seeds of which were imported into Georgia, from Jamaica and Per- 
 nambuco, in the spring of 1786, that this great social evil is mainly due; 
 and it is curious to note that the receiver of them, Patrick Walsh, was 
 totally ignorant of their value. Requiring the sacks in which the seeds 
 were contained for the general purposes of his farm, the seeds were thrown 
 
 o 
 
178 SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 
 
 upon a dung-hill. In due season a number of plants appeared, crowded 
 together. They were carefully taken up, and transplanted on a tract of 
 about two acres. They throve, and in 1789 the crop of cotton yielded ten 
 tons. From that date its cultivation became a systematic branch of in- 
 dustry; England was ready to purchase all that could be produced; the 
 planters no longer desired to suppress the slave trade, or emancipate the 
 Negroes they owned; their chief anxiety was to increase their number. 
 
 The first census of the United States was taken in 1790, and its 
 enumeration is referred to the 1st August of that year. It distributed 
 the population under the following heads: — 1st. Free white males, 
 sixteen years of age and upwards. 2nd. The same under sixteen. 
 3rd. Free white females of all ages. 4th. Slaves. 5th. All other per- 
 sons, by which were understood free persons of colour. The first class 
 numbered 813,298 persons; the second, 802,327; the third, 1,557,839; 
 the fourth, 697,897; and the fifth, 59,466. According to these returns, 
 the whole population may be thus classified: — 
 
 "Whites . . . 3,172,464 = 80-73 per cent, of the whole. 
 Free Coloured . 59,466 = 1-51 „ 
 
 Slaves . . . 697,897 = 17-76 „ 
 
 Total . . 3,929,827 = 100 
 
 The per centage of white males to that of females was 103-8 to 100; 
 or, for every 10,000 males there were 9,636 females. 
 
 Mr. Carey, the eminent American economist, gives the following 
 computation. " The number of blacks, slave and free, existing in the 
 United States at the first census, was 757,000 ; of whom 60,000 were 
 free, leaving 697,000 slaves. How many had been imported it is im- 
 possible now to say; but we doubt if the total amount of importation 
 had exceeded 250,000. It was probably short of that number. The 
 slave trade continued to be permitted until 1808, a period of eighteen 
 years, during which time the number imported could not have exceeded 
 100,000, as the whole increase from 1790 to 1810, was only 620,000; 
 and, according to the rate of natural increase since the time, it would 
 have been 520,000. We think, therefore, that we are safe in saying 
 that the whole Negro race in the Union, amounting now (1848) to about 
 3,250,000, are descended from 350,000 barbarians." In 1856, the 
 number of slaves was computed at 3,600,000 in the Southern States. 
 According to an estimate made in the same year, there were in those 
 states a white population of 6,222,418, of whom the slave-holders and 
 their families did not number more than 1,980,894, or about thirty-two 
 per cent., and they held all the fertile lands, the possession of which 
 confers upon them a monopcly of wealth and influence. They have 
 grown up into a territorial aristocracy, and, since the foundation of the 
 
SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 179 
 
 federal government, the south has dominated over the free north. Out 
 of sixteen Presidents, eleven have been slave-holders ; and of the other 
 five, three were notoriously elected by southern forbearance,- because 
 they were pledged to support the "domestic institution." Indeed, 
 southern influence has been conspicuous in filling up all the great 
 offices of state. This great power must mainly be referred to the 
 culture of cotton, stimulated by the manufacturing demand from 
 Britain. 
 
 Let us trace its progress. In 1770 there were shipped to Liverpool 
 three bales of cotton from New York; four bales from Virginia and 
 Maryland; and three from North Carolina. In 1784, the year after the 
 treaty which closed the revolutionary war, and secured the recognition 
 of American independence by Great Britain, a vessel that carried eight 
 bales of cotton from the United States to Liverpool was seized in that 
 port, on the ground that so large a quantity of cotton in a single cargo 
 could not be the produce of the United States — so humble were the 
 beginnings of this now extended culture. The invention of the cotton 
 gin by Witney, in 1793, by cleansing the cotton at a very cheap rate, 
 most powerfully stimulated production, and became an efficient causje 
 of perpetuating slavery in a republic. Mr. Burn, in his valuable 
 statistics of the cotton trade, states that the cotton wool imported into 
 England, in 1781, only amounted to 14,603 bales; in 1856, it had 
 reached the enormous quantity of 1,800,000 bales, an example of 
 extended commerce, in so comparatively short a period, without a 
 parallel. In the same year, the consumption in France,' in the north 
 of Europe, in other foreign ports, and in the United States, amounted 
 to 1,675,000 bales, making the total crop of the year 1855, 3,475,000 
 bales, the produce of slave labour. It has been estimated that the 
 capital invested in the culture of cotton in the United States, including 
 land, labour, tools, &c., amounts to 800,000,000 dollars ; and by the 
 census of 1850, that industry was spread over 5,000,000 acres. Beckon- 
 ing five dollars to the pound sterling, we have £160,000,000 invested 
 in the " domestic institution." If the manumission of the slaves is to be 
 purchased, who is to provide the money? Should this difficulty be 
 surmounted, who are to cultivate the 5,000,000 acres of reclaimed land? 
 or is it to return to a state of nature? Will the emancipated Negroes work 
 for wages? What happened in our West India islands after 1834 does 
 not favour such an expectation, and the disappointment there expe- 
 rienced has not been lost on the Americans. To the value of the pro- 
 perty involved in cotton, we must add that of tobacco, rice, and naval 
 stores, the produce of slave labour, and of the shipping these products 
 employ, and we are almost confounded at the immensity of the com- 
 bined operation. We have stated the capital invested in the cotton 
 culture but we have not the statistics of the other articles just 
 
180 SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TEADE, 
 
 enumerated ; nevertheless, the value of the exports for the year ending 
 
 the 30th July, 1856, will enable the reader to form an approximate 
 
 estimate. 
 
 Value in Dollars. 
 
 Exports of Cotton 126,000,000 
 
 Tobacco 14,717,468 
 
 Eice 1,717,953 
 
 Naval Stores 2,049,656 
 
 144,485,077 
 
 Considering the inseparable relation between the markets of produc- 
 tion and consumption, and knowing that Lancashire at the present time 
 depends on the United States for about two-thirds of the cotton it 
 requires, we may observe that in addition to American capital invested 
 in slave produce, we have from £60,000,000 to £70,000,000 locked up 
 in mills and machinery, for the cotton manufacture; and if the supply 
 ceased, how are we to find employment for our spinners and weavers ? 
 
 We have made these remarks in the spirit of truth. We yield to none 
 in detestation of the execrable system, but we wish to hold the balance 
 fairly between England and America. We introduced the system and 
 refused to abolish it when the United States were our colonies, and 
 when several of the colonial legislatures resolved on terminating the 
 odious traffic. When the colonies became independent, and began to 
 cultivate cotton, we purchased it readily, and thereby held out the 
 strongest inducements to extend the culture. But at the same time it 
 must be remembered that America threw off monarchical constitutions 
 and proclaimed herself a land of liberty. Negro slavery she did not 
 throw off, for the Negro race were degraded and friendless, and slavery 
 was supposed to be a profitable iniquity. American statesmen 
 have proposed to terminate slavery by enacting that all of African 
 descent born after a certain day should be free, but that would 
 not benefit the living, nor has the proposition been received with much 
 favour. Mr. Carey, whom we have already quoted, propounds the 
 curious doctrine that the evil will cure itself. " With the increase of 
 production," he observes, " they (the slaves) will obtain the control, for 
 their own use, of a large proportion of the proceeds of their labour ; and 
 that proportion will steadily increase, until there will be seen to arise 
 a class of free black men, cultivating, for their own use, their own land, 
 bought from their old masters, who will find in the price of their land 
 a compensation for the price of the labourer. Ultimately, and at no 
 distant period, those states will be owned and inherited by a race of 
 free citizens, differing in colour, but similar in rights and equal in 
 capacity to their fellow-citizens in the north." We will not dispute the 
 
SLAVERY AND THE COTTON TRADE. 181 
 
 fulfilment of the prophecy, but we have no wish to share the honour of 
 the prediction. 
 
 The conduct of European States in reference to the slave trade must 
 now engage our attention. Spain stands prominent as the great delin- 
 quent. Having liberated her from the armies of Napoleon, England, 
 in 1814, requested her to discontinue the traffic, and a treaty was 
 signed between the countries, which, without imposing any specific 
 restrictions on Spain, contained an unequivocal condemnation of the 
 slave trade. In 1817 this vagueness was removed by a new and specific 
 compact, by which Spain undertook, in 1820, to prohibit her subjects 
 from dealing in Africans ; and to make it the more binding, England 
 paid her £400,000 as a compensation to those of her subjects who might 
 lose prospective gains from the unhallowed traffic. At the treaty of 
 Vienna, in 1815, all the European powers consented to suppress the 
 nefarious practice, and philanthropy hoped that we had entered upon a 
 new phase of civilization ; but it was mistaken. Spain never fulfilled her 
 promise. In 1835 the British government, which had made repeated 
 remonstraces, insisted on a new treaty with stringent clauses of penal 
 law, even to the extent of making the slave trade an act of piracy. The 
 treaty was signed, but the piracy clause was omitted ; the whole, how- 
 ever, was treated as waste paper, the traffic being continued with un- 
 relaxed vigour for the benefit of the planters of Cuba, while the 
 captains-general of the island closed their eyes to the infamy on receiving 
 three doubloons a-head for each imported African, such being the 
 established tarifif of bribery. To cover their vUlainy the Spaniards hoist 
 the American flag, and, as the United States will neither concede the 
 right of search, nor even the right of visit, the vigilance of our cruisers 
 is rendered in a great degree inoperative. The Americans are right in 
 defending the liberty of their commercial marine on the high seas ; that 
 is a sound principle ; but, without endangering their dignity or inde- 
 pendence, they might consent to such modifications of the law as would 
 crush both the slaver and the pirate. However, the course to be adopted 
 by England is plain ; she should compel Spain to fulfil the treaties she 
 has signed, and, in the event of her resistance, withdraw her ambassador 
 from Madrid, and exclude her produce from British ports. On this 
 subject the Bishop of Oxford recently presented a petition to the House 
 of Lords, signed by the inhabitants of the parish of St. Mary, in the 
 island of Jamaica, loudly complaining of the Cuban slave trade, and 
 with reason, as they labour under the disadvantage of competing against 
 continuous relays of imported Africans. It was an evil hour in which 
 this country, while expending annually a large sum of money for main- 
 taining a squadron on the coast of Africa for suppressing the slave trade, 
 resolved to foster it by admitting slave-grown produce — a contradiction 
 which evinces our folly or betrays our hypocrisy. 
 
183 SliAVERy AND THE COTTON TRADE. 
 
 To the faithlessness and wickedness of Spain, it is most painful tb 
 add the criminality of France. Under the pretext of introducing 
 free Negroes into Reunion and Guadaloupe, to supply the deficiency 
 of labour there existing, letters of licence were granted by the 
 government to M. Kegis, of Marseilles, and a firm at Nantes, to obtain 
 volunteer Africans, agreeing to work for a term of years at fixed wages, 
 and ship them to the French settlements. When this project was first 
 announced, its dangerous consequences were foretold by the abolitionists. 
 England remonstrated, when plausible assurances were given that every 
 care would be taken to guard against abuse, but the recent case of the 
 Eegina Cceli, in which a horrible massacre was perpetrated, too fear- 
 fully proves that the imperial scheme of free emigration is in reality a 
 revival of the slave trade. Referring to one of the vessels of M. Regis, 
 Lord Brougham, on the authority of one of the officers of the ship, 
 stated that the cargo consisted of 350 slaves, of whom 35 died in a 
 passage of thirty days ; that the Negroes were brought down to the 
 coast by the native chiefs, who were known to be slave dealers, the 
 unfortunate creatures being captives of war ; and that during the 
 voyage, they were kept in irons down in the hold. It is known that the 
 Begina Cceli was fitted up with all the machinery of a slaver, though 
 its owner, in a published letter, dated Nantes, 14th June, says, that 
 " Captain Simon had no instruments of repression on board, beyond 
 what are carried by all merchant vessels for the punishment of the 
 disobedient." The vagueness of this language would confirm the worst 
 suspicions, for it is not said the instruments were such as are always 
 carried in French merchantmen. Under these circumstances, what is 
 the duty of England ? With foreign nations, non-intervention is the 
 golden rule, but where treaties exist, we have a right to demand their 
 enforcement. This we have done for fifty years with Spain, but that 
 faithless and ungrateful country is deaf to the claims of honour. We 
 cannot proclaim war against her, nor seize Cuba ; but we can exclude 
 her produce from our markets, and that is the policy we are bound to. 
 pursue on the high grounds of morality, which are paramount to the 
 dogmas of political economy and the principles of free trade. In regard 
 to France, we are not in a situation, hampered as we are with a 
 monetary system which at every turn represses the generous impulses, 
 of the nation, to do more than remonstrate. Louis Napoleon is how- 
 ever, neither insensible to public opinion, nor unacquainted with the. 
 monstrous evils of the Slave Trade, and it is to be hoped that he will 
 abandon a scheme which threatens a consequence so fearful as the re- 
 vival of this abomination. 
 
 England, however, has an ample field of usefulness before it, in refer- 
 ence to the culture of cotton, in British India ; and we may indulge in 
 bright hopes of success from the expedition of Dr. Livingstone to. 
 
YE PCTTING ON OP YE SCREW. 183 
 
 Africa. Into these subjects want of space prevents us from fully 
 entering on the present occasion, but we may observe that the latest 
 Parliamentary reports on our Eastern empire, point out with distinct- 
 ness the proper course to be pursued in developing its resources. From 
 that fertile country, Lancashire ■ may obtain a full supply of the 
 materials of its industry, even should the African experiment fail. 
 Indian cotton is free from the taint of slavery, and with proper attention 
 it may compete in cheapness and quality with that of the southern 
 states. In this direction we encounter no foreign hostility, nor are 
 treaties needed. There a lucrative commerce may be based on the 
 principles of morality, and we may enrich ourselves in proportion as 
 we benefit the natives. 
 
 YE PUTTING ON OF YE SCREW; 
 
 OR, JOHN BULL— HIS MAETYE.DOM. 
 
 rSCENE. — Y° Crypte under Sainte Christopher le Stoches,* his Church, 
 in Loathhurie. Y' crypte is furnished wyth a racke and dyvers 
 engines of torture. Tyme — Y' great Panyche. Master Weaklin 
 {the rackesman), Master Lewys (y« turn-key), and Mastee Sampsone 
 (clerke of My Lorde High Ynquisitore, and afamiliare of y^ Ynquisi- 
 tion, better knowne as Sampson y' Twadlere) dyscovered.^ 
 
 Master Sampsons. Is the rack ready ? Are the axles oiled ? 
 
 My Lord High 'Quisitor anon shall probe 
 
 His pestilential errors to the quick. 
 
 Think you he will confess his heresies? 
 Master Weaklin. Look you, Master Sampson! Touching harasies and 
 the like, the discretion of my of&ce is not with your harasies, but your 
 haratios. The discretion of my office is to turn the rack nimbly, and to 
 do no violence to my brains with parlous subtleties. I will set to, and 
 wrench and tug most manful, till such time as my Lord High 'Quisitor 
 cry, " Hold thy hand, good Weaklin." But mark you: I will neither 
 make nor meddle with such parlous matter as my handicraft wrings from 
 the mouthes of the blasphemious. Truly, I think little good comes of 
 thinking. Why, this poor fat-witted numbscuU, Bull, was always, to 
 my seeming, a very honest knave till his mishaps set him a thinking. 
 And what? Why, first 'a racks and harasses his mind; and then 
 his body is racked for his harasies. I know a trick worth two of that, 
 Master Sampson. Stick to business, and meditate no meditations, is the 
 
 * Where formerly was y^ Crypte of St. Christopher le Stoctes, now is y» Banke 
 parlour. 
 
184 YE PUTTING ON OF YE SCREW J OK, 
 
 humour of my wisdom. Let them think that have their commis- 
 sion thereto from the High 'Quisitor. Mum's my word, Master Samp- 
 son ; and the best chance for simple wits to stick to, is mwOT-chance. I 
 am not above my office, nor, as I hope, below it; and I had liever ply 
 the rack than reply to the derogatories ; for that is what your simple 
 wits come to when they fall a thinking. What say you. Master Samp- 
 son ? You are more of a clerk than I, but I would lay a pint you know 
 better than think for yourself afore his lordship lays it down as thus — 
 to wit, thus, and so. For, an you speak to a point over-pat, and his 
 lordship should lay down other, why, it is flat harasy and misprizzum, 
 which is terrible rife o' late, and let every honest knave look to 't, say I. 
 
 Sampson. Thou discoursest like a book. Master Weaklin; and, i' 
 faith, I too know my office better than to speak at random. My office 
 is discreetly to make known, with a creditable and obstreperous iteration, 
 what my lord saith. For what my lord saith cannot be wrong; for if 
 he saith it, why, it is right. Argal — that which is right cannot, by 
 no manner of interpretation, be both right and wrong. Therefore, do 
 the common sort mark my words indiiferent respectful ; for, though they 
 know not me, that I go masked alway for discretion's sake, they know 
 that my sentences do issue from an authentic well of doctrine, sound and 
 wholesome. Natheless, see you to the rack, and grease it handsomel}' ; 
 for this Bull is a pestilent stout churl; and yesterday, when he kicked 
 and bellowed so lustily, methought the winch seemed like to give way; 
 and that were a scandal and a disgrace to all concerned, and might mar 
 his confession. How hath he carried himself in the night — hath he 
 shown any signs of contrition? 
 
 Weaklin. Truly, 'a hath carried himself most unbearable contritions 
 and contradictious. 'A hath groaned all night, that I could not sleep to 
 hear him groan. And betwixt his groanings, 'a halted only to blas- 
 pheme the holy 'Quisition, and to curse my Lord High^Quisitor. Much 
 acliing of his joints hath disjointed his simple wits. Verily, I think 'a 
 knoweth not what 'a uttereth. 
 
 Sampson. Thou art too indulgent supposing his contumacy the eifect 
 of madness. It is " mens reprobafa," not " mens insana." Did'st thou 
 not take note of his words, neither. Master Lewys? 
 
 Lewys. His words were as naught, and I was half asleep — yet not 
 rightly awake, neither. I did hear myself snore several times, and was 
 interrupted by his groanings and his babblings; but I took heed to 
 mark them not, for, says I, "let me snore honestly — these be rank 
 treasonable groanings : it were misprizzum of treason to hearken, even 
 if an honest man hearkened in his sleep. Ask Master Weaklin!" 
 
 Sampson. Nay, if thou heardest enough to know it was treasonable, 
 surely thou can'st tell the drift somewhat — speak. 
 
 Lewys. 'A raved most 'coherent folly. 'A said, " Tl^nquisition is 
 
Y' Putting on of y= Screw ; o r, John Bull— his Martyrdom. 
 
JOHN BULL-^HIS MAKTYRDOM. 185 
 
 no Christian dealings;" but I marked Mm not. 'A said, "It is an 
 abomination of Jews ; " and, what is worse, " impostate Jews, wor- 
 shippers of Baal and Bolok." 'A said, moreover Marry 1 I am 
 
 afeard to repeat what 'a said. 
 
 Sampson. Say on, and be not afeard. It is profitable to know the 
 bottom of his wickedness. It is lawful to utter bad words in a good 
 cause. Good Master Weaklin, I beseech thee discourse. 
 
 Weahlin. Well, an you must know, 'a said, saving his reverence, that 
 my Lord High 'Quisitor doth fall down privily and worship a golden 
 idol that he calls Convartibility, and in its honour doth make sacrifice 
 of the blood of the people. Nor is that all; 'a ribal'rously affirmed, 
 that his daughter, that is called Commeroia, was betrayed to bad 
 thoughts, and thence to ruin, by his reverence my Lord 'Quisitor, 
 through uncomely questionings at confessional. That he did first his 
 own pleasure on her, and did then deliver her over into the hands of 
 ravening Hebrews that have not conscience enough to stomach honest 
 bacon ; which Jews did handle her in no gentile fashion, for that they 
 evil entreated, stripped and turned her out of doors. Nay, . that 
 when the poor wench out of the wages of dishonesty doth earn any 
 decent rag, these Jews do still persecute and strip her afresh from time 
 to time, which is beastly behaviour. 
 
 Sampson. This is a most monstrous fiction. The slut had never a 
 groat's worth of either honesty, decency or discretion. She goeth so 
 scantly apparelled because she hath no sense of shame. For if any one 
 givesher a clout, she runs straightway to pawn it at the mountain of piety.* 
 She dissipates her pence in gluttony and drunkenness (over-feeding is 
 the cause of her leanness), and to excite compassion she sheweth to every 
 passer-by a handful of pledge tickets, which the brazen huzzy saith should 
 be as good as money (an' the pawnbrokers were honest), for that these 
 dirty scraps of paper do represent the goods of which she hath been 
 cozened in the hour of her hunger, and hath no hope to redeem. Were 
 it not for these piety-mountains, which the holy inquisition, in its bene- 
 volence, hath 'stablished, the lewd baggage must have starved miserably 
 long since. 
 
 Lewys. I 'fex it is a thriftless trull. Yet this bellowing haratio lays 
 her dishonesty at our door! 'A saith, forsooth 
 
 Sampson. Wag not thy tongue so loud! My Lord draws nigh. 
 
 Enter y' Lord High Inquisitor Ophirstone, and y Barhier Chirurgeon 
 
 PUMICESTONE. 
 
 Lord High Inquis. Much broken bodily! obdurate still 
 In the rebellious error of his mind — 
 Says't thou? Be not faint-hearted, Pumicestone : 
 
 * Commonly knowne in modem tymes as " mine Uncle hys Banlce." 
 
186 YE PUTTING ON OF YE SCREW; OR, 
 
 The rack shall teach him golden truths to-day! 
 
 Bid him come hither, Weaklin. 
 Weaklin. Please you, good my lord— the haratic is woundy weak i' 
 the legs — and 'a is that heavy and hard to move, and perverse more- 
 over, saving your reverence, afore God, I cannot shift to move him 
 alone. Master Sampson and I, together, can fetch him. Master Samp- 
 son hath the trick o' moving him better than I, my lord. An' Master 
 Sampson tell him smoothly, " it shall ease him to be wholesomely 
 racked once more;" 'a will yield himself up like a lamb. I' fex. 
 Master Sampson can talk that learned to him of his sufferings, that 'a 
 will take Master Sampson's word for't a'most as 'twere your lord- 
 ship's own. 
 
 Lord High Inquis. Bear a hand, Sampson: and thou, Pumicestone, 
 
 Observe him ; for in shifting shalt thou mark 
 
 His actual state— and how much strength we have 
 
 This day to work on. 
 
 [Exeunt Pumicestone, Sampson, Lewys, and Weaklin. 
 Solus, addressing y' rack. 
 
 Yes! there lies the flaw 
 That makes thy reasoning falter, noble frame : 
 Thy winches turn in sockets firmly fixed — 
 Thy ropes strain tightly, harnessed to the truth, 
 Which, like a high-wheeled wain, deep-sloughed in mire, 
 Sticks in the scoffer's throat. Thy beams are tough — 
 'Tis not for want of stout appliances 
 We fail to wrench the truth from stubborn jaws — 
 'Tis that we work on is so woful weak I 
 Vein, nerve and sinew, muscle, joint and bone. 
 Have a most poor capacity for pain. 
 Whereby alone the wicked wisdom learn. 
 For coward senses sickening out of reach. 
 The wholsome wrench of sound conclusion rob. 
 When faintness falls like a damp blinding cloud 
 On the rack's keen-compacted argument. 
 Perfect thine engine were, ingenious Peel, 
 Save for man's fleshly imperfection. 
 If sense held out till every fibre cracked, 
 Conviction soon would reach each rogue we racked. 
 
 He-enter Weaklin, Lewys, and Sampson, hearing Bull on a harrow, 
 Pumicestone hy his side. 
 
 Ha! miscreant — dost thou groan already? So; 
 Set him within the compass of the frame. 
 
( JOHN BULL-r-HIS MAKTYRDOM. i87 
 
 Stayl do not tackle yet. I'll speak to him. 
 
 Wretch 1 dost thou own thine error? Dost recant? 
 Sampson. Hark ye, friend Bull 1 His lordship is graciously pleased 
 to interest himself in thy spiritual welfare. Hast thou no manners, 
 sirrah? Answer his lordship. Perceivest thou not that his lordship 
 hath hit the very pith and marrow of thy dilemma. Well doth he 
 counsel thee to recant. For an thou recant not, verily it shall fare 
 worse with thee, and that presently. 
 Lord High Inquis. Perpend! discourse! No answer? Yoke his limbs — 
 
 But ere you turn the winches, Sampson, read 
 
 The golden mysteries. St. Mammon's creed. 
 Sampson. Ay, my lord, that will I. This shall physic' his error if 
 
 words can do't. ( Unfolds a copy of y" T newspaper, and points to 
 
 the money article.') Ope thine ear, Bull, and yield thy most reverend 
 attention ; for if aught can save thee from perdition, truly I think it be 
 these most edifying and comfortable words — taken down most special 
 and exact from his lordship's mouth by mine own pen, therein most 
 highly honoured, albeit unworthy. 
 ' (He reads.) " The origin and source of things is wealth — 
 
 That wealth called ' capital,' from Caput head. 
 
 Because wealth is the head and front of things. 
 
 Thus capital is wealth, and wealth is gold. 
 
 Thus gold and wealth are term's convertible ; 
 
 And at the name ' Convertibility,' 
 
 Which is the spiritual entity of gold. 
 
 All knees bow. Mystic figures, 1, 2, 3,* 
 .In grains of two-and-twenty carat gold, 
 
 (Which is the standard of true purity. 
 
 Because gold wears too quick without alloy,) 
 
 Express the ' Sovereign ' of the universe — 
 
 Which is such perfect measure, just and true, 
 
 "We love to stamp it gratis in our mint, 
 
 And circulate the image of all truth 
 
 Throughout the world, a thought below cost price. 
 
 Lovely is gold, pure, incorruptible, 
 
 Indissoluble, bright, untarnishable ! 
 
 Therefore I honour, serve, and worship gold, 
 
 Putting my trust in gold, and gold alone. 
 
 All human deeds in any other name 
 
 (As in the names of Paith, Hope, Charity) 
 
 Performed, are worthless, unless paid in gold. 
 
 All fruit of toil, whereby the hands of men 
 
 * He meaneth herehye how that 123 graines of golde do goe to Peel hys Pounde 
 
188 YE POINTING ON OF YE SCREW ; OE, 
 
 Supply want, comfort, luxury of men, 
 
 Are naught when wages are not paid in gold. 
 
 To say that ' paper stamped in labour's name, 
 
 To measure interchange of mutual toil 
 
 Will have a worth, because free interchange 
 
 Of industry makes weal, and weal is wealth, 
 
 And need stamps value without aid of gold ' — 
 
 Is heresy most damnable, profane. 
 
 And impious! Gold is value. Wealth is gold. 
 
 To say ' a given quantity of work 
 
 Requires some relative quantity of that 
 
 Wherein the workers measure their exchange 
 
 Of mutual aid in living — lest the hands 
 
 That could supply each other's mutual need 
 
 Be tied by money tightness, and that gold 
 
 May or may not suffice, as accident 
 
 Hither and thither drifts it,' is a lie. 
 
 Gold is the law, and profits mean but gold." 
 Lord High Inquis. Caitiff! confess these truths. Stand to your staves! 
 
 Speak! or the winches turn. 
 Bull (apologeticfilly). So help me heaven, my lord! I cannot tell! 
 
 I am a simple soul, and always strove 
 
 To mind my business. As for this discourse, 
 
 I understand not e'er a- word of it. 
 Lord High Inquis. Tighten the ropes! wilt now prevaricate? 
 JBull {groans). Well, then, I don't believe a word of it. 
 Lord High Inquis. Another turn ; he 'gins to speak his mind. 
 Bull (roars lustily). This is a shame to rack an honest man 
 
 Because he says no more than what's the truth. 
 
 I say the times are bad and money's scarce. 
 Lord High Inquis. Give him a turn. He's coming to the point. 
 Bull {bellows). The times are bad, because the money's scarce. 
 
 I say the rich grow richer — and the poor 
 
 Are ground to dust. My sons are out of work ! 
 
 My daughter walks the streets in hungry shame ; 
 
 And me you rack, you best know why, my lord 1 
 
 Lord High Inquis. Monstrous ingratitude ! This discipline, 
 
 This wholesome chastisement, and this alone. 
 
 Inflicted for thy good from time to time, 
 
 Hath kept thee from thy ruin. Turn the screw! 
 
 Now! wilt thou not confess this does thee good ? 
 
 And all its little health thy carcass foul 
 
 Owes to the sovereign virtue of the rack, 
 
 Which strains foul humours from thee like a sponge. 
 
JOHN BULL HIS MAKTYRDOM. 189^ 
 
 Bull (bleeding at his nose and ears). Turn on; this can't lastl 
 
 Let me die 1 Turn on I 
 Lord High Inquis. This black stream spirting from thine ears 
 and nose 
 
 Shall purge thy frenzied and disordered soul. 
 
 Confess, recant, and thou shalt soon be well. 
 Bull. I die ; but hear me speak before I die. 
 
 You worship gold because by gold you thrive ; 
 
 You fatten on our hunger. Ah! you grin! 
 
 Cr^king our joints is cracking nuts to you; 
 
 You live by picking honest tradesmen's bones! 
 
 You make black-puddings of our children's blood. 
 
 You hail the panic that strikes England down, 
 
 As carrion vultures revel when the plague 
 
 Brings a fat crop of carcasses. Farewell I 
 Lord High Inquis. The torture works. He spoke out freely 
 then ; 
 
 Another turn or two, and he recants. 
 Sampson. Ay, my lord. Truly this is the sort to fetch him I 
 
 He bleeds very freely. This will purge his wits. 
 Fumicestone (whispers). My lord, he grows light-headed with the 
 pain ; 
 
 The loss of blood must shortly make him faint ; 
 
 The merest trifle more will finish him ; 
 
 Another turn would dislocate his spine, 
 
 And that's as much as my diploma's worth. 
 
 Besides, you can't convert him when he's dead ! 
 -Lord High Inquis. Pshaw 1 Doctor — Bear a hand (Weaklin seems 
 done ;) 
 
 l^Pumicestone and Lewys relieve Weaklin at jf winch. 
 
 The rogue's so inconvertible alive. 
 
 He scarce can be at heavier discount dead ; 
 
 If the worst happens, we can realise — 
 
 Cashing his corpse at the dissection-room ; 
 
 He'll cut up fatter than most bankrupts yet. 
 
 Turn on 1 At least he's good for nature's debt. 
 
 Just one turn more ! 
 
 \One of the winch-poles hreaks, Fumicestone and Lewys 
 fall on their iacks. Bull faints.'] 
 
 Lord High Inquis. Sampson, stick to it. Give him one more 
 
 turn! 
 Sampson, My lord, I do my best ; but there's no strain 
 At t'other end till they turn to again. 
 
190 THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 J'umieestone. Weakliti 1 release the prisoner 1 lose no time, — 
 For, an his fit hold, we are ruined men ! 
 Plaster and poultice all his started joints 
 Thick with well-watered paper — Quick's the word I 
 Keep moist the limbs, lest inflammation rise — 
 Just liquidate the paper as it dries. 
 If typhus supervene the patient dies. 
 
 [^Scenefalls over Lord High Inquisitor, and Sampson reviling 
 Pumicestone for having wilfully broken the winch-pole at 
 the very moment when the virtue of the rack was demon' 
 strating itself most forcibly.] 
 
 THE TWADDLE OP THE "TIMES." 
 
 NO. Ill, 
 
 The sun of November 13, 1857, rose bright to everj' eye in thecity 
 but that of the gentle Twaddler. He awoke to a sense of his incon- 
 vertibility. The golden calf of his idolatry lay prostrate in the dust. 
 There was no help for it. Hunipty-Dumpty could never be put in his 
 former position. " The Bank Charter Act," he writes, " is abrogated. 
 Its fate at the second time of trial has been the same as at the first ;" 
 and " a law" he admits, " which has been contemned on each occasion 
 of trial, must be looked upon as destroyed." 
 
 But the Twaddler had still a duty to perform. That duty, in his 
 own opinion, was to invent excuses for the disgraceful and contemptible 
 failure of the exploded currency system of his party and his employers. 
 However hopeless the attempt, it must be made. Too irretrievably 
 committed to the fallacies of a theory to listen, for a moment, to the 
 dictates of common sense or common justice, he could not draw back. 
 He therefore twaddles as beforetime. " Although the announcement 
 (of the abrogation of the Act) will give immense relief from fears 
 which were rapidly spreading, there can scarcely be an Englishman 
 who will not receive it with deep regret from the humiliation which it 
 involves" We agree with him here. That such a nation as ours, 
 with its immense resources, its high commercial character, and its 
 energetic and industrious population, should submit to exist under the 
 operation of money laws which periodically bring the national Bank 
 to the verge of bankruptcy, and the country to the very point of a state 
 of barter, is a fact which should be received by every Englishman 
 with " deep regret from the humiliation which it involves." Eegard 
 the position into which the Bank of England has been repeatedly 
 
THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 191 
 
 brougHt by the working of Peel's money laws. "We are not merely 
 speaking of the Bank Charter Act of 1844, but of the system intro- 
 duced by Peel's Bill of 1819. 
 
 " In 1825," said Lord Ashburton, " the gold of the Bank was 
 drained to within a very few thousands of pounds ; for, although the 
 public returns showed a result rather less scandalous, a certain Saturday 
 night closed with nothing worth mentioning remaining." After the 
 Panic of 1847, the Governor of the Bank was asked in the Lords' 
 Committee, whether if about £1,600,000 of their deposits had been 
 withdrawn, the Bank must have stopped payment ? He replied, " Yes, 
 we must." 
 
 The Act of 1844 engaged to remedy the imperfections of the Act of 
 1819. It was deliberately and carefully prepared, and pronounced by 
 its supporters to propound " the perfect system " of currency. When 
 it signally failed in 1847, we were told by the promoters of the Act of 
 1844, that the fault lay in [the Bank ; that they had not promptly and 
 courageously carried out the principle of the Act by contracting the 
 circulation when the exchanges turned against us, as they ought to 
 have done. 
 
 We go on till 1857. California and Australia have unexpectedly 
 strengthened the BuUionist party by throwing 150 millions of gold on 
 the markets of the world. We are told by the supporters of the Bank 
 Charter Act that the Bank has this time acted, in every respect, 
 " admirably.'' When the hour of trial arrives, what is the result? 
 The result is, that the position of the Bank of England is positively 
 worse than it was in 1847. In 1847, at the time of the panic, there was 
 a balance against the Bank for notes issued and deposits of upwards of 
 26 milUons, which it could not discharge in gold or silver. In 1857, 
 the balance against the Bank was increased to upwards of 32 millions. 
 It was only late in the afternoon of the day on which the Act was 
 " abrogated" that a definite answer was given to the numerous applicants 
 for the discount of first-rate paper, that the Bank could afford adequate 
 help. There was barely a possibility of making the necessary arrange- 
 ments before post time, without which arrangements confusion and 
 ruin would have been spread in every part of the country. In the 
 words of the Times' writer, " we were in a position in which no one 
 could calculate on a resistless panic being kept off even for a single hour." 
 
 The returns of the Bank after the suspension of the Act give this 
 " scandalous " fact, that while these notes, " the promises to pay," had 
 increased, during the week, by £1,223,055, the stock of gold against 
 which these " promises " were issued, had decreased by £686,412. 
 
 But this is not the worst. The Governor of the Bank is even now 
 mysterious on the subject, but our friend the Twaddler is accustomed to 
 sift out " correct information." Will he tell the public whether on the 
 
192 THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 afteraooa on which the Bank Charter Act was suspended, the Bank id 
 Threadneedle Street had, to pay its 13 millions of private deposits, 
 £5,000 in gold ? Had it £1,000 ? Or if less than £1,000, how much 
 more than £500 ? 
 
 Let the public remember that these " scandalous '' results take place 
 in 1857, after the currency quacks of the Bullionist school have for 
 thirty-eight years been incessantly engaged in doctoring the Act of 1819 . 
 And then let every Englishman say whether the continuance of the 
 Bank Charter Act, under such circumstances of scandalous and ignomi- 
 nious failure, be not, in the Twaddler's own words, " lowering to our 
 fame as a mercantile nation," and to be regarded " with deep regret for 
 the humiliation it involves." 
 
 The twaddle to which the Times' writer is obliged to resort in his 
 attempt to defend a system which stands self-condemned, is indeed 
 deeply " humiliating" to him. " There were remedies available," he 
 says, " other than that of breaking and destroying the law." It was for 
 those who had brought about the state of distress and ruin " to find 
 their own means of extrication." He states who they are who, as he 
 thinks, have brought about this state. " The whole history of our 
 situation is plain. For years past certain provincial Joint-Stock Banks 
 have gambled to an incredible amount by means of what are called 
 re-discounts." Country Joint-Stock Banks discount bad bills, send them 
 up when convenient to themselves to houses in town, whose business it 
 is to discount bills ; these houses look only at the presumed stability of 
 their customer the Joint-Stock Bank, and so when " emergencies" 
 arise, alarm is created, and Government suspends the Bank Charter 
 Act. But all this refers merely to the secondary causes of the evil. 
 The secondary cause assigned in 1825 for the failure of the Act of 1819 
 was, that private bankers did not understand their business. To teach 
 the private bankers how to bank, Joint-Stock Banks were encouraged. 
 Still we had the monetary difficulties of 1837 and 1839. The unre- 
 stricted issue of the Country Banks was the secondary cause of evil then 
 assigned. Then in 1844, the Bank Charter Act made stringent provi- 
 sions regulating the Banks of Issue, and increased the monopoly of 
 the Bank. In 1847, came another failure; secondary cause said to be 
 the bad management of the Bank of England. And now, in 1857, it 
 is the re-discounting system. 
 
 It will be evident, on the face of it, how opposite all the restrictive 
 and arbitrary interferences since 1819, with the Banking system, are to 
 principles of free trade which Peel and Overstone adopted. — A Joint- 
 Stock Banking Company discount a bill. If they like to re-discount it 
 the next day, they have a right to do so; and so with a dozen parties 
 into whose hands the said bill may come. If bad bills are discounted, 
 some of the parties must lose ; that is the proper penalty of their mistake 
 
THE TWADDLE OF THE " TIMES." 193 
 
 or their offence. Leave bankers, mei-chants, and discount bouses alone, 
 says common sense, as well as free trade. Or shall we make the 
 Twaddler head-inspector of Joint-Stock Banks, merchants, and dis- 
 count houses, with full power,? to examine all day-books, ledgers, private 
 ledgers, bankers' accounts, documents, and papers, as to the said in- 
 spector may seem convenient and expedient ? Jones Loyd and Com- 
 pany are removed from the South Sea House to their palace in Lothbury. 
 Let us seize the appropriate locality, the happy moment and the happy 
 Twaddler. Behold him installed, in majestic severity, on the throne of 
 Mammon, with one foot " crumbling to atoms " the London and Westmin- 
 ster Bank, and with the other crushing the prostrate firm of Overend, 
 Gurney, and Company! Better fun this, O! Twaddler! than haunting the 
 purlieus of Printing House Square with thy vitriol bottle of calumny and 
 detraction, ready to pour out of thy store into the bleeding wounds of the 
 ruined trader, or the broken merchant, as he lies at thy feet on the 
 ground, robbed by the Usurer, and stripped by the Hard Calculator! 
 
 But to return to the causes assigned for the repeated failures of 
 Peel's monetary system. We are ready, of course, to admit that private 
 or Joint-Stock Banks badly managed, merchants who indulge in wild 
 speculations, discount houses which afford facilities for the accommoda- 
 tion bill nuisance, are all evils ; but we say that the monster evil is the 
 bad money law itself. The system of attempting to make a mixed cur- 
 rency of a great mass of paper, supported on a slender basis of gold, fluc- 
 tuate as a purely metallic currency would do', is itself absurd, impracti- 
 cable, and ruinous. By forcing the Bank to buy gold at a fixed rate, when 
 they are already overwhelmed with it, notes are forced into circulation, 
 money becomes cheap and superabundant, and speculation, in one shape 
 or another, is inevitably encouraged. This speculation takes different 
 forms. At one time it is directed by circumstances to foreign mines 
 and loans, and joint-stock companies, as in the years before the panic of 
 1825. At another to railways, as before the panic of 1847; or to bank- 
 ing companies, and widely expanded foreign commerce, as before that of 
 1857. The undue expansion of the circulating medium creates specula- 
 tion, just as its undue contraction creates panic; and Peel's monetary 
 system enforces undue expansion at one period, and undue contraction at 
 another. This money law is the true cause of the evil. Bad banks, 
 gambling merchants, improvident or rash discount houses, are the 
 creatures of this law's creation, and the tools by which its evil 
 machinations are accomplished. 
 
 The question is not between Joint-Stock Banks, merchants, and dis- 
 count houses, on the one hand, and the Bank Charter Act on the other; 
 but between the Government of this nation, and the people of England. 
 Thousands of honest traders, who never gave an accommodation bill in 
 their lives, agriculturists, who, for the most part, have nothing to do with 
 
194 THE TWADDLE OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 bills, and the whole working-class are involved in the pernicious conse- 
 quences of a monetary crisis. But the Twaddler's mind cannot travel 
 beyond the precincts of Change-alley and the Bank. 
 
 Why, says the Times' writer, did not the joint-stock bankers and 
 discount houses unite to " issue their promissory notes at three 
 months, bearing 9 per cent, interest, and secured by their common 
 liability," and so preserve the Bank Charter Act inviolable ? Why, 
 indeed ! " Unquestionably," proceeds the Twaddler, " the character of 
 the issues would have been damaged." We should think so ! What 
 puerile nonsense this is every man in the City, and every person of 
 ordinary understanding, knows. What the country wanted in the late, 
 as in former monetary crises, was a legal tender money for the pur- 
 poses of trade. Promissory notes of the highest character there were 
 in abundance. What was required was money which could legally 
 discharge the debt due from one to another. When the public got this 
 by the free issue of bank-notes after the suspension of the Act, the 
 panic was at an end. 
 
 " If," says the Twaddler, " the example of 1847 had never been set, 
 and persons had been taught to feel that, happen what might, the 
 laws of the country would be rigidly kept inviolate" the suspension of 
 the Act might have been prevented. He offers no proof of this. He 
 has not a particle to offer. The fact is, that all had been done that 
 could be done by merchants, bankers, and the Bank, to stave off the 
 impending crisis. The Government, as the writer admits, waited till 
 the last hour. And why did they not persist in maintaining the Bank 
 Charter Act inviolable ? Why, when so many merchants and traders 
 had been ruined for the preservation of a principle, not take their 
 position boldly, and determine to stand or fall by the Bill ? A word 
 will explain why. The Government daeed not do it. No Govern- 
 ment, since the passing of Peel's iniquitous Bill in 1819, has been 
 found bold enough or insane enough to attempt to carry out the prin- 
 ciple of that measure. No Government will, in future, dakb to do so. 
 
 On the 17th of November the Twaddler — or possibly, his " guide, 
 philosopher, and friend," who knoweth — gets upon his high horse. Par- 
 liament is about to meet. The causes of the suspension of the Act 
 must, he says, " be thoroughly sifted and examined." Whereupon the 
 Twaddler assumeth his office and beginneth to sift. 
 
 " In England," says the sifting Twaddler, " every contract is made in 
 gold. Any man who conies under an engagement to pay a certain sum 
 on a certain day, pledges himself to deliver so many sovereigns.'' 
 
 There can be no mistake about this. The Twaddler hath seated 
 himself in the chair of Monetary Philosophy. The public openeth ears 
 and mouth, and standeth around in respectful and admiring attention. 
 The Twaddler reiterateth his grand axiom, " Nothing can be a legal 
 
THE TWADDLE 01' THE " TIMES." 195 
 
 tender in discharge of debts'but gold." " Gold, therefore, ig the true 
 currency, and every attempt to substitute anything is simply an attempt 
 to break a contract." " Government," the Twaddler modestly admits, 
 " may legalise such a process;" the Twaddler having " bought a horse," 
 may be forced " to receive a cow ;" but then this can only be done at the 
 " expense of every principle of public morality.'' 
 
 Will the gentle public allow us to break in upon their admiration, as 
 they listen to their favourite oracle, to assure them that this grandilo- 
 quent and dictatorial announcement is utter and entire twaddle. 
 
 " In England," says this writer, " every contract is made in gold." 
 " Nothing can be a legal tender in discharge of debts but gold." 
 
 What is the exact fact? In Ireland and Scotland bank-notes, of any 
 kind, are not a legal tender. Mr. Neave, the Deputy-Governor of the 
 Bank, Mr. Palmer, Mr. Hubbard, Mr. Norman, and Mr. Blake, sug- 
 gested to the Select Committee on Bank Acts of last year, that the 
 system of legal tender should be uniform throughout the three countries ; 
 that the Bank of England note be made a legal tender throughout the 
 United Kingdom. In his examination before the Committee, Lord 
 Overstone said, " I am not going to discuss a question of law, because I 
 am no lawyer ; but it is the question of principle that you are called 
 upon here to discuss. The principle is clear and distinct ; bank-notes 
 are intended to circulate and perform all the functions of money through- 
 out the whole of the kingdom internally, and they are therefore made a 
 legal tender, or ought to be made a legal tender, on the part of all 
 persons inter se, except the issuer." " It matters little," he says, " whe- 
 ther the bank-note possess the power (that of being a legal discharge of 
 every obligation) through universal and undisputed usage, or through 
 the distinct enactment of law." With respect to Ireland and Scotland, 
 he says : " I t?jink the Bank of England note ought to be made as 
 universal in its character, and as universal an equivalent as it is pos- 
 sible to make it. I think that the bank-note should be treated and 
 used as a sovereign." 
 
 Such is the principle laid down by Lord Overstone in his evidence 
 and iefore the suspension of the Act as to the bank-notes being a legal 
 tender throughout the United Kingdom. Did the Times' writer recol- 
 lect this evidence, or did he not, when he committed himself to the 
 statement that " nothing can be a legal tender in discharge of debts but 
 gold? " 
 
 But leaving the principle, let us for a moment regard the fact. 
 " In England," says the Twaddler, " every contract is made on gold." 
 " Any man who comes under an engagement to pay a certain sum on a 
 certain day, pledges himself to deliver so many sovereigns." 
 
 Such is Twaddler's law, and here is the law of the land :— " A tender 
 of a note or notes of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England, 
 
196 THE TWADDLJ5 OF THE "TIMES." 
 
 expressed to be payable to bearer on demand, shall be a legal tender to 
 the amount expressed on such note or notes, and shall be taken to be 
 valid as a tender to such amount for all sums above £5, on all occasions 
 on which any tender of money may be legally made, so long as the Bank 
 of England shall continue to pay on demand these said notes in legal 
 coin."— (3 & 4 Will. 4, c. 98.) 
 
 The hardihood of assertion or the ignorance of a writer who, such 
 being the law, can affirm that " nothing can be a legal tender on dis- 
 charge of debts but gold," is, even in the columns of the Times, 
 remarkable. 
 
 The Twaddler is far too important a personage to notice the existence 
 of a class of Englishmen whose contracts are made and debts paid, to 
 the amount of very many millions annually, without the intervention of 
 either notes or gold. The poorer class of labourers have little to do 
 with gold. Their wages arc paid and expended in silver coin; such 
 coin being merely a token of value of much less intrinsic value than the 
 sum which it represents. 
 
 Every merchant or trader knows that gold is never thought of in the 
 contract to pay a certain sum on a certain day. His payments made in 
 bills or cheques, must, he knows, resolve themselves ultimately into 
 coin of the realm, or legal tender paper money, as the law directs. 
 
 The principle of our present monetary system is, that the bank-note 
 should be a legal tender throughout the United Kingdom. Ihe fact is 
 that the bank-note is a legal tender in England. The party who enters 
 into a contract to pay the bank-note in gold is the British Government, 
 acting through the agency of the Issue Department — or Government office 
 of the Bank of England. When the Bank, the agent of Government, 
 is unable to fulfil its part of the contract, and cannot find gold 
 for the payment of its notes, the Twaddler comes forward to vilify a 
 third party : viz., the injured and half-ruined commercial public of 
 England, who are the victims of the unwise and impracticable monetary 
 policy of the Legislature. The Bullionist party, and their organ the 
 Times, have thus added insult to injury till British flesh and blood will 
 bear it no longer. 
 
 The arguments which are based upon this writer's misstatement of a 
 matter of fact, are as worthless as the assumed fact itself. The Twad- 
 dler's "pure currency" is such as to render this country a laughing- 
 stock to the world. "No doubt," he says, "if tlie Government letter 
 had not appeared on Thursday, money would have been worth 20 or 30 
 per cent., owing to the general panic that would have been created;" 
 but, he asks, " is it henceforth to be a law of the country, that in all 
 cases of disturbance of prices from panic and misconduct. Government 
 will step in between those who would respectively gain and lose by 
 that panic, to the benefit of one party and the injury of the other?" 
 
THE TWADDLK OF THE " TIMES." 197 
 
 Now if gold were merely left to find its price as a commodity, there 
 would be not the least necessity for Government to step in to interfere 
 about it, any more than to interfere with the price of iron. But under 
 the existing laws, when gold is withdrawn from the bank, legal tender 
 money is contracted until the means for carrying on the trade of the 
 country is so diminished that the exchange of commodities becomes 
 nearly suspended for want of a medium of exchange. As the money 
 becomes dear, from its scarceness, commodities necessarily become 
 cheap. 
 
 We ask this writer in the Times, this " prudent creditor," this member 
 of the " clear-headed portion of the community who found themselves" 
 with money at 10 per cent. " in a condition to buy property," if he has 
 ever worked out what would be the condition of the English people 
 when money had risen to 20 or 30 per cent? If with money at 8 or 10 
 per cent, commodities depreciated from 30 to 50 per cent, what would 
 have been the depreciation of every description of property had the 
 scarcity of money caused its rise to 20 or 30 per cent? 
 
 Were it not for the misery that it would cause to the community, and 
 the disruption of the whole social system, we should most heartily wish 
 that the experiment were tried. That the Bank Charter Act were for 
 once allowed to work itself out; that the system were fairly reduced to 
 an absurdity by allowing it to have perfect action. 
 
 Bad as the Bullionist paper money system has shown itself to be in 
 America, ruinous and disastrous as the purely metallic currency of 
 Hamburg has proved in the hour of trial, infinitely worse would have 
 been the condition of England had the Bank Charter Act been allowed 
 to exercise its malignant influence a day or two longer. 
 
 The purse-proud and vain-glorious capitalist may prate about rival 
 banking companies being " crumbled to atoms " by such an event, but 
 we tell him his own ignominious downfall would have been only a 
 matter of a few days. Our good friend, the Twaddler, would neither, in 
 the Times nor out of the Times, have then been able to " make face," ' 
 in which useful accomplishment we believe him to be second only to 
 Mr. Commissioner Yeh. 
 
 " Thanks to Government," they have been both saved for the 
 present from the evil consequences of their own " blind stubbornness." 
 And so we bid the Twaddler good day till our next happy meeting, 
 and wish him every success in his endeavours, provided they are 
 lawful,-^and twenty per cent, for his capital, — provided he do not 
 obtain it at the cost of the producer. 
 
198 
 
 PATHEH. THAMES ON TRIAL. 
 
 Last week a very old and foul offender was brought before the police 
 court of Westminster. He was charged with being a public nuisance. 
 He was by trade a nightman aud general scavenger. But it was urged 
 against him, that he exercised his functions solely as a pretext, carry- 
 ing to and fro beneath the noses of his neighbours all sorts of fetid, 
 noxious ordures, without ever practically removing them, or even 
 seriously attempting to do so. That he made a show of spreading the 
 filth on flats by way of drying it up ; and then, with the most flagrant 
 inconsistency, would dilute it again with water — That when the police 
 questioned him, he said he meant to wash it away." But when they 
 asked him "Where to?" he could give no satisfactory reply; and 
 mumbled something about " Mucking flats." To this the police had 
 very properly replied that " they were not such flats as to allow any 
 more of his mucking," and had accordingly taken him into custody. 
 
 His worship ordered the prisoner to be brought in. His appearance 
 excited the most unbounded disgust ; while the efSuvia he exhaled was 
 revolting in the extreme. His worship called loudly for aromatic salts, 
 and several persons in court fainted. During the confusion we had 
 full leisure to note the culprit's bearing and exterior. 
 
 He appeared to be of great age ; his countenance wore a smooth, 
 treacherous, hypocritical expression, which he attempted to disguise 
 under the affectation of helpless imbecility. His long hair and beard, 
 matted with filth, hung about him in oozy tags and clots, some of which 
 proved on nearer inspection to be the corpses of drowned kittens. 
 What clothes he wore, if any, must remain in mystery ; he was so 
 thickly smeared with the blackest slime, wet and reeking, as if he had 
 been recently dragged out of the mud. In his hands he bore a large 
 cracked crockery-ware bowl, half filled with semi-liquid facal matter, 
 which slowly subsided through a round aperture in the bottom of the 
 bowl, and streamed down his thighs. Under his arm he carried the 
 carcass of a drowned dog, seemingly much distended with decomposing 
 gases. 
 
 Inspector Y, 4, said the prisoner had first given his name as Mr. 
 Lambeth Reach, but he had several aliases. In the City, and especially 
 about the docks, he had gone by the name of " Eool " ; some of the 
 journals had mentioned him as " Cess Pool," but Cess did not appear to 
 be a Christian name. He was best kown by the nickname of " Father 
 Thames," but it did not seem he had any children — though many wished 
 him farther. He was strongly suspected to be a wholesale poisoner. 
 A lighterman of bis acquaintance had recently died under the most 
 suspicious circumstances, laying his death at the prisoner's door. The 
 prisoner had long been in very bad odour, and whether guilty of crimes 
 
FATHER THAMES ON TRIAL. 199 
 
 or not, was at any rate a public nuisance. He was moreover full 
 of turns and windings, had nothing straightforward about him, and was 
 to be considered a dangerous character. 
 
 His worship said this was a very serious case, and ordered the 
 prisoner to give an account of himself, and name his parish. 
 
 Father Thames said he came originally from the Cotswold hills, in 
 Wiltshire ; that he was a scion of the noble family of Rivers. 
 
 His worship observed that the family name of Lord Elvers was 
 Pitt, and if he had such a disreputable connection his lordship was very 
 much to be pitied (nobody in court, however, perceived the joke). 
 The prisoner said his name was not Pitt, but that he himSelf was more 
 to be pitied than condemned. He had seen better days, and never 
 thought he should come to this. He had passed through Oxford with 
 credit and an unsullied name. He had on leaving the University allied 
 himself with a young lady of good family, (her Christian name was Isis), 
 who did not long survive their union. He had been presented to 
 her Majesty at Windsor. Indeed there had never been a word against 
 him till he came to town, when he had fallen into low company, and had 
 all sorts of dirty jobs thrown upon him most unwillingly. 
 
 His worship asked what was the use of the pierced bowl? He replied, 
 he had from his youth upward been in the habit of carrying an urn, 
 and this II was the best shift for one he had at present. 
 
 Did he earn his living with it? He said it was a necessary part of his 
 accoutrement. He had no original aptitude for his present trade as a 
 nightman, which had been thrust upon him by the Sewage Com- 
 missioners. His tastes were all naturally pure and innocent. His 
 conduct was orderly. He appealed to the Metropolitan Police to bear 
 him out when he asserted that he had never been drunk for years. He 
 had done his best to carry his nightsoil to the sea. 
 
 His worship asked him what sea, whether he alluded to the Bishop 
 of London's see. 
 
 No, the sea at the Nore, which threw up all he could carry down. 
 It was a most thankless business, and he believed that the Sewage Com- 
 missioners, the Metropolitan Board, and the Board of Works were the 
 real culprits, while he, with the best intentions, got all the abuse. The 
 Court should appeal to the Privy Council to enforce the necessary steps. 
 There should be pipes and culverts to take the sewage under ground to 
 at least twenty miles from London. He himself could force it along the 
 culverts by flushing. 
 
 His worship said no one could flush these pipes unless he was very 
 flush of money, and that it was a question who would pay the piper. 
 .The court having become most oppressive, the prisoner was discharged 
 with an injunction to behave better for the future. The prisoner said 
 he would do his best, but unless he had a weir or dam below London, 
 
200 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 the sewage must come back. His worship, as he left his seat, made 
 some scarce audible observation, which seemed to have reference to the 
 scheme of seeing the Thames dammed at the most convenient locality, 
 but no definite arrangement was come to. 
 
 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 (Continued from page 64.) 
 
 It has been unfavourable to n fair estimate of Shelley's poetical 
 merits that his peculiar opinions, and his defiant acting upon them, 
 have made his very name a provocative to polemical discussion. For our 
 part, poetry appears to us to mistake its vocation whenever it becomes, 
 directly or indirectly, didactic. Aristotle was right when he defined the 
 function of poetry to be, the purifying of the soul by exciting a disturb- 
 ance in the emotions. Its true object is to produce a state of mind, not 
 to teach opinions, much less to argue about them. Shelley's poems, 
 with the exception of his " Cenci," '' Julian and Maddalo," and a 
 few of his minor pieces and unfinished fragments, all sin against this 
 canon. We are not, however, warranted in excluding them from the 
 domain of pure and genuine poetry for this defect. A faulty form is a 
 drawback in poetry, as in the human frame; yet the variety and play of 
 expression, or the silent influence of deep and tender sentiment, may go 
 far to supply, and even to make us forget, the defect. The book of Job, 
 among inspired writings, the poem of Lucretius, the " Faerie Queen," 
 and Wordsworth's " Excursion," among the uninspired, although un- 
 equivocally didactic, are undoubtedly poems of the highest order, full of 
 passionate and delicate beauties. Poets are wayward beings, and we 
 must put up with much at their hands; we must accept their priceless 
 thoughts in whatever vessels it may please their moods and fancies to 
 set them before us. 
 
 But, it must be confessed, what is didactic or polemical in Shelley's 
 works requires even a more liberal tolerance than it is necessaiy to exer- 
 cise in the works we have named. In Lucretius, Spenser, AVordsworth, 
 and the inspired author of Job, the didactic is at least the matured 
 expression of lessons which experience has taught reflective and power- 
 ful minds, accustomed to contend against their own headlong impulses, 
 and to brood over the phenomena of external nature. They add a 
 peculiar weight and value to the images of the imagination with which 
 they are incorporated, transferring them into a something that is neither 
 poetry uor instruction, but a mental and moral Corinthian brass, fused 
 out of both by the ardent glow of impassioned iinagination, which, for its 
 rarity, if for nothing else, becomes more valuable than either. But the- 
 theories of Shelley have no such solidity and value in them. They are 
 unsubstantial, gossamery plagiarisms from half-understood systems, 
 the novelty and adventurousness of which had excited the wonder and 
 admiration of an immature intellect. They were not enduring con- 
 victions, the result of the cogitations of a lifetime, but the first stammer- 
 ing eiforts of the ,fchool-boy to spell the elements of philosophy — false 
 semblances of precocious wisdom, out of which an earnest and truth- 
 
SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 201 
 
 seeking spirit oontipued to work itself free till the last moment of its 
 earthly existence. They have no counterparts in real nature; they 
 stand to the weighty reflections of a Wordsworth or Lucretius in some- 
 what the same relation that the pasteboard scenes of a playhouse do to a 
 real landscape. They are a positive drawback on the poems through 
 which their endless thread runs, obtruding itself on the reader's notice 
 at every turn, rendering them a metaphysical choke-pear to all readers 
 except those who are inspir-ed with such a passionate love for true poetry, 
 that they can enjoy it even when they are obliged to sift andwinnow 
 it at every step from the dry husks of admingled sophistry. 
 
 Perhaps the tone of these remarks may be as jarring to the unqualified 
 idolaters of Shelley, as the tolerance which they indicate for what we 
 honestly believe to be his errors, may be to the preconceptions of the 
 antagonist literary faction. It is true that there is something in the silly 
 and bigoted harshness with which the boy was treated at Oxford, and in 
 the jaundiced legal bigotry of which he was made the victim a few years 
 later, that necessarily enlists sympathy in his favour. But his idola- 
 ters really ask too much of us, when they ask us to see wisdom in his 
 crude and fantastic social speculations. The simple truth is, that in 
 the domain of mental and moral philosophy, Shelley was neither more 
 nor less than an enfant terrible. He played off his paradoxes in 
 - society, with all the insouciance — all the utter want of any sense of 
 responsibility — that a school-boy, at home for the holidays, administers 
 ing doses of physic to the unsuspecting household, or lets off squibs and 
 crackers amongst their shins. It is true that he meant no harm, but it 
 is equally true that he did great harm, though he had not the sense 
 to see that he was doing it. The indiscriminate admiration of Mr. 
 Jefferson Hogg has presented us with a picture of Shelley's boyhood 
 that is enough to convince us he must have been a perfect nuisance in 
 any well-regulated household. To borrow the phrenological terminology, 
 the organs of veneration and conscientiousness must have been quite 
 undeveloped in him down to the time when he became personally in- 
 timate with the Godwin family. Whatever he choose to say or do, 
 he said or did without consulting any guide but his own absolute wil- 
 fulness. The language in which he speaks at times of his father, of his 
 first wife's sister, and of the unfortunate ex-schoolmistress, who was for a 
 time their companion, is revolting in the extreine. He drew venturous 
 . moral inferences from chemical phenomena, yet he never had any con- 
 ception of what chemical analysis was. That his first wife was silly 
 enough to have wrecked her own happiness without his aid we will not 
 deny; but it is equally undeniable that his Will-o'-the-wisp misleading 
 light it was that allured her to the shoal on which her reason made ship- 
 wreck. To us, looking back on recorded events, it is now evident, that 
 beneath this first intolerable crop of wilful petulance, there was gradually 
 growing up a character of great beauty and purity ; but we have no 
 right to blame his" contemporaries because this undeveloped excellence 
 was hidden from their view by the rank growth of weeds which 
 attained to maturity before it, and hid it for a time. As well might 
 we quarrel with those who were disgusted with the violence of Petru- 
 chio's Kate, in her period of unreformed shrewishness, because they were 
 unable to foresee what a sweet and conformable wife she would become 
 
203 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OP HIS AGE, 
 
 under the judicious management of one who was among the females of 
 his age what Earey has since become among the equine genus. 
 
 It is characteristic of the finer and more sensitive order of genius, that its 
 first productions are frequently strongly marked with an imitative ten- 
 dency. A young man of genius enjoys more vividly the beauties of art and 
 literature than more common-place spirits. He instinctively imitates what 
 he admires. Even when he flatters himself that he is original, it will 
 often be found that he is not delineating nature, but simply reproducing 
 with more or less success what has pleased him in the gods of his young 
 idolatry. The earliest compositions of even the greatest poets have 
 seldom been more than centos, more or less spiritedly strung together, of 
 the ideas and versification of their most distinguished predecessors. 
 Emotion is developed more early than thought. The poetic sentiment 
 burns strongly before poetic modes of thought are acquired, and poetic 
 diction mastered. It is not plagiarism, for plagiarism is the conscious 
 and deliberate appropriation of another's thoughts and images, with 
 an attempt to pass them off as the writer's own. It is obedience 
 to the impulse of the poetic sentiment before the mind has had time to 
 store up thoughts and images of its own, necessitating recourse to the 
 treasures already stored up in the works of great masters. By degrees, 
 as experience of life instils thoughts and images of his own into the 
 mind of the young bard, he works in preference on his own material. 
 So far from this unconscious imitation in the first works of a young poet 
 being indicative of a lack of genius, it is rather indicative of that deep, 
 sensitive, over-mastering devotion to the beautiful that is the best 
 guarantee for future excellence. Shelley, like all men of real genius, 
 passed of course through the imitative period. Indeed, he was still so 
 young when summoned, that even in his latest writings he can scarcely 
 be regarded as having entirely emerged from it. 
 
 His first love in poetry was Southey, and of the influence of Southey 
 in the . structure of his versification we find frequent traces in Queen 
 Mab. The versification of " Queen Mab" is almost an echo of the versi- 
 fication of " Thalaba." It is an echo, it is true, in which the notes and 
 cadences are often diversified with a strange and wild beauty all their 
 own ; but still it is an echo. The music of the verso of " Thalaba" had 
 taken entire possession of the exquisite ear of Shelley for the time, and 
 he took delight in repeating it over and over again, with many and 
 delightful variations. The subject-matter of each poem, no doubt, 
 differs materially. Even while strictly adhering to the wild features of 
 the original Arab story, the more manly and matured mind of Southey 
 inspired a sedate and coherent tone into his legend. The subject- 
 matter of "Queen Mab" has all the crude incoherence of a boy's fiction, 
 for the author was a mere boy when it was composed. There is despair- 
 ing poverty of invention — a laboured attempt -to compensate for the 
 want of the impressive by constant resort to the startling — in the crude 
 combination of atheism with the machinery of a fairy tale. Yet the poem 
 contains many passages of exquisite beauty — passages indicative of what 
 the mind which conceived them would become when fully developed ; and 
 the melody of the rhythm is so perfect and powerful, that it for the most 
 part conceals the meagerness of the thoughts. With that first requisite of 
 a poet — a perfect ear for all the changing harmonies and melodies of verse 
 
SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 203 
 
 Shelley was richly endowed — perhaps more richly than any of his con- 
 temporaries. We call this the first requisite of a poet, for without it 
 the man of imagination may be an orator, in the common sense, like 
 Burke, or, in the highest sense of all, like Bacon, but a poet he 
 cannot be. To constitute a poet the instinctive necessity of utter- 
 ing his thoughts ii;i reasonably modulated language is essential. 
 His thoughts and images must necessarily and irresistibly move in 
 cadence and find utterance in song. With Shelley this was eminently 
 the case : the power of musical utterance was fully developed, while 
 the power of generating thoughts worthy to be wedded to such utter- 
 ance was yet in its infancy. 
 
 In the next of Shelley's poems in point of time, " Alastor," we find 
 he has moved out of the school of Southey into that of Wordsworth. 
 This poem at every turn reminds us of the meditative musings of " The 
 Recluse." The resemblance is not so exclusively tljat of versification as 
 in the case of " Queen Mab." The resemblance is more ia the tone of 
 thought, in the mystical longing to establish a complete harmony and 
 interfusion of the mind and external matter. The blank verse of "Alas- 
 tor " has no doubt some resemblance to the blank verse, not indeed of 
 the "Excursion" so much as of" Tintern Abbey" and the " Westmoreland 
 Eclogues;" but, with all our unfeigned admiration of Wordsworth, we 
 must confess that as verse it appears superior to his. Wordsworth's 
 blank verse is not equal to his rhyme. There is perfect sweetness and 
 endless varietjf in the versification of his " Lyrical Ballads ;" but the 
 versification of "The Excursion" — with reverence we speak it — strikes us 
 as apt to be inharmonious and sometimes even lumbering. "In Alastor" 
 there are passages of majestic and sustained modulation, such as we might 
 in vain seek for in Wordsworth. When "Alastor" was composed, 
 Shelley had not become so conversant with the elder poets of England 
 as he afterwards became. In English poetry, his reading had been 
 almost exclusively confined to the moderns. That he should therefore 
 have given in his "Alastor" indications of a greater power of varied 
 modulation, in blank verse, than perhaps any other poet of his age, is 
 not the least among the many proofs of his being born a poet. In the 
 " Cenci " — evidently composed while the profound impression made upon 
 him by the great dramatists of the Elizabethan age was still in the first 
 gloss of its novelty — we find a blank verse, which equalling in varied 
 and melodious modulation that of " Alastor," has far more of vigour 
 and elasticity in it. There is here the presence of a future excellence 
 in blank verse, which might have surpassed that of all English poets 
 but Milton, who alone has fully developed the capacity of the English 
 language for this kind of versification. 
 
 'To escape the appearance of captious and hypercritical remarks, we 
 pass over the traces of who were Shelley's favourite authors for the 
 time, which may be found in his "Revolt of Islam" and his "Prometheus 
 Unbound." And on this head we shall only say, regarding the " Cenci," 
 that the unconscious adoption of almost entire phrases from Shakspeare 
 in the murder-scene and some other passages, show how completely he 
 was living at that period of his life in the world of that mighty master's 
 imaginings. In each successive poem, published by Shelley, we find 
 him emulous of a higher model. From Southey he advances to Words- 
 
204 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 wortb, and from Wordsworth to Shakspeare. And it may be added, 
 that in each successive pubHcation we find less of the model which was 
 evidently in his eye, and more of the individual mind of Shelley him- 
 self. With greater mastery of language, he was rapidly acquiring a 
 richer store of original thoughts and images. The boy-poet was grow- 
 ing into the man-poet. The individual mind was coming to rely more 
 entirely on its own resources. 
 
 It is not easy to conjecture what the form and pressure of the fully 
 developed genius of Shelley would have become. On his wondrous 
 mastery of rhythmical language we have already dwelt with an 
 earnestness which to some may appear excessive. But those who are 
 most competent to judge of poetrjf will be the most prompt to admit 
 that the word-music of the mind, which is quite independent of the 
 inarticulate music of the voice or instrument, is the very soul of poetry. 
 With that persevering earnestness of purpose which is an indispensable 
 requisite of the great poetic, Shelley was also richly endowed. It was this 
 undeveloped quality that lay most at the bottom even of what was amusing 
 in his boyish eccentricities. After he came in contact with Godwin 
 this characteristic received a rapid conscious development, and with 
 every added year it became at once more circumspect and more 
 confirmed. Another characteristic of the true poet must not be passed 
 unnoticed. It has often been remarked how superior Shakspeare 
 was to all his contemporaries — how alone he stood among them in 
 his power of expressing female purity of mind. When Beaumont and 
 Fletcher attempt to represent a heroine rebuking impurity, they 
 endow her with an eloquence that betrays a full and accurate con- 
 sciousness of what she is rebuking. Shakspeare's pure women are 
 undeniably innocent of impure thoughts. It was the same with Shelley. 
 Even in dealing with these questionable speculations regarding the 
 intercourse of the sexes, to which he was so prone, there is a perfect 
 maidenly absence of the sensual or impure in all his thoughts or words. 
 This purity is ever wedded to all that powerful tremulous depth 
 of passion which is peculiar to many natures. As for his range of 
 thought, it was vast. There has rarely been witnessed such a 
 Herculean, passionate, and indefatigable exploration of tlae realms of 
 thought as characterised the later years of his brief life. Worming 
 his way into the abstract subtleties of Kant or Spinoza, wandering 
 in the imaginative worlds of Goethe and Calderon, gleaning from the 
 conversation of friends or from books, conceptions of that busy life of 
 man in society, from the actual contact with which he yet shrunk, like 
 his own " Sensitive Plant," he was incessantly piling up stores of the most 
 diversified and magnificent imagery. No less indefatigably was he cul- 
 tivating the faculty of giving utterance to bright and great thoughts in 
 adequate language. His poetic. i! versions of Goethe, Calderon, and the 
 Greek dramatists, his innumerable lyrics and fragments of poems on a 
 larger scale, are proofs of his incessant industry. In the whole range 
 of the drama there is nothing so terribly tragic as the contemplation of 
 all these fragmentary efforts, so instinct with vitality, so infused with 
 beauty and majesty, linked with the reflection that, just as all these 
 " star-like" ideas were in the act of " gathering to a, God," the ardent 
 and daring Imagination — and beautiful as daring — which was to 
 
SHELLEY, AND THE POKTS Of HIS AGE. 205 
 
 have given them form and coherence as cue lovely yet colossal whole, 
 was snatched away from the scene of its incompleted labours. It is as 
 if the fragments of some future beautiful world, destined never to be 
 completed, lay in wild confusion around us. And the fine spirit 
 which collected them, and laboured upon them in love — where 
 is it? 
 
 If our reader has assentingly followed the course of the preceding 
 remarks, he will be prepared to agree with us that the poems of Shelley 
 cannot be criticised as organic wholes ; but rather as indications of 
 what the poet might have become had not the envious sisters untimely 
 cut the " fine-spun thread " with their " abhorred shears." The beauties 
 of these poems — and they are full of beauties — lie like rich ore in the 
 mine, unsifted from the matrix in which they are imbedded. Instead, 
 therefore, of discharging the thankless task of expatiating on these 
 characteristics of Shelley's poems, which will always render a great 
 part of them " caviare to the multitude," it seems a more genial and 
 profitable employment to cull from them some of those frequently recur- 
 ring passages, instinct with life and beauty, upon which the true lovers 
 of poetry will always be delighted to dwell. Perhaps in the whole range 
 of poetry there is no passage more instinct with a delicate perception of 
 the elemental beauties of nature than the following passage from the 
 " Lines written among the Euganean Hills :" — 
 
 'Mid the mountains Euganean, 
 
 I stood listening to the psean 
 
 With which the legioned rooks did hail 
 
 The sun's uprise majestical ; 
 
 Gathering round with wings all hoar, 
 
 Through the dewy mist they soar 
 
 Like grey shades, till the eastern heaven 
 
 Bursts, and then, as clouds of even, 
 
 Flecked with fire and azure, lie 
 
 In the unfathomable sky, 
 
 So their plumes of purple grain, 
 
 Starred with drops of golden rain. 
 
 Gleam above the sunlight woods. 
 
 As in silent multitudes 
 
 On the morning's fitful gale 
 
 Through the broken mist they sail ; 
 
 And the vapours cloven and gleaming 
 
 Follow down the dark steep streaming, 
 
 Till all is bright, and clear, and still, 
 
 Kound the solitary hill. 
 
 Beneath is spread like a green sea 
 
 The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
 
 Bounded by the vaporous air, 
 
 Islanded by cities fair ; 
 
 Underneath day's azure eyes. 
 
 Ocean's nurseling, Venice lies, — 
 
 A peopled labyrinth of walls, 
 
 Amphitrite's destined halls, 
 
206 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 Whioli her hoary sire now paves 
 With his blue and beaming waves. 
 Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, 
 Broad, red, radiant, half-reolined 
 On the level quivering line 
 Of the waters crystaline ; 
 And before that chasm of light, 
 As within a furnace bright, 
 Column, tower, and dome, and spire, 
 Shine like obelisks of fire. 
 Pointing with inconstant motion 
 From the altar of dark ocean 
 To the sapphire-tinted skies ; 
 As the flames of sacrifice 
 From the marbled shrines did rise 
 As to pierce the dome of gold 
 Where Apollo spoke of old. 
 
 Were it allowable to institute comparisons between word-art, and 
 pictorial-art we would say that this passage is eminently Turnerish. Like 
 the works of that great painter, it indicates form by simplj' re-producing 
 elementary effects ; and the clear bright light of early sunrise is as truly 
 and powerfully given as in the magnificent picture of Ulysses taunting 
 the Cyclops. It is in his portraiture of landscape that Shelley's poetical 
 faculty was most matured. Men he was just beginning to see and 
 know as they really are ; for a long time he only saw them through the 
 medium of books, through a haze of words — words brilliant but unsub- 
 stantial. But he was at home among, and familar with, all the forms of 
 inanimate nature, from the lone and barren sea-shore — grand by the 
 very force of its unproductive barrenness, with its desolation enhanced 
 perhaps by some rugged, weather-worn deserted tower, to the inmost 
 recesses of the colossal Alps. And every aggregate of senseless stone, 
 or growing herb, is animated in his pages by a breath of life, which 
 he has transfused into them from the overflowing redundant vitality of 
 his own imagination. Of his intense power of enhancing the beauty of 
 external objects by attributing to them the pulse-throbs of his own quick- 
 beating heart, no more remarkable example can be selected than the 
 opening lines of " The Sensitive Plant." 
 
 THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
 
 A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew. 
 
 And the young winds fed it with silver dew. 
 
 And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light. 
 
 And closed them beneath the kisses of night. 
 
 And the spring arose on the garden fair, 
 
 And the Spirit of Love fell everywhere ; 
 
 And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast 
 
 Kose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 
 
 But none ever trembled and panted with bliss 
 
 In the garden, the field, or the wilderness. 
 
 Like a doe in the noon-tide with love's sweet want, 
 
 As the companionless Sensitive Plant. 
 
SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OP HIS AGE. 307 
 
 The snowdrop, and then the violet, 
 
 Arose from the ground with w-arm rain wet, 
 
 And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent 
 
 From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 
 
 Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, 
 
 And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
 
 Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess, 
 
 Till they die of their own dear loveliness. 
 
 And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, 
 
 Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, 
 
 That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
 
 Through their pavilions of tender green ; 
 
 And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue. 
 
 Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
 
 Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, 
 
 It was felt like an odour within the sense ; 
 
 And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest. 
 
 Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, 
 
 Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air 
 
 The soul of her beauty and love lay bare ; 
 
 And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, 
 
 As a Msenad, its moonlight-coloured cup. 
 
 Till the fiery star, which is its eye. 
 
 Gazed through the clear dew on the tender sky ; 
 
 And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, 
 
 The sweetest flower for scent that blows ; 
 
 And all rare blossoms from every clime 
 
 Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 
 
 And on the stream whose inconstant bosom 
 
 Was prankt, under boughs of embowering blossom, 
 
 With golden and green light, slanting through 
 
 Their heaven of many a tangled hue. 
 
 Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, 
 
 And starry river-buds glimmered by. 
 
 And around them the soft stream did glide and dance 
 
 With a motion of sweet sound and radiance. 
 
 And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss. 
 
 Which led through the garden along and across. 
 
 Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, 
 
 Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees. 
 
 Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells, 
 
 As fair as the fabulous asphodels. 
 
 And flowerets which drooping as day drooped too, 
 
 Fell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue. 
 
 To roof the glow-worm from the evening dew. 
 
 And from this undefiled Paradise 
 
 The flowers (as an infant's awaking eyes 
 
 Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet 
 
 Can first lull, and at last must awaken it), 
 
208 SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 
 
 When heaven's blithe winds hud unfolded them, 
 As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, 
 Shone smiling to heaven, and every one 
 Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun ; 
 For each one was interpenetrated 
 "With the light and the odour its neighbour shed, 
 Like young lovers whom youth and love make dear, 
 Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere. 
 In the controversy which agitated the critical world in Shelley's day 
 about the comparative merits of a simple and natural, and of an ornate 
 style, his natural taste led him to <i right conclusion. The difference 
 between the controversialists was, perhaps, notwithstanding all the 
 clamour that was raised, a difference in words more than in ideas. 
 Coleridge has most convincingly shown, in his " Biographia Literaria," 
 that Wordsworth, in the preface to his " Lyrical Ballads," had expressed 
 their common theory in words too trenchant. The real objection is not 
 to an ornate style like that of Milton or Coleridge, but to a style of rum- 
 bling words, uninformed with passion, like that of Darwin. And, on the 
 other hand, the discriminating eulogists of a simple, unadorned style, do 
 not tolerate one that is vulgar or slip-shod. In regard of style, " the 
 sound should seem an echo to the sense." The deep organ stop of 
 Milton's versification is the only one that could harmonise with the 
 majestic march of his thoughts. The luscious melody of Coleridge's 
 versification is the only style fit to embody his glowing, " cloud-land" 
 imaginings. The sweet exactness of the language in Wordsworth's 
 finest lyrical ballads is an equally admirable adaptation of words to 
 meanings. And who would object to occasional, startling roughnesses 
 inBurns's " Tam-o'-Shanter," or his " Jolly Beggars ? " What Shelley 
 thought on the subject may best be gathered from the contrasted styles 
 of his hymns of Pan and Apollo, composed for insertion in a friend's dra- 
 matised version of the musical contest between the god and the demi-god. 
 
 HYMN OF APOLLO. 
 
 The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, 
 
 Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries 
 From the broad moonlight of the sky, 
 
 Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, — 
 Waken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn, 
 Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone. 
 Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, 
 
 I walk over the mountains and the waves. 
 Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam ; 
 
 My footsteps pave the clouds with fire ; the caves 
 Are filled with my bright presence, and the air 
 Leaves the green earth to my embraces bare. 
 The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill 
 
 Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day ; 
 All men who do or even imagine ill 
 
 Fly me, and from the glory of my ray 
 Good minds and open actions take new might. 
 Until diminished by the reign of night. 
 
SHELLEY, AND THE POETS OF HIS AGE. 209 
 
 I feed the clouds, the rainbows, and the flowers, 
 
 With' their ethereal colours ; the Moon's globe 
 And the pure stars in their eternal bowers 
 
 Are tinctured with my power as with a robe ; 
 Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine 
 Are portions of one power, which is mine. 
 I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, 
 
 Then with unwilling steps I wander down 
 Into the clouds of the Atlantic even ; 
 
 For grief that I depart they weep and frown : 
 What look is more delightful than the smile 
 With which I soothe them from the western isle ? 
 I am the eye with which the Universe 
 
 Beholds itself and knows itself divine ; 
 All harmony of instrument or verse, 
 
 All prophecy, all medicine are mine, 
 All light of art or nature ; — to my song 
 Victory and praise in their own right belong. 
 
 HYMN OF PAN. 
 
 From the forests and highlands 
 
 We come, we come ; 
 From the river-girt islands, 
 
 Where loud waves are dumb 
 Listening to my sweet pipings. 
 The wind in the reeds and the rushes, 
 
 The bees on the bells of thyme, 
 The birds on the myrtle bushes, 
 The cicale above in the lime. 
 And the lizards below in the grass. 
 Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, 
 
 Listening to my sweet pipings. 
 Liquid Peneus was flowing, 
 
 And all dark Tempe lay 
 In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing 
 The light of the dying day, 
 
 Speeded with my sweet pipings. 
 The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, 
 
 And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, 
 To the edge of the moist river-lawns, 
 And the brink of the dewy caves, 
 And all that did then attend and follow, 
 Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, 
 
 With envy of my sweet pipings. 
 I sang of the dancing stars, 
 
 I sang of the d«dal Earth, 
 And of Heaven — and the giant wars, 
 And Love, and Death, and Birth, — 
 And then I changed my pipings, — 
 Singing how down the vale of Menalus 
 I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed : 
 
 Q 
 
210 SHBLiEY, AND THE POETS OP HIS AGE. 
 
 Gods and men, we are all deluded thus ! 
 
 It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed : 
 All wept, as I think both ye now would. 
 If envy or age had not frozen your blood, 
 At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 
 The lines we are now about to quote are not given on the supposition 
 that they possess much poetical merit, or that their epigrammatic 
 expression is felicitously perfect. We have selected them simply as an 
 expression of the ideal which Shelley had set before him, and which, by 
 incessant discipline of his emotions, he was more and more approaching 
 to in his latter years. 
 
 LINES TO A CRITIC. 
 
 Honey from silkworms who can gather, 
 
 Or silk from the yellow bee ? 
 The grass may grow in winter weather 
 
 As soon as hate in me. 
 Hate men who cant, and men who pray, 
 
 And men who rail like thee ; 
 An equal passion to repay 
 
 They are not coy like me. 
 Or seek some slave of power and gold, 
 
 To be thy dear heart's mate ; 
 Thy love will move that bigot cold, 
 
 Sooner than me thy hate. 
 A passion like the one I prove 
 
 Cannot divided be ; 
 I hate thy want of truth and love — 
 
 How should 1 then hate thee ? 
 
 In conclusion, the most prominent feature of Shelley's poetry is pro- 
 bably, its scholarship. It is the poetry of one who has lived exclusively 
 in the world of books, in the converse of men and women of bookish 
 tastes, and in solitude. It cannot be denied that his unhappiness was 
 mostly of his own making ; the result of a disposition prone to indulge 
 in the luxuries of imagination, and stubbornly refusing to conform to the 
 necessities of actual existence. He was an intellectual Sybarite. In 
 him, however, magnanimity and power of self-denial, when roused, was 
 paired with his somewhat effeminate temper, — in the same way that in 
 Mark Antony the soldier's virtues were paired with the soldier's licen- 
 tiousness. Whenever Shelley attempts to grapple with the social 
 misery, or the political degradation of his time, there is a want of 
 reality in his lucubrations. He had no conception of the vulgar suffer- 
 ings of the half-famished hand-loom weaver, or the fierce passions of the 
 coarse, uneducated, suffering democrat. Whoever will study these (in 
 our age) all-important phases of human nature must seek another guide 
 than Shelley. Yet have his works an inestimable value, for their 
 maiden purity and delicate refinement impart a sympathetic influence 
 to the minds that cultivate an intimate acquaintance with them. 
 
211 
 
 POLITICS OF THE MONTH. 
 
 The star of Derby continues in the ascendant. Those of Russell and 
 Palmerston pale before it. His strength has grown with the growing 
 month. June began with the reported refusal of Mr. Gladstone to join 
 him ; by Lord Stanley's unwilling consent to be transferred to the Board 
 of Control; by Sir Edward Lytton succeeding him at the colonies; and 
 by the Slough speech. 
 
 What short-sighted mortals we are ! Out of that tissue of vain- 
 glorious self-satisfaction and official incontinency — redeemed only by the 
 wonderful photograph he exhibited to his audience of the predicament of 
 the House of Commons on " The Raising of the Siege" — Mr. Disraeli 
 subsequently made political capital. His own rashness precipitated him 
 into a scrape of very formidable aspect ; but it gave him so happy an 
 opportunity of routing his less nimble-witted censors with such volleys 
 of sarcasm, and such copious and pregnant reminders of their own mis- 
 deeds, that, without much altering his own complexion, he most trium- 
 phantly blackened his self-righteous accusers to match. 
 
 Mr. Disraeli is never more pleasantly at home than in a parliamentary 
 sparring match. See him in " Punch," on June 9th, in all his gladi- 
 torial glory, challenged by two of the most distinguished of the " fancy " 
 — having a turn-to with both of them, one after the other, and sending 
 them both, limping or blinded, out of the ring. The Opposition lost 
 more prestige by the thrashing they got than the Government could pos- 
 sibly lose by any escapade of a champion who has little reputation for 
 good taste or discretion to lose. 
 
 What has given the Government its increased strength-has been the 
 transference of Lord Stanley to the India Board. The India Bill then 
 passed to him from the hands of Disraeli, who has been, therefore, less 
 conspicuously called into action. The less Disraeli says or does, in fact, 
 except when the house is in the barking and biting mood, the better 
 for the Government. 
 
 Why, or wherefore, it seems impossible to discover, but certainly Lord 
 Stanley is very popular (not as a man, Ijut as a Minister) in the House 
 of Commons. A man of reserved habits, of unpopular manners, and un- 
 gainly speech — no one knowing him intimately — it is an enigma. And 
 he gains, too, with his own party, who, while they were in opposition, 
 next to universally distrusted him. Why this should be is clear enough 
 — he has consolidated the power of his party. With the remainder of 
 the House, it may be that his shortness and compactness of speech, with- 
 out any redundancy of expression — his independence of thought, and an 
 appearance of candour in argument, together with great industry— give 
 him popularity, from the promise such qualities engender. But whether 
 he is a man of deep and clear thought — whether his intellect is a reliable 
 one, and his conclusions will hold water— remain to be proved. 
 
 At all events, if Disraeli thrashed Pam and Johnny, one after the 
 other, Stanley licked them too on the 11th of June, and Bright and 
 Roebuck, and the independent Radicals to boot- The question was the 
 independence of the Indian Council. Again, on the following Monday, 
 he achieved a similar victory on the question of the numbers of 
 the Council, carrying fifteen against Lord John's motion for twelve, 
 
213 POLITICS OP THE MONTH. 
 
 and with a similar majority, i.e. between sixty and seventy. These 
 were the greatest victories the Government had yet obtained ; and 
 evidently increased their confidence in themselves tenfold. They had 
 the East India Company's party with them, as also Sir J. Graham, 
 Mr. Gladstone, and Mr. Ellice. 
 
 Great progress in the session is promised by the Indian Resolutions, 
 after the notice given by Lord Stanley of the manner in which he pro- 
 posed the Council should be chosen. A night or two before, Sir James 
 Graham made a very statesman-like speech on this point : — suggesting 
 that the first Covmoil should be named in the bill — and that all vacancies 
 should be filled up by the Council sending three names up to the 
 secretary, who should select one out of the three : this name to be 
 laid on the table of both Houses ; so as to give an opportunity for an 
 address to the Crown against a bad appointment. Lord Stanley adopts 
 the proposition only in part. The Crown is to nominate the first eight. 
 The East India Directors to nominate the first seven. Subsequent 
 vacancies to be filled up alternately by the Crown and Council. The 
 preponderance will thus be given to the Crown. But since the tenure 
 of oflSce is during good behaviour, and the nominations by the Crown 
 will be by secretaries of different parties, as they succeed each other, 
 and the choice is, in a measure, limited to persons of Indian experience, 
 we may hope that substantial independence may be obtained. That, 
 as we have always stated from the first, is the distinct desire of the 
 Commons, however the accomplishment of it may be frittered away in 
 detail. 
 
 The bill was read the second time on the 24th of June. One 
 very important clause is, awarding a pension to the members of 
 Council, after ten years' service. If there had been no provision of 
 this kind, they would never have resigned till their dying day, on 
 account of the patronage, as well as salary; and no fresh blood could 
 have been infused into the body. 
 
 The Indian Bill will now pass. The abandonment of the resolutions 
 on the 18th insured this ; and the whole then will come out of the 
 hotch-potch of broken parties and fluctuating divisions as good and 
 useful a measure as we could in reason expect. Since, however, so 
 much will be left to the discretion of the Secretary for India here, and 
 to the Governor-General in India, and to the governors of the several 
 Presidencies, it becomes indispensable that, before appointment, their 
 aquaintance with the habits, character, and caste of the people over 
 whom Parliament intrusts them with a mild despotism, should be 
 emphatically ascertained. 
 
 They are indeed a singular people — sensitive, touchy and credulous. 
 
 At some place in Oude (Seetapoor, if we remember rightly) a regi- 
 ment of Sepoys, not long ago, were cooking their dinners. On a sud- 
 den there was a sensation ; then an entire stop, and a throwing of the 
 whole materials of their dinner on to the ground with an air of disgust. 
 Flour was the main ingredient; and some one had spread the notion 
 that the English had caused bone-dust to be mixed with the flour in 
 order to destroy their caste. They could not be persuaded to eat any- 
 thing for above twenty-four hours, by which time they became con- 
 vinced of their error. 
 
POLITICS OF THE MONTH. 213 
 
 Simla is situated among the hills, some thousands of feet above the 
 level of the sea, itself a town of hills. All the work of the place is 
 dependent on Coolies to do. Nothing can go on without them. A very 
 short time ago, suddenly one night every Coolie disappeared. At last it 
 was found out that they had been seized with a sudden panic at the 
 receipt of a rumour that an order had come up from Calcutta from the 
 Governor-General for three or four tons of human fat, and that 
 the Coolies were to be boiled down to produce it. It is smoking on 
 barrels of gunpowder governing a people like this. And yet if their 
 caste is respected, they are, in the main, docile enough. Again, we say, 
 the future real rulers of India (the Secretary of State and the Governor- 
 General) should be masters, too, of the whole of caste-craft. As yet 
 the latter seems incapable of appreciating his own countrymen. 
 
 Can it be true (and yet, we fear, it is too much so) that, some six 
 weeks ago, a dinner took place in Calcutta, at which members of the 
 civil and military services alone were present ? It may have been on 
 some such occasion as Sir Archdale Wilson passing through on his 
 return home. The health of the Governor-General was given, and 
 drunk in solemn silence. Upon which some voice, less discreet than the 
 rest, shouted out, " A cheer for Sir John Lawrence" (as Governor- 
 General, we think, was added), which was responded to with thunders 
 of acclamation. 
 
 One thing is necessary to learn as regards the Hindoos ; we have 
 hitherto in two respects treated them diametrically different from what 
 we ought to have done. We have treated them contemptuously as indi- 
 viduals, while we have truckled to them in the mass. We should have 
 done the very reverse. We should have treated them individually with 
 civility, and acted firmly towards them in the mass. Am I not a man 
 and a brother ? can be felt by the whole race. 
 
 What does not the success of Mr. Montgomery in Oude say for the 
 policy so strongly indicated in our last, in reference to the " Land 
 Tenures?" And against the policy of confiscation which he has entirely 
 repudiated ? 
 
 Passing on to other matters. The Lords have done wisely in passing 
 the " No Property" Qualification Bill, and, at long last, in accepting the 
 Jew Bill. Falstaff even never would surrender " on compulsion." Mr. 
 Locke King's £10 County Franchise Bill will scarcely pass the Com- 
 mons, much less the Lords, this Session. And it should not; that is a 
 subject necessarily connected with the larger measure promised, which 
 the Property Qualification Eepeal Bill was not. He is an artful dodger 
 who can get a day for a private Member's Bill in the House of Com- 
 mons at the end of June. If Mr. Locke King should get a morning sit- 
 ting (all he can expect) the County Members will be seized with a sudden 
 fit of eloquence, and time will be up, and little chance of another round. 
 
 Besides, The Thames I Who can stand it much longer ? Let us 
 adjourn to Oxford ! we hear members repeating — to Brighton — to Scar- 
 borough — to Edinburgh — Dublin — any where but on the banks of this 
 stinking river. This state of mind will bear fruit rapidly. What a 
 fluke for the Derby Government, and their India Bill I and the rest 
 of it. 
 
 Venerable Father Thames ! what a fix thou hast got us into ! or 
 
214 POLITICS or THE MONTH. 
 
 rather, what pestilential stuff have we not ungratefully dribbled into 
 thee. 
 
 And yet we might get out of it if we tried. How strange that no one 
 of any class or profession ever seems able to get out of the groove in 
 in which they are bred. Engineers are no exception ; the whole of 
 them, save George Stephenson, who was self-educated, considered travel- 
 ing at a greater rate than eight miles an hour on a railway a chimera. 
 Well, all power of devising a scheme for the purification of the Thames 
 was, in 1856, turned over to a Metropolitan Board. Their engineer 
 gave them a plan ; it was referred for sanction to the First Commissioner 
 of Works, (Sir Benjamin Hall), who referred it to another engineer. 
 It was rejected. 
 
 Another scheme was sent, in which the sewage was to be taken down, 
 fifteen miles, to Sea Reach. Sir Benjamin Hall referred this scheme to 
 three engineers, who partly approved and partly didn't. 
 
 All discoveries seem destinied to be made by the uncovenanted 
 service (to speak in Indian language), i. e., by amateurs rather than by 
 members of the profession, from which such discoveries would naturally 
 be expected. It always was so, and we suppose it always will be so. 
 
 It had never occurred to those sapient gentlemen that " the float test" 
 was no test at all of what would become of the sewage. It had to be 
 told them (in a pamphlet in 18.56) by a Yorkshire Baronet (Sir William 
 AVorsley), that if they got the sewage by culverts down even to Sea 
 Reach at the expense of millions, that from the fact of the sewage sinking, 
 the up tide would roll it all back upon them, simply because the sea 
 water being heavier than river water, and from the immense power of 
 the sea pressing the tide upon the sewage, would be forced back, although 
 a float on the surface might, from the superficial river current, be taken 
 down to the sea if set adrift at a particular time of tide. 
 
 Sir William had proposed a magnificent scheme of improvement, and 
 a diversion of the river, in the first instance, which we have not space 
 to enter into. Failing the success of this, his plan is simple, and we 
 cannot but fancy will, after all, in its main principle carry the day. 
 
 It is to intercept the tide at Blackwall — having large locks to let 
 vessels in and out — so as to prevent the sea returning anything upon 
 us. To have a culvert on each side of the Thames, into which all the 
 sewers are to empty themselves, at or about Greenwich marshes. These 
 culverts, to be flushed all day long by a current of the river from above. 
 The Thames then would be a pure river, with no filth going into it, 
 except out of vessels ; and it could be kept up all through the twenty- 
 four hours to within eighteen inches or two feet of high water mark — a 
 great boon to the shipping in the Pool. 
 
 A Committee of the Commons is however now sitting, or sleeping, on 
 the subject. They have before them a scheme of Mr. Goldsworthy 
 Gurney, to burn the obnoxious gases in the sewers in the town, so that 
 what does escape into the Thames will be deprived of its worst proper- 
 ties. Mr. Gurney proposes also to slope the banks so as to get rid of 
 the retrogrades and eddies where mud accumulates. We doubt whether 
 this plan will be efficient or even worth trying. By all means let the 
 stink be consumed by fire on land, but let us have something real as to 
 the water cure. 
 
POLITICS OP THE MONTH. 215 
 
 The tide should be stopped somewhere short of the Tower, but to 
 allow the river to run down and carry with it all the filth as the 
 tide ebbs, but so as strictly, to shut out the uptide, and along with it the 
 returning filth, by a dam or weir. 
 
 On the 25th June both Houses were clamorous about it, and it 
 seems that Governnjent is roused and something is concocting. The 
 worst thing in all these cases of grievance is — the sheer absence of 
 knowledge of the heads of departments of the subjects they have prac- 
 tically to deal with. Ignorant of every thing — they are suspicious of 
 everybody — can't tell who is right or who wrong, and so do nothing. 
 Something must be done with this " Common Sewer (not) of Paris and 
 of Rome," but of its own filth, or plague and cholera will be upon us. 
 " It's an ill wind that blows nobody good." The lowly dwellers on the 
 banks of the river, who have borne this grievance long without a mur- 
 mur — now it reaches the homes of the great — may hope for redress. 
 
 Only don't let us spend millions unnecessaril}', or lay a national tax 
 to curry favor with the metropolis. That will stink in our nostrils 
 still more. 
 
 One very interesting conversation has taken place in the House of 
 Commons within the last week or two, viz., that to which some question 
 of Sir Charles Napier gave rise regarding the national defences. For 
 once Sir Charles was listened to. A very uncomfortable feeling had 
 prevailed for some time in all parts of the House. Mr. Disraeli's speech, 
 followed by Sir John Pakington's, gave some comfort, but what has 
 done much more — is the- dismissal of General Espinasse from the minis- 
 try of the Interior. Paris seems easier, and we trust the language there, 
 even of men in office, towards this country, differs greatly from what 
 it was a month ago: it was sufficiently insolent and menacing, not of 
 course extending to the Emperor whose desire is (if wbrds can be be- 
 lieved) to cultivate the most friendly relations with us. The danger 
 was that the army would gain a-head and force him against his will to 
 do something rash. 
 
 The case of the soldiery of France seems to be this: The army is 
 divided in feeling as regards the Emperor. But the 40,000 Imperial 
 Guard, which are concentrated in and around Paris, are devoted to him. 
 
 "When the late Government left office, our army, on the best authority, 
 is stated to have been 112,000 strong, including 30,000 Militia, and 
 6,000 Coast Guard (or Marines, we forget which). Of this number 
 sixteen regiments of Militia have iDeen foolishly disbanded, (say) 12,000. 
 Eecriiiting has made up this number; so that our force is still the same, 
 until 10,000 to 20,000 of it leave us for India. But it is said they are 
 to go by instalments of 5,000 at a time, so that possibly with recruiting 
 we may still have sufficient left. We trust it is not a paper army. 
 Paper money of a certain character we could do with — a paper army is 
 a fool's paradise. But, of all the inhabitants of a fool's paradise, 
 Mr. BrigTit seems fullest of hallucination. In the conversation above 
 referred to, he laid down the maxim that, although half our army were 
 in India and China, we had no pretext to augment the other half at 
 home, whatever might be the danger of invasion. Will the penny-wise 
 and pound-foolish dogmas of the Manchester school never cease? 
 
 The month closes. Committees are rising and reporting. General 
 
216 THE BANK CHARTER ACT. 
 
 Evans's Committee on the transport of troops to India has overruled his 
 draft report, it is said. It was sure to be thorough. Lord Goderich 
 has carried a set of whitewashing resolutions. 
 
 And so Mr. Cardwell is said to have drawn up a report whitewashing 
 a still blacker thing — the Bank Act of 1844. That committee is to 
 meet on Tuesday, the 29th, to consider their report. Mr. Cayley is 
 understood to have drawn up a counter report. If he does, it will 
 speak out much plainer the real state of the case. But a committee 
 selected as that was, will scarcely understand the truth on this, the most 
 important of all material questions. Mr. Cayley does understand it. 
 It ought to be declared now, fully and fairly, what are the first princi- 
 ples of monetary science, and what in practice is the system best adapted 
 to a commerce great as ours is. It is pre-eminently the cause of the 
 poor; and as such we earnestly hope that the hearts of our rulers will 
 he overruled to give the benefit of the truth to a free and loyal people. 
 
 THE BANK CHAETER ACT. 
 
 " CONVERTIBILITY." 
 
 BANK EETtTEN OF JUNE 23ed. 
 
 LIABILITIES. 
 
 Notes Issued £31,821,280 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 12,372,085 
 
 19,449,195 
 
 Public Deposits 7,296,156 
 
 Other Deposits 12,582,672 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 733,719 
 
 40,061,742 
 
 ASSETS. 
 
 In the Issue Department : 
 Gold Coin and Bullion 17,346,580 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 
 Gold and Silver Coin 686,856 
 
 18,033,436 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not pay, on June 23rd, 
 
 1858, in goldorsilver 22,028,306 
 
217 
 
 EDITH CLAREL: 
 
 A STOET PROM THREE POINTS 0¥ "VIEW. 
 
 " Why do you let Edith go ?'' cried Lady Theresa, appealing to Mrs. 
 Clarel. 
 
 " Edith can swim like a duck," said Mrs. C. 
 
 " And surely three laymen and a divine will be enough to save 
 Maud," said Edith. 
 
 " But who will save Marmaduke ? " cried the anxious mother. Here 
 all the company laughed, and Marmaduke, who is a great, strapping lout, 
 six foot three high, looked very sheepish, and said, rather sulkily, 
 " Don't be absurd, mother.'' Eouted by this practical, though some- 
 what unfilial suggestion, her ladyship's maternal protests were over- 
 ruled, and w^e pushed off. Maud had shown a slight disposition, at first, 
 to get out ; but I saw by the expression of her face, when Edith spoke, 
 that the chance of being romantically fished out by one of three 
 moderately eligible young men, considerably modified her dread of a 
 watery dissolution! Her nerves, nevertheless, remained in a flutter. 
 
 An idea crossed me that nearly choked me with sudden laughter, 
 which I felt it necessary to smother. The picture which presented 
 itself to my mind was of that expansively romantic young lady being 
 towed ashore by the pompously polite Ambrose. I contained myself 
 tolerably till I got an opportunity of whispering it to Denzil, and telling 
 him to mind and leave her to him if we upset, upon which we both 
 exploded. 
 
 Unfortunately, Marmaduke was laying down the law rather dog- 
 matically about the mechanical combination of forces which prevented 
 the gondola from being rowed round by the single oar at one side, and he 
 evidently thought we were laughing at him. He stopped short, and 
 turned pretty near the colour of a thunder-cloud. Edith insisted on 
 knowing what was the matter. Denzil, seeing there was an awkward- 
 ness to be got over, and having a bad habit of speaking as near the 
 truth as he civilly could, said, I had suggested to him what good fun it 
 would be if the boat upset. This explanation roused Miss Tremad- 
 dock's palpitations to an agony of terror. 
 
 " Marmaduke 1" shrieked she, " do you hear? Those wretches are 
 going to upset the boat." 
 
 " Pray don't be alarmed," said Denzil; " you don't suppose we 
 seriously mean " 
 
 No. 4.— Vol. I. e 
 
318 EDITH CLABEL. 
 
 " Marmaduke, go and stop them. Oh ! pray, Mr. Denzil, let Mar- 
 maduke come and manage the boat." 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, if that will tranquillize your alarm,'' 
 said he, unshipping his oar, and submissively presenting its handle as a 
 capitulating general tenders his sword. " But can you manage a gon- 
 dola, Tremaddock?" This after-thought was spoken in the. simplest 
 tone of inquiry, but Tremaddock, who was still rather purple, took it no 
 doubt as a taunt. Tremaddock was not a man who accurately knew 
 what he could do and what he couldn't. He said sulkily, " It seems a 
 simplish thing!" Denzil was not a vain man as compared with men 
 generally ; but he couldn'-t help knowing that he was an active, handy 
 fellow, and that it had cost him trouble in learning. Nay, not to put 
 too fine a point on it, he piqued himself rather absurdly on this 
 trumpery accomplishment. Therefore, when Tremaddock said it seemed 
 a simplish thing to manage a gondola, he replied shortly, " So is play- 
 ing the fiddle, when one knows how." 
 
 Edith, who delights in mischief, thought this an excellent opportunity 
 of getting Marmaduke into a scrape, so she said, " Oh ! I'm sure 
 Mr. Tremaddock knows how. He has been explaining the theory so 
 scientifically, that I couldn't understand a word of it. After your 
 refinements on the oar, you will be able to show your mettle." Denzil 
 had infected her with those quips and quirks, which I must say rather 
 bore one in a man, and are almost shocking in a woman. 
 
 There was now no retreat. Marmaduke and Denzil exchanged 
 places. Denzil, in coming forward, carelessly laid hold of a boot-hook, 
 which he loosened from under the second oar, and kept his hand upon. 
 Nobody observed it but myself, everybody was waiting to see how Mar- 
 maduke would acquit himself. He seemed to have placed himself 
 rather better than I expected, for I had fully anticipated he would pull 
 the boat round astern. 
 
 Unluckily for himself, he had conceived some idea of the theory, and 
 he put himself, in a stiff, ungainly manner, nor very far from a possible 
 position. But the moment he tried to make his stroke, and leant on 
 his oar, it gave a restive spring out of the socket, and, with a twang 
 and a splash, he fell neck and crop into the pond. 
 
 Maud screamed, all the rest of the party were hard-hearted enough 
 to laugh loudly. Denzil stood up and sounded with his boat-hook ; the 
 water was about eight feet deep. When, however, we perceived that 
 Miss Tremaddock went on screaming, and nothing came to the surface 
 except some bubbles a few yards behind, Denzil punted back to the 
 place, saying, " I had an impression the young man couldn't swim. 
 Don't be alarmed. Miss Tremaddock, he'll be up in a minute." Up he 
 came, accordingly, snorting and spluttering with a most agonized expres- 
 sion of countenance. Denzil at once gaffed him neatly in the collar of 
 
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EDITH CliAREL. 231 
 
 encouraging is so extremely recent that I am still in doubt whether it 
 lias as yet been established at all." 
 
 " Mora 's the pity. In point of family, position, and society, there is no 
 comparison between the matches." 
 
 " That depends on what you understand by the word society .^ If you 
 mean your daughter's happiness in the companion of her life — certainly 
 Mr. Tremaddock is a blank. But if society refers to j'our own interest 
 in Lady Theresa's fashionable tea party connection, Mr. Tremaddock 
 may be a prize." 
 
 " Nay! if I cannot advise my child for what I perhaps foolishly deem 
 her advantage without having selfish motives imputed to me, in her 
 presence too, the less I interest myself in her destiny the better. Still 
 I must say, I wonder at a father, and the head of an ancient and 
 honourable house, recommending his daughter, and the heir of his race, 
 to marry a man with a bar sinister on his name." I recognized Cousin 
 Ambrose's handiwork in tliis heraldic euphuism— for mamma would 
 never have thought of it herself. She interests herself in genealogy as 
 some old lady is said to have studied geometry, without reference to the 
 figures. 
 
 " Come, my dear, I'm sure you yourself at one time contemplated the 
 possibility with great complacency. We were not quite so high and 
 mighty at the beginning of the season. If you remember, when Lady 
 Theresa had scarcely made up her mind whether it was worth while to 
 recollect her Roman acquaintance, you thought her ladyship an insolent, 
 worldly woman. Miss Tremaddock was then a hoity-toity mass of 
 affectation, and poor Marmaduke was gauche and ill-bred. In those 
 days Knyvett was exemplary, and Denzil most distinguished. In those 
 days my little pet used to scold me for saying I thought there was some- 
 thing louche about Knyvett. But from the first I have had a good 
 opinion of Denzil, which further acquaintance only strengthens. I am 
 sorry for the accident of his birth, but he comes of gentle blood on both 
 sides, and what is of much more importance, is a gentleman by letters 
 patent of God and Nature's heraldry. He will the more willingly take 
 shelter under our family tree, which I fear is itself not over sound in 
 the stem. Still I should be sorry the name of Clarel should die out of 
 Caercombe — and it he takes it I feel sure he will do it no dishonour — 
 which, alas, is more than can be said of all the line. It is late, darling; 
 kiss me, and go to bed; dream your own dreams, little pet, and wake up 
 to follow your own free will. Your silly old parents shall not interfere; 
 and take care that you and your hero, whoever he may be, dont imitate 
 your silly old parents in knagging at one another when you get old 
 and peevish. We were heroes and heroines once, were'nt we, Cesca 
 dear ?" 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Pippo dear, both for the heroism and the peevish- 
 
233 " THEY TOLD ME, WHEN MY HEART WAS YOUNG." 
 
 ness," said mamma, brightening up. For some unexplained reason 
 mamma always recovers her good humour when papa calls her Cesca, 
 and it is a sign of changeable weather when they are Philip and Frances ; 
 but when it is " my dear," storms are to be looked for. 
 
 " Ah! Cesca mia, where does the romance of our lives linger but in 
 our little pet. Good night, darling ; take that kiss to your respected 
 mother, and tell her with my compliments that we can't afford to make 
 ducks and drakes of the romance of our little pet's life : she will hatch 
 those birds for herself in due time, and remain cluck-clucking, 
 wisely, but sadly, like a perplexed old hen, when her ducklings and 
 drakelings have unexpectedly taken the water." 
 
 Mamma accepted the kiss very graciously, and I retired ; but feeling 
 anything but sleepy, I fell to writing this conversation in my journal, 
 and now that I am beginning to be weary headed, I have a great mind 
 to tear these foolish pages out of my book. I shall probably burn them 
 to-morrow, when I am wide enough awake to see what nonsense I have 
 been writing. 
 
 'THEY TOLD ME, WHEN MY HEART WAS YOUNG.'' 
 
 Thet told me, when my heart was young, 
 The world was hollow, cold and vain ; 
 
 And I replied, with careless tongue, 
 " Life justly mingles joy and pain ; 
 
 For beauty blooms harsh thorns among. 
 Glory is dragon'd by disdain. 
 
 But I will brave the rose's thorns. 
 
 And take the dragon by the horns." 
 
 Eash boast of youth 1 My heart was bold — 
 Methought for Worth the world was made, 
 
 Showering its prizes manifold 
 
 On Wisdom's brow and Valour's blade : 
 
 I find all weapons blunt but gold — 
 Wisdom is folly, with gold o'erlaid. 
 
 To win the world, or to defy? 
 
 Vain dream! Make money, friend — and buy! 
 
233 
 
 TBAPS FOE TESTATORS. 
 
 Few legal works, probably, liave enjoyed a higher professional reputa- 
 tion than the treatise of the ex-Vice-Chancellor, Sir James Wigrani, 
 upon the " Interpretation of Wills." Of this book a fourth edition has 
 just issued from the press.* It is, of course, essentially esoteric in 
 character ; but the subject is one of such direct interest to every one 
 whose cares and wishes, with regard to his own peculiar Money Bag, 
 extend beyond the limit of his own life, and who cannot philosophically 
 resign himself to the prospect of figuring as " the testator" in a post- 
 humous tournament across the lists of Chancery, that we feel no hesita- 
 tion in dealing with the volume as best we may. 
 
 " The man who makes his own will" is believed to be a popular pro- 
 fessional toast. Nobody, however, who chooses to decline that diiEcult 
 duty, or to arm himself ever so anxiously for its performance, need 
 despair of benefiting the horsehair-crested liegemen of the law, who 
 like nothing better than the fun of expounding and exploding all his 
 little arrangements. " It is not," says Lord St. Leonards (a very excel- 
 lent authority), " even a profound knowledge of law which will capaci- 
 tate a man to make his own will (or your's), unless he has been in the 
 habit of making the wills of others." Thus much, at all events, is 
 certain, that at least one-third of the equity business of the present day 
 arises, directly or indirectly, out of the language of wills ; that no man 
 can feel confident that his own may not be overhauled in Chancery ; 
 and that, should such be its fate, it will be construed in accordance with 
 the rules laid down in Sir James Wigram's book. These rules express 
 and are accepted as the law. They are founded upon plain good sense. 
 They are intelligible to everybody. And nobody ought to make or 
 execute his will without at least some general knowledge of their drift 
 and scope. 
 
 These rules, or propositions as they are styled in the work before us, 
 are seven in number. We hope to show the reader, in the course of a 
 few pages, how slender is the veil of mystery which wraps up many a 
 sound secret of the law. We will venture upon one introductory 
 observation before starting. 
 
 The law in this country is notoriously the subject of ignorant and 
 unreasoning abuse. Its forms and technicalities are arrayed against it 
 as so many distinct offences contra simplicitatem laicorum. Lawyers are 
 accused of mystifying their proceedings under a cloud of unintelligible 
 language, for the express purpose of fleecing and bewildering their 
 
 * An Examination of the Rnles of Law relating to the Admissibility of 
 Extrinsic Evidence in aid of the Interpretation of Wills. By the Eight Hon. Sir 
 James Wigram. Fourth Edition. By W. Knox Wigram, Esq., M.A. London ^ 
 Butterworths. 
 
334 TRAPS FOR TESTATORS. 
 
 clients. All this is very shallow and ridiculous. Every profession, 
 every trade, every walk in life, has its own vocabulary and its own way 
 of going to work. Put down a sailor among the mountainous ledgers of 
 a great London firm, and his eyes and timbers will be called to witness 
 that he never saw such a hurrah's-nest since he was as big as a shot. 
 Drop the head-partner in the said firm on board a man-of-war during 
 drum for " general quarters," and he will be just as much at sea as the 
 sailor in the city. Fancy an astronomer and a stockbroker trying to 
 transact business under the mutual delusion that " cotangent" and 
 " contango" expressed equivalent ideas! Is there one man in a dozen 
 who can read his own doctor's prescription to advantage? Why, should 
 we, then, complain if the distinction between a demurrer and a surre- 
 butter be not, at first sight, perfectly palpable? The whole question is 
 one of comparative knowledge or ignorance. The words " mortgage" 
 and " freehold " would be pronounced cabalistic and " perfectly dread- 
 ful" by the immense majority of young ladies. 
 
 The under-notion probably is, that the rules, as distinguished from 
 the mere forms of law, are arbitrary and eccentric ; that law, in short, 
 is not justice, as discomfited suitors are fond of proclaiming; and that 
 " Traps for Testators" is a very mild and unsatisfactory allusion to the 
 spikes, and snares, and slides, and pitfalls which fringe the deceitful 
 avenues of British judicature. Here there is ample room for argument. 
 The law, no doubt, is not faultless as a science. It is no more perfect 
 than physic, divinity, or trade. But it has been conducted to its pre- 
 sent stage by some of the wisest and most wonderful men that ever lived. 
 Its principles are the work of giants. When we criticise the perform- 
 ance of an Eldon or a Mansfield we should recollect the mistake of the 
 fly on the gallery-rail, who ridiculed the outline of St. Paul's. 
 
 Passing by this question, however, as incidental only to our present 
 subject, and by fa^|^oo extensive to be resolved in a parenthesis, we 
 may remind the reader that, be the rules of law what they may, the 
 judges are sworn to abide by them. No judge is at liberty to make 
 law for the occasion ; still less, to decide in opposition to the existing 
 law. Now, the key-note of the volume before us is this. An Act of 
 Parliament declares that no will shall be valid unless it be in writing. 
 If upon my death-bed, having been improvident enough \o make no 
 written will, I were to say to John Smith, " I leave you this house of 
 mine," or, " I leave you £1,000," John, however grateful he might 
 feel for- my kind intention, would know that my heir-at-law in the one 
 case, or my personal representative in the other, would laugh him to 
 scorn if he ever opened his lips upon the subject. 
 
 To take a less glaring instance — suppose that by a written will I 
 leave " my houses in Regent Street " to the said John Smith. Suppose 
 lurther, that I have two houses in Regent-street, and two — just round 
 
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ON THE CAUSE OF THE PANIC. 2i7 
 
 vigorous oondensatiott of the pith and drift of the evidence; and both in 
 matter and style a striking contrast to the flimsy sophisms and special 
 pleading of the chairman's report, against which it stands on record as 
 a permanent protest. From the evidence, it would appear that the 
 opinions held by the Committee may be divided into three classes. The 
 out-and-out defenders of the act of '44; the followers of the late 
 Mr. Tooke, who was for the law as it stood before 1844; and, thirdly, 
 the advocates of a thorough reformation of Peel's monetary system. 
 The principal examiners of witnesses in relation to these three classes 
 of opinion, in their order, seem to have been the chairman, Mr. "Wilson, 
 and Mr. Cayley. The latter gentleman, however, from ill health, is 
 reported to have been unable to attend some of the earlier sittings of 
 the committee last year. 
 
 For those of our readers who have never witnessed the proceedings of 
 a committee, we may state that the committee-rooms are for the most 
 part in a long corridor on the second story, and look upon the Thames — 
 large, lofty, and handsome rooms — perhaps 40 feet long by 24 broad 
 and 24 high. A large horse-shoe table occupies more than half the 
 space. At the keystone of the semicircular arch of the committee's 
 members, sits the chairman. At the centre sits the witness. Inside the 
 horse-shoe is a small table, at which sits the reporter. When the public 
 are admitted they stand behind a bar which crosses the room, behind 
 the witness. 
 
 At the outset of most of these Banking Acts Committees are examined 
 over and over again, ad nauseam, precisely the same class of witnesses — 
 the witnesses for the act. The act is on trial for its life, and you hear 
 the defence before the accusation. The governor and deputy-governor 
 of the Bank, some Bank directors, and two or three pet theoretical wit- 
 nesses, whose opinions have often been heard b^ore — they are wit- 
 nesses who either entirely accord with the systeMj^or who differ so 
 slightly, that their views may receive grave consideration with safety. 
 These witnesses occupy the whole session, except a day or two at the 
 end, when the attendance is dwindled down to half-a-dozen, and those 
 members who do attend are thoroughly sick of what they have long 
 seen is a solemn mockery, besides being stifled by the Thames in July. 
 This last shred of the session is graciously accorded in a spirit of fair- 
 ness to witnesses against the act. Surely witnesses for and against 
 should alternate from the beginning. But the object from beginning 
 to end is to smother the truth rather than let her contradict the 
 established theory. 
 
 The chairman takes the lead in the examination of a witness, unless 
 he be one of the heterodox. In such cases, generally, the lead is sur- 
 rendered to some heterodox member. Imagine a witness, unaccustomed 
 to public examination, at the distance of five or six yards from the 
 
318 MRS. GRUNDY, AND THE COMMITTEE 
 
 chairman, in the central focus, towards which the eyes 'of tlie whole 
 assembly converge. He is perhaps unacquainted with the technicalities 
 of political economy, and the detailed machinery of Acts of Parliament. 
 He is exposed to a questioning and cross-questioning in language 
 which would tend to confuse the most self-collected. He is a 
 first-class merchant, has seen half-a-dozeu panics, remembers the 
 time when panics were not part of our institutions, and when no 
 man dreaded them ; when the rate of discount was regular, and accom- 
 modation (i. e. the legal tender) always to be had by a man of credit 
 and character. He is sure something is wrong. He has been slow to 
 come to the conclusion. He can't get rid of the idea that the poor 
 are poorer and the rich richer, by comparison, than they used to be. 
 All this comes quietly out of his mouth, and then he is plunged into a 
 chaos of jargon, enough to bewilder Solomon, if he heard it for the first 
 time. 
 
 The Committee sat into July, and examined some thirty-four wit- 
 nesses ; twenty-three of whom were bankers. Mr. Twells was of this 
 number, a man of long experience and sound judgment, who had the 
 candour and conscience to confess that the system was cruel to the mer- 
 chant, and ruinous to trade ; but that it was against his interest, as a 
 banker, to say so, for the system was profitable to him. In fact, not only 
 does the system create those high rates of discount under which banks 
 have reaped from twenty to thirty per cent, dividend, but the act of 
 1844 created a monopoly in favour of existing banks, and so bought 
 over the bankers to acquiesce in a limitation of their issues in all per- 
 petuity, to that amount which happened to be circulating in the 
 three months before the passing of the act. No new issuing banks were 
 in future to be permitted. Admirable source, from whence to derive 
 impartial testimony as to the working of the system! Monopolists are 
 not usually anxious for reform. 
 
 From such evidence it was quite possible, no doubt, for a nisi prius 
 lawyer to deduce conclusions such as he might desire in favour of the 
 act of 1844. It is needless to refer to the report itself, the table of 
 the principal contents of the draft report, by the chairman, is sufficient. 
 The report itself is but an ex parte exposition of those various theses — 
 a good deal cut about, disabled and gutted, however, in passing through 
 the Committee. It is as follows : — 
 
 ABSTRACT OF THE CHAIRMAN'S REPORT. 
 
 " In the years which immediately preceded the inquiry of 1857, the 
 Bank Acts had been subjected to the test of a severe and continuous 
 drain, arising from a combination of causes, partly commercial and 
 partly connected with our military operations, and yet no result had 
 been produced which would justify the Committee in recommending 
 any alteration in their main provisions. 
 
O^ THE CAUSE OF THE PANIC. 249 
 
 "The commercial crisis which occurred in the autUmn of 1857 was 
 owing to excessive speculation and to the abuse of credit. The same 
 cause produced the same effect in America and in the north of Europe; 
 that IS to gay, in countries which differ materially from one another, and 
 from us, in respect of the laws which regulate the circulation. 
 
 " The Bank of England gave to commerce in the time of severest 
 pressure more effectual aid than either the executive Government or 
 any institution connected with the executive Government was able to 
 give, either in America or in the north of Europe ; such effectual aid, 
 (hat, it appears from competent witnesses, no solvent house applied 
 to it unsuccessfully. 
 
 " The Bank directors attribute their power of giving this aid to the 
 amount of bullion in their coffers; and the amount of bullion, to their 
 observance of the system enforced by the act of 1844. They state that 
 their true judgment would lead them to conform to the regulation 
 which the law actually prescribes, but that they might find it difficult 
 to resist pressure in times of distress, if it were not for the support 
 which the law affords ; and it appears in evidence that, in every former 
 period of commercial difficulty, the bullion has been permitted to fall 
 much below the amount at which it has since been maintained by the act. 
 
 " The desire of the Court of Directors for the maintenance of the act 
 of 1846 is confirmed by the opinion of the Bank of Ireland, of the 
 representations of the chartered and unchartered banks of Scotland, of 
 the chairman of the association of private country bankers in England, 
 and of other witnesses. 
 
 " An increase of the amount of notes which the Bank of England 
 are authorised to issue, without a deposit of bullion, would have no 
 important effect in ordinary times, but would be calculated to diminish 
 the amount of bullion retained in the coffers of the Bank in the time of 
 adverse exchange, and would therefore diminish the power of the Bank 
 to give aid to commercial houses at such times. 
 
 .. . ".The possible necessity for a relaxation of the law in a time of 
 alarm, when the foreign exchanges have been already corrected by the 
 ordinary means, but a domestic drain has supervened, was contemplated 
 when the act was originally framed; such a relaxation was authorised 
 by the Government in 1847 and 1857, and may be expected to take 
 place again if the like circumstances shall recur; and it will take place, 
 whether the responsibility be left, as at present, exclusively in the 
 Government, or whether an express provision for such a case be pre- 
 viously made by Parliament. 
 
 " The quantity of gold which the Act of 1844 required the Banks of 
 Scotland and Ireland to retain in their coffers was of great service; 
 especially in Scotland, where the crisis was most severe; but both Soot- 
 land and Ireland, by requiring gold from the Bank of England at the 
 time of severest pressure, contributed in an important degree to the 
 necessity which arose for the suspension of the law; and no reason 
 exists for maintaining, in different parts of the United Kingdom, a 
 different law for the regulation of the currency, except the objection, 
 still to a certain degree subsisting in Scotland and Ireland, to the 
 surrender of what the people have been accustomed to consider as a 
 privilege. 
 
250 A BONE FROM BLACKFRIARS. 
 
 " Having regard to the undesirableness of continually agitating the 
 laws which regulate the circulation, the Committee are not disposed to 
 press upon the Government to legislate upon these subjects ; but con- 
 sider that whenever in their discretion they see fit to do so, the fore- 
 going principles are those, the operation of which the Government 
 should seek to maintain and to extend." 
 
 In its original shape it was too strong a dose even for a Committee 
 constituted as we have seen; whose drift appears to have been to say 
 little, and to commit itself to nothing. For this report all the Com- 
 mittee who cared to record their opinion (thirteen in all) voted, except 
 two. Mr. Cayley and Mr. Spooner divided against it. 
 
 But Mr. Cayley submitted to the Committee for its acceptance a 
 counter-report, which seems to us to give so faithful an interpretation 
 of the causes of the panic, so true an analysis of the most valuable por- 
 tion of the evidence, and so clear an exposition of the laws of money, 
 and of the principles which ought to guide our Legislature upon the 
 subject, that we have not hesitated, long as it necessarilj- is, to give it 
 in externa. This report was read a first time; but the chairman's 
 report having passed clause by clause, this counter-report of Mr. 
 Cayley's could never come to the vote. It is one of the most valuable 
 state papers it has ever been our good fortune to peruse. 
 
 It is given in another portion of this number. 
 
 A BONE FROM BLACKrRIABS. 
 
 Nursery politics, we are happy to understand, have undergone a very 
 marked and satisfactory revolution since we were last " put in the 
 corner." It is no longer considered wise, or even allowable, to bid a 
 child do this or that under pain of some absurd and imaginary calamity, or 
 some outlandish punishment, the infliction of which would assuredly con- 
 sign the nurse, without either warning or wages, to BridewellorSt. Luke's. 
 Ilawhead and Bloody-bones, the Black Sweep and the Naughty Old 
 Woman, have danced away with John Doe and Richard Roe, of infamous 
 memory, into the limbo of departed humbugs. We have learned, at 
 last, that to make the little people upstairs say with some reason what 
 King David said in his haste, is not only wicked but absurd. We have 
 discovered that, with all their innocence, they are just as quick-witted 
 as ourselves; that, easily as they may be cheated and frightened for the 
 occasion, they soon discover the lie, and look with all a child's contempt 
 and displeasure at its detected author. 
 
 John Bull ought to be out of the nursery by this time. But, breeched 
 and booted though he be, he is alternately coaxed, hoaxed, and bullied 
 
A BONE FROM BLACKFRIAllS. 251 
 
 by a gay old woman, who has somehow smuggled herself into the 
 family under pretence of acting as nurse. This person comes from 
 Blackfriars, in the City, and is called the Times newspaper. 
 
 The nonsense she tells John Bull is something incredible. Nobody 
 was ever so liberal of advice. He can neither save nor spend, fight nor 
 make friends, clean his river, portion his daughter, turn off a servant, 
 square his accounts, or do any other conceivable act under the sun, 
 without receiving a bit of her mind. She is supposed to have one or 
 two "followers" — a distinction not unfrequently waived in advertise- 
 ments—who put her up to all sorts of dodges, to the still further dis- 
 comfiture of John Bull. 
 
 The Twaddle of the Times in one particular branch of social economy 
 is familiar enough to all readers of the Money Bag. We have an article 
 now before us, published on the second of this present month of July, 
 to which we are anxious to direct their attention. It places-in a fair 
 light the preposterous ignorance, the droll effrontery, with which, in a 
 leading journal, it is held decent to support an argument. 
 
 The article to which we allude has reference to the privilege of Par- 
 liament, which exempts honourable members from imprisonment for 
 debt. The Times vindicated the privilege, as it had a perfect right to 
 do. But it had no right to insult people, who took a different view of 
 the question, with grosser nonsense than was ever addressed to a child 
 who objected to being washed, or wanted to sit up after eight o'clock. 
 This is what it said : — 
 
 " In the present state of the law a simple debt may be turned into a 
 judgment debt in a very few days, and in the present state of society 
 there is scarcely one man in ten, even of the richest, who can pay all 
 he owes within any such period. If this bill were to pass, we would 
 undertake, without the sacrifice of a farthing, and by the mere use of a 
 certain quantity of capital, to shut up half the county members upon 
 the eve of the next great partj' division. We presume that at least one- 
 half of these country gentlemen have mortgages upon their estates ; — ■ 
 with jointures and settlements and the other artifices of modern life, 
 who has not a mortgage? Each of these mortgages contains a covenant 
 for repayment, which may be put in force instanter. The six months' 
 notice preceding foreclosure does not apply to this clause. There could 
 be no defence to an action upon that covenant; the plaintiiF would have 
 a right to his judgment at once. You can get a judgment at law in 
 much shorter time than j'ou can raise a large sum upon mortgage, and 
 the difference between the two periods must be passed by the country 
 gentleman in durance. It is nonsense to say that it is not likely this 
 should ever be done. It appears unlikely because it has hitherto been 
 impossible. When party spirit runs high, and political hatred is strong, 
 everything is likely. It was to render such things impossible that this 
 
253 A BONK FROM BLACKTEIARS, 
 
 privilege was conferred, and the security is bot^ht at a very small 
 price." 
 
 The above seems to have been wlitten seriously. There is no trace 
 of dry humour about it. Such an hypothesis is obviously inadmissible. 
 So, just to show what an argument in the 2Xmes is worth, we will 
 gravely meet statements which any attorney's fag in London would dis- 
 countenance with an inky grin. 
 
 In the first place, if it were worth the while of one political party to 
 lock up half our county inembers, it might surely be worth the while 
 of another to let them out. If the one process could be accomplished 
 " without the sacrifice of a farthing," why not the other? There is 
 something deliciously buoyant and unworldly in the rejection of these 
 crabbed realities. 
 
 To proceed, however. We will presume with the Times that at least 
 one-half of these rustic victims " have mortgages upon their estates. "- 
 It is news, however, to the conveyancer to bear that " each of these 
 mortgages contains a covenant for repayment, which may be put in 
 force instanter." Who would be such a blockhead as to sell himself to 
 Shylock after this fashion? Every properly drawn mortgage contains 
 a proviso, that (interest being regularly paid) the covenant for the 
 replacement of the principal shall not be put in force within a certain 
 period, or until after six months' notice in writing. Without any. 
 closer acquaintance with either law or business than we commonly 
 ascribe to a, fashionable young ladj' or a French novelist, one might 
 have suspected the absurdity of the Times' hypothesis, which is in fact 
 the sole foundation of its argument. Let us, however, proceed. 
 
 We should like to understand exactly what is meant by " the mere 
 use of a certain quantity of capital." Capitalists who have their money 
 safely invested in land would not be easily bribed into calling it in^ in a.i 
 hurry, only to lose interest while waiting for a fresh borrower. The, 
 most ferocious Jew in England would hardly turn against his debtor 
 in -the cold-blooded way suggested by the Times, without strong com- 
 pensation for the ruinous epithets which would from thenceforth make 
 his name formidable among Christians, By far the greater number of 
 mortgagees, moreover, are not Jews, but innocent trustees of settle- 
 ments, empowered to advance the money in their hands upon landed or 
 other competent security, and who could not, without the consent of 
 those for whom the}' act, call in their money, if ever so willing. Besides,,-, 
 bribery would involve " the sacrifice of a farthing " or so, in our simple- 
 way of thinking. 
 
 Probably the gentleman who elaborated this article had some floating 
 idea of buying up (to use the language of common life) the mortgage . 
 debts due from each particular squire upon whom it might be desirable; 
 to put a padlock. Very good. But two things have to be considered^ 
 
A BONE FKOM BLACKFllIARS. 253 
 
 in taVing a transfer of a mortgage flebt. It is tolerably clear that if I 
 have £1,000 on mortgage, which is producing me annually £4 or £5 
 ■per cent., I should not transfer that claim to the Times to-morrow for 
 the mere pleasure of- counting notes, or jingliag sovereigns in my 
 waistcoat pocket, la other words, I should require time to look out for 
 a fresh investment, lit is also clear that the most rabid politician alive 
 would hardly purchase that debt from me without the ordinary investi- 
 gation of title — in other words, without satisfying himself that I really 
 had the effectual charge upon the land which I professed to be able to 
 assign. Could all that be arranged " upon the eve of the next great 
 -party division?" Could it be done in one month — or in two? 
 
 Suppose it accomplished, however — what next? The Times would 
 be entitled to the original covenant for repayment, the counteracting 
 proviso being put out of the q,uestion. " There could be no defence to 
 an action upon that covenant, and the plaintiff would have a right to 
 judgment at once," or rather as soon as he could get it. We defy the 
 Editor himself, " in the present state of the law," to which he so 
 learnedly refers, to prove that " a simple debt may be turned into a 
 judgment debt," in less tlxan twenty-six days in, any case, where the 
 debtor chooses to hold' his own, as of course he would against such a 
 scandalous attack. In nine cases out of ten, the time required would 
 be considerably greater. This throws another difficulty in the way of 
 an amiable scheme. Surely our county member might by this time 
 make his cry heard. " You can get a judgment at law," says the 
 Times, " in much shorter time than you can raise (sic) a large sum 
 upon mortgage." Very likely. But it doesn't take an hour longer to 
 raise such a sum than it would cost the Times or its ^otege to get into 
 possession of the original mortgage, which is only the first step towards 
 obtaining a judgment. 
 
 But there is another small complication in, the back-ground. Suppose 
 the judgment obtained. The creditor may, " in the present state of the' 
 law," proceed either against the person or the property of his debtor— 
 not against both together. " The writ of capias ad saUsfaoigndum;' says 
 Blackstone, " is an execution of the highest nature, inasmuch as it 
 deprives a man of his liberty* till he make the satisfaction awarded; 
 and, therefore, when a man is once taken in execution upon this writ, 
 no other process can be sued out against his lands or goods." The 
 Times, "upon the eve of the next great party division," would probably 
 want the gentleman. We wish her j|0y of the possession of a kidnapped 
 squire, in exchange for a few thousands in coin of the realm. So long 
 as he lives, and chooses to shout "Martyrdom 1" from the windows of 
 York Castle, not one sixpence of the money can they touch. 
 
 » It is nonsense," says the Times, " to say that it is not likely this 
 should ever be done." It is, unfortunately, nonsense to say no such 
 
254 THE ckownek's quest. 
 
 egregious article as that which we have just examined could ever be 
 written. Having picked a curiously unprofitable bone to the best of 
 our ability, we take leave to commend the result to all true believers in 
 the wisdom or sincerity of the Times newspaper. 
 
 THE CBOWNER'S QUEST. 
 
 [SCENE— ^ rooOT at the " Cliecquers" Tavern, Westminster. A dead 
 body on the table. Enter Curdle (the coroner), Mr. Jehoida Loans 
 {pawnbroker, principal witness, chief mourner, and next of kin), Bam- 
 MEusTON (are attorney), Couney Louse {late landlord of the Checquers), 
 Ben Tizzv {present landlord), Charley Chip, Jemmy Grim, Ned 
 Scales, Dick Ladler, and other jurors. 
 
 Curdle {shaking hands with Mr. Loans). This is a sad occasion. 
 
 Loans. Very sad. 
 
 Curdle. Quite unexpected, was it not? Methinks 
 
 You told me lately he was very well ! 
 
 In health, high spirits, actively employed. 
 
 Doing most prosperous business. 
 Loans. So he was, 
 
 And so he should be now. A false alarm 
 
 Brought him to grief. The state of his affairs, 
 
 Misrepresented by a flurried note 
 
 From his attorney in this Panic time! 
 
 The shock induced congestion of the brain. 
 Curdle. Let us sit down and, business-like, proceed. 
 
 Jehoida Loans, first witness. 
 
 \Thejury are seated round the table. 
 
 Louse. {Aside to Chip.) Now we shall hear the rights on it, brother 
 Chip. There's not a man in the parish can speak to a crowner like Jehoida. 
 Bless you, he knows all about it, chapter and verse. He can tell you 
 how many grains of gold there are in a brass coffin-plate before you 
 can wink your eye. 
 
 Loans. {Kisses book and mutters.) S'elp me Bob.* 
 
 Chip. Lord help you ; you're a simple cove, brother Louse, or you'd 
 
 never have let that rogue, Tizzy, cut in to the Checquers. Why, all 
 
 Master Loans knows about crowner's quest law I told him afore you ever 
 
 were thought of. You should have seen what a snug place the Chec- 
 
 * The witness is hereby supposed to invoke familiarly the shade of Sir Robert 
 Peel, whose name is greatly revered by the gentlemen of the three balls ; perhaps 
 from the disinterested manner in which that eminent statesman was accustomed 
 to reUnquish his pledges. 
 
THE CKOWNEe's QUEST. 255; 
 
 quers was in my time, when you were busy with the scissors, cutting 
 out your old-fashioned fly-traps in blue and yellow paper at Edin- 
 borough. I almost wish I'd stuck to the Checquers; I should have 
 kept you straight, I warrant you. But I saw more was to be made in 
 the marine-store line up street. 
 
 Louse. Why, you needn't talk ; you've been turned out of your 
 place at the sea-horses, and you've made some slips in your time— 
 Haslar, for instance. One can't say a word, but you're sure to be up to 
 some of your cock-o'-hoop bumptiousness. We'd better listen to Master 
 Loans. 
 
 Chip. Cock-o'-hoop bumptiousness, you old muff. You'd better— 
 Curdle. Order. We cannot hear the witness speak 
 
 While you two wrangle thus. Now, Mr. Loans 1 
 Loans. Well, Mr. Crowner, sir, and jurymen, 
 
 I am the next of kin to the deceased; 
 
 I knew him well, as likewise his affairs. 
 
 His name was William Banquo Charteris. 
 Scales. What was his birth ? If I remember right. 
 
 First, as an urchin, he was called Peel's Bill, 
 
 Was Peel his father ? 
 Tizzy. I can speak to that. 
 
 Sir Robert merely was his godfather; 
 
 But thrice-renowned Popkins was his sire. 
 Scales, Whence did the name of Charteris proceed ? 
 Loans. He had it from his uncle. 
 Scales. Second-hand ? 
 
 Loans. A scion of the family of Whims, 
 
 Who left him properties in '44. 
 
 But for his name on 'Change, of City names 
 
 His was in highest credit and repute. 
 
 He was a man in business most complete. 
 
 Shrewd, practical, keen, punctual, money making. 
 
 He moved, the master of the mart, observed 
 
 Of all Change Alley. When he clear'd his throat, 
 
 Ten thousand bargains paused to hear his hem — 
 Ladler. When you've done telling us how he enlarged his hem, 
 and the awe it inspired, I should like to hear how he came by his 
 death, without more hemming and hawing. And, talking about clearing 
 his throat, I should like to see it cleared now, just to be satisfied there 
 is no rope-mark or garter-mark about it. They do say, indeed — 
 Curdle. This is out of order, Master Ladler. Proceed, good Master 
 
 Loans. 
 Loans. He was a benefactor of his kind. 
 
 The greatest moneyed magnates looked to him 
 
256 THE crowner's quest. 
 
 For their support in pressure. He it was 
 
 Who kept our commerce within wholesome bounds ; 
 
 Giving accommodation to sound trade, 
 
 Repressing speculation. He became 
 
 The axle of the monetary world, 
 
 Which, losing him, is now, alas! unhinged. 
 Scales. How did he lose his linch-pin ? Tell us that! 
 
 Since Fortune's wheel went round on him, you say, 
 
 What threw it out of gear ? What screw was loose ? 
 
 What brought the weal to woe ? 
 Curdle. You interrupt 
 
 The witness in his statement, out of rule. 
 Loans. It was the fault of others, not his own ; 
 
 For he was ne'er at fault in all his life. 
 
 But those he dealt with dealt imprudently; 
 
 A glut of overtrading supervened ; 
 
 The Joint Stock Banks all mobb'd him. Foreign fraud 
 
 Startled his nerves with sad dishonoured bills ; 
 
 And, to crown all, a foul domestic drain 
 
 Stank in his nostrils, and with typhUs breath 
 
 Tainted his vital spirits. Dread suspense 
 
 Wrought on his system. 
 Ladler. Ay! that's it. He hanged himself, to be sure! I always 
 said his system was a bad OBe. Suspense of that kind is evidence of a 
 suicidal act. We know very well he attempted his own life once before, 
 in the 3'ear '47, and a pretence was made to call that a fit. But to my 
 mind it only proved his unfitness, for if a man has a way of stringing 
 himself up directly his affairs get into a mess, / dont call him a good 
 man of business ; but our business here is to see how he died, and I beg 
 leave to suggest- that we look at his neck, or we shall be able to decide 
 nothing. 
 
 Loans. These are most foul aspersions, and untrue; 
 
 I witness'd his last moments — saw his end; 
 
 'Twas in his parlour in Threadneedle Street, 
 
 I sat with him and strove to ease his mind : 
 
 " Be of good cheer," I said, " all will be well, 
 
 No sound and wholesome dealer will go down." 
 
 Then my own case I instanced modestly, 
 
 Saying I never drove a brisker trade. 
 
 " My premises," said I,. " are cramm'd with goods 
 
 Of sterling value, pledged for trifling sums, 
 
 At most remunerative interest. 
 
 If those who made the goods cannot redeem 
 
 Their pledges — why so much the worse for them — 
 
JBorn 1819. 
 AUTHOR OF PERIODICAL Panics. 
 
 THE COUNTRY WHICH SUFFERED 
 
 A MOST SEVERE LOSS 
 BY HIS EXISTENCE 
 
 CRCTEFULLY RECORDS ITS HOPEOF 
 BETTERTIMES ON ITS DEMISE. 
 
 DIEDoF APOPLEXY. Tfov. ISJ-^^ 
 
 The Crowner'e Quest. 
 
THE CROWNER's QUEST. 257 
 
 For me so much the better; and for those 
 
 Hard calculators by whose timely aid 
 
 The realm is rescued from sheer bankruptcy. 
 
 The men who glut the marts beyond demand, 
 
 Must suffer for their folly. They break down. 
 
 Their mills stop work. The glut subsides, and then 
 
 Our prudence reaps its profit. Ten per cent., 
 
 Twelve, fifteen, twenty, thirty, though we reach, 
 
 If reach'd in consequence legitimate, 
 
 Soon turns the exchanges, bullion soon returns. 
 
 The rates go down — thus business takes it course. 
 
 High rates sound more oppressive than they are. 
 
 Thirty per cent, seems startling in the year, 
 
 Yet is but two-and-a-half per cent, per month; 
 
 These panics soon blow over like a storm. 
 
 Clearing the, feverish air — :and all is well." 
 
 Faintly he smiled — " I feel quite out of sorts," 
 
 He said, and -sighed most deeply. Then there came 
 
 A double-palpitating postman's knock. 
 
 He started ; his limbs trembled ; he turned pale ; 
 
 In came the letter on a golden tray : 
 
 A letter ominous,, blaok-seal'd, black-rimm'd ; 
 
 He tore it open, gasp'd for breath, and reiel'd: 
 
 " All's up!" he cried; flat on his face he fell. 
 
 And never after spoke. The man who wrote 
 
 That homicidal letter — there he sits {pointing to Bammerston\ 
 
 Jaunty and unabash'd ! Let him be sworn, 
 
 And justify that letter as he can. 
 Curdle. What have you got to answer ? — clear yourself. 
 Bammerston. I was deceased's attorney, if deceased 
 
 He truly be. For I'm disposed to think 
 
 His seeming death a temporary feint. 
 
 I had besides, full many clients more — 
 
 My clients now no more, though not deceased — 
 
 Some ruin'd ; others left me in a huff. 
 
 Because, said they, too much I humour'd Banquo, 
 
 And backed him up with quibbles of the law, 
 
 In arbitrary measures of finance, 
 
 Which, so, they swore, brought ruin to the realm. 
 
 I lost my business and connection by it. 
 
 They struck me off the fishes and the loaves, 
 
 And threaten now to strike me off the rolls. 
 
 When men get ruin'd they will lay their loss 
 
 Upon their man of business — that's the fact. 
 
258 THE crowner's quest. 
 
 Finance, myself, I do not understand, 
 And held by Banquo sadly overlong, 
 Till public wrath so rose against deceased 
 That, be his theories right or be they wrong, 
 A public tumult threaten'd. So I wrote, 
 " Make yourself scarce, or say that you are dead, 
 Till this affair blows over." Soon I heard 
 That dead he was ; and confidence return'd 
 On this report instanter. I, forsooth, 
 Thought it a lie, and straight relied on it; 
 Giving all currency to such report. 
 For curr-ency was wanted, it was said, 
 And for my part I think expediency 
 A better article by far than truth. 
 It may be that in shamming dead he died, 
 Like Juliet in the tomb scene. Let us look, 
 And first make sure if he be dead or no. 
 Scales. Nay, he is dead enough, I warrant you; 
 Why, all his promises are broken ; all 
 His character and credit gone for ever. 
 For very shame lie could not choose but die; 
 Not even his friends pretend he is alive. 
 Loans. I never said so, nor will cease to hope 
 For his revival and recovery 
 Till he is buried — 
 Scales. Then, let's bury him, 
 
 And make no more ado. He wrought the state 
 Much evil in his day — exporting gold 
 At profit of a farthing in the pound ; 
 Which gold, by his authority declared 
 Sole lawful money, left ten thousand times 
 Its own amount in bills, unliquidable 
 For want of legal counters. Eeal wealth 
 Thus fell to half its price throughout the realm, 
 And twenty million farthings, sack'd by Jews 
 On bullion exports, cost the nation half 
 Of just a million million's worth of wealth, 
 Sold at half value to bring back the gold. 
 Curdle. This is beside the question, Master Scales. 
 Scales. Nay, — you allow his friends to speak his praise- 
 Thais not beside the question, it would seem I 
 May his accusers not declare his blame ? 
 That corpse lies charged with fAony-de-se, 
 Shall funeral eulogies be heard alone — 
 
THE CROWNEr's QUEST. 259| 
 
 Why, if he were alive, no living man 
 More richly merits hanging. 
 Ladler. Go it, Scales I Hanging himself vfas the best job he 
 ever did in his life (aside), I say. Master Tizzy, why don't you 
 speak up for us ? You know you were on our side, this time ten 
 years, — and since then, I have oft heard you say Banquo Charteris 
 deserved hanging. 
 
 Tizzy (aside to Ladler). You mind your own business ; I was not 
 landlord of the " Checquers " then — I must look to my customers, now. 
 There are ins and outs to consider, in a business like this. I could 
 think and say what I thought fit, when I was a tapster out of employ- 
 ment. Why, there's Old Grim was of our — I mean of your way of 
 thinking once ; — see how mum he sits. Things must take their course.^ 
 I can't move now in this matter ; that's flat. You and Scales, who are 
 out of business, can afford to be honest. We men in the public line 
 must look to the main chance. 
 
 Curdle. You have convinced me, worthy Master Loans ; 
 His loss is very grievous to the State. 
 Gentlemen of the jury, — I propose 
 Banquo be buried at our joint expense ; 
 With first-class obsequies. 
 Ladler. Where cross-roads meet. 
 
 And with a stake, by way of monument. 
 Curdle. His country's tears are due to his remains. 
 Ladler. One gallows drop, indeed, was due to him ; 
 
 He saved that dtwe-drop, when he hanged himself. 
 Loans. He is not dead — I saw him wink his eye. 
 Hand me the smelling-salts. — A looking-glass 
 Will show us if he breathes. 
 Scales. He'll smell no more, 
 
 Save as a carcase smells ; and smelling salts 
 Won't cure him. Pickle him, perhaps, you may 1 
 You should have taken him with many grains 
 Of saltj^while living, had you wished to save 
 His metaphoric bacon. 
 Loans (with mirror and smelling-bottle). Yes 1 he breathes. 
 
 Hail, Banquo. See, the mirror clouds— he breathes. 
 Orim. If he loe really alive, you had best take the looking-glass 
 away ; for if he should happen to open his eyes, and see himself, his 
 first reflection on coming to life would be very ipt to frighten him to 
 death. 
 
 Jianquo (sneezes, opens one eye, and says, in afeelle voice), Am I 
 alive, then ? Did the garter break ? (Jurors start back horrified). 
 Loam (whispers). Don't mention garters, only thank your stars 1 
 
260 POLITICS 01' THE MONTH. 
 
 Hail, Banquo, benefactor of your tind, 
 
 Eestored, as by a miracle, to life 
 
 And to your country's gratitude. 
 Bmguo. A glass 
 
 Of aqua regia 1 Is the mob dispersed, 
 
 That bang'd the doors, and swore they'd have my life? 
 Loans {aside). All now is well. You've had a near escape 
 ■ Of being buried. If you have the strength 
 
 Get up {helping Mm to rise), and show the jury you're alive. 
 
 Ladler and Scales were fain to nail you down. 
 Curdle {advances, and takes Sanqtio's hand). 
 
 Let me congratulate you, worthy sir. 
 
 On your recovery. Come, gentlemen {to the jury), 
 
 Our job is done. AH that remains to do 
 ' Is to report our subject -still alive ; 
 
 And pass a high encomium, well deserved, 
 
 Upoji his conduct in the Panic time. 
 
 Of Banquo Charteris we can safely say, 
 
 Long may he live, Trade's trustiest prop and stay! 
 
 \_Scene falls over Scales and Ladler protesting loudly that 
 the whole Quest is a disgraceful sham — that Banquo Char- 
 teris was lorn to he hanged — and that Curdle and Loans 
 have conspired to resuscitate him to gain their private ends.'\ 
 
 POLITICS OF THE MONTH. 
 
 July is to the courts at Westminster what the " Winding-up Act " is 
 to the courts of law. It is the "winding-up" month. But this year 
 the bankruptcies are few in number — the failures fortunately scarce. 
 For some years past, at the opening of the sessions, we have had a 
 great parade of measures trumpeted forth ; and at the close we have 
 become habituated to " the murder of the innocents ;" in other words, to 
 the postponement, sine die, of about three-fourths of the measures 
 promised^ 
 
 There must be some cause for this. The present ministry did not, 
 indeed. Open the session ; but they had to do what is more dilEcult, 
 viz., to take it up in passing, which is a good deal like catching a 
 ti-ain after it is in motion. They were wise enough not to promise too 
 rhuch; but they seem to have performed for the most part what they 
 promised. We attribute this a good deal to the superior class of sub- 
 ordinates whom Lord Derby selected ; for they are the men on whom 
 practically devolves the working out of measures. 
 
 The Governmetit's first Indian BUI was indeed a botch. It 
 
.POLITICS OP THE MONTH. 261 
 
 will be remembered, we never from the first attached confidence to Lord 
 Ellenborough as Indian minister. Lord John Russell's suggestion of 
 resolutions worked well ; and so soon as those which involved the prin-> 
 ciple of this new legislating had passed, they had served their purpose. 
 And Lord Stanley framed on them a bill, which it is praise enough to 
 say he successfully carried through the House of Commons, sometimes 
 against all the old heads of opposition combined. From the first we 
 judged that the temper of the Commons would be for the independ- 
 ence of the council. And the report has proved the correctness of 
 that anticipation. The council is as independent as was consistent 
 with the responsibility exacted of the Secretary of State. The' weakest 
 part of the bill is the continuous self-election of the council. It was 
 a difficult problem to solve, and for the present no harm will be done 
 at all events. In clause 14, we think, however, that sufficient provi- 
 sion was not made for the incapacity of members of council from 
 insanity or other illness, which disabled any member from voluntary 
 resignation. To have no resource but an address to Parliameilt to say 
 that some unfortunate member of council is mad or paralytic, and 
 ought to be removed, is shocking to any ordinary sense of delicacy. 
 Before these pages are in the hands of our readers the bill will have 
 passed both Houses, and have become law-^and safe and salutary law, 
 in our judgment. 
 
 This is one success. Mr. Disraeli has achieved another : his ready 
 adaptation of means to an end, in applying the true principles of local 
 government to the Thames nuisance. But the principle involved in this 
 goes farther. The metropolis is favoured in other respects than the 
 one which had been threatened as regards the Thames ; for a 
 demand was growing up for a national tax to pay for purifying the 
 metropolitan river. Not to go further, we have never seen why this 
 richest city in the world should not pay its own constables, like any 
 other poor ordinary borough town. 
 
 We have spoken in former numbers pretty freely of Mr. Disraeli : 
 but we wish to speak fairly of all men. He has done much in the last 
 month to raise himself in that portion of public estimation which he 
 will find the most valuable, viz. the quiet and observing portion, — 
 1st, by the above measure; 2ndly, by a less ambitious and meritorious 
 tone of speech and demeanour in the House; and, 3rdly,by the conduct 
 of the business of the House. Since we presume that if to the leader of 
 the House blame is to be attributed if bungling management leads to an 
 unduly prolonged sitting, so praise must be awarded to him who 
 brings the sitting of Parliament to as speedy a termmation as is coti- 
 sistent with the real requirements of public business. In Mr. Disraeli|s 
 powers of business we had always confidence; and also in his 
 desire to redress practical abuse— both those qualities he exhibited in 
 1852 The quality we have hitherto taken exception to is the 
 appearance of a want of earnestness and sincere conviction in debate— 
 a want for which no rhetorical dexterities can compensate. When a 
 man is doing the business of life, he excites neither respect nor confi- 
 dence if he appears to be merely acting it. If the latter only was 
 wanted, Mr. Kean would perform the part much better. Having 
 expressed this view sometime ago, we are the better pleased to have an 
 
263 FOJ.ITICS OF THE MONTIT. 
 
 opportunity of conveying a just tribute to what are the merits of 
 Mr. Disraeli. One effort of his " Thames" Bill will be to override any 
 decision to which the committee now sitting upon it may come. 
 
 But our tribute cannot be of an unqualified kind to Mr. Disraeli. 
 What apology can he make for the puling fallacies to which he gave 
 utterance after dinner at the Trinity House, when the Prince Consort 
 presided? Has he ever seriously thought on the subject on which he 
 spoke only a few words in toasting the Governor and Deputy-Governor of 
 the Bank of England? Did he attend the " Bank Acts" Committee? 
 Did he read the Report and the Counter- Report? If so, can he deny the 
 principles laid down in the latter? — or, if he does deny, can he answer 
 them? That Report is in full in our present number; let our readers 
 judge. "Periodical panics a necessary part of civilisation 1" These 
 were in substance Mr. Disraeli's words. If this be so, we may parody 
 the quaint notion of Sir William Gill : " Do everything you can to 
 establish liberty in your own country (lie said), and then go and live in 
 Turkey." Let us do all we can to hasten the progress of mankind, and 
 establish what we call civilisation, and then let us fly from the work of 
 our hands, as from a upas-tree, into the wilds of Africa. There, we 
 will be bound, men traffic from year to year, and pass their cowries 
 from hand to hand in their own rude way, without ever hearing or 
 dreaming of anything so fanciful or philosophical as a panic in the 
 money market, which, by a sudden jerk, brings all their primitive 
 interchanges to a dead lock. Are the wants of men continuous and 
 common? Is trade the means whereby they are sujjplied? Are men 
 ordained, according to their several qualities and capacities, to supply 
 the wants of each, and to obtain a living thereby? Then, if the wants 
 and necessities are never-ceasing, tell us, Mr. Disraeli, if you will be so 
 kind as to explain, why periodical panics are a necessary adjunct of 
 civilisation. In our innocence we imagined that same civilisation to 
 be a weapon in the hands of man to cut away from before him the 
 obstacles in his path. It appears we were wrong, and that civilisation 
 is but a dead wall, which in our blindness we build up only to knock 
 our heads against. 
 
 Mr. Walpole has had charge of " The Corrupt Practices at Elections" 
 Bill, which had far better have been merely " A Continuance Bill," 
 since the same subject must be legislated upon next year, and we trust 
 in a better way. The only clause of any moment in the bill was that 
 relating to travelling expenses. These expenses Mr. Walpole proposed 
 to legalise for the first time, and the House of Commons has supported 
 him. But " corrupt practices at elections " will never cease so long as 
 so convenient an opening is afforded as this ; spite of Mr. Ayrton's 
 amendment, which was adopted, viz. : — " That it shall not be lawful to 
 pay any money, or give any valuable consideration to a voter for, or in 
 respect of, travelling expenses." A good provision, if the principle is 
 to prevail. A better mode of meeting the case would be to take votes 
 in every parish; and this, we. trust, to have no plea for travelling 
 expenses, will form part of the New Reform Bill. This is about the 
 worst specimen of legislation the Derby Government has exhibited. It 
 is one which no member of it, of independent thought, like Lord Stan- 
 ley, would have been betrayed into. It is the hardest blow ever yet 
 
POLITICS OF THE MONTH. 263 
 
 aimed at tlie independence of the voter; and that from the highest 
 source. Well might Bernal Osborne say he had heard the franchise was 
 a trust, but now he found it was only a perquisite. 
 
 Well 1 The Currency Quacks are to have another chance, and New 
 Caledonia has made common cause with Australia and California, and 
 come to their rescue. As its first result, it has brought out the new 
 Colonial Minister, Sir Bulwer Lytton, in a speech of plain good sense — 
 a great merit in a literary politician. No one can help admiring what 
 are called the eloquent (but what we should rather term the well-pre- 
 pared) passages of Sir B. Lytton's speeches. But the delivery is 
 mouthy, and the effect far below the literary merit of the composition. 
 From his infirmity of deafness he never can be a ready debater, and yet 
 he is a power in the Government. His speeches go forth to the public, 
 and read well. Yet it is not as a debater that he will be the greatest 
 acquisition to Lord Derby's Government. Sir B. Lytton is, and has 
 been long, a close observer of men. He is always learning and picking 
 up materials for judgment. Whereas most Ministers come into oflBce, 
 at least into the Cabinet, with a limited amount of knowledge, and that 
 confined to what they picked up at Eton and in the pigeon-holes of 
 some department. For the rest, thej' are as oblivious of the growing 
 wants of their fellow- creatures as the occupant of the cave of 
 Engedi. 
 
 Sir B. Lytton has observed much, and is not unapt to draw from his 
 observations wise conclusions. It is not therefore so much as a debater, 
 but as a sage counsellor, that he is an acquisition to the Derby Govern- 
 ment. We wish the case of Sarawak fell within his province, as it 
 should naturally, one would think. He would have the sagacity to see 
 in what risk we stand of losing this admirable position, at the entrance 
 of the China seas, ior so many purposes of our eastern commerce and 
 dominion ; the only substitute for Java, which we so ignorantly yielded 
 up to the Dutch, whose eyes are already glistening at the prospect of 
 gaining this only remaining station which commands that important 
 channel, and which Sir James Brooke will probably be compelled to 
 transfer to them, if we are too dull or too sluggish to profit by his 
 liberal offer of it to us. 
 
 We trust that the discussion which has lately taken place in the 
 Commons relative to the Slave squadron, together with the change 
 taking place in public opinion on the subject, is a prelude to its with- 
 drawal. Willingly would the nation consent to aid in stopping this 
 nefarious traflfic, if the evil showed any symptoms of decrease in conse- 
 quence. But is it not a fact that the million per annum we expend in 
 this holy cause is not only thrown into the sea, but absolutely adds to 
 the suffering of the poor victims in the horrors so often and so patheti- 
 cally described of the middle passage? But even if there were some 
 doubt on this point, the late diplomatic passage of arms between us and 
 the United States, as to the right of search, ended as it has, makes the 
 further prosecution of our attempt a mockery and a jest. If the United 
 States would really prevent the importation of fresh slaves into Cuba, 
 as she does, we understand, faithfully into her own states, in Heaven s 
 name let her take possession of it and so end at once this great world's 
 
26% POLITICS OF THE MONTH; 
 
 Trade still stagnant, and the Twaddler (vide City article, July 15) 
 gibbering and maundering upon it. "The long-continued inactivity, 
 in all descriptions of securities, excites little public remark; yet every, 
 one is thinking of it." And what is the tub to the whale which this 
 sapient writer throws out? France! French increase of armaments 1 
 French invasion 1 No ! no I Agonistes ! " Thinking of it," no doubt.' 
 But it is not France every one is thinking of, unless it be how France 
 escaped in November last the commercial hurricane which fell on this 
 country like a tornado. It is not France, but the panic of 1857 — the 
 legitimate result of English legislature — that every one is thinking of; 
 and whether after being so often pulled up short in the midst of even 
 the most prudent undertakings, it would not be sheer madness even to 
 enter into commercial adventure again.. That is what they are thinking 
 of, as they did after 1825, '37, '39, and '47. No doubt " the dog will 
 return to his vomit;" but the old dog runs cunning at last. He has 
 had some considerable rubs on his bump of caution. 
 
 Our gracious Sovereign passes a more loyal judgment on the inten-. 
 tions of her Emperor ally than purblind prophets like these would 
 indicate. We are not afraid of Cherbourg, nor of France, nor her fleet.. 
 Had we been France, and France England, we would have had (or at 
 kast passed resolutions to have) Cherbourg what it is long ago. 
 Except that, our resolutions have been indifferently fulfilled. We have 
 been attempting to do at Plymouth and Portsmouth and elsewhere what 
 Napoleon has virtual!)' designed at Cherbourg. We are obliged to 
 our imperial ally for the hint to keep always afloat an efficient channel 
 fleet, under a vigorous commander, such as Keppel. Just see what a 
 real good old commander will do for us by what has just happened in 
 China. The whole British fleet, capped by a couple of French gun- 
 boats. It is enough to make wise men sigh to know that everything 
 we do must begin with infatuated pottering, although it be bungled 
 through at last into a slow success, generally at the cost — unnecessary 
 cost — of valiant life. 
 
 And so we wish our gracious Sovereign her own proverbial weather 
 for this magnificent fete, and a friendly meeting with her august ally 
 (For the more of these national interchanges of courtesy the better ft)r 
 a growing good understanding between the two great neighbours) ; and to 
 her faithful, and loyal, and loving people, especially to the politico- 
 parlimentary portion of them who honour these papers by their atten- 
 tion, a grateful farewell till our gracious Sovereign summon us once 
 more to attend her council at Westminster. Meanwhile, we sincerely 
 trust our holidays may be spent in peace, and no untoward complications 
 arising out of the necessary retribution for such barbarous atrocities as 
 those committed at Jeddah, may disturb the equanimity of our repose. 
 And that ere we meet again, India may be itaelf again. Dieu dispose. 
 
265 
 
 DEAPT REPOBT OF THE SELECT COMMITTEE ON 
 THE BANK ACTS, 1857-8, 
 
 AS MOVED BY MR. CAYLET. 
 
 Your Committee have sat during the greater part of two Sessions, but 
 have been subjected to repeated interruptions in their sittings. They 
 have examined a number of witnesses, and beg to present the following 
 Eeport : 
 
 The Committee was appointed early in 1857, to inquire, mainly, into 
 the operations and effect of the Banking Acts of 1844-45. On this 
 point they obtained a great amount of valuable information during the 
 spring and summer of last year, which was published in two volumes; 
 one of Evidence, the other Appendix. 
 
 After such publication, and during the last autumn, a severe mone- 
 tary panic and commercial crisis occurred. The cause of this grave 
 occurrence was referred, as an additional element of inquiry, to your 
 Committee. 
 
 The chief conclusions to be drawn from the evidence now taken are — 
 
 1. That the panic of 1857, and all other panics since 1819, were 
 preceded by a heavy drain of bullion. 
 
 2. That the rate of interest or discount rises and falls with the ebb and 
 flow of bullion. 
 
 3. That the dividends to the proprietors of the Bank of England rise 
 and fall in sympathy with such rate. In the last half of the year 1852, 
 the rate of discount was (according to the Governor of the Bank) 2 and 
 2i per cent. The dividend of that half year was at the rate of 7 per 
 cent, per annimi. The last half of 1857 the rate of discount ranged 
 from Og to 10 per cent.; and the dividend, as declared in March 1858, 
 was at the rate of 11 per cent. 
 
 4. That upon a continuous chronic drain from this country to the 
 continent of Europe, and to the East, there supervened in October last 
 an almost entire suspension of cash payments in the United States ; 
 which aggravated the drain, and, cotemporaueously, the severity of the 
 Bank of England's restrictive operations. 
 
 5. That this great national suspension disappointed mercantile houses, 
 of the first standing and credit in this country, of their expected remit- 
 tances (such as Messrs. Vickers & Co., of Sheffield, and Messrs. Dennis- 
 toun of Glasgow and London), and caused them to suspend payment 
 althouo-h in possession of ample assets available for the liquidation of all 
 their liabilities. 
 
266 DRAFT KEPORT OF THE 
 
 6. That the Borough Bank of Liverpool and the Western Bank of 
 Scotland were directly affected by the suspension in the United States ; 
 and that it was probably the proximate cause of their stoppage ; but that 
 botli these banks, together with the Northumberland and Durham Dis- 
 trict Bank (which failed subsequently to the panic), were managed, or 
 rather mismanaged, in such a manner as to ensure under any adverse 
 pressure great loss to their proprietors. 
 
 7. That under the circumstances of these and other failures, accom- 
 panying an increasing and unprecedented high rate and difKciilty of dis- 
 count, an internal panic took place, by which the Bank reserve was 
 greatly diminished; and it became unable to control the amount of its 
 notes with the public when seized with panic. 
 
 8. That the entire reserve of the Bank of England on the day of the 
 issue of the Treasury Letter was only 580,751Z. (including London 
 and all its branches); their deposits at the same time amounting 
 to 22,500,000Z, ; of which near six and a half millions belonged to 
 London bankers. 
 
 9. That the Bank of England, in the difficult position in which it was 
 placed under the drain and panic, conducted its affairs with great discre- 
 tion and promptitude for the relief of commerce. 
 
 10. That unless the Treasury Letter had appeared at the time it did 
 a general suspension of cash payments would probably have occurred. 
 
 11. That trade was considered indisputably sound by the witnesses 
 of last year; and the same view was entertained by the great majority of 
 the witnesses of the present Session; although complaints have been 
 made, since the panic, of a growing system of a fictitious bill-drawing 
 between this country and the United States ; and also with the north of 
 Europe. 
 
 12. That trade still stagnates under the effects of the late panic. 
 
 A question was raised of some curiosity, but perhaps of small practical 
 consequence; viz., in case of the suspension of the Bank of England on 
 the Thursday afternoon, November 12 (which the Governor stated niust 
 have taken place if a withdrawal of 1,000, OOOZ. of their deposits had 
 taken place suddenly, and no Treasury Letter had been issued), would 
 the depositors and the note-holders of the Bank of England have had an 
 equal claim to the bullion remaining in their coffers? 
 
 A paper on this point, prepared by Mr. Freshfield, jun., solicitor to 
 the Bank of England, for the information of the Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer, in November, 1856, was brought under the notice of your 
 Committee. It is a very valuable document, and deserving of attention ; 
 and the concluding paragraphs are so important, that they should not be 
 omitted from this report. They are as follows : 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 267 
 
 "16. The credit of the Bank is not and never has been in doubt. It 
 would be unwise to raise such a question if there were a doubt. It is 
 still more so in the actual state of things. 
 
 "^ 17. The risk to be apprehended is a drain of gold. Under such a 
 drain, the Bank has stopped -payment heretofore with little or no bullion 
 in its coffers, but witheutthe slightest discredit, and it is not likely to be 
 now discredited if it should stop -payment with 3,000,000Z. or 4,000 ,000Z. 
 of gold in its coffers. 
 
 "18. Nor is it likely that discredit should arise from the state of the 
 deposit accounts. Every one knows that the Bank has ample means to 
 meet its deposits. The argument that the small amount of notes in re- 
 serve tends to discredit the Bank in the Banking Department is an argu- 
 ment against publication, or against the limit of issue, and not against the 
 appropriation of gold in the Issue Department. 
 
 " 19. Assuming, therefore, the extreme case of a suspension, the 
 difficulty would not be the discredit of the Bank, but a want of circula- 
 ting medium. 
 
 " 20. The Bank-note circulation required by the public is about 
 20,000,000Z. ; and if the circulation were reduced to as low as 
 17,000,000/., or 18,000,000/., the Bank still have 3,000,000/. to 
 4,000,000/. of gold. 
 
 "21. The Bank, by extreme pressure on the community, might get 
 on and cancel even more notes. But before this the pressure on the com- 
 munity, from want of circulating medium, would be so severe as to pro- 
 duce universal suspension. The private banks would be stopped, and 
 the whole exchange of the country at an end, and the mercantile com- 
 munity would be reduced to a state of barter. 
 
 " 22. To inquire, therefore, of the rights of the Bank creditors is 
 futile. They are safe in any case, and the question resolves itself in'^o 
 that of the policy of limiting the issue of bank-notes, not of the security 
 for the issue." 
 
 Mr. Rodwell appeared on the part of a section of the country bankers. 
 He was of opinion that the Act of 1844 should not be disturbed ; although 
 (with others of his class examined) not approving of some of its 
 limitations. There seems an apprehension on the part of the English 
 country bankers, and also among the Irish and Scotch bankers, 
 that if a change takes place, they may lose that monopoly of issue 
 which they obtained under the Acts of 1844 and 1845. The ques- 
 tion of the propriety or use of this limitation of issue was frequently 
 raised in the examination of the witnesses before us ; but the general 
 view was that an excess of issue, where there was competition, was 
 (under the system of the frequent exchange of notes by bankers respec- 
 tively) virtually impossible. The Bullion Committee of 1810 came to 
 the same conclusion. 
 
268 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 Of the witnesses examined by the Committee, — 
 
 23 were bankers, whose examination lasted ... 22 days. 
 
 5 merchants or manufacturers ^3 
 
 1 banker, sent by the Chamber of Commerce of Leeds j " 
 
 3 theoretical witnesses 5^ „ 
 
 1 bill-broker H » 
 
 2 accountants 1 » 
 
 The views of the several witnesses are divisible into four classes : 
 
 1. The followers of Lord Overstone, who would maintain the Act of 
 ] 844 intact. Of this view, the directors of the Bank of England, toge- 
 ther with Lord Overstone, were the chief exponents. 
 
 2. The followers of the late Mr. Tooke, who favoured entire freedom 
 of action on the part of the Bank of England, confining them merely to 
 the convertibility of their notes, and to the miintenance of an average 
 of about 12,000,000Z. of bullion. 
 
 3. Those who were on the whole friendly to the Act of 1844, but 
 would extend the issues on securities to about 16,000,000?., instead of 
 14,.500,000i., and who would, some of them, allow greater latitude to 
 the issues of country bankers. And, 
 
 4. Those who, to prevent that shock to confidence which has always 
 followed a large withdrawal of the base of the circulation (gold), suggest 
 that 16,000,000?., or even 20,000,000Z., might be issued on securities 
 without the obligation of convertibility into gold; the remainder of the 
 Bank of England's issue being on bullion, as at present. Both classes 
 of notes to be a legal tender. 
 
 The Act of 1844 was intended to secure the complete fulfilment of 
 the principles of the Act of 1819, chiefly by a system of checks, and by 
 an ingenious contrivance for preventing mismanagement on the part of 
 the Bank of England. The Bank having been supposed bj' the authors 
 of the Act of 1844, through their mode of management, to have been 
 instrumental in producing the pressures or panics of 1825, 1836-37, 
 and 1839-40, was thus left less of a free agent than before, and subject, 
 in their management, to the unbending rules of the new machinery. 
 
 Sir Robert Peel, the Parliamentary author of this act, appears (as 
 iodioated by his speech on the introduction of his bill of 1844) to have 
 expected and intended that pressures and panics, such as those which 
 had periodically occurred from 1815 to 1844, would be prevented or 
 lessened. 
 
 Twice in ten years this expectation has been falsified, despite of the 
 extraordinary and unexpected aid afforded to the working of the act 
 by the great gold discoveries; especially during the war with Russia. 
 And in 1847 and 1857, if we are to believe the evidence afforded us, 
 the panics were of a more intense and destructive character than any 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 269 
 
 which had taken place before. In our endeavour to elucidate the views 
 of the supporters of the Act 1844, the reason for this will be sufficiently 
 obvious. 
 
 The first and great principle of that act is, that the currency shall 
 fluctuate and operate precisely as a metallic currency would do. All 
 its machinery is contrived for this end. But the difficulties in the way 
 of a complete carrying out of this principle are vast, if not insuperable. 
 The instinct of self-preservation, the moral courage of governments, 
 revolt and quail before its rigorous consummation ; as the Treasury Let- 
 ters of 1847 and 1857 seem conclusively to indicate. 
 
 What are these difficulties? If what we call money, in the aggregate, 
 partook of the same qualities as other material possessions, this subject 
 would be relieved of much of its difficulty ; but it does not do so. It is 
 for the most part an abstraction rather than a reality — a power rather 
 than entity. It is, as it were, existent and non-existent at the same 
 time. Who, it may be asked, are the owners of money in this rich 
 empire? And to what extent is it so owned? 
 
 They are the holders of bank-notes of every kind ; the depositors of 
 all the banks in the United Kingdom; the creditors of all the bills of 
 exchange and promissory notes, of mortgages and debentures, of the 
 book, bond, and judgment debts, of wages, rent, and taxes, &c., falling 
 due at any one time. Such are the owners of money ; all which is in 
 the last resort legally due, and payable, on demand, in gold. The 
 aggregate of these liens on gold cannot be less, it has been stated, than 
 500,000,OOOZ. sterling. In addition to this amount, and due at more 
 distant dates, are the remainder of the mortgages, debentures, bonds, 
 &o., not falling due upon any particular day : and the entire total has 
 been estimated as not under 1,000,000,OOOZ. But it is probably more. 
 
 Where is all this money? Is it in existence? Or is it merely a title 
 to a given amount of gold ; which we make our legal tender? What is 
 the amount of this legal tender in the last resort, i. e. of gold available 
 at any one moment to the claimants of this large amount of money? 
 That, and that only, which is in the tills of the various banks, and in 
 both 'the departments of the Bank of England: a sum varying from 
 8,000,000Z. to 20,000,000?. For the 50,000,000 or 60,000,000 sove- 
 reigns' said to be permeating the channels, and performing the functions 
 of domestic circulation, are the property, for the most part, of other 
 owners, viz., the working classes, and those engaged in retail trade. 
 
 Since the minor cannot comprehend the major, it is clear that 
 8,000,000?. or 20,000,000?. of gold is insufficient to satisfy a claim of 
 500 000,000Z. of money, if exacted. It is equally clear that money is 
 not 'a thing which, as a whole, can at one time be transferred like 
 corn and cotton, or any other material substance. The operations of 
 mankind in reference to it are based on the assumption that money in 
 
270 UEAPT REPORT OF THE 
 
 itself is of no value in use, whether consisting of gold or other material; 
 and is precious only as a means of supplying the natural wants or de- 
 sires of men for other things. All the borrowers of money, therefore 
 (whether banks or others), take it on the principle that, under ordinary 
 circumstances, it will not be the interest of the lenders to demand it for 
 the purpose of lying unproductive in their own coffers; or to combine 
 for the purpose of simultaneously claiming immediate payment of all 
 obligations. So far our system of money is based on the doctrine of 
 chances ; and all banking and brokering of money has reference to such 
 doctrine. It was next to an universal combination of the owners of 
 money that in the last autumn caused nearly an universal suspension 
 of payment among the banks of the United States. A combination 
 impossible to be withstood. It is a concurrent disposition to hoard 
 when gold is ebbing from the Bank of England's coiFers that leads to 
 such panics as have been so often experienced in this country. 
 
 The means of immediate liquidation in gold, it is thus clear, are out 
 of all proportion insufficient at any one moment for the extent of obliga- 
 tions. It will not, therefore, be surprising that every witness examined 
 (except perhaps Lord Overstone) declared our monetary system to be 
 one of sufferance — a system really based on confidence. And the 
 greater portion of the evidence of last year, and the earlier part of this, 
 is occupied with a subtle and minute examination and cross-examination 
 into the mode by which the Bank of England actually has or might 
 have manipulated the notes they were empowered to issue, so as to 
 make 10,000,OOOZ. or 15,000,000^. of gold fulfil the functions of 
 500,000,000Z. In other words, whether they did or did not conduct 
 their operations in strict conformity to the true doctrine of chances. 
 Lord Overstone and his followers contending that there was no security 
 for the convertibility of the note on demand unless the Bank was re- 
 stricted by the rigid rules of the Act of 1844. The followers of 
 Mr. Tooke, on the other hand, affirming, and apparently with reason, 
 that for the working of this delicate machinery, a machinery liable to 
 the friction of such sudden and hazardous contingencies as those of the 
 alternations of human interests and human motives, the utmost latitude 
 of discretion and freedom of action were demanded. 
 
 Experience has, however, shown, that, under such a system as now 
 exists, no machinery, however ingenious, no mere dexterous manipula- 
 tion of bank-notes, is competent to prevent great disasters, such as 
 befel the commercial interest periodically during the thirty years before 
 the Act of 1844, and in the course of the fourteen years since its 
 enactment. 
 
 Gold being in the last resort the only medium of legal payment, 
 whenever the Bank stock of bullion has fallen to 10,000,00OZ. or 
 11,000,000?., public apprehension begins to be entertained that the. 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 2.71 
 
 usual supply of legal tender for the liquidation of transactions will fail. 
 And it is remarkable that the very means apparently intended by the 
 Act of 1844 to give facility to the circulation (viz. the power to issue 
 14!,000,00W. on securities in addition to the issues on bullion) should 
 be one main cause of the Bank resorting to those restrictive operations 
 which so frequently terminate in panic. The panic, in fact, apparently, 
 has its origin in the Bank parlour, under circumstances like the 
 following : — 
 
 The Bank has in its coffers at any given moment (say) 16,OO0,O00L 
 ef bullion, and the right of issuing 14,000,000Z. on securities; or to- 
 gether, in the aggregate, a power of issue equal to 30,000,000?.: 
 1,000,000Z. notes are (say) out with the public; 12,000,000L are in 
 reserve. Credit is easy — confidence strong. When such is the case, 
 transfers of credit perform the greater part of the functions of circulation 
 without the intervention of bank-notes. 
 
 A drain sets in; the store of gold falls to 10,000,000?., the power of 
 issue falls to 24,000,000?.; the notes with the public rise to 19,000,000?. 
 and the reserve is down at 5,000,000?. 
 
 Another million of gold goes: the power to issue falls to 28,000,000?., 
 but the reserve has fallen to 3,000,000?., owing to the notes with the 
 public having risen to 20,000,000?. 
 
 Alarm is contagious; self-preservation instinctive; hoarding com- 
 mences. Two counteracting influences are at work. The public 
 craving for notes increases; more notes are forced out through the 
 depositors of the Bank, in spite of the Bank's efforts to draw them in. 
 
 Another million of gold is drained away. The supply now stands 
 at 8,000,000?.; the power to issue at 22,000,000?.; the reserve at 
 1,500,000?; for the notes with the now hoarding public have risen to 
 20,500,000?. 
 
 To stop this drain, the Bank has recourse to the usual expedients 
 
 an increase in the rate of discount, and a limitation of the ech6- 
 
 ance of bills — and turns (what in popular language is called) the screw 
 tighter day by day. 
 
 But why should the Bank feel alarm? If it were a mere Bank of 
 Issue, and issuing only on bullion, it need feel no alarm ; for it would 
 have sovereigns for every note it issued. Under the Act of 1844, 
 however, as the drain intensifies, the Bank sees the period approaching 
 when it is possible that gold may be demanded for its 14,000,000?. 
 of security notes, and for its deposits, as well as for the notes issued on 
 bullion; that is to say, for 30,000,000?. or 35,000,000?. of gold, which 
 it has promised to pay, but has not gold to pay with. Or, what is a 
 more immediate ground of alarm, it probably feels, when the drain and 
 run for notes on the part of the public have, together, lowered its reserve 
 to 1 500,000?., panic, with its blind unreason, may set in, and an in- 
 
373 DKA.FT REPOttT OF THE 
 
 ternal drain commence, which may set at defiance every rule of manage- 
 ment or prudence, and end in their suspension of cash payments. The 
 present Governor of the Bank confessed that this catastrophe must have 
 happened on the 12th of November last, if the Treasury Letter had not 
 been issued, supposing a demand upon them had occurred that afternoon 
 to the extent of a million of notes. 
 
 The most rigid of the disciples of the school on which the Act of 1844 
 was founded, seem to be of opinion that no letter should have been 
 issued by the Treasury, and that if the rate of discount had ri,sen to 20, 
 30, or even 50 per cent., the Government should have remained passive, 
 looked inexorably on, and have suffered the panic to run its course; 
 even although three-fourths of the commercial interest crumbled into 
 ruins under the shock. And if the main principle of the Act of 1844 
 be true, viz., that the currency should always fluctuate precisely as a 
 metallic circulation would do, it is difficult to resist the justice of their 
 conclusion. 
 
 The basis on which that principle is founded appears to be, that the law 
 having determined that gold is alone the medium in which payments in 
 the last resort are to be made, the question of a legal medium of exchange 
 becomes a mere matter of supply and demand ; the contract to pay must 
 be fulfilled to the letter by payment in the legal tender, gold. 
 
 This view, to be a correct one, implies that money in the aggregate is 
 of the same quality as other articles of merchandise, which can be sup- 
 plied to an indefinite extent; that gold is a necessary medium of ex- 
 change; that money is a natural product, and not a creation of law. 
 But, not to mention the various changes which have been made in the 
 value of the coin and material of legal tender in this country, the very 
 variety of the materials, and the natural value of them, by which traffic 
 has been carried on, and transactions liquidated throughout the world, 
 prove that money is a thing of convention, and not of nature. 
 
 In this country, however, in 1816 we adopted, in the sovereign (some 
 have said for the first time in our history), a legal tender coin of intrinsic 
 value without any seignorage or law to protect it from export: so that 
 our currency became a system of barter, rather than of money ; and we 
 have thence become exposed to a fluctuation in the amount of the medium 
 of payments upon every slight alteration in its value. This property of 
 intrinsicality is by some supposed to be an advantage in our dealings 
 with foreign nations ; but, in fact, the dealings with foreign nations are 
 never in money, but in barter. And the coin of any other country, of 
 whatever denomination or value, is never considered in any other light 
 than as an article of merchandise, and estimated accordingly. Thus, it 
 was stated to us, that during the great French war, although cash pay- 
 ments were suspended in this country, foreign payments were made 
 with equal facility as at present, and with less disturbance to commerce; 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 273 
 
 because as gold then rose in price in proportion to the demand, goods 
 were preferred for the balance of payments. 
 
 In 1798, indeed, there was a new copper coinage; when a similar 
 change took place. The market price of copper happened 'at the time 
 to be 16 pence per pound. The experiment was tried of making the 
 copper coin of the realm intrinsically worth its nominal value, i.e. each 
 penny an ounce. The result was, that when copper rose the coin was 
 melted, the experiment was abandoned, and the penny reduced to a 
 mere token. It is a serious question whether the same experiment 
 which we have been trying on our gold coin, now for 39 years, has in 
 reality been more successful. 
 
 Objections have been raised by some of the chief advocates of the Act 
 of 1844 against the system adopted by the Joint Stock Banks, of allow- 
 ing a high rate of interest on deposit, and no small share of the monetary 
 disturbance of last autumn has been attributed to that practice. But 
 this charge has not been substantiated ; and is one somewhat inconsistent 
 with the view that the value of money should oscillate precisely accord- 
 ing to the abundance or deficiency of gold. 
 
 For what are deposits ? Are they not gold, at least by assumption ? 
 They are paid into a bank in the shape of bank-notes or cheques, both 
 of which are convertible on demand into gold; they are lent out in the 
 shape of notes on loan or discount: they are repaid in the same shape. 
 What can they be considered, then, but bank-notes, and therefore gold? 
 They are part of that enormous aggregate of accumulated title to money, 
 before referred to, which is by law at any moment convertible into bank- 
 notes, as these are convertible on demand into gold. All this immense 
 aggregate therefore, inasmuch as things that are equal to the same are 
 equal to one another, is of the same quality as money, i.e. Bank of Eng- 
 land notes and gold. 
 
 But if bank-notes vary in price in proportion to the scarcity or plenty 
 of gold, what reasonable ground can be assigned why the proprietor 
 of a deposit should not enjoy the benefit of a rise in the price of the 
 article he is possessed of, as well as the banker to whom he entrusts 
 it from day to day ? Or what law can successfully interfere to prevent 
 the traffic in any article for which men are disposed to deal with each 
 other at the market price? 
 
 Joint-stock banks, by the offer to pay to a depositor the value of 
 his property, have no doubt brought into the market money that might 
 otherwise have been unproductively locked up; and by this means it 
 would seem that the operations of the Act of 1844 may have been 
 facilitated rather than otherwise. For the great internal demand of last 
 autumn was for bank-notes ; and through the supply furnished to the 
 joint-stock banks, and by the proportionably increased deposits of these 
 
274i DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 with- the Bank of England, the latter was greatly strengthened for the 
 accommodation of commerce. 
 
 At the same time it can be as little doubted that the weekly pub- 
 lication of the Bank's accounts, showing the variations in the supply 
 of bullion, and in the state of its reserve, joined to the promulgation 
 of the principle, that the price of money is to vary precisely with the 
 supply of gold, together with the difficulties and high rate of discount 
 in 1847 and 1857, have for some years past been progressively reading 
 a lesson, pregnant with deep instruction, to both the lenders and bor- 
 rowers of money; from which the first at least have not been loth to 
 benefit. They have been thus induced to demand fronj bankers their 
 legitimate share in the rise of the value of money; while bankers 
 (especially the private bankers in the country districts) have, in many 
 instances, for the first time, been disabled from supplying accommoda- 
 tion to their customers at the more than century old rate of five per 
 cent. 
 
 The advocates of the Act of 1844 have, as it seems to us, therefore, 
 on their own principles, no legitimate cause of complaint against the 
 rate of interest paid to depositors by joint-stock banks. The intent and 
 object of the Act of 1844 is, that the price of money should fluctuate 
 according to the ebb and flow of gold. In proportion as the owners of 
 money have become acquainted with this property of the law of 1844, 
 they have naturally claimed their share in the profit of it. Constant 
 fluctuations in the rate of discount are thus a corollary of that act, and 
 the necessity and utility of these fluctuations are vindicated by its sup- 
 porters. 
 
 The true point to be considered in reference to the panic of 1847 and 
 1857, and in reference to the remedy for such great evils, appears to us 
 to be, not the mere working of the machinery of the Act of 1844 by 
 the Bank of England, nor merely isolated instances of mismanagement 
 on the part of other banks, nor rashness on the part of that limited 
 portion of the commercial body, which in ordinary times is weekly 
 dropping into the " Gazette," more or less rapidly, in proportion to 
 the folly or mismanagement of their adventures, but who in monetary 
 crises are onlj', as the weakest, the first to yield. Some other solution 
 is required of the enigma, why even the most solvent part of the mer- 
 cantile interest totter under the strain to which they are on such 
 occasions exposed. 
 
 There is the concurrent testimony of all the witnesses last year that 
 trade was sound up to July. And, during the panic of last autumn, 
 out of all the joint-stock banks in the United Kingdom, only four 
 failed ; and out of all the private banks only one failed. 
 
 We have the testimony of a partner in one of the oldest and largest 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 275 
 
 and most respected banking firms in Yorkshire (Mr. Smith, of the firm 
 of Beckett and Co.), that only one mercantile house failed in Leeds at 
 the time of the panic ; and yet, he adds, that if the Treasury Letter 
 had not been issued on the 12th November, the entire commercial body 
 of that important district " must have gone to the wall." 
 
 However convenient, therefore, in support of a system, it may be to 
 throw blatne on the commercial and banking bodies, it will not be in 
 accordance with fact to lay the heavy charge on these large, useful, and 
 important classes of the community, that they have been the cause of 
 the panics so much to be deplored. On the contrary, they must, in 
 fairness (especially the former), be considered the victims, rather than 
 the authors, of a state of things which has proved so destructive to 
 their material well-being. , 
 
 Still, if it be a necessity of law that no legal acquittance of a mone3'ed 
 obligation can be given except through the medium of gold, or of that 
 which is convertible on demand into gold (since the gold available for 
 this purpose is so small in proportion to the incalculable amount of obli- 
 gations, and even that small amount is so capricious in its presence), it 
 is scarcely to be doubted that the pressures and panics so much com- 
 plained of, together with the waste of commercial capital, and 
 disemployment of labour which they entail, must, as necessarily, be 
 periodical. Not, indeed, from the fault of any class of producers or 
 traders, but from a natural insufficiency and uncertainty in the presence 
 of the medium in which the law declares transactions are to be 
 liquidated. 
 
 But is there any law of nature which authoritatively prescribes that 
 there shall be no other legal medium for'the domestic interchange of the 
 produce of human hands than this one material ? And that without it 
 trade must stop, and labour cease ? 
 
 It may be safely held that a merciful Providence has reduced us tO' 
 no such melancholy dilemma. The law through which such heavy 
 calamities periodically befall our productive classes is not a law of God, 
 but of man : and therefore liable to all the shortcomings consequent on 
 human infirmity. Let us, for a moment, reflect on the original con- 
 ditions of this question of money, and into the real meaning and- 
 object of the hackneyed terms of " standard of value" and " converti- 
 bility." 
 
 Barter is trade without money ; the exchange of capital without a 
 medium of exchange ; the state only of tlie very rudest nations in respect 
 of their domestic trafiic. Toreign trade (until some medium of inter- 
 ehange shall be adopted of universal acceptance, of easier and less 
 costly transit than the precious metals), must always be pure barter. 
 The foreigner knows nothing of the value of the currency of any other 
 country, except that a portion of that currency will procure for him a 
 
276 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 certain amount of produce, or of the precious metals, or of his own 
 currency, the value of which he does know. 
 
 In England, we have so far departed from barter in our domestic in- 
 terchanges, that the truck-laws make it illegal. A penalty attaches to 
 the exchange of the produce of labour with the labour which produces 
 it. The exchange must be effected in money. In money alone can 
 wages be legallj' paid ; money, therefore, is a legal necessity. And 
 since labour must be employed, and taxes must be paid, it is a point 
 worthy of consideration, whether it is not part of the duty of a Govern- 
 ment to provide such a limited amount of domestic medium of exchange 
 as can legally satisfy these demands ; and whether the origin of the 
 Crown's prerogative to coin may not, in part, be connected with this duty. 
 
 It seems probable that money and taxation were originally closely 
 allied. The tribute money of the Romans appears to have represented 
 a tax to be paid, and to have been issued by the Government in antici- 
 pation of such payment. "I have thought" (says the learned Camden) 
 " that in olden time there was a certain sort of money coined on purpose 
 for this use (taxes), seeing in Scripture it is called tribute-money ; and 
 I am the more confirmed in this opinion, because on some of the British 
 pieces there is the mint master stamping the money with tasoio, which, 
 among the Britons, signified tribute money." 
 
 In the earliest No'rman times the taxes or tribute due to the Crown are 
 said to have been paid in kind ; except those which were discharged by 
 personal services. And Henry the First, finding this system inconve- 
 nient, is related to have introduced a token or symbol of value, which 
 received the name of an Exchequer Tally. When taxes fell due, the 
 King took back the fiscal Wooden instrument as payment. He 
 fixed the value of the instrument which became the unit of 
 account; and received it back at the same conventional value as that for 
 which he issued it. This instrument of exchange remained, it is said, a 
 legal tender up to the beginning of last century. And Exchequer-notes, 
 which supplanted it, were in use up to the middle of it, at as low 
 amounts as £5 and £10. It is the want of some legal medium of ex- 
 change (which cannot be exported) that occasions the complaints of the 
 weight of taxation pending or subsequent to a heavy drain of gold, our 
 present legal medium. If produce and labour should fall, say one-half, 
 owing to the stagnation of trade consequent on a drain, the manufacturer 
 would have to sell two webs of cloth, the operative to give two days' 
 labour, in the place of one web and one day, to pay the same nominal 
 sum of taxation as before. 
 
 The taxation and money of a country are intimately connected like- 
 wise in relation to prices. Indirect taxation involves a rise of price ; 
 unless the tax is to fall on the producer, instead of the consumer, which 
 Parliament could never intend. Increase of price, by a concurrence 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 277 
 
 of all the evidence, demands an increase of currency to express it. On 
 tlie fall of prices consequent on each of our periodical crises since the 
 great French war, the tendency has been for the indirect taxation to 
 fall, in part at least, on the producer, instead of the consumer. And 
 the producer has in his turn endeavoured to shift it from himself to his 
 workman, by a reduction of wages. 
 
 Such was the intolerable pressure arising out of the Bank of Eng- 
 land's preparation in 1815 and 1816 for the resumption of cash pay- 
 ments, which evinced itself by a great fall of prices and disemployment 
 of labour, that Mr. Tierney is reported to have said in his place in 
 Parliament, in 1817, that the national miseries had risen to a point 
 wholly without precedent since the Norman Conquest. The resumption 
 of cash payments was in consequence postponed. Immediately subse- 
 quent to the Act of 1819 a great collapse in trade and agriculture 
 again took place, accompanied by great popular disaffection, which 
 caused the Act of 1819 to be relaxed. Subsequent to the panic of 
 1825 a similar condition of things occurred ; which ended in the 
 agitation for reform. Immediately after the monetary panic of 1836-37 
 occurred the six years of financial deficit, amounting in the whole to 
 £12,000,000 : to overcome which, the income tax was imposed. Close 
 upon the monetary panic of 1847 followed the Chartist agitation in 
 England, and the revolutions of 1848 in Europe ; for England, being 
 the money centre of the world, nothing can gravely affect its monetary 
 condition without at the same time affecting the commercial and indus- 
 trial state of the whole world. 
 
 To account for all these various catastrophes there have never been 
 wanting, at the time (even in official quarters) explanations both 
 inwenious and plausible, which yet reflection has shown to be unsatis- 
 factory. The transition from war to peace was the original cause 
 assigned. For the first time in history, peace had brought panic, instead 
 of plenty, in her train. In the sad days of the conflict between the yeo- 
 manry and starving multitude of Manchester, and of " The Six Acts ;" 
 at a time when corn was falling from 100s. to 40s. a quarter (i. e. 
 in the interval between the middle of 1819 and 1823), over- 
 population and over-production were the fashionable causes of dis- 
 tress. As if these two causes would not have tended to neutralize 
 each other. In 1825 country banks produced the mischief ; 
 and joint-stock banks were encouraged and sanctioned. In 1836 
 overtrading and joint-stock banks were to blame. In 1847 over- 
 speculation and railways. And, now, again, the cry of over-speculation 
 and joint-stock banks is raised. Whereas it is not improbable that it 
 may, at last, be discovered that the true origin of all these collapses is 
 not overtrading, but under-moneying. 
 
 If over-speculation has occurred anywhere in Europe during the last 
 
278 DRAFT UEPOKT OF THE 
 
 few years, it should have been in France, where the Credit Mobilier 
 appeared to offer great facilities for it. But panic, in the last autumn, 
 was less felt in Paris than elsewhere although the consequences of the 
 panics in England and the United States fall now seriously on France, 
 as they did in 1848, accompanied by political symptoms not dissimilar. 
 The disciples of Mr. Tooke have a fair right to quote the Bank of France, 
 with its comparative freedom of action, as an instance in favour of the 
 system they advocate. 
 
 It is usual to speak of gold as the standard of value. But gold has 
 in reality nothing in it of the nature of a standard. The true standard 
 of all value is human craving or demand (v XP*'"), as is well observed 
 by Aristotle. The degree in which anything is desired or required is 
 the exact test of its value. The true measure of the value of what men 
 want is the amount of labour it takes to procure or produce it. Labour, 
 therefore, is the true measure of value ; and that measure is best indi- 
 cated in any country by the staple food which it consumes. Gold and 
 silver are measures merely as they embody and represent so much 
 labour or food. 
 
 Political economists distinguish between value in use and value in 
 exchange. Air and water, being of prime necessity, would be of count- 
 less price had they been not furnished without stint by the bountiful 
 Giver of all things. Yet they are, virtually, of no money value. 
 
 But in the present state of society, a legal tender is of the same neces- 
 sity to trade as air and water are to animal life. Of whatever material 
 that legal tender was constituted, the necessity for a medium of legal 
 liquidation would give to it a value. On the other hand, if gold should 
 suddenly be rejected by all nations as the common liquidator of foreign 
 balances, it is difficult to predicate what would be its fall in price. 
 Mr. Norman, one of the oldest and most consistent of the bullion school 
 now living, and above thirty years a director of the Bank of England, 
 was asked in his examination before this committee the following 
 questions: — 
 
 " 3053. Supposing the Government were to be the issuer of 
 14:,000,000Z. of notes, and those notes were a legal tender, what value 
 would those notes bear in the market? — They would be at par. They 
 would be exactly in the same state, I concei-ve, and of the same value as 
 Bank of England notes are now. 
 
 " 3054. Supposing there were no other legal tender than that 
 14,000, OOOZ. of notes, would they be still at par? — Fourteen millions 
 would not be sufficient to carry on all the pecuniary transactions of the 
 country. I presume that the question supposes that the remainder of 
 the circulation is to be metallic, and, if so, of course they would be at 
 par. 
 
 " 3055. Supposing that 14,000,000?. of Government issue was the 
 only legal tender, would that paper still be at par? — I do not quite 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 279, 
 
 understand the question. You oould not carry on the transactions of 
 the country with only 14,000,000Z. of notes. 
 
 " 3056. But suppose the country circulation were, as it is now, but 
 resolvable into legal tender, and supposing the Bank of England were 
 limited to 14,000,000?. of legal tender, would the currency be of the 
 same value as it is at present? — I conceive so; there would be a very 
 large margin of coin under those circumstances. 
 
 " 3057, Do you believe, according to your former statement, that 
 paper circulation is of such necessity to commerce that it wpuld carry 
 value in consequence of its convenience? — I think that the real value of 
 paper consists in its convertibility. 
 
 " 3058. Do you believe, that if there were no other legal tender than 
 those 14,000,000Z., those 14,000,000Z. would maintain their value in 
 consequence of their convenience to commerce?. — If I rightly understand 
 the question, it is assuming the case that there should be inconvertible 
 paper to the extent of 14,000,000?., and that that inconvertible paper 
 were made a legal tender, whether it would maintain its value. I think, 
 if it were made a legal tender, it would do so from the fact of its being 
 limited. 
 
 " 3059. You think that the necessity of it for commercial transactions 
 would constitute a value in that legal tender, provided there was a 
 limited quantity? — Yes, I think so; I have not considered it thoroughly; 
 but I can hardly conceive such a state of things." 
 
 Mr. Neave (the present Governor of the Bank of England, having 
 stated that all attempts of the Bank to get in notes during a great 
 pressure or panic were frustrated by the determination of the public to 
 have them), was asked — 
 
 " 947. Whatever measures you resort to, the amount of the notes of 
 the public, you say, remains the same ; that is, somewhere about 
 2O,00O,O00Z.? — In ordinary times the uses of the public seem to want 
 about 20,000,000/. There are special periodical moments when, 
 through the year, they rise to another 1,000,000Z. or 1,500,000Z. I 
 stated, that if the public wanted more, they could always take it from 
 the Bank of England. ,, . „ 
 
 " 948. You stated that during the panic the public would not allow 
 you to diminish the amount of notes; I want you to account for that? 
 —In moments of panic the public have, as I believe, the full power of 
 helping themselves as to notes; and of course, as long as the Bank has 
 a liability, they may use that liability to take the notes from the Bank. 
 " 949 Then there seems to be required, at all times, somewhere 
 nbmit 20 000 000Z. of legal tender ?— Twenty millions of notes with 
 the ^ubU;; it varys. It 'is 18,500,000Z.. 19.«0O.OOOZ., 20 000 OOOZ 
 and so on; but, taking the average, you may call it from 19,000,00Ui. 
 to 20,000,000Z. 
 
 " 950. That seems to be the average want of commerce:' — ies._ 
 "95l' If the legal tender be an article of commercial necessity, it 
 would maintain that amount, of whatever it was composed?— It seems 
 so in practice." 
 
 If law, therefore, requires that all pecuniary engagements shall be 
 
280 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 made in a specific material, tliat material (if of no other use whatever) 
 would derive value from the necessary demand for it ; and precisely in 
 the ratio of that demand ; and would come within the rule laid down by 
 Aristotle, of human demand being the source of all value. 
 
 What legal money should be composed of, is a matter of convention. 
 The monej' of Sparta, established by Lycurgus (according to Plutarch), 
 was iron deprived, in the process of coining, of its value as a metal, and 
 useless, as such, elsewhere as well as in Sparta. This money remained 
 unchanged for 500 years, and Sparta powerful and contented. It was 
 the contemplation of this remarkable republic which led Plato, in his 
 ideal of a perfect commonwealth, to contend that money should have 
 no intrinsic value, in order that a country might not be drained of its 
 legal tender: — 
 
 " But how " (says Plato) " shall the internal affairs of the state go 
 on? how shall individuals exchange their several productions with each 
 other? which, indeed, is the main object of our forming a community 
 and making a state? It is manifest (he replied) that they must do so 
 by buying and selling. A regular market, then, and coin as a token 
 for exchange, will be the result of this? Exactly so." — Plato, Folit., 
 B. 2, vol. 2, p. 371. Edit. 1578. 
 
 " Coin is for the purpose of daily exchange, which exchange it is 
 almost a matter of necessity that artizans must make, and indeed all 
 persons who need their services, and to pay wages to servants, slaves, 
 and settlers; for which purpose, we affirm, there must be a coin, having 
 a value among the members of the state, but no value to the rest of the 
 world." — Flato, Laws, B. 5, vol. 2, p. 742. 
 
 " And the state must also have or procure a common (current) Greek 
 coin, for the purpose of military expeditions, or the occasions of visiting 
 other states, such as, for instance, embassies, or for any other purpose 
 necessary for the state. And when any individual has occasion to 
 travel abroad, on obtaining permission from the rulers, he shall go 
 abroad (with it), and when he comes home again, he shall return to the 
 state whatever foreign money he has in hand, receiving the state money 
 to the same amounts." — Plato, Laws, B. 5, vol. 2, p. 742. 
 
 Aristotle was of opinion that it was indifferent whether money was 
 intrinsic, or a mere token without intrinsic value. On this point he 
 says: — 
 
 " There must accordingly be, as we have before observed, some one 
 thing by which all things may be measured; and this is, in truth, 
 the need {h XP^'«) of them which holds together all things, for were we 
 either not at all in want, or not similarly, there would be either no 
 exchange, or not the same exchange. Now money has come to be by 
 general consent a substitute for need, and it has its name, money, for 
 this reason, that it exists not by nature, but by law or custom, and it 
 remains with us either to alter its value, or to make it without value." — 
 AristotMs Necomachean Ethics, v. 8, 11, Bekker's Edition, 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 281 
 
 The real gist of Mr. Locke's anxiety on this subject, when well con- 
 sidered, seems to be the maintenance of a constant supply of what he 
 calls "current pledges." "No money, no trade," is his celebrated 
 axiom. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley was possessed, as is well known, of an intellect of 
 extreme subtlety. The following are some of his pertinent queries on 
 money : — 
 
 " Whether the use and nature of money, which all men so eagerly 
 pursue, be yet sufficiently understood or considered by all ? 
 
 " Whether the four elements, and man's labour therein, be not the 
 true source of wealth ? 
 
 " Whether money be not only so far useful as it stirreth up industry, 
 enabling men mutually to participate the fruits of each other's labour ? 
 
 " Whether money is to be considered as having an intrinsic value, or 
 as being a commodity, a standard, or a pledge, as is variously suggested 
 by writers ? And whether the true idea of money, as such, be not 
 altogether that of a ticket or counter ? 
 
 " Whether the term livre, pound sterling, crown, &c., are not to be 
 considered as exponents or denominations of such proportion ? And 
 whether gold, silver, or paper, are not tickets or counters for reckoning, 
 recording, and transferring thereof? 
 
 " Whether the denominations being retained, although the bullion 
 were gone, things might not nevertheless be rated, bought and sold, 
 industry promoted, and a circulation of commerce maintained ? 
 
 '< What makes a wealthy people ? Whether mines of gold and silver 
 are capable of doing this ? And whether the Negroes, amidst the gold 
 sands of Africa, are not poor and destitute ? 
 
 " Whether there be any virtue in gold or silver other than as they set 
 people to work, or create industry ? 
 
 " Whether power to command the industry of others be not real 
 wealth ? And whether money be not, in truth, tickets or tokens for 
 conveying or recording such power, and whether it be of great con- 
 sequence what materials the tickets are made of ? 
 
 " Whether to promote, transfer, and secure this commerce, and this 
 property in human labour, or, in other words, this power, be not the 
 sole means of enriching a people ; and how far this may be done 
 independently of gold and silver ? 
 
 " Whether a fertile land, and the industry of its inhabitants, would 
 not prove inexhaustible funds of real wealth, be the counters for con- 
 veying and recording thereof what you will— paper, gold, or silver ? 
 
 " Whether the opinion of men, and their industry consequent thereon, 
 be not the true wealth of Holland, and not the silver supposed to be 
 deposited in the Bank of Amsterdam V 
 
 " Whether, in order to understand the true nature of wealth and 
 commerce, it would not be right to consider a ship's crew cast upon a 
 desert island, and by degrees forming themselves to business and civil 
 life while industry begot credit, and credit moved to industry ? 
 
 '' Whether such men would not all set themselves to work ? Whether 
 they would not subsist by the mutual participation of each others' 
 
282 DRAFT REPORT OP THE 
 
 industry ? Whether, when one man had in this way procured more 
 than he could consume, he would not exchange his superfluities to 
 supply his wants ? Whether this must not produce credit ? Whether, 
 to facilitate these conveyances, to record and circulate this credit, 
 they would not soon agree on certain tallies, tokens, tickets, or 
 counters ? 
 
 " Whether it be not agreed that paper hath, in many respects, the 
 advantage above coin, as being of more despatch in payments, more easily 
 transferred, preserved, and recovered when lost. 
 
 " Whether the sure way to supply people with tools and materials, 
 and to set them to work, be not a free circulation of money, whether 
 silver or paper ? 
 
 " Whether the great evils attending paper money, in the British 
 plantations of America, have not sprung from over-rating their lands 
 and issuing paper without discretion, and from the legislators breaking 
 their own rules in their own favour, thus sacrificing the public to their 
 private advantage ? And whether a little sense and honesty might not 
 easily prevent all such inconveniences ? 
 
 " Whether there are not to be seen in America fair towns, wherein 
 the people are lodged, fed, and clothed, without a beggar in their 
 streets, although there be not one grain of gold or silver current 
 among them ? 
 
 " Whether a discovery of the richest gold mine that ever was in the 
 heart of this kingdom would be a real advantage to us ? 
 
 " Whether, therefore, a national bank would not be more beneficial 
 than even a mine of gold ? 
 
 " Whether counters be not referred to other things, which, so long as 
 they keep pace and proportion with the counters, it must be owned the 
 counters are useful ; but whether, beyond that, to covet or value counters 
 be not direct folly ? 
 
 " Whether we are sufficiently sensible of the peculiar security there 
 is in having a bank that consists of land and paper, one of which cannot 
 be exported, and the other is in no danger of being exported ? 
 
 " Whether money could ever be wanting to the demands of industry, 
 if we had a national bank ? 
 
 " Whether paper doth not, by its stamp and signature, acquire a 
 local value, and become as precious and scarce as gold ? and whether it be 
 not much fitter to circulate large sums, and therefore preferable to gold ? 
 
 Whether there be not a measure or limit within which gold and 
 silver are useful, and beyond which they may be hurtful ? 
 
 " Whether that measure be not the circulating of industry ? 
 
 " Whether money circulating be not the life of industry ; and whether 
 the want thereof doth not render a state gouty and inactive ? 
 
 " Whether all circulation be not alike a circulation of credit, what- 
 ever medium (metal or paper) is employed, and whether gold be any 
 more than credit for so much power ? 
 
 " Whether it doth not much import to have a right conception of 
 money; and whether its true and just idea be not that of a ticket, 
 entitling to power, and fitted to record and transfer such power ? 
 
 " Whether, although the prepossessions about gold and silver have 
 taken deep root, yet the example of our colonies in America doth not; 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 283 
 
 make it plain, as diiylight that they are not so necessary to the wealth 
 ot a nation as the vulgar of all ranks imagine ? 
 
 _ " Whether it be not evident that we may maintain a much greater 
 inward and outward commerce, and be five times richer than we are, 
 nay, and our bills abroad be of far greater credit, though we had not 
 one ounce of gold or silver in the whole island ? 
 
 " Whether all the regulations of coin should not be made with a 
 view to encourage industry and a circulation of commerce throughout 
 the country." — Eatraoted from Bishop Berkeley's Querist. 
 
 The opinions of Dr. Benjamin Franklin on this point are as follows. 
 The extract is from his " Papers on American Politics :" this one 
 being entitled " Eemarks and Facts relative to the American Paper 
 Money." It is written in reference to a " Report of the Board of 
 Trade, dated 9th February, 1764." 
 
 " At this very time, even the silver money in England is obliged to 
 the legal tender for part of its value : that part which is the difference 
 between its real weight and its denomination. Great part of the 
 shillings and sixpences now current are, by wearing, become five, ten, 
 twenty, and some of the sixpences even fifty per cent, too light. For 
 this difference between the real and the nominal you have no intrinsic 
 value ; you have not so much as paper, you have nothing. It is the 
 legal tender, with the knowledge that it can easily be repassed for the 
 same value, that makes three-pennyworth of silver pass for sixpence. 
 Gold and silver have undoubtedly some properties that give them a 
 fitness above paper as a medium of exchange, particularly their 
 universal estimation, especially in cases where a country has occasion to 
 carry its money abroad, either as a stock to trade with or to purchase 
 allies dM^ foreign succours; otherwise that very universal estimation 
 is an inconvenience which paper money is free from, since it tends to 
 deprive a country of even the quantity of currency that should be 
 retained as a necessary instrument of its internal commerce, and 
 obliges it to be continually on its guard in making and executing, 
 at a great expense, the laws that are to prevent the trade which 
 exports it, ****** * 
 
 " Gold and silver are not intrinsically of equal jpalue with iron, a 
 metal in itself capable of many more beneficial uses to mankind. Their 
 value rests chiefly in the estimation they happen to be in among the 
 generality of nations, and the credit given to the opinion that that 
 estimation will continue. Otherwise a pound of gold would not be 
 a real equivalent for even a bushel of wheat. Any other well founded credit 
 is as much an equivalent as gold and silver, and iu some oases more so." 
 
 These are the opinions of men of great mark, and of a singular power 
 and originality of thought. 
 
 An essential quality of a perfect measure of length or capacity is uni- 
 formity, unohangeableness. The yard, the foot, the inch, the gallon, 
 the quart, the pint, never vary. It ought to be the same with a measure 
 of value ; which, like the centre of a revolving-wheel, should remain at 
 rest while other things circulate and fluctuate around it. 
 
284 DEAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 In 1819 we did not return to the ancient measure of value, which 
 was an optional one of gold and silver. In 1816, in conformity with 
 the view of the first Lord Liverpool, gold was constituted the sole 
 measure of value in this country. 
 
 But Lord Liverpool, in his Treatise on the Coin, states his dissatisfac- 
 tion even with gold, as falling short of what he considered answering to 
 the idea of a perfect measure, on account of its liability itself to alter in 
 value, and to be to that extent an unfit measure of the value of other 
 things. This alteration in the value of gold cannot be indicated (so 
 long as it is itself the measure) otherwise than by fluctuations in the 
 rate of interest, or by a general rise or fall in the price of commodities. 
 Tested by this rule, gold would scarcely seem to fulfil the condition of a 
 perfect measure of value so well as has been supposed, since in the last 
 ten years there have been above fifty fluctuations in the rate paid for it. 
 And we have it in evidence that a general fall took place in the prices 
 of commodities last autumn during the pressure and panic. In that fall 
 wheat largely participated. 
 
 This liability to fluctuation, which was by Lord Liverpool considered 
 a vice, seems by Lord Overstone, on the contrary, to be esteemed a 
 virtue. His idea of a perfect currency is, that it should fluctuate pre- 
 cisely with the alternations in the state of the foreign exchanges, and 
 that " our paper issues should vary with a direct reference to the 
 fluctuations in the amount of bullion in the possession of the Bank." 
 
 Such, however, is not the opinion of, certainly, an impartial witness, 
 who appeared before us, Mr. John Stuart Mill ; perhaps the clearest 
 and most profound writer oh economical subjects of this age. Mr. Mill 
 says (p. 204, Question 2297),-— 
 
 " By the authors of the Act [1844] it is laid down as a 
 broad principle, that the paper currency should conform to a 
 metallic currency. I apprehend the meaning of that is, that the 
 permanent or standard value of the paper currency should be the same 
 as that of a metallic currency ; but not that it should have the same 
 fluctuations. It does not follow, because we ought to make the per- 
 manent value of the paper currency conform to the value of a metallic 
 currency, that therefore we ought to have the same fluctuations which 
 occur in the value of a metallic currency. The fluctuations to which 
 the value of a convertible currency is subject, depend not upon anything 
 that afiects either the metals or the bank-notes, but upon general exten- 
 sions or contractions of credit. The currency which is the least liable 
 to violent contractions of credit, will be the currency with the fewest 
 fluctuations. Therefore, if a convertible paper currency, issued by 
 bankers and not restricted by Act of Parliament, is likely to lead to 
 fewer variations in credit than a metallic currency, it appears to me 
 better than a metallic currency, and better than a paper currency which 
 is obliged to conform to a metallic currency. 
 
 " 2298. Then I understand that the ill effect which you ascribe to 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE OxM THE BANK ACTS. 285 
 
 the Act of 1844 is, by comparing the actual state of things, not with 
 any actual metallic currency, but with some imaginary system which 
 you think would be more perfect? — Not exactly so; what I mean is, 
 that no currency can be good of which the permanent average value 
 does not conform to the permanent average value of a metallic currency ; 
 but I do not admit the inference that, in order to enable it to do this, its 
 fluctuations in value must conform to the fluctuations in the value of a 
 metallic currency ; because it appears to me, that fluctuations in value 
 are liable to occur from anything that affects credit ; and I think that a 
 metallic currency is liable to more severe revulsions of credit than 
 a mixed currency, such as ours was before the Act of 1844; and there- 
 fore, that a paper currency of the permanent value of a metallic cur- 
 rency, and convertible, but without any other restriction, is liable to 
 less fluctuation than we now have under the Act of 1844. 
 
 " 2299. I understand your opinion to be, that the great advantage of 
 unrestricted issues, as compared with the existing system, would be this : 
 that in times of great commercial difficulty the Bank might draw upon 
 the additional quantity of bullion which it keeps as a security for its 
 notes for the purpose of sustaining credit in times of panic ? — I should 
 rather state it in this way, that they will not be obliged to contract 
 credit in cases in which there had been no previous undue expan- 
 sion of it. 
 
 " 2300. I am supposing the case of a drain in consequence of over 
 speculation ; in that case I understood you to say that the advantage of 
 the system of unrestricted issue which you advocated would be this: 
 that when a panic did come after periods of over- speculation, the Bank 
 then would be able to use its whole reserve, consisting of the bullion 
 that is now in its banking department, and so much of the bullion as is 
 now in the issue department, as it would keep under such circum- 
 stances ; and that it would therefore have a larger fund to draw upon to 
 sustain credit than it has now ? — I would state it even more strongly ; 
 because in the case you are supposing, which is not a case where there 
 is any doubt about the convertibility of the bank-note, the Bank might 
 issue notes to any extent they were asked for, as they did after 1825. 
 
 " 2301. You admit that there might be a very great extension of its 
 issues under those circumstances ? — I think there ought to be in those 
 circumstances, because there is such a destruction of ordinary credit, 
 that it is necessary that some credit should come in to take the place of 
 what is destroyed, in order to prevent great calamities. 
 
 " 2302. Such extension of issues would increase the total amount of 
 circulation much beyond what it would be if it were a purely metallic 
 
 currency ? Very much beyond. That is a great advantage, because 
 
 one of the great inconveniences of a metallic currency is, that it is 
 impossible for it to come to the assistance of a drain in those 
 
 emergencies. , . , ■ j 
 
 " 2303. You do not agree with Mr. Tooke in thmkmg that a mixed 
 circulation of convertible paper must fluctuate always as a metallic 
 currency ?— I am not aware that Mr. Tooke thinks that it must fluctuate 
 in quantity as a metallic currency would; I think it is a great advan- 
 tage of our currency, as it would be without the Act, that it does not 
 fluctuate exactly as a metallic currency would." 
 
286 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 If this view of Mr. Mill be the true one — and it certainly squares 
 more with the philosophical requirements, above referred to, of a mea- 
 sure of value, than the view on which Lord Overstone rests, inasmuch 
 as unchangeableness is the condition at which it aims — it has become 
 expedient to consider whether the principle we have been endeavouring 
 to uphold for so many years in this country, and in following out 
 which the country has been exposed to such frightful vicissitudes, is, 
 after all, absolutely correct. 
 
 One thing seems, at all events, uncontradicted in the evidence, viz. 
 that all the panics that have occurred for the last thirty or forty years 
 have been immediately preceded by a great drain of bullion, which has 
 been accompanied by a difficulty, approaching at times to a threatened 
 impracticability to obtain discount. This difficulty arises out of the 
 efforts resorted to by the Bank to protect the convertibility of the note. 
 From 1819 to 1844, the Bank of England were unfettered in their 
 management of the circulation, except as regarded the convertibility of 
 the note, and did not so precisely conform to the fluctuations of the 
 bullion in their coffers as they have done since 1844. The fluctuations 
 in the rate of interest were therefore necessarily, and legally, in relation 
 to the Usury Laws, less frequent. 
 
 It is for this greater latitude of discretion that the followers of Mr. 
 Tooke contend. Yet it cannot be concealed, that under this greater 
 latitude of discretion the panics of 1825, 1835-37, 1839-40, occurred. 
 Lord Overstone contends, on the other hand, that the convertibility of 
 the note is not secure without the restrictions of the Act of 1844. If this 
 be true, it seems clear that the price paid for the convertibility of the 
 note under the present system is a periodical panic, recurring on the 
 average every eight or ten years. " The history of what we are in 
 the habit of calling the state of trade (observes Lord Overstone) is an 
 instructive lesson. We find it subject to various conditions which are 
 periodically returning; it revolves apparently in an established circle. 
 First, we find it in a state of quiescence; next, improvement, growing 
 confidence, prosperity, excitement, over-trading, convulsion, pressure, 
 stagnation, distress, ending again in quiescen?.e." 
 
 This is a faithful description of the course trade has pursued for 
 some years past; and if it be an inevitable necessity, and if a system of 
 currency cannot be discovered less liable to fluctuation in value, it is our 
 duty to acquiesce without a murmur. 
 
 But are not the alternations so graphically depicted by Lord Overstone 
 alone the offspring of the principle of which he has been the able 
 exponent, viz., that the currency should vary precisely with the supply 
 of bullion in the Bank coffers. Trade stagnates after a panic. The 
 money usually devoted to commercial discount accumulates in the 
 money centres ; prices fall, from the disemployment of labour; the rate 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 287 
 
 of interest declines to 2 or perhaps IJ per cent.; this low rate by degrees 
 tempts at the same time the cupidity of the adventurer and the owner of 
 money — of tlie borrower and the lender. Every species of domestic 
 enterprise employs labour ; employment increases ; wages rise ; con- 
 sumption is extended ; prices rise. This is the period of prosperity, of 
 profit to the employer, of plenty to the workman. Higher prices encou- 
 rage imports, at the same time that they stimulate competition among 
 adventurers, and money (the medium of carrying enterprise on) rises in 
 value proportionally. Still not too high for profit. But this rise of 
 prices discourages the export trade ; exports diminish ; the balance of 
 trade becomes against us ; gold goes ; the screw turns ; discount is diffi- 
 cult ; confidence is shaken ; pressure is converted into panic, and then 
 comes the collapse. And out of the ten years it may have taken for this 
 cycle to revolve, three or four will have been years of prosperity, in 
 contrast to six or seven of stagnation and distress. 
 
 Would these cycles, however, thus revolve, or would these 
 changeful symptoms exhibit themselves except for the single circum- 
 stance that the supply of the medium through which trade is transacted 
 is made peremptorily to depend on the supply of bullion in the Bank 
 coffers ? 
 
 It thus appears conspicuous that if, on the one hand, speculation be 
 the evil complained of, the present system necessarily gives rise to it, 
 through the cheapness of money following on panic, and the subsequent 
 stagnation ; while, on the other hand, those who complain of money 
 being periodically dear and difficult, will find, equally, in the present 
 system its final cause. 
 
 It is only right, after the many panics that have occurred, to look the 
 system fairly in the face. " An error" (says Mr. Locke) "is not the 
 less so, and will never grow into a truth because we have believed it a, 
 long time, although it be the harder to part with." Our measure of 
 value, it has been seen, is now necessarily liable to constant fluctua- 
 tions in price, and those fluctuations are productive of periodical and 
 commercial panics. May it not be wise, at this time, to consider 
 whether the first postulatum in a measure of value may not be in- 
 variableness or steadiness; and the true object of convertibility be to 
 secure a uniformity in the value of the medium of exchange? Whether 
 the second postulatum may not be, that the money of a country should 
 be the handmaid of commerce, rather than her mistress or tyrant ; and 
 the fact be, that it was adopted to facilitate rather than to hamper her 
 operations? Also, whether the third postulatum may not be — a pre- 
 vention of shocks to confidence: this being even more important than 
 an exclusive attention to the convertibility of the note? 
 
 Should these postulata be true, the system we have been so long 
 pursuing may prove to have been founded in error, and there may 
 
288 DRAn REPORT 01? THE 
 
 huve existed a faaaticism among the disciples of gold as great as among 
 the disciples of unlimited paper. 
 
 But if uniformity in its purchasing power be the ingredient of the 
 first importance in a measure — and our present gold measure has been 
 found not to possess that quality — the principles laid down by Mr. Stuart 
 Mill are suggestive as to the mode by which we might obtain a medium, 
 at least, of more uniform value than we possess at present. 
 
 Mr. Mill argues that the true intent of a mixed paper and metal 
 system is to preserve n permanent relation between their value; and not 
 that the paper should fluctuate in value at all times with the metal. 
 This argument favours an attempt to approach towards a uniformity of 
 value in our currency. Should this be so, and the opinions of Mr. Nor- 
 man and the Governor of the Bank, before referred to, be correct — and 
 on the principles above laid down, there is no reason to doubt their 
 correctness — then if there were no legal tender in this countrj' than 
 20,000,OOOZ. of Bank government notes, it is quite clear there could 
 not be the same fluctuations in the rate of interest as at present, be- 
 cause the cause of those fluctuations would be absent, viz., its abstrac- 
 tion for foreign payment. While so imperative is the demand for legal 
 tender, that the Governor of the Bank tells us the public will have 
 about 20,000,000?. of notes, would this 20,000,000?. meet Mr. Mill's 
 condition of maintaining a permanent value equal to 20,000,000?. of 
 sovereigns ? Assuming a sovereign to contain a quarter of an ounce of 
 gold, would that 20,000,000Z. of notes, five or ten years hence, pur- 
 chase (other things remaining the same) 5,000,000 ounces of gold, or the 
 same amount of goods or land as 20,000,000 sovereigns now do ? It 
 is probable, according to the evidence, that they would. And mean- 
 while their value would scarcely fluctuate, and confidence would not be 
 shaken. The notes thus limited would be pounds of account, based on 
 the conformity in value which that number has borne to 20,000,000 
 quarter ounces of gold, and which they have maintained for many years 
 past; and also on the assumption that the public demand for about 
 20,000,000?. of legal tender would give them the same average value 
 for the future; or a greater value in proportion to the increased supply 
 of gold from the mines. 
 
 Mr. Twells (a sagacious London banker of more than fifty years' 
 experience), is asked in reference to this — 
 
 " 4655. You have been asked how you determine the value of a 5?. 
 note: how do you determine the value of a sovereign? — I determine 
 it by what it will produce to me, and I always find that a bank-note 
 will produce quite as much as a sovereign. Some subtle questions may 
 arise upon it ; but I never found any difficulty in practice in converting 
 a 5?. note into anything that I wanted. 
 
 " 4656. What do all these different variations in the rate of discount 
 mean; in your opinion do not they mean changes in the value of the 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 289 
 
 sovereign?— AH of them must affect the value of the sovereign, the 
 same as anything else. 
 
 " 4657. Then the present system does not exempt you from varia- 
 tions in the legal tender ? — Not at all. 
 
 "4658. Tour belief is that the 20,000,000^. of legal tender paper, 
 from not being removable by export to other countries, would give you 
 a more uniform value of the legal tender than you now possess? — More 
 uniform and more steady, a great deal. 
 
 "4659. And that is your reason for suggesting it in preference to 
 one which produces such great oscillations? — Yes. 
 
 "4660. What is the object of convertibility, in your opinion? — The 
 object of convertibility, I conceive, is to get possession of any one thing 
 which I can possibly require, whether it is gold, or a horse, or broad 
 cloth, or anything; and I find that a note is as easily convertible, and 
 I conceive that it always will be as convertible, as long as it has the 
 sanction of a stable government. 
 
 " 4661. Do you not believe that the object of convertibility is, that if 
 you part with any property for the legal tender, that legal tender shall 
 furnish you with as much property in return as you part with? — Quite; 
 it is merely the medium of exchange. 
 
 " 4662. And do you believe that with the legal tender that you sug- 
 gest, you would have more confidence that it would be of the same 
 value in December as in January, than under the present system? — 
 Quite so; it would keep the same relative value with everything which 
 you required to purchase or to sell. 
 
 " 4663. And you have suggested the amount of 20,000,000Z. only 
 because upon experience you have found that 20,0OO,0O0Z. of bank- 
 notes have been kept at par with gold ? — Quite so. There is no reason 
 for fixing the arbitrary sum of 20,000,O00Z. ; but it seems that when 
 there has been 20,000,000Z. of circulation, we have gone on well. 
 
 " 4664. What you mean by your suggestion, I presume, is, that, 
 having ascertained the amount of paper which would at all times be at 
 par with gold, according to experience, you would fix upon that limit, 
 and you have a belief that it would preserve a more uniform rate of 
 money than we now possess, because not liable to exportation? — I have 
 very little doubt of it, but always with the condition that, it not having 
 been tried, I should be unwilling to speak confidently; it is, however, 
 quite my impression. 
 
 " 4665. AH the object which you wish to possess in a legal tender 
 is, that it should preserve as far as possible a uniform purchasing 
 power? — Yes, and a steadiness of character. 
 
 " 4666. You have been asked about the pound of account; do you re- 
 member how the pound arose; what it was originally? — A pound of silver. 
 
 " 4667. Is it a pound of silver now? — No, certainly not; it is varied. 
 
 " 4668. Then, if it is not a pound of silver, what is it but a pound 
 of account? — I have no idea what it can be otherwise, fairly and 
 properly. 
 
 " 4669. Do you remember the changes which have taken place in 
 the pound since it was first instituted here? — Yes. 
 
 " 4670. Do you remember that, in the time of Edward the First, it 
 was made 20s. 3d.?— Yes. 
 
290 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 " 4671. That, in tlie 18th Edward the Third, it was made 22«. ; and 
 in the 20th of Edward the Third, it was made 22«. 6d.? — Yes. 
 
 " 4672. That, in the 27th of Edward the Third, it was made 25s. ; 
 and that last of all, after undergoing a great many changes, in the 
 66th of George the Third, it was made 66s.? — Yes. 
 
 " 4673. Were not all those alterations of the pound made by Act of 
 Parliament or Government? — To be sure they were." 
 
 Could our foreign balances be liquidated under such a system? Mr. 
 Twells tells us there would be less difficulty than at present. 
 
 Mr. Twells, however, while suggesting this amount of legal tender, 
 viz., 20,000,000/., says, it might be expedient, as an experiment, to con- 
 tinue the mixed system of paper and gold, increasing the issue on secu- 
 rities to 16,000, OOOZ.; those notes to be earmarked as security notesj 
 to be a legal tender, and not to be convertible into gold. The adoption 
 of this course would, in all probability, he thought, prevent the strain 
 on the Bank of England under a heavy drain of bullion, and so preclude 
 the necessity of that severe action on the currency to which they are 
 now obliged to resort, and which gives such a shock to confidence. 
 
 In this view several witnesses concurred: not indeed as to its being 
 the only remedy, or perhaps the best that could be devised, but as that 
 involving a minimum of change consistent with any probability of real 
 and permanent relief. Mr. JJoyd's evidence is very interesting on this 
 and other points. 
 
 Against this suggestion, it was objected that it would create two classes 
 of notes, which would not always circulate together at par, and that 
 great inconvenience might be experienced by the public in consequence. 
 But in reference to this objection, a remarkable circumstance was 
 related by Mr. Torr, a partner in one of the first mercantile houses of 
 Liverpool ; and it is a striking illustration of the necessity for, and 
 absolute value of, a legal tender, per se, of whatever material composed, 
 if limited in amount. 
 
 Mr. Torr was in America last autumn. He arrived in New York 
 two days after the general suspension of cash payments in that country. 
 He found that the notes of the several banks which had suspended 
 payment had circulated for the first day or two at a discount of one 
 or two per cent., and in less than a week at par with gold. He travelled 
 through eighteen or twenty of the States. In some States the paper 
 issues were upon gold, in others upon securities. In the latter case he 
 could perceive no difference in the value between the two classes of 
 notes in the States in which they were issued. 
 
 This account is confirmed from other sources in the public prints. 
 There was at that time, of course, a considerable limitation in the 
 quantity of issues. 
 
 In this country two classes of notes existed for two or three years 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 291 
 
 prior to 1819. Mr. Twells says he observed no practical distinction 
 in the value between them. 
 
 The argument in favour of the above suggestion assumes, of course, 
 the existence of a settled government, a government whose credit is 
 unimpeaehed. It assumes also that a legal tender is a thing of first 
 commercial necessity, and that that necessity must always maintain its 
 value so long as it is limited in quantity. It assumes, likewise, that, 
 like any other article of demand, its price will rise or fall in relation to 
 its supply; and that if the supply remains stationary, its price will, 
 cceteins paribus, remain stationary, and that the rate of discount there- 
 fore would be less fluctuating than at present, since the frequent oscilla- 
 tions in the rate which have occurred under the present law arise, or 
 seem to arise, solely because gold has not fulfilled this condition of 
 stationariness. The supply of gold alters with every turn of the 
 exchanges; and the rate of discount under the present law must always 
 correspond more or less with the supply of gold. 
 
 If there were a very heavy drain of gold under the system suggested, 
 it may be assumed that there would be 16,00O,O00Z. of legal tender 
 security notes out with the public, and 4,000,OOOZ. bullion notes. Of 
 these latter, a limited proportion might pay a small premium; if so, 
 that would be a consequence of gold rising, and not of the security 
 notes falling in value ; which is the evil so much deprecated in relation 
 to a paper currency. But if the bullion notes experienced a fractional 
 rise, and the security notes, at the same time, remained stationarj' in 
 price, these latter would tend to preserve that uniformity in value 
 which, as has been shown, is really of the essence of any measure; and 
 thus prevent fluctuations in the rate of discount which are so distressing 
 to trade. Steadiness is what the respectable merchant now sighs for. 
 But it is not in the nature of things for a superstructure to be steady 
 when it rests on a shifting base. Such is, in effect, our gigantic credit 
 system based on. a treacherous quicksand of gold in the Bank cellars. 
 
 It might be objected likewise, that a difficulty would be experienced 
 in obtaining gold for foreign payments under such a system. Less in- 
 deed might be obtainable from the Bank. But the Bank need not be 
 compelled to take in more than it required. No difficulty is found in 
 buying silver in the market at present; nor did any difficulty occur 
 after the suspension of cash payments in 1797 in obtaining what gold 
 or silver was required for foreign balances. They had to be purchased 
 at their market rate, and that obligation tended to the export of goods, 
 in balance, in preference to the metals. 
 
 On the other hand, it might be objected that any attempt to limit the 
 amount of legal tender might inconvenience trade. It was stated, how- 
 ever, by several witnesses, and especially by Mr. Slater (of the firm of 
 Morrison, Dillon, and Co., Fore-street, whose transactions are among 
 
292 DRAFT REPORT OF THE 
 
 the largest of the metropolis), that in wholesale transactions (except 
 where confidence was shakened, which never happened except under a 
 drain of bullion), bank-notes formed practically a very minute portion 
 of the circulation. Such are the economies of circulation to which 
 commerce has, in modern days, been learning to have recourse. 
 
 " To prove how little," says Mr. Slater, " of real money, that is, of 
 Bank of England notes and gold, enters into the operations of trade, it 
 may be interesting, as well as conclusive on that point, to refer to the 
 analysis of a continuous course of commercial transactions, extending 
 over several millions yearly, and which may be considered as a fair 
 example of the general trade of the country. The proportions of re- 
 ceipts and payments are reduced to the scale of 1,000,OOOZ. only, 
 during the year 1856, and are as under, viz. : — 
 
 RECEIPTS : „ ^ 
 
 "In bankers' drafts and mercantile bills'! -„., r'ne 
 of exchange, payable after date . . j '' 
 In cheques oi> bankers, &c., payable on 1 „,_ _. , 
 
 demand J ' 
 
 In country bankers' n .... 9,627 
 
 In Bank of England notes .... 68,554 
 
 In gold 28,089 
 
 In silver and copper 1,486 
 
 In Post-office orders 933 
 
 900,938 
 
 99,062 
 
 £ 1,000,000 
 
 PAYMENTS : 
 
 By bills of exchange payable after date . . . 302,674 
 
 By cheques on London bankers 663,672 
 
 £ 966,34P 
 
 By Bank of England notes .... 22,743 
 
 By gold 9,427 
 
 By silver and copper 1,484 
 
 33,654 
 
 £ 1,000,000 
 
 " These results may be taken as an illustration of trade in London, 
 in those great branches where capital and credit may be supposed to 
 
SELECT COMMITTEE ON THE BANK ACTS. 293 
 
 have their free action. And they may be presumed to exemplify the 
 ramifications of the currency amongst traders generally throughout the 
 United Kingdom. It is here manifest, that of the money received, 
 Bank of England notes amount to less than seven per cent., and gold 
 and silver to only three per cent, of the currency. And of the pay- 
 ments made, Bank of England notes are but two per cent., and gold and 
 silver only one per cent, of the currency. On the other hand, pay- 
 ments are received on a ratio of about ninety per cent., and are made 
 at nearly ninety-seven per cent., of that portion of the currency which 
 is formed of the credit and capital of the traders themselves, It is 
 scarcely possible to produce more powerful evidence to establish the 
 necessity for correcting that overwhelming influence which the Bank of 
 England exercises over the whole money operations in the kingdom." 
 
 Bank notes and sovereigns appear thus to be confined to the retail 
 trade and to the tills of banks, until pressure and panic draw them into 
 hoards. 
 
 Our system, both of money and trade, thus appears to be one of credit; 
 and based on confidence. 
 
 What therefore is wanted for the benefit of commerce is that confi- 
 dence should remain unshaken. 
 
 Confidence has never yet been shaken, except under a heavy drain of 
 gold : and then only because gold is the sole legal tender in the last 
 resort. The export of gold coin would obviously be materially impeded 
 by the imposition of a small seignorage at the Mint. 
 
 What is wanted for the support of confidence, is a legal tender that 
 never threatens to be unattainable. 
 
 If a legal tender were constituted of the amount which has been 
 usually required, either wholly of a material which was never exported, 
 or in a large proportion of such a material, shocks to confidence, it may 
 be reasonably concluded, would not take place. And thus the periodical 
 panics so loudly complained of, and the consideration of which has so 
 ofi;en occupied the attention of the Legislature, would be put an 
 
 end to. 
 
 For instance, 16,000,000?. of legal-tender notes might be issued on 
 Government securities. These notes not to be convertible into gold, 
 and the remainder to be on gold, as at present. Your Committee recom- 
 mend the adoption of this suggestion. 
 
 That panics should occur under circumstances such as are exhibited 
 by a heavy drain of bullion is perfectly natural. It arises out of the 
 apprehension of the debtor class, lest, through the sudden scarcity of 
 kffal tender, they should be driven to sell some 500,000,000?. worth 
 of property for some 6,O00,000Z. or 8,000,000Z. worth of gold. 
 
 If a system of bullion alone would have saved a country from the 
 
294 DRAFT REPORT ON THE BANK ACTS. 
 
 evils of panic, Hamburg might have hoped to escape. Instead of 
 escaping, it is said to have suffered the last autumn more severely than 
 any other country. 
 
 There may be evils in adopting such a modification of our present 
 system as has been suggested. But the evils which are now com- 
 plained of are so grievous, especially in their effects on th« working 
 classes, that the proposed remedy, in the view of your Committee, 
 ought to be tried. They consider that it would be a failure of duty 
 on their part to flinch from the recommendation of a suggestion 
 because it may be in some degree antagonistic in principle to the 
 sj'stem now existing. It is a suggestion which might be more safely 
 adopted, and is certainly more likely to be effectual for its object, than 
 another suggestion which was made by several other witnesses, viz., that 
 the issue on securities should remain, as at present, convertible, but be 
 extended to 16,000,000?. One of these two suggestions, or some other 
 relaxation, was made by almost every witness not directly connected 
 with the national banks, or with the original promoters of the Act of 
 1844, or with banks at present enjoying a monopoly of circulation 
 under the Acts of 1844-45. 
 
 Should it be deemed necessary to maintain any restriction on country 
 bank issues, your Committee think it should be done in such a manner 
 as not to deprive them of any portion of their issue apparently designed 
 by the Act of 1844. At present, for fear of the penalties contingent on 
 an excess of that limit, they cannot venture to come within a consi- 
 derable range of their legal margin. But it is very questionable 
 whether a gradual increase (even if only at the rate of 1 per cent, per 
 annum) should not be permitted to subserve the convenience of our 
 rapidly increasing commerce. 
 
 Finally, your Committee would strongly recommend legislation on the 
 subject of the Bankruptcy laws, the present state of the law, as exhi- 
 bited in the evidence being most unsatisfactory. 
 
29i 
 
 THE FLOWER, THE FEATHER, AND THE LEAVES. 
 
 LINES WBITTKir IIT A PEAYEE BOOK. 
 
 A GODLY lady gave this book, 
 
 This book of prayers to me; 
 And from her treasury she took 
 
 Of little treasures three. 
 
 Within its leaves her gifts she laid, 
 
 Each at some favourite prayer, 
 That when I sought devotion's aid 
 
 The book might open there. 
 
 Besides, it seemed to me indeed. 
 
 By each a precept hung, 
 That spoke a salutary rede 
 
 In emblematic tongue. 
 
 These were the gifts, the prayers between — ■ 
 
 A flower, a feather slight, 
 And autumn leaves that half were green, 
 
 Half tawny-tipped with blight. 
 
 " Behold " — said the half- withered leaf — 
 
 " Poor nature's changeful hue 1 
 Earth's pleasures all are false and brief. 
 
 Thy days on earth are few." 
 
 The flower said — " Nay ! your earthly way 
 
 If upward still it tend, 
 Is fringed with blossoms bright and gay — 
 
 Brighter as you ascend 1 " 
 
 The feather said — " And when you gain 
 
 The snowy mountain heights. 
 On angel wings you shall be ta'en 
 
 To heaven's undreamed delightsl " 
 
 C. H. K. 
 
296 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 There is a heart that only beats for me — 
 
 A simple brain that dreams of me alone — 
 
 On that dear island, rising like a throne 
 From shining iizure levels of the sea 
 Whose foamy fringes white eternally 
 
 Eaise toward my crag-perched home a murmuring moan, 
 
 To her the echo of a voice well-known, 
 Saying, " These wide waves sunder me and thee ! " 
 
 That voice is in her mind's ear evermore: 
 
 She hears it through the chirping of her loom. 
 
 And staggering spindle's clatter on the floor: 
 
 But most she hears it when the ocean roar 
 
 Comes murmuring up through the still evening gloom, — 
 
 Then in her toil she pauses, sighing sore. 
 
 THE BANK CHARTEE ACT. 
 
 " CONVERTIBILITY." 
 BANK RETURN OF JULY 22ia), 1858. 
 
 LIABILITIES. 
 
 Notes Issued £30,992,595 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 10,386,965 
 
 20,605,630 
 
 Public Deposits 2,808,845 
 
 Other Deposits 15,711,905 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 798,480 
 
 39,924,860 
 
 ASSETS. 
 
 In the Issue Department: 
 Gold Coin and Bullion ...16,517,595 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 Gold and Silver Coin 695,342— 17,212,937 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not pat, on July 22nd, 
 
 1858, in gold or silver 22,711,923 
 
297 
 
 EDITH CLABEL: 
 A STORY FROM THREE POINTS OF VIEW. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 FROM THE PINK BOOK. 
 
 It shows no signs as yet of being anything'like true love. It runs 
 too smooth by far. How is it that in novels there are always such 
 wonderful difficulties to be got over ? How the poor novelists must 
 beat their brains for combinations, and situations, and adventures, 
 and escapes, and heart-rending scenes, which are always more or less 
 absurd and contradictory after all. "What nonsense it is to say that 
 real life is stranger than fiction. I can't succeed in getting a rise 
 out of real life at all. According to rule my parents ought to be 
 hard-hearted enough to lock me up in one of the turret attics till I 
 consented to marry Mr. Tremaddock. A carrier-pigeon should bring 
 me tidings of my love lying wounded in the bower of a rival enchant- 
 ress. Or there should be a necromancer in possession of Caercombe, 
 making himself quite at home, like a sheriff's officer, after having 
 turned papa and mamma into that restless pair of swans. Why are 
 there no fire-snorting dragons on the bridge beneath my window — I 
 hear the sound of the oar — and he is singing his Greek love songs in 
 perfectly good spirits. The wretch ! That is to let me know he is 
 coming round under my window — and I am expected to look out — 
 dear me ! the window is open — not I ! it would certainly be foolish 
 to look out. The oar and the song pause ! surely he will not say 
 anything unless I go — that would be foolish of him. What is that 
 flashing before the window ? and a pattering of drops on the panes ! 
 
 " Fie ! sir ; are these your Venetian manners, to floiu-ish your oar- 
 blade in my face, and splash my panes ?" 
 
 " Are you there, haughty maiden, to repel my aspersions ? Me- 
 thought your mignionette seemed thirsty in this sultry weather." 
 
 " Did you think that the literature of my journal was dry too ? 
 for you have watered that as well, besides quenching the feu de la 
 composition with your moat water." 
 
 " Pardon me my moat ; consider how many beams are in your own 
 
 eye." 
 
 " Is this the profanely garbled text with which you sprinkle me 
 
 with unholy water ?" 
 
 " The water which encircles your abode to me seems sacred." 
 No. 5. -Vol. I. ^ 
 
298 EDITH CLA.REL. 
 
 " If you mean to serenade me in blank verse, the sooner I shut 
 my window the better.'' 
 
 " I go to troll for carp in the lagoon." 
 
 " If you troll with a blank line you will hook no carp." 
 
 " I troll my lines whereat thyself dost carp." 
 
 " Horace says, Carpe diem, and we are wasting the day. Go 
 and catch your carp — I have*to write my journal." 
 
 " What can have happened since breakfast to put in your journal? 
 It is a shame to stay in the house this weather. Come and make me 
 the sketch you promised me, while I catch my fish and tell you 
 something worth putting in your journal." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say ! I should have a pretty occupation if I under- 
 took to be the reporter of your speeches ; what have you got to tell 
 me?" 
 
 " A great many wonderful adventures." 
 
 " A.re there any dragons and enchanters ? Are there any captive 
 maidens imprisoned in turret chambers, and parents changed into 
 swans, in your stories ?" 
 
 " Certainly, and young people who take after their parents on- a 
 smaller scale, as ducks and geese." 
 
 " I don't want any stories with common ducks and geese. Go 
 away ; good bye." 
 
 " Don't ; you shall have necromancers and swans, and dragons, 
 and captive maidens in turrets. Do please come, and bring your 
 water-colours." 
 
 " I will think about it when I have written my journal. Tou may 
 come back for me when you have caught three fishes." 
 
 " Done !" said he, and the gondola shot away. In the meantime 
 I have been making this important entry in my book, and, as he does 
 not seem to have caught his fish, I shall put on my hat, though I am 
 not the least impatient nor have looked many times out of the 
 window. Indeed, I think it is a false alarm of papa's about my 
 being in love at all. I have not by any means made up my mind. 
 I might just as well have said two fishes or even one, for the fishes 
 in the pond are fat, lazy old fishes, and are never hungry on a 
 sunshiny day ! How people do make up other people's minds for 
 them, as if everybody else's afiairs were so wonderfully simple and 
 transparent. Even dear papa ! Surely there is a vast difference 
 between feeling a mere amiable disposition to like — and loving ! 
 Surely love must come of knowledge, and knowledge of experience. 
 But perhaps our modern society is so trimmed and pruned down, so 
 shorn of all its nature, that we are permitted to become acquainted 
 only as with wax-work figures under glass cases, and venture only as 
 far as likipg ? Are modesty and prudence so little to be trusted 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 299 
 
 that prudery and cowardice are to supersede them? Are we to 
 simper and take our chance, swaddled in placid proprieties ? No ! 
 by Juno ! (for it would be unladylike to swear by Jove) I wiU be no 
 simpering doll wooed through plate glass by the semblance of a 
 plausible dummy. The waxen mask must break or melt sooner or 
 later. A timid fastidious reserve, worn until it is too late, smothers 
 and disguises too many ill-sorted human destinies. Cowardice and 
 duplicity are the bane of life to men and women alike. Una's lion 
 is only the type of a single-hearted woman's courage. I dare venture 
 further than this liking if I see suificient reason. I will make no 
 giddy plunge like the cowardly, rash weaklings who lose their presence 
 of mind on the edge of difficulty, and fling themselves headlong 
 down the precipice, rather than endure the suspense of looking 
 steadily over, to consider the jutting ledges and zigzag clefts which 
 may yield a practicable foothold to climb safely down. 
 
 Is not this love a downward climbing from our high conceits — our 
 fastidia ? 
 
 " Come down, oh maid, from yonder mountain height ; 
 What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang). 
 In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ? 
 Por love is of the valley — come thou downl 
 Love lies in meadow-velvet, foliage fringed. 
 Of Nature's broad green lap ; nor cares to climb 
 With Death and morning on the silver horns." 
 
 So read the proud princess, if I remember right, from the " volume 
 of the poets of her land" in that " small sweet idyl." I hear him 
 coming. Will he say, " Come down, oh maid 1" 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII, 
 
 SOMETHING SEEIOITS. 
 
 It wiU take a great deal of writing — and indeed, perhaps, I had 
 better not write it at all. But "perhaps I had better not " is the 
 watchword of indecision. And Indecision is that slatternly house- 
 wife by whose fault chiefly the moth and the rust are allowed to 
 make such dull work of life ; corrupting aU the gleam and gloss 
 of earth's perishable treasures. Indeed, if "better not" were to 
 have been my device, I had probably better not have 3aid the greater 
 part of my share of our conversation in the gondola. How difficult it 
 is too, to give anything like an idea of a conversation in writing. 
 How spiritless and flat it always seems when the look and the tone 
 
300 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 are lost, and the briskness has all evaporated. Still, some day, when 
 I look over these pages after many years, the recorded words of 
 conversation will seem fresh and bright when the foolish setting of 
 filigree reflections like these will be passed over as tarnished trumpery. 
 Bits of human talk, if they are genuine and characteristic fragments 
 of individual minds, keep their colour like the imperishable rubies and 
 emeralds of Nature's laboratory ; while the jeweller's gold we mix in 
 our own crucibles betrays its base alloy of folly and affectation. 
 
 There may no doubt be plenty of affectation and folly in our 
 talk also. But conversation keeps breaking the crystals as they 
 are formed, and unconscious lights flash out of the fractures. They 
 say on the stage nothing is so diflicult as a soliloquy. And why ? 
 Who ever overheard anybody privately addressing himself in a set 
 speech, and who am I speaking to now ? Perhaps to my future 
 self, when I am the Mrs. Denzil of the possible future; when my 
 husband, sitting at my elbow, rests his chin on my shoulder, and 
 peeps over into this very page, and says, " Ah, silly child, did you 
 think I could not guess your thoughts ?" What will Mrs. Denzil 
 then reply ? '' Dear, I wrote the record of my life as it went by, 
 the best I could, for the pleasure of looking back into my youth 1" 
 To which he will reply, " Nonsense, dear wife ! you mean the plea- 
 sure of looking forward." Then I shall lay my hand over all this, 
 and say, " Be quiet now, you mustn't read this silly stuff; pass on to 
 that terrible conversation in the gondola, which is much more 
 interesting." 
 
 " Then why did you waste your penwomanship on all that silly 
 stuff; why did you not begin at once with the 
 
 TEEEIBLE CONVEESATION IN THE SONDOLA." 
 
 " Tou have been a long while catching your three fishes," said I, 
 as I got into the boat, for want of something better to say ; for a 
 conversation must have a beginning." 
 
 " Almost as long as the three first centuries the jinn passed in the 
 jar under the seal of Solomon — to me at least. But why did it seem 
 so long to you ?" 
 
 " Because you snapped the thread of my journal with your inter- 
 ruptions, and I lost the loose end of my thoughts in the ravel of 
 your impertinences. And it is tiresome hunting after the loose end 
 of one's thoughts." 
 
 "Is your life a tangle too? I supposed young ladies had their 
 thoughts all nicely reeled on bobbins ; and could wind off any 
 length of any colour — especially pink. I have always understood 
 that a young lady's pen goes as glibly as her crochet needle." 
 
 " Do you think all young ladies are exactly alike, that you pre- 
 sume to lay down a general law for the literary instincts of the 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 30] 
 
 creatures ? I incline to believe that women have as much variety 
 of character as men." 
 
 "You have me at a disadvantage till I get round the sharp 
 turn, while you sit with all your wits under your parasol. Some 
 of mine are managing the boat. But when we are moored quietly 
 under the shadow of the elm — for that is my favourite view of 
 the house, and the best fish lie there — when I have only to watch 
 my float, and you are washing in your most artistic effects, then 
 perhaps I shall have a chance in the argument. Is it a serious 
 argument on the female mind ? I thought we were only talking 
 nonsense to begin our conversation." 
 
 " "Why should conversations begin with nonsense ? and why should 
 they end in argument ? Surely any two human souls may find 
 better employment than making silly grimaces at each other ; or, 
 when they get serious, hustling each other away from the truth — 
 for I am certain argument never brings people nearer the truth." 
 
 " Conversations must almost always either begin in nonsense or 
 truisms, and almost always must end either in a difierence of 
 opinion, or a stagnant acquiescence in acknowledged common-places. 
 A little argument is wholesome battledore and shuttlecock exercise 
 for minds. Do you find much amusement in talking to people who 
 agree with every word you say? Will that get you any nearer truth ?" 
 
 " Tour talk is not half an inch deep. You are telling me words. 
 Of course to any one who thinks in search of truth, a false acqui- 
 escence by way of politeness must be odious as all other falsehood is 
 odious. Still there is something in the original meaning of agreeable. 
 The antagonistic element in conversation is a mistake." 
 
 " It is a great mistake not to be agreeable in conversation, and if 
 you will wait one moment till I have tied the boat's head to this 
 drooping bough, I will devote my whole attention to being as agree- 
 able as my poor gifts will admit. There now ; there is water in 
 your painting tin, when you are ready to colour, and let me get my 
 rod. Don't jou think this is a good point of view? Well, how 
 am I to begin to be agreeable ?" 
 
 " Go on with the conversation, but don't argue." 
 
 " Then I must take your view, and enlarge upon your text, ' The 
 antagonistic element in conversation is a mistake.' Maxime de la belle 
 Clarel, extraite de la trente deuxieme volume de son journal, page 
 neuf cent quatre vignt dix huit, au chapitre intitule, ' L'agreable en 
 causeries c'est de chercher ensemble la verite,' en evitant de se 
 froisser mutuellement les illusions." 
 
 " Please speak English, and seriously. I don't like French nor 
 
 persiflage." . r i, o-. 
 
 " Then why don'.t you say persiflage m iinglish i 
 
802 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 "Because I know no English for it but chaff, and that is a 
 Tulgar slang word, not fit for a lady to use." 
 
 " I don't like Erench very much either ; nothing sounds earnest 
 in French. But it is the neatest language for definitions, small 
 essays, and conversational criticism." 
 
 " Ton seem to be beginning a small essay." 
 
 " I am beginning to converse on your own theory. I am about 
 to tell you how much I agree with you. I believe, with you, that 
 the pleasure of conversation, from the sociability of minds, consists, as 
 you so well observe, in thinking together in search of truth ; not 
 always the matter of fact truth, which only concerns ' what is ;' but 
 sometimes, starting with the plain fact (beyond which the ultra- 
 practical people think it unnecessary to go), it is pleasant in the 
 society of a kindred intelligence to untwine the prismatic strands of 
 the seeming simple, piire-white ray of fact into the original colours 
 of ' how it is.' " 
 
 " Or even to go a step further, and dazzle that mysterious 
 feature, ' the mind's eye,' at the blinding source of being, in a vain 
 effort to reach the ' why it is.' Until we find, as the poets have 
 said many times, we are a pair of silly moths, getting very little 
 nearer our star; unless with singed wings we discover that we have 
 been fatally mistaken, and that our star is a candle. 
 
 " In the meantime we have fluttered away from what we were 
 saying. After all, our test of truth under its various phases (of 
 which what we call beauty may probably be the most general) is more 
 gathered from an involuntary conviction of the senses which cry 
 within our hearts, and minds, and souls, ' this is true,' or ' that ia 
 false,' than from any self-directed reasoning process. We hardly 
 ever use our reason to convince ourselves. We feel truth as we 
 feel light or heat." 
 
 " I should say we feel it as a musical instrument, strung in tune, 
 feels and answers to a note of the human voice uttered in its presence. 
 Tbe string which would, if struck, have yielded a kindred note to 
 the ear, takes from the air a slender but perceptible vibration." 
 
 " Well said ; and there you touch the heart of the question, to which 
 I was coming by a more blundering and roundabout path than is 
 opened by your happy illustration. Whatever is true and noble, 
 vibrates from heart to heart, and has an eternal life in it that keeps 
 its echoes for ever on the wiug. Whatever is false and base falls 
 dead and echoless. This seems to me tbe great proof of prepon- 
 derant good in the world. High and worthy objects draw men 
 together ; low passions and self-ended motives keep them asunder. 
 Every human being created in Grod's own image must have something 
 divine iu his nature, however he may have distorted its features from 
 
EDITH CLAEEL. 303 
 
 the innate likeness by crime. Those who mix most freely with their 
 kind, most clearly discover that this original Hkeness is the link which 
 binds society together. Sympathy is the electric spark which marks 
 the passage of truth from mind to mind. Therefore it is that in 
 mental companionship, when parallel minds strike out at points of 
 unison they are sure to be tending truthwards. The baiting places 
 on the road of truth are not houses of discord— no noisy brawlers and 
 contentious spirits go that way. ' Peace be within these walls,' is 
 written over those portals. Goodfellow is the jovial landlord, and 
 Gentleheart the smiling hostess, who welcome the cheerful wayfarers 
 to that happy land whose everlasting mountains piled in the far 
 horizon seem nearer and nearer as sunset after sunset wreaths their 
 heaven-touching heights with rosy splendour. Blessed is he who 
 makes that journey hand-in-hand with one, whose — " Here a fish 
 took the bait, which caused an interruption. I was partly angry with 
 the fish and partly grateful to him— for though interested, I felt a 
 little nervous as to what that eloquent passage might lead to. 
 
 " He is a perch," said Mr. DenzU, " and only very lightly hooked," 
 as after a little resistance the fish came up to the surface gasping 
 and looking very foolish. " If we don't mind he'll be off." I felt a 
 little sorry for him, and was glad (when Mr. Denzil got up) to see 
 the victim make a flicker and get loose. He seemed hardly aware of his 
 freedom at first, but was just in time to escape the landing net. 
 
 " If perches take counsel together in search of truth, we shall not 
 catch many after this one has communicated with his friends." 
 
 " Unless perches are wiser than men, his brother fishes will not 
 take advantage of his experience. And even he himself may very 
 likely remember the taste of the bait after he has forgotten the barb 
 of the hook. I am afraid men and fishes grow wise very slowly, even 
 on their own experience of life. Aa to other people's experience 
 that is in about as much esteem as second-hand clothes." 
 
 " The second-hand clothes of princes become robes of honour on 
 the backs of their subjects ; and surely the experience of greater 
 minds than our own is worth something even at second-hand. Why 
 do statesmen study history ? "Why do the evangelical people read very 
 dull memoirs of pious persons whose lives are almost entirely composed 
 of ' experiences ?' Why do the worldly people take so much interest 
 in personal gossip about individuals whom they neither love nor hate, 
 the recorded incidents in whose lives are but little livelier and less 
 edifying than those of the saints ? Why do the romantic people plod 
 through volumes of dnll and improbable novels, unless for experi- 
 ence F It is that men take an interest in aU things human; and I 
 believe that interest to be chiefly their curiosity to see how human 
 beings will act under a variety of circumstances iu order to compare 
 
304 EDITH CLAKEL. 
 
 notes with their own imagination as to how they would themselves 
 have acted or may hereafter act, under similar circumstances. The 
 worst of experience at second-hand is, that history, memoirs, gossip, 
 and romance, are all about equally false. How interesting would a 
 life be if human beings dared to speak out to one another. If I dare 
 tell you, or you dare tell me a few of the things that float on the top 
 of our memories, but which never touch our lips, how much more 
 interesting it would be than this vapid talk which has been said over 
 and over again by thousands of worthy persons who dare venture no 
 further than common-place ?" 
 
 " Our inner lives are so mixed of opposite ingredients, where good 
 and bad contend like acid and alkali, that it is no wonder the effer- 
 vescence only brings to the surface common-place bubbles of a 
 neutral saltish flavour, tolerably brisk at the moment, soon flat, and 
 after awhile totally insipid. Still the common-places of life are con- 
 sidered wholesome ; and the first taste is not unpleasant. Certainly 
 the dregs remind us of the soap-saucer out of which in our infancy 
 we blew those practical bubbles that make so principal a figure in 
 the metaphorical allusions of after years. Used you to be fond of 
 blowing bubbles in your youth ?" 
 
 " Of course I was. "We used to blow bubbles for hours and hours 
 on the balcony of our palace, and see them float away and burst ; 
 and some of them would last till they touched the water of the canal. 
 I wonder where he is, and what sort of bubbles ho is blowing now ?" 
 
 "Who ?" said Mr. Denzil, looking at me with rather a searching 
 look, and the tone of his monosyllable made me look up from my 
 drawing. 
 
 " Prince Vladimir Eylskoi," said I. " He is attache at Constan- 
 tinople." 
 
 " How do you happen to know him ?" 
 
 " We blew bubbles from the same saucer in Venice long ago. The 
 princess Eylskoi lived at the other end of our balcony. He was a 
 pretty boy, with long, straight, yellow hair, cut square on his 
 shoulders like the silk of a tassel. He wore a military-looking fur 
 cap, a crimson velvet tunic with a golden belt, loose white Turkish 
 pantaloons, and red morocco boots up to the knee. He could blow 
 larger bubbles than I could, and I respected him. He was generous 
 to me with sugar almonds, and I valued his friendship. But once, 
 when I had broken my last pipe in flinging off a bubble over the 
 balcony -railing (which was rather high, and was the means of decapi- 
 tating more pipes than my nurse approved), Vladimir came and wiped 
 my tears and gave me his own, a very handsome pipe enamelled 
 with forget-me-nots, that had survived at least half-a-dozen of my 
 common ones— I gave him my whole heart. How he cried at our 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 305 
 
 last separation. I have never heard of him since. He was eight 
 and I was seven. Do you think this is sentimental nonsense, that 
 you shake your head ? Or that children cannot love with all their 
 hearts ? Children are men and women as far as their souls." 
 
 " I fear our bodies and minds more and more outgrow and bully 
 their poor little delicate sister, the longer that triple association 
 which we call an individual remains undissolved." 
 
 " If that be so, the sooner we die the better — nay, we had better 
 never have been born, which was the strongest .thing the evangelist 
 found to say about Judas Iscariot. "What are we in the world for, if 
 it be not a school for souls ; and to say that all or most of the scholars 
 deteriorate under the discipline implies that Ahriraau is the school- 
 master. What is become of your theory of preponderant good in 
 the world ?" 
 
 " Tou are taking an unfair advantage of me. Tou bind me over 
 not to argue ; and then, when my elbows are pinioned, you turn to 
 and hit me about the head. I will confess I have said things which 
 contradict each other. The juice of the sugar-cane seems a pure, 
 sweet, innocent liquid. But between the original growth and the 
 sparry crystals which glisten on the tea-tables of fashion, what ordeals 
 it has to undergo. There is the crushing of the cane, the seething 
 of the boiler. It must be clarified with clotted blood, and drained 
 through grimy filters of charred bones. The seeming purity of child- 
 hood has within it all the undeveloped refuse of human baseness, and 
 all the dormant madness of passion, as the cane-sap contains the 
 element of rum and treacle as well as of lump-sugar." 
 
 " Sugar, Mr. Speaker. "Will anybody dare to laugh at sugar 
 now ? So you think that the sin and shame of life .clarify the 
 spiritual syrup. That seems to me a dangerous doctrine. For the 
 purest lives will come out mere brown muscovado if your dirty 
 purifying ordeal be necessary to fine crystallization. I have been 
 accustomed to think it wisdom ' to keep ourselves unspotted from 
 the world.' But perhaps you think there ought to be one law for 
 women and another for men ?" 
 
 " I don't know that I think there ought to be, but I think practi- 
 cally there is. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine the utter bankruptcy 
 in morals which men would reach if it were not for the inexhaustible 
 fund of female purity, handed down from mother to daughter, whose 
 influence redeems the confused conscience of one generation, and 
 lays a wholesome foundation in the hearts of another : a foundation 
 which sin and folly may overlay and smother for a time, but cannot 
 root up and erase. The foundation that is laid by the mother is 
 built on by the wife." 
 
 " Tou lay a very promising ground-plan for mothers and wives to 
 
306 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 build on. The uest-constructing instinct muat be very strong to 
 make them build at all." 
 
 " No doubt it is, for nests there be. But it is very possible that 
 if they all knew exactly what awaited them, there would not be quite 
 so many. But the same thing is true of all human affairs. If men 
 and women knew beforehand what would be the result of anything 
 they proposed to do, they would seldom take the trouble of doing it. 
 It is the headstrong blindness of mortals that works out the inten- 
 tion of Providence. "We set about all sorts of endeavours with a 
 brilliant anticipation of what will come of it. The anticipation turns 
 out a delusion invariably ; but something comes of the adventure. 
 Something which seems next to nothing in the hour of our dis- 
 appointment, but which proves to have its value in the end. We 
 all begin life with the idea, that by some superior skill in manage- 
 ment, or some special good fortune, we are to escape the griefs and 
 heart-burnings and disappointments of which our elders tell us life 
 is full, and to secure an extraordinary proportion of earth's brightest 
 treasures, which are said to be so thinly sprinkled ; and even when 
 the fairest prize falls to our lot, we are very little better contented. 
 So say the wise people at least, and I believe most of it except the 
 last item. For I think it must be a very thankless nature that is 
 not satisfied with the best that is to be had." 
 
 " What is the best ?" 
 
 " Happiness." 
 
 " And what may happiness be, and what is it made of ? 
 
 " Paith, hope, and charity. Faith, to begin with ; charity, to 
 go on with ; and hope, to look forward to." 
 
 " That is a very Scriptural receipt ; but, speaking in human lan- 
 guage, if you had three wishes, what would you ask for ?" 
 
 " A happy home, the will and the power to do good in this world, 
 and a steadfast hope in the world to come." 
 
 " What is a happy home ?" 
 
 " Tou ask me short questions like the Catechism. That will take 
 a good deal of answering." 
 
 " Tou ought to be very much flattered that I condescend to 
 catechise you, and gratified that I have not confuted any of your 
 definitions. Besides, I am making you a nice picture of my own 
 happy home, on the understanding that you were to amuse me while 
 I painted. You are making a mere pretence of catching fish. Tou 
 have not had a rise for the last half hour. Look at your hook to see 
 if there is any bait on it, and tell me what is a happy home directly." 
 
 " A happy home is an exceptional establishment, where the wife is 
 always obedient and the husband is never domineering. Wbere the 
 children never cut their teeth or have the measles, and the servants 
 
EDITH CLAIIEL. 307 
 
 never get drunk or give warning. Where neither the master of the 
 house has a latch key and a dinner bill at his club, nor the mistress 
 has a taste for cold mutton and washing days ." 
 
 "You needn't go any further. I am quite satisfied that the 
 description is accurate," said I, with some asperity I suppose, for he 
 looked up at me with so amiable and comical a look of intelligence, 
 that I was forced to smile too for a moment: and then, feeling that I 
 had shown a silly disappointment and ill-humour at his breaking out 
 of the serious tone, I looked down and became very busy with my 
 drawing ; and the weather appeared suddenly to grow more oppres- 
 sively sultry. Here a fish rose and was caught ; and I did not feel 
 as if I pitied him the least bit in the world. But what was more 
 terrible than all was, that he seemed to compassionate my confusion, 
 and ventured a rash move himself to supersede it, and break the fall 
 of my dignity. He said, — 
 
 " Don't be angry with me ; unless you wish to make me very 
 unhappy ; I hope my indiscretion is pardonable ;" and he looked «o 
 sorry, and spoke in so kind and tender a tone, that, though the words 
 were foolish enough (for it was I who had been indiscreet and not 
 he) the foolish words touched me. I wished to say that I was not 
 angry ; and to make some common-place remark, as if nothing was 
 the matter ; but I could neither think of the common-place remark, 
 nor even find my voice to say I was not angry. Moreover, I did not 
 look up, though I felt his eyes were looking at me for the suppositi- 
 tious forgiveness he had mentioned. And I am ashamed to say I 
 believe I blushed a little. I hope he did not observe it, for he 
 turned away at the moment, with a scarcely audible sigh. I dared 
 not meet his eyes ; for I knew there was a dangerous expression in 
 them for me to look at, and felt certain that if I looked up there 
 would be something in mine that would lead to a premature crisis 
 of some sort. There was rather a formidable pause. At last he said, 
 "I wonder how much longer acquaintance it would take us to 
 become perfect strangers again." 
 
 " Till we grow intimate enough to venture on a desperate quarrel." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! But what is intimacy, and how does intimacy 
 grow ? It seems to me to recede with the advance of acquaintance. 
 We have grown more distant and cautious in our conversation day 
 by day. We used not to be afraid of one another's criticisms. It 
 seems to me I remember all sorts of wild rambling talk that ran on 
 freely and boldly without thinking about it, very diiferent from the set 
 phrases and solemn intervals of silence, which have come over our 
 present interview for instance." 
 
 " It is easier to talk freely and familiarly on indifferent subjects 
 with a mere acquaintance, than to discuss the origin and course of 
 
308 EDITH CLARBL. 
 
 intimacy with a — friend, who is pleased to mix a slight tone of 
 reproach with his inquiries. Neither friendship nor intimacy- 
 grow any faster for being in too great a hurry." I am afraid my 
 sentence faltered a little before the word friend, and that I quick- 
 ened my pace nervously; so that with a view of effacing what 
 might seem an opening, I fell into the very hurry I was depre- 
 cating, and said an ill-advised thing. He was not disconcerted, 
 but seemed a little hurt. He looked at me with a steadfast, sad 
 expression, and said, — 
 
 " It is too late for good advice when I have already given you 
 cause to bestow it upon me. I may have been in too great a 
 hurry. That is past and done with. The time is come for me to 
 speak openly when your friendly warning shows me I have already 
 betrayed myself. I have no wonderful news to tell you — no pro- 
 found secret — neither a secret nor news at all." While he was 
 saying all this, which he pronounced slowly and with a determined 
 though rather tremulous calmness of manner, I felt a giddy sensa- 
 tion as if the gondola was being twirled round and round in the 
 innermost rings of Maelstrom, and I was tempted to leap head- 
 long into the water and escape at all hazards. Then I thought of 
 getting up and commanding him to row me home instantly, but I 
 felt I could not summon a sufficiently imperious manner. I felt 
 his sad, serious eyes watching me as I looked at my drawing, 
 which seemed of all the colours of the rainbow in unutterable con- 
 fusion, and with which I forgot even to make the faintest pre- 
 tence of being in the least occupied ; so that I took no step of any 
 kind, and he went on. " It may, perhaps, be my very great mis- 
 fortune, but till you finally forbid me to hope it will be my only 
 happiness to love you — the sole object of my life to win and to 
 deserve your love in return. I have not the folly or presumption 
 to suppose for a moment, that I am worthy of such a treasure, 
 but I have resolved to set my heart and life on the turn of this 
 precious venture. I tell you this thus formally, not because I 
 suppose it will be new to you, but because till it has been said 
 there is a sense of something smothered, something to be avoided 
 and ignored, some suspicion of ungenuineness and evasion, which 
 tends to sunder friendship and widen the distance between us ; 
 for you have confessed friendship. And though I risk its loss by 
 what may seem a rash declaration, I think open, straightforward 
 measures are less dangerous than faltering hesitation and reserve. 
 Porgive me the trouble and embarrassment I have caused you. 
 Tell me if you can give me any hope ; but even if you cannot, do 
 not too hastily condemn me to despair." I felt very thankful to 
 my good stars that he did not stop short and wait for au answer 
 
EDITH CLAIIEL. 309 
 
 immediately after his declaration, for I don't know what I should 
 have said. But directly that was over, a cheerful glow of courage 
 sprung up in my heart. My nerves recovered from their flurry, 
 and the cloud cleared away from my eyes. I felt that I was mis- 
 tress of the situation, not without a certain naughty sense of 
 triumph over my suppliant captive. I ventured to look up. His 
 eyes were full of a tender, earnest anxiety, which occasioned me 
 some slight compunction for the cool and rather hard-hearted 
 answer I was meditating. I suppose, however, that I did not 
 look very severe or discouraging, for he leant forward and took one 
 of my hands, saying, " Let me swear my allegiance ! " But when 
 he made as if he would kiss it, I drew away my hand, and said, 
 " No ! that will not do, Mr. Denzil, Tou have spoken plainly, 
 though rashly to me, and I forgive you for your rashness. Indeed, 
 I suppose I have very little to forgive ; for I have no power to 
 prevent you from loving me if you are ill-advised enough to pay 
 me that compliment. Nor have I any right, that I know of, to be 
 indignant with you for telling me so civilly. But if I were to 
 permit you to kiss my hand, that would be a sign on my part of 
 accepting your allegiance." 
 
 " Oh! then let me kiss your hand!" said he, in an imploring 
 tone that went very near to my heart, and I was almost inclined 
 to yield. But my reflections of a day or two ago came to my aid. 
 " Now," said I to myself, " the romance of courtship is beginning. 
 Now is my time to see how he will behave under difficulties! " So 
 I kept my hands resolutely out of reach, and said, " Listen to me, 
 Mr. Denzil. I said you spoke rashly, but I believe you spoke 
 honestly to me. It is now my turn to speak plainly, though I 
 hope prudently, to you, if there be any prudence at all in going on 
 with this conversation. I have no personal experience in scenes 
 of this kind ; but, from what I have read in books, I think the 
 recognised course for a young lady under such circumstances 
 would be, to say nothing, and go away at once in a foolish flutter. 
 Perhaps if I followed my cowardly instincts, that is what I might 
 do. But I see no real reason to be afraid. Indeed, I have 
 perfect confidence that you will hear me discreetly, and I think 
 there is some truth in your view, that there is less danger in 
 speaking out and cutting through a difficulty with sharp words 
 than in leaving it entangled in doubt or smothered in silence." 
 
 " A thousand thanks ! At any rate you are treating me with con- 
 fidence and as a friend. Speak as plainly as you Uke; I feel sure 
 you will deal reasonably, and I hope not very harshly, with my 
 
 " Do not be too sure of that. I will be as reasonable as I can, but 
 
310 EDITH CLAKEL. 
 
 I fear you will think me hard-hearted, and ungrateful for the honour 
 you have done me in offering me your heart, with what I, at 
 present, must consider an indiscreet generosity. Men, 1 believe, 
 are apt to think women of a simpler mechanism than we thint our- 
 selves. Tou may fancy you know me sufiiciently to be sure you 
 love me. I know myself well enough to be nearly certain that if 
 you knew all the shifts and turns of my character you would be 
 much less sublimely enthusiastic in your estimate. Ah ! I see you 
 think your male penetration of intellect is infallible. Well, allowing 
 that you are right, or nearly right, in supposing that I should not 
 disappoint you on more intimate acquaintance ; granted that q, 
 young and moderately innocent girl, who has no previous history 
 but the nursery and school-room, is easily deciphered and read 
 almost at sight ; granted that her nature is pliable, — for that very 
 reason, if for no other, marriage is to the woman a much more 
 serious thing than to the man. Tour character is formed ; your life 
 is already complicated with a mass of previous experience. What do 
 I know of yoiir character ? I have heard you talk like an honest, 
 amiable, and intelligent man. But I have been told many men talk 
 pleasantly who turn out very little better than their neighbours: and 
 that deeds, not words, are the proof of character." 
 
 " You will not judge me at all over severely, if you estimate me 
 according to your theory. I am very little better than my neigh- 
 bours." 
 
 " I hope you are a great deal better, but it remains to be proved. 
 Then I must hear your previous experience. Ah ! you wince a little 
 at that. I must hear how you have acted ; you will have the advan- 
 tage of being your own historian. I must see how you act under 
 your present unfortunate circumstances, which I am already begin- 
 ning and am resolved to make as distressing as possible, and in 
 which I shaU have the advantage of being my ovm witness. After 
 nearly as many years of galling bondage as Jacob went through for 
 Eachel's sake, I shall perhaps be able to give you an answer, if your 
 patience should have held out long enough. In the meantime I 
 neither accept you nor reject you. I will receive no proffered 
 allegiance on your part, nor will I entertain the slightest shadow of 
 even the most provisional fraction of an engagement on mine. Things 
 are as they were, with the exception that you have made a rash 
 declaration, which I have, with perhaps equal imprudence, con- 
 doned. I impose no conditions of eternal silence on the subject. 
 Tou can tell me as much of your history as you please, and I shall 
 be better able to see your faults when your good behaviour wears a 
 little threadbare. Now, sir, are you satisfied ? and have I spoken 
 plain enough to suit you ?" 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 311 
 
 " I am satisfied. Tou have spoken out like a man. I begin to 
 be seriously afraid you are a strong-minded woman." 
 
 " That is a severe rebuke. But I meant to show you a little of the 
 prosaic side of my character. Tour disenchantment will go on pros- 
 perously. I see you already begin to love me less devotedly." 
 
 " If we are to continue in this castle of truth I may be permitted 
 to say, that your judgment delivered in my suit is a little too judicial 
 to be quite feminine— a little too reasonable to be quite practicable— 
 a little too prudent to be quite safe. It differs materially from tlie 
 wisdom of our ancestors and ancestresses in similar cases laid down ; 
 and, though I cannot at th6 moment detect the precise flaw which 
 will make it crumble to pieces, I feel morally sure that it will divide 
 me from joy or grief much less permanently than is argued by the 
 scheme itself. But why should I love you less for getting over a 
 difficulty, which might have been a stumbling-block, by a bold and 
 ingenious scheme which will have served its turn probably before it 
 breaks ?" 
 
 " You said I spoke out like a man, and you feared I was a strong- 
 minded woman ; and you said it as if there was bitterness." — My voice 
 faltered a little, and I suddenly became aware that I had been speak- 
 ing under excitement, and that I had said things that were in very 
 bad taste. I had received his love with a pretence of indifferent 
 levity that was both false, and cruel, and unwomanly. What if he 
 really did think worse of me — if he really did love me less ! I then 
 knew by the deadly sinking at my heart that I loved him. The tears 
 swam in my eyes, and all my mind seemed darkened. I felt that he 
 had moved near me, that he had taken my hand, and was covering 
 it with kisses. I had no strength to withdraw it — and the next 
 moment I found myself leaning on his breast, and sobbing convul- 
 sively, like a silly heart-broken child. I cannot imagine how my sense 
 of shame could have been so smothered in weakness, nor can I 
 describe the gentle and loving tenderness with which he consoled 
 and quieted me, as if I had been a child. When I recovered myself, 
 I was surprised not to feel ashamed, but happy. He had seen my 
 weakness, but he was no longer a stranger. So ended that terrible 
 conversation in the gondola. 
 
313 
 
 RAILWAYS : THEIR PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 
 
 Imagine the thunderclap of an inexorable despotism sounding in the 
 ears of Englishmen; and not merely issuing its fiat against Anglo- 
 Saxon progress, but with retrograde malignity exterminating every new 
 thing since the commencement of the century. 
 
 Imagine gas extinguished; cabs and omnibuses burnt ; every 
 rail uplifted; every steamer sunk; every telegraphic wire severed in 
 twain. For these are all the offspring of the nineteenth century. In 
 the earlier years of the century men spoke of the march of intellect; 
 these are some of its fruits. 
 
 Or rather, let us suppose all these calamities threatened, with the 
 reservation that the people might choose one of the list which should be 
 allowed to remain. Can any one doubt which that one would be, by 
 common consent signalizing thereby that which has conferred out of them 
 all the greatest boon, and therefore indicating its intrinsic value to 
 mankind ? It is not to be doubted that of all the gifts of the century, 
 railways are the one it would be most difEoult to part with. And yet they 
 •were preceded by every one of the other discoveries, except the telegraphic 
 wire, which is but a corollary to the railway system, and would scarce 
 have occurred to any one but for the previous establishment of railways. 
 
 Wewell remember witnessing the return of the experimental train which 
 took the Duke of Wellington and others, on the day of the opening of the 
 Liverpool and Manchester line, from one town to the other; the wonder 
 expressed at the rate of twenty miles an hour; the Duke's reconciliation 
 with Mr. Huskisson on that memorable day ; the crowds which so 
 anxiously awaited the return; and the melancholy countenances which 
 those returning carriages contained that had been eye-witnesses of Mr. 
 Huskisson's terrible death. Sad, )'et vfonderful day I and inscrutable 
 to mortal eyes. As the immortal Havelook, so Huskisson was summoned 
 at the dawn of the day of triumph for which their respective labours 
 had laid the foundation, since it is clear that nothing really furnished 
 the opportunities for the agitation for the freedom of trade more than 
 the establishment of railways. 
 
 Before 1830 tramways had long been in extensive use for mining 
 purposes. In the county of Durham especially, much to the disgust of 
 the squires of the Sedgficid hunt. And some four or five years anterior 
 the Stockton and Darlington Railway, extending from the latter town 
 to Middlesbro' in the North Riding of Yorkshire, had been in active 
 working; but the speed in no case exceeded eight miles an hour. To 
 the energy of the Peases and the South Durham Quakers this first work 
 of the kind mainly owed its existence. The carriage of coal was of course 
 the object. Middlesbro', then a barren waste, now a thriving borough 
 
railways: their prospects and retrospects. 313 
 
 of 14,000 or 15,000 inhabitants, but in 1828 might contain some half- 
 dozen houses, was created as the outport. 
 
 But for passenger traffic, how was the mail, at an average of ten 
 miles an hour — how were the Brighton expresses at twelve miles— to be 
 superseded ? No one (except two men in remote and opposite corners) 
 seems to have dreamt of it. Those two men were old George Stephen- 
 son and Goldsworthy Gurney. The latter, according to a lieport of the 
 House of Commons, which we remember reading some twenty years 
 back, was trying experiments in 1822 or 1823 for running steam 
 carriages on ordinary turnpike roads. In 1824 or 1825 he hit upon the 
 expedient of the steam jet, the effect of which in intensifying the furnace 
 is such, that it has been the real means of acceleration of speed on 
 railways from eight to fifty and sixty miles an hour. Mr. Gurney 
 stated in his examination, as far as we remember, that one of his work- 
 men left him as he was completing his experiments, and engaged with 
 George Stephenson. Two or three years after, the Liverpool and Man- 
 chester Railway was opened, and George Stephenson reaped the triumph 
 and glory ; and we trust, in the result, a handsome fortune likewise. 
 For whether he or Gurney were the real originators, or both (as often 
 occurs when the times of Providence are rife) simultaneously, let no one 
 grudge to the enterprising, enduring genius of George Stephenson a rich 
 and ample recompense. 
 
 Railways for the conveyance of passengers were now accepted as a 
 reality, and the day after the great opening, agents were canvassing in 
 Liverpool for subscribers for shares in the Liverpool, or Manchester, and 
 Birmingham. Shortly after was started the scheme for the London and 
 Birmingham. The through line must have been opened somewhere 
 about 1835, for we think it was in 1836 that the great fight took place 
 for the Trent Valley scheme, which was to cut off an angle, and so shorten 
 the distance. In those days committees were wholly unreformed. The 
 county members of all the counties through which the line passed, and 
 even contiguous counties, besides the various boroughs bordering in any 
 way upon the line, were, by the standing orders of the House of Com- 
 mons, members of the committee. A small number sat to support the 
 chairman ; the rest were whipped up for a division. In this committee 
 Sir Robert Peel headed the Trent Valley side, the direct line which 
 passed Tamworth; Lord Stanley, now Lord Derby, headed the old 
 through line. Old we call it, but it had so lately been opened that it 
 was still a problem what dividend would be paid, or whether any. The 
 original estimate of £4,000,000 or £5,000,000 having, before its comple- 
 tion, swelled to £9,000,000 or more. Lord Stanley carried theday. Above 
 one hundred members voted. Here at least was a vested interest which 
 demanded some consideration from Parliament; a gigantic experiment, 
 the success of which to its subscribers was as yet unproved. 
 
314 RAILWAYS : THEIR PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 
 
 The great excess of the expenditure over the estimates in the case 
 of the London and Birmingham had some eiFect in checking the rage 
 for these investments. A few bills passed. The panic of 1836-7, and 
 the subsequent pressure on the commercial classes, and financial deficits 
 for the six succeeding years, threw the heaviest discouragement upon 
 the construction of railways. Nothing showed the natural shrewdness 
 of George Hudson more than when the York and North Midland was 
 struggling into existence, and with the greatest difficulty obtaining pay- 
 ment of calls (their shares at a discount of more than 50 per cent.), he 
 saw so clearly the true merit of the undertaking; and he invested as 
 largely in it, or more so, probably, as his then condition of a retail shop- 
 keeper in York warranted. 
 
 The failure of the Whigs in finance, and the adroit management of 
 the Conservative party by Peel, brought Sir Eobert into power in 184'1. 
 A large modification of the tariff', a small one of the corn laws, and an 
 income-tax were the result. Another monetary crisis had [occurred in 
 1839-40: trade was stagnant. Lancashire and the West Eiding were 
 in open outbreak in 1842 — the consequences of our " sound and whole- 
 some'' and indefeasible money laws. During this stagnation, with labour 
 disemployed and trade at a standstill, money accumulated, as it is now 
 doing, in the money centres ; and the rate of interest fell to 2 and 3 
 per cent. After awhile, the spirit of speculation was aroused. Trade 
 had proved a rash adventure: something must be done with money, or 
 it was valueless. The mania took the direction of railways. Then en- 
 sued a rush, and hubbub: an insane scramble for shares, such as has 
 not been witnessed since the days of the Mississippi scheme. 
 
 The folly, indeed, was great ; but it was a folly stimulated, encouraged, 
 superinduced by our system of monetary legislation. The first fruits of 
 this succulent shoot of folly — which sprung in 1843, thickened in 1844, 
 and flourished in its utmost vigour in 1845 — was an unexampled demand 
 for labour. Not only much of the capital usually devoted to trade, and 
 therefore circulating, was invested in these schemes ; but the resources 
 of fixed capital were trenched upon to an immense extent — in the shape 
 of loans from bankers, for which lands and houses, &c., were respon- 
 sible — every tradesman and his apprentice, every master and servant, 
 every widow and spinster, with trifling exceptions, rushed into the 
 vortex. The capital thus sucked out of every source went to employ 
 labour, and to enrich engineers, contractors, and newspapers. Who shall 
 estimate the amount expended in advertisements in those fabulous years? 
 Who the harvest to solicitors, counsel, and parliamentary agents? 
 Another class should not be forgotten, who fattened on the spoil, — earn- 
 ings of long and patient industry, whose insane investment was confer- 
 ring such an inestimable boon on the country, — that of the grasping and 
 wrong-headed land-owners, through whose property lines were to run — 
 
RAILWAYS : THEIR PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 315 
 
 property whicli must neccessarily profit so greatly by those very under- 
 takings from which they extorted mythical sums i'or a right of way; 
 sums which were paid, rather than encounter a parliamentary opposition 
 (which would cost still more) with these very same extortionate squires 
 on the committees. 
 
 Nor can the short-comings of Parliament and its leaders be forgotten. 
 Who hallooed on the competition and rivalry of the day, by his advocacy 
 of direct lines, like Sir R. Peel ? — by his speech on turning the first sod of 
 the Trent Valley line which Parliament had at length sanctioned. Who 
 disowned his own subordinate, Lord Dalhousie, whose Board of Trade 
 Eepott on the system most prudent to be adopted in reference to rival 
 lines might have saved an incalculable waste of money? — Sir Robert 
 Peel. But for him, we might have had the same method in our madness 
 which the French have had in theirs. 
 
 In the minds of those who have watched, as we have, the passing oi 
 various bills through the Houses of Parliament ; or witnessed their defeat 
 through the caprice of committees (and from this caprice the House 
 of Lords and even Lord Eedesdale are not exempt), there can be small 
 reason for doubt that the course taken by Parliament itself on the subject 
 of Railways has added to their cost full one-third. 
 
 When too late, indeed, the Legislature, through standing orders and 
 various acts, endeavoured to stay the mischief. What it might have 
 done to give some relief to the poor sufferers who were sacrificing them- 
 selves to a great national good, was to have stopped the formation of 
 more lines by withholding their sanction for a certain number of years. 
 What they did do, was not only to go on in the old course of permitting 
 rival lines, and the outlay of additional capital, before that which had 
 been before embarked, or was then in course of outlay, had a chance of 
 fructifying return ; but the regulations laid down for Consolidation Acts, 
 and standing orders, and other provisions, and by the capricious and 
 opposite decisions of committees, were such as to add most materially to 
 the embarrassments of the lines first granted. These lines, in 1846 and 
 ibur or five following years, were struggling by every device human 
 ingenuity could devise to muster funds to get into working order, 
 so that some return at least might be received for an immense outlay. 
 For to their shareholders they looked in vain, as well they might; for 
 after the first few calls, the Act of 1844 began to interpose: first in the 
 spring of 1846; then in the spring and autumn of 1847. Had the rate 
 of money remained uniform and equable, the task to meet calls would 
 have been hard enough; under the law as it existed and still exists, it 
 was impossible. The truth is, half the railways in the kingdom have 
 had to scuffle through their difficulties, very mainly, by evasions of im- 
 practicable rules laid down by legislative ignorance and inexperience. 
 
 On an unknown species of works, railway diiectors had been before 
 
316 KAILWAYS: THEIK PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 
 
 this sufficiently in the hands of contractors ; now they were completely 
 at their mercy. It is not iinprobable that their first works brought them 
 in full one-third more than a fair return. When the railway boards 
 were exhausted of funds — " calling " upon householders who heard them 
 not, or not daring to call for fear of their seats being forfeited — unable 
 to raise money on debentures (we speak of the ordinary class of lines) — 
 the works must be at a stand-still, and millions be thrown away, unless 
 funds could be had from some source or other. The contractors, by 
 their first haul, had made fortunes; their credit was high; they 
 stepped in to the rescue. But at what price ? They were in a 
 condition to command terms ; for the contract had been broken. Need 
 we wonder at colossal fortunes on the one hand; and at one, or two, or 
 nothing per cent, on the other ? Then it was found that more money 
 was wanted; for the original estimate had been exceeded. Preference 
 shares were created. Then came other bills before Parliament, with all 
 their concomitant expenditure. And by this time the monetary pressure 
 might have passed away, and the funds could be raised. But how ? 
 " Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." All this process inferred of 
 course " nil" by way of dividend, to the poor shareholder: and still 
 does, in some cases, after a struggle perhaps of ten or twelve years; for 
 he is the lag-last on the long list of claimants who precede him. The 
 interest on land claims still perhaps unpaid; interest on debentures; 
 contract creditors — interest on debt due to them; interest on temporary 
 loans, backed by the'personal credit of directors — without which pressing 
 creditors could not have been staved off — varying in their rate from 5 
 to 8 per cent., and latterly even as high as 10 ! What wonder after all 
 these claims that nothing, or perhaps some £3,000 or £,4000 only, out 
 of £50,000 nett income, was left for the original proprietors of these 
 gigantic undertakings I 
 
 And what sympathy has been shown to these sufferers, after they have 
 sacrificed all their available capital, and pinched and screwed themselves 
 for years (and frequently been compelled to sell for an old song), to 
 construct that system of intercommunication which, at our commence- 
 ment, we have averred the public would be less content to surrender 
 than any other of the wonderful discoveries of this or the last 
 generation; which, in other words, is saying any other since the Refor- 
 mation or the revival of letters ? Jeers on the part of the press — the 
 leading portion of it at least ; and contumely, almost, on the part of Par- 
 liament,'' at the very sound of a railway shareholder ! — Parliament, which 
 has had no small share in contributing to these unfortunate results 1 
 And the above is but the prelude to a word or two we would say to some 
 late observations of the press in reference to the declaration of " no 
 dividend " to the Great Western shareholders. 
 
 First, a word to the Economist, which is more philosophical in its 
 
KAILWAYS : THEIR PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 317 
 
 ' " 
 
 mood than its slashing contemporary. " The cause of ' no dividends,' 
 says that journal, " is the enormous amount of debt incurred by way of 
 loan on debentures. Out of more than £300,000,000 expended on 
 railways, some £80,000,000 has been borrowed ; and this we have shown 
 is only a portion of the debt incurred. If Parliament had not sanctioned 
 such large borrowing powers, these charges could not have amounted to 
 so heavy an item as to preclude all share of profitto the common stock." 
 That is but another way of saying that any man is the master of his 
 own property only who is no man's debtor; and that his income is never 
 certain which is rising and falling with the rate of interest. This 
 moralising tone is all very yrell in its season, and true enough in the 
 abstract, but verj' little to the purpose. The case in practice was 
 this: — The monetary laws stimulated the spirit of speculation ; Parlia- 
 ment encouraged it by its sanction of competing lines ; the operations of 
 the monetary laws again pulled up the adventure, all of a sudden, when 
 at full speed, and when these gigantic works were half completed only. 
 They could or would not have been dragged through to completion except 
 for borrowing, either with or without powers granted by Parliament. 
 Many a line would never have been finished to this day, which has been 
 open for years, but for borrowing, even on the credit of directors. This 
 was an evil, no doubt; but it had become, through the bungles of legisla- 
 tion, a necessary evil. Had Sir Eobert Peel been possessed of what he 
 seemed wholly deficient, viz., an ordinary share of prescience, he would 
 in 1844 have perfected some scheme of direction to the speculative 
 energies of the public in favour of railways. He did, as we have seen, 
 the very opposite. And when the outlay on railways had raised wages, 
 and stimulated consumption so largely as to produce the prosperity of 
 1845-6, with equal ignorance and presumption he attributed that 
 prosperity to his own commercial legislation, instead of to the low rate 
 of interest in 1842, '3, '4, which nursed the spirit of speculation, and 
 which set labour to work on railways. Where was the prosperity 
 arising out of commercial legislation in 1848, '9, '50, '51, '52 ? Where 
 is it now ? When debentures shall have been converted generally into 
 perpetual preference stock, at SJ or 4 per cent., then common stocks 
 will begin to look up, and the natural increase of traffic, with the growth 
 of population, will swell dividends progressively and steadily. 
 
 What says the Times in an article of flippant levity (Aug. 17) in 
 reference to this same Great Western defalcation? " If there ever was 
 a certainty, it was the frequent recurrence of times when there would 
 not be much money for mere pleasure trips, and when railway traffic 
 would be reduced to commercial necessity or domestic convenience." 
 We are happy to see the truth proclaimed, even as it were by accident. 
 What is this but to tell every railway proprietor in the kingdom to look 
 about him, and examine for himself wh,at is the cause of the recurrence 
 of these times when lie is to go minus his dividends? 
 
3 18 RAILWAYS : THEIR PROSPECTS AND RETROSPECTS. 
 
 Ao-ain, " what is the actual state of the case, as is obvious to every 
 traveller? During the last half year, north, east, west, and south, near 
 and far, there is the same beggarly account of empty carriages." Will 
 the Times tell its readers that this is owing to any other cause under the 
 sun than to the panic of last autumn? "We trow not. The money laws 
 then, even by the confession of the Times, are at the bottom of all that 
 paralysis of trade and industry, which disables men from partaking of 
 those intervals of enjoyment which are the necessary relaxation from the 
 severity of their toil. Need we a stronger argument for exciting every 
 man, woman, and child, to hasten to consider if there be no means of 
 protecting themselves from these periodical attacks upon their resources, 
 by which their powers even of locomotion are so utterly prostrated. 
 The Tim.es says, ^' they are certain to occur." So they are, so long as 
 our present money laws exist. But, necessarily, not a day longer. Will 
 the Times be good enough to tell us if we have not as much or as many 
 acres, houses, mills, roads, bridges, canals, railways, ships, machinery, 
 raw material of industry, "corn, wine, and oil," as we had two years ago? 
 These are our wealth. Why are we then stricken with all the symptoms 
 of poverty? Unable to treat ourselves with a trip to Devonshire by the 
 Great Western, or to Scarborough by the Great Northern? We have 
 even more gold than we had two years ago. Why then the necessity 
 for such miserly prudence? It is the money law, and the money law 
 alone, which is the parent cause, while the panic, with all these ano- 
 malies, are its children. 
 
 Is the commercial interest, or the railway interest, or both combined 
 (for their interests are the same), unable or unwilling to put their 
 shoulder to the wheel to get their wagon out of this rut ? Let them 
 remember the fable. Jupiter will help those only who first try to 
 help themselves. Those two interests united are omnipotent to com- 
 mand rudress. Even the doctors of the panic system are all at sea in 
 their late report according to the Times. Now is the time to move 
 for a change. Nine men in ten distrust the present system; but as 
 yet they know not what else to trust. Let them rely upon it, " Where 
 the will is, there the way will be found;'' and where there is a poison 
 the antidote is not'withheld. Do railway shareholders want better, securer 
 dividends? Do tradesmen and merchants want securer, more equable 
 profits? They may make up their minds once for all, that while the 
 present money laws last they can have neither one nor the other. And 
 let the former recollect this, if the Eussian war had not stopped when 
 it did, the interests of railway debentures would have risen to 6 or 7 
 per cent., and deprived every line in England, with a few trifling excep- 
 tions, of every vestige of dividend. Let them stir themselves at once 
 for monetary reform and a uniform system of railway legislation. 
 
319 
 
 THE DRAMATIC COLLEGE. 
 
 I KNOW your wife says sharp and bitter things to you now and 
 then. But when she does you almost always deserve it. You some- 
 times say rough, harsh, hasty words to her; and she, very rarely of 
 course, (for we know she is next door to an angel,) still now and then, 
 and in some modified degree, she catches it not without reason! 
 Tou are both of you subject to human frailty. Perfection does not 
 belong to this planet. 
 
 Still, with all your faults, how much you love one another ! Are 
 you (in a fit of the sulks, at your club on the washing day) incredu- 
 lous about the depth, and tenderness, and truth, of your mutual 
 value to each other ? 
 
 Now pray don't harden your heart in error, my dear Cavendish ! 
 for^ it is civiler to call you by a good name, and I have so many 
 intimate friends of the name of— never mind what typical and 
 generic patronymic, who are apt to personalise generalities, that I 
 prefer for my own sake to call you Cavendish. Don't make an 
 empty pretence, my dear fellow, of disbelieving, for one rebellious 
 moment, what, if you really did seriously doubt, would very likely 
 make you go to the gallery in Leicester Square and (after two or three 
 bad shots at the target to be sure the pistol would go off, and that the 
 loader was not on the watch to defeat your desperate purpose) blow 
 your brains out, so as to have become a corpse by the time he handed 
 you the next pistol. Tou love Mrs. C. with that hearty, sound second 
 wind of love which came long after you first got out of breath with 
 sighing, and vowing, and panting. Tou love her because she has by 
 force of circumstances grown to love you. This she has done because 
 (after an average amount of the aforesaid panting, vowing, and sighing) 
 she felt it her duty to marry you ; and then having married you, it 
 naturally followed that you were her husband. Thus she came to love 
 you muchmore than sheever loved Howard — who, to give everybody his 
 due, is a cleverer and better-looking feUow than you are — with whom 
 she flirted most vigorously till she found that he was not afflicted to 
 the same extent with sighing, vowing, and panting symptoms. She 
 loves you much more than she loved Courtenay, who was shot 
 through the heart at Balaclava, only three months after their engage- 
 ment. Tou know you sometimes grind your teeth still, when you 
 see a furtive tear spring in the corner of her tender violet eye at 
 some casual mention of the Crimea. 
 
 What occasion have you to be jealous of Courtenay ? Tou have 
 overlaid and smothered that love long ago. It is true her love 
 for you in the pre-nuptial period was a lamentably husiuess-liko and 
 unromantic affair as contrasted with that glittering jewellery of her 
 
320 DRAMATIC COLLEGE. 
 
 maiden imagination which she lavished on the decoration of her 
 young heart's beau ideal. She did not love what Courtenay was, but 
 what she made up her mind, in the sweet inexperience of her first 
 passion, a man with such eyes and whiskers needs must be. We 
 both of us know very well that Courtenay was a selfish, common- 
 place cavalry ofiicer. She will cherish a pretty, innocent sentiment 
 about him to her dying day. But her love for you is a very different 
 and a very much more tangible and valuable thing than a pretty 
 sentiment. Women are very practical matter-of-fact creatures. 
 Though they are gifted with a brilliant imagination, they go much 
 more implicitly by experience than men do. Mrs. Cavendish loves 
 you so much better than all her previous flames, because she knows 
 you a great deal better. Her intimate acquaintance with you has 
 revealed to her a great many sterling human qualities in your cha- 
 racter which her imagination had never figured to itself in the other 
 cases. Ton are, without flattery, a very good, manly, respectable 
 sort of fellow. But, apart from any desire to disparage your 
 estimable characteristics, I may tell you frankly that she sets more 
 store by you than— according to the estimate of the world at large — 
 you are worth. She is highly justified in her truly wifelike and 
 womanly exaggeration of your merits, notwithstanding. The beau- 
 tiful simplicity of her belief in you is founded on the singleness of 
 her intimate experience of mankind. She takes it for granted that 
 many of the noblest ingredients of your nature are special and 
 exceptional in your instance ; instead of being pretty common to your 
 species, although only discoverable under the conditions of intimate 
 famiKarity, and those electric flashings of intelligence and sympathy 
 between hearts and brains wedded by afiection's golden- twisted 
 telegraph wire. 
 
 Now I dare say that you, my dear Cavendish, and all the rest of 
 my readers are beginning to wonder what I am driving at. And 
 indeed it is about time to tell you. I have announced to you that you 
 are of two widely difierent values as tested by the estimate of all the 
 world and your own wife. I am inclined to take her valuation as 
 nearest the true one absolutely, though not relatively. She knows 
 you infinitely better than all the world know you — though since she 
 remains in almost total ignorance of the merits of millions, some your 
 betters, and many more your inferiors, her valuation is not to be 
 taken as compared with them. What I wish to point out to you is 
 that the world at large ought to know more of your good qualities 
 than it actually does. The world at large is defrauded of its legiti- 
 mate share in the amenities of your character. And why does the 
 world do you injustice ? Of course I take it for granted you will 
 allow the world does you injustice. What is the reason your fellow- 
 
DRAMATIC COLLEGE. 3'21 
 
 men have not found you out ? I should be sorry to offend you, but 
 I must tell you frankly, it is because you have unfortunately a very 
 clumsy and bungling way of showing the world your good qualities. 
 
 For instance, when you are stirred by a generous or benevolent 
 impulse, you perform your benevolent or generous act in a rough, 
 sulky, hurlo-thrumbo manner, for fear of being thought foolishly soft- 
 hearted. If a noble or high-minded sentiment occurs to you, you 
 bring it out in coarse semi-jocose language, for fear of being taken 
 for a highflown humbug. In your relations with your wife, before 
 company, you put on a certain Spartan roughness and Ottoman 
 tyranniealness of manner, quite foreign to the gentleness of your 
 domestic moments, for fear the world should think you uxorious. 
 Tou overlay yourself with a vast number of similar honest hypocri- 
 sies, of which, for fear of being tedious, I will only allude to one — 
 and that is a very important one. Tou are a firm believer in, and a 
 very respectable practiser of, the precepts and doctrines of revealed 
 religion : but I have heard you talk with levity, almost amounting to 
 profanity, of sacred things. I happened to know that this was 
 merely your clumsy substitute for a determined abstinence from 
 Pharisaical cant. But the world generally takes you at your word, 
 and looks upon you as a man of mighty little religion. Tet, after 
 having deliberately pitched your whole expression of yourself in a 
 much lower key and coarser tone than that which really belongs to 
 your thoughts and feelings, you are rather "grumptious" with your 
 fellow-men for not setting you at your true and J'uU worth. 
 
 But if your fellow-men lose so much genuine, but, unfortunately, 
 neutralised humanity in your individual instance, how much more do 
 you lose, in the aggregate, from a similar neutralisation and disguise, 
 practised by the great majority of your fellow-men ? What a pleasant 
 world it would be if we did not mainly know one another by our 
 husks ! 
 
 Now I want you to consider how it is that you and your fellow- 
 creatures have come to take this ill-advised course. The real mystery 
 of it all is, that you have not confidence enough in the brotherhood 
 of your own and your fellow-men's common humanity to dare, under 
 all circumstances, to be neither more nor less than yourself Tou 
 have been secretly afraid that there might be something ridiculous 
 about you if you showed yourself too freely. The consequence has 
 been, not only that you have not credit for the virtues and talents 
 you possess, but you have also blunted those virtues, and bleached 
 and stunted those' talents, by keeping them, like sea-kale, from the 
 
 light of day. 
 
 Por fear of seeming pedantic you have never practised yourself 
 in speaking correct and dignified language. The other day, when 
 
322 DRAMATIC COLLEGE. 
 
 you had to make a speech on a somewhat solemn occasion, you 
 broke down most signally, and uttered bad grammar and nonsense, 
 to whose absvirdity no one was more painfully alive than yourself. 
 Tou meant to be lucid, and you got in a muddle ; you meant to be 
 indignant, and you got in a pucker ; you meant to be contemptuous, 
 and you made yourself contemptible. Alas ! my dear Cavendish, if 
 you will not habitually make the best of your faculties, it is vain to 
 hope they will be in proper trim to serve your turn on a great 
 occasion. Great occasions occur too seldom to serve for practice. 
 Tou cannot learn cricket by only playing in All England matches. 
 Tou may learn a good deal by looking on at Lord's. Tou see there 
 what can be done by men who have only the same arrangement 
 and allowance of arms and legs as yourself; but you must learn to 
 do it by continual practice. Now what Lord's does for cricket the 
 theatre does, or ought to do, for the expression of human nature 
 under all its phases. A good play crowds together as many 
 striking scenes of human passion, as many critical turning-points 
 in human destinies, as usually occur in two or three real 
 lifetimes. Good acting shows you how men ought to behave 
 themselves under these rare and' unfamiliar contingencies. The 
 fear of being ridiculous [invariably arises from a want of distinct 
 and familiar knowledge as to how you ought to behave under 
 the particular circumstances in which you happen to be placed. A 
 man who has never before dined in good society cannot even do 
 such a simple thin^ as eat a fashionable dinner without feeling he 
 is in continual danger of making himself ridiculous ; which he in- 
 evitably succeeds in doing, because his sense of danger is in itself 
 sufficient to make his behaviour absurd. How much less shall a man 
 perform a declaration of love, an affair of honour, or the delicate 
 breaking of a calamity, with any confidence, for the first time, if he 
 has never even seen it properly done beforehand ? Of how much 
 importance, then, is it that all human scenes should be properly 
 worded in the drama, and delivered justly by typical specimens of 
 complete and satisfactory humanity on the stage ? How fatal must 
 it be to the development of national manner, which is the vehicle of 
 human sympathies between man and man, if the language of the 
 drama is so forced and stilted, and the bearing and utterance of the 
 actor so wide of taste and nature, that the intelligent can learn 
 nothing, and the stupid nothing but what would be better unlearnt ? 
 To ennoble the stage is the easiest way of cultivating and refining 
 the manners of the people. But how is the stage to be ennobled ? 
 No great revolution can be effected by sudden jerks. It is no use 
 to say, " Let it be decreed that actors shall henceforth be men of 
 genius and education. Low buffoonery shall no longer be popular. 
 
DKAMATIC COLLEGE. 333 
 
 Dramatic writers stall no longer write plays adapted to employ the 
 vulgar material which at present comes most easily to hand. They 
 must construct high art dramas, peopled with nohle characters, 
 which, no doubt, will be difficult to put on the stage for want of 
 sufficient force of actors capable of sustaining serious and exalted 
 parts. But the want of such actors making itself felt will attract 
 competent persons into the profession," Every branch of industry, 
 by an inevitable law, grows or declines to suit its market. That 
 market, in the case of the drama, is the public taste. The public 
 taste has for its groundwork and foundation the judgment and good 
 sense of the people. It is, therefore, a step towards ennobling the 
 stage to convince the popular mind that the stage wants ennobling. 
 To show that there are serious uses and capabilities in the drama 
 which depend for their eificacy on the careful selection and complete 
 education of men who can hold a true mirror up to nature, instead 
 of showing the tragedy and comedy of Ufe distorted like the human 
 countenance reflected lengthwise and crosswise in a spoon. This 
 conviction is growing, and, in proportion as it grows, more men, who 
 are fit to instruct and lead their fellow-men in the development and 
 communication of the smothered wealth of their humanity, will be 
 found willing to enter the profession. The Dramatic College is a 
 sign of the better time coming. It shows, at least, a disposition on 
 the part of the public to acknowledge that their actors are wortli 
 caring for. Perhaps it is not as well advised a plan as might have 
 been thought of, to give it the eleemosynary character. Some func- 
 tional appointment might have tended more to raise the dignity of 
 the profession. Por instance, if it had been made a chapter of 
 dramatic professors, of however limited a number to begin with, but 
 respectably salaried and lodged. They might have been made eligible 
 from actors and dramatic writers of a given age, who would be most 
 competent to approve and educate dramatic pupils ; with chairs for 
 elocution and dramatic literature, which the public might attend 
 at a moderate fee. For such professorships actors of the highest 
 accomplishment, education, and theoretical knowledge of the drama 
 would, of course, be selected, and might profitably, honourably, and 
 not over laboriously,' devote the evening of their lives to forming the 
 taste of rising generations of dramatists, performers, and audience. 
 To provide well-appointed, useful, and not inglorious exits from the 
 stage is the truest way of inducing desirable entrances, and would 
 tend to raise the profession perhaps even more than the absolute and 
 direct result of their eff'orts in selectiag and training. It is not 
 improbable that some well-organised scheme of this kind may ripen 
 out of the present garm. There is nothiag so difficult as a beginning ; 
 and to have attained to something with so suggestive a name as a 
 Dramatic College, is a very promising feature in the yet undeveloped 
 destiny of the British Drama. 
 
324 
 
 THE BLIND LEADERS OP OUR "TIMES." 
 
 Ouit Times cannot stand the Report of the Bank Acts Committee. 
 It is too bad ; the weakest that ever appeared on the subject. 
 There was a Report of the House of Commons' Committee, after the 
 panic of 1847, which said what it could to excuse the Bill of 1844. 
 Then the Eeport of the Lords' Committee condemned it. This was 
 untoward : but differences of opinion between the houses will 
 happen in our nicely-balanced constitution. " Not proven," said 
 the Commons. " Not guilty," said the Lords, " but he had better 
 not do it again." The bill was, therefore, left at liberty to perpe- 
 trate its future evil deeds. Interest goes up and down, merchants 
 watch the weather-cock, and speculate on the quantity of bullion 
 which the James Baines will bring from Australia, and how much 
 will go to the Bank. People are not quite easy in their minds about 
 the bill — not entirely convinced that it propounds a " perfect 
 system." And so we have in 1857 a " Select Committee appointed 
 to inquire into the Opebation of the Bank Act of 1844, and of 
 the Bank Acts for Ireland and Scotland of 1845." July finds the 
 Committee with " the investigation of the subject referred to them 
 still incomplete," and their Report is deferred to the ensuing session. 
 But the Committee is in luck. In November occurs a monetary 
 crisis ; the Bill of 1844 is again suspended. Was there ever so 
 pleasant an arrangement ? The man falls down stairs, and breaks 
 his leg while the doctor's brougham is standing at the door ! 
 
 Well, the Select Committee is re-appointed, and it is further 
 ordered : — 
 
 " That it be an instruction to the Committee to inquire into the 
 causes of the recent commercial distress, and to investigate how far 
 it has been affected by the laws for regulating the issue of bank- 
 notes payable on demand." 
 
 In July, 1858, the Committee make their Eeport ; and on August 
 19, after due deliberation, our Times thus reports, touching the 
 Eeport : — 
 
 " The first year of the Committee's labours was given to the 
 abstract theory of the currency, and witnesses of the highest attain- 
 ments gave at great length an account of their respective views. The 
 second year was employed in the examination of witnesses, who 
 explained the causes of the commercial crisis. Upon these ample 
 and rich materials the Committee had to report, and we naturally 
 looked forward to that Eeport as a document of high historical and 
 scientific importance, likely to form a land-mark in the science of 
 political economy, by affording a luminous, condensed, and compre- 
 
THE BLIND LEADERS OF OUll "TIMES." 525 
 
 hensive view of all tliat can be urged on this abstruse and interesting 
 subject." 
 
 This, gentlemen of the Select Committee, "this was looked for at your 
 hand, and this was balked." Listen to the sentence of the Court : — 
 
 " We are obliged to confess that we have risen from a perusal of 
 the Report with a feeling of no little disappointment. "We are well 
 aware that it is always a difficult thing to pronounce dogmatically on 
 the course which a Parliamentary Committee ought to adopt. There 
 are many difficulties which never meet the eye of the public. There 
 are parties to be conciliated, differences to be slurred over, support is 
 to be bought by the omission of truth, or the insertion of something, 
 which either is, or looks like, a heresy ; and it would be very hard, 
 therefore, to apply to the chairman of a Parliamentary Committee 
 the same austere canons of criticism that we may justly employ 
 towards the maker of a speech, or the writer of a pamphlet. But 
 still, when all due allowance is made, we are bound to say that, adopt 
 any standard, liowever lenient, for judging of this performance, it will 
 ie found to fall far short of it; indeed, we cannot imagine any reader 
 so peculiarly constituted as to rise from the perusal of this report with 
 a feeling at all approaching to satisfaction!" 
 
 We never had any hope of this packed, prejudiced, pence-palliating 
 Committee. Who would confide in the financial sagacity of Sir Gr. C. 
 Lewis, the staunch self-abnegation of Mr. Disbaem, the practical lu- 
 cidity of Mr. Gladstone, the sound judgment of Sir Chaeles Wood 
 and Mr. Caedwell, the patriotism of Sir J. Gbaham and Mr. Wilson, 
 the earnest convictions of Sir P. Baeing, the inflexibility of purpose 
 of Mr. Gltn and Mr. Hanket, the consistency of Mr. The, or the 
 profundity of Mr. Ball ? "Blessed are they who expect little, for 
 they shall not be disappointed." But our contemporary "naturally 
 looked forward to the Eeport as a document of high historical and 
 scientific importance," " a land-maek in the science of political 
 economy." And lo ! what should have been a land-mark is become 
 a beacon to warn superficial and incompetent legislators from 
 attempting to meddle with matters too high for them. 
 
 But the hopeful and confiding Times has a good right to entertain 
 "a feeling of no little disappointment" at the imbecility of his bul- 
 lionist friends. " Was it," he plaintively inquires, " unreasonable to 
 expect that they would tell us their opinion on the subjects brought 
 before them ; whether they hold, with Lord Oveestone, entirely to the 
 principle of the Act of 1844, or whether with Mr. Newmarch, Mr. J . S. 
 Mill and Mr. Wilson, they consider the convertibility of the note a 
 sufficient protection against over-issue ? " Are the Scotch and Irish 
 banking systems to continue ? Should the act be suspended at the 
 
326 THE BLIND LEADERS OF OUB " TIMES/ 
 
 next panic by law, or by tbe Grovernment " at its own proper peril ? " 
 Do we pay the Bank enough ? Ought we " to continue to pay the 
 Bank interest on securities, the money advanced on which we enable 
 it, by the issue of notes, to repay itself? " No solution is given in 
 the Eeport to these inquiries, though every one of them is treated of 
 in a " tantalising and disappointing method." There is not even a 
 " clear and succinct analysis of the opinions of the principal witnesses, 
 pointing out where they agree and differ, on what grounds that dif- 
 ference rests, and what are the exact issues raised between them." 
 This, says our Times, is requisite to the " advancement of the know- 
 ledge of true principles," which may " prevent ignorance, the usual 
 parent of panic." But no, they devote fifty-seven clauses to a very 
 lengthy and not very important history of the business of the country 
 from 1847 to 1857. The general principle of the act, and the Com- 
 mittee's opinion with regard to the continuance of the measure, 
 remain in obscurity. 
 
 The Committee commit themselves to nothing. They abdicate 
 their authority. They neither weigh the evidence, nor judge, nor 
 decide. A Eeport so meagre, so superficial, so useless, so con- 
 temptible, has rarely been promulgated, even by a House of Com- 
 mons' Committee. The Committee then — the bullionist]organ being 
 the judge — are blind leaders of the blind. 
 
 Having thus poured contempt on the Bank Acts Committee and 
 their Report, the Times returns, on the following day (August 20) 
 to the consideration of the subject. Now, let us see what the Times 
 has to give us in the way of instruction on the monetary question. 
 The Times leader denounces the Heport, and very justly. It reminds 
 the public that the knowledge of true principles " is necessary in 
 order to prevent ignorance, the usual parent of panic." What has 
 this self-constituted public instructor, therefore, to tell us ? 
 
 The Times sneers at " the rather inflated extract from Lord Oteb- 
 stone's evidence," given in the Eeport. Is the Times prepared to 
 stand by the Overstone theory ? Will the Times continue to sup- 
 port the self-condemned and broken-down Bank Charter Act of 1844 ? 
 Or will the Times take refuge in the views of Mr. Nbwmaeoh, 
 Mr. Mill, and Mr. Weouelin, " in the contrary direction ?" Will 
 the Times throw overboard the Act of 1844, and stand, with the 
 Tookites, by the Act of 1819 ? " If," says the Times, " the theory of 
 the Act of 1844 is right, the act is right ; if the theory is wrong, the 
 act is wrong." But the theory of the Act of 1844 is identical with that 
 of the Act of 1819. The Act of 1814 is merely the " complement" 
 of the Act of 1819, designed to carry out into efficient working the 
 theory of the Act of 1819. The Times finds fault with the Eeport 
 for not propounding a " general principle" of money. But it does 
 
THE BLIND LEADERS OP OUR "TIMES." 337 
 
 nothing but find fault. It propounds no remedy. It rejects, as we 
 shall see, the only real remedy — the one which the consistent oppo- 
 nents of both the Acts of 1819 and 1844 advocate. The Times can 
 understand that something is wrong. It can perceive that the Com- 
 mittee on Bank Acts are groping in the dark. But thick darkness 
 obscures its own perception of the truth. It is still, as it has long 
 been, " a blind leader of the blind," on monetary affairs. 
 
 " Although," he says, " the Bank Committee shrunk, as we have 
 said, from offering their opinion on the more important points in- 
 volved in the order of reference, they have no objection to the hunt- 
 ing down of small and easily detected fallacies ; and such small deer 
 have no mercy to expect. Thus the Committee most successfully 
 controvert the proposition that Q-overnment^a;es the price of gold, 
 ' although the topic has not presented itself to their inquiry,' and 
 shows triumphantly that a sovereign is nothing more than a piece of 
 gold weighing nearly a quarter of an ounce, and verified at the Mint 
 by a stamp." 
 
 As this " small and easily detected fallacy" the fixed price of gold, 
 involves an important principle, we will give the part of clause 59 
 to which the Times refers : — 
 
 " 69. Another misconception has often perplexed those who have 
 reasoned about the currency, — that of supposing that by Act of 
 Parliament the price of gold is fixed. If it had so happened that our 
 sovereign, instead of being nearly equal to i oz. troy of gold of 
 standard fineness, had been exactly equal to that weight, it 
 would probably have been obvious to all that the word sovereign 
 simply meant a quarter of an ounce of standard gold, with the 
 Queen's head stamped upon it by the Mint ; and the price of gold, 
 as it is called, being thus exactly £4 an oz., anybody would have 
 comprehended that the one was equivalent to the other. The use of 
 the silver and copper coins as representatives or tokens of fractional 
 parts of that gold, would probably have been intelligible, and this 
 troublesome confusion would not have arisen. This topic has not 
 much presented itself in the course of the present inquiry. But it is 
 desirable that all persons who take an interest in this subject should 
 understand how simple is the duty discharged by the Executive 
 Government in relation to that money, viz., gold money, which alone 
 is the standard of value in this country, so far as the transactions of 
 our extended commerce are concerned. At the Mint a piece of 
 standard gold, weighing 5 dwts. 3'274 grams troy, is verified by a 
 stamp, and being then called a sovereign, is returned to its owner, 
 and in this process no seignorage is charged." 
 
 The Committee divided on this clause, and its entire rejection was 
 
328 THE BLIND LEADERS OF OtlR " TIMES. 
 
 supported by the real Currency Eeformers of tlie Committee, Mr. 
 Spooneb. and Mr. Cayley. No real reform of our monetary system 
 can take place till the principle of the evil effects o£ the fixed price of 
 gold is fully understood. To make the thing simpler, we will adopt 
 the supposition that a sovereign is exactly \ oz. of gold. A 
 piece of gold, then, of a certain fineness is taken to the Mint 
 and is stamped ; it is still what it was before, i.e., \ oz. of 
 gold. But it is something more. That government stamp 
 has conferred a moneyed denomination on it. It is now become 
 a legal tender pound. A creditor could not be obliged to receive 
 \ oz. of gold in discharge of a debt of one pound : he is obliged 
 to receive a sovereign. "When Government stamps \ oz. of gold, 
 and by that act makes it a pound, it fixes its price. And as 
 a bullion merchant can always by taking a \ oz. of gold of 
 certain fineness to the Mint get the G-overnment stamp affixed, 
 which will enable him to discharge with the said \ oz. of gold a 
 debt of one pound, the price of his commodity is thereby fixed. 
 There was a time in this country when the price of gold was not 
 fixed. From 1797 to 1819 Government sanctioned legal tender 
 paper-money in which gold rose and fell according to the general 
 law of supply and demand — as all commodities, gold among the 
 number, ought to do. A quarter of an ounce of gold might then be 
 worth more than a pound, and at times it was so. The conclusion 
 is plain ; the price of gold was unfixed then, it is fixed now. 
 
 We all know how fluctuating the moneyed denomination of gold 
 has been. In 1352, 300 grains of gold bore the moneyed denomina- 
 tion of a pound ; in 1466, 240 grains was called a pound ; in 1552, 
 174 grains ; in 1650, 140 grains ; in 1750, 129 grains ; and now 
 123 grains of gold are stamped as a pound. These alterations were 
 just and reasonable ; for as the commerce of the world extended, and 
 the quantity of other commodities largely increased, the purchasing 
 power of gold increased. The same quantity of gold would command 
 a greater portion of other commodities. In order, therefore, that the 
 debtor or the tax-payer might not give more than was just, tbe 
 weight of the legal tender pound was diminished. 
 
 The bullionist party deny that Government ought to provide legal 
 tender paper money receivable for taxes, in which paper gold (like 
 any other commodity) might find its onarhet price. The currency 
 reformers say that Government ought to do so. And they say, 
 moreover, that from 1797 to 1819, when the Goverment did provide 
 legal tender paper money, the purchasing poiver of the pound — which 
 is the really important element of money — was subject to fewer and 
 less violent fluctuations than at present, that the rate of interest was 
 
THE BLIND LEADERS OF OUR " TIMES." 329 
 
 more equable, and that periodical panics, witt all their attendant and 
 disastrous evils, were unknown. 
 
 The bullionist party in grasping at the shadow of stability in 
 money matters have lost the substance. They have enacted that a 
 pound shall always be exactly 123 grains of gold. The worbiug of 
 their system has been this. After a panic or monetary crisis, when 
 all commodities have been depreciated in moneyed value our 
 merchants have been forced to export largely, and foreign nations 
 have given up a little gold for a considerable portion of goods. Gold 
 has then flowed into the country. This gold, stamped at the mint, 
 or taken to the Bank for its more convenient paper representative, 
 the bank-note, has accumulated. Money has then become very 
 plentiful, and therefore the use or interest of it very low. Every 
 kind of enterprise has been stimulated by cheap money, and the con- 
 tinuance of this cheapness has caused enterprise to degenerate into 
 speculation. Prices have risen. It has thus become profitable to 
 withdraw our gold to purchase commodities in cheaper markets. 
 The circulating paper medium being then necessarily withdrawn 
 money becomes scarce, and the use or interest of it high. 
 The scarcity and dearness of money both press upon the springs of 
 produ.ctive industry, the price of all commodities declines, alarm 
 extends, panic ensues, the convertibility of the note becomes a 
 transparent fiction, and on the eve of a state of barter, the Act which 
 causes all this evil is abrogated. 
 
 Had we " inconvertible paper money to the amount of 
 £20,000,000, which experience has proved to be necessary 
 for our domestic circulation, it appears highly probable that 
 the difierence between the paper pound and the gold pound 
 would be so small, so fractional, that it would be merely a 
 matter of accurate calculation with bullion merchants. As soon as 
 any appearance of a rise in the price of bullion occurred, bullion 
 imports would restore the equilibrium, and the national paper money 
 and the sovereign would be at par. Bat supposing, from the enor- 
 mous discoveries of gold for instance, the price of gold should decline 
 throughout the world— for that is the tendency which monetary 
 aflfairs are now taking— no evU would result. It would be long 
 before any considerable depreciation of gold would take place. The 
 national pound note might indeed become worth a sovereign, and a 
 few pence more. As time wore on the depreciation of gold might 
 increase. But the expanding commerce of the world would long absorb 
 great quantities of the precious metal. Contracts of every kind 
 would adjust themselves to the rise in prices. And freed from 
 panics and monetary crises, this country would pursue without inter- 
 ruption its path of commercial prosperity. 
 
 2 A 
 
330 ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OP 
 
 These are things which the bullionists and the writers of the 
 Times leaders dream not of in their philosophy. Nevertheless, we 
 have not only argument but facts on our side. Their system has 
 proved a complete a failure. Whenever it is tried, Government dare 
 not carry it out, and neither the Bank Acts Committee nor the 
 Times can any longer invent plausible sophistries for its support. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN SEABCH OP A COUNTRY 
 RESIDENCE. 
 
 Mohilitate viget is the tourist's motto. Had it not been for circum- 
 stanoes I should have bought a pony, and ridden down through Calabria 
 towards Sicily. But circumstances prevented me, and the weather at 
 the end of July is sultry for travelling in the south of Italy. Where 
 was I to go to till the weather was cooler ? Certainly not back to 
 Naples, which had by this time baked out everybody ! 
 
 The natural thing for an Englishman to do when he does not exactly 
 know where to go, is to go home, as he would play trumps in any case 
 of uncertainty at whist. But I made up my mind that, having got to 
 Italy (which is certainly the prettiest country I have met with in my 
 travels), as there was nothing imperative calling me home to shoot 
 grouse and partridges, it would be better to leave my destiny to chance, 
 and stay in Italy till I was tired of it. 
 
 However, as our establishment in Capri was about to break up 
 shortly, it was necessary to look about for some hole or corner, if pos- 
 sible on a mountain-top, where I might escape being melted for a month 
 or two till the weather began to cool a little. My friend had gone over 
 to Naples to make arrangements for his departure to a distant capital, 
 where he had received an appointment, so I took the opportunity to make 
 a short excursion among the mountains of the mainland, to find some- 
 where to settle. I embarked in a return boat for Sorrento, and had got 
 a little more than half way when I met my friend in the middle of the 
 sea. He had got a lift in the boat of a gay young Guardsman on leave, 
 who was coming over to spend a day with us, and see Capri. We tossed 
 up — heads, I should go on in my boat! — it was tails, and I returned in 
 theirs. 
 
 On the following evening, however, we, that is, the gay captain and 
 myself, sailed back to Sorrento, where we drank tea with two celebrated 
 ladies, who frightened us, simple young men by talking to us as if they 
 had hid a short-hand reporter in the cupboard, to take down all they 
 said — it was such a grand and stately, and precise, and printable an out- 
 pouring of Johnsonian conversation. 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE. 331 
 
 Next morning the captain had to go to Pompeii; and as I had not 
 seen it, and did not care where I struck inland in search of a dwelling, 
 place I agreed to go there with him; so we took a carriage and three to 
 Castellamare, whence the railway conveyed us to the Pompeii station. 
 
 Pompeii, painted up in large letters on an ordinary plastered and 
 slated little station, like any of the hundreds of little stations you have 
 seen on the branch lines of Great Britain, a few years ago would have 
 seemed strange and incongruous. You would have felt that you ought 
 to have been landed from your trireme and taken a hack biga on the 
 shore, with an miriga swearing at his crop-maned steeds by Castor and 
 Pollux in the purest Latin ; but railways and stations have now become 
 so much a domesticated matter of course in every part of the world, that 
 one would not feel the least surprised or shocked to hear a railway- 
 porter, with G. and J. R. (Galilee and Judea Railway) in brass letters on 
 his cap, cry "Nazareth or Bethlehem," and a little Hebrew boy 
 screaming, " To-day's Jerusalem papers! " 
 
 I have seen a tribe of American Indians moving towards their summer 
 hunting-grounds — how do you think ? Tramping in picturesquely strag- 
 gling file across the prairie? Not at all; half-a-ddzen third-class car- 
 riages contained them all — and there they were, third-class passengers, 
 sitting gravely in their red blankets, and paint and feathers, as if they 
 felt no sort of impropriety in being ranged on orderly benches, and car- 
 ried a part of their wild tramp on the back of this fizzing, fiery-eyed, 
 panting dragon of civilisation. However, BuSalo is not Pompeii, nor is. 
 Lake Erie much like the Bay of Naples. 
 
 There is nothing to be seen from the railway that could make you 
 suppose you were close to the remains of a disinterred city. Beyond the 
 station and the station-master's little garden, with a weeping willow and 
 a few orange trees, runs a high road parallel with the line. In the road , 
 just opposite the station, is a square-faced and stuccoed building, across 
 whose unwrinkled and unblushing forehead is written in very large 
 letters Hotel de Diomede. Beyond the road, and behind the hotel, rises 
 a very ordinary looking bank, about thirty feet high, topped with trees 
 and shrubs, screening the brow of a higher level of flat land, and so, in 
 fact, it would be if there were no excavations, for this is the edge of the 
 grave-mound of Pompeii. 
 
 Emerging upon the high road, and looking about to see where Pompeii 
 may be, or how you are to get to it, you become, in course of circum- 
 stances, the property of an ofiicial guide with a glazed hat and red collar, 
 looking something between a sapper and miner, a postman and a police- 
 ofiicer ; he takes us through a cutting in the bank, and we find ourselves 
 in the midst of temples and altars, and glistening white statues, and 
 lengths of richly chiselled marble cornices, lying at the feet of 
 Corinthian columns. The sudden change from every-day life to the 
 
332 ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF 
 
 sepulchral silence and solitude of the unburied city was more striking than 
 any other more appropriate and harmonious approach could have been. 
 
 These ruins, too, are not like the ruins with which we have been 
 glutted all through Italy — edifices which, standing wide awake above 
 ground, have seen the centuries wear away, and have grown more than 
 half modern themselves in the company of successive generations ; new 
 houses have not sprung up beside them ; they have not been pillaged and 
 disfigured by additions and subtractions of tasteless Popes or hungry 
 nephews. Kestless Vesuvius, with his flame-red cap of liberty, with his 
 lava torrents and fiery hail of sudden destruction, has proved more con- 
 servative than the grey old leveller Time, who, out of constant change, 
 keeps producing uniformity. Here we have a city potted and preserved 
 in dust and ashes, swept out and garnished again for the benefit of 
 antiquarians after two thousand years. 
 
 There is a prevalent impression that Pompeii is under ground still, 
 and that it is a torch and catacomb business to see it. This I believe is 
 the case with Herculaneum, which though in ordinary mention it is only 
 divided from Pompeii by the copulative conjunction, stands in reality 
 ten or twelve miles off, with the whole bulk of Vesuvius between them. 
 Pompeii was never covered much above the tops of the houses, and all 
 the ashes and soil which hid it have been swept away, so that it lies 
 open, like any other city, to the light of day. 
 
 Through long vistas of strange-looking streets, silent and solitary in 
 the strong glare of noon, you catch glimpses of light grey mountain tops 
 above strips of hazy plain and shining sea, all clothed in a watered 
 tissue of swimming heat. 
 
 A town of unfamiliar architecture, looking almost habitable, yet 
 utterly unpeopled, under the mid-day sun, has a sort of mysterious 
 dream-like influence on the imagination, which is strengthened rather 
 than dispelled when every here and there we enter beautiful fountained 
 courts, paved with tesselated marble in brilliant patterns, and surrounded 
 with quaint frescoes of unfaded hues, and chambers that seemed freshly 
 decorated. It is all so lonely and desolate in its untenanted splendour, 
 and yet so little touched by the long centuries since it was a living and 
 breathing household, that it seems uncertain whether we have not been 
 whipped up by some magician, regardless of chronology, and carried back 
 two thousand years into the past. So that we almost expect a stately 
 Eoman senator, in a flowing toga, with a broad blue clavus, to come 
 sweeping along the corridor and call a brawny .Ethiopian janitor to send 
 us about our business. Hark, there is a step within 1 it approaches — is 
 it Publius or Quintilius ? No, it is that red-collared, glazed-hatted, 
 dream-breaker, the guide, who has been to open a specially locked door 
 to show us an indecent picture in Publius's or Quintilius's bed-room. 
 
 We saw, also, theatres tragic and comic, and the amphitheatre, above 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE, 333 
 
 whose curving seat-rims purple Vesuvius rises into view, as no doubt it 
 did when Arbaces, the high-priest of Isis, took advantage of the first 
 eruptive symptoms of the feverish mountain to divert the attention of 
 the audience from their disposition to have him eaten by the lions. The 
 lions' den yawns dark and dismal; its ragged jaws of crumbling masonry 
 delicately fringed with sunlit maidenhair. The tomb of the gladiators, 
 outside the bloody ring in which they fell, is shaded by peaceful olives. 
 
 Sepulchres, which were so before the whole city became a tomb itself, 
 sire doubly solemn now. We left Pompeii appropriately by the Street 
 of Tombs — all lined with ghostly monuments of white marble- — ^onoe the 
 principal entrance of Pompeii, past which all the gay parties from Par- 
 thenope came trundling in their chariots to make a villeggiatura at the 
 fashionable watering-place. But what was the long array of ghostly 
 sepulchres to them ? they did not think of dying a bit more than we do 
 now. They were in a hurry to order dinner — crick-crack went the 
 auriga's whip, and they have trundled by into eternity to digest their 
 meal at leisure. 
 
 " I stood within the city disinterred, 
 
 And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls 
 Of spirits passing through the streets, and heard 
 The mountain's slumberous voice at intervals 
 Thrill through those roofless halls ; 
 
 through white columns glowed 
 
 The isle-sustaining ocean-flood, 
 A plain of light between two heavens of azure; 
 Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchre 
 Of whose pure beauty. Time, as if his pleasure 
 Were to spare Death, had never made erasure, 
 But every living lineament was clear 
 As in the sculptor's thought; and there 
 The wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy, and pine, 
 
 Like winter leaves o'ergrown with moulded snow, 
 
 Seemed only not to move and grow. 
 Because the crystal silence of the air 
 
 Weighed on their life." Shelley. 
 
 We began, in the course of nature, after wandering a few hours in 
 this hot and empty city, to grow hungry and thirsty, so we adjourned 
 from the vast vaulted quadrangular cellars of Diomed the noli to the 
 Hotel de Diomede. We commanded Diomed of the hotel to give us a 
 bottle of Lachrimse Christi Mousseux and some figs and biscuits, also 
 begRinff him to inform us when the train stopped. We were so near 
 that there seemed no chance of its being able to get away again too 
 quickly for us, and, I dare say, we were right; but as no one m the tram 
 
334 ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF 
 
 wanted to see Pompeii, and as we had not taken our tickets, the train 
 never stopped at all, and we heard it go by with a snort and whistle. 
 So we sat and talked about London society under the weeping willow, 
 in the station-master's garden, and smoked, and took a nap on the 
 sponda of the waiting room ; and the next train carried off the captain 
 to Naples, leaving me to prosecute my investigations of the interior as I 
 might find opportunity. 
 
 It was about five in the evening as I left the station and turned to the 
 right along the high road which seemed to tend inland. The way was 
 dusty, and the sun was hottish on my back ; but I trudged along cheer- 
 fully, being drawn by a pleasant uncertainty as to where I might be going 
 to, further than that I was going inland, and might expect to be among 
 the mountains to-morrow. 
 
 I had not gone very far, though far enough to wear the edge of pedes- 
 trian enthusiasm off my feet, in despite of the protection of a pair of very 
 tight thin French boots, when I heard a plunging clatter of galloping 
 horses, and rattling of wheels behind me. I turned round, and had 
 only just time to get out of the way when a corricolo shot by me at full 
 gallop. 
 
 Everybody has at least seen a corricolo in pictures, and will remember 
 that it is a very high-wheeled, spiderly, loose-hung cabriolet, with or 
 without a hood, with a very large foot-board behind, and a rope-net 
 swung below. It is capable of holding two people comfortably in the 
 seat, and two can stand on the foot-board, while another, if he does 
 not mind the dust, can swing in the net between the wheel, and 
 behind the horses' heels, so that he is sure to get plenty of it. These 
 calculations, with respect to a corrieolo^s capabilities, would apply to the 
 number of men of other nations it could carry. But of Neapolitans, a 
 dozen men and women and half-a-dozen children are about the average 
 cargo. How they manage to pack themselves is not known ; but the 
 phenomenon is apparent, and drives about merrily with a ton or two of 
 human bodies to one poor scarecrow of a horse, a dense crop of heads, 
 like oranges on an orange-tree, sticking out in every direction. 
 
 The corricolo, however, which dashed furiously by me, had only two 
 men in it ; so I called out lustily, and made signs for them to stop and 
 take me up. They answered something which was lost in the rushing 
 air, and as their speed did not diminish, I gave up all hopes of them, 
 and began to calculate the chances of another corricolo coming by. Con- 
 trary to my expectation, they pulled up about a hundred and fifty yards 
 beyond me. So I had time to come up and bargain for four pen'worth 
 of lift along the road. 
 
 " Ecoellenza si!" says the corrihhelero, making place forme, and 
 getting up on the foot-board behind, " how far does your Excellency 
 wish to go?" 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE, 335 
 
 " Quanto tu ti fidi pe nu cuarin (as far as you trust yourself for 
 a carline)." 
 
 " But where to?" 
 
 " Oh, anywhere. I am moving about to see the country." So away 
 we went at full gallop again. The driver had, rather imprudently as it 
 seemed to me, confided the reins and whip to my companion in the 
 front seat, who, as I shortly discovered on my entering into conver- 
 sation with him, was a sea-faring man rather the worse for liquor, 
 and in a hurry to get home before nightfall. He drove after the 
 manner of Jehu, and the horse, who was young and inexperienced, 
 put down his head and tore along, evidently under the impression that 
 he was running away. The vehicle, on the other hand, was very old 
 and decrepit in its wheels and springs. The motion which resulted 
 from these discordant elements much resembled that of the car of a 
 foundered balloon drawn along rough ground by a violent hurricane, 
 and could not be recommended as a means of comfortable locomotion. 
 Meanwhile, we were rapidly advancing deeper and deeper into the 
 valley which lies between Vesuvius and the mountain range behind 
 Castellamare. The valley narrowed as we advanced. The sunset 
 slanted over imminent crag-horns to the right, and struck upon 
 castled spurs of the range which curved away behind Vesuvius to 
 the left. 
 
 Darkness came on as we passed the long, arched, and colonnaded 
 street of La Cava, towards which place the road had gradually risen, 
 so as to keep me in hopes that we should shortly get fairly among the 
 mountains. But destiny and geography had ordered otherwise. I had 
 gone about fifteen miles at right angles to the coast-line near Pompeii, 
 in the hope of penetrating inland ; but here, at La Cava, there was a 
 treacherous ravine which let the road through the mountain range to the 
 right, and two miles further on, at Vietri, I found myself on the sea- 
 coast again, having merely cut across a long narrow promontory between 
 the Bay of Naples and the Gulf of Salerno. 
 
 It was now past nine o'clock, so I let my sea-faring man find me a 
 bed in a private family whom he took an interest in serving ; though he 
 professed to do it all from a disinterested affection for me. I allowed 
 myself thus to be uncomfortably made a job of, instead of going to 
 the inn, that I might see what sort of place he would take me to, and 
 whether any adventure would come of it. 
 
 It was dark as pitch, and he plunged me in a labyrinth of stair- 
 case alleys dimly lighted here and there from the pigeon-hole windows 
 of the few remaining inhabitants who had not gone to bed. There 
 was nobody moving out of doors, and the darkness and desolation of 
 the labyrinth was not rendered more pleasant by that fooUsh instinct 
 which a detached straggler always feels more or less in a strange place. 
 
336 ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF 
 
 that he may be knocked on the head and robbed without anybody 
 making inquiries about him. Moreover, my companion was a rogue, 
 who might probably be much worse even than three or four hours' 
 conversation with him in his cups had already made me aware. 
 
 I consoled and encouraged myself with these reflections while he was 
 leading me deeper and deeper into the maze. " If this dog meant to 
 rob me at large, he would not have taken so much pains to cheat 
 me out of a shilling on the fare of the second corricolo which we took 
 together after my first lift of seven or eight miles expired : besides which, 
 I have a pistol and a knife, and am more than a match for him with my 
 fists : therefore it is absurd to be afraid — besides, nobody ever is robbed 
 except in novels and mendacious volumes of the vapid tourist, who 
 hopes the reviewers will say that his book ' teems with incident.' " 
 
 At last we reached the house, a most crooked and rickety edifice, 
 which seemed as if, after being worn threadbare, they had attempted to 
 turn it inside out, like an old coat, and succeeded indiiFerently from the 
 unpliability of the material. It was all angles and corners, with broken 
 joist-ends sticking out of ragged places in the stucco, while in and out 
 among the inequalities of the crankled surface wound a zigzag staircase. 
 It looked just the sort of house for a horrible murder ; however, we 
 went up the stairs to a high storey, and entered a large, dark, poor- 
 looking apartment, dimly lit by one little earthenware cresset, by 
 the light of which eight or ten squalid-looking women were spinning. 
 
 On its being announced that I was come to lodge for the night, there 
 was a great clatter of tongues, and some mysterious whisperings. I was 
 taken to see a room adjoining, on getting into which, my companion, 
 who held the solitarj' little lamp and was making a pretence of trimming 
 it, suddenly caused it to go out. The thiefly and murderous feeling 
 came back strongly upon me ; but I said nothing, and held my knife 
 ready to slash about vigorously in the dark if anybody rushed out upon 
 me. Nobody came, and I considered that even a drunken malefactor 
 would have sense enough not to commit murder with near a dozen 
 accomplices, all possessing female tongues. 
 
 In fine, I was not robbed nor murdered ; the sea-faring man went out 
 and foraged for supper, and brought back wine, bread and cheese, salad, 
 and anchovies, which, after refusing at least half a dozen times, he con- 
 sented to help to dispatch. I slept in a very large bed, and was not so 
 much eaten by vermin as might have been expected. 
 
 Next morning, about six o'clock, I was moving again. But where 
 should I go? My attempt to penetrate inland had signally failed. Here 
 I was, on the margin of the Bay of Salerno, only a mile from that city. 
 Should I go there? It was just in the opposite direction from Capri, to 
 which my purse-strings, as well as heart-strings, were beginning to draw 
 me back. It was not a very striking city — clean, flattish, bricky and 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE. 337 
 
 white-washy, and yellow-washy, with broad quays in front and moun- 
 tains behind, two horns of which, rising one above the other, were 
 pointed with a castle and a tower. Besides, I was not in search of cities, 
 but a quiet mountain village; so I resolved to turn homewards, and 
 explore the rock-bound coast of the promontory which stretches out 
 towards Capri. 
 
 The new road to Amalfi, which has been thirty or forty years in 
 process of construction, was lately opened. It crosses the deep ravine at 
 Vietri, and winds along the uneven face of the precipitous bay-notched 
 coast, generally at a height of four or five hundred feet above the foam- 
 wreathed watermark it overhangs. The Gulf of Salerno, which we are 
 now skirting, is much grander in its proportions and bolder in its coasts 
 than the Bay of Naples : and it would be altogether more beautiful if it 
 only had an Ischia and a Capri in its offing. Should the untravelled 
 reader take a look at the map, he will see it must be fifty or sixt)' 
 miles wide; and, judging by flat and misty England, he will be inclined 
 to think that the headlands must be out sight of each other, but he has 
 to take into account the gigantic scale and transparent atmosphere of 
 Italian scenery. The only level portion of its shores is the plain of 
 Psestum, which, though nearly thirty miles long, is not very broad, and 
 immediately backed up by the boldest and most picturesque mountain 
 masses. 
 
 Meanwhile, it was about half-past six in the morning, and I was about 
 a mile and a half on my way to Amalfi, when a eorricolo came trundling 
 by. Not this time driven by an inebriated mariner, but a respectable- 
 looking family man in decent attire, with the little round red patch of 
 urban service in his cap. He had also a fat little wife in a purple silk 
 dress, looking as plump and shiny as a ripe olive. The footboard behind 
 was only occupied by a weaselly little boy, who seemed to be his son. 
 It was evidently a private vehicle, and though it would have been very 
 convenient to me to get a lift, my modesty stood in my way, and did not 
 venture to make an offer. 
 
 When it had fairly disappeared behind the corner of a crag, however, 
 I began greatly to regret my forbearance. " Who among your nume- 
 rous friends,"! cried, addressing myself, " gives you credit for the 
 slightest particle of that inconvenient virtue you have just been making 
 such a sacrifice to ? You could but have got a disagreeable answer, and 
 you might have- got a lift of ten miles. This man is, at best, only a small 
 shopkeeper, in his feast-day clothes, who has hired a eorricolo for the day : 
 and if he were a Neapolitan duke, there is no saying what he might 
 
 do for fourpence." , ^ j 
 
 With these reflections I turned the corner of the crag, and found 
 
 that the eorricolo had drawn up in the shadow of the great rock to refit 
 
 and arrange its balance. I now at once took off my hat, and with the 
 
338 ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF 
 
 most scrupulous politeness I was master of, opened the negotiation. He 
 hesitated a moment, and I thought he was going to refuse ; but he was 
 only in doubt where to put me : " If I did not object to go ou the foot- 
 board?" 
 
 "Ami ! the footboard was the height of my ambition ; " so away we 
 went at a respectable family pace, passing over the heads of little fishing 
 villages, which nestled in coves at the mountain's feet; and beneath, 
 other little villages, perched not far from the sky on the mountain- 
 shoulders above, for the whole coast is sprinkled with villages. 
 
 As we went along, the scenery became more and more striking ; and 
 at last, we turned down into the Bay of Majuri, where the coast- 
 line is broken by a valley and a beach, beyond which vines and olives 
 clothed the next headland. Above its garden-terraced steep, sprinkled 
 with picturesque dwellings, uprose a scarped wall of sheer precipice, 
 supporting what seemed a city, with great buildings and tall towers, on 
 its airy platform, fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. I was 
 so much struck that I deserted my corricolo to set about investigating 
 the neighbourhood at leisure. 
 
 But before proceeding to business, as I felt a little dusty after my hour 
 and a half on the footboard, and as I had not had the means of very 
 satisfactory ablution in my night's lodging, I undressed under the shadow 
 of a fishing-boat drawn up on the beach, and lay for some time tossing 
 and tumbling on the clear rolling billows. 
 
 While I was disporting myself after this manner in the margin of the 
 briny deep, I was marked by a prowling osprey from the village above, 
 who, no doubt, doomed me to become his prey. This vulturous 
 marauder was no other than a hungering lacquai de place, sadly out of 
 employment now the year had got into the hot summer months. He 
 came down to the beach and hailed me as I was floating on my back : 
 I turned over with a splash, and, seeing a man standing near my heap 
 of clothes, cried out in great wrath, " Get thee gone, thief! at least quit 
 thyself from a-top of my clothes!" 
 
 " Shlenza si — yes, your excellency — would your excellency like to see 
 the ruins of Ravello? I am the guide, at your service." 
 
 " I want no ruins, but a house to live in. Do you know any houses 
 that you think, by the look of my clothes, would suit me? I want a 
 cottage with two or three rooms, in a picturesque garden — no larger or 
 gardenless house will do. I am an artist, and not rich; You want to 
 make what you can of me, and will take me about looking at places 
 which you know are out of the question : therefore consider my terms, 
 and accept them if you like. If you show me a house which suits me, 
 I will give you twopence. If you lead me about and I find nothing 
 that suits me, I will give you nothing but a parting kick in whatever 
 part of your body you may think most adapted to receive it." 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE. 339 
 
 " Hccellenza si /" 
 
 On the strength of this provisional twopence, we searched Majuri in 
 vam; there were hardly any vacant houses, and those were entirely un- 
 suitable. Almost in despair of his twopence, he now returned to the 
 charge with the ruins of Kavello. "There were not only ruins, but 
 houses. The whole city was depopulated, it had been very great once. 
 mere were great palaces, with marble staircases and frescoed saloons 
 standing empty." 
 
 " I don't want palaces, but a cottage in a garden!" 
 
 II Eccellmza si. There were cottages in gardens, too, by the dozen!" 
 
 " But it seems at least fifteen hundred feet to climb, and the day is 
 hot. If I go up, and I do not find what I want, I shall give you more 
 kicks, and less halfpence." 
 
 "Eccellenza si, sicuro .'—the distance is a mere nothing: we shall be 
 up in a picoola mezzorella" (little half hour-let). The distance was, 
 however, full two miles, and the road like a bed of a precipitous moun- 
 tain torrent, which, with an Italian July sun on one's back, required 
 some patience. The greater part of the road was composed of the 
 broken, time-worn, and dismantled remains of what seemed once to 
 have been steps. Towards the top it was arched over in places with 
 ruinous buildings, and once or twice it passed through what seemed to 
 have been chapels, with columns standing and lying about. 
 
 Eavello, which was once a city of palaces, is now a village of ruins. 
 
 Gaunt, sepulchral edifices, that stand staring at one another, arching 
 their Saracenic window-brows, and shrugging their dilapidated shoulders, 
 as if they were observing to one another what a very wretched plight 
 they were in, and that they really could not help it. Vast doorways 
 supported by columns growing out of couchant lions' backs, and 
 wreathed above with richly carved blazonries and heraldic mantlings, 
 all in the glittering full dress of imperishable marble, contrasted with 
 the crumbling stone and stucco of the walls. Grass grew in the silent 
 streets, which seemed almost as dead as Pompeii, and in a more advanced 
 state of decay, from not having been decently buried. 
 
 At first I thought there were no inhabitants at all, for we had pierced 
 into the midst of the city without meeting a soul. Becoming a little 
 anxious about the lodgings I was in search of, I turned to my guide, — 
 " Do you take me for an owl or a pigeon that you expect me to live 
 in a place like this ?" 
 
 " Gnor, no ! we are approaching the house where your excellency 
 may take apartments." After a little while he stopped below a high 
 window, in a tenement that seemed no better than its neighbours, and 
 called the name of Cecilia. A desolate, half-dressed female, in a very 
 ruinous shift and petticoat, appeared at the window, and seemed so 
 greatly astonished that anybody should think of taking apartments in 
 
340 ADVENTURES IN SEAKCH OF 
 
 her palace, that it was some time before she could be persuaded to come 
 down and open the door. 
 
 How we got to the apartments I do not exactly remember, but after 
 some more or less dangerous clambering, we passed over a cracked roof, 
 and came to a doorless doorway. This led to a suite of three or four 
 rooms, whose floors were mounded here and there with heaps of rubble 
 and bits of dry mortar, which seemed to have fallen bodily from the 
 ceiling. There were plenty of windows ; and a shutter or two, hanging 
 diagonally from one hinge, composed the whole furniture. The last 
 room was abruptly broken off in the middle, where that end of the 
 establishment had fallen away. I did not inquire the rent, but con- 
 tinued my investigations in the rest of the city with about similar success. 
 
 From some of the housetops there were exceedingly picturesque 
 views of the two deep ravines (betweeri which llavello stands on a strip 
 of rock) and the surrounding mountains, scattered with convents and 
 villages to a wonderful height, varied on the other side by the bold 
 and ragged coast-line of which this headland forms a part, with the blue 
 hills of Calabria far away across the gulf. 
 
 When my patience was worn out, and I was about to descend, we 
 came to a church, whose door I was surprised to find open. " Is service 
 ever performed in it ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Eccellenza si, that is the cathedral where there is the celebrated 
 pulpit that all the foreigners come to see." We entered. The church 
 was not ruinous inside, and near the centre of it stood the celebrated 
 pulpit, about the size of the mail carriage in a Great Western train. 
 
 It is a magnificent fabric of white marble, richly sculptured, and in- 
 laid in all the intagliated surfaces with the most brilliant tarkeelhes — if 
 that be the proper term for the glittering mosaics of blue and red, and 
 white and gold, which adorn the Alhambra. The main part of it is an 
 oblong gallery, supported on columns, in whose spiral grooves the inlaying 
 has a peculiarly beautiful effect. These columns grow out of the backs 
 of as many white marble lions, who do not seem at all troubled by their 
 burden, unlike their broken-legged brethren in the baptistry at Pisa, 
 who have had to be propped up under their bellies. The further end 
 of the pulpit is solid, and contains the staircase for the preacher to go 
 up. He must be a bold orator who shall hope to frame sermons fit to 
 come from stones like these. An inscription in Gothic characters 
 records in rhymed hexameters that Nicolas Rufolo presented this offer- 
 ing to the Virgin in the year 1226. It is not easy to guess what it cost 
 them, but a British architect has since informed me, that he thought a 
 similar construction might perhaps be set up in England for three or 
 four thousand pounds. This will give some little idea of the wealth 
 and liberality of the nobles who once lived in these broken and crumb- 
 ling palaces. 
 
A COUNTRY RESIDENCE. 341 
 
 The home of the Rufolos, a vast and beautiful ruin, on which time 
 and the bad taste of its successive occupants had almost done their 
 uttermost, had been snatched from the brink of final destruction by an 
 English gentleman, who, in the midst of what seemed irretrievable ruin, 
 has made a delightful and luxurious habitation. He iron-bound toppling 
 Saracenic towers, which had split down to the foundation, and had been 
 given up by the best doctors as beyond the help of masonry, and trussed 
 up the bursting groins of overladen vaults beneath. He spread flower- 
 gardens amid mouldering arch and sky-pierced dome ; for the palace, 
 which was one of immense extent, has shrunk away from its former 
 limits. An Arabesque wrought-iron gate guards the lofty dome-arch 
 of the entrance-tower. About sixty yards of broad, straight road brings 
 you to a smaller arch, marble-columned, and guarded by two couchant 
 lions, holding in their mouths two quaint old marble scutcheons. 
 Through this arch you enter a square cloistered court, lined with rows 
 of twin columns of white marble. Within the columns the court falls 
 away to a great depth, and looking down you see that the cloister is in 
 fact a gallery supported on larger columns below. Passing through the 
 cloister you emerge upon a sort of area. To the left is the great tower, 
 about two hundred feet in height, accessible by a cleverly engineered, but 
 very terrible little wooden staircase. To the right is the habitable part 
 of the palace, pierced with a passage to the picturesquely-columned vaults 
 filled with flourishing exotic plants, which open on to a lawn adorned 
 by flower-beds and marble fragments. The interior of the house is 
 most comfortable, and the luxurious modern furniture, and light decora- 
 tion inside, contrast pleasantly with the stern and solemn grandeur of 
 the grey towers and venerable cloisters we have left behind. A long 
 suite of handsome apartments all look out upon the beautiful Gulf of 
 Salerno. The front line of the palace is continued by a long pergola 
 terrace commanding the same view, and trelliced over with vines. The 
 steep brow falls away in successive flights of hanging gardens. 
 
 Here was a place that would have done very well, but unfortunately it 
 was not exactly available. Emerging from the beau ideal upon practical 
 life in the streets of Kavello, we lit upon a wine-shop. We did not 
 trouble the lean and hungry-looking publican with inquiries as to where 
 he could possibly expect to find drinkers, but asked him for a house in a 
 garden. To our great surprise he had one down in the vineyard slopes 
 behind his establishment in the street. 
 
 We went down, and found it standing up to its waist in vines and fig- 
 trees on the verge of a deep ravine, dividing Kavello from Scala, through 
 which gleamed a strip of sun-lit sea, the headland of the gorge being 
 set off by two ruined towers. The cottage was not so ruinous as might 
 have been expected. I bargained for the rent, with a fig and grape right 
 ad libitum, and told him to furbish up and whitewash. 
 
34)2 ltzzy's locket. 
 
 I now parted with my guide, and descending through the picturesque 
 ravine plunged into the staircase alleys of Atrani ; thence it was only 
 a step round the corner of a great rock to Amalfi. The ancient city of 
 the discovered Pandects disappointed me, being, as far as the city was 
 concerned, nothing remarkable. The crags of the coast are as picturesque 
 here as elsewhere, and Amalfi sits round a little bay at the foot of them, 
 a dirty little town, with a picturesque valley behind. 
 
 Here I took a boat, and, skirting along below the gigantic crags of the 
 promontory, passed the little town of Positano, the rocks of the Sirens, 
 the point of Campanella, and, late at night, got home to Capri. 
 
 A week or so afterwards I took possession of the cottage in the vine- 
 yard, where I wrote this paper, ate a great many figs, and a few sourish 
 grapes, for the vintage was bad, as it has been, and is likely to be, for 
 some years. 
 
 LIZZY'S LOCKET, 
 
 ENGRAVED WITH THE "WORDS 
 
 AH! WHOSE? 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet Liz! behold 
 
 Your locket — made 
 Of guinea gold 
 
 My hair to hold ! 
 Till love shall fade 
 
 And your heart grow cold, 
 Let it hold my hair 
 As long as you care 
 
 For me as you cared of old ; 
 And if any one dare 
 
 Be so overbold 
 As to ask wJwse hair 
 At your chain you wear ? 
 
 Why! then you may bid 
 
 Him just look at the lid 
 Where 'tis graven in letters of gold- 
 
 And the lid will tell him whose, 
 Ah! whose? 
 And yet no great secret be told. 
 
Lizzy's locket. 343 
 
 II. 
 
 But when your heart grows cold, 
 And your- love for me shall fade — 
 And you care for the locket because it is made 
 Of excellent guinea gold, 
 Far more than you care 
 For the look of my hair. 
 Which once in absence your heart consoled — 
 Which you kissed now and then. 
 And would, kissing, declare, 
 That its giver was dearest to you among men — 
 Since we all have our day. 
 
 Mine will end by and by ! 
 When you throw it away 
 With a sneer or a sigh ; 
 When you sweep it away 
 
 With the dust on the floor — 
 " I loved him a little ! " 
 Perhaps you will say — 
 " Hearts are tough 1 Love is brittle ! 
 I love him no more 1 " 
 When my hair is displaced 
 By the hair of another. 
 Who my love has displaced, 
 
 Who my memory shall smother — 
 When the new lock is hid, 
 
 As you snap down the lid. 
 It shall take you to task 
 
 And accuse ! 
 With my voice it shall ask, 
 
 In my voice as of old, 
 With a sorrowful tone, 
 In its letters of gold, 
 Crying, " Whose?" 
 Ah ! WHOSE ? 
 Whose hair is it now ? My own ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And when we both are laid 
 Deep in the dismal tomb : 
 When the dust whence we were made 
 Is to Earth again repaid, 
 And betrayer or betrayed 
 Wrapped in Death's drowsy shade, 
 
344 Lizzy's locket. 
 
 We have ceased to fret and fume. 
 When sad memories sleep 
 Buried deep 
 In the mould — 
 When our eyes have ceased to weep 
 
 And our lips are blue and cold ; 
 When our hearts no longer beat 
 Underneath the winding-sheet 
 Eound us rolled. 
 Then — some maiden young and fair 
 Shall this golden locket wear, 
 Coiling up her lover's hair 
 In the gold. 
 She will ask him with a kiss, 
 " What old-fashioned thing is this ?" 
 
 And be told — 
 " Though the fashion be so old 
 It is made of guinea gold 
 As the jeweller who sold 
 
 Did declare. 
 Xt will do to hold my hair. 
 Bound your pretty neck to wear — 
 Eound your neck so snowy fair, 
 Sweet, my own!" 
 And that maiden fair shall say. 
 In a melancholy tone, 
 " He who gave and she who wore. 
 
 Where are they?" 
 He shall answer — "Where, indeed! 
 They of lockets have no need 
 Any more — 
 Dead and gone! 
 Put it on!" 
 She will put it on, " Alas, 
 How the generations pass 
 Like a shadow on the grass " — 
 
 She shall cry — 
 "Ah! whose was it once, I wonder? 
 Shall not we be torn assunder 
 
 You and I?" 
 Pearly tears her eyes suffuse. 
 
 And her love shall kiss them dry. 
 He shall answer with a sigh, 
 " A mere echo makes reply. 
 
Lizzy's locket. 345 
 
 On the lid is graven, ' Wfiose ? 
 An ! WHOSE ?' 
 It will do as well for us 
 As for those, 
 By and by. 
 After we have perished thus. 
 And our story they discuss 
 Or imply 
 As they choose, 
 Crying, ' Whose, 
 Ah, whose?' 
 With a sentimental fuss. 
 Their silly little darlings to amuse." 
 
 IV. 
 
 But that maiden shall loolc down 
 
 Anxious-browed ; 
 
 And the heaven of her eyes, 
 
 A slight shadow of a frown 
 
 Shall disguise 
 
 For awhile. 
 
 Like a misty morning cloud 
 
 Ere the morning sun arise, 
 
 Till the sunshine, breaking through, 
 
 Lights again their deep soft blue 
 
 With a smile 
 
 Ere she speak; 
 
 And the dew 
 
 Glistening lies 
 
 On her cheek 
 
 Jewelled new. 
 
 " Ah 1" she sighs, 
 
 " Speak not lightly nor in jest 
 
 Of things dear. 
 
 As the heartless people do, 
 
 Ohl my own." 
 
 In my ear. 
 
 In my mind. 
 
 In my breast, 
 
 Love, from you, 
 
 Such a tone 
 
 Jars unkind 
 
 And untrue. 
 
 Will you mock at love because 
 
 Lovers die?" 
 
 2 B 
 
346 A LETTER ON POLITICAL BESPONSIBIHTY, 
 
 « Nay, not I." 
 To his lips her hand he draws, 
 Here on earth Love is a child 
 Full of mirth and mischief wild. 
 Full of childhood's freaks and flaws. 
 In the tomb 
 
 Love does but pause 
 Like a flower in folded bloom 
 That the spring-tide shall restore. 
 There, on high. 
 Love doth reign 
 And remain, 
 
 Giving laws 
 To the sky 
 Evermore. 
 
 A LETTER ON POLITICAL RESPONSIBILITY, 
 ADDRESSED TO MRS. BULL. 
 
 Mt deae Madam,' — From the breaking of a plate in the back kitchen 
 to the most fatal blunders in the government of empires, throughout 
 all the misadventures to which mundane things are liable from the 
 carelessness, incompetence, and dishonesty of human beings, you 
 will always find on inquiry that nobody was, is, or by any possibility 
 can be to blame. 
 
 Ton may point indignantly to the sherds of crockery on the floor, 
 and follow up the startling axiom that " things don't break of them- 
 selves," by the searching question, " who broke it, then ? " But 
 what forwarder are you ? The page boy will take up his parable, and 
 declare, " Pleas 'um, Martha kitchen-maid done it ! " But Martha 
 kitchen-maid will have most qualifying evidence that " Tummus is a 
 deceitful b'y, and she wonders at his ign'rance to utter such a wilful 
 story — which cook knows it was Tummus come be'ind me while I 
 was a wipin' of it, and jogs my helber wilful ; which. Mum, Tummus 
 he is full of such ignorant beayver." Cook and footman, housemaid, 
 butler, and housekeeper have" something to say to it." Till at last 
 the broken crockery is covered in a heap of other household grie- 
 vances which come out incidentally, like umbrella-menders, in stormy 
 weather. 
 
 Now, my dear Mrs. Bull, I know the legitimate influence you pos- 
 sess with your worthy husband, cousin John ; and between us, I think 
 you know it also. It is true that you have at times complained to 
 
ADDRESSED TO MES. BULL. 347 
 
 me that he is " a self-wiUed, testy, wrong-headed old gentleman, who 
 never knows how to take advice from those who could, perhaps, give 
 It if they were consulted a little more," placing me in the most 
 embarrassing position, by the way ; for it would be obviously fatal to 
 our friendly relations ever to have acquiesced in such views, while it 
 was impolite to contradict them. On such occasions, therefore, I 
 have uniformly held my peace, shfiken my head gently, and attempted 
 by the play of my countenance toexpress a bland, sympathising protest 
 against any such inconsiderate and transitory expressions of opinion. 
 ^ However, as the present posture of Mr. Bull's gigantic complica- 
 tion of affairs seems to me to be what our French neighbours 
 characterise as "grave; " and as I (a junior branch, however humble) 
 have a heartfelt interest in the welfare and honour of the 
 head of the house — being convinced, moreover, that you, by that 
 persuasive feminine tact and practical cogency of argument 
 peculiarly belonging to the British matron, have the art of making 
 my honoured relative see reason when no one else can — I have 
 ventured to put a few suggestions on paper for your consideration. 
 
 To say the truth, I am tired of telling my honoured relative. He 
 pooh-poohs everything, and says when I am his age it will be time 
 for me to have an opinion on matters of business ; and that young 
 fellows always think they know. He once thought he knew himself 
 when he was a young fellow. He came into his property long before 
 he knew what he was about, and has been suffering both in his pocket 
 and in his constitution ever since for the mistakes he made, as a 
 young fellow, under the impression that he knew ! The consequence is, 
 that he has got into a chronic habit of grumbling, and never takes 
 any steps to get his affairs into order, for fear of making them worse. 
 
 I need scarcely remind you (whose firm and gentle sway rules the 
 female portion of your establishment so admirably), that there is no 
 worse system with dependents than to be at once captious and irre- 
 solute. If you wish to be ill served, the most certain means of 
 obtaining that result is to avoid giving distinct and decisive orders : 
 to be always snarling in a querulous semitone, yet never to speak 
 out audibly and roundly when any serious misdemeanour really 
 deserves a reprimand. I fear this is only too faithful a sketch of my 
 cousin John's method ; which, accordingly, has brought his affairs into 
 a pandemonium of reckless waste, confusion, and malversation, alike 
 trying to his temper, disastrous to his estate, and derogatory to that 
 proud position his ancestry have from time immemorial held among 
 their neighbours. 
 
 In the first place, the agents, stewards, and overseers of his various 
 estates, when they have any business in hand, never thiuk of con- 
 sulting their master ; for they have made up their minds he is so 
 
348 A LETTER ON POLITICAL RESPONSIU ILITY, 
 
 slow and uucerfcaiu in forming- an opinion for himself, it is no use 
 asking him. They allow themselves, therefore, to be mainly guided 
 by a parcel of noisy, ill-conditioned fellows in the servants' hall, 
 which has never been a place where a decent servant-like fellow could 
 lead a quiet life, since Mr. Bull was ill-advised enough to import an 
 unruly gang of bog-trotting footmen from his Irish property. 
 
 The scenes that take place in that servants' hall are said to exceed 
 belief. Mr. Bull's most private affairs, and the secret correspondence 
 of his most confidential agents, are openly discussed and censured by 
 a pack of upstarts and swindlers, most of whom he had not the 
 slightest hand in taking into his service at all : who have managed 
 to get a sort of recommendation to him from some of his outlying 
 tenants, whom these miscreants bribed or bullied against their will. 
 
 These sturdy knaves having forced their way into a gentleman's 
 house, spill the beer, fling the victuals about, and play the devil's 
 tattoo on the table, as if every thing belonged to them. The noisier 
 and more ill-natured these rogues are, the better they are treated by 
 the steward, who, strangely enough, seems afraid of them, though 
 he does not appear to care a button for their master. The incon- 
 sistency of this fear is the more remarkable, because the worst threat 
 they can use is, that they will wake Mr. Bull, who is usually asleep 
 in his gouty chair when these discussions are going on, " and 
 won't be kick up a pretty bobbery, if we stir him up, and tell him 
 all about it!" 
 
 Those who are most vociferous in their threats are bought off with 
 fat cuts out of the joints, which, as no man can eat more than he 
 can, they pack off to some of the hungry fellows who, on this under- 
 standing, gave them their recommendation. And if this sort of 
 indulgence is not enough to stop their mouths, they are served with 
 a slice or two of the white loaf, and a plate of fish at the upper 
 servants' table, in the steward's room, " to their own cheek," as it is 
 appropriately termed. 
 
 However, the men who shove themselves into the steward's room 
 in this way, by making themselves troublesome, are usually kicked 
 out again, on one pretence or another, nearly as soon as they deserve. 
 For it is pretty well understood, that nobody shall be comfortable 
 there, except sons and nephews of old servants. And the way these 
 favoured individuals hang by one another, and tell all sorts of lies 
 to save each other from being found out, is very near as revolting 
 to all decency, and, perhaps, more fatal to Mr. Bull's affairs, than 
 the blackguard rows and obstreporous profligacy of the servants' 
 hall. 
 
 It never seems to have occurred to their minds at all, that they 
 have their wages paid them for service which their master requires, 
 
ADDRESSED TO IFRS. BULL. 349 
 
 and which he only pays for, because it is worth the money to hare 
 the work efficiently done. Nor do they make any attempt to select 
 from among his tenants young men of mark and likelihood, according 
 to their gifts, rewarding, promoting, reprimanding, and cashiering, 
 according to subsequent conduct, till the best men get shaken into 
 the most important employments. 
 
 Their universal axiom is that all service is for the benefit of the 
 servant. If anything goes wrong, which, under such a system cannot 
 fail to happen very frequently, they carefully hush it up, saying 
 (which is true enough) that it is painful to a servant's feelings to 
 have his conduct criticised. But they never think of the feelings of 
 a master when he finds well-paid work shamefully mismanaged. 
 This tenderness towards a servant's feelings is also made a reason for 
 not promoting a capable man over the head of an incapable one, 
 because it is painful to be passed over. 
 
 I would have all this altered, for it lies at the root of all Mr. Bull's 
 embarrassments. I would have him devote more attention to the 
 conduct of his principal agents, aad not fidget himself with trifling 
 details. I would have him begin, by announcing to them that he is 
 about to look into his aifairs. Let him call them into his study, and 
 make them a little speech, which it will be well if you make him 
 learn well off' by heart overnight : something to this effect : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I believe you find my service an honourable and 
 profitable one. If you wish to continue in it, you must consent to 
 accept some little weight of responsibility in return for the honour 
 and profit. I give good wages, and I have made up my mind to be 
 well served. 
 
 " Henceforth, if any of you make a mistake which can be clearly 
 shown to have caused me a loss, he must be ready to refund such 
 a proportion of it as will make it, at least, as serious a matter to him 
 as it is to me. And this responsibility will apply to the mistakes 
 made by the young men you appoint, up to such time as they shall 
 have acquired substance to refund in proportion to the magnitude of 
 their own blunders. 
 
 " It will be greatly to your advantage therefore, to mind what you 
 are about, and to take care you look out for discreet young men, who 
 will not get you into scrapes. 
 
 " If, under these conditions, you think you can better yourselves, 
 you may draw your month's wages, and be off; for I am resolved to 
 find men who will accept real responsibility along with real power. 
 I don't care what wages I have to give— any expense is less extra- 
 vagant than bad and slovenly service. 
 
 " I don't find that the system of checks answers. I find it is just 
 sufBcient to enable you to stop one another from doing any good, but 
 
350 A LETTER ON POLITICAL EESPONSIBILITY^ 
 
 it does'nt seem to stop you from doing mischief. Tou shall have 
 increased wages and authority as you show signs of doing your busi- 
 ness better ; but if I find you abuse your powers, don't trust to my 
 being soft-hearted, you shall to the treadmill if you deserve it, or for 
 that matter the gallows. Tou shall find I am not a justice of the 
 peace for nothing. 
 
 "Henceforth I shall devote all my attention to trouncing you 
 severely when I find anything wrong, and to choosing your successors ; 
 for I am sick of attempting to watch you all, and keep you straight 
 in the performance of your functions. I can't possibly be in fifty 
 places at once. But be sure, when any serious mistake occurs, I 
 shall hear of it, and then without a tedious investigation as to what 
 individual may be to blame, I shall at once be down upon the head 
 of the department. This is what I understand by responsibility — 
 and I mean you all to understand it too — good day, and look sharp !" 
 
 Of course you will put the address into better shape and language 
 than I have, for I am no hand at a dignified style of composition. 
 But above all, try cousin John ov5r in it once or twice, to be sure 
 that he can bring it roundly off his tongue, with a good emphasis 
 on the important words. Hoping that some good may come of it, 
 and, indeed, if anything comes of it, good it must be, for the state of 
 affairs cannot easily be worse, 
 
 I have the honour to remain, my dear Madam, 
 
 Tour dutiful and obedient cousin, 
 
 G-EOEGB Peedeeiok BtTiL, jun. 
 
 P.S. — The other day, in the course of my Oriental studies, in 
 which I am happy to say I am making some progress, I came upon a 
 passage in the writings of "Aarif El Istaamil," which seems germane 
 enough to the question to be worth your attention. Aarif, you are 
 doubtless well aware, was Vizier to the celebrated Shah Naameh, who 
 ruled over Persia in the seventh century of the Hejira, that is about 
 700 years ago. He wrote his famous treatise upon government when 
 he was driven from court in disgrace by the intrigues of the retro- 
 grade party. The passage relates to the selection of functionaries, 
 and it is humiliating to perceive how much the wisdom of this 
 mediaeval Asiatic is in advance of our present enlightened practice. 
 
 " There be two qualities of man's wisdom, distinct and wide apart, 
 as Ispahan and Balsora ; which, nevertheless, man's stupidity hath 
 confounded together. These are knowledge and ability. Know- 
 ledge is the daughter of learning, but ability is the father of doing. 
 
 " It is sufiicient for the purchaser of a water-jar to be assured that 
 it will hold water. But it behoves the buyer of a knife otherwise to 
 prove the keen disciple of the whetstone. 
 
TIME BREAKS UPON ETEENITY. 351 
 
 " The witless customer of tlie cutler breathes upon the blade, and 
 as the cloud vanisheth, he saith, ' The steel is trusty.' But the 
 buyer of understanding will provide homy knots of the wood of 
 Mazrac (perhaps lance wood), a coin of thick copper, and a flint. 
 
 _" He will exclaim, ' Slice, oh edge ! if thou be of the family of the 
 slicers— Pierce, oh point ! if thou belong to the generation of the 
 piercers— Beget fire, oh blade-back, if thy metal make thee accept- 
 able to the gritty bosom of the mother of sparks.' 
 
 " Choice by trial is good. But they who examine the blade by the 
 trial of the pitcher, when they fain would cut, shall scrape only ; and 
 in place of a whittle, shall behold in their hand a potsherd. 
 
 " Thus hath it been, and thus shall it be, till they who compete be 
 examined not so much in what they know as in what they can do. 
 l?or the faculty of doing includes both knowledge and the advan- 
 tageous using of knowledge. Knowledge cannot fail to overtake the 
 possessor of ability on his journey. But learning, in the scull of the 
 much-cultivated incompetent person, lies waste, as a precious pearl 
 whose lustre hath not beheld the sun, in the belly of the shiftless 
 oyster." 
 
 This you will perceive applies directly to the bosh uttered 
 by some of your upper servants, who wish to discredit the idea of 
 proper selection, by putting forward the " cram " test, and showing 
 that those chosen by it are no better than were secured by the old 
 corrupt system. 
 
 TIME BBEAKS UPON ETERNITY. 
 
 To the Eternal Infinite 
 
 Nothing is mighty — nothing mean ! 
 Each glistening grain, each star of night, 
 Distinct in all-pervading light. 
 
 To the all-searching eye serene. 
 
 The rolling waters ebb and flow, 
 The sands are more from tide to tide, 
 
 The starry systems come and go. 
 
 The rolling ages ebb and flow, 
 
 And moving worlds are multiplied. 
 
 Our earth is but a grain of sand 
 
 That tumbles in the surging sea. 
 He holds creation in his hand. 
 With worlds as countless as the sand — 
 Time breaks upon Eternity. 
 
352 
 
 A PERCH FOR OUR JAIL BIRDS. 
 
 How pleasant is optimism 1 How encouraging is the thought that by 
 the joint effort of enlightened peoples, civilisation advances to that lively 
 tune, the " march of intellect." 
 
 Hark to the pealing notes which " blow " from that " deep, melodious, 
 solemn organ," the Press. Behold the nations gracefully advancing 
 hand in hand — crowned with the sciences, garlanded with the arts, robed 
 in the pure white calicos of peace-worshipping Manchester. So sang 
 the broad- brimmed sages of the Peace Society, in triumph " leading up 
 the golden year " of the Great Exhibition. But what is this that breaks 
 the silver-sounding harmonies ? Hoarse brass trumpets! a hubbub of 
 drums! the clash of swords! the crackle of muskets! the thunder of 
 artillery! Oh! it is only a spoilt child of despotism on the outskirts of 
 civilisation. It is only the Russian autocrat misbehaving himself. We 
 must send him a nursery governess from the Manchester training school. 
 Nevertheless, that noise is the Russian war. Well, it is very provoking ; 
 emperors will misbehave themselves; kings are little better; we must 
 civilise Russia ; we must give a constitution to Naples. Why will not 
 the world take example by England? How happy we are in peace; 
 how prosperous we are since the gold-fields relieved us from our suicidal 
 monetary systems and Bank Charter Acts. Behold the Panic ! How 
 honest we are in trade. Why the rule is proved by the exceptions. See 
 with what infamy we load our Pauls and Strahans, our Sadleirs and 
 our Humphry Browns ! How chaste are our women — witness the inde- 
 corum of our streets — we do not " skin and film the ulcerous place " in 
 our social system. There is no " rank corruption festering all within, 
 infecting unseen." Eruptive symptoms are said to clear the blood. The 
 shameless exhibition, nightly offered by our most central parish (the old 
 aristocratic pre-eminent parochial contrast to St. Giles), the rampant 
 prostitution of St. James's, proves us to be, in private, a highly moral 
 people. Our literature, why it is so chaste that only our women can 
 write chastely enough. It is true our young men read French novels, 
 which improves their knowledge of the language, though it is certainly 
 bad for their morals. It is true also that the lower classes revel in very 
 indecent penny publications, which we hope Lord Campbell will in time 
 suppress, or at any rate, temporarily expel with an Augean stable fork, 
 as well as the physical poison of which he is less afraid. Strichnine!! A 
 disagreable qualm, suggested by the increasing prevalence of the Palmer 
 school of practitioners, for a moment throws a shuddering chill down the 
 spinal cord of our optimistic complacency. Is it possible that the world 
 grows more accomplished in vice as well as virtue, that crime advances 
 with as gigantic strides as other branches of industry? We have had our 
 
A PEKCH FOR OUR JAII, BIRDS. 3o3 
 
 railway kings, with their scrip-roll sceptre and bubble ball of short-lived 
 sovereignity. We travel on the wings of vapour, but our scientific 
 Du Vals and Turpins are in the van, exchanging shot baas for bullion, 
 setting at nought the eccentric-chuck bolts of Chub and Bramah. 
 
 After all the bitterest dregs in our cup of sparkling prosperity are to 
 be found in our lamentable excess of convict population. We have an 
 excellent police to catch them, excellent prisons to keep them safe, 
 excellent penitentiaries to reform them, excellent colonies to give them 
 a fresh chance in another world ; we have spent mints of money on 
 them, and yet the rogues will persist in being no better than they should 
 be. The colonies are become sick of them, having an inconvenient pre- 
 ference for honest men. The authorities, tired of shipping unwelcome 
 and unprofitable cargoes, have in despair opened their overstocked cages, 
 and let the gaol birds fly, hoping that the salt would remain upon their 
 tails. But the gaol birds instantly shook the salt off their tails, and by 
 way of asserting their freedom, garotted a few philanthropists. Even 
 the philanthropists accordingly are beginning at last to look out for 
 some practical point of view. Where is the practical to be found? 
 History records the world's experience. If necessity be the mother, 
 experience is the father of invention. The ancient Druids piled up their 
 criminals in a huge wickerwork frame resembling a human figure, 
 packing them in with much inflammable matter, to which they solemnly 
 set fire before a vast concourse of people assembled at high festival. 
 As the flame crackled and the wretched victims howled in concert with 
 a united cry of agony that could reach the farthest extremities of the 
 crowd, with that solemn giant figure of punishment standing unmoved 
 in its garment of flame, it must have struck every one present with a 
 strong indisposition to incur such a fate. Tho venerable Druids, of 
 amiable aspect, with long white streaming beards, superintending the 
 ceremony, no doubt calculate on a great moral effect. If you, as an 
 economist, are tempted to ask one of them why they waste more labour 
 and fuel than is necessar)'? why they do not burn each offender 
 separately, with just sufficient fire-wood to cause his death? he would tell 
 you that it had been tried and not found effective; that a man indi- 
 vidually watched by a whole crowd was ashamed to howl, and the people 
 admired his courage if he bore his punishment well, however much he 
 had deserved it. That their object was to make punishment sublimely 
 horrible and shameful. That men, burned together, encouraged one 
 another to howl very powerfully, for since no one could tell who 
 howled and who did not, they all howled as loud as they could ; and 
 the people were edified accordingly. A proposal to have a great wicker- 
 work exhibition of capital punishment on Salisbury Plain would, 
 however meet with too strenuous opposition in Exeter Hall to be 
 seriously entertained for a moment. 
 
354 DBS PREAUX'S HANSOM. 
 
 Our very advancement in science displaces our criminal labour from 
 many ancient and simple applications. If it were not for steam, how 
 many galley slaves might have been commodiously chained to the five 
 thousand oars of the Great Eastern? She goes by steam; but cannot 
 the men who ought to be chained at the oars be made to work the coal 
 for her innumerable furnaces? Forced work is inconvenient and 
 dangerous. Granted, but a coal-mine is not a bad prison. Who will 
 be, their gaoler? Nobody. You march your gang of ruffians to the 
 mouth of your Government pit ; the officer on duty addresses them : 
 " Miscreants, you have been a disgrace to the surface of the earth, you 
 are about to be brought to your proper level. You are so many; your 
 food will be sent down; so much bread, cheese, water, and candles, as 
 long as you send up so many tons of coal a day. When one of you 
 dies, his body will be sent up for inspection. If he is found to have come 
 by his death fairly, his food and proportion of coal will be deducted; 
 if unfairly, his food will be deducted, and you will have to send up bis 
 coal by extra labour. It is your interest to keep one another alive, 
 your work being as much as you can do without shortening your days ; 
 for if you murder many of your companions you will either be worked 
 or starved to death. Any man coming up alive to the mouth of the 
 pit will be instantly shot by the guard. If no enormity is committed, 
 after a time, gangs of you, by rotation, will work above ground 
 in chains. After so many years of good behaviour 3'ou will be set 
 at liberty. If you now refuse to work no food will be sent down. You 
 will be allowed a fortnight to die of starvation and thirst, after which 
 your bodies will be removed. Let me recommend you as you get to 
 the bottom each of you to take his candle and tools and begin to work 
 for his supper, which will be sent down when sufficient coal has come 
 up." What an opportunity for these ruffians to learn self-government. 
 Some of them, after passing this ordeal, would come up wiser and better 
 men, valuable members of the commonwealth, whom the law had no 
 called over the coals in vain. 
 
 DBS PREAUX'S RANSOM. 
 I. 
 
 BloHAED the Pirst~a most reprobate rascal on 
 Earth — though romance makes his memory dear ; 
 
 One who would fiinish a nine-gallon cask alone. 
 Equally thirsting for bloodshed and beer 
 
 He was encamped in the plains before Askalon, 
 Leading a very sad life as I fear. 
 
DESS PREAUx's RANSOM. 355 
 
 II. 
 
 One day, o'ercome by potations inordinate, 
 
 Out on a picnic witt nine of his chums, 
 Sleeping his drink off he grunted and snored in it. 
 
 Nothing was left but the slops and the crumbs ; 
 Vertical shadow the palm-trees afibrding it 
 
 Cast on the King. Lo ! a cloud — and it comes ! 
 
 III. 
 
 O'er the sandy desert sweeping 
 
 Eapidly that cloud advances ; 
 From the dusty dimness peeping 
 
 Gleam the points of lifted lances. 
 " Goodness gracious ! " cried, upleaping, 
 
 After some uneasy glances ; 
 Two stout knights, half sober, keeping 
 
 "Watch in case of war's mischances. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Wake from your slumbers 
 
 Richard Plantagenet ! 
 Pees come in numbers 
 
 "When least you imagine it ! 
 Buckle your armour 
 
 And button your clothes, 
 For the danger is far more 
 
 Than you might suppose." 
 
 V. 
 
 Starting, he snorted, " A curse on the Saracen! 
 Greatest of bores beyond any comparison ; 
 Never an hour but the dogs come and harass one. 
 Plague upon Askalon's infidel garrison." 
 
 VI. 
 Their steel-armed steeds they mounted. 
 
 Those steel-clad, stalwart men ; 
 Fourscore the Paynims counted, 
 The Christians were but ten. 
 "With lance in rest. 
 With nodding crest, 
 With blazoned buckler stout, 
 With vizor shut 
 They rode full butt 
 Against the Pagan rout. 
 
 VII. 
 
 As some huge mass of jutting rock 
 
 The mountain runnel mines, 
 Till the foundation of the block 
 
356 DES PREAUX'S RANSOM. 
 
 Its loosened hold resigns — 
 Down the steep brow with bounding shock 
 
 Comes crashing through the pines — 
 So smote that iron bulk of men 
 Upon the light-armed Saracen. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As when some pig ill-starred in 
 
 A lady's flower-garden, 
 
 [While men and maids are striving, 
 
 The rash intruder driving 
 
 Mid stocks and dafibdillies. 
 
 And pinks and Turk's-head lilies,] 
 
 Tramples in dire disorder 
 
 Parterre, and bed and border — 
 
 The garden sticks he shatters 
 
 And tears the flowers to tatters, 
 
 While all, as mad as hatters, 
 
 Cry " fire !" and " thieves !" and " murder ! 
 
 So dealt the cavaliers. 
 
 With the turbans and the spears. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But coats of mail be heavy, 
 
 And Syria's sun is hot ; 
 This handful in the bevy 
 
 Were hustled, as they fought. 
 They laid about them stoutly, 
 And cursed Mahound devoutly. 
 
 Till out of breath they got. 
 But with eight to one, in any form. 
 The Pagans were too many for 'em 
 
 To slay upon the spot. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then, cried the bold des Preaux, 
 
 " We shall not win this bout ! 
 
 Help me to break the rout. 
 And ride the other way, oh 
 
 My liege, when once you're out ! 
 I will tell them I'm the king ; 
 
 A diversion it will be. 
 If I live, my ransom bring, — 
 
 " If I die, remember me !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Each knight then spurred his charger — 
 Their vantage ground grew larger — 
 " Caitiffs, yield to Eic, the king ! 
 
DES PKEAUx's HANSOM. 357 
 
 Rio el Malek, el Inkleezy, 
 
 To catch me you won't find easy ; 
 
 By no means an easy thing !" 
 
 As they flashed out of the ring, 
 Steel-clad from the caftaned crowd, 
 Like a bolt out of a cloud, 
 Thus des Preaux thundered loud, 
 
 " I am king ! Eic, the king I" 
 
 XII. 
 
 'Twas in Arabic he spoke — 
 
 To the Saracens it seemed 
 Not a thing to say in joke — 
 
 Eound him all their sabres gleamed. 
 For each bold sheikh had been sorry 
 To neglect so noble quarry. 
 Arab warriors, all and each 
 Have a sharp eye for baksheesh ! 
 The Sultaun would be in rapture 
 At the King of England's capture ; 
 And his capturer might count 
 On baksheesh to an amount 
 Whose loss would make much sorrier 
 Each yaliant Arab warrior. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So King Richard cut his lucky — 
 
 And the caliph when he heard 
 Of des Preaux's conduct pluclcy 
 
 In the case as it occurred — 
 He " inshallah'd" and " mashalla'd" in 
 A style beseeming Saladin, 
 
 At a length that were absurd, 
 
 For my Christian muse (who loathes 
 All Mahound's ungodly oaths) 
 To put half such stuff unhallow'd in. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 On a subsequent exchange 
 
 Of war prisoners, it appears 
 That des Preaux's price may range 
 
 About ten or twelve Emeers. 
 "When the King hears this quotation, 
 
 As per invoice, all alert, 
 He exclaims, with animation, 
 
 " Buy him in ! he's cheap as dirt ! " 
 An expression which evinces 
 How Eic measured Paynim princes 
 
 "With a Christian lance expert. 
 On the Sultan's part the ransom 
 Showed appreciation handsome 
 
 Of des Preaux's high desert. 
 
358 
 
 THE MONTH. 
 
 The gossips are out of town. The clubs are deserted. The 
 great talk-manufactory at "Westminster is closed. Its operatives have 
 struck work, and are discussing the value of their services with their 
 employers. 
 
 Our gracious sovereign was not made a prisoner at Cherbourg, though 
 she had been repeatedly warned by the alarmist section of her faith- 
 ful press, that she ran a great risk of being incarcerated in the Prench 
 fleet, towards which consummation her introduction to the dock 
 seemed so ominous a preliminary on the part of his Imperial Majesty. 
 The Cherbourg fete was, no doubt, a grand affair, and like most 
 other grand affairs, proved a very noisy, troublesome, and unsatis- 
 factory piece of amusement to those conscientious British sight- 
 seers who feel it is their duty not to miss any favourable opportunity 
 of being hustled by crowds, dazzled with bayonets, and deafened with 
 cannon. They came back in a little worse humour than they went, 
 except perhaps Mr. Eoebuck, whose good-humour stands permanently 
 at zero, from which (by his entertainment in the provinces) we may 
 argue it has not varied. 
 
 We have no right to complain of Napoleon for improving his naval 
 department ; all we have to do is to see that we are a match for him. 
 Let us take the hint and drive the stagnant incubus of official jobbery ' 
 out of our own dockyards and Admiralty Boards. Let us not play 
 ducks and drakes with our honest Jack-tars, on the supposition that 
 they will always be simple enough to serve a country which turns 
 them adrift every time there is a Brummagen Economy cry for 
 retrenchment. We must have our Channel Fleet. It is ridiculous 
 to suppose that human beings will ever advance to a point of civilisa- 
 tion beyond the chance of coming now and then to loggerheads. 
 And to say that a great and wealthy country is not rich enough to 
 keep up an effective maritime police, is equally ridiculous. 
 
 By bad financial government we waste as much in one panic as 
 would keep up four times the naval establishment we have for a 
 hundred years ; and yet we are come to the pettifogging economy of 
 " shearing the Beefeaters," as Punch has it, — 
 
 " Much good our diggings do us. 
 
 With all their golden ore ; 
 What profit are they to us 
 
 If we have grown so poor. 
 That, spite of ail the riches 
 
 Upon us that are poured. 
 Beefeaters' coats and breeches 
 
 We can no more afford." 
 
 The bullion burned out of the gold lace-bordered jerkins of our 
 jolly Teomen of the Guard — the last remnant of mediajval pomp and 
 picturesqueness left to Eoyal state — will go a long way, no doubt, to 
 brace the sinews of war ! 
 
 Before Cherbourg is well disposed of, we are startled by the joyful 
 thrill of a monster nerve uniting the old world with the new. The 
 
THE MONTH. 359 
 
 Earth, limb by limb, is recovering from its congenital palsy. The 
 magic chord, along which sensation and volition vibrate, flashes its 
 hghtning intelligence across the broadest gap of stormy disunion 
 dividing land from land. The Queen and President exchange sub- 
 lime messages, and the Mayors of London and New Tork hasten to 
 illustrate fhe pendant of the adage whose terms only a step divides. 
 
 The civic mind seems to possess eminent qualifications for taking 
 this particular and individual step. Its march of intellect seems to 
 be composed of a staccato succession of such steps. 
 
 The metropolitan drainage, a question, which forced itself on the 
 noses of parliament, while the Thames stank in their nostrils, has been 
 delivered over to the municipal mind. The results seem likely to be 
 as follows, for in the absence of our professed prognosticators, we are 
 also, pro tern, among the prophets.' 
 
 A vast deal of money will be spent on preposterous tunnels, in 
 which the sewage will stagnate in drought, and overflow in wet 
 weather. A few pet engineers and influential contractors will play 
 into each others hands, bamboozle the central board, and make a very 
 good thing of it among them. The rate-payers will continue to be 
 stifled and mulcted as usual, but they will have the remedy and con- 
 solation of grumbling. 
 
 In the meantime plans, which seem to exceed all former efibrts of 
 human absurdity, continue to be put forward by public spirited 
 amateurs. The only good sense we have seen written on the subject 
 lately is from the pen of Mr. P. 0. "Ward. His admirably lucid 
 pamphlet — which shows how eloquence can adorn the most unsavoury 
 subjects — has for its pith and marrow this pregnant maxim. " The 
 Eain-eall to Eiveb, and the Sewage to the Soil." 
 
 Our metropolitan Sewage proper, is the water pumped daily into 
 London by the water companies, which leaves the dwellings it passes 
 through enriched with fsecal matter, containing ammonia worth 
 £1,597 each day. The water daily pumped in by the companies is 
 about as much as a heavy shower throws down on 2,000 acres of 
 land. " This small and uniform daily sewage-flow would require only 
 a couple of moderate-sized pipe-sewers (instead of several colossal 
 tunnels), and might be pumped this way or that by steam power, 
 as easily as a lady pours tea into this or that cup at pleasure." 
 The rainfall on theother hand is vast and irregular. The sewage and 
 rainfall are evidently incompatible in the same channel. The sewage 
 being regular, manageable, and valuable, will bear the expense of 
 pumping to a distance. The rainfall being irregular and unmanageable 
 for long distances, by mixing with the sewage becomes unfit to go into 
 the river at once, while it renders the sewage untransportable, and 
 valueless if transported. Is it not clear then, that the moment the 
 sewa"-e stream mixes with the rainfall, irreparable error is committed. 
 
 But you say "we can't afibrd two sets of pipes!" What! not a 
 small one on each side the river, say four foot diameter for sewage, 
 and direct short channels to the river for rainfall. If you have to 
 carry all your rainfall away after polluting it with sewage, think of 
 the miles and miles of huge tunnel, which will now and then be 
 gorged by a thunder-storm pouring down two months' average of 
 
360 THE MONTH. 
 
 rainfall in au hour. Por the clouds do not carry on their operations 
 with the calculable regularity of the water companies, and your 
 tunnels, not to choke and disgorge their swollen flood of filth, must 
 be capable of carrying the highest exceptional maximum of rainfall. 
 The moral is, concentrate your sewage in a small channel whose size 
 you can calculate to the regular evacuation of the metropolis. Don't 
 attempt to carry off your rainfall in any single artificial conduct. 
 The Thames is its natural channel. !N'eat sewage will pay its tran- 
 sport ; pure water may run off the metropolitan area by its present 
 ten thousand sluices down into the river. 
 
 To return to the events of the month. News seems to have 
 galloped across Thibet and Eussia, to the effect that " the flowery 
 enclosure," as the Chinese call their " Celestial Empire," is open to 
 the commerce of the world. And this is the end of that discreditable 
 squabble about the poaching lorcha " Arrow." 
 
 A little rough usage has brought John Chinaman to his senses. 
 "We may have been right or wrong iu trouncing him for that 
 particular affair : probably we were wrong : but, as the Irish jury- 
 man argued, when he refused to retract his verdict of guilty after 
 the supposed murdered man was produced in court — " 'Deed then, if 
 he was'nt guilty of murther he was guilty of riding over my potato 
 bed," we may take it for granted that as much justice was adminis- 
 tered, as was consistent with the competence of Sir John Bowring 
 as a judge, and the general character of John Chinaman as culprit. 
 
 THE BANK CHAETER ACT. 
 
 " CONVERTIBILITY." 
 BANK RETURN OF ATjaUST 26, 1858. 
 
 LI.4BIHTIES. 
 
 Notes Issued £31,426,195 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 11,06.3,540 
 
 20,362,655 
 
 Public Deposits 5,452,791 
 
 Other Deposits 13,550,348 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 783,693 
 
 40,149,487 
 
 ASSETE. 
 
 In the Issue Department : 
 Gold Coin and Bullion 16,951,195 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 Gold and Silver Coin 703,311-^ 17,654,506 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not fay, on August 26th, 
 
 1858, in gold or silver ^622,494,981 
 
361 
 
 EDITH CLABEL: 
 
 A STOBY PROM THBBB POINTS OF VIEW. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 By MEPHISTOPHILES. 
 
 And that was the reason she seemed so particularly alive and merry 
 that day at luncheon. Little we suspected that anything of the sort 
 had taken place, or was likely to happen in such a hurry ; or else 
 some of us v/ould have been on the look out to interrupt a long tete- 
 a-tete of the kind, which was sure to lead to mischief. The day before 
 we had been a pic-nic to a ruined abbey — rather a dull business, 
 though the place was pretty. Denzil was flat ; Edith out of sorts ; 
 Marmaduke sulky ; the mothers mysterious ; Clarel more than usually 
 lackadaisical ; I more than usually bored. Only the Archdeacon and 
 Miss Treraaddock seemed at all in good key ; and they were inexpressibly 
 tedious about perpendicular gothic, flowing traceries, and lancet windows. 
 However I caught some rather fine grayling in the stream, and Sapin 
 cooked them, lighting a fire where once had been the high altar, and 
 making irreligious French jokes over them, which I afterwards commu- 
 nicated to the Archdeacon, who pretended to be shocked, but chuckled 
 immensely, as he always does at anything sufficiently profane or in- 
 decent. 
 
 It seemed to me, that the love affair had not made much headway for 
 a day or two. I began to think it might possibly blow over without 
 coming to anything, and I hesitated whether it would be better to advise 
 Denzil to propose or to come away: but I could not make up my mind 
 whether he was likely to take advice or go by contraries, for it is hard 
 to calculate on what a fellow will do when he is desperately in love. 
 Well, next morning I came down late, so I don't know what took place 
 at breakfast, it was almost over. But I suppose nothing particular, or 
 Maud would have been on the watch. Instead of which, when Edith 
 went to her room, she loitered about, and played a game of billiards with 
 
 Denzil she plays rather well for a woman — and beat him at fifteen. 
 
 Then I took her up at twenty, and while we were playing, Pouchet, the 
 steward, came and took Clarel away from his newspaper to ride over the 
 estate and look at some draining— Denzil and Marmaduke both went out 
 with them, and I supposed they were all safe among the tiles. But it 
 seems he hung fire at the stables, and only lit his pipe and got the boat 
 out. After I had beaten Miss Tremaddock two out of three, she said 
 No. 6. -Vol. I. 2 c 
 
363 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 she had some letters to write. She keeps up a most voluminous corres- 
 pondence, and gets half-a-dozen fat, pink and blue-edged, scented epistles 
 almost every morning. Maud is a dear creature of expansive sympathies, 
 and explodes over electrifying pieces of confidential gossip at breakfast 
 — dearest Loo or dearesfEmily is always going to be married, or dearest 
 Kitty is to be bridesmaid to dearest Lady Adela. Good Lord 1 what stuff 
 women do write to each other, stretching next to nothing into such a 
 bulk of neat angular dilution, with lofty-looped heads and flourishing 
 tails, that the postal department cannot take charge of it under twopence. 
 When Maud went to her correspondence, I strolled down to the par- 
 sonage, which is about a quarter of a mile back, out of sight of the hall 
 behind trees, where the park and village of Caercombe join. It is a quaint 
 Elizabethan rectory ; stucco inlaid with wood-work, carved beam-ends, 
 ivy, honeysuckles, and over-hanging gables, with a snug trim garden. 
 On my way to the village, I crossed Sapin, conducting Mrs. Miniver (the 
 Tremaddock's maid) on a botanising expedition. They were both laden 
 with sylvan spoils. I found Ambrose deep in his sermon, into which, 
 after making me welcome, he relapsed, saying he was in the midst of a 
 fine passage, and pointing to a blind cupboard in the lower storey of his 
 book-case, out of which (being aware there was nothing likely to suit 
 me among the conspicuous rusty folios above) I extracted a volume by 
 Xavier de Montepin . I often used to pass my mornings at the rectory, 
 and having known Ambrose of old, I soon found out the dark places in 
 that highly whitewashed library. The story interested me. 
 
 " There is always something like life in a French novel," said Ambrose, 
 when, after he had got through his fine passage, I congratulated him on 
 the choice secular foundation of his theological superstructure. " You 
 see human characters stripped naked to run and wrestle, as in the 
 old palcestra. Our English writers, draped and swathed and hampered 
 with the necessary proprieties, perform a kind of literature which may be 
 best compared to jumping in sacks at a fair for all the human anatomy 
 it shows in motion. The world, the flesh, and the devil, are the enemies 
 I have to encounter in my calling in order to cut and slash them soundly 
 with spiritual weapons, as the Pilgrim did ApoUyon." 
 
 " So here you get up your Id^es Apollyonieunes only in order to pitch 
 into them. I should have thought your own heart and life might have 
 done without sowing extra tares on purpose." 
 
 " Ah, ha 1 the thorn is bearing grapes, and the thistle figs — you will 
 preach to me of week-days on my theological studies ? wait till Sunday, 
 my boy, and I will be down upon you." 
 
 " If that is the case I shall stay away from church." 
 " If so, it becomes my duty to read you some of it now I have the 
 opportunity, for it would be inexcusable to neglect a chance of improv- 
 ing an impenitent parishioner." 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 363 
 
 " All right," I said, though I had no great confidence that the Arch- 
 deacon's theology might not be all wrong; and he read me a florid 
 passage about spiritual perception of spiritual truths, and grace engrafted 
 on wild seedlings, with a great deal of horticultural illustration, which I 
 listened to with what complacency I could, and said, when he had done, 
 " verily, almost thou persuadest me to become a nursery gardener." 
 
 He only replied with his text, something to the effect that spiritual 
 things were foolishness to the natural man ; and asked me what news 
 there was at the Hall. 
 
 " Oh 1 nothing that will interest you particularly; " and then I added 
 carelessly, without the slightest idea that I was also among the prophets — 
 " except that he has proposed and been accepted. Of course you foresaw 
 it must come off soon." Ambrose changed colour, and said, " Nonsensel 
 you don't mean it ! who ?" 
 
 " Both," said I gravely, " Maud is to be Mrs. Denzil, and Edith 
 Mrs. Tremaddoek, before the month is out 1" 
 
 " Ahl I thought you were joking; I wish there were no worse pro- 
 babilities. If you had told me Edith had accepted Denzil!" 
 
 " So you call that a worse probability ! What have you to say against 
 Denzil's marrying her ? Don't you think it is inevitable ?" 
 
 " I trust not 1" 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " There are many reasons. His birth is in itself a sufficient objection ; 
 but his vagabond course of life, desultory habits, and loose unsettled 
 opinions would all make me averse to confiding the destiny of one dear 
 to me to such a man — at least if she were my daughter." 
 
 " You seem rather difficult to please already, but if you were her father 
 there's no knowing how fastidious you might be. You would perhaps 
 look out for an accomplished, amiable and attractive man of the world 
 like Marmaduke ; or a blameless youth of scrupulously correct morals, 
 regular business habits and prudence, like me for instance, warranted 
 domestic and free from vice ?" 
 
 " I should about as soon think of selecting Paddy Eedcoat off the 
 Newmarket race-course." 
 
 "I am highly honoured. Then perhaps you would think it safest to 
 entrust the happiness of your daughter to an excellent, demure, and tho- 
 roughly respectable young clergyman ; innocent but not ignorant of the 
 wicked ways of the world, writing botanical discourses and reading 
 Galilean atheology." 
 
 " I don't know what you would be at," said Ambrose, looking rather 
 angry and uncomfortable. 
 
 " What I am at is to clear the game a little. Disinterested motives 
 are like the pawns on a chess board — useful if well managed, but an en- 
 cumbrance to the game when they fall into confusion. I have been aware 
 
364 EDITH CLAKEL, 
 
 for some time that neither of us like this match and have both been 
 obstructing it by pottering, inefficient manoeuvres, for reasons of our own, 
 which I, for my part of them, am prepared to confess are not entirely 
 connected with a disinterested regard for the happiness of Miss Clarel. 
 Indeed I will go so far as to say, that I think Denzil the best man in the 
 field at present, and what is more, she thinks so too. We both of us 
 want to knock the business on the head, and we are letting it slip on for 
 want of concert and decision in our moves. As yet it hangs on the 
 balance; but some fine morning we shall wake up and find it settled. 
 I have done what I can with Denzil to make him hang fire, but he is 
 unmanageable, and getting dark with me. You hold the strings of the 
 parents ; the mother at least seems to have confidence in you. Have 
 you told her about the Greek woman? 
 
 " What Greek woman?" said Ambrose. He had been preparing to 
 disclaim and decline all sort of consciousness and complicitj' ; but 
 opened his eyes and ears when I mentioned the Greek woman. 
 
 " Is it possible you never heard of it ? Why it caused no end of talk 
 at the time 1 Did you never hear he rescued a girl from some piratical 
 Archipelagian small fry who had murdered the old father, and were 
 carrying off" the daughter, when Denzil, sailing by in his yacht, saw a 
 flaming homestead on a rocky island, put in, and saw lights come down 
 to the landing place ? Plash of oars — female screams — gave chase — 
 musketry and cutlasses — triumphant ruffian (whose proposals had been 
 rejected, and who had taken these gentle means of persuasion) cut 
 down in the most melodramatic style, in the nick of time. Then of 
 course there was a complication ; gratitude of rescued maiden towards 
 her preserver — house to be rebuilt, &c. The upshot was, that the 
 schooner Petrel lay a good while in that rooky bay, and when she 
 finally weighed anchor, the rescued maiden took passage in her and 
 cruised about the Archipelago and Levant. It was said he married 
 her. Not that it signified much if he did, for it wouldn't have been 
 good in English law." 
 
 " This is very shocking I What is become of her ? Did he desert her ? " 
 
 " No such luck. We can't make him out a heartless villain so cheap 
 and easy as that. He was infatuated about her, and obstinately incon- 
 solable when she died. He has never been seriously in love since, to 
 my knowledge. Still there are materials out of which something may 
 be made, by judicious handling, with the mother, if she has any power. 
 But it is a question whether it would be of much use with the young 
 lady, for she is capable of asking him point blank; and then he would 
 tell her a picturesque piece of romance that would very likely do him no 
 harm with her. For who can tell what sort of conduct romantic young 
 ladies may think excusable in a hero. Their morality is ruled by melo- 
 dramatic laws of right and wrong." To this sentiment Ambrose 
 
EDITH CLAKEL. 365 
 
 abstractedly nodded assent with a sigh. He had a low opinion of women, 
 as indeed I have found to be the case with most men of his shifty and 
 politic turn of mind. The nobler, honester, and more generous sort of 
 men usually have an exaggerated estimate of women. Women like 
 them better for it, but victimise them, and make fools of them no less. 
 I cannot myself boast of any great reason to think well of the vixens, 
 but then I don't pretend to be any better than my neighbours, which the 
 Archdeacon did. He said, after humming a snatch of a psalm tune: — 
 " I think, perhaps, it is my duty to give Mrs. Clarel a word or two of 
 warning: yet, no 1 I should not be justified in telling tales, which after 
 all are no worse, though a little more picturesque, perhaps, than could 
 be told of almost any other young man she might marry in his stead. 
 The thing must take its course." 
 
 " Well, you should know best what is the truly Christian and pastoral 
 course." And I winked to the picture of his grandfather (a sly-looking 
 old bobwigged doctor of divinity, in canonicals, over the mantelpiece) 
 for want of any other person present to receive that mark of intelligence ; 
 for I felt firmly persuaded in my own mind that this protest was only 
 a faint remnant of his Pharisaical instincts, performed mechanically, 
 though he knew well enough my respect for his character was not suffi- 
 cient to be worth preserving, nor even mentioning, for that matter. I 
 knew well enough the outline I had furnished was safe to be handed on, 
 cleverly touched up, and artistically coloured into the bargain. 
 
 On our way up to the house we were overtaken by the riders, who 
 had picked up a dog cart on the road. This contained no less distin- 
 guished personages than Dick Braby and Lord Charles Henessey. 
 
 " What wind blows you here, Master Braby ? " said I, as they pulled 
 up to shake hands. 
 
 " A political breeze that is already brewing, and will be shortly 
 brought to bear. A septemtrional blast from TTrsa Major, to which we 
 spread our canvas at Huddleport, where we hope to obtain more than 
 a bare majority by bulling the political market. In short, that eminent 
 statesman Sir Trymley Shifthelm has had a stroke, which is a warning 
 to us all to strengthen our constitutions by a little sea air and bathing, 
 especially at the salubrious watering-place of Huddleport." Lord Charles 
 had nudged him once or twice in this string of nonsense, but Braby was 
 hard to stop. 
 
 Clarel said, "If you have got a couple of thousand pounds in hard 
 cash at the bottom of your cart, you will do a good business at Huddle- 
 port. I stood on the purity principle twelve years ago, and sunk £1,400. 
 Sir Trymley got in for £3,000. But I believe it can be done for about 
 £2,000 now." 
 
 " We expected to get some information out of you as well as some 
 luncheon. You must tell us all about it before we move on." 
 
366 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 " Very good," said Clarel; " but I can't be hurried with my informa- 
 tion. You must put up for a day or two. We can't let good company 
 pass by our door without levying toll. You must stay to-night at any 
 rate. There is no hurry about the borough. It will not be decent to 
 take any overt steps till he is dead, and old Shifthelm has as many lives 
 as a cat." Less cogent reasons would have been sufficient. Indeed, 
 from their little haste, faint resistance, and still more from the freedom 
 with which Braby put forward the electioneering scheme, I made up my 
 mind at once, that having nothing particular to do before the grouse 
 shooting, they had come as unsuspiciously as they could to have a look 
 at the heiress of Caercombe. Lord Charles, as you may see by the peer- 
 age, is the third son of the Marquis of Madderstock, and Braby, who 
 has any amount of brass, had undertaken to engineer the approaches. 
 So, at least, I judged after ten minutes or so, which brought us to the 
 drawbridge, and I said to the Archdeacon, " Here is a new entry, which 
 may alter the betting on the favourite." 
 
 " She doesn't care about rank, and his Lordship has not much in 
 him. But he may take her eye off for a day or two. You must 
 encourage Denzil to be jealous of him. An imaginative fellow, when he 
 gets jealous, can do himself more prejudice with a woman than any 
 third party can do for him." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ED. M. B. TO THE EEADEK. 
 
 With these presents, greeting. 
 
 About three weeks ago, we (the Editor of this periodical) had occa- 
 sion to write to the gentleman who represents himself in our pages as 
 the Hon. Robert Knyvett. Our note requested him to hand us further 
 copy of his story, in order to give our designer and engravers time to 
 put the illustration in a state of forwardness, reminding him that all 
 ■we had in hand was the above chapter, which had remained over, in 
 print, from the last number. We received no answer, and wrote again, 
 still more urgently, but with no better result. 
 
 About ten days later we were somewhat startled by a visit from 
 
 Inspector W :-, of the detective force, accompanied by Mr. Torte, of 
 
 the firm Latches and Torte, solicitors. We apprehended at first this 
 visit might portend a civil action for defamation of certain public charac- 
 ters whom we have treated somewhat unsparingly in our political 
 diatribes ; and were relieved, and a little surprised when we found their 
 polite inquiries related to a gentleman of the name of Carrow. 
 
 Now Carrow was the name under which our novelist had introduced 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 367 
 
 himself, with what we considered a rather promising, but unfinished 
 MS., while the magazine was yet in embryo. We had not at first con- 
 templated a story at all; but on second thoughts it had been suggested, 
 and finally decided, that something of the kind, linking our numbers 
 together by the connection of a sustained interest (which the unthinking 
 masses find more easily in the flimsiest fiction than in the gravest political 
 and financial questions of the day) would be likely to attract and attach 
 the ordinary run of readers — whose views we hoped to influence — more 
 than a mere collection of disjointed essays. We therefore advertised 
 for novelists. 
 
 Of the chaos of trashy fiction and the troop of shabby fellows by 
 whom and with which we were perplexed and pestered in consequence, 
 it is unnecessary to say more than that " Edith Clarel " was selected. 
 
 Mr. Carrow — his name, of course, is no more Carrow than Knyvett — 
 gave us to understand that he was a gentleman who had seen better 
 days, and had turned his attention to literature as a means of livelihood 
 in his present embarrassments. We saw but little of him, and when he 
 did favour us with a visit, it was usually after dusk. He was dressed 
 in loud patterns, ill made, and much the worse for wear. His manner 
 was rather slang ; yet he gave us the impression, some way, of a gentle- 
 man making the worst of himself, rather than a " gent '' doing his best. 
 He had keen eyes under strongly marked brows, neither corresponding 
 with the colour of his hair (which had rather a wiggy appearance) nor 
 his beard, which even by candlelight had a look of being dyed. His 
 MS. was bold, straggling, and irregular; neither literary nor com- 
 mercial. The parts of the story professing to be extracts from the Blue 
 and Pink Books were much more fairly written than the Mephis- 
 tophelian interpolations, which were full of erasures. We once remarked 
 this to him, and he said he had taken great pains to make the style of 
 those extracts a contrast to his own, and he had therefore re-written 
 them, while his own parts were purposely left in the rough. Part of 
 his last instalment, for which we also had to press him, came in a 
 beautiful lady's hand, with a note saying " he was unwell, and his sistei? 
 had copied most of his hieroglyphics out for him, which would expedite 
 the printing." But it was written on both sides of satin-wove gilt-edged 
 paper, torn along the inside as if it had come out of a book. The ink 
 had no appearance of freshness, except where names occurred. At each 
 name the paper showed signs of scratching out, and the names were 
 written in a stiff imitation of the same graceful flowing lady's hand, in 
 fresher ink which had here and there blurred on the erasures, This 
 we remarked on scouring hastily through' it, but being oppressed with 
 editorial business, had not time to think much about it. It seemed 
 readable matter, and the change of hand and erasures only left a vague 
 uneasiness lest something indefinite might be in the wind. • We had aU 
 
368 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 along, of course, taken for granted that the professing extracts were a 
 mere phase of our author's invention, giving him credit for some literary 
 ingenuity and versatility of style. But what if they were real extracts 
 surreptitiously obtained ? 
 
 All this, and more, broke upon us as Mr. Torte and Inspector W 
 
 stood waiting for further information. " Good heavens !" we exclaimed, 
 '' then there is something wrong about Mr. Carrow?" 
 
 "I believe you, sir!" replied the inspector, slapping his ample breast, 
 which yielded a paper-packety sound, as of complete documentary 
 evidence to that effect. " Mr. Carrow, alias Knyvett, aZfas— (another 
 name, which we are not at liberty to mention)—" is one of the most 
 precious scamps untransported. If he has taken you in, it's no more 
 than he has a many more. What information can you give re- 
 " specting him?" 
 
 "Nothing more than that we forward proofs to his lodging in St. 
 John's Wood, I think ; I have the address somewhere — " 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself, sir," said the inspector. " We've tried that crib. 
 The lady under whose protection he had been living there gave us a good 
 deal of bad language — said ' her Bob had proved a black-hearted villain ; 
 which I believe all you men are much alike,' says she. ' And as to 
 my Bob,' says she with scorn, ' you have my free consent to his hanging, 
 if you can catch him,' says she, with a sneer; ' for he's on his way to 
 Australia by this time,' says she, and begins to shed tears and oaths 
 dreadful. ' So there's the door,' says she, flaring up again; 'and the 
 sooner you can quit my apartments, sir, without ilconvenience to your- 
 self, sir, the better you'll accommodate me, sir,' says she, flouncing 
 herself down on her sofa, in a rustle of silks, with the air of a duchess. 
 
 " So I says, ' I've a search-warrant, young lady ; and if you'll oblige 
 me with a sight of your drawers and cupboards, we'll very soon relieve 
 you of our presence, miss.' So she looks at the warrant, and says, 'All 
 right I I'm shore I don't want none of his truck about; so if you'll do 
 me the kindness to remove it, you're most welcome.' So she unlocks 
 the bottom drawer of her commode, and takes out from under some 
 embroidered petticoats a lot of papers and books. Allow me to step 
 down for a moment; Thompson, X 23, he's in possession of them. I 
 lefl him down stairs in the entry." 
 
 " In the meantime I have a communication for you, sir," said Mr. T., 
 extracting a large thick packet from his pocket. Sure enough the 
 packet was directed to the Editor of the M. B. We turned it over 
 gingerly, as if it might be explosive. The writing and seal were 
 unfamiliar. " Come," said we, to our editorial selves, " it is much too 
 bulky for a challenge, and it feels like copy, of which we are much in 
 want. We broke the seal, and a good sheaf of manuscript fell out of 
 the envelope. 
 
EDITH CLAllEL. 369 
 
 "Sir,_As it is possible, nay probable, that you may have been 
 
 misled " Turn over page 37, and last of MS. Signed, " Percy 
 
 Denzil." " Goodness me !" lUnter Inspector, with a blue ftaj/.J 
 
 " I am given to understand that you have already some knowledge of 
 these two manuscript volumes," said Mr. Torte; "which I produce," 
 put in the inspector, mechanically, as he drew out of the bag a small 
 and a large quarto volume, one in blue morocco, and the other in pink 
 kid. Both had locks, no longer of any avail, though unopened. The 
 place where the clasp had been riveted on one of the boards of each 
 volume had been cut out bodily, as the mangled bit of pasteboard and 
 leather still attached to their silver and ormolu hinges abundantly 
 testified. " So much for the privacy of look-up books," I observed, 
 " when they get into unscrupulous hands ; for I suppose I am to under- 
 stand, Mr. Carrow Yes! (looking into the pink volume) it is the 
 
 same lady's hand as the chapter; and here is the place where it was 
 torn out from. How did he obtain possession of these MSB. ?" 
 
 " He took them without permission, which in low life is called pur- 
 loining. But he has done worse than that in his time." 
 
 "He forged acceptances," explained Mr. Torte, "and miglit have 
 been transported for that, but his brother paid the money, and it was 
 hushed up. You see, sir, when we have what the French call a mauvais 
 sujet in high life, to deal with, some arrangement is usually come to, 
 to avoid exposure. I think, Mr. Inspector, we shall not meet with any 
 information here that will be of any value to you. Perhaps it would be 
 well to call round and see if there is any answer to the telegraphic 
 inquiries. I am afraid our bird is fairly flown. Good morning! 
 Thompson can take the bag to my chambers. I shall be at home at 
 4.30, if there be anything to report. [Exit Inspector,] 
 
 " Now, sir, I must trespass on your valuable time for a little private 
 conversation. You see, sir, our client, whom j'ou are best acquainted 
 with under the name of Mr. Denzil, and whose real name you will please 
 consider strictly confidential, has considerable cause to feel aggrieved by 
 the publication, not only of his own, but of his wife's private memoirs 
 in your magazine!" 
 
 " Then he did marry her!" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, sir, they have been married some time, and are now residing in 
 Venice. But that is not the point: our client, whom, for the sake of 
 argument, we will still call Mr. Denzil (and his wife still more, though 
 of course her suit is under covert), has considerable reason to feel 
 aggrieved." 
 
 "Most undoubtedly; and I am shocked beyond expression. But I 
 beg you will confidently believe me when I tell you that I had not the 
 remotest idea that your clients had any more tangible existence than 
 the imagination of Mr. Carrow had created for them in our pages. It 
 
370 EDITH CLAREIi. 
 
 seemed ingenious, and something like truth, but I never for a moment 
 imagined it was true. 
 
 " Quite so ; true every word of it, nevertheless. But that is just the 
 point. Our client says, writing from Venice — h-m-m-m — just so — 
 
 ' If has taken in the editor, and the magazine is no particeps 
 
 criminis, as you would say, I owe him and )\\s readers an apology for 
 interrupting what may possibly have seemed a readable story. I will, 
 in that case, do my best to wind up, and will send a concluding chapter 
 for the ill-used magazine in a few days.' That, sir, is the packet I have 
 given you. Like his good nature — most excellent hearted young gentle- 
 man is our client. Between ourselves, it was not intended to catch 
 
 Mr. ; only to frighten him away, and put a stop to his literary 
 
 efEbrts,whioh of course were very annoying to the lady's feelings ; and they 
 couldn't tell what it might come to in such hands. So a hint was given^ 
 and a little peonniary assistance afforded, and he was off like a shot. 
 The police won't catch him, and we shall come to an arrangement with 
 them to say nothing about it now the coast is clear, and we have recovered 
 the MSS. As to the sufferers by recent peculations they are only in a 
 small way, and our client has given us instructions to see them satisfied. 
 So there will be no noise about it, which in these cases is better for all 
 parties. Lucky our client happened to see the periodical at Venice, 
 drew our attention to it immediately, and we took steps accordingly," — 
 nodding his head, and smacking his lips, as if the whole transaction was 
 of a highly satisfactory character. 
 
 " But, in the meantime," said I, with a sigh, " what am I to say to 
 my faithful readers? The month is getting on! This is a most dis- 
 tressing position for an editor! What is to be done?" 
 
 " Well, you see, sir, it would be presumption in me to offer advice 
 out of my professional line; but I might suggest, if you were to give 
 some little account of our interview — of course keeping names in the 
 back-ground — and then insert our client's remarks, which you see con- 
 tain a good deal of explanatory matter, that may, so to speak, wind up 
 the affairs of the story, which must, excuse me, under the circumstances, 
 be treated as a bankrupt, and pass through court under the winding-up 
 act. The readers, you see, sir, must accept what dividend is to be had, 
 with or without interest. Ha! ha! pardon my jocularity." 
 
 "It is indeed no joking matter to the magazine to pull up what 
 seemed likely to be a long-winded story in one number. Could not 
 Mr. Denzil be induced to go on with it, and tell his own story out, now 
 so much of it is before the public — extracting only such parts of these 
 volumes as he and his lady think fit ?" 
 
 "Ah! well, you might communicate with him on that point; but I 
 don't think it likely. You see it involves such a mass of private 
 details. Besides, if I am not mistaken, the paper I have handed you 
 
EDITH CLARBL. 371 
 
 contains the general outline ; and as that is all that can be had in time 
 for your next number, I see no alternative. But all this is matter of 
 private arrangement between you and Mr. Denzil, as I perceive you 
 still persist in calling him. Good morning, sir. Let us hope the best." 
 We thanked Mr. Torte for his suggestion, and wished him good 
 morning. On thinking the matter over, nothing more advisable occurred 
 to us ; so, in short, we have acted upon it, and with all possible apologies 
 for this unforeseen collapse of our story, we beg to lay before the reader — 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 CONTAINING MH. DENZIL's COMMUNICATION TO ED. M. B. 
 
 Sir, — As it is possible, nay probable, that you may have been misled 
 as to the character and origin of the story you are publishing in the 
 very front of your magazine, and giving to the world with the unre- 
 served freedom which belongs to works of fiction, I beg leave, if 
 necessary, at once to undeceive you. 
 
 The copyright of by far the greater portion of what you have already 
 published belongs to me, having been composed and written by my 
 wife and myself in our private journals. These manuscripts have been 
 surreptitiously obtained, and treacherously made use of without any 
 permission of ours. Your periodical, so far as it contains such matter 
 as I have described, is in the position of a (let us hope unconscious) 
 receiver of stolen goods. Of course, if it has been done unknowingly, 
 as far as you are concerned, I attach no blame to you, and can only 
 say, that it has caused us great annoyance, and we distinctly enjoin 
 you to forbear any further promulgation of our domestic annals, beyond 
 what is already printed. We request, moreover, that in token of regret 
 for the wrong you have done us, you will lend your aid to the recovery 
 and immediate restoration of the original manuscripts from which the 
 extracts, above alluded to, have been taken. 
 
 I make these statements without proofs or substantiations of any 
 kind, havin'" instructed my solicitors to deliver this document only on 
 their having taken such preliminary steps as shall have been sufficient 
 to convince you of its authenticity. They will have explained to you, in 
 part at least, the delinquencies of the unhappy man, by whose treachery 
 towards us, and probably dishonest dealing with yourself, our private 
 history has been thrust upon your readers. 
 
 You have little to complain of, for a moderate degree of precaution 
 in selecting your author would have protected your pages from the 
 present untoward catastrophe. But your readers will have reasonable 
 grounds for indignation when they find that a tedious introduction, 
 through which they may have waded in hopes of getting at last to thq 
 
372 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 pith of the story, only leads to a bald, abrupt couclusion, shorn of all 
 interesting particulars. — " For the romance of our courtship, if it had 
 any romance," says a voice over mjr shoulder, " all came after those 
 frightfully absurd and disgraceful flights of folly the wretch revenged 
 himself by picking out to publish. I shall never be able to go back to 
 England again, vmless every copy of that odious magazine is bought up 
 and burnt !" 
 
 " Nay, darling, that v^rould be like the Irish mob's vengeance, which 
 burned all the notes of an unpopular bank. The more numbers we 
 bought up, the more they would publish. Any attempt of the kind 
 would probably raise the circulation from five or six to fifty or sixty 
 thousand at once !" 
 
 " And what are all those five or six thousand readers thinking of us 
 all this time ? It is dreadful." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself more than enough, my sweetest ; most of 
 them probably think very little of us, passing us and our nonsense over 
 as mere frivolous fiction (for the traitor has had the grace to re-christen 
 us with fictitious names). Most of the readers of the magazine are 
 steady old bankers and Jew capitalists, and money lenders, who skip us 
 as unimportant, and revel in those brilliant and attractive essays about 
 bullion and notes, and Bank Charter Acts, which, to that particular 
 class of readers, are light, palatable and nutritious literature." 
 
 " Nonsense, love. They would never have put us in first, and illus- 
 trated us with those highly-flattering woodcuts, unless they meant to 
 bait the hook of their political and financial experiment with our vile 
 literary bodies." 
 
 " My dear, I am writing down every word you say, and I must remind 
 you that in the Saturday Review you are accused of pedantic allusions 
 and quotations from the Latin grammar ; so think before you speak, for 
 all this will go to heap coals of fire on the head of the editor, who will 
 publish it all in his magazine, as a sop to the ravenous readers of 
 light literature who have been inveigled into his financial trap by our 
 Mtises." 
 
 " You don't mean seriously that you have been writing down all this 
 nonsense for the public ?" 
 
 " I do, indeed, darling ; I will scratch it all out, if you like. But the 
 public is used to our nonsense by this time, and I am by no means 
 sure that it will not be the best way to treat the matter nonsensically 
 to the end (for I am rather afraid that our seriousness may make us, 
 if possible, even more ridiculous than we aie at present), and then the 
 public will not know what to think. For after they have wondered a 
 little how it could possibly happen that an author, an editor, and a pub- 
 lisher should all of a sudden have separately and simultaneously gone 
 mad, which will be their first and most natural idea on seeing this in 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 373 
 
 print, some will say it is a mystification to cover a broken-down fiction ; 
 others will say, it is because the magazine is coming to an end ; and 
 others still, who are of deeper experience in literary arcana behind the 
 scenes, will say, the editor and the novelist have ' had words,' and the 
 poor devil author, being ordered to wind up his long-winded story in 
 a single number at a month's warning, is spurring his insulted Pegasus 
 to kick over the traces. But the practical result to us will be that the 
 reader will be persuaded it is not only fiction, but fiction of a very 
 indifferent sort, and will quit us and our mangled story with (not to us 
 unprofitable) incredulity and disdain." 
 
 " I don't like to leave our readers so," says my gentle bride. " Sup- 
 pose some of them should have read us indulgently, and found some 
 few grains of wisdom in our folly. They may have pardoned our 
 nonsense, and amiably begun to take some slight interest in us. It is 
 true we had no hand in troubling them with our destinies ; but since it 
 has so fallen out — (and some of them inay have thought kindly of us, 
 in spite of our malevolent commentator) — we ought not to break off 
 with a hasty, heartless turn of the heel, or a mocking levity of manner, 
 leaving them disappointed in their good thoughts of us while we are 
 so happy. Nay, some of them might be glad to know how happy we 
 are, dearest ; and be curious to hear what troubles and trials we have 
 passed through in those long years between the last of our printed 
 history, and the blessed morning of our marriage." 
 
 " I always said you were a good girl, my pet, and I think so still, in 
 spite of all the Saturday Revietv can say in your disparagement. But 
 even if we were to keep up our pseudonyms, and try to tell the main 
 features of our story, how could we write all that into this commu- 
 nication to the editor ; and how can we tell it without compromising 
 some of our relations at least, and making ourselves still more public 
 characters than we unfortunately are already ? Besides, many things 
 can be told at full length with all the attenuating circumstances, which 
 will not bear a bald and summary recital." 
 
 " Of course there are difficulties, dear, but let us talk it over, and 
 do our best. Come to the window, my own, and look at this beautiful 
 sunset striking along the canal. All the solid golden palaces are 
 mirrored in a bath of liquid fire.— Come, dear ; your forehead is hot 
 and feverish ; we must go out, and find you some fresh air on the 
 lagoon before dinner. Then, in the evening, we will see about a decent 
 cerecloth for the burial of our story in oblivion." 
 " La siguora, a sonato?" 
 " Yes, Gaetana, I rang for the gondola." 
 " The signori will not require two oars ?" 
 " No, one will do ; is Zorzi there ?" 
 
374 EDITH CLAUEL. 
 
 " Yes, Zorzi is there — but my Zulian would like to go." 
 
 " But Zulian is cooking the dinner ?" 
 
 " Si, signora; but he has put the dinner in full career. And Zorzi, can 
 cook nicely, though he is only a gondolier ; and it would do my Zulian 
 good, for he has a headache, and he loves to row your excellencies." 
 
 " Very well, Gaetana, then — tell your Zulian to be quick 1 And 
 you can come with us too if that is what your wistful lingering means." 
 
 " Grazia tanta, cara signora, tanta tant!" 
 
 " What, are you writing still ? Here is your hat, and my shawls and 
 fan. — Come, dear ! Zulian is in the boat." 
 
 " One moment, darling ! — Now I'm ready." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Edith, my pet, we shall get no forwarder by only talking about it. 
 It must be done; so I have taken to pen and ink. We have talked it 
 over quite sufficiently on the lagoon and at dinner, besides all this last 
 long discussion over our coffee on the moonlit balcony. Come, we must 
 really get to work. If we had written all we have talked, we should 
 have had a quantity of material that, with a good deal of cutting out and 
 a few additions, would have done. Now, then, that I have my own 
 good and wise little wife at my elbow to help me with her five sharp 
 little wits — yes ! just one, sweet pet— and now I feel ready to face all 
 the critics in the world. No, dear, you mustn't look over the page 
 while I am writing. You must mind your work, and help me only with 
 suggestions now, but you shall look over it all, and correct it when it 
 is done." 
 
 '' What, are we to tell our story, then, in a galloping summary ? 
 Indeed, I cannot have that done. There is no way we could put it that 
 would not be quite intolerable. I never should be able to look anybody 
 in the face again." 
 
 " I thought you wished to part friends with your readers. A good 
 many people know a good deal of our story already, and /know it all, 
 and yet you dare look me in the face. Am I nobody? " 
 
 " You are not any-hody ! You know me very nearly as well as I 
 know myself." 
 
 " And do I like you any the worse, sweet, for knowing you better ? " 
 
 " No, my own, I hope not. But, then, you have yourself done full 
 your share of the foolish things in our story, and you never are ashamed 
 of anything. You seem to have no sense of the difference between 
 public and private. I suppose men with a literary turn never have it, 
 or, at least, succeed in smothering it. I never yet have been able to 
 understand how, after those wicked men had contrived by their schemes 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 375 
 
 to bring about our great quarrel — when we were going about with gnaw- 
 ing adders at our hearts, and meeting each other with icy indifference 
 of manner among those glittering crowds whom it is the fashion to call 
 thoughtless— though they, too, may many of them have carried broken 
 hearts under their smooth white waistcoats and glaeS bodices— I never 
 yet have been able to understand how you could bring yourself to pub- 
 lish the whole of your despair (to be had of all booksellers) in that 
 pretty, hot-pressed volume of gasping and shuddering lyrics." 
 
 " Which you cried over, Madam, though you are pleased to speak 
 lightly of it now ! Is not the copy you bought with palpitations think- 
 ing the bookseller was sure to see at a glance that you were the original 
 Irene — is not your original copy copiously annotated with marginal 
 blisters ? " 
 
 " Of course, I cried over it, and I thought ' What a strange mixture 
 of base conduct and noble thoughts ! — (for then I still believed you faith- 
 less and guilty) — what a strange combination of tender sensitiveness of 
 feeling with a callous indifference that cau throw his heart open for any 
 sort of coarse criticism!' And now, I believe, if it was not for my 
 distress at the idea of it, you would not have cared twopence if that 
 monster had gone on ripping up all the secret records of our wretched- 
 ness — grimly pondering, like a cold-blooded fiend, to select choice shreds 
 and tatters of our torn heartstrings for a saleable commodity. It makes 
 me angry to think of him, and still more to remember that you should 
 have been so much blinded by your own generous simplicity as to have 
 once trusted him and loved him." 
 
 " Poor fellow, he is like the rest of us, a mixture of good and bad, 
 only, unfortunately for him, the bad has got the better of the good. 
 You used to like him too! Ah, pet, you shake your head, but it must 
 be true, for it is in print. At any rate, / owe him one great debt of 
 gratitude.'' 
 
 " And what, pray, may that be ? " 
 
 " He did me the eminent kindness of introducing me to my present 
 wife, and I hope that claim is inexhaustible. Besides which, consider- 
 ing the unscrupulous manner in which he got hold of the manuscripts 
 and turned them to account, I don't think he has edited them quite so 
 dishonestly or malevolently as we might have calculated on. He has, 
 at least, not garbled our text with insertions of his own, and has even 
 shown some little tact in his selections. Of course, he could not get rid 
 of the sneering tone in his own comments ; but he seems to have made a 
 judicious effort to suppress it as far as he could; and here and there he 
 has given us a good word." 
 
 " He had sufficient knowledge of the world to reflect that the mar- 
 ketableness of his stolen commodity depended on his readers taking an 
 interest in us. I fear I never shall be able to think of him with any 
 
376 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 sort of charity. He seems to nie as selfish, false and cold-blooded a 
 knave as ever lived. He made a catspaw of my unfortunate cousin to 
 set me against you, and led him into plottings and double dealings, the 
 disgrace of whose discovei'y I think, more than anything, drove him to 
 Eome — which seems to be now-a-days the Botany Bay of discomfited 
 clergymen." 
 
 " I have less pity for your unfortunate cousin than for my false friend. 
 He took so kindly to the office of a spy and an informer, and with such 
 a smooth-faced sanctimony, too, giving you pious advice against me 
 after his search for evidence in slippery places had led him into the very 
 pitfall of shame, whither he was tracking me on a false scent." 
 
 " But he did not know it was a false scent, at least not at first, and 
 the other did, and coolly played out his game between us all, giving you 
 false counsel, making me false professions, and throwing false evidence 
 and temptation in my cousin's way. If it had not been for his treache- 
 rous intervention we should have come to an explanation, and have 
 been saved all those years of wretchedness. Then when my cousin 
 had cleared up Pouchett's peculations, and got the estate into a more pro- 
 mising condition, how the traitor's flattering attentions to me revived, 
 and how opportunely they fell off again after poor mamma's death, and 
 entirely ceased when my father married the young dowager; and how 
 suddenly they blazed out into a conflagration once more when you con- 
 trived to be killed in the Crimea, and he knew you had left me everything 
 in your will. What an improbable coincidence it was, that j'ou should 
 meet with another victim of that wretched woman whose wickedness was 
 the pivot of all the underplot. There must be some strange fascination 
 about her. Even you took an interest in her pretended grief. She 
 certainly was beautiful; and I never saw anything more terrible than the 
 storm of rage, and scorn, and despair, sweeping through that desolate 
 ruin of a woman." 
 
 " Her first grief, no doubt, was partly pretended, and did not interest 
 me much, luckily. That was a mixture of financial difficulty with 
 jealousy of Knyvett, and a speculation for turning me into pecuniary 
 profit, with revenge of her pique. I relieved her necessities, and got 
 myself into trouble by the ill-bestowed charity of a few ten-pound notes. 
 Her subsequent advances were partly from a curiously perverted sense 
 of obligation, but their philosophical reception aroused the indignation 
 of her mortified vanity." 
 
 " You did wrong to run the risk of temptation by mixing yourself up 
 with such disgraceful people and their doings. And yon have been 
 punished for your rashness." 
 
 " I knew I was in no danger. My morality was not of so severe and 
 rigid a sort as to prevent me from being kind to the mistress of my 
 friend when she seemed to be in sickness and distress. And that loose 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 377 
 
 code of morality which men call honour (and which is of too coarse a 
 texture for the delicate intelligence and pure sentiment of ladies ever 
 thoroughly to appreciate) was quite sufficient for my safety, independent 
 of all that violent passion for you, my sweet. Nay, I may confess, that 
 all the romantic fidelity to you, for which you have given me credit — • 
 though doubtless an inexhaustible reserve of ammunition — was never 
 brought into play. My simple sense of honourable dealing with my 
 friend in his absence was the only rampart thrown up against the syren's 
 zigzags." 
 
 " Why should you insult women with the supposition that we do not 
 understand what you mean by honour? What human sentiment is 
 there we cannot appreciate as well as men ? " 
 
 " You understand our sense of honour as people understand a foreign 
 language. Or, to use a better instance, you understand and appreciate 
 it as we men are able to appreciate in some degree your female sense of 
 modesty. You will agree with me, pet, that we are not so minute critics 
 in that essentially feminine code as you are yourselves. At least, it is a 
 very common remark among you, that we men are lamentably obtuse in 
 perceiving the absence, or properly valuing the presence, of this mys- 
 terious attribute in the women we do admire, and in those whom it is 
 confidently asserted by influential bodies of maiden aunts we ought to 
 admire. Indeed, now I think of it. Lady Theresa, when she had been 
 amiably telling me what a charming, clever, high-spirited creature you 
 were, added, in a confidential parenthesis, that ' there was, perhaps, a — 
 ha — something a shade too decided — hm — in so young a creature — but, 
 a — hm — foreign education — and no doubt it would wear off, or tone 
 down, with a little more English society — hm. Didn't I think so?' 
 ' No, I did not; I liked your manner very much,' not possessing that 
 delicate discrimination, &c." 
 
 " You are talking nonsense, dear; and as to your male freemasonry of 
 honour, your friend believed you had betrayed him, nevertheless. You 
 have told me of the stormy interview when he came back to town." 
 
 "Yes, but he was unfortunately rather deficient in that very sense of 
 honour which would, if he had possessed it, have led him to trust in 
 mine, even with all Sapin's cumulative evidence against me. And 
 Sapin no doubt put his facts very ingeniously together, both for him 
 and Ambrose ; for my faithful valet seems to have been in the pay of 
 both. He had got me a considerable check changed the day before the 
 wicked woman came in her smart brougham lined with blue satin, to 
 bewail her desertion and destitution, which she eloquently detailed at 
 great length, not without copious application of Valenciennes-fringed 
 cambric to her eyes. He had to change another check the day after. 
 SapirrTiad, moreover, the pick of an abundance of highly-scented and 
 rather negligently spelled notes, which, thinking no evil, I threw into 
 
 2 D 
 
378 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 the waste paper basket. Some of them were of a deeply romantic com- 
 plexion, and began, '- Best and kindest of friends.' He forwarded a 
 judicious selection of them to Ambrose. Meanwhile, I was busy in 
 London with the preparation of the settlements, and writing my own 
 darling a profusion of those ardent love letters which were soon to come 
 to such an untimely end ; while you at home were going through a 
 course of municipal civilities to the magnates of Huddleport after the 
 election. What fun that election was! It is almost a pity Knyvett 
 was not allowed to go on for a number or two more ; it is just the sort 
 of thing he would have described to a turn ; and he saw all the ins and 
 outs of it." 
 
 " Yes, that would have been all very well ; but you must remember 
 that before the election, he would have come upon the use I made of my 
 secret passages, and the pale lady's apparition to stop the duel between 
 you and Mr. Treraaddock, which I think would very likely never have 
 taken place, even if I had not nearly frightened him to death at the 
 corner of the passage. But he actually tumbled down with terror, and 
 shut his eyes at the sight of me; and when I had disappeared by one of 
 my secret doors, I still heard his teeth chattering. So I imitated the 
 smothered cry of a child, and said in my most sepulchral tone through 
 the wainscot, ' Begone this night, or death comes here for you in the 
 morning!' I was charmingly successful with him. But then the 
 western people are superstitious, and the pale lady's fame is firmly 
 established in the neighbourhood. As for you, obstinate sceptic, though 
 I had told you the story before putting you into the tapestried chamber, 
 you were quite intractable. When I startled you with my murdered 
 infant's cry, and you turned your head round from your writing and saw 
 me, you got up politely and looked at me. That frightened me dread- 
 fully, and if my proper countenance had not been a grim and scared 
 one, I should not have been able to keep it. At last I said, ' Bring 
 not more blood upon our tainted hearth!' to which you coolly replied, 
 ' You pretend to be a spirit ?' I bowed my head. ' Without a body?' 
 Another bow. ' My door is locked, and, therefore it is a mystery to me 
 how you got into my room, as much as that you should have ventured 
 here at this time of night at all.' Here the ghost trembled a good deal. 
 ' But in the first place you have a body, for I see the shadow of it trem- 
 bling on the tapestry. In the second place you spoke first, which ghosts 
 are said, on the best authority, to avoid.' By this time the apparition 
 was very near the walnut press. ' And in the third place you are 
 Edith.'!.'' The ghost disappeared; and you rushing forward, quite 
 convinced that you would find a corporeal reality in the press, came 
 upon nothing but your own paletots and plaids, and a sulphureous 
 smell which I had prepared by burning several kitchen matches in the 
 secret passage before my entrance, so that the fumes came in with me. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 379 
 
 I admired the calm spirit of investigation which led you to tap the back 
 of the press with your knuckles; but as I was leaning breathless 
 against the secret door, of course it did not sound so hollow as it might 
 otherwise have done." 
 
 "Weill" 
 Well, then you were puzzled. And you went and looked at the 
 picture, and examined the lock of your door, and thought whether 
 after all if was not a ghost, and looked at your pistols, and thought 
 whether you would be shot next morning, and wrote a curious little 
 treatise on whether a ghost might be expected to throw a shadow, in 
 the Blue Book, and went to bed and slept very little." 
 
 "Weill" 
 
 " Well? indeed! Just think what a nice story Mr. Knyvett would 
 have made of that in his next number, with all his sneering com- 
 ments." 
 
 " He could only have got it from our own writing, for he never 
 heard a word of it from any other source. But he would have made a 
 good scene of the quarrel over Braby's private theatricals. Braby 
 meant to set us by the ears, and laid the plot of his little extempore 
 play accordingly. He had brought young Lord Charles over from 
 Madderstock to see whether anything was to be done for him with the 
 heiress of Caercombe or the borough of Huddleport. Braby is a clever 
 fellow and a knowing hand. In the county he is a, hanger-on of the 
 Marquis ; but in England at large he has an independent reputation as 
 a diner-out and country house enlivener. His wit is warranted to be 
 understood by country gentlemen, and is just admissible in fashionable 
 drawing-rooms. What funny speeches he made afterwards at the 
 Huddleport election. Knyvett hasn't introduced Braby yet." 
 
 " No. Mr. Braby and Lord Charles arrived — -don't you remember? 
 We saw them coming up the drive in their dog-cart with the riding 
 party who had picked them up on the road — that morning after — " 
 
 "After the terrible conversation I Yes, darling, I remember. And 
 how merrily you talked and laughed at luncheon, as if nothing had 
 happened. You sat next to Braby and took up his rattling nonsense 
 in a way that surprised me. Braby saw how the land lay between me 
 and Tremaddock, and no doubt made up his mind that a quarrel 
 between us would be his best way of breaking ground for Lord 
 Charles." 
 
 " I think you give him credit for more malice aforethought than 
 enough. It is true he has an alFectation of bluntness, and a little overdoes 
 the character of a roystering blade. But it seems to me his system is to 
 stir everything about roughly ; and see what comes of it. He has none of 
 that sensitive delicacy which picks its way cautiously up to acquaint- 
 ance by beaten tracks, going a long way round rather than climb over 
 
380 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 a looked gate, and turning back meekly to wait for another opportunity, 
 when a discouraging answer comes to the front door bell. His system 
 is to disregard all acknowledged approaches. He rides up across 
 country, never looks whether the gate of affability is locked or not. He 
 blows the horn of impudence, and taking a fly leap over the thorny 
 hedge of reserve, plunges knee deep into yotir favourite bed of pre- 
 judices in full bloom, where he tramples about shouting your 
 Christian name at the top of his voice, till you come out in great 
 indignation at the head of all your household to order him off the pre- 
 mises; upon which he says, with the most amiable smile in the world, 
 ' I'm so glad to iind you at home. I've long had a great desire to make 
 your acquaintance. Now pray don't be annoyed, I am Dick Braby. 
 This is a way I have. John, Thomas, William, ah! let my horse stand 
 half-an-hour, William, before his feed; you see he's rather blown. And 
 now, madam, let me conduct you into the house ; it must be near 
 luncheon time.' So having turned the whole establishment of your pri- 
 vacy inside out and upside down, he makes himself perfectly at home, 
 and amuses himself with building up the ruins after his own inventions." 
 " A thoroughly case-hardened impudence is no doubt his principal 
 virtue, but he has great readiness and ingenuity. And what a spirit 
 and stir there is in him ! Why the very night of his arrival, he got 
 up some charades ; and the next, when he had tested his performers, he 
 contrived that skeleton play which did all the mischief. The plot had 
 a good deal of merit in itself; but his cunning management, by which 
 the actors themselves were kept in the dark as to the underplot till it 
 gradually developed in the hands of unconscious agents speaking 
 extempore, led and misled by hints off and on the stage, was a master- 
 piece of dexterity and of the accurate measure he had taken of his 
 dramatis persona;. He did Marmaduke the honour of selecting him as 
 the most opaque medium, under the show of taking the principal hero's 
 part, to turn out the butt of the piece. And that apparently by my 
 wilfully diverging from the original scheme propounded in the green- 
 room, on which understanding Marmaduke had volunteered to select 
 his part. You saw how he lost his temper and heard what boorish 
 language he uttered in the green-room, and my reply; and you saw 
 how Braby took us aside and whispered to us, and made us perform a 
 plausible show of reconciliation for your benefit; though you were far 
 too sharp to be taken in. But up in the high turret chamber where 
 we adjourned (after the ladies pretended to be gone to bed) to see if the 
 quarrel could not be ended in smoke, Braby came out as a practical 
 Solon on modern duelling. He explained to Tremaddock that his 
 conduct had been quite intolerable, and that he had no course but to 
 beg my pardon in your presence, and to beg yours besides. He 
 assured me that duels were in very bad odour with the law, and that if 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 381 
 
 I shot him, I should be hanged, or at best transported for fourteen 
 years. This seemed to encourage Tremaddock to persevere in being 
 sulky and refractory; but I said I would take care not to kill 
 iiiin, for I was perfectly master of my weapon, and would break his 
 right shoulder-bone. 'Put he might shoot me I' < That would cause 
 me no legal inconvenience.' Tremaddock winced a little at the cer- 
 tainty with which I talked of his right shoulder ; but declined to hear 
 or see reason. Lord Charles said it was very absurd the law shouldn't 
 let fellows who quarrelled, fight it out, and he suggested an appeal to 
 fists. ' Should I be satisfied to abide by the result of fists, and demand 
 no further reparation if worsted ? Tremaddock was unfortunately two 
 stone heavier.' I said ' Fists or any other weapons would satisfy me.' 
 Tremaddock said in rather a pompous way, ' That it was not a boy's 
 squabble.' " 
 
 " Well, my lad," said Braby, " you see you are challenged, and, as 
 you will not make an apology (as I have recommended you), your next 
 privilege is the choice of weapons and an early hour for mortal combat 
 to-morrow morning — for we can't sit up all night." 
 
 " Pistols at six," gasped Marmaduke, looking very black in the face. 
 He took his candle, threw away his cigar, and was flinging out of the 
 room when Braby said, " stop a bit, who's your second?" 
 
 Pie cast his eyes round the room, and then on Braby, saying " I see 
 no alternative but to ask you to do me that favour 1" 
 
 " Eemember I have said, and say your cause is bad. I should only 
 accept under protest, so if you happen to make too good a shot it will 
 go very hard with you ! Still I see nothing else for it — so all right — I 
 will be your second." Tremaddock thanked him, but not very cordially. 
 
 " It's my opinion that young man will see reason better by daylight," 
 said Braby, when he was gone. " He looked as if sentence of death 
 was being passed upon him when we came to the settling point." 
 
 Next morning we were none of us any earlier than usual, for Braby's 
 confidential man, who, to avoid alarming the household, was charged to 
 call us all at half-past five, on being commanded at that hour to see if 
 Mr. Tremaddock was stirring, reported that that gentleman had 
 started an hour before to reach Huddleport in time for the six o'clock 
 train. 
 
 And how coolly Lady Theresa read a note from her son next morning 
 at breakfast, begging to be excused for his abrupt disappearance — an 
 express had come for him in the night. He had been called away on 
 important electioneering business. And she too and Maud, she was sorry 
 to say, would have to make their departure to day. Sir Marmaduke 
 was not quite so well. And away trundled the Tremaddocks, with black 
 heart-burnings and rage, and vexation under their smiles and 
 kisses and civil speeches and cordial invitations to the Grange ; and with 
 
382 EDITH CLABEL. 
 
 all the old lady's caps and the young lady's bonnets lightly stowed 
 away in shiny black boxes. 
 
 And then Braby saw there was nothing to be done, and took Lord 
 Charles away to Huddleport, and primed his lordship with that brilliant 
 lecture on the harmonies of colour for the Huddleport Institute, which 
 did not understand the science, and missed the covert political allusions ; 
 though, to do Braby and the independent electors justice, Lord Charles 
 muddled his points a good deal in the delivery. But the independent 
 cheered lustily at the end, on the gratifying fact that "a scion of the 
 noble house of Madderstock had come amongst them," being properly 
 mentioned to them by the mayor who presided. And Braby took the 
 opportunity of thanking " the worshipful mayor, for the kind manner 
 in which he had presided," to gather up and let off his unexploded 
 fireworks, and send all the company away in fits of laughter, which took 
 the taste of their dreary hour out of their mouths. And Sir Trymley 
 did die in spite of all his nine lives and all his time-serving political 
 shifts; and his soul and body paired off on the great division of which 
 death is the teller, whose lobby is the grave. Huddleport was in the 
 market. A deputation of some of the ill-used Tory party, who had a 
 pleasing recollection of the £1,400 spent on the purity principle, 
 came over to Caercombe to " solicit their respected neighbour, Mr. 
 Clarel, to allow himself to be put in nomination." And we over- 
 persuaded him and fought his battle, and got him elected in spite of 
 himself and Tremaddock, and Braby, and Mr. Hotblast, the profes- 
 sional radical patriot, into the bargain. It is getting very late, my pet, 
 and the moon is setting over the Eialto. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "After all, dear, the most unintelligible part of our story, and which I 
 have never quite been able to understand myself, is, why the wicked 
 woman should have so cruelly deceived me when I appealed to her to 
 confirm or deny Ambrose's accusations. What motive could she have. 
 She h.ad received nothing but disinterested kindness from you." 
 
 "She had made advances, which had been slighted. She had been 
 jealous of you, both on Knyvett's account and perhaps a little on mine. 
 She envied your happiness and wished to destroy it. Besides she 
 was in real grief then. Angry with herself and her lovers, and all the 
 world." 
 
 " She certainly seemed so; but I thought you said her distress had 
 been a mere pretence.'' 
 
 " So it was at first when she came to me ; and so it was a month or 
 two afterwards, when she managed to make me visit her during her 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 383 
 
 illness which was all fictitious. But when you saw her, her grief waS 
 genuine enough. Then she had lost her real lover, Johnson; or rather 
 the lover who really stood first in the disjointed ruin of her heart, 
 for the poor abandoned creature had a heart, and the remains of a 
 woman's nature, trampled down in the filthy confusion of her life." 
 
 " The burden of her bitterest revilings in my interview with her, 
 was the defection of her Walter, with which I could not see that I had 
 anything to do. She seemed to take it for granted that I knew all 
 her affairs as well as she unfortunately knew mine. And she was 
 wicked enough to torture me with the supposition that such knowledge 
 came directly from you, instead of its being wormed out of the traitor 
 whom she seems to have twirled round her fingers most unaccountably. 
 And she seemed to have had a kind of affection for him too, and a 
 jealousy of me on his account, by what she said when she came to 
 me in such distress with her final revelations. Her conduct in the 
 whole affair seems inexplicable to me." 
 
 " Naturally enough, in the same way as Knyvett's conduct seems 
 inexplicable. Yet the ingenious crookedness of their folly shews they 
 were neither of them deficient in intelligence. I think ive are both 
 honest, however little we may be able to boast of our prudence. The 
 moves and motives of these two are so difficult to track and account for, 
 because they never condescended to follow the plain highway, and were 
 always playing hide and seek among the thorny-tangled short-cuts of 
 cunning. They wilfully adopted the second-best policy. Knyvett's abili- 
 ties are certainly above the average, and he seemed to have more than 
 ordinary knowledge of the world, yet he has allowed himself to be 
 ruined by knaves and duped by worthless women, losing his friends, 
 fortune, and reputation, with nothing to show for it. As to the woman 
 who calls herself Mrs. Deveieux, poor Johnson (' her Walter'), who 
 had the misfortune to have really loved her, told me a great deal about 
 her in the Crimea — we lived in one tent. We were the Smith and 
 Johnson who distinguished ourselves in the volunteer rifle-pits. His 
 desolate and shameful love story is not fit for your ears. He was a 
 man not base by nature, and he never could grow callous to the galling 
 fetters of his bondage. He broke away from it twice. But he never 
 ceased to think of her, sometimes with bitterness, much oftener with 
 tenderness. He talked of his love as a thing of the past, but I think 
 nothin<T could have really cured him but the fatal splinter of the shell 
 which brought quiet to his ill-bestowed heart at last. His story would 
 be considered vulgar by the school of fashionable French romance, 
 which delights in tricking out vice with false poetic" jewelry to imitate 
 virtue. He did not relate his sad experience in couleur de camellias. 
 There were touches of poetry in it, but" he did not attempt to disguise 
 the ugly realities. He had met her, when he was a wild young medical 
 
384 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 student, and she a fresh outcast, yet unhardened in vice. The loving 
 instinct has too strong a vitality in human hearts to be immediately 
 and totally destroyed by the poisonous atmosphere of sin. The fair 
 instincts of humanity make their own torture when perverted, and the 
 purer and more vigorous the gift abused, the keener is the capacity for 
 suffering. This poor fellow allowed his whole heart, which, unfortu- 
 nately for him was originally an honest and tender one, to fasten on her 
 by degrees. She was newer to sin than he was. And she gave him 
 almost all her heart in return. He was poor, she was vain and extrava- 
 gant. His love deepened and cleared. Her's grew shallower and mud- 
 dier. The blossom of the woman's heart (which had expanded for him 
 into something more nearly resembling a pure first love than you 
 virtuous people would easily imagine possible), withered slowly under 
 the inevitable blight — not steadily, for all human affairs, though they 
 ripen and decay slowly, are fitful and contradictory in their outward 
 show. You look very serious, dear, I will tell you no more of this 
 sad story if you are shocked." 
 
 " I am shocked, but I wish to hear. You speak as if you were 
 familiar with these wicked mysteries." 
 
 " Most men have singed their wings at one time or another with 
 other than celestial flame, but this poor moth went bodily into the 
 candle. I at least could sympathise with him. He had a vein of 
 poetry in his temperament, and had written verses in his troubles. That 
 was a bond of union between us. I remember a poem which struck 
 me very much. It will give you an idea of the man and his hopeless 
 wretchedness; and it will show you that, however deeply entangled in 
 the meshes of shame, he had not a vulgar heart. It was written, not 
 long after Knyvett had picked her up, and when her ostensible lover 
 fancied her desperately enamoured of Mm. This was the sort of thing 
 her real lover, who was a little jealous of the aristocratic rival, would 
 cause her to cry over, when such appeals as these gathered up for a 
 time the frayed end of her now straggling affections. 
 
 The Upas Shadow. 
 
 God's blessing helps not hearts perverse! 
 (Like a pale, sickly weed beneath 
 The poison tree, whose shade is death). 
 
 Our love has grown beneath his curse. 
 
 A poor, pale, sickly, shivering weed, 
 
 Which — planted in a happier hour. 
 
 In healthier place — had been a flower 
 Most sweet and beautiful indeed. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. .385 
 
 Still it is love! I saw it grow! 
 
 It struggled with the deadly taint, 
 
 The poison shadow made it faint — 
 But still it did its best to blow. 
 
 I freshened it with many sighs ; 
 
 I watered it with many tears ; 
 
 I watched it full of hopes and fears — 
 I will not leave it till it dies. 
 
 Knyvett of course knew nothing of Johnson ; though Johnson, being 
 the woman's habitual confidant, knew almost everything about Knyvett. 
 Women find it very hard to break themselves of the habit of trusting 
 a man with their secret thoughts. And Johnson saw, or thought he 
 saw, that his rival began to gain ground. While she was thus waver- 
 ing, there were many quarrels and reconciliations. The better part of 
 her nature clung to her old lover. But even under these complications, 
 she had leisure, while one lover was out of town and the other out of 
 humour, to see if anything was to be made of me. Once, indeed the 
 last time, I paid her a visit to see how she was, in her pretended illness, 
 I found Johnson with her; she was lying on the sofa, and had evidently 
 been crying. He had been mixing her some medicine. There was 
 laudanum and sal- volatile on the table. She did not lose her presence 
 of mind, and said ' she was so glad to see me — though she was a very 
 poor creature — and yet the doctor thought she was a little better to-day. 
 Don't you doctor?' The doctor said in rather a hard dry business-like 
 tone, ' that he had feared for some time that there was something wrong 
 in the region of the heart; but there was no immediate cause of alarm.' 
 He looked sheathed daggers at me, and wished us good morning. The 
 manner and look of the man struck me." 
 
 " So they did me — and I wondered who he could be." 
 
 " You?" 
 
 " Yes, I! I was resolved to see with my own eyes whether the accu- 
 sations made against you were true or false. I had seen the note from 
 her, with the address and the hour. When you came out of that door 
 did you observe a cab with the blind down, on the opposite side of the 
 street?" " No!" " It was there nevertheless, and a woman whose 
 heart seemed shrinking in the gripe of death, sat cowering and trem- 
 bling behind that blind. I was watching you. I had come up with 
 my father. He had to be in town to see his lawyers about the 
 election expenses. He thought at first it was my impatience to see 
 you again, which made me propose to go with him, and he said you 
 would be down on one of your flying visits in a day or two. I was 
 obliged to explain some of my griefs to him. But I first made him 
 promise to let me have my own way. and not to interfere with my 
 
386. ilDITH CLAREL. 
 
 schemes. He ought to have insisted on my telling him all at once. 
 However he was weak enough to promise blindly. Poor dear, he had 
 no thought of the desperate steps I was taking." 
 
 " And what did he say when you partly unfolded your schemes?" 
 " He was very much shocked, and said it was not an honourable 
 course. He said I ought to let him cross question Ambrose (who, he 
 said was a shifty fellow, and not to be relied on), and then have an ex- 
 planation of the whole affair with you, when he had no doubt you would 
 tell him the whole truth, and that would be final one way or another. 
 " ' But then,' I said, ' if it was a scheme of my cousin's, in whom I 
 had no implicit confidence either, what would you think of me for 
 having entertained such a suspicion ? ' He said he felt sure it was a 
 mare's nest of the parson's. For you were a young man of better taste 
 and conduct, and too genuinely in love with me to have a vulgar liaison 
 of the kind so immediately before your marriage. He said I ought 
 either to disbelieve and disregard it altogether, or to take open and 
 legitimate steps to have it cleared up. I was obstinate, however, and full of 
 flighty ideas of my own exceptional ingenuity, and I held him to his pro- 
 mise of secrecy and non-intervention. I am afraid you are right in saying 
 that women have not exactly the same code of honour with men ; and 
 I was suiEciently punished for my presumptuous disregard of my father's 
 good counsel and my underhand espionage and want of confidence in 
 your faith. But I had heard dreadful reports of the falseness of men, 
 and thought it behoved women to be less blind in trust, beforehand, of 
 those to whom their destinies are to be made over, than they usually 
 are. Ambrose was in town again, creeping about and working his sub- 
 conspirators, and bringing me information which I received and used with 
 shame, but declined his assistance in its verification. By this time he 
 knew there was no truth in what he was providing evidence to convince 
 me of. His train was laid. He thought when I had seen you come out 
 of the house, the same number and street as in the address of the note, 
 the note in the same hand in which I had been shown letters to you 
 that were next door to declarations of love (some of the earlier letters 
 which you had taken no notice of, before she had appealed to your com- 
 passion as being at death's door, which you must remember I then knew 
 nothing about, for the notes had been carefully selected to give me the 
 worst construction), he thought the affair was settled, and went home. 
 I thought it final too. But my heart struggled against my conviction. 
 I could see no trace of guilt in your face when I watched it with such, 
 a guilty stealthy feeling from my lurking place. A letter came which 
 seemed full of open-hearted passion. It was some days after, I resolved 
 to be still more convinced, and to give you the benefit of the last shadow 
 of doubt. I resolved to face my rival, and have the truth out of her. I 
 have described that scene to you before. It always makes me tremble 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 387 
 
 to think of it. I had a mysterious idea of the dangers I was to encounter, 
 and imagined quite a hornet's nest of perils. I armed myself with the 
 .pistol and poniard out of my father's dressing case. I loaded my pistol 
 with great care, and remember being very particular in choosing a 
 copper cap that had a good deal of the white stuff inside, and before 
 putting it on I made sure the powder had come up in the touchhole. I 
 saw her. Her beauty made my heart sink: and there was such afire of 
 wicked pride in her eyes, such defiant, scornful assumption of superior 
 knowledge of the good and evil, that I felt at first like a child face to 
 face with my bad angel. ' Poor innocent 1 ' she said, after I had 
 tremblingly explained my errand, ' do you come fluttering to me like a 
 frightened bird, to ask about your men ? Yes ! I will tell you what 
 they are ! They keep the Sunday side of their character for you nursery 
 chicks. But we poor wicked outcasts, that frighten you to look at, we 
 know them a little better. Our men and your men are the same. 
 Your namby-pamby hypocritical heroes are the same men, whose real 
 vices corrupt us to what we are. Till our hearts have had all the 
 blessed power of loving truly, trampled out of them. Oh God ! if I 
 could tear this rotten mass of torture out of my breast, and show you 
 what they have made it, you would shudder more than you do now. 
 Ah ! if I could show you the agony of straining blunted and bruised 
 affections to meet and answer an honest love, in vain! and to find it 
 shrink from you as from the touch of a corpse ! you would understand 
 your fine gentlemen's amusement at our expense ! And then you take 
 them from us — the false hounds who have fawned upon us, and flattered 
 us, and cheated us out of all the wealth of a woman's kindness, only to 
 cast us off with contempt and curses — you take our lovers from our arms ; 
 much good may they do you 1 Take them, and trundle the smooth- 
 faced villains in your carriages, passing by the creatures they have kissed 
 and fondled, and called ' sweet pet,' and ' darling,' and ' my own,' a month 
 or two at^o, as if they were so much carrion. Never fear; let us never 
 say die. They come back to us when they tire of you, mawkish milk-and- 
 water misses. What do they marry you for ? Your money ! They call 
 us mercenary — us, who are living on the sale of our own bodies ; ay, 
 with our very souls in pawn — who yet know how to give away our 
 love to any one we are fools enough to think will treat it as love. Yes, 
 I know all about you. They call you pretty; to be sure 1 you are an 
 heiress. Your men talk to us about you. They say we women are blabs ; 
 if you knew how men prattle, and how their paltry vanities and their selfish 
 schemes come out for our benefit, when they think there is no danger 
 of its getting round again. They told me you were pretty, and you are 
 a tidy little doll— but look at me ! ' She rose to her full height, and 
 turned round before me with a superb and majestic confidence in her 
 rrrace and beauty— ' 7ara a woman grown, just turned nineteen. Look 
 
388 JSDITH CLAREL. 
 
 at me — do you think if it was not for your money, and your fine old 
 moated hall, with cloisters and mulling windows, would they think it 
 worth while to leave me to look at you ? ' 
 
 " ' You are beautiful,' I said. (She seemed startled by the genuine 
 and unconscious tone of the admission, and turned towards me with a 
 less defiant air.) ' You have been loved. You have loved in return,' 
 I continued — ' You have felt how cruel it is to be deceived 1' 
 
 " ' / have felt I What do you, and such as you, waxen images, know 
 about what I have felt. I have loved.' She burst into tears, and 
 poured out her own grievances till her anger got the better of her 
 weeping, and flamed out again more fiercely than ever. ' What have 
 you done that your man should be diiFerent from the others. You want 
 me to clear him ? He is false to you, as he and all the rest of them 
 have been false to me, and such as me. False as Judas, the traitor. 
 What, you hesitate to believe me, poor simpleton ! Will you go on 
 worshipping your broken idol ? Stay, you would perhaps like to hear 
 me swear it. Wicked as I am, I have a Bible my Walter gave me, and 
 I know the nature of an oath.' She seized the sacred volume, kissed 
 it, and with a steady, solemn, distinct utterance, laid an obscene perjury 
 on her soul, and clenched the iron into mine. Her manner after this 
 became still more violent, and she showered a volley of imprecations on 
 my head as I hurried away, more dead than alive. I have an indis- 
 tinct recollection of a slatternly woman on the stairs calling me ' My 
 dear,' and hoping I was not hurt, and telling me as if it was some way a 
 
 mitigating fact — ' Mrs. D , she do be wery voilent at times, my 
 
 dear, though at others she can equally be quite the lady.' And this 
 phrase caught in the film of my stunned senses as some accidental com- 
 bination of foolish words haunts one in the giddy dusk of the mind 
 after a fainting fit." 
 
 " And on that false witness I was condemned without a hearing, and 
 my next letters returned unopened — with a short reference to my own 
 conscience, for explanations, in the cover!" 
 
 " And your false friend, who knew the whole circumstances, kept 
 telling you it was only the old story, and recommending you to think no 
 more of me, for that I was a heartless jilt, and was encouraging Lord 
 Charles: and while he was telling me that you were very wretched 
 and penitent, and confirming my conviction of your faithlessness under 
 a show of pleading for your forgiveness." 
 
 " He has been rewarded, and has eaten shame bitter enough even for 
 his dull palate to appreciate. Just before the interview you have 
 described, Johnson had shipped himself as surgeon's-assistant in an 
 
 Australian packet. He went up to the diggings and made monej' 
 
 " Ccelum, non animttm, mutant, qui trans mare currunt." He remem- 
 bered the good and forgot the bad, as good hearts do when death or the 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 389 
 
 sea divides them from the sweet and bitter they have loved. Pie wrote 
 tender letters, and received tender replies. For the woman could have 
 relapses of her old passion, though Knyvett was practically wearing it 
 out. Johnson bought land up the country, and dreamed that Manon 
 Lescaut was not an impossible dream. He came back believing in the 
 penitence and affection of her letters. He found her worse than he had 
 left her ; still the remains of her old love revived, and she took the 
 opportunity of, breaking with Knyvett, who was in great pecuniary 
 straits. She reviled him and reproached him ; said she had never cared 
 for him (which appears not to have been quite true, but these creatures 
 can accuse even themselves unjustly), except for mercenary motives. 
 She delivered a long catalogue of his selfishness and want of true con- 
 sideration for her; said her true lover had come back to take her to 
 Australia, where he had been making a fortune for her. Yet, after this 
 flourish of romance, she entertained the Australian scheme faint-heart- 
 edly; and Johnson, discovering other infidelities, and finding there were 
 no soundings in the gulph of her demoralisation, quitted her in despair. 
 Knyvett, it appears, fell into her snares again. And even after another 
 revulsion, when Johnson's posthumous letter brought her to you to de- 
 nounce him, and she had once more driven him away with scorn in his 
 litter ruin and discomfiture, it appears, by what my lawyer writes me, he 
 has yet crept back, a disguised outlaw, to crouch at the feet which have 
 spurned him with scorn distilled through shame. Such are the tangled 
 writhings of the downward-drawing vortex. As to Johnson, he broke 
 away and went to the war, with a full determination to find a grave there. 
 I was there in search of another grave. We met on board a steamer. I 
 knew his face, but could not at first remember where I had met him. 
 He knew my name. There is something sociable in despair, and we 
 fraternised. We had manj' discussions as to whether our pursuit of 
 death in our country's cause was to make us guilty of njoral suicide. 
 We agreed that it was not, if we made no wanton exposure of our 
 lives, and did only dangerous things that had to be done by somebody — 
 considering that a certain number of lives must be sacrificed, and that 
 by risking ours, which were worthless to ourselves and to the world, we 
 mi"ht save lives which were a blessing to themselves and others — we 
 quieted our consciences, repented of our sins,, except this pardonable 
 piece of sophistry, and were at peace with all the world except the 
 army on the other side of the Tchernaya. We found it practically much 
 more difficult to be killed than we had anticipated. We seemed to bear 
 charmed lives. Men were killed about us and by our sides, and died 
 raving about their wives and children. Johnson had a better chance 
 than I for he could run many more risks under fire by moving about 
 from pit to pit to attend to the wounded. He used to console me by 
 saying that my case was not near so desperate as his. He did not know 
 
390 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 enough to explain all my complication, but he had a suspicion of the 
 truth, and he almost persuaded me there was a chance of all coming 
 right yet. He was of opinion that some treachery of Knyvett's was at 
 the bottom of the mystery. And he could tell me enough of his indis- 
 creet revelations of our affairs to his mistress to make me think it not 
 improbable that Johnson was right. 
 
 " The night before he was killed, we both had a strong presentiment of 
 death. I wrote my last entry in the Blue Book and a letter to you, 
 saying it would be delivered after my death and you would then judge 
 for yourself whether I had deserved my fate. I wrote another letter to 
 Knyvett, appealing to him by all that was sacred to good faith and friend- 
 ship, to clear me if it depended on him, that you might accept my 
 bequest and cease to think of me unjustly and unkindly. Johnson also 
 wrote a farewell letter — I need not tell you to whom. We discouraged 
 one another, each laughing at the other's foreboding, but each acting on 
 his own. I sealed up my book (after taking a last look at your sketch 
 of Caerconibe), with what letters I had of your writing — the signatures 
 much blurred with kisses — ' Ah ! ' I thought, as I put them up, and a 
 tear or two fell upon them, ' wheu she sees the kind words she wrote to 
 me with her own dear hand, and how I have ' — never mind what I thought 
 darling — nay don't waste them on your handkerchief. There, it is fine 
 weather again now ! However, I sealed up the large parcel in the only 
 clean damask napkin that remained in my canteen. But the two letters 
 I gave to Johnson, and he gave me his; for we agreed that by the doc- 
 trine of chances it was not to be supposed we should both be killed on 
 the same day, and the one who was not killed, would have no occasion 
 to send his letter. I had said all I had to say in the last entry of the 
 book, and wrote my letters after it was sealed up, and it seemed like a 
 multiplication of chances to have delivered u. separate communication to 
 some one. Jt seemed business-like and the sort of thing to do. Poor 
 Johnson's theory of action in all cases of doubt, always was to consider 
 what would seem natural in a novel, and he said something of the kind 
 on the occasion of our exchanging our letters. Such enfantillages can 
 men trifle with on the brink of eternity ! That night we were both in 
 better spirits than we had been for a long while. It was a Sunday; we 
 had attended church, and the sullen booming responses, and a few round 
 shot tearing up the turf here and there, had given an emphasis to 
 solemn words on the uncertainty of what a day may bring forth, which 
 you pious people in peaceful parish churches at home cannot easily ima- 
 gine. Perhaps that may have been the origin of our presentiments. There 
 was hotter work than usual, too, expected on the morrow. "We were to 
 move in nearer to discourage the earthwork guns under the MalakhofF. 
 That night we knelt a little longer than usual at ovir devotions, and at 
 the end of them joined our voices in the Lord's Prayer. After we had 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 391 
 
 gone to bed, that is when we had kin down in our great fur pelisses on 
 our Turkish rugs, my comrade said he felt as if he forgave them that 
 had trespassed against him more freely and fully than he ever remem- 
 bered since he had any body to forgive; and he thought that it was a 
 sign that his sins would be forgiven him, and he felt sure he should die 
 to-morrow. ^ ' God bless you,' 'he added, and reward you 1 you have 
 been very kind to me and treated me like a respectable fellow-creature 
 and a gentleman, to which I have a very poor title. God bless you, and 
 give you your heart's desire, and I feel as if my prayers would be heard 
 to-night, though I cannot be called a righteous man, still they can do 
 you no harm, good night ! ' 
 
 " 'Good night,' I replied, ' and God bless you. Your words are a 
 comfort to me. God reward you for your good wishes.' After that my 
 presentiment went off, and I dreamt that you came with bright looks 
 of love and smiled upon me, and I started up, and there was the corporal 
 with his lanthorn to wake us up to go down into the pits. We got our 
 fresh holes dug before daylight 150 yards nearer in. Johnson, as he 
 dug, said, 'This is my grave.' We did a good deal of execution that day, 
 and had not so many deaths as we expected. A little after dark we 
 were both alive and were preparing to start for the camp, when I said, 
 ' Well what has come of our presentiment?' He pointed to a twirling 
 arch of fire and cried, 'Down!' All the party were down in an 
 instant. I saw it hover and grow larger. ' God's will ' — but before 
 he could add ' be done,' there was a crash over head and I saw and 
 heard no more. I felt as if the explosion had taken place in the inside 
 of my skull, and that all my brains had leapt into a firmament of sparks. 
 The shell had burst before reaching the ground (where it would have ex- 
 ploded upwards and swept over our heads in the pits), and the deadly 
 iron shower dropped upon us as we lay. There was a fragment above half 
 a pound weight in the middle of Johnson's heart, and a smaller splinter 
 had hit me on the helmet so hard that I was also taken up for dead. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " What followed, though I saw not, I conjecture to have happened 
 somewhat on this wise. The honest fellows who carried us up to the 
 camp perceived some signs of life in me. I was attended to and judici- 
 ously treated with spoonfuls of beef tea while I lay in a state of darkness 
 for many days. Spicer, a correspondent of one of the morning papers, 
 who knew us as Smith and Johnson (his tent was not far from ours, and we 
 had been on terms of grog and gossip), undertook the office of executor. 
 Johnson used to furnish him with incidents and casualties from the advanced 
 
302 EDtTH CLAREL. 
 
 posts, and he had recorded some of our exploits in his columns. I 
 thought him rather officious and inquisitive, though a good-natured 
 fellow enough. He had entertained some suspicions that we were not 
 exactly what we gave ourselves out, and looked on Johnson especially 
 as a hero in disguise. Well, Johnson was dead and I lying senseless. 
 The letter in Johnson's pocket-book, directed to you, would give his 
 real name, in annoimcing the casualty in his all-important columns. 
 He thought himself justified in breaking the seal, and found the name 
 of Percy Denzil. He sealed it up again and enclosed it, mentioning in 
 the cover the circumstances under which he had opened it. He found 
 moreover plenty of circumstantial evidence among the luggage.* Among 
 others, a copy of my poems. But almost all in the tent belonged to me, 
 for Johnson was poor, and many things were marked with my initials- 
 Even the clothes Johnson wore were part of my wardrobe. 
 
 " I saw the paragraph in the paper before I got that letter." 
 
 " You have got that paragraph, darling, you showed it me the other 
 day?" 
 
 " It is in my desk, dear. I will get it. Those wicked correspondents ; 
 I wonder whether they ever think of the hearts they harrow up 
 with their random shots. He evidently took an artistic pleasure in 
 dressing up the picturesque incident which was to stab me through and 
 through. There it is, that bit of paper you take so coolly very near 
 killed me on the spot." 
 
 " Yes, darling; but so did the splinter very near kill me; these 
 hair's-breadth escapes are nothing when they are over. — ' I have to 
 record a casualty, too, by this post, by which a young and gallant heart 
 has been released from the gnawing pangs of no mere corporeal wounds. 
 The " death and danger'' which most men brave from a sense of duty, 
 have a charm for tlie unfortunate, whose load of life is weary to them, 
 
 * Should any one be disposed to inquire what had become of the faithful Sapin, 
 I may mention here how that worthy disappeared from this history. On starting 
 hurriedly for the Crimea, via Marseilles, I left him with suiBoient funds to man 
 the Petrel, and bring her round, with a variety of accessories towards dying 
 comfortably at the seat of war. Sapin had no taste for battles, and it seems 
 made use of his opportunities otherwise. He manned the yaeht on his own 
 account with mariners from the Spanish main ; intending apparently to sell her 
 in some out of the way part of the world, and add the proceeds to his other 
 savings. As far as can be ascertained, he forgot in his calculations to take into 
 account the evil in human nature. His crew, probably without any intention of 
 poetical justice, are reported to have thrown him overboard, as au unnecessary 
 pai-t of the cargo, on the high seas. Still this may be a rumour spread by Sapin 
 himself, as the cuttle-fish darkens its track with a sepia cloud. At any rate the 
 Petrel was last heard of in tha hands of a gang of ruffians at San Francisco j and 
 Sapin has left as little trace as if he had (which is on the whole perhaps most 
 likely) been digested bodily by some uncommunicative shark of nowhere particular 
 in the Pacific Ocean. 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 393 
 
 and wlio come to this great market-place of death to throw their 
 unprized existence, as a widow's mite, into the patriotic fund of mar- 
 tyrdom, rejoicing to die with heroes in their country's cause. I 
 have had occasion to notice heretofore some of the many dauntless, almost 
 unparalleled deeds of daring, by which a young volunteer of the name of 
 Johnson had for some time s-eemed to court his fate in vain. Yester- 
 evening his corpse was brought up from the rifle-pits by his com- 
 rades, to whom his reckless luirdihood in exposing his life to carry 
 relief to the wounded had endeared him greatly. Some romantic 
 mystery too seemed to attach to him : his manner was marked by 
 profound melancholy, which only disappeared iti the presence of 
 perd. Death, the unveiler of secrets, lias identified this so-called 
 Johnson with Mr. Percy Denzil, n young gentleman whose destinies 
 in life and love are said to have been crossed by the bar sinister which 
 defaced his otherwise noble escutcheon, but could not extinguish 
 the instincts of a strain of the true Norman blood which had flowed 
 through historic warriors and statesmen from immemorial ages. Mr. 
 Denzil is known to the world of literature by the volume of pathetic 
 lyrical poems, which so vividly embody the pangs of an unfortunate 
 passion, with whose history the world of fashion is already familiar. To 
 those whose ears the whispers of the salons reach not, it may suffice 
 to intimate, that his affections had fallen a prey to the charms of a 
 lovely, highly, and richly gifted maiden, who (not, as it is reported, 
 insensible to his passion), as the representative and heir of an ancient 
 race, sacrificed her own preference and wrecked the hopes of this 
 gallant heart on the altar of family pride. A companion of young 
 Denzil's, who went by the (probably also assumed) name of Smith, but 
 to whose real identity there is no clue, lies dangerously wounded 
 (coritusion of the brain) by a fragment of the same shell which termi- 
 nated the career of his comrade. He remains insensible, but some 
 slight hopes are entertained.' " 
 
 " Then I got your letter. The first I had seen of your writing since 
 our correspondence had been broken off long ago. Written the night 
 before 3'our death, with an appeal to be remembered kindly, and a 
 solemn assertion, that you knew of nothing on your own part which 
 could have accounted for my sudden change, unless it had been the 
 discovery of long past indiscretions, which you had fully confessed and 
 implored oblivion for in the letters which had been returned. You 
 referred to Knyvett, as a witness of your truth and fidelity. You begged 
 me to read the journal — you alluded to the will. Neither the journal nor 
 the will arrived. I saw the traitor. He was very compassionate of you 
 in manner but never relented. He became troublesomely attentive. 
 In the meantime, though I made many inquiries for the parcel con- 
 
 2 E 
 
394 EDITH CLAREL. 
 
 taining the journal, it never arrived. It now appears he must have 
 
 intercepted it. While things were in this state a lady was announced 
 
 who wished to see me on some occasion of great importance. ' I could 
 
 see nobody ! What sort of a lady, and why did she not send her name?' 
 
 ' She was a hella signora in deep mourning, and would not give her 
 
 name. She was in the ante-room of my boudoir.' She came forward ; 
 
 it was Mrs. Devereux. I felt surprised and angry at such an intrusion 
 
 at such a time— who was she in mourning for ? She, however, took me 
 
 by surprise by throwing herself violently down on her knees at my 
 
 feet, crying, ' Forgive me ! I am a perjured wretch. I have come to 
 
 confess all my wickedness 1' and she seized my hand and burst into an 
 
 hysterical fit of weeping and wailing. I listened to her, and she laid bare 
 
 the whole tissue of her own and Ambrose's and Knyvett's crimes, and 
 
 how she had got a letter from her Walter, written the night before his 
 
 death, telling her if she wished his spirit to forgive her and lie quiet, 
 
 she was to come to me and clear you if she had been guilty of the 
 
 treachery he suspected. ' Oh !' she cried, ' I never knew how I loved 
 
 him till now he is dead; and that good soul, Mr. Denzil, whom I have 
 
 so injured, and who loved you with all his heart, and was as faithful as 
 
 the day, he was kind to my Walter, as he was kind to me, and I have 
 
 rewarded it with keeping you apart, and breaking his heart. Write to 
 
 him, for God's sake, and forgive him, though, indeed, there is nothing 
 
 to forgive. For my Walter says his spirit will never forgive me till 
 
 Mr. Denzil is righted.' 
 
 " 'Mr. Denzil is dead too, wretched womanl' I said. 
 " ' My God!' she shrieked, ' the blood of both of them is on my head; 
 and my Walter's spirit will curse me for ever. Let me go! What is 
 your forgiveness worth to me now?' So she departed; and soon after 
 the traitor came. He was unusually soft and tender in his manner. I 
 let him go on, feeling like a coiled snake, ready to strike. He wound 
 about, and talked of his sympathy with my grief at the snapping of the 
 last tie of an unfortunate attachment; he had smothered his own feelings, 
 for friendship's sake, as long as any hope remained of my forgiving one 
 whom I still seemed to find it difiicult to forget. I sat silent, waiting. 
 I suppose my silence encouraged him. At last he ended with a declara- 
 tion of love. I rose and turned my face (which had been partly averted 
 and shaded by my hand while I listened to the trickling poison of his 
 sentences) full upon him. He rose and staggered like a drunken man; 
 and then I spoke to him. All the pent up storm of hate and scorn 
 flashed upon him in words and looks that were as swift, and keen, 
 and deadly, and which I had no more conscious agency in framing than 
 a cloud has when the lightning breaks from it. He said nothing, and 
 was gone! 
 
EDITH CLAREL. 395 
 
 " He was in great straits, and it was his last chance with his creditors. 
 He levanted immediately. Some of his forged acceptances were due 
 in another month. He could have raised money on my will, if 
 
 " Ambrose had heard too, and he came to condole with me; and I 
 spoke to him also, but not quite so severely, for he cared about me for 
 myself now I was no longer an heiress. My step-mother's littk boy 
 had just been born at Nice. Then a letter came to me from the East. 
 One of Miss Nightingale's brigade of good angels at Scutari. ' She had 
 a patient who had been some time suffering from brain fever, and who 
 in his delirium called upon my name, and dictated letters to me. He 
 had come into the hospital under the name of Smith, but in his ravings 
 called himself Denzil. The brain fever seemed to be settling into 
 chronic aberration of mind, which some melancholy oppression seemed 
 to prevent from rallying. The doctor said if there was such a person as 
 Edith Clarel in existence her presence was the best chance of saving 
 the invalid, who seemed to be gradually sinking.' 
 
 " And it proved that there was such a person ; and her presence did 
 save him. She stood by his bed-side, in good dreams, at first, with 
 shining wings on her shoulders ; but after awhile she moulted her wings, 
 and sat by his bed-side in bodily presence ; and has never thought of 
 taking wing or leaving his side again. So far from it, with a view to 
 those proprieties of which she is a distinguished model, she consented 
 to be one of the principal performers in a very slovenly marriage cere- 
 mony, with Sisters of Charity for bridesmaids, a superintendent to give 
 her away in very broad Scotch, and an invalided chaplain from the 
 
 Division to read the service. The wedding breakfast consisted 
 
 of a basin of chicken broth for one, administered by the lovely and 
 accomplished bride to the happy but helpless bridegroom. However, 
 under such conditions, a speedy convalescence was inevitable; and accord- 
 ingly took place at a commodious kiosque, amid gardens and shrub- 
 beries, on the Bosphorus. Then, as winter set in, we betook ourselves 
 to the Silver Nile; and in spring we rode through the Holy Land. We 
 passed a summer on the breezy slopes of Lebanon ; and this spring we 
 came by Greece to Venice. Here the principal event has been Gae- 
 tana's marriage ; and I hope she has completely renounced the idea that 
 Julian has a ' dog's heart.' Now, what more, dear wife, can the readers of 
 our story want to know? Shall I tell them that we are beginning to find 
 we have duties to perform, and that a sense of those duties warns us 
 that it will not do to float about the world simply occupied with our 
 happiness and amusement ? Shall I tell them that when we have 
 finished the novel we are writing together, we intend to purchase the 
 villa (late property of Sir Trymley Shifthelm, Bart.), and sink some 
 money on the purity principle in Huddleport, which your fether is tired 
 of rppTP senting. and which the cnuntess. vmir a-minhle step-mother, says 
 
396 EDITH CLAllEL. 
 
 makes Caercombe uninhabitable, even at nine miles distance? How 
 shall we wind up, darling? Can't you write a nice little flourish, and 
 say something clever or amiable to the public, to point our moral, and 
 adorn our tale?" 
 
 " In the first place, dear, you must read over to me all you have 
 written. I am afraid there is a great deal of it that will not do at all." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AND LAST. 
 
 " Well, pet, now you have read it over, what do you think ?" 
 
 " I think, dear, we had better b\U'n it. I think it is a most uncom- 
 fortable and discreditable story; I don't think if our enemy had written 
 it he could have put us in a more unfavourable light. What have we 
 done that we deserve to have the naked, ghastly dry bones of our story 
 gnawed by snarling critics, while we are alive to hear them. I should 
 not have minded helping you to compile our memoirs from the old 
 journals, if we ever get them again, for our great grandchildren.'' 
 
 " That we may do still ; but what are we to do in the meantime with 
 the magazine. What are we to say to the editor ?" 
 
 " Tell him that you have tried to wind up the story for him, and 
 you are sorry to find it is not fit for contemporaneous publication ; 
 but that if his magazine is existing in the reign of Albert the Sixth, 
 our great-great-grandson will supply his successors with our memoirs, 
 if the readers are still anxious to hear more about us. There, I have 
 lit the taper — let me burn this at once." 
 
 " Thank you, dear; but don't you think, now it is written, if I was 
 to seal it up, and send it to the editor — ? If it is not likely to be any 
 satisfaction to his readers — whom he no doubt understands better than 
 we do — he will throw it into his waste-paper basket. But if he likes 
 to print it, for my part I don't think any harm will come of it. Did 
 you ever hear of any hero or heroine of a novel being in any way 
 inconvenienced, even by popular notoriety, / never did. And why should 
 we, who shall be forgotten before next month?" 
 
 " But then the heroes and heroines of novels are usually mere ideal 
 creations of some story-teller's brain.'' 
 
 " But people read their stories gravely, and think about them as if 
 they were real till the end of the third volume, and after that never 
 trouble their heads more— nor will they trouble their heads about us. 
 If we treat ourselves as the novelists treat their ideal personages, the 
 public will pass us over ; but if we make too much fuss about our 
 privacy and publicity they will hesin to think there is something in it. 
 
REMINISCENCES OF A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 397 
 
 Besides, how do you know for certain that we are not ideal personages. 
 You know Bishop Berkeley said, — " 
 
 " I know ' it was no matter what he said.' But if you talk in that 
 way, your readers will think you have never quite got over the Crimean 
 contusion." 
 
 " No more I have, very likely, for I have a headache, and am sick 
 of the sight of all this scrawled and blotted manuscript. Yes, that has 
 made me nearly well, my own, so let us seal it all up, and send it 
 off. For the Austrian ofEcials at the post-office will take a long while 
 puzzling over such a large packet of manuscript, before they are 
 convinced that it is not the programme of a conspiracy for the 
 re-establishment of the Lombardo-Venetian Republic." 
 
 And now, sir, apologising for the unceremonious criideness of this 
 composition, which you may print or burn, as you prefer, 
 
 I remain, with much regret that you should ever have been troubled 
 with our aifairs at all, 
 
 Tour obedient servant, 
 
 PcncY Denzil. 
 
 REMINISCENCES OE A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Waterloo was won; peace proclaimed; and, somehow, plenty gone. 
 The poor Princess, on whom the hopes of the nation had hung, lay 
 buried with her new born babe. It was the day of Byron, and Moore, and 
 Scott; of "Manfred" and " Marmion;" of " Cliilde Harold " and the 
 "Lady of the Lake;" of Thomas Little and " Lalla Rookh." 
 " 'Waverlcy " and " Guy Mannering," too, had appeared on the 
 scene. On the whole, witli us boys, I'yrou was the favourite. 
 What mock Manfreds we had among us ! and how each fond youth 
 clnspt'd some chaste Medora to his ideal lieart ! It was the day of 
 dandies and of Bnunmel, of buckram neckcloths, high coat collars, 
 waist buttons between shoulder blades, tights, and Hessian boots. 
 The first time I saw Peel, he was in Hessians. The remains of 
 these coats and real chokers have been illustrated in some degree of 
 late years by the cut of the Duke of Newcastle's collar, and Sir Charles 
 Wood's neckcloth — quasi reformers ! Docs any one believe in the prac- 
 tical reforniin"- principles of a man who can't escape from an old joke, 
 an old idea, or the cut of his first " buttons?" 
 
 The Times talks of the sufFocaticn of soldiers and marines in strangu- 
 htintr stocks. Bean Bnininifl is the father of chokednm. In his day, 
 what with tight coat, tight trowsers, tight ntckcloth, tight stays or belt, it 
 
398 REMINISCENCES OF A 
 
 was physically impossible for a real dandy to make a bow. Starch is 
 not always congenial to ceremony. The man of fashion stood bolt upright 
 on entering a room full of ladies, moving the head alone, and that with 
 great difficulty, in his gracious recognition of acquaintance among the 
 fair sex. It was in this school that the sexagenarian generals and 
 statesmen of the present day became imbued with their veneration for 
 the buckram trammels of routine. Let us make what excuse Ave can 
 for them. If they do their best to strangle our commerce and to suffo- 
 cate our armies, let us suppose it is in both cases from an irresistible 
 sympathy with two different sorts of stockjobbers. How many an honest 
 trader, and how many a brave soldier has gone down in the artificial 
 apoplexy. 
 
 But those were not only days of partial fashionable chronic strangula- 
 tion in highly starched cambric. Brown hemp was also in its hey-day 
 as the panacea for starving malcontents. Eomilly had yet to mitigate 
 our criminal law. Heavens! what a time for hanging that was. You 
 were transported for sixpence, and hung for a shilling! At all events for 
 thirteen pence. I remember, as a child, being carried by a servant to 
 see an execution. Three men fell from the drop, which was then a 
 new-fangled affair. These were ordinary malefactors — pilferers of legs 
 of mutton or sheep. Next day, fourteen were to fall from the very 
 same drop, and did — half in the morning, half in the afternoon. These 
 were Luddites, or some other poor workmen of the manufacturing 
 districts, who had been deluded into political combinations by way 
 of bettering their condition. The laws passed and the judgments 
 executed at this period for what we may term politico-starvation offences, 
 seemed, to a thinking mind, even at that time, shocking: now they 
 appear incredible. 
 
 What a change had come over the aspect of affairs and the feelings 
 of the populace! During the long war the continuous cry was " Church 
 and King." The Avar over, every thing went wrong. The free money 
 of the war had given full scope to employment. Food and clothing 
 were high, but so were wages; at all events the real wages of task work; 
 and constant demand for labour made them so. Even with the famine 
 prices of 1800-1 and 1812, employment and good wages were still to 
 be had; and corn was sold to the agricultural labourer at a moderate 
 price. But after the peace a complete change took place in all these 
 things. In 1816-17, the fall in prices ruined both manufacturers and 
 farmers. It left them no profit, whilst their fixed engagements remained. 
 That fall, I have since found, arose from the preparation for cash pay- 
 ments. To this end banters were compelled to draw in their notes 
 suddenly. Less money gave less work and less wages; and unless 
 some bank relaxation had taken place during 1818 and 1823-4-5, 
 there must have been a revolution. Those were dreadful years, even 
 
COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 399 
 
 up to 1834. During this period, all sorts of outbreaks or multitudinous 
 meetings took place. Eiot acts were read, and the soldiery called out ; 
 and at last conspiracies to murder all the Ministers at a Cabinet dinner 
 were resorted to. For human nature will always resort to some means 
 or another to right itself. 
 
 For these evils, there were two nostrums — gagging acts, and hanging — 
 stopping of the mouth, and stopping of the breath. Government was 
 alarmed. Fear is but a merciless master. The country was in a state 
 of misery, which Tierney said was without parallel since the days of the 
 Conquest. It roused in the humane breast of Eomilly the desire to 
 mitigate our criminal law. He had an able coadjutor in a younger man, 
 Henry Brougham. When Eomilly died. Brougham persevered; and 
 about 1825, Peel, as Home Secretary, began to give way, and laws 
 began to pass which had not their impulse from the code of Draco. 
 Peel had a knack in giving way. He had no originality. Possibly I 
 may be giving him a credit he didn't deserve ; but if Peel invented any- 
 thing, it was the Metropolitan Police, which by an instinct of justice we 
 have christened after his name. 
 
 Wilberforce, about this time too, left his footprint on the sand of time. 
 Clarkson and others shared with him his anti-slavery glories ; and 
 Brougham here again was in the front rank of reform. But there was 
 another thing Wilberforce did for his generation, of even greater import- 
 ance than the emancipation to which we have alluded. To him is very 
 mainly owing the emancipation of religion from a sort of mauvaise honte 
 which placed all serious conversation under taboo. It was the fashion to 
 be ashamed of religion. The old remnant of the cavalier revulsion from 
 Puritanism had not been improved by a slight infusion of the new 
 philosophy of Diderot and Voltaire. Far be it from us to advocate the 
 spiritual maunderings and wearisome " improvement of every means of 
 grace,"over tea and highly buttered muffins, after the manner of Chad- 
 band ; but religion is a great, deep, and dominant element in humanity. 
 That the legitimate working of this vein should be made impossible by 
 a universal, though of course in many instances a totally factitious tone 
 of sneering and ribaldry, was a great incubus on the freedom, and 
 a shameful clog on the nobler uses of society. Yet, in the beginning of 
 this nineteenth century of grace, any religious topic was treated as cant, 
 even in the mouth of a clergyman, if broached out of the pulpit. How 
 much more cant from a layman. And this not only among the Bond 
 Street bucks of the Eegency, but among the otherwise grave and 
 respectable squirearchy of provincial existence. There are no doubt 
 sins of hypocrisy and sanctimonious obsequiousness to the brazen, or 
 let us call it the ormolu, idol of respectability, which lie in wait for 
 plausible Christians in the days when religion is fashionable. But I am 
 sure our present tone in society, as regards things eternal, is, on the 
 
400 IIISMINISCENCES 01' A 
 
 whole, of a much wliolesomer texture than it was; and believe (with- 
 out any evangelical tendencies of my own) that the seeds of amelioration, 
 broadcast among the people by Wesley, were dibbled into the fashion- 
 able world very mainly by William Wilberforce. 
 
 Brougham, too, will leave an undying name. His labours in the 
 cause of Law Reform, of the Slave, of Education, have been substantive 
 realities, and have borne fruit to his own gathering. Nay, his Briareus 
 powers still retain such a miraculous vigour of perennial youth, that we 
 should not be surprised to hear of him discovering a planet, publishing 
 a national epic, or becoming our plenipotentiary at Pekin before the 
 sere and yellow leaf overtakes his green old age. 
 
 We are arrived at the period, when after a long and painful struggle, 
 white ties had given waj' to black, the trowser faction at last pre- 
 vailed, and George the Fourth was king. As yet, no gas, no omnibus, 
 no steamboat, no hack cab, no railway. " Necessity (they say) is the 
 mother of invention" — and " difficulties are the hot-beds of high spirits'' 
 — and " out of the nettle, danger, we may pluck the flower, safety." 
 Dangers and difficulties enough we had then — i.e. between 1820 and '30. 
 
 The two men of that day fittest to lead opinion on matters of com- 
 mercial policy were Alexander Baring and Matthias Attwood ; as Henrj' 
 Thornton had been of the generation preceding. But, of the two, 
 Attwood was far the first. Of him both Brougham and Canning said in 
 private that he was the giant of the House of Commons on commercial 
 subjects. His letter to Lord Archibald Hamilton, his speech on West- 
 ern's motion in 1823 — but especially his speech of 1830 — were master- 
 pieces of mercantile truth and wisdom. I had not seen then the works 
 of the philosopher, John Taylor, although, as a pamphleteer, he was 
 among the earliest to show why all this mi,?chief was happening. From 
 these sources it came out that the Bank of England warned the Govern- 
 ment in 1819 of the confisoation of property and industry they were about 
 to perpetrate. " They could protect themselves," they said, " but it 
 would be at the expense of the commercial and industrious classes.'' 
 The answer they got from Peel and the Government was, " Mind your 
 own business, and we will take ciire of the nation." Idiotic presump- 
 tion 1 The Bank suggested that they should be permitted to convert 
 their notes into gold at the market price of the day — which would have 
 prevented all the mischief. The presumptuous folly of that and succeeding 
 Governments has cost agriculture, commerce, and the industrious classes, 
 not one farthing less than a thousand millions sterling. 
 
 Peel's father, the first Sir Robert, headed the merchants of London 
 against the Bill of 1819. Old Lewis Loyd, old Ruthschild, Alexander 
 Baring, the greatest and most successful merchants, manufacturers, and 
 bankers, were all against the currency system adopted by the Liverpool 
 Government. That Government had its chief support in the landed 
 
COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 401 
 
 interest, but the lords of the land had not studied political economy, 
 much less currency. Besides, the fashionable economists sided with 
 the moneyed interest. And when it comes to the tug of war, old Kome, 
 as well as old England, teaches us where then the power lies. The 
 creditor will always have the debtor under his thumb first, and very 
 soon under his heel. 
 
 But there was a man — who has since played a conspicuous part in 
 public affairs — who at that time undertook to enlighten his brother 
 squires; this was Sir James Graham. In an address to the land- 
 owners, entitled " Corn and Currency," he besought them to use their 
 own- reason ; to cease to be the ever-ready tools of a Minister who was, 
 although not ostensibly, yet surely, sapping the foundations of their best 
 interests. That address is now before me— full of ability, sound rea- 
 soning, irrefragable argument, and rising to tlie pathetic in its appeals 
 to his infatuated, hoodwinked brethren. But, no I they had got the 
 Corn Law, and in the Corn Law they trusted. 
 
 Sir James told them, " The price of commodities, and of corn amongst 
 the rest, is composed of two ingredients — of the supply in the market 
 compared with the demand, and also of the value of money, itself the 
 measure of value ; liable, however, to great variation, in proportion to 
 its quantity." These are his pithy axioms : — 
 
 " The value of money is in the inverse ratio of its quantity; the sup- 
 ply of commodities remaining the same. 
 
 " Increase the quantity of money, prices rise. 
 
 " Decrease the quantity of money, prices fall. 
 
 " On the other hand, the quantity of money remaining the same, 
 
 " Increase the quantity of commodities, prices fall. 
 
 " Decrease the quantity of commodities, prices rise." 
 
 The landlords couldn't see it, or wouldn't use their eyes. They were 
 content with their Corn Laws. Although it was as clear as the sun, that 
 ihey had followed the Minister blindly in passing a Corn Law to main- 
 tain a price of 80s. for wheat, and then in passing a Money Law which 
 must necessarily cut it down to 40s. a quarter. 
 
 So tilings romuined unaltered, and disaffection increased. I continued 
 losing by my iiirm, and began to lecture my neighbours. Petitions 
 went up by the ton, complaining of distress. At last patience was 
 exhausted; Ministers were compelled to yield, bit by bit, to clamours of 
 particular sections. England's difficulty was Ireland's opportunity. 
 First the Test and Corporation Acts were repealed. Then came 
 Catholic Emancipation. AV'illiam IV. succeeded to the crown, and then 
 ensued such a hubbub, agitation, and monster meetings of political 
 union, as would have revolutionised any other country but this. And 
 so and from such sources, sprung the Reform Act. Some day it may 
 be permitted us to show what sort of medicine the Eeform Act proved 
 
403 REMINISCENCES OP A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 
 
 for the disease it was to cure. It is time we had done with the past 
 and closed with a word on the present. 
 
 Has experience made us wiser? Thirty years have passed over our 
 heads. The distress and collapse with which we are periodically still 
 visited, although not falling precisely into similar circumstances, is 
 analogous in type, and has its origin in the same cause. And our 
 merchants and manufacturers, while groaning under the infliction, allow 
 themselves to be hoodwinked and bamboozled by a Minister, just as 
 the landowners were in 1826, to whom "Corn and Currency" so 
 pathetically appealed. And with less excuse: because too late the land- 
 owners became aware of the hand which had struck the blow; and have 
 shown (for instance in 1833 and 1847) their readiness to support the 
 mercantile interest, in abrogating the pernicious system which, like the 
 " Old Man of the Mountain," sits so heavily and doggedly on their 
 shoulders. 
 
 Yes! in many things we are wiser. In arts and sciences; in inven- 
 tions and machinery; in rendering all the conveniences and luxuries of 
 life more accessible to every class — what progress has been made! 
 Old as I am, I cannot, I will not deny — nay, with gratitude I acknow- 
 ledge — that, with scarce an exception, things are better socially, morally, 
 intellectually, religiously — better on the whole — than " in the merry 
 days when we were young." Would all this improvement have taken 
 place — would the inventions, the discoveries, the giant strides in agricul- 
 ture and manufactures have been made, except for the stimulus of 
 adversity and distress? It is with the body politic as with the indi- 
 vidual. We have to agonize our way to peace. But let us not (because 
 we perceive the manifest end of the chastening hand of God upon us, 
 and humbly acknowledge its justice) join those who persist in calling evil 
 good, and good evil. It is necessary that evil come; but woe to them by 
 whom it cometh ! In His own good time, I will yet hope that the day 
 may come when the commercial classes, shall rise superior to that 
 delusive jargon which, in spite of their convictions, seems ever getting 
 the mastery of their natui'al judgment, or of their courage to avow their 
 opinions, as to the real cause of that periodical incubus which we)"-hs 
 them and the working classes down to the earth ; a day when class shall 
 no more be arrayed against class, and which, among its other blessin'^s, 
 shall lighten the hours of toil to labour, and increase the worker's share 
 in his own earnings. 
 
403 
 
 ADVICE TO OUB STARVING OPERATIVES. 
 
 " Emigeate ! Be off with you ! There is little or nothing to be 
 hoped for in England by such as you — men with horny hands and 
 hungry stomachs — England has too many of you — get you gone 1 
 Your country is embarrassed with your presence, but is too bankrupt 
 even to be able to ease herself by facilitating your departure." So 
 says John Bright, the tribune of the people, the captain of the 
 marching regiment of intellect, the great mouth-piece of vernacular 
 eloquence, the chosen champion of national progress. He can only 
 give you such counsel and comfort as anxious and excitable crowds 
 usually receive from the truncheon-bearing moralist in blue cloth, 
 "Mote on !" 
 
 Where to ? is another question. Never mind ! huddle yourselves 
 away out of sight somehow ! After a period of purgatory in the foul 
 hold of the emigrant ship, you may have an opportunity of finding 
 that America and Australia do not require your services any more than 
 England. Tou are not the sort of men for the diggings or the bush. 
 American manufactures are not in want of fresh hands. In short, 
 starve you probably must, and we, as British philanthropists, had rather 
 you starved elsewhere than here before our compassionate eyes. 
 
 " But we can work,'' you cry ; " we are able and willing to turn the 
 brute matter with which the earth still teems, into usable stuff 
 which the world still wants. "Why, if we were turned loose on some 
 uninhabited island with decent soil and minerals, the labour of our 
 hands would soon wrench wealth out of the rocks and the wilderness. 
 Human labour, under Grod's blessing, is the source of wealth. "We 
 are not only producers to glut the market, we are ready to be consumers 
 to absorb one another's produce. The more we make among us 
 the more there wUl be to divide among us. If produce becomes 
 greater than requirement everybody will have more than enough of 
 everything he wants." 
 
 Poor enthusiasts ! Tou are in the a, b, c of political economy. 
 Look at the practical results of over production. England produces 
 more than she wants, and here are you of the producing classes, 
 hungry ragged, seeking a refuge in the uttermost parts of the earth. 
 According to the theory on which your hopes are founded you ought 
 to be comfortably off here. England is not really over-crowded. 
 The fields could still produce more than all the inhabitants could eat ; 
 the working population can produce more clothing, furniture, kitchen 
 utensils drawing-room ornaments, cottages, houses, and palaces, than 
 would suffice for millions above the present population. If plenty of 
 the things men want made wealth, all of you who are willing to work 
 
404 ADVICE TO OUB STARVING OPERATIVES. 
 
 would be well off here already. The result of extra production is, 
 that you are starving. 
 
 " But," you reply, " we starve here because taxes are so heavy, 
 the poor man cannot live ; and we want to go where there are no 
 taxes." 
 
 " Stop a bit ! What are taxes paid out of ?" 
 
 " The earnings of the country." 
 
 " What are earnings ?" 
 
 " The wages of work." 
 
 " Ought not the taxes then to be easier paid when there are more 
 workers ?" 
 
 "It would seem so." 
 
 " Then it is not the'weight of taxation that forces yoti away ; for it 
 is not the part of a heavily burdened community to push out those 
 who help to carry the load." 
 
 "We are tired of helping to carry the load." 
 
 " And you come to the State to ask it to spend money on weakening 
 itself by sending you to the uttermost parts of the earth ?" 
 
 " We should not want to quit our country, if our country valued 
 us. Our country ought not to see us starve !" 
 
 " Why do you starve ?" 
 
 " Because work is very bad to get, and when we get it the wages 
 will hardly keep us." 
 
 " Why don't your employers give you more work and better wages." 
 
 "They tell us taxes are very heavy, and money is very scarce ; they 
 can't get anything like a fair price for tlieir goods. Besides, they 
 don't get ready money for their goods, but bills at long date ; and 
 they do say the discount off the bills eat up all the profits ; so they 
 stop their works, or any way knock off hands and time, and then we 
 starve by millions." 
 
 " But why shouldn't their customers give them ready money for 
 ready goods ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, I don't suppose there be ready money enough in all 
 the country for that." 
 
 " What is money made for ?" 
 
 " To pay wages." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " For making goods." 
 
 " Who are wages paid by ?" 
 
 " By them that sell goods." 
 
 " How are they to get it ?" 
 
 " Trom them that buy the goods." 
 
 " Then money is made to pay for goods ? How much money 
 should be made ?" 
 
ADVICE TO OUJl STARVING OPERATIVES. 405 
 
 " Well, I should think enough to pay for the goods that are 
 made." 
 
 "If there was ready money enough in the country for every 
 dealer to pay ready money for his ready goods, wages would be better 
 and work easier to find ?" 
 
 " Most likely." 
 
 " When flour is very scarce and dear, how do you manage to fill 
 your bellies ?" 
 
 "We eat potatoes ?" 
 
 " Are potatoes as nourishing as bread and pudding ?" 
 
 " No ! but they're a deal better than nothing." 
 
 " Tou consider it a sign that bread stuifs are scarce when you see 
 operatives' wives cooking great mashes of potatoes as a substitute for 
 loaves and puddings ?" 
 
 " Certainly P' 
 
 "Are bills money?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly whether they be or not." 
 
 " If you had engaged for 17s. a week, would you like to receive a 
 bit of paper on Saturday night, saying, " I promise to pay 17s. at 
 four months date for value received in labour ?" 
 
 " No! I shouldn't. I wouldn't take such a thing as payment." 
 
 " Well ! but if he made it 18s. 3d., that would be about M. a month 
 in the pound, or 20 per cent, in the year, for four months, which is 
 the charge for advancing money at the pawn-shops. If you "took 
 that piece of paper to the pawnbroker, wouldn't he give you 17s. for 
 it, seeing that in four months time he would get 18s. Sd., which 
 would give him 20 per cent, on what he advanced ?" 
 
 " The pawnbrokers about us are not so green. He would say, 
 ' Tour employer may break before four months are out ;' I should 
 have no end of bother and bargaining about such a bit of paper ; I 
 had rather take 15s. down than go through such a job." 
 
 " Then a promise to pay at four months is not money ?" 
 
 "No ! indeed." 
 
 " But it is a bill ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you suppose your employer likes to take such unready pay- 
 ment for his ready goods, after he has paid you ready money for 
 your ready labour ?" 
 
 " I don't suppose he likes it, but he has to take what he can get." 
 
 " The great prevalence of bills then, as a substitute for money, is a 
 sign of the insufiicient supply of money, in the same way as potato 
 mashes are a sign of the scarcity of bread and pudding ?" 
 
 "I should say so, but I suppose it can't be helped." 
 
 " Suppose, instead of his own paper promise to pay, your employer 
 
406 ADVICE TO OOR STARVING OPERATIVES. 
 
 had offered you a £5 Bank of England note, and you bad happened 
 to be flush of money and had £4 3s. change in your pocket, would 
 you have been afraid to take the note and give him the change ?" 
 
 " Of course not ! I could get the note changed any time at the 
 public-house." 
 
 " Or even at the pawnbroker's. Bat why ? It is only a paper 
 promise to pay." 
 
 " Tes, but it is on the faith of all England, and it is payable at 
 once." 
 
 " England is a safer customer than an individual, and therefore, 
 though it is payable at once, it stays out a long while and passes from 
 hand to hand as £5 worth of money, yet it does not cost a half- 
 penny to make it." 
 
 " But there is gold in the Bank of England to pay for it." 
 
 " No ! there is usually twenty or thirty millions short of the gold 
 that would cash their notes if they were all offered for payment at 
 once. Fourteen millions worth of gold, against which £14,000,000 
 of bank-notes are issued, is lent away to Government." 
 
 " Well, never mind. What England owes, England will pay. Why 
 the country owes eight hundred millions to them that have their 
 money in the funds. They aren't afraid ; and if the funds will sell, 
 when of course they could'nt be paid off, why should we be afraid of 
 a paltry twenty or thirty millions. A Bank of England note, why 
 that's as good money as a man need want." 
 
 " Then you think your employer would like to take the country's 
 credit in payment better than an uncertain customer's credit, even 
 though there might be more notes out by a good deal than there was 
 gold in the country's coffers to cash them ?" 
 
 " Why should people want to cash them if they were good for 
 payments, and the Government took them for taxes." 
 
 " Then you think that if there were plenty of such money as this 
 issued on the credit of the country, so as to supersede the necessity 
 of bills on private credit, goods sold and purchased in such ready 
 money would change hands more freely and securely, trade would be 
 brisker, and labour better paid ?" 
 
 " Certainly; a great deal better. I believe it would set the country 
 up again." 
 
 " But how would you know when there was enough of such 
 money ?" 
 
 " Why I should say the disappearance of private bills would show 
 there was enough." 
 
 " Do you think people would ever get out of the habit of 
 drawing bills ? And would not the plenty of money lead to what 
 they call a greater inflation of bills than ever ?" 
 
ADVICE TO OUR STAIIVING OPERATIVES. 407 
 
 " Ay, to be sure ; there would be plenty of people ready enough to 
 draw bills, but there would not be so many ready to take them, when 
 they knew there was something better to be got." 
 
 "And you feel sure that the Government security would be 
 considered better than private security ?" 
 
 " Why, everybody knows the Grovemment, and only here and there 
 one knows you and me. It stands to reason, everybody would like 
 the Government promise to pay better than yours or mine." 
 
 " Promise to pay what ? and in what material P" 
 
 " Why, I should say in as much of any material as the note would 
 buy in the market ; as much gold, silver, copper, timber, flour, 
 cheese, or bacon, as at the time happened to be worth the sum on 
 the note." 
 
 " But might not the denomination of the note fall very much in 
 value ? For instance, a £5 note will now buy 615 grains of gold, 
 but if you had such a loose system of money, perhaps in a year or 
 two a £5 note might not buy 300 grains." 
 
 " What do I care how much gold it will buy. I want my £5 note 
 to buy bacon, cheese, flour, broadcloth, houseroom, and furniture; my 
 employer wants it to buy labour ; his customer wants it to buy goods. 
 In the present system, when a panic comes, the £5 note will buy 
 twice the amount of labour and goods as it will in good times, and 
 yet goes no further in paying taxes. Labour's wages is man-price; 
 and if plenty of any sort of money kept the man-price of the £5 note 
 steady and comfortable, I don't feel to care much about what comes 
 of its gold-price. I say, man's muscle, man's brain, man's industry, 
 at a reasonable and regular price in bacon, cheese, flour, house- 
 room, and comfort, is what is wanted to set the country right." 
 
 " That is your par of exchange and standard of convertibility, 
 is it?" 
 
 " Yes, I had sooner see the labourer kept at par than the pound, if 
 it comes to that. The man's the gold of God's mint ; and when he 
 is depreciated, the political economists must be practising a bad 
 economy. That's my way of looking at it." 
 
 A WoEKiNG Man. 
 
408 
 
 THE STEP-FATHER. 
 
 I WAS in the fourth of the " Sevea Ages " in those days. The third, 
 however, still left a chronic distemper ; and when the jfit did possess me, 
 companionship was to me what the solitary system is to felons — torture. 
 Alas! that Love should be so selfish! But it must be confessed, I had no 
 heart for any sorrows save my own. Five or six years of foreign ser- 
 vice had by no means cured me; they had only conferred upon my 
 exterior a touch of the jaundice which was within ; they had left my 
 memory the freshest thing about me. Returned to England, I dashed 
 headlong into society, resolving to marry the first agreeable woman that 
 would take pity on me. I was on the verge of a proposition, and doubt- 
 less a certain refusal, when some subtle splinter of association opened my 
 old wound; in five minutes my condition was as morbid as ever drove a 
 man to drown his care in brandy, or himself in a milder fluid. The scene 
 of my old romance suggested itself as the most soothing retreat. Not that 
 there was any remote chance of meeting the object of my afiections on the 
 spot where I had first seen her. She, like myself, had been a visitor at 
 her uncle's. He was dead these two years, and the place now belonged 
 to a wealthy potato-salesman. This, however, did not affect my remi- 
 niscences. Woods and glades wear their old aspects under fifty genera- 
 tions of a dukedom ; and when these have worn themselves out until the 
 last of the noble race sweeps a hired crossing, the woods and glades take 
 no note, show not the shadow of a care that their present lord was erst 
 
 a crossing-sweeper. To , therefore, I was soon translated; and a 
 
 whole week was spent while I breathed my furnace sighs to the deaf 
 and dumb dryads of its stately park. Heavens ! how exquisitely 
 miserable I contrived to render myself while there, moping the day long 
 " under the shade of melancholy boughs ; " sickening my mind in com- 
 pany of long dead, but yet unburied, hours. How I conjured up first 
 looks, trifling words, little courtesies, blushes surprised, the coyness of 
 awakened consciousness, the creeping thrill of accidental touch, every 
 thing, in short, with her connected. From this stage I'd pass to one 
 more anxious. Eeniembering how, as the climax neared, and I, almost 
 persuaded of her love, was trembling to pour out the torrent of my own, 
 an order — a cruel, absolute order — forbade me to even see her from 
 that day more. Again, I'd stagger at the blow, again revive to swear 
 I'd learn my fate from no lips but hers. How my heart would leap 
 into my throat as her loved image crossed my fancied path ! What 
 countless schemes I cunningly devised to meet her " by moonlight alone." 
 Scarcely could I breathe as I reclomb the steep ascent through tangled 
 and dew-soaked thicket to steal the flowers that grew beneath her turret 
 chamber ; around the castle's old grey walls I used to prowl at mid- 
 night, muttering raptures about her loveliness to the stars, whilst rest- 
 
THE STEP-FATHER. 409 
 
 less watch-dogs (how they used to startle mel) bayed dolefully to the 
 moon. Alas 1 I never saw a living being there except bats and owls, for 
 the sweet innocent thought I was a hundred miles and more from the 
 place I haunted nightly. 
 
 Then the years that passed before we met would be reviewed ; and 
 then my fancy seemed to curdle with the poison of those bitter days. 
 Slowly I approached the ecstacy of our meeting. It was so sweet ! so 
 very transient 1 " False Idelette ! " I would exclaim, '< you swore (said, 
 I mean) you loved me. Was that your proof to go and marry some 
 one else?" No poet ever " told a piteous tale" but I borrowed his 
 invective epithets to hurl against my love and all her sex. Not that I, 
 or perhaps my vanity, could for a moment think she was really false. 
 She had married another, it is true, but he was a rich merchant, and in 
 those days I possessed that common patrimony of a younger son, the 
 " nothing a year paid quarterly," with the " Nihil a nihilo fit " 
 inscribed on the finger-post to my future. 
 
 From these data I drew my only consolation, or, to speak more cor- 
 rectly, my desolation, since I encouraged a hope in her constancy long 
 after she had been personally disposed of. 
 
 Thus passed the time when the fit was on ; and thus passed the week 
 I have alluded to. 
 
 It was just at the end of this week, as I mooned one soft evening along 
 
 the shady avenues of Park, repeating to myself, with supremely 
 
 bilious satisfaction. Hood's noble poem, " The Elm Tree," and dwelling 
 naturally on those parts wherein he promises that " he who never knew 
 a home (a matrimonial home, videlicet) shall find it in the elm, that my 
 recitations were checked by what I took for a wood nymph, skipping 
 straight toward me. 
 
 The chubby face of the little goddess was lost in clustering silken 
 curls. With breathless eagerness she sprang into my arms ; and 
 althouirh frankness beamed from her radiant cheeks as she ran, the 
 bri"ht and joyous countenance being face to face with mine, seemed 
 suddenly abashed at the boldness of the act, and mutely she hung her 
 pretty head. I smiled inquiringly. The nymph took courage— "Please," 
 she lisped, " will you lie down ?" " I'll kneel," said I, thinking (fori am 
 a very big man) to equalise our heights. " No ! no ! you must lie 
 flat on your side ; I want to hide behind you. Sissy is going to seek 
 me as soon as I am hidden, and you must not move ; not if you have 
 to lie a million years— and you must hold your breath all the time 
 if Sissy comes near." " Will that do ?" I asked, composing myself into 
 the required attitude, with the strongest desire in the world to be a 
 perfect baby. " Oh, yes, you are much better than a tree," was the 
 encouraging reply. 
 
 In due time the sister nymph drew nigh to reconnoitre. But so 
 
 2 F 
 
410 THE STEP-PATHER. 
 
 closely crouched my little nestling, she was not seen ; and to her 
 unspeakable joy the seeker tripped away, taking, from my pointings, 
 every direction but the right. When we were outwitted, what screams 
 of exviltation announced the capture. Just heaven ! I reflected, as I 
 received a vohmteered kiss from the first nymph, and wooed another 
 from the second, how doubly blest is the father of such a pair ! Blessed 
 in the babes, and surely their mother must be an angel ! I know not 
 how I came to the latter conclusion. Yet if a man's fancy paint a 
 woman whom he hath not seen, 'tis ten to one (unless he be a philo- 
 sopher) that she is an angel. 
 
 It being Sissy's turn to hide, Elphie, so hight the other, left orders 
 that there was to be no hiding near me ; nor was I to show where to 
 hide, nor point out wrong places, but only the right place to the seeker; 
 she being older than her sister, and by much an older friend of mine. 
 Ingenuously insidious, from the days of your shortest petticoats, thought 
 I. Elphie out of sight, Sissy (and the act was truly feminine, it bespoke 
 such confidence in her protector) dropped at once into the very lair 
 vacated by her sister. Now, both these tiny forms, so " musically made," 
 were sheltered beneath huge brown mushrooms, and when the seeking 
 began, up went the sought mushroom every instant, all fluttering with 
 ribbons, over my shoulders. Eemonstranoe was superfluous. " May 
 I look now?" was the next moment's answer. Elphie, of course, 
 bounded straight to covert, and because Sissy would not be found 
 "hide and seek" there was ended. In a few minutes Elphie, buried 
 under my hat and supported by my stick, was strutting about like an 
 old man, and I, with Sissy's mushroom perched upon my crown, was 
 sitting between them, relating how King Bogoris cut off one of the 
 heads of Sylaut, the monster ; and how Grannonia wedded the Serpent 
 Prince. 
 
 Bless their innocence 1 It almost smote my conscience to tell them 
 such tales. Not a word but they believed it every syllable. And 'tis 
 like enough, considering they'll never grow so much as half a beard 
 between them, that worse rubbish will set their little hearts a fluttering; 
 ay — when they are ten years older may be — " But foul befall the 
 man," quoth I, reddening with indignation, "who — ." The}' were both 
 laughing in my face. I had forgotten that I was thinking aloud. " I 
 have a great secret to tell you," said Elphie. "What's that?" said I. 
 " It is a question," said she, " but Sissy must not hear the answer." 
 " Oh I" said Sissy, " I promise, with all my might, not to listen." I bent 
 my head, Elphie whispered into my mouth, " Will you tell me what 
 is your name ?" " Don't hug the gentleman so, Miss Elphie," objected 
 the nurse, who had joined the party. " I think the young ladies must 
 be going." " Do you live far from here r" I asked. " About a mile, 
 sir ; but their ma doesn't like their stopping out late, the gras.s gets so 
 
THE STEP-FATHER. 411 
 
 damp ; and that, sir " — " Is their ma a very particular person ?" I 
 inquired. " Law, sir, about them children she is, 3'ou may be sure. 
 I don't know what she mightn't say to me if I didn't have 'em home 
 by tea time. Then you see, sir, she's even that much more so now she 
 lives alone." " Ah !" I sighed, smashing to pieces the image I had but 
 half an hour ago built up of the children's mother, " fancy always 
 misleads us — she's an ill-tempered woman, with a sour face ; lives alone 
 too ; separated from her husband, no doubt ; an arrant virago, I'll be 
 sworn." I sighed again. The little ones perceived it. With rueful 
 faces each asked if they had hurt me, meaning bodily. " No," said 
 I, contemplating them pitifully, " only I must leave you." " Oh I 
 but we can't let you leave us ; we- will go with you." " And what will 
 mamma say ?" I asked. " Mamma will come too ; mamma always 
 goes where we go." " And you," I ventured to suppose, " always stay 
 ■where mamma stays ?" " Yes, except when they come into the park ; 
 and then mamma did not come with them, though she sometimes took 
 long walks in the park quite alone." " Well, I must go." " But 
 you promise to come to-morrow P" " Perhaps." " To-morrow morning, 
 very early ?" " Perhaps." " And stay all day ?" " Perhaps." " And 
 come home to tea ?" " Perhaps." " Now ?" " No, not now." " But 
 you will walk with us home." " Yes." " I (Elphie) will carry a hand." 
 " I (Sissy) will carry a hand too, and the book and stick." So, with a 
 good deal of prattling, we went away. 
 
 And now it was that an accident happened, if accident it can be called, 
 inasmuch as it formed one of those links in the chain of events which, 
 although they may seem to us mere casualties at the moment, do in 
 reality determine our special courses, and should therefore be attributed 
 not to chance, but to the Disposer of all circumstances. Scarcely had 
 we been five minutes in the public road ere the violent beatings of a 
 horse's hoofs smote upon our senses. The next instant a riderless 
 animal appeared galloping at its wildest speed. Sissy had the moment 
 before left my side to gather a bunch of wild flowers growing on the 
 further bank. Seized with terror she flew to rejoin me. I made one 
 bound to save her. It was too late. My brain reeled on the confused 
 image of her fragile form rolled between the limbs of the maddened horse. 
 Not yet, however, had Providence ordained the change of child to angel. 
 Sissy was not very seriously inj ured. Care alone was necessary, and duty 
 no less than inclination consigned the provisional charge to me. Raising 
 the little invalid in my arms, we soon reached a house of moderate 
 size, very sweetly situated, which the nurse informed me her mistress 
 had' hired for the summer season. The lady was unfortunately not 
 within. So I desired the child might be put to bed ; intending to explain 
 to the mother the escape which I had witnessed. 
 
 The shades of evening had already darkened the room where Sissy 
 
412 THE STEF-rATHER. 
 
 lay, before I had the satisfaction of seeing my little patient sink into a 
 quiet slumber. I had stooped over her bed to assure myself of her 
 regular breathing, and was in the act of rising to leave the chamber on 
 tip toe, when I perceived that a lady stood by my side. She had entered 
 so noiselessly that until this moment I was unconscious of her presence. 
 She placed her hand gently on my arm to caution me, as it were, agamst 
 exclamation. Then convincing herself that the child was sound asleep, 
 she paused to cast a look of deep affection, and, as I imagined, to murmur 
 a prayer over its head, and led me silently from the room. By this 
 time the twilight was advanced, so that neither could distinguish the 
 features of the other; but despite my various conjectures touching her 
 nature and appearances, something in her movements, the outline of 
 her figure, the grace with which she conducted me, persuaded me 
 (indeed I could have sworn it now) that she was both young and pretty. 
 "I must thank you," began the lady timidly, in the sort of whisper one 
 carries from a sick room, " I must thank you for your very great kind- 
 ness. The account the nurse has given me — •" " Has possibly," I 
 interrupted, " needlessly alarmed you. The dear child has truly had a 
 most narrow escape. But I am convinced, and I speak as one not unac- 
 quainted with bruises and wounds, that the sweet little thing has been 
 more terrified than harmed." I then described the accident, and as the 
 lady seemed to listen with much interest, I even went back to relate how 
 our intimacy commenced. I also gave an account of our romps and tale 
 tellings. " Do you often visit • — — Park ?" whispered the lady, " No," I 
 replied in a melancholy tone, which I made no effort to conceal ; for I 
 no longer doubted that I was tete-a-tete witii a charming creature fitted 
 by nature for a confidant in a love affair; " it's many j'ears since I was 
 there, and probably as many more will pass before I see it again." " You 
 do not admire it then ?" she asked. "Admiration for its natural beauties," 
 said, I " does not enter into the motives which caused me to revisit it." 
 My manner of saying this would, I felt sure, rouse the curiosity of so 
 genuine a woman. " Perhaps," said she, " some old acquaintance lives 
 in the neighbourhood ?" " Not a soul that I know of," said I. She 
 paused so long I began to fear her delicacy checked her from any 
 further inquiry. But the conversation was too interesting to suffer 
 it thus to drop ; so I made up my mind to sustain it if possible.' I 
 sighed. The act was involuntarj', j'et I believe I coidd not, for my life, 
 have made a remark half so pathetic. She sadly sighed too. This 
 satisfied me. " Come," said I (if I had known her ten years we could 
 not have been on closer terms), " can you not guess one motive that 
 might attach a melancholy man — a man of sentiment — to some particular 
 spot in this capacious world ?" Her answer surprised me. Far from 
 encouragement, it conveyed a sort of disposition to change the subject. 
 " No, indeed," she said, " unless it be some private concern, which — " 
 
THE STEP-FATHER. 413 
 
 " I have no right to intrude upon a stranger, even so amiable as your- 
 self," and taking her hand I raised it to my lips with feelings of profound 
 respect, and a secret blush for my egotism. 
 
 If it hath not been noticed a score of times in print, it certainly has 
 been remarked a million times out of it, that when a woman says more 
 than she intends, she is by no means satisfied you should take for 
 granted more than she hath said. I had fallen into this error, so she 
 allowed me, by way of atonement, to suffer my embarrassment for a few 
 seconds, and then compassion getting the better of her, she restored my 
 confidence by saying, " I suppose that, as your visits are so few and far 
 between, the attractions which drew you hither — I mean the cause of 
 
 your attachment to Park — has ceased to exist ?" I assured her 
 
 that she was never more mistaken ; and observing that she sighed more 
 deeply than before, I was led on to narrate the particulars of my love 
 from the fervor of its dawn to the hopelessness of its present constancy. 
 My voice and manner were filled with pathos, and I rose, I do believe, 
 almost to eloquence, when approaching the climax of my fate I spoke 
 freely from my heart, and proved by my present emotion what must 
 have been the profunditj' of my former anguish. I concluded. The 
 lady was in tears. " Thou art the gentlest of sympathisers!" I exclaimed, 
 again taking her hand in mine, " and may Heaven never inflict a pang 
 upon a heart which hath so much tenderness for another's woes." No 
 sooner had I uttered these words than the lady withdrew her hand, and 
 rising abruptly from her seat, made as if to leave the room. Suddenly 
 changing her mind, she hastened back, — " Is this," she asked, trembling 
 from head to foot, "a studied reproach — a premeditated insult?" "Re- 
 proach ! Insult!" I gasped, thrilled by the tones of her voice, which for 
 the first time she had raised above a whisper. " Forgive me," she 
 returned, " I see you did not know me. Accident has brought us once 
 more together. I thought we had parted never to meet again." I was 
 dumb. My head spun like a top. Love, shame, jealousy, in turn con- 
 fused me. Idelette, my love, the mother of another man's children 
 stood before me. " No, madam. I did not know you, or I should not 
 
 jjot have " " Saved my child from a horse's hoofs? Come (she 
 
 tried to smile), I owe you a debt of gratitude. Be generous, and (in 
 a tremulous voice) let the past be forgotten." " Never! never! Our 
 paths in life lie worlds wide apart. Beneath the roof of your husband 
 I can never be a friendly guest." A sigh, " I have no husband." 
 
 « And how fortunate it was, dearest, that the children won your heart 
 at first sight." " Ah ! well. Yes. They are lucky no doubt in having 
 such a step-fother." 
 
414 
 
 THE MAKING AND THE WEARING OP MY 
 COUBT SWOBD. 
 
 JSfaples, I'ehruary, 1854. 
 
 " Weak and irresolute is mau — the purpose of to-day, woven with 
 pains into his plan, to-morrow rends away." I went to Ilavello to 
 wait on that mountain top till the broiling weather passed by, and 
 lingered in my little vine-trelliced, fig-shadowed cottage on the brow 
 of the precipice, living very happily, and troubling my head about 
 nothing at all. 
 
 But when the summer had silently and stealthily worn into mid 
 autumn, and I had killed the twenty-first scorpion on the walls and 
 rafters and doorsteads of my bed-room, a sudden burst of foul 
 weather led in the equinox, and I became simultaneously aware that 
 the cracked roof was incompetent to keep out the rain, and the 
 loosely hinged gaping shutters to keep out the wind. 
 
 Under these circumstances I should have made a hasty retreat 
 from Eavello, and descended on the kingdom of Naples at large, if 
 the hospitable possessor of the Saracenic palace over the way had 
 not offered me a suite of apartments in his lower story. These were 
 weather tight and comfortable. In one of them I set up a sculptor's 
 stand, or to speak more sincerely, an old deal box : gathered some 
 massive fragments of white marble with which the ruins abounded ; 
 had chisels and mallets made, and set about cutting scutcheons of 
 the various families which have occupied the mansion from the 
 original Eufolos, who here entertained Pope Adrian and Eichard 
 Coeur de Lion. 
 
 The legends of the house, which has stood since the time of our 
 own Norman conquest, with all its scenes of festive pomp and 
 princely magnificence, its intrigues of medieval Italian politics, its 
 episodes of love and hatred and revenge, leading down to the starving 
 pride of a worn-out modern aristocracy sapping the foundations 
 of their crumbling towers for buried treasure, and being hocus- 
 pocused by Sicilian necromancers ; the real murders of infants 
 sacrificed to the demon Custode of the hoard, who sits over his golden 
 heap in a vault beneath the damp and mossy stones of the deep-sunk 
 court, and has a familiar serpent to drive out all intruders who neglect 
 to propitiate him with the soul of a male child three years and three 
 days old — all these materials I might have dressed up into a very 
 readable chapter, if they were not already being moulded in better 
 hands, namely, those of our accomplished fellow-countryman, Mr- 
 Nevil Eeid, who, having made these halls his dwelling-place, is 
 naturally very much at home in his subject. 
 
 Well, I chipped away at the marble slabs. My landlord would 
 take no rent, having rents enough in the untenanted parts of his 
 palace ; so I returned the eleemosynary shelter I received by pre- 
 senting arms to the establishment. Meanwhile the elements roared, 
 and poured, and beat upon that palace, which was luckily founded 
 
THE COURT SWORD. 415 
 
 upon a rock, till I became convinced that Italy was not the place for 
 a winter climate, and made up my mind to go to Grand Cairo. 
 _ I came into Naples with that intention, and had my passport 
 signed to start for Egypt by the steamer of the 3rd of Pebruary. 
 ^verybody in Naples was busy asking everybody else what costume 
 he or she should go in to the great fancy ball which the king was 
 about to give in honour of the hereditary prince's coming of age. 
 bo 1 gave up the idea of Grand Cairo for a time, got my invitations 
 to the two impending feasts, and began to think about my own 
 costume. 
 
 I possessed somewhere in the depths of my portmanteau a linen 
 bag of clothes, which had figured at the drawing-rooms and balls of 
 at. James's and Buckingham Palace. This contained a black coat 
 lined with silk, large-cuffed and cutsteel-buttoned ; shiny black silk 
 inexpressibles, and shiny patent leather pumps, buckled on the knees 
 and insteps with famOy jewels. There were black silk and white 
 embroidered waistcoats, and about five yards of rare point lace which 
 had served my great-great-great, &c., grandfather— a swell of the 
 rufiied reign of James the Second. The principal deficit was the 
 sword, for as that would not go into my portmanteau it was left in 
 England. This want I resolved to supply with my own hands. I 
 thought of going to the extravagance of a black velvet coat, but 
 finding velvets had risen to double their usual price I desisted, con- 
 sidering that a poor devil author had no business to compete even 
 with hungry Italian princes, who, on a great occasion like this, will 
 pawn their plate and pinch their dinners for a long while to hire 
 gorgeous apparel for one evening. Besides, with a silver-hilted sword 
 and about sixty pounds' worth of point lace on a plain black court 
 dress, I thought I should look like a poor gentleman whose ancestors 
 had seen better days, and be quite as respectable as many of the 
 other jackdaws in brighter but less genuine plumes. 
 
 So I sallied forth one clear bitter frosty morning, to set about 
 purchasing materials, dressed in the most artisanical costume my 
 somewhat miscellaneous wardrobe could command. Finding an 
 armourer opposite the brazen horses of the palace, I represented 
 myself as a ciseleur who had been charged by a priiicipino to execute 
 the accoutrement of a small sword in wrought silver, and wished to 
 purchase a neat little blade. Under these colours I found what I 
 wanted for the sum of two shillings — an ancient German weapon 
 engraved with the pious motto — 
 
 MIT GOTT WOLLEN f With God's will 
 
 wiE THATEK THUN. \ We do deeds. 
 
 This being wrapped up in spiral strips of paper to prevent my being 
 taken up in the streets as a conspirator against the life of his 
 Sicilian Majesty, I proceeded to the quarters of the orefici (gold- 
 smiths), who live in a labyrinth of dark lanes, where all the little 
 unglazed shops seem turned inside out with a profusion of glazed 
 trays glittering with a profusion of popular ornaments in rather 
 coppery gold. 
 
416 THE COUKT SWOUD. 
 
 Trom every stall comes forth the click and clink and clank of all 
 sized hammers, the hoarse metallic shriek of saws that cry for oil, 
 the whirr of drills, and the husky moan of the file. Here you see 
 the peasant youth in mountaineer costume bargaining for the 
 trinkets which are to be his marriage settlement on the bride. The 
 silver spadella (swordlet) or pettinessa (female comb) to truss up 
 the rich masses of her hair, a dozen rings or so for her apparently not 
 very delicate fingers — some with crucifixes, some with twin hands of 
 weddedfaith, some with twin hearts on either side of the ancient phallic 
 emblem, some with the death's head and cross-bones— all averaging 
 about 3s. 6d. a-piece. But the principal ornament of the matron, 
 and her chief distinction from the tinsel-decked maiden yet 
 unportioned is a pair of round, blunt, conical ear-rings, about the 
 size and shape of a large limpet shell; the surface closely set with 
 seed pearls, the central boss being an emerald, generally too large 
 and handsome to be real. A huge empty locket, intended to look 
 like a watch, suspended by a long and slender chain which encircles 
 the neck three or four times, and a few brooches and pins, repre- 
 senting ships in full sail, oi roses full blown, cut out in the flat, 
 with a cross or two set in delicate filigree, complete the trousseau, 
 which is all the bridegroom brings to the household of his " future," 
 she being required by the custom of the country to supply all the 
 linen, furniture, and utensils, in fact the useful, as he does the 
 ornamental. 
 
 To return to my own sordid aff'airs : I found a previous acquaint- 
 ance among the goldsmiths, and got a stout disc of silver, about 
 four inches broad and the sixth of an inch thick, of which to make the 
 guard of my hilt, and a sufiicient length of flat silver wire to 
 wrap the handle. With these spoils I retired and set to work. 
 The design for the guard was already drawn, and looked very well 
 on paper. It consisted of three scutcheons in skeleton outline, set 
 together so that their tops formed a triangle about the round 
 collar where the handle of the blade was to pierce the guard. The 
 three corners of this triangle were occupied by my initials. The 
 three diverging points of the shields were to be filled up into a 
 circular form by curly-queue fiourishes. The whole to look like 
 strong filigree work. 
 
 But when I had engraved the design upon it, which took nearly 
 the whole da/, and began to drill holes through it, I at once found 
 it would be an exceedingly tough job. It proved, upon calculation, 
 that this thick solid plate of silver had to be pierced with just sixty- 
 nine apertures of every shape and size — round holes, and square 
 holes, and triangular holes, besides irregular polygons of all sorts, 
 and holes in the shape of tadpoles with curly tails, which neither 
 plain nor spherical trigonometry could describe. Beginning with 
 the little round hole made by the drill, and enlarging towards the 
 proper shape with fine files, proved hopelessly tedious. I took to 
 stamping out the larger parts of the pattern with a chisel, hut bruised 
 my pattern a little out of shape, and found that I gained nothing in 
 expedition ; besides which I broke the marble slab of a iable de nuit 
 into several fragments by chiselling upon it. In despair I betook 
 
THE COURT SWORD. 417 
 
 myself to the weapon I ought to have begun witli, but in which I 
 had no confidence, my original acquaintance with it being dei'ived 
 from a very bad one which had been given to me long ago, and left 
 in England as unworthy of a place among my travelling establish- 
 ment. This was a hair saw — a toothed thread of steel stretched on 
 a steel bow which opens with a sort of vice at either end, so that you 
 can run the saw-thread through the smallest drilled hole, nip it into 
 the bow again at the other side, tighten it with a slide, and saw 
 away in any direction you like, making angles and curves at dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 This time I got a very good one at La Grange's, in the Toledo — 
 a much better shop, by the way, for tools of all sorts, and where you 
 can find what you want with far less trouble than at Holzapfel's iu 
 Spring Gardens or Buck's in Tottenham Court Eoad. It is full of 
 excellent tools accurately sorted, so that you can get what you wajit 
 in a moment ; and though the wares come from Paris, a thousand 
 miles off, and doubtless have to pay duty, they cost less than half 
 what you pay in England. I now sawed away gaily, and in about a 
 week had cut out my sixty-ninth hole. The neck passed through 
 the collar, the guard was driven down upon the shoulder of the 
 blade, and I began the handle. This was first wrapped with copper 
 wire, over which I forced down five stout silver rings to cover the 
 neck. The rest I covered first with the mouthpiece of a brass blow- 
 pipe bought in Seville, which broke appropriately at this stage of the 
 proceedings, and over all a silver case engraved spirally with the 
 old Spanish motto — 
 
 NO ME baqhes sin eazon 
 
 Ko m'entaines sin honoh. 
 {draw me not without reason — sheathe me not without honour.) 
 
 The pommel was cut out of a half-dollar piece — two stars bent into 
 a semisphere and the points soldered to a belt. This being pierced in 
 the centre of either star, was riveted on, and the handle was done. 
 
 Then there was the sheath. The blade was greased, and long strips 
 of calico, steeped in glue, wrapped tight round it spirally. It was 
 covered with a velvet ribbon, mounted, and chaped and tipped with 
 
 gilyer and the sword was completed after about a fortnight's hard 
 
 work, which took the skin off my finger ends, and which I would not 
 undertake again for 20 guineas, that is to say I had rather write two 
 sheets of my best prose, which I am by no means fond of writing, 
 and which I can seldom persuade myself to accomplish, in less time. 
 
 At last the great day came. There was a grand stitching of 
 rufiles and much broad blue ribbon for a baldrick, and bows for my 
 Steenkirk tie, and the rosettes of my diamond-buckled shoes. 
 My old wide-awake was bordered and looped up triangularly with 
 silver chain-lace at sixpence a yard; besides being banded with 
 velvet and buckled and buttoned with cut steel and jewels. It 
 was the brightest day that ancient wide-awake had ever seen. 
 
 "When I was dressed, and had had my hair properly plastered, and 
 powdered, and frizzed, Don Carlo's brougham was announced, and I 
 emerged from my astonished attic up four pair of stairs in a great 
 
418 THE COURT SWORD. 
 
 glitter of steel buttons amid candlelit clouds of fluttering point lace. 
 JJoa Carlo was dressed and waiting in his apartments with a serene 
 gravity which became the ample gold-enwoveu splendour of a Turkish 
 costume. 
 
 After drinking a cup of coffee with outstretched neck (very much 
 the attitude of a goose at the edge of a pond) to avoid dropping any 
 on the flowing fringes of my Steenkirk, and smoking a cigarette with 
 painful anxiety not to drop any ashes into my ruffles, we proceeded 
 to the palace. There was the usual dilatory approach in file, during 
 which we were much infested by curious persons in the street, who 
 rubbed the frosty panes of the carriage to get a better glimpse of 
 our costumes. 
 
 When we arrived, the vestibule and stairs were lined with officers 
 of the Swiss guard, dressed as mousquetaires of the time of Louis 
 XIII., the period chosen by the court, and preserved in the liveries 
 of the servants, and even the musicians. It was only a little after 
 nine, but almost everybody had arrived. 
 
 The first impression was like getting behind the scenes in a 
 medieval drama. Everybody wonderfully got up, but no visible 
 performance going on. The people in the first rooms were cold and 
 shaky on their pins, each individual being not yet satisfactorily 
 convinced whether he did not look a little more absurd than every- 
 body else. 
 
 Here were Templars in shivering chain mail ; thin-stockinged 
 marquises in white silk breeches, principally defended from the 
 elements by fringes of guipure ; and above all, strange bipeds out of 
 the thirteenth century, so conscious of too great an exposure of their 
 legs, that they had put each into a different costume. All their 
 clothes seemed to have been infected with a general running-up 
 tendency. The points of their shoes ran up nearly to their knees ; 
 their stockings had run up to their waists ; their coats had run up 
 into short jackets ; their swords had run up into stout heavy-hilted 
 daggers which had lost all sword-like pendence, and cocked up at 
 right angles to the girdle. Their Bedouin capotes had run up 
 entirely to hoods, and the costume having thus run up from toe to 
 top, and not being the least tired of it, ran over and fell in a 
 plumbline of tail from the peak of the cowl to the very heels. It 
 appears, by the way, that when this costume went out of fashion, and 
 like all other old-fashioned things, became absurd, the professional 
 wags of the period thought it far too good a joke to be given up, 
 and the jesters preserved it as their livery for centuries. 
 
 We moved along through the card rooms, where steady old 
 marquises of Louis Quinze's time, much bewigged and embroidered, 
 seemed to be playing at ombre and spadille. The great saloon was 
 densely crowded. The band, artificially curled down to their shoulders, 
 in loose golden damask dresses, set up in three little orchestra niches 
 along the wall, were playing a march. Avenues were formed, and 
 couples for one of the state quadrilles came stepping swiftly to the 
 music, and formed in the centre of the saloon. 
 
 There were the king and queen, and all the princes and princesses, 
 and other select personages. Ferdinand the Pat was dressed in drab 
 
THE COORT SWORD. 419 
 
 velvet dittoes, a very large drab felt hat and feather, a short cloalr, 
 and much guipura He looked far more like a gentleman thau 
 usual. In his favourite military costume he looks like an unwieldly 
 epicier of the national guard. 
 
 The queen, too, looked well, in a cherry-coloured velvet dress, with 
 many diamonds. The hereditary prince (Calabria) is (for a Neapo- 
 litan Bourbon) a pretty youth of seventeen, rather sad and serious. 
 The Spanish poor relations, Montemolin, Don Sebastian & Co., 
 witli_ their wives, are the shabbiest swindler-lately-out-of-prison- 
 looking race which I should think even Naples could show. 
 If Louis Quatorze could have come to life for the evening and seen 
 his descendants, it would have served him for several centuries of 
 purgatory. 
 
 After the state quadrilles there were dances in which all the 
 ladies were dressed in national costumes, which might have been 
 pretty if they had not been conventional stage peasants instead of 
 the really pretty and picturesque costumes which you now only see 
 rarely in real life. These dances were far too crowded for picturesque 
 grouping, and in the less choked apartments there were too many 
 men, the butterfly sex being all drawn to the central blaze. The 
 mixture too of incongruous dresses, muddles the ensemble and con- 
 fuses the eye, like an illsorted picture gallery. 
 
 The company did not seem to have taken into consideration, 
 that, however remote the period might be from which they selected 
 their costume, it was at a hall they had to appear in it, so that it 
 ought to be a costume in which persons of the period danced ; 
 whereas there were heavy-booted horsemen who seemed to have 
 ridden in straight from Marston Moor, and not had time to change. 
 There were field-marshals in full armour (usually small thin men lost 
 in puffy pigeon-breasted cuirasses), who could not have danced any 
 more than one of the steel-clad wax dummies in the Tower armoury. 
 Moreover, the company generally seemed so determined to take the 
 full use out of their borrowed plumes, that most of them wore their 
 hats all the time, only taking them off when the king came by. 
 
 In one of his royal progresses, he found a medieval monarch (the 
 Syndic of Naples) playing at whist. He approached him slil}'-, and 
 saluting him unawares, and pleasantly standing uncovered, asked him 
 " who his royal brother might be ?" The unfortunate medieval, after 
 making a series of convulsive twitches at his gilt pasteboard crown, 
 which was a fixture, found he could not get it off, and remained 
 covered with confusion. Another gentleman, who came dressed as a 
 bandit fell under the king's serious displeasure. He was informed 
 that he had chosen an injudicious costume, and received a hiut to 
 
 retire. 
 
 The prettiest points of view in which the costumes looked best 
 from there being space to look across, and there being a proper 
 admixture of ladies (who seemed to have walked out of Watteau's. 
 pictures and fans, and snuflT-box lids), were within the waltz ring. 
 The margin here and there stood out in groups, and the whirling 
 couples shifted all the colours of the rainbow with a kaleidoscopic 
 felicity. 
 
420 THE couht sword. 
 
 A little after two the supper began, and was well managed ; an in- 
 terminable suite of rooms, with narrow tables all along, over which 
 antique serving-men handed you readily a great profusion of good 
 modern things to eat and drink. There were wild boars barbecued 
 whole, truffles indishfulls by themselves, as plentiful as potatoes in an 
 Irish cabin (before the blight), fried oysters, soups, and salmis. In 
 fact, though it also looked very handsome,it was a supper meant for real 
 use. The wine was good and various. The king really seemed to have 
 taken an interest in his guests being comfortable ; and it is so kind 
 and condescending in a crowned head to remember that after all he 
 is a real man, inviting other real men to dance, eat, drink, and be 
 merry, instead of in a contemptuous, economical, patronising sort of 
 way, contracting with a pastry-cook for a papier-mache supper, and 
 gooseberry wine, as is done by some royal personages. 
 
 Of course with about six thousand people (at a rough guess) you 
 could not expect to sit down to supper, and you might, as I was, be 
 truly grateful to get good materials, and go and eat them as you best 
 could on the pedestal of a statue. About four in the morning we came 
 away, quite satisfied with our treatment, and carrying with us a greatly 
 improved opinion of Eerdinand the Fat. My silver-hilted sword was 
 greatly admired, and I related that it had been worn by an ancestor 
 of mine, who had been a page to Henry VIII., on the Field of the 
 Cloth of Gold, which statement was received without ineredulity. 
 But when I added that this was a fable, and its real history dated 
 from a fortnight back, since when I had made it with my own hands 
 for this very occasion, none of my fair partners would believe a word 
 of it. 
 
 PAPER AND GOLD. 
 
 A DIALOaUB. 
 
 Currency Heformer — Sullionist. 
 
 B. And how, my good fellow, about currency reform ? 
 
 C R. All right. We've nailed our colours to the mast, and intend 
 to fight it out. 
 
 B. So you told me ten years ago ; but the fight has gone against 
 you since then. 
 
 C is. I don't think so. We have, no doubt, had fearful odds 
 against us. A motley crew of Whigs, Tories, and Eadicals, have 
 hoisted the Peel standard. The pressgang has been hard at work 
 for our opponents. But here we are, in the year of grace 18^8, hale 
 and hearty, and ready and willing as .ever to do battle in the good 
 cause. No surrender, is our watch-word — truth and justice our 
 motto. 
 
 B. I respect your pertinacity. You're the very MarJc Tapley of 
 
PAPEB AND GOLD. 431 
 
 currency men, and deserve infinite credit for being jolly under exist- 
 ing circumstances. Admit, old friend, that you are in a very decided 
 minority. 
 
 C. R. I admit it. We can afford to admit a good deal, because 
 we bave no doubt as to the goodness of our cause, and therefore of 
 its ultimate success. Christianity and Protestantism were in a 
 decided minority for ages. Galileo had few friends. Ocean steam 
 navigation, and locomotives at ten miles an hour, have been laughed 
 to scorn, in Parliament and out, in our days. Nevertheless the earth 
 does move. We go to America in ten days, and to Edinburgh in 
 eleven hours. 
 
 B. But John Bull remains a buUionist. 
 
 C. a. So it would appear by the supineness and apathy which 
 even those who have suffered, again and again, by the operations of 
 the money laws, still manifest. At the best of times John is a stolid 
 individual ; on the subject of money he is the victim of one idea, that 
 idea being that he " cannot understand the currency question." A 
 good many millions sterling that sapient notion has cost honest 
 John. 
 
 B. But even in the House you can scarcely be said to have a party. 
 Whigs and Tories unite in ignoring the currency question. 
 
 C. B. So much the worse for their constituents. "When," said 
 old George the Third, " Mr. Pitt and Mr. Pox differ, I generally 
 think Mr. Pitt right. Sometimes I think Mr. Pox right. But when 
 Mr. Pitt and Mr. Pox agree, I feel pretty sure that they are both 
 wronc." When you find Mr. Gladstone agreeing with Mr. Bright, 
 and Mr. Disraeli sanctioning the financial dogmas of Sir G. 0. 
 Lewis, yon may be sure that nothing but sheer ignorance of the real 
 merits of the case could bring about the combination. 
 
 B. Ton still then believe in the progress of your principles ? 
 
 C. B. I firmly believe it. 
 
 B. May I ask the grounds of your opinion ? 
 
 G. B. I must give you them, if at all, at some length. 
 
 B. Before you begin allow me to explain my own views, and to 
 state my present convictions. I decidedly prefer gold to paper as a 
 medium of exchange. I like money that weighs in my hand and 
 rings on the table. The actual payment in coin appears to me better 
 than the promise to pay. I see plainly enough, however, that we 
 cannot return to the days of an exclusively metallic currency. Paper 
 money is a necessity for our expanded and expanding trade, and our 
 world-wide commerce. Now the Peel principle of availing ourselves 
 of the convenience and advantages of a paper currency, while provid- 
 in<^ for the absolute convertibility into gold of such currency, appeared 
 t ° e at the time exactly what was wanted. It was a great change ' 
 
423 PAPER AND GOLD. 
 
 from the paper system, no doubt; but a change which seemed to 
 tend to the increased stability and soundness of our circulating 
 medium. Now that such a change should not immediately succeed 
 might be expected. Lord Overstone's advice on the subject, in 1844, 
 was valuable. We got the matured opinion of a thinking man, who 
 was, moreover, a practical man of business. Tou will allow that 
 Lord Overstone's opinion was fairly entitled to respect. 
 
 C. H. Certainly ; his opinion deserved — as it has obtained — atten- 
 tive consideration. 
 
 B. The machinery by which Lord Overstone proposed to work 
 the currency system, so as to ensure the absolute convertibility into 
 specie of the Bank note, and at the same time to make the mixed 
 circulation of paper and gold fluctuate as a purely metallic currency 
 would do, appeared to be remarkably astute. 
 
 C. R. I freely admit that it was a clever and ingenious con- 
 trivance. 
 
 B. I will be as candid with you on this subject as I have been 
 throughout our long and intimate acquaintance. In 1847 came the 
 panic. It was then said by Lord Overstone and our party, that tlie 
 Bank had mismanaged aifairs. This seemed not altogether impro- 
 bable. Then came the gold discoveries ; and 1 confess that I then 
 believed that you paper-money men would not have a leg left to 
 stand upon. But the panic of last autumn has shaken my belief in 
 the Bank Charter Act. This time no blame is laid on the Bank, yet 
 the system broke down. I retain my firm conviction that the 
 BuUionist principle is the right one ; but I am free to admit that an 
 Act which has been twice suspended within ten years requires 
 revision. Nothing has been proposed by the Bank Acts Committee. 
 Reserving then my own opinion, I ask you what hopes you have of 
 an improvement in our existing system, and what yoti now propose ? 
 
 G. E. Why, hopes of a thorough reformation — and nothing less 
 will do — if the present money laws are founded on the conviction of 
 the erroneous and pernicious principles of our opponents, and the 
 correctness of our own. In 1819 the erroneousness of the 
 Ballionist system was an opinion ; in 1858 it is a demonstrated fact. 
 There is scarcely an opinion expressed by the Peel party, with the 
 most unbounded confidence in its correctness, which has not 
 been falsified. Throughout England every person not committed to 
 a theory, is ready to acknowledge that something in our monetary 
 system is wrong. People are not talking about the currency 
 question, but it comes often into the thoughts of every one who 
 regards political aff'airs. Truth and time have gone against Peel's 
 Bills. I trust to truth and time for their complete and signal 
 overthrow. 
 
PAPER AND GOLD. 423 
 
 B. I promise to listen, tbough I may listen with incredulity. 
 
 C R. The effect of William Pitt's Bank Eestriction Act was 
 similar to that which would be caused by the discovery of a gold 
 mine in England. As the discovery of the American mines in the 
 days of Elizabeth, by throwing into the circulating medium a larger 
 amount of gold and silver, facilitated exchanges, raised prices, and 
 promoted the general prosperity, so did the paper-money of Pitt. 
 
 B. Do you mean to say that this paper-money was as good 
 as gold ? 
 
 C. R. No ; I mean to say that it was much better than gold. 
 B. Better than gold ! There we can never agree. 
 
 G. a. Tou will agree with me that the excellence of any instru- 
 ment depends on its fitness for the purpose for which it is designed. 
 
 B. That is a general proposition which, of course, I am not 
 prepared to dispute. 
 
 C. R. Gold may then be better than any other material for some 
 instruments, and worse for others ? 
 
 B. No doubt. 
 
 G. R. The resistance which gold offers to heat, its purity, and its 
 property of not wasting, would render it excellent for iustance for 
 cooking utensils. It is too heavy and soft for a ploughshare or 
 a sword. Eor some purposes iron is as superior to gold, as for 
 others gold is superior to iron. 
 
 B. But for money ? 
 
 O. B. Cheapness, convenience, portability ; the capability of being 
 written on, worked, and recognised if stolen or lost ; these are 
 advantages which you will readily allow paper has over gold. 
 
 B. Very well. 
 
 O. B. But these are trifling recommendations compared with other 
 advantages which paper money possesses. The paper money which 
 Pitt called into existence could not be exported. It furnished a 
 domestic circulation, not liable to sudden contractions and expan- 
 sions ; and in this respect infinitely better than a purely metallic 
 currency. But it had another most important quality. As taxes 
 were imposed, it became necessary that the producer should add the 
 amount of taxation imposed on the commodities in which he dealt to 
 their price. Our people could not possibly have paid the enormous 
 amount of taxes had they not been able to obtain high prices for 
 their goods. To enable them to charge these high prices, an adequate 
 circulating medium was necessary. Higher prices required more 
 money to carry on trade. Gold money could not have thus increased 
 as the country required it. Paper money was capable of this expan- 
 sion. Under Pitt's system it did so expand, and in this respect it 
 was in every way superior to a metallic currency. Paper was not 
 
424 PAPER AND GOLD. 
 
 only a cheaper, but in every way a more pliilosophical, and practically 
 a better instrument of exchange than gold would have been. 
 
 B. But the time arrived when this system gave way. 
 
 C E. By no means. The time arrived when a set of currency 
 doctors, who could not understand the working of this excellent 
 system, destroyed it, because they were deficient in capacity to com- 
 prehend it. 
 
 B. These are hard words, but we require proofs that Peel and our 
 friends failed to comprehend that to which they had given great 
 attention. 
 
 O. B. These proofs we can abundantly supply. The bullionists 
 were wrong in the statements which they made in 1819 respecting 
 the eifects which a return to cash payments could produce. Kicardo, 
 the oracle of the House of Commons on the currency question, said 
 that a return to cash payments would reduce prices about 5 per cent. 
 Before he died, he admitted that prices had been reduced 25 per cent. 
 Mr. Bankes also admitted that the committee, of which he was a 
 member, was quite mistaken on the subject, and regretted that he 
 had been a party to their report. 
 
 The bullionists affirmed that the transition fromwar to peace haA. 
 produced the misery and distress of 1816, though a similar transition, 
 at the peace of Amiens in 1802, when the currency was not tampered 
 with, had produced nothing of the kind. Then it was said in 1822, 
 that the harvests were too good — over-production of food had caused 
 the people to be nearly starved. Then, after the panic of 1826, the 
 over-issue of country notes was said to have produced the evil. " As 
 long as the prosperity " — of which Lord Goderich had so loudly 
 boasted — "lasted, he claimed all the credit for Oovemment (said Mr. 
 Thomas Attwood) ; and as soon as it disappeared, Ae laid all the blame 
 iipon the lanhers." Peel introduced his bill of 1844 to prevent the 
 recurrence of the evils of 1825, 1832, 1837, and 1839. That bill 
 proved itself a ridiculous failure in 1847, and the minister laid the 
 blame on the Bank, which he had himself placed under a system 
 which was to remove all responsibility from that establishment. 
 
 B. This was, I agree, a lame excuse. 
 
 C. R. Bad workmen always find fault with their tools. "We go on 
 again. A new and most unexpected ally of the buUionist cause 
 appeared. Since 1848, the discovery of gold in California and Aus- 
 tralia has added — as Mr. Newmarch affirmed the other day at Leeds, 
 £230,000,000 sterling to the former stock of the world's bullion; 
 about 40 per cent, in addition to what it was ten years ago. This 
 must surely prevent the " grand principle of convertibility from 
 being endangered." 
 
 B. So I should have thought. 
 
PAPER AND GOLD. 4^5 
 
 C. R. Did it ? In 1857 we bad the Bank nearly reduced to its 
 last sovereign, and obliged to get permission to issue more 
 "promises to-pay" because it could not pay those already issued. 
 Tell me as an honest man, and a buUionist, whether this is, as Goul- 
 hurn called it, " a perfect system," or whether it has not, as Lord 
 Ashhv/rton said in 1847, " signally failed." 
 
 B. As an honest man I cannot deny, that— as I said before — the 
 system requires revision. 
 
 0. B. But look at the paltry excuses which your party put forth 
 for the ignominious failure of their vaunted measures. The re-dis- 
 counting of bills of exchange is one. If I buy a horse to-day may I 
 not sell him to-morrow ? If I purchase a bill of exchange may I not 
 sell it again the next hour, if it suit my convenience ? Bill dis- 
 counters and money-dealers merely assist in the distribution of capi- 
 tal. If they deal in bad goods, they are liable to lose by the opera- 
 tion. This loss is their punishment. Then we hear of the had 
 hanJcing of certain joint-stock companies. Eemember that Peel 
 ushered these institutions — "vicious institutions," Lord Overstone 
 now calls them — into existence to remedy, by competition, the bad 
 management of private banks. The buUionists, driven to their wits' 
 end for " something " to remedy the evils of Peel's Bills, now call out 
 for lAmited lAahility Banks. Let every square banking law be forth- 
 with made round. Will that reform a system rotten at the core ? 
 
 B. Tou do not, of course, deny that joint-stock banking has been 
 attended with most disastrous consequences. The tables recently pub- 
 lished of lank failures show that seventy-seven joint-stock banks, witli 
 463 branches, have failed between 1825 and 1857 ; that the amount 
 for which they failed, was £54,000,000 ; and that, in addition to the 
 losses to the public, the shareholders lost £18,000,000. 
 
 G. H. I admit the fact, if fact it be. And I further recall 'to your 
 recollection another "inferential result" of the compiler of these 
 tables, — " that bank failure, from the misery it has inflicted, the mis- 
 trust it has engendered, and the obstructions it has opposed to the 
 growth of good morals, the cultivation of frugal habits, and the 
 advancement of sound trade, is to be regarded as the opprobrium of 
 the Victorian era." To this I may add the insolent slander of the 
 Times of September 22nd, that, " as far as the management of public 
 enterprises is concerned, the country is without a character, and no 
 man will trust his neighbour." A more honourable body of men 
 than many of our public boards of directors does not exist ; but if 
 there be any portion of truth in the accusation of the Times, we 
 charge the bullionist party with having called this state of things 
 into existence. 
 
 B. In what way ? 
 
 2 G 
 
426 PAPER AND GOLD. 
 
 0. R. Look to tbe Bauk Eeturn published on Priday last (Sep- 
 tember 24). Tou observe that the Bank has now upwards of 19 
 millions of bullion in its coffers, and nearly 13 millions of unemployed 
 notes. Discount in the open market is 2\ per cent. There ia no 
 demand for money, for many first-rate commercial houses were swept 
 away by the recent monetary crises, and many half-ruined merchants, 
 like burnt children who dread tbe fire, cannot be tempted by the low 
 rate of money into the most legitimate enterprise. "Whether they 
 want it or not, however, the Bank must give out its notes in exchange 
 for gold. Money is thus becoming a drug. The Bauk and bankers 
 must do no business or they. must go on reducing the rate of discount ; 
 bill traders are tempted into speculation. Por a short period this 
 speculation will, indeed, be denominated by the Times Twaddler " a 
 courageous spirit of enterprise." Prices will rise, by and by a 
 drain of gold will, in consequence of this rise of prices, ensue. 
 Enterprise will then again be denominated speculation. Discounts 
 will advance. The hard calculator will issue from his den and grind 
 the bones of the little trader and operative, to make his bread. The 
 Twaddler will exult over the ruined victim of his atrocious theory. 
 On one point we agree with our twaddling friend of the Times. 
 "Let," he says (September 25), "discount pursue its spontaneous 
 course down to one per cent, or up to 20, without the intervention of 
 Chancellors of the Exchequer." We say the same. Let the next 
 monetary crisis take its course. 
 
 B. But what do you propose as a remedy ? 
 
 C. B. You wish to preserve the convertibility of the note. "We 
 propose to give you real, practicable convertibility — convertibility of 
 the note at all times, and under all circumstances, into gold at its 
 marJcet price. This will be fair both for debtor and creditor. Should 
 the gold discoveries increase ever so extensively, gold would find its 
 fair legitimate price in national paper money. "We propose, for the 
 present, a limit of £20,000,000 of national notes. "With this an 
 equable and suificient circulating medium would be obtained. "We 
 should avoid undue expansions of the currency when bullion flows 
 in, and undue contractions when bullion goes out of the country. 
 The rate of discount would no longer be liable to sudden and violent 
 fluctuations. Trade would cease to degenerate into gambling, and 
 speculation be confined within reasonable limits. Bad banking might 
 exist, as it would probably under any system, but the mismanage- 
 ment or want of principle in individual cases would not expand into 
 national calamity. The cycle of trade would then become an exploded 
 fallacy, and the reign of panic cease and determine. 
 
 Parewell, my good friend. Eschew Bullionism, the poor man's 
 bane, and the country's curse. 
 
 Vive et Vale. 
 
427 
 
 TO JOSHUA SQTJAEETOES, ESQ., MAYOR OF 
 
 PLAMBOROUGH. 
 
 My excellent Friend — What on earth do you suppose members of 
 Parliament are made of ? Is a man who happens to represent a borough 
 never to shuffle off his cares? Must Flamborough always be in 
 correspondence with its Parliament man? Keally this is more than I 
 bargained for. "Why do you slay me with your grievances? Can't 
 you let a man alone in his shooting-box, where I am happy to inform 
 you the post intermits with great regularity. However, as your letter 
 has come, it must e'en be answered. But remember, if I devote the 
 session to you, as a general rule, I consider the vacation as belonging 
 to myself. Remember also, that the heather and hills are stiff walking, 
 and at night the eyes are heavy. 
 
 So you want to know about Parliamentary Reform; the six young 
 women who have been banished from Sweden ; Cherbourg ; the Atlantic 
 telegraph ; and last, though not least, why the Oxford examiners have 
 plucked all the young Flamburgers who wanted to be A.A.s. Now 
 suppose we give precedence to the ladies — divinity goes before law. 
 You can't understand why people should turn Papists. I dare say it 
 may be difficult to you to comprehend, and if I succeed in helping you, 
 Flamborough may consider me a Papist for my pains. 
 
 There are a very considerable number of persons who very much 
 prefer to see with anybody's eyes but their own. Nor need this sur- 
 prise one who usually has his shoes blacked, his coat brushed, and his 
 victuals cooked for him. If you pay somebody else for doing these 
 things, why should you not pay another to see for you, and to think for 
 you? Don't you believe that thinking is harder work than blacking 
 boots? Why should a man unnecessarily undergo the fatigue of 
 that operation if he can get somebody to do it for him? The influence 
 of authority in matters of opinion is necessarily great. Nobody can 
 investigate everything for himself. It is not necessary to put a hot 
 cinder into a barrel of gunpowder to be convinced of the danger of the 
 experiment. One must take a good deal on trust; and act on it every 
 day. There is no greater comfort to a man who can't make up his 
 mind, than some one who will do it for him : and as many persons don't 
 keep the article in stock, if his friend will tie up a neat little parcel of 
 positive opinions that will do as well for every-day use, why he is 
 naturally immensely indebted to the purveyor of these luxuries. 
 
 There are two distinct classes of men in the world ; those who want 
 others to think for them are one class ; those who want to think for 
 other people are the other. One of the latter may have been the author 
 of the definitions, orthodoxy and heterodoxy,— the first being his own 
 doxy the second somebody else's doxy. If you treated both, as King 
 Solomon suggests treating persons of moderate capacity, i.e. : if you 
 braved the two together in a mortar, and then made two men out of 
 the half you might make them content to think for themselves. It is 
 enoush 'that you can't, anymore than you can take a tall weedy man 
 and a little stout pursy man, and roll them together, and turn out two 
 
423 TO josnuA squauetoes, esq., 
 
 persons of average proportion. But as Mr. and Mrs. John Sprat, tliovigh 
 (lififering altogether in taste, are recorded to have agreed to u marvel 
 in their method of feeding, so you will see a little stumpy man pick, as 
 the partner of his choice, some long whipping-post of a woman ; and so 
 also the man who can't make up his mind sticks as close to him who 
 makes it up f<ir him as acid does to alkali. 
 
 There are several ways of expressing the same idea ; for instance, 
 when your housekeeper says " she can't tell whatever," she means 
 
 pity the housekeeper 
 especially if she don't understand, and more especially if she misunder- 
 stands them. And she would doubtless conceive that in this classic 
 phrase she threw on the dog the blame for domestic mischances which 
 she has hitherto habitually attributed to the cat. 
 
 Hard words are said to break no bones. Nor do soft words butter 
 any parsnips. But it seems to me that big words bait many goose- 
 traps. How many fall down on their knees and worship a fat unctuous 
 phrase, particularly if it is of their own making? There are in the' world 
 always a number of simple-minded folk who will show their wisdom by 
 believing whatever any braggart will tell them. They measure their 
 capacity as they would the capacity of a beer barrel, by the quantity 
 it will hold. This kind, whether they turn to Popery, or any other 
 kind of dissent, are (especially among the women) infected with a species 
 of parsonolatry, which to the unconverted is eminently ridiculous. 
 Nor is the establishment without female saints, whose thoughts and 
 devotions are chiefly directed to the blandishing idol in the silk gown, 
 or in the snow-white surplice, worked by their own fair fingers. Of 
 course there is in this a mixture of the Catholic masoulolatry of the 
 whole female sex. But apart from this, whether in high church or low, 
 the longing for the mysterious and incomprehensible requires gratifi- 
 cation. 
 
 Now there is something incomprehensible in the word Catholic. 
 Nearly every communion arrogates to itself exclusively the dignity of 
 being the true Catholic and Apostolic church. The word church, too, 
 is equally indefinite, or at least conveys an equally indefinite idea to most 
 of those who are in it. The real meaning of the word is simple enough ; 
 Catholic means universal or whole; and Church, or rather Ecclesia, of 
 which it is a translation, is a congregation or assembly for any purpose, 
 sacred or profane. The Catho'ic Church (if it has any distinct meaning) 
 signifies the whole congregation of the faithful. Now it is ^perfectly 
 obvious that the Church of England is a part, and only a small part; 
 and that she has no right whatever to call herself the Catholic Church. 
 True, she is a branch ; but a branch is not the whole tree. It is 
 impossible for our Church consistently to deny that there are other 
 churches not wholly heretical. Errors they may have, but they are 
 Christian Churches notwithstanding. 
 
 The Latin Church has persisted in stigmatising every other com- 
 mimion as heretical and damnable, consistently or inconsistently. Of 
 the earUer Christian churches, few people take the trouble to know 
 anything ; or if they have waded through the " voluminous Gibbon," they 
 
MAYOR OF FLAMBOKOUGH. 429 
 
 don't altogether like to take, or at any rate to quote liim as an authority. 
 Any one who has read and investigated, must know that the Latin 
 schism has no more right to arrogate to itself the title of the Catholic 
 Church than the Church of England. It has gained the title simply by 
 audacious assertion. 
 
 They tell a story of an Irish squire whom we will call Mr. Mulligan, 
 who conceived the idea that his position would be imprdVed by being 
 called The Mulligan. He gave himself the title, called out everybody 
 who called liim Mr. Mulligan, shot three or four in the quarrel ; no 
 one since has oared to dispute the point, and he and his heirs have been 
 The Mulligans ever since. By a process similar to that by which Mr. 
 Mulligan became The Mulligan, The Latin Schism has become the 
 Catholic Church. But, though there is ample evidence of all this in a 
 historic point of view, yet to the greater part of men in the west of 
 Europe, the Church of Rome expresses the idea of Christian unity. 
 Those who are unable to make up their minds on abstruse points of 
 theology, and have not learned to trust in Heaven and the Bible for suf- 
 ficient light to guide them through the world, (and there riiust be many 
 things difficult to understand), are often glad to escape from their diffi- 
 culties by the adoption of what professes to be an infallible guide 
 through all the mazes of doctrine. The way they travel is pretty 
 accurately mapped out. All the way from Oxford to Eome there are 
 halting places, where some stop altogether, and where some turn back 
 
 Instead of regarding religion as a guide to teach man his duty to God 
 and to his neighbour ; men are often taught to regard it as a science, the 
 doctrines of which are as accurate, infallible, and inflexible as the demon- 
 strations of Euclid. When a young man, educated in what are called 
 evangelical principles, remains at home, where such doctrines are never 
 questioned, nothing is likely to disturb his faith. His belief is not from 
 knowledge but from prejudice. Suppose he goes from such a home to 
 Oxford — or rather suppose him to have gone to Oxford some years ago 
 — when the Tractarian movement was at its height. He finds the 
 whole of his preconceived opinions regarded as heresy, and what is 
 quite as much to the point, as wholly unfashionable. He has little or 
 no groundwork of knowledge to keep him straight, nothing can be more 
 imreasoning than the faith he has been taught. He has been told to 
 have faith : but why, nobody has taught him. The good seed has been 
 sown in a shallow place, and when difficulties arise the plant is immedi- 
 ately withered. But his mind has been favourably prepared for the 
 reception of " dogmatic teaching." He has never been taught to inves- 
 tic^ate for himself before adopting an opinion. The authority of a 
 church naturally takes the place of the authority of a parent. For a 
 time he is satisfied. He takes to church architecture, is beguiled by 
 church music. After a time he finds that all that is worthy of regard 
 in his favourite hobby is of a date anterior to the Reformation. He 
 gradually begin.s to look on everything that has occurred since, with 
 suspicion, if not contempt. 
 
 Well, when he has for some years played at architecture and music, 
 and talked loud of the dignity of the Catholic church, by which he 
 means the Church of England exclusively, and the Apostolic succession : 
 he is some day, perhaps, startled to bear that some friend of his of a 
 
430 , TO JOSHUA SQtTAaETOESj ESQ., 
 
 similar mode of thinking has unaccountably gone over to Eome. He 
 is rather scandalised ; having hitherto considered the Church of Rome to 
 have suffered corruptions from which his own is free. Another and another 
 friend goes the same road. He remonstrates. They tell him, " if your 
 Church is your infallible guide, how, and by what right did your 
 Church throw oiF the yoke she had boj-ne and the doctrine she hsjd 
 taught for many centuries." Here is a difficulty. He does not re- 
 member that a Church is the congregation, and a congregation is as 
 fallible as an individual, and that the Church of Eome split from the 
 Church of Constantinople as his own did from the Church of Eome. He 
 is now fairly on the edge of the river. Shall he turn back or s?iall he 
 plunge in and try to float on the stream as* he sees others do. Neither 
 course is pleasant; so for a while he stands shivering in his shirt, or 
 without it. Those in the water look pretty comfortable. The sun is 
 hot, many are hastening to the bank. The plucky thing, is evidently 
 to jump in. And there he goes head first, with his eyes shut of course. 
 
 Now the reason of all this is that on religious matters a boy is taught 
 to give no reason for the faith that is in him. The groundwork of 
 faith in this, as in all other matters of fact, is to be found alone in 
 evidence. The religious sentiment is no doubt of great value, and is 
 easily implanted in a child's mind; but upon this foundation should be 
 built a superstructure of knowledge. The evidences for and against 
 should fairly be laid before him when he is capable of weighing and 
 deciding. And you will not find a faith so founded, easily perverted. 
 But this takes a great deal of troiible, especially where the parents 
 have been educated in a similar manner,, It is much easier to say — 
 " these things are true, therefore believe." Such a course h^ its 
 advantages. An obtuse mind, wholly incapable of any investigation, 
 well imbued with such a faith in youth has no power of perceiving 
 anything that tells against a preconceived opinion. I'o such, a " dog- 
 matic" faith is a most valuable index of duty. Whereas the man 
 whose faith is founded in knowledge, who has .experienced the falli- 
 bility of human knowledge, may have doubts occasionally cross his 
 mind. Perhaps he runs more in danger of scepticism. For a stupid 
 man may change his opinion; but no stupid person ever changed a 
 prejudice. To change a prejudice requires more than average intelli- 
 gence. To perceive that we may be mistaken requires more than ordina- 
 rily acute perception. The result is, that those who become perverts are 
 generally considerably above the average in point of ability ; but the 
 thing that seems to me odd, is that people do not oftener find out 
 that the Latin Schism is not the infallible guide they require; and 
 that in fact, if any church has a claim to be the original Apostolic 
 Church, that Church is the Greek, and not the Latin. 
 
 You see, Joshua, these six young women that Sweden has banished 
 are probably rather clever girls in their way; but the Swedes don't like 
 the disturbance of their doctrine. A century or two ago they would 
 unquestionably have been got rid of by combustion. Now they have 
 been put out. You see the people of Sweden will have it so, although 
 the Goyernment does not wish it. Their theory is exactly that of 
 Eome. Everybody who differs from us is necessarily wrong. I don't 
 see th^t Eome has any reasonable ground of complaint; for the Swedish 
 
MAYOR OP FLAMBOROUGH. * 431 
 
 • 
 
 practice is much less savage. Sweden snys, " If you do»'t like our 
 i-eligion you must go somewhere else." Borne says, "You 'must stay 
 here, and believe as we do, or we'll know the reason why." 
 
 Now, Joshua, I've said my say about folks turning Papists. Ij 
 personally, look on it as a v^y foolish business; but, like most folly, it's 
 founded on sense. Somebody has defined dirt to be matter out of place. 
 What do you say to evil being good out of place, and folly being sense 
 out of place ? I don't say * is so ; but consider whether it be or not. 
 
 As to the Reform Bill, which you ask ine about: really^ does anybody 
 knoW what Lord Derby will do abqpt it? Do*you think Lord Derby 
 knows? One may guess ttiat his Keform Bill will not be contrived to 
 give a preponderance to the great Whig houses, as the last was. Ther^ 
 will be a reduction of the suffrage in the counties. I doubt whether 
 the Government will have sen^e or originality enough to adopt either in 
 town or country anything but a money standard. Perhaps they may 
 give all who pay the income tax a vote: an ingenious mode of per- 
 petuating the tax. Perhaps every one-who pa3's the house tax may 
 be given the franchise. If you are to have a money measure of men, the 
 two perhaps would not be a bad minimum. As to boroughs, the more 
 you lower, the more you part with independence in voting. There are 
 very few now whose politieal conscience does not lie in thfeir breeches' 
 pocket. I very much question whether ballot would cure ihe evil, 
 or I'd vote for it. But neither the present Government nor the 
 last would say anytjjing about it in their bill. I very much doubt if 
 ballot would be as popular if it were tried as it is untried. Of course all 
 the mfluenced voters would forfeit the falfeurs for which they vote, unless 
 sOrae means could be found of assuring their patron that they gave » 
 vote in return for his br^e or his custom : a process under which, it is 
 to be feared, that patriotism might undergo considerable refrigeration. 
 The fact is, iiobody knows anything about the new bill; and, what is 
 more, nobody cares two straws about it. The constituencies are utterly 
 indifferent ; demagogues have done their bitterest ; the people wholly 
 refuse to dance, however they may pipe. Indeed, from the want of a 
 reasonable grievance, demagogy has become a very unremunerating 
 line — is not worth a new hand going into. The market is quite over- ' 
 *tock|fl, and there is' nothing doing. The reason is, that the English are 
 an essentially conservative people — much more inclined to add to, 
 alter and patch up an old house, than to pull it all down and start 
 afresh. I suspect that working-men are much more conservative than 
 the middle classes, and that ballot, if efficient in protecting the voter, 
 would frequently give a Conservative a chance where he has none at 
 present. Did it ever occur to thee, Joshua, to consider what would be 
 the result if the House of Commons voted by ballot? Possibly the 
 electors, under such a system, would have more regard to the character 
 than the professions of a candidate. If the constituencies would vote 
 honester by ballot, it is quite certain their representatives would. 
 
 I did not go to Cherbourg, and can consequently tell you very little 
 about it. Roebuck is not wholly wrong, but he, and such as he, have 
 creatly contributed to the " ignorant impatience of taxation " which has 
 left us very considerably unprotected.. Our colonies and trade will 
 always enable us to keep up a larger navy, when its services are in 
 
433 TEE BANK CUABTEE ACT. 
 
 active requisition, than France. But the dread of oiFending constituents 
 will, I fear,' always cause the House of Commons, iu its cold fits, to cut 
 down establishments, unless, indeed, members do actually vote by 
 ballot. I don't think, however, that it is the interest of the Emperor of 
 the French to pick a quarrel with us ; but our certain way of preventing 
 it is to be able to show him the clenched fist as well as the open hand.' 
 
 As to the Atlantic telegraph, it seems to have struck work for a time ; 
 and there appears to be some doubt whether'^t may makeup its mind to 
 go on again. J3ut be this as it may, Jonathan seems now quite as ready 
 to fraternise as he was a few months back " to chaw us up rather small!'' 
 The truth is he lives on bunkum — excitement of some sort is necessary 
 to his existence. The Paynim. defiance, or the Atlantic telegraph, both 
 make a sale for the newspapers, whose object is to sell; and, as I pre- 
 viously observed, big words bait many goose traps. 
 
 I am sorry to hear that the young Flamburgers were plucked ; but I 
 rather incline to the view that it is the fault of their schoolmasters and 
 mammas, rather than that of Oxford examiners. Our ancestors were in 
 the habit of applying large doses of birch as a stimulus to accurate 
 learning. The mammas won't hear of such a thing in Flamborough. 
 A moderate application of it is still found to produce good scholars at 
 the public schools. The result is, that gentlemen's sons learn their 
 lessons in a greater proportion than those whose learning is not driven 
 in at both ends. The great object of education is to give a boy the 
 habit of forcing his mind to acquire distasteful knowledge. By great 
 care and individual attention this may perhaps be accomplished without 
 birch ; but on a large scale it can't. The result of the opposite system 
 is universal slobbering: an unpopular doctrine, but such is the opinion 
 
 °' Your Parliament Man. 
 
 THE BANK CHABTEB ACT. 
 
 " CONVERTIBILITY." 
 BANE RETURN OF SEPTEMBER 23, 1858. 
 
 LIABILITIES. ' 
 
 Notes Issued £32,881,305 
 
 Deduct, held by the Bank 12,865,350* 
 
 20,015,955 
 
 Public Deposits 8,740,684 
 
 Other Deposits 12,049,489 
 
 Seven Days and other Bills 759,409 
 
 ASSETS. 41,565,537 
 
 In the Issue Department : 
 Gold Coin and Bullion 18,406,305 
 
 In the Banking Department: 
 Gold and Silver Coin 727,760— 19,134,065 
 
 Balance which the Bank could not tat, on September 
 
 23rd, 1858, in gold or silver £22,431,472 
 
 London : Eobeut K. Bbkt, Printer, Holborn HDl.