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/ 1
TAIT'S
M AG AZINE
I
FOR
1842.
VOLUME IX.
X
EDINBUEGH: "WILLIAM TAIT, 107, PHiNCE'S STREET;
SiaiPKJX, UABSUALL, & CO., LONDON; AND JOHN GUMMING, DUBLIN,
MDCCCXLII.
n
• ••• • •,
• « • • • .
• *•• • •"
' • • • • • • •
• • •
PUBLIC Ll^\.^r
EDINBURGH : From the Steam-Prete of Wiluam Tait, Printer, 107, Prinee*s Street
x^
INDEX,
AMii«|0,tiid Man^y-Lender ; » Tale, by Mrs.
Gore, 143*, 205, 277, 345, 429, 489, 561, 693, 762 Aftin of Honour, . • • • . 454
A^kuntu, 270,344
AMa,Stiiyieni ; Moftii's Soenes in; revieieed, 528, 597
AgncaltmllBterestyThe 843
AirialtOTe, .... 68,*140,204,271, 344 Aaerict ; Bnckingfaam's Tonr in the Slave States of, 303
Aaoka, Duggms* Impiesaions of, 329
Amaiak ; Joeeph Stnige's Visit to, in 1841, . . 363 .Vaeiiaa; Diekena's Notes on; reriewed^ • • 737 Aadenon's Guide to the Highlands ; reviewed^ . 486 AniTensries, Thoughts on, .... 75
Aoisband Gift Books, for 1848 ; retietoed, . 814 Afiti-Gofn-Law Conferences, . , .137
Ajtni (James) on the Priyate Business of the
(WiBonw, 554
Bfeliie,nie; Letters from; by a Lady, • • 37 Biaiii's Father Connell;rtfri0te«(^, . . . 458 Bnin, Tales and Sketches by, 231, 289, 369
BvjThe, 139
Bcuett (Dr.) on the Theology of the Early Church, 261 Bodbam; Memoirs and Corxespondence of, 443, 509
Bentlam's Table Talk, 509
Bettiae Brentano and Caroline Yon Qunderode, Cor- respondence between, 157
Bbdde (Profe»or) on the Study of Languages, 747 Blanny and Mottoes, ..... 227
Bmycastle's Newfoundland in 1842; revieteed, 819 RwiiDg'a Memoirs of Bentham; r&tiewed, . 443
firemer's Excursions in Russia, &c.; retievDed, 118 Brewster's Chartist and Military Discourses; r^. 822 Baekingham's Tonr in the Slaye States of America, 303 ftilwer'sZanoni; r<rrt««Mf, .... 215
30007*3 (Miss) Diary and Letters, . 183, 246, 385
Cbi^s Memorials of the Ciyil Wars ; r<;«ttft(?a2, . 195 Gitliii's North American Lidians ; reviewd, . 106 CSiBrtiitB, The, and the other Reformers, . .411 CkiaaandAilt^haiii8tan,the Warsin, . 203,270,344
QmBtmas; Cracknels for, 800
GbU Water Cure; Claridge on the ; refiewed, . 379
CiQien and Comeries, 375
CB!t.Lawi,The, .... 66,137,202,342 Comspondence between Bettine Brentano and
Caroline yon Gunderode, . . . .157 Cbekaels (br Christmas, • . . « » 800
Bickns' Notes on America; revmcedf . • 737
BiMBting Ministers at Edinburgh, Conference of, 67 Dirtitta of the Country, . . 2,68,80,137,421 BiBumker's Diary, A London, .... 709 Breaiaaken, London, Miserable Condition of, 27, 709
fctipped Piper, A, 20
Bagsias' Impressioai of America, .329
BrMd'a Easays on the Principles of Morality, . 621
Eja^Adrice to the Bilious; reviewed, . . 61
^ott*! (Ebenezer) Lectures on Poetey, . 221, 357 ™tt (Ebenezer) on Cowpcr and Bums, . . 357 ™tt (Hbeneierjon Robert Nicoll and his Poems, 545 ^ (Mrs.) The Daughters of England ; reviewed, 265
S^WJ, 2,270
^y»on ; or a Family Party of Olympus, 50
g|*faa,Leayesfirom; by the Rev. H. Street ;r<!t'. 819 """l> Howard ; a novel ; retiewed, . . , 796
Page
Fashionable Senators, • • • • . 647
Feastof the Poets, for 1842, . . . ,605
Fisher's Drawing-Room Scrap-Book, for 1843, • 814
Forest Life, in the Far West of America, • .617
Frederick's Tall Regiment ; A Story of . ,85
Friendship's Offering, for 1843 ; reviewed, • .814
Furze Cutters, The, by the O'Hara Family, . 231
Gange ; Story of the Marquise de, • . , %Z Garston's Greece Reyisited, and Sketches in Bgjpi,
Sic, reviewed, 402
Glasgow Mortality Bill, The ; for 1840, . . 86 Gore's (Mrs.) Abednego the Money-lender; a
Noyel, 143*, 205, 277, 345, 429, 489, 561, 693, 762 Grain, Consumption of, in the United Kingdom, 65
Iietheji6,l!he; reviewed, * . • . 478
He shall be a Soldier ; a Prussian Tale, . , 85 Holland ; Laing's Notes of a Trayeller, on ; rev., 169 Honour, Affairs of, ..... 454
Hood's Comic Annual for 1842 ; reviewed, . 59
Hope, The late Lord President, . . . 270
House of Commons ; Private Business of the, . 554 Hewitt's (Mary) Translation of "The Neighbours," 779 Hewitt's (W.) Visits to Remarkable Places; reviewed, 8 Hudson's Parent's Hand-book ; reui«io«i, . .817 Hume (Mr.) and the Montrose Burghs, , « 344 Hydropathy, or the Cold Water Cure, , . 879
Income-Tax, The ; .... 269,271,342 Indians, Catlin's North American ; reviewed, . 106 Lrish Treason in Paris ; by the O'Hara Family, 289, 369 Italy ; Mrs. Trollope's Visit to ; reviewed, . . 725
James' (Mr.) Morley Emstein ; r<f«w«?, • .513
Jeannette the Fearless ; a Romantic Tale, . . 30
Jesse's Travels in Russia ; revMtvM^, . . .118
Jovial Priest's Confession ; The, , , .54
Keppel, Admiral ; Life of, 64 1
Ki]*,The, 67,843
La Bella Beatrice; a Tale of Venice, ... 6 Labouring Population; Sanitary Condition of the, 649 Laing's Notes of a Trayeller; r«9i«io^, . .169 Languages, On the Study of; by Professor BlacUe, 747 Lauder (Sir T. Dick) and Price on the Picturesque, 398
Lays of Loyalty, 721
Letters firom the Baltic; by a Lady, ... 37 Lifein the West of America; rc«i«iwrf, , . 754 Life of General Mackay, and ** Blind Mr. Mackay," 426 Lights and Shadows of London Life, . . .21
Line Bergmann's Lovers, 661
Literary Register, 56, I3I, 195, 261, 339, 402, 484, 550 , , , , , 617,686,754,814
London Legendary Lore; by a Templar, . 17, 573 London Life; Lights and Shadows of, . ,21
London; the Crossings, the Gin Palaces, Ac., . 17 Lower on English Surnames; reviewed, . . 484
Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome; reviewed, , 809 Machinery, The Regulation of, . . . .80 Mackay, General, Life of; reviewed, . . . 426 Mcpherson's Two Years in China; reviewed, . 820
Madden's History of the United Irishmen; renewed, 578 Mapes' (Walter) Joyial Priest's Confession, . 54
INDEX.
Page MarchioneBs, The; a Novel; retUwed, . . 475 Marquise de Gange; The Story of the^ . . 293 Marryat'fl (Captain) Percival Keene, . . 670
Modem Romanoe, Specimens of, . . 6, 50, 78
Moffibt's Missionary Labours, and Scenes in Southern
Africa, 528,697
Money-Lender, The; a Noyel by Mrs. Gore, 143*, 205, 277, 345, 429, 489, 561, 693, 762 Monkey Island ; a Yankee Yam, ... 78 Montgomery's Luther, a poem ; retieiDed, . .341 Morley Emstein ; by Mr. James ; reviewed^ . 513 Music of the Church, by T. Hirst ; reriewed^ . 196 Musings in the Wen ; by a Templar ; '17, 573
National Distress ; Tory Remedies for the, 2, 80, 269,
271, 421 Neighbours, The ; a Swedish Romance ; reviewed, 779 New Novels, . 63, 215, 267, 407, 468, 613, 670, 779 Next Move of the Reformers ; The, ... 73 Nicoll, Robert, and his Poems ; by Ebenezer Elliott, 545
Parks near Cities, 65
Parliament ; The Meeting of, . . . 65, 202
Peel Mystery ; The, 141*
Petitioning ; The Right of, 342
Poets, Feast of the; for September 1842, . . 605 Poets of the day; Mr. Twaddell*s ; reviewed, . 237
Political Postscripts, 271,411
Political Register, . . 65, 137, 202, 269, 342 Population of Great Britain, .... 65 Price on the Picturesque, by Lauder ; reviewed, . 398 Pulpit ; The Modem, 704
Chen's Visit to Scotland; The, .... 625 keen's Visit to Scotland ; Poems on, 631, 680, 721
Railway to England ; (^ctftsMf, , 67,138 Reformers ; Next Move of the, .... 73 Reminiscences of College Life, at Dublin, . .681 Report on the Sanitary Condition of the Labour- ing population of Britain; r09t«iM<2, . . 649 Rodger's (Simdy) Stray Leaves from Alisander, &c ; reviewed, 822
Pa«« Romance, Modem; Specimens of, . 6, 50, 78, 774
Rural Police ; The, 67
Russia; Recent Travellers in; r^vttftrei, . .118
Scott's Tour to Waterloo and Paris; reviewed, . 404
Senators; Fashionable, 647
Sheridan, Billy; at Tnnity College, Dublin, . 681
Socialist Remedies for the National Distress, . . Specimens of Modem Romance, . . 6, 50, 78, 774 Stephen's Notes of Travel in Russia; reviewed, . 118 Story of the Marquise de Gange, . . . 203
Strickland's Lives of the Queens of England, 339, 686 Sturge's Visit to the United States in 1841 ; rev,, 363 Summer Reading ; The New Novels, . . 458,513 Switzerland; Laing's Notes of a Traveller on, . 171
Tariff; Petitions against the New, . . .343 Taylor's (Dr. W. C.) Notes of a Tour in the Manu-
focturing Districts of Lancashire; revitfieec/, . 557 Templars; Addison's History of The; rtff^tfW, . 56 Templar; Musings in the Wen, by a, . . 17, 575 Tennyson's Poems; reviewed, .... 502 . Thompson's (Colonel) Exercises, Political, &c., rev, 690 Thomton's (Mrs.) The Marchioness ; reviewed, . 475 Thoughts on An^versaries ; by a Middle-aged Gen- tleman, 75
Tory Budget; The, 269
Tory Remedies for the National Distress, 2, 80, 269,
271, 421 Trade and Manufactures, 68, 140, 204, 271, 344
Trollope's (Mrs.) Visit to Italy ; reviewed, . 725
Twaddell's (David) Poets of the Day ; rwitfiwrf, . 237 Tytler's History of Scotland, Vol. VIII., reviewed, 314
United Irishmen, Madden's History of the, . 578
Vaughan's (Dr.) The Modem Pulpit; reviewed, 704 Vestiarium Scoticum, or the Book of Tartans; rev,, 482 Von RoUeck's Genenl History of the World; rev,, 816
Wardlaw's Lectures on Female Prostitution; rev,, 815 Wen; Musings in the; by a Templar, 17,573
Wordsworth's Poems of Early Years; reviewed, . 407 Williams, Rey. John; Pr. Campbell on the, . 200
POETRY.
A Decide for the Cholera, . . Gw Address from the Spirit of Ancient Philosophy to the Students of the Monti Philosophy Class, St Andrew's, . . .611 AffffhanirtaU — ^Pro and Con, . 442 A Kevolutionaiy Ode, . . 799 A Serenade, .... 616 Certain OmisMons in the recent
Gazette. .... 64 Chint of an Old Edinburrii Student, 457 Hymn ; by Ebenezer ElUott, . 429 Hymn to Reason, . . . 610 Kilmaveonaig, . . . .615 Lavs Of ScotTiah History, . 168, 501 Lilt to the Rising Sun, . .614 Lines addressed to a Lady, . . 648 Lines on the Birth of the Heir- Apparent; by Mrs. Gore, . 1 Lines to Circftssia, . . • 117
Madge, 614
Madrigal, 616
More Sweet than Flattery is Truth ; by Major Calder C&mpbell, .... 168 Moss-Trooper Will, . . .807
Music, 512
Not Words, but Flowers; by Spen- cer Hall, .... 609
Paire On the Queen's Visit to Scotland, 68U O, Stanehive is a Bonnie, Bonnie
Toun, . . . .614
On Wordsworth's Sonnet on West- minster Bridge, . . . 457 Sabbath Profanation, ... 292
Satiety, 302
Sonnet, 544
Sonnet^To a Poet, . . .616 Sports of the Saints, . . 648
Stanzas to a Still-bom In&nt, . 608 Stanzas to Fancy, . . , 616
The Auld Scots Springs, . . 616 The Brothers, .... 572 The Clever Young Advocate, . 605 The Emigrant's Revisit, . . 614 The Emigrant's Song, . . 607 The Gathering, . . .631 The Grandame ; a fragment, . 609 The Hungei^Fiend, . . . 143» The Lusty Pen, .... 606 The Modem Crusader, . . 549 The Old and the New, . . 230 The Old Oak Tree, ... 560 The Petrified Wedding ; a Somer- set Legend, .... 612 The Poet's Inspiration, . . 669
The Poor, .... The Prayer of Ram-Mohnn-Roy, The Recovered Maniac's Last Let-
Pago 167 773
ter to his Beautiful Physician, 29 The RevivaUst; a Portrait, . . 605 The Remonstrance of the Lowly, 368 The Rivals, . . . .615
The Songp of the Months, 5, 74, 142*
261, 288, 356, 425, 527-628, 577 625, 7.W, 762 The Spy- Informer ; by the O'Hara
Family, . . . .374 The Student's Grave, . . .607 The Vale of Glenmalure, at Sunset, 724 The Vision of King Malcolm, . 718 The Wish, . ... 612
The Wee Voyacer, . . .614 To an Actress ; by Calder Campbell, 617 To a Swallow, . . .616
To Miss Ellen Tree, as « JuUet," 328 To the Com Lords, ... 230
Wilt Thou Remember, . . 608 Written after Reading ** The Pre- sent A^," a Lecture by Dr. Channing, . . . 778
Written in a Glade in Epping Forest. By Calder Campbell, 616
TAIT'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
JANUARY, 1842,
LINES ON THE BIRTH OF THE HEIR-APPARENT.
BY MBS. GORE.
6t oUier lips be lofty Psans sung,
By other knees lowly allegiance paid ; A word of warning trembles on my tongue, That may not be nnsaid !
Tet welcome, welcome, Babe ! as though a star
Betcon'd tiiy cradle, as in Bethlehem, To tdl the nations One was bom afar, A sacrifice for them !
For, trdaoos is thy mission, royal boy ! Not unto thee soificeth, by thy smile To tii^ with rainbow-hnes the tears of joy A mother s pangs beguile ! —
ThoQ cam*6t not here to sport with childish glee ; With thy first breath the task of care began : Pupk and pall oppress thine infancy. For thou art horn a man !
TbomlesB, as fortune favours theirs or them, Maj proye the wreath of roses that adorns Another brows ; — ^the regal diadem Must be a crown of thorns !
Kor ^tarkling dews, nor glowing noontide flame
Xnst mar the calmness of thy youth sedate ; ShumiDg temptation, lest in Frailty's shame The throne participate !
5o wOd exploit, no pleasant midnight chimes,
Must the severer cares of State relieve ; The faults of subjects darken into crimes. Worn on a prince's sleeve.
Stem, as the statue on its pedestal,-—
Pore, as the silvery clouds of moonlit skies, Sboalibe the Royal One, whose actions all Survey with jealous eyes.
l^the defiloments of their temples moved, Tbe Heathen, school'd by Nature's mystic spell, xcm.— TOL. IX,
Struck down the altars of the gods he loVd, And mock'd their oracles.
And thou ! 0 happier Alfred, from whose lands
Are swept the beast of prey, and man of blood ; ELnow that a nation great and/ree, demands A monarch great and good !
He, in whose breast abides the subjects' breath.
Spotless as truth, should keep the heart within : And thrice accursed the king who dooms to death. Yet dares to live in sin ! —
Therefore, oh ! therefore, those who love thee best. E'en while they swell the triumph of this hour, Fair human child ! — rejoice with trembling, lest Thy task exceed thy power.
Yet with that fear, what glorious hopes unite ! — Lovd of a nation's heart ! — ^what prayers ascend For thee to Heaven's eternal throne of light, As for a future friend ! —
Vast as thy cares, thy virtues' scope is wrought ! —
One noble impulse of thy heart may bless The fate of millions,— one bright moment's thought Secure an age's happiness ! —
England hath put away her childish things ; And thine may be the name predestinate To shine, as wisest of the mightier kings Who glorify her state.
For this we pray ! — with great ones hand in hand, — But with the poor and humble, heart in heart, — Oh ! may'st thou live and prosper, — and the land Bear in thy grace a part ! —
So, though the nation's triumph in thy birth
Be but a tribute to old England's throne. When we resign thee to thy parent earth. Its tears shall be thine own \
B
TORY REMEDIES FOR NATIONAL DISTRESS— EMIGRATION,
DuKiNO the sitting of Parliamenty the Toiy leaders affected not to believe that any great distress existed in the^ country ; and certain partial returns of the receipts and payments of Savings Banks were confidently appealed to, in order to establish the prosperity of the working-classes/ Since Parliament rose, however, the destitution has become too widely spread, and too severe, to be longer denied ; and the fact, that the last crop has turned out greatly deficient, conjoined with the renewed activity of the Corn-law repealers, has alarmed the Ministry. There seems no reason to doubt, that any attempt even to modify, in however inconsiderable a degree, the laws against the impor- tation of food, must lead to the destruction of the present Administration ; and to avoid, or at least de- lay, this catastrophe, the scheme of an extensive sys- tem of emigration has been taken into the serious consideration of Grovemment. Whether such a scheme b likely to relieve the existing distress^ is the first matter we propose to consider.
It is too obvious for argument, that unless emigration be carried to such an extent as to exceed the daily increase of population, it can have no efiect in alleviating the existing distress ; emi- gration of an equal or smaller amoimt can merely tend to prevent the distress frbm becoming more severe. Now, the population of the United King- dom, as shown by the last census, increases at the rate of about dOO,000 a-year ; and unless tnore than this number of persons be annually sent out of the country, emigration will have no effect in diminish- ing distress. It appears from parliamentary returns, that, of late years, the emigrants to all our colonies and the United States, very seldom exceed 100,0CM) a-year, and have often been under 20,000. The average may be taken at 50,000 ; and it is impor- tant, in passing, to remark, that from one-half to one-third of the emigrants go directly to the United States, while it is not improbable that of the emigrants to British America — ^forming one-half of the total number— a very great proportion ultimately settle in the United States. To produce any perceptible eff^t, therefore, the emigrants must be increased by sixfold in number, in com- parison with those who hitherto have voluntarily left this country ; and it will be observed, that every encouragement has been given to emigration, not only by Grovemment, but by several of our colonies applying a great proportion of the price received for land sold, to take out emigrants f^ of expense. Considering the natural propensity of men to remain where they have been bom, the
* An appeal to the Savings Banks is a most fidlacioos test of the wellbeing of the working-classes; l^e majo- rity of the depositors being persons of a very different description; such as petty shopkeepers, clerks, hoase- seryants of all sorts; schoolmasters, female teachers, foremen, half-pay officers, and small annuitants, and many others, who thus place part of their dividends, or savings, for temporary safety and to obtain the oorrent interest^ in the Savings Banks. This sort of evidence of prosperity is, therefore, not to be relied on.—^. T, Jf,
love of country, and the peril and uncertainty of a settlement on a distant and unknown shore, it is exceedingly improbable that 300,000 persons could be prevailed on annually to leave this kingdom, for any inducement it is possible to hold out. We have no doubt that many who look to emigration as a remedy for distress, will be surprised to hear it main- tained, that emigration must be yearly repeated ; but there is sufficient reason to establi^, that any drain made in this way, is speedily replenished. By the returns made to Dr. Webster, in the year 17^5, the Isle of Skyecontained 11,252 inhabituits: by those to Sir John Sinclair, between 1791 and 1794, 14^470. From 1770 to 1791, 4000 persons emigrated, and during the same period at least 8000 left; the island for the low country, yet the population in 1794 was larger than in 1756 : and al&CFugh great numbers have continued to emigrate to America, though the kelp manufactory has been annihilated, no new branch of industry been created, and the island is ill adapted for agriculture, the population had increased, in 1821, to 20,627> and in 1881, to 22,796. Many similar instances could be mentioned : but it is unnecessary ; as it is a fact well established, and of which abundant evidence may be found in writers on Population, that marriages and births are in proportioh to the deaths, or other causes of removal. Thus the necessity of an annual or periodical emigration, when once this remedy is resorted to as a cure for over-population, is apparent.
With regard to the expense which is necessary for transporting great bodies of men, little experi- ence has yet been had. On two or three occasions^ however. Government has advanced money for the transportation of emigrants. In 1819, £50,000 were advanced to assist 5000 persons to proceed to the Cape of Grood Hope. Whether the aid given was insufficient, or whether it arose from other causes, this experiment in colonization proved anything but succes^. In 1823and 1825, two bodies of emigrants were located on lands in Canada, at the public ex- pense. The emigrants of 1825, consisted of 2024 per- sons ; and, independently of the value of the Lmds given them, the expense of settling cost £48,145 ; rather more than £20 for each person. In 1828, 568 Irish emigrants were settled at the rate of £22 for each person. We are well aware that esti- mates of tiie expense of transporting and locating settlers, have been made at a much lower rate : but we prefer the results of actual experience to hypo- thetical estimates. Assuming, then, that £20 a- head, is the expense of removing an emigrant to, and settling him in Canada — we ask how six mil- lions are annually to be raised, merefy for the pur- pose of keeping our popukOion (U Us present nwn- boTy and preventing the increasing severity of dii^ tress arising from the daily augmentation of num- bers. This has always been felt by the advo- cates of emigration, as the great difficulty : for it has been clearly seen, that tiie attempt to raise an additional tax for a purpose which has never been
TORY REMEDIES FOR NATIONAL DISTRESS.
popnlip— the transporting of our fellow-sobjects to wild and distant lands — ^wonld effectually put an end to tJie scheme. The only proposition, Ikerefer^ that is at all practicable or worthy of eoMidenti(m, is that of which Mr. K G. Wak^eld is tile aathoTy and which has heeaa. in operation in •one of our Australian colonies for a few years. JBtat as this new plan of colonization has been ear- ned into effect in the most complete manner, in Kew Zealand, we shall explain it by showing how it operates there. It may be pwmised, that formerly our Govem- ; gare grants of waste lands in our colonies as much as five hundred thousand acres 8ometime8 granted to a single individual. lUs was not only a fertile source of jobbing, but^ «i the fiiTOured holders of these extensiye grants wgn noTer able to cultivate any considerable por- tmi <rf their grants the result was, that the grants, if not sold, remained an uncultivated desert, which wparated the cultivated districts of the country from each other, and kept the population in an isolated and barbarous state. A new plan was, theiefoie, suggested to the Government, viz., the eelfiiig of all lands at a low rate, but at the same tine at sach a price as would check individuals from teqairing right to great tracts of country. In fintherance of this newsy8tem,the present NewZea- land LusdCompany was formed in 1889. Theypur- dttsed a tract of land from the natives, and besides tk purchase-money paid, one-tenth of the whole had sold is reserved for the use of the natives — vhidi teath. must necessarOy yearly become more viioaUe. The first colony cousisted of 1100 town seres, and 110t,000 country acres at Port Nichol- tto. These were sold at 208. an acre, and realized, tfier deducting the native reserves, about £100,000. Of this sum, three-fourths were set apart to form n emigration fund, to be employed in conveying cnigrants to the colony; thereby increasing the nfaw of the lands already sold, ^e purchasers of iud were entitled to claim the three fourths of ihai purchase-money, either in the shape of free pnsiges lor themselves and families, or for their nrants and labourers ; and where the daim was Bot made, the money was expended by the Com- ply in conveying labourers to the country. Aaotber settlement called Nelson, is now in course ef iiarmation, from which it is anticipated that Xm,000 will be realized by the price of allot- Bcott: butonlyonehalf of this sum is to be appro- priated for conveying labourers to the country. We oonfiesB, we see no objection to this system ; but bsvever boieficial it may be to the colonies which idopt it, it is easy to show that it must prove total- Ij inoperative in removing the distrras or diminish- ing^ in any aTailable degree, the population of the Uflited Kingdom. From July 1839 to July 1841 —two years, tiie total number of emigrants con- vcyed by the Compan/s ships, has been 3469. Of tee, a oondderable proportion, no doubt, paid their ««a expenses ; but as we have no means of ascer- ^vuof the proportion, we shall assume that they vne aU carrial out at the Company's expense. ^«w, the Company had, previously to the sailing >f tke first veswl, realized £100,000 by the sale of
the allotments at Port Nicholson, — £75,000 of which were set aside for conveying labour to the colony, so that each emigrant appears to have cost £21 for mere conveyance ; and while the popula- tion of the United Kingdom increased 600,000, the Company removed only 3469. But to show that Mr. Wakefield's plan would give little relief to this country, even if carried to the greatest extent, we have only to advert to the circumstance, that to carry it through efiFectively, only a particular class must be selected — ^that is, the flower of our population ; for the emigration fund must be expend- ed in carrying out equal proportions of both sexes, between certain ages, say 18 and 35. Mr. Wake- field remarks : — " lliere a/re great ol^ections to any but young people; I will not say the narrow class to which I have adverted. Children suffer immensefy in being removed : they suiFer on board ship, they suffer from confinement ; and when they arrive in the Colony, they are either n^lected, or are a great encumbrance. Old people suffer much more firom being removed from the scenes to which they are attached, and they are also less able to bear the fatigues which necessarily attend upon a long voyage." However beneficial therefore, Mr. Wakefield's system may be to the colonies which adopt ii-y we cannot help thinking it cannot be ad- vantageous to the mother-country to remove the people in the prime of life, and to leave the old men and women to be supported, and the children to be brought up, at the expense of the mother- country, tfll they are fit to be i-emoved to the co- lonies. Such a system of emigration, instead of re- lieving the distress and lessening poor rates, would increase both ; because, for every able-bodied man removed, probably two old or feeble persons would be left to be supported. This, indeed, is the evil of all emigration ; it takes away the ac- tive, strong, and enterpiising, and leaves the lazy, weak, and indolent. Another evil of Mr. Wake- field's scheme is, that it tends to draw capital from Britain to be invested in the colonies, whereby the fund necessary for the employment of labour at home is dimiidshed. Only a small portion of the price of lands to be sold can be expected to be raised in the colonies themselves ; the great bulk of it must, as hitherto, be drawn from the mother- country. It is obvious that, if capital be sent abroad in as great a proportion as population, no benefit will be derived at home, from emigration, at least for many years to come. The chief cause of the welfare, and of the advance of the prosperity of any country, is the increase of capital at a greater rate than population. We really believe, therefore, that, in as far as relief from the present distress is to be regarded as the chief object for en- couraging emigration, it would be much better to raise the whole money by a tax, and expend it either in employing the hands who are out of work in some useful labour at home, till the present crisis is over, — or, if that plan be objectionable, on account of the additional produce and competition it would necessarily create — ^to employ it directly in' conveying away our population, than to draw it from our capitalists in the shape of price of lands at the other side of the globe, and then indirectly return
TORY REMEDIES FOR NATIONAL DISTRESS.
only one lialf of it to be expended for the same purpose. It is unnecessary, however, to consider the subject further; for could the quantity of land sold annually, be increased one htmdred fold, the price of it would not remove our yearly additional popu- lation.
But perhaps the greatest objection toemigrationis, that it would not relieve the classes among whom the distress chiefly prevails. These are, the hand-loom weavers, the spinners, and others employed in the cotton, woollen, and silk trades, the workers of iron, printers, &c. While population in our pastoral and agricultural counties has hardly increased at all during the last thirty years, that of the manu- facturing districts has doubled. We have also a much greater number of professional men of all sorts— clergymen, lawyers, and medical men, as well as clerks, governesses, and other educated persons, than can find adequate employment. For all these there is, in reality, no opening in the colonies. In the East and West Indies, in all the settlements in New Holland, and even in New Zealand, the ware- houses are filled with British commodities and manufactures, to an amount utterly beyond the demand ; they can, consequently, be bought at a less price than they cost in Britain. Nobody ima- gines that manufacturers of cloth, of any sort, could be employed at all in our colonies. They must, whatever their age, whatever their strength or state of health be, relinquish the pursuits of their whole lives — sacrifice all the knowledge and skill which they have acquired — sink into the lowest class of labourers — and be contented to be ranked in the same order as the New Zealanders, or the late slaves in the West Indies. A person accustomed solely to in-door labour, in such work as weaving and spinning, is indeed of less value in New Zealand than the natives themselves. To send such people to our colonies is merely to send them to starve abroad, instead of starving at home. The colonies do not want such labour. Were it, indeed, proposed to export them in tens of thousands, — and in smaller numbers emigration is useless for the purpose in view,— the colonies would resort to every expedient to prevent the emigrants settling among them. Notwithstanding the almost boundless ex- tent of the United States, and the immense demand for labour, by the construction of theirextended and numerous canals, railways, (of each of which they have made, within a few years, nearly 4000 miles,) and other public and private works, there is a con- stant complaint in the newspapers of the Eastern States, of the insupportable influx of Irish immi- grants, who are almost daily thrown on their shores ; although these are the very class most fitted for tlie works continually in progress, and without whose aid these works could either not be com- pleted at all, or at an expense greatly larger than that which they have hitherto cost.
The only classes fitted for an extensive emigra- tion are, farm-servants, shepherds, and mechanics of all sorts ; though the number of the two former to the latter ought probably to be in the propor- tion of at least 100 to 1. In country parishes in Scotland, of 1000 or 1600 inhabitants, it is unusual to find more than two or three wrights, smiths.
shoemakers, tailors, &c., employing two or three journeymen and apprentices each. What is the value of weavers, and other in-door operatives, when employed in country labour,— every one must have observed, who has seen them, in perbds of distress^ at such work. It is no exaggeration to say that one labourer will do five times the work of such men at out-door labour ; and hence the classes who are most distressed are the very last our colonists would be inclined to assist to remove.
And although means could be found to trans* port our working population in tens of thousands, what is likely to be the result ? From the great length and consequent expense of the voyage to Australia, British North America must be fixed on as their place of destination. We have seen that already half .of our emigrants either sail directly for, or find their way indirectly into, the United States. Is it likely that industrious spin- ners of cotton and silk, and skilful mechanics, would contentedly clear the forests in the back settlements of Canada or Nova Scotia, among frost and snow, when by a few days' journey they would receive constant employment and higher wages than ever they got at home, in the United States? It is wonderful, indeed, to mark how rapidly the views of our rulers change upon such subjects as that of which we are treating. Half a century ago, the proposal to export any part of our people, and the bare notion that we could have too many people, would have been scouted from the throne to the cottage. In earlier times, no one was allowed to leave the kingdom without the king's license ; for the king was held to have such a right to the services of his subjects for the defence of the realm, that he could not be deprived of it without his own consent. To this day, the king may prevent any one, by the writ ne exeat regno, from leaving the kingdom. So far, again, from compelling, or even permitting, artisans to settle abroad, they were expressly proliibited from emigrating, — and upon this law two convictions actually took place at the Old Bailey in 1809 : the one of a master who had offered an artificer ad- vantageous terms to emigrate to the United States, and the other of the artificer, who, having no work at home, had accepted of these terms. The judge, who tried the case, commended highly its policy, and dwelt at great length on the mischievous crime with which the prisoner stood charged, as deservedly severely punishable by law. All this was certainly absurd ; for the industry of an arti- ficer is his only inheritance, and to prevent him from disposing of it to the best advantage, is an unwarrantable act of power; but it is at least equally unwarrantable, by imposing restrictive laws on the importation of food for the supposed benefit of a particular class, to compel him to de- part from his native land, and to spend his days in a foreign, and perhaps an unhealthy, climate, among people whose feelings, manners, and habits, are totally at variance with those to which he has been accustomed. And now we come to the point : —
The Emigration scheme has evidently been set on foot to meet the Corn-law agitation ; for the numbers, intelligence, and independence of the
TORY REMEDIES FOR NATIONAL DISTRESS,
norldog^dasBtt have become troublesome, and in- deed aUrming, to the aristocracy. It is not for tlie £stic« 80 iiniTerBally spread over the country that oar niiera have any sympathy, — ^they care not &r the staiyation and misery of the thousands, —to they fear that they will not die quietly. They are not ignorant that all new settlers are opoeed to great hardships and dangers. The first eoloaists in the United States almost all perished, or dOO settlers taken out by Mr. Peel to Swan Rifer, in 1896, a number perished, and all were dispersed in leas than six months. After suffering the greatest distress, the survivors returned to Swin River, and would have put Mr.' Peel to detth, had he not run away and secreted himself tfll they were carried off to Van Dieman's Land, fiat what sonifies thirty or forty thousand weavers dying at the Antipodes !
In the best and most favourable view, the whole ywttionis, TFTkeikertke food shall hetranaported to the pnpli, or the people to the food. Nothing is so expen- ift to remove as man ; and therefore it b not only the most eiq)edient, but the cheapest mode of allevi- tting the existing distress, to bring the food to the peo^. If money must be raised, let it be spent, -HuC in exporting our population as lumber, but in Ibding them work here : by thb means, the BMther country, instead of distant colonies, will be doidicd. Their allegiance may be of very tempo- nij duration, and we never wUl derive any repay- iMBt from advances to them in the way of reve- ne ; for by a statute passed shortly after the Ame- rican war of independence, all our colonies were freed from ocmtribnting to the revenue of the mother cmntiy. Of the value of colonies, in any shape, redoubt. Our trade with the United States of America is now ten times greater than before their ^dependence. The more colonies we have, the IRater the risk of quarrels and wars, the larger nait be our navy, and the larger our army, to de- fcnd them ; not one fiirthing of the expense of which, ^ H remembered, is ever defrayed by our colonies, bitmnat be paid by the over-taxed population of Britain. If the landowners are apprehensive that the vnemployed operatives wiU increase the poor- i>tei, let them reflect, that property has duties as ^ as rights, that it is merely the creation of po- ■^ law, and that the ground on which that law >sti» 18 the promoUon of the public good, and the
increase of human happiness. Hence it may be modified or altogether changed by the same autho- rity by which it was established, if the objects it has in view can be otherwise more completely attained.
We utterly deny that there is any surplus popu- lation in thb kingdom. Even with the defective agriculture of nearly the whole of England and Ireland, and of a great part of Scotland, we, for se- veral years recently, grew a sufficient quantity of food to support our entire population ; very little foreign grain having been entered for home con- sumption for four or five years together. The prices of food were then low — approaching the continental rates. There was no want of work, and surplus population and emigration schemes were equally imheard-of. Our working-classes were then regarded as a blessing — ^not as a curse, as they now are. Between 1SQ5 and 1838, all years of low prices, nearly 1000 new factories for the manufacture of cotton, wool, flax, and silk, were opened in Britain, and about 70,000 addi- tional hands were engaged. What is to prevent such times returning, and full employment being afforded to every one who is disposed to work? Nothing but the factitious high price of food main~ tained for the benefit of the landowners.
But, admitting for a moment that the population of thb country b excessive, the question arises, Who ought to be dismissed ? The answer is obvi- ous. Not surely the industrious and productive, but the idle and spendthrift class. God gave the land equally to the whole human race, and all have the same natural right to its possession. Ifthereisto be a transportation of part of the population, let the fox-hunters and sportsmen go first, as they are a nuisance here, and will be useful for keeping down vermin in the colonies ; then let the other useless part of the aristocracy follow, especially those who at present are not content to reside and spend their revenues within Britain, but who draw their rents from a highly-taxed and starving population, to spend them on the continent, and thus escape their fikir contribution for the protection of the property they leave behind them. Finally, let not the people be deceived and be transported, *^ to please their lairds ;" but, on the contrary, let them insbt for Free Trade, beginning first with the repeal of the Com Laws.
THE SONGS OP THE MONTHS.
NO. I. — THE SONO OF JANUARY,
Coem hMricaane toe mee, loteby toe ye, Chaimte y longee of moine pleasannte fiunyle : Moan bee joore fennes whilganuihe oure gle, Mirthlene ment benizon fyttaallie.
Johannet: Prior of Broomwkkom.'
R* it gvne-the Year I— I am f^ ! am f^ I nrtvtl igain in my ni^esty. ^thebMir of hb birth I hastened forth '^ ay crystal haUs in the gelid north, ^ tke ton looked pale at each frozen gem] * ny ewn imperial diadem : — "« be bath email power with me.-^
And I pranked it rare, for I chiUed the skief, And the crowded hearths of the human stye?. And blistered with kibes both the Scholar and Sage^ And stopped the thin blood in the veins of A^e. And I pinched the Queen in her chair of state. And perished a miser by empty grate, So hungry for riches was he I
€
THE SONGS OF THE MONTH.
And I whipi through their ng» to the couch of the poor, While they dreamed they were spamed from their own
wretched door. And I silenced the voice of the choristers — all, The ingle>side cricket, and the dog in the hall ;
For none shall compete with the glee Of the donhle-faced Wizard who deigns to appear^
And swaddle the limbs of the infant year.
2. He is gone — the Year ! He is dead ! is dead 1 To the tomb of past ages gathered, — I will pile him a cairn of drifted snow, And chain np the water-fiUrs headlong flow. While the North flings a thousand rockets up, And the wassailers drain the deep cordial cap And replenish it merrily.
Then reyel again : I will bite the toes Of the pulpited priest ; and tweak his nose. I will blister and gash his hearers' lips, And bury sharp pangs in the labourer's hips. The brooks I will charm, and harden the field, Till the plough-share bright may not burrow concealed. Though so yaliant a knight is he. I will bum your Yule logs, and with light arabesque All your windows will fbirnish ; and figures grotesque I will hang from your eayes : and your boi^ shall be
burdened With all that is choicest, then I shall be guerdoned.
For, who half so jolly can be, As the double-fkced Wizard who deigns to appear. And swaddle the limbs of the in&nt year f
J.A.O.
SPECIMENS OP MODERN ROMANCE.
KO. t.*-— THE lKTl£lf8E; OB, MTTBBEROTTS SBNTDCElfTiLL.*
lA BELLA BEATRICE: A TALE OP VENICE.
Italy, beautiful Italy, thou land of love And loye^ impassioned trance ;
Thy sunny skies so golden bright abOTf Thy dark-eyed danghten* glance :
CHAPTER I.
It was within half an honr of midnight, and the Piazza di San Marco was nearly deserted by the gay throng of revellers who had but lately made its arches ring with the jocund strains of a hundred hurdygurdies. The moon, cloudless and unspotted as a maiden's virgin thoughts, was shining full into the square. Near the hrazen statue of the Centaur Nessus, Chizellini's Capo d'Opere, two figures might have been seen, en- gaged in close conversation, and occasionally emerging from behind the shadow of the statue, as if to look for some one, whose approach they were expecting.
*^ Cente maledizioni I " exclaimed one of the figures, "/Sb»' dannatOy if I wait any longer. My Giulietta is dying for me, and I promised to be with her by twelve."
" Tacey Gasparo ; you're always in some infernal amour or another. Surely you might attend to business, and leave the girls alone for one night ? The signor is past his time, no doubt, but we'll charge it in the bill, you know," said the other figure, sharpening, as he spoke, the edge of his stiletto upon the pavement.
**Carpo di Caio Mario, charge it in the bill! And what answer will that be to my Giulietta? Do you know the risk I run? 'Cod, she would think as little of dropping me a settler of Aqua Tofana in my next cup, as she would of eating garlic in her soup ! I'll cut a throat, Poniardo, upon any reasonable consideration, but, hang me, if I peril my soul for any man I "
* For a specimen (ajid a fkmous one, we venture to think) of the modem dattic school of romance, we ^ r to Endymion, page 50, of this Number.
Meet emblems are they of the fieiy hate, That with love^ warmeet paarion still doth mate In thee, thou glorious land, Where jealousy can buy the dark assassin^s brand ! Jfo/y. By Jolm Jone$,
^^ Ecoo lo qvdl Here comes the Signor di Aquavita at last," replied Poniardo, pointing to a figure shrouded in an ample cloak, that was now seen striding towards them across the Piazaa.
^Bwma notte, tiffnor!" said Grasparo and Po« niardo at once, as the figure came up to where they stood. " We wait the signor s orders."
" You know young Giovanni Beltesta?"
Gasparo and Poniardo assented.
''He crosses the Pont^ dei Sospiri to-morrow night, at twelve. Your stilettoes have a sure aim^ I have been told. You know my meaning. This purse contains a hundred scudi. Dispose of Bel- testa, and you shall have another of twice the amoimt."
At this moment^ the organ of the adjacent church of San Marco was hesjxl, blending with the voices of the choristers, as they chanted the vesper hymn to the Virgin. Awed by the sacredness of the appeal, to which the moonlight and the silence gave redoubled power, the Signor di Aquavita, Gasparo, and Poniardo dropped on their knees, where they remained, in devout contemplation, till the service ended* They then rose, and left the place.
CHAPTER II.
It is a stately room in one of the noblest palaces of Venice. Rich damask from "far Cathay" adorns the walls ; and here and there some noble work of the divine Tiziano, then in the zenith of his fame, shows that the proprietor of the pal&zzo is as liberally endowed wiUi taste as with the wealth which it ennobles. A room it is, where elegance conspires with luxury to build a fairy- home for beauty to surround with golden visions, and weave her rare enchantments in.
LA BELLA BEATMOE : A TALE OF VENICE.
And wbo is she, the fair Daessa of that princely diamber? 'Tis the rose of Venice, — ^the wor- ihi|^ of her nohle comftm,— the chanted of htrimmortal poets^ — ^La Bella Beatrice. She was, indeed, a theme to gire a painter's pencil inspira- tioa,— there, as she lay redined upon a conch, her mtdiless fona robed in the costly silks of distant l^aognisUn, and her fair brow softened with an air (xP sadness, as she perased the sonetH of the dhrine Petrarca, which she held lightly in her deli- ate fingers. Is she reading, or are her thoughts mndeiing with him to whom she hath o£Fered up the incense of her young and passionate heart? Who may tell?
She has dropped the book, and half raised her- •df upon the conch, to listen ; for beneath the wbdow, which is open, a yoice is singing to the notes of the mandolin.
Soft moonligbt is silently streaming
Over the muimnring sea, Hien wftke, lore, O wake, from thy dreaming^ Td ifaine fir an hour, loye, on me. On me, lore, on me ; Pot loTe, withont thee, Biee, my beloved, my own Beatrice, lo no Bon', no son' feHee ! *T^ he— my Gioyanni — ^my beautiful, my own (Boranni !" die exclaimed, as, starting from her coieh, she rushed tathe window, and, leaning over it,kisRd her hand to a figure that stood in a gon- dola in the lagune which washed the walls of the pilazzo. Gioyanni continued his song :
Hiuhed are the wakeftil in slumber. And tiiere are none, love, to see; fkt Stan diine in rad^t number. But they tell not of thee, loTe> and me ; Of thee, loTe, and me ; Then place me with thee — Tbee, my belorld, my own Beatrioe, Ed io son, io son felice I
•My poetrloTBT,— my peerless Gioyanni, — ^hy Beabiee has no joy, no h^piness but with thee. Qaete thee, sweetest," she exclaimed, as she dropped ^Bm the window a silken ladder, that indispens- t^ie i^urtenance of a Venetian balcony, ^^ haste tiwe, my dearest Giovanni."
In another moment the graoeftil Gioyanni had ^Hmdfid up the ladder, vaulted over the balcony, od was standing in the room.
"Dearest Beatrice ! " he exclaimed, as he folded Wr to his breast.
"(Ml, my own beautiful Gioyanni," she mur- iWKd,a8 die yielded to his repeated kisses, "what ifij Mce more to hold you in my arms — Eii hello -«<2wmo/ Dtpiaeermibaigailcor!"
*^Dmpiu> son, tu non m'in^anni 9 dtmqt^io son f^r passionately replied the youth ; and again lie teined her to his bosom, again he pressed her
•But you mnst go, my own CHoyanni. My JttJww Icid win be here anon. At every sound I ^n thought 'twas he aspending the staircase. %} dearat, you must go. He was to be home ^twelfe, and *tis now within a few minutes of whour."
dUmenotcmdl Tbw kiiowwt, loie, ttot
did it lie with myself, I should never bid thee adieu. But should he find thee here, 'twere death to both of us 1"
" Addio, then, hel idol mio /*'
** You will not forget me, Giovanni?** said the beauty, as she hung upon his shoulder, and gazed at him with eyes moist with the sadness dF too eager love.
" Forget thee I I have no thought that is not given to thee, — no hope, but that of once more folding thee to my arms. Addio I — And till I see thee again,
11 oor mi dice, Io no son', no son' feUoe !^
A violent knocking was heard at the outer gate. Giovanni dropped into the gondola, and rowed off. Beatrice resumed her seat upon the couch, and the Sonetti of Petrarca.
OHAPTES. in.
"Stand back into the shadow of that buttress,'' said Poniardo to his friend. *^ Here is the young springaldathist!''
They were upon the Pont^ dei Sospiri, and midnight was pealing frrom the lofty Campanile of San Marco. Giovanni Beltesta advanced with the unsuspecting gaiety of youth, singing, as he went,
O Beatrice, il cor mi dice Chi' io no son', no son' folioe I
He stumbled, and fell forward with a groan« The stUettoes of the two ruffians had met within his gentle heart t
^ Let us chuck him into the lagune !" said Po« niardo, lifting the bloody body by the shoulders.
^Bravely said, mio hon eamarado/^ responded Gasparo, as he seized the legs.
A splash was heard, and the smooth surfoce ^ the l^^une was broken for a moment. It passed away, and the moon was once more shioing upon the water s unbroken mirror.
That night the Signer Aquavita swallowed poison. 'Twas said that the fingers of La Bella Beatrice had mingled it with his evening cup ; but on this a veil of tie deepest mystery rests.
In a lonely cell of San Lazaro is a lovely female. See her raven tresses streaming over a throat and neck that might shame the marble of Antiparos I Her laughing eyes are bright with the lustre of a more than natural fire. 'Tis La Bella Beatbice. She speaks but of one — ^her beautiful Giovanni ; and in the dead of night she is heard singing, in tones of the most plaintive sadness, the words that, with a foreboding spirit, had been spoken by her lover at parting, il poT mi dice, Io no son', no son' fBlice !
A romance so pure in its morals, so original in its incidents, so remarkable for the dramatic indi- viduality of its characters, forms * * [Here the manuscript and moral abruptly break off. Through the same channel we expect the conclu- sion of Bulwer's sentimental and preternatural tale of Zicci; now in a state of suspended animation for several years ; provided the gifted author does not finish it right speedily l|imself.]
HOWITT'S VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.*
Right glad are we to meet Mr. Howitt once more with his foot upon the green sward of England, ram- bling at his own good Uking, by the bright, rock- bedded streams of the North ; threading its secluded valleys, wandering in its ancient woods ; now mus- ing under the towers of Branoepeth, Raby, or Lum- ley ; and anon exploring the ruins of many an edifice of mighty name, the chiefless strongholds of the Nevilles, the Delavals, or the Hiltons, — ^fjELmilies of far-descent, of whose fame and prowess small trace will shortly remain, save such traditions as are preserved in ballads and in storied pages like those of Mr. Howitt and hb contemporaries. But who are his contemporaries? The delightful walk in literature which he occupies is at present all his own. To the eye of philosophy, or Uie keener orb of practical utility, his may not seem the highest sphere of lettered wisdom, or creative art ; but it is undeniably that in which a successful writer largely promotes " the greatest enjoyment of the greatest number " of readers. This is surely no small achievement.
To those familiar with the previous volume of this work, it may be unnecessary to say that this one is framed upon exactly the same plan' ; one of entire freedom, embracing in its wide range every beautiful object and pleasure-raising emo- tion ; whatever the painter has sketched, the poet sung, or the local antiquary narrated, of fact, legend, and tradition. Anecdotes illustrative of manners, snatches of family history, and all kinds of agreeable gossip give zest to the sketches ; nay, tales of somewhat superannuated scandal, either slightly known, or long since forgotten, are revived, and wUl, for many readers, possess novelty as well as piquancy.
Mr. Howitt's rambles at this time have been principally in the counties of Durham and North- umberland, though he proceeded the length of Berwick, and made a raid intoLiddesdale. His field is thus " The North Countrie," — the storied Border land of daring adventure, battle, and ballad. Though he examined every scene for himself, and in mea- suring the ground, generally made his own legs his compasses, he has enriched, and greatly enhanced the value of his work, by a diligent perusal of county histories, memoirs, and chronicles; the works of that prince of local antiquaries and pic- turesque tourists, Pennant; of Surtees, Hutchin- son, Grose, and a host of men of smaller note, who are, however, prophets in their own country. With all this, the entire body of northern legendary bal- lad poetry was at his finger's end. So many fine original elements, together with no mean skill in the art of combining and arranging them, could not fail to produce an exceedingly agreeable book. But not resting on literary merit alone, the re- sources of art also have been called in to accom-
* Visits to Remarkable Places, Old Halls, Battle Fields, and Scenes illustratiye of Striking Passages in Poetry and History, &c. &c. By William Howitt, royal 8to^ cloth, pp. 610 : Longman & Co.
plish the charms of the work. It is beautifully illustrated with numerous vignettes and tail-pieces, either actual representations of the finest scenes and places described, orpoeticaUy in harmony with their character. So that the Visits to Remarkable Places forms one of the most elegantly embellished books of the present season. To heighten the charm of the designs, they are all from the pencils of eminent northern artists ; men of talents, full of enthusiasm for the natural beauty and ancient fame of their native region.
The Tourist, or Rambler, whose steps seem to have been almost as eccentric as his fancies — ^^^ wan- dering at his own sweet will," starts with a visit to the city of Durham, with which locality he is enraptured, and fairly enchants the reader. The annals of the different towns which he visited fall within Mr. Howitt's scheme; and the past and present history of this city, and of Newcastle and Berwick-upon-Tweed, are accordingly given, with amplitude sufficient to satisfy, we should imagine, even the citizens of those places; and to make the work of peculiar interest to them, from its saying so much about themselves. In describing these towns, Mr. Howitt has done full justice to their respective and relative claims. The most zealous for the beauty of the venerable and picturesque city of St. Cuthbert, among the inhabitants of Durham, must be not merely satisfied, but grateful, and proud of the lengthened descriptive eulogy of which this is a specimen : —
There is this charaoteristio of most of onr cathedral towns, that they have changed less in their outward aspect than others ; and you would imagine that Durham had not changed at all
Whichever way you approach Durham, yon are first struck with the great central tower of the cathedral peeping over the hills that envelop the city. It looks colossal, massy, and silent. Anon you lose sight of it ; but again you mark it, solemnly breasting the green heights, like some Titan watcher, and it well prepares the mind for the view of the whole great pile, which presently opens upon you. Every traveller must be sensibly impressed with the bold beauty of Durham in the first Tiew. As he emerges from some defile in those hills which, further off, hid from him all but that one great tower, he sees before him a wide, open valley, in the centre of which a fine mount stands crowned with the ancient clustered houses of Durham ; the turrets and battlements of its old and now restored castle rising above them ; and again, above all, soaring high into tbo air, the noble towers and pinnacles of its Norman minster. Around recede in manifold forms, the higher hills, as if intended by nature to give at once beauty and retirement to Ais splendid seat of ancient religion. From various points of these hills, the city looks qnite magnificent. The old town, with its red rooft, runs along the ridges of the lower hills, and these higher ones are thrown into knolls and deUs, with thefar green crofts and wooded clumps and lines of trees. The whole sur- rounding scenery, in fibct, is beautiftil. My visit there was in the middle of May. The grass had a delicious freshness to the eye ; the foliage of the trees was of spring's most delicate green ; and the bluebells and primroses, which the hot weatiier in April had entirely, a month before, withered up in the south, were there in abundance in all their denvj and friigrant beauty. Through all the finer seasons of the year, however, the environs of Durham are delightfti).
HOWITTS VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
9
TioB w? consider a favourable specimen of Mr. Howttt's most studied manner, though we are not tme t2iat this manner is hi^ best. Durham possesses nn sdrantages orer many of the English towns, in tbe extent, beauty, and accessibility of its pub- lic wilks: —
l^ifike the condition of many a beautiful neighbour- tftd in mMBj a part of Englaud, where you may peep mU paradisey bat may not enter ; here ahnost whereyer tbe aJliuements of tbe scene draw you, yoa may follow. Fsotpaths in all imaginable directions strike across these ifffeiy crofU. Yon may climb hills, descend into woody drib, follow tbe course of a little stream, as its bright wUen and i&owery banks attract you, and never find jeinelves out of Uie way. In all directions, as lines ra<fiadDg from a centre, deep old lanes stretch off from tbe dty, along which yon may wander, hidden from view of ererfthing but the high bosky banks, and overhanging trees, and intervening sky. OUier lanes, as deep, and as sweetly rastie and secluded, wind away right and left, kadiag yon to some peep of antiquated cottage, or old ■uD, or glance over hollow glades to fkr-off hUls, and efcr and anon bringing you out on the heights to a fresh and striking view of that clustered city, its castled toiets, and majestic cathedral. It would seem as if the aBcnitiM of this sweet neighbourhood had from earliest tiaes been fdlly felt, and that the jealousies and iciCrictiotts of property had here never dreamed of Wiiigi»g the public out from them.
The inhabitants are duly sensible of their high privileges ; and accordingly in fine weather, on Sundays, these beautiful walks have ^ a gay and lodal aspect," from the number of decently dressed people, who are taking the air, and enjoying the scenery, without any reproach in the eyes of Mr. Howi^ He seems to think that the pious and vcDerahle Barnard Gilpin, the Apostle of the north, onployed the Sunday afternoons exceedingly fitly and welly when he gathered the poor of his fiock around him at his hospitable table, and fed while he taught them, on the Sabbath-day.
ToHoughton-le-Spring, the residence and burial- pUoe of the apostolic Gilpin, the tourist repaired with the same feelings which lead a pilgrim to a dirine, or to the tomb of a saint ; those of enthu- ■astic love and veneration. The Life and Acts of the A|K>8tIe of the North fill a few pages most de- lightfully. They overflow with true wncfion. If the clergy win learn thesecretoftumingmentoGod; of being bdoved and adored by their parishioners, and RTored by the pious and the good of all sects, let them follow the steps of this primitive apostle.
Ififl hospitable manner of living was the admiration of fte whole country ; and strangers and travellers met wA a cheerfril reception. Even their beasts had so uch care taken of them, that it was humorously said, tf a hone was turned loose in any part of the country, it wmld iiBBiediately make its way to the rectory of Honglitoii. Erery Sunday, from Michaelmas to Easter, WK a sort of pnbUc day with him ; that is, through the worst part of the year, when such comforts were the BOit needed. During this season, he expected to see Us paririiloiierB and their frunilies ; whom he seated, auidiug to their ranks, at three tables ; and when ihMat from home, the same establishment was kept up. Lnd Borleigh, when Lord Treasurer, unexpectedly viiited him on his way into Scotland, but the economy of Kr. Gilpfa's house was not easily disconcerted ; and he «tertanied tbe statesman and his retinue in such a ■aaer, as made him acknowledge he could hardly have TffTtf^ more at Lambeth. Lord Burleigh made him mu eiSRS of advancement, which he respectfdlly but nlj dsdised, feelii^ persuaded that he was in a frur
more usefhl sphere than a bishopric. On looking back from an eminence, after he left Houghton, Burleigh could not help exclaiming, ^ There is the enjoyment of life, indeed ! Who can blame that man for not accepting a bidiopric t What doth he want to make him greater, happier, or more usefiil to mankind f '
His charities were large ; — ^he visited the jails ; though we do not hear of him sending any one to those dismal abodes, either for the recovery of tithes or for ecclesiastical discipline.
Externally, the scene of Gilpin's labours has not improved. Neither mining nor steam are good landscape painters ; and they often even mar the mellowing and beautifying effects of Time on the Dead and the Past. But if there is not much ac- tually to see at Houghton, the tourist is one of those possessed of the happy faculty of being able to conjure up long trains of images of faded beauty, and hallowed remembrances of departed excellence. His fancy was naturally excited while he gazed upon Barnard Gilpin's once secluded abode, now almost approached by railway omni- buses.
The parsonage is a good parsonage, with ample and pleasant grounds. It is occupied by the present rector, a nephew of old Chancellor Thurlow, but has no single monument of Gilpin left about it. Some splendid old hawthorns on the lawn may, perhaps, be considered as the most legitimate relics of his time. But one would fain enter these old and twilight rooms where he lived and studied ; where he renewed his knowledge of the classical labours of his youth, and indulged in '^musio and poetry, in which he excelled ;'' where he prepared his heart-warm addresses to his people ; where he prayed for them, as he rose up and lay down, who in their own humble habitations, far and wide, on many a wild mountain, and in many a hidden dale, blessed him daily in their hearts before G^od. We would fain see that ample, if rude, hall, in which fh>m Michaelmas to Easter, every Sunday, the tables were spread for all his flock ; and where, no doubt, as they sate together at meat, many a discourse passed — many a question was asked of the doings and sufferings of simple life, and many a quaint relation was made, that it would do one's heart good to hear now. One would like to see, in one's mind's eye, those ^ four and twenty scoUers," sitting at their place at table by him, ^whom in his own house he boarded and kept, sometimes fewer, but seldom ; the greater part poor men's sonnes, upon whom he bestowed meat, drink, and cloth, and education." One would like to see where that great pot hung, ^ which he took order should, every Thursday, throughout the yeare, be pro- vided fiill of boyled meat, for the poor of Houghton." One would like to image where and how sate and looked the great statesman Burleigh, and his train, with that venerable Apostle at the head of the table, which astonished Burleigh, '^ who took of such diligence and abundance of all things, and so compleat service in the entertainment of so great a stranger, and so unlooked-for a guest." ** His parsonage," says his protege and biographer, George Carleton, bishop of Chichester, from whom we quote, " seemed like a bishop's pallace ; nor shall a man lightly find one bishop's house among many, worthy to be compared to this house of his, if he consider the variety of buildings, and neatness of the situation. Within, Ids house was like a monasterie, if a man con- sider a monasterie such as were in the time of St. Augustine, where hospitality and economy vrent hand in hand, and the doors were always open to the poor and the stranger." What a thousand pities that modem taste has swept all this away 1
Gilpin's school, which stands near his church, has escaped the hand of Time ; but nothing worth taking can in England escape less hallowed and greedier dutches. This Beminary^ which the
10
HOWITTS VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
founder intended for the children of the poor as well as the rich, has long, in common with nearly every foundation of the kind, heen diverted from the original, benevolent, and useful purpose.
In some turret, tower, or niche of every old church or deserted castle, Mr. Howitt always found a sort of howlet in the shape of a very old woman, the custodier and chronider of the spot. The guardian genius of Gilpin's church knew little about the most illustrious of its many incumbents ; but she has a touching human story of her own, which IB well brought out.
Such ancient crones, vagrants, caaual wayfarers, and mendicants, or lady-like housekeepers of the old school, contribute by their gossip to enliven the narrative. The tourist was, however, fortunate in occasionally meeting with intelligencers of a higher order in the course of his desultory rambles, — ^with obliging and well-informed persons, fitted by their local knowledge and connexions, as well as by their acquirements, to enrich Ms note-books, and who often participated in his enthusiasm in the pursuit of the varied objects of his pilgrimage. Of this number were the daughters of Bewick, the cele- brated wood-engraver, whose genius has kindled the passion for natural history in not a few minds ; and in many more a higher feeling — ^the love of all that b most beautiful and true in the rural scenery which lies in and around every one's daUy path. Bewick's daughters accompa- nied Mr. and Mrs. Howitt to Cherrybum, the cot- tage and little farm where their father was bom, and where he spent his boyhood. None of the rambles described is more delightful than the ex- cursion to this sweet spot, which — ^lying about ten miles from Newcastle, and once deeply secluded — is now brought into the town by the Carlisle rail- way.
It is a single house, standmg on the south side of the Tyne, and at some distance from the river. A little rustic lane leads you up to it, and you find it occupying a rather elevated situation, commanding a pleasant view over the vale of the Tyne. The house is now a modest farm-house, still occupied by Ralph Bewick, a nephew of the artist's ; and, as Miss Bewick observed on ap- proaching the dwellhig — ** May the descendants of the present possessor continue there in all time to come."
The house, in the state in which it was when Thomas Bewick passed his boyhood in it, was as humble a rural nest as any son of genius ever issued from. It was a thatched cottage, containing three apartments, and a dairy or milkhouse on the ground-floor, and a chamber above. The east end of this was lately pulled down, and the rest is now converted into stables. Bewick was very fond of introducing his native cottage into his vignettes, and often used to talk of ^ the little window at his bed-head." Which room this was, however, none of the &mily knew.
We have dted this passage, by no means to the disparagement of the sumptuous and luxurious rooms and galleries of Lambton castle, or of the magnificence and grandeur of the saloons of Raby, and of many other gorgeous and far-famed resi- dence, but simply because it b more rare and choice in its own department, and not less illus- trious than those stately abodes.
Many of the older feudal residences of the north now possess the romantic charm of being deserted, and partly dilapidated. Among these is Lumley
Castle, which we select in preference to any other^ in a locality where the ancient seats of English nobility are as 'Aplenty as blackberries." The Lumleys were a very ancient, and also a brave and gallant race, and among the most illustrious of the Saxon families which, distinguished long before the Conquest^ survived the oppression of the Nor- mans, and became fBunous during the Crusades. They were entitled to the nobler praise of being often found among the champions of freedom ; if the resistance of the turbulent nobility to the en- croachments of the crown upon the privileges of their order deserve so high a name. But the be- lief, that among this stanch Saxon family cham- pions of popular right were found, may give more interest to the view of their deserted feudal hold.
A very aged housekeeper was the sole inmate of Lumley castle when Mr. Howitt visited it, — ^the exact counterpart of her who, in Mrs. Radclifib's and kindred romances, hobbles after the orphan heroine, carrying a bunch of keys, and shows the picture gallery ; among the portraits of which is discovered, by instinct, the lovely, mur- dered mother of the beautiful Adeline or Emmeline. An eerie abode the old lady must have had ; yet she was cheerful and hospitable; and though it might detract somewhat from the romance of the situation, we hope that she had some tidy counr try-girl to keep her company, and put her snug apartments in order. It is diverting to contrast the simple and rather awkward reception of Mr. Howitt at this grand old place, with the high- sounding descriptions of such events which one usually finds in novels and histories. The castle is a large and massive structure. The Wear winds round tiie green slopes above which it stands, but is half-hidden by groups and avenues of lofty lime-trees. The views of the surrounding coun- try are fine and wide ; and in the distance rise the roofs and spires of Chester-le-Street. As Mr. Howitt^ revolving the memories of other days, stood late in the day before this enchanted solitary pile, wrapt in romance and admiration, no living thing was in sight ; and though he had been warned that the keeper was, though no giant, a gru£f or querulous old lady, he resolutely pursued Uie adventure.
The silence of the place was only broken by the rattling of windows in the castle front, for the wind was considerably strong ; I rang the bell, and presently heard a feeble footstep approaching within. A female voice demanded who was there, and giving for answer, a stranger from the south, there immediately commenced a drawing of bars, a dropping of bolts, and lugging at the huge and lofty door. ** Push, there, if you please,^ cried the voice from within ; ^ for I cannot open the door myself." I pushed accordingly, and at once inward turned the door, and with the force of the wind, drove the old lady backwards, for it was she. I had now to help to close it again, the wind seeming to defy both our endeavours, and even when we had acoomplished it, rattling and roaring at it as if it would tear it loose. I was too much struck with the view of this noble and unique hall to be able to take my eyes from surveying it for some time, when I found the old housekeeper stanc^g patiently by me, and on teUing her I was sorry to trespass on her at so late an hour of tiie day, but that I was going from London into the North, and wished to have a peep at the castle, this good dame, who had been represented to me as so wayward, said with the greatest cheerftUness— 0> oertain, yoa can soon see it^-the main
HOWITTS VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
11
tkisf ii tUt baU. Ill tell you all about these pictures, and then you can go where you like. I see you're a gestkaun : youll find the doors open ; and when you hare Ws where you will, here is my room/' said she, Aaiwiag dw way into a nice, snug, well-oarpeted room IB tke north-western tower just by, with a good fbe Utmg on walls adorned with some yery interesting ftaOy portraits. ^ I cannot stand long,** she said ; ^ at ■J age my legs soon fail me ; but if you want to know aijthing, you can come and ask me, and I'll go any- vbere, and explain if necessary ; and when you have doae, here is a room or two here, near mine, with some paintings m. 111 show you." With this roving commis- MB I again entered the great hall.
This 18 quite a hall to enchant a heraldic anti- quary ; but the mere catalogue of half its treasures would be far too much for us ; and we are, be- lidei, more interested by the romantic situation of the adventurous explorer, who, like a knight of old romance, traTersed a vast wUdemess of mighty Tooms ; finding all the doors fly open before him ; aitd at dusk stood thus : —
Sooetimes I was gliding carefUly over floors of pelidied oak, that echoed to the tread, and threatened to tbow me down at every step ; then I came to a fturcaK that led me up into other stories, or down into ■kenanean passages, vaults, and offices of various (faiwiiplions ; onoe, no doubt, busy enough vrith servants lad their concerns, but small, diunp, chill, empty, and ^Molate. Then again, I looked out of the front windows, iaiing myself gazing over a wide twilight landscape, or caeMntering those dark masses of woods that stretch iimg the western ade, and rendered more solemn by tke ibadows of night, and the hoarse brawling of the ftream in ^e deep glen below. Then I was at a window Itoking into the inner area, where all was gloomy, silent, and ftdl of the spirit of the past. Opposite to me, in the veit centre, stood a turreted gateway, on which was carred two long perpendicular fines of armorial shields, trer one of which, in an escutcheon, showed the lily, and 9m the other the rose. The shields themselves, having fte true air of anoient baronial state, as they were wont U be eablaxoned on the front of martial halls, were in tnth proud shields, testimonies of many a high alliance. The dexter line, Lomley and Northumberland ; Lumley ad Hesilden ; Lnmley and Daudre ; Lumley and Tkereny ; Lumley and Neville ; Lumley and Harring-
tea; Lunley and Plantagenet, &c Above,
la the turrets, some ancient heraldio beasts, hons or nas, seemed to range in the twilight, and threaten, as fte night advanced, to become instinct with life, and fiepued to play strange gambols through these old wild leoBs. In the dusk below, were dimly visible the remains <f ancient marble fountains. As the gathering gloom ^'iraedme, I turned from the window, and began to Rtiace my way through the house. Nothing could be •ore disinaL The vrind now thundered round the whole falirie, Staking the windows, many of which presented villoat the view of iron bars, as of a prison. In the coort-yard, the huge watch-dog barked in deep, and WMfiMis, and measured notes, and his hoarse voice was edieed by the dusky buildings. The wildness and gloom ; tfce balf-seen forms of things, as I steered dubiously my vay tfanmgh unknown passages and empty rooms, were vwtky of one of Mrs. Radclifie's most fearful castles of v^oder and dread. I at one moment found myself in a fcw rooms fitted up for the temporary sojourn of the ttd when he came there, and thought that I had much nA» he occupied Uiem than myself. It was, in fact, Vite pfeaaant to reach once more the housekeeper's snug iftttBent, and find a cheerfhl fire, and candles casting w social light all over it
This u sorely famous reading for a gusty De- "■ker night in the country. The polite ancient "**»» of the representatiyes of the Lxmileys pro- ^otdhtt cake and wine. She was pleasant and
chatty, and had a number of stories to tell of the former lords of the domain, and their family con- nexions ; and a thorough knowledge of the family portraits.
She dwelt with natural interest on the splendour of the house ere it was stripped ; on all the rooms, with their fine paintings, silk hangings and ''lovely f^r- nitur ;" every room having its great pier glasses that reached to the ceiling. She related how after the house had been stripped, the earl and countess came, and how much they lamented over it. *' Let us fit the old castle up again," said the countess. ^ Nay, my dear," replied the earl, with a sigh, ** that can never be done ; it would take, if it took a penny, £50,000 ; and then, my dear," said he, '^ you don't take into account that our house at Sandbach is stripped too." ''Sandbach," added Mrs. Chandler, *^ is fitted up again, but this has never been, and I reckon never vrUl now." She went on to inform me that her mother had been housekeeper at Glenter's Hall, a seat of Lord Scarborough's in Lincolnshire, and came here to be housekeeper fifty-three years ago. She came with her, a young woman, and had lived here ever since, being now eighty-four. That the gentry of the neighbourhood came sometimes in summer, and had archery parties on the lavm in ftt>nt of the castle, and took luncheon in the hall, and sometimes had a dance there ; the only circumstance, except the occasional arrival of a curious stranger, that now seems to connect this house of many ages with the living world.
The night had now settled darkly down. This grand old castle front, with all its projecting towers, gloomy gateway, ancient shields, with grim and uncouth heads of beasts and homed prophets, and its lofty battlements, fh>wned solemnly and sternly upon me. Below, deep in its glen, brawled and muttered along the stream; and vast woods extending right and left, spread a deeper blackness around, and sent fh>m their wind-stirred depths, dreary sighings, such as seem to belong only to night and to woods. I thought if ever there was scene calculated to create a belief in haunted halls, and in the tales and creatures of ancient romance, it was this; and as I hastened away to cross the river and regain my inn, I often turned and saw vrith a peculiar pleasure the ancient towers of the Lumleys looming nu^estically through the gloom.
Lambton castle, with its modem luxuries, fol- lows, as if chosen for the purpose of contrast; and a fair occasion is found to bring in the legend of the Lambton Worm,* which, if somewhat worn with long use, is at least as pleasant in a book as the elegant boudoirs and rich dressing-rooms of Lambton, save, perhaps, to their noble owners.
Another pilgrim shrine was Jarrow, the abode, some thousand and a few more years since, of the learned and venerable Bede ; from whose writings alone we know how Christianity was first intro- duced into our island ; and who, long after he wrote, found a translator in King Alfred, who turned his Ecclesiastical History into the vernacu- lar Saxon of his own age. It was no ordinary event to contemplate the spot on which this pious and learned man lived and died, and near which he was bom. Little is known of his life ; but Mr. Howitt, by the aid of imagination, fills up the meagre outline of the history of this early light of British literature, and contrasts the Jarrow of his days with the locality as it is now seen. He ima- gines that the venerable scholar would not have approved of many of the visible signs of the march of improvement.
* See Tait's Magazine for July, 1840, page 446.
12
HOWITPS VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
Exactlj opposite to his window he would see the dragoHs of steam mnning too on dry land, and sending their screams farther and more piercingly than, soon after his time, the flying Saxons sent their outcries at the onset of the Danes, who came, and twice laid his beloTed cell in'ashes. He would see — where the Tyne then looked on its* pleasant hanks in one long summer Sabbath of quietness, on its overhanging trees, on its solitary angler — now huge ranges of ballast-hills ; that is, hills, and almost mountains of sand, that ships coming fh>m the south of England, and the continent, have brought as ballast, and emptied here ; and upon these hills, now grown over, in a great degree, with grass, and even grazed by cattle, a blue, bearded, and amphibious race, with their hands in their trouser pockets and quid in mouth, rolling along, and a motley crew of keelmen, boatmen, ship-carpenters, cokers, and diggers of railway Hues, more intently busy than even he himself in his life of St. Cutiibert, and the records of the ancient church. Instead of the smell of the unsullied, wild, and sweeping sea, what smells would there not reach him ! tar and sulphur, coal and smoke, and arsenic, and all ^the nasty poisons which kill everything but their own makers."
But Bede would never visit the spot again if he could. Not only is it now engulphed in that Pandemonium of scenes and sounds just mentioned, but the neighbouring district is become an actual region of railroads. . . . The air thrills with the shriekhig of steam whistles, and the rush of iron wheels catches your ear even where some little hollow would persuade you that you had reached a solitude. The green headland of Jarrow looking out pleasantly amid such incongruous scenes ; its shattered monastery ; its old Norman church, and its ample, quiet burial-ground, thickly studded with tombs, serve only to show the grand contrast between the England of his day and the England of ours. He would cast one approving glance, if he ventured anywhere within sight of the place, at a school which they are building at the eastern end of the ruins ; and then retire to Monkton, his native village, about a mile off, where his Well still flows into a green winding valley, and where women still bring their children to be dipped in it for the cure of various diseases, first dropping in a crooked pin ; and after every immersion lading out the water, and suffering it to re-fill before they plunge a fresh patient.
Bede, if he did return, might perhaps perceive the utility of these nuisances, and forgive them ; on the same principle that a Bucolick poet over- looks a compost dunghill.
The castle of Hilton, in this richly-castled re- gion, is, though in a very dilapidated state, still a magnificent place. It boasts an antiquity almost coeval with Bede. The Hyltons are said to have been settled here three hundred years before the Conquest. They, however, sided with William of Normandy, who, in consequence, granted them very large possessions on the Wear. The ancestral fame of this family was resplendent in their own county.
Surtees states, that even when the fortunes of the house were fallen, the gentry of the North continued to testify their respect for them, and to acknowledge them as '^the highest noblesse of the North without the peerage." The name of Hilton, he adds, always stands first in every episcopal commission. In 1669, Mr. Arden, complaining to Miles Stapleton, Esq., of the unseemly pride of Dean Carleton and his daughters, adduces, as a superlative instance of it, that the Dean had seated himself above Baron Hilton at the quarter sessions, to the great disgust and reluctancy of the country gentry ; and that, moreover, the young Lady Carletons had crowded themselves into a pew in the cathedral before Baron Hilton's daughters.
The Hiltonsy at one period, possessed eight manors in the county of Durham, two in Yorkshire, and
two in Northumberland ; and rich church livings. The civil wars completed their ruin which expen- sive law-suits had begun.
The Barons of Hilton sunk lower and lower, till the last of the family, a widow and her daughter, lived on the Windmill Hill, Gateshead ; the husband and father — the last of the direct Hiltons — ^having been, it is sup- posed, a woollen-draper. Such were the strange fortunes of that family before whose ancestral house I now stood.
What is this decay, after all, to the numerous descendants of the ** ould ancient Kings of Ire- land," who are now acting as porters on the quays of Dublin or Cork, and as hewers of wood and drawers of water in all the cities of their conquer- ors, or on the spot where their ancestors were sove- reign princes. The chieiiess pile of Hilton, now the dwelling of a poor family of field-labourers, was the haunt of one of the last IroumieSy or gob- lins, known in English family traditions. Apropos to Hilton, Mr. Howitt revives an equally wild tale in those adventures of the Countess of Strathmore, and her infamous husband, Stoney Robinson, or Bowes, which amused the tea-tables of our grand- mothers. The story would make a capital ground- work for a modem novel, with the addition of a few more mysteries, and at least one fair murder, if it had not, as we believe, done duty of this kind already.
A romantic or poetical antiquary could no more pass the towers of Brancepeth and Raby, than a Quaker the town of Darlington, sung by us, as —
The darling town of schism and of
Tectw and plenty. Darlington is the residence of many respectable and wealthy families of Friends. Their co-disciple — if they allow him the honour— comparesthem with the priests who formerly held their place in this loca- lity, and indeed monopolized every rich and beau- titul spot that had not been pounced upon by the feudal barons, and makes this broad and important distinction between the ancient and modem lords of Darlington :— -
The clergy since have had nothing to do but to rmd4; the Friends, on the contrary, have been bom in the enlightened modem times, when phrenology did exist, and have added to these other organs, the one discovered by this science as very large in modem heads-— a^^ntti- tiveneay — and they have accordingly, most of them, made their fortunes by their own right hands. It must be allowed at the same time that the Friends, and amongst them conspicuously the Darlington Friends, have been as f^ee to distribute their weal^ for the public good, as to acquire it for their own. They are active in tJl works of public interest and improvement, though in this par- ticular it may shrewdly be said that they find such matters by no means inimical to their own interests.
From a rather full account of Newcastle, ancient and modem, and, among others of its live elements, the colliers^ we extract the following passage, for different reasons. It is, in the first place, the pic- ture of a peculiar class not much known beyond their own districts ; and, secondly, one b at pre- sent doubly glad of the relief of contemplating any section of the labouring population of England that still command a fair share of those comforts which they all toil so hard and industriously to obtain.
There are commonly as many houses erected near each
HOWITT»S VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
13
(•Uiery ii lerre the whole of the workmen, and each oae is tUawvd % small plot of ground for the growth of p9i-M)i, potatoes, &c. They are fond of good living, it wtiA \kej freely indnlge, whenever their circum- staaos wOl allow them. Pies, dumplings, and puddings, wkh tbc beet of beef and mutton, &c., are their common fm. Tbey have a great liking for kneaded cakes baked •a the girdle, which with them are called singing-Aitini^s, lad UkIt propensities for blaek-puddings is notorious. Ui Bazket^lays,
For Uack puddinn, long measure,
They go to Tile TruUika^^'s stand, And away bear the f los^ rich treasure,
With joy, like curled bugles in hand.
Af the colliers form a distinct body of men, and seldom iModate with others, they entertain strong feelings of matial attadunent. When they combine, or ttiek, for the poipoae of raising their wages, they are said to spit cpoB I stone together, by way of cementing their con- M^ncj. This appears to be a very old custom, the erigia <rf which is lost in the remoteness of time.
T1»ir diversions are bowling, foot-racing, hand-balls, fMMts, nrds, and sometimes, in places where they dare fvsK it, hunting and fowling. Cock-fighting used to be a great diversion before it was forbidden by the law. Wkn they have Uielr bowling matches, they usually tffm to a level piece of ground on a moor or common. A certain number of throws is agreed upon, and the gas is won by the party who, to use their own phrase, "oeuores out the greatest length of ground." Some of tk« bowlers can throw to an incredible distance. Many of then will venture the full amount of their fortnight's »ap»— for they are paid only once a fortnight — on a Uwfiig match, and often to the great embarraasment of tUirfiaily affiurs.
T» tbe amiaal public feasts, vulgarly called happings, h tbe watheni parts of the oounty,'great numbers of the ctOkn resort. Here some of them display their buf- fmaj in grinning for a parcel of tobacco, which is coBooly dther hung on the sign-post of a public-house, esaepended at the end of a stick projected from one of tki vindows for that purpose. The competitors exhibit IwBcaUi, with their eyes fixed on the precious prize, 1^ ia the reward of him who assumes the most irigbtfal countenance. They also at these places show tkit activity in playing at the hand-ball, in dancmg, and M-raemg ; and he who outstrips his fellows in the a<^ if presented with a coarse woollen hat of about tbee or four shillings value.
b the &milie8 of colliers there are frequent inter-
Mmages.
Ia thenr dress they often affect to be gaudy, and are Saad of clothes of flaring colours. Their holiday vniist- tm^ called by them votey jackeUyhre frequently of very oiioas patterns, displaying flowers of various dyes ; and Aeir stockings mostly of blue, purple, pink, or mixed »J«fr«. A great part of them have their hair very long, ■^ on work-days is either tied in a queue, or rolled ^ it curis ; but when dressed in their best attire, is **B]i<nily spread over their shoulders. Some of them •«« two or three narrow ribbons round their hats, P^Mcd at equal distances, in which it is customary with t^ to insert one or more bunches of primroses or other fleweis.
I^OK who have been long employed in pits where the F'^get, or head-^eayt, are very low and confined, con- **ct a partial deformity of shape. In such subjects, ^ bteast is more than usually prominent, and the body *tW twisted ; others are crooked in the legs.
The Methodists, the first reformers of the unhappy ^^*», abandoned by their more fortunate fellow- *i»ns and completely neglected by their clergy, **d Utteriy the Temperance Societies, have made ""oie broads on the old usages of the colliers, ^^^ong the young, many now neither fight nor •"iok on Sundays; thus flying directly in the face *^ wirfoni of their ancestors. There is quite
enough of the magical transformations of Mr* Grainger in this book, save for those who have profited by them ; and after all that has been ac~ complished, there still appears an abundant field in Newcastle for one who, in civilized communi- ties, ought to precede, or at all events keep pace, with the ornamental architect — namely, the sca- venger. This, however, is not the fault of Mr. Grainger.
A visit to Seaton-Delaval affords scope for a long history of the exploits of that eccentric rouS — (blackguard is the plain English word) — Sir Francis Delaval, the founder of that school for clever and agreeable rakes, which was perfected by Sheridan. A noble marqub, who figures as frequently in the reports of the police as in the House of his peers, is maternally descended from the Delavals, and cer- tainly shows the blood. From the Delaval family the Marquis of Waterford inherits Ford castle, famed in Border wars and Border legends ; at which rumour lately bruited that he was to keep up the customs of chivalry so sublimely revived — ^from the sublime to the ridiculous being but a step-— at Eglinton castle. But tournaments are costly toys ; and the marquis is not quite so extravagant as his notorious kinsman Sir Francis, who, after running through hb own large fortune in a course of pro- fligate extravagance and low vice, by base arts swindled a poor woman out of her hand, and a for- tune of ^90,000, which was quickly sent the same road. He was, in short, one of those gentlemen of great talents, great family, and far descent, who, if half the stories of his friends and panegyrists be authentic, eminently deserved the tread-mill.
We shall not attempt to follow Mr. Howitt, to Mitford, Warkworth, Alnwick, Bamborough, and other celebrated places, in Northumberland, though we can promise those who do so, fine descrip- tion, storied lore, and a vast fund of entertainment. Nay, we shall not be tempted even by Grace Dar- ling, who is compared with Jeanie Deans, whom she certainly may resemble in simplicity of man- ners, prudence, and modesty. But, obeying the natural impulse of humanity, even in the face of great danger, is one thing, and the moral heroism of Jeanie Deans another. There are many Grace Darlings to be found among the sex in all parts of the world, and in all ranks ; but we suspect there are very few Helen Walkers to be met with anywhere. It wrongs the cause of truth to speak of Jeanie Deans as the creation of a novelist. She was the genuine woman which a happy nature, and the fire-side religious education, and high moral feel- ings, of the peasantry of Scotland had made her. It was easier to invent a Rebecca or a Minna Troil, than this sober-minded but high-souled country girl. To Scott belongs the honour of adopting her, and embellishing her modest virtue with a thou- sand beauties. Grace Darling herself cannot be persuaded that she did anything so very unusual or wonderful. She is perfectly right ; and entitled to more respect for the general modesty and pro- priety of her conduct and demeanour, after so many people have been trying to turn her head, (when their own was a little touched,) than for her noble but yet simple act. She deserves yet higher praiso
14
HOWITT'S VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
for having refused £20 a-night to appear on a Lon- don stage, merely seated in a boat, or on a rock, and saying nothing. Assuredly Jeanie Deans would have done the same, and have far preferred to earn, by milking her cows, the half of twenty-^nce a-day. like Jeanie Deans, Grace Darling has a Duke and Duchess for friends and protectors, and the liegewoman of the Duke of Northumberland is not to marry without his approbation.
His stately castle draws forth the warm admira- tion of Mr. Howitt. Among its multitudinous beauties and rarities, we find nothing more interest- ing than the dairy, nor amusing than the late Duke's wooden steed — named Velocipede, dam. Elm-tree, — sire, the Village Carpenter ; now laid up for the gratification of posterity. Of this horse, it is told here—
The Doke and his phTsician used to amuse themselveB with careermg on these steeds about the grounds ; but one day, being somewhere on the terrace, his Griuce's Trojan steed capsized, and rolled over and over with him down the green bank, mnch to the amusement of a troop of urchins who we];e mounted on a wall by the road to witness this novel kind of racing. On this accident the velocipede was laid up in lavender, and a fine specimen of the breed it is. I asked the old porter if the story was true, but he only smiled, and said, " Mind ! I did not tell you that. Don't pretend to say, if you write any account of this place, that yon had that f^om me." . . .
But the one object which marks the rural taste and affluence of our English nobility as much as anything connected with their country estates, is a dairy ; and here is one, the Duchess's Dairy, with which few in England can compare. It is a cottage building, standing in a beautiAil shrubbery garden on the banks of the Aln. The building without has a projecting roof, is surrounded by a veranda, or rustic colonnade, and over its walls clambers, and clusters, and blossoms luxuriantly, the Ayrshire rose. The colonnade is neatly paved with different coloured pebbles. Within, the floor is of alter- nate squares of black and white marble. The walls, the ceiling, the windows, everything about it is of the most exquisite and delicate cleanness. In the centre stands a massy slab of marble, nearly white, of from five to six inches thick, of more than three yards long, and a yard and a half wide. On this, stand the two last meals of the milk unskimmed, and in white earthenware milk- pans. Around the walls run two shelves of marble, bearing other pans ; and on the upper shelf a luxurious assortment of old china bottles, dishes, vases, &c. The cows which supply this beautifully managed dairy are twenty-eight in number. At this early period of the season, when many of them were not giving milk, the produce was 50 pounds of butter per week ; when they are most of them milkers, it amounts often to more than 120 pounds. The skimmed milk goes to feed a large family of pigs which are kept in an adjoining piggery, of which the arrangements and animals themselves are equally remarkable. The dairy gardens are as delightful as you can imagine. They are indeed a sort of fairyland region, lying along the banks of the Aln, and literally flowing with milk and honey.
Not one of the many magnificent seats and vast feudal castles described, charm us so much as this glimpse of the old English Manor-house of Mitford.
Its battlemented tower, with large mullioned windows boarded up, and converted into a dovecote ; the arched entrance below, with the family escutcheon over it, and the beehives seen within it ; the broken waUs ; the old yew trees about it ; the part converted into a tenement covered with ivy, with its ancient porch supported on two stone pillars ; the simple garden ; the orchard ; the walks clean swept ; the lofty trees overhanging, — ^realized all that the poetry of runl life has feigned or imaged forth from such beautify realities as this. .... It was
a Boene that belonged to England, and to En|^nd only — a portion of that deep, rich, and perfect rural beauty, that, from the love of our poets, has become as much part of our literature as of nature itself. Aronnd was the sound of rooks, those attendants only of English country houses, which still cling with strong attachment to the old manor-house rookery ; of daws and starlings which haunt the ruins of the manor-house and the castle ; and the notes of the various birds which build in the orchard trees, added a great cheerfulness to the spot
But peacefully beautiful as this scene is now, it has seen many a stem warrior its lord, and stood the brunt of many a fierce blast of war.
After exhausting Northumberland, coastwise and central, and leavmg Berwick, Mr. Howitt com- menced, what he cails, a Stroll along the Borden, and made a plunge into the Cheviots. It is so difficult to get off macadamized roads now-a-days, even in the most ardent pursuit of the picturesque, that we gladly embrace whatever slender opportu- nity offers of obtaining a view of Nature in all the undress in which she can now be caught, in any quarter of this tamed island. For this purpose we follow our tourist from Rothbury, dear to Church- men 1 up the valley of the Coquet, by a track not yet altogeAer hacknied. After spending a fine June night at the Three Moons, in tliis Goshen of the clergy, our traveller starts off thus : —
My way up the valley to Elsden and Otterbume became every step wilder, and to me therefore more attractive. It was a glorious day, at once sunny and breezy. The way laid along the foot of the high craggy fells on the one hand, here and there stretching out into cultivated uplands ; and on ihe other side of the valley rose the stem and dark mountains of Simonside. When about half-way — ^it was twelve miles — the roads became very bad indeed. . . . . As I proceeded I had to cross and recross with the windings of the stream, the valley becoming more solitary, wild, and desolate. Alpine bridges, such as they have in Scotland, composed of two poles and a little turf, or at least the remains of them, were now the means of transit, and as these were at least a dozen feet above the stream, they were pretty good testimony of the height to which floods rise in this valley. I learned afterwards that it was the great rainy time of last harvest that had raised the river so as to carry away all these bridges together ; and that the river will sometimes rise, rapidly, twenty feet above its ordinary channel. Indeed, the vast shoals of gravel and huge stones that are lying here and there in the bed of the river, and the river itself running like a silver thread, amid a wide expanse of this debris, between its shaggy banks, show the fiiry of ihe waters that sometimes pass along here.
About two-thirds of the way I came to an old park^ which occupies the bottom of the valley and ihe sides of the hills for a large compass ; its old gray walls mnnin^ over the black stony fellls, and through the thick copses which fill the hollows. Its old gates, wilh large stone gate-posts, peeped out close to me unawares, amongst the alders in the bottom of the vale up which I was advancing, and deer and black cattle showed themselves on the distant slopes. It was one of the most lovely things I ever beheld : there is no house belonging to it ; the gloomy cragged summits, and brown, heathery, and stony wastes of Simonside, expanded themselves into the sky on the opposite ridge of the valley ; and on my side, high fells also, and long deep glens filled with bushes showed themselves over the alder wood, through which I wended, along the river bank. All in the distance was silent and basking ; all about me were the scents of the woodland, and fresh green of young leaves and youn^ grass, of primroses peeping under the boughs, and blue- bells in their first beauty, not as vrith us in the south, worn out vnth the old age of a fbw warm weeks, but as if fled hither with the cuckoo, and smiling at our southern
HOWITT'S VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
15
MtiMi M tbey were deuL This putk belongs to & lotlaBis who resides at » distance— Mr Qrd of Nnn- nykiik, aid being a general appurtenance to a large boese, tad yet fixed ^re where no such house is to be ibaid, it has Uie air of an enchanted domain, watched orer hj tarn mtisible hunters. But I dare say, did we TMttre to gire ofaase to one of its deer> a substantial keiptf would soon issue from some hidden hut in a vwdynook!
A dismal narration is given of a murder com- mitted bj tinkers, at a solitary peel-house on Wluskershields Common, in this neighbourhood, about fifty years since ; for which two women iod one man were executed, and the latter hung in chains on the spot. The subject is reconmiend- fd, by our author, ** to Mr. Ainsworth, and his Koondrel-admiring disciples.'*
Mr. Howitt crossed the country from this place, and so to speak, threaded ihe Cheviots, keeping as £ir away from high roads as possible, until he found himaelf upon, what he calls. Dandle Dinmont's £um; ^umgh certainly not the true Charley's Ho|)e.
A kng wade through deep heather, — a single shop- bod going his round barefoot, and a woman or two kokiag out from a lonely hut, as I passed, where perhaps 10 stranger is seen twice in a life, — and I found myself CB— Dandie Dinmont's Farm.
T«s ! I was now at the head of Liddesdale, once the g»d retreat of Border thieves — the land of the Arm- stmgs and Elliotts — and on the very ground which sappbed Scott wi^ the prototype of one of the most geujae rough diamonds of humanity which his own or aiy works have presented to public admiration. The fiiB-bonse Uet on the Jedburgh road, not far from the ?iitBH>f-the<^te. It is called Hendley Farm. James Ikmuk was tiie hearty fellow's name, whose character ni » well known, and so exactly touched off by Scott, tkat ererybody immediately recognised it, and he bore tk aaae as if it were really lus own.
Mr. Howitt falls into some inaccuracies here, and elsewhere, from adopting popular editions of cur- Teat stories ; but they are of little consequence. He, however, commits a worse and a wilfnl fault, in octaabnally reporting conversations which he him- rif invited, and whidi must hurt the feelings, and, periiape^ the interests, of the persons so unguardedly giring him their confidence. Such are the cautious oW farmer, near Berwick ; and thfe clergyman who »aa met at Warkworth ; both of whom were civil <ad kind to the stranger, and neither of whom ««W ever expect to see their "loose cracks" set kmn against him in a great book. The practice, v^ether Yankee or English, deserves to be checked «ad rdmked. But Mr. Hewitt's book was printed viule he was abroad. Had he seen pages 415-16, «»i e^jedally 489, staring him in the fece, in a proof- Aert, he would probably have scored out what we wwider objectionable. Things look very diflfer- atly in print and in manuscript. In brief, when —
A chleld 's anang us ticking notes, be iliould either give us some warning intimation, w exercise that discretion— of which good taste is ^itepawnt.
AoecdoteB like the following do not fall under ^ eensore, and they illustrate points of character *»d itetes of popular feeling.
At fk Note-of-the-6ate, where I stopped some time ^» real, the old man and woman were a right hearty
old couple. When they heard over what a moorland I had steered my course, they were astonished that I bad * OTcr found the way ; and said that I must be dreadfully tired and hungry. They would, therefore, cook me a rasher of bacon, and soon produced good white bread, and equally good beer. But it was their conversation that was the most refreshing. They were so keenly curious of news, and so humorous in their observations on it. When I said I came frrom London — ^ Eh ! London, that's a gran' place ! Ye're wise folk at London," said the old man. " How so !" I asked. ** Why, ye ha' just noo fetched a callant out o' a frirrin country to be the queen's husband, and gein him thritty thousand pounds a-year for it ; and there's many a braw chiel here wad ha' takken the job for noothing, and done it weel too. It was a great shame," he added, ^ that a woman should rule aU the men in England, and find none of them good enough for her into the bargain."
While exploriiig in this direction, where all was new to the traveller, (however familiar, Hermitage Castle, and the grave of the Cout of Keeldar may be to many,) and which will be not only new but wel- come to the great bulk of his readers, Mr. Howitt had the good fortune to stumble upon the annual celebration of the Liddesdale Grames, at Castleton. These he describes, with great animation ; for he appears to have entered completely into the spirit of the scene ; and to have viewed everything with the lively feelings of first impressions, and the poetry of old association. For him the old Border times were for the moment revived.
At Keeldar Castle occurred the last, and one of the most pleasant of his adventures. This solitary moun- tain hold is A hunting seat, belonging to the Duke of Northumberland, who has, we believe, opposed the scheme of opening a public road through the do- main ; though sudi a line, it is imagined, would be of great utility to the whole kingdom, as well as to the particular district, by shortening distance and fa- cilitating communication. It is to be hoped that the Duke's objections will give way before much higher considerations, than the pleasure of an individual, of whatever rank, opposed to the convenience and interests of a conmiunity. In the meanwhile, we are glad that no such road was opened before Mr. Howitt stood at ghamin under the battlements of Keeldar Castle. He had visited Mangerton Tower, the original hold of the redoubted Johnnie Arm- strong, on the evening after the games, and^thus continues :—
I now hastened back over the Borders into Northum- berland. My course was over high, green mountains, without track and without tree. The moorcocks rose noisily from the grass around me as I went on; the sheep fled like wild deer as I approached ; and far and wide nothing could be seen but green and naked hilU. So lonely, so pathless was the whole region, that had the Brown Man of the Moors started up, I should scarcely haye felt it stranger than seemed the whole unusual scenery about me. My directions fr^m a countryman,
however, were to steer south
^At length I caught sight of the gray battlements of the castle, and entered £e open gates of its court with some caution, lest, as a stranger at that time of night, I might be set upon by some large dogs. I now heard the merry sound of bagpipes within, and approaching a door whence a light came — for nobody was in the court- yard, nor could I see a bell — I discerned a large kitchen, with a famous peat fire, and before it a woman with a child on her knees. This was Mrs. Dagg, the wife of the Duke of Northumberland's head keeper here, and mistress of the house. I explained to her that I wished
16
HOWITTS VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES.
to Tisit the scene of the ancient abode of the Cont of Keeldar, and that I was afraid that I most petition for a night's lodging, as I understood that there was no inn within eleven miles. Mrs. Dagg, who was a tall and intelligent-looking woman, looked rather strange at this proposition, but said that she was expecting her husband every moment from the Liddesdale Grames, and she had no doubt he would accede to my request. She then asked me to sit down, and begged to know my name. I told her my name would be quite strange to her, as I came from London, and never was there ^fore, but that it was Hewitt " Hewitt t" said she, ^ that is a name very familiar to me. Pray are you at all related to the lady of that name who writes sufth beautiful poetry V* I told her that it gave me equal surprise and pleasure, in that secluded region, to find that my wife's poetry was so well known to her. "Here, Janet!" she cried, rising up, ^ take the bairn. Pray come this way, sir ; I am delighted to see you, and so will my husband be." She speedily led the way into a handsome parlour; asked what I would take ; made tea for me, and again expressed her delight in seeing the husband of Mary Hewitt. While she made tea, she inquired if anything had been cleared up about the mysterious fate of poor L. E. L., talked of her poetry, and of Mrs. Hemans', and was impatient for the arrival of her husband. Presently, two young men entered, who seemed well acquainted with books ; and we sate, most unexpectedly to me, talking of literature, and the legends and histoiy of
the border, till twelve o'clock
The first thing which I saw on looking out of my window the next morning, was a man in front of the castle, with one child on his shoulder, another on his arm, and two or three pulling at the skirts of his coat. '^ That," said I, ** is Mr. Dagg, and the very man for me ! One is sure of a hospitable welcome in the house of such a child's playfellow as that." Accordingly when I came down, he hastened to me, gave me a hearty shake of the hand, a hearty welcome to his house, and to breakfast, which was waiting. I found Dagg a thorough Dandie Din- mont. Dandie he used to know ; and Hogg, he knew ; and he had all the hearty frankness and bluutness of Dandie. He was fond of hares, of hunting, and all field sports ; was frill of the games where he had been the day before as an umpire, and where he used often to clear off
the prizes himself in running and leaping
Mr. Dagg said his father aud grandfather had held the same post as himself there before him. Besides this, he was an extensive farmer. How few men are more to be envied than such a one as tliis Dandie Dinmont of the Northumbrian Border. With a wide scope for all his strong country tastes, and a wife frll of intelligence and a love of reading, to make his fireside as cheerful as his own spirit seems to be constitutionally.
Mr, Howitt now steered his course down the north vale of Tyne, by Falstonc, Charlton, the seat of the Charltons, an old and powerful Tjnedale family, Bellingham, Chipchase, and other places of historical note, — until he came to the Roman wall at Cheaters, above Hexham, where, in a howlet- haunted tower, he found yet another old woman and her spinning-wheel. — And thus closes this en- tertaining record of a' very charming ramble, from which Mr. Howitt must have derived much plea- sure ; while he has for life laid up a store of delight- ful images and remembrances, and composed a work which will impart enjoyment of the purest and most humanizing kind to thousands.
The remainder of the volume is occupied with an account of the Derwentwater family, apropos to Dilston HaUy one of their seats. It is written by the modem lady of the hall. Its interest is of a different character from the rest of the book ; but
it communicates some new and authentic facts, regarding tlie last unfortunate Earl of Derwent- water.
Among the many snatches of old ballads and metrical chronicles which enliven the work, there is a Wanderer's song^ written by the author, which is absolutely the best lyric he has ever produced. We cannot resist so apt a conclusion : —
A jolly life, my own sweet wife !
A jolly life 's the wanderer's still. Though all alone I travel on.
O'er many a Norland moor and hill.
I rise not with the sun, not I ;
I let him mount his tow'r and call The lark into the Ust'ning sky.
The ousel to the waterfall.
Then up I spring, my window fling
Wide to the sca^s delicious roar. The breakers white, the sails in sight.
These call me to my tramp once more.
The yellow broom nods as I pass ;
The gorse breathes orange odours sooth ; The flowers on banks of dewy grass,
Bring back Spring mornings from my youth.
By sandy shore I list the sound Of rushing waves ; I strip, and dash
Amid the billows as they bound. With shout of joy and giddy splash !
Again I reach the moor-track dim ; — The world of wanderers all is out ; —
The pitman grim, the damsel slim, The jolly boatman short and stout.
The Bondager is in the flelds ;
The tramper stays to call the town ; And I alone wend gladly on,
Until the sun himself go down.
I cross the brook ; I mount the hill ;
Gare o'er the cliff where sea-birds throng ; Where light skiffs sweep, and broad sails fill,
And busy steamers beat along.
The mined castle beckons me,
The abbey hoar, the forest dell ; By ancient halls I wander free,
And by the hermit's shattered cell.
A jolly life, my own sweet wife !
A jolly life *s the wanderer's still. Though all alone I journey on.
O'er dusty road and Norland hill.
The cottage dame would know my name ;
The sturdy yeoman noddeth free ; The stooping beggar makes his claim.
And talks of battle and of sea.
I meet the brats, I hear the wail
Of woman loaded like a bee, Who trudges fast o'er hill and dale.
But halts with tears to beg of me.
But lo ! the pleasaut way-side inn, —
I fling my knapsack on the floor. Feel tired of tramp, as saints of sin.
And vow that 1 will budge no more.
The beef-steak smokes — a glorious sight !
The port new life the heart sends through ;— The bread is white, the ale is bright, —
The post brings letters. Love, from you !
What were the vows I made just now. When faint and weary, worn and chill? — .
A jolly life, my own sweet vnfe, A jolly life *s the wanderer's still !
17
MUSINGS IN TH£ WEN* tBS, CROSSINGS, 1?H£ GlN-PAlACiBS, io.
BT ATBHFLAB.
Crossew the fe^;ent'8 CSrtus W Stiiiday, I ohexred ibftl at each of the four crossings of that Itttle circle^ there was a sweeper. Between the Grnu tod the Haymarket, I counted tWo iheii swe^ing croBshigB in Coveniiy Street. Down fte- gentStreetjin the direction of Waterloo Place, were two more ; <me was busily sweeping across Regent SMty in front of the County Fire Office, and anoiber from the same comer, at right angles to bim, across the lower end of the Quadrant ; and ftbDg Piccadilly sweepers were to he seen *^ in nnmbft nomberless^^' at the end of every stiteet tkt opened into it hetween the Ciftus ahd St. James'a. There were upwards ot twenty of them in a £sta&oe not exceeding that hetween the Kegis- ter 0&» and tianoTer Street^ and the top of the Mould and the comer of Geoige an4 Hanover Streets. Fokmtary labourers are they, in the task of keeping clean the paths which have already been maieitr^ght. They lift their brooms or lay them down tt suits their inclinations — ^they drive no lar§UD, beforehimd with those for whom they open an mobstructed way — and yet they must find their KcoQfit in it, as the task can scarcely be plied for nitiement. In their beautiful practical faith in tbe sense of the conoduunity, that the labourer is *wt]iy ci his hire, the bishop, who rolls smoothly •Ing between his purple-liveried coachman and feetman, might read a usefdl lesson.
hi another respect^ the prelate might allege^ their example is scarcely so edifying. On working ^jsUieir number is mUch reduced t it is only on the Sibbath that they are to be found hanging in such ^like clustetB alotag the street. Tlie cause is ^innM ; there are not so mA^y balance to be fi^sd 1^ on ^week days.*^ The income of the (**9sr flows ^m the poorer of the middle- ^MBB, or from tiiose who are only above (if above) hnidf in drcumstances. Kich people never carry ^Bffen, and do not like to give away silver. They 1^ 1^^ the swe^ier, as they pass by the post against *^ bis broom b reclined, while he is beating ^ urns aoroiB his body to wArm himself. It is ^ MTint maids^ shop or errand bovs, small ^^Bxtei^ and the like^ that ne anticipates thechance y^^CBBy ; and it bonly when they are out mak- Bg botidiky that these classes have any balance J* ?WB. Their holidays are the sweeper's harvest. |j*b otber people, wise in their generation, he *iiakflihay while tiie sun shines.'*^ If dieir mas- 1^ ^ nktiesna would allow them to make ■*^ on any otheir day^ he would not ** desecrate '* ^Mibifthfrwn sheer love of the act; but as it is^ ^*^Wftb^]iinaaelf. Besides, among the twenty ^ bave 8et my fancy a-gadding, there are at least
JIT^"* and thc^ of coune observe a Sabbath >MBni#-Toi» fin.
lliere b, howetet, A fck« of eveiy^&y s^^reepert, ^0 seem to ihake it the buMness of their lites. 'they are inoi'd thinly sotm than the Sundfty sweepers; btit evely clay, ** frotti morli till dewy eve,*' yoU Md them Itt iheit ** accustomed '* cross^ ing, as regular as the hero of (Jray'd ^legf. They are A |>eo|)le apart^ And hdve a ^nsuetuditiary code of their o wii : ttiey regard each other^s tight (rf pro* pefiy ih tileit respective crossings. Sotnetiifies casesof disputed possession dccut^ and, as there 6eetn to be tio recognised tribunals In their common- wealth, the pleadiiigd are interminable. Like the Jews of old, abd the Arabs of the present day, they ate apt to lay hold of the first passenger who wiU lend an e&r to them, &h.A say to him, '^Do thou be judge between lis." A Mght of Appeal to the next fif ood easy mail who wHl allow himself to be stopped^ is asseirt^d by the p&Hy against Whom judgment Is given ; and a sequence of such appeals renders their litigations almost as interminable as a suit ill Chancery.
One &:ie autumnal morniflg, as I W&s loitering about one of the subili'bs, tWo of these disputants, arguing froih my leisurely and tliicertaiii pace, seized upon me as a * waif or stray ** cast on their do- main, and installed me high arbiter between them. It was owing to this chance that I obtained a gauge of the crossings-sweeper^s sUUus in society, I might hever otherwise have ei^oyed. Without entering into all the details of the olntions pro and A>n, it will be sufficient to observe that the claimant com- plained of the possessor's baring obtruded him- self into die crossing while he was laid up with a fever in the Middlesex Hospital; while the defen- dant maintained, that though that might be true, the gentlefolks could not go with their crossing unswept, and that the plaintitf mighty now he was recovered, take up some unoccupied one. From the abstract question of righty both diveiged into appeals to my humanity; and 1 learned from the plaintiff (what the other could not deny) that he had nothing but his brooms and his crossing to maintain himself and three motherless children, whilst the other, besides being a much more hale and hearty man^ earned a shilling almost eveiy night as supernumerary at the English Opera. It was indeed evident that the stage education of the latter had not been thrown away uponhim : there was an air of sentiment in his mute standing at a dis- tanoe from the passengers, and allowing a little boy, rather roruCely dressed, to apply to them for their gmftH cbange. Many a tender-hearted mil- liner has doubtless set him down for one who had seen better days^ and still endeavoured to keep his child tidy, regardless of the seediness of his own appareh These little revelations seemed to bring the rival sweepera within the pale of the **re-
18
MUSINGS IN THE WEN.
spectable** classes. It was clear that their profes- sion could ensure a liyelihood to a steady man of regular habits ; and it was equaUj clear that there were men of genius in it, who aspired to make it do more. The supernumerary of the English Opera belongs to the same dass, though moving in an humbler sphere^ as the nominal merchant who speculates upon opening a trade with Circassian or in settlements on the coast of Central America ; or as the " literary ^erUleman'* who obtains the ap- plause of a small circle by his avowed writings^ and adds to his income by anonymously puffing or cutting up the works of others, whidiever pays best — ^the dirty work of literature.
But crossings-sweepers are not the only profes- sional gentlemen (or ladies) in London who drive a steady regular trade in what might appear to the casual observer mere chance employment. From the cabman who hires his horse and vehicle from some proprietor by the day, down to the mud-lark who picks up coals at low-water in the bed of the Thames, you find in each scrambling pursuit many who, by persevering adherence to the same poor employment, from day to day and from year to year, contrive not only to supply immediate crav- ings, but to lay up a trifle. The class of cabmen named, and the watermen at coach-stands, form the connecting link between the drivers of the anomalous and anonymous trades under considera- tion, and those recognised by ** society" as legiti- mate pursuits with distinguishing names. The mud-larks verge upon the more precarious livers who depend for subsistence upon what they can pick up, without inquiring too curiously as to whether it has an owner, or whether that owner is inclined to dispense with it. The mud-larks and cinder-rakers of London are much on a par with the gleaners of the rural districts; with such ^Mamnable iteration'* does Nature i«peat her- self under such varying forms. It b not safe to allow the mud-lark to creep too near a coal barge lest she make more coals fall out than would natu- rally do so : and we believe reapers and overseers are jealous of gleaners treading too closely on their heels. The gleaner with her accompanimenta— blue skies with high white clouds straggling across them — ^the rustle of the unreaped com, and tiie con- trast between the golden stubble-field and the trees yet brightly green— may suggest more pleasing images to the painter or poet ; but the mud-lark, as i^e emerges from the ooze of the Thames, (like the heroes of the Dunciad emerging from their dive in Fleet-ditch,) is not a whit more apt to over- step the narrow limits which divide meum from tuum; and it is ten to one that she is, in her depart- ment, a much more civilized and sociable being than the other. At all events, the Ruths of Lon- don are good enough for the Boazes of Houndsditch and HoUywell Street. Cowper, no eulogist of town life, has drawn a picture of the vegetable souls of the rural poor, to which no large town can produce a parallel, llie veriest outcast there finds associates, and b humanized by their intercourse.
The class of which we are speaking — the Laza- ruses who, from the abundance of rich men with well-spread tables, are enabled| in London, to ele-
vate the picking up of crumbs to the dignity of a profession — the voluntary occupants of odd cor- ners of the great field of employment, which labour on a larger scale leaves untilled— are perhaps as refined in their feelings and deportment in this metropolis as in any city in the world. The emis- saries of statistical societies, and other curious in- quirers, who have of late endeavoured to learn the numbers of these people, and the appearance of their homes, bear unvarying testimony to the civility with which they have been received, while going from house to house, taking their unautho- rized census. They are a community sufficiently numerous and wealthy to have drawn upon them- selves the attention of speculators. The gin-pa- laces are built and kept up out of their earnings. The artisan, and the unskilled labourers who do the rough work under him, have their pint of beer with their meals, or may occasionally take or give a glass at their house of calL Of late they have been getting fonder of the Temperance Coffee- houses. The regular customers of the gin-palaoe are the toilers in these squalid unhealthy pursuits which lie on the extreme verge of the r^dm of in- dustry—in the " debateable land" between WorJb^ damtjid Thiefdam.
It is worth while for the snug merchant or other member of what ought to be tiie comfortable classes in a land like ours, to step into a gin-palaoe occasionaUy, as he returns home from the Uieatre or his club. In one comer he will see some veteran out-pensioner, who has encountered an old ac- quaintance, sunk down to this class, and, for the sake of former days, has stepped in to take a glass. The old hero has perhaps been at Astley's or some minor theatre, and is eloquent about the absurd manner in which the storming of the fort, amid s blaze of blue or red light, was got up ; no general ever dreamed of mounting a breach with cavalry. Near these gossips stand a group of dustmen, with a stray dmnney-sweep amongst them, puffing at enormously long tobacco-pipes. These are the more select portion of the assemblage ; the vest- ments of the remainder are indescribable — sex, age, and shape, are scarcely distinguishable. They are ragged as if worn for centuries, and filthy as if gathered from the lay-stalls. They are shoul- dering and pushing to the counter, — all tongues are loosed, and loud and incoherent is their clatter. But, with the exception of brief angiy bursts, all b good nature. The g^-palace b a city of re- fuge, within which the policeman does not in- tmde, so long as the noise b not very excessive : the inmates know the precarious tenure of their sanc- tuary, and have acquired the habit of respecting its conditions. Still, the scene b not over-edify- ing ; and those veiging on dishonesty are brought into perilous contact with those who have already sunk into the quagmire. And yet everyone of the inmates, if remonstrated with for their indul- gence in « Old Tom,*' or « Cream of the Valky,»» might urge, and witid more reason, the plea which Scott has put into the mouth of Maggie Mucdde- backet.
Since we have got to the gin-palaoe, we may as well hover about a littie, for the sake of watching
MUSINGS IN THil WfiN.
19
tkKvliokiter round its doors of a Sunday morn- ing. The street-sweeper is the only one whose in* iadtj CBeroscbes on the rest of the Sabbath ; and erca is ^ caset, the bulk of the labourers are cMttl-HDere Simday sweepers, as has already been Botieed. For the rest^ howeyer, Sunday is I noe cessation from toiL They haye become 90 innied to their haunts that they cannot leare dtOB. The bashfnlness of bad clothes keeps then from emeiging into the airy and open spaces of the town ; and to wander beyond its limits is an otopiiae of which they seem as incapable as the &h of taking a walk on shore. Their rest la a waiimme efibrt; and to dull their sense of it, thij iqwir for a doze to the gin-palace, and then Imgt apathetically about its door, rdieved for iht time from the tedium of their own existence. This is the true picture of the pariah caste of Lon- doa— the lowest grade of honesty. They are more ooDTcnihie than the same class elsewhere, because thejaie tamed by being accustomed to society. It is mere taming : the human being is not raised abore its animal condition. The delusiye represen- tatioQ of some popular writers conveys a totally nooeoas impression of this class, wMch has the pietSRsqne of grotesqueness, and nothing more. Stntfing adventures are as rare in it as in any otkr ; Uie police keeps it within the bounds of com- M^aee. The quaint smart sayings attributed to iu members are mostly inventions of a higher dm, which they learn and repeat by rote. The nblle of London is as void of inventive wit as ihe nbUe of any other place. Whoever would trace to their source the Cockney witticisms which gave ^ hint, (and no more,) expanded into the Weller fidget, must go to anotiier fountain-head. Flash ngB and fla^ tales, convey about as accurate aaotioii of the street Cockney as Dibdin's songs doof the real Jack tar, orthe Donald of the Opera- hsase of a goraine Highlander. They are com- pond by a dass of mimics and song-writers not ^em enough for the minor theatres, (^ in the fcw«t de^ a lower depth,") who exert their most mt voioes, and practice their last compositions, ^ the edification of clerks, shopmen, and country Miea, in the Cider Celliurs, the Adelphi Shades, od mnilar places of midnight rendezvous. It is ^KnfBid these wit-feasts, caught up by stray ^■BAocion of omnibuses, and bandied from one to Mother in passing from behind their respective T^idea, that are in time picked up by the class ^ whom they are by some supposed to originate, it is probably out of place to moralise on such tnbjcct. In their uncultivated state, these men ctaonlybe susceptible of animal pleasures. Their 9 theb pot, and their glass of gin they must f when they can get it. And somebody must ^paid for providing them with it. So any man, ) is inclined to trade in this way, may say to mil, «* If I don't, another wiU," — an argument >7^1uch men can reconcile themselves to many *^>=»iga actions. This is fair enough ; but when ^inda eminoit patriots, before Committees of ^^^^Bse of Commons, attempting to persuade '■flMiiiaUij Members that they have been induced * ** *i gin-pahKies, by an idea that they tend*
ed to promote morality — ^because their publicity^ and the want of benches to sit down upon, prevent men from sitting and soaking— one cannot help feeling sick and sad at such coxcombry.
Some such dass as this will probably always exist so long as men and the world continue what they are. Human nature can soar high, but it cannot always keep on wing, and at each new flight it must spring upwards from the ground. ^ We stand in the dirt while we look at tibe stars," is an old proverb ; uid some portion or other of sodety must be smirched by the mud with which it comes in contact. There are mmds too unergetic to learn or labour skilfully : there are dregs in sodety as well as in liquor — we may flne and rack as we please, but some will remain. But this is no rea^ son why we should not try to make it as pure as possible : let men have education — ^if they reject it^ then the fault b their own. And, above all, let us struggle against all laws which have a tendency to drive down, into the dass I have been describing, minds whidi, but for them, would have struggled to keep above it. The questionables are not numer- ous in a healthy state of society, and they can then be easily kept in check. But when rulers and lawgivers take upon them to be wiser than Grod Almighty, and imdertake to dedde what industry profits a country and what must be abstained from — ^like the farmer in the fable, who prayed to have the distribution of the weather in his own hands- then does their bungling bankrupt and beggar the intelligent and industrious on all hands. Men who have struggled year after year, gradually sinking in the scale of sodal comfort, at last lose hope, and allow themsdves to sink to the bottom. But they do not acquiesce in their fate with the equanimity of those who fed themselves in their natural posi- tion. They are seared by misfortune, and envious of all who are or seem more successful than them- sdves. They are the materials out of which rioters are made, when some acddent breaks in upon the ordinary current of sodety.
Let our rulers look to it : what they call their ^ policy '' is fearfiiUy swelling the numbers of this dass. Every moment they put ofiF attending to the growing clamour for bread, is pr^^nant witii dan« ger. ^The needy man who hath known better days," has been noted, from the time of Shakspeare, as eminently liable to the seduction of evil promp- ters. ^I will do such things — ^what they are I yet know not," says poor Lear. When Jaffier saw Ms doors hedged round by ^ gaping creditors,'' and knew he had not " twenty ducats in the world,** then it was that Pierre found him in a mood to dream he could redress the wrongs of society by the dagger. It is those who are seared, by feding themsdves driven down to an dement of which they are not native, that are what a modem writer terms ^the dangerous daases in large towns." The natural mob, or rabble, or whatever they may be called, are too torpid, and too devoid of inven- tion, to do much misdiid^ Effective riotem— even where there is least apology— are cast-off copying- derks, dissipated apprentices who have enlisted and been drummed out of the regiment, and such like. Society has enough to do to guard itsdf
so
MUSINGS IN THE W»r.
against Uda ragged i«^;imei&t tinctor any oiromn- stencM ; but wken itii niunben are swelled with men who can lay tiie flattering nnotion to their souls, that the ttiifgotmuflfeBt <rf dthws, more than their own misdeeds, hsiro made them what thej lue-i^-iheB^ indeed^ ^iheio is danger in ihem,"
which, ^ let thy wisdom fear." Our hders may rest assured, that if evil come of it, many have deeply sworn, that, cost what it may, they whose hearUesB apaUiy has caused the mischief shail sofier most* MnmiiH T2ifn.E| November^
A DROPPED PAPER.
TO TH£ EDITOR OF tAlT^S MAGAZINE
Mb. £DlTon,-^t have long had a ereat ambition to see some lucubration of my own figuring in the fair printed double columns of your magazine. Being a stanch l^ory, I could not promise myself that pleasure from the inditing a political diatribe against these Reforming Times, and hallooing, at the top of my voice, that there has been a tremen- dous *otog xaro) ever since the passing of the Heform Bill. Therefore I tried a sonnet in the manner of Havnes fiayley ; studded with plaintive lamenta- tions for a fair girl with blue eyes ahd flaxen hair, and snowy neck, and half-a-dozen etceteras, whom I met plucking flowers somewhere in the south of Utopia. But the oensor to whom, with a panting heart, I brought the efinsion, just muttered some- thing, of which I only caught the ominous sounds, *^ Atorta Minerva.^' Dashing the sonnet into the nre — an ofl&ce which my tutor kindly performed himself to all my Latin verses in more juvenile days — t put on my hat with a dignified air, told my tutor he was an ass, and stalked into the t'arlia- ment House. The Court had risen; but I walked up to that weary corner, where so many gentlemen, clothed with the full panoply of gown, &c., but without a brief^ " while away the weary hours *^ in mutual sympathy, or patrol the spacious Court- room, in ever-revolving cycle, like the demons in Vathek. The spot awakened too many painful re- miniscences; so I was marching off, when I saw, lying on the ground, a somewhat soiled manuscript. Picking it up, I found it to contain a rii&psody about uerman Metaphysics, of which your contri- butor, Mr. De Quincey, is the Atlas, since poor Coleridge retired from the stage.
Now, Mr. Editor, I do maintain, and am ready to demonstrate the position, that the next best thing to composing a paper is to transcribe it. For there are just two things in the matter. There is the ihouglU and the expressicn. But the esepressiofiy because it is so, must contain within itself the ele- ments of the thought; and these bore, Coleridge says, that a symbol must partake, in some measure, of the reality of what it symbolizes. Therefore the writing is just an abbreviated expression of the thoughk Doubtless both are best: but the one which contains the other is the more valuable of the two ingredients. Most metaphysically rea- soned, my derk has just ejaculated. Why, in that way my writing is better than your thinking. Don't, my good fellow, too rapidly reduce into maxims what are, a priori^ laws* But the editor will be tiling of this palaver. So^ for tkese^ and
diverse other good and weighty reasons, I tran- scribed the said rhapsody, and herewith I send the £rst part of it, which is merely an introduction to the principal; but the latter is very ill- written, and not yet transcribed. I will send it, however, should you like the first part.
Ist P.S. — You need be under no apprehensions of the wrath of the author, seeing that, if* Jean Paul, after stealing and printing the contents of fifteen letter-boxes belonging to the Quintas, coolly said, he would keep the injured man under his thumb, 1 may surely bear the wrath of one mystified Grer- man ** Schwindel Geist.^'
2d P.S. — Being but a poor German setolar, I trust you will maike allowances for the transcribing of hard names from an abominable scrawl. Yours, &c.
Kleptes.
* Dans noire ehfance nous vivons selon rimagination : et I'imaginatioil se prend anx formes. L'emploi des mythes eftt destine k saiisfkire eette foenlttf. Le mythe n'est autre chose qn'nne fietion qui repr^sente la verity'* —Victor Cou»in*$ Nouteauat Fragment PkUotophiguet^ p. 382.
Sohelling was wont to tell a dream which he dreamed one night when a student at Leipsic. He had been studying the '^Grundtiss der Wiisen- fchaftMrei* which had then newly come out, and collating with it the Treatise of Spinosa de Deo s and he supposed that the two ideas had battled to- gether in his mind, and from the conflict arose the dreamn Thus he used to praise the dream, and to say that there was a good kernel within the My-* thical shell. He told it as foUows :—
When the twilight consciousness^ which is the theatre of dreams, awoke within me, I found my* self in a valley, whose greenness was variegated (vMxiKfi) with many flowers ; and there were high blue hills which fenced in Uie valley ; and from them descended a stream which was ghtter- ing in the sunshine. It was the hour of noon. There were many people passing up and down that valley, all happy and careless. Many bells, too» were pealing through the valley whose sound made the air melodious ; and I thought I heard a well^ known strain, the "Christ is ariseo," chanted by many voices. Birds were singing sweetly on the trees by the river side^ which were green with 4 June greenness.
Yet could i not Imger in that fair valley. For the earless happiness of man and nature met no eehommysouL I fslt X irw a seatehet for thing I flound not there*
•a dropped paper.
21
Aii4 I itiode, I knew not well why, to the
fifltont hiDi. There was a path among those
hflk^ akogade of the shming river, which, as
I went op, became black and turbid ; and its
Uiekened waters seemed to be reflected in my
ioiii^ sad to ckmd all my thoughts. And the sun
mad down into a far-off sea, whereto flowed the
nrtr: and many stars came forth from the bosom
of theionlesB sl^. Their queen, too, came forth
wiili a wfaite-Tobed planet in her train. And the
diik heath oi the hills was lightened np. again,
tnd rocks, decked with rain-drops, glittered in the
oMMn-beams. Still trode I among tiiose hills, and
then was no sound nor any voice to answer my
own. Bat a great stillness brooded over all that
covntzy, like chaos before the voice of God rang
through the void. And I looked up to the clear and
doodlesBfsoe of the virgin sky, and called upon her
to answer the problem which vexed me ; but there
was DO reply : — the sky looked as calm as ever.
Gndusily, as I looked upon the lonely planet, which alone twinkled not^ it seemed to move; and, with a soft mnsio— it might be but in thought— Bwved along the skies^ as erst the $tar of Beth- 1
lehem to mark where the Meek One lay. And I followed its motion; and I walked for many miles in the course pointed out by it, which was in a £bu: sinking path among the hills. And they rose higher and viewlessly in distance on either side of it. At length the planet stopped, and its partner in that strange dance stopped also. And it was a deep cave wherein that path ended, and above which the star stood fixed, looking softly with her dead eye of love.
I looked anxiously into the cave, but heard nought but a ceaseless dropping of water along its sides ; and I was faint witii much exertion, and well nigh turned away in despair. But there came, I knew not whence, a solemn sound like that of an .£olian harp, as if the oigan of nature itself was sounding palpably; and the music was like that glorious music which I loved in my childhood — the deep yet harmonious Hundredth Psalm— *the music-embodied spirit of Martin Lu- ther. When the music ceased, I heard a small still voice, and yet the sound came as if I heard only the reverberations of the voice on the walls of thecave^ andthnsitspok^— * * ♦ * *
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.*
Tie attention and interest, which the previous woiki of ihia writer on the same fertile subject have eidted, in spite of their manifold blemishes and bfaadoa^ is proof enough that London is an inex- lnwtible thcone ; and that, merely to speak about tfe great Babylon, is to make sure of a large omber of auditors. So far as the present author's powcfs of description and means of information go, tift theme is indeed pretty well run out ; but, like an ccnomical manufacturer, even from the fag-ends tod waste he contrives to spin out another couple of vtihunes ; with which, however, some good new utaiai 18 intermixed. The subject with which ^ opens, MecUoal Quackery ^ b of itself copious ; ad, ahhongh he has told several stories which Kna^y tax the reader's powers of belief, it is too pobshle that much more extraordinary facts, in the kafeofy of qoackery, remain to be disclosed. It b ^dM» vulgar quack whose arts are ever fully dis-
Uidon is the grand emporium for all the quacks tf the three kingdoms, and for many of those of the t ; though, like other stars, they often make into the provinces during the dull ■■•an, and there reap a rich harvest Of the lietiopdiB, this writer remarks, as thousands have voe before him,
^ Ihen k nothing too ridicoloiw for a London popnla- <■> to swallow ; nothing so absnrd that they will not ^•eo Mboeribe to it. Nor is this predisposition to be j'MVy empirics, this alacrity in reposing fkith in the F*VMroiis promises and pledges of qn^ks, confined to tit lower or less informed part of the London popnla- ^^ It ii by no means nnoommon among tiie aristo- ^_
. • Bytte Aatbor of the « Great MetropoliB," « Travels »T«'»a,"Ac 2 Volumes, cloth: Saunders A Otley, ■••icm.— Touix.
eracy, and those whose standing in society implies more than the average amount of education and intelligence. Who does not remember the crowd of aristocratio and fashionable witnesses, the host of lords and ladies, who came forward, fourteen or fifteen years ago, in a court of justice, to bear testimony, in the capacity of his quondam patients, to the distinguished, nay, the unparalleled medical skill of the late St. John Long t And is it not notorious, that at this very hour many of the higher classes are daily becoming the easy dupes of empirics, in all departments of the medical profession t
Among the most strenuous of St. Jolm Long's believers was Sir Francis Burdett, then a Liberal. The person, who of late has done business in the largest way, was Morrison, in whose universal pills a flourishing trade is still carried on. Some of the arts of quacks, to bring themselves and their drugs into notice, are here described. Puffing paragraphs, and advertisements in the newspapers, are of course their main reliance; though their schemes and rogueries are numerous,and often most ingenious ; something new being always fallen upon when the old trick grows stale. Small hand-bills copiously distributed ; peripatetic advertisers, and chalking, have all had their day. Some Medi- cal Quacks start at once with a book. Here is an amia of the tribe.
There lately lived, on the south side of Oxford Street, — I do not know what has become of him now,— an em- piric who professed to cure all diseases of the ear, and who surpassed all the other quacks I ever knew, in the article of advertising himself at the cheapest rate, con- sidering the effectual way in which he did it. He was constantly on the look-out among his patients jfor hapless authors, literary men, or other persons in any way con- nected with the press ; and the moment he discovered any of the *< lettered" or philosophical fraternity, he called all his cunning and ingenuity into Aill play, with the view of turning them to what he called his profes- sional account. If they had influence enough, directly
D
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.
or indireeUy, over any joonuJ, to get a puff of the em- pirio inserted gratis, so mnch the better ; but if they should not be able to do that, it would, he used to say, go hard indeed, if they could not assist him in dzawiBjg up a neat paragraph, which some other patiei^ when put into his hand out and dry, would get published in some newspaper or periodicid, into whose columns he might have access. Some years ago an acquaintance of mine, labouring under a de^ of hearing, waited on the empiric in question. The former was instructed to sit down in a chair, and hayings in that respect, promptly attended to the commands of his medictJ monitor, the latter commenced an examination of the ear, and after- wards had recourse, for about a quarter of a minute or 00, to the ikrce of poking in it with an instrument which I am inoompetent to describe. ^ The loss of one's hear- ing is a great calamity," bawled the empiric into the other's ear, with as seUT-consequential and oracular an air, as if he had made some marrellous diaooTcry of infi- nite practical importance.
** It is, indeed," sighed the other.
^Very great miafortune, eertainly," resuned the quaok.
^ It is paitioularly so to me," observed the patient.
" I don\ doubt it, sir, I don't doubt it, sir," pursued the empiric ' Pny^ do you follow any particular pro- fossion r
^ I am a reader in a new^aptr ofilee," answered my acquaintance.
** A reader in a newspaper office, did you say, sir f remarked the quack, suspending, all of a sudden, the poking process, while his eye and countenance lighted up with erultation at the woris.
The patient repeated his statement.
^ What is the paper, pray, that yea ate conndcted with!"
•* The 'Public Ledger,' sir."
^ Oh then," remarked the quack, his eye gleaming with ineffable delight, and tossing the instrument for clearing the tunnel of people's ears aside. ^ Oh, then, perhaps you could set this little paragraph inserted in
that joumaL" And so saying. Dr. G^ handed his
patient a small paragraph prepwed for the occasion, sur- charged with his own praise as a professional man.
^ I have no connexion with the editorial department of the paper," remarked the young man, ** otherwise I should be glad if I could serre you."
'^ Oh ! but of course you know the editor, and if you ask the insertion of the paragraph as a fliTonr to yourself, he will put it in at once."
In abort, the auriffc tried erery method before he came to the main point.
^ Two guineas, sir, is the foe," said this incarnation of eunningand quackery, his fingers quiTering in a paroxysm of impatience to dutdi the circulating medium.
On the fee being deposited in his nand, he rang the bell by way of intimation to the serrant to open the door. " Youll take care that the paragraph appears," remarked the quaok, as his patient was in the act of quitting the room.
** inido what I cam sir," returned the other.
* And to-morrow, if possible f*
« III try."
^ Gall on me again in a few days, if your hearing be not improyed ;'' it's only half-a-guinea for a seoond yfiit."
In noticing a sensible and nsefdl little book, entitled iSi)ecUude SBcrets^ we expoeed the tricks of the eye quacks, and need not return to them here. Quacks, like strolling players, generally assume fictitious names. One of them Is noticed, who has changed his name a doien of timee. Quackery, like all other descriptions of fraud, does not once in a hundred times enrich the practJsers, With all their thrift they thriye not, though a few do make great hits; as this one-*-
One of the most ingemons and euooessfU expedients
eyer resorted to with the yiew of practising on the golli' billty of the metropolitan public, was hit upon by a quack, who is stiU aJiye, and liying in great splendour at the West Endi, on the princely fortune he acquired by his well-conducted empiricism. Being of the hum- blest birth and origin, and unacquainted with eyen the most common rudiments of education, he, before com- mencing business, had the tact to employ a person of dissipated habits, who had been regularly trained up to the medical profession, and to whom a few shillings were eyerything, to instruct him how to use a certain number of medical terms and professional phrases. Haying mastered this preliminary task, he engaged, for six months, at so much per week, six persons, some of whom were porters, and others day-labourers, and, as an in- ducement to keep the secret, and skilfoUy to act the part he should allot to them, he held out to them the strong probability of their situations being permanent. These half-dozen persons, not one of whom could read or write, he formed into a Board of Health, to sit daily from ten o'clock till three ; while, during the remainder of the day, they were to ^ make themselyes usefiil" by carrying boards on their shoulders, containing the name and address, and profession of their master ; or distri- buting lilliputian hand-bills, announcing his miraculous medi^ skill in all diseases, and also the foot that his patients should, in all cases of importance, haye the benefit, for a sm^ extra charge, of any adrice of his '^ Board of Health," consisting of the '^ first physicians in Europe." Preyious to this, howeyer, I ought to haye obseryed, he had carefolly tutored the Board how they were indiyiduaUy to act. They were instructed, neyer, on any account, to yenture a remark of their own on any case, or in the presence of any patient, but simply to concur in eyery opinion he expressed, or obseryation he made, either in audible accents, or by the silent but not less expressiye language of a nod of the head. In order to carry out the idea to its greatest practicable extent, and to make the aspect of the Board as imposing as pos- sible, this arch empiric prorided suits of black clothes for them of the first quality, together with a fashionable cane for each. The clothes were doffed and the canes laid aside, in an adjoining room, as soon as the yarious consultations for the day were oyer ; and the ** first physicians in Europe" were obliged to encase themselyes again in their dirty, tattered, and thread-bare apparel, and resume the undignified employment of carrying large boards on their shoulders, and distributing hand-bills. l%e thing took amazingly. Wheneyer a patient waited on the quack, whom iS» latter deemed one who was in circumstances to pay a little in the shi^^e of extra fees for medical adrice, he was inyariably told that his case was one of great importance, and must be referred to the Board of Health. Into the presence of their medical highnesses, the patient was accordingly forthwith usher* ed. There they sat, around a large table, in solemn — aflbctedly solenm— conolaye, leaning on their canes, and looking wondroosly wise and attentiye, wliile their chieftidn was asking the patient questions respecting the nature and manifostations of his malady. They, of course assented to eyerything he adyanced by way of opinion, either as to the case itself or as regajrded the mode of treatment to be adopted. In a short time, the fome of the Board of Health, oyer the water, (for its lo- ddity was on the Surrey side,]|4f the riyer,) soon extended itself for and wide, and patients flocked from all parts of the metropolis to receiye the adrice of half-»-dosen of the ''first physicians in Europe," which I ought not to omit to state, was to be had at a remarkably low rate, considering the usual charges of physicians. The Board existed for many years, and was only dissolyed when the proprietor of the establishment thought fit to retire from business, after haying made a princely fortune by his ingenious quackery.
A living sample is thus described^
There is now liying, in one of the streets leading out of Oxford Street, a consummate quack, who makes expe- riments with great success on public ignorance and cre- dulity, in the capacity of a physician that can cure all
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.
«M« ordintitty-- who prerioiisly appeared in almost nery cmcdTiUe department of medical charlatanism, itwijs fnkmng to confine himself exclnslTely to each psrtieilar depuibnent. He commenced as an eye-doc- tor; kd that woold not do : then he appeared, hut with M greater sacoess, as an aurist : a year or two aAcrw^ be ondertook the cure of the toothache, witet extnotion, or indeed without anything. Still thf spenktkm did not answer. He eyentually tried, vjd ao better fintnne, erery other branch of the medi- al pgftanon; and at last found that to be a nniTersalist, % d«ior who could core eyery disease brought under his wtke, WIS the only way in which he could hope to fill Ui pockets, by guDing the public With each profes- M, this iagoiious empiric changed his name, and also iu nadeace ; in two or three instances, Indeed, he (faaged, if there he propriety in the expression, his mmtry ; lor he suffered his beard to grow into luxuriant mlidioe, and, haring thus acquired something of the fxtond ameet of a foreigner, he represented himself as Uamkn Malletron from Paris.
h a mccceding chapter, Miscellaneons Qnackeiy iiticated; as Quackery in Shoe-blacking, Religion, PoUiihiDg, Piirliainenteering, the Weather, and so OL Hie Sdentifio aad Literary Quack bthos -pm- KBtod it fall length. Connt Fathom was nothing tohfan.
Thin ii a aoted empirio in town at the present mo- aeit, whose quackish practices are so varied and multi* hnm, that it were no easy matter to name a line of k"iauB or pfofession in which he has not at one time ff ite appeared. In seyeral departments of quackery, hiii at^ iistant carrying on a thriring business.
The history of this empiric is an extraordinary one. He WIS hrou^t up to the business of a cobbler, at vrtich be woriced to the satisfoction of those who in- tnned Um with the repairs of their damaged boots and ihHi, Btil he had attained the age of twenty-fiye. He thea gained ; and his soul rising contemporaneously *iih that CTeat, abore his leather and his last, he re- ■ohcd on earning literary renown, and if possible bet- ^ag Us pecuniary circumstances at the same time. ^ the qneatioB suggested itself how was this to be ^ I How was lia«rary distinction, and an improved ■Me of his iBanoee to be achieyed t The embiyo em- fine did not possess a particle of learning, — ^unless the dfohility of reading ordinary English in an ordinary *^7i aad writing a tolenU>le hand, ought to be dignified ^ tte laae. An ingenious idea struck him. He BCMhed 4a reading a number of works on popular sci- oee, and then, haying, by means of a pair of scissors and i^piBtity of paste, doyetailed together the more inter- *^^ aad more easily comprehensible portions of each M, fiffmiog them into a whole. The work thus poptiy manufactured, was carefhUy transcribed by a l^H acquaintance, who could write a superior hand. ^ Utru^ye title was next inyented, and to giye the roter effiect to the title, he prefixed to his name, as ^ aathor, the honorary term ** Professor,*' and ap- Mfe4 to it the initials, ^'F.R.a L.LJ>.," and seye- aiftes of an equally imposing kind. The little worik ^■i a paUisber, and the publisher obtained for it a re- gfotiy sale. The little reputation which ^ The ^fiiunrihaa acquired, by not only stealing other peo- i^ ideas, but their yery words, did not, howeyer, sa- ^ hii aapiia*kns alter literary and sdentifio fame. ^ M the coaapaiatiyely alow process of obtaining a *tte ia the wotid by the publication of books, at all ac- ori with his eacer and impatient anxiety to be consi- jead a man of uterary note. What, then, was to be « W accelerate his progress to the distinction he co- ^^aad to his poesession <rf the means which he oon- 2^*4 that distinction would place at his disposal for ■*^^ his pecuniary condition t — a consummation of ^■A, loui^t to haye already remarked, he neyer lost ■gtiaUs yeammgs after literary and scientific cele- Wty. ffis ideas oB this head preyed him to be a genius *>*iiiMiy koid. Li the course of fire minutes his
fertile brain— fertile, I mean, in the way of inyenting ways and means of bringing himself into notice — ^not only formed a philosophic society which was called by the name of the greatest moral philosopher the world eyer produced, but represented the society as being in actiye operation, and including in the list of its directors and members, a multitude of names, which, though alto- gether unknown to fame, were neyertheless those of per- sons who were members of all the learned and philoso- phical societies in Christendom. The number of initials which was appended to each name, was not only extra- ordinary, but reminded one of the tail of a comet. It was only surprising that the names of gentlemen who could rejoice in being members of such a host of learned bodies, diould haye been wholly unknown to an '^ intel- ligent and discerning public." Yet so it was : nobody had eyer, not eyen by accident, encountered the name of any of these illustrious philosophers; but being unwilling to admit his ignorance of the existence of the attain- ments of such men, eyery person concealed his surprise in his own breast The yery first intimation which the public receiyed of the existence of this imposing associa- tion of lUer<Ui and philosophers, was conyeyed to them in the shape of a report of their proceedings in a morning paper; the Professor himself figuring as the president and principal speaker. With the assistance of the per- son already referred to, who was a young man of some education, and whose pecuniary circumstances, coupled with the utter absence of principle in such matters, ren- dered him the obedient seryant and oonyenient tool of the empiric — the clap-trap report was prepared and sent to the momingjoumal alluded to. But how, it will be asked, did it find its way into the columns of the paper I Why, the empiric's inyentiye powers hit upon a yery in- genious scheme for the purpose. To the report was appended a resolution purporting to haye been carried by deafening acclamations, after most eulogistic speeches by the moyer and seconder, to the eff'ect that Jacob Jud* kins, Esq., the editor of the Morning Intelligencer, had been unanimously appointed honorary member of the
V Society. The distinguished compliment thus paid
to the editor, ensured a ready passport to the entire re- port into the columns of the Intelligencer. Finding the thing thus far eminentiy successful, the Professor or em- piric, assigned weekly meetings to the non-existent So- ciety, at all of which, as a matter of course, he himself was the principal speaker; and on no occasion did he omit to pay some high-fiown compliments to his friend the editor. Week after week did the reports of the proceedings of this distinguished philosophical society appear in the Morning Intelligencer; and the result was that, though no one eyer before heard the name of the Professor or his associates, eyerybody concluded that the former must be some great man, who, in yenfication of the remark of a Greek historian, that the greatest geniuses often lie concealed, had hitherto remained un- known to the world, in consequence of one of those capri- cious freaks in whidi dame Nature (alike regardless of the justice due to the illustrious parties themseWes, and the honour and interests of mankind) octasionally de- lights to indulge herself.
The empiric haying thus procured a publicity for his name which nrast haye satisfied the most yoracious ap- petite for newspaper notoriety, next bethought himself of the way in which he could conyert his celebrity to the best pecuniary account.
This was as dexterously mansged. A meeting of the Society resolved that a tesHmomal should be given to the Professor's merits in the form of plate.
It was fiirther stated, that in order to allow other " firiends of philosophy and admirers of science " wha were not members of the V Society, but might be de- sirous of being allowed to express their sense of the Pro- fessor's services to science, by recording their names on the subscription list; it was, I say, agreed by the So- ciety, that such persons should haye an opportunity of gratifying their feelings by contributing to the testimo- nial f^d. And in order that a good example might be set to all such persons, the members pf the Society — ^no
a
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OP LONDON Llffi.
one of whom, be it erer remembered, bat the Professor himself, had an existence — appended yerj handsome aabscriptions to their respective names. A treasurer was duly appointed to receiye. the money, and to retain it until the Society should determine on the nature of the testimonial to be presented to the Professor. This trea- surer was none other than the quack himself, though of course under a fictitious name. The appointment of a secretary (also the quack himself), followed, and the meet- ing agreed that a lithographed copy of the resolution should be forwarded by tiie secretuy to ^ eyery known friend of science and philosophy in ^igland," with a re- quest that he would giye a practical expression of his sense of the Professoi^s seryices to science, by subscrib- ing to the ftind. Many of the persons to whom the cir- cidars were sent, knowing nothing more of science than of the Professor, and yet proud of the compliment paid to them by the assumption that they were the friends of philosophy and admirers of science, were prompt in for- warding their subscriptions ^ in aid of the ftuid for a
testimonial to Professor ." The subscriptions,
which were yery considerable, being directed to be sent to his lodgings, addressed to an imaginary treasurer, whom he chnstened Henry Blunt, &q. — ^found their way at once, as a matter of course, into the pockets of the Professor.
At ft great dinner, ftttended by many saivanif the plate was of course presented, and the country sub- scribers satisfied with reading learned and eloquent speeches which were never spoken, save in the news- paper ; in which also a Shacabac dinner, consisting of all the delicacies of the season, and the rarest wines, was served up in first-rate style. After quoting these speeches at some length, our author oondudes,
Such was the tenor of the report which appeared next morning in the Morning Intelligencer.
Each subscriber fancied that he was the only person absent; and the only drawback to the gratification with which he read the account of the way in which the aifair passed off, was, that he had not b^n apprized of the dinner, so as that he might have had the pleasure of being present.
But what of the Professor now t Since practising the aboye ingenious and successfiil piece of empiricism, he has appeared before the public in every conceivable ya- liety of character. Two or three years ago, he became an apostle of tee-totalism, and yisited different parts of the country for the purpose of lecturing in fayour of an entire abstinence fSrom spirituous liquors, and on the singularly salubrious qualities of cold water ui its ^ abo- ri|^l " state. This of course was at the expense of the Abstinence Societies; but the supplies haying somehow or other stopped, after seyeral weeks' advocacy of the eause, he suddenly ceased to waste his eloquence on the merits of that cause. For anything he oared to the con- trary, tee-totalism, the moment it frjled to afford him pe- euniary adyantage, may have gone to the dogs— or to any oUier quarter it pleased.
The next eyolution of the Professor, in his character of a quack, was in the capacity of a preacher of the GospeL My readers may startle at this. It is, never- theless, melancholy -though it be, a sober fact. And there is not the slightest inftision of fiuicy in the state- ment I am about to make, namely, that when he had made up his mind to try what could be done in the as- sumed character of a reyerend gentleman, he felt at a loss to decide as to what denomination it would be best fbr him, in a pecuniary point of view, to profess to be- long. He actually had the cool effiontery and the fear- fal mental profligacy, to ask a frnnd of mine, when mak- ing known his ministerial intentions, what he deemed the section of Christians whom it would be most adyisable to oonnect himself with. Curious to learn to what awfbl lengths the empiric was prepared to go, my friend asked him what he thought of appearing as a preacher among the Wesleyan Me&odists t He objected to any connex-
ion with that body, because he could not cond^id tt&Sk them the circumstance of his being no preacher at UlL The peculiar organization of their society, and the rigid superyision obseryed oyer all the movements of their ministers, would render it impossible for him to practise the imposture, without detection, for many weeks. ^ The Baptists, then !" suggested the other. The Pro- fessor had a high respect for the Baptists ; there were many men of great moral worth and undoubted talent among them; but the prejudices in fityour of inlknt bap- tism and sprinkling were too general and too strong to admit of their principles or themselves becoming exten- sively popular. ^ What do you say to the Independents V* The Professor replied to the latter suggestion, that he certainly thought that body preferable to either of the other two which had been named; and accordingly made his election in its fayour. In accordance with this choice he actually forthwith proceeded to engage a chapel, and without any change in his name beyond the prefix of Rev., caused himself to be placarded through a great part of the metropolis as the Rev. A B—- — > minis- ter of the Independent Chapel in T Street. In this
locality, and this character, he continued, however, for only a limited time. He soon made the discovery that there was little chance of his acquiring either money or re|>utation in his capacity of a reverend gentleman, and, therefore, in nine or ten weeks, he abdicated his minis- terial fimctions, forsook the Independent Chapel in
T Street, and reappeared in the newspapers as a
person of high sounding scientific and philosophic attain- ments.
This must have been a shallow, sorry knave. He throve in no walk. We dishonoured Ferdinand Count Fathom by the comparison. His next ap- pearance was as an M.D., the physician to an hos- pital that never existed, in whi(^ capacity he recom- mended another quack's pills. Is there not some one who takes a malicious pleasure in priming or cramming our author at times? or in experiment- ing upon the largeness of his swallow ? There has no doubt been a Ferukm Society, and there are quacks enow in every department^ but his Pro- fBssor out-Herods Herod. Thus is he finally dis- posed of. Nor would it be worth while to follo^w his infamous career, save to put people on their guard against all manner of pseudo-professors.
But what is he doing at the present moment t I can- not answer the question, though I still observe his name figuring in the papers as the ** Professor."
The last part he played, which has come under my notice, was that of a begging letter-writer. The Men- dicity Society haye in their possession a goodly number of his epistles, written in this character. Some of these have come under my obseryation, and are very curious in their way. I shall watch with peculiar interest the fixture moyements of this Protean empiric.
The arts of Begging Impostors occupy a con- siderable portion of the volumes. But these have already been sufficiently exposed by the published reports of the Mendicity Society, and in the news- papers. We have some doubts as to the new and curious facts on this subject, imparted to the author, or picked up by Mm, without, as we ap« prehend, very rigid examination; and in the con- jectural statistics of all such statists, from Col- quhoun downwards, we place no faith whatever. Still many of the strange things told of begging impostors must be grounded on fact, though we are not prepared to go the length of receiving the whole of the following statements without qualification : —
Some of the more successful begging-letter writers keep their clerks, and sport their horses and gigs. This
tlCiHTS AIJD SHADOWS Of tONBOI^ ttm
25
wu Aft Mie witK blind WilUmms, so well known in town mmt jmn ago. It was ascertained at the time, that bit aoaal ineome, from his begging-epistles, aye* raged froii £(00 to £800. He regularly employed two dofki^ at a salary of £80 a^year, in the one case, and £M ii tke atber. He likewise kept his horse and gig^ lad B^ often be seen " showing off" in the most fiMimhk parts of tiie town. He kept his mistress aln^ lad on his death, his principal clerk, Joseph Un- iovood, of whom I shall hare to speak hereaftisr, ac- tially Bained her, regarding the printed (kKsnments and htmim materiilfi of her late " protector " as eqniyalent to a Artane. The other clerk of Williams also after- wirdf wtaWithed a profitable business, on his own ae« eont, ia the begging-letter way; bnt it was not equal to tbt of his Ute employer.
A coamon practice in the begging-letter business is, iora BBMber of impoetors to enter into a sort of part- aenldp together, it being fbund that the trade can ge« lenlly be earned on most successfully that way. In suk «ases, howerer, they do not all '^ share-and-share aliks." The company, if I may so speak, is formed on tkt bnditti priaqiple; in other words, they hare always a bead who acts in the capacity of a general, and all that BOTements or ** operations," as they themselyes phnie it, most be in strict conformity with his instruo- tioes. The late notorious Peter Hill, whose case was rkwght to prominently before the public fifteen or siz- tMB jMEB sfaice, was the head of one of these companies «r ffiagL It was ascertained, beyond all question, at tbt period to which I nfer, that the ayerage amount of vhich the charitable public were daily plundered by the inpositioBS of Peter and his gang, was upwards <^ £20. His own share, after paying all the subordinates, wUi'Mst," as he used to call them, and after making iftdndkn ta expenses in the shape of paper, postage, fe^ WBf not much under £600 a-year.
Of all the begging-letter impostors of whom I haye bend, Peter was unriyalled in the facility and success vith which be could change his personal appearance. Ii the coarse <^ one day he could assume and sustain, «i& adairable effbct, seyen or eight different charac- tai; so that tiiose w^ saw him, and were conyersing with hia, at ten o'clock in the morning, might haye been ia Ui company at twelye, and neyer had the slightest •' lofthefSMrt.
Ihe London police of that day must hare been ■Qeh move easily deceired than their sncoesson. It if wen known that the Mendicity Society lately aptmed the priyate joamal or ledger of a noto- lioQs b^ging letter-writer, which was a great cvnoaty fimn the nature of the entries ; but some ventie wag must haye improved on the hint it liofM, and haye famished Mr. Grant with the fcDowing jeu ^eipr% probably intended for a ^^•line, which he seems to take in sober ear-
Sim of the beggmg-letter writers occasionally make oiD louiks in their journals, in reference to the re- "tt <f their applications. The following is a charac- ^'j^ yeomen of a recent case : — Jm 20v~Addre8sed the Duke of Richmond under wstae of John Smith; case, leg amputated, out of. ^ftr iiz months, and wifb and seyen children stanr- ^ BcMlt, £2. Not amiss, bnt hope to be more suo- «««iixttime. Jmt 25.— Letter to Bishop of London; name, Wil- J^Aadeison; case, licensed clergyman of the Church *J^^|*>m1, but unemployed for four years, and wifi» £|2^>ie weeks ago, leaving fiye motherless children, r?^ w go; too oil a bird to be caught with chaif; ^vy it on apm next week. ^^28^-fry Sir Peter Laurie; case, industrious *•**■», but no employment; liyed on bread and f*'*^ oi^^ days, but no bread, nor anything to eat, ***.hit three days; name, John Laurie. Result, ""^ Wtbe Mendidtj Society, Sir Peter being too
far north to be done; knowing rognes these Scotchmen; there is no gammoning them.
June 30. — Addressed Sir Peter Durham; case, lost a leg and arm in the service; was one of his men on board the ship Pallas; great destitution; not even as much as to get my timber leg repaired, being broken by acci- dent ; name. Jack Scraggs. Result, £5 ; Sir Peter a regular trump; drink his health in a bottle of best Ma- deira; have at him again in a fortnight or so; plenty more cases to be got up; plenty more names to assume.
July 4. — Address Lord Wyndford; name, Samuel Downie ; case, ruined by attachment to Toryism ; have often detected treasonable conspiracies, and been a pro- scribed man by my former acquaintances in conse- quence ; great hater of Reform, which means Revo- lution ; r^y to shed my blood in defence of Church and State. Result, long letter, enclosing half-a-aoye- reign ; miserable work this ; won't pay for consumption of time and paper ; Wyndford a stingy customer ; stingy old boy to deal with; cut the connejdon at once.
July 6. — Letter to Lord Holland ; name, Jonathan Manson ; case, endured for a long series of years a spe- cies of living martyrdom for my zeal for Reform princi- ples ; was intimately acquainted with Muir, Palmer, and the other Scotch Reformers who suffered hi 1794, for their principles ; am now struck with palsy ; wife dyings and six children without a bed to lie on, a rag to coyer them, or a morsel of food qf any kind to put mto their mouths ; most deplorable case altogether; dire necessity that induces to write ; great outrage to feelings. R^ ceiyed £5, with a very compassionate letter; the com- passion may go to the dogs, but the £5 something sub- stantial ; JoUy old cock yet ; long may he live to lean on his crutches ; will go it again ; stick it into him at least once a fortnight.
July 3. — Wrote to Lord Brougham; directed to apply to the Mendicity Society; particularly obliged to lua lordship for his advice, but would have preferred a so- vereign or two ; have no wish to make the acquaintance of these Society gentry ; wonder how his lordship him- self would like their bone-gruel, which they dignify with the name of soup, and to be kept to hard work at the mill to the bargain.
The real impostors are often, however, rognes of great tact, and fertile invention. Our author sug- gests that» as Romance writers, several of them might have made a fortune. If Romance- writing were ** as easy as lying," this might hold. The impositions of common mumpers and street beggars next fall under consideration. They are endless^ and as has been weU known from the days of Beaumont and Fletcher downiirard, they are often most ingenious. The very dogs of the blind beg- gars are as cunning as their masters.
The most orighial trick among the beggars^ which we learn from this book, is committing suicide, by drowning in the Thames in warm weather, and hanging on a lamp-post in winter; a confederate being always at hand to save the ^ un- fortunate man," and of course to make a collection from the humane spectators for his ben^t. From the report of a friend who spent a night in jollifying in a beggars' hotel, our author gives an account ot their usual proceedings, which appears about as authentic as the entries of the letter'- writer quoted above, or as certain witty police reports that occa- sionally appear in the newspapers, or as some of the rare anecdotes found in tiiis work. We are far from imputing want of rincerity to the author, but his credulity is marvellous ; and, perhaps, this nm« plicity is the charm of his books.
Raff Fair furnishes material for a curious chap- ter; and, as comparatively few even of the inhabi-
26
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.
tants of the great metropolis know either of its whereabout or its usages, one that is novel. " And,'* says our authority.
There is not a scene in London, more worthy of being witnessed, than that which Rag Fair exhibits. The place in which the fsdr is held is in the yicinity of Hounds- ditch. It begins at the end of Cutler Street, leading out of Honndsditch, and proceeds about seyenty or eighty feet in an easterward direction. It then embraces a nar- row street, called White's Alley, extending about a hun- dred feet towards the north ; thence it again takes an eastward turn, proceeding in a direct line, and extending as far as Petticoat Lane, where it turns to the north and south. Probably the entire length of the locality graced by the presence of the patrons of Rag Fair, may be nearly a quarter of a mile; while the width of the space it occupies varies with the breadth of the streets and lanes in which it is held. The largest of these lanes is dark and dirty. It is quite an era in its existence to be il- lumed by even the most momentary gleam of sunshine. Any one would find it a perfectly safe speculation to wager any sum his opponent might be pleased to accept, that, for eight consecutiye months of the year — ^namely, from September to May — ^the sun will not show his fisu^e on the payement of the leading street. It is neyer dry. While the dust is flying in aU directions, to the serious inconyenience of the eyes, the throat, and the nostrils, in the other streets and lanes of the metropolis, the centre of this dark dirty street exhibits a Thames in miniature. Let no one suspect me of exaggeration or hyperbole when I say, that, for centuries past, there has been a substance, at least anlde-deep, constituting a compromise between water and mud, in this particular spot
At what particular period Rag Fair was instituted, is a point which none of our metropolitan antiquaries, so far as I know, haye been able to ascertain. That it has existed for centuries is beyond question; there are histo- rical prooft to that effect. It is held eyery day in the week, Saturday and Sunday excepted. The reason why there is no fair on Saturday is, that the Jews, by whom it is chiefly frequented, hold their Sabbath on that day. The reason of its not being held on our Sunday is, that the law, or rather the local authorities, will not allow it. The fair may be said fairly to commence at half-past one. In the summer season, it is kept up, with great spirit, until about six; in winter, the traffic ceases, and the buyers and sellers quit the place of merchandise, when it becomes too dark to inspect the ragged commo- dities in which they deal
The quantity of old clothes in Rag Fair is truly astonishing. It is difficult to imagine whence the articles can all haye come ! One would suppose, the worn-out apparel of tiie whole population of London was exhi- bited in it. In addition to the loads under which the thousands of Jews, men, women, and children, who stand in the market-place, groan, there are tables and forms in front of eyery door and window on either side of the streets, and lanes, and alleys, on which are mountains of old ** do." Of course, as hats, according to the notions that now-a-days preyail in the world, are considered an essential part of one's wardrobe, there is no lack of chofeam in this mercantile region; and what is more, they are in the most perfect hamony with the articles of wooUen manufecture.
The buyers and sellers who eongregate in Rag Fair are thorough men of business. They are persons of few words ; they haye no time for talking. Unlike their brethren in Monmouth Street and HoiyweU Street, who systematically ask three times as much as they will be gM to accept, they ask the lowest price, or within two or three pence of it, in the first instance,
EcBting Houses is a subject on which this author is probably less liable to be deceived than on most others. They are visible ; they speak for them- selves; they may easily be experimented upon. The writer of a little book, which we noticed some years since, «ntitted « The Poor Gentie-
man, or the art of Living in London on a Hun- dred Pounds a-year, and on Fifty Pounds a-year/* fairly exhausted the theme for popular uses; yet the following remarks are worth attention, from ia- cidentally illustrating national character: —
It is a feature in these dining establishments which la worthy of notice, that though, when you so and seat yourself for dinner in them, you may see forty or fifty- persons met on a similar purpose, you can b^ve your meal in as much quietness and peace as if you were the only individual present. Nobody will even pass a look with you, 1^ less stare at you to such a degree as either to deprive the articles you have ordered of all reUsh, or yourself of all stomach. Everybody in these ^ houses scrupulously reduces to practice the popular iigunctiont of ^ Mind your own business." All is perfect quietness and propriety of conduct. There is no conversation go- ing on beyond, it may be, the exchange of a few words, in the shape of whispers, between two or more friends, who may either have gone to the place to dine together, or met Uiere by accident
Several attempts have been made to establish table dlidtes in London, similar to those which are so general in Paris and other large continental towns. All such attempts may be said to have proved failures. It is true, that there are still two or three houses in which table dlidtes are advertised, and to which the public are invited, as if they were flourishing concerns. They are not so. They are attended by very few persons, ajid want that free and easy air, which is one of the prin- cipal elements of the eigoyment afibrded by those on the continent.
The most spirited attempt ever made to establish a table d1i6te in London, was made six or seven years ago, by Mr. Leach, — taihsx of the distinguished humor- ous artist of that name,— then the proprietor of Ander- ton's hdtel, in Fleet Street. There were three dinners every day, at, if I remember rightly, the respective hours of one, three, and five. The number of persons who sat down each day, varied from fifty to one hundred and fifty. I have been present when the number dining ex- ceeded one hundred and forty. Though the price per head was only eighteen pence, the dinner vras most ex- cellent in quality, and ample in quantity. Everything, indeed, was of the very best quality that could be pro- cured. There were the three courses, as at all public dinners : in fiust, the table dlidtes of Mr. Leadi were ia every respect equal to what is to be had on those publio occasions when the ticket is a guinea ; only there was not, of course, any wine or dessert. The expectation, indeed, of the thmg ever being made to answer, was grounded on the supposition, that a very large majoritjr of those who sat down to dinner, would order a given quantity of wine. The event proved how erroneous was the calculation. Not more than one in twenty ** took their wine." They contented themselves with Dr. Wade's favourite beverage, ^ heavy wet." In some cases, in- deed, they acted on the tee-total principle, though tee- totalism was then comparatively unknown. After per- severing In the experiment for seven or eight months, Mr. Leach found himself a loser by the speculation to the extent of several thousand pounds.
The principal Fish, and Butchers^ Meat, and Vegetable Markets, and the Jews and Quakers, famish themes, the latter not much to the purpose, perhaps, but which helpto ekeoutthe requisite num- ber of pages. But there are other topics discussed, for the selection of which the writer deserves great credit. Among these is the relative condition of the different classes of fellow-rationals and fellow- immortals constituting the society of the Great Metropolis. We have already said that we do not place implicit faith in this writer's statistics ; but in tiie following passage, although his figures should be to some extent erroneouB| bis sentiment is thoroughly correct:-*
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.
2T
AH tiie Tftried phases of human life are to be witness- ad in the BetropoUs. The extremes of riches and poverty, of Inxviwu living &nd the want of the necessaries of life, are booriy exhibited in London, in more marked con- trait,periti|»,than in any other place in the world. Little do tlio« is the more fashionable parts of the metropolis, vkiksve been niuaed in the lap of opulence, and been ahvui nrrounded with a provision of the luxuries of £fc; little do they know the deep distress endured by ■yriids of the lower classes in the central and eastern
b woo a emionB and not unimportant exercise to in- jliiit iato the modes and means of living which obtain k dw liii^r and humbler classes of metropolitan so- de^. Of course the expenditure of aristocratic fiunilies vines with the dreumstances and habits of the respec- tivi heads of these fiuniUee; but if I were to express an ifiiioa as to the aTBiage annual e:qpenditure <tf eadi of tk 2000 or 3000 tilled Cunilies who live in London, that oviaion would be» that such average expenditure is ikwt £12/>00. I have often thought that, if the sum fkas yeariy dissipated on the follies and extravagances of one ftmily, w«re jndicionsly distributed among the ftmt daases of ear metropolitan population, how vast vmld be the aggregate amount of happiness of which it would be produetire. Supposing, for example, it were firidod into sums of £12, and that that amount were lim to as maay families as there are £12 in £12,000, tbi bwiArtion would raise no fewer than 1000 fiuailies, tt prei8Bt enduring all the horrors <tfwant,to aoom-
iteofeomparaliTe oomfort
It js painfU to tliink that the aristocracy should feel 10 fittie sympathy with the fate of the suffering poor. If tiny fpoe only to sympathize with those of their fb&6w- CMtans in London, vriio are doomed to struggle vrith IDntioos which almost overmaster their powers of en- dmaoe, they could never bring themselves to expend mk inmense sums in mere folly and display; while tkoeaads, and tens of thousands, of those around them, m nftrfaig all the honors of tiie deepest poverty. I kwv BstaiiQee in wliieh &shionable funilies of the West Bad expend £500 on a single rout. Has it never oo- mred to these persons that,£Ml this sum been judiciously tipoBded on the famishing poor, it would have provided 1 pteateons and heaJthftil meal (assuming the expense of mfa bmI to be sixpence) on no fewer than 20,000, out ^ 4o BOfiW already referred to as rising every mom- wgtnm their beds without knowing where they are to piteire a meal, or whether one is to be procured at all. IwiAtiiis culpable extravagance were confined to Worn moving in aristoeratio circles. It prevails, un- ■|i|ily, te a reiy great extent among persons in the Kddle ranks of life. Many of our metropolitan profes- Meal nen — physicians, lawyers, and others — live at the ate of £3000 or £4000 per annum; while thousands of our c^ menhants and other tradesmen expend twice that ■■. Even some of our literary men, ambitious of aping At BaonerB and expenditure of the great, are in the kikit of giving occasional dinners, the cost of vrhich viQOi from £70 to £1 00. One instance of a dinner lately era by a literary gentleman to a party of his friends, oae under my notice, ike expenses of which amounted to ipwards of £125. Such extravagance is, in any case, Mdt; as well as at variance with right feeling. In fto ease of literary men it is especially so, fer few of ^eft are In ebenmstances to afford it; or if they be this y*»»their peeoniary aflkirs may be in a very different pMition next year. Of all professions, that of literature ii the most precarious. The annals of modem literature iR cfowded with most painfiil illustrations of the truth tfftcMobaervmtions.
The extravagance whioh prevails among the middle wa is not, perhaps, so strikingly seen in anything as ^w costliness of their fhmiture. The late Mr. Hope, y^ of ** Anastasius," fiimished his residence at £he •■••WIS expense, including his pictures, of £300,000. Wlhs men of the present day,not claiming aristocra- i* ««Beiionsy thsre is none so celebrated for the indnl- pott ^an e^^muxve taste in fiimitnrcL as Mr. Broad- W9,te bnwer, m of tiie late Mr. Broadwood^ the
eminent pianoforte maker. The former gentleman, who, it ought to be mentioned, is a bachelor, and only keeps a suit of chambers in the Albany, Burlington Street, is said to have a collection of antique ftirniture in his dravring-room sJone, which cost upv^ards of £15,000.
From a section upon Dress-makers and MiUinert^ As&iskMts, the number of whom is probably rather oVeTTated at 16,000, though it must be very great, we extract the account of their hours of labour, which are excessive, and as incompatible with health as with the ends of a rational, probationary ezistMioe.
The usual hour at which dress-makers' assistants com- mence their labours, is seven in the morning, and tiiat at which they close for the day is eleven at night. One half-hour more elapses before they can retire to rest, and in order to be ready to resume tiieir needle at seven in the morning, they must at least get up bv half-past six. The average amount of time, therefore, which is allotted them for rest, does not exceed seven hours. This would be obviously too little for delicate female frames — es- pecially at the critical time of life at which by &r the largest portion of these girls are apprenticed— even were their labours light and of short duration during the day. But the yery reverse is the painful fBuet : they ply the needle without a moment's intermission, save the twenty or thirty minutes allowed them for eating their meal^ from the time they enter the work-room, until they have quitted it for the night Now, surely it needs no medi- cal genius to tell us,' that to poor young delicate creatures thus worn out day after day fer a succession of monUis, vrith fourteen or fifteen hoturs* unintermitting toil, seven hours' repose is not only inadequate to meet the require- ments of nature, but must be attended with the greatest perils to the constitution. Nor ought I to omit the mention of the fe^st, that the little repose allowed them is deprived of its beneficial eflbcts, by the circumstance of from ten to twelve of their number being compelled to sleep in one small confined bed-room.
But the evil if merely regarded in a physical light, does not end here. In addition to the ii^urious effects of these protracted hours of exhausting employment on the bodily health and spirits of these girls, they are pent up, dnrine the day, in heated rooms, where ike luxury of a moutnfel of pure air is seldom ei^oyed. Their meals, too, which are entirely of a coarse description, and alto- gether unfitted for the subdued and delicate appetite of creatures thus employed in sedentary labour horn mom to night are snatched up vrith an expedition vrhich de- prives their food of half its nutritive qualities. As for digestion, who could expect that process to go on, when the transition from the eating-apartment to the work- table is contemporaneous with the last mouthfiil they have swallowed 1 Air and exercise are things unknown to them; and to aggravate the physical hardships of their condition, they are, in the majority of cases, sub- jected to insults and to irritating language from those in whose employment it is their hard lot to be.
Such is the usual fate of dress-makers' assistants, in what is csdled ''the season," which season usually lasts four or five months of the year, beginning in Feb- ruary and ending in July. There is a second season, of two or three mon^' duration, towards the end of the year, which, though not so oppressive as the first, is still very arduous. On urgent occasions, such as a dravrinf- room, a ball, or other greater display at court, the hard- ships of the poor assistants are increased ten-fold.
One case is mentbned of a young and delioate girl who was not permitted to lay hersdf down on a bed, or even on a sofa, for nine days and nights. But the fact is impossible. If she had not dropt her needle in less than half that time, it must have been because she had fallen down herself. What follows is unhappily less questionable:—
I have myself known young females oome up from the ooontry to servo two years' apprenticeship with a liondov
28
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.
dress-maker, with the view of retaming to their natiye place, and there commencing husiness for themselves. They have come to London with the hloom of health on their cheeks, a flow of animal spirits in their manner ftnd conversation, and a general appearance of life ahont them, which were delightftil to witness; hut before four months had elapsed, I have seen them so pale, emaciated, dispirited, and altered in their appearance, that their own relations could hardly have recognised them.
But the injury done to their health is not the only evil which results from the deplorable situation of dress- makers' assistants. Anxiety to escape firom their bon- dage, disposes them to seize with eagerness on any offer of marriage which may be made to them, without bestow- ing much consideration on the disposition of the party, or his character or circumstances. Hence, innumerable unhappy marriages are the result.
Nor is this all The unhappy condition of young dress- makers renders them an easy prey to the evil designs of the profligate of the other sex. An idle protestation of loye, mendaciously made, is readily belicTed by them, and an immediate deyiation from the paths of firtue fol- lows. By and by this first and solitary aberration from the path of innocence, is succeeded by their entire abandonment to a guilty course of life, as a means of obtainmg a Uyelihood. Those who have deyoted much attention to tJie subject, assure me, that the number of dress-makers' assistants to be found among the wretched creatures who walk the streets, is very great.
Most of the young dress-makers, especially in the West End, have been brought up in circumstances of eomparatiye comfort, and have receiyed a fair, if not a finished, education; but their parents being either dead, or not in a condition to provide for them any longer, they have been placed under the necessity of doing something for their own support, and hence, as the most likely means of earning a subdstence, have made up their minds to acquire a knowledge of dress-making. It need not be added, that, having been thus brought up in easy circumstances, and receiving the advantages of a respectable education, they are thereby rendered peculiarly sensitive to the hardships of their lot. Their delicate frames suffer greatly, and their susceptible feel- ings are keenly wounded where females of more robust constitutions and less cultivated minds, would neither receive injury nor sufibr annoyance. Far preferable to their condition is that of the house-maid or the servant- of-all-work. Hie latter in most instances is not worse off now, than, in all probability, she was during the whole of her life; while she has usually the advantage of comfortable meals, and in all cases the benefit of more or less exercise.
But what perhaps constitutes the greatest aggravation of the miseries of the poor dress-makers' assistant, is the fact of her pitiable condition being unpUUd, The mis- tress for whom she toils day and night, has no commi- seration to expend on her; but, on the contrary, as be- fore remarked, deepens the distress consequent on her monotonous and irksome labours, by the tyrannical con- duct she practises towards her. Nor has the poor creature the most slender share in the sympathies of those for the adornment of whose persons she exercises her taste and vnutes her energies. They think of the dresses which she is engaged in making for them, but have not a thought to bestow upon her. Ah ! little does the high-bom and high-bred beauty, who is to figure in the biUl or at the drawing-room; little does the think, while exulting in the anticipated conquests she will make or the impression she wiU produce, of the jaded condition, the almost broken hearts of the poor delicate creatures, who at that moment are not only vrasting their strength, but it may be their lives, in the prepar- ation of the dress in which she is to appear. ....
A word or two now in reference to the mistresses of these poor creatures. In the minority of eases — espe- cially in the West End — ^mistress milliners and drMS- makers live in great splendour. They rent large and fashionable houses, and fbmish them in a style of great magnificence; have a laige retinue of servants; receive formal visiters; and give expensiTe parties 1 In fSM^ it
were difficult to distinguish from the style of frimitiire and general aspect of their houses, between many of our mistress dress-makers and aristocratic funilies. Need I add that the contrast between their condition and that of their miserable assistants, only aggravates the wretch- edness of the latter t
We are far from certain that all is gold which glitters among the mistresses, bat the sufferings and probable destiny of too many of the assistants are iacis beyond dilute. Our author hopes that those who interest themselves for their black fel- low-creatures willnot continue to oyeriook this most interesting dassof neglected and su£Rsring creatures* A very great number of other young women in London, as in all the greater towns^ obtain a scanty subsistence (for a living it cannot be called) by their needles, as shirt-makers^ collar and stock- makers^ book-stitchers, fur and carpet-bag sewers^ &c. &c. Their condition, though not worse, or not quite so bad, with respect to long hours during any part of the year, is much worse in point of wages than that of the dress-makers. Their average earnings do not exceed six shillings a-week; but their wages are often under that sum. Many of the best and most industrious hands can, at shirt- making, earn only ninepence a-day, so low is the rate of remuneration for this article. Those that work at furs earn rather more, but their work fails in summer. The utmost that is assumed as the average weekly gains of these young women, when the best and worst trades are taken together, is eight shillings ; yet we cannot see how that is made out,ifthe previous statementsare correct The best paid are the bookfolders and stitchers in certain large establishments, some of whom earn ten shil- lings weekly. This writer's opinion on one point connected with the condition of these girls^ and of others employed in a similar way, is not only cha- ritable, but, we believe, just ; and we cite it the more gladly, that we have seen other late pretended statistical works representing nearly this entire class of young women as corrupted, and as pro- curing dress by illegitimate means. In noticing the extent to whid^ they generally indulge in showy dress, he observes : —
To me it appears that in most oases the drcumstaneo may be accounted for from the &ct of their living with theur parents or near relations, who lodge and board them either gratuitously, or for a mere ti^;