She well knows how to do honour to her own literature and to that of
other lands, when she chooses Washington Irving for her representative in
the country of Cervantes.
VI.
MANCHESTER, OCTOBER 5, 1843.
[This address was delivered at a soirée of the members of the Manchester,
Athenæum, at which Mr. Dickens presided. Among the other speakers on the
occasion were Mr. Cobden and Mr. Disraeli.]
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I am sure I need scarcely tell you that I am very
proud and happy; and that I take it as a great distinction to be asked to
come amongst you on an occasion such as this, when, even with the
brilliant and beautiful spectacle which I see before me, I can hail it as
the most brilliant and beautiful circumstance of all, that we assemble
together here, even here, upon neutral ground, where we have no more
knowledge of party difficulties, or public animosities between side and
side, or between man and man, than if we were a public meeting in the
commonwealth of Utopia.
Ladies and gentlemen, upon this, and upon a hundred other grounds, this
assembly is not less interesting to me, believe me—although, personally,
almost a stranger here—than it is interesting to you; and I take it, that
it is not of greater importance to all of us than it is to every man who
has learned to know that he has an interest in the moral and social
elevation, the harmless relaxation, the peace, happiness, and
improvement, of the community at large. Not even those who saw the first
foundation of your Athenæum laid, and watched its progress, as I know
they did, almost as tenderly as if it were the progress of a living
creature, until it reared its beautiful front, an honour to the town—not
even they, nor even you who, within its walls, have tasted its
usefulness, and put it to the proof, have greater reason, I am persuaded,
to exult in its establishment, or to hope that it may thrive and prosper,
than scores of thousands at a distance, who—whether consciously or
unconsciously, matters not—have, in the principle of its success and
bright example, a deep and personal concern.
It well becomes, particularly well becomes, this enterprising town, this
little world of labour, that she should stand out foremost in the
foremost rank in such a cause. It well becomes her, that, among her
numerous and noble public institutions, she should have a splendid temple
sacred to the education and improvement of a large class of those who, in
their various useful stations, assist in the production of our wealth,
and in rendering her name famous through the world. I think it is grand
to know, that, while her factories re-echo with the clanking of
stupendous engines, and the whirl and rattle of machinery, the immortal
mechanism of God’s own hand, the mind, is not forgotten in the din and
uproar, but is lodged and tended in a palace of its own. That it is a
structure deeply fixed and rooted in the public spirit of this place, and
built to last, I have no more doubt, judging from the spectacle I see
before me, and from what I know of its brief history, than I have of the
reality of these walls that hem us in, and the pillars that spring up
about us.
You are perfectly well aware, I have no doubt, that the Athenæum was
projected at a time when commerce was in a vigorous and flourishing
condition, and when those classes of society to which it particularly
addresses itself were fully employed, and in the receipt of regular
incomes. A season of depression almost without a parallel ensued, and
large numbers of young men employed in warehouses and offices suddenly
found their occupation gone, and themselves reduced to very straitened
and penurious circumstances. This altered state of things led, as I am
told, to the compulsory withdrawal of many of the members, to a
proportionate decrease in the expected funds, and to the incurrence of a
debt of £3,000. By the very great zeal and energy of all concerned, and
by the liberality of those to whom they applied for help, that debt is
now in rapid course of being discharged. A little more of the same
indefatigable exertion on the one hand, and a little more of the same
community of feeling upon the other, and there will be no such thing; the
figures will be blotted out for good and all, and, from that time, the
Athenæum may be said to belong to you, and to your heirs for ever.
But, ladies and gentlemen, at all times, now in its most thriving, and in
its least flourishing condition—here, with its cheerful rooms, its
pleasant and instructive lectures, its improving library of 6,000
volumes, its classes for the study of the foreign languages, elocution,
music; its opportunities of discussion and debate, of healthful bodily
exercise, and, though last not least—for by this I set great store, as a
very novel and excellent provision—its opportunities of blameless,
rational enjoyment, here it is, open to every youth and man in this great
town, accessible to every bee in this vast hive, who, for all these
benefits, and the inestimable ends to which they lead, can set aside one
sixpence weekly. I do look upon the reduction of the subscription, and
upon the fact that the number of members has considerably more than
doubled within the last twelve months, as strides in the path of the very
best civilization, and chapters of rich promise in the history of
mankind.
I do not know whether, at this time of day, and with such a prospect
before us, we need trouble ourselves very much to rake up the ashes of
the dead-and-gone objections that were wont to be urged by men of all
parties against institutions such as this, whose interests we are met to
promote; but their philosophy was always to be summed up in the unmeaning
application of one short sentence. How often have we heard from a large
class of men wise in their generation, who would really seem to be born
and bred for no other purpose than to pass into currency counterfeit and
mischievous scraps of wisdom, as it is the sole pursuit of some other
criminals to utter base coin—how often have we heard from them, as an
all-convincing argument, that “a little learning is a dangerous thing?”
Why, a little hanging was considered a very dangerous thing, according to
the same authorities, with this difference, that, because a little
hanging was dangerous, we had a great deal of it; and, because a little
learning was dangerous, we were to have none at all. Why, when I hear
such cruel absurdities gravely reiterated, I do sometimes begin to doubt
whether the parrots of society are not more pernicious to its interests
than its birds of prey. I should be glad to hear such people’s estimate
of the comparative danger of “a little learning” and a vast amount of
ignorance; I should be glad to know which they consider the most prolific
parent of misery and crime. Descending a little lower in the social
scale, I should be glad to assist them in their calculations, by carrying
them into certain gaols and nightly refuges I know of, where my own heart
dies within me, when I see thousands of immortal creatures condemned,
without alternative or choice, to tread, not what our great poet calls
the “primrose path” to the everlasting bonfire, but one of jaded flints
and stones, laid down by brutal ignorance, and held together, like the
solid rocks, by years of this most wicked axiom.
Would we know from any honourable body of merchants, upright in deed and
thought, whether they would rather have ignorant or enlightened persons
in their own employment? Why, we have had their answer in this building;
we have it in this company; we have it emphatically given in the
munificent generosity of your own merchants of Manchester, of all sects
and kinds, when this establishment was first proposed. But are the
advantages derivable by the people from institutions such as this, only
of a negative character? If a little learning be an innocent thing, has
it no distinct, wholesome, and immediate influence upon the mind? The
old doggerel rhyme, so often written in the beginning of books, says that
“When house and lands are gone and spent,
Then learning is most excellent;”
but I should be strongly disposed to reform the adage, and say that
“Though house and lands be never got,
Learning can give what they can_not_.”
And this I know, that the first unpurchasable blessing earned by every
man who makes an effort to improve himself in such a place as the
Athenæum, is self-respect—an inward dignity of character, which, once
acquired and righteously maintained, nothing—no, not the hardest
drudgery, nor the direst poverty—can vanquish. Though he should find it
hard for a season even to keep the wolf—hunger—from his door, let him but
once have chased the dragon—ignorance—from his hearth, and self-respect
and hope are left him. You could no more deprive him of those sustaining
qualities by loss or destruction of his worldly goods, than you could, by
plucking out his eyes, take from him an internal consciousness of the
bright glory of the sun.
The man who lives from day to day by the daily exercise in his sphere of
hands or head, and seeks to improve himself in such a place as the
Athenæum, acquires for himself that property of soul which has in all
times upheld struggling men of every degree, but self-made men especially
and always. He secures to himself that faithful companion which, while
it has ever lent the light of its countenance to men of rank and eminence
who have deserved it, has ever shed its brightest consolations on men of
low estate and almost hopeless means. It took its patient seat beside
Sir Walter Raleigh in his dungeon-study in the Tower; it laid its head
upon the block with More; but it did not disdain to watch the stars with
Ferguson, the shepherd’s boy; it walked the streets in mean attire with
Crabbe; it was a poor barber here in Lancashire with Arkwright; it was a
tallow-chandler’s son with Franklin; it worked at shoemaking with
Bloomfield in his garret; it followed the plough with Burns; and, high
above the noise of loom and hammer, it whispers courage even at this day
in ears I could name in Sheffield and in Manchester.
The more the man who improves his leisure in such a place learns, the
better, gentler, kinder man he must become. When he knows how much great
minds have suffered for the truth in every age and time, and to what
dismal persecutions opinion has been exposed, he will become more
tolerant of other men’s belief in all matters, and will incline more
leniently to their sentiments when they chance to differ from his own.
Understanding that the relations between himself and his employers
involve a mutual duty and responsibility, he will discharge his part of
the implied contract cheerfully, satisfactorily, and honourably; for the
history of every useful life warns him to shape his course in that
direction.
The benefits he acquires in such a place are not of a selfish kind, but
extend themselves to his home, and to those whom it contains. Something
of what he hears or reads within such walls can scarcely fail to become
at times a topic of discourse by his own fireside, nor can it ever fail
to lead to larger sympathies with man, and to a higher veneration for the
great Creator of all the wonders of this universe. It appears to his
home and his homely feeling in other ways; for at certain times he
carries there his wife and daughter, or his sister, or, possibly, some
bright-eyed acquaintance of a more tender description. Judging from what
I see before me, I think it is very likely; I am sure I would if I could.
He takes her there to enjoy a pleasant evening, to be gay and happy.
Sometimes it may possibly happen that he dates his tenderness from the
Athenæum. I think that is a very excellent thing, too, and not the least
among the advantages of the institution. In any case, I am sure the
number of bright eyes and beaming faces which grace this meeting to-night
by their presence, will never be among the least of its excellences in my
recollection.
Ladies and gentlemen, I shall not easily forget this scene, the pleasing
task your favour has devolved upon me, or the strong and inspiring
confirmation I have to-night, of all the hopes and reliances I have ever
placed upon institutions of this nature. In the latter point of view—in
their bearing upon this latter point—I regard them as of great
importance, deeming that the more intelligent and reflective society in
the mass becomes, and the more readers there are, the more distinctly
writers of all kinds will be able to throw themselves upon the truthful
feeling of the people and the more honoured and the more useful
literature must be. At the same time, I must confess that, if there had
been an Athenæum, and if the people had been readers, years ago, some
leaves of dedication in your library, of praise of patrons which was very
cheaply bought, very dearly sold, and very marketably haggled for by the
groat, would be blank leaves, and posterity might probably have lacked
the information that certain monsters of virtue ever had existence. But
it is upon a much better and wider scale, let me say it once again—it is
in the effect of such institutions upon the great social system, and the
peace and happiness of mankind, that I delight to contemplate them; and,
in my heart, I am quite certain that long after your institution, and
others of the same nature, have crumbled into dust, the noble harvest of
the seed sown in them will shine out brightly in the wisdom, the mercy,
and the forbearance of another race.
VII.
LIVERPOOL, FEBRUARY 26, 1844.
[The following address was delivered at a soirée of the Liverpool
Mechanics’ Institution, at which Mr. Dickens presided.]
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It was rather hard of you to take away my breath
before I spoke a word; but I would not thank you, even if I could, for
the favour which has set me in this place, or for the generous kindness
which has greeted me so warmly,—because my first strong impulse still
would be, although I had that power, to lose sight of all personal
considerations in the high intent and meaning of this numerous
assemblage, in the contemplation of the noble objects to which this
building is devoted, of its brilliant and inspiring history, of that
rough, upward track, so bravely trodden, which it leaves behind, and that
bright path of steadily-increasing usefulness which lies stretched out
before it. My first strong impulse still would be to exchange
congratulations with you, as the members of one united family, on the
thriving vigour of this strongest child of a strong race. My first
strong impulse still would be, though everybody here had twice as many
hundreds of hands as there are hundreds of persons present, to shake them
in the spirit, everyone, always, allow me to say, excepting those hands
(and there are a few such here), which, with the constitutional infirmity
of human nature, I would rather salute in some more tender fashion.
When I first had the honour of communicating with your Committee with
reference to this celebration, I had some selfish hopes that the visit
proposed to me might turn out to be one of congratulation, or, at least,
of solicitous inquiry; for they who receive a visitor in any season of
distress are easily touched and moved by what he says, and I entertained
some confident expectation of making a mighty strong impression on you.
But, when I came to look over the printed documents which were forwarded
to me at the same time, and with which you are all tolerably familiar,
these anticipations very speedily vanished, and left me bereft of all
consolation, but the triumphant feeling to which I have referred. For
what do I find, on looking over those brief chronicles of this swift
conquest over ignorance and prejudice, in which no blood has been poured
out, and no treaty signed but that one sacred compact which recognises
the just right of every man, whatever his belief, or however humble his
degree, to aspire, and to have some means of aspiring, to be a better and
a wiser man? I find that, in 1825, certain misguided and turbulent
persons proposed to erect in Liverpool an unpopular, dangerous,
irreligious, and revolutionary establishment, called a Mechanics’
Institution; that, in 1835, Liverpool having, somehow or other, got on
pretty comfortably in the meantime, in spite of it, the first stone of a
new and spacious edifice was laid; that, in 1837, it was opened; that, it
was afterwards, at different periods, considerably enlarged; that, in
1844, conspicuous amongst the public beauties of a beautiful town, here
it stands triumphant, its enemies lived down, its former students
attesting, in their various useful callings and pursuits, the sound,
practical information it afforded them; its members numbering
considerably more than 3,000, and setting in rapidly for 6,000 at least;
its library comprehending 11,000 volumes, and daily sending forth its
hundreds of books into private homes; its staff of masters and officers,
amounting to half-a-hundred in themselves; its schools, conveying every
sort of instruction, high and low, adapted to the labour, means,
exigencies, and convenience of nearly every class and grade of persons.
I was here this morning, and in its spacious halls I found stores of the
wonders worked by nature in the air, in the forest, in the cavern, and in
the sea—stores of the surpassing engines devised by science for the
better knowledge of other worlds, and the greater happiness of
this—stores of those gentler works of art, which, though achieved in
perishable stone, by yet more perishable hands of dust, are in their
influence immortal. With such means at their command, so well-directed,
so cheaply shared, and so extensively diffused, well may your Committee
say, as they have done in one of their Reports, that the success of this
establishment has far exceeded their most sanguine expectations.
But, ladies and gentlemen, as that same philosopher whose words they
quote, as Bacon tells us, instancing the wonderful effects of little
things and small beginnings, that the influence of the loadstone was
first discovered in particles of iron, and not in iron bars, so they may
lay it to their hearts, that when they combined together to form the
institution which has risen to this majestic height, they issued on a
field of enterprise, the glorious end of which they cannot even now
discern. Every man who has felt the advantages of, or has received
improvement in this place, carries its benefits into the society in which
he moves, and puts them out at compound interest; and what the blessed
sum may be at last, no man can tell. Ladies and gentlemen, with that
Christian prelate whose name appears on your list of honorary Members;
that good and liberal man who once addressed you within these walls, in a
spirit worthy of his calling, and of his High Master—I look forward from
this place, as from a tower, to the time when high and low, and rich and
poor, shall mutually assist, improve, and educate each other.
I feel, ladies and gentlemen, that this is not a place, with its 3,200
members, and at least 3,200 arguments in every one, to enter on any
advocacy of the principle of Mechanics’ Institutions, or to discuss the
subject with those who do or ever did object to them. I should as soon
think of arguing the point with those untutored savages whose mode of
life you last year had the opportunity of witnessing; indeed, I am
strongly inclined to believe them by far the more rational class of the
two. Moreover, if the institution itself be not a sufficient answer to
all such objections, then there is no such thing in fact or reason, human
or divine. Neither will I venture to enter into those details of the
management of this place which struck me most on the perusal of its
papers; but I cannot help saying how much impressed and gratified I was,
as everybody must be who comes to their perusal for the first time, by
the extraordinary munificence with which this institution has been
endowed by certain gentlemen.
Amongst the peculiar features of management which made the greatest
impression on me, I may observe that that regulation which empowers
fathers, being annual subscribers of one guinea, to introduce their sons
who are minors; and masters, on payment of the astoundingly small sum of
five shillings annually, in like manner their apprentices, is not the
least valuable of its privileges; and, certainly not the one least
valuable to society. And, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot say to you what
pleasure I derived from the perusal of an apparently excellent report in
your local papers of a meeting held here some short time since, in aid of
the formation of a girls’ school in connexion with this institution.
This is a new and striking chapter in the history of these institutions;
it does equal credit to the gallantry and policy of this, and disposes
one to say of it with a slight parody on the words of Burns, that
“Its ’prentice han’ it tried on man,
And then it _taught_ the lasses, O.”
That those who are our best teachers, and whose lessons are oftenest
heeded in after life, should be well taught themselves, is a proposition
few reasonable men will gainsay; and, certainly, to breed up good
husbands on the one hand, and good wives on the other, does appear as
reasonable and straightforward a plan as could well be devised for the
improvement of the next generation.
This, and what I see before me, naturally brings me to our fairer
members, in respect of whom I have no doubt you will agree with me, that
they ought to be admitted to the widest possible extent, and on the
lowest possible terms; and, ladies, let me venture to say to you, that
you never did a wiser thing in all your lives than when you turned your
favourable regard on such an establishment as this—for wherever the light
of knowledge is diffused, wherever the humanizing influence of the arts
and sciences extends itself, wherever there is the clearest perception of
what is beautiful, and good, and most redeeming, amid all the faults and
vices of mankind, there your character, your virtues, your graces, your
better nature, will be the best appreciated, and there the truest homage
will be proudly paid to you. You show best, trust me, in the clearest
light; and every ray that falls upon you at your own firesides, from any
book or thought communicated within these walls, will raise you nearer to
the angels in the eyes you care for most.
I will not longer interpose myself, ladies and gentlemen, between you and
the pleasure we all anticipate in hearing other gentlemen, and in
enjoying those social pleasures with which it is a main part of the
wisdom of this society to adorn and relieve its graver pursuits. We all
feel, I am sure, being here, that we are truly interested in the cause of
human improvement and rational education, and that we pledge ourselves,
everyone as far as in him lies, to extend the knowledge of the benefits
afforded in this place, and to bear honest witness in its favour. To
those who yet remain without its walls, but have the means of purchasing
its advantages, we make appeal, and in a friendly and forbearing spirit
say, “Come in, and be convinced—
‘Who enters here, leaves _doubt_ behind.’”
If you, happily, have been well taught yourself, and are superior to its
advantages, so much the more should you make one in sympathy with those
who are below you. Beneath this roof we breed the men who, in the time
to come, must be found working for good or evil, in every quarter of
society. If mutual respect and forbearance among various classes be not
found here, where so many men are trained up in so many grades, to enter
on so many roads of life, dating their entry from one common
starting-point, as they are all approaching, by various paths, one common
end, where else can that great lesson be imbibed? Differences of wealth,
of rank, of intellect, we know there must be, and we respect them; but we
would give to all the means of taking out one patent of nobility, and we
define it, in the words of a great living poet, who is one of us, and who
uses his great gifts, as he holds them in trust, for the general welfare—
“Howe’er it be, it seems to me
’Tis only noble to be good:
True hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.” {88}
VIII.
BIRMINGHAM, FEBRUARY 28, 1844.
[The following speech was delivered at a Conversazione, in aid of the
funds of the Birmingham Polytechnic Institution, at which Mr Dickens
presided.]
YOU will think it very unwise, or very self-denying in me, in such an
assembly, in such a splendid scene, and after such a welcome, to
congratulate myself on having nothing new to say to you: but I do so,
notwithstanding. To say nothing of places nearer home, I had the honour
of attending at Manchester, shortly before Christmas, and at Liverpool,
only the night before last, for a purpose similar to that which brings
you together this evening; and looking down a short perspective of
similar engagements, I feel gratification at the thought that I shall
very soon have nothing at all to say; in which case, I shall be content
to stake my reputation, like the Spectator of Addison, and that other
great periodical speaker, the Speaker of the House of Commons, on my
powers of listening.
This feeling, and the earnest reception I have met with, are not the only
reasons why I feel a genuine, cordial, and peculiar interest in this
night’s proceedings. The Polytechnic Institution of Birmingham is in its
infancy—struggling into life under all those adverse and disadvantageous
circumstances which, to a greater or less extent, naturally beset all
infancy; but I would much rather connect myself with it now, however
humble, in its days of difficulty and of danger, than look back on its
origin when it may have become strong, and rich, and powerful. I should
prefer an intimate association with it now, in its early days and
apparent struggles, to becoming its advocate and acquaintance, its
fair-weather friend, in its high and palmy days. I would rather be able
to say I knew it in its swaddling-clothes, than in maturer age. Its two
elder brothers have grown old and died: their chests were weak—about
their cradles nurses shook their heads, and gossips groaned; but the
present institution shot up, amidst the ruin of those which have fallen,
with an indomitable constitution, with vigorous and with steady pulse;
temperate, wise, and of good repute; and by perseverance it has become a
very giant. Birmingham is, in my mind and in the minds of most men,
associated with many giants; and I no more believe that this young
institution will turn out sickly, dwarfish, or of stunted growth, than I
do that when the glass-slipper of my chairmanship shall fall off, and the
clock strike twelve to-night, this hall will be turned into a pumpkin. I
found that strong belief upon the splendid array of grace and beauty by
which I am surrounded, and which, if it only had one-hundredth part of
the effect upon others it has upon me, could do anything it pleased with
anything and anybody. I found my strong conviction, in the second place,
upon the public spirit of the town of Birmingham—upon the name and fame
of its capitalists and working men; upon the greatness and importance of
its merchants and manufacturers; upon its inventions, which are
constantly in progress; upon the skill and intelligence of its artisans,
which are daily developed; and the increasing knowledge of all portions
of the community. All these reasons lead me to the conclusion that your
institution will advance—that it will and must progress, and that you
will not be content with lingering leagues behind.
I have another peculiar ground of satisfaction in connexion with the
object of this assembly; and it is, that the resolutions about to be
proposed do not contain in themselves anything of a sectarian or class
nature; that they do not confine themselves to any one single
institution, but assert the great and omnipotent principles of
comprehensive education everywhere and under every circumstance. I beg
leave to say that I concur, heart and hand, in those principles, and will
do all in my power for their advancement; for I hold, in accordance with
the imperfect knowledge which I possess, that it is impossible for any
fabric of society to go on day after day, and year after year, from
father to son, and from grandfather to grandson, punishing men for not
engaging in the pursuit of virtue and for the practice of crime, without
showing them what virtue is, and where it best can be found—in justice,
religion, and truth. The only reason that can possibly be adduced
against it is one founded on fiction—namely, the case where an obdurate
old geni, in the “Arabian Nights,” was bound upon taking the life of a
merchant, because he had struck out the eye of his invisible son. I
recollect, likewise, a tale in the same book of charming fancies, which I
consider not inappropriate: it is a case where a powerful spirit has been
imprisoned at the bottom of the sea, in a casket with a leaden cover, and
the seal of Solomon upon it; there he had lain neglected for many
centuries, and during that period had made many different vows: at first,
that he would reward magnificently those who should release him; and at
last, that he would destroy them. Now, there is a spirit of great
power—the Spirit of Ignorance—which is shut up in a vessel of leaden
composition, and sealed with the seal of many, many Solomons, and which
is effectually in the same position: release it in time, and it will
bless, restore, and reanimate society; but let it lie under the rolling
waves of years, and its blind revenge is sure to lead to certain
destruction. That there are classes which, if rightly treated,
constitute strength, and if wrongly, weakness, I hold it impossible to
deny—by these classes I mean industrious, intelligent, and honourably
independent men, in whom the higher classes of Birmingham are especially
interested, and bound to afford them the means of instruction and
improvement, and to ameliorate their mental and moral condition. Far be
it from me (and I wish to be most particularly understood) to attempt to
depreciate the excellent Church Instruction Societies, or the worthy,
sincere, and temperate zeal of those reverend gentlemen by whom they are
usually conducted; on the contrary, I believe that they have done, and
are doing, much good, and are deserving of high praise; but I hope that,
without offence, in a community such as Birmingham, there are other
objects not unworthy in the sight of heaven, and objects of recognised
utility which are worthy of support—principles which are practised in
word and deed in Polytechnic Institutions—principles for the diffusion of
which honest men of all degrees and of every creed might associate
together, on an independent footing and on neutral ground, and at a small
expense, for the better understanding and the greater consideration of
each other, and for the better cultivation of the happiness of all: for
it surely cannot be allowed that those who labour day by day, surrounded
by machinery, shall be permitted to degenerate into machines themselves,
but, on the contrary, they should assert their common origin from their
Creator, at the hands of those who are responsible and thinking men.
There is, indeed, no difference in the main with respect to the dangers
of ignorance and the advantages of knowledge between those who hold
different opinions—for it is to be observed, that those who are most
distrustful of the advantages of education, are always the first to
exclaim against the results of ignorance. This fact was pleasantly
illustrated on the railway, as I came here. In the same carriage with me
there sat an ancient gentleman (I feel no delicacy in alluding to him,
for I know that he is not in the room, having got out far short of
Birmingham), who expressed himself most mournfully as to the ruinous
effects and rapid spread of railways, and was most pathetic upon the
virtues of the slow-going old stage coaches. Now I, entertaining some
little lingering kindness for the road, made shift to express my
concurrence with the old gentleman’s opinion, without any great
compromise of principle. Well, we got on tolerably comfortably together,
and when the engine, with a frightful screech, dived into some dark
abyss, like some strange aquatic monster, the old gentleman said it would
never do, and I agreed with him. When it parted from each successive
station, with a shock and a shriek as if it had had a double-tooth drawn,
the old gentleman shook his head, and I shook mine. When he burst forth
against such new-fangled notions, and said no good could come of them, I
did not contest the point. But I found that when the speed of the engine
was abated, or there was a prolonged stay at any station, up the old
gentleman was at arms, and his watch was instantly out of his pocket,
denouncing the slowness of our progress. Now I could not help comparing
this old gentleman to that ingenious class of persons who are in the
constant habit of declaiming against the vices and crimes of society, and
at the same time are the first and foremost to assert that vice and crime
have not their common origin in ignorance and discontent.
The good work, however, in spite of all political and party differences,
has been well begun; we are all interested in it; it is advancing, and
cannot be stopped by any opposition, although it may be retarded in this
place or in that, by the indifference of the middle classes, with whom
its successful progress chiefly rests. Of this success I cannot
entertain a doubt; for whenever the working classes have enjoyed an
opportunity of effectually rebutting accusations which falsehood or
thoughtlessness have brought against them, they always avail themselves
of it, and show themselves in their true characters; and it was this
which made the damage done to a single picture in the National Gallery of
London, by some poor lunatic or cripple, a mere matter of newspaper
notoriety and wonder for some few days. This, then, establishes a fact
evident to the meanest comprehension—that any given number of thousands
of individuals, in the humblest walks of life in this country, can pass
through the national galleries or museums in seasons of holiday-making,
without damaging, in the slightest degree, those choice and valuable
collections. I do not myself believe that the working classes ever were
the wanton or mischievous persons they were so often and so long
represented to be; but I rather incline to the opinion that some men take
it into their heads to lay it down as a matter of fact, without being
particular about the premises; and that the idle and the prejudiced, not
wishing to have the trouble of forming opinions for themselves, take it
for granted—until the people have an opportunity of disproving the stigma
and vindicating themselves before the world.
Now this assertion is well illustrated by what occurred respecting an
equestrian statue in the metropolis, with respect to which a legend
existed that the sculptor hanged himself, because he had neglected to put
a girth to the horse. This story was currently believed for many years,
until it was inspected for altogether a different purpose, and it was
found to have had a girth all the time.
But surely if, as is stated, the people are ill-disposed and mischievous,
that is the best reason that can be offered for teaching them better; and
if they are not, surely that is a reason for giving them every
opportunity of vindicating their injured reputation; and no better
opportunity could possibly be afforded than that of associating together
voluntarily for such high purposes as it is proposed to carry out by the
establishment of the Birmingham Polytechnic Institution. In any
case—nay, in every case—if we would reward honesty, if we would hold out
encouragement to good, if we would eradicate that which is evil or
correct that which is bad, education—comprehensive, liberal education—is
the one thing needful, and the only effective end. If I might apply to
my purpose, and turn into plain prose some words of Hamlet—not with
reference to any government or party (for party being, for the most part,
an irrational sort of thing, has no connexion with the object we have in
view)—if I might apply those words to education as Hamlet applied them to
the skull of Yorick, I would say—“Now hie thee to the council-chamber,
and tell them, though they lay it on in sounding thoughts and learned
words an inch thick, to this complexion they must come at last.”
* * * * *
In answer to a vote of thanks, {95} Mr. Dickens said, at the close of the
meeting—
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now quite even—for every effect which I may
have made upon you, the compliment has been amply returned to me; but at
the same time I am as little disposed to say to you, ‘go and sin no
more,’ as I am to promise for myself that ‘I will never do so again.’ So
long as I can make you laugh and cry, I will; and you will readily
believe me, when I tell you, you cannot do too much on your parts to show
that we are still cordial and loving friends. To you, ladies of the
Institution, I am deeply and especially indebted. I sometimes [_pointing
to the word_ ‘_Boz_’ _in front of the great gallery_] think there is some
small quantity of magic in that very short name, and that it must consist
in its containing as many letters as the three graces, and they, every
one of them, being of your fair sisterhood.
A story is told of an eastern potentate of modern times, who, for an
eastern potentate, was a tolerably good man, sometimes bowstringing his
dependants indiscriminately in his moments of anger, but burying them in
great splendour in his moments of penitence, that whenever intelligence
was brought him of a new plot or turbulent conspiracy, his first inquiry
was, ‘Who is she?’ meaning that a woman was at the bottom. Now, in my
small way, I differ from that potentate; for when there is any good to be
attained, the services of any ministering angel required, my first
inquiry is, ‘Where is she?’ and the answer invariably is, ‘Here.’ Proud
and happy am I indeed to thank you for your generosity—
‘A thousand times, good night;
A thousand times the worse to want your light.’
IX.
GARDENERS AND GARDENING.
LONDON, JUNE 14, 1852.
[The Ninth Anniversary Dinner of the Gardeners’ Benevolent Institution
was held on the above date at the London Tavern. The company numbered
more than 150. The dessert was worthy of the occasion, and an admirable
effect was produced by a profuse display of natural flowers upon the
tables and in the decoration of the room. The chair was taken by Mr.
Charles Dickens, who, in proposing the toast of the evening, spoke as
follows:—]
FOR three times three years the Gardeners’ Benevolent Institution has
been stimulated and encouraged by meetings such as this, and by three
times three cheers we will urge it onward in its prosperous career.
[_The cheers were warmly given_.]
Occupying the post I now do, I feel something like a counsel for the
plaintiff with nobody on the other side; but even if I had been placed in
that position ninety times nine, it would still be my duty to state a few
facts from the very short brief with which I have been provided.
This Institution was founded in the year 1838. During the first five
years of its existence, it was not particularly robust, and seemed to
have been placed in rather a shaded position, receiving somewhat more
than its needful allowance of cold water. In 1843 it was removed into a
more favourable position, and grafted on a nobler stock, and it has now
borne fruit, and become such a vigorous tree that at present thirty-five
old people daily sit within the shelter of its branches, and all the
pensioners upon the list have been veritable gardeners, or the wives of
gardeners. It is managed by gardeners, and it has upon its books the
excellent rule that any gardener who has subscribed to it for fifteen
years, and conformed to the rules, may, if he will, be placed upon the
pensioners’ list without election, without canvass, without solicitation,
and as his independent right. I lay very great stress upon that
honourable characteristic of the charity, because the main principle of
any such institution should be to help those who help themselves. That
the Society’s pensioners do not become such so long as they are able to
support themselves, is evinced by the significant fact that the average
age of those now upon the list is seventy-seven; that they are not
wasteful is proved by the fact that the whole sum expended on their
relief is but £500 a-year; that the Institution does not restrict itself
to any narrow confines, is shown by the circumstance, that the pensioners
come from all parts of England, whilst all the expenses are paid from the
annual income and interest on stock, and therefore are not
disproportionate to its means.
Such is the Institution which appeals to you through me, as a most
unworthy advocate, for sympathy and support, an Institution which has for
its President a nobleman {98} whose whole possessions are remarkable for
taste and beauty, and whose gardener’s laurels are famous throughout the
world. In the list of its vice-presidents there are the names of many
noblemen and gentlemen of great influence and station, and I have been
struck in glancing through the list of its supporters, with the sums
written against the names of the numerous nurserymen and seedsmen therein
comprised. I hope the day will come when every gardener in England will
be a member of the charity.
The gardener particularly needs such a provision as this Institution
affords. His gains are not great; he knows gold and silver more as being
of the colour of fruits and flowers than by its presence in his pockets;
he is subjected to that kind of labour which renders him peculiarly
liable to infirmity; and when old age comes upon him, the gardener is of
all men perhaps best able to appreciate the merits of such an
institution.