_Monday._--Another shark! Mercy on us! What a brute! But not so big as
the other.
_Tuesday._--We had capital honey this morning to breakfast; eightpence
per lb.--freshly expressed from the wax, and got from Granny Jolter's
farm.
_Wednesday._--My _Times_ did not come by to-day's post, and I feel I
don't know how.
_Thursday._--The "hot crab" which we had at the parsonage, where we
dined to-day, was exquisite. The way it is done is--the whole of the
inside, and the claws, having been mixed together with a little rich
gravy, (sometimes cream is used;) curry-_paste_, not curry-powder, and
very fine fried crumbs of bread, is put into the shell of the crab and
then _salamandered_. If _my_ cook can do it on my return to town, I will
give her half-a-crown.
_Friday._--Nothing whatever happened; but it looked a little like rain,
over the downs, about four o'clock in the afternoon.
_Saturday._--A day of incidents. Ten o'clock A.M.--The coast-guard man
told me, that about five o'clock this morning, as he was coming along
---- cliff, a young fox popped out of a thicket close at his feet,
looked "quite steady-like at him for about five seconds," and then ran
back into the furze.
Eleven o'clock.--Saw a Cockney "gent" on a walking tour, the first of
the sort that I have seen in these parts, and he looked frightened at
the solitariness of the scene. Every thing that he had on seemed new: a
dandified shining hat; a kind of white pea-jacket; white trowsers;
fawn-coloured, gloves; little cloth boots tipped with shining French
polished leather; a very slight umbrella covered with oil-skin; and a
little telescope in a leathern case, slung round his waist. He fancied,
as he passed me, that he had occasion to use a gossamer white
pocket-handkerchief, with a fine border to it; for he took it out of an
outside breast-pocket, and unfolded it deliberately and jauntily. Whence
came he, I wonder? He cannot walk four miles further, poor fellow! for
evidently walking does not agree with him: yet he must, or sit down and
cry in this out-of-the-way place.
Two o'clock.--Tickler caught a little crab among the rocks. It got hold
of his nose, and bothered him.
Four o'clock.--As I was sitting on a tumble-down sort of gate, talking
earnestly with my little boy, I heard some vehicle approaching--looked
up as it turned the corner of the road, and behold--Her Gracious Majesty
Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and one or two other persons, without
outriders or any sort of state whatever! She was dressed exceedingly
plain, and was laughing heartily at something said to her by a
well-known nobleman who walked beside the carriage. I never saw her
Majesty looking to so much advantage: in high spirits, with a fine fresh
colour, and her hair a _little_ deranged by the wind. She and her little
party seemed surprised at seeing any one in such an out-of-the-way
place, and her Majesty and the Prince returned our obeisances with
particular courtesy.
Half-past Five.--Nick Irons met me with a large viper which he had just
killed, after it had flown at his dog. Is there any difference between
vipers and adders?
A quarter past Six.--On arriving at home, found a hot crab, which had
been sent in to us, as an addition to our dinner, from the parsonage. I
lick my lips while thinking of it. I prefer the cream to the gravy.
Half-past six.--Find I have got only three bottles of port and two of
sherry left!
Nine o'clock.--My four gallon cask of elderberry wine, made for me--and
capitally made, too--by one of the villagers, came home. We are to put a
quart of brandy in it, and "take care it don't _forment_." I fancy I see
ourselves and the children regaling ourselves with it on the winter's
evenings, in town. Altogether it has cost me twelve shillings and
sixpence!
Quarter past Nine.--Children go to bed; I had the candles brought in,
resolved to read the new number of the ----; but fell asleep directly,
and never woke till half-past twelve o'clock, when I knew not where I
was; being in darkness--and alone. Really a journal of this sort is,
upon consideration, so instructive and entertaining, that I wish to know
whether you would like me to keep one during my next sojourn at the
seaside and publish it in _Maga_? I would undertake not to exceed three
numbers of _Maga_, each Part to contain only twenty pages.
* * * * *
MISS STRICKLAND _v._ LORD CAMPBELL.
Will his lordship favour the world with some reply to this clever and
laborious lady's accusation contained in her letter to the _Times_? That
letter is exceedingly specific and pointed in the charge of literary
larceny, and committed under circumstances which every consideration of
candour, gallantry, and literary character, concurs in rendering Lord
Campbell's complete exculpation a matter of serious consequence to his
reputation. Has he, or has he not, designedly appropriated to his own
use, as the fruits of his own original research, the results of a
literary fellow-labourer's meritorious and pains-taking original
investigation--that fellow-labourer, too, being a lady? I sincerely hope
that Lord Campbell's first literary attempt will prove not to be thus
discreditably signalized. His book _is yet_ unnoticed in _Maga_.
* * * * *
According to that good old intelligible English saying, it is this
morning _raining cats and dogs_. There's an end, Tickler, to our
intended eighteen-mile walk (thither and back) to the lighthouse, the
machinery of which I was very anxious to explain to you. _Bow, wow, wow,
wow!_ indeed! I know what you mean, you little sinner! You want to be
after the rabbits in yonder thickets, and you mean to intimate that you
can go perfectly well by yourself, don't mind the rain, and will come
safely home when you have finished your sport. Don't look so earnestly
at me, and whine so piteously. By the way, do you call yourself a vermin
dog? and yet every hair of your shaggy coat stood on end the other day,
when I turned out for you the two pennyworth of mice--_mice!_--which I
had bought for you from Nick Irons? What would you have done if a RAT
were to meet you? Bah, you little wretch! Where's your spirit? Refined,
and refined away by breeding, eh? What would you have done if you were
to be allowed to go off now, and were to rout out accidentally a
hedgehog, as _Hermit_ did yesterday? You may well whine! He's five times
your size, eh? But I've seen a terrier that would tackle a hedgehog, and
bring him home, too--your own second cousin, Tory, poor dear dog--peace
to his little ashes. Besides, to return to the rabbits--in spite of all
your snuffing and smelling, and scampering, and routing about, you never
turned up a rabbit yet! And even our kitten has only to rise and curve
her little back, and you slink away, like an arrant coward as you
are--Well!--come along, doggy! you're a good little creature, with all
your faults--these black eyes of yours, with your little erect ears,
look as if you had really understood all that I have been saying to
you--so I really think--and yet--pour! pour! pour!--[Enter Emily.]
_Emily._--Papa, Miss ---- says that we have said _all_ our lessons, and
_will_ you let us have Tickler to play with?
_Tickler._--Bow--wow--wow!--Bow, wow!--Bow! bow! bow!--[Running up and
scampering towards her, and they go away together.]
_Servant._--Brown has called with some lobsters, sir--(shows them)--two
very nice ones, and a small crab--only fifteenpence the lot.
_Self._--Very well--buy 'em.
_Wife._--(Entering)--Lobsters and crabs again! Really one would think
that you had had a surfeit of them long ago.
_Servant._--Brown says, sir, he mayn't be able to get any more for some
time, the wind's so high.
_Wife._--Oh, buy them, of course! Every thing is bought that comes here!
That's eleven crabs this week!
_Self._--What have you got there, my Xantippe?
_Wife._--I wish you would drop that odious name.
_Self._--What have you there, my Angel?
_Wife._--No, _that_ won't do either.
_Self._--Well, Fanny, then--what have you got there?
_Wife._--Why, 'tis the new work of Mr Dickens--_Dombey & Son._ What an
odd name for a tale!
_Self._--Why, how did you get it?
_Wife._--Mrs ---- (at the parsonage) has just got a packet of books from
town, and has lent us this, as it is a wet day, till the evening, and
they have got lots to read at present.
_Self._--I am very much obliged to them.
_Wife._--So am I, for I want to read it first; manners, if you please.
_Self._--Come, come, Fanny, I really want it; I've a good deal of
curiosity.
_Wife._--So have I, too!
_Self._--Well, at any rate, let me look at the plates.
_Wife._--Certainly; and suppose, by the way, as I've no letter to
write--suppose I sit down with you, and read it to you! 'Twill save your
eyes, and I'm all alone in the other room.
_Self._--Very well. [Madame shuts the door; seats herself on the
miniature sofa; I poke the fire; and she begins.] Being called away soon
afterwards on some domestic exigency, she leaves me--and I read for
myself. You said that you should like to know my opinion of Mr Dickens'
new story, and I read it with interest, and some care. 'Tis exactly what
I had expected; containing clear evidence of original genius, disfigured
by many most serious, and now plainly incurable, blemishes. The first
thing striking me, on perusing this new performance, is, that its author
writes, as it were, from amidst a thick theatrical mist. Cursed be the
hour--should say a sincere admirer of Mr Dickens' genius--that he ever
set foot within a theatre, or became intimate with theatrical people.
You fancy that every scene, incident, and character, is conceived with a
view to its _telling_--from the stage. This suggestion seems to me to
afford a key to most of the prominent faults and deficiencies of Mr
Dickens as an imaginative writer; the lamentable absence of that
simplicity and sobriety which invest the writings, for instance, of
Goldsmith with immortal freshness and beauty. With what truthful
tenderness does _such_ a writer depict nature!--how different is his
treatment from the spasmodic, straining, extravagant, vulgarizing
efforts of the play-wright! The one is delicate and exquisite limning;
the other, gross daubing:--the one faithfully represents; the other
monstrously caricatures. This is the case with Mr Dickens; and it is
intolerably provoking that it should be so; for he has the penetrating
eye and accurate pencil, which--properly disciplined and trained--might
have produced pictures worthy to stand beside those of the greatest
masters. As it is, you might imagine his sketches to be the result of
the combined simultaneous efforts of two artists--one the delicate
limner, the other the vulgar dauber and scene-painter above spoken of.
He has invention and skill enough to produce an interesting character;
and place him in a situation favourable for developing his
eccentricities, his failings, his excellences--in a word, his
peculiarities. Well; he prepares his reader's mind--sets before you an
interesting, a moving, a mirth-stirring occasion, when--bah!--all is
ruined; the spasmodic straining after effect becomes instantly and
painfully visible; and the personage before you is made to talk to the
level of a theatrical audience, especially pit and gallery--and in
unison with "gingerbeer, apples, oranges, and sodawater" associations
and recollections. Let me give two striking instances, occurring at the
very opening of "_Dombey and Son_." The first is the colloquy at pp. 3,
4; the other at p. 9. The former presents you Dr Parker Peps, a
fashionable accoucheur, and the humble admiring family medical man--the
occasion being a momentary absence of both from the clamber of a lady
dying in childbed, Mrs Dombey; and can any one of correct taste or
feeling bear in mind that occasion, and fail of being revolted by the
drivel put into the mouth of the consulting accoucheur?--who, when
telling Mr Dombey of the mortal peril in which his wife overhead is
lying--apologises to him for speaking of her as "_Her Grace the
Duchess!_" "_Lady Cankaby_," "_The Countess of Dombey_:" his obsequious
companion accounting for such lapses on the score of his "West End
practice." Is this nature? Is it actual life? Any thing approaching to
either? If not, what is it meant for? Why, to tickle a Christmas
audience at one of the minor playhouses! The other (these are only two
out of many) is the character of Mr Chick, an old fool, who has a habit
of whistling and humming droll tunes on the most solemn occasions,
interrupting and interlarding conversation with "_Right tol loor-rul_,"
"_A cobbler there was_," "_Rumpti-iddity bow, wow, wow!_" is it not
certain that Mr Dickens here had his eye on Tilbury or Bedford enacting
the part? And for no other purpose whatever is this precious character
introduced than to hit off this very original peculiarity! From the same
theatrical habit of mind, it happens that Mr Dickens cannot carry on his
stories in an even, straightforward course, but presents us with a
series of "scenes!"--utterly marring the effect and annihilating the
truthfulness and reality of the whole; _e. g._ the jarring interruption
of this story at a touching and interesting moment--at the moment of the
two doctors and Mr Dombey's return to poor Mrs Dombey's death-bed, when
the reader _feels_ that they are almost instantly to witness her death,
by the introduction of two tiresome twaddlers, reproductions of old
stock characters of the author, Mrs Chick and Miss Tox, whose
descriptions and utterly irrelevant conversation detain us for nearly
three pages. At length these motley "stagers"--if I may be allowed the
word--are grouped round the poor lady's death-bed; and let me here say,
that in my opinion the character and situation of poor Mrs Dombey are
both exquisitely conceived, and appeal to the deepest sympathies of the
heart; but, alas! the perverse, provoking, incorrigible writer will not
let us enjoy "the luxury of grief;" but while we are bending over her
death-bed, our attention is called off to a remarkably interesting and
appropriate circumstance--two watches of two of the doctors "seem in the
silence to be _running a race_!" * * "they seem to be racing faster!!" *
* "The race, in the ensuing pause, was fierce and furious. The watches
seemed to jostle, and to trip each other up!!!" and a moment or two
afterwards the lady expires, under very moving circumstances, touched
with perfect delicacy and truthfulness. Would the intrusion of a sow
into a lovely flower-garden be more shocking or disgusting to the
beholder? Again, in the first page, we are presented to Mr Dombey,
gazing with unutterable feelings at his newly-born son, "forty-eight
minutes of age;" and Mr Dickens tastefully suggests the comparison of
the little creature, which is "somewhat _crushed and spotty_ in his
general effect!!" whose mother is at that moment in dying agonies in
that very room, to "a _muffin_, which it was essential to toast brown
while it was very new!!" And a few lines forward, the posture of the
innocent unconscious little being suggests the brutal idea of a
_prize-fighter_--his "little fists, curled up and clenched, seemed, in
his feeble way, to be SQUARING AT EXISTENCE for having come upon him so
unexpectedly!!!" Was ever any thing more monstrous? To find a gentleman
of Mr Dickens' great genius, and experience in literary composition,
sinning in this way, is provoking beyond all measure. The above
abominations to be perpetrated by him, who at page seventeen can present
us with so exquisite a touch as the following:--He is describing the
blank appearance of the dismantled house, immediately after the funeral
of the poor, neglected, and heart-broken lady. "The dead and buried lady
was awful, in a picture frame of ghastly bandages. Every gust of wind
that rose, brought eddying round the corner, from the neighbouring mews,
some fragments of the straw that had been strewn before the house when
she was ill; mildewed remains of which were still cleaving to the
neighbourhood, and these being always drawn by some invisible attraction
to the threshold of the dirty house to let opposite, addressed a dismal
eloquence to Mr Dombey's window." The thirty-two pages of this first
number contain very many provocatives to unfavourable criticism. They
bristle all over with mannerisms--abound with grotesque, unseemly,
extravagant comparisons and personation, (one of Mr Dickens' chiefly
besetting sins)--many of the scenes contain truth and humour, smothered
and lost by prolixity, incident and character diluted by a tedious and
excessive minuteness of description; and it is to be feared that several
of the characters will bear a painfully strong resemblance to some of
their predecessors in Mr Dickens' other stories. Mr Dickens may feel
angry at my plainness; and, in return, I must express my fears that he
is not aware of the extent of injury which has been inflicted upon him
by _clique-homage_--the flattery of fluent, incompetent admirers--the
misconstrued silence of critics of experienced taste and refinement.
Does Mr Dickens really consider the light in which his writings,
containing such faults as those above adverted to, must be viewed by the
upper and thinking classes of society--persons of cultivated taste, of
refinement, of piercing critical capacity, who disdain to enter the
little, babbling, vulgar, narrow-minded circles miscalled "literary?"
But I have done. Mr Dickens has been magnificently patronised by the
public, who--I being one of them--have a right to speak plainly to, and
of a gentleman whose writings have so large a circulation at home and
abroad; who has no excuse, that I am aware of, for negligence or
inattention; who is bound to consider the effect of example on the minds
of tens of thousands of young and inexperienced readers who may take all
for gospel that he chooses to tell them--and to be very very guarded as
to moral object or effect--if moral object or effect his writings have,
and be not intended solely to provoke, by their amusing and farcical
absurdity and extravagance, an idle and forgotten laugh. I have no
personal acquaintance with Mr Dickens, and have written in an impartial
spirit, paying homage to his undoubted genius, denouncing his literary
faults--for his own good, and the advantage of his readers, and of the
literary character of the country.
Speaking of the literary character of the country, puts me in mind of
the intention which I had formed some months ago, of writing an article
upon the prevalent style of literary composition. May I take _this_
opportunity of making a few observations upon that subject? And yet I
must first admit, that my own style in writing this letter is far more
loose, and inexact, and slovenly, than ought to be tolerated in even
such a letter as this. Herein, however, I only imitate Dr Whately, who,
on arriving at that part of his "rhetoric" which deals with public
speaking, starts with an admission that he himself does not possess the
qualifications, the acquisition of which he proceeds to enforce upon
others.
The writing of the present day has many distinguishing excellences and
faults. The most conspicuous of the latter is, perhaps, a want of
simplicity and steadiness of style. Force--startling energy--are too
uniformly aimed at by some; others affect continual sarcasm and irony,
whatever may be the nature of the occasion. One class of writers are so
priggishly curt and epigrammatic as to throw over their lucubrations an
uniform air of small impertinence: it would be easy to point out, I
think, an incessant illustration of this "school," if one may use the
word. Others uniformly affect the trenchant and tremendous, with very
big words, and awful accumulations of them. Some seem to aim at a
picturesque ruggedness of style--defying rule, and challenging
imitation. Very many writers of all classes are so parenthetical and
involved in their sentences, that by the time that they have got to the
end of a sentence, both they and their readers have forgotten where they
set out from, and how the plague they got where they are: looking back
breathless and dismayed at a confused series of hyphens entangled among
all sorts of exceptions, reservations, and qualifications. This fault,
and a grievous one it is, is daily illustrated, and by writers, who, by
their carelessness in this matter, do themselves incalculable injustice,
rendering apparently turbid the clearest possible stream of reasoning,
marring the effect of the most beautiful and apposite illustration, and
irritating and confusing the reader. In my opinion, this fault of our
public writers is to be traced to the influence of Lord Brougham's
style. He has, and always had, a prodigious command of nervous and
apposite language, always writing or speaking with a violent _impetus_
upon him; and yet, while crashing along, his versatile and suggestive
faculties hurried him incessantly from one side to the other, hither and
thither--anticipating _this_, qualifying that, guarding against _this_,
reserving that--extruding undesirable implications and inferences, with
a sort of wild rapidity and energy--adopting ever-varying fanciful
equivalent expressions--crowding, in fact, a dozen considerable
sentences into one turbid monster. Yet it must be owned, that in all
this he seldom misses his way; his original _impetus_ carries him
headlong on to the point at which he had aimed. Not so with his
imitators. They start with an imaginary equality of force, of fulness,
and variety; but forthwith rush into a strange higgle-piggledy,
helter-skelter sort of imposing wordiness, equally bewildering and
stupifying to their readers and themselves. No man can fall into this
sort of fault who is habituated to leisurely distinctness of thought: he
will conceive beforehand with deliberate purpose, and that, _caeteris
paribus_, will induce a clear, close, and energetic expression of his
thoughts, preventing misapprehension, and convincing even a strongly
prejudiced opponent. Shorten your sentences, gentlemen; take one thing
at a time; put every thing in its proper place; attempt not to _put a
quart into a pint pot_; do not write in such a desperate hurry, nor
attempt to hit half-a-dozen birds with one stone. Another prevalent vice
is a sickening redundancy of classical quotation and allusion. Many of
our newspaper writers, and among them some of the very cleverest, cannot
contemplate any topic which they propose to discuss, without its
suggesting, as if by a sudden, secret sort of elective affinity,
previous events and occurrences of past ages. Out tumble scraps from
Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Terence, Plautus, Lucretius, with their prose
companions; and this, too, be it observed, almost always _Roman_;--it
requires a certain hardihood to adopt the Greek language in modern
composition. In short, one really thinks himself entitled to infer, from
this extravagant amount of quotation and allusion, as well ancient as
modern, that its perpetrators are very young: red-hot from their
classical studies, panting to exhibit the extent of their acquisitions,
the scholarly ease and precision with which they can apply the most
recondite passages and allusions to the fresh occurrences of the moment.
One is apt to suspect that one great motive for acquiring, extending,
and retaining knowledge, is the simple desire to exhibit the possession
of it. But all this is very vain and foolish. It looks stupidly
ridiculous to persons of experienced judgment. An occasional and very
sparing use of this sort of accessory is always desirable, often
marvellously graceful and happy; an excess of it decisively indicates
pedantic puerility, ostentation, and a grievous deficiency of strength
and originality. It is likely, moreover, to have a very unpleasant and
irritating effect, when apparent in popular compositions--in leading or
other articles in newspapers, for instance--viz. on occasions where the
persons addressed, or at least very many of them, do not comprehend or
appreciate the allusion or quotation. A really classical turn of mind is
usually accompanied by too fine and correct a taste to admit of these
eccentricities and vagaries. The English language is a very fine
language, my friends; and a very, _very_ fine and rare thing it is to be
able to use it with freedom, and purity, and power. Another very
censurable kindred habit of many of our public writers is, the
interlarding their compositions with abominable scraps of French, and
even of Italian. Faugh!--is not this adding insult to injury, in dealing
with the noble language of our country?
* * * * *
A week has elapsed since I penned the foregoing sentences, and during
that week only two things have occurred to me worthy of noticing. First,
a couple (apparently newly married) put up for a few hours at the little
inn in the village. They were both of a certain age. _He_ wore a
ponderous watch-chain and seals; she also was sufficiently bedizened
after the same fashion. Twice I encountered them. First, on the
seashore, where they took their seat very coolly on the rock next
adjoining _my_ old perch, which I was then occupying. After some
considerable swagger, my gentleman produced a newspaper from his pocket,
and distinctly said to his fair companion--"What an uncommon good thing
the Illus_trious London News_ is for the lower classes!" Second, the
worthy couple were walking together, at a subsequent period of the day,
laden with provender for an open-air lunch--with sandwiches and a black
bottle, and with a matter-of-fact air, turned into a beautifully
disposed rustic walk, having palpable _indicia_ of privacy--it
belonging, in fact, to the residence of a nobleman. My lord's gentleman,
or gentleman's gentleman, happening to meet them, (I passing at the
time,) asked them, with great courtesy of manner, if they were aware
"that that was private property?" "Well," replied our male friend
angrily, "and what if it is? I thought an Englishman might go any where
he pleased in his own country, _provided he didn't do any mischief_. But
come along, my dear," giving his arm to his flustered companion, "times
are come to a pretty pass, aren't they?" With this, the offended
dignities retraced their steps, but prodigiously slowly, and I saw no
more of them.--The other occurrence was a dream, as odd, as obstinate in
adherence to my memory. Methought I went one day to church to hear a
revered elderly relative of mine preach. The church was crammed with an
attentive and solemnly-disposed audience, whom the preacher was
addressing very calmly but seriously, without gown or bands, but wearing
two neckerchiefs, one resting upon the topmost edge of the other, and
being of blue silk, with white spots! Though aware of this slight
departure from clerical costume, it occasioned me no surprise, but I
listened with serious attention. 'Twas only when I had awoke that the
fantastic absurdity of the thing became apparent.
* * * * *
The "British Association" has just been making, at Southampton, as I see
by the papers, one of its annual exhibitions of childish inanity. This
sort of thing appears to me to be humiliating to the country, in respect
of so many men of real scientific eminence, like Sir John Herschel and
Dr Faraday, and one or two others, permitting themselves to be trotted
out on such occasions for the amusement of the vulgar, and, in doing so,
countenancing the herd of twaddling ninnies who figure on these
occasions as spouters, or patronising listeners to the fluent confident
sciolists of the various "sections." I can fancy one of these personages
carefully bottling up against the day of display, some such precious
discovery as that of "a peculiar appearance in the flame of a
candle!"--which actually formed the subject of a paper at the last
meeting; or, "on certain magnetic phenomena attending corns on the human
foot,"--which latter, after a stiff debate as to the propriety of
publishing it, is not, it seems, at present, to edify the world at
large. The whole thing is resolvable into a paltry love of lionising,
and being lionised--of enacting the part of prodigies before pretty
admiring women, and simpering simpletons of the other sex. 'Tis an
efflorescence of that vicious system which of late years continually
manifests itself in the shape of flaunting _reunions_, _soirees_,
_conversazioni_, &c. &c., where is to be heard little else than senile
garrulity, the gabble of ignorant eulogy, or virulent envious
depreciation and detraction. 'Tis true that distinguished scientific
foreigners now and then make their appearance at the meetings of the
Association; but there can be little doubt that they come over in utter
ignorance of the really trifling character of those meetings, misled by
the eager exaggerations of their friends and correspondents in this
country. Can you conceive any thing more preposterous in its way, than
the chartering of the steam-boat by the Association, to convey its
members from Southampton to the Isle of Wight on a geological
expedition? Methinks I see the crowd of "venerable boys"--to adopt the
bitterly-humorous language of the _Times_--landing at Black Gang Chine,
each with his bag slung round him, and hammer in hand, dispersing about,
rap! rap! rap!--chick! chick! chick!--and fondly fancying that they are
effectually learning, or teaching, geology, in the hour or two thus
idled away! _Can_ any thing be more exquisitely absurd? Bah! all this
might be harmless and pleasant enough, in the way of a holiday
recreation for school-boys or girls; but for grave, grown-up men--peers,
baronets, knights, doctors, F.R.S., F.A.S.'s, &c. &c.,--the thing really
does not bear dwelling upon.
* * * * *
"I can have no hesitation, to whatever amount of obloquy, or of
forfeited friendship, the avowal may expose me, in stating the
conclusion, which anxious and repeated consideration of the state of
Ireland has at length forced upon me, (_Cheers._) It is, that the time
has arrived for reconsidering the state of our relations with Ireland,
with a view to a repeal of the Legislative Union between the two
countries, (_Hear, hear._) I see no other adequate remedy for the ills
which desolate that unhappy country, and think that such a step would
also happily free England from a burden long felt to be intolerable,
(_Hear._) I am fortified in arriving at this result, by a review of the
favourable effects produced on Ireland by the measures which, during the
last few years, I have had the honour to bring forward in this house,
and see carried into effect by the legislature, (_Cheers._) I am aware
that this avowal may startle some of the more timid (_hear, hear_) of
those gentlemen who have usually done me the honour to act with me; but
an imperious sense of duty compels me to be prompt and explicit upon
this vital question, which I am fixedly resolved to settle in the way I
propose; and I will, for that purpose, avail myself of every means which
the constitution places at the disposal of her Majesty's responsible
advisers, (_Cheers._) * * * I claim no credit for proposing this great
measure of justice and mercy, nor wish to detract from the merit due to
those whose minds the light of truth and reason reached earlier than
mine. Whatever credit is due, I have no hesitation in ascribing
to--_Daniel O'Connell_," (_Cheers._) * * * * Is there a man in the
empire who would be seriously surprised if he were to hear Sir Robert
Peel make the above statement in the next session of Parliament, if he
met the house once more as Prime Minister? And so, in the session after,
might we expect a similar announcement with reference to the Protestant
succession to the throne; and then--but by no means to stop even
there--the conversion of our form of government from a limited monarchy
into a republic. What, in short, may not be predicted of such a
statesman as Sir Robert Peel? Who can conceive of him taking his stand
_any where_? Assisting _any body_ or _any thing_? It pains me to ask,
whether the history of this country ever saw a man who had done so many
things, the impropriety and danger of which he had himself uniformly
beforehand _demonstrated_? Sir Robert Peel has been converted into a
sort of political pillar of salt--a melancholy instructive memento of
the evils of unprincipled statesmanship--the former word being used, not
in a vulgar offensive sense, but as signifying, simply and solely, _the
absence of any fixed principles of political action_; or the habit of
action irrespective of principle. I will not, however, pursue this
painful and humiliating topic further, than to express the deep concern
and perplexity occasioned to me, amongst hundreds of thousands of
others, by the recent movements of Sir Robert Peel. I have never thought
or spoken of him, up even to the present moment, otherwise than with
sincere respect for his spotless personal character, and the highest
admiration of his intellectual and administrative qualities. I would
scout the very faintest insinuation against the purity of his motives,
at the same time loudly expressing my concern and amazement at
witnessing such conduct as his, in _such_ a man!
"Who would not weep if such a man there be--
Who would not weep if Atticus were he?"
I said just now, that Sir Robert Peel's signal characteristic was the
doing things, the impropriety and danger of doing which he had himself
beforehand demonstrated; and that was the reflection with which I
yesterday concluded the perusal of a memorable little document which I
took care to preserve at the time--I mean his national manifesto at the
general election of 1841, in the shape of his address to the electors of
Tamworth. Apply it now like a plummet to the edifice of Sir Robert
Peel's political character; how conclusively it shows the extent to
which it has diverged or swelled from the perpendicular line of
right--how much he has departed from the standard which he had himself
set up! What must be his feelings on recurring to such a declaration as
this?
"That party," [the Conservative,] "gentlemen, has been pleased to
intrust your representative with its confidence--(_cheers_;) and,
notwithstanding all the remarks that have been made at various times,
respecting differences of opinion and jealousy among them, you may
depend upon it that they are altogether without foundation; and that
that party which has paid me the compliment of taking my advice, and
following my counsel, _are a united and compact party, among which there
does not exist the slightest difference of opinion in respect to the
principles they support, and the course they may desire to pursue.
(Cheers.) Gentlemen, I hope I have not abused the confidence of that
great party."[66] (Loud cheers.)!!!_ I give the eloquent and eminent
speaker credit for feeling a sort of twinge, a pang, a spasm, on reading
the above. One more extract I will give relative to the recent conduct
of Sir R. Peel on the sugar-duties:--"The question now is, gentlemen,
whether, after the sacrifices which this country has made for the
suppression of the slave-trade, and the abolition of slavery, and the
glorious results that have ensued, and are likely to ensue from these
sacrifices, we shall run the risk of losing the benefit of these
sacrifices, and _tarnishing for ever that glory_, by admitting to the
British markets sugar, the produce of foreign slavery? Gentlemen, the
character of this country, in respect to slavery, is thus spoken of by
one of the most eloquent writers and statesmen of another country, Dr
Channing, of the United States:--'Great Britain, loaded with an
unprecedented debt, and with a grinding taxation, contracted a new debt
of a hundred millions of dollars, to give freedom, not to Englishmen,
but to the degraded African. I know not that history records an act so
disinterested, so sublime. In the progress of ages, England's naval
triumphs will sink into a more and more narrow space on the records of
our race. This moral triumph will fill a broader, brighter page.'
_Gentlemen_," proceeded Sir Robert Peel, "_let us take care that this
'brighter page' be not sullied by the admission of slave sugar into the
consumption of this country, by our unnecessary encouragement of slavery
and the slave-trade._"[67]
Is it not humiliating and distressing to compare these sentences, and
the lofty spirit which pervades them, with the speech, and the _animus_
pervading it, delivered by Sir Robert Peel in the House of Commons, on
Lord John Russell's bringing in his bill for "sullying this bright page"
of English glory? Did Sir Robert Peel, true to principle, solemnly and
peremptorily announce the refusal of his assent to that cruel, and
foolish, and wicked measure? I forbear to press this topic, also
quitting it, with the expression of my opinion, that that speech alone
was calculated to do him fearful and irreparable injury in public
estimation. It is impossible for the most zealous and skilful advocacy
to frame a plausible vindication of this part of Sir Robert Peel's
conduct. I sincerely acquit him of having any sinister or impure motive;
the fact was, simply, that he found that he had placed himself in a dire
perplexity and dilemma.
I think it next to impossible that Sir Robert Peel can ever again be in
a position, even if he desired it, to sway the destinies of this
country, either as a prime minister, or by the force of his personal
influence and opinion. Has he or has he not done rightly by the
greatest party that ever gave its noble and ennobling support to a
minister? Can he himself, in 1846, express the "hope" of 1841, that "he
has not abused the confidence of that great party?" If he again take
part in the debates of Parliament, he will always be listened to,
whoever may be in power, with the interest and attention justly due to
his masterly acquaintance with the conduct of the public business, most
especially on matters of finance. But with what involuntary shrinking
and distrust is his advocacy or defence of any of our great institutions
likely to be received hereafter by their consistent and devoted friends?
Will they not be prepared to find the splendid vindication of the
preceding evening, but the prelude to the next evening's abandonment and
denunciation? Is not, in short, the national confidence thoroughly
shaken? His support and advocacy of any great interest are too likely to
be received with guarded satisfaction--as far as they go, _as long as
they continue_--not with the enthusiastic confidence due to surpassing
and consistent statesmanship.
It has sometimes occurred to me, in scrutinising his later movements,
that one of his set purposes was finally to break up the Conservative
party, and scatter among it the seeds of future dissension and
difficulty; possibly thinking, conscientiously, that in the state of
things which he had brought about, the continued existence of a
Conservative party with definite points of cohesion, with visible
acknowledged rallying-points, could no longer be beneficial to the
country. He may have in his eye the formation of another party, willing
to accept of his leadership, after another general election; of which
said new party his present few adherents are to form the nucleus. But I
do not see how this is to be done. Confounding, for a time, to all party
connexions and combinations as have been the occurrences of the last
session, of perhaps the last two sessions, of Parliament, a steady
watchful eye may already see the two great parties of the state--Liberal
and Conservatives--readjusting themselves in conformity with their
respective _general_ views and principles. The Conservative party has at
the moment a prodigious strength of hold upon the country--not noisy or
ostentatious, but real, and calculated to have its strength rapidly,
though secretly, increased by alarmed seceders from the Liberal ranks,
on seeing the spirit of change become more bold and active, and
directing its steps towards the regions of revolution and democracy. Sir
Robert Peel's speech, on resigning office, presented several features of
an alarming character. Several of his sentences, especially with
reference to Ireland,
--"made the boldest hold their breath
For a time."
Candid persons did not see in what he was doing, the paltry desire to
outbid his perplexed successors, but suspected that he was
designedly--advisedly--laying down visible lines of eternal separation
between him and his former supporters, rendering it impossible for him
to return to them, or for them to go over to him; and so at once putting
an extinguisher upon all future doubts and speculation. To me it
appeared that the speech in question evidenced an astounding
revolution--astounding in its suddenness and violence--of the speaker's
political system; announcing _results_, while other men were only just
beginning to see the process. Will Sir Robert Peel join Lord John
Russell? What, serve under him, and become a fellow-subordinate of Lord
Palmerston's? I think not. What post would be offered to him? What post
would _he_, the late prime minister, consent to fill under his
victorious rival? Will, then, Lord John Russell act under Sir Robert
Peel? Most certainly--at least in my opinion--not. What then is to be
done, in the event of Sir Robert Peel's being willing to resume official
life? _Over_ whom, _under_ whom, _with_ whom, is he to act? The
Conservative party have already elected his successor, Lord Stanley, who
cannot, who will not be deposed in favour of _any_ one; a man of very
splendid talents, of long official experience, of lofty personal
character, of paramount hereditary claims to the support of the
aristocracy, who has never sacrificed consistency, but rather sacrificed
every thing for consistency. Ever since he accepted the leadership of
the great Conservative party, he has evinced a profound sense of its
responsibilities and requirements, and the possession of these
qualifications in respect of prudence and moderation, which some had
formerly doubted. Lord Stanley, then, will continue the Conservative
leader, and Lord John Russell the Liberal leader; and I doubt whether
any decisive move will be made till after the ensuing general election.
What will be the result of it? What will be the rallying-cries of party?
What will Sir Robert Peel say to the Tamworth electors?
However these questions may be answered, I would, had I the power, speak
trumpet-tongued to our Conservative friends in every county and borough
in the kingdom, and say, "up, and be doing." Spare no expense or
exertion, but do it prudently. Use every instrument of legitimate
influence--for the stake played for is tremendous; the national
interests evidently marked out for assault, are vital; and they will
stand or fall, and we enjoy peace, or be condemned to agitation and
alarm, according to the result of the next General Election, which will
assuredly palsy the hands of either the friends or enemies of the best
interests of the country.
* * * * *
And now, dear Christopher, I draw towards the close of this long letter,
without having been able even to touch upon several other "_Things_"
which I had noted down for observation and comment. As my letter draws
to a close, so also draws rapidly to a close my seaside sojourn. My
hours of relaxation are numbered. I must return to the busy scenes of
the metropolis, and resume my interrupted duties. And you, too, have
returned to the scene of your renown, the sphere of your honourable and
responsible duties. May your shadow never grow less! _Floreat Maga!_ I
have done. The old postman, wet through in coming over the hills, is
waiting for my letter, and, having finished his beer, is fidgeting to be
off. "What! can't you spare me one five minutes more?" "No,
sir--impossible--I ought to have been at----an hour ago"
Farewell then, dear Christopher,
Your faithful friend,
AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR.