A MORNING'S WALK FROM LONDON TO KEW.

We roam into unhealthy climates, and encounter difficulties and

dangers, in search of curiosities and knowledge, although, if our

industry were equally exerted at home, we might find in the tablets of

Nature and Art, within our daily reach, inexhaustible sources of

inquiry and contemplation. We are on every side surrounded by

interesting objects; but, in nature, as in morals, we are apt to

contemn self-knowledge, to look abroad rather than at home, and to

study others instead of ourselves. Like the French Encyclopaedists, we

forget our own Paris; or, like editors of newspapers, we seek for

novelties in every quarter of the world, losing sight of the superior

interests of our immediate vicinity.

These observations may perhaps serve as a sufficient apology for the

narrative which follows:--existing notions, the love of the sublime,

and the predilections above described, render it necessary for a

_home_ tourist to present himself before the public with modesty. The

readers of voyages round the whole world, and of travels into

unexplored regions of Africa and America, will scarcely be persuaded

to tolerate a narrative of an excursion which began at nine in the

morning and ended at six in the afternoon of the same day! Yet such,

truly, are the _Travels_ which afford the materials of the present

narrative; they were excited by a fine morning in the latter days of

April, and their scene was the high-road lying between #London# and

#Kew#, on the banks of the Thames.

With no guide besides a map of the country round the metropolis, and

no settled purpose beyond what the weather might govern, I strolled

towards St. James's Park. In proceeding between the walls from Spring

Gardens, I found the lame and the blind taking their periodical

stations on each side of the passage.--I paused a few minutes to see

them approach one after another as to a regular calling; or as players

to take their stations and _enact_ their settled parts in this drama.

One, a fellow, who had a withered leg, approached his post with a

cheerful air; but he had no sooner seated himself, and stripped it

bare, than he began such hideous moans as in a few minutes attracted

several donations. Another, a blind woman, was brought to her post by

a little boy, who carelessly leading her against the step of a door,

she petulantly gave him a smart box of the ear, and exclaimed, "D----n

you, you rascal, can't you mind what you're about;"--and then, leaning

her back to the wall, in the same breath, she began to chaunt a

_hymn_, which soon brought contributions from many pious passengers.

The systematic movements of these people led me to inquire in regard

to their conduct and policy from an adjacent shop-keeper, who told me,

that about a dozen of them obtained a good living in that passage;

that an attendance of about two hours per day sufficed to each of

them, when, by an arrangement among themselves, they regularly succeed

each other. He could not guess at the amounts thus collected, but he

said, that he had once watched a noisy blind fellow for half an hour,

and in that time saw thirty-four people give him at least as many

halfpence; he thence, and from other observations, concluded that in

two or three hours each of them collects five or six shillings! We

cannot wonder then at the aversion entertained by these unhappy

objects to the indiscriminate discipline of our common work-houses;

nor can we blame the sympathy of those benevolent persons who

contribute their mite to relieve the cries of distress with which they

are assailed. But it excites our wonder and grief that statesmen, who

have superfluous means for covering the country with barracks, should

find themselves unable to establish comfortable asylums for all the

poor who are incurably diseased, in which they should be so provided

for, that it would be as criminal in them to ask, as in others to

afford them, eleemosynary relief.

On my entrance into the Park, I was amused and interested by an

assemblage of a hundred mothers, nurses, and valetudinarians,

accompanied by as many children, who are drawn together at this hour

every fine morning by the metropolitan luxury of milk warm from the

cow. Seats are provided, as well as biscuits, and other conveniences,

and here from sun-rise till ten o'clock continues a _milk fair_,

distinguished by its peculiar music in the _lowing_ of cows, and in

the discordant _squalling_ of the numerous children. The privilege of

keeping these cows, and of selling their milk on this spot, belongs to

the gate-keepers of the Park; and it must be acknowledged to be a

great convenience to invalids and children, to whom this wholesome

beverage and its attendant walk are often prescribed.

On the right hand stands the garden-wall of the puny, though costly,

palace of the Regent, Prince of Wales. It is, however, fortunate, that

it is not larger, if the expenditure of palaces, like that of private

houses, were to keep pace with their bulk. The inside is adorned like

the palace of Aladin; and a better notion of its splendour may be

formed, by stating that it has cost the labours of twenty thousand men

for a year, or of one thousand for twenty years, than that above a

million sterling has at different times been expended upon the

building and furniture. Yet, it is said that it forms but the eastern

wing of a palace, which the architects of this Prince have projected,

and that half the south side of Pall-Mall and considerable tracts of

the Park will be appropriated to complete their plans, if approved by

their royal patron. I am aware, that the love of shew in princes, and

persons in authority, is often justified by the alledged necessity of

imposing on the vulgar; but I doubt whether any species of imposition

really produces the effect which the pomp of power is so willing to

ascribe to it, as an excuse for its own indulgences. Nor ought it ever

to be forgotten, that no tinsel of gaudy trappings, no architectural

arrangements of stone or wood, no bands of liveried slaves, (however

glossed in various hues, or disguised by various names,) can sustain

the glory of any power which despises public opinion, forgets the

compact between all power and the people, violates the faith of public

treaties, and measures its moral obligations, not by the sense of

justice, but by considerations of expediency and self-interest! On

this important, though almost exhausted, topic, it should be known by

all Princes who covet true glory, that #Washington the Great# hired no

armed men to sustain his power, that his habits were in all things

those of a private citizen, and that he kept but one coach, merely for

occasions of state--his personal virtues being his body-guards--the

justice of his measures constituting the strength of his

government,--the renown of his past deeds enshrining him with more

splendour than could be conferred by the orders of all the courts in

Europe--his unquestionable love of public liberty endearing him to the

people over whom he presided--and the pure flame of his patriotism

causing him to appear in their eyes as a being more than mortal!

Britain might envy America her #Washington#, if she could not herself

boast of #an Alfred#, worthy also of being called #the Great#--a

sovereign who voluntarily conceded liberty to his people, and founded

it on bases which all the inglorious artifices of his successors have

been unable to undermine--but, alas! such men, like Epic poets, seem

destined to succeed but once in a thousand years!

On the left hand I beheld, in various magnificent erections, the germs

of innumerable associations, gratifying to the vice of national pride;

but affording little pleasure to one whose prejudices of principle,

and habits of thinking, have taught him to estimate all human labours

by their influence on the happiness of the sentient creatures to whom

the earth is a common inheritance. There was #the British

Admiralty#--the just pride of a people's defence against foreign

invaders--but less worthy of admiration, if ever used as an instrument

of ambition, or as a means of gratifying base passions. There was the

#British War-Office#, of which a Briton can say little, who doubts the

policy of the colonial system, who feels a conviction that "Britain's

best bulwarks are her wooden walls," and who thinks that the sword

should never be wielded but by citizen soldiers, nor ever be used till

the constable's staff has been exerted in vain. And there was #the

British Treasury#, the talisman of whose power has destroyed the

efficacy of title-deeds, and converted the land and houses of the

empire into paper-money and stock-debts, for the purpose of carrying

on wars and performing deeds, which impartial history will justly

characterize, when alas! the truth will be useless to the suffering

victims!

Just at this moment I beheld several bands of armed men, disguised in

showy liveries, drawn up in array to exercise themselves for combat.

But, having no taste for such mistakes of power, and being in no

degree deluded by the gloss of their clothes, the glitter of their

murderous weapons, or the abuse of celestial harmony in the skill of

their musicians, I silently invoked the energies of truth to remove

from the understandings of men, that cloud which permits such

illusions to be successful. No legitimate power, like that of the

government of England, founded on such bases as Magna Charta, the laws

of Edward the First, the Petition of Right, the Bill of Rights, and

the Act of Settlement, can, for its lawful purposes, ever stand in

need, in a properly educated community, of the support of a single man

armed with a murderous weapon.

These piles of buildings, ranged in a semi-circular form, are imposing

on, the eye from their magnitude, and on the imagination from their

fame. I paused to enjoy their perspective; but, is not senseless

#WAR#, I exclaimed, even now ravaging or disturbing the four quarters

of the world, and is it not from this scite that it receives its

impulse and direction? I charitably hoped that mere errors of judgment

had guided the councils of the men who inhabit these buildings--but I

sickened as I thought of the consequences of their errors, perhaps at

that moment displayed in distant parts of the earth in agonies of

despair and in smoking ruins--and, to avoid the succession of feelings

which were so painful, yet so unavailing, I turned away from the spot.

In my way towards and along the Mall, I remarked that few were walking

in my direction; but that all the faces and foot-steps were earnestly

directed towards London. The circumstance exemplified that feature of

modern manners which leads thousands of those who are engaged in the

active business of the metropolis to sleep, and to keep their

families, in neighbouring villages. These thousands walk or ride,

therefore, every day to and from London, at hours corresponding with

the nature and urgency of their employments. Before nine o'clock the

various roads are covered with clerks of the public offices, and with

bankers' and merchants' clerks, who are obliged to be at their posts

at that hour, all exhibiting in their demeanor the ease of their

hearts. From nine till eleven, you see shop-keepers, stock-brokers,

lawyers, and principals in various establishments, bustling along with

careful and anxious countenances, indicative of their various

prospects and responsibilities. At twelve, saunters forth the man of

wealth and ease, going to look at his balances, orders, or

remittances; or merely to read the papers and hear the news; yet

demonstrating the folly of wealth by his gouty legs, or cautious

rheumatic step. Such is the routine of the Park, along which no

carriages are allowed to pass; but other avenues into the metropolis

present, through every forenoon, besides lines of pedestrians, crowded

stage-coaches, private coaches, and chariots, numerous gigs and

chaises, and many equestrians.

I amused myself with a calculation of the probable number of persons

who thus every day, between eight and six, pass to and from London

within a distance of seven miles. In the present route I concluded the

numbers to be something like the following, 200 from Pimlico, 300 from

Chelsea, 200 from the King's Road and Sloane Street, 50 from Fulham

and Putney, and 50 from Battersea and Wandsworth; making 800 per day.

If then, there are twenty such avenues to the metropolis, it appears

that the total of the regular ingress and egress will be 16,000

persons, of whom perhaps 8,000 walk, 2,000 arrive in public

conveyances, and 6,000 ride on horseback, or in open or close

carriages. Such a phenomenon is presented no-where else in the world;

and it never can exist except in a city which unites the same combined

features of population, wealth, commerce, and the varied employments

which belong to our own vast metropolis.

I observed with concern that this Park presents a neglected

appearance. The seats are old and without paint, and many vacancies

exist in the lines of the trees. The wooden railing round the centre

is heavy and decayed, and the appearance of every part is unworthy of

a metropolitan royal domain, adjoining the constant residence of the

court. I was also struck with the aspect of St. James's Palace in

ruins! A private dwelling after a fire would have been restored in a

few weeks or months; but the nominal palace of the four preceding

sovereigns of England, the last of the Stuarts and three first of the

Guelphs, and the scene of their chief grandeur, presents even to the

contemporary generation a monument of the instability of every human

work. The door at which Margaret Nicholson made her attempt on the

life of George the Third, and at which the people were used to see

that monarch enter and depart for many years past, is now a chaos of

ruins; as is that entire suite of apartments which led to those

drawing-rooms in which the Court was accustomed to assemble, till

within these five years, on birth and gala days!--He would have been

deemed a false and malignant prophet, who seven years ago might have

foretold that the public Palace of the Kings of England would so soon

become a heap of unrepaired ruins, and its splendid chambers "the

habitation of the fowls of the air." Yet, such has been the fact, in

regard to the eastern apartments of this famous Palace!

My spirits sunk, and a tear started into my eyes, as I brought to mind

those crowds of beauty, rank, and fashion, which, till within these

few years, used to be displayed in the centre Mall of this Park on

Sunday evenings during the spring and Summer. How often in my youth

had I been a delighted spectator of the enchanted and enchanting

assemblage! Here used to promenade, for one or two hours after dinner,

the whole British world of gaiety, beauty, and splendour! Here could

be seen in one moving mass, extending the whole length of the Mall,

five thousand of the most lovely women, in this country of female

beauty, all splendidly attired, and accompanied by as many

well-dressed men! What a change, I exclaimed, has a few years wrought

in these once happy and cheerful personages!--How many of those who on

this very spot then delighted my eyes are now mouldering in the silent

grave!--And how altered are all their persons, and perhaps their

fortunes and feelings! Alas, that gay and fascinating scene no longer

continues, and its very existence is already forgotten by the new

generation! A change of manners has put an end to this unparalleled

assemblage, to this first of metropolitan pleasures, though of itself

it was worth any sacrifice. The dinner hour of four and five, among

the great, or would-be great, having shifted to the unhealthy hours of

eight or nine, the promenade after dinner, in the dinner full-dress,

is consequently lost. The present walk in the Green-Park does not

possess therefore the attractions of high rank; while the morning

assemblages in Hyde-Park and Kensington-Gardens, though gay and

imposing, have little splendour of dress, and lose the effect produced

by the presence of rank and distinguished character, owing to the

greater part of the company being shut up in carriages.

The modern custom of abandoning the metropolis for the sea-coast, or

the country, as soon as the fine weather sets in, operates too as

another draw-back from the fascination and agreeableness of our Sunday

promenades. Ancient manners, in the capricious whirl of fashion, may

however again return; and, if the dinner-hour should recede back to

four, I trust the luxury and splendour of this delightful Mall will be

restored.

These Parks may be denominated the Lungs of the metropolis, for they

are essential to the healthful respiration of its inhabitants, by

contributing to their cheap and innocent pleasures. Under a wise and

benevolent administration, they might be made to add still more to the

public happiness, and it would be a suitable homage of the government

to the people, to render these promenades as attractive as possible.

The two bands of the Guards might be allowed to play in the Malls for

two hours every evening, between Lady-day and Michaelmas, and the

number and construction of the seats might be increased and improved.

Such measures would indicate, at least, a desire in the governors to

contribute to the happiness of the governed, and would occasion the

former to appear to the latter in a more grateful character than as

mere assessors of taxes, and as organs of legal coercion.

At Pimlico, the name of Stafford-Row reminded me of the ancient

distinction of Tart-Hall, once the rival in size and splendour of its

more fortunate neighbour, Buckingham-House, and long the depository of

the Arundelian Tablets and Statues. It faced the Park, on the present

scite of James-Street; its garden-wall standing where Stafford-Row is

now built, and the extensive livery-stables being once the stables of

its residents.

I turned aside on the left, to view the river Tye, or _Ty-bourn_,

which runs from the top of Oxford-street, under May-Fair, across

Piccadilly, south-east of Buckingham-House, under the pavement of

Stafford-Row, and across Tothill-Fields, into the Thames. It is a

fact, equally lost, that the creeks which run from the Thames, in the

swamps, opposite Belgrave-Place, once joined the canal in St.

James's-Park, and, passing through White-Hall, formed, by their

circuit, the ancient isle of St. Peter's. Their course has been filled

up between the wharf of the water-works and the end of the canal in

St. James's-Park; and the Isle of St. Peter's is no longer to be

traced. It is singular that such a marsh should have become the focus

of the government, jurisprudence, and power, of this great empire!

Yet, so it is, the offices of Government, the Houses of Parliament,

and the Supreme Courts of Law, stand on the lowest ground in or near

the metropolis; the greater part of which is still the swamp of

Tothill and Milbank-Fields; and the whole is exposed to the

inundations of land-floods or extraordinary tides. A moralist would

say, that such bulwarks of a nation ought to have been seated on a

rock--a wit would refer to the nature of the soil, the notorious

corruptions of the body-politic--and a votary of superstition would

ascribe the splendid fortunes of the scite to the favour of heaven, as

announced in the vision to the monks who, eleven hundred years since,

built Westminster-Abbey, in so unpromising a situation!

The wall of what are called the Gardens of Buckingham House, form one

side of the main street of Pimlico; but these gardens consist merely

of a gravel walk, shaded by trees, with a spacious and unadorned area

in the centre. The whole, is the property of Queen Charlotte, and is

inaccessible to a visit of mere curiosity.

The water-works, to the left of the road, supply Pimlico and part of

Westminster with water, and, I may add, with smoke, of which it emits

large volumes, though there are so many contrivances for consuming it.

It consists simply of a steam and forcing engine, not remarkable for

novelty or ingenuity of construction. Opposite stands the manufactory

of the ingenious #Bramah#, whose locks baffle knavery, and whose

condensing engines promise such important results to philosophy and

the mechanic arts. Belgrave-Place, lower and upper, proves the avidity

of building-speculations, which could thus challenge the prejudices

against the opposite marshes. But I was assured by a resident of

twenty years, that he and his family had enjoyed uninterrupted health

in Upper Belgrave-Place, and that such was the general experience.

On entering Chelsea, I was naturally led to inquire for the scite of

the once gay Ranelagh! I passed up the avenue of trees, which I

remember often to have seen blocked up with carriages. At its

extremity, I looked for the Rotunda and its surrounding buildings;

but, as I could not see them, I concluded, that I had acquired but an

imperfect idea of the place, in my nocturnal visits! I went forward,

on an open space, but still could discern no Ranelagh! At length, on a

spot covered with nettles, thistles, and other rank weeds, I met a

working man, who, in answer to my inquiries, told me, that he saw I

was a stranger, or I should have known that Ranelagh had been pulled

down, and that I was then standing on the scite of the Rotunda!

Reader, imagine my feelings, for I cannot analyze them! This vile

place, I exclaimed, the scite of the once-enchanting Ranelagh!--It

cannot be--the same eyes were never destined to see such a

metamorphosis! All was desolation!--A few inequalities appeared in the

ground, indicative of some former building, and holes filled with

muddy water shewed the foundation walls--but the rest of the space,

making about two acres, was covered with clusters of tall nettles,

thistles, and docks!

On a more accurate survey, I traced the circular foundation of the

Rotunda, and at some distance discovered the broken arches of some

cellars, once filled with the choicest wines, but now with dirty

water! Further on were marks against a garden wall, indicating, that

the water-boilers for tea and coffee had once been heated there! I

traced too the scite of the orchestra, where I had often been ravished

by the finest performances of vocal and instrumental music! My

imagination brought the objects before me; I fancied I could still

hear an air of Mara's; I turned my eye aside, and what a contrast

appeared!--No glittering lights!--No brilliant happy company!--No

peals of laughter from thronged boxes!--No chorus of a hundred

instruments and voices!--All was death-like stillness! Is such, I

exclaimed, the end of human splendour?--Yes, truly, all is vanity--and

here is a striking example!--Here are ruins and desolation, even

without antiquity! I am not mourning said I, over the remains of

Babylon or Carthage--ruins sanctioned by the unsparing march of

time!--But here it was all glory and splendour, even yesterday! Here,

but seven years have flown away, and I was myself one of three

thousand of the gayest mortals ever assembled, in one of the gayest

scenes which the art of man could devise--aye, on this very spot--yet

the whole is now changed into the dismal scene of desolation before

me!--Full of such reflections, I cast my eyes eastward, when

Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Church presented themselves in a

continued line--Ah! thought I, that line may at some distant epoch

enable the curious antiquary to determine the scite of our British

Daphne; but I could not avoid feeling, that if the pile of Ranelagh

and its glories have so totally disappeared, in so short a season, no

human work, even yonder colossal specimens of Gothic and Grecian art,

or the great Metropolis itself, can be deemed a standard of locality

for the guide of distant ages! I moved pensively from a spot which

exciting such solemn and affecting emotions, had diminished the vigour

of my frame by exhausting my nervous energies.

I soon turned the corner of a street which took me out of sight of the

space on which once stood the gay Ranelagh; but it will be long ere I

can remove from my heart the poignant sensations to which its sudden

destruction had given rise.[1]

[1] I afterwards learnt in Chelsea, that, latterly, Ranelagh

did not pay the proprietors five per cent. for their

capital, and therefore they sold the materials to the best

bidder.

Before me appeared the shops so famed for _Chelsea buns_, which, for

above thirty years, I have never passed without filling my pockets. In

the original of these shops, for even of Chelsea buns there are

counterfeits, are preserved mementos of domestic events, in the first

half of the past century. The bottle-conjuror is exhibited in a toy of

his own age; portraits are also displayed of Duke William and other

noted personages; a model of a British soldier, in the stiff costume

of the same age; and some grotto-works, serve to indicate the taste of

a former owner, and were perhaps intended to rival the neighbouring

exhibition at Don Saltero's. These buns have afforded a competency,

and even wealth; to four generations of the same family; and it is

singular, that their delicate flavour, lightness and richness, have

never been successfully imitated. The present proprietor told me, with

exultation, that George the Second had often been a customer of the

shop; that the present King, when Prince George, and often during his

reign, had stopped and purchased his buns; and that the Queen, and all

the Princes and Princesses, had been among his occasional customers.

A little further to the west, is a vulgar sign of _Nell Gwyn_, to

whose female sensibility, and influence on royalty, are ascribed the

foundation of the adjoining hospital for invalid soldiers. If the

mistresses of Princes always made a similar use of their ascendency,

and were to teach their royal lovers to respect the duties of

humanity, and build hospitals for the victims of their idiotic

ambition, the world would complain less of their extravagancies and

vices. The excellent hearts of women might warrant such an

expectation; but, unhappily, this depraved portion of the sex

generally part with their feminine sensibilities, at the same time

that they part with their character and modesty. Contemned, despised,

or neglected by the world, they become haters of their species, and

too commonly make use of their power, to avenge on society the

personal affronts which they are compelled to endure.

The approach to the hospital was indicated by the appearance of

numbers of mutilated soldiers. It afflicted me, to see young men of

two or three and twenty, some of whom had lost both their arms, and

others both their legs! I learnt, on enquiry, that a few living

objects of this description are all that now remain of regiments of

their comrades! The rest had been killed in battle, or had died of

fatigue, or camp diseases! The querulous _why_, and _for what_, still

crossed my imagination; but I again referred such busy doubts to

ministers! I _may_ be wrong; they _cannot_ be wrong! No! they _must_

be right, or such things would not be. I confess, notwithstanding,

that it deeply afflicts me that such things _are_; yet how is the play

of human passions to be avoided, and how are the mischiefs of _living_

errors to be corrected? Words, arguments, morality, and religion, at

the commencement of a quarrel, are exerted in vain--the storm of bad

passions carries, for a season, all before it--and after mischiefs are

irretrievably perpetrated, reason and experience produce repentance,

when, alas, it is useless! Princes and statesmen are too proud and

powerful to permit themselves to be instructed, or I would advise them

on such occasions to _doubt_ their imaginary infallibility. Let them

solemnly _doubt_ whenever some mischief, which they cannot repair,

must be the consequence of their decision; and when that decision may,

_perchance_, arise from some mistake! But I fear this just maxim of

Philosophy will never become a practical rule of policy strong enough

to counteract the benefits of extended patronage enjoyed during wars

by corrupt ministers; to allay the puerile love of glory cherished by

weak princes; or to subdue the demoniacal passions and irrational

prejudices artfully excited by rulers, and too often cherished by

infatuated nations.

I accosted a young man, who had lost both arms, and was walking

pensively between the trees. After some expressions of heart-felt

commisseration, I enquired by what mischance he had met with so

untoward a wound? He told me that he was in the act of loading his

musket, when a cannon-ball, passing before him, carried off one arm

above the elbow, and so shattered the other, that it was necessary to

amputate it. He then named some paltry battle where this accident

befel him; the issue of which to either of the contending parties was,

as I recollected, not worth the joint of a little finger, even if the

entire object of the campaign, or war, was worth so much! But, said I,

you are of course well provided for in the hospital--"No, (he replied,)

there is not room for me at present; but, owing to the severity of my

wounds, I have a double allowance as an out-pensioner--yet, (he

modestly remarked,) it may easily be supposed that even a double

allowance is not enough for a man who cannot help himself in any

thing--I cannot dress myself, nor even eat or drink, but am obliged to

be fed like a child; I have a poor old mother who does her best for

me, or"----here the young man's voice faultered, and some tears hung

on his cheeks--for, alas, even these he could neither wipe away nor

conceal! Parched must have been the eye that would not mingle tears

with those of this poor fellow, on hearing the tale of his

unchangeable fate! I found too that my own utterance sympathized with

his--but, shewing him a shilling--and indicating, by signs, the

difficulty I felt in putting him in possession of it--"here sir," said

he, "and God bless you;" then, stooping with his mouth, I put it

between his lips!--Ah, thought I, as I turned from this wretched

object, the most hard-hearted of those who were concerned in breaking

public treaties, and rejecting overtures for peace, would have

relented, if with my feelings they had beheld this single victim of

the millions that have been imolated, to the calculations of their

fallible policy.

I now enquired for veterans--for Fontenoy men--Culloden men--Minden

men--Quebec men! To some of the two last I was introduced; but I found

them blind, deaf, maimed, and childish! What a sickening picture of

human nature, whether we consider the causes, objects, or

consequences! Among these hoary and crippled heroes, I was introduced

to one who is now in his hundred and first year! His name is

Ardenfair, and he is a native of Dorsetshire. He entered into the

Marines about the year 1744; was in Anson's action, in 1747; and in

Hawke's, in 1759. This veteran sees, talks, hears, and remembers well;

and it is remarkable, that he performs the daily drudgery of sweeping

the gravel-walks, and wheeling water in a barrow! One wonders at the

ability to perform such labour, in a Centenarian; that such a one

should be allowed to be the sweeper of the hospital; and still more,

that his age had not recommended him to the special bounty of the

officers. It might be expected, that the successive _fathers_ of these

invalids would, at all times, be exempted from ordinary duties, and

receive some additional means of cheering their extension of life, so

long beyond the ordinary duration.

On the north-east border of this hospital, I was shewn a new erection,

nearly of the same size, devoted to the education of the children of

soldiers. It is, I am told, a very interesting establishment to those

who view with complacency the favourite system of Germanizing the

English people--but how inadequate are all such institutions, to repay

the obligations of any government to its invalided soldiers, if

ambition, prejudice, or a love of false glory, may, on light grounds,

cover the earth with bleeding and mangled victims! As each of the

veterans in such hospitals is often the solitary survivor of a

thousand, of whom the complement have fallen premature victims of the

cruel accidents of war, the authors ought not to conclude that they

atone for their crimes by lodging, feeding, and cloathing the

thousandth man, when he is no longer able to serve their purposes!

Mankind are, however, so selfish, that nothing but the experience or

the imminent danger of great sufferings seems likely to correct the

errors of governments and the infatuations of people on the subject of

war. The best security of peace is, consequently, the danger that the

chances of war may bring its scourges home to the fire-sides of either

of the belligerents. The fears of nations have, therefore, taught them

the duty of doing to each other as they would be done unto. It forms,

however, a new epoch in the history of society, that, owing to their

insular situation, the passions of one great people are unchecked by

this salutary fear; and public morality, in consequence, has stood in

need of some new stimulus, to relieve the world from the danger of

suffering interminable slaughters. What a #TEST# this new situation

afforded to the powers of #Christianity#! But for twenty years, alas,

Christianity has #TOTALLY FAILED#, and pretended zealots of the

religion of peace and charity have been even among the most furious

abettors of implacable war!

Opposite the superb terrace of the Hospital gardens, stands a

tea-drinking house, called _the Red House_; and about fifty yards on

the western side of it is the place at which Caesar crossed the

Thames. The reader who has read Stukeley's reasons for fixing on

Chertsey as the place of this celebrated passage, may startle at the

positive affirmation here made. Stukeley says that the name of

Chertsey is all Caesar; so also is Chelsea, by analogies equally

natural. London, or Lyn-dyn, was then the chief town in South Britain,

and would, as matter of course, be the place towards which the Britons

would retreat and the Romans advance. Landing near Deal, they would

cross the river at the ford nearest their place of landing, and would

not be likely to march to Chertsey, if they could cross at Chelsea;

and the marshes of the Thames, to which the Britons retreated, would

correspond better with the marshes of Lambeth and Battersea than with

the low lands near Chertsey, where the river is inconsiderable, and

where there is no tide to confer strength and military character on

the marshes. This ford, from the Red House to the Bank, near the scite

of Ranelagh, still remains; and I have surveyed it more than once. At

ordinary low water, a shoal of gravel, not three feet deep, and broad

enough for ten men to walk abreast, extends across the river, except

on the Surrey side, where it has been deepened by raising ballast.

Indeed, the causeway from the south bank may yet be traced at low

water; so that this was doubtless a ford to the peaceful Britons,

across which the British army retreated before the Romans, and across

which they were doubtless followed by Caesar and the Roman legions.

The event was pregnant with such consequences to the fortunes of these

islands, that the spot deserves the record of a monument, which ought

to be preserved from age to age, as long as the veneration due to

antiquity is cherished among us. Who could then have contemplated that

the folly of Roman ambition would be the means of introducing arts

among the semi-barbarous Britons, which, in eighteen hundred and forty

years, or after the lapse of nearly sixty generations, would qualify

Britain to become mistress of Imperial Rome; while one country would

become so exalted, and the other be so debased, that the event would

excite little attention, and be deemed but of secondary importance?

Possibly after another sixty generations, the posterity of the savage

tribes near Sierra Leone, or New Holland, may arbitrate the fate of

London, or of Britain, as an affair of equal indifference!

I passed a few minutes in the famous Botanic Garden of the

Apothecaries' Company, founded at Chelsea by #Sir Hans Sloane#. It was

the first establishment of the kind in England, but has now for some

years been superseded in fame and variety by the Royal Gardens at Kew.

It still however merits notice, as containing specimens of all the

plants recognized in the _Materia Medica_, and with that view is

maintained, at a heavy expence to the company, for the use of medical

students. The company's Professor of Botany annually gives lectures at

this institution to the apprentices of the members, and accompanies

them in _simpling_ excursions in the country round the metropolis. The

statue of the public spirited founder still adorns the garden; and the

famous cedars of Lebanon add an air of solemn grandeur to the whole,

which could be conferred by no other objects of nature or art. The

conservatories are on a grand scale; and so many interesting exotics

claimed my notice, that I could have passed a week or a month in

contemplating them.

In Cheyne Walk, facing the Thames, I sought for the Museum and

Coffee-house of Don Saltero, renowned in the swimming exploits of

Franklin. Here stands the same house, and it is still a place of

entertainment; but, about ten years ago, the lease expired, when the

rarities, presented by so many collectors, to the spirited Barber

Salter, (nicknamed, Don Saltero,) were sold by public auction.

A little farther stands the ancient and unostentatious palace of the

Bishops of Winchester, and here has resided the venerable Brownlow

North, during the thirty-three years that he has filled that wealthy

see; and, a hundred yards to the west, I surveyed, with becoming

interest, the decayed premises, now a paper-hanging manufactory, which

once was the residence of the witty Sir Thomas More, and where, as it

is recorded, he entertained Erasmus. I was, therefore, on classic

ground; though Faulkner, in his amusing History of Chelsea, ascribes

the residence of the Chancellor to another situation. The men who

adorned the era of the revival of learning, and, as its patrons,

furnished us with weapons by which to deprive imposition of its

powers, are well entitled to our esteem; but many of them were

entangled in the bridle, by whose means more crafty persons had long

rode on the backs of mankind. Thus the friendship and intercourse of

sir Thomas More and Erasmus were founded on their mutual zeal in

behalf of those ecclesiastical frauds which for so many ages had

subdued every scintillation of reason. They were, in their days, among

the adherents of Popish superstition, what Symmachus had been to the

Roman polytheists in the age of Theodosius--what Peter the Hermit was

to the fanatics of the darker ages--and what Burke was to the bigotted

politicians at the dawn of liberty in France. Erasmus, it is true,

exposed, with great ability much priestcraft and statecraft, yet his

learning and labours were, for the chief part, devoted to the support

of certain irrational points of theological faith; and poor Sir Thomas

More lost his head on the scaffold rather than aid his less fastidious

sovereign in overturning the spiritual supremacy of the bishops of

Rome. We may honour the conscientious scruples of such men; but,

enabled, as we now are, to view their errors at a proper focal

distance, we are warranted, by their example, in drawing the inference

that the highest human authorities are no tests of truth, and that

great energies of intellect often serve but to strengthen prejudices,

and give mischievous force to aberrations of reason.

The tomb of Sir Hans Sloane caught my eye as I passed the corner of

the church-yard, but not in so good a condition as the improved value

of his estates might warrant one to expect. It is surmounted by the

mystic symbols of the _egg_ and _serpent_, in a good style of

sculpture. Part of the church is precisely what it was when the

Chancellor More regularly formed part of its congregation.

In crossing the bridge to Battersea, I was called upon to pay toll,

and was informed, that this bridge is _private_ property.--A bridge

across a great river, in a _civilized_ country, _private_

property!--Is not this monstrous, thought I, in a country in which

seventy millions of taxes are collected per annum, and which has

accumulated a debt of nine hundred millions since the accession of the

house of Guelph? Yet, if bridges remain private property, #FOR WHAT

BENEFIT# has so much money been expended? Have bridges, or hospitals,

or schools, or houses for the poor, been built with the money?--It

seems not!--Have roads been made--canals cut--rivers widened--harbours

improved?--No, these are private and interested speculations! What

then, I exclaimed, has been done with it?

If this bridge cost twenty thousand pounds, one million of the nine

hundred would have built fifty such bridges!--Yet, the war in the

Peninsula, for the purpose of setting up the bigotted Ferdinand in

place of the liberal Joseph, costs the country three millions per

month; or as much as would build a hundred and fifty fine bridges over

the principal rivers of the empire! Another three millions would build

a hundred and fifty great public hospitals for the incurable poor! A

third such sum would make fifty thousand miles of good roads! And a

fourth would construct three thousand miles of canal, or ten or twelve

such as the Grand Junction Canal! That is to say, all these

_substantial_ benefits might be produced to the country by a few

weeks' cost of the war in the Peninsula; a war of such doubtful

benefit, either to England, to Spain, or to humanity!

At the distance of a hundred yards from Battersea Bridge, an extensive

pile of massy brickwork, for the manufactory of Soap, has recently

been erected, at a cost, it is said, of sixty thousand pounds. I was

told it was inaccessible to strangers, and therefore was obliged to

content myself with viewing it at a distance. Such vast piles are not

uncommon in and near London; yet how great and certain must be the

profits of a commodity to warrant the expenditure of such large

capitals before there can be any return! It might seem too that a man

possessed of sixty thousand pounds, or of as much as, at the present

value of money, would purchase for ever the constant labour of from

above sixty to eighty men, would have avoided the hazards of

trade.--Yet in England it is not so--the avaricious spirit of commerce

despises all mediocrity--care is preferred to enjoyment--and the ends

of life are sacrificed to the means! It has always been the foible of

man not to be contented with the good he possesses, but to look

forward to happiness in the anticipation of something which he hopes

to attain. Thus, few congratulate themselves on the comforts they

enjoy, or consider the consequences of losing them; but, neglectful of

blessings in hand, rush forward in quest of others which they may

never be able to obtain, and which, when possessed, are again as

little enjoyed.

Poets, divines, and moralists, have asserted this important truth in

all ages; but have failed to cure the delusion, though it is at once

the cause of the greater part of the miseries of individuals, and of

the mischievous errors of governments. Moses guarded against it by new

subdivisions of property in every year of jubilee; but the fraternal

regulations of the family of Abraham are not conceived to be

applicable to the whole family of man, as blended in modern nations;

and statesmen and economists now think it better that endless

competitions should be encouraged, and indefinite accumulations

tolerated, than that industry should be checked by any regard to the

personal happiness which might result from moderated and bounded

wealth. Hence, he that has health and strength to labour for his own

subsistence is not contented unless he can accumulate enough to

purchase the labour of others--and he who has enough to purchase the

labours of fifty, is miserable if another can purchase the labours of

sixty--while he who can purchase the labours of a thousand is still

wretched if some other can purchase the labours of two thousand. In

the wilds of Africa and America, men suffer every species of misery

for want of the impulse created by the reward of labour; whereas the

suffering is little less, though varied in kind, from the gradations

created in long-established societies by the insatiable cravings of

avarice! I am aware that it is hazardous to discuss a subject which

probes to the quick the sensibility of pride; yet this is a social

problem which merits the consideration of all statesmen who are

anxious to promote the happiness of communities; and it ought not to

be lost sight of by any future Solon who may be called upon to

ameliorate the condition of his country.

At a few yards from the toll-gate of the bridge, on the Western side

of the road, stand the work-shops of that eminent, modest, and

persevering mechanic, Mr. #Brunel#; a gentleman of the rarest genius,

who has effected as much for the Mechanic Arts as any man of his time.

The wonderful apparatus in the dock-yard at Portsmouth, by which he

cuts blocks for the navy, with a precision and expedition that

astonish every beholder, secures him a monument of fame, and eclipses

all rivalry. In a small building on the left, I was attracted by the

solemn action of a steam-engine of a sixteen-horse or eighty-men

power, and was ushered into a room, where it turned, by means of

bands, four wheels fringed with fine saws, two of eighteen feet in

diameter, and two of them nine feet. These circular saws were used for

the purpose of separating veneers, and a more perfect operation was

never performed. I beheld planks of mahogany and rose-wood sawed into

veneers the sixteenth of an inch thick, with a precision and grandeur

of action which really was sublime! The same power at once turned

these tremendous saws, and drew their work upon them. A large sheet of

veneer, nine or ten feet long by two feet broad, was thus separated in

about ten minutes, so even, and so uniform, that it appeared more like

a perfect work of Nature than one of human art! The force of these

saws may be conceived when it is known that the large ones revolve

sixty-five times in a minute; hence, 18 x 3,14 = 56,5 x 65 gives 3672

feet, or two-thirds of a mile in a minute; whereas, if a sawyer's tool

give thirty strokes of three feet in a minute, it is but ninety feet,

or only the fortieth part of the steady force of Mr. Brunel's saws!

In another building, I was shewn his manufactory of shoes, which, like

the other, is full of ingenuity, and, in regard to subdivision of

labour, brings this fabric on a level with the oft-admired manufactory

of pins. Every step in it is effected by the most elegant and precise

machinery; while as each operation is performed by one hand, so each

shoe passes through twenty-five hands, who complete from the hide, as

supplied by the currier, a hundred pair of strong and well-finished

shoes per day. All the details are performed by ingenious applications

of the mechanic powers, and all the parts are characterized by

precision, uniformity, and accuracy. As each man performs but one step

in the process, which implies no knowledge of what is done by those

who go before or follow him, so the persons employed are not

shoemakers, but wounded soldiers, who are able to learn their

respective duties in a few hours. The contract at which these shoes

are delivered to government is 6_s._ 6_d._ per pair, being at least

2_s._ less than what was paid previously for an unequal and cobbled

article.

While, however, we admire these triumphs of mechanics, and

congratulate society on the prospect of enjoying more luxuries at less

cost of human labour, it ought not to be forgotten, that the general

good in such cases is productive of great partial evils, against which

a paternal government ought to provide. No race of workmen being

proverbially more industrious than shoemakers, it is altogether

unreasonable, that so large a portion of valuable members of society

should be injured by improvements which have the ultimate effect of

benefitting the whole.

The low price of labour deprives these classes of the power of

accumulating any private fund, on which to subsist while they are

learning new trades; it seems therefore incumbent on governments to

make sufficient provision, from the public stock, for all cases of

distress, which arise out of changes of this kind. If governments were

benevolent, and vigilant in their benevolence, no members of the

community would, under any circumstances, suffer from causes which are

productive, or supposed to be productive, of general benefit. I

qualify the position by the word _supposed_, because, owing to social

monopolies, and to the advantages taken of poverty by the habits of

wealth, the mass of the people are less benefited by the introduction

of machinery than they ought to be. If a population have been drawn or

driven from agriculture to manufactures, and the lands which

maintained in humble independance the ancestors of the manufacturers

are, in consequence, united into single farms, the manufacturers

should not be left without resource, if their trade fails, or their

labour is superseded by machinery. Against the ill effects of such

changes, paternal governments should provide means of relief, so as to

render them as little prejudicial to individuals as possible; and no

transitions in the productive value of various labour, should be

allowed to destroy the industrious part of the population, or force

them to seek subsistence in foreign climes. It being the object of all

machinery to save human labour, of course society at large ought to

enjoy the benefit; and all who are in danger of suffering for a

benefit to be enjoyed by the whole, should be liberally indemnified

out of the common stock. Nothing could be more easy than for a board

of commissioners or arbitrators to assess on the public such

individual losses; and, in cases of great transitions, imposts should

be so levied on monopoly as to restore the equilibrium of great

branches of industry. For what but for such purposes of equalizing

happiness are governments constituted and maintained?

I passed from the premises of Mr. Brunel, to the nearly adjoining ones

of Mr. Hodgson, an intelligent maltster and distiller, and the

proprietor of the elevated horizontal air-mill, which serves as a

landmark for many miles round. But his mill, its elevated shaft, its

vanes, and weather or wind boards, curious as they would have been on

any other scite, lost their interest on premises once the residence of

the illustrious Bolingbroke, and the resort of the philosophers of his

day. In ascending the winding flights of its tottering galleries, I

could not help wondering at the caprice of events which had converted

the dwelling of Bolingbroke into a malting-house and a mill. This

house, once sacred to philosophy and poetry, long sanctified by the

residence of the noblest genius of his age, honoured by the frequent

visits of Pope, and the birthplace of the immortal Essay on Man, is

now appropriated to the lowest uses! The house of Bolingbroke become a

windmill! The spot on which the Essay on Man was concocted and

produced, converted into a distillery of pernicious spirits! Such are

the lessons of time! Such are the means by which an eternal agency

sets at nought the ephemeral importance of man! But yesterday, this

spot was the resort, the hope, and the seat of enjoyment of

Bolingbroke, Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Thomson, Mallet, and all the

contemporary genius of England--yet a few whirls of the earth round

the sun, the change of a figure in the date of the year, and the

groupe have vanished; while in their place I behold hogs and horses,

malt-bags and barrels, stills and machinery!

Alas, said I, to the occupier, and have these things become the

representatives of more human genius than England may ever witness on

one spot again--have you thus satirized the transitory fate of

humanity,--do you thus become a party with the bigotted enemies of

that philosophy which was personified in a Bolingbroke and a Pope? No,

he rejoined, I love the name and character of Bolingbroke, and I

preserve the house as well as I can with religious veneration; I often

smoke my pipe in Mr. Pope's parlour, and think of him with due respect

as I walk the part of the terrace opposite his room. He then conducted

me to this interesting parlour, which is of brown polished oak, with a

grate and ornaments of the age of George the First; and before its

window stood the portion of the terrace upon which the malt-house had

not encroached, with the Thames moving majestically under its wall. I

was on holy ground!--I did not take off my shoes--but I doubtless felt

what pilgrims feel as they approach the temples of Jerusalem, Mecca,

or Jaggernaut! Of all poems, and of all codes of wisdom, I admire the

Essay on Man, and its doctrines, the most; and in this room, I

exclaimed, it was probably planned, discussed, and written!

Mr. Hodgson assured me, this had always been called "Pope's room," and

he had no doubt it was the apartment usually occupied by that great

poet, in his visits to his friend Bolingbroke. Other parts of the

original house remain, and are occupied and kept in good order. He

told me, however, that this is but a wing of the mansion, which

extended in Lord Bolingbroke's time to the church-yard, and is now

appropriated to the malting-house and its warehouses.

The church itself is a new and elegant structure, but chiefly

interesting to me, as containing the vault of the St. John family, in

which lies the great Lord, at whose elegant monument, by Roubilliac, I

lingered some minutes.

On inquiring for an ancient inhabitant of Battersea, I was introduced

to a Mrs. Gilliard, a pleasant and intelligent woman, who told me, she

well remembered Lord Bolingbroke; that he used to ride out every day

in his chariot, and had a black patch on his cheek, with a large wart

over his eye-brows. She was then but a girl, but she was taught to

look upon him with veneration as a great man. As, however, he spent

little in the place, and gave little away, he was not much regarded by

the people of Battersea. I mentioned to her the names of several of

his contemporaries, but she recollected none, except that of Mallet,

who, she said, she had often seen walking about in the village, while

he was visiting at Bolingbroke House. The unassuming dwelling of this

gentlewoman affords another proof of the scattered and unrecorded

wealth of Britain, in works of superior art. I found in her retired

parlour, a fine historical picture, by Vandyke, for which she said she

had been offered 500l. but which she refused to part with, not less

from a spirit of independence, than from a tasteful estimate of the

beauties of the picture.

It was in the warm alluvial plain adjoining this village, the very

swamp into which the Britons retreated before Caesar, that the first

asparagus was cultivated in England. I could learn no particulars of

this circumstance, but such vast quantities are still grown here, that

one gardener has fifty acres engaged in the production of this

vegetable, and there are above two hundred acres of it within a mile

of Battersea church.

Proceeding onward between some ancient walls which bound the grounds

of various market gardeners, I was told that here resided the father

of Queen Anne Boleyn; but I could not fix any thing with precision on

the subject, though it appears from the monument of Queen Elizabeth,

in Battersea church, that the Boleyns were related to the St. John's.

A manufacturer of pitch and turpentine politely shewed me over his

works. I trembled as I passed among his combustible cauldrons, and not

without cause, for the place had recently been burnt to the ground,

and it experienced the same fate a second time, but a few weeks after

my visit. May we not hope that the applicable powers of heated gas

will enable such manufactories to be carried on without the inevitable

recurrence of such conflagrations.

This walk brought me to a large distillery, which still bears the name

of York House, and was a seat of the Archbishops of York, from the

year 1480 to its alienation. Here resided Wolsey, as Archbishop of

York--here Henry VIII. first saw Anne Boleyn--and here that scene took

place which Shakespeare records in his play of Henry VIII; and which

he described truly, because he wrote it for Elizabeth, the daughter of

Anne Boleyn, within fifty years of the event, and must himself have

known living witnesses of its verity. Hence it becomes more than

probable, that Sir Thomas Boleyn actually resided in the vicinity, and

that his daughter was accidentally among the guests at that princely

entertainment. I know it is contended, that this interview took place

at York House, Whitehall; but Shakespeare makes the King come by

Water; and York House, Battersea, was beyond all doubt a residence of

Wolsey, and is provided with a creek from the Thames, for the evident

purpose of facilitating intercourse by water. Besides, the owner

informed me, that a few years since he had pulled down a superb room,

called "the ball-room," the pannels of which were curiously painted,

and the divisions silvered. He also stated that the room had a dome

and a richly ornamented ceiling, and that he once saw an ancient

print, representing the first interview of Henry VIII. with Anne

Boleyn, in which the room was portrayed exactly like the one that, in

modernizing his house, he had found it necessary to destroy.

My polite host took me to his green-house, and shewed me a fine

specimen of that wonder of the second degree of organized

existence--an American aloe, about to put forth its blossoms. Its

vigorous upright stem was twelve feet high, and its head promised a

rich profusion of splendid flowers. It is indeed no fable, that this

perennial plant grows about a hundred years (a few more or less,)

before it blooms; and, after yielding its seed, the stem withers and

dies! I could not avoid being struck with the lesson which this

centenarian affords to the Pride of man, when, on asking its owner,

how he knew that it was a hundred years old, he informed me that "it

had been in his possession the half of his life," that is, the mighty

period of five-and-twenty years! "That it had previously been the

property of the Hon. Mrs. ----," whose name, in spite of her _honour_,

is now as lost to fame as she herself is lost to that existence which

gave rise to any self-importance! That he "had heard, that, before

_her time_, it belonged to Lord ----," a name which I have also

forgotten, because it was unnecessary to remember it, the common-place

peer having also exhausted the measure of his days since our

still-flourishing aloe was in its dawn! "Ah, Sir," said I, "so the

aloe has seen out all those who vainly called it their property--They

have been swept away, generation after generation, yet it still

survives a living commentary on their utter insignificance; and it

laughs at the proud assumption of those who called themselves its

proprietors, but could not maintain a property in themselves! Just so

the same creature of yesterday asserts his property in that ancient

globe, which he is destined to enjoy but an hour; and he asserts, that

all was made for him, though in another hour he leaves all and becomes

again, as to the planet which nurtured him, the nonentity of

yesterday.

Pride, the bane of man--I exclaimed, as I passed the gate--what are

its claims? Does it arise from fine clothing?--let it be remembered

that every part has been stolen from the lowest of Nature's

works--that the finest glitter is but a modification of the very

surface--and that the garments which this year deck beauty and rank, will

in the next be rotting on the dunghill! Does Pride feed on the records

of ancestry?--let it visit the family tomb, and examine the bones and

dust of that ancestry on which it founds its self-importance! Is Pride

derived from titles of distinction?--let it inquire who conferred

them--for what--and by what intrigues--and let it be considered, that

titles or names confer no inherent quality, and do not alter the

nature of any thing to which they are applied! Does an inexperienced

girl take a lesson of Pride from her looking-glass?--she may be cured

of her foible, by conceiving 10 to be added to the date of the year,

or by looking on those ten years older than herself! Is it an office

of power which serves as the basis of a lofty and insulting

Pride?--let him who fills it remember that he is but the puppet of

knaves, or fools; and at best but a mere _servant_ of the public! Does

wealth intoxicate the weakness of man?--let it never be forgotten that

the possession is distinct from the possessor, and that the most

contemptible of the human race have been the accumulators of wealth!

Does the name of wisdom, puff up any of its professors?--of such it

may truly be said, that their wisdom is foolishness--for none truly

wise ever felt, in the researches of man, any ground of arrogance,

while pursuits of philosophy serve only to teach humility!--But to

what purpose tend such observations? Every man is his own microcosm,

and his case, in his own view, is that of no other man! Pride will

always find food in self-love, which in spite of exhortations, it will

devour with ravenous appetite! If men were immortal, how intolerable

would be existence from the arrogance and perpetuity of Pride! While

this passion infects and misleads the governors of the world, the only

consolation in looking on weak princes, wicked statesmen, unfeeling

lawyers, and military butchers, is that, in the course of nature,

Death will soon relieve the world from the pest of their influence!

And there are few men who would, not prefer death as their own fate,

and who would not hail death as a common blessing, rather than live an

eternity under the dominion of the weak, the crafty, or the cruel

Proud!

The road from York House towards Wandsworth, lay across a Plain of

unenclosed fields, which, before the Thames had carved out the

boundaries of its course, was, I have no doubt, generally covered with

its waters. After the ocean left the land, and the hills became the

depositaries of the clouds, how many ages must have elapsed before the

beds of rivers were circumscribed as we now see them in England. The

water always followed the lowest level, but, being of different

quantities at different seasons, vegetation would flourish on the

sides occasionally covered, and in time would generate banks; while

the stream itself, by carrying off the argillaceous bottom, would add

to the depth--the two combined causes producing all the phenomena of

bounded rivers.[2] The Thames, after heavy rains, or thaws of snow,

still overflows its banks, thereby adding to the vegetable productions

of its meadows, which, if not consumed, or carried away by man, would,

long ere this, have fixed unalterably the limits of its course. The

effect of these inundations in our days, or in past ages, has been to

render its banks the fertile scite of all those fine garden-grounds

which supply the metropolis so abundantly with fruits and vegetables.

[2] It is difficult to assign limits to the gradual effects

of the circuit of the waters by evaporation and rain on the

creation of land, from the decay of vegetable organizations.

All the rain which falls on such a country as England, from

two to three feet deep per annum, tends to raise the surface

of the soil with the substances generated by it, which we

call solids. How small a portion reaches the rivulets, and

how little returns to the sea! The consideration seems at

least to justify the notion, that the waters desiccate in

spite of the encroachments of currents, and that all things

have proceeded from the silent agency of water.

Some large Distilleries, on the banks of the river, reminded me of the

bad policy of governments, which, sacrificing the end to the means,

that is, the health and morals of the people to purposes of revenue,

tolerates and even encourages manufactories so pernicious. I am aware

I may be answered, that the working classes love this poison, and must

be gratified; and that in 1813 the duty on British spirits produced

L1,636,504. But I reply, first, that it is obligatory on good

governments to protect the people against the effects of their vices;

and second, that, if the people were not indulged in the ruinous habit

of gin-drinking, and destroyed by it in body and mind, they would be

able to pay a greater sum to the revenue from productions of a

salutary nature. Such are the pernicious effects of drunkenness, and

the numerous miseries created by drinking fermented and spirituous

liquors, that I have often been tempted to consider it as an atonement

for the impostures of Mahomet, that he so forcibly prohibited the

practice, and so far succeeded, that a rigid forbearance is observed

by his followers, and a Musselman rendered beastly, vicious, and

diseased, by habits of drunkenness is never seen. The doctrines of the

New Testament and the example of the Founder of our religion inculcate

an equal degree of abstemiousness, yet how contrary are the practices

of Christians! There seems indeed, in regard to this vice, to be no

middle course. Spirituous, and perhaps also fermented, liquors, will

be abused, or they must be wholly prohibited; because the stimulus

which they create at one time, is sought at another, and the oftener

it is repeated, the oftener it is desired and required; till at length

it becomes necessary to the sense of well-being, or apparently

essential to the power of sustaining the fatigue of life.

In the middle of these fields I passed a handsome house, which

appeared to have been empty for a considerable time. On enquiring the

cause of a young woman, who passed at the moment; she told me, with an

artless countenance, that "_it was haunted_." I smiled, and asked how

she knew it. "Ah, Sir," said she, "its nothing to laugh at--every body

here-abouts knows it well enough--such strange noises are heard in it,

and such lights flit about it at midnight."--Have you seen them? "No,

Sir, but I knows those that have, and I'm sure its true." Seeing a

labouring man at a distance, I enquired what he knew of the haunted

house, when he told me, with a face full of faith, that "he knew

gentlefolks laughed at such things, but seeing was believing--that,

passing the house one night, he was quite sartain he had seen a light

in one of the rooms, and had heard groans---that he got home as well

as he could, but all the world should not induce him to pass the house

again at that time of the night." "And others," said I, "have perhaps

seen the the same?"--"Aye, by goles, have they," exclaimed the fellow

with terror in his countenance.--I then told him, I would with

pleasure sit up in the house to see these ghosts--"Rather you than I,

Sir," said he.--"Nay, nay," said I, "I dare say now for five shillings

you would sit up with me!" "Naugh, dang me if I would, nor for the

best five pounds in the world, much as I wants money! I don't fear

man, but I am naugh match for the devil!--I believes in God, and does

nobody any harm; and therefore don't think he'd let the old-one hurt

me: but some main wicked ones lived, as I've hard, in that there

house, so I'll have naught to do with it; and dang me if any of 'em

shall catch me in it after night."

The poor fellow uttered these sentiments with such earnestness, that

my risible emotions were converted into pity. I forebore, however, to

argue the point with him, for many instances of superstition equally

gross had long convinced me that the untaught and half-taught of my

countrymen are, in this respect, little superior to the savage tribes,

whom we pity, in Tartary, Africa, and America: yet in this instance

the man's inference was a consequence of his premises, and his error

in these it might have been deemed heretical to expose.

The nursery becomes the means of fixing similar impressions in the

families of the most enlightened, and the unformed minds of children

propagate in public schools the stories of their nurses. The lowest

superstition pervades therefore all ranks, even of a population so

comparatively enlightened as that of England; and, being imbibed in

infancy and confirmed, through the entire period of youth, no

impressions are more strong, or more universally operative. The poet

and the priest either encourage the feeling, or do not take any pains

to remove it. The agency of spirits and abstract principles, is

countenanced by some of the records of religion, and by philosophers

and physicians in their reasonings about occult causes, sympathies,

coincidencies, and destinies. It is urged in vain, that ghosts and

supernatural effects are never seen, except by the weakest or most

ignorant of mankind, in ages or states of society when the people

might be made to believe any thing; or at times so distant, or places

so remote, that the narrators run no risk of detection or exposure.

The love of the marvellous, the force of early impressions, the craft

of many persons, and the folly of others, will however occasion every

village to have its haunted house for ages to come, in spite of the

press, and of those discoveries of philosophy which are every day

narrowing the sphere of miracles and prodigies.

In considering this subject with the attention that is due to it, it

has appeared to me that all the stories of ghosts and super, or,

un-natural appearances, may be referred to some of the following

causes:

1. To the augmentation produced by fear in any effect on the

senses--thus the ear of a terrified man will convert the smallest

noise into the report of thunder, or his eye will change the stump of

a tree into a monster twenty feet high. As the senses are furnished

for protection, their irritability, under the impression of fear, is

part of their economy, as the means of preserving our being; but it is

absurd to refer back the effects thus augmented, to external causes

which might be capable of producing the augmentation. To such an error

of the senses and of reasoning, is, however, to be referred half the

ghosts and supernaturals of which we hear in village ale-houses, in

nurseries and schools.

2. To diseased organs of sensation; as an inflamed eye producing the

effect of flashes of light in the dark, or fulness of blood producing

a ringing or singing in the ears. Sometimes diseases of the visual

organs are accompanied by hallucinations of mind; and persons ill in

fevers often see successions of figures and objects flit before their

eyes till the disease has been removed. The workings of conscience or

nervous affections will also produce diseases of the senses, and such

hallucinations of mind as to occasion a person to fancy he sees

another, or to be haunted by him. But there is nothing supernatural in

all this; it is sometimes a local disease, sometimes an effect of

fever, sometimes a nervous affection, and sometimes partial insanity.

3. To natural causes not understood by the parties. Thus, anciently

the northern lights were mistaken for armies fighting; meteors and

comets for flaming swords, portending destruction or pestilence; the

electrified points of swords to the favour of heaven; the motions of

the planets to attractive effluvia; and all the effects of the

comixture of the gases to benign or diabolical agency, as they

happened to produce on the parties good or evil. So in the like manner

old houses are generally said to be haunted, owing to the noises which

arise from the cracking and yielding of their walls and timbers, and

from the protection and easy passage which in the course of time they

afford to rats, mice, weasels, &c. whose activity in the night-time

affords the foundation of numerous apprehensions and fancies of the

credulous.

4. To spontaneous combustions or detonations, which produce occasional

lights and noises, or, under unchanged circumstances, recurring lights

and noises, chiefly claiming attention in the night. Thus houses shut

up and unaired are apt, from the putrefaction of animal and vegetable

matter, to generate hydrogen gas, the accidental combustion of which

by contact with phosphoric matter, naturally generated in the same

situation, will produce those effects of lights and noises heard in

empty houses. So Church-yards, Churches in which the dead are buried,

Cemeteries, and Ruins of old buildings, must frequently give out large

quantities of these gases; and consequently, from exactly similar

causes, they are likely to produce the very effects which we witness

in the will-o'-the-wisp, or in hydrogen gas when inflamed during calm

weather in marshy situations.

5. To the prevailing belief that effects, which cannot readily be

accounted for, or which are caused by the contact of the invisible

fluids or media always in action in the great laboratory of nature,

are produced by the agency of spirits or demons; which belief,

concurring with the unknown causes of the effects, and affording a

ready solution of difficulties, prevents further inquiry, silences

reasoning, and tends in consequence to sustain the prevailing errors

and superstitions.

Such are the general causes of ghosts, spirits, charms, miracles, and

supernatural appearances. They all arise either from hallucinations of

the mind or senses; from the mutual action of the natural, though

invisible, powers of gaseous and ethereal fluids; from the delusions

of ignorance, implicit faith, or the absence of all reasoning.

While occupied in these speculations, I arrived at the entrance of the

populous, industrious, and opulent village of Wandsworth. A reader in

the highlands of Scotland, in the mountains of Wales, or the wilds of

Connaught, will startle when he hears of a village containing 5,644

inhabitants, and 2,020 houses, in which 620 families are returned as

engaged in trade and manufactures. Yet, such are the overgrown

villages round our overgrown metropolis. Even in this vicinity,

Chelsea contains 18,262 inhabitants; Fulham 5,903; Clapham 5,083;

Hammersmith 7,393; Kensington 10,886; Brentford, New and Old, 7,094;

and Richmond 5,219. This village of Wandsworth, in truth, is of the

size of most second-rate towns in distant counties, its main street,

of compact and well-built houses, being half a mile in length, with

several collateral ones a quarter of a mile. It also contains, or has

in its vicinity, many considerable manufactories, which flourished

exceedingly before the silly vanity of ambition and military parade

led a nation of merchants to endeavour to dictate to their foreign

customers, and forced them to subsist without their commodities! The

manufactories of Wandsworth are created or greatly aided by the pure

stream of the Wandle, and by the Surry iron rail-way, which runs from

Croydon to a spacious and busy wharf, on the Thames at this place.

They consist of dyers, calico-printers, oil-mills, iron-founderies,

vinegar-works, breweries, and distilleries. I found leisure to inspect

the two or three which were employed; and I felt renewed delight on

witnessing at this place the economy of horse-labour on the iron

rail-way. Yet a heavy sigh escaped me, as I thought of the

inconceivable millions which have been spent about Malta, four or five

of which might have been the means of extending _double lines of iron

rail-ways_ from London to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Holyhead, Milford,

Falmouth, Yarmouth, Dover and Portsmouth! A reward of a single

thousand would have supplied coaches, and other vehicles of various

degrees of speed, with the best tackle for readily turning out; and we

might, ere this, have witnessed our mail coaches running at the rate

of ten miles an hour, drawn by a single horse, or impelled fifteen

miles by Blenkinsop's steam-engine! Such would have been a legitimate

motive for overstepping the income of a nation, and the completion of

so great and useful a work would have afforded _rational_ grounds for

public triumph in general jubilees!

Wandsworth having been the once-famed scene of those humorous popular

elections of a mayor, or member for #Garrat#; and the subject serving

to illustrate the manners of the times, and abounding in original

features of character, I collected among some of its elder inhabitants

a variety of amusing facts and documents, relative to the eccentric

candidates and their elections.

Southward of Wandsworth, a road extends nearly two miles to the

village of Lower Tooting, and nearly midway are a few houses, or

hamlet, by the side of a small common, called _Garrat_, from which the

road itself is called _Garrat Lane_. Various encroachments on this

common led to an association of the neighbours about three-score years

since, when they chose a president, or _mayor_, to protect their

rights; and the time of their first election, being the period of a

new parliament, it was agreed that the mayor should be re-chosen after

every general election. Some facetious members of the club gave, in a

few years, local notoriety to this election; and, when party spirit

ran high in the days of _Wilkes and Liberty_, it was easy to create an

appetite for a burlesque election among the lower orders of the

metropolis. The publicans at Wandsworth, Tooting, Battersea, Clapham,

and Vauxhall, made a purse to give it character; and Mr. Foote

rendered its interest universal, by calling one of his inimitable

farces, "_the Mayor of Garrat_." I have indeed been told, that Foote,

Garrick, and Wilkes, wrote some of the candidates' addresses, for the

purpose of instructing the people in the corruptions which attend

elections to the legislature, and of producing those reforms by means

of ridicule and shame, which are vainly expected from solemn appeals

of argument and patriotism.

Not being able to find the members for Garrat in Beatson's Political

Index, or in any of the Court Calendars, I am obliged to depend on

tradition for information in regard to the early history of this

famous borough. The first mayor of whom I could hear was called Sir

John Harper. He filled the seat during two parliaments, and was, it

appears, a man of wit, for, on a dead cat being thrown at him on the

hustings, and a bye-stander exclaiming that it stunk worse than a fox,

Sir John vociferated, "that's no wonder, for you see it's a

_poll_-cat." This noted baronet was, in the metropolis, a retailer of

brick-dust; and, his Garrat honours being supposed to be a means of

improving his trade and the condition of his ass, many characters in

similar occupations were led to aspire to the same distinctions.

He was succeeded by Sir Jeffrey Dunstan, who was returned for three

parliaments, and was the most popular candidate that ever appeared on

the Garrat hustings. His occupation was that of buying #OLD WIGS#,

once an article of trade like that in old clothes, but become obsolete

since the full-bottomed and full-dressed wigs of both sexes went out

of fashion. Sir Jeffrey usually carried his wig-bag over his shoulder,

and, to avoid the charge of vagrancy, vociferated, as he passed along

the streets, "old wigs;" but, having a person like Esop, and a

countenance and manner marked by irresistible humour, he never

appeared without a train of boys, and curious persons, whom he

entertained by his sallies of wit, shrewd sayings, and smart

repartees; and from whom, without begging, he collected sufficient to

maintain his dignity of mayor and knight. He was no respecter of

persons, and was so severe in his jokes on the corruptions and

compromises of power, that, under the iron regime of Pitt and Dundas,

when freedom was treason, and truth was blasphemy, this political

punch, or street-jester, was prosecuted for using what were then

called seditious expressions; and, as a caricature on the times, which

ought never to be forgotten, he was in 1793 tried, convicted, and

imprisoned! In consequence of this affair, and some charges of

dishonesty, he lost his popularity, and, at the general election for

1796, was ousted by Sir Harry Dimsdale, muffin-seller, a man as much

deformed as himself. Sir Jeffrey could not long survive his fall; but,

in death as in life, he proved a satire on the vices of the proud, for

in 1797 he died, like Alexander the Great, and many other heroes

renowned in the historic page--of suffocation from excessive drinking!

Sir Harry Dimsdale dying also before the next general election, and no

candidate starting of sufficient originality of character, and, what

was still more fatal, the victuallers having failed to raise a #PUBLIC

PURSE#, which was as stimulating a bait to the _independent_

candidates for Garrat, as it is to the _independent_ candidates for a

certain assembly; the borough of Garrat has since remained vacant, and

the populace have been without a _professed_ political buffoon.

None but those who have seen a London mob on any great holiday can

form a just idea of these elections. On several occasions, a hundred

thousand persons, half of them in carts, in hackney-coaches, and on

horse and ass-back, covered the various roads from London, and choaked

up all the approaches to the place of election. At the two last

elections, I was told, that the road within a mile of Wandsworth was

so blocked up by vehicles, that none could move backward or forward

during many hours; and that the candidates, dressed like

chimney-sweepers on May-day, or in the mock-fashion of the period,

were brought to the hustings in the carriages of peers, drawn by six

horses, the owners themselves condescending to become their drivers!

Whether the effect of inculcating useful principles by means of these

mock politicians, was compensated by the ridicule thrown on the sacred

exertions of patriotism, may perhaps be doubted. These elections

served, however, to keep alive the feelings of the people on public

questions, and tended to increase those discussions and enquiries

which support the arterial circulation of the body politic. The deadly

plague of despotism, and the equally fatal disease of ministerial

corruption, find victims of their influence only among people who are

devoid of moral energies and public spirit, and whose stagnant and

torpid condition generates morbid dispositions that invite, rather

than resist, the attacks of any public enemy.

I am a friend, therefore, on principle, to the bustle and tumult of

popular elections. They are the flint and steel, the animating

friction, the galvanic energy, of society. Virtue alone can face them.

Vice dreads them as it dreads the light. With uncourtly hands, they

tear the mask from Hypocrisy; they arraign at the bar of public

opinion, political Culprits, amenable to no other tribunal; and they

probe to the quick, the seared consciences of Peculators and

Oppressors. If the sycophants of courts, and the sophistical

apologists of arbitrary power, should craftily urge that the people

are sometimes misled by fraud and falsehood, and therefore unable to

distinguish between patriots and plunderers, we should not forget that

occasional errors are misfortunes which do not abrogate general

rights; and that popular elections are never adopted in well-trained

despotisms, as part of the machinery of the state, calculated to

subjugate the bodies and minds of their slaves. Do we hear of the

suffrages of the people among the Turks, the Russians, the Moors, or

the Algerines? Rather, as the means of eliciting the public voice, and

of exciting enquiry, are they not of all despotisms, the bane; and of

all usurpations and abuses of power, the terror; while, by generating

that public spirit which is the animating soul of freedom, they serve

as tests of dauntless public virtue, afford the last and the best hope

of patriotism, and constitute national schools, in which impressive

Lessons of Liberty are taught to the whole people.

In my walk towards Garrat, my attention was attracted by a pretty

mansion, which pleased my eye, though the monotonous blows of its

adjoining oil-mill annoyed my ear. The owner, Mr. Were, politely

exhibited its details; and more mechanical ingenuity than is here

displayed could not well be applied to aid the simple operation of

extracting oil from linseed. A magnificent water-wheel, of thirty

feet, turns a main shaft, which gives motion to a pair of vertical

stones, raises the driving-beams, and turns a band which carries the

seed, in small buckets, from the floor to the hopper. The shock on the

entire nervous system, produced by the noise of the driving-beams as

they fall on the wedges, is not to be described. The sense of hearing

for the time is wholly destroyed, and the powers of voice and

articulation are vainly exerted. The noise is oppressive, though a

rebound, comparatively tuneful, takes place, till the wedge is driven

home; but afterwards, the blows fall dead, and produce a painful jarr

on the nerves, which affected me for several hours with a sense of

general lassitude. The gardens of this sensible manufacturer evince

considerable taste, and produce that agreeable effect which always

results from the combination of comfort, rural beauty, and useful

industry. A manufactory in a picturesque situation, surrounded by the

usual characters of opulence, is one of the most pleasing features of

an English landscape, combining whatever we most admire in nature and

art, with moral associations, that produce in the mind a sentiment of

perfect satisfaction.

Nearer to Wandsworth, Homer would have found imagery by which to

improve his description of the abode of Vulcan; for how feeble must

have been the objects of this nature, which a poet could view on the

shores of the Mediterranean, compared with the gigantic machinery of

an English iron-foundry. The application of the expansive powers of

nature, as a moving agent in the steam-engine; the means of generating

and concentrating heat in our furnaces; the melting of iron; the

casting of the fluid; the colossal powers of the welding hammer, the

head of which, though a ton in weight, gives a stroke per second; the

power of shears, which cut thick bars of iron like threads; the

drawing out of iron hoops by means of rollers, and the boring of

cannon, are the every-day business of one of these manufactories, all

of which I saw going on at the same instant, without bustle or effort.

Iron, the most universal, the most durable, and most economical of the

metals, is thus made subservient to the wants of man, at a time when

his improvidence in the use of timber has rendered some substitute

necessary. New applications are daily made of it, and a new face is,

by its means, promised to society. Used as sleepers and bond-pieces in

the brick-work of houses, it will extend their duration through many

ages; and, as joists, rafters, and plates for roofs, it will defy the

assaults of storms and the ravages of fire. As railing for gardens,

parks, and other enclosures, it combines elegance with security. As

pipes for gas, or for water, it is justly preferred to lead or wood.

As frames for windows, it unites lightness with durability. As

bedsteads, it excludes vermin; and, as square frames for

bridge-pieces, it presents the triumph of human art. Yet these are

only a few of its modern applications, for they are illimitable, and a

description of the manufactories of Birmingham and Sheffield, of which

iron is the staple, would fill a volume. On my remarking to the

proprietor of this foundry, that the men mingled themselves with the

fire like salamanders; he told me, that, to supply the excessive

evaporation, some of them found it necessary to drink eight or ten

pots of porter per day. Many of them presented in their brawny arms,

which were rendered so by the constant exertion of those limbs; and in

their bronzed countenances, caused by the action of the heat and the

effluvia, striking pictures of true sons of Vulcan; and, except in

occasional accidents, they enjoyed, I was told, general good health,

and often attained a hearty old age.

In regard to these manufactories, I learnt, that the application of

machinery in them saves two-thirds of the manual labour; or, in other

words, that a triple effect is produced by the union of a given number

of hands, with appropriate machinery. In this we rejoice; but, from

our past experience of the effects, I ask emphatically, #Why#? If in

this age the same necessaries and luxuries are produced by one-third

of the manual labour which was required in the age of Elizabeth, it is

evident that the English of this day ought to subsist as well by

working not more than half as much as in the days of Elizabeth, or our

boasted machinery is useless. By making the wind, the water, the

elastic fluids, and new combinations of the mechanical powers, perform

our labour, we compel Nature to work for us; and, though in a northern

latitude, we place ourselves in the very situation of the inhabitants

of the Tropics, where the ever-bountiful climate feeds the people with

slight exertions of manual labour. Yet, is such the effect? Enquire of

our labouring classes, who toil for inadequate subsistence from twelve

to fifteen hours per day! Does not some malevolent influence then

deprive us of the advantages of our ingenuity? Doubtless it is so; and

the #Demon of War#, who has so long hovered over this deluded nation,

and whose calls for blood and treasure are so insatiable, is the

sufficient cause. But on this subject the voice of reason and humanity

have been raised so often, that it seems to be as useless as the

appeals of a mother, standing on the seashore, to the tempest which is

destroying her children in a visible wreck. Infatuated nations are

like exhilarated dram-drinkers; they ridicule and despise warning,

till a palsy or apoplexy renders them a proverb among their

neighbours, and brings on a death-bed, but unavailing, repentance!

I had not time to view any of the other ingenious and valuable

manufactories of this place; but, perceiving that the manufacturers

formed a numerous and opulent class of inhabitants, and that there

were many elegant mansions of families living on their fortunes,

besides many respectable shop-keepers, I was induced to seek

information in regard to the state of society and mutual intercourse

in a country-town possessing such capabilities. On enquiring at the

principal Inn, I found that a subscription-assembly was held six times

in the year, at an expence of three guineas, but it had only

thirty-two subscribers, though within a mile there then were a hundred

families that kept their own carriages, and another hundred qualified

by habit and manners to give and receive pleasure at such an

entertainment. I learnt, however, that this solitary establishment,

the only means by which the inhabitants can practically feel that they

do not live in a wilderness, is poisoned at its source by a strict

ballot, which places the privilege of admission in the discretion of

any two or three narrow-minded and impertinent persons, who may have

become directors. Of course, no man of sense or delicacy would ever

expose himself and family to the insult of being black-balled; and

these institutions, which are calculated to promote general happiness,

become, in consequence, a source of mortification to the majority of a

neighbourhood, and of petty and inadequate gratification to those

whose inanity of character, or obsequiousness of manners, have

rendered them tolerable to the family, or small junto, who usually

take it upon themselves to govern such assemblies.

Some observations on this subject merit record, because happiness is

the end of life, the proper business of study, and the true object of

all disquisition; and there is no point in which families are rendered

more uncomfortable, and in which the spirit of caprice and tyranny is

more successfully exerted, than in the institution and conduct of

country assemblies; while, at the same time, nothing would be easier

than to render them a means of happiness to all who are capable of it.

It is evident, that many persons, by habit and education, are

ill-adapted to take part in the polite amusements of an assembly; that

some men are odious by their vices; and that many females of equivocal

character ought not to be allowed to mix with the virtuous part of the

sex; consequently, every inhabitant of a district ought not to be

admitted to join in amusements which imply the contact of dancing and

cards. It is also too certain, that a contemptible and unworthy pride

often accompanies the wealth which assumes an ascendancy in

assemblies; that scandal and falsehood more commonly govern the

decisions of society than charity and truth; and that the base

passions of envy and malice mix themselves more or less with all human

conduct. What then is the security against the intrusion of the

vicious? A ballot, in which one black-ball in ten, or sometimes two or

three among the whole body of the subscribers, operate as an

exclusion, that is to say, are a means of setting a mark on a family,

and placing it at issue with a considerable portion of the

neighbourhood! What a pernicious engine for the gratification of

pride, scandal, envy, and malice! What an inquisition of the few bad

by which to torment the many good! What a dagger in the hands of

tolerated assassins! In short, what a perversion of reason, what a

disease in the very bosom of society, what a lurking demon stationed

at the threshold of every happy family, to blast and thwart the modest

ambition of its amiable members! Doubtless, in and near Wandsworth, a

mistaken constitution in the system of ballot renders a hundred

families uncomfortable, while the thirty-two elect are not benefitted.

The principle, therefore, is erroneous, and exclusion should result

only from a _majority_ of black-balls. For the honour of our nature we

may presume, that a majority of men are not governed by bad passions;

at least, our only security consists in its not being so: it may,

therefore, be presumed, that a majority of black-balls would be fair

evidence of a fault in the candidate rather than in the electors.

Perhaps, a simple majority ought to be decisive; but, to guard against

the intrigues of bad passions, the decision would be more just if

two-thirds were required to be black-balls; for it may be safely

trusted, that no third of a respectable assembly will ever vote for

the admission of a character truly objectionable.

"But am I to mix," exclaims one of my starch female readers, "with

members whom I do not like, or give up my subscription to the

assembly." "Unquestionably, Madam; your dislikes ought not to be

gratified--your hatred and prejudice are odious vices, which you ought

to keep at home, where you can invite whomsoever you like, and reject

those whom you dislike; but a public assembly is the property of

society, whose happiness ought to be consulted in its arrangements,

and which ought to be governed by general rules of morals and justice,

and not by the bad passions of the unworthy few."

After all, is it not matter of wonder, that only once a month, during

the winter, any congregation of part of the inhabitants of Wandsworth

takes place for purposes of amusement? Yet, is not this the general

characteristic of English society, from the Orkneys to the Land's-End?

The inhabitants of populous districts or towns in Britain might as

well, in regard to their intercourse with the community, live in the

wilds of America or Siberia! 'Tis true, they assemble on Sundays at

church or chapel when their devotions forbid the gaiety which ought to

vary the grave pursuits of life--and they meet also in the common

receptacle of mortality in the parish cemetery--but they seldom or

never meet to cheer life's dull round, to soften asperities, to remove

formal distances, to cultivate friendships, and to perform social and

neighbourly offices of courtesy and kindness. Why is there not, in

every populous vicinage or adjoining to every town, a public

gravelled, or paved, Walk, provided with covered and open seats, to

which, from spring to autumn, the inhabitants might resort, and

promenade between the hours of six and eight or nine. Might not such

walk be rendered attractive, during those hours, by being provided

with two, three, or four Musicians to play marches and lively airs,

and increase the hilarity of the scene? A district would thus become

social, and the inhabitants would know each other; though the proud

need not mix with the humble more than would be agreeable. Such an

arrangement would render less necessary those costly and vitiating

excursions to watering-places, which are made in quest of similar

gratifications; and they would render two hours of every twenty-four a

period of enjoyment to tens of thousands, who now enjoy no relief from

gloomy cares, except at the public-house, the card-table, or the

backgammon-board. It would, moreover, be a cheap pleasure, supported

by a rate of half-a-guinea per house per annum, while it would afford

at least 1000 hours of innocent and healthful gratification to their

families. To enumerate all the direct and collateral advantages must

be unnecessary, because it would be difficult to imagine a single

objection that could weigh against the obvious benefits. Society would

then become a social state; and it would no longer be problematical,

whether a man in a wilderness, separated from the bad passions of his

fellow-men, were not happier than he who is surrounded by them, but

who has no counterpoise in their intercourse and affections? May these

considerations sink deep into the minds of "Men of Ross," wherever

they are to be found; and, if acted upon as they merit, I may perhaps

live to form one of many happy groupes of village or parish

promenades, which owe their origin to these observations.

As an infallible test of the intellectual cultivation and social

dispositions of any town, I enquired of two dealers in books, whether

there existed any Book-club, but was answered in the negative. A small

collection of those beguilers of time, or cordials for _ennui_, called

Novels constitute a circulating library; and, judging from the

condition of the volumes, this degree of literary taste is general

among the females of this village. Far be it from me to depreciate the

negative merits of novel-reading, because the majority tend to improve

the heart, to direct the sensibilities and sympathies of the mind, and

to create many liberal and rational reflections, to which without

Novels their readers might have been total strangers. This is no small

praise of any pursuit; yet the same and still higher purposes would be

attained, if real, rather than fictitious, life were the object of

study; if we enquired after man as he was, is, and ever will be,

instead of satisfying ourselves with the contemplation of him in the

false colourings, distorted positions, and caricature resemblances, of

many works of fiction. There can, however, exist no moral agent more

effective than a good novel, wherein Attention is rivetted by the

author's fancy, Taste is fascinated by his style, and Errors,

Prejudices, and Follies of the hour are corrected by his powers of

ridicule or argument. To instruct as well as to amuse--to speak great

truths in epigrams--to exhibit the substance of sermons without

sermonizing--to be wise without appearing so--to make philosophers

trifle, and triflers philosophize--to exhibit precept in action--and

to surprise the judgment through the medium of the passions and the

love of the marvellous,--ought to be the purposes of those who

cultivate this interesting branch of literary composition.