The noble sentiments uttered by Justice Talfourd in his last moments gave a
charm to his sudden death, and shed a hallowed beauty about the painfully
closing scenes of this great man. I want them to have a niche in "N. & Q.,"
and along with them a passage from his beautiful tragedy of _Ion_, which
may be considered as a transcript of those thoughts which filled his mind
on the very eve of quitting the high and honourable duties of his earthly
course. It forcibly illustrates the loving soul, the kind heart, and the
amiable character of this deeply lamented judge.
After speaking of the peculiar aspect of crime in that part of the country
where he delivered his last charge, he goes on to say:
"I cannot help myself thinking it may be in no small degree
attributable to that separation between class and class, which is the
great curse of British society, and for which we are all, more or less,
in our respective spheres, in some degree responsible, and which is
more complete in these districts than in agricultural districts, where
the resident gentry are enabled to shed around them the blessings
resulting from the exercise of benevolence, and the influence and
example of active kindness. I am afraid we all of us keep too much
aloof from those beneath us, and whom we thus encourage to look upon us
with suspicion and dislike. Even to our servants we think, perhaps, we
fulfil our duty when we perform our contract with them--when we pay
them their wages, and treat then with the civility consistent with our
habits and feelings--when we curb our temper, and use no violent
expressions towards them. But how painful is the thought, that there
are men and women growing up around us, ministering to our comforts and
necessities, continually inmates of our dwellings, with whose
affections and nature we are as much unacquainted as if they were the
inhabitants of some other sphere. This feeling, arising from that kind
of reserve peculiar to the English character, does, I think, greatly
tend to prevent that mingling of class with class, that reciprocation
of kind words and gentle affections, gracious admonitions and kind
inquiries, which often, more than any book-education, tend to the
culture of the affections of the heart, refinement and elevation of the
character of those to whom they are addressed. And if I were to be
asked what is the great want of English society--to mingle class with
class--I would say, in one word, the want is the want of sympathy."
Act I. Sc. 2. After Clemanthe has told Ion that, forsaking all within his
house, and risking his life with strangers, he can do but little for their
aid, Ion replies:
"It is little:
But in these sharp extremities of fortune,
The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which, by daily use,
Has almost lost its sense; yet, on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourn'd, 'twill fall
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense,
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honour'd death-bed of the rich,
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To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near and feels."
The analogy is as beautiful as it is true.