CHAPTER XV.

The next morning Helen was very ill--so ill that, shortly after

rising, she was forced to creep back to bed. Her frame shivered--her

eyes were heavy--her hand burned like fire. Fever had set in.

Perhaps she might have caught cold on the bridge--perhaps her

emotions had proved too much for her frame. Leonard, in great

alarm, called on the nearest apothecary. The apothecary looked

grave, and said there was danger. And danger soon declared

itself--Helen became delirious. For several days she lay in this

state, between life and death. Leonard then felt that all the

sorrows of earth are light, compared with the fear of losing what we

love. How valueless the envied laurel seemed beside the dying rose.

Thanks, perhaps, more to his heed and tending than to medical

skill, she recovered sense at last--immediate peril was over.

But she was very weak and reduced--her ultimate recovery

doubtful--convalescence, at best, likely to be very slow.

But when she learned how long she had been thus ill, she looked

anxiously at Leonard's face as he bent over her, and faltered

forth--"Give me my work; I am strong enough for that now--it would

amuse me."

Leonard burst into tears.

Alas! he had no work himself; all their joint money had melted away;

the apothecary was not like good Dr Morgan: the medicines were to

be paid for, and the rent. Two days before, Leonard had pawned

Riccabocca's watch; and when the last shilling thus raised was gone,

how should he support Helen? Nevertheless he conquered his tears,

and assured her that he had employment; and that so earnestly that

she believed him, and sank into soft sleep. He listened to her

breathing, kissed her forehead, and left the room. He turned into

his own neigbouring garret, and, leaning his face on his hands,

collected all his thoughts.

He must be a beggar at last. He must write to Mr Dale for money--Mr

Dale, too, who knew the secret of his birth. He would rather have

begged of a stranger--it seemed to add a new dishonour to his

mother's memory for the child to beg of one who was acquainted with

her shame. Had he himself been the only one to want and to starve,

he would have sunk inch by inch into the grave of famine, before he

would have so subdued his pride. But Helen, there on that bed--Helen

needing, for weeks perhaps, all support, and illness making luxuries

themselves like necessaries! Beg he must. And when he so resolved,

had you but seen the proud bitter soul he conquered, you would

have said--"This which he thinks is degradation--this is heroism.

Oh strange human heart!--no epic ever written achieves the Sublime

and the Beautiful which are graven, unread by human eye, in thy

secret leaves." Of whom else should he beg? His mother had nothing,

Riccabocca was poor, and the stately Violante, who had exclaimed,

"Would that I were a man!"--he could not endure the thought that she

should pity him, and despise. The Avenels! No--thrice No. He drew

towards him hastily ink and paper, and wrote rapid lines, that were

wrung from him as from the bleeding strings of life.

But the hour for the post had passed--the letter must wait till

the next day; and three days at least would elapse before he

could receive an answer. He left the letter on the table, and,

stifling as for air, went forth. He crossed the bridge--he passed

on mechanically--and was borne along by a crowd pressing towards

the doors of Parliament. A debate that excited popular interest

was fixed for that evening, and many bystanders collected in the

street to see the members pass to and fro, or hear what speakers had

yet risen to take part in the debate, or try to get orders for the

gallery.

He halted amidst these loiterers, with no interest, indeed, in

common with them, but looking over their heads abstractedly towards

the tall Funeral Abbey--Imperial Golgotha of Poets, and Chiefs, and

Kings.

Suddenly his attention was diverted to those around by the sound of

a name--displeasingly known to him. "How are you, Randal Leslie?

coming to hear the debate?" said a member who was passing through

the street.

"Yes; Mr Egerton promised to get me under the gallery. He is to

speak himself to-night, and I have never heard him. As you are going

into the House, will you remind him?"

"I can't now, for he is speaking already--and well too. I hurried

from the Athenæum, where I was dining, on purpose to be in time, as

I heard that his speech was making a great effect."

"This is very unlucky," said Randal. "I had no idea he would speak

so early."

"M---- brought him up by a direct personal attack. But follow me;

perhaps I can get you into the House; and a man like you, Leslie,

of whom we expect great things some day, I can tell you, should not

miss any such opportunity of knowing what this House of ours is on a

field night. Come on!"

The member hurried towards the door; and as Randal followed him,

a bystander cried--"That is the young man who wrote the famous

pamphlet--Egerton's relation."

"Oh, indeed!" said another. "Clever man, Egerton--I am waiting for

him."

"So am I."

"Why, you are not a constituent, as I am."

"No; but he has been very kind to my nephew, and I must thank him.

You are a constituent--he is an honour to your town."

"So he is: Enlightened man!"

"And so generous!"

"Brings forward really good measures," quoth the politician.

"And clever young men," said the uncle.

Therewith one or two others joined in the praise of Audley Egerton,

and many anecdotes of his liberality were told.

Leonard listened at first listlessly, at last with thoughtful

attention. He had heard Burley, too, speak highly of this generous

statesman, who, without pretending to genius himself, appreciated

it in others. He suddenly remembered, too, that Egerton was

half-brother to the Squire. Vague notions of some appeal to this

eminent person, not for charity, but employ to his mind, gleamed

across him--inexperienced boy that he yet was! And, while thus

meditating, the door of the House opened, and out came Audley

Egerton himself. A partial cheering, followed by a general murmur,

apprised Leonard of the presence of the popular statesman. Egerton

was caught hold of by some five or six persons in succession; a

shake of the hand, a nod, a brief whispered word or two, sufficed

the practised member for graceful escape; and soon, free from the

crowd, his tall erect figure passed on, and turned towards the

bridge. He paused at the angle and took out his watch, looking at it

by the lamp-light.

"Harley will be here soon," he muttered--"he is always punctual; and

now that I have spoken, I can give him an hour or so. That is well."

As he replaced his watch in his pocket, and re-buttoned his coat

over his firm broad chest, he lifted his eyes, and saw a young man

standing before him.

"Do you want me?" asked the statesman, with the direct brevity of

his practical character.

"Mr Egerton," said the young man, with a voice that slightly

trembled, and yet was manly amidst emotion, "you have a great name,

and great power--I stand here in these streets of London without

a friend, and without employ. I believe that I have it in me to

do some nobler work than that of bodily labour, had I but one

friend--one opening for my thoughts. And now I have said this, I

scarcely know how, or why, but from despair, and the sudden impulse

which that despair took from the praise that follows your success, I

have nothing more to add."

Audley Egerton was silent for a moment, struck by the tone and

address of the stranger; but the consummate and wary man of the

world, accustomed to all manner of strange applications, and all

varieties of imposture, quickly recovered from a passing and slight

effect.

"Are you a native of ----?" (naming the town he represented as

member.)

"No, sir."

"Well, young man, I am very sorry for you; but the good sense

you must possess (for I judge of that by the education you have

evidently received) must tell you that a public man, whatever be his

patronage, has it too fully absorbed by claimants who have a right

to demand it, to be able to listen to strangers."

He paused a moment, and, as Leonard stood silent, added, with more

kindness than most public men so accosted would have showed--

"You say you are friendless--poor fellow. In early life that happens

to many of us, who find friends enough before the close. Be honest,

and well-conducted; lean on yourself, not on strangers; work with

the body if you can't with the mind; and, believe me, that advice is

all I can give you, unless this trifle,"--and the minister held out

a crown piece.

Leonard bowed, shook his head sadly, and walked away. Egerton looked

after him with a slight pang.

"Pooh!" said he to himself, "there must be thousands in the same

state in these streets of London. I cannot redress the necessities

of civilisation. Well educated! It is not from ignorance henceforth

that society will suffer--it is from over-educating the hungry

thousands who, thus unfitted for manual toil, and with no career for

mental, will some day or other stand like that boy in our streets,

and puzzle wiser ministers than I am."

As Egerton thus mused, and passed on to the bridge, a bugle-horn

rang merrily from the box of a gay four-in-hand. A drag-coach with

superb blood-horses rattled over the causeway, and in the driver

Egerton recognised his nephew--Frank Hazeldean.

The young Guardsman was returning, with a lively party of men, from

dining at Greenwich; and the careless laughter of these children of

pleasure floated far over the still river.

It vexed the ear of the careworn statesman--sad, perhaps, with all

his greatness, lonely amidst all his crowd of friends. It reminded

him, perhaps, of his own youth, when such parties and companionships

were familiar to him, though through them all he bore an ambitious

aspiring soul--"_Le jeu, vaut-il la chandelle?_" said he, shrugging

his shoulders.

The coach rolled rapidly past Leonard, as he stood leaning against

the corner of the bridge, and the mire of the kennel splashed over

him from the hoofs of the fiery horses. The laughter smote on his

ear more discordantly than on the minister's, but it begot no envy.

"Life is a dark riddle," said he, smiting his breast.

And he walked slowly on, gained the recess where he had stood

several nights before with Helen; and dizzy with want of food, and

worn out for want of sleep, he sank down into the dark corner; while

the river that rolled under the arch of stone muttered dirge-like

in his ear;--as under the social key-stone wails and rolls on for

ever the mystery of Human Discontent. Take comfort, O Thinker by the

stream! 'Tis the river that founded and gave pomp to the city; and

without the discontent, where were progress--what were Man? Take

comfort, O THINKER! where ever the stream over which thou bendest,

or beside which thou sinkest, weary and desolate, frets the arch

that supports thee;--never dream that, by destroying the bridge,

thou canst silence the moan of the wave!

DISFRANCHISEMENT OF THE BOROUGHS.

TO WALTER BINKIE, ESQ., PROVOST OF DREEPDAILY.

MY DEAR PROVOST,--In the course of your communings with nature on

the uplands of Dreepdaily, you must doubtless have observed that

the advent of a storm is usually preceded by the appearance of a

flight of seamaws, who, by their discordant screams, give notice of

the approaching change of weather. For some time past it has been

the opinion of those who are in the habit of watching the political

horizon, that we should do well to prepare ourselves for a squall,

and already the premonitory symptoms are distinctly audible. The

Liberal press, headed by the _Times_, is clamorous for some sweeping

change in the method of Parliamentary representation; and Lord John

Russell, as you are well aware, proposes in the course of next

Session to take up the subject. This is no mere _brutum fulmen_,

or dodge to secure a little temporary popularity--it is a distinct

party move for a very intelligible purpose; and is fraught, I

think, with much danger and injustice to many of the constituencies

which are now intrusted with the right of franchise. As you, my

dear Provost, are a Liberal both by principle and profession,

and moreover chief magistrate of a very old Scottish burgh, your

opinion upon this matter must have great weight in determining the

judgment of others; and, therefore, you will not, I trust, consider

it too great a liberty, if, at this dull season of the year, I call

your attention to one or two points which appear well worthy of

consideration.

In the first place, I think you will admit that extensive organic

changes in the Constitution ought never to be attempted except in

cases of strong necessity. The real interests of the country are

never promoted by internal political agitation, which unsettles

men's minds, is injurious to regular industry, and too often leaves

behind it the seeds of jealousy and discord between different

classes of the community, ready on some future occasion to burst

into noxious existence. You would not, I think, wish to see annually

renewed that sort of strife which characterised the era of the

Reform Bill. I venture to pass no opinion whatever on the abstract

merits of that measure. I accept it as a fact, just as I accept

other changes in the Constitution of this country which took place

before I was born; and I hope I shall ever comport myself as a loyal

and independent elector. But I am sure you have far too lively

a recollection of the ferment which that event created, to wish

to see it renewed, without at least some urgent cause. You were

consistently anxious for the suppression of rotten boroughs, and for

the enlargement of the constituency upon a broad and popular basis;

and you considered that the advantages to be gained by the adoption

of the new system, justified the social risks which were incurred in

the endeavour to supersede the old one. I do not say that you were

wrong in this. The agitation for Parliamentary Reform had been going

on for a great number of years; the voice of the majority of the

country was undeniably in your favour, and you finally carried your

point. Still, in consequence of that struggle, years elapsed before

the heart-burnings and jealousies which were occasioned by it were

allayed. Even now it is not uncommon to hear the reminiscences of

the Reform Bill appealed to on the hustings by candidates who have

little else to say for themselves by way of personal recommendation.

A most ludicrous instance of this occurred very lately in the case

of a young gentleman, who, being desirous of Parliamentary honours,

actually requested the support of the electors on the ground that

his father or grandfather--I forget which--had voted for the Reform

Bill; a ceremony which he could not very well have performed in

his own person, as at that time he had not been released from

the bondage of swaddling-clothes! I need hardly add that he was

rejected; but the anecdote is curious and instructive.

In a country such as this, changes must be looked for in the course

of years. One system dies out, or becomes unpopular, and is replaced

by a new one. But I cannot charge my memory with any historical

instance where a great change was attempted without some powerful

or cogent reason. Still less can I recollect any great change being

proposed, unless a large and powerful section of the community had

unequivocally declared in its favour. The reason of this is quite

obvious. The middle classes of Great Britain, however liberal they

may be in their sentiments, have a just horror of revolutions. They

know very well that organic changes are never effected without

enormous loss and individual deprivation, and they will not move

unless they are assured that the value of the object to be gained is

commensurate with the extent of the sacrifice. In defence of their

liberties, when these are attacked, the British people are ever

ready to stand forward; but I mistake them much, if they will at any

time allow themselves to be made the tools of a faction. The attempt

to get up organic changes for the sole purpose of perpetuating the

existence of a particular Ministry, or of maintaining the supremacy

of a particular party, is a new feature in our history. It is an

experiment which the nation ought not to tolerate for a single

moment; and which I am satisfied it will not tolerate, when the

schemes of its authors are laid bare.

I believe, Provost, I am right in assuming that there has been no

decided movement in favour of a New Parliamentary Reform Bill,

either in Dreepdaily or in any of the other burghs with which you

are connected. The electors are well satisfied with the operation of

the ten-pound clause, which excludes from the franchise no man of

decent ability and industry, whilst it secures property from those

direct inroads which would be the inevitable result of a system of

universal suffrage. Also, I suppose, you are reasonably indifferent

on the subjects of Vote by Ballot and Triennial Parliaments, and

that you view the idea of annual ones with undisguised reprobation.

Difference of opinion undoubtedly may exist on some of these points:

an eight-pound qualification may have its advocates, and the right

of secret voting may be convenient for members of the clique; but,

on the whole, you are satisfied with matters as they are; and,

certainly, I do not see that you have any grievance to complain of.

If I were a member of the Liberal party, I should be very sorry to

see any change of the representation made in Scotland. Just observe

how the matter stands. At the commencement of the present year the

whole representation of the Scottish burghs was in the hands of the

Liberal party. Since then, it is true, Falkirk has changed sides;

but you are still remarkably well off; and I think that out of

thirty county members, eighteen may be set down as supporters of

the Free-trade policy. Remember, I do not guarantee the continuance

of these proportions: I wish you simply to observe how you stand at

present, under the working of your own Reform Bill; and really it

appears to me that nothing could be more satisfactory. The Liberal

who wishes to have more men of his own kidney from Scotland must

indeed be an unconscionable glutton; and if, in the face of these

facts, he asks for a reform in the representation, I cannot set him

down as other than a consummate ass. He must needs admit that the

system has worked well. Scotland sends to the support of the Whig

Ministry, and the maintenance of progressive opinions, a brilliant

phalanx of senators; amongst whom we point, with justifiable pride,

to the distinguished names of Anderson, Bouverie, Ewart, Hume,

Smith, M'Taggart, and M'Gregor. Are these gentlemen not liberal

enough for the wants of the present age? Why, unless I am most

egregiously mistaken--and not I only, but the whole of the Liberal

press in Scotland--they are generally regarded as decidedly ahead

even of my Lord John Russell. Why, then, should your representation

be reformed, while it bears such admirable fruit? With such a

growth of golden pippins on its boughs, would it not be madness

to cut down the tree, on the mere chance of another arising from

the stump, more especially when you cannot hope to gather from it

a more abundant harvest? I am quite sure, Provost, that you agree

with me in this. You have nothing to gain, but possibly a good deal

to lose, by any alteration which may be made; and therefore it is,

I presume, that in this part of the world not the slightest wish

has been manifested for a radical change of the system. That very

conceited and shallow individual, Sir Joshua Walmsley, made not

long ago a kind of agitating tour through Scotland, for the purpose

of getting up the steam; but except from a few unhappy Chartists,

whose sentiments on the subject of property are identically the same

with those professed by the gentlemen who plundered the Glasgow

tradesmen's shops in 1848, he met with no manner of encouragement.

The electors laughed in the face of this ridiculous caricature of

Peter the Hermit, and advised him, instead of exposing his ignorance

in the north, to go back to Bolton and occupy himself with his own

affairs.

This much I have said touching the necessity or call for a

new Reform Bill, which is likely enough to involve us, for a

considerable period at least, in unfortunate political strife. I

have put it to you as a Liberal, but at the same time as a man of

common sense and honesty, whether there are any circumstances,

under your knowledge, which can justify such an attempt; and in

the absence of these, you cannot but admit that such an experiment

is eminently dangerous at the present time, and ought to be

strongly discountenanced by all men, whatever may be their kind

of political opinions. I speak now without any reference whatever

to the details. It may certainly be possible to discover a better

system of representation than that which at present exists. I never

regarded Lord John Russell as the living incarnation of Minerva,

nor can I consider any measure originated by him as conveying an

assurance that the highest amount of human wisdom has been exhausted

in its preparation. But what I do say is this, that in the absence

of anything like general demand, and failing the allegation of

any marked grievance to be redressed, no Ministry is entitled to

propose an extensive or organic change in the representation of the

country; and the men who shall venture upon such a step must render

themselves liable to the imputation of being actuated by other

motives than regard to the public welfare.

You will, however, be slow to believe that Lord John Russell is

moving in this matter without some special reason. In this you

are perfectly right. He has a reason, and a very cogent one, but

not such a reason as you, if you are truly a Liberal, and not a

mere partisan, can accept. I presume it is the wish of the Liberal

party--at least it used to be their watchword--that public opinion

in this country is not to be slighted or suppressed. With the view

of giving full effect to that public opinion, not of securing the

supremacy of this or that political alliance, the Reform Act was

framed; it being the declared object and intention of its founders

that a full, fair, and free representation should be secured to the

people of this country. The property qualification was fixed at a

low rate; the balance of power as between counties and boroughs

was carefully adjusted; and every precaution was taken--at least

so we were told at the time--that no one great interest of the

State should be allowed unduly to predominate over another. Many,

however, were of opinion at the time, and have since seen no reason

to alter it, that the adjustment then made, as between counties and

boroughs, was by no means equitable, and that an undue share in the

representation was given to the latter, more especially in England.

That, you will observe, was a Conservative, not a Liberal objection;

and it was over-ruled. Well, then, did the Representation, as fixed

by the Reform Bill, fulfil its primary condition? You thought so;

and so did my Lord John Russell, until some twelve months ago, when

a new light dawned upon him. That light has since increased in

intensity, and he now sees his way, clearly enough, to a new organic

measure. Why is this? Simply, my dear Provost, because the English

boroughs will no longer support him in his bungling legislation, or

countenance his unnational policy!

Public opinion, as represented through the operation of the Reform

Act, is no longer favourable to Lord John Russell. The result of

recent elections, in places which were formerly considered as

the strongholds of Whiggery, have demonstrated to him that the

Free-trade policy, to which he is irretrievably pledged, has become

obnoxious to the bulk of the electors, and that they will no longer

accord their support to any Ministry which is bent upon depressing

British labour and sapping the foundations of national prosperity.

So Lord John Russell, finding himself in this position, that he must

either get rid of public opinion or resign his place, sets about

the concoction of a new Reform Bill, by means of which he hopes to

swamp the present electoral body! This is Whig liberty in its pure

and original form. It implies, of course, that the Reform Bill did

not give a full, fair, and free representation to the country, else

there can be no excuse for altering its provisions. If we really

have a fair representation; and if, notwithstanding, the majority of

the electors are convinced that Free Trade is not for their benefit,

it does appear to me a most monstrous thing that they are to be

coerced into receiving it by the infusion of a new element into

the Constitution, or a forcible change in the distribution of the

electoral power, to suit the commercial views which are in favour

with the Whig party. It is, in short, a most circuitous method of

exercising despotic power; and I, for one, having the interests of

the country at heart, would much prefer the institution at once of a

pure despotism, and submit to be ruled and taxed henceforward at the

sweet will of the scion of the house of Russell.

I do not know what your individual sentiments may be on the subject

of Free Trade; but whether you are for it or against it, my argument

remains the same. It is essentially a question for the solution of

the electoral body; and if the Whigs are right in their averment

that its operation hitherto has been attended with marked success,

and has even transcended the expectation of its promoters, you may

rely upon it that there is no power in the British Empire which

can overthrow it. No Protectionist ravings can damage a system

which has been productive of real advantage to the great bulk of

the people. But if, on the contrary, it is a bad system, is it to

be endured that any man or body of men shall attempt to perpetuate

it against the will of the majority of the electors, by a change

in the representation of the country? I ask you this as a Liberal.

Without having any undue diffidence in the soundness of your own

judgment, I presume you do not, like his Holiness the Pope, consider

yourself infallible, or entitled to coerce others who may differ

from you in opinion. Yet this is precisely what Lord John Russell is

now attempting to do; and I warn you and others who are similarly

situated, to be wise in time, and to take care lest, under the

operation of this new Reform Bill, you are not stripped of that

political power and those political privileges which at present you

enjoy.

Don't suppose that I am speaking rashly or without consideration.

All I know touching this new Reform Bill, is derived from the

arguments and proposals which have been advanced and made by the

Liberal press in consequence of the late indications of public

feeling, as manifested by the result of recent elections. It

is rather remarkable that we heard few or no proposals for an

alteration in the electoral system, until it became apparent

that the voice of the boroughs could no longer be depended on

for the maintenance of the present commercial policy. You may

recollect that the earliest of the victories which were achieved

by the Protectionists, with respect to vacant seats in the House

of Commons, were treated lightly by their opponents as mere

casualties; but when borough after borough deliberately renounced

its adherence to the cause of the League, and, not unfrequently

under circumstances of very marked significance, declared openly in

favour of Protection, the matter became serious. It was _then_, and

then only, that we heard the necessity for some new and sweeping

change in the representation of this country broadly asserted;

and, singularly enough, the advocates of that change do not

attempt to disguise their motives. They do not venture to say that

the intelligence of the country is not adequately represented at

present--what they complain of is, that the intelligence of the

country is becoming every day more hostile to their commercial

theories. In short, they want to get rid of that intelligence, and

must get rid of it speedily, unless their system is to crumble to

pieces. Such is their aim and declared object; and if you entertain

any doubts on the matter, I beg leave to refer you to the recorded

sentiments of the leading Ministerial and Free-trade organ--the

_Times_. It is always instructive to notice the hints of the

Thunderer. The writers in that journal are fully alive to the nature

of the coming crisis. They have been long aware of the reaction

which has taken place throughout the country on the subject of

Free Trade, and they recognise distinctly the peril in which their

favourite principle is placed, if some violent means are not used to

counteract the conviction of the electoral body. They see that, in

the event of a general election, the constituencies of the Empire

are not likely to return a verdict hostile to the domestic interests

of the country. They have watched with careful and anxious eyes the

turning tide of opinion; and they can devise no means of arresting

it, without having recourse to that peculiar mode of manipulation,

which is dignified by the name of Burking. Let us hear what they say

so late as the 21st of July last.

"With such a prospect before us, with unknown struggles and

unprecedented collisions within the bounds of possibility,

there is only one resource, and we must say that Her Majesty's

present advisers will be answerable for the consequences if they

do not adopt it. They must lay the foundation of an appeal to

the people with a large and liberal measure of Parliamentary

reform. It is high time that this great country should cease to

quake and to quail at the decisions of stupid and corrupt little

constituencies, of whom, as in the case before us, it would take

thirty to make one metropolitan borough. The great question

always before the nation in one shape or another is--whether

_the people_ are as happy as laws can make them? To what sort of

constituencies shall we appeal for the answer to this question?

To Harwich with its population of 3370; to St Albans with its

population of 6246; to Scarborough with its population of 9953;

to Knaresborough with its population of 5382; and to a score

other places still more insignificant? Or shall we insist on the

appeal being made to much larger bodies? The average population

of boroughs and counties is more than 60,000. Is it not high

time to require that no single borough shall fall below half or

a third of that number?"

The meaning of this is clear enough. It points, if not to the

absolute annihilation, most certainly to the concretion of the

smaller boroughs throughout England--to an entire remarshalling of

the electoral ranks--and, above all, to an enormous increase in the

representation of the larger cities. In this way, you see, local

interests will be made almost entirely to disappear; and London

alone will secure almost as many representatives in Parliament

as are at the present time returned for the whole kingdom of

Scotland. Now, I confess to you, Provost, that I do not feel greatly

exhilarated at the prospect of any such change. I believe that the

prosperity of Great Britain depends upon the maintenance of many

interests, and I cannot see how that can be secured if we are to

deliver over the whole political power to the masses congregated

within the towns. Moreover, I would very humbly remark, that past

experience is little calculated to increase the measure of our

faith in the wisdom or judgment of large constituencies. I may be

wrong in my estimate of the talent and abilities of the several

honourable members who at present sit for London and the adjacent

districts; but, if so, I am only one out of many who labour under a

similar delusion. We are told by the _Times_ to look to Marylebone

as an example of a large and enlightened constituency. I obey

the mandate; and on referring to the Parliamentary Companion, I

find that Marylebone is represented by Lord Dudley Stuart and Sir

Benjamin Hall. That fact does not, in my humble opinion, furnish a

conclusive argument in favour of large constituencies. As I wish to

avoid the Jew question, I shall say nothing about Baron Rothschild;

but passing over to the Tower Hamlets, I find them in possession of

Thomson and Clay; Lambeth rejoicing in d'Eyncourt and Williams; and

Southwark in Humphrey and Molesworth. Capable senators though these

may be, I should not like to see a Parliament composed entirely

of men of their kidney; nor do I think that they afford undoubted

materials for the construction of a new Cabinet.

But perhaps I am undervaluing the abilities of these gentlemen;

perhaps I am doing injustice to the discretion and wisdom of the

metropolitan constituencies. Anxious to avoid any such imputation,

I shall again invoke the assistance of the _Times_, whom I now cite

as a witness, and a very powerful one, upon my side of the question.

Let us hear the Thunderer on the subject of these same metropolitan

constituencies, just twelve months ago, before Scarborough and

Knaresborough had disgraced themselves by returning Protectionists

to Parliament. I quote from a leader in the _Times_ of 8th August

1850, referring to the Lambeth election, when Mr Williams was

returned.

"When it was proposed some twenty years ago to extend the

franchise to the metropolitan boroughs, the presumption was,

that the quality of the representatives would bear something

like a proportion to the importance of the constituencies

called into play. In other words, if the political axioms from

which the principle of an extended representation is deduced

have any foundation in reality, it should follow that the most

numerous and most intelligent bodies of electors would return

to Parliament members of the highest mark for character and

capacity. Now, looking at the condition of the metropolitan

representation as it stands at present, or as it has stood any

time since the passing of the Reform Bill, has this expectation

been fulfilled? Lord John Russell, the First Minister of the

Crown, sits, indeed, as member for the city of London, and so

far it is well. Whatever difference of opinion may exist as to

the noble lord's capacity for government, or whatever may be the

views of this or that political party, it is beyond all dispute

that, in such a case as this, there is dignity and fitness in

the relation between the member and the constituency. But,

setting aside this one solitary instance, with what metropolitan

borough is the name of any very eminent Englishman associated at

the present time? It is of course as contrary to our inclination

as it would be unnecessary for the purposes of the argument, to

quote this or that man's name as an actual illustration of the

failure of a system, or of the decadence of a constituency. We

would, however, without any invidious or offensive personality,

invite attention to the present list of metropolitan members,

and ask what name is to be found among them, with the single

exception we have named, which is borne by a man with a shadow

of a pretension to be reckoned as among the leading Englishmen

of the age?"

You see, Provost, I am by no means singular in my estimate of the

quality of the metropolitan representatives. The _Times_ is with

me, or was with me twelve months ago; and I suppose it will hardly

be averred that, since that time, any enormous increase of wisdom

or of ability has been manifested by the gentlemen referred to.

But there is rather more than this. In the article from which I am

quoting, the writer does not confine his strictures simply to the

metropolitan boroughs. He goes a great deal further, for he attacks

large constituencies in the mass, and points out very well and

forcibly the evils which must inevitably follow should these obtain

an accession to their power. Read, mark, and perpend the following

paragraphs, and then reconcile their tenor--if you can--with the

later proposals from the same quarter for the general suppression of

small constituencies, and the establishment of larger tribunals of

public opinion.

"Lambeth, then, on the occasion of the present election, is

likely to become another illustration of the downward tendencies

of the metropolitan constituencies. We use the word 'tendency'

advisedly, for matters are worse than they have been, and we

can perceive no symptom of a turning tide. Let us leave the

names of individuals aside, and simply consider the metropolitan

members as a body, and what is their main employment in the

House of Commons? _Is it not mainly to represent the selfish

interests and blind prejudices of the less patriotic or less

enlightened portion of their constituents whenever any change

is proposed manifestly for the public benefit?_ Looking at

their votes, one would suppose a metropolitan member to be

rather a Parliamentary agent of the drovers, and sextons, and

undertakers, than a representative of one of the most important

constituencies in the kingdom. Is this downward progress of

the metropolitan representation to remain unchanged? Will it

be extended to other constituencies as soon as they shall be

brought under conditions analogous to those under which the

metropolitan electors exercise the franchise? The question is of

no small interest. Whether the fault be with the electors, or

with those who should have the nerve to come forward and demand

their suffrages, matters not for the purposes of the argument.

The fact remains unaltered. Supposing England throughout its

area were represented as the various boroughs of the metropolis

are represented at the present time, what would be the effect?

That is the point for consideration. It may well be that men

of higher character, and of more distinguished intellectual

qualifications, would readily attract the sympathies and secure

the votes of these constituencies; but what does their absence

prove? _Simply that the same feeling of unwillingness to face

large electoral bodies, which is said to prevail in the United

States, is gradually rising up in this country._ On the other

side of the Atlantic, we are told by all who know the country

best, that the most distinguished citizens shrink from stepping

forward on the arena of public life, lest they be made the mark

for calumny and abuse. It would require more space than we can

devote to the subject to point out the correlative shortcomings

of the constituencies and the candidates; but, leaving these

aside, _we cannot but arrive at the conclusion that there is

something in the constitution of these great electoral masses

which renders a peaceful majority little better than a passive

instrument in the hands of a turbulent minority_, and affords an

explanation of the fact that such a person as Mr Williams should

aspire to represent the borough of Lambeth."

What do you think of that, Provost, by way of an argument in favour

of large constituencies? I agree with every word of it. I believe,

in common with the eloquent writer, that matters are growing worse

instead of better, and that there is something radically wrong in

the constitution of these great electoral masses. I believe that

they do not represent the real intelligence of the electors, and

that they are liable to all those objections which are here so well

and forcibly urged. It is not necessary to travel quite so far

as London for an illustration. Look at Glasgow. Have the twelve

thousand and odd electors of that great commercial and manufacturing

city covered themselves with undying glory by their choice of their

present representatives? Is the intelligence of the first commercial

city in Scotland really embodied in the person of Mr M'Gregor? I

should be very loth to think so. Far be it from me to impugn the

propriety of any particular choice, or to speculate upon coming

events; but I cannot help wondering whether, in the event of the

suppression of some of the smaller burghs, and the transference of

their power to the larger cities, it may come to pass that the city

of St Mungo shall be represented by the wisdom of six M'Gregors? I

repeat, that I wish to say nothing in disparagement of large urban

constituencies, or of their choice in any one particular case--I

simply desire to draw your attention to the fact, that we are not

indebted to such constituencies for returning the men who, by common

consent, are admitted to be the most valuable members, in point of

talent, ability, and business habits, in the House of Commons. How

far we should improve the character of our legislative assembly,

by disfranchising smaller constituencies, and transferring their

privileges to the larger ones,--open to such serious objections as

have been urged against them by the _Times_, a journal not likely

to err on the side of undervaluing popular opinion--appears to me a

question decidedly open to discussion; and I hope that it will be

discussed, pretty broadly and extensively, before any active steps

are taken for suppressing boroughs which are not open to the charge

of rank venality and corruption.

The _Times_, you observe, talks in its more recent article, in which

totally opposite views are advocated, of "stupid and corrupt little

constituencies." This is a clever way of mixing up two distinct and

separate matters. We all know what is meant by corruption, and I

hope none of us are in favour of it. It means the purchase, either

by money or promises, of the suffrages of those who are intrusted

with the electoral franchise; and I am quite ready to join with the

_Times_ in the most hearty denunciation of such villanous practices,

whether used by Jew or Gentile. It may be, and probably is,

impossible to prevent bribery altogether, for there are scoundrels

in all constituencies; and if a candidate with a long purse is

so lax in his morals as to hint at the purchase of votes, he is

tolerably certain to find a market in which these commodities are

sold. But if, in any case, general corruption can be proved against

a borough, it ought to be forthwith disfranchised, and declared

unworthy of exercising so important a public privilege. But of the

"stupidity" of constituencies, who are to be the judges? Not, I

hope, the Areopagites of the _Times_, else we may expect to see

every constituency which does not pronounce in favour of Free Trade,

placed under the general extinguisher! Scarborough, with some seven

or eight hundred electors--a good many more, by the way, than are

on the roll for the Dreepdaily burghs--has, in the opinion of the

_Times_, stultified itself for ever by returning Mr George F. Young

to Parliament, instead of a Whig lordling, who possessed great local

influence. Therefore Scarborough is put down in the black list,

not because it is "corrupt," but because it is "stupid," in having

elected a gentleman of the highest political celebrity, who is at

the same time one of the most extensive shipowners of Great Britain!

I put it to you, Provost, whether this is not as cool an instance

of audacity as you ever heard of. What would you think if it were

openly proposed, upon our side, to disfranchise Greenwich, because

the tea-and-shrimp population of that virtuous town has committed

the stupid act of returning a Jew to Parliament? If stupidity is to

go for anything in the way of cancelling privileges, I think I could

name to you some half-dozen places on this side of the border which

are in evident danger, at least if we are to accept the attainments

of the representatives as any test of the mental acquirements of the

electors; but perhaps it is better to avoid particulars in a matter

so personal and delicate.

I am not in the least degree surprised to find the Free-Traders

turning round against the boroughs. Four years ago, you would

certainly have laughed in the face of any one who might have

prophesied such a result; but since then, times have altered. The

grand experiment upon native industry has been made, and allowed

to go on without check or impediment. The Free-Traders have had it

all their own way; and if there had been one iota of truth in their

statements, or if their calculations had been based upon secure and

rational data, they must long ago have achieved a complete moral

triumph. Pray, remember what they told us. They said that Free Trade

in corn and in cattle would not permanently _lower_ the value of

agricultural produce in Britain--it would only steady prices, and

prevent extreme fluctuations. Then, again, we were assured that

large imports from any part of the world could not by possibility be

obtained; and those consummate blockheads, the statists, offered to

prove by figures, that a deluge of foreign grain was as impossible

as an overflow of the Mediterranean. I need not tell you that the

results have entirely falsified such predictions, and that the

agricultural interest has ever since been suffering under the

effects of unexampled depression. No man denies that. The stiffest

stickler for the cheap loaf does not venture now to assert that

agriculture is a profitable profession in Britain; all he can do is

to recommend economy, and to utter a hypocritical prayer, that the

prosperity which he assumes to exist in other quarters may, at no

distant date, and through some mysterious process which he cannot

specify, extend itself to the suffering millions who depend for

their subsistence on the produce of the soil of Britain, and who pay

by far the largest share of the taxes and burdens of the kingdom.

Now, it is perfectly obvious that agricultural distress, by which

I mean the continuance of a range of unremunerative prices, cannot

long prevail in any district, without affecting the traffic of the

towns. You, who are an extensive retail merchant in Dreepdaily,

know well that the business of your own trade depends in a great

degree upon the state of the produce markets. So long as the farmer

is thriving, he buys from you and your neighbours liberally, and you

find him, I have no doubt, your best and steadiest customer. But if

you reverse his circumstances, you must look for a corresponding

change in his dealings. He cannot afford to purchase silks for his

wife and daughters, as formerly; he grows penurious in his own

personal expenditure, and denies himself every unnecessary luxury;

he does nothing for the good of trade, and is impassable to all the

temptations which you endeavour to throw in his way. To post your

ledger is now no very difficult task. You find last year's stock

remaining steadily on your hands; and when the season for the annual

visit of the bagmen comes round, you dismiss them from your premises

without gratifying their avidity by an order. This is a faithful

picture of what has been going on for two years, at least, in the

smaller inland boroughs. No doubt you are getting your bread cheap;

but those whose importations have brought about that cheapness,

never were, and never can be, customers of yours. Even supposing

that they were to take goods in exchange for their imported grain,

no profit or custom could accrue to the retail shopkeeper, who must

necessarily look to the people around him for the consumption of

his wares. In this way trade has been made to stagnate, and profits

have of course declined, until the tradesmen, weary of awaiting

the advent of a prosperity which never arrives, have come to the

conclusion, that they will best consult their interest by giving

their support to a policy the reverse of that which has crippled the

great body of their customers.

Watering-places, and towns of fashionable resort, have suffered in

a like degree. The gentry, whose rents have been most seriously

affected by the unnatural diminution of prices, are compelled to

curtail their expenditure, and to deny themselves many things which

formerly would have been esteemed legitimate indulgences. Economy is

the order Of the day: equipages are given up, servants dismissed,

and old furniture made to last beyond its appointed time. These

things, I most freely admit, are no great hardships to the gentry;

nor do I intend to awaken your compassion in behalf of the squire,

who, by reason of his contracted rent-roll, has been compelled

to part with his carriage and a couple of footmen, and to refuse

his wife and daughters the pleasure of a trip to Cheltenham. The

hardship lies elsewhere. I pity the footmen, the coach-builder, the

upholsterer, the house proprietor in Cheltenham, and all the other

people to whom the surplus of the squire's revenue found its way,

much more than the old gentleman himself. I daresay he is quite

as happy at home--perhaps far happier--than if he were compelled

to racket elsewhere; and sure I am that he will not consume his

dinner with less appetite because he lacks the attendance of a

couple of knaves, with heads like full-blown cauliflowers. But is

it consistent with the workings of human nature to expect that the

people to whom he formerly gave employment and custom, let us say

to the extent of a couple of thousand pounds, can be gratified by

the cessation of that expenditure?--or is it possible to suppose

that they will remain enamoured of a system which has caused them

so heavy a loss? View the subject in this light, and you can have

no difficulty in understanding why this formidable reaction has

taken place in the English boroughs. It is simply a question of

the pocket; and the electors now see, that unless the boroughs are

to be left to rapid decay, something must be done to protect and

foster that industry upon which they all depend. Such facts, which

are open and patent to every man's experience, and tell upon his

income and expenditure, are worth whole cargoes of theory. What

reason has the trader, whose stock is remaining unsold upon his

hands, to plume himself, because he is assured by Mr Porter, or

some other similar authority, that some hundred thousand additional

yards of flimsy calico have been shipped from the British shores

in the course of the last twelve months? So far as the shopkeeper

is concerned, the author of the _Progress of the Nation_ might as

well have been reporting upon the traffic-tables of Tyre and Sidon.

He is not even assured that all this export has been accompanied

with a profit to the manufacturer. If he reads the _Economist_, he

will find that exhilarating print filled with complaints of general

distress and want of demand; he will be startled from time to time

by the announcement that in some places, such as Dundee, trade

has experienced a most decided check; or that in others, such as

Nottingham and Leicester, the operatives are applying by hundreds

for admission to the workhouse! Comfortable intelligence this,

alongside of increasing exports! But he has been taught, to borrow

a phrase from the writings of the late John Galt, to look upon your

political arithmetician as "a mystery shrouded by a halo;" and he

supposes that, somehow or other, somebody must be the gainer by all

these exports, though it seems clearly impossible to specify the

fortunate individual. However, this he knows, to his cost any time

these three years back, that _he_ has not been the gainer; and, as

he opines very justly that charity begins at home, and that the

man who neglects the interest of his own family is rather worse

than a heathen, he has made up his mind to support such candidates

only as will stand by British industry, and protect him by means

of protecting others. As for the men of the maritime boroughs--a

large and influential class--I need not touch upon their feelings

or sentiments with regard to Free Trade. I observe that the Liberal

press, with peculiar taste and felicity of expression, designates

them by the generic term of "crimps," just as it used to compliment

the whole agriculturists of Britain by the comprehensive appellation

of "chawbacons." I trust they feel the compliment so delicately

conveyed; but, after all, it matters little. Hard words break no

bones; and, in the mean time at least, the vote of a "crimp" is

quite as good as that of the concocter of a paragraph.

Perhaps now you understand why the Free-Traders are so wroth against

the boroughs. They expected to play off the latter against the

county constituencies; and, being disappointed in that, they want to

swamp them altogether. This, I must own, strikes me as particularly

unfair. Let it be granted that a large number of the smaller

boroughs did, at the last general election, manifest a decided

wish that the Free Trade experiment, then begun, should be allowed

a fair trial; are they to be held so pledged to that commercial

system, that, however disastrous may have been its results, they

are not entitled to alter their minds? Are all the representations,

promises, and prophecies of the leading advocates of Free Trade,

to be set aside as if these were never uttered or written? Who

were the cozeners in this case? Clearly the men who boasted of the

enormous advantages which were immediately to arise from their

policy--advantages whereof, up to the present moment, not a single

glimpse has been vouchsafed. Free Trade, we were distinctly told,

was to benefit the boroughs. Free Trade has done nothing of the

kind; on the contrary, it has reduced their business and lowered

their importance. And now, when this effect has become so plain and

undeniable that the very men who subscribed to the funds of the

League, and who were foremost in defending the conduct of the late

Sir Robert Peel, are sending Protectionists to Parliament, it is

calmly proposed to neutralise their conversion by depriving them of

political power!

Under the circumstances, I do not know that the Free-Traders could

have hit upon a happier scheme. The grand tendency of their system

is centralisation. They want to drive everything--paupers alone

excepted, if they could by possibility compass that fortunate

immunity--into the larger towns, which are the seats of export

manufacture, and to leave the rest of the population to take care

of themselves. You see how they have succeeded in Ireland, by

the reports of the last census. They are doing the same thing in

Scotland, as we shall ere long discover to our cost; and, indeed,

the process is going on slowly, but surely, throughout the whole of

the British islands. I chanced the other day to light upon a passage

in a very dreary article in the last number of the _Edinburgh

Review_, which seems to me to embody the chief economical doctrines

of the gentlemen to whom we are indebted for the present posture of

affairs. It is as follows:--

"The common watchword, or cuckoo-note of the advocates of

restriction in affairs of trade is, 'Protection to Native

Industry.' In the principle fairly involved in this motto we

cordially agree. We are as anxious as the most vehement advocate

for high import duties on foreign products can be, that the

industry of our fellow-countrymen should be protected(!) We only

differ as to the means. Their theory of protection is to guard

against competition those branches of industry which, without

such extraneous help, could never be successfully pursued:

ours, is that of enlarging, to the uttermost, those other

branches for the prosecution of which our countrymen possess the

greatest aptitude, and of thereby securing for their skill and

capital the greatest return. This protection is best afforded

by governments when they leave, without interference, the

productive industry of the country to find its true level; for

we may be certain that the interest of individuals will always

lead them to prefer those pursuits which they find most gainful.

There is, in fact, no mode of interference with entire freedom

of action which must not be, in some degree, hurtful; but _the

mischief which follows upon legislation in affairs of trade, in

any given country, is then most noxious when it tends to foster

branches of industry for which other countries have a greater

aptitude_."

You will, I think, find some difficulty in discovering the

protective principle enunciated by this sagacious scribe, who,

like many others of his limited calibre, is fain to take refuge

in nonsense when he cannot extricate his meaning. You may also,

very reasonably, entertain doubts whether the protective theory,

which our friend of the Blue and Yellow puts into the mouth of his

opponents, was ever entertained or promulgated by any rational

being, at least in the broad sense which he wishes to imply. The

true protective theory has reference to the State burdens, which,

in so far as they are exacted from the produce of native industry,

or, in other words, from labour, we wish to see counterbalanced by

a fair import-duty, which shall reduce the foreign and the native

producer to an equality in the home market. When the reviewer talks

of the non-interference of Government with regard to the productive

industry of the country, he altogether omits mention of that most

stringent interference which is the direct result of taxation. If

the farmer were allowed to till the ground, to sow the seed, and to

reap the harvest, without any interference from Government, then I

admit at once that a demand for protection would be preposterous.

But when Government requires him to pay income-tax, assessed taxes,

church and poor-rates, besides other direct burdens, out of the

fruit of his industry--when it prevents him from growing on his own

land several kinds of crop, in order that the customs revenue may

be maintained--when it taxes indirectly his tea, coffee, wines,

spirits, tobacco, soap, and spiceries--then I say that Government

_does_ interfere, and that most unmercifully, with the productive

industry of the country. Just suppose that, by recurring to a

primitive method of taxation, the Government should lay claim

to one-third of the proceeds of every crop, and instruct its

emissaries to remove it from the ground before another acre should

be reaped--would _that_ not constitute interference in the eyes of

the sapient reviewer? Well, then, since all taxes must ultimately be

paid out of produce, what difference does the mere method of levying

the burden make with regard to the burden itself? I call your

attention to this point, because the Free-Traders invariably, but

I fear wilfully, omit all mention of artificial taxation when they

talk of artificial restrictions. They want you to believe that we,

who maintain the opposite view, seek to establish an entire monopoly

in Great Britain of all kinds of possible produce; and they are in

the habit of putting asinine queries as to the propriety of raising

the duties on foreign wine, so as to encourage the establishment of

vineyards in Kent and Sussex, and also as to the proper protective

duty which should be levied on pine-apples, in order that a due

stimulus may be given to the cultivation of that luscious fruit. But

these funny fellows take especial care never to hint to you that

protection is and was demanded simply on account of the enormous

nature of our imposts, which have the effect of raising the rates

of labour. It is in this way, and no other, that agriculture,

deprived of protection, but still subjected to taxation, has become

an unremunerative branch of industry; and you observe how calmly

the disciple of Ricardo condemns it to destruction. "The mischief,"

quoth he, "which follows upon legislation in affairs of trade, in

any given country, is then most noxious when it tends to foster

branches of industry for which other countries have a greater

aptitude." So, then, having taxed agriculture to that point when it

can no longer bear the burden, we are, for the future, to draw our

supplies from "other countries which have a greater aptitude" for

growing corn; that aptitude consisting in their comparative immunity

from taxation, and in the degraded moral and social condition of

the serfs who constitute the tillers of the soil! We are to give up

cultivation, and apply ourselves to the task "of enlarging to the

uttermost those other branches, for the prosecution of which our

countrymen possess the greatest aptitude"--by which, I presume, is

meant the manufacture of cotton-twist!

Now, then, consider for a moment what is the natural, nay, the

inevitable effect of this narrowing of the range of employment.

I shall not start the important point whether the concentration

of labour does not tend to lower wages--I shall merely assume,

what is indeed already abundantly established by facts, that the

depression of agriculture in any district leads almost immediately

to a large increase in the population of the greater towns. Places

like Dreepdaily may remain stationary, but they do not receive any

material increment to their population. You have, I believe, no

export trade, at least very little, beyond the manufacture of an

ingenious description of snuff-box, justly prized by those who are

in the habit of stimulating their nostrils. The displaced stream of

labour passes through you, but does not tarry with you--it rolls

on towards Paisley and Glasgow, where it is absorbed in the living

ocean. Year after year the same process is carried on. The older

people, probably because it is not worth while at their years to

attempt a change, tarry in their little villages and cots, and

gradually acquire that appearance of utter apathy, which is perhaps

the saddest aspect of humanity. The younger people, finding no

employment at home, repair to the towns, marry or do worse, and

propagate children for the service of the factories which are

dedicated to the export trade. Of education they receive little or

nothing; for they must be in attendance on their gaunt iron master

during the whole of their waking hours; and religion seeks after

them in vain. What wonder, then, if the condition of our operatives

should be such as to suggest to thinking minds very serious doubts

whether our boasted civilisation can be regarded in the light of a

blessing? Certain it is that the bulk of these classes are neither

better nor happier than their forefathers. Nay, if there be any

truth in evidence--any reality in the appalling accounts which reach

us from the heart of the towns, there exists an amount of crime,

misery, drunkenness, and profligacy, which is unknown even among

savages and heathen nations. Were we to recall from the four ends

of the earth all the missionaries who have been despatched from the

various churches, they would find more than sufficient work ready

for them at home. Well-meaning men project sanitary improvements, as

if these could avail to counteract the moral poison. New churches

are built; new schools are founded; public baths are subscribed for,

and public washing-houses are opened; the old rookeries are pulled

down, and light and air admitted to the heart of the cities--but the

heart of the people is not changed; and neither air nor water, nor

religious warning, has the effect of checking crime, eradicating

intemperance, or teaching man the duty which he owes to himself, his

brethren, and his God! This is an awful picture, but it is a true

one; and it well becomes us to consider why these things should be.

There is no lukewarmness on the subject exhibited in any quarter.

The evil is universally acknowledged, and every one would be ready

to contribute to alleviate it, could a proper remedy be suggested.

It is not my province to suggest remedies; but it does appear to

me that the original fault is to be found in the system which has

caused this unnatural pressure of our population into the towns. I

am aware that in saying this, I am impugning the leading doctrines

of modern political economy. I am aware that I am uttering what

will be considered by many as a rank political heresy; still, not

having the fear of fire and fagot before my eyes, I shall use the

liberty of speech. It appears to me that the system which has been

more or less adopted since the days of Mr Huskisson, of suppressing

small trades for the encouragement of foreign importation, and of

stimulating export manufactures to the uttermost, has proved very

pernicious to the morals and the social condition of the people. The

termination of the war found us with a large population, and with an

enormous debt. If, on the one hand, it was for the advantage of the

country that commerce should progress with rapid strides, and that

our foreign trade should be augmented, it was, on the other, no less

necessary that due regard should be had for the former occupations

of the people, and that no great and violent displacements of

labour should be occasioned, by fiscal relaxations which might have

the effect of supplanting home industry by foreign produce in the

British market. The mistake of the political economists lies in

their obstinate determination to enforce a principle, which in the

abstract is not only unobjectionable but unchallenged, without any

regard whatever to the peculiar and pecuniary circumstances of the

country. They will not look at what has gone before, in order to

determine their line of conduct in any particular case. They admit

of no exceptions. They start with their axiom that trade ought to

be free, and they will not listen to any argument founded upon

special circumstances in opposition to that doctrine. Now, this

is not the way in which men have been, or ever can be, governed.

They must be dealt with as rational beings, not regarded as mere

senseless machinery, which may be treated as lumber, and cast aside

to make way for some new improvement. Look at the case of our own

Highlanders. We know very well that, from the commencement of

the American war, it was considered by the British Government an

important object to maintain the population of the Highlands, as

the source from which they drew their hardiest and most serviceable

recruits. So long as the manufacture of kelp existed, and the

breeding of cattle was profitable, there was little difficulty in

doing this; now, under this new commercial system, we are told that

the population is infinitely too large for the natural resources of

the country; we are shocked by accounts of periodical famine, and of

deaths occurring from starvation; and our economists declare that

there is no remedy except a general emigration of the inhabitants.

This is the extreme case in Great Britain; but extreme cases often

furnish us with the best tests of the operation of a particular

system. Here you have a population fostered for an especial purpose,

and abandoned so soon as that special purpose has been served.

Without maintaining that the Gael is the most industrious of

mankind, it strikes me forcibly that it would be a better national

policy to give every reasonable encouragement to the development of

the natural resources of that portion of the British islands, than

to pursue the opposite system, and to reduce the Highlands to a

wilderness. Not so think the political economists. They can derive

their supplies cheaper from elsewhere, at the hands of strangers

who contribute no share whatever to the national revenue; and for

the sake of that cheapness they are content to reduce thousands of

their countrymen to beggary. But emigration cannot, and will not,

be carried out to an extent at all equal to the necessity which is

engendered by the cessation of employment. The towns become the

great centre-points and recipients of the displaced population; and

so centralisation goes on, and, as a matter of course, pauperism and

crime increase.

To render this system perpetual, without any regard to ultimate

consequences, is the leading object of the Free-Traders. Not

converted, but on the contrary rendered more inveterate by

the failure of their schemes, they are determined to allow no

consideration whatever to stand in the way of their purpose; and

of this you have a splendid instance in their late denunciation of

the boroughs. They think--whether rightfully or wrongfully, it is

not now necessary to inquire--that, by altering the proportions

of Parliamentary power as established by the Reform Act--by

taking away from the smaller boroughs, and by adding to the urban

constituencies, they will still be able to command a majority in the

House of Commons. In the present temper of the nation, and so long

as its voice is expressed as heretofore, they know, feel, and admit

that their policy is not secure. And why is it not secure? Simply

because it has undergone the test of experience--because it has had

a fair trial in the sight of the nation--and because it has not

succeeded in realising the expectations of its founders.

I have ventured to throw together these few crude remarks for your

consideration during the recess, being quite satisfied that you will

not feel indifferent upon any subject which touches the dignity,

status, or privileges of the boroughs. Whether Lord John Russell

agrees with the _Times_ as to the mode of effecting the threatened

Parliamentary change, or whether he has some separate scheme of his

own, is a question which I cannot solve. Possibly he has not yet

made up his mind as to the course which it may be most advisable to

pursue; for, in the absence of anything like general excitement or

agitation, it is not easy to predict in what manner the proposal for

any sweeping or organic change may be received by the constituencies

of the Empire. There is far too much truth in the observations which

I have already quoted from the great leading journal, relative to

the dangers which must attend an increase of constituencies already

too large, or a further extension of their power, to permit of our

considering this as a light and unimportant matter. I view it as a

very serious one indeed; and I cannot help thinking that Lord John

Russell has committed an act of gross and unjustifiable rashness, in

pledging himself, at the present time, to undertake a remodelment of

the constitution. But whatever he does, I hope, for his own sake,

and for the credit of the Liberal party, that he will be able to

assign some better and more constitutional reason for the change,

than the refusal of the English boroughs to bear arms in the crusade

which is directed against the interests of Native Industry.

PARIS IN 1851.--(_Continued._)

THE OPERA.--In the evening I went to the French Opera, which is

still one of the lions of Paris. It was once in the Rue Richelieu;

but the atrocious assassination of the Duc de Berri, who was stabbed

in its porch, threw a kind of horror over the spot: the theatre was

closed, and the performance moved to its present site in the Rue

Lepelletier, a street diverging from the Boulevard.

Fond as the French are of decoration, the architecture of this

building possesses no peculiar beauty, and would answer equally well

for a substantial public hospital, a workhouse, or a barrack, if

the latter were not the more readily suggested by the gendarmerie

loitering about the doors, and the mounted dragoons at either end of

the street.

The passages of the interior are of the same character--spacious and

substantial; but the door of the _salle_ opens, and the stranger,

at a single step, enters from those murky passages into all the

magic of a crowded theatre. The French have, within these few

years, borrowed from us the art of lighting theatres. I recollect

the French theatre lighted only by a few lamps scattered round the

house, or a chandelier in the middle, which might have figured in

the crypt of a cathedral. This they excused, as giving greater

effect to the stage; but it threw the audience into utter gloom.

They have now made the audience a part of the picture, and an

indispensable part. The opera-house now shows the audience; and if

not very dressy, or rather as dowdy, odd, and dishevelled a crowd as

I ever recollect to have seen within theatrical walls, yet they are

evidently human beings, which is much more picturesque than masses

of spectres, seen only by an occasional flash from the stage.

The French architects certainly have not made this national edifice

grand; but they have made it a much better thing,--lively, showy,

and rich. Neither majestic and monotonous, nor grand and Gothic,

they have made it _riant_ and racy, like a place where men and

women come to be happy, where beautiful dancers are to be seen,

and where sweet songs are to be heard, and where the mind is for

three or four hours to forget all its cares, and to carry away

pleasant recollections for the time being. From pit to ceiling

it is covered with paintings--all sorts of cupids, nymphs, and

flower-garlands, and Greek urns--none of them wonders of the pencil,

but all exhibiting that showy mediocrity of which every Frenchman is

capable, and with which every Frenchman is in raptures. All looks

rich, warm, and _operatic_.

One characteristic change has struck me everywhere in Paris--the men

dress better, and the women worse. When I was last here, the men

dressed half bandit and half Hottentot. The revolutionary mystery

was at work, and the hatred of the Bourbons was emblematised in a

conical hat, a loose neckcloth, tremendous trousers, and the scowl

of a stage conspirator. The Parisian men have since learned the

decencies of _dress_.

As I entered the house before the rising of the curtain, I had

leisure to look about me, and I found even in the audience a strong

contrast to those of London. By that kind of contradiction to

everything rational and English which governs the Parisian, the

women seem to choose _dishabille_ for the Opera.

As the house was crowded, and the boxes are let high, and the

performance of the night was popular, I might presume that some of

the _élite_ were present, yet I never saw so many _ill-dressed_

women under one roof. Bonnets, shawls, muffles of all kinds, were

the _costume_. How different from the finish, the splendour, and

the _fashion_ of the English opera-box. I saw hundreds of women who

appeared, by their dress, scarcely above the rank of shopkeepers,

yet, who probably were among the Parisian leaders of fashion, if in

republican Paris there are _any_ leaders of fashion.

But I came to be interested, to enjoy, to indulge in a feast of

music and acting; with no fastidiousness of criticism, and with

every inclination to be gratified. In the opera itself I was utterly

disappointed. The Opera was _Zerline_, or, _The Basket of Oranges_.

The composer was the first living musician of France, Auber; the

writer was the most popular dramatist of his day, Scribe; the Prima

Donna was Alboni, to whom the manager of the Opera in London had

not thought it too much to give £4000 for a single season. I never

paid my francs with more willing expectation: and I never saw a

performance of which I so soon got weary.

The plot is singularly trifling. Zerline, an orange-girl of Palermo,

has had a daughter by Boccanera, a man of rank, who afterwards

becomes Viceroy of Sicily. Zerline is captured by pirates, and

carried to Algiers. The opera opens with her return to Palermo,

after so many years that her daughter is grown up to womanhood; and

Boccanera is emerged into public life, and has gradually became an

officer of state.

The commencing scene has all the animation of the French

picturesque. The Port of Palermo is before the spectator; the

location is the Fruit Market. Masses of fruits, with smart peasantry

to take care of them, cover the front of the stage. The background

is filled up with Lazzaroni lying on the ground, sleeping, or eating

macaroni. The Prince Boccanera comes from the palace; the crowd

observe 'Son air sombre;' the Prince sings--

"On a most unlucky day,

Satan threw her in my way;

I the princess took to wife,

Now the torture of my life," &c.

After this matrimonial confession, which extends to details, the

prime minister tells us of his love still existing for Zerline,

whose daughter he has educated under the name of niece, and who is

now the Princess Gemma, and about to be married to a court noble.

A ship approaches the harbour; Boccanera disappears; the Lazzaroni

hasten to discharge the cargo. Zerline lands from the vessel, and

sings a cavatina in praise of Palermo:--

"O Palerme! O Sicile!

Beau ciel, plaine fertile!"

Zerline is a dealer in oranges, and she lands her cargo, placing

it in the market. The original tenants of the place dispute her

right to come among them, and are about to expel her by force, when

a marine officer, Rodolf, takes her part, and, drawing his sword,

puts the whole crowd to flight. Zerline, moved by this instance of

heroism, tells him her story, that she was coming "un beau matin"

to the city to sell oranges, when a pitiless corsair captured her,

and carried her to Africa, separating her from her child, whom she

had not seen for fifteen years; that she escaped to Malta, laid in

a stock of oranges there;--and thus the events of the day occurred.

Rodolf, this young hero, is costumed in a tie-wig with powder, stiff

skirts, and the dress of a century ago. What tempted the author

to put not merely his hero, but all his court characters, into

the costume of Queen Anne, is not easily conceivable, as there is

nothing in the story which limits it in point of time.

Zerline looks after him with sudden sympathy, says that she heard

him sigh, that he must be unhappy, and that, if her daughter

lives, he is just the _husband_ for her,--Zerline not having been

particular as to marriage herself. She then rambles about the

streets, singing,

"Achetez mes belles oranges,

Des fruits divins, des fruits exquis;

Des oranges comme les anges

N'en _goutent pas en Paradis_."

After this "hommage aux oranges!" to the discredit of Paradise, on

which turns the plot of the play, a succession of maids of honour

appear, clad in the same unfortunate livery of fardingales, enormous

flat hats, powdered wigs, and stomachers. The Princess follows them,

apparently armed by her costume against all the assaults of Cupid.

But she, too, has an "affaire du cœur" upon her hands. In fact,

from the Orangewoman up to the Throne, Cupid is the Lord of Palermo,

with its "beau ciel, plaine fertile." The object of the Princess's

love is the Marquis de Buttura, the suitor of her husband's

supposed niece. Here is a complication! The enamoured wife receives

a billet-doux from the suitor, proposing a meeting on his return

from hunting. She tears the billet for the purpose of concealment,

and in her emotion drops the fragments on the floor. That billet

performs all important part in the end. The enamoured lady buys an

orange, and gives a gold piece for it. Zerline, not accustomed to

be so well paid for her fruit, begins to suspect this outrageous

liberality; and having had experience in these matters, picks up the

fragments of the letter, and gets into the whole secret.

The plot proceeds: the daughter of the orangewoman now appears. She

is clad in the same preposterous habiliments. As the niece of the

minister, she is created a princess, (those things are cheap in

Italy,) and she, too, is in love with the officer in the tie-wig.

She recognises the song of Zerline, "Achetez mes belles oranges,"

and sings the half of it. On this, the mother and daughter now

recognise each other. It is impossible to go further in such a

_denouement_. If Italian operas are proverbially silly, we are to

recollect that this is not an Italian, but a French one; and that it

is by the most popular comic writer of France.

The marriage of Gemma and Rodolf is forbidden by the pride of the

King's sister, the wife of Boccanera, but Zerline interposes,

reminds her of the orange _affair_, threatens her with the discovery

of the billet-doux, and finally makes her give her consent: and thus

the curtain drops. I grew tired of all this insipidity, and left the

theatre before the catastrophe. The music seemed to me fitting for

the plot--neither better nor worse; and I made my escape with right

good-will from the clamour and crash of the orchestra, and from the

loves and _faux pas_ of the belles of Palermo.

_The Obelisk._--I strayed into the Place de la Concorde, beyond

comparison the finest _space_ in Paris. I cannot call it a square,

nor does it equal in animation the Boulevard; but in the _profusion_

of noble architecture it has no rival in Paris, nor in Europe. _Vive

la Despotisme!_ every inch of it is owing to Monarchy. Republics

build nothing, if we except prisons and workhouses. They are

proverbially squalid, bitter, and beggarly. What has America, with

all her boasting, ever built, but a warehouse or a conventicle?

The Roman Republic, after seven hundred years' existence, remained

a collection hovels till an Emperor faced them with marble. If

Athens exhibited her universal talents in the splendour of her

architecture, we must recollect that Pericles was her _master_

through life--as substantially _despotic_, by the aid of the

populace, as an Asiatic king by his guards; and recollect, also,

that an action of damages was brought against him for "wasting

the public money on the Parthenon," the glory of Athens in every

succeeding age. Louis Quatorze, Napoleon, and Louis Philippe--two

openly, and the third secretly, as despotic as the Sultan--were the

true builders of Paris.

As I stood in the centre of this vast enclosure, I was fully struck

with the effect of _scene_. The sun was sinking into a bed of gold

and crimson clouds, that threw their hue over the long line of

the Champs Elysées. Before me were the two great fountains, and

the Obelisk of Luxor. The fountains had ceased to play, from the

lateness of the hour, but still looked massive and gigantic; the

obelisk looked shapely and superb. The gardens of the Tuilleries

were on my left--deep dense masses of foliage, surmounted in the

distance by the tall roofs of the old Palace; on my right, the

verdure of the Champs Elysées, with the Arc de l'Etoile rising above

it, at the end of its long and noble avenue; in my front the Palace

of the Legislature, a chaste and elegant structure; and behind me,

glowing in the sunbeams, the Madeleine, the noblest church--I think

the noblest edifice, in Paris, and perhaps not surpassed in beauty

and grandeur, for its size, by any place of worship in Europe.

The air cool and sweet from the foliage, the vast _place_ almost

solitary, and undisturbed by the cries which are incessant in this

babel during the day, yet with that gentle confusion of sounds which

makes the murmur and the music of a great city. All was calm, noble,

and soothing.

The obelisk of Luxor which stands in the centre of the "Place," is

one of two Monoliths, or pillars of a single stone, which, with

Cleopatra's Needle, were given by Mehemet Ali to the French,

at the time when, by their alliance, he expected to have made

himself independent. All the dates of Egyptian antiquities are

uncertain--notwithstanding Young and his imitator Champollion--but

the date _assigned_ to this pillar is 1550 years before the

Christian era. The two obelisks stood in front of the great temple

of Thebes, now named Luxor, and the hieroglyphics which cover this

one, from top to bottom, are supposed to relate the exploits and

incidents of the reign of Sesostris.

It is of red Syenite; but, from time and weather, it is almost the

colour of limestone. It has an original flaw up a third of its

height, for which the Egyptian masons provided a remedy by wedges,

and the summit is slightly broken. The height of the monolith is

seventy-two feet three inches, which would look insignificant,

fixed as it is in the centre of lofty buildings, but for its being

raised on a plinth of granite, and that again raised on a pedestal

of immense blocks of granite--the height of the plinth and the

pedestal together being twenty-seven feet, making the entire height

nearly one hundred. The weight of the monolith is five hundred

thousand pounds; the weight of the pedestal is half that amount, and

the weight of the blocks probably makes the whole amount to nine

hundred thousand, which is the weight of the obelisk at Rome. It was

erected in 1836, by drawing it up an inclined plane of masonry, and

then raising it by cables and capstans to the perpendicular. The

operation was tedious, difficult, and expensive; but it was worth

the labour; and the monolith now forms a remarkable monument of the

zeal of the king, and of the liberality of his government.

There is, I understand, an obelisk remaining in Egypt, which

was given by the Turkish government to the British army, on the

expulsion of the French from Egypt, but which has been unclaimed,

from the difficulty of carrying it to England.

That difficulty, it must be acknowledged, is considerable. In

transporting and erecting the obelisk of Luxor six years were

employed. I have not heard the expense, but it must have been large.

A vessel was especially constructed at Toulon, for its conveyance

down the Nile. A long road was to be made from the Nile to the

Temple. Then the obelisk required to be protected from the accidents

of carriage, which was done by enclosing it in a wooden case. It was

then drawn by manual force to the river--and this employed three

months. Then came the trouble of embarking it, for which the vessel

had to be nearly sawn through; then came the crossing of the bar

at Rosetta--a most difficult operation at the season of the year;

then the voyage down the Mediterranean, the vessel being towed by a

steamer; then the landing at Cherbourg, in 1833; and, lastly, the

passage up the Seine, which occupied nearly four months, reaching

Paris in December; thenceforth its finishing and erection, which was

completed only in three years after.

This detail may have some interest, as we have a similar project

before us. But the whole question is, whether the transport of the

obelisk which remains in Egypt for us is worth the expense. We,

without hesitation, say that it _is_. The French have shown that it

is _practicable_, and it is a matter of _rational_ desire to show

that we are not behind the French either in power, in ability, or

in zeal, to adorn our cities. The obelisk transported to England

would be a proud monument, without being an offensive one, of a

great achievement of our armies; it would present to our eyes, and

those of our children, a relic of the most civilised kingdom of the

early ages; it would sustain the recollections of the scholar by its

record, and might kindle the energy of the people by the sight of

what had been accomplished by the prowess of Englishmen.

If it be replied that such views are Utopian, may we not ask,

what is the use of all antiquity, since we can eat and drink as

well without it? But we cannot _feel_ as loftily without it; many

a lesson of vigour, liberality, and virtue would be lost to us

without it; we should lose the noblest examples of the arts, some

of the finest displays of human genius in architecture, a large

portion of the teaching of the public mind in all things great,

and an equally large portion of the incentives to public virtue in

all things self-denying. The labour, it is true, of conveying the

obelisk would be serious, the expense considerable, and we might

not see it erected before the gate of Buckingham Palace these ten

years. But it would be erected at _last_. It would be a trophy--it

would be an abiding memorial of the extraordinary country from which

civilisation spread to the whole world.

But the two grand fountains ought especially to stimulate our

emulation. Those we can have without a voyage from Alexandria to

Portsmouth, or a six years' delay.

The fountains of the Place de la Concorde would deserve praise

if it were only for their beauty. At a distance sufficient for

the picturesque, and with the sun shining on them, they actually

look like domes and cataracts of molten silver; and a nearer view

does not diminish their right to admiration. They are both lofty,

perhaps, fifty feet high, both consisting of three basins, lessening

in size in proportion to their height, and all pouring out sheets

of water from the trumpets of Tritons, from the mouths of dolphins,

and from allegorical figures. One of those fountains is in honour of

Maritime Navigation, and the other of the Navigation of Rivers. In

the former the figures represent the Ocean and the Mediterranean,

with the Genii of the fisheries; and in the upper basin are

Commerce, Astronomy, Navigation, &c., all capital bronzes, and all

spouting out floods of water. The fountain of River Navigation is

not behind its rival in bronze or water. It exhibits the Rhine and

the Rhone, with the Genii of fruits and flowers, of the vintage and

the harvest, with the usual attendance of Tritons. Why the artist

had no room for the Seine and the Garonne, while he introduced the

Rhine, which is not a French river in any part of its course, must

be left for his explanation; but the whole constitutes a beautiful

and magnificent object, and, with the sister fountain, perhaps

forms the finest display of the kind in Europe. I did not venture,

while looking at those stately monuments of French art, to turn my

thoughts to our own unhappy performances in Trafalgar Square--the

rival of a soda-water bottle, yet the work of a people of boundless

wealth, and the first machinists in the world.

_The Jardin des Plantes._--I found this fine establishment crowded

with the lower orders--fathers and mothers, nurses, old women, and

soldiers. As it includes the popular attractions of a zoological

garden, as well as a botanical, every day sees its visitants, and

every holiday its crowds. The plants are for science, and for that

I had no time, even had I possessed other qualifications; but the

zoological collection were for curiosity, and of that the spectators

had abundance. Yet the animals of pasture appeared to be languid,

possibly tired of the perpetual bustle round them--for all animals

love quiet at certain times, and escape from the eye of man, when

escape is in their power. Possibly the heat of the weather, for

the day was remarkably sultry, might have contributed to their

exhaustion. But if they have memory--and why should they not?--they

must have strangely felt the contrast of their free pastures, shady

woods, and fresh streams, with the little patch of ground, the

parched soil, and the clamour of ten thousand tongues round them.

I could imagine the antelope's intelligent eye, as he lay panting

before us on his brown patch of soil, comparing it with the ravines

of the Cape, or the eternal forests clothing the hills of his native

Abyssinia.

But the object of all popular interest was the pit of the bears;

there the crowd was incessant and delighted. But the bears, three

or four huge brown beasts, by no means _reciprocated_ the popular

feeling. They sat quietly on their hind-quarters, gazing grimly at

the groups which lined their rails, and tossed cakes and apples to

them from above. They had probably been saturated with sweets, for

they scarcely noticed anything but by a growl. They were insensible

to apples--even oranges could not make them move, and cakes they

seemed to treat with scorn. It was difficult to conceive that

those heavy and unwieldy-looking animals could be ferocious; but

the Alpine hunter knows that they are as fierce as the tiger, and

nearly as quick and dangerous in their spring.

The carnivorous beasts were few, and, except in the instance of

one lion, of no remarkable size or beauty. As they naturally doze

during the day, their languor was no proof of their weariness; but

I have never seen an exhibition of this kind without some degree of

regret. The plea of the promotion of science is nothing. Even if

it were important to science to be acquainted with the habits of

the lion and tiger, which it is not, their native habits are not to

be learned from the animal shut up in a cage. The chief exertion

of their sagacity and their strength in the native state is in the

pursuit of prey; yet what of these can be learned from the condition

in which the animal dines as regularly as his keeper, and divides

his time between feeding and sleep? Half-a-dozen lions let loose in

the Bois de Boulogne would let the naturalist into more knowledge of

their nature than a menagerie for fifty years.

The present system is merely cruel; and the animals, without

exercise, without air, without the common excitement of free motion,

which all animals enjoy so highly--perhaps much more highly than the

human race--fall into disease and die, no doubt miserably, though

they cannot draw up a _rationale_ of their sufferings. I have been

told that the lions in confinement die chiefly of consumption--a

singularly sentimental disease for this proud ravager of the desert.

But the whole purpose of display would be answered as effectually

by exhibiting half-a-dozen lions' _skins_ stuffed, in the different

attitudes of seizing their prey, or ranging the forest, or feeding.

At present nothing is seen but a great beast asleep, or restlessly

moving in a space of half-a-dozen square feet, and pining away in

his confinement. An eagle on his perch and with a chain on his leg,

in a menagerie, always appears to me like a dethroned monarch; and

I have never seen him thus cast down from his "high estate" without

longing to break his chain, and let him spread his wing, and delight

his splendid eye with the full view of his kingdom of the Air.

The Jardin dates its origin as far back as Louis XIII., when the

king's physician recommended its foundation for science. The French

are fond of gardening, and are good gardeners; and the climate is

peculiarly favourable to flowers, as is evident from the market held

every morning in summer by the side of the Madeleine, where the

greatest abundance of the richest flowers I ever saw is laid out for

the luxury of the Parisians.

The Jardin, patronised by kings and nobles, flourished through

successive reigns; but the appointment of Buffon, about the middle

of the eighteenth century, suddenly raised it to the pinnacle of

European celebrity. The most eloquent writer of his time, (in

the style which the French call eloquence,) a man of family, and

a man of opulence, he made Natural History the _fashion_, and

in France that word is magic. It accomplishes everything--it

includes everything. All France was frantic with the study of

plants, animals, poultry-yards, and projects for driving tigers in

cabriolets, and harnessing lions _à la Cybele_.

But Buffon mixed good sense with his inevitable _charlatanrie_--he

selected the ablest men whom he could find for his professors;

and in France there is an extraordinary quantity of "ordinary"

cleverness--they gave amusing lectures, and they won the hearts of

the nation.

But the Revolution came, and crushed all institutions alike. Buffon,

fortunate in every way, had died in the year before, in 1788, and

was thus spared the sight of the general ruin. The Jardin escaped,

through some plea of its being national property; but the professors

had fled, and were starving, or starved.

The Consulate, and still more the Empire, restored the

establishment. Napoleon was ambitious of the character of a man

of science, he was a member of the Institute, he knew the French

character, and he flattered the national vanity, by indulging it

with the prospect of being at the head of human knowledge.

The institution had by this time been so long regarded as a

public show that it was beginning to be regarded as nothing else.

Gratuitous lectures, which are always good for nothing, and to

which all kinds of people crowd with corresponding profit, were

gradually reducing the character of the Jardin; when Cuvier, a

man of talent, was appointed to one of the departments of the

institution, and he instantly revived its popularity; and, what was

of more importance, its public use.

Cuvier devoted himself to comparative anatomy and geology. The

former was a study within human means, of which he had the materials

round him, and which, being intended for the instruction of man, is

evidently intended for his investigation. The latter, in attempting

to fix the age of the world, to decide on the process of creation,

and to contradict Scripture by the ignorance of man, is merely

an instance of the presumption of _Sciolism_. Cuvier exhibited

remarkable dexterity in discovering the species of the fossil

fishes, reptiles, and animals. The science was not new, but he threw

it into a new form--he made it interesting, and he made it probable.

If a large proportion of his supposed discoveries were merely

ingenious guesses, they were at least guesses which there was nobody

to refute, and they _were ingenious_--that was enough. Fame followed

him, and the lectures of the ingenious theorist were a popular

novelty. The "Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy" in the Jardin is the

monument of his diligence, and it does honour to the sagacity of his

investigation.

One remark, however, must be made. On a former visit to the Cabinet

of Comparative Anatomy, among the collection of skeletons, I was

surprised and disgusted with the sight of the skeleton of the Arab

who killed General Kleber in Egypt. The Arab was impaled, and the

iron spike was shown _still sticking in the_ spine! I do not know

whether this hideous object is still to be seen, for I have not

lately visited the apartment; but, if existing still, it ought to

remain no longer in a museum of science. Of course, the assassin

deserved death; but, in all probability, the murder which made him

guilty, was of the same order as that which made Charlotte Corday

famous. How many of his countrymen had died by the soldiery of

France! In the eye of Christianity, this is no palliation; though in

the eye of Mahometanism it might constitute a patriot and a hero. At

all events, so frightful a spectacle ought _not_ to meet the public

eye.

_Hôtel des Invalides._--The depository of all that remains of

Napoleon, the monument of almost two hundred years of war, and the

burial-place of a whole host of celebrated names, is well worth

the visit of strangers; and I entered the esplanade of the famous

_hôtel_ with due veneration, and some slight curiosity to see the

changes of time. I had visited this noble pile immediately after

the fall of Napoleon, and while it still retained the honours of

an imperial edifice. Its courts now appeared to me comparatively

desolate; this, however, may be accounted for by the cessation

of those wars which peopled them with military mutilation. The

establishment was calculated to provide for five thousand men; and,

at that period, probably, it was always full. At present, scarcely

more than half the number are under its roof; and, as even the

Algerine war is reduced to skirmishes with the mountaineers of the

Atlas, that number must be further diminishing from year to year.

The Cupola then shone with gilding. This was the work of Napoleon,

who had a stately eye for the ornament of his imperial city. The

cupola of the Invalides thus glittered above all the roofs of Paris,

and was seen glittering to an immense distance. It might be taken

for the dedication of the French capital to the genius of War. This

gilding is now worn off practically, as well as metaphorically, and

the _prestige_ is lost.

The celebrated Edmund Burke, all whose ideas were grand, is said

to have proposed gilding the cupola of St Paul's, which certainly

would have been a splendid sight, and would have thrown a look of

stateliness over that city to which the ends of the earth turn their

eyes. But the civic spirit was not equal to the idea, and it has

since gone on lavishing ten times the money on the embellishment of

_lanes_.

The Chapel of the Invalides looked gloomy, and even neglected; the

great Magician was gone. Some service was performing, as it is in

the Romish chapels at most hours of the day: some poor people were

kneeling in different parts of the area; and some strangers were,

like myself, wandering along the nave, looking at the monuments to

the fallen military names of France. On the pillars in the nave are

inscriptions to the memory of Jourdan, Lobau, and Oudinot. There is

a bronze tablet to the memory of Marshal Mortier, who was killed by

Fieschi's infernal machine, beside Louis Philippe; and to Damremont,

who fell in Algiers.

But the chapel is destined to exhibit a more superb instance of

national recollection--the tomb of Napoleon, which is to be finished

in 1852. A large circular crypt, dug in the centre of the second

chapel (which is to be united with the first,) is the site of the

sarcophagus in which the remains of Napoleon lie. Coryatides,

columns, and bas-reliefs, commemorative of his battles, are to

surround the sarcophagus. The coryatides are to represent War,

Legislation, Art, and Science; and in front is to be raised an altar

of black marble. The architect is Visconti, and the best statuaries

in Paris are to contribute the decorations. The expense will be

enormous. In the time of Louis Philippe it had already amounted to

nearly four millions of francs. About three millions more are now

demanded for the completion, including an equestrian statue. On the

whole, the expense will be not much less than seven millions of

francs!

The original folly of the nation, and of Napoleon, in plundering the

Continent of statues and pictures, inevitably led to retribution,

on the first reverse of fortune. The plunder of money, or of

arms, or of anything consumable, would have been exempt from this

mortification; but pictures and statues are permanent things, and

always capable of being re-demanded. Their plunder was an extension

of the law of spoil unknown in European hostilities, or in history,

except perhaps in the old Roman ravage of Greece. Napoleon, in

adopting the practice of heathenism for his model, and the French

nation--in their assumed love of the arts violating the sanctities

of art, by removing the noblest works from the edifices for which

they were created, and from the lights and positions for which the

great artists of Italy designed them--fully deserved the vexation of

seeing them thus carried back to their original cities. The moral

will, it is to be presumed, be learned from this signal example,

that the works of genius are _naturally_ exempt from the sweep of

plunder; that even the violences of war must not be extended beyond

the necessities of conquest; and that an act of injustice is _sure_

to bring down its punishment in the most painful form of retribution.

_The Artesian Well._--Near the Hôtel des Invalides is the celebrated

well which has given the name to all the modern experiments of

boring to great depths for water. The name of Artesian is said to

be taken from the province of Artois, in which the practice has

been long known. The want of water in Paris induced a M. Mulot to

commence the work in 1834.

The history of the process is instructive. For six years there was

no prospect of success; yet M. Mulot gallantly persevered. All

was inexorable chalk; the boring instrument had broken several

times, and the difficulty thus occasioned may be imagined from its

requiring a length of thirteen hundred feet! even in an early period

of the operation. However, early in 1841 the chalk gave signs of

change, and a greenish sand was drawn up. On the 26th of February

this was followed by a slight effusion of water, and before night

the stream burst up to the mouth of the excavation, which was now

eighteen hundred feet in depth. Yet the water rapidly rose to a

height of one hundred and twelve feet above the mouth of the well

by a pipe, which is now supported by scaffolding, giving about six

hundred gallons of water a minute.

Even the memorable experiment confutes, so far as it goes, the

geological notion of strata laid under each other in their

proportions of gravity. The section of the boring shows chalk, sand,

gravel, shells, &c., and this order sometimes reversed, in the most

casual manner, down to a depth five times the height of the cupola

of the Invalides.

The heat of the water was 83° of Fahrenheit. In the theories

with which the philosophers of the Continent have to feed their

imaginations is that of a _central fire_, which is felt through all

the strata, and which warms everything in proportion to its nearness

to the centre. Thus, it was proposed to dig an Artesian well of

three thousand feet, for the supply of hot water to the Jardin des

Plantes and the neighbouring hospitals. It was supposed that, at

this depth, the heat would range to upwards of 100° of Fahrenheit.

But nothing has been done. Even the Well of Grenelle has rather

disappointed the public expectation; of late the supply has been

less constant, and the boring is to be renewed to a depth of two

thousand feet.

_The Napoleon Column._--This is the grand feature of the Place

de Vendôme, once the site of the Hôtel Vendôme, built by the son

of Henry IV. and Gabrielle d'Estrées; afterwards pulled down by

Louis XIV., afterwards abandoned to the citizens, and afterwards

surrounded, as it is at this day, with the formal and heavy

architecture of Mansard. The "Place" has, like everything in

Paris, changed its name from time to time. It was once the "Place

des Conquêtes;" then it changed to "Louis le Grand;" and then it

returned to the name of its original proprietor. An old figure of

the "Great King," in all the glories of wig and feathers, stood in

the centre, till justice and the rabble of the Revolution broke

it down, in the first "energies" of Republicanism. But the German

campaign of 1805 put all the nation in good humour, and the Napoleon

Column was raised on the site of the dilapidated _monarch_.

The design of the column is not original, for it is taken from

the Trajan Column at Rome; but it is enlarged, and makes a very

handsome object. When I first saw it, its decorations were in peril;

for the Austrian soldiery were loud for its demolition, or at

least for stripping off its bronze bas-reliefs, they representing

their successive defeats in that ignominious campaign which, in

three months from Boulogne, finished by the capture of Vienna. The

Austrian troops, however, stoutly retrieved their disasters, and,

as the proof, were then masters of Paris. It was possibly this

effective feeling that prevailed at last to spare the column, which

the practice of the French armies would have entitled them to strip

without mercy.

In the first instance, a statue of Napoleon, as emperor, stood on

the summit of the pillar. This statue had its revolutions too, for

it was melted down at the restoration of the Bourbons, to make a

part of the equestrian statue of Henry IV. erected on the Pont Neuf.

A _fleur-de-lis_ and flagstaff then took its place. The Revolution

of 1830, which elevated Louis Philippe to a temporary throne, raised

the statue of Napoleon to an elevation perhaps as temporary.

It was the shortsighted policy of the new monarch to mingle royal

power with "republican institutions." He thus introduced the

tricolor once more, sent for Napoleon's remains to St Helena by

permission of England, and erected his statue in the old "chapeau et

redingote gris," the characteristics of his soldiership. The statue

was inaugurated on one of the "three glorious days," in July 1833,

in all the pomp of royalty,--princes, ministers, and troops. So much

for the consistency of a brother of the Bourbon. The pageant passed

away, and the sacrifice to popularity was made without obtaining the

fruits. Louis Philippe disappeared from the scene before the fall

of the curtain; and, as if to render his catastrophe more complete,

he not merely left a republic behind him, but he lived to see the

"prisoner of Ham" the president of that republic.

How does it happen that an Englishman in France cannot stir a

single step, hear a single word, or see a single face, without the

conviction that he has landed among a people as far from him in all

their feelings, habits, and nature, as if they were engendered in

the moon? The feelings with which the Briton looks on the statue

of Buonaparte may be mixed enough: he may acknowledge him for a

great soldier, as well as a great knave--a great monarch, as well

as a little intriguer--a mighty ruler of men, who would have made

an adroit waiter at a _table d'hôte_ in the Palais Royal. But he

never would have imagined him into a sentimentalist, a shepherd, a

Corydon, to be hung round with pastoral garlands; an opera hero, to

delight in the sixpenny tribute of bouquets from the galleries.

Yet I found the image of this man of terror and mystery--this

ravager of Europe--this stern, fierce, and subtle master of havoc,

decorated like a milliner's shop, or the tombs of the citizen

shopkeepers in the cemeteries, with garlands of all sizes!--the

large to express copious sorrow, the smaller to express diminished

anguish, and the smallest, like a visiting card, for simply leaving

their compliments; and all this in the face of the people who once

feared to look in his face, and followed his car as if it bore the

Thunder!

To this spot came the people to offer up their sixpenny homage--to

this spot came processions of all kinds, to declare their republican

love for the darkest despot of European memory, to sing a stave, to

walk heroically round the railing, hang up their garlands, and then,

having done their duty in the presence of their own grisettes, in

the face of Paris, and to the admiration of Europe, march home, and

ponder upon the glories of the day!

As a work of imperial magnificence, the column is worthy of its

founder, and of the only redeeming point of his character--his

zeal for the ornament of Paris. It is a monument to the military

successes of the Empire; a trophy one hundred and thirty-five feet

high, covered with the representations of French victory over the

Austrians and Russians in the campaign of 1805. The bas-reliefs

are in bronze, rising in a continued spiral round the column. Yet

this is an unfortunate sacrifice to the imitation of the Roman

column. The spiral, a few feet above the head of the spectator,

offers nothing to the eye but a roll of rough bronze; the figures

are wholly and necessarily undistinguishable. The only portion of

those castings which directly meets the eye is unfortunately given

up to the mere uniforms, caps, and arms of the combatants. This is

the pedestal, and it would make a showy decoration for a tailor's

window. It is a clever work of the furnace, but a miserable one of

invention.

The bronze is said to have been the captured cannon of the enemy.

On the massive bronze door is the inscription in Latin:--"Napoleon,

Emperor, Augustus, dedicated to the glory of the Grand Army this

memorial of the German War, finished in three months, in the year

1805, under his command."

On the summit stands the statue of Napoleon, to which, and its

changes, I have adverted already. But the question has arisen,

whether there is not an error in taste in placing the statue of an

individual at a height which precludes the view of his _features_.

This has been made an objection to the handsome Nelson Pillar in

Trafalgar Square. But the obvious answer in both instances is,

that the object is not merely the sight of the features, but the

perfection of the memorial; that the pillar is the true _monument_,

and the statue only an accessory, though the most _suitable_

accessory. But even then the statue is not altogether inexpressive.

We can see the figure and the costume of Napoleon nearly as well

as they could be seen from the balcony of the Tuilleries, where

all Paris assembled in the Carousel to worship him on Sundays, at

the parade of "La Garde." In the spirited statue of Nelson we can

recognise the figure as well as if we were gazing at him within a

hundred yards in any other direction. It is true that pillars are

not painters' easels, nor is Trafalgar Square a sculptor's yard; but

the real question turns on the effect of the whole. If the pillar

makes the monument, we will not quarrel with the sculptor for its

not making a _miniature_. It answers its purpose--it is a noble

one; it gives a national record of great events, and it realises,

invigorates, and consecrates them by the images of the men by whom

they were achieved.

_Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile._--It is no small adventure, in a

burning day of a French summer, to walk the length of the Champs

Elysées, even to see the arch of the Star, (Napoleon's _Star_,)

and climb to its summit. Yet this labour I accomplished with the

fervour and the fatigue of a pilgrimage.

Why should the name of Republic be ever heard in the mouth of a

Frenchman? All the objects of his glory in the Capital of which he

_glories_, everything that he can show to the stranger--everything

that he recounts, standing on tip-toe, and looking down on the whole

world besides--is the work of monarchy! The grand Republic left

nothing behind but the guillotine. The Bourbons and Buonapartes were

the creators of all to which he points, with an exaltation that

throws earth into the shade from the Alps to the Andes. The Louvre,

the Madeleine, the Tuilleries, the Hôtel de Ville, (now magnified

and renovated into the most stately of town-houses,) the Hôtel

des Invalides, Nôtre Dame, &c. &c. are all the work of Kings. If

Napoleon had lived half a century longer, he would have made Paris

a second Babylon. If the very clever President, who has hitherto

managed France so dexterously, and whose name so curiously combines

the monarchy and the despotism,--if Louis _Napoleon_ (a name which

an old Roman would have pronounced an omen) should manage it into

a Monarchy, we shall probably see Paris crowded with superb public

edifices.

The kings of France were peculiarly magnificent in the decoration

of the entrances to their city. As no power on earth can prevent

the French from crowding into hovels, from living ten families in

one house, and from appending to their cities the most miserable,

ragged, and forlorn-looking suburbs on the globe, the monarchs

wisely let the national habits alone; and resolved, if the suburbs

must be abandoned to the popular fondness for the wigwam, to

impress strangers with the stateliness of their gates. The _Arc

de St Denis_, once conducting from the most dismal of suburbs, is

one of the finest portals in Paris, or in any European city; it

is worthy of the Boulevard, and that is panegyric at once. Every

one knows _that it was_ erected in honour of the short-lived

inroad of Louis XIV. into Holland in 1672, and the taking of whole

muster-rolls of forts and villages, left at his mercy, ungarrisoned

and unprovisioned, by the Republican parsimony of the Dutch, till

a princely defender arose, and the young Stadtholder sent back the

coxcomb monarch faster than he came. But the Arc is a noble work,

and its architecture might well set a redeeming example to the

London _improvers_. Why not erect an arch in Southwark? Why not at

all the great avenues to the capital? Why not, instead of leaving

this task to the caprices, or even to the bad taste of the railway

companies, make it a branch of the operations of the Woods and

Forests, and ennoble all the entrances of the mightiest capital of

earthly empire?

The Arch of St Denis is now shining in all the novelty of

reparation, for it was restored so lately as last year. In this

quarter, which has been always of a stormy temperature, the

insurrection of 1848 raged with especial fury; and if the spirits of

the great ever hover about their monuments, Louis XIV. may have seen

from its summit a more desperate conflict than ever figured on its

bas-reliefs.

On the Arch of the Porte St Martin is a minor monument to minor

triumphs, but a handsome one. Louis XIV. is still the hero. The

"Grand Monarque" is exhibited as Hercules with his club; but as

even a monarch in those days was nothing without his wig, Hercules

exhibits a huge mass of curls of the most courtly dimensions--he

might pass for the presiding deity of _perruquiers_.

The _Arc de Triomphe du Carousel_, erected in honour of the German

campaign in 1805, is a costly performance, yet poor-looking, from

its position in the centre of lofty buildings. What effect can

an isolated arch, of but five-and-forty feet high, have in the

immediate vicinity of masses of building, perhaps a hundred feet

high? Its aspect is consequently meagre; and its being placed

in the centre of a court makes it look useless, and, of course,

ridiculous. On the summit is a figure of War, or Victory, in a

chariot, with four bronze horses--the horses modelled from the

four Constantinopolitan horses brought by the French from Venice,

as part of the plunder of that luckless city, but sent back to

Venice by the Allies in 1815. The design of the arch was from

that of Severus, in Rome: this secured, at least, elegance in its

construction; but the position is fatal to dignity.

The _Arc de l'Etoile_ is the finest work of the kind in Paris. It

has the advantage of being built on an elevation, from which it

overlooks the whole city, with no building of any magnitude in its

vicinity; and is seen from a considerable distance on all the roads

leading to the capital. Its cost was excessive for a work of mere

ornament, and is said to have amounted to nearly half a million

sterling!

As I stood glancing over the groups on the friezes and faces of

this great monument, which exhibit war in every form of conflict,

havoc, and victory, the homely thought of "_cui bono_?" struck me

irresistibly. Who was the better for all this havoc?--Napoleon,

whom it sent to a dungeon! or the miserable thousands and tens

of thousands whom it crushed in the field?--or the perhaps more

unfortunate hundreds of thousands whom it sent to the hospital, to

die the slow death of exhaustion and pain, or to live the protracted

life of mutilation? I have no affectation of sentiment at the

sight of the soldier's grave; he has but taken his share of the

common lot, with perhaps the advantage, which so few men possess,

of having "done the state some service." But, to see this vast

monument covered with the emblems of hostilities, continued through

almost a quarter of a century, (for the groups commence with 1792;)

to think of the devastation of the fairest countries of Europe,

of which these hostilities were the cause; and to know the utter

fruitlessness and failure of the result, the short-lived nature of

the triumph, and the frightful depth of the defeat---Napoleon in

ignominious bondage and hopeless banishment--Napoleon, after having

lorded it over Europe, sent to linger out life on a rock in the

centre of the ocean--the leader of military millions kept under the

eye of a British sentinel, and no more suffered to stray beyond

his bounds than a caged tiger--I felt as if the object before me

was less a trophy than a tomb, less a monument of glory than of

retribution, less the record of national triumph than of national

frenzy.

I had full liberty for reflection, for there was scarcely a human

being to interrupt me. The bustle of the capital did not reach so

far, the promenaders in the Champs Elysées did not venture here; the

showy equipages of the Parisian "_nouveaux riches_" remained where

the crowd was to be seen; and except a few peasants going on their

avocations, and a bench full of soldiers, sleeping or smoking away

the weariness of the hour, the _Arc de Triomphe_, which had cost so

much treasure, and was the record of so much blood, seemed to be

totally forgotten. I question, if there had been a decree of the

Legislature to sell the stones, whether it would have occasioned

more than a paragraph in the _Journal des Debats_.

The ascent to the summit is by a long succession of dark and winding

steps, for which a lamp is lighted by the porter; but the view from

the parapet repays the trouble of the ascent. The whole basin in

which Paris lies is spread out before the eye. The city is seen in

the centre of a valley, surrounded on every side by a circle of low

hills, sheeted with dark masses of wood. It was probably once the

bed of a lake, in which the site of the city was an island. All the

suburb villages came within the view, with the fortifications, which

to a more scientific eye might appear formidable, but which to mine

appeared mere dots in the vast landscape.

This parapet is unhappily sometimes used for other purposes than

the indulgence of the spectacle. A short time since, a determined

suicide sprang from it, after making a speech to the soldiery below,

assigning his reason for this tremendous act--if reason has anything

to do in such a desperate determination to defy common sense. He

acted with the quietest appearance of deliberation: let himself down

on the coping of the battlement, from this made his speech, as if

he had been in the tribune; and, having finished it, flung himself

down a height of ninety feet, and was in an instant a crushed and

lifeless heap on the pavement below.

It is remarkable that, even in these crimes, there exists the

distinction which seems to divide France from England in every

better thing. In England, a wretch undone by poverty, broken down by

incurable pain, afflicted by the stings of a conscience which she

neither knows how to heal nor cares how to cure, woman, helpless,

wretched, and desolate, takes her walk under cover of night by the

nearest river, and, without a witness, plunges in. But, in France,

the last dreadful scene is imperfect without its publicity; the

suicide must exhibit before the people. There must be the _valete et

plaudite_. The curtain must fall with dramatic effect, and the actor

must make his exit with the cries of the audience, in admiration or

terror, ringing in the ear.

In other cases, however varied, the passion for publicity is

still the same. No man can bear to perish in silence. If the

atheist resolves on self-destruction, he writes a treatise for his

publisher, or a letter to the journals. If he is a man of science,

he takes his laudanum after supper, and, pen in hand, notes the

gradual effects of the poison for the benefit of science; or he

prepares a fire of charcoal, quietly inhales the vapour, and from

his sofa continues to scribble the symptoms of dissolution, until

the pen grows unsteady, the brain wanders, and half-a-dozen blots

close the scene; the writing, however, being dedicated to posterity,

and circulated next day in every journal of Paris, till it finally

permeates through the provinces, and from thence through the

European world.

The number of suicides in Paris annually, of late years, has

been about three hundred,--out of a population of a million,

notwithstanding the suppression of the gaming-houses, which

unquestionably had a large share in the temptation to this horrible

and unatonable crime.

The sculptures on the Arc are in the best style. They form a history

of the Consulate and of the Empire. Napoleon, of course, is a

prominent figure; but in the fine bas-relief which is peculiarly

devoted to himself, in which he stands of colossal size, with Fame

flying over his head, History writing the record of his exploits,

and Victory crowning him, the artist has left his work liable to the

sly sarcasm of a spectator of a similar design for the statue of

Louis XIV. Victory was there holding the laurel at a slight distance

from his head. An Englishman asked "whether she was putting it on

_or taking it off_?" But another of the sculptures is still more

unfortunate, for it has the unintentional effect of commemorating

the Allied conquest of France in 1814. A young Frenchman is seen

defending his family; and a soldier behind him is seen falling from

his horse, and the Genius of the _future_ flutters over them all. We

know what that future was.

The building of this noble memorial occupied, at intervals, no

less than thirty years, beginning in 1806, when Napoleon issued

a decree for its erection. The invasion in 1814 put a stop to

everything in France, and the building was suspended. The fruitless

and foolish campaign of the Duc d'Angoulême, in Spain, was regarded

by the Bourbons as a title to national glories, and the building

was resumed as a trophy to the renown of the Duc. It was again

interrupted by the expulsion of the Bourbons in 1830; but was

resumed under Louis Philippe, and finished in 1836. It is altogether

a very stately and very handsome tribute to the French armies.