If a fair estimate were at any moment to be taken of the time employed
in the real business of the country, and that consumed by public
characters in vindicating their conduct, recapitulating their good
intentions, and glossing over their had acts, it would be found that the
former was to the latter as the ratio of Falstaff's bread to the “sack.”
A British House of Commons is in fact nineteen out of every twenty hours
employed in the pleasant personalities of attack and defence. It is
something that the “noble baron” said last session, or the “right hon.
baronet” did n't say in the present one, engrosses all their attention;
and the most animated debates are about certain expressions of some
“honourable and learned gentleman,” who always uses his words in a sense
different from the rest of the nation.
If this satisfies the public and stuffs the newspapers, perhaps I should
not repine at it; but certainly it is very fatiguing and tiresome to any
man with a moderately good memory to preserve the excellent traditions
each ministry retains of their own virtues, and how eloquently the
opposition can hold forth upon the various good things they would have
done, had they been left quietly on the treasury benches. Now how much
better and more business-like would it be if, instead of leaving these
gentlemen to dilate and expatiate on their own excellent qualities, some
public standards were to be established, by which at a glance the world
at large could decide on their merits and examine into their fitness for
office at a future period. Your butler and your coachman, when leaving
your service, do not present themselves to a new master with characters
of their own inditing, or if they did they would unquestionably require
a very rigid scrutiny. What would you say if a cook who professes
herself a perfect treasure of economy and excellence, warrants herself
sober, amiable, and cleanly--who, without other vouchers for her fitness
than her own, would dilate on her many virtues and accomplishments, and
demand to be taken into your service because she has higher taste for
self-panegyric than her rival. Such a thing would be preposterous in the
kitchen, but it is exactly what takes place in parliament, and there is
but one remedy for it. Let her majesty's servants, when they leave their
places, receive written characters, like those of less exalted persons.
These documents would then be on record when the applicants sought other
situations, and could be referred to with more confidence by the nation
than if given by the individuals themselves.
How easily would the high-flown sentiments of any of the “outs” be
tested by a simple comparison with his last character--how clearly would
pretension be measured by what he had done in his last place. No long
speeches, no four-hour addresses would be required at the hustings then.
Show us your character, would be the cry--why did he leave his mistress?
the question.
The petty subterfuges of party would not stand such a test as this; all
the little miserable explanations--that it was a quarrel in the kitchen,
that the cook said this and the footman said that, would go for nothing.
You were turned out, and why?--that's the bone and sinew of the matter.
To little purpose would my Lord John remind his party that he was going
to do every thing for every body--to plunder the parsons and pay the
priests--to swamp the constitution and upset the church--respectable
people would take time to look at his papers; they would see that he was
an active little busy man, accustomed to do the whole work of a family
single-handed; that he was in many respects attentive and industrious,
but had a following of low Irish acquaintances whom he let into the
house on every occasion, and that then nothing escaped them--they
smashed the furniture, broke the looking-glasses, and kicked up a
regular row: for this he was discharged, receiving all wages due.
And then, instead of suffering long-winded panegyrics from the member
for Tiverton, how easily would the matter be comprehended in one
line--“a good servant, lively, and intelligent, but self-sufficient, and
apt to take airs. Turned off for quarrelling with the French valet next
door, and causing a difference between the families.”
Then again, how decisively the merits of a certain ex-chancellor might
be measured in reading--“hired as butler, but insisted on cleaning the
carriage, and scratched the panels; would dress the dinner, and spoiled
the soup and burned the sauce; never attended to his own duties, but
spent his time fighting with the other servants, and is in fact a
most troublesome member of a household. He is, however, both smart and
intelligent, and is allowed a small pension to wait on company days.”
Trust me, this plan, if acted on--and I feel it cannot be long
neglected--will do more to put pretension on a par with desert, than all
the adjourned debates that waste the sessions; it would save a world of
unblushing self-praise and laudation, and protect the country from the
pushing impertinence of a set of turned-off servants.