"The time is out of joint--oh, cursed spite!"--_Hamlet._
We are no friends to modern miracles. Whether these be wrought at
Trêves, Loretto, or Edinburgh, we protest and make head against them
all; and we care not a farthing for the indignation of the
miracle-monger, be he pope, prelate, priest, potentate, protector, or
provost. The interference of modern town-councils, to which we have
all been long accustomed, has at last reached a point which borders
upon absolute impiety. Not content with poking their fingers into
every civic and terrestrial mess--not satisfied with interfering in
the functions of the superintendent of the city fulzie, and giving
gratuitous and unheeded advice to prime ministers--they have at last
aspired to control the sun, and to regulate the motions of the
heavenly bodies according to their delectable will. Pray, do these
gentlemen ever read their Bibles? Do they really think that they are
so many Joshuas? Do they know what they are doing when they presume to
interfere with the arrangements of Providence and of nature--to alter
times and seasons, and to confound the Sabbath with the week? Our
amazement at their unjustifiable proceedings is only surpassed by our
wonder at the apathy which prevails among the insulted population.
Beyond one or two feeble letters in the newspapers, there have been no
symptoms of resistance. Surely they have some respect left for their
beds and their religion--for their natural and their commanded rest.
It will not do to remain suffering under this last monstrous outrage
in apathy and indifference. The bailies shall not be permitted to
eclipse Phœbus, and proclaim false hours to us with impunity. We
are ready and willing to head a crusade upon this matter, and we call
upon all sorts and sundries of our fellow-citizens to join us in
insurrection against the nuisance.
How stand the facts of the case? Listen and perpend. At twelve of the
night of Saturday the thirteenth day of January, one thousand eight
hundred and forty-eight, the public clocks of the city of Edinburgh
were altered from their actual time by command of the Town Council,
and advanced by twelve minutes and a half. To that extent, therefore,
the clocks were made to lie. They had ceased to be regulated by the
sun, and were put under civic jurisdiction. The amount of the
variation matters little--it is the principle we contend for: at the
same time it is quite clear that, if the magistrates possess this
arbitrary power, they might have extended their reform from minutes to
hours, and forced us, under the most cruel of all possible penalties,
to rise in the depth of winter at a time when nature has desired us to
be in bed.
Now, we beg once for all to state that we shall not get up, for the
pleasure of any man, a single second sooner than we ought to do; and
that we shall not, on any pretext whatever, permit ourselves to be
defrauded, in the month of January, of twelve minutes and a half of
our just and natural repose. Life is bitter enough of itself without
enduring such an additional penalty. In our hyperborean regions, the
sacrifice is too hard to be borne; and one actually shudders at the
amount of human suffering which must be the inevitable consequence, if
we do not organise a revolt. For let it be specially remembered, that
this monstrous practical falsehood is not attended with any
alleviating relaxations whatever. It is a foul conspiracy to drag us
from our beds, and to tear us from connubial felicity. The law courts,
the banks, the public offices, the manufactories, all meet at the
accustomed matutinal hour; but that hour, be it six, eight, or nine,
is now a liar, and has shot ahead of the sun. Countless are the curses
muttered every morning, and not surely altogether unheard, from
thousands of unhappy men, dragged at the remorseless sound of the bell
from pallet and mattress, from bed of down or lair of straw, from
blanket, sheet, and counterpane, to shiver in the bitter frost of
February, for no better reason than to gratify the whim of a few
burgesses congregated in the High Street, who have a confused notion
that the motions of the sun are regulated by an observatory at
Greenwich.
What, in the name of whitebait, have we to do with Greenwich more than
with Timbuctoo, or Moscow, or Boston, or Astracan, or the capital of
the Cannibal Islands? The great orb of day no doubt surveys all those
places in turn, but he does not do so at the same moment, or minute,
or hour. It has been ordained by Providence that one half of this
globe should be wrapped in darkness whilst the other is illuminated by
light--that one fraction of the town-councils of the earth may sleep
and be silent, whilst another is awake and gabbling. Not the music of
the spheres could be listened to by man or angel were the provision
otherwise. And yet all this fair order is to be deranged by the civic
Solons of the Modern Athens! It is small wonder if few of these
gentlemen have personally much appetite for repose. The head which
wears a cocked-hat may lie as uneasy as that which is decorated with a
crown; and there is many a malignant thought to press upon and disturb
their slumbers. They are men of mortal mould, and therefore it is fair
to suppose that they have consciences. They cannot be altogether
oblivious of the present disgraceful state of the streets. The
Infirmary must weigh upon them, heavy as undigested pork-pie; and
their recent exhibitions in the Court of Session have been by no means
creditable to their understanding. Therefore we can readily comprehend
why they, collectively, are early driven from their couches; but it is
not so easy to discover why they have no bowels of mercy towards their
fellow-citizens. The cry of the Parliament House is raised against
them, and we own that our soul is sorry for the peripatetics of the
Outer boards. An ancient and barbarous custom, which long ago should
have been amended, forces them to appear, summer and winter, before
the Lords Ordinary at nine o'clock; and we have heard more than one of
them confess, with tears in their eyes, that their fairest prospects
in life have been cruelly blighted, because the darlings of their
hearts could not think of marrying men who were dragged from bed,
throughout a considerable portion of the year, in the dark, who shaved
by candle-light, and who expected their helpmates to rise
simultaneously, and superintend the preparation of their coffee. If
these things occurred under the merciful jurisdiction of the sun, what
will be the result of the active cruelties of the magistracy? Why,
Advocate will become a word synonymous with that of bachelor, and not
a single Writer to the Signet be followed by a son to the grave!
And why, we may ask, has this unwarrantable alteration been made? For
what mighty consideration is it that the lives of so many of the
lieges are to be embittered, and their comforts utterly destroyed?
Simply for this reason, that there may be a uniformity of time
established by the railway clocks, and that the trains may leave
Edinburgh and London precisely at the same moment. Now, in the first
place, we positively and distinctly deny that there is any advantage
whatever, even to the small travelling fraction of the community, in
any such arrangement. There is no earthly or intelligible connexion
between the man who starts from Edinburgh and the other who starts
from London. They have each a separate rail, and there is no chance of
a collision because the sun rises in the one place later than it does
in the other. The men, we shall suppose, are not idiots: they know how
to set their watches, or, if they do not possess such a utensil, they
can desire the Boots to call them at the proper hour, and go to bed
like Christians who intend to enjoy the last possible moment of
repose. If they are particular about time, as some old martinets are,
they can have their watches reset when they arrive at the place of
their destination, or regulate them by the different railway clocks as
they pass along. They have nothing else to do; and it is as easy to
set a watch as to drink off a tumbler of brandy and water. Or if the
Fogies choose to be particular, why cannot the railway directors print
alongside of the real time a column of the fabulous Greenwich? John
Bull, we know, has a vast idea of his own superiority in every matter,
and if he chooses also to prefer his own time, let the fat fellow be
gratified, by all means. Only do not let us run the risk of being
late, in our endeavour to humour him, by forestalling the advent of
the sun. May his shadow never be less, nor ours continue to be
augmented, in this merciless and arbitrary manner!
But, in the second place, we beg leave to ask, whether the comforts of
our whole population, whose time has effectually been put out of
joint, are to be sacrificed for the sake of the passengers travelling
between this and London? Do the whole of us, or the half of us, or any
of us, spend a considerable portion of our lives in whirling along the
Caledonian or the North British railways? The Lord Provost may deem it
necessary to go up to London once a-year on Parliamentary business;
but surely it would be more decent in his Lordship to wait for the
sun, than to move off in the proud conviction that the course of that
luminary has been adjusted to suit his convenience. We are
irresistibly put in mind of an anecdote told by Sir Edward Bulwer
Lytton. A certain merchant, sleeping in a commercial hotel, had given
orders overnight that he should be called at a particular hour. Boots
was punctual. "The morning has broke, sir," said he, drawing the
curtain. "Let it break, and go to the mischief!" replied the sleepy
trader; "it owes _me_ nothing!" Now, whatever may be the opinion of
the provost and his subordinate senate, we, the people of Edinburgh,
do set a certain value upon the morning, which we hold to be appointed
by Providence, and not by the Town-Council; and we must have somewhat
better reasons than have yet been adduced in favour of the change,
before we consent to make ourselves miserable for life. Early rising
may be a very good thing, though, for our part, we always suspect a
fellow who is over-anxious to get out of bed before his neighbours;
but no man, or body of men, have a right to cram it as a dogma down
our throats. And it is quite preposterous to maintain that the
permanent comfort of many thousand people is to be sacrificed for the
sake of a dubious convenience to the few bagmen who, maybe travelling
with their samples to the southward. We protest in all sincerity,
that, rather than subject ourselves to this _bouleversement_ and
disordering of nature, we would be content to see every railway
throughout the kingdom torn up or battered down, and in every point of
view we should consider ourselves gainers thereby. We, like the Lord
Provost of Edinburgh, go once a-year to London, but then we rise from
our bed every morning of the year. We are far more likely now to miss
an early train than before; and yet, in order to secure that single
disadvantage, we are compelled in all time coming unnaturally to
anticipate the day.
It is probable that some of our sapient councillors think this a very
grand and clever scheme for securing uniformity of time. We consider
it neither grand nor clever, but simply stupid and idiotical; and we
beg to tell them that they have not secured thereby even what they
foolishly think to be an uniformity of time. They have merely, by
attempting to meddle with nature, introduced an element of ceaseless
and intolerable confusion. They have no jurisdiction beyond their
limited parliamentary bounds. They cannot decree that their time is to
be adopted by the county towns; and a glance at the map will show what
a small portion of the population of Scotland is located upon the line
of the railways. Then as to the country, where clocks are uncommon,
and usual reference for time is made to that great disc which is
flaring in the sky, are the people there also to submit to the
dictation of the magistrates of Edinburgh, and, if they want to
perform a journey, arrive too late for the coach or train, because
they trusted to the unerring and infallible index of the Almighty?
Then as to the dials, common on the terrace and garden, and not
uncommon on the older country steeples--what is to become of them? Are
they to be branded for ever as lying monitors by the decree of sundry
civic dignitaries, and broken up as utterly useless? Are all those who
pin their faith to them to be deceived? Really this is carrying
matters with a high hand, with a vengeance!
Uniformity is the hobby of the age, and, more than the nine of
diamonds, it has been the curse of Scotland. A certain set of people
have been trying for these thirty years to assimilate us utterly to
England, and in their endeavor to do so they have wrought incalculable
mischief. They are continually tampering with our laws, and they
would, if they dared, attempt to tamper with our religion. A man can
neither be baptised, married, nor buried after the fashion of his
forefathers. We are not allowed to trade with each other except upon
English currency principles; and they have thrust the English system
of jury trial in civil cases upon us, against the unanimous and
indignant remonstrance of the nation. Now, _Cæteris paribus_, we are
willing to admit that uniformity in the abstract may be a very good
thing, if you can only carry it out. Uniformity of property, for
example, upon principles of equal division, could hardly fail to be
popular; and we should like to see every acre of land throughout
Britain at a uniform rent of five pounds. But uniformity, in order to
perfect the system, should be cosmopolitan, not national--universal,
and not limited. It would, for example, be convenient, in a commercial
point of view, if all the nations of Europe--nay, of the world--could
be brought to speak a uniform language. Such a state of matters, we
know, once existed, but it was put a stop to by a miracle at the
building of the tower of Babel. It might possibly be convenient if the
four seasons of the year were equally and simultaneously distributed
throughout the world--if, when we are going to our beds, the huntsmen
were not up in Arabia, but lying amidst their camels beneath a tent in
some far oasis of the wilderness. But these matters have been
regulated by Divine Intelligence, and uniformity is no part of the
scheme. In a very few years we shall have direct railway communication
throughout Europe, from the west to the east--will it therefore be
advisable to adopt a common standard of time--say that of
Greenwich--for all the trains? Are the inhabitants of Paris to be
aroused from slumber some three hours before their wont, because the
early train from Moscow is to start at nine o'clock? If not, why is it
sought to apply the same principle here? Perhaps our excellent
councillors are not aware that there is no such thing as a universal
time. There is no peculiar virtue in the Greenwich time, any more than
in that which is noted at the observatory on the Calton Hill. We are
afraid that a gross misconception upon this point prevails in the High
Street, and that some of our friends have got hold of a legend, said
to be current in the Canongate, that the city clocks were put back
twelve minutes and a half by Charles Edward in the Forty-five--that
they have given out false time for upwards of a century--and that the
present is a patriotic and spirited move of the magistrates to restore
the hours to their pristine order and arrangement. If any of our civic
representatives have fallen into error on this account, and been led
astray by the cunning fable, we beg to assure them that it rests upon
no solid foundation. Our ancestors entertained an almost Persian
veneration for the sun, and would not have suffered any such
interference. The city clocks of Edinburgh were not set upon the
authority of the famous watch discovered at Prestonpans, of which it
stands recorded, that "she died the very night Vich Ian Vohr gave her
to Murdoch."
We are not aware that any regulation of the Lord Provost and
Magistrates of the city of Edinburgh has the force and authority of a
statute, or that their voice is potential in opposition to the
almanack. If we are right in this, then we beg to tell them that the
new arrangement is utterly in the teeth of the law, and may lead to
serious consequences. Suppose that any of us has granted a bill which
falls due at twelve o'clock. The hour peals from the steeple, and the
bill is straightway protested, and our credit damaged. Five minutes
afterwards we appear to satisfy the demand, but we are told that it is
too late. In vain do we insist upon the fact that the bill is dated at
Edinburgh, not at Greenwich, and appeal to the almanack and
observatory for the true state of the time. We proffer the sun as our
witness, but he is rejected as a suspicious testimony, and as one
already tried before the civic court and convicted of fraud,
falsehood, and wilful imposition. What is to become of us in such a
case? Are we to go into the Gazette, because the Provost has set the
clocks forward? Or suppose a man on deathbed wants to make his will.
It is Wednesday the ninth of February, close upon midnight, and the
sufferer has not a moment to lose. A few hasty lines are written by
the lawyer, and as he finishes them the clock strikes twelve. The
dying man signs and expires in the effort. The testing clause of that
deed would bear that it was signed on Thursday the tenth; but the fact
is that the man died upon Wednesday, and we know very well that
corpses cannot handle a pen. How is that affair to be adjusted? Are
people to be defrauded of their inheritance for a whim of the Town
Council, or the convenience of a few dozen commercial travellers? Or
take the case of an annuitant. Suppose an old lady, and there are
plenty of them in that situation, dies on the term-day exactly five
minutes after twelve according to Greenwich time in Edinburgh--who
gets the money? Is it a _dies inceptus_ or a _dies non_? If a new term
has begun, her representatives are undoubtedly entitled to finger the
coin, if not, the payer pockets it. By which arrangement--that of
Providence, or that of the Provost--shall such a question be decided?
Who is to rule the day, the term, and the season? We pause for a
reply. Or let us take another and not imaginary case. A good many
years ago we were asked to take shares in a tontine, and complied.
Twelve of us named a corresponding number of lives, whereof all have
evaporated, save that of which we are the nominee, and one other which
had been selected by an eminent vice-president of the Fogie Club. Our
man resides in Greenwich, is a pensioner, and we defy you to point out
a finer or livelier specimen of the Celtic race, at the advanced but
by no means exorbitant age of ninety-five. We are, from the best
possible motives, extremely attentive to the old man, whom we supply
gratuitously, but cautiously, with snuff and whisky; and his first
caulker every day is turned over to our health, a libation which we
cordially return. This year we were somewhat apprehensive, for his
sake, of the prevalent fever and influenza; but M'Tavish escaped both,
and is, at this moment, as hearty as a kyloe on the hills of Skye. The
vice-president, oddly enough, had backed a superannuated chairman who
is stated to be a native of Clackmannan. He is so extremely aged that
the precise era of his birth is unknown; but he is supposed to have
been, in some way or other, connected with the Porteous mob. With
accumulations, there are about five thousand pounds at stake upon the
survivorship of these two. Twice, in the course of the last ten years,
have each of them been seriously ill, and precisely at the same time;
and twice has the milk of human kindness been soured between the
worthy vice-president and ourselves.
Should the invisible and mysterious sympathy between M'Tavish and
Hutcheon operate again--should Celt and Lowlander alike be stricken
with sickness, the contested point between us will, in all
probability, be brought to an issue. Both have taken effectual
measures to have the death of his neighbour's nominee noted with
accuracy to a second. Now, if Hutcheon were to die to-day in Edinburgh
at twenty minutes past eleven according to the present regulation of
the clocks, and if the next post brought intelligence that M'Tavish
had given up the ghost at Greenwich precisely five minutes sooner,
which of us two would be entitled to the stakes? On the twenty-ninth
of January, when the old and true time was in observance, there could
have been no doubt about the question. We should have been the winner
by seven minutes and a half. Hutcheon would have died, like his
forefathers, at seven and a half minutes after eleven, and M'Tavish at
the quarter past. But, as it is, the life of M'Tavish has been cut
short, or what is the same thing, that of Hutcheon has been
preposterously prolonged. And so, if the alteration made by the Town
Council be legal, we may be defrauded of five thousand pounds--if not
legal, what pretext have they for making it?
We do not envy the situation of our civic representatives on the
unfortunate occasion of the next public execution in Edinburgh. In the
first place, should their present regulation be adhered to, every
subsequent culprit will be deprived of twelve minutes and a half of
his existence. So much shorter time will he have to repent of his
sins, and make peace with his Creator; for the arbitrary alteration of
the clocks will not alter the day of doom. The "usual hour" will be
indicated in the sentence, and the trembling felon launched into
eternity so much the sooner, that a few commercial travellers may be
saved the pains of regulating their watches! We dare not speak lightly
on such a subject; for who can estimate the value of those moments of
existence which are thus thoughtlessly, but ruthlessly cut off? In the
second place, whenever the like catastrophe shall occur, we have a
strong suspicion that the magistrates will be morally responsible
either for murder or for defeat of justice. It is in truth an
extremely unpleasant dilemma, but one entirely of their own creating.
For their own sakes, we beg their serious attention to the following
remarks. We shall suppose the ordinary case of a man sentenced by the
Justiciary Court, to be executed at the usual hour, which with us is
eight in the 'morning. Hitherto we knew precisely what was meant by
eight, but now we do not. But this we know, that if that man is
executed at eight, as the clocks now stand, HE IS MURDERED, just as
much as he would be, if, the evening before, he had been forcibly
strangled in his cell! The felon's life is sacred until the hour
arrives when justice has ordained him to die; and if the life be taken
sooner, that is murder. Who, we ask, would be the responsible parties
in this case, not perhaps to an earthly, but surely to a higher
tribunal? On the other hand, if the execution does _not_ take place at
eight, it is highly questionable whether the criminal can be executed
at all. The sentence must be fulfilled to the letter. Delay in such
matters is held by the clemency of our law to interpose a strong
barrier in favour of the criminal; and this at least seems certain,
that a man condemned to be executed on one day, cannot, without a new
sentence, be capitally punished upon another. Hours--nay, minutes--are
very precious when the question is one of life and death, and the
consideration is a very grave one.
In short, the magistrates have landed themselves, and will land us in
interminable confusion; and we foresee that not a little litigation
will result from their proceedings. In all legal matters--and there
are many in which punctuality is of the utmost moment--the clocks
cannot be held to regulate time. They vary from each other according
to their construction or their custody, and we have thrown away and
abandoned the true standard. The difference of a single degree may
prove as important as that of forty, and if there is to be a
uniformity between the Edinburgh and the Greenwich time, why not
extend it to the colonies? We warn the Town Council of Edinburgh that
they may have much to answer for from the consequences of their absurd
proceeding.
We understand that there are police statutes ordaining that all
taverns shall be shut up at twelve o'clock of a Saturday night, and
for breach of this rule people maybe taken into custody. The
magistrates have peremptorily altered twelve o'clock, and have made
that period arrive at forty-seven and a half minutes after eleven. Is
it lawful to conduct us to the watch-house, if we should chance to be
found at Ambrose's, lingering over a tumbler during the debatable
twelve minutes and a half--or are we not entitled to knock down the
ruffian who should presume to collar us during the interval? Whether
have we or the follower of Mr Haining the best legal grounds for an
action of assault and battery? We appeal to the heavenly bodies, and
indignantly assert our innocence: Dogberry walks by the rule of the
Right Honourable Adam Black, and accuses us of gross desecration.
Which of us is in the right? and how is the statute to be interpreted?
It is surely obvious to the meanest capacity that, if the magistrates
of Edinburgh have the power to proclaim Greenwich time within their
liberties, there is nothing to prevent them from adopting the
recognised standard of Kamschatka, or from ordaining our clocks to be
set by the meridian of Tobolsk. They may turn day into night at their
own good pleasure, and amalgamate the days of the week, as indeed they
have done already; and this brings us to a consideration, which, in
Scotland at least, deserves especial attention.
The public mind has of late been much agitated by the question of
Sunday observance. We do not mean now to debate that point upon its
merits, nor is it the least necessary for our present argument that we
should do so. Every one, we are certain, wishes that the Lord's day
should be properly and decently observed. There are differences of
opinion, however, regarding the latitude which should be allowed--one
party being in favour of a total cessation from work, and founding
their view upon the decalogue; whilst the others maintain that, under
the Christian dispensation, a new order of things has been
established. There has been a good deal of discussion upon this topic,
and the practical subject of dispute has been, whether railway trains
should be permitted to run upon the first day of the week. On that
head we shall say nothing; but we maintain that both parties are alike
interested in having the limits of the Sunday accurately and
distinctly declared. Some observance, whatever be its limit, is
clearly due to the holy day, whether men hold it to be directly of
divine ordinance, or to have been set apart for divine worship by
ecclesiastical and conventional authority. By the present arrangement,
the feelings of both parties are outraged. Sabbath or Sunday--call it
which you will--has been changed by the Town Council, and is not the
same as before. It is easy to say that this is quibbling, but in
reality is it so? Can the Town Council compel us to accept any day
they may please to nominate instead of Sunday, and consecrate
Wednesday, for example, as that which is to be dedicated to pious
uses? We repeat that this is but a question of degree. No authority,
at least no such authority as that of a body of local magistrates, can
dovetail the Sabbath by making it begin earlier and end later than
before. There are stringent ancient Scottish statutes, some of them
not altogether in desuetude, against Sabbath desecration, and how are
these now to be interpreted or enforced? No true Sabbatarian can
support the present movement. His case is irretrievably lost if he
acquiesces in the change; for the day has unquestionably been
violated--and it may be violated as well in a minute as in an hour.
Those who take the other view cannot fail to be equally offended. The
order which they keenly advocate and maintain has been wantonly broken
and destroyed. The limits of Sunday are annihilated. Men do not know
when it commences or when it ends, and they may be gaming when they
ought to be at prayers. Churches and congregations of every kind have
a common interest in this. The individuality of the day must be
supported, and there must be no doubt, and no loophole left for
cavillers to carp at its existence.
Look at it in any light you please, the change is fraught with danger.
We have enlarged somewhat on the score of inconvenience--for we
thoroughly feel and resolutely maintain that the practical
inconvenience is great--but the other results we have referred to are
inevitable and are infinitely worse. Tampering with the laws of nature
is not permitted, even to the most sapient of town councils; and, as
they cannot wash the Ethiopian white, so neither need they try to
control the progress of the sun, and to prove that great luminary a
liar. Surely, they have plenty to do without interfering with the
planetary bodies? We really thought better of their patriotism; nor
could we have expected that they would falsify the host of heaven in
order to take their future time from some distant English clock. So
soon as the whole of the world is ripe for an uniformity of time, and
contented to adopt it, we may then possibly become acclimated to the
change, and rise at midnight, to go about our nightly, not daily
duties, without a murmur. But pray, in this matter, let us at least
secure reciprocity. If we are to be dragged from our beds at
untimeous hours, let the rest of the population of the globe suffer to
a similar extent; for in community of suffering there is always some
kind of dim and indefinite comfort. We are rather partial to bagmen,
and would endure something, though not this, to accelerate their
progress; but why should the whole Scottish nation be made a holocaust
and an offering for our weakness? Falstaff, who, whatever may be said
of his valour, was a remarkably shrewd individual, might give a lesson
to our civic dignitaries. He counted the length and endurance of his
imaginary combat with Percy, by Shrewsbury clock, and did not seek to
extend his renown by superadding to it the benefit which might have
been derived by a reference to Greenwich time. Let us do the like, and
submit to the ordinances of Providence--not try to oppose them by any
vain and extravagant alteration. Without the least irreverence,
because we hold that the whole profanity--though it may be
unintended--is on the other side, let us ask the Town Council of
Edinburgh, whether they consider themselves on a par with the great
leader of Israel, and whether they are entitled to say "Sun, stand
thou still upon Gibeon, and thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon?" And
yet, what is their late move, but something tantamount to this? They
have declared against the order of nature, and such a declaration must
imply a species of gross and unwarrantable presumption.
And now, Messieurs of the Town Council of Edinburgh, what have you to
say for yourselves? Are we right, or are we wrong?--have we failed, or
have we succeeded in making out a lease against you? We think we can
discern some symptoms of a corporate blush suffusing your
countenances; and, if so, far be it from us to stand in the way of
your repentance. We are willing to believe that you have done this
from the best of possible motives, but without forethought or
consideration. You probably were not aware Of the consequences which
might and must arise from this singular attempt at legislation. Be
wise, therefore, and once more succumb, as is your duty, to the
established laws and harmony of nature. Leave the planets alone to
their course, and be contented to observe that time which is indicated
and proclaimed from heaven. Recollect wherein it is written that the
sun, and moon, and stars were set in the firmament of heaven _to rule
over the day, and over the night, and to divide the light from the
darkness_. By no possible sophistry can you pervert the meaning of
that wholesome text. Why, then, should you act in opposition to it,
and introduce this element of disorder among us? Go to, then, and
retrace your steps. Put the clocks backward as before. Let the shadows
be straight at mid-day. Leave us our allotted rest, for it is sweet
and pleasant. Defraud us not of our inheritance. Let our children not
be born before their time. Let the miserable malefactor live until the
last moment of his allotted span. Preserve the Sunday intact, and let
us hear no more of such nonsense. Why should you be wiser than your
forefathers? If any man had told them to alter their time from
England, they would have collared the seditious prig, and thrust him
neck and heels into the Tolbooth. When grim old Archibald Bell-the-Cat
was Provost, no man durst have hinted at Greenwich time on pain of the
forfeiture of his ears; for, notwithstanding his performances at
Lauder Bridge, Bell-the-Cat was a Christian, the father of a bishop,
and knew his duties better than rashly to interfere with Providence.
Restore our meridian, and, if you are really anxious to do your duty,
occupy yourselves with meaner matters. It would much conduce to the
comfort of the lieges, if, instead of directing the course of the sun,
you were to give occasional orders for a partial sweeping of the
streets.