than England; which I stoutly deny, and assert that no land has set up
so many sign-posts by which to guide the traveller--so many directions
by which to advise his course. With us there is no risk of doing
anything inappropriate, or incompatible with your station, if you will
only suffer yourself to be borne along on the current. Your tailor
knows not only the precise shade of colour which suits your
complexion, but, as if by intuition, he divines the exact cut that
suits your condition in life. Your coachmaker, in the same way, augurs
from the tone of your voice, and the _contour_ of your features, the
shade of colour for your carriage; and should you, by any misfortune,
happen to be knighted, the Herald's-office deduce, from the very
consonants of your name, the _quantum_ of emblazonry they can bestow
on you, and from how far back among the burglars and highwaymen of
antiquity they can venture to trace you. Should you, however, still
more unfortunately, through any ignorance of etiquette, or any
inattention to those minor forms of breeding with which every native
is conversant, offer umbrage, however slight and unintentional, to
those dread functionaries, the "new police;" were you by chance to
gaze longer into a jeweller's window than is deemed decorous; were you
to fall into any reverie which should induce you to slacken your pace,
perchance to hum a tune, and thus be brought before the awful "Sir
Peter," charged by "G 743" with having impeded the passengers--collected
a crowd--being of suspicious appearance, and having refused "to tell
who your friends were"--the odds are strongly against you that you
perform a hornpipe upon the treadmill, or be employed in that very
elegant chemical analysis, which consists in the extraction of
magnesia from oyster-shells.
Now, let any man consider for a moment what a large, interesting, and
annually-increasing portion of our population there is, who, from
certain peculiarities attending their early condition, have never been
blessed with relatives or kindred--who, having no available father and
mother, have consequently no uncles, aunts, or cousins, nor any good
friends. Here the law presses with a fearful severity upon the
suffering and the afflicted, not upon the guilty and offending. The
state has provided no possible contingencies by which such persons are
to escape. A man can no more create a paternity than he can make a new
planet. I have already said that with wealth at his disposal, ancestry
and forefathers are easily procured. He can have them of any age, of
any country, of any condition in life--churchmen or laymen--dignitaries
of the law or violators of it;--'tis all one, they are made to order.
But let him be in ever such urgent want of a near relative; let it be
a kind and affectionate father, an attached and doting mother, that he
stands in need of--he may study _The Times_ and _The Herald_--he may
read _The Chronicle_ and _The Globe_, in vain! No benevolent society
has directed its philanthropy in this channel; and not even a
cross-grained uncle or a penurious aunt can be had for love or money.
Now this subject presents itself in two distinct views--one as regards
its humanity, the other its expediency. As the latter, in the year of
our Lord, 1844, would seem to offer a stronger claim on our attention,
let us examine it first. Consider them how you will, these people form
the most dangerous class of our population--these are the "waifs and
strays" of mankind. Like snags and sawyers in the Mississippi, having
no voyage to perform in life, their whole aim and destiny seems to be
the shipwreck of others. With one end embedded in the mud of uncertain
parentage, with the other they keep bobbing above the waves of life;
but let them rise ever so high, they feel they cannot be extricated.
If rich, their happiness is crossed by their sense of isolation; for
them there are no plum-pudding festivals at Christmas, no family
goose-devourings at Michaelmas. They have none of those hundred little
ties and torments which weary and diversify life. They have acres, but
they have no uncles--they have gardens and graperies, but they cannot
raise a grandfather--they may have a future, but they have scarcely a
present; and they have no past.
Should they be poor, their solitary state suggests recklessness and
vice. It is the restraint of early years that begets submission to the
law later on, and he who has not learned the lesson of obedience when
a child, is not an apt scholar when he becomes a man. This, however,
is a part of the moral and humane consideration of the question, and
like most other humane considerations, involves expense. With that we
have nothing to do; our present business is with the rich; for their
comfort and convenience our hint is intended, and our object to
supply, on the shortest notice, and the most reasonable terms, such
relatives of either sex as the applicant shall stand in need of.
Let there be, therefore, established a new joint stock company to be
called the "GRAND UNITED ANCESTRAL, KINDRED, AND BLOOD RELATION
SOCIETY"--capital any number of pounds sterling. Actuaries--Messrs.
Oliver Twist and Jacob Faithful.
Only think of the benefits of such a company! Reflect upon the numbers
who leave their homes every morning without parentage, and who might
now possess any amount of relatives they desire before night. Every
one knows that a respectable livelihood is made by a set of persons
whose occupation it is to become bails at the different police
offices, for any class of offence, and to any amount. They exercise
their calling somewhat like bill-brokers, taking special pains always
to secure themselves against loss, and make a trifle of money, while
displaying an unbounded philanthropy. Here then is a class of persons
most appropriate for our purpose: fathers, uncles, first cousins, even
grandfathers, might be made out of these at a moment's notice. What
affecting scenes, too, might be got up at Bow-street, under such
circumstances, of penitent sons, and pardoning parents, of unforgiving
uncles and imploring nephews. How would the eloquence of the
worshipful bench revel, on such occasions, for its display. What
admonitions would it not pour forth, what warnings, what
commiseration, and what condolings. Then what a satisfaction to the
culprit to know that all these things were managed by a respectable
company, who were "responsible in every case for the good conduct of
its servants." No extortion permitted--no bribery allowed; a regular
rate of charges being printed, which every individual was bound, like
a cab-man, to show if required.
So much for a father, if respectable; so much more, if professional;
or in private life, increased premium. An angry parent, we'll say two
and sixpence; sorrowful, three shillings; "deeply afflicted and bound
to weep," five shillings.
A widowed mother, in good weeds, one and sixpence; do, do, in a cab,
half a crown; and so on.
How many are there besides who, not actually in the condition we speak
of, would be delighted to avail themselves of the benefits of this
institution. How many moving in the society of the west end, with a
father a tobacconist or a cheesemonger in the city, would gladly pay
well for a fashionable parent supposed to live upon his estate in
Yorkshire, or entertaining, as the _Morning Post_ has it, a
"distinguished party at his shooting lodge in the Highlands." What a
luxury, when dining his friends at the Clarendon, to be able to talk
of his "Old Governor" hunting his hounds twice a week, while, at the
same moment, the real individual was engaged in the manufacture of
soap and short sixes. What happiness to recommend the game-pie, when
the grouse was sent by his Uncle, while he felt that the only
individual who stood in that capacity respecting him, had three gilt
balls over his door, and was more conversant with duplicates than
double barrels.
But why pursue a theme whose benefits are self-evident, and come home
to every bosom in the vast community. It is one of "the wants of our
age," and we hope ere long to see the "fathers" as much respected in
Clerkenwell or College-street, as ever they were in Clongowes or
Maynooth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A NUT FOR "POLITICAL ECONOMISTS."
This is the age of political economists and their nostrums. Every
newspaper teems with projects for the amelioration of our working
classes, and the land is full of farming societies, temperance unions,
and a hundred other Peter Purcellisms, to improve its social
condition; the charge to make us
"Great, glorious, and free,"
remaining with that estimable and irreproachable individual who
tumbles in Lower Abbey-street.
The Frenchman's horse would, it is said, have inevitably finished his
education, and accomplished the faculty of existing without food, had
he only survived another twenty-four hours. Now, the condition of
Ireland is not very dissimilar, and I only hope that we may have
sufficient tenacity of life to outlive the numerous schemes for our
prosperity and advancement.
Nothing, indeed, can be more singular than the manner of every
endeavour to benefit his country. We are poor--every man of us is only
struggling; therefore, we are recommended to build expensive
poorhouses, and fill them with some of ourselves. We have scarcely
wherewithal to meet the ordinary demands of life, and straightway are
told to subscribe to various new societies--repeal funds--agricultural
clubs--O'Connell tributes--and Mathew testimonials. This, to any
short-sighted person, might appear a very novel mode of filling our
own pockets. There are one-idea'd people in the world, who can only
take up the impression which, at first blush, any subject suggests;
they, I say, might fancy that a continued system of donation,
unattended by anything like receipt, is not exactly the surest element
of individual prosperity. I hope to be able to controvert this
plausible, but shallow theory, and to show--and what a happy thing it
is for us--to show that, not only is our poverty the source of our
greatest prosperity, but that if by any accident we should become
rich, we must inevitably be ruined; and to begin--
Absenteeism is agreed on all hands to be the bane of Ireland. No one,
whatever be his party prejudices, will venture to deny this. The
high-principled and well-informed country gentleman professes this
opinion in common with the illiterate and rabid follower of
O'Connell; I need not, therefore, insist further on a proposition so
universally acknowledged. To proceed--of all people, none are so
naturally absentees as the Irish; in fact, it would seem that one
great feature of our patriotism consists in the desire to display, in
other lands, the ardent attachment we bear our own. How can we tell
Frenchmen, Italians, Germans, Russians, Swedes, and Swiss, how devoted
we are to the country of our birth, if we do not go abroad to do so?
How can we shed tears as exiles, unless we become so? How can we rail
about the wrongs of Ireland and English tyranny, if we do not go among
people, who, being perfectly ignorant of both, may chance to believe
us? These are the patriotic arguments for absenteeism; then come
others, which may be classed under the head of "expediency reasons,"
such as debts, duns, outlawries, &c. Thirdly, the temptations of the
Continent, which, to a certain class of our countrymen, are of the
very strongest description--Corn Exchange politics, vulgar associates,
an air of bully, and a voice of brogue, will not form such obstacles
to success in Paris, as in Dublin. A man can scarcely introduce an
Irish provincialism into his French, and he would be a clever fellow
who could accomplish a bull under a twelvemonth. These, then, form the
social reasons; and from a short revision of all three, it will be
seen that they include a very large proportion of the land--Mr.
O'Connell talks of them as seven millions.
[Illustration]
It being now proved, I hope, to my reader's satisfaction, that the
bent of an Irishman is to go abroad, let us briefly inquire, what is
it that ever prevents him so doing? The answer is an easy one. When
Paddy was told by his priest that whenever he went into a
public-house to drink, his guardian angel stood weeping at the door,
his ready reply was, "that if he had a tester he'd have been in too;"
so it is exactly with absenteeism; it is only poverty that checks it.
The man with five pounds in his pocket starts to spend it in England;
make it _ten_, and he goes to Paris; _fifteen_, and he's up the Rhine;
_twenty_, and Constantinople is not far enough for him! Whereas, if
the sum of his wealth had been a matter of shillings, he'd have been
satisfied with a trip to Kingstown, a chop at Jude's, a place in the
pit, and a penny to the repeal fund; all of which would redound to his
patriotism, and the "prosperity of Ireland."
The same line of argument applies to every feature of expense. If we
patronise "Irish manufacture," it is because we cannot afford English.
If we like Dublin society, it is upon the same principle; and, in
fact, the cheap pleasures of home, form the sheet-anchor of our
patriotism, and we are only "guardian angels," because "we haven't a
tester."
Away then with any flimsy endeavours to introduce English capital or
Scotch industry. Let us persevere in our present habits of mutual
dislike, attack, and recrimination; let us interfere with the projects
of English civilisation, and forward, by every means in our power, the
enlightened doctrines of popery, and the patriotic pastime of
parson-shooting, for even in sporting we dispense with a "game
license;" let no influx of wealth offer to us the seduction of
quitting home, and never let us feel with our national poet that
"Ireland is a beautiful country to live out of."
[Illustration]
A NUT FOR "GRAND DUKES."
[Illustration]
God help me but I have always looked upon a "grand duke" pretty much
in the same light that I have regarded the "Great Lama," that is to
say, a very singular and curious object of worship in its native
country. How any thing totally destitute of sovereign attributes could
ever be an idol, either for religious or political adoration, is
somewhat singular, and after much pains and reflections on the
subject, I came to the opinion, that German princes were valued by
their subjects pretty much on the principle the Indians select their
idols, and knowing men admire thorough-bred Scotch terriers--viz., not
their beauty.
Of all the cant this most canting age abounds in, nothing is more
repulsive and disgusting than the absurd laudation which travellers
pour forth concerning these people, by the very ludicrous blunder of
comparing a foreign aristocracy with our own. Now, what is a German
grand duke? Picture to yourself a very corpulent, moustached, and
befrogged individual, who has a territory about the size of the Phoenix
Park, and a city as big and as flourishing as the Blackrock; the
expenses of his civil list are defrayed by a chalybeate spring, and
the budget of his army by the license of a gambling-house, and then
read the following passage from "Howitt's Life in Germany," which,
with that admirable appreciation of excellence so eminently their
characteristic, the newspapers have been copying this week past--
"You may sometimes see a grand duke come into a country inn, call for
his glass of ale, drink it, pay for it, and go away as unceremoniously
as yourself. The consequence of this easy familiarity is, that princes
are everywhere popular, and the daily occurrence of their presence
amongst the people, prevents that absurd crush and stare at them,
which prevails in more luxurious and exclusive countries."
That princes do go into country inns, call for ale, and drink it, I
firmly believe; a circumstance, however, which I put the less value
upon, inasmuch as the inn is pretty much like the prince's own house,
the ale very like what he has at home, and the innkeeper as near as
possible, in breeding, manner, and appearance, his equal. That he
_pays_ for the drink, which our author takes pains to mention, excites
all my admiration; but I confess I have no words to express my
pleasure on reading that "he goes away again," and, as Mr. Howitt has
it, "as unceremoniously as yourself," neither stopping to crack the
landlord's crown, smash the pewter, break the till, nor even put a
star in the looking-glass over the fire-place, a condescension on his
part which leads to the fact, that "princes are everywhere popular."
Now, considering that Mr. Howitt is a Quaker, it is somewhat
remarkable the high estimate he entertains of this "grand ducal"
forbearance. What he expected his highness to have done when he had
finished his drink, I am as much at a loss to conjecture, as what
trait we are called upon to admire in the entire circumstance; when
the German prince went into the inn, and knocking three times with a
copper kreutzer on the counter, called for his choppin of beer, he was
exactly acting up to the ordinary habits of his station, as when the
Duke of Northumberland, on his arriving with four carriages at the
"Clarendon," occupied a complete suite of apartments, and partook of a
most sumptuous dinner. Neither more nor less. His Grace of Alnwick
might as well be lauded for his ducal urbanity as the German prince
for his, each was fulfilling his destiny in his own way, and there was
not anything a whit more worthy of admiration in the one case, than in
the other.
But three hundred pounds per annum, even in a cheap country, afford
few luxuries; and if the Germans are indifferent to cholic, there
might be, after all, something praiseworthy in the beer-drinking, and
here I leave it.
[Illustration]
A NUT FOR THE EAST INDIA DIRECTORS.
[Illustration]
When the East India Directors recalled Lord Ellenborough, and replaced
him by Sir Henry Harding, the impression upon the public mind was, as
was natural it should be, that the course of policy adopted by the
former, was such as met not their approval, and should not be
persisted in by his successor.
To supersede one man by another, that he might perform the very same
acts in the same way, would be something too ludicrous and absurd.
When John Bull chassees the Tories, and takes to the Whigs, it is
because he has had enough of Peel, and wants to try a stage with Lord
John, who handles the ribbons differently, and drives another sort of
a team; a piebald set of screws they are, to be sure, but they can go
the pace when they are at it; and, as the road generally lies
downhill, they get along right merrily. But John would never think of
a change, if the pace were to be always the same. No; he'd just put up
with the set he had, and take his chance. Not so your India Directors.
They are quite satisfied with everything; all is right, orderly, and
proper; but still they would rather that another man were at the head
of affairs, to do exactly what had been done before. "What are you
doing, Peter?"--"Nothing, sir." "And you, Jem, what are you
about?"--"Helping Peter, sir." That is precisely the case, and Sir
Henry is gone out to help Lord Ellenborough.
Such a line of proceeding is doubtless singular enough, and many
sensible people there are, who cannot comprehend the object and
intention of the wise Directors; while, by the press, severe
imputations have been thrown upon their consistency and intelligence,
and some have gone so far as to call their conduct unparalleled.
This, however, is unjust. The Old Almanack, as Lord Brougham would
call it, has registered a not inapplicable precedent; and, in the
anxious hope of being remembered by the "Old Lady," I hasten to
mention it:--
When Louis XIV. grew tired of Madame la Valliere, and desired to
replace her by another in his favour, he committed the difficult task
of explanation on the subject, to his faithful friend and confessor,
Bossuet. The worthy Bishop undertook his delicate mission with
diffidence; but he executed it with tact. The gentle La Valliere wept
bitterly; she knew nothing of the misfortune that menaced her. She
believed that her star still stood in the ascendant, and fancied (like
Lord Ellenborough) that her blandishments were never more
acknowledged. "Whence, then, this change?" cried she, in the agony of
her grief. "How have I offended him?"
"You mistake me, my daughter," said Mons. de Meaux. "His Majesty is
most tenderly attached to you; but religious scruples--qualms of
conscience--have come upon him. 'C'est par la peur du diable,' that he
consents to this separation."
[Illustration: Honorable Members.]
Poor Louise dried her tears; the case was bad enough, but there was
one consolation--it was religion, and not a rival, had cost her a
lover; and so she began her preparations for departure with a heart
somewhat less heavy. On the day, however, of her leave-taking, a
carriage, splashed and travel-stained, arrived at the "petite porte"
of the Palace; and as instantaneously ran the rumour through the
household that his Majesty's new mistress had arrived: and true it
was, Madame de Maintenon had taken her place beside the fauteuil of
the King.
"So, Mons. de Bossuet," said La Valliere, as he handed her to her
carriage--"so, then, his Majesty has exiled me, 'par la peur du
diable.'"
The Bishop bowed in tacit submission and acquiescence.
"In that case," resumed she, "c'est par complaisance au diable, that
he accepts Madame de Maintenon."
A FILBERT FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL.
[Illustration]
Sir Robert Peel was never more triumphant than when, in the last
session of Parliament, he rebuked his followers for a casual defection
in the support of Government, by asking them what they had to complain
of. Are _we_ not on the Treasury benches? said the Right Honourable
Baronet. Do not my friend Graham and myself guide and direct you?--do
we not distribute the patronage and the honours of the government,--take
the pay--and rule the kingdom--what more would you have? Ungrateful
bucolics, you know not what you want! The apostrophe was bold, but not
original. I remember hearing of a West country farmer having ridden a
long day's journey on a poor, ill-fed hack, which, as evening drew
near, showed many symptoms of a fatal knock-up. The rider himself was
well tired, too, and stopped at an ale-house for a moment's
refreshment, while he left the jaded beast standing at the door. As he
remounted his saddle, a few minutes after, he seized his reins
briskly, flourished his whip (both like Sir Robert), and
exclaimed:--"I've had two glasses of spirits.--Let us see if you won't
go after that."
[Illustration]
"THE INCOME TAX."
Among the many singular objections which have been made to the new
property tax, I find Mr. C. Buller stating in the House, that his
greatest dislike to the project lay in the exceedingly small amount of
the impost.
"My wound is great because it is so small,"
might have been the text of the honourable and learned gentleman's
oration. After setting forth most eloquently the varied distresses of
the country--its accumulating debt and heavy taxation--he turns the
whole weight of his honest indignation against the new imposition,
because, forsooth, it is so "little burdensome, and will inflict so
slight an additional load upon the tax-payer." There is an attempt at
argument, however, on the subject, which is somewhat amusing; for he
continues not only to lament the smallness of the new tax, but the
"slight necessity that exists" even for that. Had we some great
national loss to make up, the deficiency of which rendered a call on
the united people necessary, then, quoth he, how happily we should
stand forward in support of the Constitution. In fact, he deplores, in
the most moving terms, that ill off as the country is, yet it is not
one-half so bad as it might be, or as he should like to see it. Ah!
had we only some disastrous Continental war, devastating our
commerce--ruining our Colonies, and eating into the very heart of our
national resources--how gladly I should pay this Income Tax; but to
remedy a curable evil--to restore, by prompt and energetic measures,
the growing disease of the State--is a poor, pettifogging practice,
that has neither heroism nor fame to recommend it. I remember hearing
that at one of those excellent institutions, so appropriately
denominated Magdalen Asylums, a poor, but innocent girl, presented
herself for admission, pleading her lonely and deserted condition, as
a plea for her reception. The patroness, an amiable and excellent
person--but somewhat of the complexion of the honourable and learned
Member for Liskeard--asked at once, whether she had resolved on a
total reformation of her mode of life. The other replied, that her
habits had been always chaste and virtuous, and that her character had
been invariably above reproach. "Ah, in that case," rejoined the lady,
"we can't admit you; this institution is expressly for the reception
of penitents. If you could only qualify for a week or so, there is no
objection to your admission."