equipments should be alluded to in more than general terms.
The animals they bestrode were a couple of broken-down ponies,
gaunt and rusty, who had possibly once seen better days. The
men themselves were not unsuitable figures for such a pair of
steeds. They rode with short stirrups, that brought their knees
almost under cover of the shaggy mane that overspread the ewe
necks of the poor creatures; and carried their short thick sticks
perpendicularly in their hands. Such was the appearance of these
country wights as they shambled along the road that gave them
so good a view of the City State Barge. And so mightily pleased
was the Lord Mayor with their uncouth and ludicrous appearance,
that he hailed one of them, and asked him to be the bearer of a
message to Reading, touching his Lordship's carriage. The fellow
seemed to feel as he never felt before! An honour was about to be
conferred upon him alone--to be the _avant-courrier_ of the Lord
Mayor of London!--above and beyond all other riders, drivers, and
walkers of whatever quality and degree, who had thronged to the
view of the civic party. And no sooner had his Lordship flung him
a piece of money, and told him to 'make haste to the Bear Inn,
Reading, and order the Lord Mayor's carriage to meet the barge
at Caversham Bridge,' than the fellow instantly belaboured the
starveling ribs of the poor animal that carried him, with kicks
and cudgel; who, in a moment, dashed briskly forward, snuffling
and snorting across the fields. In the eagerness of his flight,
the doughty messenger had much ado to maintain his seat: he
sometimes slipped on one side of the saddle, and sometimes on the
other; while the skirts of his unbuttoned coat fluttered out far
behind him. He executed his commission, however, with fidelity
equalled only by the dispatch which he had used; for when the
barge arrived at Caversham Bridge, the carriage was waiting the
Lord Mayor's arrival. Other carriages were also in attendance.
It was now nearly nine o'clock; and as the evening shadows were
beginning to shroud the surrounding scenery, the Lady Mayoress,
and the other ladies of the party, except the Misses Atkins,
fearful of too long exposure to the night air, landed at the
bridge, amidst the firing of guns and other demonstrations of
respectful salutation, and proceeded in their carriages to
Reading."
That a Lord Mayor should devote much time to Reading, Mr. Rogers
would declare highly improbable--but his Lordship and party partook
of a sumptuous supper and went to bed. That we cannot devote much
more space to Lord Wenables is equally mortifying--suffice it to
say, that on the following day, after a hearty breakfast, an eleven
o'clock snack, and a one o'clock luncheon, Lord Wenables and his
court partook of a cold collation at Cliefden, at which were present
Mrs. Fromow and her son, Broom Witts, Esq.; the Mayors of Maidenhead,
Windsor, and Reading, the brothers and sisters of Lord Wenables, and
sixty or seventy other persons.
"The gardens and grounds were thronged with spectators, either
strolling about or seated on the grass; and on the opposite
banks, several tents were erected for general convenience; around
which the children shouted and threw up their hats!"
What particular occurrences excited the mirth and activity of the
children round this particular spot, the reverend gentleman omits to
mention; the following, however, must not be overlooked:--
"The increasing pressure of the surrounding people now rendered
the adoption of some plan necessary by which their curiosity
could be better gratified. Arrangements were accordingly made
to admit the female part of the spectators, in small successive
parties, to walk round the tables as the company were seated
at dinner; and it was curious to see how many eager eyes were
strained, and fingers pointed, to distinguish the individuals of
the party. But it was something more than a mere idle feeling of
curiosity that prompted this anxiety in the honest peasantry to
see the Lord Mayor of London."
It seems, in fact, that Lord Wenables was born in those parts,
so that his anxiety about the source of the Thames was in fact
instinctive and intuitive, and as natural as it was laudable.
The next thirty or forty pages of the work consist of a character
of his late Majesty, an account of Mr. Wenables's paper-mill, and a
description of the royal Castle at Windsor, copied, we presume, from
the Guide to that building, which has been long since published for
the benefit of Lions, at the small charge of sixpence.
The details of breaking a bottle over the stone at Staines we
cannot give, although the anxiety of Lord Wenables to discover the
London water-mark appears to have been professionally natural.
At Richmond the barge remained--like the great Lord's stock in
trade--_stationary_, and his Lordship's fine foaming horses having
been delighted once more with the sight of his Lordship, dashed
from Richmond to the Mansion House with a celerity which, although
somewhat inconsistent with "true dignity," brought the illustrious
personage, his wife, his chaplain, and his sword-bearer, to the end
of the Poultry in "no time;" having safely achieved an adventure
which will hand down to posterity the great names of Wenables and
Fromow, and the unrivalled powers of an historian, who (though
modesty may induce him to keep himself snug) will live in his works
till time shall be no more.
LORD WENABLES AGAIN.[55]
The editor of these memoirs, anxious to do justice to Mr. Firkins's
feelings, and to Mr. Gurney's accuracy in recording them, considers
that he cannot do more for the establishment of the sincerity of
one party, and the correctness of the other, than may be done by
submitting a few extracts from an authentic work, published many
years subsequent to the period to which Mr. Gurney refers, giving an
account of the journey of Lord Mayor Wenables to Oxford, written and
published at the desire of his lordship, and his companions in that
enterprise, by his lordship's chaplain. As the romance of real life
is said to be infinitely more romantic than that of fiction, so the
details of dignity, splendour, and magnificence, ably and carefully
written by the rev. gentleman, by which the expedition of Alderman
Wenables was distinguished, very much transcend the description given
by our respected acquaintance Firkins, to my much-regretted friend
Gurney. The extracts must be brief--but I am convinced they will be
highly satisfactory.
The first quotation I shall make from the reverend author's book, is
the description of the departure of the Lord Mayor from the Mansion
House. It is headed "Tuesday," and begins at page 11:--
"On the morning of the 25th (July), the lord mayor accompanied by
the lady mayoress, and attended by the chaplain, left the Mansion
House soon after eight o'clock.
"The _private state_ carriage" (I ought to observe, the italics
are mine) "had driven to the door at half-past seven" (which, by
the way, as an act of volition upon the part of the private state
coach, was extremely attentive). "The coachman's countenance
was reserved and thoughtful; indicating full consciousness
of the test by which his equestrian skill would this day be
tried, in having the undivided charge of four high spirited and
stately horses, a circumstance somewhat unusual: for in the lord
mayor's carriage, a postilion usually guides the first pair
of horses,"--_i.e._ the postilion in the carriage guides the
leaders, which are the farthest removed from it.
"These fine animals," says the reverend author, "were in
admirable condition for the journey--having been allowed a
previous day of unbroken rest; they were quite impatient of
delay, and chafed and champed exceedingly on the bits, by which
their impetuosity was restrained.
"The murmur of expectation, which had lasted for more than half
an hour amongst the crowd who had gathered around the carriage,
was at length hushed, by--the opening of the hall door. The
lord mayor had been filling up this interval" (the door?) "with
instructions to the _femme de ménage_ and other household
officers who were to be left in residence, to attend with their
wonted fidelity and diligence to their respective departments of
service during his absence, and now appeared at the door. His
lordship was accompanied by the lady mayoress, and followed by
the chaplain.
"As soon as the female attendant of the lady mayoress had taken
her seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the
well-looking coachman, the carriage drove away; not, however,
with that violent and extreme rapidity which rather astounds than
gratifies the beholders; but at that steady and majestic pace
which is always an indication of real greatness."--P. 12.
The reverend gentleman describes this majestic progress through
London to Cranford Bridge; a powder-mill at Hounslow is blown up on
the way; but at Cranford Bridge, "just thirteen miles from London,"
the lord mayor staid only long enough to change horses--"for his
lordship intending to travel post from Cranford Bridge to Oxford, his
own fine horses were, after a proper interval of rest, to return to
town under the coachman's care."
"These noble animals, however, seemed scarcely to need the rest
which their master's"--job--"kindness now allotted them, for
though they had drawn a somewhat heavy carriage a distance of
nearly seventeen miles, yet they appeared as full of life as
ever; arching their stately necks, and dashing in all directions
the white foam from their mouths, as if they were displeased that
they were to go no farther."--P. 16.
"Just as the carriage was about to drive away" (more volition),
"Mr. Alderman Magnay, accompanied by his lady and daughter,
arrived in a post-chaise. After an interchange of salutations,
the lady mayoress, observing that they must be somewhat crowded
in the chaise, invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth seat, which
had yet been vacant in the carriage; as the day was beginning
to be warm, this courteous offer of her ladyship was readily
accepted."
Here is a perfect justification of Firkins's regrets at his fall--the
unhappy trio, jammed in the _po chay_, had been the year before
in precisely the same elevated position which their illustrious
friends then occupied; and if the courteous lady mayoress the year
before that, had been screwed up with her husband and daughter in
a _po chay_ also, then Mrs. Magnay would have been the courteous
lady mayoress, to have relieved the Wenableses. I must, however,
think that the reverend gentleman's reason for Miss Magnay's ready
acceptance of the courteous offer does her an injustice. By his
account, she readily got out of the family jam, not because she duly
appreciated the grace and favour of the lady mayoress, but because
"the day was beginning to be warm."
The journey to Oxford was all safely completed, and after seventy-six
pages of matter, equally illustrative of Firkins's feelings, we come,
at p. 77, to this description of the rapture and delight of the
people of Oxfordshire, under the exciting circumstances of the lord
mayor's return down the river towards London:--
"The crowds of people--men, women, and children--who had
accompanied the barge from Oxford, were continually succeeded
by fresh reinforcements from every town and village that is
skirted by the river. Distant shouts and acclamations perpetually
re-echoed from field to field, as the various rustic parties,
with their fresh and blooming faces, were seen hurrying forth
from their cottages and gardens, climbing trees, struggling
through copses, and traversing thickets to make their shortest
way to the water side. Handfuls of halfpence were scattered to
the children as they kept pace with the city barge, and Mr.
Alderman Atkins, who assisted the lord mayor in the distribution,
seemed to enter with more than common pleasure into the enjoyment
of the little children. It was gratifying to see the absence
of selfish feeling manifested by some of the elder boys, who,
forgetful of themselves, collected for the younger girls."--Pp.
77, 78.
The last bit for which I have room, is of the more convincing and
powerfully descriptive cast, than anything I have yet advanced in
favour of my poor friend Gurney's estimation of Firkins's dismay at
his fall. The scene is near Caversham, where crowds of "spectators,
some on foot, some on horseback, and some in equipages of every
kind," were collected to see the barges pass.
"Among the equestrians," says the author, "two are deserving
that their looks and equipments should be alluded to in more
than general terms. The animals they bestrode were a couple of
broken-down ponies, gaunt and rusty, who had possibly once seen
better days. The men themselves were not unsuitable figures
to such a pair of steeds. They rode with short stirrups, that
brought their knees almost under cover of the shaggy manes that
overspread the ewe necks of the poor creatures; and carried
their short thick sticks perpendicular in their hands."
This sounds like an account in one of the innumerable books of
travels in the interior of Africa, rather than a description of a
couple of natives of Berkshire, within five-and-thirty miles of Hyde
Park Corner; however, "so mightily pleased was the lord mayor with
their uncouth and ludicrous appearance, that he hailed one of them,
and asked him to be the bearer of a message to Reading, touching
his lordship's carriage. The fellow seemed to feel as he never felt
before. An honour was about to be conferred upon him alone, to be
the _avant courier_ of--'the Lord Mayor of London,' above and beyond
all the other riders, drivers, and walkers, of whatever quality and
degree, who had thronged in view of the civic party; and no sooner
had his lordship flung him a piece of money, and told him to 'make
haste to the Bear Inn at Reading, and order the lord mayor's carriage
to meet the barge at Caversham Bridge,' than the fellow instantly
belaboured the starveling ribs of the poor animal that carried him
with kicks and cudgel, who in a moment dashed briskly forward,
snuffling and snorting, across the fields. In the eagerness of his
flight, the doughty messenger had much ado to keep his seat; he
sometimes slipped on one side of the saddle, and sometimes on the
other, while the skirts of his unbuttoned coat fluttered far out
behind him."--Pp. 81, 82.
All this evidence from the pen of a worthy divine, will, I am sure,
convince the most sceptical reader of the fidelity with which my late
friend repeated the regrets and lamentations of our friends in Budge
Row, after their involuntary abdication. Every page of the account of
that memorable journey and voyage teems with gem-like illustrations
of a similar character; and I regret that my duty, as editor of the
Gurney Papers, does not permit me to draw more largely on its stores.
MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.
TO JOHN BULL.
SIR,--I am not one of those who snarl at modern improvements, but
I admit my incapacity to find out the improvements, at which other
people snarl--I consider gas and steam to be two of the most odious
and abominable nuisances ever tolerated in a Christian country:
I only ask the best-natured critic--the most impartial judge in
Christendom--whether anything can smell more abominably than the
vapour which thousands of pounds are hourly spent to produce? If
ruining oil-men, and beggaring wax-chandlers, is sport, well and
good--in Heaven's name stew down the wholesome coals and make smoke,
and set fire to it: but don't call that an improvement.
I love the sight of a lamp-lighter--a "jolly Dick" in a greasy jacket
flaring his link along the pavement, rubbing against one's sleeve,
or besprinkling one's shirt with oil--I seldom see one of them now;
the race is superseded by a parcel of dandies, with dark lanthorns
in their hands, prowling about like so many Guy Fawkes's: up they
go, and without taking off the green lamp-tops and putting them on
their heads, as the jolly Dicks did, they open a door, turn a cock,
introduce their lanthorn--piff, paff, poff,--out comes the light, and
down goes the ladder--this is innovation, not improvement.
Then steam--what's the improvement of steam? There was an interest
in a short sea voyage when I was young--contrary winds--tides
against one--nature had fair play--but now Mr. This-thing or Mr.
T'other-thing makes a great copper pot, and fills it with water--more
coals; poking and stoking, and shovelling and raking--Nature is
thrown overboard; and the pacquet-boat, uninfluenced either by her
smiles or frowns, ploughs up the waves, and marches along, like
a couple of wandering water-mills. There is no interest in this,
sir--any fool can make a copper pot--any fool can fill a copper pot
with water--any fool can make a fire, and poke it, and make water
boil--there's no pleasure in this life when events are thus provided
for, and that, which had all the interest of doubt and difficulty, is
reduced to a certainty.
The same in land carriage--formerly, a stage coach journey was
an affair--a thing to be thought about--a man took leave of his
relations, left his home, in the expectation of never seeing his wife
again; then there was an interest, a pleasure in the speculation, and
a hope, and a fear, and a doubt, and something to keep the faculties
awake. Now, sir, if you want to go sixty or seventy miles, you have
hardly settled yourself comfortably in your corner, before you are
at your journey's end. Why, sir, before these jigamaree things were
invented, I have lived two-and-twenty days on board a Leith smack,
for three pounds three shillings, and enjoyed a pleasant five days'
excursion on the road to Plymouth; whereas at present I am whirled
from Edinburgh to London in forty hours, and taken from Piccadilly
to Dock--Devonport I mean--in about half that time. Now this, to my
mind, is no improvement.
Then, sir, look at London--look what the improvers have done--pulled
up the pavements, the pride of the land, and turned the streets into
roads. This Muckadamizing is no improvement. Puddles for purbecks is
a bad exchange--the granite grinding is no wonder--the rattle and
clatter of London is at an end. One might as well be at Slough or
Southall, or any of the environs, as be in the heart of the town.
They have taken away Swallow-street--scene of my youthful pleasures;
and, to crown all, they are pulling St. James's Park to pieces,
planting trees, and twisting the water. Why did not they leave the
canal straight, as the Serpentine is? Are we to come back to the days
of Duck Island, with a Whig governor for it? Why are the horses and
cows disturbed to make way for the people? I love to see horses and
cows happy. I like to see the barracks and hospitals. I don't want
to look at great big rows of high houses, filled with people who can
afford to live in them, while I cannot. This is no improvement.
Then for manners and customs: in my time we dined early and sat late,
and the jolliest part of our lives was that which we passed with
our legs under the mahogany. Now, we see no mahogany--we dine at
supper-time and the cloth stops and the wine never moves; away go our
women--no healths--no toasts--no gentleman to cover a lady--no good
wishes--nothing convivial--one anonymous half glass, sipped silently,
and the coffee is ready. Out we go, turned adrift at eleven, with
nothing on earth to do for the rest of the evening, unless one goes
to a Club, where, if a man asks for anything stronger than soda
water, he is looked at as a monster. Hock and Seltzer water, perhaps,
if it's hot weather--wimbly wambly stuff, enough to make a cat sick,
and after that, home. Why, in my time, sir, I should have laughed
at a fellow who flinched before his fourth bottle, or who submitted
to the degrading circumstance of finding his way to bed of his own
proper discretion. But those days are past--one thing I _do_ thank
the stars for--we are getting back to the tobacco--not indeed the
beautiful lily pipe, tipped rosily with sealing wax, and pure as the
driven snow, but a happy succedaneum--a cigar. I do love a cigar,
sir; it reminds me of the olden time, and I like the smell of my
clothes in the morning, which I congratulate myself none of our
modern improvements, as they are called, can ever eradicate.
Perhaps you have been lately in the Regent's Park--I will tell you
what is doing there--a Mr. Somebody--I forget his name, but it is
somehow connected in my mind upon Von Feinagle's principle with
a Christmas pie--Horner, by Jove, that's it--he has sunk twenty
thousand pounds, and raised a splendid building--a temple--a
pantheon--a feature in the town--and what do you think for?--to
exhibit a panorama of London from the top of St. Paul's, just within
a couple of miles of St. Paul's itself--but then we are to be saved
all the trouble--to be screwed up to the eminence without labour: to
my mind, the whole point of a fine prospect is the trouble of getting
to it--far-fetched and dear-bought are the great attractions, and all
the interest is destroyed if things are made too easy of attainment.
I don't like this plan.
The same struggle against nature seems to be going on everywhere--see
the theatres--even at that band-box the Adelphi--there was a
difficulty in getting in, and a difficulty in getting a seat when one
did get in; now it is all made easy and comfortable, and for what?
To see a schooner so like what any one can see any day in the river,
that it is no sight at all; like Lawrence's pictures--I hate that
President--his things are like life, the likenesses are identity,
and so like nature that there is no merit in the painting--I like a
little doubt--I love to show my quickness by guessing a portrait--the
interest is destroyed if there is no question about the thing--the
same with shooting--I used to hit my bird and miss my bird, and walk
and walk over the furrows, and climb over the hedges and ditches, and
bang away with a gun of my poor father's, which, when it did go off,
was not over-certain in its performance--I liked the pursuit--now,
with your Mantons and percussions, your Nocks without flints, and all
that sort of thing--wet or dry, off they go--slap bang, down tumbles
the bird for each barrel, and the thing is over--I never shoot now--a
thing reduced to a certainty loses all interest.
Before Palmer's time I used to keep up a constant correspondence
with a numerous circle of friends and acquaintance; there was no
certainty about the delivery of one's letters--mail carts were
robbed--post-boys were murdered--bags found in a pond all soaked
to rags; then, there was an interest in it; now, a letter never
miscarries; all like clockwork. I hate that Freeling--his activity
and vigilance have destroyed the interest. I haven't written to a
friend for the last fifteen years, nor should I write to you now,
only that I send my letter by a servant lad, who is a member of
an Intellectual Institution, and so stupid, that I think it is at
least ten to one that you ever receive it.--Perhaps you will just
acknowledge it, if it comes to hand--the expectation will, at least,
serve to keep up the interest.
Yours truly,
STEPHEN BROWN.
Baker Street, Oct. 17, 1828.
TO JOHN BULL.
SIR,--I perceived the other day in your columns a letter from a
gentleman of the name of Brown, who, in the most cynical, sneering
manner, thought fit, unjustly as I think, to run down all our modern
improvements--I know you are impartial, and love to give upright
adversaries fair play in your paper; I differ with Mr. Brown, and
perhaps you will give me the opportunity of showing how and why.
In the first place, the ridicule, which not only he, but, I am
sorry to say, yourself and many others, think fit to cast upon
the advancement of learning, and which you have nick-named the
march of intellect, is entirely misplaced--you look at things
politically, because politicians of a peculiar class have adopted
the institution of societies, seminaries, and universities--this
is wrong--considering the matter thus, and associating men and
manners, you teach us to believe the march of intellect the "rogues'
march," to which all the well-disposed middling classes are to go
to destruction; but you should consider the matter differently; you
should recollect that almost all the political supporters of these
Mechanics' Institutes and London Universities have imbibed their
political principles merely because they have had little or no
education themselves, and that as for instilling pride or arrogance
into the minds of the lower and middling classes of the people, by
sending them to the London University, the very converse must be the
fact, because there is nothing that I see to be derived from the
institution at all likely to induce pride or self-satisfaction in any
of its members.
In the _Times_ of Tuesday, I perceive an advertisement from Mr.
Dufief, stating that nearly 300 members of a class in the London
Mechanics' Institute are learning French rapidly and critically.
This, I conceive, so far from being an absurdity, to be one of the
most beneficial events ever announced: consider what an improvement
it will be for the common run of people who frequent public places
of amusement, to find the lower order well grounded in French--in
that language they will, for elegance sake, carry on their future
conversations, and the ears of our wives and daughters be no longer
disgusted with the coarseness to which they are now subject--for you
are of course aware, that as the progress of learning exhibits itself
amongst the _canaille_, the aristocracy will abandon the ground
they assume, and our belles and beaux, in less than a dozen years,
will whisper their soft nonsense in Hebrew, Sanscrit, Cingalese, or
Malabar.