On the evening succeeding to the day at the _chacra_, a small evening
party--or tertulia, as it is called--was held at the town residence of
Luis Mendoza. Our friends Thorne and Griffin were there, two midshipmen
belonging to an English man-of-war lying in the roads, with such a
sprinkling of young ladies and gentlemen as could be called on such a
short notice. Mendoza and Le Brun were closeted hard at work by
themselves in an adjoining room. The daughters of the former strove to
keep up an appearance of gaiety which they could not feel; even Thorne
himself was more silent than was his wont, and it seemed as if the
gloomy prospect of the times had its effect in diffusing a shade of
sadness over the countenances of those who had met to be gay.
The midshipmen were the only parties who appeared really to enjoy
themselves. They feared their first-lieutenant more than Rosas, and him
they had left on board: they had come on shore in quest of amusement,
and like birds free from the cage, they fluttered about in the full
hey-day of enjoyment. Happy themselves, they conceived all around them
to be the same, and at last diffused a little of their light-heartedness
to others.
“Come, Mr Thorne, we have had plenty of singing and music,” said Anita
Mendoza, forcing herself to exertion: “I make you the ‘bastonero.’ What
say you to dancing now?”
“A fair challenge! Gentlemen, choose your partners for a quadrille. Miss
Anita, will you favour me with your hand. Gentlemen, please hand round
refreshments to the ladies to give them a little life before we begin.
Griffin, the pleasure of a glass of champagne with you. Here, my young
captains, you come and wet your mustaches. _Vive la bagatelle._ Now,
then, gentlemen.” Thus rattled on Tom Thorne, seeking to rouse up the
flagging spirits of the company; but he himself had seldom been in worse
spirits--he scarce knew how.
“I have strange forebodings this night,” said Mr Thorne to Anita
Mendoza, as he stood beside her during an interval in the dance. “I see
both you and your sisters are dull, too; your father and Le Brun are as
busy as if this were to be the last night of their existence. Anita, I
suspect that man--I wish to God your father would trust some
foreigner--one native is not better than another, that is, not more
secure.”
“_Por dios_, tell me, Mr Thorne, what do you suspect in Mr Le Brun? Tell
me at once; tell me without reserve--it may not be too late yet?”
“I suspect him of being more intimate with the authorities than an
honest man can be.”
“He allows he has influence with them, Mr Thorne; my father has the
utmost confidence in him--their interests are bound up together; may he
not honestly exert what influence he has for my father’s safety?”
“How can he have influence with them except he lends himself to their
schemes and plots? Even were he honest in his intentions to secure
Mendoza’s interests--and God forbid that he be not!--who can say that
his influence will outweigh the value of Mendoza’s doubloons and lands?”
“Mr Thorne,” said Anita, during another interval in the dance, “I know
that Señor Le Brun will _now_ use every effort in his power to secure my
father and his interests. Have you--I beg you--I beg you most earnestly
to answer me distinctly and at once, for we have not one moment to
spare--have you any _positive_ knowledge of Le Brun’s acting a
dishonourable part, of his being a spy in fact?”
“I have not.”
“Is he suspected of being so in the town?”
“As far as I know, he is not.”
“What are your reasons for suspecting him in respect to my father?”
“I met him in close and secret communication with the notorious ----.”
“My dear Mr Thorne, excuse me, I have heard all that explained by my
father. His confidence must go further with me than the suspicion of
another, even if that other be----Oh, Mr Thorne, you can scarcely fancy
how much I am relieved, how much I am indebted to you for your
frankness; but I _must_ trust Le Brun. And now, as the dance is
finished--which, by the way,” said she with a smile, “you appear to have
forgotten--I shall feel obliged to you for a glass of wine, for indeed I
feel very faint.”
In spite of every exertion of our hero, the small party went off very
stiffly, and at an early hour the whole company had disappeared except
the two midshipmen, Thorne, and Griffin; when Mendoza and Le Brun
entered the _sala_ with the air of men who had just escaped from a long,
troublesome, and anxious job, and who rub their hands with delight at
having finished it.
“Come, Le Brun,” said Mendoza, “after our long _sederunt_, let us have a
glass of the best the girls can give us. Ha! Thorne, how are you?
wherever you are there is sure to be champagne--so champagne be it.” But
Le Brun declined, and bidding an affectionate adieu to the ladies, and
making a formal bow to Thorne, he withdrew.
“Hang me if I like that man!” said Thorne.
“I never knew a man who flinched from his liquor stand by his friend;
and I shall make a point of telling him so,” said Griffin, following up
Thomas’s resentment.
“That may be the case in Ireland, friend, but cannot apply here,” said
Mendoza. “But come, we can finish a bottle of champagne without any
assistance. I leave you to-morrow, Thorne,” he said in a whisper: “the
blood-hounds are on the _qui vive_, but you will see me double them.”
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a rap was heard at the
door. A servant entered pale and trembling, to inform his master that
two of the “friends of liberty” were at the door, and wished to speak to
the Patron.
Had a thunderbolt fallen at their feet, the whole party could not have
stood more aghast. Of the object of their visit at twelve o’clock at
night, there could be no mistake. The ladies threw themselves upon their
father and wept aloud; protesting with tears and sobs that they should
never tear him from them. “Thorne, Griffin, young gentlemen, you will
defend my father, will you not? They shall tear us in pieces before they
separate us,” sobbed Anita, franticly. The midshipmen, in their
enthusiasm, drew their swords. Thorne produced two small pistols from a
great-coat pocket; but Griffin,--he was the most collected of the whole.
“Be cool, ladies; I will save your father. Thorne, give me your pistols.
Servant, go to the door--say Mr Mendoza will be there in a moment--say
he is putting on his cloak. Now, Mendoza, be a man--no time for acting
the father or crying now. Ladies, one of you get me your father’s cloak
and hat. Now, Mendoza, are you listening to me?”
“I am.”
“Well, then, come to the door with me--ask the gentlemen very politely
what they want; of course they will invite you to accompany them to
prison or somewhere or other--answer without hesitation you will be with
them in one moment. This you will do with your cloak and hat on: give me
then your cloak and hat--bid them advance;--I follow, with your cloak
and hat on, as Don Luis Mendoza, and damn all consequences--pistols
_versus_ knives,--hurrah!”
“But, sir,” commenced Mendoza.
“Not a word, sir, I have no family, and I would die to serve an honest
man or bonny lassie: and, Thorne, you look after the ladies--never mind
me, I have two pistols for their two knives.”
The thing was arranged as quickly as this has been told. And away went
Griffin followed by the “friends of liberty.”
“Now, Mendoza, you must out at once,--it’s all Le Brun’s doings,--cut
for your life,--cut,” said Thorne, “and run for my house. Ladies, this
is no safe place for you--excuse me, will you honour my house. There is
no time for ceremony, rather on with your cloaks. Young gentlemen,
you’re escort--servant, your master’s pistols--Now then, ladies, are you
ready?--Anita, my arm--friend, give Mariquita yours--you for the
look-out, now heave a-head.” “Patricio,” cried Anita, “secure my
father’s papers, and then look out for yourselves.” And the whole house
was clear in less than ten minutes from the first rap at the door.
Mr Thorne and his interesting convoy arrived safe at the Calle Derecho
without any interruption; but great was their dismay as time passed on
and no Mendoza made his appearance. Early next morning Thorne was on
foot to make his inquiries, but not a word could he hear of his
whereabouts. The only consolation he could hold out to his fair and
trembling guests was the probability that he might be concealed in some
friend’s house, or might find his way on board of some vessel. “But
cheer up, ladies, you at least are safe, both from Rosas and Le Brun;
and what a comfort that would be to your old father if he knew it!
Ladies, you are the mistresses of the house. I must send for a female
servant to attend you, and you may send for some lady friend to keep you
in countenance, if you can find one, or think it proper.--You will see
the propriety of not moving out of doors for a few days. The only
restriction I impose upon both of you is, that you never drive me away
from your presence by even whispering a word about thanks. And now,
ladies, excuse me--I am going to sally out on another voyage of
inquiry,” and, before a word could be said in reply, he hurried from the
room.
After running about till he was almost exhausted, Thorne repaired to the
Sala de los Estrangeros residentes, or club-room of resident foreigners,
for a little refreshment; and scarcely had he entered when Le Brun stood
before him, pale, breathless, and wo-begone.
“Le Brun,” cried Thorne, “you are a spy, a traitor;--you are worse than
I even conceived you to be. Leave me--fly this moment, or you meet your
deserts from my hands and in this very place.”
“Thorne,” cried Le Brun with the most abject air, “I am the most
miserable man in existence. I swear to you, by every thing that binds
man to man, I was not the cause of Mendoza’s capture last night;--my
life, sir, is in more peril than his. At this moment the emissaries of
the police are at my heels, and ere sunset, I shall be in prison,--ere
sunrise probably a corpse;--where is Mendoza?”
“He is not in prison?” demanded Thorne.
“No, no--he is not.”
“Then thank God he is in safer hands than yours or _your_ friends,--he
is safe. Confess, Le Brun, that you seek him to save yourself?”
“He is safe, you say;--did you say he was safe?”
“I did,” said Thorne, who had no idea of Mendoza running any risk,
except that of his falling into the hands of Rosas. “But begone, sir. I
see your object;--you would now sell his life to save your own little
miserable existence.”
“Mr Thorne,” said Le Brun, “I am too abject now to resent insults or
injuries. Thanks be to Heaven! Mendoza is now safe;--my course is _now_
clear. I can prove to you now that, however base you may think me, I
have his interest at heart.”
“Yes, after your own weak truckling schemes have failed. Go on, sir.”
“Thorne, my steps were tracked out to Mendoza’s _chacra_; my steps were
watched to Mendoza’s house last night, he was seized, but, Thorne, not
by my information--no, thank God! not by mine. After this confession, I
ask you if I am not more to be pitied than despised. I may be upbraided
as a spy and traitor, but I have always struggled to befriend Mendoza.”
“And why, Le Brun, are you so anxious to know of Mendoza?”
“If I find him not by sunset, I myself suffer the punishment intended
for him.”
“I foresaw that, wretch.”
“Press me not too hard, Thorne; I thank Heaven that I alone shall be the
victim; and yet, how I shudder at the thought, with all my sins upon
me--no, I cannot bear to dream of it. Save me, Thorne!--save me! save
me! I throw myself on my knees before you. I never wronged you--I have
admired your firmness when I have cursed my own weakness. Save me! save
me!”
“Confess, then, did you not mean to sell Mendoza to save yourself?”
“I know not my own motives, Thorne. I am entirely unmanned--ask me not
to what lengths despair might have driven a guilty man. Believe me, I
laboured anxiously and keenly for his safety to the neglect and danger
of my own; for then my thoughts were ennobled by my aspirations for his
daughter. I am too mean and degraded now to dream of matching myself
with such purity; and I have sunk into mean grovelling selfishness.
Thank God! he has escaped. I would not--no, it is impossible I could
have betrayed Mendoza, the father of Anita, to have saved my own
worthless self. The first sight of that old man’s honest self must have
driven such demon thoughts from my mind. I sought Mendoza, Thorne, to
give him these papers. Nay, do not frown so upon me: they are papers
signed by himself last night disposing of the half of his property to me
in the anticipation of my being his son-in-law; if he escapes his
property may be disembargoed--mine never can be. Some papers of my own
are there too; some of these claims of mine, Thorne, will be
recoverable. I have not a relative in the world; pray give them
when--oh, I shudder to think of it--give them to the family of Mendoza,
give them to Anita.”
“Silence, wretched pettifogger! think not that Anita Mendoza can ever
stoop to accept the wages of treachery. I may, I will try to save your
own mean life. Sit down there, take advantage of the short time yet
spared you to arrange your affairs. I am off to see what may be done to
save you from Rosas, whom I despise more than I pity you!” and he rushed
out of the room before the trembling Le Brun could thank him for his
offered assistance.
Thorne was the creature of impulse. Possessed of a generous heart and
warm temperament, he often conferred favours at the same time that he
showered reproaches. He had known Le Brun as a respected and honoured
member of society: he had never liked him--he was too prim, sober, and
methodical, for his errant and jovial disposition. Le Brun’s steady,
plodding business habits Tom Thorne had sometimes considered a kind of
reproach to his own careless, hap-hazard way of conducting his affairs;
and though he had never made regular approaches to gain the favour of
Anita Mendoza, his vanity was offended to see the advances that the
quiet, easy, insinuating address of Le Brun made, in gaining the
affections of the only woman who ever interested him. For all these
reasons he had ever disliked Le Brun, and now he despised him: but
still, however dangerous it might be, he resolved, if possible, to save
him; and while in this state of mind he fell in with the captain of an
English man-of-war. It was usual for the English and French
vessels-of-war in those dismal times to receive all fugitives who
claimed their protection; and the Frenchmen even went so far as to walk
through the streets in armed bodies, and receive among their number
those whom persecution induced to claim their assistance. Thorne had
little difficulty in persuading the captain to lend his assistance in
carrying off an intended victim. His vessel was to sail that evening;
many of his boats were on shore; and it was arranged that at four
o’clock, when they were ready to start, a number of the seamen should
find their way to the Sala by different routes; and as the Sala was not
far from the beach, they anticipated no difficulty in carrying off Le
Brun.
This being arranged, Thorne hurried to inform and prepare the fugitive.
Le Brun was still there, and another was there also, heaping every term
of opprobrium that could be fancied on that hapless and miserable
individual.
“You scum of the sea, you! Will nothing I can say to you persuade you to
be a gentleman? By the powers of Moll Kelly! I’ll bring in the marker to
dust your hair with chalk powder--the only powder you know any thing
about, you black-faced sheep! Faith! a sheep is innocent, and a ram will
stand to its own defence: so the only resemblance you have to a sheep is
the chance you have of----”
“Hallo there, Griffin!” cried Thorne, “don’t abuse Le Brun now: our
friends with the lanterns are after him, and here we come to the rescue.
Le Brun, there is not one moment to spare. English seamen are now at the
door--they will take you safe to their ship in spite of the friends who
are dodging you outside--and so good-bye. God forgive you!”
“Oh, Thorne, how can I?”
“Come, come, no blarney!” cried Griffin interrupting Le Brun. “By St
Patrick, if he go, I go too--this place has become too hot for
me--Thorne, I did not know the poor devil was in such trouble. There is
my address, Thorne, please forward my luggage. Let us have a bottle of
champagne before we start. I will recommend Le Brun to a warm half-deck
passage to the captain; and when we land, wherever it may be, if he do
not give me satisfaction, by the powers! I’ll take it. What say you,
Thorne?”
“Now, Le Brun, all ready?” demanded Thorne.
“All ready, sir.”
“Here’s to you then, Griffin,” as Le Brun crept cautiously out of the
room. “Spare his life, Griffin--he is not worth the risk of your
exposing yourself for him: spare his life for the sake of the black-eyed
girl; but don’t forget that he spoiled a merry evening for us out at the
_chacra_. By the way, your hurried departure must be rather inconvenient
to you; please take this, (offering him some money)--nay, friend, take
it; your intended caning match may cost you as much for damages. Now
hurry off, for I must not appear in this affair.” And so Le Brun the spy
was hurried down to the beach amid a party of English seamen, to the
great disappointment of two gentlemen with long cloaks, who were waiting
to attend upon him until sunset, and who followed them still, with the
view, probably of seeing him safely embarked, in spite of repeated
adieus bowed to them by our friend Griffin, who begged of them not to
trouble themselves any further.
All hands arrived safely on board; but whether Griffin had to refund any
of Tom Thorne’s money for damages, or whether he pinked his friend, or
was pinked himself, we have never heard.
Return we to Tom Thorne and his fair guests. Their rage at Le Brun’s
treachery was modified by the news that their father had escaped--for
that he was not in prison was an escape; and to all parties it appeared
best, that they should wait in their present quarters until they should
hear from him.
In the mean time, Tom Thorne’s position was a most singular one. A
bachelor, we may say, by profession, he was harbouring two lovely
girls--one of whom had often roused feelings in his breast that he could
not easily account for: he was, moreover, their protector, he had been
partly the cause of their misfortunes; they were, it might be said,
fatherless and portionless; they interested every best feeling of his
heart. Need we work out the progress of results? Tom found more
attractions in their mild, subdued, but lively conversation than in the
loud rolicsome sports in which he had hitherto been a leader; smiles
banished or supplanted cigars, and the sparkle of fair eyes were more
often in Tom’s thoughts than the sparkles of champagne. During this
state of transmutation, Tom received a message that a friend wished to
see him: the messenger was none to be relied on, but he brought a
password--_ipso facto_. Tom went, and it was Mendoza he found. The old
man had concealed himself in the house of a friend, until he thought all
danger past. With prudent care he had concealed his retreat, even from
his best friends; and well it was he had done so, for Thorne’s house was
watched for several days.
“I have heard,” said the old man, “the care you have taken of my
daughters: God reward you for it, I never can.”
“Excuse me, sir, you may,” said Thorne. “Give me the hand of Anita, and
I shall be more than repaid. We will smuggle you off to Rio, or Monte
Video; this storm will blow over--your political back-holdings will soon
be forgotten in the greater criminality of others: your estates will yet
be restored to you; and if they be not, I have sufficient to maintain
you and your family, without even missing the resources of the _chacra_
or mourning over the ruined speculations of Don Felipe Le Brun.”
“Thorne, you are a man after my own heart. I have ever given you credit
for stainless honesty of purpose: if my daughter accepts of you as her
protector you shall have my blessing.”
Mendoza, with his daughters, sought temporary exile, the embargo was
soon taken off their property, and Tom Thorne afterwards sought, in the
sweet smiles and flashing eye of Anita Mendoza, an exchange for the idle
luxuries of cigars and champagne. Let us hope that he found them.
A. M.
LETTER FROM A RAILWAY WITNESS IN LONDON.
MY DEAR BOGLE,--In the words of the venerable Joe Grimaldi,--“Here I am
again!” swearing away before the committees at no allowance. The trade
is not quite so good a one as it was two years ago, when any intelligent
and thorough-going calculator of traffic commanded his own price, and
therefore invariably stood at an exorbitant premium. Still it would be
very wrong in me to grumble. Though there is a woful defalcation of new
lines, there is still a good deal to be done in the way of Extensions
and Amalgamations; and I am happy to tell you that I am presently in the
pay of no less than three companies, who are driving branch lines
through the pleasure-grounds of different proprietors. I recollect the
day when, in the exuberance of my greenness, I used to feel a sort of
idiotical compassion for the situation of the men of land. I used to
picture to myself the hardship of having your nice green policy cut into
shreds by the forks of some confounded Junction--of seeing your
ancestral trees go down like ninepins, before the axe of a callous
engineer--of having sleep banished from your eyes by the roar of the
engine, which sweeps past night and day, with disgusting punctuality,
within fifty paces of your threshold--and of beholding some fine
forenoon your first-born son conveyed a mangled corpse from the rail,
because the company, out of sheer parsimony, have neglected to fence in
their line, which goes slick through the centre of your garden; and the
poor little innocent, in the absence of Girzy, then flirting among the
gooseberries with the gardener, has been tempted to stray upon the irons
in pursuit of an occasional butterfly! But I am thankful to say that I
have now got rid of all such visionary scruples. Thanks to Sir Robert
Peel, I have learned a new lesson in political economy. I have become a
convert to the doctrine, that land is nothing else than manufactures;
and I snap my fingers in derision at protection in all its shapes. Would
you believe it, Bogle? I was giving evidence yesterday on behalf of the
Clachandean railway--part of which, I am sorry to observe, has sunk into
the centre of a bog--against a thick-headed proprietor, who has
absolutely been insane enough to oppose, for three successive sessions,
a branch line, which is to run through his estate for the purpose of
communicating with some bathing-machines. The property has been in his
family for some four or five hundred years. The mansion-house is an
ordinary kind of tumble-down old affair, with turrets like pepper-boxes
on the corners, and the fragment of an abbey behind it. There is no
timber worth speaking of in the policy, except half-a-dozen great
useless yew-trees, beneath which they show you a carved stone, that
covers the dust of stout old Lord Alexander, whose body was brought home
from the bloody field of Flodden;--and yet this absurd agriculturist has
the coolness to propose to the company that they shall make a deviation
of nearly half-a-mile, for the sake of avoiding this remnant of the
darker ages! Three times, Bogle, has that man come up to London, at a
most enormous expense, for the purpose of defending his property. The
first time he was successful in his opposition before the committee of
the House of Commons, because the chairman happened to be a person
imbued with the same ridiculous prejudices as the proprietor, and was
what these foolish Protectionists call a man of birth and connexion. He
had on his own grounds a mausoleum with some rubbishy remains of his
ancestors, who had been out with Harry Hotspur; and the moment he heard
of the old tomb-stone and the yew-trees, he began to rave about
desecration, and made such a row that the projectors were fain to give
it up. That job cost the Protectionist proprietor at least a cool
thousand; however, he was pleased to say, that he did not mind the
expense, since he had succeeded in saving the mansion of his fathers.
But we did not by any means intend to let him off so easily. My friend
Switches, the engineer, laid out two new branches--if possible more
annoying than the first, for they were to intersect one another at the
yew-trees. We tipped the parliamentary notices; and, though the
venerable Cincinnatus came with tears in his eyes to our directors, and
offered them the land for nothing if they would only consent to a very
slight and practicable deviation, we determined to make him pay for his
whistle. Accordingly, next year we had him up again, all right and
tight, before a fresh committee. Lord! what fun it was to hear him
cross-examined by Sergeant Squashers! That’s the counsel for my
money!--no feeling, or delicacy, or nonsense of that kind about him. I
wish you had seen the rage of the proprietor when he was asked about his
buried ancestor; whether his name was Sawney, or Sandy--and whether he
was embalmed with sulphur! We all roared with laughter. “Don’t attempt
to bully me, sir!” said the Sergeant,--for the red spot began to glow
upon the old man’s cheek, and I believe that at that moment, if he had a
weapon, he could have driven it hilt-deep into the body of the facetious
barrister. “Don’t attempt to bully me, sir! thank Heaven, we are in a
civilised country, where people wear breeches, and live under the
protection of the law. Answer me, sir--and try to do it in something
like intelligible English--was that fellow, Lord Saunders or Sawney, or
whatever you call him, pickled up in brimstone or in pitch?” Squaretoes
could not stand this; so he gathered himself up, I must say rather
grandly--muttered something about scorn, and Squashers being a disgrace
to the gown he wore, and marched out of the committee room amidst the
guffaws of a group of us who were brought up to testify that the house
was falling to pieces, and that no Christian, of ordinary intellect,
would trust his carcass beneath its roof.
That time we had a capital chairman--a regular man of calico, who never
professed to have a grandfather, hated the agriculturists like the
pestilence, and had made a large fortune by the railways. He was
perfectly delighted at the way in which our friend the Sergeant had put
down Sir Pertinax M’Sycophant--a nickname suggested by our solicitor,
and employed in the learned counsel’s reply with very considerable
effect; and as there were two other members of the League on the
committee, we had it all our own way. The preamble was declared to be
proven, and no clauses of compensation were allowed. But, if we were
obstinate in our purpose, so was Pertinax. He fought us in the House of
Lords, and there, to be sure, he got what he termed justice--that is,
our bill was thrown out, and some rather harsh expressions used with
respect to the company’s behaviour. We were ten days before each
committee--for Squashers is rather fond of spinning out a case, and none
of us who are paid for attendance by the day, are in the habit of
objecting to the same--so that Pertinax must have been out of pocket at
least two thousand pounds by this second silly opposition. And
considering that the fortunes of the family are not so flourishing as
they once were, and that the old fellow can barely afford to give his
son a university education, you will admit that this must have been a
tolerable pull at his purse-strings. However we were determined to keep
it up. The wisdom of the legislature in refusing, under any
circumstances whatever, to give costs against the railways, has put it
in the power of a company to drive any individual, by unremitting
perseverance, to the wall. We set Switches to work again, and this time
we propose to metamorphose the mansion into a station-house. I don’t
know how the thing will go. Old Pertinax is fighting like a Trojan; and
I rather fear that he made a little impression on the committee
yesterday, by telling them that he has been obliged to borrow money upon
his estate at a ruinous rate of interest, and to endanger the portions
of his three pretty and motherless daughters solely to defend his
patrimony from the wanton aggressions of the company. But--as Sergeant
Squashers well observed, when he saw a tear stealing down the furrowed
cheek of the Protectionist--this is not the age nor the place for such
imbecile snivelling. We have been taught a new lesson with regard to the
sacredness of rights and of property; and the sooner those antiquated
hereditary notions are kicked out of the minds of the landowners, the
better.
When I said, in the commencement of this letter, that I was swearing
before the committees, I made use of a wrong term. We are not sworn--not
even examined on soul, or on conscience, or on honour; and I must say
that the recollection of that circumstance is sometimes a great comfort
when I lie in bed awake of nights. What is technically termed at
Westminster, engineering evidence, would, I am afraid, were an oath to
be interposed, become very like the thing called perjury; which, not to
mention its effect on a future state of existence, is popularly supposed
in Scotland to bring one under the unpleasant but especial attention of
the High Court of Justiciary. The beauty of the present system is, that
it gives ample scope and rein to the imagination without imposing any
restrictive fetters upon the conscience. It allows a fair latitude for
that difference of opinion which always must prevail amongst
professional gentlemen, and relieves them from whatever qualms they
might otherwise have left in replying without any hesitation--the
leading quality of a witness--to questions upon subjects of which they
are utterly and entirely ignorant. I have found this advantage in my own
case. I am positive that I could not, had I been on oath, have given any
satisfactory evidence as to the amount of the bathing traffic on the
line; though I certainly admit that I have sometimes of a Saturday
afternoon sauntered along the shore with a cigar, to enjoy the _posés
plastiques_ of our northern aquatic Nereids. But as all such formality
was dispensed with, I had no hesitation in stating the numbers of the
amphibious animals, male and female, at eight hundred per hour during
seven months of the year; which, on an average of nine hours a day, and
at the rate of sixpence a head, would increase the income of the company
by about £37,800 per annum. Such was one item of my evidence yesterday,
for the clearness and accuracy of which I was politely complimented by
the chairman. I must say, however, that I think Switches went rather too
far when he valued poor Pertinax’s garden land at less than half-a-crown
per acre. I can make every allowance for enthusiasm; but surely, surely
this was pushing the principle a little to the extreme. One ought always
to preserve, even for the sake of our employers and paymasters, some
little semblance of probability. I do not object to an engineer stating
in evidence that he is ready to tunnel Ben Nevis, throw a suspension
bridge, over the Queensferry, or convert Lochlomond into a green and
fertile meadow. All these--as Switches once observed with consummate
coolness when badgered about the draining of a quicksand--are mere
matters of estimate; but I like facts when we can have them; and had I
been questioned on the subject, I think I should have been inclined to
have allowed an additional shilling for the land.
Between ourselves, Bogle, I begin to suspect that this kind of work is
not altogether conducive to the growth of a healthy state of morality
amongst us, I would not say it in the hearing of our chairman; but I
really do suspect that we have stretched a point or two exorbitantly far
in our attempts to bolster up the bill. I know a lad who was brought up
here, two years ago, to speak to the amount of minerals in a district
which at present shall be nameless. He was then a good green creature,
fresh from the superintendence of his mother, who--poor old body--had
done her best to train him up in the ways of truth, and to instil into
his mind a sound moral and religious principle. And she had so far
succeeded. I do not believe that, at that time, he would have told a lie
or injured a human being for the world; but evil was the day on which
lie was brought up to London in order to testify before a committee. He
was delivered into the hands of a big-boned Aberdonian engineer,
notorious for his pawkiness and the adroit manner in which he always
contrived to evade a direct answer to any hostile question whatever. The
training proceeded, and in less than a month the youth was pronounced to
be tolerably perfect in his paces. But he broke down upon
cross-examination. He could not point out upon the map the locality of
certain coal-fields which he had averred to be in existence; and a rigid
heckling elicited the fact that a seam of black-band, valued at some
annual thousands, was neither more nor less than a dyke of ordinary
whinstone. It was clear that Jock was not yet entirely qualified for his
vocation. He stammered too much--got red in the face when closely
pressed, and was apt to potter with the compasses, instead of boldly
measuring out his quota of imaginary furlongs. So he was remitted to his
studies, and underwent another fortnight’s purification at the Coalhole
and the Cyder cellars. A natural propensity for drink which lurked in
his constitution, was carefully fostered, until his thirst became
absolutely unappeasable. He, was drunk from morning to night, or more
strictly speaking, from night till morning. His face broke out in
blotches; a dark rim gathered beneath his eyes; his nose gave token of
the coming pimple, and his lips were baked and bulging. A more
disgusting object you never saw; and I only hope that when he was sent
down after the session to Scotland, he had the common humanity not to
visit the mother that bore him, for the spectacle would have broken her
heart. Jock, however, had now risen in value, for he was ready to
testify to any thing. To swear that black is white was nothing: he had
no hesitation to depone in favour of the whole colours of the rainbow.
When questioned for his employers, he was as acute and active as an eel;
when under cross, he took refuge either in a stolid dulness of
apprehension, which was extremely aggravating to his inquisitor, or had
recourse to the safe and convenient operation of the _non mi recordo_
system. In short, he was voted the prince of surveyor’s assistants, and
his services were eagerly sought before every species of committee.
Roads, canals, harbours, waterworks, or railways--nothing came amiss to
Jock. Through habit he had become a quick study, and could
satisfactorily master the details of the most intricate case in the
course of a single evening, provided he was liberally, but not too
exorbitantly, supplied with liquor. He is now a blackguard of the first
water. I firmly believe that he has not spoken one word of truth for the
last eighteen months, nor could he do so by any possibility even were
you to pay him for it.
Such is the career of a true child of the railway committee system; nor
can it well be otherwise, so long as witnesses are allowed to depone
without reference to oath, and without the pains of perjury before their
eyes. Don’t think me, my dear Bogle, unnecessarily strict in my
censures. I make no pretence of having a conscience much less elastic
than those of my fellow mortals; but I have a kind of indistinct feeling
that it would be better for all of us if, somehow or another, we could
be brought to speak the truth, or at least to make some sort of
approximation towards it. The very first question which used to be asked
of a witness in a court of law, was the remarkably suggestive one,--“Has
any body paid you any thing, or promised you any thing, for giving your
testimony?” And even yet, when a bribe can be established, it is held to
disqualify, or at least to cast discredit upon a witness. Now, although
I do not like to confess that we are bribed in the strictest acceptation
of the term, we have, all of us, more or less interest in the success of
the companies who are judicious enough to secure our services. The
leading engineer has the prospect of a large and profitable job. The
contractor expects a slice; the surveyor constant employment; and the
capability-man and the calculator of traffic know very well that a
break-down in evidence will effectually debar them from a future visit
to London on the occasion of the next extension, which exclusion is
equivalent to a loss of five guineas a-day with all expenses paid. So
that, on the whole, I think it is abundantly clear, that we are not
altogether patriots of the highest and most exalted breed. Why, then,
should we be exempted from that species of purification to which even
the peerage of the realm are subjected in a court of law? Of this I am
certain, that larger interests are arbitrarily disposed of every session
by committees of the House of Commons, than are painfully and
laboriously adjudicated on, with all the formalities of law, by the
judges of the Court of Session. And if the safeguard of an oath is
deemed indispensable in the one case, I cannot for the life of me
understand on what principle it should entirely be omitted in the other.
But perhaps you think that a good deal may safely be left to the
discretion, discrimination, and prudence of those honourable members who
are virtually the judges between the merits of the invading company and
the rights of the invaded proprietor. You think that exaggerated or
perverted testimony would be of no avail before a tribunal of such
exalted intelligence; and that it would be as impossible to get up a
fictitious case of traffic, as it would be to persuade a Birmingham
trader that a metallic basis to the currency is the foundation of our
national prosperity. Bless you, my dear friend! you know nothing at all
about the matter. You have not the smallest idea of the extent of
swallow of the Sassenach. In nine cases out of ten, they are as ignorant
of the points at issue, as that unclean Whig Mr Gisborne is of the
nation which he had the impudent audacity to revile. I shall put the
case to you in a clear and intelligible point of view. Suppose that a
company were proposing to run a line from Rutherglen across the Clyde,
the Green of Glasgow, and, through the very heart of the city to the
terminus near George Square. You will not deny that there are tolerably
weighty interests involved in such a project as that, and I presume you
would like to have the whole matter thoroughly expounded, before a
locomotive train was permitted to shoot over a skew-bridge in the middle
of the Trongate. Now, apart from evidence, who do you think would be the
best judges of the expediency of such a measure? Are you not of opinion
that the interests of Glasgow would be safer in the hands of the members
for the West of Scotland, who have all some local knowledge of the
place, than if intrusted to the tender mercies of five gentlemen, not
one of whom has ever crossed the Border, and who, during, the whole
period of their sitting, are impressed with a strong idea that
Rutherglen is the same place as Rugby? Would you consider yourself, and
our mutual friends Walter Sheddon, Steenie Provan, Tammy Gilkison, and
Ephraim Cansh, a proper or a competent committee to try the merits of a
line which was to intersect the heart of Bristol? Not one of you ever
set foot in that respectable metropolis of spar; and it baffles my
imagination to conceive how your aggregate wisdom could manage to detect
and discriminate the truth amidst the conflicting evidence of a cloud of
witnesses. Is it not a mere matter of toss-up, whether your decision
would be right or wrong? Would you not be apt to abide by the testimony
of the most plausible and practised witness, simply because you have no
means of testing the accuracy of his deposition? But if the Rutherglen
Junction were referred to the decision of you five, I warrant me we
should have the business conducted in a very different kind of manner. I
think I see Gilkison’s expression of face, at hearing a herring-curer
brought up to speak to the value of the salmon fisheries at the Green;
or the mute ire of Cansh at being told that the Trongate is a mere lane,
and the buildings of no earthly value! I think I hear the obstreperous
roar of Provan, consequent on the testimony of an intoxicated
brass-founder, that the substratum of the Green is black band! Would not
the oleaginous cheeks of Sheddon glisten with indignant dew, if he heard
the Clyde described as a positive nuisance to the community?--and would
not you, O Bogle, annihilate with a terrific frown, the ruffian who
should aver that the finest square in Glasgow is evidently intended by
nature for the purposes of a railway station? My life upon it, that you
five would soon bring the witnesses to their senses. But, as the
business is conducted at present, neither the judges--that is, the
members of the committee--nor the counsel who are examining, know any
thing at all about the localities. There is a complete monopoly in the
business. Members of the English bar, who are necessarily strangers to
the site of the proposed operations, are invariably employed by the
solicitors in preference to our own advocates who were born and bred
upon the spot. Friend Squashers, for example, was never in his life
twenty miles north of the Old Bailey, and yet he is considered the
fittest person to expatiate to the committee on the advantages of a
Highland line. And I will say this for him, that he makes his mountains
remarkably like Shooter’s Hill; and in point of bullying a witness, and
insulting a landed proprietor, none of our native lads are fit to hold
the candle to him.
The question, therefore, which I once put to you before, and which I
certainly would put to that plucky little fellow Lord John Russell, if I
happened to have the honour of his acquaintance, is simply this--Would
it not be better that the evidence which is now taken before committees
of the House of Commons on railway and other bills should be given in
Scotland, Ireland, and the provinces, before a paid commission and on
oath? Certain I am that the work would be far better done. Results would
be more accurately brought out, the truth would be better sifted, and
there would be an end to that profligate system of demoralisation which
is doing no good to London, and is rapidly corrupting such of us as are
necessarily drawn within its influence. Honourable members would be
relieved from a harassing, tedious, and laborious duty; and their
legislative functions need not be interfered with, as the printed
evidence would fall to be leisurely and thoroughly sifted. At present a
member of the House of Commons is far less a legislator than a mere
railway machine. He has not time to study the merits of the vast public
questions which ought above every thing to claim his attention; for his
whole day is occupied with a dreary detail of curves, gradients, and
sections; and by being compelled to do too much, he is crippled in the
exercise and discharge of by far his most important functions. And
further, the railway interest is already too widely spread in the House
of Commons. Almost every member has an interest, direct or indirect, in
some particular line or company; and it is impossible to expect that in
every case there shall not be a particular sway or bias in the minds of
some of the judges. This is not right nor decent. The leading quality
which is required of a judge in every department is a strict and
thorough impartiality, and an absolute renunciation of every interested
motive;--and no sacrifice on the part of the public can be too great to
attain so desirable an end. It would be well for us if, during the last
and the preceding year, country members had been more occupied with
watching the attitude and the proceedings of the ministry, and less with
the conflicting statements of rival companies and engineers. Had they
been attending to the Currency and the Corn Laws, we ought to have
escaped from a commercial crisis, in which even the railway shareholder,
as I imagine, has been tolerably severely pinched.
And really, Bogle, I do not think that we are compensated in the sight
of Heaven, by our five guineas a-day, for the enormous immoralities
which we contract in this overgrown and seductive city. There are some
thousands of us here, all living like plethoric gamecocks; and, so far
as I can gather, going, in plain language, as fast as possible to the
devil. I wish you saw the scramble which takes place in the lobby of the
committee-rooms at twelve. A perfect torrent of engineers, surveyors,
solicitors, agents, and witnesses--in the middle of which, every here
and there, appears the cauliflower head of a counsel--pours up the
stairs. The refreshment table below is blocked up with thirsty demons,
all clamorous for soda-water, their matutinal tea having failed to
quench the old hereditary drought. You wrestle your way into the
committee-room, and before the members meet, you become the edified
auditor of such scraps of information as the following:--
“Whaur d’ye think Jimsey and me gaed tae last nicht after ‘The Judge and
Jury?’”
“I’m sure I dinna ken: some deil’s buckie’s errand, I’se be bound.”
“Gosh, man! we gaed tae the Puckadully Saloon; and Jimsey there took
twa turns wi’ an opera dancer at the Polka. Eh, man! she was a grand
yin.”
“Was ye no feared, Jimsey?”
“Me feared? Deil a bit. She telt me I was unco like Count Dorsy.”
“And whaur did ye gang after?”
“I dinna mind: I was awfu’ fou.”
“Weel, I wasna muckle better mysel’. Me and Wattie Strowan gaed down to
Greenitch, and we forgathered wi’ twa Paisley lads in the steamboat. But
there’s Wattie. How d’ye find yoursel’ this morning, Wattie?”
“No richt ava. I woke at eleven with my boots on, and somebody has
helped theirsel’ to my watch.”
“Man, that’s fearsome.”
“I dinna care muckle aboot it. It was an auld pinchbeck ane o’ my
auntie’s.”
“What’s become o’ Geordie MacAuslan?”
“That’s mair nor ony body kens. Geordie hasna been seen thae twa days.
He’s an awfa’ body when he gets upon the batter. He drinks waur nor a
trout.”
“Hae ye been to hear Jeanie Lind yet?”
“No me. I dinna care for thae skirling foreigners, and it’s ower dear.”
“Ye should gang though. What’s keeping the committee?”
“The chairman o’t will hae been fon tae. Hech me, I’ve got a sair heid!
Jimsey, quae down to the lobby, and we’ll hae a glass of soddy, wi’ a
wee thing o’ brandy intil it.”
And so exeunt for a quarter of an hour my fine and faithful compatriots.
Do not think, Bogle, that I am unnecessarily severe, or that I have the
slightest wish whatever to detract from the merits of my countrymen. On
the contrary, I love them exceedingly; and it is only because I cannot
bear to see them lowered in the eyes of the stranger, that I would have
them speedily removed from the influences of such perilous temptation.
Few of my young railway friends possess the continence or austere
morality which were the creditable characteristics of Richie Moniplies.
They have got more money than is good for them, and they are by no means
particular how and where they spend it. Centralisation, which is now the
favourite theory of our government, is unquestionably productive of
great and serious evils. The system of transacting the whole business of
the country, in so far as public works and improvements are concerned,
in London, acts as a heavy drain upon the provinces, and is, I think, in
many ways detrimental to the well-being of the country. It is very easy
for ministers who are constantly resident here to forget the existence
of the smaller and remote capitals; and therefore it is that Edinburgh
has shared so little in the bounties and benefactions which are
liberally heaped upon London. If you run your eye over the public
estimates, you cannot fail to be struck with the prodigious sums which
are annually expended by government upon the metropolitan improvements
and institutions, the liberal state-patronage which is bestowed upon the
fine arts, and the grants to hospitals and museums. This is wise and
proper, and I do not grudge nor complain of it. All I contend for is,
that some consideration should be shown to the other leading cities of
the empire. We are all taxed for London: is it not but fair and
reasonable that some portion of the public money should be appropriated
for the encouragement of similar objects in the north? If London is to
remain as now the only favoured city, the necessary consequence must be,
that it will attract towards it all the intellect and excellence, which
otherwise would be scattered through the kingdoms--that the smaller
capitals must decay in proportion as the large plethoric central one
augments. And such, indeed, is the true state of matters at the present
period. The moment that a rising artist shows himself among us, he is
instantly transported to London; because it is the only field where he
can meet with proper encouragement, or where his talents will be
adequately rewarded. In literature it is the same thing. The position of
our Universities is lowered, simply because they are starved by the
government, which ought to foster and protect them. Sir Robert Peel,
yielding as usual to the Irish howl, had no objections whatever to found
and endow most liberally the Papist colleges. The same statesman
positively declined to do any thing for the University of Edinburgh, in
which the government-salary of the best endowed professor is not equal
to the emolument of a common mail-guard, or a postman! Under such
circumstances the only marvel is, that men can be found to occupy the
chairs. The present Premier is an alumnus of that university, and also
an honorary graduate; but it is too much to hope that he will move one
inch in support of his Alma Mater. It is clear that the Presbyterian has
not the ghost of a chance in competition with the Papist. And although
the Commissioners appointed in 1825 urgently represented to government
the necessity of doing something to enable these unhappy professors to
live, not one single step has been taken by the Treasury in consequence.
The natural result is that the professors are being constantly drafted
away to the manifest detriment of the university. Some take refuge at St
Andrew’s and elsewhere, where the chairs are more liberally endowed.
Others, sick at heart, throw up their commissions altogether. That noble
institution, the Edinburgh Infirmary, is almost bankrupt, and never has
received the slightest assistance from the public purse; and yet one of
the city members is in the Cabinet! I wonder that it has not occurred to
the somnolent citizens of Edinburgh, that some little advantage as well
as glory might be derived from such distinguished representation.
Honourable members are generally rather squeezable on the eve of an
election; and were I a burgess of the good town, I think I should be
disposed to require some little explanation on these points, and some
assurance that the candidates would advocate in future the undoubted
interests and rights of the electors, before I again came forward with
my vote.
Dublin, with her vice-regal court, has something like the appearance of
a capital; and I sincerely trust that it may be long before any
government, yielding to the clamours of the parsimonious Joseph Hume,
shall attempt to rob her of that privilege. Edinburgh has not a shadow
of royalty left her, save the Commissioner to the General Assembly! The
dreary halls of Holyrood, I fear, will never again be rendered gay by
the presence even of a delegate of sovereignty; and were it not for the
existence of the courts of law, now miserably contracted in their
functions, Edinburgh would inevitably become a retrograding city.
Notwithstanding the habitual jealousy with which we of the balmy west
are wont to contemplate our beautiful rival, I really am, from the
bottom of my soul, sincerely sorry for the capital of Scotland. Last
year, after our parliamentary campaign, I treated myself to a run on the
Continent, and I never was more struck in my life than with the
remarkable similarity which exists between Edinburgh and Darmstadt.
There are the same spacious streets, the same wide squares, the same
imposing and substantial buildings; but, alas! there is also the same
dearth of inhabitants, and the same remarkable absence of that traffic
and bustle which is the surest index of the wealth and prosperity of a
town. Huge plate-glass windows in the shops are not, I apprehend,
unerring tokens of the thriving business of the tradesman; and it is
quite possible that a city of palaces may be inhabited by those who rank
in the monetary scale very far indeed below the point which their
external appearance indicates.
Edinburgh is, in my mind, the best existing evidence of the baneful
effects of centralisation. She never was, and in all probability never
will become, a seat of commerce or manufacture; and perhaps it is better
so, for I hardly think that her noble aspect would be beautified by the
addition of some hundred chimney stacks, on the model of the St. Rollox
column, vomiting out long streams of smoke across the surface of the
clear blue sky. She is no longer a seat of government. Even had it been
intended, as some still maintain, that, after the incorporating Union, a
shadow of local government should be left to Scotland, subsequent events
and mighty uncontemplated changes have arisen to render such a view
untenable. But then, until some thirty years ago, Edinburgh had many
privileges. The whole public business of the country was transacted by
native functionaries residing within her walls. She had her boards of
Custom and Excise. The high officers of the law all resided there, and
she still was able to maintain something of the semblance of a
metropolis. But the besom of reform, nowhere else so ruthlessly and
cruelly wielded, swept every cranny and corner of her clean. Under the
pretext of economy, all the local boards were suppressed and transferred
to London, amidst the insane joy of our primitive native reformers, who
do not seem for one moment to have reflected on the fatal consequences
which were sure to follow. The courts of law, and all that remained to
us of the ancient Scottish constitution were next assailed. In vain did
Sir Walter Scott and others, who had not bowed the knee to Baal,
demonstrate the impolicy of measures which must have the effect of
degrading the status of the bar by narrowing its prospects, and of
impoverishing the bulk of the citizens of Edinburgh by materially
diminishing the income which had hitherto been expended amongst them.
Such warnings were regarded as the drivellings of a senile intellect.
Year after year the work of abolition went on. Some offices were
suppressed, others grievously curtailed; and in several departments,
where the fees of office were retained, these were ordered to be
transmitted, and are so at the present moment, to the general account of
the Treasury, in which they figure under the item of Miscellaneous
Revenue;--so that the public purse of Great Britain is now augmented by
the balance of the fees which were originally intended for the
maintenance and support of the high officers of the Scottish crown.
Now, mark the consequence of all this. The bar, as a profession, has
been very materially lowered; for it is impossible to expect that the
same class of men as formerly will devote themselves assiduously to the
law, when it no longer holds out to their ambition the reasonable
prospect of an ultimate prize. No Scottish advocate now-a-days can hope
to be comfortably shelved save on the Bench, and it is a long and weary
toil to attain that coveted eminence. There are hardly any middle
situations left, which a man of any talent or enterprise would accept.
But a lower field has been opened, and the bar is now, to the detriment
of the country practitioners, monopolising the inferior situations of
sheriffs-substitute; and the holders of these places are still,
notwithstanding a recent change for the better, but inadequately
remunerated for the onerous duties which they perform. It is now quite
notorious that the Scottish bar can hold out no inducement to young men
of talent and distinguished abilities. It is therefore not surprising to
find that many members of our oldest and most influential families have
now qualified themselves for the English bar, which, with its colonial
judgeships, commissionerships, and high offices, is in all probability
the first profession in the world. The English, Bogle, are too wise a
people to strip themselves naked, because at certain seasons their
clothing may have been inconveniently warm.
I say, therefore, that the wholesale spoliation and reduction of offices
in Scotland has had, in the first instance, the effect of removing from
Edinburgh many of the ablest men, at least of the rising generation. And
if that should be thought a light matter, let me remark, that not only
the law but the literature of the country has suffered. The time has
been, and is not long gone by, when, in a single turn of the Parliament
House, you might encounter in their advocates’ gowns, such men as Scott,
Wilson, Jeffrey, and Lockhart--it would now, I think, rather puzzle you
to select from the children of the Scottish Themis, one single name
equal in weight to the least of these. Edinburgh, I am afraid, has
ceased to hold rank as a nursery of talent; and for that, as well as
other deteriorations, she may thank the Reformers and the Whigs.
In the second place, I say that there is not a single tradesman in
Edinburgh who has not suffered materially in purse on account of these
insane reductions; and it would have been far better if some of them who
set up for practical economists, had been minding their own
balance-sheet instead of attending to the ledger of the nation. Is it
not as clear as sunshine, that every penny which has been taken out of
Edinburgh, has been ultimately abstracted from their pockets? Will any
one of them venture to say, that trade has not declined since the work
of spoliation began? I am told by those who are intimately acquainted
with the place, that the contraction of general society, even in the
winter session, is something positively remarkable--that there is less
festivity, less social intercourse, fewer equipages, and fewer
entertainments now, than were common thirty years ago, when the city had
attractions not only for our own but even for the English nobility. At
present, as I understand, not a single Scottish peer maintains a mansion
in Edinburgh, and the more influential of the gentry are gradually
withdrawing from it also. It is useless to say that this is owing to the
superior attractions of London. A small capital, provided it be
otherwise a pleasant residence, will always attract to it persons of
moderate fortune; because they are certain to obtain a much higher
position in proportion to their means, than they could possibly aspire
to in the more plethoric metropolis. But then the fundamental charm of
such a residence consists in an agreeable society. And where, as in
Edinburgh, every thing has been done to impoverish the habitual
residenters--where every possible inducement is held out to draw talent
away from it, and where nothing is attempted to create a corresponding
influx--where genius, however bright, must linger in obscurity and
decay--is it, I ask, possible to expect that any such society can be
found? You will find beauty there, no doubt; but, alas! that beauty can
do but little for those who possess it. Go into an Edinburgh ballroom,
and you will see groups of pretty young women, well educated, well
principled, and with ancient blood in their veins, whose fate it is to
be left withering on the stalk, because they have no portions of their
own, and the men cannot afford to marry. And do you think that the poor
fellows, bred up, through the mistaken pride of their parents, to a
thankless and declining profession, are less legitimate objects of pity?
Morning after morning, throughout the cold and dreary routine of the
winter session, do they pace the barren boards of the Parliament House
in a kind of dreamy languor, or laugh off with reckless witticism the
disgust which is preying on their souls. No kind agent approaches them
with a fee, for there is scarcely legal business left--thanks to the
new-fangled Jurisdiction Acts which throw a triple burden on the
sheriffs--to keep twenty or at most thirty elderly advocates in
something like tolerable employment. They are afraid to try literature,
for the common prejudice is against it; and so the best and most
precious years of their lives are consumed in idle listlessness, and in
dull and sickening expectation. Far better had it been for them, if,
like their younger and more fortunate brothers, they had been shipped
off from school to India, even though they had fallen with glory on the
banks of the distant Sutlej, or gone to sleep, benumbed and frozen,
amidst the snows of the Kyber Pass! For then they would have left behind
them a brave and an honourable name, and have escaped the weary curse of
a profitless and ignoble existence. If not one other word of old
Belhaven’s prophecy were true, he spoke like a faithful seer, when he
warned the Scottish gentry that ere long their daughters would be
languishing for want of husbands, and their sons driven away to seek
employment at the hand of the stranger.
All this is so perfectly conspicuous and self-apparent, that one cannot
but be amazed at the apathy which has prevailed at the time when, and
since, these miserable innovations were made. And I can hardly persuade
myself that the citizens of Edinburgh--indeed the people of Scotland,
for it is their common cause--will remain much longer quiescent, without
making some effort for the restoration of their decaying capital. Let
Edinburgh, in the first instance, have its due; and let the system of
centralisation be so far relaxed, that the ordinary business of the
nation may be conducted in its own capital. The loss to London would be
nothing--the gain to Edinburgh would be immense; and I am sure no
ministry whatever ought to grudge so reasonable a demand, more
especially as the whole patronage would still be left in their power. As
regards the legal and other official changes, I have every reason to
believe that even the Whigs are now convinced of the fatal effects of
their policy; and far be it from me in any way to impede their
repentance. Indeed, neither party in the state are altogether blameless
in this matter; and I hope that as both have sinned against their
country, both will join cordially in the graceful act of reparation.
Let us, moreover, have a board of commissioners, sitting at the same
time with the Court of Session, before whom all evidence relating to
private bills may be laid, before these are submitted to the
consideration of the Imperial Parliament. I cannot figure to myself any
possible objection to this scheme. It would cost the country nothing,
for the whole expense of the establishment should be defrayed by the
companies who are demanding constitution; and considering the
multiplicity of these projects, the quota of each would be a matter of
absolute indifference. I maintain broadly, that justice will never be
done, even to the companies themselves, until things are put upon such a
footing. No man, or body of men, can properly perform the judicial
function, unless they are directly responsible to the public. It is this
principle which secures the due administration of justice, and it is
universally acted upon throughout the civilised world.
In Committee practice, points are constantly occurring which involve
legal questions of the subtlest and most delicate nature. Do five
country squires, or five manufacturing cotton-lords, or five railway
millionaires form a proper tribunal to hear or to decide upon these? The
simpler points of form and of order, and the competency or incompetency
of leading a certain line of evidence, are matters which few of these
gentlemen have any pretension to understand. And the consequence is,
that in some cases the inquiry is protracted to a ridiculous length, by
the intervention of parties who have no right whatever to be heard, and
in others, a fair and legitimate opposition is ruthlessly strangled in
the bud. The wisdom of collective parliament is undoubtedly great, but I
deny that such wisdom is equally divided among the members. One
blockhead, through sheer obstinacy or stupidity, may throw out a bill on
committee; and surely it is rather imprudent that the risk should be
unnecessarily incurred. On all these considerations, therefore, I
advocate the establishment of a local board for Scotland, to relieve
honourable members of the most onerous and thankless duty which they are
now called upon to perform. The public would be better and more
economically served; and I need hardly point out the advantages which
would accrue to Edinburgh. It is true, that under such an arrangement,
my vocation and that of several thousands more would be at an end. We
should no longer be brought up to London, at the cost of the unfortunate
shareholders, to testify with Mandeville courage to the existence of
imaginary mines, or the wealth of uncultivated districts. Our fictitious
statistics would disappear beneath the operation of a sounder system
than the present; but I cannot presume to maintain that the interests of
the nation would thereby be exorbitantly damaged. The establishment of
such a board would cause far less expense to all parties concerned, than
the course which is now pursued; and surely it would be better if we
were allowed to retain within ourselves that considerable portion of
capital which is now either squandered in London, or quietly transferred
to the pockets of the English lawyers. These gentlemen may well be
satisfied with the product of their own country, without rapaciously
absorbing the smaller item, which, if retained at home, is sufficient to
resuscitate the poorer bar of Scotland.
I think it is very generally admitted, at least by the sufferers, that
something should be done to counteract the baneful effects of that
centralisation which has been gradually but surely on the increase. The
members whom we send to parliament are infinitely too supine upon such
really important points: they seem to forget altogether that they are
intrusted with a national duty, and exhibit none of that watchfulness
and spirit which characterise the zealous Irish. It is to be devoutly
wished that some intelligent and patriotic nobleman--some true and
generous Scotsman, such as we all know the Earl of Eglinton to be--would
put himself at the head of a national movement, and force these subjects
upon the attention of our drowsy governments. I am certain that he would
not look around him in vain for sympathy and support. The feeling that
our Scottish interests have been culpably and dangerously overlooked, is
now far more prevalent than ever; more especially since the detrimental
effects of Peel’s wanton aggression upon the Banking system of the
nation have been felt by the commercial community. Every true Scotsman
must feel that our present position is a degrading one; and we want but
a vigorous effort to compel that justice which is our fair prerogative.
But so long as our Peerage and members sit with folded hands, and allow
every remnant of our native institutions to be uprooted and removed
without a struggle and without remonstrance, we cannot expect any thing
else than a continued drain upon our country, and a decline in the
resources, the wealth, and the institutions of our capital city. Oh, for
some spirit powerful enough to rouse those sluggards to their duty!
Brave old Sir Walter sleeps in his honoured grave at Dryburgh, and as
yet no one has arisen who is worthy to occupy his place.
But I must turn to some other theme; for I really can hardly keep myself
within bounds when I reflect on this. What shall I tell you of now?--the
theatres or Jenny Lind? You have no doubt heard of the great sensation
which the long-deferred appearance of the Swedish warbler has excited in
the metropolis, but you can scarcely form any adequate idea of its
extent. The long delay which intervened between her first engagement and
her actual visit,--the fuss, lighting, and controversy betwixt the two
rival managers--and the reports of the unparalleled enthusiasm with
which she was received at Vienna and elsewhere, all served to keep the
expectation of the public screwed up to the highest pitch. And when it
was at last ascertained that the actual Jenny was in London, and
speedily to appear, the price of opera-boxes and of stall-tickets rose
as rapidly in the market as railway scrips in the redoubted days of
staging. Mr D’Israeli’s friends, the Caucasians, were too acute to let
so glorious an opportunity escape them. They bought up on speculation
every vacant place, and retailed them at exorbitant profits to the eager
and impatient amateurs. The expenditure of coat-tails at the pit-door
for the first two or three nights was, I understand, something
prodigious. Fractured ribs were as plentiful as gooseberries in their
season; and the triumph of the syren was complete. She retired amidst a
shower of bouquets--one of them thrown by a royal hand; and next morning
the journals, forgetting politics for a time, vied with each other in
ecstatic rhapsody and high-flown panegyric of the fair and gifted
stranger. All this was extremely stimulating to the curiosity; and
though, as you are well aware, nature has not gifted me with extreme
nicety of ear, and the exorbitant rate of admission was somewhat of a
stumbling-block, I resolved to throw parsimony to the winds for once,
and took a box upon joint speculation with our friend Mr Archy
Chaffinch.
After all, Her Majesty’s Theatre upon a gala-night presents a very
gorgeous spectacle, and I do not wonder that, apart from the music, it
is a place of so much attraction. The mere sight of the company is
enough to strike us poor provincials with astonishment--for I believe
that in no other assemblage in the world will you see so much beauty,
rank, and elegance congregated as here. The opera for the evening was
the “Somnambula,” and after the curtain had risen, and the preliminary
scene was over, a fair, fresh, innocent-looking girl, attired in peasant
costume, tripped upon the stage, and the storm of applause which
literally shook the house welcomed the appearance of the celebrated
Swedish singer. I do not purpose, Bogle, to go through the performance
in detail--for two reasons: first, because I am not a competent critic;
and secondly, because even supposing that I were qualified to write the
musical article for the _Morning Post_, I am well convinced that you
could not understand me. But I will tell you generally, and in plain
words, what I think of Jenny Lind. The great charm of her performances
seems to be this--that she combines together in extraordinary perfection
the leading qualities of the actress and the singer. Nothing could be
more natural, more touching, or more beautiful than the manner in which
she embodied the character of Amina, and I write this with the full
memory of the exquisite Malibran before me. But Malibran, with all her
grace and genius, was more artificial than Jenny Lind. She always made
it visible to you that somewhat of her simplicity was assumed; and
occasionally she rather imitated the archness of the grisette, than the
soft, modest, and yet playful demeanour of the village maiden. Jenny, on
the other hand, is faultless in the expression of her emotions. Whether
she is giving way to a burst of confiding love, or chiding her betrothed
for his jealousy, or repelling with vexed impatience the approaches of
the libertine Count, she never for a moment is untrue to the proper
nature of her character. I never saw any thing so perfect as the
sleep-walking scene; Siddons could not have done it better: and if
mesmerism had often such charming pupils, it would soon become a popular
science. Her voice in singing is most charming, but I think it strikes
one less with surprise at its compass, than with delight at the
exquisite melody and birdlike clearness of its tones. Indeed, no more
appropriate name could have been bestowed on her than that by which she
is now familiar throughout Europe--the peerless Nightingale of Sweden.
It is to be wished, however, that the more ardent admirers of this
delightful syren would preserve some little moderation in their
encomium. For it is quite obvious to me that, in actual power of voice,
she is exceeded by several singers at present on the London stage; and
whenever much physical exertion is required, she fails to electrify the
audience with such bursts of magnificent song as thrill from the throat
of Grisi. Jenny Lind seems to be quite aware of her own capabilities;
for she has not yet selected a vehement or stormy part, which may be
said to embody the highest operatic tragedy. And she does wisely in
confining herself to her own sphere, in which she has no equal. And I do
most devoutly hope that all the adulation and applause which has been
showered upon her, may not turn that sweet young innocent head; that
when her period of probation is over, she may return to Sweden the same
gentle and unassuming creature as when she left it; and in the quiet
retreats of her native Scandinavian valley, find that happiness and calm
content of soul which is better than all the plaudits of a changeable
and fantastic world.
To tell you the truth, Bogle, I wish all this row was over. I am sick of
hot committee-rooms, of gentlemen in horse-hair wigs, and of the whole
paraphernalia of railway bills; and I long either to be throwing a fly
on the breezy surface of Loch Awe, or enjoying a cool bowl of punch in
your company at the open window of your marine villa which looks out
upon the hills of Cowall. I no longer take pleasure in white-bait and
those eternal courses of eels and diminutive flounder which constitute a
fish-dinner at Greenwich, or in the equally unvarying repast which
awaits one at Richmond of a Sunday. I get quite unhappy as I survey
those gasping goldfish parboiling in the basin at Hampton Court: now
that the horse-chestnuts have faded, Bushy Park appears to me but a
seedy sort of place; and I have no inclination whatever to trust myself
in the ring at Ascot. I am sighing for a wimpling burn or a green brae
in the north, where I can lie down upon the gowans, look up into the
clear deep sky, and listen to the pleasant sounds that in summer give
glory to a Scottish glen. I cannot see any charm in the dusty Park, with
its long strings of coronetted carriages--more than half of which, I am
afraid, are justly challengeable at Heralds’ College--and the bold,
broad, Semiramis-like beauty of the women who are reclining luxuriously
within. Titmarsh is decidedly right. It is but a picture of Vanity Fair;
and, I fear me, vanity displayed in its poorest and most contemptible
form. All that rivalry of equipage--all that glitter and splendour--all
that parade of lazy menials in crimson and orange attire, fail to
impress me with any thing like admiration, and certainly do not excite
within me the smallest thrill of envy. It is but the race of wealth, the
competition of pomp, the exhibition of pitiful rivalry which now whirls
along that smoking road: each is striving to outvie the other--not in
greatness, nor in goodness, nor even in substantial comfort, but simply
in the gew-gaws and trappings which are produced by the common
artificer. I am not a “oneness-of-purpose” man, Bogle, nor do I set up
for an “earnest spirit;” but all this sort of thing strikes me as
incalculably mean and plebeian. There is, in fact, among the English
people, especially the Londoners, a degree of toadyism, and worship of
the externals of Mammon, which would be utterly ludicrous in any other
part of Europe. In some countries a man is esteemed for his personal
talents and pretensions; in others, the claim of noble blood and
unalloyed descent reflects a borrowed splendour and consideration upon
individuals; but nowhere, except here, as far as I know, are claims to
rank put forward on the foundation of a lacquered equipage, and a couple
of flaunting and pimpled dependants, for whose sake one is almost
tempted to believe that a portion of the human race are created without
the awful and immortal attribute of a soul! Aristocracy-hunting, indeed,
is a passion which is carried in London to a most incredible extent.
Much as the son of the soap-boiler values himself on his wealth, he is
yet a discontented person if he cannot by some means attach himself to a
scion of nobility, of whose acquaintance he may boast to his less
fortunate compeers. He will even go so far as to pay hard money for such
an adventitious distinction; and many are the thousands which annually
find their way from ignoble to titled pockets for this meanest of
earthly privileges. Nay, I believe that there is no possible form of
imposture which will not be assumed by some, for the sake of
constituting an imaginary link between themselves and the members of the
class whom they look up to with a species of adoration. I shall give you
a very pregnant proof of this. A hereditary tendency to corns, and a
lingering regard for the ancient bond of alliance between Scotland and
France, have caused me for many years to submit my toes to papooshes of
the foreign manufacture. In former times, it is true, I might have
undergone reproach as a discourager of the home market--but all such
scruples have been removed by the policy of Sir Robert Peel. Accordingly
I went, the other day, to a rather celebrated warehouse in Regent
Street, where ready-made Parisian boots are vended; and after some
trouble selected a couple of pairs, which I fondly hoped might enhance
the native symmetry of my instep. When the parcel came home, I opened
it, and the first pair which I extricated bore on the inside and on the
sole, the name of the Hon. Augustus Bosh. I thought at first there might
be some mistake, but on inspection I was convinced that they were the
same boots which, that morning, I had fitted on unsullied and unmarked,
and, as Bosh and I seemed to be of about the same calibre of pedestal, I
felt no hesitation in perambulating London for a couple of days upon his
soles. I then drew forth the other pair, which, to my great
astonishment, I found were marked as the property of a certain Viscount
St Vitus. Now, I had only experimented in the first instance with the
right moiety of these boots, and on attempting the other, I was annoyed
to find that my heel was at least twice as large as that of the noble
peer. In consequence I went back to the warehouse, and this time
selected a virgin pair without spot or blemish, in order that I might
possess at least one unquestionable footing of my own. It would not do,
Bogle. The boots were sent to me inscribed as the property of Lord
Alfred Le Pitcher, and at this moment I am installed in that respectable
nobleman’s leather. Now, mark the consequences. If I go down to the
country, I shall inevitably be taken either for the Honourable Augustus,
who is notorious for his defalcations in the ring, or for Le Pitcher,
who is proverbially a _roué_ and a spendthrift. In the one case I run
the risk of a horse-whipping, in the other I am perfectly certain to be
subjected to an exorbitant bill. Or, supposing that my personal
appearance does not justify the noble imputation, am I to run the hazard
of being charged as an impostor, or possibly mistaken for a thief?
Heaven knows, I have no earthly desire to represent those distinguished
personages. I would much prefer to walk in unchallengeable boots of my
own, but I am not permitted to do so. Now I hold this Frenchman to be
quite a genius in his way. He sees the leading foible of the people with
whom he has to deal, and humours them to the top of their bent. Many a
cadaverous Cockney has he dismissed from his apartment exulting and
frolicsome in spirit, and convinced in his inmost soul that he has now
some tangible connexion with the aristocracy, and may possibly be able
to persuade some country chambermaid that he is the scion of a noble
house.
But I really must break off now, as it is almost time to go down to the
committee. The period of the Session of Parliament seems as yet quite
uncertain; but you may be sure I shall make as good use of my time as I
can. Our people were thrown, the other day, into a terrible state of
consternation by the rumour of a dissolution when the money market was
just at its tightest; and for my own part I thought that the Whigs would
be justified had they taken the easiest way of disposing of the Gordian
knot. Peel’s Banking Restriction Act, like the car of Juggernaut, was in
full operation, crushing under its wheels the small trader and every man
who required credit throughout the country; and as the ministry had not
the courage or the ability to stop it, they might with considerable
grace have taken up their garments and fled. However, things are now
looking somewhat better; shares, though not buoyant, are on the rise,
and the hearts of the proprietors are being cheered by the prospect of a
coming dividend. Farewell, Bogle. Give my compliments to Cansh, and tell
him that the Powhead’s Junction was yesterday pitched into limbo.
SIR H. NICOLAS’S HISTORY OF THE NAVY.[11]
“Her ancient British name, _Clas merdin_, ‘the sea-defended green spot,’
indicated alike her fertility and natural protection,” writes Sir Harris
Nicolas, in the commencement of his Naval History of Great Britain.
_Clas merdin_ may she still and long deserve to be called--“the
sea-defended green spot!” Long may she fight her battles on the waste of
waters--on the untilled and untenanted plains of the ocean! Long may she
carry forth, and offer up, upon the seas, her great sacrifices to the
god of war!
It has been remarked that war, though it assumes a most terrible aspect
when to its own proper dangers are added all the perils of the sea, is
yet carried on with more humanity, and with a more generous spirit of
hostility, between ships upon the ocean than between armies upon land.
“Two armies,” says Mr James, in the preface to his Naval History, “meet
and engage: the battle ends, but the slaughter continues; the pursuing
cavalry trample upon and hew to pieces the dead, the wounded, and the
flying. A fort is stormed, and after a stout resistance carried: the
garrison for their brave defence are put to the sword--as for their tame
surrender they would have been branded (and who can say unjustly?) with
cowardice. Two ships meet and engage: the instant the flag of one falls,
the fire of the other ceases; and the vanquished become the guests
rather than the prisoners of the victors. In another case, boarding in
all its fury succeeds the cannonade: still no cutlass is raised after
possession is complete. Again: a vessel, instead of flying from or
quietly yielding to, boldly engages an opponent of treble her strength.
Her temerity is accepted as valour; and all the mischief she may have
caused--all the blood she may have spilt--far from provoking the rage,
does but ensure the respect of the captors. In a fourth case, a fatal
broadside sinks one ship: out go the boats of the other, and the
emulation then is, not who shall destroy, but who shall save the
greatest number of the enemy.”
Perhaps it may not be altogether fanciful to deduce that love of _fair
play_, or rather of fair fighting, and that generosity to the vanquished
which refuses to strike an adversary when _down_--traits which
confessedly distinguish the national character of the English--to these
more liberal customs which prevail in naval combat, the form in which
war is so well known and honoured amongst them. Their naval victories,
and the spirit in which they have been won, fill the imagination from
the earliest years, and animate and regulate the combative propensities
of the boy. Only strike your colours--know me for your better,--exclaims
the young hero, and his adversary may quit the field uninjured--nay,
shall be protected from all other assailants. Our national character,
some may be disposed to suggest, has given the tone to our naval
combats, and not these the temper which distinguishes our national
character; seeing there is nothing peculiarly mollifying in the
circumstances themselves of a sea-fight. Perhaps not; but still the
customs which prevail in maritime warfare have a less capricious, and
what will be thought a less noble, cause than the national character of
the people who have chiefly distinguished themselves in it. We suspect
they must be traced to the vulgar, but the constant motive of cupidity.
In a naval combat one great object of victory is to capture the vessel
itself--a prize in which all are interested. If it were not the custom
to spare the vanquished crew--if, on the contrary, it were the custom to
put them to death, no enemy would surrender his ship; he would rather
set fire to it, or sink it, and sink with it in the waves. Were not the
conquered secure of their lives on the surrender of their vessel, they
would have no motive whatever for suffering it to become the rich prize
of their adversary. On this account it is, and not because men are a
whit more disposed to spare their enemies on sea than on land, that by
general consent the battle is supposed to be at an end the moment the
flag is struck.
As to that “fourth case,” in which a fatal broadside sinks one of the
combatants, we have no difficulty in believing that a quick revulsion of
feeling may naturally take place, and that hostility may suddenly change
into compassion on beholding their drowning enemy within the clutch of
their great common adversary, the sea. But even this change of feeling
has been facilitated by the previous habit of regarding the combat as
definitively closed when a ship has been fought as long as possible.
That it should ever have been considered a law of war that the captain
or governor of a fort should be put to death by the conqueror for having
attempted to hold an untenable place, is only one of those many
instances where tyranny and overbearing force loves to clothe itself in
the form of law or custom. The pretence of diminishing bloodshed is
shallow enough. A general at the head of a great army is impatient at
being detained before some insignificant town or fortress, and revenges
himself by a sort of military execution on the bold man who has ventured
to oppose him with so contemptible a force. Wallenstein, one of the
proudest of men, and the least scrupulous of shedding blood, is said to
have adopted, more systematically than any other general, this so-called
law of war. If the same custom has never been introduced into naval
combats, it is because there is not even the shallowest pretext on which
it can be founded. A ship, however inferior in force to its adversary,
if it have no chance of victory, may yet have a chance of escape. The
governor of a castle--he and his castle are rooted to the earth: the
sea-captain gives his walls and his artillery to the winds; he and his
guns, by some skilful manœuvre, by some obstruction or crippling of his
foe, may, after a brief encounter, get out of reach and out of sight.
Many are the turns and tides of fortune in a naval engagement; all the
accidents of navigation are added to those of war. There is no shadow of
reason, therefore, for treating with peculiar severity the captain of a
vessel who refuses to obey the summons of his more powerful adversary,
but resolves to take advantage of whatever chance his skill, his
bravery, and the various incidents of a sea-fight may afford him.
We hold it, therefore, to be a fortunate circumstance, favourably
influencing our national character, as well as preserving us from many
of the calamities that attend on war, that we as a nation have been
called upon chiefly to defend ourselves by means of “our wooden walls.”
A more national subject, or one on which there was more evidently a
vacant space for a new book, Sir Harris Nicolas could hardly have
selected, than this of a history of our Navy from the earliest times
down to the period when the Naval History of Mr James commences. Yet the
expectations of a reader who sits down to the perusal of such a work
should not be too highly raised. Nothing is more glorious than the naval
victories which our country has achieved; but few things are more
monotonous and wearisome than the description of a series of naval
engagements. There is the same repeated account of masts shot away or
“badly wounded,” of rigging cut to pieces, sails rent and riddled, and
shattered hulls; till the ships, not the men, seem the real combatants,
and it appears to be a contest between oak timbers and cannon-balls,
between the power of endurance in the wooden fabric and the explosive
force of gunpowder. A naval battle is always split into details; if two
hostile fleets encounter, no matter of what magnitude, it is still but a
multitude of single combats between ship and ship. When we have gone
through the incidents of one or two of these tremendous duels, it must
require in the historian singular power of narration to induce us to
proceed to the final destruction and capture of the rest of the fleet.
If any thing could abate the enthusiasm of an Englishman in the naval
heroes of his country, it would be the obligation to read a detailed
account of the victories they had achieved. Very feeble is the cheer we
give for Trafalgar, after reading all we can read of Mr James’s account
of the battle.
Not by any means that naval warfare is destitute of its stirring annals,
and of adventures which have all the colouring of romance. But the
interest of the narrative does not rise with the importance and
magnitude of the occasion. It is in the single combat of detached
frigates--in the perils and fortunes of the light cruiser, probably some
frigate’s tender--that the incident which stirs the blood is most
frequently encountered. A little gun-brig, the Speedy, mounting its
fourteen four-pounders, and manned by some forty men with a few boys, is
cruising in the Mediterranean, cutting up the coasting trade of the
Spaniard, who thereupon despatch, from several ports, armed vessels in
pursuit of her. One of these, the Gamo, (we are abridging one of Mr
James’s narratives) a thirty-two-gun zebec frigate, by means of hanging
or closed ports, decoys the Speedy within hail, and then drawing these
suddenly up, discovers her heavy battery. Against stratagem let
stratagem be first tried. The English captain hoists Danish colours, and
parades upon the gangway a man dressed in the costume of a Danish
officer, who roars out something which with the Spaniard passes for the
Danish language. The Gamo is, however, but half satisfied, and sends her
boat with an officer to make more particular inquiries. Him they softly
hail before he can well get alongside, and inform--in some other
language, we presume, than their Danish--that their brig has lately
quitted one of the Barbary ports; reminding him that a nearer visit will
subject him and his ship to a long quarantine. This he knows well
enough; so, after a few mutual salutations and wavings of the hand, the
vessels part company, one glad at having escaped the plague, the other
equally glad, one might suppose, at having escaped capture.