If it be no part of the English constitution, it is certainly part of
the constitution of Englishmen to grumble. They cannot help it, even if
they tried; not that they ever do try, quite the reverse, but they could
not help grumbling if they tried ever so much. A true-born Englishman is
born grumbling. He grumbles at the light, because it dazzles his eyes,
and he grumbles at the darkness, because it takes away the light. He
grumbles when he is hungry, because he wants to eat; he grumbles when he
is full, because he can eat no more. He grumbles at the winter, because
it is cold; he grumbles at the summer, because it is hot; and he grumbles
at spring and autumn, because they are neither hot nor cold. He grumbles
at the past, because it is gone; he grumbles at the future, because it
is not come; and he grumbles at the present, because it is neither the
past nor the future. He grumbles at law, because it restrains him; and
he grumbles at liberty, because it does not restrain others. He grumbles
at all the elements--fire, water, earth, and air. He grumbles at fire,
because it is so dear; at water, because it is so foul; at the earth, in
all its combinations of mud, dust, bricks, and sand; and at the air, in
all its conditions of hot or cold, wet or dry. All the world seems as if
it were made for nothing else than to plague Englishmen, and set them
a-grumbling. The Englishman must grumble at nature for its rudeness, and
at art for its innovation; at what is old, because he is tired of it; and
at what is new, because he is not used to it. He grumbles at everything
that is to be grumbled at; and when there is nothing to grumble at, he
grumbles at that. Grumbling cleaves to him in all the departments of
life; when he is well, he grumbles at the cook; and when he is ill, he
grumbles at the doctor and nurse. He grumbles in his amusements, and he
grumbles in his devotion; at the theatres he grumbles at the players,
and at church he grumbles at the parson. He cannot for the life of him
enjoy a day’s pleasure without grumbling. He grumbles at his enemies, and
he grumbles at his friends. He grumbles at all the animal creation, at
horses when he rides on them, at dogs when he shoots with them, at birds
when he misses them, at pigs when they squeak, at asses when they bray,
at geese when they cackle, and at peacocks when they scream. He is always
on the look-out for something to grumble at; he reads the newspapers,
that he may grumble at public affairs; his eyes are always open to look
for abominations; he is always pricking up his ears to detect discords,
and snuffing up the air to find stinks. Can you insult an Englishman
more than by telling him he has nothing to grumble at? Can you by any
possibility inflict a greater injury upon him than by convincing him he
has no occasion to grumble? Break his head, and he will forget it; pick
his pocket, and he will forgive it, but deprive him of his privilege of
grumbling, you more than kill him--you expatriate him. But the beauty of
it is, you cannot inflict this injury on him; you cannot by all the logic
ever invented, or by all the arguments that ever were uttered, convince
an Englishman that he has nothing to grumble at; for if you were to do
so, he would grumble at you so long as he lived for disturbing his old
associations. Grumbling is a pleasure which we all enjoy more or less,
but none, or but few, enjoy it in all the perfection and completeness of
which it is capable. If we were to take a little more pains, we should
find, that having no occasion to grumble, we should have cause to grumble
at everything. But we grow insensible to a great many annoyances, and
accustomed to a great many evils, and think nothing of them. What a
tremendous noise there is in the city, of carts, coaches, drays, waggons,
barrel-organs, fish-women, and all manner of abominations, of which
they in the city take scarcely any notice at all! How badly are all
matters in government and administration conducted! What very bad bread
do the bakers make! What very bad meat do the butchers kill! In a word,
what is there in the whole compass of existence that is good? What is
there in human character that is as it should be? Are we not justified
in grumbling at everything that is in heaven above, or in the earth
beneath, or in the waters under the earth? In fact, gentle reader, is the
world formed or governed half so well as you or I could form or govern
it?--_From a newspaper._