when he arrived to undertake the superintendence of England, by the day,
week, month, or year; and, in fact, to do monarch's work in general. He
was proclaimed king in London, on the 1st of August, 1714, but was in
no particular hurry to enter upon his new dignity, for he only arrived,
_via_ Greenwich, on the 18th of September, and his coronation took place
on the 20th of October following. He was of course old enough to
know pretty well what he was about; and though he had attained that
respectable maturity which, among the feathered tribe, is believed to
form a protection against capture by chaff, he seems to have acted on
the impression that younger birds might certainly be caught by the same
unsatisfactory material. His first plan, therefore, upon his arrival,
was to go about uttering what he called his "maxim," which he said was
"never to abandon his friends, to do justice to all the world, and to
fear no man." This egotistical puff for his own qualities may have been
politic, but it was by no means dignified, and reminds us more of the
old self-laudatory naval song, commencing "We tars have a maxim, d'ye
see," than of any language or sentiment becoming to the mouth and mind
of a monarch. If the English people had put upon the clap-trap sentiment
of the Hanoverian its true interpretation, they would have seen that it
pledged him more to his old subjects than engaged him to his new ones;
and the result of his reign quite justified the view we are disposed to
take of the meaning of his "maxim."
Immediately on the death of Anne, the Privy Council had met and deputed
the Earl of Dorset to go over and apprise George of his accession to
the Crown, when the earl mixed up the announcement with so many fulsome
compliments, that flattery took the name of Dorset butter--a figure that
has remained in force from those days to the present.
One of the best, and perhaps the boldest acts of the Council, was the
appointment of Mr. Addison--the celebrated contributor to what was
termed _par excellence_ the P. P. or popular periodical of the day--to
a post in the Government. The late ministry had been ignominiously
displaced, and Bolingbroke used to dangle about at the door of the
Council-room with a bag of papers in his hand, expecting, or at least
hoping to be called in, while menials were instructed to deride, or, as
the modern phrase has it, to "chaff" him in the passages. Bolingbroke
was mean enough to brook even this for the chance of place; but he would
occasionally turn round and shake his fist, including his bag, in
a menacing manner at the crew who passed upon him these insults.
Occasionally they would slap him on the back, exclaiming, "Well, Bolly,
my boy, you are indeed a regular out-and-outer." Nor can it be doubted
that, had the air been popular at the period, the Ethiopian melody of
"Who's dat knocking at de door?" would have been frequently sung or
whistled in the face of Bolingbroke by the scamps in the waiting-room.
[Illustration: 639]
The king had only just arrived, and had merely gone into his bedroom to
put on a clean collar--that of the Order of the Garter, if we may hazard
a shrewd guess--when a party of Whigs rushed in, and began to ear-whig
him with the utmost industry. In fact, the touting that took place for
the vacant offices can only be imagined by an individual who has once
landed at Boulogne, and found him-self torn to pieces by the hirsute
representatives of some fifty hotels, each anxious to accommodate the
new arrival. The whole of the Whig party pounced upon George, and thrust
their pretensions before him with the perseverance of the class of
Frenchmen, commonly called commissioners, to whom we have alluded.
As these persons snatch at a traveller's cloak, walking-stick, or
carpet-bag, the Whig touters almost snatched at gold sticks, official
portfolios, or anything else they could lay their hands upon. "Allow
me to take charge of your conscience, sir," roared Lord Cowper; "you'll
find it very heavy to carry, sir; pray give it to me, sir; I'll take it
down for you, sir;" and thus the Chancellorship was in a measure seized
by this determined place-hunter. "You'll lose that privy seal, sir, if
you don't take care," bellowed the Earl of Wharton; "you had much
better entrust it to me; there are some very bad characters about just
now,"--and thus, by a mixture of warning and worry, the privy seal was
secured for himself by the rapacious nobleman.
Bolingbroke, after hanging about the official passages for a short time
longer, now listening at the door, now peeping through the keyhole, and
alternately bullied or bantered by his more fortunate rivals as
they passed to and fro, resolved on flying to the Continent. Several
significant exclamations of "You'd better be off!" "Come, come, this
won't do!" and "We can't have a parcel of idle fellows lurking about the
Treasury!" convinced him that he had nothing to hope, and everything to
fear from the new Parliament. He accordingly took from the corner of his
sitting-room an old official wand, and sobbing out, "Farewell, my once
cherished stick!" he cut it for ever. The monopoly of all the snug
places by the Whigs rendered them extremely overbearing, and as
"Britons never, never, never will be slaves" to the same party for any
considerable length of time, they became impatient of Whig arrogance,
and ready for an alterative in the shape of some regular old Tory
tyranny. The king became unpopular, and his birthday passed over without
the smallest notice, as if to hint to him that he was not to be borne at
all, unless he changed his system.
George, instead of conciliating, attempted to crush the disaffected, and
like a bad equestrian mounted on a restive horse, he began pulling
at the rein ana tightening the curb, instead of mildly but firmly
exclaiming, "Wo, wo, boys! steady, boys; steady!" to his now somewhat
frisky people. The Habeas Corpus Act--the great British Free List--was
suspended, and the Pretender was used as a pretence to alarm the people,
and reconcile them to the most arbitrary measures. The Riot Act was
in this year, 1715, read a third time and passed, but it has this
peculiarity, which distinguishes it from every other legislative Act,
that it requires to be read again on every occasion of its being brought
into requisition.
These measures only added fuel to the fire that was now setting the
country in a blaze; and even the University of Oxford was threatened
with assault by Major-General Pepper, who was the first to make the now
venerable joke about mustard, which, with all our courage, we confess we
dare not chronicle.*
* The curious reader is referred to "Joe Miller." Perhaps
the edition brought out under the title of "The Family Joe
Miller," is the best for the student's purposes.
In the north, the insurrection took a very bold form, and Mr. Forster,
a gentleman of great ability--a barrister, we believe--joined with the
Earl of Derwentwater, who was ready with all his retainers, the only
kind of retainers, by the way, with which his learned colleague was at
all familiar. Being joined by some gentlemen in blue bonnets, who had
come from over the border, they proclaimed the Pretender, and would
have seized upon Newcastle, with the intention of sparing the coals and
sacking only the city; but the gate had been shut, and the whole party
was not strong enough to force it open. They retired therefore to
Hexham, and a literary gentleman among them bewailed their failure as he
sat in the coffee-room of the inn at Hexham, in doleful hexameters. They
next retired by way of Lancaster to Preston, whose Pans they hoped would
prove preserving pans to themselves; but General Wills being sent to
attack them, proved the fact, that where there are the Wills there are
always the ways of accomplishing an object.
Mr. Forster, hearing that there was no hope, despatched a trumpeter--a
gentlemanly young man, who was quite equal to a solo of the kind--to
negociate a treaty. He could get no other answer than an intimation that
the rebels might expect to be slaughtered; and, being very much cut
up by the news, they wisely resolved to surrender. The noblemen and
officers of the party were sent to London, where they were led through
the streets bound together and pinioned, which caused one of them to
wish that his pinions were those of a bird, so that he might be enabled
to fly away from his captivity. Though the Pretender must have known,
or might have known, that his pretentions were about as hopeless as they
could possibly be, he resolved on landing in Scotland, and he positively
arrived with nothing more than a special train of six gentlemen. He came
in disguise, and passed through Aberdeen without being known, till he
came to Feterosse, where he was met by the Earl of Mar and thirty nobles
of the first quality, though all their quality could not of course make
up for their lamentable deficiency in quantity. When the Pretender saw
his friend's beggarly show of adherents, he addressed Mar with great
levity, telling him he had been "a sad Mar to his hopes," and indulged
in other poor frivolities. "As I've come, however," he added, "I may
as well be proclaimed." And the ceremony was gone through with mock
gravity. He next proceeded to Scone, "for," said he, "we must have a
coronation, you know." And he behaved altogether in such a manner as to
lead us to believe that he relished the ludicrous points of his own very
ridiculous position. Having gone so far in the mockery, he crowned the
absurdity instead of being crowned himself, by making a speech to
his grand council, intimating that he had no arms to fight with, no
ammunition to load the arms with if he possessed any, and no money to
purchase the ammunition if he felt disposed to try its effects upon his
enemies. Under these circumstances, he intimated that his presence among
them should be regarded as a flying visit, just to say "How d'ye do?"
and "Good-bye"; after which, with the latter salutation on his lips, he
popped into a boat, and was "off again" for the Continent.
Instead of allowing this miserable rebellion to die a natural death--we
cannot say that it ended in smoke, for the rebels had no money to
purchase gunpowder--the Government of the day had the rashness to keep
the thing alive by prosecuting those who had been concerned in it.
Half a dozen nobles were seized and put upon their trial, when the
poor creatures whimpering out an acknowledgment of their guilt, were
sentenced to death, and two were taken to the scaffold. A third, the
Lord Nithesdale, had also been condemned; but his mother having come
to see him in prison, they got up between them a dramatic incident, by
effecting an exchange of dress; and while the lady remained in gaol like
a man, the gentleman walked away in female attire.
The prosecutions were not limited to the chiefs of this rebellious
movement--if that can be called a movement which stuck fast in its very
first steps--but some of the humblest adherents, or suspected adherents,
of the Pretender's cause were included in the proceedings taken by the
Government. Several were hanged, and some hundreds experienced what was
facetiously termed the "royal mercy," by undergoing transportation for
life to North America. This unnecessary and injudicious rigour had the
effect of making the Government so unpopular, that, although according
to the Triennial Act the Parliament ought to have been dissolved,
the ministers were afraid of appealing to the country, and formed the
audacious determination to introduce a Septennial Act, which, by the
force of perseverance and impudence combined, was positively carried.
Though George resided personally in England, his heart had never quitted
Hanover, and he was continually keeping his eye upon the aggrandisement
of that paltry electorate. For this purpose, he made free use of English
money; and having intelligence at all times of the small duchies that
the poverty of their owners occasionally threw into the market, he
picked up those of Bremen and Verden at a very low figure.
Among the inconveniences occasioned to this country by allowing the
sceptre to get into foreign hands, was the involving of England in
foreign quarrels about foreign interests. Spain being in an unpleasant
predicament, called upon George the First to join a league in her
favour, and threatened to repudiate his claims to his dismal little
duchies of Bremen and Verden, if he did not take the step that was
required of him. As he could not well commit himself thus far, a war was
commenced against England, and a Spanish expedition under the Duke of
Ormond was fitted out to make a descent upon Scotland. With that
happy adroitness in ruling the waves for which Britannia has long been
celebrated, she caused them to rise as one billow against the hostile
fleet, which was rapidly dispersed by the ocean's uppishness. Though
the buoyancy of Britain, assisted by the boisterous energy of the sea,
defeated the attempts of foreign powers, the internal condition of the
country was far from satisfactory. King George neither comprehended the
character nor the language of his new subjects, and a good understanding
between the prince and the people was therefore impossible. His majesty
spent as much time and as much money as he could upon the Continent,
leaving his ministers to propose what measures they pleased, while he
transmitted by post his consent to them, without knowing, or caring to
inquire their object.
Perhaps, however, the heaviest blow that England's prosperity ever
received was the result of one of the most marvellous instances on
record of a co-operation between knavery and folly. To add to the
extraordinary character of the infatuation we are about to record, the
scheme that led to it was not original, and the victims had consequently
received a warning by which they failed to profit. A Scotchman of the
name of Law had swindled the whole of France by starting a company
to pick up fortunes in the Mississippi, which proved one of the most
gigantic misses ever known; but as one batch of fools will make many, it
was calculated, shrewdly enough, that the Mississippi hoax, instead of
putting people on their guard against fraud, would have just the effect
of preparing them to be taken in by it.
A scrivener named Blunt--a fellow of uncommon sharpness, whose name is
emblematical of a great partiality for cash--suggested a concern called
the South Sea Company, which was to purchase all the debts due from
the Government to all trading corporations, and thus become the sole
creditor of the State. The National Debt was in fact to be bought up,
and as there is a pretty clear understanding that the National Debt
never will, or never can be paid, the advantages of the project must,
upon the slightest reflection, have appeared at best apocryphal. The
scrip in this grand concern came out heavy, for the securities were
flatter than the public, when a bright idea flashed across the mind of
Blunt for raising the wind and puffing up the shares in the South Sea
Scheme to the utmost height that could be desired. He spread a report
through paid paragraphs in the newspapers, that Gibraltar and Minorca
were about to be exchanged for Peru, and the whole world went mad at the
peru-sal. The story of this monstrous piece of universal insanity
would afford a fine subject for an article from the pen of Dr. Forbes
Winslow; * and indeed had he lived in the eighteenth century, the whole
population would have been worthy to become the patients of that able
and experienced master of the science of mental pathology.
* See the "Journal of Psychological Medicine and Mental
Pathology." Edited by Forbes Winslow, M.D.
The mental aberration of the public proved itself in the most
preposterous demand for shares from persons willing to stake not only
every penny they had, but many pounds which they had not. The proverb
that "one fool makes many," found a parallel in the fact that one knave
makes many; for the South Sea schemer called into existence a number of
imitators, all anxious to profit by the credulity which he had excited.
One adventurer made his fortune one fine morning by issuing a prospectus
intimating that he would secure to every one who paid two guineas on
the instant, an annuity of £100. The preliminary deposits poured in so
plentifully that he obtained two thousand subscribers in a few hours,
though the details of the plan were only to be forthcoming at some
future day. We regret exceedingly our inability to form an opinion on
the merits of this project, for its originator having been called away
suddenly on the very night after the first day's subscriptions had been
paid in, pursued his way to the Continent by the light of the moon,
and has never yet returned. Charity bids us presume that he died in the
effort to mature the gigantic idea he had conceived for enriching those
who had honoured him with their cash and their confidence. A few little
episodes of this description tended to shake the faith of the public in
the great parent hoax, and the monster bubble, formed, as it were, by
the whole of the South Sea concentrated into one tremendous drop, gave
symptoms of dropping to the ground. Those who witnessed the Railway
Mania of 1845 can form a conception--though a very inadequate one--of
the madness that prevailed in the early part of the eighteenth century,
under the cunning influence of Blunt, who, strange to say, was a living
illustration of a marvellous misnomer, for this Blunt was the essence of
sharpness, at a time when obtuseness was the characteristic of all the
rest of the community.
The amiable weakness which, in 1845, induced the whole population to
concur in planning railways for every hole and corner of the world, the
philanthropy which would have whirled the Cherokees through the air at
sixty miles an hour and twenty per cent, profit, or brought Kamschatka,
Chelsea, the Catskill Mountains, Knightsbridge, and Niagara, all into a
group by the aid of trunk-lines or branches connecting the whole of them
together, the mixture of benevolence and self-interest which suggested
these noble achievements, cannot bear a comparison with the universality
of the movement that the South Sea Bubble called forth. Its bursting,
however, nearly swamped the entire nation, for the bubble had been so
extensive that scarcely any one escaped its influence, or could keep his
head above water, when the awful inundation occurred.
Royalty itself had not been exempt from the prevailing madness, and the
Prince of Wales had been appointed Governor of the Welsh Copper Company,
which was to have supplied saucepans to the whole civilised world, and
kept the pot boiling for the inhabitants of every corner of the globe.
The capital proposed to be raised for all the various bubbles in
agitation, amounted to £300,000,000, though few of the concerns had even
the capital of the _soi-disant_ millionaire in the farce, who having
made promises of boundless liberality, and undertaken to make the
fortune of the waiting-maid of his _inamorata_, finished with a tender
of a threepenny piece as an earnest of his future bounty.
It would form a curious chapter in this or any other history, to trace
the fluctuations in South Sea Stock; but we cannot afford to convert our
pages into a share list of the eighteenth century. Upon the first fall
in the stock, attempts were made to preserve it from a further decline,
first by shutting up the transfer books, and secondly by preposterous
promises of impossible dividends. The directors kindly guaranteed fifty
per cent, for twelve years, from and after the ensuing Christmas; and it
is probable that the old saying, that "Such a thing is coming, and so is
Christmas" first arose out of the South Sea Bubble, for the stock fell
from eight hundred to one hundred and fifty, between the 26th of August,
when the prospect was held out, and the 30th of September, when people
had got a shrewd suspicion that it would never be realised.
In proportion to the extreme credulity the nation had shown, was the
savage disappointment it now exhibited. The directors of the South Sea
Company who had been encouraged in their audacious swindling by the
blind rapacity of their dupes--who in their haste to devour everything
they could lay hold of, swallowed every knavish story they were
told--the directors, who after all had merely speculated on the avarice
and stupidity of the rest of the world, were assailed with the utmost
vindictiveness. Their conduct was brought before Parliament; some of
them were taken into custody, ana all were called upon to explain the
grounds on which these calculations of profit were made, though the
stockholders were not required to state what reasons they had for
believing with their eyes shut, all the evidently fallacious promises
that had been held out to them. A confiscation of the property of most
of the directors took place, and an inquiry before Parliament proved
that several members of the Legislature, and even ministers, had
received considerable slices of South Sea Stock for their assistance in
promulgating this monster swindle.
The ruin that had been brought upon all classes of society, was
aggravated by a necessity for further taxation to carry on the increased
expense of Home Government, and of the costly foreign relations which
the country had entered into. It has unfortunately happened that the
foreign relations of England have been generally very poor relations,
and they have consequently taken a great deal out of her pockets by
their necessities, while they have added little to her respectability by
their position and character. Like poor relations in general, they were
a dreadful drag, and it was necessary to contribute to their support by
putting fresh burdens on the British people. Among these was a tax on
malt, which, being extended to Scotland, caused a general fermentation;
for the Scotch were always remarkable for their love of whisky, which
they easily promoted into a love of liberty, when it suited at once
their pocket and their purpose to assume the attitude of patriots. The
tax--not the whisky--was, however, crammed down their throats in spite
of the cry they had succeeded in getting up for untaxed toddy, which
they, of course, pronounced to be the safeguard of their constitution,
as everything else becomes in its turn when it seems to be placed
in jeopardy. The rioters, however, could get no persons of rank or
influence to join in the great whisky movement, which the masses had
taken into their heads, and order was restored after a few lives had
been sacrificed.
On the 2nd of November, 1726, Sophia Dorothea, nominally, but never
practically, Queen of England, died in the prison at Hanover, to which
her husband had committed her. This lady had formed an attachment for a
Count Koningsmark, whom the king, her husband, then Elector of Hanover,
unceremoniously butchered in an anteroom. As the historians who have
preceded us call his majesty a strong-minded man, we presume that there
is something intellectually vigorous in the commission of a murder,
though we confess we are at a loss to discover the extraordinary fact
which other writers appear to have recognised. Not very long after the
death of his wife George repaired--or rather, he went very much out of
repair, for his health was greatly damaged--to Hanover. He was taken
very ill on the road, and was seized with apoplexy to the unhappy
perplexity of his attendants, whom he nevertheless desired to "push
along and keep moving." They accordingly did so, and the royal carriage
was hastened, but his majesty was only being driven to extremities, for
on the 11th of June, 1727, he expired at Osnaburgh, in the sixty-eighth
year of his age, and the thirteenth of his reign.
The particulars of his death have been very circumstantially given, and
as they are rather characteristic of George the First, we will give
them with our accustomed brevity. He had been in perfect health on the
previous evening, and ate a hearty supper of sheep's hearts, including
a tremendous melon, to which the melancholy result has been attributed.
Resuming his journey towards Hanover at 3 a.m. he was seized with
griping pains, but believing that one mischief would correct another, he
fancied the supper that had disagreed with him would be counteracted in
its consequences by a dinner, which he began lustily calling for. When
it was placed before him he could eat nothing--an incapacity so unusual
with George, or as some called him, Gorge the First, that his attendants
were seized with alarm and astonishment. Having again entered his
carriage, he exclaimed in quaint French, "_C'est fait de moi_" which we
need scarcely intimate means either "I'm done for," or "It's all up
with me." In the course of the same night his existence coming to an end
proved the too fatal accuracy of his own conclusion.
George the First had nothing in his character to justify us in keeping
George the Second waiting to be shown up to the throne, where in the
ensuing chapter we shall have the pleasure of seeing him. The first
George was a person of somewhat feeble intellects, exceedingly shy in
public, but he could "come out" at a private tea-party at home very
effectively. His tastes were none of the most refined, and he voted all
letters exceedingly dry but O.D.V.--such was the wretched pun the king
made on _eau de vie_--which he was very partial to. It might be regarded
as a redeeming point in the character of his majesty that he was very
fond of Punch, which he regularly "took in," but this feather in his cap
must be plucked out, for we find the Punch he patronised was the liquor,
and not the periodical. Avarice was another of the most prominent
features of his character, and he actually risked the throne itself
on several occasions, because he would not spare a few pounds for the
purchase of that floating loyalty that, in consequence of the venality
and poverty of the ancient aristocracy, was always to be had at a
certain price in the market. He had also the shabby trick of never
carrying any money in his own pocket, so that he was always obliged to
dip into the pockets of his companions to pay the expenses incurred,
either at home or abroad, and many of his Court used to get as far away
as possible from the side of the king when there was anything to pay,
for he was sure to ask them for a loan on such occasions.
It seems from pretty good authority that he fancied himself to be an
usurper; but he flattered himself a great deal too much in believing
that the English nation would have quietly allowed an act of usurpation
from so unimportant a personage as he would have been, but for the
position into which he was called by the voice of the people. He
preferred Hanover to England; "but," says Smith, "there is no accounting
for tastes," and we will therefore make no effort to unravel the mystery
of this absurd preference.
The Court of George the First was remarkable for its laxity, though
there was more external propriety than used to prevail in the days of
Charles the Second. The latter monarch openly offended against the rules
of decency; but George the First was just as bad in a quiet way, and
imported into the aristocracy of England two or three vulgar, low-born,
German, female favourites, whose successors now boast of their
illustrious ancestors.
It is a somewhat interesting fact that charity schools were first
established in the year 1698, when the predecessor of George the First
was on the throne; and the antiquarian will perhaps tell us whether the
muffin-cap is of greater antiquity than the muffin. We believe such to
be the case, for the muffin is of comparatively modern date, and is the
contemporary of its rival or companion, the crumpet. How the muffin-cap
came to put the muffin into anybody's head is a question too difficult
for any but the archaeologist.
[Illustration: 647]
CHAPTER THE FIFTH. GEORGE THE SECOND.
While George the First was alive, he and the Prince of Wales were always
having high words in low Dutch to the discredit of themselves and the
disgust of the bewildered courtiers. To such a pitch had the animosity
between father and son been carried, that young Master George, the
heir apparent to the throne, had been forbidden the palace, and he had
frequently held long conversations through the fan-light with the hall
porter, who could only show his face above the door-way, and exclaim,
"Very sorry, your royal highness, but it's the governor's orders, and I
can't let you in." Which of these two unnatural relatives may have been
most to blame we are not in a condition to determine, but the father
who shuts his doors against a son, and drives him from home, is, _prime
facie_, a brute, and George the First's conduct to his wife affords
collateral evidence of his being devoid of feeling towards those who
were nearly allied to him. It may be generally taken for granted that
sons are only indifferent towards parents who are bad, and if young
George failed in respect or affection towards old George, it was because
old George had done nothing to inspire in young George the sentiments
which should have been entertained by a son for his father.
Sir Robert Walpole, the minister, had endeavoured to bring the precious
couple together on friendly terms, but they would often quarrel in his
presence, and appeal to Sir Robert, until the frequency with which they
invoked the support of their referee, by loud exclamations of "So
help me Bob!" turned the phrase into a proverb, which is to this day
prevalent among the lower and more energetio classes of the community.
When George the Second came to the throne, he expressed his desire to
"keep on" Sir Robert Walpole as minister, if the situation continued
to suit that individual, whose acknowledgment that he was "very
comfortable." concluded the arrangement for the continuance of the
existing Government.
Walpole was one of the most dishonest ministers that ever lived, and it
was his policy to resort to corruption of the grossest kind to ensure
success; "for," as he would sometimes say, "the manure must not be
spared, if you wish for an abundant harvest." He accordingly laid it
on so extravagantly thick, that the expenses of the cultivation of his
political connections was prodigious, and the national resources were
frequently dipped into, for the purpose of serving the personal objects
of the minister. The sinking fund had a tremendous hole made in it,
where--to steal a figure from the plumber's art--a waste-pipe was
inserted, and laid on to the pocket of the premier, who, collecting the
floating capital into a private reservoir of his own, turned it on among
his creatures with great prodigality. To meet the drain that was going
on, new taxes were imposed, or in other words, the people were treated
as if they had been an Artesian well, and were bored to the most
frightful extent for the sort of currency by which a liquidation of the
liabilities of the State was to be effected.
The nation, recognising a swindling spirit in its rulers, gave symptoms
of the imitative mania which invariably causes the vices of the great to
be copied by the little. Speculations of the wildest and most dishonest
nature were set on foot among every class, from the highest to the
lowest, and there is no question that the Rogue's March would have been
the most appropriate National Anthem for the period. From quiet fraud,
the country soon fell into downright robbery, and the people got into
the habit of plundering each other in the thoroughfares, without going
through the formality--common in our own days of issuing a prospectus,
and advertising a project. The first advertisement generally came upon
the victim in the shape of a blow upon the head in the public streets;
the preliminary deposit was extorted from him in the shape of the first
article of value that could be easily snatched away, and the calls were
exacted in rapid succession by a demand upon every one of his pockets.
There was no hope of protection from the police, for the members of the
force were too busy in robbing on their own account to bother themselves
about the robberies that were being committed by others. It was, in
fact, a case of Every Man his Own Pickpocket; and protection, being
everybody's business, was soon considered nobody's business, until the
whole kingdom was exposed to a sort of daily scramble, in the course of
which Shakespeare's description of Iago's purse, "'Twas mine, 'tis his,"
was every hour realised. Things were, of course, in a most unsettled
state, for nobody thought of settling anything--not even a washing
bill--during the existence of the universal plunder system, and a riot
every other day was the ordinary average of popular turbulence. Even
the Scotch grew warm, and becoming conscientiously opposed to the legal
infliction of death, they attended the execution of a smuggler to make
a great moral demonstration against capital punishment. In the excess
of their philanthropic sympathy with the convict, they began pelting the
authorities, who were on the point of being murdered, when John Porteus,
the captain of the guard, interfered to save the lives of his comrades.
Some time afterwards, the philanthropists, to prove their consistent
abhorrence of the punishment of death, seized upon Porteus, who had
officiated in keeping the peace at the execution, and hanged him at the
Salt Market.
In the year 1737 the queen died, and the king sent up a piteous howl,
though he had ill-used her majesty on many occasions; but it was well
remarked by a philosopher of the period, that by the sincerity with
which George the Second wept her dead, he almost teaches us to forget
the severity with which he wapt her living.
The year 1740 was rendered remarkable by a severe frost, which confined
Father Thames to his bed with a dreadful cold, until the 17th of
February, from the 26th of December previous. A fair was held on the
ice, but amid these rejoicings the watermen were dissatisfied at being
deprived of their ordinary fare, and the fishermen complained that they
had been able to net nothing during the frost's continuance.
The disputes of the Continent furnished occupation, as usual, for
English troops and English money, nor was it long before a difference
between the Elector of Bavaria and Maria Theresa caused the Earl of
Stair to be sent to keep his eyes open, with sixteen thousand men, in
the lady's interest. Stair, after staring at sixty thousand Frenchmen
face to face for some time, began to think he had a very poor look out,
though joined by the king himself, and his son, the Duke of Cumberland.
The whole three of them got beaten like so many old sacks by Marshal
Saxe at the battle of Fontenoy. Cumberland, who had put his best leg
forward, got it badly wounded. George rode along the lines--at the back,
we believe--urging on the soldiers to fight for their king, while Stair
seems to have been lost sight of, or perhaps to have run away, though we
must admit that this flight of Stairs must be considered apocryphal.
While these disasters were going on abroad, a correspondence was being
kept up between the Pretender, James Stuart, and his British friends,
who promised that if he or his son Charles Edward would effect a landing
in Scotland, there should be a good supply of horses and carriages;
but one would imagine his friends were a parcel of jobmasters, by the
quality of the aid they tendered, and indeed a job was their object,
for all but the most unprincipled of the party were for abandoning the
hopeless project.
Though James himself was a bird far too venerable to be attracted by
Caledonian chaff, his son was sanguine enough to hope that by coming
over to be met by a few glass coaches and hackney chariots, his cause
would be aided. He wrote to say when he might be expected, and without
waiting for an answer, he put to sea in a small frigate. He was joined
by the _Elizabeth_, a sixty-gun ship, when an English liner, called the
_Lion_, appeared on the foaming main, and an engagement commenced, which
rendered it necessary for the _Elizabeth_ to go into Brest harbour for
refuge. At the end of eighteen days he reached the Hebrides, but the
prospect was so wretched that the few adherents who met him recommended
him very strongly to be off again as speedily as possible. Charles
Edward was, however, obstinate, and on the 11th of August, 1745, he took
out of his portmanteau and unfurled the banner of the Stuarts in the
pass of Glenfinnan. Attempts were made to obtain recruits, but they
poured, or rather dribbled in so slowly, that the whole insurrection
might have been broken up had it been nipped in the bud; but while Sir
John Cope, the commander of the king's forces, was capering about the
hills, and dragging his army of flats across the mountains, the young
Charles Edward gained time enough to add to the strength of his company.
Cope not coming up to cope with the rebels, they pushed on to Perth
and Stirling, but they soon made an acquisition of still more sterling
value, by taking possession of Edinburgh. Here the young prince, who
had landed only with seven adherents, found himself at the head of four
thousand men, most of whom had neither arms nor discipline, but brimming
over with the froth of enthusiasm, they presented to their chief a
refreshing aspect.
Sir John Cope, having fumbled his way out of the hills, had got to
Preston among the pans, where he was seized with a panic, and being set
upon by the Scotch, was utterly routed. Returning to Edinburgh after
his success Prince Charles Edward had King James proclaimed in the usual
form; and the King of France, who had stood aloof while the result was
doubtful, sent over a small parcel of arms and a few packets of powder,
by way of encouragement. He promised also that a French army should
soon follow the arms, for Charles Edward had no soldiers to match
the matchless matchlocks that had arrived from the French sovereign.
Trusting to the word of his Gallic majesty, the young Pretender ventured
to cross the border in a blue bonnet, attended by a large body of
adherents in the same interesting coiffure, and on the 29th of November,
1745, he fixed his headquarters at Manchester.
[Illustration: 652]
The alarm excited in London was something utterly indescribable. People
who lived in the town rushed into the country to be out of the way, and
the inhabitants of the provinces poured into the metropolis as the best
place for avoiding danger. The householders took up arms, and formed
themselves into squares, crescents, lanes, streets, alleys, or anything.
Some bolted their doors, others bolted themselves, and all gave
unspeakable symptoms of terror and confusion. A camp was ordered to be
formed in the suburbs, and after getting a large force together it was
at first resolved to turn 'em out at Turaham Green, but Finchley was at
length decided upon as the place of rendezvous.
George, who had been summoned from Germany, came blustering over to
England, and began immediately to boast, in bad grammar and wretched
pronunciation, that he would "vite vor his Binglish bossessions," and
would "meet the Bretender how or where he bleased." His personal
valour was not put to the test, for Charles Edward, who had expected
instalments of friends to continue meeting him at every large town, had
the mortification to find that the more he kept looking for them the
more they kept on not coming; and eventually, by the unanimous voice
of his officers, he was compelled to retreat. When he first heard
their decision, he observed that the messenger must be joking, and
his features wore a faint smile, but when the porter who brought the
intelligence shook his head, as much as to say, "It's no joke, your
honour," the features of the young Pretender fell, and those who
watched him narrowly for the rest of his life, declare that he was never
afterwards seen to smile again.
It is impossible to recite the misfortunes of Charles Edward without
a feeling of grave sympathy at the failure of the many noble qualities
with which he was endowed. In April, 1746, he advanced to Culloden,
intending to astonish the English, but he and his followers, like the
individual named in the song who had resolved to "astonish the Browns,"
finished by astonishing no one but themselves.
The rebels advanced in two columns; but the soldiers fell asleep, and we
are not surprised at the fact, for any newspaper reader will admit that
in the very idea of two columns there is something soporific in the
extreme. The exhausted troops fell from fatigue; others lost their way;
and the second column found it impossible to keep up with the first.
This threw a damp upon the energies of even consternation on the
boldest; and with a mental ejaculation of "Oh! it's no use," the very
best of Charles Edward's adherents retired. Notwithstanding the valour
of a _corps_ consisting of picked men, there arose among them a feeling
of dissatisfaction at standing unsupported, to be picked out by the
artillery of the enemy; and though one gallant body withdrew, playing
on their pipes, the pipes were very soon put out by a smart shower of
bullets. Such was the upshot of one of the most spirited enterprises
that ever was undertaken; and its chief, the unfortunate Charles Edward,
became a pauper fugitive, with scarcely clothes to cover him, and there
was quite as much necessity as nationality in the bareness of his legs,
during the period of his wanderings.
One of these fogs which are so accommodating in romance, but very rarely
present themselves opportunely in history, was obliging enough to make
its appearance for that night only on an evening of September, 1746,
and by its kind assistance in doing the heavy business on that occasion,
Charles Edward was enabled to pass unobserved through an English
squadron, and cross in a vessel to Morlaix in Brittany. The unfortunate
Pretender seems to have taken his discomfiture so seriously to heart,
that from a fine spirited young fellow, he lapsed into all sorts of
excess, and having taken to drinking, he fell into a constant reel,
which formed the sole remaining vestige of his once enthusiastic
nationality. Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, walking about Florence in the year
1799, tumbled over an intoxicated individual, and raising him from the
ground, had no sooner carried him towards a light, than he recognised
the features of the young Pretender.
Matters might possibly have gone on very peaceably with England, for
there was nothing to fight about at home, but a dispute arose with the
French about the respective influence of the two nations in some of
their distant colonies. A contest for the Nabobship between some of the
native tribes in the Carnatic, became the subject of a desperate quarrel
between the two great European powers; one of whom supported the claims
of Anwar ad Dien, the other promoting the pretensions of Chunda
Sahib, and both caring, in fact, not a button about either. A war was,
nevertheless, entered upon with intense vehemence, and was carried on
for some time, with alternating success; but, not having the bulletins
of the day at hand, and the despatches being equally out of the way,
we are unable to give the particulars of the various contests. The
quarrelling, though at a great distance, made at the time sufficient
noise to be disagreeably audible at home, and preparations were made in
the two mother countries to send out large forces to thrash the children
on both sided out of their turbulence.
Though all this bickering had been going on for some time in the
colonies, war had not been formally declared; but whenever an English or
a French vessel had a chance of worrying the other, each made the most
of the opportunity. On one occasion, two French sail of the line
got treated very unceremoniously, and eventually captured; when the
Government of Paris began expressing a great deal of surprise and
indignation, and professing utter ignorance of the fact that the two
powers were quarrelling. It is absurd to suppose that France was sincere
in this declaration, for it could not have been understood to be "only
in fun," that the French and English were knocking each other about
most unmercifully and energetically in America. The circumstance of the
capture to which we have referred, caused an immediate understanding
that both parties were henceforth in earnest; and there was a mutual
calling-in of their outstanding ambassadors.
George, however, instead of thinking about the colonies, became
solicitous only about his "little place" at Hanover, and while he
neglected therefore the American war, which became a series of mishaps,
he threw his whole strength into the defence of the wretched spot, that
would not have been "had at a gift" even by the ambitious enemy.
Higher game was, in fact, in view; and the possession of the rock of
Gibraltar and the island of Minorca by the English having long been
envied, the French made up their minds to have a dish at one of them.
Gibraltar was speedily pronounced impracticable, but Minorca seemed to
be in a state of helplessness that tempted a resolute foe, and Fort
St. Philip was suddenly invested. No preparations having been made for
defence, the authorities ran about asking each other anxiously what
was to be done, for most of the officers of the garrison were absent on
leave; and General Blakeney, who was on the spot, though a very gallant
fellow, was old and shaky. His spirit was consequently more effective as
a fine piece of acting than for the purposes of actual war; and though
the old fellow, tottering about in his dressing-gown and slippers, might
have exclaimed "Aye, aye--let 'em come; I'm ready for them," and have
relapsed with affecting feebleness into the sufferings of a gouty
twinge, the spectacle, which might have been beautiful on the boards
of a theatre, was, in the midst of a town threatened with a siege, most
painfully ridiculous.
Relief was ordered from Gibraltar; but the governor, who was either
very stupid or did not like the job, pretended to, or really did
misunderstand the purport of the instructions sent out to him. At home,
the same want of energy prevailed, for the acting representative of the
Government picked out a few ill-manned vessels, which he dignified with
the name of a squadron; and calling to him an admiral, since notorious
but then unknown, observed to him, "Here, Byng; you had better take this
force, and go and see what they want at Fort St. Philip." Admiral Byng
did not at all like the job, and began to hesitate about undertaking
it; but being told to call at Gibraltar for fresh troops, he plucked up
sufficient pluck for the enterprise.
On his arrival at Gibraltar, the governor pretended not to know what
Byng had come about; and when asked for troops, merely exclaimed,
"Nonsense, nonsense; there's some mistake. I can't part with my
troops, for I'm as nervous as an old aspen myself, with the very little
protection that is left to me." Byng became more disheartened than ever
by the refusal of the expected aid, and went grumbling away, muttering,
"Well! they'll see; I know how it will end;" and giving vent to other
ejaculations of a similarly un-seaman like character. He wrote to the
Lords of the Admiralty, announcing the certainty of his making a mess of
it; and in speaking of the refusal of troops at Gibraltar, he in vulgar
but forcible language "gave it the governor." Having made up his mind
to a failure, it was not very difficult to accomplish the object, and
having gone to look at Fort St. Philip, he merely played, as it were, a
game at stare-cap with the sentinel on the look-out, but did not perform
a single operation with a view to its protection. In due course the
French fleet hove in sight, and it was expected that a brilliant action
would have taken place, for both squadrons immediately began manoeuvring
most beautifully until each had got into the line of battle. A little
harmless cannonading had commenced by way of overture to the anticipated
work, when the French slowly retired, and the English slowly following,
they disappeared together in the most harmless and indeed almost
friendly manner, to the astonishment of poor old Blakeney, who watched
them as long as the strength of his glasses would allow of his doing so.
Nothing could have been more orderly than the retreat on both sides;
and indeed it has been suggested by an old offender, who very naturally
refuses to give his name--"That if the affair we have described deserves
to be called a battle at all, the Battle of Co-runner"--mark the
deceptive spelling in the last syllable--"would be a good name for it."
The rage of the English, whose boast it had been to rule the waves, and
never, never, never to be slaves, may be conceived at the arrival of the
intelligence of Byng's bungle. The Government was the first object
of the popular fury; but the ministers were adroit enough to turn the
indignation of the people against the unfortunate admiral. Byng was,
no doubt, bad enough, though he was not the only guilty party; but his
fellow-culprits, taking a lesson from the pickpockets, who were the
first to raise after their accomplice the cry of "Stop thief!" began to
denounce the nautical delinquent with excessive vehemence. They recalled
him from his command, ordered him to Greenwich, and instead of allowing
him to partake in the amusements of the place, they imprisoned him with
the intimation that "None but the brave deserved the fair." The next
step was to bring him before a court-martial on a charge of cowardice
ana disobedience to orders, when, being found guilty, he was condemned
to be shot, and underwent at Portsmouth, on the 14th of March, 1757,
this rather redundant punishment. We are anxious to do what we can in
the way of sympathy for poor Byng, particularly after the little we find
that can be of any use to him in the pages of preceding historians. They
seem disposed to join in the cruel shout of "Sarve him right!" which a
vulgar and unthinking posterity has raised to hoot the memory of this
unfortunate officer. We are induced to look at him as a gentleman who
merely was unfit for the profession he had chosen, and as his was not an
uncommon case, we think it hard to look upon it with uncommon severity.
It is perhaps an odd coincidence, that an officer more eager for the
fray than Byng had urged the latter to enter into the action with the
French, when the dry observation "I'll be shot if I do," was the only
reply of the admiral. It cannot fail to strike the philosophic observer
at this distance of time, that Byng, when saying "I'll be shot if I
do"--that is, if he ever said as much--might have been profitably given
to understand that he would be shot if he didn't. It has been put forth
as a consolatory reflection that the naval service in general profited
by this melancholy execution of poor Byng; but though as a general rule,
what is desirable for the goose is equally advantageous to the gander,
we cannot in this instance agree that what was good for the men was at
the same time good for the admiral.
The treatment of poor Byng presents a very humiliating picture of the
want of firmness shown by the court-martial that tried, the ministers
that abandoned, and the king that would not pardon him. Everybody
affected a strong desire to see him saved, but nobody had the resolution
to take the responsibility of saving him. His sometimes merciless
majesty, the mob, formed in reality the executioners of poor Byng, for
the authorities were all afraid of risking their popularity by being
instrumental to his pardon. The members of the court-martial, by their
verdict, expressly implored the Lords of the Admiralty to recommend him
to the mercy of the crown, but there was a general feeling of "It's no
business of mine," and to this heartless apathy poor Byng was eventually
sacrificed. Never was there a better illustration of the hare with many
friends, though not even a hair-breadth escape was permitted to
the unfortunate admiral. Never was a gentleman killed under such an
accumulation of kindness as Byng, and indeed he was, figuratively
speaking, bowed out of existence with so many complimentary and
sympathetic expressions, that but for the stubborn reality of the leaden
bullets he might have fancied that the guns discharged at him were
intended rather in the nature of a salute than as a capital punishment.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH. GEORGE THE SECOND (CONCLUDED).
Discomfiture still attended the English in America, and though fresh
troops with fresh leaders were sent off to wipe out the disgrace, they
only got wiped out themselves in a most unceremonious manner. On the
continent of Europe, too, poor Britannia was at a sad discount; for
Austria, Saxony, Sweden and Russia had all thrown themselves into the
arms of France, for the purpose of counteracting the influence of the
arms of England. It was only in Indian ink that the creditable part of
our country's annals belonging to this period should be written, for
in India alone were any of our achievements entitled to some of those
epithets we are so fond of bestowing on our own actions. The British
Lion had, in fact, retired from the Continent to the Himalaya mountains,
where he remained on the majestic prowl as the protector of British
interests.
There was a natural jealousy between England and France on the subject
of their relative influence in that country, whose native princes were
honoured by the protection of both, and who were always mulcted of a
slice of their dominions by way of costs, for the expense incurred in
the alleged support of their interests. If the aggressor of one of the
Indian rulers happened to succeed, he took at once what he had been
fighting for; while if a defender of some unhappy rajah or nabob was
victorious, the native prince was made to pay all the same for the
protection afforded him.
By this sort of assistance rendered to the Indians, the English and
French had succeeded in helping themselves to a good share of territory,
and while the former had already obtained possession of Calcutta
and Madras, the latter had got at Pondicherry, a very respectable
establishment under Monsieur Duplex, whose duplicity was, of course,
remarkable. By espousing the causes of a set of quarrelsome nabobs,
Soubahdars, and other small fry, who had taken advantage of the death
of Nizam-ul-Mulk to raise a contest for the throne of the Deccan, the
English and the French had found plenty of excuses for quarreling, and
we are compelled to confess that in this part of the world the Gallic
cock had good reason for crowing over the British bull-dog.
Things might have continued in this unsatisfactory condition, had not
Captain Clive, a civilian in the Company's service, exchanged a pen
for a sword--a piece of barter that turned out extremely fortunate for
English interests. With a small body of troops he took the Citadel of
Arcot, nabbed the nabob, and prevented Duplex from setting up a creature
of his own--a disagreeable Indian creature--in that capacity. After this
achievement, Clive had gone home for his health, and was drinking every
morning a quantity of Clive's tea, when in 1755 he accepted a colonelcy,
and returned to the scene of his former glories. Here he was rendered
very angry by a pirate of the name of Angria, whom however he quickly
subdued; and he had heard from Madras that a mad-rascal named Suraja
Dowlar was in the neighbourhood of Calcutta, and was threatening to
settle the settlement. This news came like a thunder-clap on Clive, who
determined on giving Dowlar such a dose as he would not easily forget;
and he commenced by conveying secretly to one of his officers, Meer
Jaffier--a mere nobody--an offer of the throne. The scheme completely
succeeded, and Meer Jaffier became the tool, or rather the spade, for
giving a dig at poor Dowlar, who fell to the ground very speedily.
Matters had now happily taken a favourable turn, and in America Wolfe
distinguished himself, but unfortunately extinguished himself also at
the siege of Quebec; for he died at the moment of victory.
Things were mending very perceptibly in all directions, and English
honour, which had been for some time at an unusual discount, was once
more looking up, when the king, who had been speculating on the rise,
was suddenly deprived of all chance of sharing in its advantages. He had
made his usual hearty breakfast of chocolate, new-laid eggs, devilled
kidneys, tea-cake, red herrings, and milk from the cow, when, as he was
preparing to take a walk in Kensington Gardens, he suddenly expired, on
the 25th of October, 1760. George the Second was in his seventy-seventh
year, and the thirty-fourth of his reign, during the whole of which he
had been a Hanoverian at heart, and he had nothing English about him,
except the money. His manners were rather impatient and overbearing, for
he had not a courteous style of speaking; and it was said at the time,
that "no one could accuse him of being mealy-mouthed; for though he
was not civil spoken, he was temperate in his living, and thus the term
mealy-mouthed could in no sense be applied to him."
In forming an estimate of the characters of the sovereigns who have come
before us for review, we have found ourselves fortunate in possessing an
independent judgment of our own; for if we had been guided by precedent,
we should have been puzzled to know what to think of the different kings
and queens, all of whom have had witnesses on both sides, to censure and
to praise with a want of unanimity that is really wonderful. George the
Second has furnished a subject for this division of opinion, and his
eulogist has complimented him rather oddly on his old age, a compliment
that might as well be paid to an old hat, an ancient pun, a venerable
bead, or any other article that has arrived at a condition of antiquity.
The reasons given by his panegyrist for praising him are few and
insignificant on the whole, though his severer critic founds his
strictures on a tolerably substantial basis. We learn from this
authority that George the Second was ignorant, stingy, stupid,
ill-tempered, and obstinate. His predilection for Hanover has, we think,
been unjustly censured; for there is nothing very discreditable, after
all, in a love for one's own birth-place, though it may be what is
termed a beggarly hole in the strong language of detraction. The native
of Lambeth has been known to pine with a sort of _mal du pays_ after
the cherished sheds and shambles of the New Cut, and we have heard the
plaintive accents of "Home, sweet Home," issuing from the lips of the
exiled sons and daughters of Houndsditch. If George the Second was still
faithful in his love for Hanover, in spite of the superior attractions
of England, we may question his taste, but we must admire his constancy;
which presents an honourable contrast to young Love's notorious
desertion of the coal and potato shed, when Poverty, in the shape of a
man in possession, stepped over the doorway.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. ON THE CONSTITUTION, GOVERNMENT AND LAWS, NATIONAL
INDUSTRY, LITERATURE, SCIENCE, FINE ARTS, MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND
CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE.
We feel that the length of the above heading to this, the concluding
chapter of the volume, will be sufficient to provoke the legal reader
into making a charge for "perusing title and examining same," but we
promise to make our clauses as pertinent as the magnet to the loadstone.
Having already, in the course of preceding chapters, touched upon most
of the subjects noticed in the abstract of title to which we allude,
it will be unnecessary to hold the reader very long by the button; but
perceiving him getting ready to run away, as the curtain falls upon
George the Second, we cannot help exclaiming, "Stop a minute or two,
we've got just half a dozen more words to say to you!"
The constitution is the first topic on which we have still to touch, and
that is a theme which every true patriot loves to dwell upon. We have no
hesitation in saying that our beloved country must have the constitution
of a horse, to have gone through one-half the severe trials it has
experienced. It is apparently peculiar to the soil; for, though the
prescription for making it up has been given to other nations, and has
been accurately prepared by some of the ablest political druggists,
it has never been swallowed abroad, or, if rammed down the throats of
rulers or people, it does not seem to have agreed very well with either
one or the other. The British constitution is a thing _sui generis_,
like the delicious bun of Chelsea, the acknowledged brick of Bath, and
the recognised toffy of Everton. It is vain for other nations to hope
that they may have their own materials made up into the pattern they so
much admire; for the attempt would be quite as abortive, and almost as
unwise, as the effort to make a genuine Romford stove away from Romford,
Epsom salts half a mile out of Epsom, Windsor Soap beyond the walls of
Windsor, and the genuine Brighton rock anywhere in the world but in
the very heart of Brighton. The British constitution must be like
home-brewed beer, and even more than that, it must be enjoyed where
it is brewed; or, in other words--to draw off one more figure from the
cask--it must be "drunk on the premises." The most eloquent of foreign
nations cannot come and fetch it, as it were, in their own jugs, however
they may foam and froth about it in their own mugs when they carry it in
their mouths by making it the subject of their speeches.
The durability of the British constitution, its fitness for wear and
tear, has been exemplified in the wonderful manner in which it has
survived the rubs that from the hands of party it has experienced. This
reflection naturally brings into our mind the terms Whig and Tory, into
which politicians were divided, until modern statesmanship introduced
us to a new class of principles, that may be called, concisely and
comprehensively, the Conservative-Whig-Radical.
The words Whig and Tory came into use, and into abuse also, about
the year 1679, and their own origin has been traced with wonderful
ingenuity, for the derivation has nothing to do with the derivative,
according to these ingenious speculations; and if we may trust Roger
North--a little too far north for us, by-the-bye--Tory is allied to
Tantivy, without the smallest apparent reason for the relationship.
It would, perhaps, save a great deal of trouble to keep a register of
philological next-of-kin; and we are sure that if something a little
nearer than Tantivy could come forward to claim affinity with Tory, the
noun, verb, or any other part of speech it might chance to be, would
"hear of something to its advantage." The word Whig seems to be utterly
without orthographical heirs-at-law, for no attempt has been made to get
at its pedigree.
National Industry advanced materially during the period we have just
described, and among other things, the glass, which had been hitherto
imported chiefly from France, began to be seen through by the English
manufacturer.
Literature and the Arts flourished in the reigns we have lately gone
through; and Architecture took very high ground, or indeed any ground it
could get, for the execution of its projects.
Periodical Literature rose in great brilliancy at about the time we have
described, and the union of such writers as Steele, Addison, and Swift,
in one little paper, must have formed a combination that should
have been kept back until the days of advertising vans and gigantic
posting-bills, enabling the parties interested to make the most of the
"concentration of talent," which might have been the cry of every dead
wall in the metropolis.
The manners and customs of the period were not particularly attractive,
being, under the two Georges at least, far more German than Germane to
our English notions of refinement. In dress, there was somewhat of an
approach to the costume of our own days; and the scarcity of hair on the
head began to be supplied by that friend of man, the horse, from whom
the Barrister had since prayed a _tales_ to furnish the wig, which is
considered essential to his forensic dignity.
The military costume of the time of George the Second is chiefly
remarkable for the hats worn by the soldiers, which were something in
appearance between the fool's cap and the bishop's mitre, as we find
from one of Hogarth's drawings.
The condition of the people was not very enviable in the seventeenth
or even the eighteenth centuries; and indeed all classes were very
ill-conditioned; for morality was lax, education was limited, poverty
was abundant, extravagance was very common, and wealth extremely
insolent.
Such being the state of the people and the country at this period, we
cannot be sorry to get out of their company, though it is not without
some regret that we bid farewell for a time to our History. In the
course of this work we have rowed in the same galley with Cæsar, stood
up to our ankles in sea-water with Canute, run after the Mussulman's
daughter with Gilbert à Beckett, wielded a battle-axe with Richard on
the field of Bosworth, smoked a pipe and eaten a potato with Sir Walter
Raleigh, danced with Sir Christopher Hatton on Clerkenwell Green, and
sailed round the bay that bears his name with honest Bill Baffin: all
these adventures have we enjoyed in imagination, that _beau ideal_ of a
railway, with nothing to pay and no fear of accidents.
We have at length arrived at a station, where we stop for the purpose
of refreshment; but we hope to resume our journey, and proceed in the
ordinary train, touching by the way at all stations, high and low, to
the terminus we have set our eye upon.
THE END.