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NOVELS BY WALTER BESAXT AND JA 

Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 35. 6d. each ; post 8vo. illus. boa 

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MY LITTLE GIRL. 
THE CASE OF MR. LUCRAFT. 
THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 



BY CELIA'S AR1 

THE MONKS OF 

'TWAS IN TRAFi 

THE SEAMY SII 

THE TEN YEAR 

THE CHAPLAI 
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London : CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly, 



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THE MONKS OF 

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TUB PRINCESS VICTORIA IN 1 
(From the Picture bj Richard Wbtail RjL, at Windsor Cutle.) 



FIFTY YEARS A( 



WALTER BESANT 

AUTHOR OF 'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OP MEN ' ETC. 




WITH ONE HUNDRED AND THIHTY-BEVEN PLATES AND W000CUTS 



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PRINTED BY 
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 



. LONDON 






.* PREFACE. 

* 



' * It has been my desire in the following pages to present 
-i' a picture of society in this country as it was when the 
i] Queen ascended the throne. The book is an enlarge- 



I 



ment of a paper originally contributed to 'The Graphic. 1 

I have written several additional chapters, and have 

revised all the rest. The chapter on Law and Justice 

; \ has been written for this volume by my friend Mr. W. 

% Morris Colles, of the Inner Temple. I beg to record 

my best thanks to that gentleman for his important 
1 

contribution. 

I have not seen in any of the literature called forth 

, by the happy event of last year any books or papers 

m \ which cover the exact ground of this compilation 

1 There are histories of progress and advancement 

* there are contrasts ; but there has not been offered any- 

i' 

where, to my knowledge, a picture of life, manners, anc 

* society as they were fifty years ago. 

When the editor of ' The Graphic ' proposed that ] 
V .; should write a paper on this subject, I readily con 

sented, thinking it would be a light and easy task, anc 
fc \ one which could be accomplished in two or three 

weeks. Light and easy it certainly was in a sense 




vi FIFTY YEARS AGO 

because it was very pleasant work, and the books to be 
consulted are easily accessible ; but then there are so 
many : the investigation of a single point sometimes 
carried one through half-a-dozen volumes. The two or 
three weeks became two or three months. 

At the very outset of the work I was startled to 
find how great a revolution has taken place in our 
opinions and ways of thinking, how much greater than 
is at first understood. For instance, America was, fifty 
years ago, practically unknown to the bulk of our 
people ; American ideas had little or no influence upon 
us ; our people had no touch with the United States ; 
if they spoke of a Eepublic, they still meant the first 
French Eepublic, the only Eepublic they knew, with 
death to kings and tyrants ; while the recollection of the 
guillotine still preserved cautious and orderly people 
from Eepublican ideas. 

Who now, however, connects a Eepublic with a 
Eeign of Terror and the guillotine? The American 
Eepublic, in fact, has taken the place of the French. 
Again, though the Eeform Bill had been, in 1837, 
passed already five years, its effects were as yet only 
beginning to be felt ; we were still, politically, in the 
eighteenth century. So in the Church, in the Law, in 
the Services, in Society, we were governed by the ideas 
of the eighteenth century. 



i 



PREFACE vii 

The nineteenth century actually began with steam 
communication by sea ; with steam machinery ; with 
railways; with telegraphs; with the development of 
the colonies ; with the admission of the people to the 
government of the country; with the opening of the 
Universities ; with the spread of science ; with the 
revival of the democratic spirit. It did not really 
begin, in fact, till about fifty years ago. When and 
how will it end ? By what order, by what ideas, will 
it be followed ? 

In compiling even such a modest work as the pre- 
sent, one is constantly attended by a haunting dread of 
having forgotten something necessary to complete the 
picture. I have been adding little things ever since I 
began to put these scenes together. At this, the very 
last moment, the Spirit of Memory whispers in my ear, 
* Did you remember to speak of the high fireplaces, the 
open chimneys — up which half the heat mounted — 
the broad hobs, and the high fenders, with the fronts 
pierced, in front of which people's feet were always cold? 
Did you remember to note that the pin of the period 
had its head composed of a separate piece of wire rolled 
round ; that steel pens were either as yet unknown, or 
were precious and costly things ; that the quill was 
always wanting a fresh nib ; that the wax-match did 
not exist ; that in the country they still used the old- 



viii FIFTY YEARS AGO 

fashioned brimstone match ; that the night-light of the 
period was a rush candle stuck in a round tin cylinder 
full of holes ; and that all the ladies' dress had hooks 
and eyes behind ? ' 

I do not think that I have mentioned any of these 
points ; and yet, how much food for reflection is 
afforded by every one ! Header, you may perhaps find 
my pictures imperfect, but you can fill in any one 
sketch from your own superior knowledge. Meantime, 
remember this. As nearly as possible, fifty years ago, 
the eighteenth century passed away. It died slowly ; 
its end was hardly marked. 

King William the Fourth is dead. Alas ! how many 
things were dying with that good old king ! The steam- 
whistle was already heard across the fields : already in 
mid-ocean the great steamers were crossing against wind 
and tide : already the nations were slowly beginning 
to know each other : Privilege, Patronage, and the 
Power of Eank were beginning already to tremble, and 
were afraid : already the working man was heard de- 
manding his vote : the nineteenth century had begun. 
We who have lived in it ; we who are full of its ideas ; 
we who are all swept along upon the full stream of it — 
we know not, we cannot see, whither it is carrying us. 

W. B. 

United University Club: January 81, 1888. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Great Britain, Ireland, and the Colonies ... 1 

II. The Year 1837 .18 

III. London in 1837 30 

IV. In the Street 45 

V. With the People 67 

VI. With the Middle-Class 85 

VII. In Society 110 

VIII. At the Play and the Show 125 

IX. In the House 137 

X. At School and University 154 

XI. The Tavern 160 

XII. In Club- and Card-land 175 

XIII. With the Wits 183 

XIV. Journals and Journalists 209 

XV. The Sportsman 214 

XVI. In Factory and Mine 224 

XVII. With the Men of Science 233 

XVIII. Law and Justice 237 

XIX. Conclusion 258 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PLATES. 

The Princess Victoria in 1830. From the Picture by 

Richard Westall, R.A., at Windsor Castle . . . Frontispiece 

Windsor Castle Vignette 

Queen Victoria in 1839. From a Drawing by R. J. ia ge 

Lane y A.R.A To face 1 

Thomas Carlyle. From the Fraser Gallery . . . „ 16 

The Queen's First Council — Kensington Palace, June 
20, 1837. From the Picture by Sir David Wilkie, R.A., 
at Windsor CastU „ 18 

A Show of Twelfth Cakes. From Cruikshank's * Comic 

Almanack' „ 25 

Greenwich Park. From Cruikshank's 4 Comic Almanack' „ 26 

The Chimney-sweeps' Annual Holiday. From Cruik- 

shank's ' Comic Almanack '......„ 27 

Beating the Bounds. From Cruikshank's ' Comic 

Almanack' „ 28 \ 

Bartholomew Fair. From Cruikshank's ' Comic Almanack ' „ 29 

Vauxhall Gardens. From Cruikshank's ' Comic Almanack ' „ 31 

In Fleet Street— Proclaiming the Queen. From Cruik- 
shank's 1 Comic Almanack' „ 56 

Leigh Hunt. From the Fraser Gallery „ 65 

John Galt. From the Fraser Gallery „ 86 

The Queen receiving the Sacrament after her Corona- 
tion — Westminster Abbey, June 28, 1838. From the 
Picture by C. R. Leslie, R.A., at Windsor Castle . „ 94 



Xll 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



Theodore Hook. From the Fraser Gallery 

Lady Blessington. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Count d'Orsay. From the Fraser Gallery , 

Key. Sydney Smith. From tlie Fraser Gallery 

John Baldwin Buckstone. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Serjeant Talfourd. From the Fraser Gallery 

Mary Russell Mitford. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Sir Walter Scott. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Lord Lyndhurst. From the Fraser Gallery 

William Cobbett. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Lord John Russell. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Edward Lytton Bulwer. From the Fraser Gallery 

Benjamin Disraeli. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Thomas Campbell. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. From the Fraser Gallery 

James Hogg. From the Fraser Gallery . 

William Wordsworth. From the Fraser Gallery 

Rev. William Lisle Bowles. From the Fraser Gallery 

Pierre- Jean de Bkranger. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Regina's Maids of Honour. From the Fraser Gallery 

William Harrison Ainsworth. From the Fraser Gallery 

Harriet Martineau. From the Fraser Gallery . 

The Fraserians. From the Fraser Gallery 

John Gibson Lockhart. From the Fraser Gallery 

Thomas Moore. From the Fraser Gallery 

Samuel Rogers. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Lord Brougham. From the Fraser Gallery 

Washington Irving. From the Fraser Gallery . 

John Wilson Croker. From the Fraser Gallery . 

Cockney Sportsmen. From Cruikshank's 'Comic Almanack 

Return from the Races. From Cruikshank's l Comic 

Almanack 1 

Sir John Cam Hobhouse. From tlie Fraser Gallery . 
A Point of Law. From Cruikshank's l Comic Almanack ' 
Michael Faraday. From the Fraser Gallery . . . 





PAOI 


To face 


■ 100 


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>» 


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>> 


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259 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii 



WOODCUTS IN THE TEXT. 

TAOK 

Arrival of the Coronation Number of 'The Sun* ... 2 

Lifeguard, 1837 . 4 

General Postman 6 

Napoleon at Longwood. From a Drawing made in 1820 . . 12 

London Street Characters, 1837. From a Drawing by John 

Leech . .14 

5 Great Cheyne Row. The House in which Carlyle lived from 

1834 to his Death in 1881 16 

The Duchess of Kent, with the Princess Victoria at the Age 
of Two. From the Picture by Sir W. Beecliey, B.A., at Windsor 

Castle 17 

William IV. From a Drawing by HB 18 

Peeler 20 

The Spaniards Tavern, Hampstead 22 

Sir Robert Peel 24 

A PARisn Beadle. From a Drawing by George Cruikshank in 

' London Characters ' 26 

Evening in Smithfield. From a Drawing made in 1858, at the 
Gateway leading into Cloth Fair,, the Place of Proclamation of 

Bartholomew Fair 28 

Fireman 31 

Hackney Coachman. From a Drawing by George Cruikshanh in 

' London Characters ' 34 

The First London Exchange 34 

The Second London Exchange 35 

The Present Royal Exchange— Third London Exchange . . 35 
Charing Cross in the Present Day. From a Drawing by Frank 

Murray 37 

Temple Bar 38 

The Royal Courts of Justice 39 

Lyons Inn in 1804. From an Engraving in Herbert's ' History of 

tJie Inns of Court ' 41 

Kennington Gate — Derby Day 42 



xiv FIFTY YEARS AGO 

rAQi 

The Old Roman Bath in the Strand 48 

London Street Characters, 1827. From a Drawing by John 

Leech 46 

The King's Mews in 1750. From a Print by L Maurer . . . 47 

Barrack and Old Houses on the Site of Trafalgar Square. 

From a Drawing made by F. W. Fairholt in 1826 . . .48 
The Last Cabriolet-Driver. From a Drawing by George Cruik- 

8harik in l Sketches by Boz ' 49 

A Greenwich Pensioner. From a Draiving by George Cruiksliank 

in ' London Characters ' 52 

An Omnibus Upset. From Cruikshank '* * Comic Almanack ' . . 53 

Exeter Change 54 

The Parish Engine. From a Drawing by George Cruikshank in 

« Sketches by Boz ' 56 

Crockford's Fish Shop. From a Drawing by F. W. Fairholt . 57 

Thomas Chatterton 60 

Third Regiment of Buffs 63 

Douglas Jerrold. From the Bust by E. H. Bailey, R.A. ... 64 
John Forster. From a Photograph by Elliott & Fry . . .65 

Charles Dickens 66 

The Darby Day. From Cruikshank' * * Comic Almanack' . . 76 

Newgate — Entrance in the Old Bailey 77 

In the Queen's Bench 79 

George Eliot. From a Drawing in * The Graphic ' . . . 86 

La Pastourelle 89 

Fashions for August 1836 98 

Fashions for March 1837 98 

Watchman. From a Drawing by George Cruikshank in * London 

Characters * 101 

A Scene on Blackheath. From a Drawing by * Phiz * in Grant's 

* Sketches in London ' 105 

Maid-Servant. From a Drawing by George Cruikshank in * London 

Characters ' 107 

Officer of the Dragoon Guards Ill 

A Sketch in the Park — The Duke of Wellington and Mrs. 
Arbuthnot 115 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xv 

PAGE 
LlNKMAN 117 

William Makepeace Thackeray 128 

Liston as ' Paul Pry.' From a Drawing by George Cruikshank . 128 

Charles Reade 130 

T. P. Cooke in ' Black-eyed Susan ' ... 182 

Vauxhall Gardens 188 

The * New * Houses of Parliament, from the River . . . 138 

Lord Melbourne 140 

Thomas Babington Macaulay 141 

Lord Palmerston 142 

Burdett, Hume, and O'Connell. From a Drawing by HB. . 148 

Daniel O'Connell 146 

O'Connell taking the Oaths in the House. From a Drawing by 

* Phiz ' in • SkctcJie8 in London ' 147 

Edmund Eean as Richard the Third 161 

Old Entrance to the Cock, Fleet Street 163 

The Old Tabard Inn, High Street, Southwark . . . 173 

Sign of the Swan with Two Necks, Carter Lane . 174 

Sign of the Bolt-in-Tun, Fleet Street . . ... . . 174 

Oxford and Cambridge Club, Pall Mall 176 

United University Club, Pall Mall 177 

Crockford's, St. James's Street 179 

Charles Knight. From a Photograph by Huglves <t Mullins . 184 

Robert Southey 185 

Thomas Moore 186 

• Vathek ' Beckford. From a Medallion 187 

Walter Savage Landor. From a Photograph by H. Watkins . 188 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 189 

Lord Byron 190 

Sir Walter Scott 191 

A Fashionable Beauty of 1837. By A. E. Chalon, R.A. . . 198 

Lord Tennyson as a Young Man. From the Picture by Sir T. 

Lawrence, R.A 196 

Matthew Arnold 200 

Charles Darwin 201 



/ 



xvi FIFTY YEARS AGO 

PAGS 

Holland House 203 

Letting Children down a Coal- Mine. From a Plate in • The 

Westminster Review ' 225 

Children Working in a Coal- Mine. From a Plate in ' The West- 
minster Review ' 229 

London Street Characters, 1837. From a Drawing by John 

Leech 231 

Marshalsea — The Courtyard. From a Drawing by C. A. Van- 

derhoof 239 




•JUEEN VICTOBIA IN W3fc 
ruin b Drawing bj B. J. Live, A.R.A.) 



FIFTY YEARS AGO. 



*_1 % 



CHAPTER I. 

GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, AND THE COLONIES. 



I propose to set before my readers a picture of the 
country as it was when Queen Victoria (God save the 
Queen !) ascended the throne, now fifty years ago and 
more. It will be a picture of a time so utterly passed 
away and vanished that a young man can hardly under- 
stand it. I, who am no longer, unhappily, quite so 
young as some, and whose babyhood heard the cannon 
of the Coronation, can partly understand this time, 
because in many respects, and especially in the man- 
ners of the middle class, customs and habits which 
went out of fashion in London lingered in the country 
towns, and formed part of my own early experiences. 

In the year 1837 — I shall repeat this remark several 
times, because I wish to impress the fact upon every- 
body — we were still, to all intents and purposes, in the 
eighteenth century. As yet the country was untouched 

B 



f\s 



i FIFTY YEARS AGO 

by that American influence which is now filling al J 
peoples with new ideas. Rank was still held in the 
ancient reverence; religion was still that of the 
eighteenth-century Church ; the rights of labour were 
not yet recognised; there were no trades' unions; there 
were no railways to speak of; nobody travelled except 




the rich ; their own country was unknown to the 
people ; the majority of country people could not read 
or write ; the good old discipline of Father Stick and 
his children, Cat-o' -Nine-Tails, Rope's-end, Strap, Birch, 
Ferule, and Cane, was wholesomely maintained ; land- 
lords, manufacturers, and employers of all kinds did 



GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 3 

what they pleased with their own ; and the Blue Eibbon 
was unheard of. There were still some fiery spirits in 
whose breasts lingered the ideas of the French Kevolu- 
tion, and the Chartists were already beginning to run 
their course. Beneath the surface there was discon- 
tent, which sometimes bubbled up. But freedom of 
speech was limited, and if the Sovereign People had 
then ventured to hold a meeting in Trafalgar Square, 
that meeting would have been dispersed in a very swift 
and surprising manner. The Eeform Act had been 
passed, it is true, but as yet had produced little effect. 
Elections were carried by open bribery; the Civil 
Service was full of great men's nominees ; the Church 
was devoured by pluralists ; there were no competitive 
examinations ; the perpetual pensions were many and 
fat ; and for the younger sons and their progeny the 
State was provided with any number of sinecures. 
How men contrived to live and to be cheerful in this 
state of things one knows not. But really, I think it 
made very little apparent difference to their happiness 
that this country was crammed full of abuses, and that 
the Ship of State, to outsiders, seemed as if she were 
about to capsize and founder. 

This is to be a short chapter of figures. Figures 
mean very little unless they can be used for purposes 
of comparison. When, for instance, one reads that in 
the Census of 1831 the population of Great Britain 
was 16,539,318, the fact has little significance except 
when compared with the Census of 1881, which shows 

B 2 



4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

that the population of the country had increased in 
fifty years from sixteen millions to twenty-four millions. 
And, again, one knows not whether to rejoice or to 
weep over this fact until it has been ascertained how 
the condition of these millions has changed for better 
or for worse, and whether the outlook for the future, 
if, in the next fifty years, twenty-four become thirty- 
six, is hopeful or no. Next, when one reads that the 
population of Ireland was then 
seven millions and three-quar- 
ters, and is now less than five 
millions, and, further, that one 
Irishman in three was always 
next door to starving, and that 
the relative importance of Ire- 
land to Great Britain was then 
as one to two, and is now as 
one to five, one naturally con- 
gratulates Ireland on getting 
more elbow-room and Great 
Britain on the relative decrease 
in Irish power to do the larger island an injury. 

The Army and Navy together in 1831 contained no 
more than 277,017 men, or half their present number. 
But then the proportion of the English military strength 
to the French was much nearer one of equality. The 
relief of the poor in 1831 absorbed 6,875,5522., but 
this sum in 1844 had dropped to 4,976,0902., the 
saving of two millions being due to the new Poor Law. 




GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 5 

The stream of emigration had hardly yet begun to flow. 
Witness the following figures : — 

The number of emigrants in 1820 was 18,984 

1825 8,860 

1832 103,311 
1837 72,034 



>» »> 



It was not until 1841 that the great flow of emi- 
grants began in the direction of New Zealand and Aus- 
tralia. The emigrants of 1832 chiefly went to Canada, 
and as yet the United States were practically unaffected 
by the rush from the old countries. 

The population of the great towns has for the most 
part doubled itself in the last fifty years. London had 
then a million and a half ; Liverpool, 200,000 ; Man- 
chester, 250,000; Glasgow, 250,000; Birmingham, 
150,000 ; Leeds, 140,000 ; and Bristol, 120,000. 

Penal settlements were still flourishing. Between 
1825 and 1840, when they were suppressed, 48,712 
convicts were sent out to Sydney. As regards travel- 
ling, the fastest rate along the high roads was ten miles 
an hour. There were 54 four-horse mail coaches in 
England, and 49 two=-horse mails. In Ireland there 
were 30 four-horse coaches, and 10 in Scotland. There 
were 3,026 stage coaches in the country, of which 
1,507 started from London. 

There were already 668 British steamers afloat, 
though the penny steamboat did not as yet ply upon 
the river. Heavy goods travelled by the canals and 
navigable rivers, of which there were 4,000 in Great 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



Britain ; the hackney coach, with its pair of horses, 
lumbered slowly along the street ; the cabriolet was 
the light vehicle for rapid conveyance, but it was not 
popular ; the omnibus had only recently been intro- 
duced by Mr. Shillibeer; and there were no hansom 
cabs. There was a Twopenny Post in London, but no 
Fenny Poet as yet. There 
was no Book Post, no 
Parcel Post, no London 
Parcels Delivery Company. 
If you wanted to send a 
parcel to anywhere in 
the country, you confided 
it to the guard of the 
coach ; if to a town ad- 
dress, there were street 
messengers and the ' cads ' 
about the stage-coach 
stations ; there were no telegraphs, no telephones, no 
commissionaires. 

Fifty years ago the great railways were all begun, 
but not one of them was completed. A map published 
in the Atkenmtm of January 23, 1836, shows the state 
of the railways at that date. The line between Liver- 
pool and Manchester was opened in September, 1830. 
In 1836 it was carrying 450,000 passengers in the year, 
and paying a dividend of 9 per cent. The line between 
Carlisle and Newcastle was very nearly completed ; that 
between Leeds and Selby was opened in 1834 ; there 




GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 7 

were many short lines in the coal and mining districts, 
and little bits of the great lines were already completed. 
The London and Greenwich line was begun in 1834 and 
opened in 1837. There were in progress the London 
and Birmingham, the Birmingham, Stafford, and War- 
rington, the Great Western as far as Bath and Bristol, 
and the London and Southampton passing through 
Basingstoke. It is amazing to think that Portsmouth, 
the chief naval port and place of embarkation for 
troops, was left out altogether. There were also a 
great many lines projected, which afterwards settled 
down into the present great Trunk lines. As they were 
projected in 1836, instead of Great Northern, North- 
western, and Great Eastern, we should have had one 
line passing through Saffron Walden, Cambridge, 
Peterborough, Lincoln, York, Appleby, and Carlisle, 
with another from London to Colchester, Ipswich, 
Norwich, and Yarmouth ; there was also a projected 
continuation of the G.W.R. line from Bristol to Exeter, 
and three or four projected lines to Brighton and Dover. 
The writer of the article on the subject in the Athenceum 
of that date (January 23, 1836) considers that when 
these lines are completed, letters and passengers will 
be conveyed from London to Liverpool in ten hours. 
4 Little attention,' he says, ' has yet been given to calcu- 
late the effects which must result from the establishment 
throughout the kingdom of great lines of intercourse 
traversed at a speed of twenty miles an hour.' Unfor- 
tunately he had no confidence in himself as a prophet, 



8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

or we might have had some curious and interesting 
forecasts. 

As regards the extent of the British Empire, there 
has been a very little contraction and an enormous 
extension. We have given up the Ionian Islands to 
gratify the sentiment of Mr. Gladstone, and we have 
acquired Cyprus, which may perhaps prove of use. 
We have taken possession of Aden, at the mouth of 
the Eed Sea. In Hindostan, which in 1837 was still 
partially ruled by a number of native princes, the flag 
of Great Britain now reigns supreme ; the whole of 
Burma is now British Burma ; the little island of Hong 
Kong, which hardly appears in Arrowsmith's Atlas of 
1840, is now a stronghold of the British Empire. 
Borneo, then wholly unknown, now belongs partially 
to us ; New Guinea is partly ours ; Fiji is ours. For 
the greatest change of all, however, we must look at the 
maps of Australia and New Zealand. In the former 
even the coast had not been completely surveyed ; Mel- 
bourne was as yet but a little unimportant township. 
Between Melbourne and Botany Bay there was not a 
single village, settlement, or plantation. It was not 
until the year 1851, only thirty-six years ago, that Port 
Phillip was separated from New South Wales, and 
created an independent colony under the name of 
Victoria ; and for a few years it was a very rowdy and 
noisy colony indeed. 

In New South Wales, the population of which 
was about 150,000, convicts were still sent out. In 



GREA T BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 9 

the year 1840, when the transportation ceased, 21,000 
convicts were assigned to private service. There were 
in Sydney many men, ex-convicts, who had raised them- 
selves to wealth ; society was divided by a hard line, 
not to be crossed in that generation by those on the 
one side whose antecedents were honourable and those 
on the other who had ' served their time.' Tasmania 
was also still a penal colony, and, apparently, a place 
where the convicts did not do so well as in New South 
Wales. 

Queensland as a separate colony was not yet in exist- 
ence, though Brisbane had been begun ; tropical Aus- 
tralia was wholly unsettled ; Western Australia was, 
what it still is, a poor and thinly settled country. 

The map of New Zealand — it was not important 
enough to have a map all to itself — shows the coast-line 
imperfectly surveyed, and not a single town or English 
settlement upon it ! Fifty years ago that great colony 
was not yet even founded. The first serious settlement 
was made in 1839, when a patch of land at Port 
Nicholson, in Cook Strait, was bought from the natives 
for the first party of settlers sent out by the recently 
established New Zealand Company. 

In North America the whole of the North-West 
Territory, including Manitoba, Muskoka, British Co- 
lumbia, and Vancouver's Island, was left to Indians, 
trappers, buffaloes, bears, and rattlesnakes. South 
Africa shows the Cape Colony and nothing else. Natal, 
Orange Free State, the Transvaal, Bechuanaland, Griqua- 



io FIFTY YEARS AGO 

land, Zululand are all part of the great undiscovered 
continent. Considering that all these lands have now 
been opened up and settled, so that where was formerly 
a hundred square miles of forest and prairie there is 
now the same area covered with plantations, towns, and 
farms, it will be understood that the British Empire has 
been increased not only in area, but in wealth, strength, 
and resources to an extent which would have been con- 
sidered incredible fifty years ago. It is, in fact, just the 
difference between owning a barren heath and owning 
a cultivated farm. The British Empire in 1837 con- 
tained millions of square miles of barren heath and wild 
forest, which are now settled land and smiling planta- 
tions. It boasted of vast countries, with hardly a single 
European in them, which are now filled with English 
towns. In 1837 prophets foretold the speedy downfall 
of an Empire which could no longer defend her vast 
territories. These territories can now defend them- 
selves. It may be that we shall have to fight for 
empire, but the longer the day of battle is put off the 
better it will be for England, and the greater will be 
her might. To carry on that war, there are now, 
scattered over the whole of the British Empire, fifty 
millions of people speaking the Anglo-Saxon tongue. 
In fifty years' time there will be two hundred millions 
in Great Britain, Ireland, Australia, Africa, Asia, New 
Zealand, and the Isles, with another two hundred 
millions in the States. If the English-speaking races 
should decide to unite in a vast confederacy, all the 



GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES n 

other Powers on the earth combined will not be able to 
do them an injury. Perhaps after this life we shall be 
allowed to see what goes on in the world. If so, there 
is joy in store for the Briton ; if not, we have been born 
too soon. 

Next to the extension and development of the 
Empire comes the opening up of new countries. We 
have rescued since the year 1837 the third part of 
Africa from darkness ; we have found the sources of 
the Nile ; we have traced the great Eiver Congo from 
its source to its mouth ; we have explored the whole 
of Southern Africa ; we have rediscovered the great 
African lakes which were known to the Jesuits in the 
seventeenth century ; in Australia we have crossed and 
recrossed the continent ; the whole of North America 
has been torn from the Eed Indians, and is now settled 
in almost every part. 

If the progress of Great Britain has been great, that 
of the United States has been amazing. Along the 
Pacific shore, where were fifty years ago sand and rock 
and snow, where formerly the sluggish Mexican kept 
his ranch and the Eed Indian hunted the buffalo, great 
towns and American States now flourish. Arkansas 
and Missouri were frontier Western States ; Michigan 
was almost without settlers ; Chicago was a little place 
otherwise called Fort Dearborn. The population of the 
States was still, except for the negroes, and a few de- 
scendants of Germans, Dutch, and Swedes, chiefly of 
pure British descent. As yet there were in America 



iz FIFTY YEARS AGO 

few Irish, Germans (except in Pennsylvania), Nor- 
wegians, or Italians. Yet the people, much more than 
now our cousins, held little friendly feeling towards the 




(From a Droning made In MSO) 



Mother Country, and lacked the kindly sentiment' which 
has grown up of late years ; they were quite out of 
touch with us, strangers to us, and yet speaking our 



GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 13 

tongue, reading our literature, and governed by our 
laws. 

As soon as the battle of Waterloo was fairly fought 
and Napoleon put away at St. Helena, the Continental 
professors, historians, political students, and journalists 
all began with one accord to prophesy the approaching 
downfall of Great Britain, which some affected to deplore 
and others regarded with complacency. Everything 
conspired, it was evident, not only to bring about this 
decline, but also to accelerate it. The parallel of Car- 
thage — England has always been set up as the second 
Carthage — was freely exhibited, especially in those 
countries which felt themselves called upon and quali- 
fied to play the part of Rome. It was pointed out that 
there was the dreadful deadweight of Ireland, with its 
incurable poverty and discontent ; the approaching decay 
of trade, which could be only, in the opinion of these 
keen-sighted philosophers, a matter of a few years ; the 
enormous weight of the National Debt ; the ruined 
manufacturers ; the wasteful expenditure of the Govern- 
ment in every branch ; the corrupting influence of the 
Poor Laws ; the stain of slavery ; the restrictions of 
commerce ; the intolerance of the Church ; the narrow- 
ness and prejudice of the Universities ; the ignorance 
of the people ; their drinking habits ; the vastness of 
the Empire. These causes, together with discontent, 
chartism, republicanism, atheism — in fact, all the dis- 
agreeablisms — left no doubt whatever that England was 
doomed. Foreigners, in fact, not yet recovered from 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



the extraordinary spectacle of Great Britain's long duel 
with France and its successful termination, prophesied 
what they partly hoped out of envy and jealousy, and 
partly feared from self-interest. Therefore the poli- 




ticians and professors were always looking at this 
country, writing about it, watching it, visiting it. No ; 
there could be no doubt ; none of these changes and 
dangers could be denied ; the factories were choked with 



GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, THE COLONIES 15 

excessive production; poverty stalked through the 
country ; the towns were filled with ruined women ; 
the streets were cumbered with drunken men ; the 
children were growing up in ignorance and neglect in- 
conceivable ; what could come of all this but ruin ? 
Even — and this was the most wonderful and incredible 
thing to those who do not understand how long a Briton 
will go on enduring wrongs and suffering anomalies — 
the very House of Commons in this boasted land of 
freedom did not represent half the people, seats were 
openly bought and sold, others were filled with nomi- 
nees of the great men who owned them. What could 
possibly follow but ruin — swift and hopeless ruin? 
What, indeed ? Prophets of disaster always omit one 
or two important elements in their calculations, and it 
is through these gaps that the people basely wriggle, 
instead of fulfilling prophecy as they ought to do. For 
instance, there is the recuperative power of Man, and 
there is his individuality. He may be full of moral 
disease, yet such is his excellent constitution that he 
presently recovers — he shakes off his evil habits as he 
shakes the snow off his shoulders, and goes on an 
altered creature. Again, the mass of men may be in 
heavy case, but the individual man is patient ; he has 
strength to suffer and endure until he can pull through 
the worst ; he has patience to wait for better times : 
difficulties only call forth his ingenuity and his resource : 
disaster stiffens his back, danger finds him brave. 
Always, to the prophet who knows not Man, the case 



16 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

is hopeless. Always, to one who considers that by 
gazing into the looking-glass, especially immediately 
before or after his morning bath, he may perceive his 
brother as well as himself, things are hopeful. My 
brother, have things, at your worst, ever been, morally, 
so bad with you that you have despaired of recovery, 
seeing that you had only to resolve and you were 
cured? Have you ever reflected that while, to the 
outside world, to your maiden aunts and to your female 




cousins, you were most certainly drifting to moral 
wreck and material ruin, you have gone about the 
world with a hopeful heart, feeling that the future 
was in your own grasp ? Even now the outlook of 
the whole world is truly dark, and the clouds are 
lowering. Yet surely the outlook was darker, the 
clouds were blacker, fifty years ago. Read Carlyle's 
' Past and Present,' and compare. There may be other 
dangers before us of which we then suspected nothing. 




7- &*V- 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER II. 

THE YEAR 1837. 

The year 1837, except for the 
death of the old King and the 
accession of the young Queen, 
was a tolerably insignificant 
year. It was on June 20 that 
the King died. He was buried 
on the evening of July 9 at St. 
George's Chapel, "Windsor; on : 
the 10th the Queen dissolved 
Parliament; on the 13th she 
went to Buckingham Palace; 
and on November 9 she visited 
the City, where tliey gave her a 
magnificent banquet, served in 
Guildhall at half-past five, the 
Lord Mayor and City magnates 
humbly taking their modest 
meal at a lower table. Both 
the hour appointed for the 
banquet and the humility of 

the Lord Mayor and Aldermen point to a remote 

period. 




THE YEAR 1837 19 

The year began with the influenza. Everybody 
had it. The offices of the various departments of the 
Civil Service were deserted because all the clerks had 
influenza. Business of all kinds was stopped because 
merchants, clerks, bankers, and brokers all had influ- 
enza ; at Woolwich fifty men of the Royal Artillery 
and Engineers were taken into hospital daily, with 
influenza. The epidemic seems to have broken out 
suddenly, and suddenly to have departed. Another 
important event of the year was the establishment of 
steam communication with India by way of the Red 
Sea. The ' Atalanta ' left Bombay on October 2, and 
arrived at Suez on October 16. The mails were brought 
into Alexandria on the 20th, and despatched, such was 
the celerity of the authorities, on November 7 by H.M.S. 
4 Volcano.' They reached Malta on the 11th, Gibraltar 
on the 16th, and England on December 4, taking sixty 
days in all, of which, however, eighteen days were 
wasted in Alexandria, so that the possible time of 
transit from Bombay to England was proved to be 
forty-two days. 

This was the year of the Greenacre murder. The 
wretched man was under promise to marry an elderly 
woman, thinking she had money. One night, while 
they were drinking together, she confessed that she 
had none, and had deceived him ; whereupon, seized 
with wrath, he took up whatever weapon lay to his 
hand, and smote her on the head so that she fell back- 
wards dead. Now mark : if this man had gone straight 

c 2 



2o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

to the nearest police-office, and confessed the crime of 
homicide, he would certainly have escaped hanging. 
But he was so horribly frightened at what had happened, 
that he tried to hide the thing by cutting up the body 
and bestowing the fragments in various places, all of 
them the most likely to be discovered. There was 
another woman in the 
case, proved to have 
been in his confidence, 
and tried with him, 
when all the pieces 
had been recovered, 
and the murder was 
brought home to him. 
He was found guilty 
and hanged. And 
never was there a 
hanging more numer- 
ously or more fashion- 
ably attended. The 
principal performer, 
however, is Baid to 
have disappointed his audience by a pusillanimous 
shrinking from the gallows when he was brought out. 
The woman was sent to Australia, where, perhaps, she 
still survives. 

There was also, this year, an extremely scandalous 
action in the High Court of Justice. It was a libel 
case brought by Lord de Eos, and arose out of a gam- 





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THE YEAR 1837 21 

bling quarrel, in which his lordship was accused of 
cheating at cards. It was said that, under pretence of 
a bad cough and asthma, he kept diving under the 
table and fishing up kings and aces, a thing which 
seems of elementary simplicity, and capable of clear 
denial. His lordship, in fact, did deny it, stoutly and 
on oath. Yet the witnesses as stoutly swore that he 
did do this thing, and the jury found that he did. 
Whereupon his lordship retired to the Continent, and 
shortly afterwards died, s.p., without offspring to lament 
his errors. 

There was a terrible earthquake this year in the 
Holy Land. The town of Safed was laid in ruins, and 
more than four thousand of the people were killed. 
There was a project against the life of Louis-Philippe, 
by one Champion, who was arrested. He was base 
enough to hang himself in prison, so that no one ever 
knew if he had any accomplices. 

The news arrived also of a dreadful massacre in 
New Zealand. There was only one English settlement 
in the country ; it was at a place called Makuta, in the 
North Island, where a Mr. Jones, of Sydney, had a 
flax establishment, consisting of 120 people, men, 
women, and children. They were attacked by a party 
of 800 natives, and were all barbarously murdered. 

A fatal duel was fought on Hampstead Heath, near 
the Spaniards Tavern. The combatants were a 
Colonel Haring, of the Polish army, and another Polish 
officer, who was shot. The seconds carried him to the 



22 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Middlesex Hospital, where he died, and nothing more 
was aaid about it. 

The dangers of emigration were illustrated by the 
voyage of the good ship ' Diamond,' of Liverpool. She 
had on board a party of passengers emigrating to New 
York. In the good old sailing days, the passengers 




were expected to lay in their own provisions, the ship 
carrying water for them. Now the ' Diamond ' met with 
contrary winds, and was ninety days out, three times 
as long as was expected. The ship had no more than 
enough provisions for the crew, and when the passen- 
gers had exhausted their store their sufferings were 
terrible. 



THE YEAR 1837 23 

An embassy from the King of Madagascar arrived 
this year, and was duly presented at Court. I know 
not what business they transacted, but the fact has a 
certain interest for me because it was my privilege, about 
four-and-twenty years ago, to converse with one of the 
nobles who had formed part of that embassy, and who, 
after a quarter of a century, was going again on another 
mission to the Court of St. James. He was, when I saw 
him, an elderly man, dark of skin, but, being a Hova, 
most intelligent and well-informed ; also, being a Hova, 
anxious to say the thing which would please his hearers. 
He recalled many incidents connected with the long 
journey round the Cape in a sailing vessel, the crowds 
and noise of London, the venerable appearance of King 
William, and his general kindness to the ambassadors. 
When he had told us all he could recollect, he asked 
us if we should like to hear him sing the song which 
had beguiled many weary hours of his voyage. We 
begged him to sing it, expecting to hear something 
national and fresh, something redolent of the Mada- 
gascar soil, a song sung in the streets of its capital, An- 
tananarivo, perhaps with a breakdown or a walk round. 
Alas ! he neither danced a breakdown, nor did he walk 
round, nor did he sing us a national song at all. He 
only piped, in a thin sweet tenor, and very correctly, 
that familiar hymn ' Eock of Ages,' to the familiar tune. 
I have never been able to believe that this nobleman, 
His Excellency the Eight Honourable the Lord Eaini- 
feringalarovo, Knight of the Fifteen Honour, entitled 



34 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

to wear a lamba as highly striped as they are made, 
commonly reported to be a pagan, with several wives, 
really comforted his soul, while at sea, with this hymn. 
But he was with Christians, and this was a missionary's 
hymn which he had often heard, and it would doubtless 
please us to hear it sung. Thereupon he sang it, and 
a dead silence fell upon us. Behold, however, the 




reason why the record of this simple event, the arrival 
of the embassy from Madagascar, strikes a chord in 
the mind of one at least who reads it. There is little 
else to chronicle in the year. The University of Dur- 
ham was founded : a truly brilliant success have they 
made of this learned foundation ! And Sir Robert Feel 
was Rector of Glasgow University. For the rest, 



THE YEAR 1837 25 

boilers burst, coaches were upset, and many books of 
immense genius were produced, which now repose in 
the Museum. 

Yet a year which marked the close of one period 
and the commencement of another. The steamship 
' Atalanta ' carrying the bags to Suez — what does this 
mean ? The massacre in New Zealand of the only 
white men on the island — what does this portend ? 
The fatal duel at Hampstead ; the noble lord convicted 
of cheating at cards ; the emigrant ship ninety days 
out with no food for the passengers — what are these 
things but illustrations of a time that has now passed 
away, the passage from the eighteenth to the nineteenth 
century ? For there are no longer any duels ; noble 
lords no longer gamble, unless they are very young 
and foolish ; ships no longer take passengers without 
food for them ; we have lessened the distance to India 
by three-fourths, measured by time ; and the Maoris 
will rise no more, for their land is filled with the white 
men. 

In that year, also, there were certain ceremonies 
observed which have now partly fallen into disuse. 

For instance, on Twelfth Day it was the custom 
for confectioners to make in their windows a brave 
show of Twelfth-cakes ; it was also the custom of the 
public to flatten their noses against the windows and 
to gaze upon the treasures displayed to view. It was, 
further, the custom — one of the good old annual cus- 
toms, like beating the bounds — for the boys to pin 



26 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

together those who were thus engaged by their coat- 
tails, shawls, skirts, sleeves, the ends of comforters, 
wrappers, and boas, and other outlying portions of 
raiment. When they discovered the trick — of course 
they only made pretence at being unconscious — by the 
rending, tearing, and destruction of their garments, 
they never failed to fall into ecstasies of (pretended) 
wrath, to the joy of the children, who next year re- 




peated the trick with the same success. I think there 
arc no longer any Twelfth -cakes, and I am sure that 
the boys have forgotten that trick. 

On Twelfth Day the Bishop of London made an 
oiTering in the Chapel Eoyal of St. James's in com- 
memoration of the Wise Men from the East. Is that 
oiTering made still ? and, if so, what does his lordship 
offer ? and with what prayers, or hopes, or expecta- 
tions, is that offering made? 



THE YEAR 1837 27 

At the commencement of Hilary Term the judges 
took breakfast with the Lord Chancellor, and after- 
wards drove in state to Westminster. 

On January 30, King Charles's Day, the Lords went 
in procession to Westminster Abbey and the Commons 
to St. Margaret's, both Houses to hear the Service of 
Commemoration. Where is that service now ? 

On Easter Sunday the Eoyal Family attended Divine 
Service at St. James's, and received the Sacrament. 

On Easter Monday the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and 
Aldermen went in state to Christ Church, formerly the 
Church of the Grey Friars, and heard service. In the 
evening there was a great banquet, with a ball. A 
fatiguing day for my Lord Mayor. 

Easter Monday was also the day of the Epping 
Hunt. Greenwich Fair was held on that and the two 
following days. And in Easter week the theatres played 
pieces for children. 

On the first Sunday in Easter the Lord Mayor and 
Sheriffs went in state to St. Paul's, and had a banquet 
afterwards. 

On May Day the chimney-sweeps had their annual 
holiday. 

On Ascension Day they made a procession of parish 
functionaries and parochial schools, and beat the bounds, 
and, to mark them well in the memory of all, they beat 
the charity children who attended the beadle, and they 
beat all the boys they caught on the way, and they 
banged against the boundaries all the strangers who 

CO c 



28 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

passed within their reach. When it came to banging 
the strangers, they had a high old time. 

On the Queen's Birthday there was a splendid pro- 
fession of stage-coaches from Piccadilly to the Post 
Office. 

Lastly, on Septcmlwr 3, Bartholomew Fair was 




w Cloth Fair, the plr.ce of 



opened by the Lord Mayor, and then followed what 
our modern papers are wont to call a carnival, but what 
the papers of 1837 called, without any regard to pic- 
turesque writing, a scene of unbridled profligacy, 
licentiousness, and drunkenness, with fighting, both of 



THE YEAR 1837 29 

fists and cudgels, pumping on pickpockets, robbery and 
cheating, noise and shouting, the braying of trumpets 
and the banging of drums. If you want to know what 
this ancient fair was like, go visit the Agricultural Hall 
at Christmas. They have the foolish din and noise of 
it, and if the people were drunk, and there were no 
police, and everybody was ready and most anxious to 
fight, and the pickpockets, thieves, bullies, and black- 
guards were doing what they pleased, you would have 
Bartholomew Fair complete. 



3o FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER IH. 

LONDON IN 1837. 

The extent of London in 1837, that is to say, of close 
and continuous London, may be easily understood by 
drawing on the map a red line a little above the south 
side of Regent's Park. This line must be prolonged 
west until it strikes the Edgware Road, and eastward 
until it strikes the Regent's Canal, after which it follows 
the Canal until it falls into the Regent's Canal Docks. 
This is, roughly speaking, the boundary of the great 
city on the north and east. Its western boundary is 
the lower end of the Edgw r are Road, Park Lane, and a 
line drawn from Hyde Park Corner to Westminster 
Bridge. The river is its southern boundary, but if you 
wish to include the Borough, there will be a narrow 
fringe on the south side. This was the whole of London 
proper, that is to say, not the City of London, or London 
with her suburbs, but continuous London. If you look 
at Mr. Loftie's excellent map of London, 1 showing the 
extent built upon at different periods, you will find a 
greater area than this ascribed to London at this period. 
That is because Mr. Loftie has chosen to include many 
parts which at this time were suburbs of one street, 

1 Loftie's History of London. Stanford, 1884. 



LONDON IN 1837 3I 

straggling houses, with fields, nurseries, and market- 
gardens. Thus Kennington, Brixton, and Camberwell 
are included. But these suburban places were not in 
any sense part of continuous -London, Open fields and 
gardens were lying behind the roads ; at the north end 
of Kennington Common — then a dreary expanse uncared 
for and down-trodden — lay open ponds and fields; there 
were fields between Vauxhall Gardens and the Oval. If 
we look at the north of London, 
there were no houses round Prim- 
rose Hill ; fields stretched north and 
east ; to the west one or two roads 
were already pushing out, such as 
the Abbey Eoad and Avenue Koad ; 
through the pleasant fields of Kil- 
burn, where still stood the pictur- 
esque fragments of Kilburn Priory, 
the Bayswater rivulet ran pleasantly; 
it was joined by two other brooks, 
one rising in St. John's Wood, and 
flowing through what are now called Craven Gardens 
into the Serpentine. On Haverstock Hill were a few 
villas ; Chalk Farm still had its farm buildings ; Belsize 
House, with its park and lake, was the nearest house to 
Primrose Hill. A few houses showed the site of Kentish 
Town, while Camden Town was then a village, clustered 
about its High Street in the Hampstead Road. Even 
the York and Albany Tavern looked out back and front 
on fields ; Momington Crescent gazed across its garden 




33 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

m 

upon open fields and farms ; the great burial-ground tf 
St. James's Church had fields at the back ; behind St. 
Pancras' Churchyard stretched 'Mr. Agar's Farm;' 
Islington was little more than a single street, with 
houses on either side ; Bagnigge Wells — it stood at the 
north-east of St. Andrew's Burying-ground in Gray'i 
Inn Boad — was still in full swing ; Hoxton had some of 
its old houses still standing, with the Haberdashers' 
Almshouses; the rest was laid out in nurseries and 
gardens. King's Cross was Battle Bridge ; and Penton- 
ville was only in its infancy. 

Looking at this comparatively narrow area, consider 
the enormous growth of fifty years. What was Bow? 
A little village. What was Stratford, now a town of 
70,000 people? There was no Stratford. Bromley 
was a waste ; Dalston, Clapham, Hackney, Tottenham, 
Canonbury, Barnsbury — these were mere villages ; now 
they are great and populous towns. But perhaps the 
change is more remarkable still when one considers the 
West End. All that great cantlet lying between Mary- 
lebone Road and Oxford Street was then much in the 
same state as now, though with some difference in detail; 
thus, one is surprised to find that the south of Blandford 
Square was occupied by a great nursery. But west of 
Edgware Boad there was next to nothing. Connaughi 
Square was already built, and the ground between the 
Grand Junction Road and the Bayswater Boad was just 
laid out for building ; but the great burying-ground of 
St. George's, now hidden from view and built round, 



.'i j, 



LONDON IN 1837 33 

* 

was in fields. The whole length of the Bayswater Eoad 
ran along market-gardens; a few houses stood in St. 
Petersburg Place; Westbourne Green had hardly a 
cottage on it ; Westbourne Park was a green enclosure ; 
there were no houses on Notting Hill ; Campden Hill 
had only one or two great houses, and a field-path led 
pleasantly from Westbourne Green to the Kensington 
Gravel Pits. 

On the west and south-west the Neat Houses, with 
their gardens, occupied the ground west of Vauxhall 
Bridge. Earl's Court, with its great gardens and mound, 
stood in the centre of the now crowded and dreary 
suburb ; south of the Park stood many great houses, 
such as Eutland House, now destroyed and replaced by 
terraces and squares. But though London was then so 
small compared with its present extent, it was already 
a most creditable city. Those who want more figures 
will be pleased to read that at the census of 1831 London 
contained 14,000 acres, or nearly twenty-two square 
miles. This area was divided into 153 parishes, con- 
taining 10,000 streets and courts and 250,000 houses. 
Its population was 1,646,288. Fifty years before it was 
half that number, fifty years later it was double that 
number. We may take the population of the year 1837 
as two millions. 

More figures. There were 90,000 passengers across 
London Bridge every day, there were 1,200 cabriolets, 
600 hackney coaches, and 400 omnibuses ; there were 
30,000 deaths annually. The visitors every year were 

D 



34 FIFTY YEARS AGO g 

estimated at 12,000. Among the residents were 130,000 
Scotchmen, 200,000 Irish, and 30,000 French. These 
figures convey to my own mind very little meaning, hut 
they look big, and so I have put 
them down. Speaking roughly, 
London fifty years ago was twice 
as big as Paris is now, or the 
present New York. 

As for the buildings of Lon- 
don proper, fifty years have 
witnessed many changes, and 
have brought many losses — more 
losses, perhaps, than gains. The 
Royal Exchange built by Edward 
< ^Sk£^L^nA. bT ci Borgs0r ^ tt " J ennan m place of Sir Thomas 
Oresham's of 1570 was burnt to 
the ground on January 10, 1838. The present building, 
designed by Sir William Tite, was opened by the Queen 





in person on October 28, 1844. Jerman's Exchange was 
a quadrangular building, with a dock-tower of timber 



._** 



LONDON IN 1837 35 

on the Cornhill aide. It had" an inner cloister and a 
' pawn,' or gallery, above for the sale of fancy goods. It 
was decorated by a series of statues of the Kings, from 




Edward I. to George IV. Sion College, which until the 
other day stood in the street called London Wall, was 




not yet wantonly and wickedly destroyed by those who 
should have been its natural and official protectors, the 
London clergy 



36 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Things happen so quickly that one easily forgets ; 
yet let me pay a farewell tribute and drop a tear 
to the memory of the most delightful spot in the 
whole of London. The building was not of extreme 
age, but it stood upon the ancient site of Elsinge Spital, 
which itself stood upon the site of the old Cripple- 
gate Nunnery ; it was founded in 1623 by the will 
of one Dr. Thomas White, Vicar of St. Dunstan's-in-. 
the-West ; the place was damaged by the Great Fire, 
and little of the building was older, I believe, than 1690, 
or thereabouts. But one stepped out of the noise and 
hurry of the very heart of London into a courtyard 
where the air was instantly hushed ; on the right hand 
were the houses of the almsmen and women, though I 
believe they had of late ceased to occupy them. Above 
the almshouses was the long narrow library ci 
with books, the sight and fragrance of which 
the grateful soul with joy. On the left side of 
court was the Hall used for meetings, and open all 
to the London clergy for reading the magazines, reviews, 
and papers. A quiet, holy place. Puller wrote his 
4 Church History ' in this college ; the illustrious Psalm* 
nazar wrote here his ' Universal History * — it was after 
he repented of his colossal lies, and had begun to live 
cleanly. Two hundred and fifty years have witnessed 
a long succession of London clergymen, learned and 
devout most of them, reading in this library and meet* 
ing in this hall. Now it is pulled down, and a huge 
house occupies its place. The London clergy 



L» ■ «v 



LONDON IN 1837 37 

selves, for the sake of gain, have sold it. And, as for 
the garish thing they have stuck up on the Embankment, 
they may call it what they like, but it is not Sion Col- 
lege. 

Another piece of wanton wickedness was the de 
struction of Northumberland House. It is, of course, 
absurd to say that its removal was required. The re 
moval of a great historic house can never be required 
It was the last of the great houses, with the exception 




of Somerset House, and that is nearly all modern, 
having been erected in 1776-1786 on the site of the 
old palace. 

The Strand, indeed, is very much altered since the 
year 1837. At the west end the removal of Northum- 
berland House has been followed by the building of the 



3 8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Grand Hotel, and the opening of the Northumberland 
Avenue : the Charing Cross Station and Hotel have 
been erected : two or three new theatres have been 
added : Temple Bar has been taken down — in any other 
country the old gate would have been simply left stand- 
ing, because it was an ancient historical monument; 
they would have spared it, and made a roadway on 
either side : the rookeries which formerly stood on the . 




north side close to the Bar have been swept away, and 
the Law Courts stand in their place — where the rooks 
are gone it is impossible to say. I myself dimly re- 
member a labyrinth of lanes, streets, and courts on this 
site. They were inhabited, I believe, by low-class 
soHcitors, money-lenders, racing and betting men, and 
by all kinds of adventurers. Did not Mr. Altamont 
have chambers here, when he visited Captain Costigan 



LONDON IN 1837 39 

in Lyons Inn ? Lyons Inn itself is pulled down, and on 
its site is the Globe Theatre. 

Aa for churches, there has been such an enormous 
increase of churches in the last fifty years, that it seems 
churlish to lament the loss of half a dozen. But this 
half-dozen belongs to the City : they were churches 




built, for the most part, by Wren, on the site of ancient 
churches destroyed in the Fire : they were all hal- 
lowed by old and sacred associations : many of them 
were interesting and curious for their architecture : in a 
word, they ought not to have been pulled down in 
order to raise hideous warehouses over their site. Greed 
of gain prevailed ; and they are gone. People found 
out that their number of worshippers was small, and 
argued that there was no longer any use for them. So 



4 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

they are gone, and can never be replaced. As for their 
names, they were the churches of Allhallows, Broad 
Street; St. Benet's, Gracechurch Street; St. Dionis 
Backchurch ; St. Michael's, Queenhithe; St. Antholin's, 
Budge Row ; St. Bene't Fink ; St. Mary Somerset ; St. 
Mary Magdalen ; and St. Matthew, Friday Street. The 
church of St. Michael, Crooked Lane, in which was 
the grave of Sir William Walworth, disappeared in the 
year 1831 ; those of St. Bartholomew by Eastcheap, 
and of St. Christopher-le-Stock, which stood on either 
side of the Bank, were taken down in the yeaxs 1802 
and 1781 respectively. The site of these old churches 
is generally marked by a small enclosure, grown over 
with thin grass, containing one, or at most two, tombs. 
Tt is about the size of a dining-room table, and you 
may read of it that the burying-ground of Saint So-and- 
so is still preserved. Indeed ! Were the City church- 
yards of such dimensions ? The ' preservation ' of the 
burial-grounds is like the respect which used to be paid 
to the First Day of the week in the early lustra of the 
Victorian Age by the tobacconist. He kept one shutter 
up. So the desecrators of the City churchyards, God's 
acre, the holy ground filled with the bones of dead 
citizens, measured off a square yard or two, kept one 
tomb, and built their warehouses over all the rest. 

All round London the roads were blocked everywhere 
by turnpikes. It is difficult to understand the annoy- 
ance of being stopped continually to show a pass or to 
pay the pike. Thus, there were two or three turnpikes 



LONDON IN 1837 4* 

in what is now called the Euston Road, and was then 
the New Road ; one of them was close to Great Portland 
Street, another at Gower Street. At Battle Bridge, 
which is now King's Cross, there were two, one on the 
East, and one on the west ; there was a pike in St. John 
Street, Clerkenwell. There were two in the City Road, 



(Pram u EngriTiDg in Herbert's 'History of the Imuof Court') 

and one in New North Road, Hoxton ; one at Shoreditch, 
one in Bethnal Green Road, one in Commercial Road. 
No fewer than three in East India Dock Road, three in 
the Old Kent Road, one in Bridge Street, Vauxhall ; one 
in Great Surrey Street, near the Obelisk ; one at Kenning - 
ton Church — what man turned of forty cannot remember 



47 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

I In* scene at the turnpike on Derby Day, when hundreds 
of carriages would be stopped while the pikeman was 
lighting lor his fee ? There was a turnpike named after 
Tyburn, close to Marble Arch ; another at the beginning 
of Kensington Gardens ; one at St. James's Church, 
llainpstead Road, Ingenious persons knew how to 
avoid the pike by making a long detour. 

The turnpike has gone, and the pikeman with his 




apron has gone — nearly everybody's apron has gone 
too — and the gates have been removed. That is a clear 
gain. Hut there are also losses. What, for instance, 
has become of all the baths? Surely we have not, as 
a nation, ceased to desire cleanliness? Yet in reading 
the list of the London baths fifty years ago one cannot 
choose but ask the question. St. Annice-le-Clair used 
to be a medicinal spring, considered efficacious in 



LONDON IN 1837 



43 



rheumatic cases. Who stopped that spring and built 
upon its site? The Peerless Pool close beside it was 
the best swimming bath in all London. When was 
that filled up and built over ? Where are St. Chad's 
Wells nowp Formerly they were in Gray's Inn Road, 
near ' Battle Bridge,' which is now King's Cross, and 
their waters saved many an apothecary's bill. There 




were swimming baths in Shepherdess Walk, near the 
almshouses. When were they destroyed ? There was 
another in Cold Bath Fields ; the spring, a remarkably 
cold one, still runs into a bath of marble slabs, repre- 
sented to have been laid for Mistress Nell Gwynne in 
the days of the Merry Monarch. Curiously, the list 
from which I am quoting does not mention the most 



/. 



I. 
1 1 



44 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

delightful bath of all — the old Eoman Bath in the 
Strand. I remember making the acquaintance of this 
bath long ago, in the fifties, being then a student at 
King's. The water is icy cold, but fresh and bright, 
and always running. The place is never crowded; 
hardly anybody seems to know that here, in the heart 
of London, is a monument of Eoman times, to visit 
which, if it were at Aries or Avignon, people would go 
all the way from London. Some day, no doubt, we 
shall hear that it has been sold and destroyed, like Sion 
College, and the spring built over. 



45 



CHAPTER IV. 

IN THE STREET. 

Let us, friend Eighty-seven, take a walk down the 
Strand on this fine April afternoon of Thirty-seven. 
First, however, you must alter your dress a little. Put 
on this swallow-tail coat, with the high velvet collar — 
it is more becoming than the sporting coat in green 
bulging out over the hips ; change your light tie and 
masher collar for this beautiful satin stock and this 
double breastpin; put on a velvet waistcoat and an 
under-waistcoat of cloth ; thin Cossack trousers with 
straps will complete your costume; turn your shirt 
cuffs back outside the coat sleeve, carry your gloves in 
your hand, and take your cane. You are now, dear 
Eighty-seven, transformed into the dandy of fifty years 
ago, and will not excite any attention as we walk along 
the street. 

We will start from Charing Cross and will walk 
towards the City. You cannot remember, Eighty- seven, 
the King's Mews that stood here on the site of Trafalgar 
Square. When it is completed, with the National 
Gallery on the north side, the monument and statue of 
Nelson, the fountains and statues that they talk about, 
there will be a very fine square. And we have cer- 






4 fi FIFTY YEARS AGO 

lainly <:iit rid of a "roup of mean and squalid streets 
to make room for the square. It is lucky that they 
have left Northumberland House, the last of the great 
palaces that once lined the Strand. 




The Strand looks very much as it will in your time, 
though the shop fronts are not by any means so fine. 
There is no Charing Cross Station or Northumberland 
Avenue ; most of the shops have bow windows and 



IN THE STREET 



47 



there is no plate-glass, but instead, small panes such 
as you will only see here and there in your time. The 
people, however, have a surprisingly different appear- 
ance. The ladies, because the east wind is cold, still 
keep to their fur tippets, their thick shawls, and have 
their necks wrapped round with boas, the ends of 
which hang down to their skirts, a fashion revived by 




yourself; their bonnets are remarkable structures, like 
an ornamental coal-scuttle of the Thirty-seven, not the 
Eighty-seven, period, and some of them are of sur- 
prising dimensions, and decorated with an amazing pro- 
fusion of ribbons and artificial flowers. Their sleeves 
are shaped like a leg of mutton ; their shawls are like 
a dining-roora carpet of the time — not like your 
dining-room carpet, Eighty-seven, but a carpet of 



4« 



FIFTY YEA US AGO 



Haunting colour, crimson and scarlet which would 
give you a headache. But the curls of the younger 
ladies are not without their charms, and their eyes 
are as bright as those of their grandchildren, are they 
not? 

Let us stand still awhile and watch the throng 
where the tide of life, as Johnson said, is the fullest. 




Here conies, with a roll intended for a military 
swagger, the cheap dandy. I know not what he is by 
trade ; he is too old for a medical student, not shabby 
enough for an attorney's clerk, and not respectable 
enough for a City clerk. Is it possible that he is a 
young gentleman of very small fortune which he ii 
running through ? He wears a tall hat broader at the 



^aiiii 



IN THE STREET 



top than at the bottom, he carries white thread gloves, 
sports a cane, has his trousers tightly strapped, wears a 
tremendously high stock, with a sham diamond pin, a 
coat with a velvet collar, and a double-breasted waist- 
coat. His right hand is stuck — it is an aggressive 
attitude — in his coat-tail pocket. The little old gentle- 
man who follows him, in black shorts and white silk 
stockings, will be gone 
before your time; so will i !&>-~* , -£? 
yonder still more ancient 
gentleman in powdered 
hair and pigtail who walks 
slowly along. Pigtails in 
jour time will be clean 
forgotten as well as black 
silk shorts. 

Do you see that thin, 
•pare gentleman in the 
cloak, riding slowly along 
the street followed by a 
mounted servant ? The 

people all take off their hats respectfully to him, and 
country folk gaze upon him curiously. That is the 
Duke. There is only one Duke to the ordinary Briton. 
It is the Duke with the hook nose — the Iron Duke — 
the Duke of Wellington, 

The new-fashioned cabriolet, with a seat at the side 
for the driver and a high hood for the fare, is light and 
swift, but it is not beautiful nor is it popular. The 




<From the Drawing bj 



5 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

wheels are too high and the machine is too narrow 
It is always upsetting, and bringing its passengers 



irrief. 



J Here is one of the new police, with blue swalkv 

tail coat tightly buttoned, and white trousers. Th 
are reported to be mightily unpopular with the ligl 
lingered gentry, with whose pursuits they are ahva 
interfering in a manner unknown to the anek 
Charley. 

Here conies a gentleman, darkly and mysteriou: 

clad in a fur-lined cloak, fastened at his neck by a br; 

• buckle, and falling to his feet, such a cloak as in yo 

1 time will only be used to enwrap the villains in 

; ' burlesque. But here no one takes any notice of 

There goes a man who may have been an officer, 
, actor, a literary man, a gambler — anything ; whatei 

lie was, he is now broken-down — his face is pale, 1 
trait is shuttling, his elbows are gone, his boots i 
giving at the toes, and — see — the stout red-faced m 
with the striped waistcoat and the bundle of se: 
hanging at his fob has tapped him on the shouldi 
That is a sheriffs officer, and he will now be conduct* 
after certain formalities, to the King's Bench or t 
Fleet, and in this happy retreat he wall probably pj 
the remainder of his days. Here comes a middle-ag 
gentleman who looks almost like a coachman in 1 
coat with many capes and his purple cheeks. That 
the famous coaching baronet, than whom no bett 
whip has ever been seen upon the road. Here come 



IN THE STREET 51 

pair of young bloods who scorn cloaks and greatcoats. 
How bravely do they tread in their tight trousers, 
bright-coloured waistcoats, and high satin stocks ! with 
what a jaunty air do they tilt their low-crowned hats 
over their long and waving locks — you can smell the 
bear's grease across the road ! with what a flourish do 
they bear their canes ! Here comes swaggering along 
the pavement a military gentleman in a coat much be- 
frogged. He has the appearance of one who knows 
Chalk Farm, which is situated among meadows where 
the morning air has been known to prove suddenly 
fatal to many gallant gentlemen. How he swings his 
shoulders and squares his elbows ! and how the peaceful 
passengers make room for him to pass ! He is, no 
doubt, an old Peninsular ; there are still many like unto 
him ; he is the ruffling Captain known to Queen Eliza- 
beth's . time ; in the last century he took the wall and 
shoved everybody into the gutter. Presently he will 
turn into the Cigar Divan — he learned to smoke cigars 
in Spain — in the rooms of what was once the Repository 
of Art ; we breathe more freely when he is gone. 

Here comes a great hulking sailor ; his face beams 
with honesty, he rolls in his gait, he hitches up his wide 
trousers, he wears his shiny hat at the back of his head ; 
his hair hangs in ringlets ; he chews a quid ; under his 
arm is a parcel tied in red bandanna. He looks as if 
he were in some perplexity. Sighting one who appears 
to be a gentleman recently from the country, he bears 
down upon him. 

E 2 



5 a FIFTY YEARS AGO 

' Noble captain/ he whispers hoarsely, ' if you like, 
here's a chance that doesn't come every day. For why? 
I've got to go to sea again, and though they're smuggled 
— I smuggled them myself, your honour — and worth 
their weight in gold, you shall have the box for thirty 
shillin'. Say the word, my cap- 
tain, and come round the corner 
with me.' 

Honest tar 1 Shall we meet 
him to-morrow with another 
parcel tied in the same ban- 
danna, his face screwed up 
with the same perplexity and 
anxiety to get rid of his valu- 
able burden ? You yourself, 
Eighty-seven, will have your 
,F X n kurS™ch^wS™ lk " confidence trick, your ring- 
dropper, your thimble-and-pea, 
your fat partridge-seller, even though the bold smuggler 
be no more. 

In the matter of street music we of Thirty-seven are 
perhaps in advance of you of Eighty-seven. We have 
not, it is true, the pianoforte-organ, but we have al- 
ready the other two varieties — the Rumbling Droner 
and the Light Tinkler. We have not yet the street 
nigger, or the banjo, or the band of itinerant blacks, 
or Christy's Minstrels. The negro minstrel does not 
exist in any form. But the ingenious Mr. Rice is at 
this very moment studying the plantation songs of 




IN THE STREET 53 

South Carolina, and we can already witness his humor- 
ous personation of 'Jump, Jim Crow,' and his pathetic 
ballad of ' Lucy Neal.' (He made his first appearance 
at the Adelphi as Jim Crow in 1836.) We have, like 
you, the Christian family in reduced circumstances, 
creeping slowly, hand in hand, along the streets, sing- 
ing a hymn the while for the consolation it affords. 
They have not yet invented Moody and Sankey, and 
therefore they cannot sing ' Hold the Fort ' or ' Dare 
to be a Daniel,' but there are hymns in every collection 




which suit the Gridler. We have also the ballad- 
singer, who warbles at the door of the gin-palace. His 
fatourite song just now is ' All round my Hat.' We 
have the lady (or gentleman) who takes her (or his) 
place upon the kerb witli a guitar, adorned witli red 
ribbon, and sings a sentimental song, such as ' Speed 
on, my Mules, for Leila waits for me,' or ' Gaily the 
Troubadour ; ' there is the street seller of ballads at a 
penny each, a taste of which he gives the delighted 
listener ; there are the horns cf stage-coach and of 



54 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

omnibus, blown with zeal ; there is the bell of the crier, 
exercised as religiously as that of the railway-porter; 
the Pandean pipes and the drum walk, not only with 
Punch, but also with the dancing bear. The perform- 
ing dogs, the street acrobats, and the fantoccini ; the 




noble Highlander not only stands outside the tobac- 
conist's, taking a pinch of snuff, but he also parades 
the street, blowing a most patriotic tune upon his bag- 
pipe ; the butcher serenades his young mistress with 
the cleaver and the bones ; the Italian boy delights all 
the ears of those who hear with his hurdy-gurdy. 



IN THE STREET 55 

Here comes the Paddington omnibus, the first omni- 
bus of all, started seven years ago by Mr. Shillibeer, the 
father of all those which have driven the short stages 
off the road, and now ply in every street. You will not 
fail to observe that the knifeboard has not yet been in- 
vented. There are twelve passengers inside and none 
out. The conductor is already remarkable for his 
truthfulness, his honesty, and his readiness to take up 
any lady and to deposit her within ten yards of wher- 
ever she wishes to be. The fare is sixpence, and you 
must wait for ten years before you get a twopenny 
'bus. 

Now let us resume our walk. The Strand is very 
little altered, you think. Already Exeter Change is 
gone ; Exeter Hall is already built ; the shops are less 
splendid, and plate glass is as yet unknown ; in Holy- 
well Street I can show you one or two of the old signs 
still on the house walls ; Butcher Eow, behind St. Cle- 
ment Danes, is pulled down and the street widened ; on 
the north side there is standing a nest of rookeries and 
mean streets, where you will have your Law Courts ; 
here is Temple Bar, which you will miss ; close to 
Temple Bar is the little fish shop which once belonged 
to Mr. Crockford, the proprietor of the famous club ; 
the street messengers standing about in their white 
aprons will be gone in your time ; for that matter, so 
will the aprons ; at present every other man in the 
street wears an apron. It is a badge of his rank and 
station ; the apron marks the mechanic or the serving- 



5* 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



man ; some wear white aprons and some wear leather 
aprons ; I am afraid you will miss the apron. 

Fleet Street is much more picturesque than the 




i ' Sketches by Boi ' ) 



Strand, is it not? Even in your day, Eighty-seven, 
when so many old houses will have perished, Fleet Street 
will still be the most picturesque street in all London. 



IN THE STREET 57 

true time to visit it is at four o'clock on a summer 

nmg, when the sun has just risen on the sleeping 

Look at the gables of it, the projecting stories 

t, the old timber work of it, the glory and the 




ity of it. As you see Fleet Street, so Dr. Johnson 

it. 

There is a good deal more crowd and animation in 

t Street than in the Strand. That is because we 

nearer the City, of course ; the traffic is greater ; 



5 8 JFIFTY YEARS AGO 

the noise is much greater. As for this ring before us, 
let us avoid it. A coachman fighting a ticket-porter 
is a daily spectacle in this thoroughfare ; those who 
crowd round often get bloody noses for their pains, 
and still more often come away without their purses. 
Look ! The pickpockets are at their work almost 
openly. They have caught one. Well, my friend, our 
long silk purses — yours will be square leather things — 
are very easily stolen. I do not think it will repay you 
for the loss of yours to see a poor devil of a pickpocket 
pumped upon, 
i You are looking again at the plain windows with 

the small square panes. The shops make no display as 

yet, you see. First, it would not be safe to put valuable 

i 

articles in windows protected by nothing but a little 

thin pane of glass — which reminds me that in the matter 

of street safety you will be a good deal ahead of us ; 

I next, an honest English tradesman loves to keep his 

! best out of sight. The streets are horribly noisy. That 

is quite true. You have heard of the roar of the 
mighty city. Your London, Eighty-seven, will not 
know how to roar. But you can now understand what 
its roaring used to be. An intolerable stir and uproar 
is it not ? But then your ears are not, like ours, used 
to it. First, the road is not macadamised, or asphalted 
or paved with wood. Next, the traffic of wagons, carts 
and wheelbarrows, and hand-carts, is vastly^ greatei 
than you had ever previously imagined ; then there ii 
a great deal more of porter work done in the street 



IN THE STREET 59 

id the men are perpetually jostling, quarrelling, and 
ghting ; the coaches, those of the short stages with 
¥0 horses, and the long stages with four, are always 
lowing their horns and cracking their whips. Look 
t yonder great wagon. It has come all the way from 
cotland. It is piled thirty feet high with packages of 
11 kinds : baskets hang behind, filled with all kinds of 
[lings. In front there sit a couple of Scotch lasses 
rho have braved a three weeks' journey from Edin- 
burgh in order to save the expense of the coach. Brave 
;irls ! But such a wagon with such a load does not go 
long the street in silence. It is not in silence either 
hat the women who carry baskets full of fish on their 
leads go along the street, nor is the man silent who goes 
dth a pack-donkey loaded on either side with small coal ; 
nd the wooden sledge on which is the cask of beer, 
[ragged along by a single horse, makes by itself as 
auch noise as all your carriages together, Eighty-seven. 
And there is nothing, you observe, for the protec- 
ion and convenience of passengers who wish to cross 
he road. Nothing at all. No policeman stands in the 
[riddle of the road to regulate the traffic ; the drivers 
>ay no heed to the foot passengers ; at the corner of 
Jhancery Lane, where the press is the thickest, the boys 
nd the clerks slip in and out among the horses and 
he wheels without hurt : but how will those ladies be 
ble to get across? They never would but for the 
rossing-sweeper — the most remunerative part of the 
r ork, in fact, is to convoy the ladies across the road ; if 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



lie magnifies the danger of this service, and expects 
silver for saving the lives of his trembling clients, who 
shall blame him ? 

There are still left some of the old posts which divided 
the footway from the roadway, though the whole is non- 
paved and — what, Eighty-seven? You have stepped 
into a dandy-trap and splashed your feet. "Well, per- 
haps, in your day they will have learned to pave more 
evenly, but just at pre- 
sent our paving is a little 
rough, and the stones 
sometimes small, so that 
here and there, after rain, 
these things will happen. 
Here we are at Black- 
friars. This is the Gate 
of Bridewell, where they 
used to flog women, and 
still flog the 'prentices 
Yonder is the Flecl 
Prison, of which ws 
have just read an account in the ' Pickwick Papers. 
They have cleared away the old Fleet Market, whicl 
used to stand in the middle of the street, and they hav< 
planted it behind the houses opposite the Prison. Conn 
and look at it. Let us tread softly over the stones o 
Farringdon Market, for somewhere beneath our feet li 
the bones of poor young Chatterton. No monument ha 
been erected here to his memory, nor is the spot knowi 




IN THE STREET 61 

here he lies, but it is somewhere in this place, which 
a tragic and mournful spot, being crammed beneath 
8 pavement with the bones of the poor, the outcast, 
le broken down, the wrecks and failures of life, and 
ttered above the pavement with the wreckage and 
efuse of the market. This place was formerly the 
urial-ground of the Shoe Lane Workhouse. 

We can walk down to the Bridge and look at the 
iver. No Embankment yet, Eighty-seven. No penny 
teamers, either. Yet the watermen grumble at the 
mnibuses which have cut into their trade. 

Here comes the lamplighter, with his short ladder 
nd his lantern. 

Gas, of course, has been introduced for ever so long. 
Tiey have blindly followed the old plan of lighting, 
nd have stuck up a gas lamp wherever there used to be 
d oil lantern. The theatres and places of amusement 
re brilliant with gas, and it is gas which makes the 
plendour of the gin-palace. The shops took to it 
lowly, but they are now beginning to understand how 
d brighten their appearance after dark. Go into any 
tttle thoroughfare, however, and you will see the shops 
it with two or three candles still. 

In the small houses and the country towns the 
andles linger still. And such candles ! For the most 
art they are tallow : they need constant snuffing : they 
rop their detestable grease everywhere — on the table - 
loth, on your clothes, on the butter and on the bread. 
"ou, Eighty-seven, will be saying hard things of gas, but 



62 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

you do not know from what darkness, and misery of 
darkness, it saved your ancestors. 

As for the churches, they are not yet generally pro- 
vided with gas. There is some strange prejudice against 
it in the minds of the clergy. Yet it is not Papistical, 
or even freethinking. In most of them, where they 
have evening service, the pews are provided with two 
candles apiece, stuck in tin candlesticks, with four 
candles for the pulpit and four for the reading-desk. 
The effect is not unpleasing, but the candles continually 
require snuffing, and the operation is constantly attended 
with accidents, so that the church is always filled with 
the fragrance of smouldering tallow-wicks. The repug- 
nance to gas is so great, indeed, in some quarters, that 
one clergyman, the Rector of Holy Trinity, Marylebone, 
is going to commit all his vestrymen to the Ecclesiasti- 
cal Courts because they have attempted to light the 
church with gas. 

Here is a City funeral in one of the burial-grounds 
close to the crowded street ; the clergyman reads the 
Service, and the mourners in their long black cloaks 
stand round the open grave, and the coffin is lowered into 
it, and outside there is no cessation at all to the bustle 
and the noise; the wagoner cracks his whip, the drover 
swears at his cattle, the busy men run to and fro as if 
the last rites were not being performed for one who has 
heard the call of the Messenger, and, perforce, obeyed 
it. And look — the mould in which the grave is dug is 
nothing but bits of bones and splinters of coffins.. The 



IN THE STREET 6j 

churchyard is no longer a field of clay : it is a field of 
dead citizens. You, friend Eighty-seven, will manage 
these things better. 

Here goes one of the long stages. Saw you ever a 
finer coach, more splendidly appointed, with better 
cattle? Ten miles an hour that coachman reckons 
upon as soon as he is clear of 
London. They say that in a 
year or two, when all the rail- 
ways are opened, the stage- 
coaches will be ruined, the 
horses all sold, and the English 
breed of horses ruined. We 
shall travel twenty miles an hour 
without stopping to change 
horses ; the accidents will be 
frightful, but those who meet 
with none will get from Lon- 
don to Edinburgh in less than 

twenty-four hours. Next year . 

they promise to open the Lon- 
don and Birmingham Railway. 

Here comes a soldier. You find his dress absurd 't 
To be sure, his tight black stock makes his red cheeks 
seem swollen ; his queer tall hat, with the neat red ball 
at the top, might be more artistic ; the red shoulder roll, 
not the least like an epaulette, would hardly ward ofl" a 
sword-cut ; the coat with its swallow tail is no protec- 
tion to the body or the legs ; the whitened belt must 




64 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



cost an infinite amount of trouble to keep it fit for 
inspection, and a working-man's breeches and stockings 
would be more serviceable than those long trousers 
There are always brave fellows, however, ready to en 
list ; the soldier's life is attractive, though the diacipHnt 
is hard and the floggings are truly awful. 




My friend, it is half-past five, and you are tired 
Let us get back to Temple Bar and dine at the Mitre 
where we can take our cut off the joint for eighteen 
pence. About this time most men are thinking o 
dinner. Buy an evening paper of the boy. 



IN THE STREET 



65 



?o: this is cosy. A newly sanded floor, a bright 
and a goodly company. James t a clean table 
a, a couple of candles, and the snuffers, and the last 
t up. What have you got in the paper ? Mada- 
^ar Embassy, Massacre in New Zealand — where the 
il is New Zealand ? — Suicide of Champion, who made 
infernal machine, Great Distress in the Highlands, 
tier of a Process-server 
reland, Crossing of the 
anel in a Balloon — I 
i that some day an 
f may not cross it — 
er from Syria con- 
ing the recent Great 
hquake, Conduct of 
iritish Legion in Spain, 
n Men imprisoned for 
wfully ringing the 
1, Death of the Oldest 
nan in the World, aged 
years, aaid to have 
the Nurse of George 
bington — a good deal of news all for one evening 
r. Hush ! we are in luck. Here is Douglas 
)ld. Now we shall hear something good. Here 
iigh Hunt, and here is Forster, and here — ah ! this 
expected — here comes none other than 'Boz' him- 
Of course you know his name? It is Charles 
ens. Saw one ever a brighter eye or a more self- 




66 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

reliant bearing? Such self-reliance belongs to those 
who are about to succeed. They say his fortune is 
already made, though but yesterday he was a reporter 
in the House, taking down the speeches in shorthand. 
Who is that tall young man with the ugly nose ? Only 
a journalist. They say he wrote that funny paper 
called ' The Fatal Boots ' in Tilts Annual. His name is 
Thackeray, I believe, but I know nothing more about 
him. 

Here comes dinner, with a tankard of foaming stout. 
Is there any other drink quite so good as stout ? After 
you have taken your dinner, friend Eighty-seven, I shall 
prescribe for you what you 
will never get, poor wretch 
— a bottle of the best port 
in the cellars of the Mitre. 
My friend, there is one 
tiling in which we of the 
Thirties do greatly excel 
you of the Eighties. We 
can eat like ploughboya, 
and we can drink like dray- 
men. As for your nonsense 
about Apollinaris Water, 

CHABLKS DICKBK8 c ' 

we do not know what it 
means ; and as for your not being able to take a simple 
glass of port, we do not in the least understand it 
Not take a pint of port? Man alive 1 we can take two 

bottles, and never turn a hair. 




6 7 



CHAPTER V. 

WITH THE PEOPLE. 

When the real history of the people comes to be written 
— which will be the History, not of the Higher, but of 
the Lower Forms of Civilisation — it will be found that, 
as regards the people of these islands, they sank to their 
lowest point of degradation and corruption in the middle 
of the eighteenth century — a period when they had no 
religion, no morality, no education, and no knowledge, 
and when they were devoured by two dreadful diseases, 
and were prematurely killed by their excessive drinking 
of gin. No virtue at all seems to have survived among 
all the many virtues attributed to our race except a 
bulldog courage and tenacity. There are glimpses here 
and there, when some essayist or novelist lifts the veil, 
which show conditions of existence so shocking that 
one asks in amazement how there could have been any 
cheerfulness in the civilised part of the community for 
thinking of the terrible creatures in the ranks below. 
They did not think of them ; they did not know of them ; 
to us it seems as if the roaring of that volcano must 
have been always in their ears, and the smoke of it 

Y 2 



68 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

always choking their throats. But our people saw and 
heard nothing. Across the Channel, where men's eyes 
were quicker to see, the danger was clearly discerned, 
and the eruption foretold. Here, no one saw anything, 
or feared anything. 

How this country got through without a revolution, 
how it escaped the dangers of that mob, are questions 
more difficult to answer than the one which continually 
occupies historians — How Great Britain, single-handed, 
fought against the conqueror of the world. Both vic- 
tories were mainly achieved, I believe, by the might and 
majesty of Father Stick. 

He is dead now, and will rule no more in this 
country. But all through the last century, and well 
into this, he was more than a king — he was a despot, 
relentless, terrible. He stripped women to the waist 
and whipped them at Bridewell ; he caught the 'pren- 
tices and flogged them soundly ; he lashed the criminal 
at the cart-tail ; he lashed the slaves in the plantations, 
the soldiers in the army, the sailors on board the 
ships, and the boys at school. He kept everybody in 
order, and, truly, if the old violence were to return, we 
might have to call in Father Stick again. 

He was good up to a certain point, beyond which 
he could not go. He could threaten, c If you do this, 
and this, you shall be trounced/ Thus the way of 
transgressors was made visibly hard for them. But he 
could not educate — he taught nothing except obedience 
to the law ; he had neither religion nor morals ; there- 




WITH THE PEOPLE 69 

fore, though he kept the people in order, he did not 
advance them. On the o'her hand, under his rule they 
were left entirely to themselves, and so they grew worse ' 
and worse, more thirsty of gin, more brutal, more 
ignorant. So that, in the long run, I suppose there 
was not under the light of the sun a more depraved and 
degraded race than that which peopled the lowest levels 
of our great towns. There is always in every great 
town a big lump of lawlessness, idleness, and hostility 
to order. The danger, a hundred years ago, was that 
this lump was getting every day bigger, and threatening 
to include the whole of the working class. 

Remember that as yet the government of this realm 
was wholly in the hands of the wealthier sort. Only 
those who had what was humorously called a stake in 
the country were allowed to share in ruling it. Those 
who brought to the service of their native land only 
their hands and their lives, their courage, their patience, 
skill, endurance, and obedience, were supposed to have 
no stake in the country. The workers, who contribute 
the whole that makes the prosperity of the country, 
were then excluded from any share in managing it. 

It seems to me that the first improvement of the 
People dates from their perception of the fact that all 
have a right to help in managing their own affairs ; I 
think one might prove that the ideas of the French 
Revolution, when they were once grasped, arrested the 
downward course of the People — the first step to dig- 
nity and self-respect was to understand that they might 



7 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

become free men, and not remain like unto slaves who 
are ordered and have to obey. Then they began to 
struggle for their rights, and in the struggle learned a 
thousand lessons which have stood them in good stead. 
They learned to combine, to act together, to form com- 
mittees and councils ; they learned the art of oratory, 
and the arts of persuasion by speech and pen; they 
learned the power of knowledge — in a word, the long 
struggle whose first great victory was the Reform Act 
of 1832 taught the People the art of self-government. 

Fifty years ago, though that Act had been passed, 
the great mass of the people were still outside the 
government. They were governed by a class who de- 
sired, on the whole, to be just, and wished well to the 
people, provided their own interests were not disturbed, 
as when the most philanthropic manufacturers loudly 
cried out as soon as it was proposed to restrict the 
hours of labour. It is not wonderful, therefore, that 
the working classes should at that time regard all 
governments with hostility, and Religion and Laws as 
chiefly intended to repress the workers and to safeguard 
the interests of landlords and capitalists. This fact is 
abundantly clear from the literature which the working 
men of 1837 delighted to read. 

As regards their religion, there was already an im- 
mense advance in the spread of the Nonconformist sects 
and the multiplication of chapels. As for the churches, I 
am very certain that the working man does not go much 
to church even yet, but fifty years ago he attended ser- 




WITH THE PEOPLE 71 

vice still less often. A contemporary who pretends to 
know asserts that nine out of ten among the working 
men were professed infidels, whose favourite reading 
was Paine, Carlile, and Eobert Taylor, the author of 
* The Devil's Chaplain.' Further, he declares that not 
one working man in a hundred ever opened a Bible. 

I refrain from dwelling upon this state of things as 
compared with that of the present, but it appears from 
a census taken by a recent weekly newspaper (which, 
however, omitted the mission churches and services in 
school-rooms and other places) that about one person 
in nine now attends church or chapel on a Sunday. 

As regards drink, a question almost as delicate as 
that of religion, it is reported that in London alone 
three millions of pounds were spent every year in gin, 
which seems a good deal of money to throw away with 
nothing to show for it. But figures are always misleading. 
Thus, if everybody drank his fair share of this three 
millions, there would be only a single glass of gin every 
other day for every person ; and if half the people did 
not drink at all, there would be only one glass of gin a 
day for those who did. Still, we must admit that three 
millions is a sum which shows a widespread love of gin. 
As for rum, brandy, and Hollands, the various forms of 
malt liquor, fancy drinks, and compounds, let us reserve 
ourselves for the chapter on Taverns. Suffice it here 
to call attention to the fact that there was no blue 
ribbon worn. Teetotallers there were, it is true, but in 
very small numbers ; they were not yet a power in the 



72 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

land ; there was none of the everlasting dinning aboi^ 
the plague spot, the national vice, and the curse of the 
age, to which we are now accustomed. Honest men 
indulged in a bout without subsequent remorse, and so 
long as the drink was unadulterated they did themselves 
little harm. Without doubt, if the men had become 
teetotallers, there would have been very much more to 
spend in the homes, and the employers would, also with- 
out doubt, have made every effort to reduce the wages 
accordingly, so as to keep up the old poverty. That is 
what the former school of philosophers called a Law of 
Political Economy. The wages of a skilled mechanic 
fifty years ago seem to have never risen above thirty 
shillings a week, while food, clothes, and necessaries 
were certainly much dearer than at present. He had 
savings banks, and he sometimes put something by, but 
not nearly so much as he can do now if he is thrifty 
and in regular work. It is quite clear that he was less 
thrifty in those days than now, that he drank more, 
and that he was even more reckless, if that is possible, 
about marriage and the multiplication of children. 

As for the material condition of the people, there 
cannot be a doubt that it has been amazingly improved 
within the last fifty years. It is not true, as stated in 
a very well known work, that the poor have become 
poorer, though the rich have certainly become richer. 
The skilled working man is better paid now than then, 
his work is more steady, his hours are shorter. He is 
better clad, with always a suit of clothes apart from 



WITH THE PEOPLE 73 

™ working dress ; he is better taught ; he is better 

N&nnered ; he has holidays ; he has clubs ; he is no 

long er forbidden to combine ; he can co-operate ; he 

holds meetings ; he has much better newspapers to 

read ; his food is better and cheaper ; he has model 

iodging-houses. Not only is he actually better ; he is 

relatively better compared with the richer classes, while 

for the last ten years these have been growing poorer 

every day, although still much richer than they were 

fifty years ago. Moreover, it is becoming more difficult 

in every line, owing to the upward pressure of labour, 

to become rich. 

His amusements no longer have the same brutality 
which used to characterise them. The Eing was his 
chief delight, and a well-fought battle between two ac- 
complished bruisers caused his heart to leap with joy. 
Unhappily the Eing fell, not because the national senti- 
ment concerning pugilism changed, but by its own 
vices, and because nearly every fight was a fight on 
the cross ; so that betting on your man was no longer 
possible, and every victory was arranged beforehand. 
There are now signs of its revival, and if it can be in 
any way regulated it will be a very good thing lor the 
country. Then there was dog-fighting, which is still 
carried on in certain parts of the country. Only a 
few years ago I saw a dozen dog-fights, each with its 
ring of eager lookers-on, one Sunday morning upon the 
sands between Eedcar and Saltburn. All round London, 
again, there were ponds, quantities of ponds, all marked 



74 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

in the maps of the period and now all filled up and 
over. Some, for instance, were in the fields on th< 
side of Tottenham Court Boad. Hither, on Sun 
came the London working man with ducks, cat' 
dogs, and proceeded to enjoy himself with cat-hunt 
duck-hunts in these ponds. There were also bul 
bear-baitings and badger-drawings. As for the 
Bartholomew and Greenwich, one is sorry that the 
to be abolished, but I suppose that London ha< 
been too big for a fair, which maybe crowded bu 
not be mobbed. A real old fair, with rows of 
crammed with all kinds of things which lookec 
so much prettier under the flaring lamps than : 
shops, with Richardson's Theatre, the Wild Beast 
the wrestlers and the cudgel-players, the boxers 
or without the gloves, the dwarfs, giants, fat w 
bearded women, and monsters, was a truly deli 
thing to the rustics in the country; but in Lorn 
was incongruous, and even in Arcadia a moder 
is apt to lose its picturesque aspect towards nig 
On the whole, it is just as well for London that 
lost its ancient fairs. 

It is not in connection with working men, bul 
the whole people, that one speaks of prisons. I c 
think that our prison system at the present day is € 
thing that it might be. There have been one or two ; 
published of late years, which make one uncomfo] 
in thinking of the poor wretches immured in 
abodes of solitary suffering. Still, if one has to d 



WITH THE PEOPLE 75 



3n a lonely cell and the society of the prison birds 
j and night, one would prefer the former. Some at- 
3 had been made in Newgate and elsewhere to pre- 
he prisoners from corrupting each other, but with 
success. Those who were tried and sentenced 
eparated from those who were waiting their trial ; 
>ys were separated from the men, the girls from 
omen. Yet the results of being committed to 
1, for however short a period, were destructive of all 
8 and the last shred of principle. Not a single girl 
man who went into prison modest and virtuous but 
le straightway ashamed of her modesty and virtue, 
same out of the prison already an abandoned 
n. Not a man or boy who associated with the 
ters for a week but became a past master in all 
of wickedness. In the night rooms they used to 
ip fifteen or twenty prisoners together, and leave !* 

there all night to interchange their experiences — ji 

rhat experiences ! Only those who were under \ 

ce of death had separate cells. These poor ] 

les were put into narrow and dark rooms, re- 
l light only from the court in which the criminals 
rmitted to walk during the day. They slept on 
and in former days had but twenty-four hours 
m sentence and execution, with bread and water 
their food. 

asportation still went on, with the horrors of the 
t ship, the convict hulks, and the convict esta- 
lents of New South Wales and Tasmania. The . | 



■ t 



76 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

* horrors ' of the system have always seemed to m I 
as forming an unessential part of the system. Wi&l 
better management on modern ideas, transportation! 
should be far better than the present system of hope- 1 
less punishment by long periods of imprisonment. ¥•■ 
can never return to transportation as far as any colon; I 
is concerned, but I venture to prophesy that the next] 
change of the penal laws willt>e the re-establishment of] 
transportation with the prospect of release, a gift of 
land, and a better chance for an honest Hie. 

Meantime the following lines belong to fifty Team 
Ago. They are the Farewell of convicts about to sail 
for Botany Bay : 

THE DARBY DAY. 




Come, Bet, my pet, and Sal, my pal, a dubs, and than farewell — 

And Ned, the primest ruffling cove that ever nail'd a swell — 

To share the swag, or chaff the gab, well never meet again, 

The hulks is now my bowsing crib, the hold my dn—™g ken. 

Don't nab the bib, my Bet, this chance most happen soon or later, 

For certain sure it is that transportation comes by nator ; 

His lordship's self, upon the bench, so downie his white wig in, 

Might sail with me, if friends had he to bring him up to priggin; 

And is it not unkimmon fly in them as rules the nation, 

To make us end, with Botany, our public edioation t 

But Sal, so kind, be sure you mind the beaks don't catch yon ti 

You'll find it hard to be for shopping sent on board the il 

So tip your mauns afore wo parte, don't blear your eyes and no>aj . 

Another grip, my jolly hearts—here's luck, and off we goat t ' 



WITH THE PEOPLE 77 

•btors' prisons were in full swing. There were 
cross Street Prison, built in 1813 for the exclusive 
ion of debtors, who were before this crowded 
er with criminals at Newgate ; Queen's Bench Pri- 
le Fleet, and the Marshalsea. The King's Bench 
was the largest, and, so to speak, the most 




>nable of these prisons. Both at the King's Bench 
;he Fleet debtors were allowed to purchase what 
called the ' Kules,' which enabled them to live 
in a certain area outside the prison, and practically 
iemfree. They paid a certain percentage on their 



78 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

debts. This practice enabled the debtor to refuse 
paying his debts, and to save his money for himself or 
his heirs. Lodgings, however, within the Rules were 
bad and expensive. 

There was no national compulsory system of edu- 
cation ; yet the children of respectable working men 
were sent to school. The children of the very poor, 
those who lived from hand to mouth by day jobs, by 
chance and luck, were not taught anything. If you 
talk to a working man of sixty or thereabouts, you will 
most likely discover that he can read, though he ha* 
very often forgotten how to write. He was taught 
when he was a child at the schools of the National 
Society, or at those of the British and Foreign Society, or 
at the parish schools, of which there were a great many- 
There were also many thousands of children who wentr 
to the Sunday School. Yet, partly through the neglect- 
of parents, and partly through the demand for children's- 
labour in the factories, nearly a half of the children 
in the country grew up without any schooling, 1** 
1837 there were forty per cent, of the men and sixty- 
five per cent, of the women who could not sign their 
own names. 

And there were already effected, or just about to 
be effected, three immense reforms, the like of which 
the nation had never seen before, which are together 
working for a Eevolution of Peace, not of war, greats 
than contemplated by the most sincere and most distf*- 
terested of the French Eevolutionaries. 



WITH THE PEOPLE 79 

The first waa the Reform of the Penal Laws. 

In the beginning of the century the law recognised 
13 capital offences. A man might be hanged for 
most anything : if he appeared in disguise on a 
ublic road ; if he cut down young trees ; if he shot 
ibbits; if he poached at night; if he stole anything 
rorth five shillings from a person or a shop ; if he 
same back from transportation before his time ; a gipsy, 
f be remained in the same place a year. In fact, the 
chief desire of the Government was to get rid of the 
criminal classes by hanging them. It was Sir Samuel 
BonriHy, as everybody knows, who first began to attack 
tlu bloodthirsty code. 
He iras assisted by the 
jrowth of public opinion 
•"d by the juries, who 
practically repealed the 
Iws by refusing to con- 
nct. 

It was not, again, 
mtil the year 1836 that 
"ousel for a prisoner 
"der trial for felony was 
fitted to address the 
■?. In the year 1834, 

*e were 480 death sentences ; in 1838, only 116. In 
^4, 894 persons were sentenced to transportation for 
\ and in 1838 only 266. Remember that this wicked 
'erity only served to enlist the sympathies of the 
ople againBt the Government. 



Statute 




8o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

The second great step was the repeal of the Acts 
which forbade combination. Until the year 1820, the 
. people had been forbidden to combine. Their only power 
against employers who worked them as many hours a 
day as they dared, and paid them wages as small as 
they could, who took their children and locked them 
up in unwholesome factories, was in combination, and 
they were forbidden to combine. When the law — an 
old mediaeval law — was repealed, it was found that any 
attempt to hold public meetings might be put down by 
force ; so that, though they could not combine, the 
chief means of promoting combination was taken from 
them. 

The third great step was the Extension of the, 
Suffrage, so that now there is no Briton or Irishman 
but can, if he please, have his vote in the govern*. 
ment of the nation. It is not a great share which is 
conferred by one vote, but it enables every man to fed 
that he is himself a part of the nation ; that the govern- 
ment is not imposed upon him, but elected and ap- 
proved by himself. 

Considering all these things, have we any reason to 
be surprised when we learn that, on the Queen's Acces- 
sion, there was among the people no loyalty whatever ? 
Attachment to the Sovereign, personal devotion to tlm© 
young Queen, rallying round the Throne — all th©BB 
things were not even phrases to the working class, JPo* 
they never heard them used. . 

There was no loyalty at all, either to the Queen* or . *° 



WITH THE PEOPLE 81 

the institution of a limited Monarchy \ or to the Constitu- 
tion , or to the Church. 

Tor a hundred and fifty years there had been no 
loyalty among the people. Loyalty left the country 
with James II. Not one of the Sovereigns who fol- 
lowed him commanded the personal enthusiasm of the 
people, not even Farmer George, for whom there had 
been some kind of affection with something of contempt. 
From 1687 until 1837, which is exactly one hundred 
awl fifty years, not one Sovereign who sat upon the 
Throne of England could boast that he had the love of 
the people. Not one wished to have the love of the 
people. He represented a principle : he governed with 
the assistance of a few families and bv the votes of a 
small class. As King he was a stranger. When he drove 
through the streets, the people hurrahed ; but they did 
M bow him, and they cared nothing for him. 

Therefore the sentiment of loyalty had to be re-born, 
ft could only be awakened by a woman, young, vir- 
tuous, naturally amiable, and resolved on ruling by con- 
stitutional methods. Yet in some of the journals written 
*i and read by, the working men, the things said con- 
fining the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the Court 
*ere simply horrible and disgusting. Such things are 
&o longer said. There are still papers which speak of 
the aristocracy as a collection of titled profligates, and 
tf the clergy as a crowd of pampered hypocrites, but 
of the Queen it is rare indeed to find mention other 
than is respectful. Her life and example for fifty years 

a 



8a FIFTY YEARS AGO 

have silenced the slanderers. It has been found on& 
more possible for a Sovereign to possess the love c 
her people. 

The papers read by the working men were not onl 
scurrilous, but they were Eepublican and revolutionar 
The Republic whose example they set before themselv< 
was not the American, which is Conservative, for of th 
they knew nothing. Let us clearly understand this. Fif 
years ago America was far more widely separated fro 
England than is China now. The ideal Republic was th 
the earlier form of the first French Republic. Th( 
people cared little for the massacres which accompani 
the application of Republican principles. I do not 8 
that they wished to set the heads of the Queen's Lad 
in-Waiting on pikes, but they thought the massacres 
innocent women by the French an accident rather th 
a consequence. They loved the cry of ' Liber 
Equality, and Fraternity,' and still believed in it. Tl 
dreamed of a country which they thought could be 
tablished by law, in which every man was to be 
equal of his neighbour — as clever, as skilful, as capal 
as rich, and as happy. The dream continues, and *\ 
always continue, to exist. It is a generous drean 
there never has been a nobler dream — so that it i 
thousand pities that human greed, selfishness, an 
tion, and masterfulness will not suffer the dream to 
realised. Those who advocated an attempt to rea 
it flung hard names at the Crown, the Court, the a 
tocracy, the Church, the educated, and the wealt 



WITH THE PEOPLE 83 

Presently they began to formulate the way by which 
they thought to place themselves within reach of their 
object. The way was Chartism. They wanted to 
carry six measures — Universal Suffrage, Annual Parlia- 
ments, Vote by Ballot, Abolition of Property Quali- 
fication, Payment of Members, and Equal Electoral 
Districts. Very well ; we have got, practically, four 
out of the six points, and there are many who think 
that we are as far off the Millennium as ever. Yet 
there are, however, still among us people who believe 
that we can be made happy, just, merciful, and disin- 
terested by changing the machinery. Changing the 
machinery ! The old party of Kadicals still work them- 
selves into a white heat by crying for change in the 
machinery. 

And now a thing which was never contemplated 
even by the Chartists themselves — the really important 
thing— has been acquired by the people. They are no 
tonger the governed, but the governors. The Govern- 
m ent is no longer a thing apart from themselves, and 
outside them. It is their own — it is the Government of 
^ e People of England. If there is anything in it 
w hich they do not like, they can alter it ; if there is 
^ything they agree to abolish, they can abolish it, 
Aether it be Church, Crown, Lords, wealth, education, 
^tence, art — anything. They may destroy what they 
Pfease : they may reduce the English to an illiterate 
P^santry if they please. 

They will not please. I, for one, have the greatest 

G 2 



84 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

confidence in the justice,- the common-sense, and the 
Conservatism of the English and the Scotch. The 
people do not, as yet, half understand their own power ; 
while they are gradually growing to comprehend it, 
they will be learning the history of their country, the 
duties and responsibilities of citizenship, the dangers of 
revolution, and the advantages of those old institutions 
by whose aid the whole world has been covered with 
those who speak the Anglo-Saxon speech and are 
governed by the English law. 

My friends, we are changed indeed. Fifty years 
ago we were, as I have said, still in the eighteenth 
century. The people had no power, no knowledge, no 
voice ; they were the slaves of their employers ; they 
were brutisli and ill-conditioned, ready to rebel against 
their rulers, but not knowing how ; chafing under laws 
which they did not make, and restraints which kept=~ 
them from acting together, or from meeting to ask i 
things must always continue so. We are chang 
indeed. 

We now stand upright ; our faces are full of hop&= 
though we are oppressed by doubts and question!^ 
because we know not which path, of the many before 
us, will be the wisest ; the future is all our own ; w~* 
are no longer the servants ; we are the Masters, tb_ * 
absolute Eulers, of the greatest Empire that the worL^ 
has ever seen. 

God grant that we govern it with wisdom ! 



35 



CHAPTEE VI. 

WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS. 

The great middle-class — supposed, before the advent 
of Mr. Matthew Arnold, to possess all the virtues ; to 
be the backbone, stay, and prop of the country — must 
have a chapter to itself. 

In the first place, the middle-class was far more a 
class apart than it is at present. In no sense did it 
Wong to society. Men in professions of any kind, 
^cept the two services, could only belong to society 
"7 right of birth and family connections ; men in trade 
" — tankers were still accounted tradesmen — could not 
P°ssibly belong to society. That is to say, if they went 
"° live in the country they were not called upon by 
***^ county families, and in town they were not ad- 
^tted by the men into their clubs, or by ladies into 
tt^eir houses. Those circles, of which there are now 
*o many — artistic, aesthetic, literary — all of them con- 
sidering themselves to belong to society, were then out 
°f society altogether ; nor did they overlap and inter- 
sect each other. The middle-class knew its own place, 
inspected itself, made its own society for itself, and 



86 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

cheerfully accorded to rank its reverence due. The 
annals of the poor are meagre ; only here and there 
one gets a glimpse into their lives. But the middle- 
class is much better known, because it has had pro- 
phets ; nearly all the poets, novelists, essayists, jour- 
nalists, and artists have sprung from it. Those who 
adorned the Thirties and the Forties — Hood, Hook, Gait, 
Dickens, Albert Smith, Thackeray — all belonged to it ; 
George Eliot, whose country towns are those of the 
Thirties and the Forties, was 
essentially a woman of the 
middle-class. 

Middle-class life — espe- 
cially in the country — was 
dull, far, far duller than 
modern life even in the 
quietest country town. The 
men had their business ; the 
women had the house. In- 
(Takeoiiomthei>rBw^gLn'Thc<i rB puic' comes ran small ; a great 
deal was done at home that 
is now done out of it. There was a weekly washing- 
day, when the house steamed with hot soap-suds, and 
the 'lines' were out upon the poles — they were painted 
green and were square — and on the lines hung half the 
family linen. All the jam was made at home ; the cakes, 
the pies, and the puddings, by the wife and daughters ; 
the bread was home-made ; the beer was home-brewed 
(and better beer than good home-brewed no man need 




WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 87 

desire) ; all those garments which are not worn outside 
were made at home. Everybody dined in the middle 
of the day. Therefore, in the society of the country 
town dinner-parties did not exist. On the other hand, 
there were sociable evenings, which began with a sit- 
down tea, with muffins and tea-cakes, very delightful, 
and ended with a hot supper. Tobacco was not ad- 
mitted in any shape except that of snuff into the better 
kind of middle-class house ; only working men smoked 
vulgar pipes ; the Sabbath was respected ; there was 
no theatre nearer than the county town ; the girls 
had probably never seen a play ; every man who 
respected himself * laid down ' port, but there was little 
drinking of wine except on Sunday afternoons ; no one, 
not even the ladies, scorned the glass of something 
warm, with a spoon in it, after supper. For the young 
there was a fair once a year ; now and then a travelling 
circus came along ; there was a lecture occasionally on 
an instructive subject, such as chemistry, or astronomy, 
or sculpture ; there were picnics, but these were rare ; 
if there were show places in the neighbourhood, parties 
were made to them, and tea was festively taken among 
the ruins of the Abbey. 

Fashion descends slowly ; it is now the working 
man who takes his wife into the country for tea : fifty 
years ago he took his wife nowhere, and scorned tea. 
Open-air games and sports there were none ; no lawn- 
tennis, Badminton, or anything of that kind in those 
days ; even croquet, which is now so far lost in the 



SB FIFTY YEARS AGO 

mists of antiquity that men of thirty are too young to 
remember the rage for it, was actually not yet invented. 
Archery certainly existed, and the comic writers are 
always drawing pictures of the young ladies sticking 
their arrows into the legs of people a hundred feet or 
so wide of the target. But archery belonged to a class 
rather ?ibove that which we are now considering. 
There was not much sketching and painting. There 
was no amateur photography ; there was no catching 
of strange creatures in ponds for the aquarium — a 
fashion also now happily extinct ; there was not, in 
fact, any single pursuit, amusement, or game which 
would bring young people together in the open air. 
There was no travelling ; the summer holiday had not 
yet got down in the country. In London, to be sure, 
everybody down to Bevis Marks and Simmery Axe 
went out of town and to the seaside in July or August ; 
but in the country nobody thought of such a thing ; 
not the vicar's daughters, not the solicitor's wife, not 
the family of the general practitioner ; the very school- 
master, who got his four weeks in the summer and his 
three at Christmas, spent them at home in such joy as 
accompanies rest from labour. With no outdoor 
amusements, and with no summer holiday, how much 
is life simplified ! But the simplicity of life means 
monotony — faciunt vitam, balnea, vina, Venus. 

In the winter, things were somewhat different. In 
some towns there was the county ball. At this func- 
tion one had the pleasure of gazing upon ladies and 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 89 

gentlemen of the highest rank and fashion, and of ob- 
serving that they kept to themselves like a Hindu caste, 
danced with each other at the upper end of the room, 
cast disparaging glances at the dresses of the ladies of 
the lower end, and sniffed at their manner and appear- 
ance. This was true joy. There were also occasional 
dances at home, but these were rare, because people 
had not learned how to meet and dance without making 
a fusa over it, taking up carpets, putting candles in tin 



Ml 


fa: 


,_l,.fiw^fc*j*i^^^B^E ^ti 


* Jt 


r /r:\j^Sr%S^ 





sconces, keeping late hours, and having a supper, the 
preparation of which was mainly done by the ladies of 
toe house, and it nearly killed them, and drove the 
•ervants — the genteel middle-class family often got 
*°ng with only one — to give notice. I think that the 
••aocea which had gone out in London still lingered in 
'he country. There were, for instance, the Caledonians 
**»ell as the Lancers ; there were country dances with- 
out end, the very names of which are now lost ; the 
RWtlemen performed the proper steps with grace and 



9 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

agility, while the ladies were careful to preserve an 
attitude supposed the only one possible for a lady 
while dancing, in which the figure was bent forward, 
the face was turned up with the chin stuck out, while 
the hands were occupied in holding up the dress to the 
regulation height. The elders, meanwhile, played long 
whist at tables lit by candles which wanted snuffing 
between the deals. The bashful youth of the party 
was always covering himself with shame by his clumsi- 
ness in snuffing out the candles, or, even if he succeeded 
in taking off the red-hot ball of burnt thread, he too 
often neglected to close the instrument with which he 
effected the operation, and thereby mightily offended 
the nostrils of the company. When there was no 
dancing the younger members began with a ' little 
music.' Their songs — how faded and stale they seem 
now if one tries to sing them ! — turned chiefly on the 
affections, and the favourite poet was Felicia Hemans. 
After the little music they sat down to a round game, 
of which there were a great many, such as Commerce, 
Speculation, Vingt-et-Un, Limited Loo, or Pope Joan. 
The last was played with a board. I remember the 
board — it was a round thing, lacquered, and like a 
punch-bowl, but I think with divisions ; as for the 
game itself, and what was done with the board, I quite 
forget, but both game and bowl lasted quite into the 
Fifties. Are there any country circles now where they 
still play Pope Joan with mother-o'-pearl counters, and 
after the game have a grand settlement, and exchange 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 91 

the counters for silver and copper, some with chuckles, 
and others with outward smiles but inward rage ? 

People were extremely punctilious on the subject of 

calls— one remembers the call in the 'Mill on the Floss.' 

The call was due at regular intervals, so that even the 

day should almost be known on which it was paid or 

returned. It was a ceremonial which necessitated a 

great deal of ritual and make-believe. No one, for 

instance, was to be surprised in doing any kind of 

work. There was a fiction in genteel families that the 

ladies of the house never did anything serious or 

serviceable after dinner; the afternoon was supposed 

to be devoted either to walking, or to making calls, or 

to elegant trifling at home. Therefore, if the girls were 

at the moment engaged upon any useful work — many 

of them, poor things, never did anything but useful 

work— they crammed it under the sofa, and pretended 

to be reading a book, or painting, or knitting, or to be 

engaged in easy and fashionable conversation. Why 

they went through this elaborate pretence I have not 

the least idea, because everybody knew that every girl 

ln the place was always making, mending, cutting-out, 

basting, gusseting, trimming, turning, and contriving. 

How do you suppose that the solicitor's daughters made 

so brave a show on Sundays if they were not clever 

enough to make up things for themselves ? Everybody, 

°f course, knew it, and why the girls would not own up 

at once one cannot now understand. Perhaps it was a 

sort of a suspicion, or a faint hope, or a wild dream, 



92 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

that a reputation for ladylike uselessness might enable 
them to cross the line at the County Ball, and mingle 
with the county people. 

Are there still any circles of society in which, if a 
lady with her daughters calls upon another lady with 
her daughters, the decanters, biscuits, and glasses are 
placed upon the table, and the visitors are asked whether 
they will take port or sherry ? This, fifty years ago, 
was always done in country towns, and the visitors 
always took a glass of port or sherry. In some houses 
it was not port and sherry that were placed upon the 
table, but * red ' and ' white.' I do not know whether 
the red was currant or raspberry, but I think that the 
white was generally cowslip. When the visitors were 
gone, the ladies got out their work again, threaded 
their needles, and spent an enjoyable hour or two in 
discussing the appearance, the dress, the manners, and 
the resources of their visitors. But the visit did them 
good, because it compelled company manners, which 
are always good for girls, and it dragged them a little 
out of themselves. They were too much en famiUe, 
these girls ; they were never separated from each other. 
The boys got out to school or to business all day ; but 
the poor girls were always together. Side by side they 
did their household duties, side by side they sewed and 
dressmaked, side by side they walked, side by side they 
prayed in the church, side by side they slept. Small 
chance of happiness was theirs — happiness is a separate, 
distinct, individual kind of thing, in which one can con- 



k. 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 93 

suit one's own likes — until, in the fulness of time, there 
came along the lover — a humdrum, commonplace kind 
of lover, I dare say, but his sweetheart was as common- 
place as himself — and she exchanged a house, where 
she was a better kind of servant, for one of exactly the 
same sort, in which she was the mistress. And when 
one ?»ays mistress, it must be remembered that man was, 
in those days, much more of a master in the house than 
he is now allowed to be. I speak not at random, but 
from the evidence of those who remember and from 
study of the literature, both that written by the men 
and that by the women. I am certain that the husband, 
unless he was hen-pecked — a pleasing word, now seldom 
used — was always the Master and generally the Tyrant 
in the house. 

Let me, with some diffidence, approach the subject 
of the Church in the country town. I never truly 
understood the Church of fifty years ago until, in the 
autumn of 1885,1 perambulated with one who is jealous 
for Church architecture and Church antiquities the 
north-east corner of Norfolk, where there are many 
churches, and most of them are fine. In our pilgrimage 
among these monuments we presently came upon one 
a * the aspect of which we were fain to sit down and 
Wee p. It was, externally, an old and venerable structure, 
w fcch might have been made beautiful within. Plaster 
flatted the walls, and hid the columns ; the interior of 
^church was crowded with high pews, painted white, 
^d having along the top a sham mahogany kind of 



94 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

hand-rail ; the chancel was encumbered with these en- 
closures, which hid the old brass-work; that which 
belonged to the Squire was provided with red curtains 
on brass rods to keep the common people from gazing 
at the Quality. The reading-desk, pulpit, and altar were 
covered with a cloth which had been red, but had long 
before faded away into an indescribably shabby brown. 1 
The pulpit was not part of the old three-decker, but 
was stuck into the wall ; the windows had lost their 
old tracery; the painted glass was gone; the roof was 
a flat whitewashed ceiling. The church, to eyes accufi? 
tomed to better things, presented a deplorable appeff£- 
ance. My friend, pointing solemnly to the genent 
shabbiness, remarked, * Donee templa refeceris. 9 It 
the motto of the journal started early in the Forti 
a small knot of Cambridge men — among whom 
Mr. Beresford Hope, now, alas ! no more — who de 
to raise and beautify public worship in the An 
faith, and also, I believe, to assert and insist 
certain points of doctrine. And they clearly percer 
that, while the churches remained in their neglet 
condition, and church architecture was at its then 
ebb, their doctrine was impossible. How far they 
succeeded not only the Kitualists themselves p; 
but also every other party in the Church, and even 
Nonconformists, who have shared in the in 
beauty and fitness of public worship. ,vjj 

He who can remember the ordinary Church 
in the early Fifties very well knows what they werei 




■»&■ 





WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 95 

the Thirties, except that in the latter there were still 
some venerable divines who wore a wig. 

The musical part of the service was, to begin with, 
taken slow — incredibly slow ; no one now would, who 
is not old enough to remember, believe how slow it 
was. The voluntary at the beginning was a slow 
rumble; the Psalms were very slowly read by the 
clergyman and the clerk alternately, the Gloria alone 
being sung, also to a slow rumble. The choir was 
generally stationed in the organ loft, which has been 
known to be built over the altar at the east end — as at 
St Mary's, Cambridge — but was generally at the west 
end. It was not a choir of boys and men only, but of 
women and men. The * Te Deum ' was always * Jackson ' 
— from my youth up have I loathed ' Jackson ; ' there 
was just one lively bit in it for which one looked and 
waited ; but it lasted a very few bars ; and then the 
thing dragged on more slowly than ever till it came to 
the welcome words, 'Let me never be confounded.' 
Two hymns were sung — very slowly ; they were always 
of the kind which expressed either the despair of the 
aimer or the doubtful joy of the believer. I say 
doubtful, because he was constantly being warned not 
to be too confident, not to mistake a vague hope for 
the assurance of election, and because, with the rest of 
the congregation, he was always being told how few in 
number were those elect, and how extremely unlikely 
that there could be many of those few in that one 
flock. Bead any of the theological literature of the 



96 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

period, and mark the gulf that lies between us and our 
fathers. There were many kinds of preachers, just as 
at present — the eloquent, the high and dry, the low and 
threatening, the forcible-feeble, the florid, the prosy, the 
scholarly — but they all seemed to preach the same doc- 
trine of hopelessness, the same Gospel of Despair, the 
same Father of all Cruelty, the same Son who could at 
best help only a few ; and when any of the congregation 
dared to speak the truth, which was seldom, these 
blasphemous persons whispered that it was best to live 
and enjoy the present, and to leave off trying to save 
their souls against such fearful odds, and with the 
knowledge that if they were going to be saved it would 
be by election and by no merit or effort of their own, 
while, if the contrary was going to happen, it was no 
use striving against fate. Wretched, miserable creed ! 
To think that unto this was brought the Divine Message 
of the Son of Man ! And to think of the despairing 
deathbeds of the careless, the lifelong terror of the 
most religious, and the agony of the survivors over the 
death of one ' cut off in his sins ' ! 

What we now call the * life ' of the Church, with its 
meetings, committees, fraternities, guilds, societies, and 
organisations, then simply did not exist. The clergy- 
man had an easy time; he visited little, he had an 
Evening Service once a week, he did not pretend to 
keep saints' days and minor festivals and fasts — none of 
his congregation expected him to keep them ; as for his 
being a teetotaller for the sake of the weaker brethren, 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 97 

that would have seemed to everybody pure foolishness, 
as. ind *ed, it is, only people now run to the opposite 
belief : yet he was a good man, for the most part, who 
lived a quiet and exemplary life, and a good scholar — 
scholars are, indeed, sadly to seek among the modern 
clergy — a sound theologian, a judge of good port, and 
a gentleman. But processions, banners, surpliced choirs, 
robes, and the like, he would have regarded as unworthy 
the consideration of one who was a Churchman, a 
Protestant, and a scholar. 

To complete this brief study of the Church fifty 
years ago, let us remark that out of 11,500 livings 
which it possessed, 3,000 were under 100/. and 1,000 
under 60/. a year, that there were 6,080 pluralists and 
2,100 non-residents, that the Dissenters had only been 
allowed to marry in their own chapels and by their 
own clergy in the year 1831, that they were not ad- 
mitted, as Dissenters, to the Universities, and that the 
incomes of some of the Bishops were enormous. 

As for Art, in the house or out of it, Art in pictures, 

sculpture, architecture, dress, furniture, fiction, oratory, 

acting, the middle-class person, the resident in the 

country town, knew nothing of it. His church was 

most likely a barn, his own house was four-square, his 

furniture was mahogany, his pictures were coloured 

en gravings, the ornaments of his rooms were hideous 

things in china, painted red and white, his hangings 

w cre of a warm and comfortable red, his sofas were 

horsehair, his drawing-room was furnished with a round 

11 



9 8 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



table, on which lay keepsakes and forget-me-nots ; but 
as the family never used the room, which was generally 
kept locked, it mattered little how it was furnished. 
He dressed, if he was an elderly gentleman, in a spencer, 
buttoned tight, a high black satin stock, and boots up 
to his knees — very likely he still carried his hair in a 
tail. If he was young, he had long and flowing hair, 
waved and curled with the aid of pomade, bear's grease. 




and oil ; he cultivated whiskers, also curled and oiled 
all round his face ; he wore a magnificent stock, with a 
liberal kind of knot in the front : in this he stuck a 
great pin ; and he was magnificent in waistcoats. As 
for the ladies' dresses, I cannot trust myself to describe 
them ; the accompanying illustration will be of service 
in bringing the fashion home to the reader. But this is 
the efligy of a London and a fashionable lady. Her 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 99 

country cousin would be two or three years, at least, 
behind her. Well, the girls had blooming cheeks, bright 
eyes, and simple manners. They were much more re- 
tiring than the modern maiden ; they knew very little 
of young men and their manners, and the young men 
knew very little of them — the novels of the time are 
full of the shyness of the young man in presence of the 
maiden. Their ideas were limited, they had strong 
views as to rank and social degrees, and longed earnestly 
for a chance of rising but a single step ; their accom- 
plishments were generally contemptible, and of Art 
they had no idea whatever. How should they have 
any idea when, year after year, they saw no Art, and 
heard of none ? But they were good daughters, who 
became good wives and good mothers — our own, my 
friends — and we must not make even a show of holding 
them up to ridicule. 

One point must not be forgotten. In the midst of 
all this conventional dulness there was, in the atmo- 
sphere of the Thirties, a certain love of romance which 
showed itself chiefly in a fireside enthusiasm for the 
cause of oppressed races. Poland had many friends ; 
the negro — they even went so far in those days as to 
call him a brother — was warmly befriended ; the case 
of the oppressed Greek attracted the good wishes of 
everybody. Now, sympathy with oppression that is 
unseen may sometimes be followed by sympathy with 
the oppression which is before the eyes ; so that one is 
not surprised to hear that the case of the women and 

H 2 



« 



ioo FIFTY YEARS AGO 

the children in the mines and the factories was soon 
afterwards taken seriously in hand. The verse which 
then formed so large a part of family reading had a 
great deal to do with the affections, especially their 
tearful side ; while the tales they loved the best were 
those of knights and fair dames of adventure and 
romance. 

A picture by Du Maurier in Punch once represented 
a man singing a comic song at an * At Home.' Nobody 
laughed ; some faces expressed wonder ; some, pity ; 
some, contempt ; a few, indignation ; but not one face 
smiled. Consider the difference: in the year 1837 every 
face would have been broadened out in a grin. Do we, 
therefore, laugh no more ? We do not laugh so much, 
certainly, and we laugh differently. Our comic man of 
society still tells good stories, but he no longer sings 
songs; in his stories he prefers the rapier or the jewelled 
dagger to the bludgeon. Those who desire to make 
the acquaintance of the comic man, as he was accepted 
in society and in the middle-class, should read the 
works of Theodore Hook and of Albert Smith- To 
begin with, he played practical jokes ; he continually 
played practical jokes, and he was never killed, as 
would now happen, by his victims. I am certain that 
we should kill a man who came to our houses and 
played the jokes which then were permitted to the 
comic man. He poured melted butter into coat pockets 
at suppers ; he turned round signposts, and made them 
point the wrong way, in order to send people whither 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 101 

they did not wish to go. It may be remarked that hie 
tricks were rarely original. He wrenched off door- 
knockers ; he turned off the gas at the meter ; he tied 
strings across the river to knock people backwards in 
their boats ; he tied two doors together, and then rang 
both bells, and waited with a grin from ear to ear; he 
rang up people in the dead of the night on any pretest ; 
he filled keyholes with powdered slate-pencil when the 
master of the house was coming 
home late ; he hoaxed innocent 
ladies, and laughed when they 
were nearly driven mad with 
worry and terror ; he went to 
masquerades, carrying a tray 
full of medicated sweets — think 
of such a thing ! — which he dis- 
tributed, and then retired, and 
came back in another dress to 
gaze upon the havoc he had 
wrought. Again, it was a time , 
when candles were still carried 

about the house, and, as yet, it was thought that gas 
in bedrooms was dangerous. He dipped the candles 
waiting for the ladies when they went to bed into 
water, so that they spluttered and went out, and made 
alarming fireworks when they were lit ; and then, to 
remove the horrible smell, the candles being of tallow, 
he offered to burn pastilles, but these were confections 
of gunpowder and water, and caused the liveliest 




102 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

emotions, and sent the poor ladies upstairs in an agony 
of nervous terror. 

There was no end to the tricks of this abominable 
person. Once he received an invitation to a great ball, 
which a Koyal Personage was to honour with his pre- 
sence. The Koyal Personage was to be regaled in a 
special supper-room, apart from the common herd. 
The table had been laid in this room with the most 
elaborate care and splendour : down the middle of the 
table there meandered a beautiful canal filled with gold 
and silver fish — a contrivance believed in those remote 
ages to set off and greatly increase the beauty of a 
supper table. Our ingenious friend quickly discovered 
that the room was accessible from the garden, where 
some workmen were still putting the finishing touches 
to their work, the men who had constructed the 
marquee, and had arranged the lamps and things. He 
went, therefore, into the garden: he invited these 
workmen to partake of a little refreshment, led them 
into the Koyal supper-room, and begged them to help 
themselves, and to spare nothing : in a twinkling the 
tables were cleared. He then put certain chemicals 
into the canal, which instantly killed every fish : this 
done, he returned to the ballroom, and waited for the 
moment when the Illustrious Personage, the hostess on 
his arm, should enter that supper-room, and gaze upon 
those empty dishes. 

On another occasion, he discovered that a respect- 
able butler was in the habit of creeping upstairs, in 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 103 

order to listen to the conversation, leaving his slippers, 
in position, at the head of the kitchen stairs. He 
therefore, hid himself while the poor man, after adjust- 
ing the slippers, walked noiselessly upstairs. He then 
hammered a tintack into the heel of each slipper, and 
waited again, until a confederate gave the alarm, and 
the fat butler, hurrying down, slipped one foot into 
each slipper, and — went headlong into the depths 
below, and was nearly killed. ' Never laughed so 
much in all my life, sir.' 

At Oxford, of course, he enjoyed himself wonder- 
fully. For, with a party of chosen friends, he met no 
less a person than the Vice-Chancellor, at ten or eleven 
at night, going home alone, and peacefully. To raise 
that personage, lift him on their shoulders, crown him 
with a lamp cover, and carry him triumphantly to the 
gates of his own College, was not only a great stroke of 
fun, but a thing not to be resisted. And lie blew up 
the group of Cain and Abel in the Quadrangle of Jfrase- 
nose. And what he did with proctors, bulldogs, and 
the like, passeth all understanding. It was at Oxford 
that the funny man made the acquaintance of the 
Major. Now the Major was in love, but he was no 
longer so young as he had been, and his hair was 
getting thin on the top — a very serious thing in the 
days of long hair, wavy, curled, singed, and oiled, flow- 
ing gracefully over the ears and the coat-collar. The 
Major, in an evil moment, commissioned the Practical 
Joker, whose character, one would think, must have 



io 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

been well known, to procure for him a bottle of a 
certain patent hair-restorer. Of course, the Joker 
brought him a bottle of depilatory mixture, which 
being credulously accepted, and well rubbed in, de- 
prived the poor Major of every hair that was left It 
is needless to relate how, when he was at Richmond 
with a party of ladies, the introduction of the ' maids 
of honour ' was a thing not to be resisted ; and one can 
quite understand how one of the young ladies was led 
on to ordering, in addition to another ' maid of honour,' 
a small Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, if they had 
one quite cold. 

The middle-class of London, before the development 
of omnibuses, lived in and round the City of London, 
Bloomsbury being the principal suburb ; many thousands 
of well-to-do people, merchants and shopkeepers, lived 
in the City itself, and were not ashamed of their houses, 
and filled the City churches on the Sunday. Some liveA 
at Clapham, Camberwell, and Stockwell on the south 
a great many at Islington, where a vigorous offshoot c: 
the great city ran through the High Street past Sadler- 
Wells as far as Highbury ; a few even lived at Highga. ' 
and Hampstead. There were the * short ' stages fr<* 
London to all these places, but, so far as can be gathere 
most of those who lived in these suburbs before t 
days of the omnibus had their own carriages, and drc 
to town and home again every day. On Sunday tl 
entertained their friends, and the young gentlemen 
the City delighted to hire horses and ride down. r 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 105 

comic literature of the time is full of the Cockney 
horseman. It will be remembered how Mr. Horatio 
Sparking rode gallantly from town to dine with his 
hospitable friends on Sunday. 

The manners and customs of the Islington colony, 
which may, I suppose, be taken for the suburban and 




""Oomsbury people generally — except that Eussell and 
^dford Squares were very, very much grander — may 
r ead in Albert Smith's * Adventures of Mr. Ledbury,' 
* 'Natural History of the Gent,' 'The Pottleton 
T?*cy,' and other contemporary works. Very good 
•i'lig they are, if approached in the right spirit, 
' l ^h is a humble and an inquiring spirit. Many 



»hi 



106 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

remarkable things may be learned from these books. 
For instance, would you know how the middle-class 
evening party was conducted ? Here are a few details. 
The gentlemen, of whose long and wavy hair I have 
already spoken, wore, for evening dress, a high black 
stock, the many folds of which covered the shirt, and 
were enriched by a massive pin ; the white shirt-cuffs 
were neatly turned over their wrists, their dress-coats 
were buttoned, their trousers were tight, and they wore 
straps and pumps. The ladies either wore curls neatly 
arranged on each side — you may still see some old 
ladies who have clung to the pretty fashion of their 
youth — or they wore their hair dropped in a loop down 
the cheek and behind the ear, and then fastened in 
some kind of band with ribbons at the back of the 
head. The machinery of the frocks reminds one of the 
wedding morning in c Pickwick,' when all the girls were 
crying out to be ' done up,' for they had hooks and 
eyes, and the girls were helpless by themselves. Pink 
was the favourite colour — and a very pretty colour too ; 
and there was plenty of scope for the milliner's art in 
lace and artificial flowers. The elder ladies were mag- 
nificent in turbans, and the younger ones wore across 
the forehead a band of velvet or silk decorated with a 
gold buckle, or something in pearls and diamonds. 
This fashion lingered long. I remember — it must have 
been about the year 1850 — a certain elderly maiden 
lady who always wore every day and all day a black 
ribbon across her brows ; this alone gave her a severe 



..v£** 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 107 

and keep-your-distance kind of expression ; but, in ad- 
dition, the ribbon contained in the middle, if I remem- 
ber aright, a steel buckle — though a lady, one thinks, 
would hardly wear a steel buckle on her forehead. 
Sometimes there was a wreath of flowers worn like a 
coronet, and sometimes, but I think hardly in Islington, 
a tiara of jewels. In middle-class circles, the fashion of 
evening dress was marred by a fashion, common to 
both sexes, of wearing cleaned 
gloves. Now kid gloves could 
only be cleaned by one process, 
so that the result was an effect 
of turps which could not be 
subdued by any amount of 
patchouli or eau-de-Cologne. 
There were, as yet, no cards 
for the dances, and when a 
waltz was played, everybody 
was afraid to begin. Quadrilles (From * vt^-m by cmutabimk in 
of various kinds were danced, 

and the country dance yet lingered at this end of the 
town. The polka came later. Dancing was stopped 
whenever any young lady could bo persuaded to sing, 
and happy was the young man whose avocations per- 
mitted him to wear the delightful moustaches forbidden 
in the City and in all the professions. Young Templars 
wore them until they were called, when they had to be 
shaved. For a City man to wear a moustache would 
hare been ruin and bankruptcy. 




108 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Other portions of Albert Smith's works, if read with 
discernment, will enable one to make discoveries of some 
interest. One is that our modern 'Arry is really a 
survival, not, as is sometimes believed, a growth of 
modern days. His ally and mistress, 'Arriet, does not 
seem to have existed at all fifty years ago ; at least there 
is no mention of her ; but 'Arry flourished. He did 
really dreadful things. He was even worse than the 
Practical Joker. When he took Titus Ledbury abroad, 
he went into the cathedrals on purpose to spill the holy 
water, to blow out the candles, and to make faces at 
the women kneeling at their prayers ; he got barrel- 
organs into lofts and invited men to bring grisettes and 
dance all night, with a supper brought from the char- 
cuterie ; wherever there was jumping, dancing, singing, 
and riot, 'Arry was to the fore. On board the steamer 
he seized a bottle of stout and took up a prominent 
and commanding position, where he drank it before all 
the world, smoking cigars, and laughing loudly at the 
poor people who were ill. At home, he wrenched off 
knockers, played practical jokes, drank more stout, ate 
oysters, chaffed bar-maidens, and called for brandy and 
water continually. He was loud in his dress and in his 
voice ; he was insolent, caddish, and offensive in his 
manners. Generally, one thinks, he would end his 
career in Whitecross Street, or the Fleet, or the Queen's 
Bench. Doubtless, however, there are still among us 
old gentlemen who now sit at church on Sunday with 
venerable white hair, among their children and grand- 



WITH THE MIDDLE-CLASS 109 

children, and while the voice of the preacher rises and 
falls, their memory wanders back to the days when they 
danced and sang with the grisettes, when they wrenched 
the knockers, when they went from the theatre to the 
Coal Cellar, and from the Coal Cellar to the Finish ; and 
came home with unsteady step and light purse in the 
grey of the morning. 

The Debtors' Prison belonged chiefly to the great 
middle-class. Before them stalked always a grisly 
spectre, called by some Insolvency and by others Bank- 
ruptcy. This villainous ghost seized its victims by the 
collar and haled them within the walls of a Debtors' 
Prison, where it made them abandon hope, and abide 
there till the day of death. Everybody is familiar with 
the inside of the Fleet, the Queen's Bench, the Marshal- 
sea, and Whitecross Street. They are all pulled down 
now, and the only way to get imprisoned for debt is to 
incur contempt of court, for which Holloway is the re- 
ward. But what a drop from the humours of the 
Queen's Bench, with its drinking, tobacco, singing, and 
noisy revelry, to the solitary cell of Holloway Prison ! 
The Debtors' Prison is gone, and the world is the better 
for its departure. Nowadays the ruined betting-man, 
the rake, the sharper, the profligate, the fraudulent 
bankrupt, have no prison where they can carry on their 
old excesses again, though in humbler way. They go 
down — below the surface — out of sight, and what 
they do, and how they fare, nobody knows, and very 
few care. 



no FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER VII. 

IN SOCIETY. 

As to society in 1837, contemporary commentators 
differ. For, according to some, society was always 
gambling, running away with each other's wives, causing 
and committing scandals, or whispering them, the men 
were spendthrifts and profligates, the women extrava- 
gant and heartless. Of course, the same things would 
be said, and are sometimes said, of the present day, and 
will be said in all following ages, because to the ultra- 
virtuous or to the satirist who trots out the old, stale, 
worn-out sham indignation, or to the isn't-it-awful, 
gaping (johemouche^ every generation seems worse than 
all those which preceded it. We know the tag and the 
burden and the weariness of the old song. As for my- 
self, I am no indignant satirist, and the news that 
certain young gentlemen have been sitting up all night 
playing baccarat, drinking champagne, and c carrying 
on ' after the fashion of youth in all ages, does riot 
greatly agitate my soul, or surprise me, or lash me into 
virtuous indignation. Not at all. At the same time, if 
one must range oneself and take a side, one may imitate 



IN SOCIETY ii j 

the example of Benjamin Disraeli and declare for the 
side of the angels. And, once a declared follower of 
that army, one may be allowed to rejoice that things 
are vastly improved in the space of two generations. 
Of this there can be no doubt. Making easy allowance 
for exaggeration, and refusing to see depravity in a 
whole class because there are one or two cases that the 
world calls shocking and 
reads eagerly, it is quite 
certain that there is less ** 
of everything thatshould 
not be than there used to 
be — less in proportion, 
and even less in actual 
extent. The general 
tone, in short the gene- 
ral manners of society, 
have very much im- 
proved. Of this, I say 
again, there can be no 
doubt. Let any one, for 

instance, read Lady Blessingtou's * Victims of Society.' 
Though there is an unreal ring about this horrid book, 
so that one cannot accept it for a moment as a faithful 
picture of the times, such a book could not now be 
written at all ; it would be impossible. 

Let us sing of lighter themes. Take, for instance, 
the great subject of Swagger. There is still Swagger, 
even in these days ; cavalry officers in garrison towns are 




ii2 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

still supposed to swagger. Eton boys swagger in their 
own little village ; undergraduates swagger. The put- 
ting on of ' side,' by the way, is a peculiarly modern 
form of swagger : it is the assumption of certain quali- 
ties and powers which are considered as deserving of 
respect. Swagger, fifty years ago, was a coarser kind 
of thing. Officers swaggered ; men of rank swaggered ; 
men of wealth swaggered ; gentlemen in military frogs 
— there are no longer any military frogs — swaggered in 
taverns, clubs, and in the streets. The adoption of 
quiet manners ; the wearing of rank with unobtrusive 
dignity ; the possession of wealth without ostentation ; 
of wit without the desire to be always showing it — 
these are points in which we are decidedly in advance 
of our fathers. There was a great deal of cuff and 
collar, stock and breastpin about the young fellows of 
the day. They were oppressive in their gallantry : in 
public places they asserted themselves ; they were loud 
in their talk. In order to understand the young man 
of the day, one may study the life and career of that 
gay and gallant gentleman, the Count d'Orsay, model 
and paragon for all young gentlemen of his time. 

They were louder in their manners, and in their 
conversation they were insulting, especially the wits. 
Things were said by these gentlemen, even in a duelling 
age, which would be followed in these days by a violent 
personal assault. In fact, the necessity of fighting a 
duel if you kicked a man seems to have been the cause 
why men were constantly allowed to call each other, by 



V / ■ 



/ 




^-V^J 



ii 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

hardly believe that any man would have had the im- 
pudence and the bad taste to make such a speech. 

We still constantly hear, in the modern School for 
Scandal, remarks concerning the honour, the virtue, the 
cleverness, the ability, the beauty, the accomplishments 
of our friends. But it is behind their backs. We no 
longer try to put the truth openly before them. We 
stab in the back ; but we no longer attack in front. 
One ought not to stab at all ; but the back is a portion 
of the frame which feels nothing. So far the change is 
a distinct gain. 

Society, again, fifty years ago, was exclusive. You 
belonged to society, or you did not ; there was no over- 
lapping, there were no circles which intersected. And 
if you were in society you went to Almack's. If you 
did not go to Almack's you might be a very interesting, 
praiseworthy, well-bred creature; but you could not 
claim to be in society. Nothing could be more simple. 
Therefore, everybody ardently desired to be seen at 
Almack's. This, however, was not in everybody'? 
power. Almack's, for instance, was far more exclusiv 
than the Court. Riff-raff might go to Court ; but the 
could not get to Almack's, for at its gates there stoo 
not one angel with a fiery sword, but six in the sha 
of English ladies, terrible in turbans, splendid in d 
monds, magnificent in satin, and awful in rank. 

They were the Ladies Jersey, Londonderry, Cowj 
Brownlow, Willoughby d'Eresby, and Euston. Tl 
ladies formed the dreaded Committee. They dec: 



IN SOCIETY u S 

who should be admitted within the circle ; all applica- 
tions had to be made direct to them; no one was 
allowed to bring friends. Those who desired to go to 
the balls — Heavens! what lady did not ardently desire? 
— were obliged to send in a personal request to be 
allowed the honour. Not only tins, but they were also 



"'»li?«l to send for the answer, which took the form of 
* timelier — that is, a ticket — or a simple refusal, from 
*1ih-1i there was no appeal. Gentlemen were admitted 
^ the same way, and by the same mode of application, 
■^ the ladies. In their case, it is pleasing lo add, some 
feiianl was paid to character as well as to birth and 
ni &. so that if a man openly and llagrantly insulted 



u6 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

society he was supposed not to be admitted ; but one 
asks with some trembling how far such rigour would 
be extended towards a young and unmarried Duke. 
Almack's was a sort of Royal Academy of Society, the 
Academic diploma being represented by the admitted 
candidate's pedigree, his family connections, and his 
family shield. The heartburnings, jealousies, and mad- 
dening envies caused by this exclusive circle were, I 
take it, the cause of its decline and fall. Trade, even 
of the grandest and most successful kind, even in the 
persons of the grandchildren, had no chance whatever ; 
no self-made man was admitted; in fact, it was not 
recognised that a man could make himself; either he 
belonged to a good family or he did not — genius was not 
considered at all ; admission to Almack's was like ad- 
mission to the Order of the Garter, because it pretended 
no nonsense about merit ; wives and daughters of simple 
country squires, judges, bishops, generals, admirals, and 
so forth, knew better than to apply ; the intrigues, 
backstairs influence, solicitation of friends, were as end- 
less at Almack's as the intrigues at the Admiralty 
procure promotion. Admission could not, however, 
bought. So far the committee were beyond suspicioi 
and beyond reproach; it was whispered, to be 
that there was favouritism — awful word ! Put yourse&I 
in the position, if you have imagination enough, of 
young and beautiful debutante. Admission to Almaclac: 
means for you that you can see your right and 
clear to a coronet. What will you not 



m SOCIETY 



cringing, supplication, adulation, hypocrisies — to secure 
that card ? And oh ! the happiness, the rapture, of 
sending to Willis's Rooms and finding a card waiting for 
you! and the misery and despair of receiving, instead, 
the terrible letter which told you, without reason 
assigned, that the Ladies of the Committee could not 
grant your request ! 

They were not expensive gatherings, the tickets 
being only 7*. 6rf. each, 
which did not include sup- 
per. Dancing began at 
eleven to the strains of 
Weippert's and Collinet's 
band. The balls were 
held in the great room at 
Willis's, and the space re- 
served for the dancers was 
roped round. The two 
favourite dances were the 
Valse and the Galop — the 
'sprightly galoppade,' as 

"fas called. Quadrilles were also danced. It may be 
interesting to those who have kept the old music to learn 
that in the year 1836 the favourite quadrilles wore 
^Eclair and La Tete de Bronze, and the favourite valae 
Wa s Le Remede contre le Sommeil. They had also 
fuss's waltzes. 

The decline and fall of Almaek's was partly caused 
k v tlie ' favouritism ' which not only kept the place ex- 




L 



n8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

elusive, but excluded more than was politic. The only- 
chance for the continued existence of such an institution 
is that it should be constantly enlarging its boundaries, 
just as the only chance for the continued existence of 
such an aristocracy as ours is that it should be always 
admitting new members. Somehow the kind of small 
circle which shall include only the creme de la creme is 
always falling to pieces. We hear of a club which is 
to contain only the very noblest, but in a year or two 
it has ceased to exist, or it is like all other clubs. 
Moreover, a great social change has now passed over 
the country. The stockbroker, to speak in allegory, has 
got into Society. Eespect for Rank, fifty years ago 
universal and profound, is rapidly decaying. There are 
still many left who believe in some kind of superiority 
by Divine Eight and the Sovereign's gift of Eank, even 
though that Eank be but ten years old, and the grand- 
father's shop is still remembered. We do not pretend 
to believe any longer that Eank by itself makes people 
cleverer, more moral, stronger, more religious, or more 
capable ; but some of us still believe that, in some 
unknown way, it makes them superior. These thinkers 
are getting fewer. And the decay of agriculture, 
which promises to continue and increase, assists the 
decay of Eespect for Eank, because such an aristocracy 
as that of these islands, when it becomes poor, becomes 
contemptible. 

The position of women, social and intellectual, has 
wholly changed. Nothing was heard then of women'^ 



IN SOCIETY 119 

equality, nothing of woman suffrage ; there were no 
women on Boards, there were none who lectured and 
spoke in public, there were few who wrote seriously. 
Women regarded themselves, and spoke of themselves, 
as inferior to men in understanding, as they were in 
bodily strength. Their case is not likely to be under- 
stated by one of themselves. Hear, therefore, what 
Mrs. John Sandford — nowadays she would have been 
Mrs. Ethel Sandford, or Mrs. Christian- and-maiden-name 
Sandford — says upon her sisters. It is in a book called 
'Woman in her Social and Domestic Character.' 

'There is something unfeminine in independence. 
It is contrary to Nature, and therefore it offends. A 
really sensible woman feels her dependence ; she does 
*hat she can, but she is conscious of inferiority, and 
therefore grateful for support 9 The italics are mine. 
'In everything that women attempt they should show 
their consciousness of dependence. . . . They should 
remember that by them influence is to be obtained, not 
k v assumption, but by a delicate appeal to affection or 
pnnciple. Women in this respect are something like 
chi]<] ren — the more they show their need of support, 
l "e more engaging they are. The appropriate expression 
°f dependence is gentleness.' The whole work is exe- 
rted in this spirit, the keynote being the inferiority 
°* ^oman. Heavens ! with what a storm would such 
a book be now received ! 

In the year 1835 Herr Raumer, the German his- 
torian, visited England, and made a study of the 



120 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

English people, which he afterwards published. From 
this book one learns a great deal concerning the manners 
of the time. For instance, he went to a dinner-party 
given by a certain noble lord, at which the whole 
service was of silver, a silver hot-water dish being 
placed under every plate ; the dinner lasted until mid- 
night, and the German guest drank too much wine, 
though he missed ' most of the healths.' It was then 
the custom at private dinner-parties to go on drinking 
healths after dinner, and to sit over the wine till mid- 
night. He goes to an ' At Home ' at Lady A.'s. « Almost 
all the men/ he tells us, ' were dressed in black coats, 
black or coloured waistcoats, and black or white cravats/ 
Of what colour were the coloured waistcoats, and of 
what colour the coats which were not black, and how 
were the other men dressed ? Perhaps one or two may 
have been Bishops in evening dress. Now the evening 
dress of a Bishop used to be blue. I once saw a Bishop 
dressed all in blue — he was a very aged Bishop, and it 
was at a City Company's dinner — and I was told it had 
formerly been the evening dress of Bishops, but was 
now only worn by the most ancient among them. Herr 
Raumer mentions the ' countless ' carriages in Hyde 
Park, and observes that no one could afford to keep a 
carriage who had not 3,000/. a year at least. And at 
fashionable dances he observes that they dance nothing 
but waltzes. The English ladies he finds beautiful, and 
of the men he observes that the more they eat and 
drink the colder they become — because they drank 



IN SOCIETY 121 

port, no doubt, under the influence of which, though 
the heart glows more and more, there comes a time 
when the brow clouds, and the speech thickens, and 
the tongue refuses to act. 

The dinners were conducted on primitive principles. 
Except in great houses, where the meat and game were 
carved by the butler, everything was carved on the 
table. The host sat behind the haunch of mutton, and 
'helped' with zeal; the guests took the ducks, the 
turkey, the hare, and the fowls, and did their part, 
conscious of critical eyes. A dinner was a terrible 
ordeal for a young man who, perhaps, found himself 
called upon to dissect a pair of ducks. He took up 
the knife with burning cheeks and perspiring nose ; 
n ow, at last, an impostor, one who knew not the ways 
°f polite society, would be discovered ; he began to 
fed for the joints, while the cold eyes of his hostess 
g*2ed reproachfully upon him — ladies, in those days, 
"tew g 00 d carving, and could carve for themselves. 
whaps he had, with a ghastly grin, to confess that he 
could not find those joints. Then the dish was removed 
•^ given to another guest, a horribly self-reliant 
Mature, who laughed and talked while he dexterously 
^ced the breast and cut off the legs. If, in his agony, 
"te poor wretch would take refuge in the bottle, he had 
10 Wait until some one invited him to take wine — hor- 
nble tyranny ! The dinner-table was ornamented with 
a great epergne of silver or glass ; after dinner the cloth 
*as removed, showing the table, deep in colour, lustrous, 



I, 



122 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

well waxed ; and the gentlemen began real business witl 
the bottle after the ladies had gone. 

Very little need be said about the Court. It was ther 
in the hands of a few families. It had no connectior 
at all with the life of the country, which went on as i 
there were no Court at all. It is strange that in these 
fifty years of change the Court should have altered s< 
little. Now, as then, the Court neither attracts, noi 
attempts to attract, any of the leaders in Art, Science 
or Literature. Now, as then, the Court is a thing apar 
from the life of the country. For the best class of all 
those who are continually advancing the country ii 
science, or keeping alight the sacred lamp of letters 
who are its scholars, architects, engineers, artists, poets 
authors, journalists, who are the merchant adventurer 
of modern times, who are the preachers and teachers 
the Court simply does not exist. One states the fad 
without comment. But it should be stated, and ii 
should be clearly understood. The ichole of those mei 
who in this generation maintain the greatness of our country 
in the ways where alone greatness i* desirable or memorable 
eveept in arms, the only men of this generation ichos 
memories will live and adorn the Victorian era, ar 
strangers to the Court. It seems a great pity. An idea 
Court should be the centre of everything — Art, Letters 
Science, all. 

As for the rest of society — how the people had drums 
and routs and balls; how they angled for husbands; 
how they were hollow and unnatural, and so forth— 



IN SOCIETY 123 

you may read about it in the pages of Thackeray. 
And I, for one, have "never been able to understand 
how Thackeray got his knowledge of these exclusive 
circles. Instead of dancing at Almack's he was taking 
his chop and stout at the Cock ; instead of gambling 
at Crockford's he was writing ' copy ' for any paper 
which would take it. When and where did he meet 
Miss Newcome and Lady Kew and Lord Steyne ? Per- 




taps he wrote of them by intuition, as Disraeli wrote 
"* 'Young Duke.' 'My son, sir,' said the elder 
Israeli proudly, ' has never, I believe, even peon a 
Duke." 

One touch more. There is before me a beautiful, 
wlwnn work, one in which the writer feels his responsi- 
bilities almost too profoundly. It is on no less important 
a subject than Etiquette, containing Rules for the 



i2 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Conduct of Life on the most grave and serious occasion 
I permit myself one or two extracts : — 

4 Familiarity is the greatest vice of Society. Whe 
an acquaintance says " My dear fellow," cut him imnn 
diately.' 

4 Never enter your own house without bowing 1 
every one you may meet there.' 

4 Never ask a lady any questions about anythin 
whatever.' 

'If you have drunk wine with every one at tl 
table and wish for more ' — Heavens ! More ! Ad 
after drinking with every one at the table ! — ' wait ti 
the cloth is removed.' 

' Never permit the sanctity of the drawing-room 1 
be violated by a Boot.' 



'25 



CHAPTER VIIL 

AT THE PLAY AND THE SHOW. 

Fifty years ago the Theatre was, far more than at 

present, the favourite amusement of the Londoners. 

It was a passion with them. They did not go only to 

laugh and be pleased as we go now; they went as 

critics; the pit preserves to this day a reputation, long 

^ce lost, for critical power. A large number of the 

audience went to every new performance of a stock 

piece in order to criticise. After the theatre they 

re Paired to the Albion or the Cock for supper, and to 

tolk over the performance. Fifty years ago there were 

about eighteen theatres, for a London of two millions. 1 

These theatres were not open all the year round, 

^ ut it was reckoned that 20,000 people went every 

m ?tt to the theatre. There are now thirty theatres at 

least open nearly the whole year round. I doubt if 

The following were the London theatres in the year 1837 : Her Ma- 
jesty ^ formerly the King's ; Drury Lane, Covent Garden, the ' Summer 
0u *e,' or Haymarket ; the Lyceum, the Prince's (now St. James's), the 
j^klphi, the City of London (Norton Folgate), the Surrey, Astley's, the 
^ leen *8 (afterwards the Prince of Wales's), the Olympic, and the Strand, 
J* Cohurg (originally opened as the Victoria in 1833), Sadler's Wells, the 
^y*l Pavilion, the Garrick, and the Clarence (now the King's Cross). 



L 



126 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

there are many more than 20,000 at all of them 
together on an average in one night. Yet London has 
doubled, and the visitors to London have been multi- 
plied by ten. It is by the visitors that the theatres are 
kept up. The people of London have in great measure 
lost their taste for the theatres, because they have gone 
to live in the suburbs. Who, for instance, that lives in 
Hampstead and wishes to get up in good time in the 
morning can take his wife often to the theatre? It 
takes an hour to drive into town, the hour after dinner. 
The play is over at a little after eleven ; if he takes a 
cab, the driver is sulky at the thought of going up the 
hill and getting back again without another fare ; if he 
goes and returns in a brougham, it doubles the expense. 
Formerly, when everybody lived in town, they could 
walk. Again, the price of seats has enormously gone 
up. Where there were two rows of stalls at the same 
price as the dress circle — namely, four shillings — there 
are now a dozen at the price of half a guinea. And it 
is very much more the fashion to take the best places, 
so that the dress circle is no longer the same highly 
respectable part of the house, while the upper boxes 
are now ' out of it ' altogether, and, as for the pit, no 
man knoweth whether there be any pit still. 

Besides, there are so many more distractions ; a more 
widely spread habit of reading, more music, more art, 
more society, a fuller life. The theatre was formerly 
— it is still to many — the only school of conversation, 
wit, manners, and sentiment, the chief excitement which 



AT THE PLAY AND THE SHOW 127 

took them out of their daily lives, the most delightful, 
the most entrancing manner of spending the evening. 
If the theatre were the same to the people of London 
as it used to be, the average attendance, counting the 
visitors, would be not 20,000 but 120,000. 

The reason why some of the houses were open for 
ax months only was that the Lord Chancellor granted a 
licence for that period only, except to the patent houses. 
The Haymarket was a summer house, from April to Octo- 
ber ; the Adelplii a winter house, from October to April. 
The most fashionable of the houses was Her Majesty's, 
where only Italian Opera was performed. Everybody 
b society was obliged to have a box for the season, for 
which sums were paid varying with the place in the 
louse and the rank and wealth of the tenant. Thus 
the old Duke of Gloucester used to pay three hundred 
guineas for the season. On lev^e days and drawing- 
rooms the fashionable world went to the Opera in their 
Court dresses, feathers, and diamonds, and all — a very 
moving spectacle. Those who only took a box in order 
to keep up appearances, and because it was necessary 
for one in society to have a box, used to sell seats — 
commonly called bones, because a round numbered bone 
*as the ticket of admission — to their friends ; sometimes 
they let their box for a single night, a month, or the 
whole season, by means of the agents, so that, except 
for the honour of it, as the man said when the bottom 
of his sedan-chair fell out, one might as well have had 
none at all. 



ij8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

The prices of admission to the theatres were very 
much less than obtain at the present day. At Drury 
Lane the boxes and stalls, of which there were two or 
three rows only, were Is. each ; the pit waa 3s. &d., 
the upper boxes 2s., and the gallery Is. At Covent 




Garden, where they were great at spectacle, with per- 
forming animals, the great Bunn being lessee, the prices 
were lower, the boxes being 4s., the pit 2s., the upper 
boxes Is. 6(/., and gallery Is. At the Haymarket the 
boxes were 5s., the pit 3s., and the gallery Is. 6d. 

The actors and actresses were many and good. At 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



theatre ! Was not that noble encouragement for 
playwrights? Thirty pounds for one piece! It ta 
one's breath away. Would not Mr. Gilbert, Mr. W: 
and Mr. George Sims be proud and happy men if tl 
could get 30/. — a whole lump of 30/. — for a sin 
piece? We can ii 
gine the tears of 
running down tl 
cheeks. 

The decline of 
drama was attribu 
by Raumer to the em 
absence of any prot 
tion for the dramat 
This is no doubt pai 
true ; but the drama 
was protected, to 
certain extent, by 
difficulty of get-t 
copies of his work. Shorthand writers used to trj 
they still try — to take down, unseen, the dialog 
Generally, however, they are detected in the act i 
desired to withdraw. As a rule, if the dramatist did : 
print the plays, he was safe, except from treachery on 
part of the prompter. The low prices paid for dram* 
work were the chief causes of the decline — say, rath 
the dreadful decay, dry rot, and galloping cousumpt 
— of the drama fifty years ago. Who, for instan 
would ever expect good fiction to be produced if it v 





^yt. JJ^S) 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



unreal. The scenery, dresses, and general miseen-sct 
would now be considered contemptible. 

Apart from the Italian Opera, music was very w 
supported. There were concerts in great numbers : t 
Philharmonic, t 
Vocal Society, a 
the Eoyal Acader 
of Music gave th( 
concerts at t 
King's Ancient Cc 
cert Rooms, Hj 
over Square. Willi 
Rooms were also us 
for music ; and t 
Cecilia Society ga 
its concerts in M& 
gate Street. 

There were ma 
other shows, ap: 
from the well-kno - 
sights of tov 
Madame Tussau 
Gallery in Bal 
Street, the Hip] 
drome at Bayswater, the Colosseum, the Diorama 
Regent's Park, the Panorama in Leicester Square 
where you could see ' Peru and the Andes, or I 
Village engulfed by the Avalanche ' — and the Panorai 
in Regent Street attracted the less frivolous and the 




AT THE PLAY AND THE SHOW 133 

who came to town for the improvement of their minds. 
For Londoners themselves there were the Vauxhall 
Gardens first and foremost — the most delightful places 
of amusement that London ever possessed except, 
perhaps, Belsize. Everybody went to Vauxhall ; those 
who were respectable and those who were not. Far 
more beautiful than the electric lights in the Gardens 




*>f the ' Colonies ' were the two hundred thousand 
variegated oil lamps, festooned among the trees of 
•auxhall; there was to be found music, singing, act- 
lll g, aud dancing. Hither came the gallant and golden 
T °uth from the West End ; here were seen sober and 
honest merchants with their wives and daughters ; here 
*we ladies of doubtful reputation and ladies about 
whose reputation there could be no doubt ; here there 



i 3 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

were painted arbours where they brought you the 
famous Vauxhall ham — 4 sliced cobwebs ; ' the famous 
Vauxhall beef — 4 book muslin, pickled and boiled ; ' and 
the famous Vauxhall punch — Heavens ! how the honest 
folk did drink that punch ! 

I have before me an account of an evening spent at 
Vauxhall about this time by an eminent drysalter of the 
City, his partner, a certain Tom, and two ladies, the dry- 
salter's wife and his daughter Lydia ; 4 a laughter-loving 
lass of eighteen, who dearly loved a bit of gig/ Do you 
know, gentle reader, what is a 4 bit of gig ' ? This young 
lady laughs at everything, and cries, 4 What a bit of gig ! ' 
There was singing, of course, and after the singing there 
were fireworks, and after the fireworks an ascent on the 
rope. 4 The ascent on the rope, which Lydia had never 
before witnessed, was to her particularly interesting. 
For the first time during the evening she looked serious, 
and as the mingled rays of the moon (then shining 
gloriously in the dark blue heavens, attended by her 
twinkling handmaidens, the stars), which ever and anon 
shot down as the rockets mounted upwards, mocking 
the mimic pyrotechnia of man, and the flashes of red 
fire played upon her beautiful white brow and ripe 
lips — blushing like a cleft cherry — we thought for a 
moment that Tom was a happy blade. While we were 
gazing on her fine face, her eye suddenly assumed its 
wonted levity, and she exclaimed in a laughing tone — 
44 Now, if the twopenny postman of the rockets were to 
mistake one of the directions and deliver it among the 



AT THE PLAY AND THE SHOW 135 

crowd so as to set fire to six or seven muslin dresses, 
what a bit of gig it would be ! " ' 

Another delightful place was the Surrey Zoological 

Gardens, which occupied fifteen acres, and had a large 

lake in the middle, very useful for fireworks and the 

showing off of the Mount Vesuvius they stuck up on 

one side of it. The carnivorous animals were kept in 

a single building, under a great glazed cupola, but the 

elephants, bears, monkeys, &c, had separate buildings 

of their own. Flower shows, balloon ascents, fireworks, 

and all kinds of exciting things went on at the Surrey 

Zoo. 

The Art Galleries opened every year, and, besides 
the National Gallery, there were the Society of British 
Artists, the Exhibition of Water Colours, and the British 
Institution in Pall Mall. At the Eoyal Academy of 
1837. Turner exhibited his ' Juliet/ Etty a ' Psyche and 
^enus,' Landseer a ' Scene in Chillingham Park,' Wilkie 
tie ' Peep o' Day Boy's Cabin,' and Eoberts the « Chapel 
°f Ferdinand and Isabella at Granada.' 

There were Billiard Kooms, where a young man 
fr°m the country who prided himself upon his 
pkv could get very prettily handled. There were 
%ar Divans, but as yet only one or two, for the 
SIQ oking of cigars was a comparatively new thing — in 
* a °t, one who wrote in the year 1829 thought it 
ne cessary to lay down twelve solemn rules for the right 
s,Q oking of a cigar ; there were also Gambling Hells, 
°f*hich more anon. 



136 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Fifty years ago, in short, we amused ourselves ve 
well. We were fond of shows, and there were pier 
of them ; we liked an al fresco entertainment, and 
could have it ; we were not quite so picksome in t 
matter of company as we are now, and therefore 
endured the loud vulgarities of the tradesman and '. 
family, and shut our eyes when certain fashional 
dressed ladies passed by showing their happiness 
the loudness of their laughter ; we even sat with c 
daughter in the very next box to that in which you 
Lord Tomnoddy was entertaining these young lad 
with cold chicken and pink champagne. It is, 
know, the privilege of rank to disregard morals 
public as well as in private. Then we had supper s 
a bowl of punch, and so home to bed. 

Those who are acquainted with the doings of Co: 
thian Tom and Bob Logic are acquainted with « 
Night Side of London as it was a few years bef< 
1837. Suffice it to say that it was far darker, far mc 
vicious, far more dangerous fifty years ago than it 
now. Heaven knows that we have a Night Side sti 
and a very ugly side it is, but it is earlier by mai 
hours than it used to be, and it is comparatively fr 
from gambling-houses, from bullies, blackmailers, a] 
sharks. 



*37 



CHAPTEE IX. 

IN THE HOUSE. 

Ox November 20, 1837, the young Queen opened her 
first Parliament in person. The day was brilliant with 
sunshine, the crowds from Buckingham Palace to the 
House were immense, the House of Lords was crammed 
with Peers and the gallery with Peeresses, who oc- 
cupied every seat, and even 4 rushed ' the reporters' 
gallery, three reporters only having been fortunate 
enough to take their places before the rush. 1 

When Her Majesty arrived and had taken her place, 
there was the rush from the Lower House. 

4 Her Majesty having taken the oath against Popery, 
w hich she did in a slow, serious, and audible manner, 
P r oceeded to read the Royal Speech ; and a specimen 
()f more tasteful and effective elocution it has never 
l)ee n my fortune to hear. Her voice is clear, and her 
er *Uticiation distinct in no ordinary degree. Her utter- 
^ce is timed with admirable judgment to the ear : it is 
he happy medium between too slow and too rapid. 

am "wfekted for the whole of this chapter to Random Recollections of 
kLorik and Commons, 1838. 



■3« 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



Nothing could be more accurate than lier pronuncia- 
tion; while the musical intonations of her voice im- 
parted a peculiar charm to the other attributes of her 




loiii 1»40. Sir Chorion Barr.v, ircbiteot) 



IN THE HOUSE 139 

elocution. The most perfect stillness reigned through 
the place while Her Majesty was reading her Speech. 
Xot a breath was to be heard : had a person, unblessed 
with the power of vision, been suddenly taken within 
hearing of Her Majesty, while she was reading her 
Speech, he might have remained some time under the 
don that there was no one present but herself. 
self-possession was the theme of universal admira- 




• . 



"• *In person Her Majesty is considerably below the 
image height. Her figure is good ; rather inclined, 
is far as one could judge from seeing her in her robes 
of state, to the slender form. Every one who has seen 
her must have been struck with her singularly fine 
bust. Her complexion is clear, and has all the indica- 

• 

tions of excellent health about it. Her features an* 
^rnall. and partake a good deal of the Grecian cast. 
Her face, without being strikingly handsome, is reniark- 
a % pleasant, and is indicative of a mild and amiable 
^position.' 

In the House of Lords the most prominent figures 
Wer e, I suppose, those of Lord Brougham and the Duke 
°* Wellington. The debates in the Upper House- 
enlivened by the former, and by Lords Melbourne, 
^yndlmrst, and others, were lively and animated, com- 
I^ttd with the languor of the modern House. The 
^ke of Rutland, the Marquis of Bute, the Marquis of 
vamden (who paid back into the Treasury every year 
t,le salary he received as Teller of the Exchequer), the 



i 4 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Earls of Stanhope, Devon, Falmouth, Lords Strangford, 
Rolls, Alvanley, and Eedesdale were the leaders of the 
Conservatives. The Marquis of Sligo, the Marquis of 
Northampton, the Earls of Rosebery, Gosford, Minto, 
Shrewsbury, and Lichfield, Lords Lynedoch and 
Pbrtman were the leaders of the Liberals. With the 




exceptions of Wellington, Brougham, Melbourne, wb-*3 
Eedesdale, it is melancholy to consider that thee** 
illustrious names are nothing more than names, ant*' 
convey no associations to the present generation. 

Among the members of the Lower House wer*^ 
many more who have left behind them memories whicl* 
are not likely to be soon forgotten. Sir Robert Peel* 



IN THE HOUSE 141 

I*rii Stanley, Thomas Macaulay, Cobbett, Lord John 
Russell, Sir John Cam Hobhouse, Lord Palmerston, Sir 
Francis Burdett, Hume, Roebuck, O'Connell, Lytton 
Bilker, Benjamin D'Israeli, and last sole survivor, 
"illiam Ewart Gladstone, were all in the Parliaments 




'Mediately before or immediately after the Queen's 



<-*<, 



*-*ssion. 



Xf you would like to know how these men impressed 
*^*r contemporaries, read the following extracts from 
ar *tit's 'Random Recollections.' 

4 Mr. Thomas Macaulay, the late member for Leeds, 
**i now a member of Council in India, could boast of 



t 4 a FJFTY YEARS AGO 

a brilliant, if not a very long Parliamentary career. 
He was one of those men who at once raised himself to 
the first rank in the Senate. His maiden speech elec- 
trified the House, and called forth the highest com- 
pliments to the speaker from men of all parties. He 
was careful to preserve the laurels he had thus so 
easily and suddenly won. He was a man of shrewd 




mind, and knew that if he spoke often, the probability 
was he would not speak so well ; and that consequently 
there could be no more likely means of lowering him 
from the elevated station to which he had raised him- 
self, titan frequently addressing the House. 

' His speeches were always most carefully studied, 
and committed to memory, exactly as he delivered 



IN THE HOUSE i 43 

them, beforehand. He bestowed a world of labour on 
their preparation ; and, certainly, never was labour 




bestowed to more purpose. In every sentence you saw 
the man of genius — the profound scholar — the deep 



i 4 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

thinlter — the close and powerful reasoner. You scarcely 
knew which most to admire — the beauty of his ideas, 
or of the language in which they were clothed.' 

4 Lord John Eussell is one of the worst speakers in 
the Hou^e, and but for his excellent private character, 
his family connections, and his consequent influence in 
the political world, would not be tolerated. There are 
many far better speakers, who, notwithstanding their 
innumerable efforts to catch the Speaker's eye in the 
course of important debates, hardly ever succeed ; or, 
if they do, are generally put down by the clamour 
of honourable members. His voice is weak and his 
enunciation very imperfect. He speaks in general in 
so low a tone as to be inaudible to more than one-half 
of the House. His style is often in bad taste, and he 
stammers and stutters at every fourth or fifth sentence. 
When he is audible he is always clear ; there is no 
mistaking his meaning. Generally his speeches are 
feeble in matter as well as manner ; but on some great 
occasions I have known him make very able speeches, 
more distinguished, however, for the clear and forcible 
way in which he put the arguments which would most 
naturally suggest themselves to a reflecting mind, f ian 
for any striking or comprehensive views of the t lb — 
ject.' 

4 Of Lord Palmerston, Foreign Secretary, an(= 
member for Tiverton, I have but little to say. TL - 
situation he fills in the Cabinet gives him a certak^ : 
degree of prominence in the eyes of the country, whic^l 



M 6 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



overpowering surprise and admiration caused by 
of his brilliant effusions, when another flashes i 
you and produces the same effect. You have no t 
nor are you in a condition, to weigh the force ol 
arguments ; you are taken captive wherever 
speaker chooses to lead you from beginning to end 




« One of the most extraordinary attributes in 
O'Connell's oratory is the ease and facility with w 
he can make a transition from one topic to ano 
" From grave to gay, from lively to severe," never ■ 
him an effort. He seems, indeed, to be himself ii 
sible of the transition. I have seen him begin his sp 
by alluding to topics of an affecting nature, in sue 



IN THE HOUSE 147 

manner as to excite the deepest sympathy towards the 
sufferers in the mind of the most unfeeling person 
present. I have seen, in other words — I speak with 
regard to particular instances — the tear literally glis- 
tening in the eyes of men altogether unused to the 




(Prom & Drtwlnir bj 



melting mood, and in a moment afterwards, by a transi- 
tion from the grave to the humorous, I have seen the 
'hole audience convulsed with laughter. On the 
°lher hand, I have often heard him commence his 
"peech in a strain of most exquisite humour, and. by a 
Hidden transition to deep pathos, produce the stillness 



i 4 8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

of death in a place in which, but one moment before 
the air was rent with shouts of laughter. His master 
over the passions is the most perfect I ever witnesse( 
and his oratory tells with the same effect whether h 
addresses the " first assembly of gentlemen in the world 
or the ragged and ignorant rabble of Dublin/ 

' The most distinguished literary man in the Houi 
is Mr. E. L. Bulwer, member for Lincoln, and author < 
" Pelham," " Eugene Aram," &c. He does not spes 
often. When he does, his speeches are not only pr 
viously turned over with great care in his mind, but a: 
written out at full length, and committed carefully 
memory. He is a great patron of the tailor, and he 
always dressed in the extreme of fashion. His mann< 
of speaking is very affected : the management of h 
voice is especially so. But for this he would be 
pleasant speaker. His voice, though weak, is agreeabl 
and he speaks with considerable fluency. His speecln 
are usually argumentative. You see at once that he 
a person of great intellectual acquirements.' 

'Mr. Disraeli, the member for Maidstone, is pe 
haps the best known among the new members who ha^ 
made their debuts. As stated in my " Sketches i 
London," his own private friends looked forward to hi 
introduction into the House of Commons as a circum 
stance which would be immediately followed by hi 
obtaining for himself an oratorical reputation equal t 
that enjoyed by the most popular speakers in tha 
assembly. They, thought he would produce an extra 



IN THE HOUSE 149 

ordinary sensation, both in the House and in the country, 
by the power and splendour of his eloquence. But the 
result differed from the anticipation. 

4 When he rose, which he did immediately after Mr. 
O'Connell had concluded his speech, all eyes were 
fixed on him, and all ears were open to listen to his 
eloquence ; but before he had proceeded far, he 
furnished a striking illustration of the hazard that 
attends on highly wrought expectations. After the 
first few minutes he met with every possible manifesta- 
tion of opposition and ridicule from the Ministerial 
benches, and was, on the other hand, cheered in the 
loudest and most earnest manner by his Tory friends ; 
and it is particularly deserving of mention, that even 
^ir Robert Peel, who very rarely cheers any honourable 
gentleman, not even the most able and accomplished 
speakers of his own party, greeted Mr. D'Israeli's speech 
with a prodigality of applause which must have been 
Merely trying to the worthy baronet's lungs. 

4 At one time, in consequence of the extraordinary 
toterruptions he met with, Mr. Disraeli intimated his 
willingness to resume his seat, if the House wished him 
to do so. He proceeded, however, for a short time 
longer, but was still assailed by groans and under-growls 
in all their varieties ; the uproar, indeed, often became 
so great as completely to drown his voice. 

4 At last, losing all temper, which until now he had 
preserved in a wonderful manner, he paused in the 
midst of a sentence, and, looking the Liberals indignantly 



i 5 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

in the face, raised his hands, and, opening his mouth as 
wide as its dimensions would permit, said, in remark- 
ably loud and almost terrific tones — " Though I sit down 
now, the time will come token you will hear me." Mr. 
Disraeli then sat down amidst the loudest uproar. 

4 The exhibition altogether was a most extraordinary 
one. Mr. Disraeli's appearance and manner were very 
singular. His dress also was peculiar ; it had much oi 
a theatrical aspect. His black hair was long and flow- 
ing, and he had a most ample crop of it. His gesture 
was abundant ; he often appeared as if trying with 
what celerity he could move his body from one side tc 
another, and throw his hands out and draw them in 
again. At other times he flourished one hand before 
his face, and then the other. His voice, too, is of a 
very unusual kind : it is powerful, and had every justice 
done to it in the way of exercise ; but there is some- 
thing peculiar in it which I am at a loss to characterise 
His utterance was rapid, and he never seemed at a loss 
for words. On the whole, and notwithstanding the 
result of his first attempt, I am convinced he is a mar 
who possesses many of the requisites of a good debater 
That he is a man of great literary talent, few will die 
pute.' 

Lastly, here is a contemporary judgment on Glac 
stone. The italics are my own. 

' Mr. Gladstone, the member for Newark, is one m 
the most rising young men on the Tory side of tk 
House. His party expect great things from him ; an 



152 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

tous. He is plausible even when most in error. Whe 
it suits himself or his party, he can apply himself wi- 
the strictest closeness to the real point at issue ; when 
evade that point is deemed most politic, no man c 
wander from it more widely. 

4 The ablest speech he ever made in the House, and I 
far the ablest on the same side of the question, ws 
when opposing, on the 30th of March last, Sir Georg* 
Strickland's motion for the abolition of the negro appren 
ticeship system on the 1st of August next. Mr. Glad 
stone, I should here observe, is himself an extensive 
West India planter. 

4 Mr. Gladstone's appearance and manners are mud 
in his favour. He is a fine-looking man. He is abou 
the usual height, and of good figure. His countenanc 
is mild and pleasant, and has a highly intellectual ei 
pression. His eyes are clear and quick. His eyebrow 
are dark and rather prominent. There is not a dand 
in the House but envies what Truefitt would call h 
4 fine head of jet-black hair.' It is always careful] 
parted from the crown downwards to his brow, whei 
it is tastefully shaded. His features are small ar 
regular, and his complexion must be a very unwortl 
witness, if he does not possess an abundant stock 
health.' 

So the ghost of the first Victorian Parliame 
vanishes. All are gone except Mr. Gladstone himse 
Whether the contemporary judgment has proved w< 
founded or not, is for the reader to determine. For n 



. — j-.ji 



IN THE HOUSE 153 

own part, I confess that my opinion of the author of 
4 Random Recollections ' was greatly advanced when I 
had read this judgment on the members. We who do 
not sit in the galleries, and are not members, lose the 
enormous advantage of actually seeing the speakers and 
hearing the debates. The reported speech is not the 
speech : the written letter remains ; but the fire of 
orator flames and burns, and passes away. Those 
ow not Gladstone who have never seen him and 
heard him speak. 

And as for that old man eloquent, when he closes 

his eyes in the House where he has fought so long, the 

voices around him may well fall unheeded on his ear, 

^while a vision of the past shows him once more Peel 

and Stanley, Lord John and Palmerston, O'Connell and 

Hoebuck, and, adversary worthiest of all, the man 

^whom the House at his first attempt hooted down and 

refused to hear — the great and illustrious Dizzy. 



154 FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER X. 

AT SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY. 

The great schools had no new rivals ; all the modern 
public schools — Cheltenham, Clifton, Marlborough, and 
the like — have sprung into existence or into importance 
.since the year 1837. Those who did not go to the 
public schools had their choice between small gram- 
mar schools and private schools. There were a vast 
number of private schools. It was, indeed, recognised 
that when a man could do nothing else and had failed 
in everything that he had tried, a private school was 
still possible for him. The sons of the lower middle- 
class had, as a rule, no choice but to go to a private 
school. At the grammar school they taught Greek and 
Latin — these boys wanted no Greek and no Latin ; 
they wanted a good 'commercial' education; they 
wanted to learn bookkeeping and arithmetic, and to 
write a good hand. Nothing else was of much account. 
Again, all the grammar schools belonged to the Church 
of England ; sons of Nonconformists were, therefore, 
excluded, and had to go to the private school. 

The man who kept a private school was recom- 



AT SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY 155 

nierided for his cheapness as much as for his success in 
jhing. As for the latter, indeed, there were no local 
ruinations held by the Universities, and no means of 
shoeing whether he taught well or ill. Probably, in 
th e five or six years spent at his school, boys learned 
wl*at their parents mostly desired for them, and left 
school to become clerks or shopmen. The school fees 
sometimes as low as a guinea a quarter. The 
tses were taught by wretchedly paid ushers ; there 
no attention paid to ventilation or hygienic 
arrangements ; the cane was freely used all day long. 
Everybody knows the kind of school ; you can read 
stbout it in the earlier pages of ' David Copperfield,' and 
ui a thousand books besides. 

In the public schools, where the birch flourished 

rank and tall and in tropical luxuriance, Latin and 

Greek were the only subjects to which any serious 

attention was given. No science was taught ; of 

modem languages, French was pretended ; history and 

geography were neglected ; mathematics were a mere 

farce. As regards the tone of the schools, perhaps we 

had better not inquire. Yet that the general life of 

^e boys was healthy is apparent from the affection 

^th which elderly men speak of their old schools. 

There were great Head Masters before Arnold ; and 

there were public schools where manliness, truth, and 

purity were cultivated besides Eugby. One thing is very 

certain — that the schools turned out splendid scholars, 

ai *d their powers of writing Latin and Greek verse 



».^j._- 



ISO 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 





were wonderful. A year ago we were startled loy 
learning that a mrl had taken a First Class in tlie 

v. Cr 

Clascal Tripos at Cambridge. This, to some vlio 
remembered the First Class of old, seemed a trxi ly 
wonderful thing. Some even wanted to see 1 
iambics. Alas ! a First Class can now be got with 
Greek iambics. What would they have said at We 
minster lifty years ago if they had learned that a Fi 
Class could be got at Cambridge without Greek 
Latin verse? What is philology, which can 
crammed, compared with a faultless copy of elegia 
which no amount of cramming, even of the fema 
brain, can succeed in producing? 

The Universities were still wholly in the hands of t 
Church. Xo layman, with one or two exceptions, conl 
be Head of a College ; all the Fellowships — or ver 
nearly all — were clerical ; the country living was th 
natural end of the Fellowship; no Dissenters, Jews, 
Catholics were admitted into any College unless the 
went through the form of conforming to the rules 
regards Chapel ; no one could be matriculated witho 
signing the Thirty-nine Articles — -nearly twenty yea 
later I had, as a lad of seventeen, to sign that unrelentin 
definition of Faith on entering King's College, Londoi 
Perhaps they do it still at that seat of orthodox 
Tutors and lecturers were nearly all in orders. Mos^ 
of the men intended to take orders, many of them 
order to take family livings. 

The number of undergraduates was about a thi 







in 




AT SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY 157 

of that now standing on the College books. And the 

n u ruber of reading men — those who intended to make 

fcheir University career a stepping-stone or a ladder — 

^^o s far less in proportion to the number of ' poll ' men 

fcl*an at the present day. The ordinary degree was 

ok> trained with even less difficulty than at present. 

There were practically only two Triposes at 
Cambridge — the Mathematical and the Classical — in- 
3 tead of the round dozen or so which now offer their 
honours to the student. No one could get a Fellow- 
p except through those two Triposes. As for the 
[owships and Scholarships, indeed, half of them were 
>se — that is to say, confined to students from certain 
r ns, or certain counties, or certain schools ; while at 
College, King's, both Fellowships and Scholarships 
re confined to ' collegers ' of Eton, and the students 
t***oceeded straight to Fellowships without passing 
•ought the ordeal of the Senate House. 
Dinner was at four — a most ungodly hour, be 
*en lunch and the proper hour for dinner. For the 
who read, it answered pretty well, because it gave 
*l*€m a long evening for work ; for the men who did 
**ot read, it gave a long evening for play. 

There was a great deal of solid drinking among the 
Itle n, both Fellows and undergraduates. The former sat 
111 Combination Boom after Hall and drank the good old 
^°Uege port ; the latter sat in each other's rooms and 
^^tik the fiery port which they bought in the town. 
^ the evening there were frequent suppers, with milk- 



■ nS FIFTY YEARS AGO 

. » 
*| punch and songs. I wonder if they have the n 

* punch still ; the supper I think they cannot have, 

cause they all dine at seven or half-past seven, i 

which it is impossible to take supper. 

f In those days young noblemen went up more 1 

they do at present, and they spread themselves < 

many colleges. Thus at Cambridge they were fc 

at Trinity, John's, and Magdalene. A certain Cat 

thirty years ago had half its members on the bool 

[ St. John's. In these days, all the noblemen whc 

to Cambridge flock like sheep to Trinity. There s€ 
also to have been gathered at the University a la 
proportion of county people than in these later y< 
when the Universities have not only been thrown < 
to men of all creeds, but when men of every class 
in their rich endowments and prizes a legitimate 
laudable way of rising in the world. ' The recogi 
way of making a gentleman now,' says Charles King 
in 4 Alton Locke/ ' is to send him to the Univen 

• I I do not know how Charles Kingsley was made a , 

i 4 tleman, but it is certainly a very common methoc 

advancing your son if he is clever. Formerly it m< 
i ambition in the direction of the Church. Now it m< 

I* many other things — the Bar — Journalism — Educa 

— Science — Archaeology — a hundred ways in whic 
4 gentleman ' may be made by first becoming a schc 
Nay, there are dozens of men in the City who 1: 
begun by taking their three years on the banks of 

I Cam or the Isis. For what purposes do the Univers; 



1/ 



AT SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY 159 

ist but for the encouragement of learning? And if 
tlie country agree to call a scholar a gentleman — as it 
ealls a solicitor a gentleman — by right of his profession, 
so much the better for the country. But Kingsley was 
born somewhere about the year 1820, which was still 
v^ry much in the eighteenth century, when there were 
no gentlemen recognised except those who were gentle- 
man by birth. 

With close Fellowships, tied to the Church of Eng- 
land, with little or no science, Art, archaeology, philo- 
logry, Oriental learning, or any of the modern branches 
of learning, with a strong taste for port, arid under- 
graduates drawn for the most part from the upper 
classes, the Universities were different indeed from those 
of the present day. 

As for the education of women, it was like unto the 
serpents of Ireland. Wherefore we need not devote a 
chapter to this subject at all. 



i6o FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE TAVERN. 

The substitution of the Restaurant for the Tavern is 
recent origin. In the year 1837 there were restaurant- 
it is true, but they were humble places, and confined 
the parts of London frequented by the French ; :J 
English of every degree there was the Tavern. Pie 
of the old Taverns still survive to show us in what pla. 
our fathers took their dinners and drank their pua 
The Cheshire Cheese is a survival ; the Cock, u 
recently, was another. Some of them, like the lat^fc^ 
had the tables and benches partitioned off; oth^~ 
like the former, were partly open and partly divide 
The floor was sanded ; there was a great fire kept up * 
through the winter, with a kettle always full of boili^ 
water ; the cloth was not always of the cleanest ; the fori 
were steel ; in the evening there was always a compare 
of those who supped — for they dined early — on chop 5 -* 
steaks, sausages, oysters, and Welsh rabbit, of those who 
drank, those who smoked their long pipes, and those vfa° 
sang. Yes — those who sang. In those days the song 
went round. If three or four Templars supped at the 






THE TAVERN 



Coal Hole, or the Cock, or the Rainbow, one of them 
would presently lift his voice in song, and then be fol- 
lowed by a rival warbler from another box. At the Coal 
Hole, indeed — where met the once famous Wolf Club, 




***tnund Kean, President — the landlord, one Rhodes 
"y name, was not only a siuger but a writer of songs, 
^iefly, I apprehend, of the comic kind. I suppose that 
"•« comic song given by a private gentleman in character 
" that is, with a pocket-handkerchief for a white apron, 



i62 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

or his coat off, or a battered hat on his head — is 
unknown to the younger generation. They 
kind of thing, but done much better, at the mus 

Really, nothing marks the change of manne 
than the fact that fifty years ago men used to i 
gether every evening and sing songs over the 
and grog. Not young men only, but middle-ag 
and old men, would all together join in the choi 
that joyfully, banging the tables with their fi 
laughing from ear to ear — the roysterers are 
represented as laughing with an absence of r 
impossible for us quite to understand. The cl 
too, were of the good old ' Whack-fol-de-rol-< 
character, which gives scope to so much play o 
ment and lightness of touch. 

Beer, of course, was the principal beveraj 
there were many more varieties of beer than at 
prevail. One reads of 4 Brook clear Kennett '— 
to be sold in a house near the Oxford Street 
Tottenham Court Eoad ; of Shropshire ale, desci 
' dark and heavy ; ' of the 4 luscious Burton, inn< 
hops ; ' of new ale, old ale, bitter ale, hard ale, i 
the 4 balmy ' Scotch, mellow October, and gooc 
stout. All these were to be obtained at tavern 
made a spicialite^ as they would say now, of 2 
kind. Thus the best stout in London was to be ha 
Brace Tavern in the Queen's Bench Prison, and tl 
was also famous for the same beverage, served 
glasses. A rival of the Cock, in this respect, was tl 



THE TAVERN 



163 



bow, long before the present handsome room was built. 

The landlord of the Rainbow was one William Colls, 

formerly head-waiter at the Cock, predecessor, I take 

it, of Tennyson's immortal friend. But he left the 

Cock to better himself, and as at the same time Mary — 

the incomparable, the matchless Mary, most beautiful 

of barmaids — left it as 

well, gloom fell upon 

the frequenters of the 

tavern. Mary left the 

Cock about the year 

1820, too early for the 

future Poet Laureate 

to have been one of 

the worshippers of her 

Grecian face- Under 

Colla's management the 

Bifobow rivalled the 

Cock in popularity. 

The Oder Cellar, kept 

by Evans of Covent Gar- 

■kn,had gone through a 

period of decline, but 

*aa again popular and well frequented. Mention may 

fa be made of Clitter's, of Offley's, famous for its lamb in 

Tring; of the Kean's Head, whose landlord was a great 

Kraiic singer ; of the Harp, haunt of aspiring actors ; of 

'he Albion, the Finish, or the Royal Saloon, Piccadilly, 

*bere one looked in for a ' few goes of max ' — what was 




..V 



fifty years ago 

v r ry v.- rs: company that Loudon coi 



I" - : . :h?"„: :: : la:::*::: :he Quantity of moneys 

■>.*...-.■:.:. Lr::.-:. R::: -ur -.irlnk-bill is untiring, in} 

:■ ::. -.. -._." i:-- '■*::";. :"..a: - ■: :if:v vears auo. Thus, 

..: • r :' v>.: > : : .:rv_T?:i irreat gin- shops in Lon 1 

"■■■> :'.::.". : i- >r._v ;».■.•■.■'■ each per diem : in B 

.-... *..r •■■-..* .; ji:_— ". ■■. :■ -r everv fifteen famil 

I: - '.' : x ■ , • , >-•:■!* there were eiirhtv-ei 

_ -? ■-..-. ^ ..:":". h *..:7».-:: persons were killei 

".. - y .:..•:.:.:.-.--: ::: London there was 

>. • v.-7v ::::v--:x house? : in Glasgow 

. — Y." :: wli* :. -.el ni the time that a g 

. ■■;..- : . ..". 1 ' *■ ". -.rve: ii: the drinking ha 

■. -'. ":. :" - v.-.-.r 174:2. for instance, tl 

_. : ."."_ :> :' >:~iri:> consumed by a pt 

— :"..- is :o sav. more than tl 

- . . .rv v--j7 : r. if we take onlvthea 

. .*■■■.:"." ^ V/x. v-v-^ivo jaIL-_*::s for everv man in 

: .1 v . «. :.' . «" A:c-i :■;■ mean one bottle in 

- V ;. hv.v..lr-;«; y-:ar? Ia:er :he population 

_.v . *..... ..- '. a::.: :he consumption of sf 

; >..? ■ .'.".*•.■ .raLLo::*, which represents a 
.*":" a ^a'/.v.. r :V,:r pints, a head ii 
\ ... . . i^V.'-'j: :..-; .i.:u.: r-e:; only, their average 

. .. .. * > ,■.*...: . ..: s:x:t-t ; :::h a head, so that each n 

,\ ..* v. ;„i, : . ..v. i h*s:*\l him for three weeks. 
>. .\ v. ,-. ;r. ;hi jsv.era: average was twi 

^\. :> ;: v .v..l. a::.:. :akiiii; adults alone, thir 



gallons and a half a head ; and in Ireland six and a half 
gallons a head. It was noted, also, in the year 1837, 
that the multiplication of coffee-houses, of which there 
were 1,600 in London alone, proved the growth of 
more healthy habits among the people. 

But though there was certainly more moderation in 
drink than in the earlier years of the century, the drink- 
bill for the year 1837 was prodigious. A case of total 
abstinence was a phenomenon. The thirst for beer was 
insatiable ; with many people, especially farmers, and 
the working classes generally, beer was taken with break- 
fcrt. Even in my own time — that is to say, when the 
Queenhadbeen reigning for one-and-twenty years or so — 
there were still many undergraduates at Cambridge who 
frank beer habitually for breakfast, and at every break- 
art-party the tankard was passed round as a finish. In 
country houses, the simple, light, home-brewed ale, the 
preparation of which caused a most delightful anxiety 
* to the result, was the sole beverage used at dinner 
•fid supper. Every farmhouse, every large country 
house, and many town house keepers brewed their own 
ker, just as they made their own wines, their own jams, 
and their own lavender water. Beer was universally 
token with dinner; even at great dinner-parties some 
°f the guests would call for beer, and strong ale was 
^ays served with the cheese. After dinner, only port 
^d sherry, in middle-class houses, were put upon the 
table. Sometimes Madeira or Lisbon appeared, but, as 
a Mile, wine meant port or sherry, unless, which some- 



1 66 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

times happened, it meant cowslip, ginger, or gooseberry. 
Except among the upper class, claret was absolutely ivia- 
known, as were Burgundy, Rhone wines, Sauterne, &ncl 
all other French wines. In the restaurants every m-axi 
would call for bitter ale, or stout, or half-and-half wifcli 
his dinner, as a matter of course, and after dinner woulX<1 
either take his pint of port, or half-pint of sherry, <z>r 
his tumbler of grog. Champagne was regarded as tl^e 
drink of the prodigal son. In the family circle it never 
appeared at all, except at weddings, and perhaps on 
Christmas Day. 

In fact, when people spoke of wine in these days, thev 
generally meant port. They bought port by the hogs- 
head, had it bottled, and laid down. They talked 
about their cellars solemnly ; they brought forth bottle 
which had been laid down in the days when George tb^ 
Third was king ; they were great on body, bouquet, and 
beeswing; they told stories about wonderful port wiriest 
they had been privileged to drink ; they looked forward 
to a dinner chiefly on account of the port which followed 
it ; real enjoyment only began when the cloth was r^~ 
moved, the ladies were gone, and the solemn passa^^ 
of the decanter had commenced. 

There lingers still the old love for this wine — it i^ ' 
without doubt, the king of wines. I remember te* 1 
years ago, or thereabouts, dining with one — then ia^ 
partner — now, alas ! gathered to his fathers — at th ^ „ 
Blue Posts, before that old inn was burned down. Tlv^ 
room was a comfortable old-fashioned first floor, low o* 



THE TAVERN 167 

ling ; with a great fire in an old-fashioned grate ; set 
th four or five tables only, because not many fre- 
ented this most desirable of dining-places. We took 
th dinner a bottle of light claret ; when we had 
t through the claret and the beef, the waiter, who 
d been hovering about uneasily, interposed. 4 Don't 
11k any more of that wash,' he said ; 'let me bring 
u something fit for gentlemen to sit over.' He 
Dught us, of course, a bottle of port. They say that 
2 taste for port is reviving ; but claret has got so firm 
iold of our affections that I doubt it. 

As for the drinking of spirits, it was certainly much 
>re common then than it is now. Among the lower 
uses gin was the favourite — the drink of the women as 
iich as of the men. Do you know why they call it * blue 
in ' ? Some time ago I saw, going into a public-house, 
mewhere near the West India Docks, a tall lean man, 
>parently five-and-forty or thereabouts. He was in 
gs; his knees bent as he walked, his hands trembled, 
8 eyes were eager. And, wonderful to relate, the face 
to perfectly blue — not indigo blue, or azure blue, but 
a ghostly, ghastly, corpse-like kind of blue, which 
de one shudder. Said my companion to me, ' That is 
«* We opened the door of the public-house and looked 
He stood at the bar with a full glass in his hand. 
-n his eyes brightened, he gasped, straightened him- 
<> and tossed it down his throat. Then he came out, 
I he sighed as one who has just had a glimpse of some 
thly Paradise. Then he walked away with swift and 



1 68 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

resolute step, as if purposed to achieve something 
mighty. Only a few yards farther along the road, but 
across the way, there stood another public-house. The 
man walked straight to the door, entered, and took 
another glass, again with the quick grasp of anticipa- 
tion, and again with that sigh, as of a hurried peep 
through the gates barred with the sword of fire. This 
man was a curious object of study. He went into twelve 
more public-houses, each time with greater deter- 
mination on his lips and greater eagerness in his eyes. 
The last glass, I suppose, opened these gates for him and 
suffered him to enter, for his lips suddenly lost their 
resolution, his eyes lost their lustre, he became limp* 
his arms fell heavily — he was drunk, and his face was 
bluer than ever. 

This was the kind of sight which Hogarth could 
see every day when he painted c Gin Lane.' It wastf* 
the time when drinking-shops had placards stuck outside 
to the effect that for a penny one might get drunk* 
and blind drunk for twopence. But an example of * 
4 blue ruin,' actually walking in the flesh, in these day3 
one certainly does not expect to see. Next to gin* 
rum was the most popular. There is a full rich flavour 
about rum. It is affectionately named after the delicious 
pineapple, or after the island where its production is th^ 
most abundant and the most kindly. It has always beem 
the drink of Her Majesty's Navy; it is still the favourite 
beverage of many West India Islands, and many million^ 
of sailors, niggers, and coolies. It is hallowed by histo-- 



rical associations. But its effects in the good old days 
were wonderful and awe-inspiring. It was the author 
and creator of those flowers, now almost extinct, called 
grog-blossoms. You may see them depicted by the ca- 
ricaturists of the Rowlandson time, but they survived 
until well past the middle of the century. 

The outward and visible signs of rum were indeed 

various. First, there was the red and swollen nose ; next, 

the nose beautifully painted with grog-blossoms. It is an 

ancient nose, and is celebrated by the bacchanalian poet 

of Normandy, Olivier Basselin, in the fifteenth century. 

There was, next, the bottle nose in all its branches. I 

tin uncertain, never having walked the hospitals, whether 

one is justified in classifying certain varieties of the 

bottle nose under one head, or whether each variety 

**8 a species by itself. All these noses, with the red and 

pflfly cheeks, the thick lips, the double chins, the swell- 

• 

•g, aldermanic corporation, and the gouty feet, in list 
*&d slippers, meant Eum — Great God Rum. These 
tyniptoms are no longer to be seen. Therefore, Great 
God Rum is either deposed, or he hath but few wor- 
•toppers, and those half-hearted. 

The decay of the Great God Rum, and the Great 
Goddess Gin his consort, is marked in many other ways. 
Formerly, the toper half filled a thick, short rummer with 
tyirit, and poured upon it an equal quantity of water. 
*• Weller's theory of drink was that it should be 
^Ual. The modern toper goes to a bar, gets half a 
Wineglass of Scotch whisky, and pours upon it a pint 



i 7 o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

of Apollinaris water. The ancient drank his grog 

with lemon and sugar, and sometimes spice. 

made a serious business of the nightly grog. 

modern takes his cold, even with ice, and without 

addition of lemon. Indeed, he squashes his It 

separately, and drinks the juice in Apollinaris, wit 

any spirit at all — a thing abhorrent to his ancestoi 

Again, there are preparations of a crafty and cr 

character, once greatly in favour, and now clear 

gotten, or else fallen into a pitiable contempt, 

doomed to a stumbling, halt, and broken-winged 

enee. Take, for instance, the punch-bowl. 

years ago it was no mere ornament for the sidel 

and the china cabinet. It was a thing to be br< 

forth and fdled with a fragrant mixture of rum, br 

and euraeoa, lemon, hot water, sugar, grated nui 

j doves, and cinnamon. The preparation of the 

was as much a labour of love as that of a claret ci 

degenerate successor. The ladles were beautiful 1 

of art in silver — where are those ladles now, and 

purpose do they serve ? Shrub, again — rum shru 

there any living man who now calls for shrub? 

I 1 may still see it on the shelf of an old-fashioned inn 

,[ , may even see the announcement that it is for 

j! painted on door-posts, but no man regardeth i 

i believe that it was supposed to possess valuable 

final properties, the nature of which I forget. J 

there was purl — early purl. Once there was a cl 

the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, which existt 



THE TAVERN 171 

the purpose of arising betimes, and drinking purl before 
breakfast. Or there was dog's-nose. Gentle reader, 
you remember the rules for making dog's-nose. They 
were explained at a now famous meeting of the Brick 
Lane Branch of the Grand Junction Ebenezer Temper- 
ance Association. Yet I doubt whether dog's-nose is 
still in favour. Again, there was copus — is the making 
of copus-cup still remembered ? There was bishop : it 
was a kind of punch, made of port wine instead of rum, 
and was formerly much consumed at the suppers of un- 
dergraduates ; it was remarkable for its power of mak- 
ing men's faces red and their voices thick ; it also made 
them feel as if their legs and arms, and every part of 
them, were filled out and distended, as with twice the 
usual quantity of blood. These were, no doubt, valuable 
qualities, considered medicinally, yet bishop is no longer 
in demand. Mulled ale is still, perhaps, cultivated. 
They used to have pots made for the purpose of warm- 

• 

mg the ale : these were long and shaped like an extin- 
guisher, so that the heat of the fire played upon a large 
8urface, and warmed the beer quickly. When it was 
poured out, spice was added, and perhaps sugar, and no 
doubt a dash of brandy. Negus, a weak compound of 
•tarry and warm water, used to be exhibited at dancing 
Parties, but is now, I should think, unknown save by 
^e. I do not speak of currant gin, damson brandy, 
or cherry brandy, because one or two such preparations 
*** still produced. Nor need we consider British wines, 
no * almost extinct. Yet in country towns one may 



FIFTY 1 




here and there find sho „_ „.„. v r .^vide for ta 

still simple — the cowslip, delicate and silky to the pal; 
the ginger, full of flavour and of body ; the red ciurr 
rich and sweet — a ladies' wine ; the gooseberry, pris? 
ing all the finer qualitiei of the grape of Epernay ; 
raisin, with fine Tokay flavour ; or the raspberry, fu; 
bouquet and of beeswing. But their clay is passed— 
British wines are, practically, made no more. All tl 
drinks, once so lovingly prepared and so tenderly < 
rished, are now ae much forgotten as the toast in the 1 
brown ale, or the October humming ale, or the m 
drunk from the gold-rimmed horn — they still di 
something out of a golil-rimmed horn in the Hal 
Corpus Christi, Cambridge; or the lordly ' ypoci 
wherewith Sir Eichard Whittington entertained 
Sovereign, what day he concluded the banquet 
burning the King's bonds ; or the once-popular mist 
of gin and noyau; or the cup of hot saloop from 
stall in Covent Garden, or on the Fleet Bridge. 

The Tavern ! We can hardly understand how h 
a place it filled in the lives of our forefathers, who 
not live scattered about in suburban villas, but < 
their shops and offices. When business was over, a 
every class repaired to the Tavern. Dr. Johnson 9] 
the evenings of his last years wholly at t,!ie Tave 
the lawyer, the draper, Ihe grocer, the bookseller, t 
the clergy, all spent their evenings at the Tavern, g< 
home in time for supper with their families. You i 
see the kind of Tavern life in any small country U 




174 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

to this day, where the shopkeepers assemble e 
evening to smoke and talk together. The Tavern 
far more than a modern club, because the tendem 
a club is to become daily more decorous, whilt 
Tavern atmosphere of freedom and the equality c 
comers prevented the growth of artificial and convent 
restraints. Something of the Tavern life is left sti 
London ; but not much. The substantial tradesm 
no longer resident ; there are no longer any clubs w 
meet at Taverns ; and the old inns, with their sai 




floors and great fireplaces, are nearly all gone. 
Swan with Two Necks, the Belle Sauvage, the Tat 
the George and Vulture, the Bolt-in-Tun — they 1 
either ceased their existence, or their names call f 
no more associations of good company and good sc 
The Dog and Duck, the Temple of Flora, Apollo's ' 
dens, the Bull in the Pound, the Blue lion of Gi 
Inn Lane — what memories linger round these nar 
What man is now living who can tell us where i 
were ? 



*75 



CHAPTER XII. 

IN CLUB- AND CARD-LAND. 

Club-land was a comparatively small country, peopled 
toy a most exclusive race. There were twenty-five clubs 
in all, 1 and, as many men had more than one club, and 
the average membership was less than a thousand, 
there were not more than 20,000 men altogether who 
belonged to clubs. There are now at least 120,000, 
with nearly a hundred clubs, to which almost any man 
might belong. Besides these, there are now about sixty 
second-class clubs, together with a great many clubs 
which exist for special purposes — betting and racing clubs, 
thist clubs, gambling clubs, Press clubs, and so forth. 

Of the now extinct clubs may be mentioned the 
Alfred and the Clarence, which were literary clubs. 
The Clarence was founded by Campbell on the ashes of 
the extinct Literary Club, which had been dissolved in 
consequence of internal dissensions. The Athenasum had 

1 The following ia the complete list of clubs, taken from the New Monthly 
Xtyeine of the year 1836 : — Albion, Alfred, Arthur's, AthenaBum, Boodle's, 
^oWg, Carlton, Clarence, Cocoa-tree, Crockford's, Garrick, Graham's, 
f ^»rd8\ Oriental, Oxford and Cambridge, Portland, Royal Naval, Travellers, 
^on, United Service, Junior United Service, University, West Indian, 
kite's, Windham. 



fc. 



i 7 6 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

the character which it still preserves ; one of the few 
things in this club complained of by the members of 
18S7 was the use of gas in the dining-room, which pro- 
duced an atmosphere wherein, it was said, no animals 
ungifted with copper lungs could long exist. The Gar- 
rick Club was exclusively theatrical. The Oriental was, 




of course, famous for curry and Madeira, the Uni»n 
had a sprinkling of City men in it, the United University 
was famous for its iced punch, and the Windham was 
the first club which allowed strangers to dine within its 
walls. Speaking generally, no City men at all, nor any 
who were connected in any way with trade, were ad- 



IN CLUB- AND CARD-LAND 177 

rattted into the clubs of London. A barrister, a phy- 
sician, or a clergyman might be elected, and, of course, 
all men in the Services ; but a merchant, an attorney, a 
surgeon, an architect, might knock in vain. 

The club subscription was generally six guineas a 
year, and if we may judge by the fact that you could 
dine off the joint at the Carlton for a shilling, the clubs 
were much cheaper than they are now. They were 




*'» quite as dull. Thackeray describes the dulness of 
"* e club, the pride of belonging to it, the necessity of 
wing at least one good club, the linbitiu's of the erml- 
r °"m, the talk, and the scandal. But the new clubs of 
T day are larger: their members come from ;i more 
^tended area; there are few young City men who have 
not their club ; and it is not at all necessary to know a 
"laii Ijecausc lie is a member of your club. And when 



i 7 8 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



one contrasts the cold and silent coffee-room o: 
great club, where the men glare at each other 
bright and cheerful Tavern, where every m; 
with his neighbour, and the song went rounc 
great kettle bubbled ou the hearth, one feels t 
sation has its losses. 

We have our gambling clubs still. Fror 
time there comes a rumour of high play, a s< 
an action in the High Court of Justice for the 
of one's character. Baccarat is played all nig 
young men ; champagne is flowing for their 
ment, and sometimes a few hundreds are lost 
young fellow who can ill afford it. But the 
are small and insignificant compared with the 
club of fifty years ago. 

lie who speaks of gambling in the year Thi 
.speaks of Crockford's. Everything at Crock* 
magnificent. The subscription was ten guine 
in return for which the members had the ordi] 
and coffee-rooms providing food and wine at 
club charges — these were on the ground floor- 
run of the gambling-rooms every night, to vr. 
coidd introduce guests and friends. These ro 
on the first floor : they consisted of a saloon, 
there was served every night a splendid suf 
wines of the best, free to all visitors. Crock 
his chef a thousand guineas a year, and his ass 
hundred, and his cellar was reputed to be wort! 
There were two card-rooms, one in which whi 



IN CLUB- AND CARD-LAND 179 

and all other games were played, and a second smaller 
room, in which hazard alone was played. Every night 
iteleven the banker and proprietor himself took his seat 
it his desk in a corner ; his croupier, sitting opposite to 
him in a high chair, declared the game, paid the winners, 
ud raked in the money. Crockford's ' Spiders ' — that 
is, the gentlemen who had the run of the establishment 
under certain implied conditions — introduced their 




fiends to the supper and the champagne first, and to the 
Ward-room next. At two in the morning the doors were 
used, and nobody else was admitted ; but the play 
Wnt on all night long. Crockford not only held the 
*nk, but was ready to advance money to those who 
M, and outside the card-room treated for reversionary 
nterests, post-obits, and other means for raising the 
■ind. The game was what is called ' French Hazard,' 



1S0 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

in which the players play against the bank. Thousands 
were every night lost and won- As much as a million 
of money has been known to change hands in a angle 
night, and the banker was ready to meet any stake 
offered. Those who lost borrowed more in order to con- 
tinue the game, and lost that as well. But Crockfoid 
seems never to have been accused of any dishonourable 
practices. He trusted to the chances of the table, which 
were, of course, in his favour. In his ledgers — where 
are thev now? — he was accustomed to enter the 

m 

names of those who borrowed of him by initials or a 
number. He began life as a small fishmonger just 
within Temple Bar, and, fortunately for himself, dis- 
covered that he was endowed with a rare talent for 
rapid mental arithmetic, of which he made good use in 
betting and card-playing. The history of his gradual 
rise to greatness from a beginning so unpromising 
would be interesting, but perhaps the materials no 
longer exist. He was a tall and corpulent man, lame, 
who never acquired the art of speaking English cor- 
rectly, — a thing which his noble patrons — the Duke of 
Wellington was a member of his club— passed over in 
him. 

Everybody went to Grockford's. Everybody played 
there. That a young fellow just in possession of a great 
estate should drop a few thousands in a single night's 
play was not considered a thing worthy of remark; they 
all did it. We remember how Disraeli's c Young Duke ' 
went on playing cards all night and all next day — was 




IN CLUB- AND CARD-LAND 181 

it not all the next night as well ? — till he and his com- 
panions were up to their knees in cards, and the man 
who was waiting on them was fain to lie down and sleep 
for half an hour. The passion of gambling — it is one 
of those other senses outside the five old elementary 
endowments — possessed everybody. Cards played a far 
more important part in life than they do now ; the 
evening rubber was played in every quiet house ; the 
club card-tables were always crowded ; for manly youth 
there were the fiercer joys of lansquenet, loo, vingt-et-un, 
and ecarte ; for the domestic circle there were the whist- 
table and the round table, and at the latter were played 
a quantity of games, such as Pope Joan, Commerce, 
Speculation, and I know not what, all for money, and 
all depending for their interest on the hope of winning 
and the fear of losing. Family gambling is gone. If 
in a genteel suburban villa one was to propose a round 
game, and call for the Pope Joan board, there would be 
a smile ,of wonder and pity. As well ask for a glass of 
negus, or call for the Caledonians at a dance ! 

Scandals there were, of course. Men gambled away 
the whole of their great estates ; they loaded their 
property with burdens in a single night which would 
keep their children and their grandchildren poor. 
They grew desperate, and became hawks on the look- 
out for pigeons ; they cheated at the card-table (read 
the famous case of Lord De Eos in this very year) ; they 
were always being detected and expelled, and so could 
no more show their faces at any place where gentlemen 



1 82 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

congregated ; and sank from Crockford's to the chea 
hells, such as the cribs where the tradesmen usee 
gamble, those frequented by City clerks, by gentlem 
servants, and even those of the low French and Itali 
They were illegal cribs, and informers were always 
ting money by causing the proprietors to be indie 
It was said of Thurtell, after he was hanged for mur 
ing Weare, that lie had offered to murder eight L 
men, who had informed against these hells, for 
consideration of 40/. a head. When they were sufli 
to proceed, however, the proprietors always made t 
fortunes. No doubt their descendants are now coui 
. gentry, and the green cloth has long since been fol 

1| I up and put away in the lumber-room, with the r 

and the croupier's green shade and his chair, and 
existence of these relics is forgotten. 



1 




M 



i*3 



CHAPTER XIII. 

WITH THE WITS. 

E ten years of the Thirties are a period concerning 
ose literary history the ordinary reader knows next 
lothing. Yet a good deal that has survived for fifty 
rs, and promises to live longer, was accomplished in 
; period. Dickens, for example, began his career in the 
r 1837 with his ' Sketches by " Boz " ' and the < Pick- 
k Papers ; ' Lord Ly tton, then Mr. Ly tton Bulwer, had 
ady before that year published five novels, including 
il Clifford' and 'The Last Days of Pompeii/ Tenny- 
had already issued the c Poems, by Two Brothers/ 
4 Poems chiefly Lyrical.' Disraeli had written 
e Young Duke,' * Vivian Grey,' and ' Venetia.' 
wming had published ' Paracelsus ' and ' Strafford ; ' 
ryat began in 1834 ; Carlyle published the * Sartor 
irtus ' in 1832. But one must not estimate a period 
is beginners. All these writers belong to the fol- 
ing thirty years of the century. If we look for 
« who were flourishing — that is, those who were 
lucing their best work — it will be found that this 
ide was singularly poor. The principal name is 



1 84 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

that of Hood. There werealsoHartleyColeridge, Dougla 
Jerrold, Procter, Sir Archibald Alison, Theodore Hoolcz 
G. P. II. James, Charles Knight, Sir Henry Taylor-. 
Milman, Ebenezer Elliott, Harriet Martineau, Jaiue= 
Montgomery, Talfourd, Henry Brougham, Lady Bles 




sington, Harrison Ainsworth, and some others of lesser 
note. This is not a very imposing array. On the other 
hand, nearly all the great writers whom we associate 
with the first thirty years of the century were living, 
though their best work was done. After sixty, I take 
it, the hand of the master may still work with the old 



WITH THE WITS 



•8S 



cunning, but his designs will be no longer new or bold. 
Wordsworth was sixty in 1830, and, though he lived 
for twenty years longer, and published the ' Yarrow 
Bevisited,' and, I think, some of his 'Sonnets,' he hardly 
added to his fame. Southey was four years younger. 
He published his * Doctor ' and ' Essays ' in this decade, 
but his best work was done already. Scott died in 1832 ; 
Coleridge died in 1834; Byron was alreadydead ; James 
Hogg died in 1835; 
Felicia Hemans in the 
same year ; Tom Moore 
was a gay young fellow 
of fifty in 1830, the 
year in which his life 
of Lord Byron appear- 
ed. He did very little 
afterwards. Campbell 
was two years older 
ilian Moore, and he, 
loo, hud exhausted 
himself. Rogers, older 

than any of them, had entirely concluded his poetic 
career. It is wonderful to think that he began to 
write in 1783 and died in 1855. Beckford, whose 
'Vathek' appeared in 1786, was living until 1844. 
Among others who were still living in 1837 were James 
and Horace Smith, Wilson Croker, Miss Edgeworth, 
Mrs. Trollope, Lucy Aikin, Miss Opie (who lived to be 
eighty-five), Jane Porter (prematurely cut oH at seventy- 




(86 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

four), and Harriet Lee (whose immortal work, tl ic 
' Errors of Innocence,' appeared in 1786, when she vas 
already thirty) lived on till 1852, when she was ninety- 
six. Bowles, that excellent man, was not yet seventy, 
and meant to live for twenty years longer. Be Quincev 
was fifty-two in 1837, Christopher North was in full 
vigour, Thomas Love Peacock, who published his first 




novel in 1810, was destined to produce a last, equally 
good, in 18G0; Landor, born in 1775, was not to die 
until 1804; Leigh Hunt, who in 1837 was fifty-three 
years of age, belongs to the time of Byron. John Keble, 
whose 'Christian Year' was published in 1827, was 
forty-four in 1837; 'L. E. L.' died in 1838. InAmerica, 
Washington Irving, Emerson, Channing, Bryant, Whittier, 
and Longfellow, make a good group. In France, Chateau- 



WITH THE WITS 



187 



hriand, Lamartine, Victor Hugo, Beranger, Alfred de 
Musset, Scribe, and Dumas were all writing, a group 
much stronger than our English team. 

It is difficult to understand, at first, that between 
the time of Scott, Wordsworth, Byron, and Keats, and 
that of Dickens, Thackeray, Marryat, Lever, Tennyson, 




Browning, and Carlyle, there existed tins generation 
of wits, most of them almost forgotten. Those, how- 
ever, who consider the men and women of the Thirties 
have to deal, for the most part, with a literature 
that is third-rate. This kind becomes dreadfully flat 
and stale when it has been out for fifty years ; the 
dullest, flattest, dreariest reading that can be found on 



i88 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

the shelves in the sprightly novel of Society, wri 
the Thirties. 

A blight had fallen upon novels and their \ 
The enormous success that Scott had achieved U 
hundreds to follow in his path, if that were p 




(From a Photognub by II. Wrtkhu) 

It was not possible ; but this they could not kr 
cause nothing seems so easy to write as a novel, 
man, of those destined to fail, can understand i 
respects his own work falls short of Scott's. 
the chief reason why he fails. Scott's success, h 



,iti 



WITH THE WITS 189 

produced another effect. It greatly enlarged the num- 
ber of novel readers, and caused them to buy up eagerly 
anything new, in the hope of finding another Scott. 
Thus, about the year 1826 there were produced as many 
as 250 three- and four-volume novels a year — that is to 
say, about as many as were published in 1886, when 
the area of readers has been multiplied by ten. We 
are also told that nearly 
all these novels could com - 
mand a sale of 750 to 1,000 
each, while anything above 
the average would have a 

sale of 1,500 to 2,000. 

ITie usual price given for 

these novels was, we are 

also told, from 200/. to 300/. 

I*» that case the publishers 

*** list have had a happy and 

*■ prosperous time, netting 

splendid hauls. ButI think '"'" ""'"" ' """ R ""''' 

*bat we must take these figures with considerable 
^eductions. There were, as yet, no circulating libraries 
of any importance ; their place was supplied by 
book-clubs, to which the publishers chiefly looked for 
the purchase of their books. But one cannot believe 
that the book-clubs would take copies of all the rubbish 
that came out. Some of these novels T have read ; 
some of them actually stand on my shelves ; and I de- 
clare that anything more dreary and unprofitable it is 




190 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

difficult to imagine. At last there was a revolt : the 
public would stand this kind of staff no longer. Down 
dropped the circulation of the novels. Instead of 2,000 
copies subscribed, the dismayed publisher now read 50, 
and the whole host of novelists vanished like a swarm 
of midges. At the same time poetry went down too. 




The drop in poetry was even more terrible than that 
of novels. Suddenly, and without any warnings the 
people of Great Britain left off reading poetry. To be 
sure, they had been flooded with a prodigious quantity 
of trash. One anonymous * popular poet,' whose name 
will never now be recovered, received 100J. for his last 
poem from a publisher who thought, no doubt, that the 




WITH THE WITS 191 

'boom ' was going to last. Of this popular poet's work 
he sold exactly fifty copies. Another, a ' humorous ' bard, 
who also received a large sum for his immortal poem, 
showed in the unhappy publisher's books no more than 
eighteen copies sold. This was too ridiculous, and from 




that day to this the trade side of poetry has remained 
under a cloud. That of novelist has, fortunately for some, 
Unredeemed from contempt by the enormous success of 
Kckens, Thackeray, George Eliot, and by the solid, though 
substantial, success of the lesser lights. Poets have now 
to pay for the publication of their own works, but nove- 



, 9 2 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

lists — some of them — command a price ; those, namely, 
who do not have to pay for the production of their works. 

The popular taste, thus cloyed with novels and 
poetry, turned to books on popular science, on statistics, 
on health, and on travel. Barry Cornwall's c Life of 
Kcan/ Campbell's 'Life of Siddons,' the Lives of Sale, 
Mr Thomas Pic ton, and Lord Exmouth, for example, 
were all well received. So Ross's ' Arctic* Seas/ Lamar- 
tine's k Pilgrim age,' Macfarlane's 'Travels in the East,' 
lb Oman's " Pound the World,' and Quin's 'Voyage down 
the Danube/ all commanded a sale of 1,000 copies 
each at least Works of religion, of course, always suc- 
ceed, if they are written with due regard to the religious 
leaning of the. moment. It shows how religious fash- 
ions change when Ave find that the copyright of the 
works of Robert Hall realised 4,000/. and that of Charles 
Simeon's books 0,000/. ; while of the Rev. Alexander 
Fletcher's k Hook of Family Devotions,' published at 24?., 
2,000 copies were sold on the day of publication. I 
daresay the same thing would happen again to-day if 
another Mr. Fletcher were to hit upon another happy 
thought in the way of a religious book. 

I think that one of the causes of the decay of trade 
as regards poetry and fiction may have been the bad- 
ness of the annuals. You will find in any old-fashioned 
library copies of the ' Keepsake,' the * Forget-me-Not,' 
the ' Hook of Beauty,' 'Flowers of Loveliness,' Finden's 
' Tableaux/ 'The J took of Gems,' and others of that now 
extinct tribe. They were beautifully printed on the 



WITH THE WITS 193 

paper ; they were illustrated with the most lovely 
engravings, the like of which could not now be 




tt any price ; they were bound in brown and 
on watered silk, most fascinating to look upon ; and 



k,4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

they were published at a guinea. As for their co 
they were, to begin with, written almost entir 
ladies and gentlemen with handles to their name 
number containing in addition two or three pa} 
commoners — mere literary commoners — just to 
flavouring of style. In the early Thirties it was f 
able for lords and ladies to dash off these trifles, 
was a gentleman : Shelley was a gentleman ; i 
else, to be sure, among the poets and wits was a 
man — yet if Byron and Shelley condescended to 
lame and bays, why not Lord Reculver, Lady Ji 
Dagenham, or the Hon. Lara Clonsilla? I havt 
me the 'Keepsake' for the year 1831. Amo 
authors are Lord Morpeth, Lord Nugent, Lor 
chester, Lord John Russell, the Hon. George Agii 
, the Hon. Henry Liddell, the Hon. Charles Phip 

j Hon. Robert Craddock, and the Hon. Grantley Be 

f Among the ladies are the Countess of Bless 

6 L. K. L.,' and Agnes Strickland. Theodore Hook s 
the professional part. The illustrations are er 
from pictures and drawings by Eastlake, Co 
Westall, Turner, Smirke, Flaxinan, and othej 
artists. The result, from the literary point of vi 
collection much lower in point of interest and 
than the worst number of the worst shilling mag; 
the present day. I venture to extract certain in 
lines contributed by Lord John Russell, who is n< 
rally known as a poet. They are * written at J 
the residence of the late Mr. Dugald Stewart.' 



WITH THE WITS 195 

To distant worlds a guide amid the night, 
To nearer orbs the source of life and light ; 
Each star resplendent on its radiant throne 
Gilds other systems and supports its own. 
Thus we see Stewart, in his fame reclined, 
Enlighten all the universe of mind ; 
To some for wonder, some for joy appear, 
Admired when distant and beloved when near. 
Twas he gave rules to Fancy, grace to Thought, 
Taught Virtue's laws, and practised what he taught. 

Dear me ! Something similar to the last line one 
remembers written by an earlier bard. In the same 
Way Terence has been accused of imitating the old 
Eton Latin Grammar. 

Somewhere about the year ] 837 the world began 
to kick at the ' Keepsakes/ and they gradually got ex- 
tinguished. Then the lords and the countesses put 
^^ray their verses and dropped into prose, and, to the 
infinite loss of mankind, wrote no more until editors of 
great monthlies, anxious to show a list of illustrious 
Barnes, began to ask them again. 

As for the general literature of the day, there must 
have been a steady demand for new works of all kinds, 
for it was estimated that in 1836 there were no fewer 
t«an four thousand persons living by literary work. Most 
°f them, of course, must have been simple publishers' 
hacks. But seven hundred of them in London were 

• 

journalists. At the present day there are said to be in 
Guidon alone fourteen thousand men and women who 
'i v e by writing. And of this number I should think 
that thirteen thousand are in some way or other con- 

o 2 



i 9 6 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



nectcd with journalism. Publishers' hacks stills 
that is to say, the unhappy men who, 'without 
or natural aptitude, or the art of writing plea 
arc eternally engaged in compiling, stealing, arn 
and putting together books which maybe palmed o 
an uncritical public for prize books and presents 
they are far fewer in proportion than they we 
perhaps the next generation may live to see them c 
What did they write, this regiment of 
litterateur* ? Novelists, as we have learned, had 
upon evil times ; poet 
what it still continues 
a drug in the marks 
there was the whole 
of the sciences, then 
morals, theology, edu 
travels, biography, 1 
the literature of Art 
its branches, arcliajolo; 
cient and modern lite 
criticism, and a hundred other things. Yet, i 
allowance for everything, I cannot but think tl 
3,300 must have had on the whole an idle ai 
profitable time. However, some books of the yei 
be recorded. First of all, in the 'Annual Eegist 
1837 there appears a poem by Alfred Tennys 
have copied a portion of it: — 

Oil ! thnt 'twere possible, 

After long grief and pain, 
To find the anus of my true love 

Round me once again 1 




WITH THE WITS 197 

When I was wont to meet her 
In the silent woody places 

Of the land that gave me birth, 
We stood tranced in long embraces, 
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter 

Than anything on earth. 

A shadow flits before me — 

Not thee but like to thee. 
Ah God ! that it were possible 

For one short hour to see 
The souls we loved that they might tell us 

What, and where they be. 

It leads me forth at evening, 

It lightly winds and steals, 
In a cold white robe before me, 

When all my spirit reels 
At the shouts, the leagues of lights, 

And the roaring of the wheels. 

• • • • 

Then the broad light glares and beats, 
And the sunk eye flits and fleets, 

And will not let me be. 
I loathe the squares and streets 
And the faces that one meets, 

Hearts with no love for me. 
Always I long to creep 
To some still cavern deep, 
And to weep and weep and weep 

My whole soul out to thee. 

Books, indeed, there were in plenty. Lady Bles- 
sl ngton produced her 4 Victims of Society ' and ' Sunday 
a t the Zoo ; ' Mr. Lytton Bulwer his ' Duchesse de la 
'alliere,' 'Ernest Maltravers/ and 'Athens, its Eise 
a nd Fall ; ' Miss Mitford her ' Country Stories ; ' Cottle 
his ' Recollections of Coleridge ; ' Harrison Ainsworth, 
'Crichtou ; ' Disraeli, * Venetia ; ' Talfourd, ' The Life 



U 



198 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

and Letters of Charles Lamb ; ' Babbage, a c Bridgwat 
Treatise ; ' Hook, c Jack Brag ; ' Haynes Bayley, L 
' Weeds of Witchery ' — a thing as much forgotten s 
the weeds in last year's garden ; James, his ' Attil 
and ' Louis XIV. ; ' Miss Martineau, her l)ook c^- 
4 American Society.' I find, not in the book, which 
have not read, but in a review of it, two stories, whicr- 1 
I copy. One is of an American traveller who had bee* 
to Rome, and said of it, 'Rome is a very fine city, six*-, 
but its public buildings are out of repair.' The other 
is the following : k Few men,' said the preacher in his 
sermon, ' when they build a house, remember that 
there must some day be a coffin taken downstairs/ 
' Ministers,' said a lady who had been present, ' have < 
got into the strangest way of choosing subjects. True, 
wide staircases are a great convenience, but Christian 
ministers might find better subjects for their discourses 
than narrow staircases.' 

In addition to the above, Hartley Coleridge wrote 
the ' Lives of Northern Worthies ; ' the complete poeti- 
cal works of Southey appeared — he himself died at 
the beginning of 1842 ; Dion Boucicault produced his 
first play, being then fifteen years of age ; Carlyle 
brought out his c French Revolution ; ' Lockhart his 
' life of Scott ; ' Martin Tupper the first series of the 
' Proverbial Philosophy ; ' Hallam his * Literature of 
Europe ; ' there were the usual travels in Arabia, 
Armenia, Italy, and Ireland ; with, no doubt, the annual 
avalanche of sermons, pamphlets, and the rest. Above 




,-w^— >^~^=^- 



loo FIFTY YEARS AGO 

is the best biography of the novelist and poet; Carlyle's 
' French Kcvolution ' shows no sign of being forgotten. 
Between the first and the fiftieth years of Victoria's 
reign there arose and flourished and died a new gene- 
ration of great men. Dickens, Thackeray, Lytton, in 
his later and better style ; George Eliot, Charles Reade, 
George Meredith, Nathaniel Hawthorne, stand in the very 
front rank of novelists ; in the second line are Charles 



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Kingsley, Mrs. Gaskcl], Lever, Trollope, and a few living 
men and women. Tennyson, Browning, Swinburne, 
Matthew Arnold, are the new poets. Carlyle, Freeman, 
Froude, Ptubbs, Green, Lecky, Buckle, have founded 
a new school of history ; Maurice has broadened the 
old theology ; Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, Lockyer, and 
many others have advanced the boundaries of science; 
philology has become one of the exact sciences; a 
groat school of political economy has arisen, flourished, 



202 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

there are who talk well, but there are no Sydney Smiths 
or Macaulays, and in houses where the Sydney Smith 
of the day would go for his talk, he would not be 
encouraged to talk much after midnight. In the same 
way, there are clubs, like the Athenaeum and the Savile, 
where men of letters are among the members, but they 
do not constitute the members, and they do not give 
altogether its tone to the club. 

Fifty years ago there were two houses which, each 
in its own way, were recognised centres of literature. 
Every man of letters went to Gore House, which was 
open to all ; and every man of letters who could get 
there went to Holland House. 

The former establishment was presided over by the 
Countess of Blessington, at this time a widow, still 
young and still attractive, though beginning to be 
burdened with the care of an establishment too ex- 
pensive for her means. She was the author of a good 
many novels, now almost forgotten — it is odd how well 
one knows the name of Lady Blessington, and how little 
is generally known about her history, literary or per- 
sonal — and she edited every year one of the ' Keep- 
sakes ' or ' Forget-me-Nots.' From certain indications, 
the bearing of which her biographer, Mr. Madden, did 
not seem to understand, I gather that her novels did 
not prove to the publishers the literary success which 
they expected, and I also infer — from the fact that she 
was always changing them — that a dinner at Gore 
House and the society of all the wits after dinner were 



WITH THE WITS 203 

not always attractions strong enough to loosen their 
pu rsc-strings. This lady, whose maiden name was 
Po-\ver, was of an Irish family, her father being engaged, 
when he was not shooting rebels, in unsuccessful trade. 
Her life was adventurous and also scandalous. She 
was married at sixteen to a Captain Farmer, from whom 
sl\e speedily separated, and came over to London, where 
she lived for some years — her biographer does not ex- 
plain how she got money — a grass widow. When Lord 




Blessington lost his wife, and Mrs. Fanner losl her 
husband — the gallant Captain got drunk, and fell out 
of a window — they were married, and went abroad 
travelling in great state, as an English milor of those 
days knew how to travel, with a train of half-a-dozen 
carriages, his own cook and valet, the Countess's 
women, a whole batterie tie rttlxine, a quantity of furni- 
ture, couriers, and footmen, and his own great carriage. 
With them went the Count d'Orsay, then about two- 



2o 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

and-twenty, and young Charles Mathews, then about 
twenty, a protege of Lord Blessington, who was a friend 
and patron of the drama. 

After Lord Blessington died it was arranged that 
Count d'Orsay should marry his daughter. But the 
Count separated from his wife a week or two after the 
wedding, and returned to the widow, whom he never 
afterwards left, always taking a lodging near her house, 
and forming part of her household. The Countess 
d'Orsay, one need not explain, did not visit her step- 
mother at Gore House. 

Here, however, you would meet Tom Moore, the 
two Bulwers, Campbell, Talfourd, James and Horace 
Smith, Landseer, Theodore Hook, Disraeli the elder and 
the younger, Rogers, Washington Irving, N. P. Willis, 
Marryat, Macready, Charles Dickens, Albert Smith, 
Forster, Walter Savage Landor, and, in short, nearly 
every one who had made a reputation, or was likely to 
make it. Hither came also Prince Louis Napoleon, 
in whose fortunate star Count d'Orsay always firmly 
believed. The conversation was lively, and the even- 
ings were prolonged. As for ladies, there were few 
ladies who went to Gore House. Doubtless they had 
their reasons. The outer circle, so to speak, consisted 
of such men as Lord Abinger, Lord Durham, Lord 
Strangford, Lord Porchester, Lord Nugent, writers and 
poetasters who contributed their illustrious names and 
their beautiful productions to Lady Blessington's ' Keep- 
sakes/ Thackeray was one of the i intimates ' at Gore 



3& 




\ 



206 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Yet here still slavery attacks 

Whom Blessington invites ; 
The chains from which lie freed the blacks 

She rivets on the whites. 

The following lines are in another strain, inure 
artificial, with a false ring, and curiously unlike any 
style of the present day. They are by N. P. Willis, 
who, in his c Pencillings,' describes an evening at Gore 
House : — 

I gaze upon a face as fair 

As ever made a lip of Heaven 
Falter amid its music — prayer : 

The first- lit star of summer even 
Springs scarce so softly on the eye, 

Nor grows with watching half so bright, 
Nor 'mid its sisters of the sky 

So seems of Heaven the dearest light. 
Men murmur where that shape is seen ; 
My youth's angelic dream was of that face and mien. 

Gor<* House was a place for men ; there was more 
than a touch of Bohemia in its atmosphere. The fair 
chatelaine, distinctly did not belong to any noble house, 
though she was fond of talking of her ancestors ; the 
constant presence of Count d'Orsay, and the absence of 
Lady Harriet, his wife ; the coldness of ladies as regards 
the place ; the whispers and the open talk ; these things 
did not, perhaps, make the house less delightful, but 
they placed it outside society, 

Holland House, on the other hand, occupied a 
different position. The circle was wide and the hos- 
pitable doors were open to all who could procure an 
introduction ; but it was presided over by a lady the 



WITH THE WITS 207 

K>site to Lady Blessington in every respect. She 
2d as well as reigned ; those who went to Holland 
use were made to feel her power. The Princess 
rie Liechtenstein, in her book on Holland House, has 
en a long list of those who were to be found there 
ween the years 1796 and 1840. Among them were 
Iney Smith, Macaulay, Byron, 4 Monk ' Lewis, Lord 
rey, Lords Eldon, Thurlow, Brougham, and Lynd- 
•st, Sir Humphry Davy, Count Eumford, Lords 
srdeen, Moira, and Macartney, Grattan, Curran, Sir 
auel Eomilly, Washington Irving, Tom Moore, 
onne, Lally Tollendal, Talleyrand, the Duke of 
rence, the Due d'Orleans, Metternich, Canova, the 
• Erskines, Madame de Stael, Lord John Eussell, and 
d Houghton. There was no such agreeable house 
Europe as Holland House. ' There was no profes- 
ial claqueur ; no mutual puffing ; no exchanged 
port. There, a man was not unanimously applauded 
ause he was known to be clever, nor was a woman 
?pted as clever because she was known to receive 
er people.' 

The conditions of life and society are so much 
aged that there can never again be another Holland 
ise. For the first thing which strikes one who con- 
rs the history of this place, as well as Gore House, 
lat, though the poets, wits, dramatists, and novelists 
these houses, their wives do not. In these days 
an who respects himself will not go to a house where 
wife is not asked. Then, again, London is so much 



209 



CHAPTER XIV. 

JOURNALS AND JOURNALISTS. 

9ERE was no illustrated paper in 1837 : there was no 
mch. On the other hand, there were as many London 
pers as there are to-day, and nearly as many magazines 
d reviews. The Times, which is reported to have 
in had a circulation not exceeding 10,000 a day, was 
eady the leading paper. It defended Queen Caroline, 
i advocated the Reform Bill, and was reported to be 
fcdy to incur any expense for early news. Thus, in 
34, on the occasion of a great dinner given to Lord 
irham, the Times spent 200/. in having an early 
>ort, and that up from the North by special mes- 
iger. This is not much in comparison with the 
terprise of telegraph and special correspondents, but 
was a great step in advance of other journals. The 
ber morning papers were the Morning Herald, the 
orning Chronicle, the Morning Post, of which Cole-. 
Ige was once on the staff, the Morning Advertiser, 
[rich already represented the interest of which it is 
iU the organ, and the old Public Ledger, for which 
oldsmith had once written. 



« 

4. 



210 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

The evening papers were the Globe, which had 
absorbed six other evening papers; the Courier; the 
Standard, once edited by Dr. Maginn ; and the True Sun. 

The weeklies were the Examiner, edited by the two 
Hunts and Albany Fonblanque; the Spectator, whose 
price seems to have varied from ninepence to a shilling ; 
the Atlas ; Observer ; BelTs Life ; BelVs Weekly Messenger ; 
John Bull, which Theodore Hook edited ; the New Weekly 
Messenger ; the Sunday Times ; the Age ; the Satirist ; the 
Mark 1m ne Express ; the County Chronicle ; the Weekly 
Dispatch, sometimes sold for S^d., sometimes for 6^/. ; 
the Patriot ; the Christian Advocate ; the Watchman ; the* 
Court Journal ; the Naval and Military Gazette ; and th 
Cnited Service Gazette. 

Among the reporters who sat in the Gallery, it i=== 
remarkable that two-thirds did not write shorthand 
they made notes, and trusted to their memories ; Charles^ 
Dickens sat with them in the year 1836. 

The two great Quarterlies still continue to exist, bur 
their power has almost gone ; nobody cares any mor^^ 
what is said by either, yet they are as well written a& 
ever, and their papers are as interesting, if they aru^ 
not so forcible. The Edinburgh Review is said to hav^^ 
had a circulation of 20,000 copies; the Quarterly is saicT~ 
never to have reached anything like that number^ 
Among those who wrote for the latter fifty years ago, o^^ 
thereabout, were Southey, Basil Hall, John Wilsot^ 
Croker, Sir Francis Head, Dean Milman, Justice Cote - 
ridge, Henry Taylor, and Abraham Hayward. The West- 



JO URN A LS AND JO URN A LISTS z 1 1 

minster, which also included the London, was supported 
by such contributors as the two Mills, father and son, 
South wood Smith, and Eoebuck. There was also the 
Foreign Quarterly, for which Scott, Southey, and Carlyle 
wrote. 

The monthlies comprised the Gentleman's (still living), 

the Monthly Review ; the Monthly Magazine ; the Eclectic ; 

the New Monthly ; Eraser ; the Metropolitan ; the 

Monthly Repository ; the Lady's ; the Court ; the Asiatic 

J&urnal ; the East India Review ; and the United Ser- 

vice Journal. 

The weekly magazines were the Literary Gazette ; 
*he Parthenon — absorbed in the Literary in 1842 ; the 
-^thenceum, which Mr. Dilke bought of Buckingham, 
re <lucing the price from 8d. to 4rf, ; the Mirror ; Cham- 
o^gs Journal ; the Penny Magazine ; and the Saturday 
~**fcigazine, a religious journal with a circulation of 
2 OO,000. 

All these papers, journals, quarterlies, monthlies, 

a **d weeklies found occupation for a great number of 

Journalists. Among those who wrote for the magazines 

^ere many whom we know, and some whom we have 

forgotten. Mr. Cornish, editor of the Monthly Mag a- 

tine, seems forgotten. But he wrote ' Songs of the 

Loire/ the ' Gentleman's Book,' * My Daughter's Book/ 

the 'Book for the Million/ and a 'Volume of the 

Affections.' Mr. Peter Gaskill, another forgotten worthy, 

wrote, besides his contributions to the monthly press, 

three laudable works, called ' Old Maids/ 4 Old Bache- 

j>2 



2i2 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

lors,' and 4 Plebeians and Patricians.' John Gait, James 
and Horace Smith, Allan Cunningham, Sir Egerton 
Brydges, Sheridan Knowles, Robert Hall, John Foster, 
James Montgomery, S. C. Hall, Grattan — author of 
6 Highways and Byways ' — Marryat, John Mill, Peacock, 
Miss Martineau, Ebenezer Elliott, and Warren — author 
of ' A Diary of a Late Physician ' — all very respectable 
writers, sustained this mass of magazine literature. 

It will be seen, then, that London was as well sup- 
plied with papers and reviews as it is at present — con- 
sidering the difference in population, it was much better 
supplied. Outside London, however, the demand for 
a daily paper was hardly known. There were in the 
whole of Great Britain only fourteen daily papers ; and 
in Ireland two. There are now 171 daily papers in 
Great Britain and fifteen in Ireland. In country places, 
the weekly newspaper, published on Saturday night and 
distributed on Sunday morning, provided all the news 
that was required, the local intelligence being by far the 
most important. 

As to the changes which have come over the papers, 
the leading article, whose influence and weight seems to 
have culminated at the time of the Crimean War, was 
then of little more value than it is at present. The 
news — there were as yet, happily, no telegrams — was 
still by despatches and advice ; and the latest news of 
markets was that brought by the last ship. We will 
not waste time in pointing out that Edinburgh was 
practically as far off as Gibraltar, or as anything else 



JOURNALS AND JOURNALISTS 213 

you please. But consider, if you can, your morning 
paper without its telegrams ; could one exist without 
knowing exactly all that is going on all over the world 
at the very moment ? We used to exist, as a matter of 
fact, very well indeed without that knowledge ; when 
we had it not we were less curious, if less well in- 
formed : there was always a pleasing element of un- 
certainty as to what might arrive : everything had to 
be taken on trust ; and in trade the most glorious for- 
tunes could be made and lost by the beautiful uncer- 
tainties of the market. Now we watch the tape, day 
by day, and hour by hour : we anticipate our views : 
we can only speculate on small differences : the biggest 
events are felt, long beforehand, to be coming. It is 
not an unmixed gain for the affairs of the whole world 
to be carried on under the fierce light of electricity, so 
that everybody may behold whatever happens day after 
day, as if one were seated on Olympus among the Im- 
mortal Gods. 



2i 4 FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE SPORTSMAN. 

There were many various forms of sport open to the 
Englishman fifty years ago which are now wholly, or 
partly, closed. For instance, there was the P. R., then 
nourishing in great vigour — they are at this moment 
trying to revive it. A prize-fight was accompanied by 
every kind of blackguardism and villainy; not the least 
was the fact that the fights, towards the end of the 
record, were almost always conducted on the cross, so 
that honest betting men never knew where to lay their 
money. At the same time, the decay of boxing during 
the last twenty-five years has been certainly followed by 
a great decay of the national pluck and pugnacity, and 
therefore, naturally, by a decay of national enter- 
prise. We may fairly congratulate ourselves, therefore, 
that the noble art of self-defence is reviving, and 
promises to become as great and favourite a sport as 
before. Let all our boys be taught to fight Fifty years 
ago there was not a day in a public school when there 
was not a fight between two of the boys ; there w£s 
not a day when there was not a street fight ; did not 



THE SPORTSMAN 215 

the mail-coach drivers who accompanied Mr. Samuel 
Weller on a memorable occasion leave behind them ohe 
of their number to fight a street porter in Fleet Street ? 
There was never a day when some young fellow did not 
take off his coat and handle his fives for a quarter of 
an hour with a drayman, a driver, a working man. It 
was a disgrace not to be able to tight. Let all our boys 
be taught again and encouraged to fight. Only the 
other day I read that there are no fights at Eton any 
more because the boys ' funk each other.' Eton boys 
funk each other ! But we need not believe it. Let there 
be no nonsense listened to about brutality. The world 
belongs to the men who can fight. 

There were, besides the street fights, which kept 
things lively and gave animation to the dullest parts of 
the town, many other things which we see no longer. 
The bear who danced : the bull who was baited : the 
pigeons which were shot in Battcrsea Fields : the badger 
which was drawn : the dogs which were fought : the 
rats which were killed : the cocks which were fought : 
the cats which were thrown into the ponds : the ducks 
which were hunted — these amusements exist no longer ; 
fifty years ago they afforded sport for many. 

Hunting, coursing, horse-racing, shooting, went on 
bravely. As regards game preserves, the laws were more 
rigidly enforced, and there was a much more bitter 
feeling towards them on the part of farmers then than 
now. On the other hand, there were no such wholesale 
battues ; sport involved uncertainty ; gentlemen did not 



216 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

sell their game ; rabbits, instead of being sent off to 
the nearest poulterer, were given to the labourers as 
they should be. 

The sporting instincts of the Londoner gave the 
comic person an endless theme for fun. He was always 
hiring a horse and coming to grief; he was perpetually 
tumbling off, losing his stirrups, letting his whip fall, 
having his hat blown off and carried away, and generally 
disgracing himself in the eyes of those with whom he 
wished to appear to the best advantage. There was 
the Epping Hunt on Easter Monday, where the sporting 
Londoners turned out in thousands ; there were the 
ponies on hire at any open place all round London — at 
Clapham Common, Blackheath, Hampstead, Epping. To 
ride was the young Londoner's greatest ambition : even 
to this day there is not one young man in ten who will 
own without a blush that he cannot ride. To ride in 
the Park was impossible for him, because he had to be at 
his desk at ten ; a man who rides in the Park is inde- 
pendent of the City ; but there were occasions on which 
everyone would long to be able to sit in the saddle. 

Rowing, athletics, and, above all, the cycle, have 
done much to counterbalance the attractions of the 
saddle. 

It seems certain, unless the comic papers all lie, that 
fifty years ago every young man also wanted to go 
shooting. Remember how Mr. Winkle — an arrant 
Cockney, though represented as coming from Bristol — 
not only pretended to love the sport, but always went 



THE SPORTSMAN 217 

about attired as one ready to take the field. The 
Londoner went out into the fields, which then lay within 
his reach all round the City, popping at everything. 
Let us illustrate the subject with the following descrip- 
tion of a First of September taken from the ' Comic 
Almanack ' of 1837. Perhaps Thackeray wrote it : — 

' Up at six. — Told Mrs. D. I'd got wery pressing business at 
Woolwich, and off to Old Fish Street, where a werry sporting 
breakfast, consisting of jugged hare, partridge pie, tally-ho sauce, 
gunpowder tea, and-caetera, vos laid out in Figgins's warehouse ; as 
he didn't choose Mrs. F. and his young hinfant family to know he 
vos a-goin to hexpose himself vith fire-harms. — After a good blow- 
out, sallied forth vith our dogs and guns, namely Mrs. Wiggins's 
French poodle, Miss Selina Higgins's real Blenheim spaniel, young 
Hicks's ditto, Mrs. Figgins's pet bull-dog, and my little thorough- 
bred tarrier ; all vich had been smuggled to Figgins's warehouse 
the night before, to perwent domestic disagreeables. — Got into a 
Paddington bus at the Bank. — Row with Tiger, who hobjected to 
take the dogs, unless paid hextra. — Hicks said we'd a rights to take 
'em, and quoted the hact. — Tiger said the hact only allowed parcels 
carried on the lap. — Accordingly tied up the dogs in our pocket- 
handkerchiefs, and carried them and the guns on our knees.— Got 
down at Paddington ; and, after glasses round, valked on till ve got 
into the fields, to a place vich Higgins had baited vith corn and 
penny rolls every day for a month past. Found a covey of birds 
feeding. Dogs wery eager, and barked beautiful. Birds got up, 
and turned out to be pigeons. Debate as to vether pigeons vos 
game or not. Hicks said they vos made game on by the new hact. 
Fired accordingly, and half killed two or three, vich half fell to the 
ground ; but suddenly got up again and flew off Reloaded, and 
pigeons came round again. Let fly a second time, and tumbled two 
or three more over, but didn't bag any. Tired at last, and turned 
in to the Dog and Partridge, to get a snack. Landlord laughed, 
and asked how ve vos hoff for tumblers. Didn't understand him, 
but got some waluable hinformation about loading our guns ; vich 
he strongly recommended mixing the powder and shot well up 
together before putting into the barrel ; and showed Figgins how to 



.M 8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

4-1 large his percussion ; vich being Figgins's first attempt under the 
new system, lie had made the mistake of putting a charge of copper 
caps into the barrel instead of sticking von of 'em atop of the touch- 
hole. Left the Dog and Partridge, and took a north-easterly 
direction, so as to have the ad wantage of the vind on our backs. 
I )ogs getting wery riotous, and refusing to answer to Figgins's vhistle, 
vich had unfortunately got a pea in it.- -Getting over an edge into 
a field, Hieks's gun haccidently hexploded, and shot Wiggins behind ; 
and my gun going off hunexpectedly at the same moment, singed 
avay von of my viskers and blinded von of my heyes. — Carried 
Wiggins back to the inn : dressed his wound, and rubbed my heye 
with cherry brandy and my visker with bear's grease. — Sent poor 
W. home by a short stage, and resumed our sport. — Heard some 
pheasants crowing by the side of a plantation. Resolved to stop 
their cockadoodledooing, so set off at a jog-trot. Passing thro* a 
field of bone manure, the dogs unfortunately set to work upon the 
bones, and we couldn't get 'em to go a step further at no price. 
(Jot vitliin gun-shot of two of the birds, vich Higgins said they vos 
two game cocks': but Hicks, who had often been to Vestminster 
Pit, said no sitcli thing ; as game cocks had got short square tails, 
and smooth necks, and long military spurs ; and these had got long 
curly tails, and necks all over hair, and scarce any spurs at all. 
Shot at Vm as pheasants, and believe we killed 'em both ; but, 
hearing someorrid screams come out of the plantation immediately 
hatter, ve all took to our eels and ran avay vithout stopping to 
pick cither of Vm up. — After running about two miles, Hicks called 
out to stop, as he had hobserved a covey of wild ducks feeding on a 
pond by the road side. (Jot behind a haystack and shot at the 
ducks, vich svam avay hunder the trees. Figgins wolunteered to 
M-ramble down the bank, and hook out the dead uns vith the but- 
hend of his gun. rnfortunately bank failed, and poor F. tumbled 
up to his neck in the pit. Made a rope of our pocket-handkerchiefs, 
u;ot it round his neck, and dragged him to the Dog and Doublet ', 
\ere ve had him put to bed, and dried. Werry sleepy with the hair 
and hexetvise, so after dinner took a nap a-piece. — Woke by the 
landlord coining in to know if ve vos the gentlemen as had shot the 
hunfortunate nursemaid and child in Mr. Sinithville's plantation. 
Swore ve knew nothing al>out it, and vile the landlord was gone to 
deliver our message, got out of the lwick vindow, and ran avay 
across the fields. At the end of a mile, came suddenly upon a 



THE SPORTSMAN 219 

strange sort of bird, vich Hicks declared to be the cock-of -the- woods. 
Sneaked behind him and killed him. Turned out to be a peacock. 
Took to our heels again, as ve saw the lord of the manor and two of 
his servants vith bludgeons coming down the gravel valk towards us. 
Found it getting late, so agreed to shoot our vay home. Didn't 
know vere ve vos, but kept going on. — At last got to a sort of 
plantation, vere ve saw a great many birds perching about. Gave 
'em a broadside, and brought down several. Loaded again, and 
killed another brace. Thought ve should make a good day's vork 
of it at last, and vas preparing to charge again, ven two of the new 
police came and took us up in the name of the Zolorogical Society, 
in whose gardens it seems ve had been shooting. Handed off to the 
Public Hoffice, and werry heavily fined, and werry sewerely repri- 
manded by the sitting magistrate. — Coming away, met by the land- 
lord of the Dog and Doublet, who charged us with running off 
without paying our shot ; and Mr. Smithville, who accused us of 
manslaughtering his nurse-maid and child ; and, their wounds not 
having been declared immortal, ve vos sent to spend the night in 
prison — and thus ended my last First of September/ 

Those who wish to know what a Derby Day was 
fifty years ago may read the following contemporary 
narrative : — 

Here's a right and true list of all the running horses ! Dorling's 

correct card for the Derby day ! Hollo, old un ! hand us up one 

here, will you : and let it be a good un : there, now what's to pay ? 

Only sixpence. Sixpence ! I never gave more than a penny 

at Hookem Snivey in all my days. May be not, your honour : 

but Hookem Snivey aint Hepsom : and sixpence is what every 
gem man, as is a gemman, pays. 

I can buy 'em for less than that on the course, and I'll wait till 

I <get there. Beg your honour's pardon They sells 'em a shillin' 

on the course. Give you threepence. They cost me fippence ha'p'ny 
farden. 

Well, here then, take your list back again. Come, come ; 

your honour shall have it at your own price : 1 wouldn't sell it 

nob'dy else for no sitch money : but I likes the sound of your wice. 

Here, then, give me the change, will you ? — Oh, certainly : 
but your honour's honcommon ard : Let's see : you want two- 



2 2o FIFTY YEARS AGO 



V 



and-threepence : wait a moment, there's another gentleman callin; 
out tor a card. 

Hollo, coachman, stop, stop! Coachman, do you hear] >top 

your horses this moment, and let me get down : The fellows run 

away behind an omnibus without giving me change out of my halt- 
crown. 

That's alvays the vay they does on these here hoccasions : they 

calls it catching a flat : Sorry I can't stop. Where's the new 

police ? Pretty police truly, to suffer sucli work as that ! 

Well, if ever I come to Epsom again ! but let's look at the list : 

it's cost me precious dear ! Ascot, Mundig, Pelops ! why, good 

heavens, coachman ! they've sold me a list for last year ! 

4 i >h, ma ! look there ! what a beautiful carriage ! scarlet and 

gold liveries, and horses with long tails. And stodge-full of 

gentlemen with mustaches, and cigars and macintoshes, and green 
veils : 

Whose is it, ma ? Don't know, my dear ; but no doubt belongs 

to some duke, or marquis, or other great nob. Beg your pardon, 

ma'am : but that carriage as you're looking at is a party of the swell 
mob. 

And, oh my ! ma : look at that other, full of beautiful ladies, 

dressed like queens and princesses. Silks and satins and velvets, 

and gauze sleeves and ermine tippets : I never saw such elegant 
dresses : 

And how merry they look, laughing and smiling ! they seem de- 
termined to enjoy the sport : Who are they, ma ? Don't know, 

dear ; but no doubt they're Court ladies. Yes, ma'am, Cranbourne 
Court. 

How do, Smith'? nice sort of tit youVe got there. Very nice 

indeed : tvr// nice sort of mare. Beautiful legs she's got, and 

nicely-turned ancles, and pon my word, a most elegant head of hair. 

How old is she 'I and how high does she stand? I should like 

to buy her if she's for sale. Oh, she's quite, young: not alx>ve 

live-and- twenty or thirty ; and her height exactly a yard and a half 
and a nail : 

Price eighty guineas. She'd be just the thing for you ; capital 

hunter as ever appeared at a tixture. Only part with her on 

account of her colour ; not that / mind : only Mrs. S. don't like an 
Oxford mixture. 

Hehlo ! you fay low ! you person smoking the pipe, I wish you'd 



THE SPORTSMAN 221 

take your quadruped out of the way. Quadruped, eh ? you be 

bio wed ! it's no quadruped, but as good a donkey as ever was fed 
upon hay. 

Oh, my ! ma : there's the course. What lots of people, and 

horses, and booths, and grand stands ! And what oceans of gipsies 

and jugglers, and barrel organs, and military bands ! 

And was ever such sights of Savoyards and French women 

singing and E-O-tables ; And horses rode up and down by little 

boys, or tied together in bundles, and put up in calimanco stables ; 

And look at that one, they call him Boney- parte. Did you ever 

in all your lifetime see a leaner ? And * Royal Dinner Saloons ' 

(for royalty the knives might have been a little brighter, and the 
linen a little cleaner); 

And women with last-dying speeches in one hand, and in the 

other all the best new comic songs ; And, dear me ! how funnily 

that gentleman sits his horse ; for all the world just like a pair of 
tongs. 

And — clear the course ! clear the course ! Oh, dear ! now the 

great Derby race is going to be run. Twelve to one ! Ten to 

one ! Six to one ! Nine to two ! Sixteen to three ! Done, done, 
done, done ! 

Here they come ! here they come ! blue, green, buff, yellow, 

black, brown, white, harlequin, and red ! Sir, I wish you'd 

stand off our carriage steps : it's quite impossible to see through your 
head. 

There, now they're gone : how many times round ? Times 

round, eh ? why, bless your innocent face ! It's all over. All 

over ! you don't say so ! I wish I'd never come : such a take in ! 
call that a Derby race ! 

After being stifled witli dust almost, and spoiling all our best 

bonnets and shawls and cloaks ! Call that a Derby race, indeed ! 

I'm sure it's no Derby, but nothing but a right-down, regular Oaks. 

But come, let's have a bit of lunch ; I'm as hungry as if I 

hadn't had a bit all day. Smith, what are you staring at ? why 

don't you make haste, and hand us the hamper this way 1 

We shall never have anything to eat all day if you don't stir 

yourself, and not go on at that horrid slow rate. Oh, Lord ! the 

bottom's out, and every bit of meat and drink, and worse than all, 
the knives and forks and plate, — 

Stole and gone clean away ! Good heavenlies ! and I told you 



L 



222 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

to k(H»p your eye on the basket, you stupid lout ! Well, so I 

did, on the top of it, but who'd have thought of their taking the 
txrt-tom out 1 

Well, never mind : they'll be prettily disappointed : for you 

know, betwixt you and me and the wall, Our ivory knives and 

forks were nothing but l>one ; and our plate nothing but German 
silver, after all. 

What race is to be run next? No more, ma'am : the others 

were all run afore you come. Well, then, have the horses put 

to, Smith : I'll never come a Derbying again ; and let us be off 
home. 

Oil, lawk ! what a stodge of carriages ! I'm sure we shall never 

get off the course alive ! Oh, dear ! do knock that young drunken 

gentleman off the box : I'm sure he's not in a tit state to drive. 

There, I told you how it would be. Oh, law ! you've broke my 

arm, and compound-fractured my leg ! Oh ! for 'eaven's sake, 

lift them two 'orrid osses off my darter ! Sir, take your hands out 
of my pocket-hole, I beg ! 

I say, the next time you crawl out of a coach window, I wish 

you wouldn't put your foot on a lady's chest. Veil, if ever I seed 

such a purl as that (and I've seed many a good un in my time), I'll 
be blest. 

Oh, dear ! going home's worse than coming ! It's ten to one if 
ever we get back to Tooley Street alive. — Such jostling, and pushing, 
and prancing of horses ! and always the tipsiest gentleman of every 
party ml? drive. 

I wish I was one of those ladies at the windows ; or even one 

of the servant maids giggling behind the garden walls. And oh 

there's Kenniugton turnpike ! what shouting and hooting, and 
blowing those horrid cat-calls ! 

Ticket, sir ? got a ticket ? No, I've lost it. A shilling, then. 

A shilling ! I've paid you once to-day. Oh, yes, I suppose 

so : the old tale ; but it won't do. That's what all you sporting 
gentlemen say. 

H insolent feller ! I'll have you up before your betters. Come, 
sir, you mustn't stop up the way. Well, 111 pay you again ; but, 
oh Lord ! somebody's stole my purse ! good gracious, what shall I 

do ! 1 suppose I must leave my watch, and call for it to-morrow. 

Oh, ruination ! blow'd if that isn't gone too ! 

(Jet on there, will you ? — Well, stop a moment. Will anybody 



♦ 



THE SPORTSMAN 223 

lend me a shilling ? No 1 Well, here then, take my hat : But if 

I don't show you up in BelVs Life in London, next Sunday morning, 
my name's not Timothy Flat. 

Well, this is my last journey to Epsom, my last appearance on 

any course as a backer or hedger : For I see plain enough a 

betting-book aint a day-book, and a Derby's a very different thing 
from a Ledger. 



J 24 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER XVI. 

IN FACTORY AND MINE. 

I do not know any story, not even that of the slave- 
trade, which can compare, for brutality and callousness 
of heart, with the story of the women and children 
employed in the factories and the mines of this realm. 
There is nothing in the whole history of mankind which 
shows more clearly the enormities which become possible 
when men, spurred by desire for gain, are left uncon- 
trolled by laws or the weight of public opinion, and 
placed in the position of absolute mastery over their 
fellow-men. The record of the slavery time is black in 
the West Indies and the United States, God knows; but 
the record of the English mine and factory is blacker 
still. It is so black that it seems incredible to us. We 
ask ourselves in amazement if, fifty years ago, these 
things could be. Alas ! my friends, there are cruelties 
as great still going on around us in every great city, 
and wherever women are forced to work for bread. 
For the women and the children are inarticulate, and 
in the dark places, where no light of publicity pene- 
trates, the hand of the master is nrm$d with a scourge 



IN FACTORY AND MINE 



of scorpions. Let us therefore humble ourselves, and 
read the story of the children in the mines with ahame 
as well as with indignation. The cry of the needle- 
women is louder in our ears than the cry of the chil- 
dren in the mines 
ever was to our 
fathers ; yet we 
regard it not. 

Fellow - sinners 
and partakers in 
the crimes of 
slavery, torture, 
and robbery of 
light, life, youth, 
and joy, hear the tale of the Factory 
and the Mine. 

Early in the century — in the 
year 1801 — the overcrowding of 
the factories and mills, the neglect 
of the simplest sanitary precautions, 
the long hours, the poor food, and 
insufficient rest, caused the outbreak of a dreadful 
epidemic fever, which alarmed even the mill-owners, 
because if they lost their hands they lost their ma- 
chinery. The hands are the producers, and the aim 
of the masters was to regard the producers as so many 
machines. Now if your machine is laid low with fever 
it is as good as an engine out of repair. 

For the first time in history, not only was the public 





sat FIFTY YEARS AGO 

consdenee awakened, but the House of Commons was 
called upon to act in the interests of health, public 
morals, humanity, and justice. Strange, that the world 
had been Christian fur <o long, yet no law had been 
pawed to protect women and children. In the Year of 
Grace 1802 a bepinniug whs made. 

By the Act then passed the daily hours of labour 
for children were to he not more than twelve — yet 
think of mating young children work for twelve hours 
a day! — exclusive of an hour and a half for meals anil 
rest, so that the- working day really covered Eh'lrteen 
hours and a half, say from six in the morning miiil 
half-past seven in the evening. This seema ■ good days 
work to exact of children, but it was a little heaven 
compared with the state of things which preceded the 
Act. Kelt, no children were to be employed under 
the age of nine. Certain factories, proved to be un- 
wholesome for children, were closed to them situ 
Twenty years later ^<r John Cam Hobhoose — may his 
»ul find peaces—invented the Saturday half-holidnv 
tor factories. There was found, however, a loophole 
for cruelty and overwork : the limitation of hours was 
evaded by makro^ the hands work in relays, by which 
means a child might be kept at work half the night. 
It was. therefore, in 1S33 enacted that there should be 
no work done at all between S.30 r.M. and 6,80 a.m . : 
that children under thirteen should not work more than 
Rwrty-ehiht hoar* a week, and those under 
should not work more than sixty-eight hours a ww 




IN FACTORY AND MINE 227 

Observe that nothing — not the light of publicity, 
not public opinion, not common humanity, not pity 
towards the tender children — nothing but Law had any 
power to stop this daily massacre of the innocents. 
Yet, no doubt, the manufacturers were subscribing for 
all kinds of good objects, and reviling the Yankees con- 
tinually for the institution of Slavery. 

What happened next ? Greed of gain, seeing the 
factory closed, looked round, and saw wide open — not 
the gates of Hell — but the mouth of the Pit, and they 
flung the children down into the darkness, and made 
them work among the narrow passages and galleries of 
the coal mines. 

They took the child — boy or girl — at six years of 
age ; they carried the little thing away from the light 
of heaven, and lowered it deep down into the black and 
gloomy pit ; they placed it behind a door, and ordered 
it to pull this open to let the corves, or trucks, come 
and go, and to keep it shut when they were not passing. 
The child was set at the door in the dark — at first they 
gave it a candle, which would burn for an hour or two 
and then go out. Think of taking a child of six — your 
child, Madam ! — and putting it all alone down the dark 
mine ! They kept the little creature there for twelve 
interminable hours. If the child cried, or went to sleep, 
or neglected to pull the door open, they beat that child. 
The work began at four in the morning, and it was not 
brought out of the pit until four, or perhaps later, in the 
evening, so that in the winter the children never saw 

Q'2 



228 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

daylight at all. The evidence given before the Royal 
Commission showed that the children, when they were 
brought up to the pit's mouth, were heavy and stupefied, 
and cared for little when they had taken their supper 
but to go to bed. And yet the men who owned these 
collieries had children of their own ! And they would 
have gone on to this very day starving the children of 
light and loading them with work, stunting their 
growth, and suffering them to grow up in ignorance 
all their days, but for Lord Shaftesbury. This is what 
is written of the children and their work by one who 
visited the mines : — 

To ascertain the nature of the employment of these children, I 
went down a pit. . . . Descending a shaft, 600 feet deep, I went 
some distance along a subterranean road which, I was told, was 
three miles in length. To the right and left of one of these roads 
or ways are low galleries, called workings, in which the hewers are 
employed, in a state of almost perfect nudity, on account of the 
great heat, digging out the coal. To these galleries there are traps, 
or doors, which are kept shut, to guard against the ingress or egress 
of inflammable air, and to prevent counter-currents disturbing the 
ventilation. The use of a child, six years of age, is to open and 
shut one of these doors when the loaded corves, or coal trucks, pass 
and repass. For this object the child is trained to sit by itself in a 
dark gallery for the number of hours I have described. The older 
boys drive horses and load the corves, but the little children are 
always trap-keepers. When first taken down they have a candle 
given them, but, gradually getting accustomed to the gloom of the 
place, they have to do without, and sit therefore literally in the dark 
the whole time of their imprisonment. 

When a child grew strong enough, he or she 

boy or girl — was promoted to the post of drawer, or 
thrutcher. The drawer, boy or girl alike, clad in a 



IN FACTORY AND MINE 329 

short pair of trousers and nothing else, had a belt tied 
round the waist and a chain attached by one end to 
the belt and the other to the corve, or truck, which 
he dragged along the galleries to the place where it 
was loaded for the mouth, the chain passing between 
his legs; on account of the low height of the galleries 
he had generally to go on all-fours. Those who were 
the thrutchers pushed the truck along with their heads 
and hands. They wore a thick cap, but the work 




made them bald on the top of the head. When the 
boys grew up they became hewers, but the women, if 
they stayed in the pit, remained drawers or thrutchers, 
continuing to the end of the day to push or drag the 
truck dressed in nothing but the pair of short trousers. 
This was a beautiful kind of life for Christian women 
and children to be leading. So many children were 
wanted, that in one colliery employing 400 hands there 
were 100 under twenty and 56 under thirteen. In 
another, where there was an inundation, there were 44 



*3° FIFTY YEARS AGO 

children, of whom 26 were drowned; of these 11 were 
girls and 16 boyB ; 9 were under ten yean of age. 
Again, in the year 1838, there were 38 children under 
thirteen killed by colliery accidents and 62 young people 
under eighteen. 

When men talk about the interference of the State 
and the regulation of hours, let us always remember this 
history of the children in the Pit. Yet there were men 
in plenty who denounced the action of the Government : 
some of them were leaders in the philanthropic world ; 
some ofthem were religious men; some of them humane 
men ; but they could not bear to think that any limit 
should be imposed upon the power of the employer. 
In point of fact, when one considers the use which the 
employer has always made of his power, how every 
consideration has been always set aside which might 
interfere with the acquisition of wealth, it seems as if 
the chief business of the Legislature should be the 
protection of the employed. 

Again, take the story of the chimney-sweep. Fifty 
years ago the master went his morning rounds accom- 
panied by his climbing boys. It is difficult now to 
understand how much time and trouble it took to 
convince people that the climbing boy was made to 
endure an extraordinary amount of suffering quite 
needlessly, because a brush would do the work quite 
as well. Consider: the poor little wretch's hands, 
elbows, and knees were constantly being torn by the 
bricks ; sometimes he stuck going up, sometimes 




IN FACTORY AND MINE z 3 i 

coming down ; sometimes the chimney-pot at the top 
fell off, the child with it, so that he was killed. He 
was beaten and kicked unmercifully ; his master would 
sometimes light a fire underneath so as to force him to 




come down quickly. The boy's life was intolerable to 
him. He was badly fed, badly clothed, and never 
washed, though his occupation demanded incessant 
cleanliness — the neglect of which was certain to bring 
on a most dreadful disease. And all this because his 



232 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

master would not use a broom. It was not until 1841 
that the children were protected by Acts of Parliament. 
The men have shown themselves able to protect 
themselves. The improvement in their position is due 
wholly to their own combination. That it will still more 
improve no one can for a moment doubt. If we were 
asked to forecast the future, one thing would be safe to 
prophesy — namely, that it will become, day by day, 
increasingly difficult to get rich. Meanwhile, let us 
remember that we have with us still the women and 
the children, who cannot combine. We have jrrotected 
the latter ; how — oli ! my brothers — hoic shall we protect 
the former? 



233 



CHAPTER XVII. 

WITII THE MEN OF SCIENCE. 

On the science of fifty years ago, much might be written 
but for a single reason — namely, that I know very little 
indeed about the condition of science in that remote 
period, and very little about science of to-day. There 
were no telegraph wires, but there were semaphores 
talking to each other all day long ; there was no prac- 
tical application of electricity at all ; there was no tele- 
phone — I wish there were none now ; there were no 
anaesthetics ; there were no — but why go on ? Schools 
had no Science Masters ; universities no Science Tripos ; 
Professors of Science were a feeble folk. I can do no 
better for this chapter than to reproduce a report of a 
Scientific Meeting first published in Tilt's Annual, to 
which Hood, Thackeray, and other eminent professors 
of science contributed, for the year 1836 : — 

Extracts from the Proceedings of the Association of British 
Illuminati, at their Annual Meeting, held in Dublin, 
August, 1835. 

Dr. Hoaxum read an interesting paper on the conversion of 
moonl>eams into substance, and rendering shadows permanent, both 
of which he had recently exemplified in the establishment of some 
public companies, whose prospectuses he laid upon the table. 



234 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Mr. Babble produced his calculating machine, and its wonderful 
powers were tested in many ways by the audience. It supplied to 
Captain Sir John North an accurate computation of the distance 
between a quarto volume and a cheesemonger's shop ; and solved a 
curious question as to the decimal proportions of cunning and 
credulity, which, worked by the rule of allegation, would produce a 
product of 10,000Z. 

Professor Von Hammer described his newly discovered process 
tor breaking stones by an algebraic fraction. 

Mr. Crowsfoot read a paper on the natural history of the Rook. 
He defended their caws with great effect, and proved that there is 
not a grain of truth in the charges against them, which only arise 
from Grub Street malice. 

The Rev. Mr. Groper exhibited the skin of a toad, which he dis- 
covered alive in a mass of sandstone. The animal was found engaged 
on its autobiography, and died of fright on having its house so 
suddenly broken into, being probably of a nervous habit from 
passing so much time alone. Some extracts from its memoir were 
read, and found exceedingly interesting. Its thoughts on the * silent 
system ' of prison discipline, though written in the dark, strictly 
agreed with those of our most enlightened political economists. 

Dr. Deady read a scientific paper on the manufacture of Hydro 
gin, which greatly interested those of the association who were 
members of Temperance Societies. 

Mr. Croak laid on the table an essay from the Cabinet Makers' 
Society, on the construction oi frog stools. 

Professor Parley exhibited his speaking machine, which distinctly 
articulated the words ' Repale I Repale / ' to the great delight of 
many of the audience. The learned Professor stated that he was 
engaged on another, for the use of his Majesty's Ministers, which 
would already say, ' My Lords and Gentlemen ; ' and he doubted not, 
by the next meeting of Parliament, would be able to pronounce the 
whole of the opening speech. 

Mr. Multiply produced, and explained the principle of, his ex- 
aggerating machine. He displayed its amazing powers on the 
mathematical point, which, with little trouble, was made to appear 
as large as a coach-wheel. He demonstrated its utility in all the rela- 
tions of society, as applied to the failings of the absent — the growth 
of a tale of scandal — the exploits of travellers, <fcc. <fcc. 

The Author of the * Pleasures of Hope ' presented, through a 



WITH THE MEN OF SCIENCE 235 

member, a very amusing Essay on the gratification arising from the 
throttling of crying children ; but as the ladies would not leave the 
room, it could not be read. 

Captain North exhibited some shavings of the real Pole, and a 
small bottle which, he asserted, contained scintillations of the Aurora 
Borealis, from which, he stated, he had succeeded in extracting pure 
gold. He announced that his nephew was preparing for a course of 
similar experiments, of which he expected to know the result in 
October. The gallant Captain then favoured the company with a 
dissertation on phrenology, of which, he said, he had been a believer 
for thirty years. He stated that he had made many valuable 
verifications of that science on the skulls of the Esquimaux ; and 
that, in his recent tour in quest of subscribers to his book, his great 
success had been mainly attributable to his phrenological skill ; for 
that, whenever he had an opportunity of feeling for soft places in 
the heads of the public, he knew in a moment whether he should 
get a customer or not. He said that whether in the examination of 
ships' heads or sheep's heads — in the choice of horses or housemaids, 
he had found the science of pre-eminent utility. He related the 
following remarkable phrenological cases : — A man and woman 
were executed in Scotland for murder on presumptive evidence ; 
but another criminal confessed to the deed, and a reprieve arrived 
the day after the execution. The whole country was horrified ; but 
Captain North having examined their heads, he considered, from 
the extraordinary size of their destructive organs, that the sentence 
was prospectively just, for they must have become murderers, had 
they escaped hanging then. Their infant child, of six months old, 
was brought to him, and, perceiving on its head the same fatal 
tendencies, he determined to avert the evil ; for which purpose, by 
means of a pair of moulds, he so compressed the skull in its 
vicious propensities, and enlarged it in its virtuous ones, that the 
child grew up a model of perfection.* The second instance was of a 
married couple, whose lives were a continued scene of discord till 
they parted. On examining their heads scientifically, he discovered 
the elementary causes of their unhappiness. Their skulls were un- 
fortunately too thick to be treated as in the foregoing case ; but, 
causing both their heads to be shaved, he by dint of planing down 
in some places, and laying on padding in others, contrived to produce 
all the requisite phrenological developments, and they were then 
living, a perfect pattern of conjugal felicity, ' a thing which could 



236 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

not have happened without phrenology.' (This dissertation was 
received with loud applauses from the entire assembly, whose phreno- 
logical organs becoming greatly excited, and developed in an 
amazing degree by the enthusiasm of the subject, they all fell to 
examining each other's bumps with such eagerness that the meeting 
dissolved in confusion.) 



237 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

LAW AND JUSTICE. 

Five thousand three hundred and forty-four enact- 
ments have been added to the Statute Book since the 
Queen came to the throne, and the figures throw a 
flood of light upon the ' progress ' of the Victorian era. 
In order to realise where we were in 1837 we have 
only to obliterate this enormous mass of legislation. 
In the realm of law there seems then to be little left. 
All our procedure — equitable, legal, and criminal — much 
of the substance of equity, law, and justice, as we un- 
derstand the words, is gone. ' Law ' had a different 
meaning fifty years ago ; ' equity ' hardly had any mean- 
ing at all ; 'justice ' had an ugly sound. 

The ' local habitation ' of the Courts, it is true, was 
then much the same as it remained for the next forty- 
five years. The network of gloomy little rooms, con- 
nected with narrow winding passages, which Sir John 
Soane built in 1820-1825, on the west side of West- 
minster Hall, on the site of the old Exchequer Cham- 
ber, with an exterior in imitation of Palladio's basilica 
at Vicenza, but outrageously out of keeping with the 



Ufa,. 



238 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

glorious vestibule of William Rufus, was then the home 
of law. The Court of Chancery met in a gloomy little 
apartment near the southern end of the hall. Here the 
Lord Chancellor sat in term time — there were then 
four terms of three weeks each — with the mace and 
crimson silk bag, embroidered with gold, in which was 
deposited the silver pair of dies of the Great Seal, 
and a large nosegay of flowers before him. It was, 
in those days, only in the vacations that the Chancellor 
sat at Lincoln's Inn. The Master of the Rolls and the 
Vice-Chancellor of England also sat at Westminster 
during the sittings, while in the intervals the former 
presided over the Rolls Court in Rolls Yard and the 
latter over the Court which had been built for him on 
the west side of Lincoln's Inn Hall. The three Com- 
mon Law Courts, moreover, during term time, sat twelve 
days at Westminster and twelve days at the Guildhall, 
while the Assizes were chiefly held during the vacations. 
The High Court of Admiralty held its sittings at 
Doctors' Commons, in both the Instance Court and 
the Prize Court, practically throughout the legal year, 
and so did the Ecclesiastical Courts. The Bankruptcy 
Court was in Basinghall Street ; the Insolvent Debtors' 
Court in Lincoln's Inn Fields, with an entrance from 
Portugal Street. There were then no County Courts. 
The ancient Hundred and County Courts, with their 
primitive procedure, had long been disused. Certain 
c Courts of Conscience ' or ' Courts of Request ' had, 
it is true, been established for particular localities at 



LA W AND JUSTICE 239 

the express request of the inhabitants, and these were 
still being constituted in some of the large towns. Then 
in London there were local Courts with a peculiar juris- 
diction, such as the City Courts, which would fill a 
chapter by themselves, and of which it is enough to 




name the Lord Mayor's Court, the Sheriff's Courts of 
Poultry Compter and Giltspur Street Compter, both 
afterwards merged into the City of London Court. In 
Great Scotland Yard there was the Palace Court, with 
the Knight Marshal for judge, which anciently had 



24° FIFTY YEARS AGO 

exclusive jurisdiction in matters connected with the 
Royal Household, but now was a minor court of 
record for addons for debt within Westminster and 
twelve miles round. The Court had its own prison in 
High Street, Southwark— the Harshalsea of 'little 
Dorrit,' not the old historic Ksrshalsea, which was 
demolished at the beginning of the century — that stood 
farther north, occupying the site of No. 119 High Street — 
but a new Marshalsea, built in 1811 on the site of the 
old White Lyon, once a hostelry, but since the end of the 
sixteenth century itself a prison. The Palace Court 
came to a sudden end in 1840, owing to 'Jacob 
Omnium 1 being sued in it. Thackeray tells the story 
in ' Jacob Homnium's Hoss :■' — 

Fore Jacob went to Court, 

A Counsellor to fix, 
And choose a barrister oat of tbo four, 

And an attorney of the six. 
And there he sor these men of lor. 

And watched them at their bricks. 



a weary day was that 

For Jacob to go through j 
The debt was two seventeen 

(Which he no mor owed than you). 
And then there was the pkititives coats, 

Eleven pound six and two. 

And then there was his 

Which the lawyers they did fix 

At the wery moderit fig 
Of ten pound one and six. 

Now Evins bless the Pallis Court, 
And all its bold ver-d ! 




LA W AND JUSTICE 241 

The sittings of the Central Criminal Court, which 
was founded in 1834, were held, as they are still held, in 
the Sessions House in the Old Bailey. Eebuilt in 1809 
on the site of the old Sessions House which was de- 
stroyed in the No-Popery riots of 1780, and of the old 
Surgeons' Hall — where the bodies of the malefactors 
executed in Newgate were dissected — the building, 
although sufficiently commodious for holding the 
sessions of London and Middlesex, for which it was 
originally intended, as the centre of the criminal juris- 
diction of the kingdom, was never anything but a 
makeshift. Since, however, its dingy Courts have re- 
mained the same down to our own times, we can the 
better realise the surroundings of the criminal trials 
of those days. It was here that Greenacre was tried 
in 1837. Bow Street was then in the zenith of its fame, 
and was practically the centre of the police arrange- 
ments of London. 

Those were the palmy days of the Court of 
Chancery. Reform was, as it had been for centuries, 
in the air, and there, notwithstanding the efforts of 
Lord Lyndhurst, it seemed likely to remain. Practically 
nothing had been done to carry into effect the recom- 
mendations of the Commission of 1826. At the time 
of her Majesty's accession there were nearly a thousand 
causes waiting to be heard by the Lord Chancellor, the 
Master of the Rolls, and the Vice-Chancellor of England. 
It was verily a ' dead sea of stagnant litigation.' 4 The 
load of business now before the Court,' remarked Sir 

E 



242 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

Lancelot Shadwell, ' is so great that three angels could 
not get through it.' Think what this meant ! Many 
of these suits had endured for a quarter of a century, 
some for half a century ; ' the lawyers/ to use the 
current, if incorrect, phrase of the time, * tossing the 
balls to each other.' One septuagenarian suitor, 
goaded to madness by the ' law's delay,' had, a few 
years before, thrust his way into the presence of Lord 
Eld on, and begged for a decision in a cause waiting for 
judgment which had been before the Court ever since 
the Lord Chancellor, then nearly eighty, was a 
schoolboy. Everyone remembers 'Miss Flite,' who 
expected a judgment — * on the Day of Judgment,' and 
Gridley * the man from Shropshire : ' both are true 
types of the Chancery suitors of fifty, thirty, twenty 
years a<*o. It would be wearisome indeed to detail 
the stages through which a Chancery suit dragged its 
slow length along. The * eternal ' bills, with whicli it 
began — and ended — cross bills, answers, interrogatories, 
replies, rejoinders, injunctions, decrees, references to 
masters, masters' reports, exceptions to masters' reports, 
were veritably * a mountain of costly nonsense.' And 
when we remember that the intervals between the 
various stages were often measured by years — that every 
death made a bill of review, or, worse still, a supple- 
mental suit, necessary — we can realise the magnitude 
of the evil. The mere comparison of the 4 bills ' in 
Chancery with the ' bills of mortality ' shows that with 
proper management a suit need never have come to an 



LA W AND JUSTICE 243 

end. There is a story for which the late Mr. Chitty 
is responsible, that an attorney on the marriage of his 
son handed him over a Chancery suit with some 
common law actions. A couple of years afterwards 
the son asked his father for some more business. 4 Why, 
I gave you that capital Chancery suit/ replied his 
father ; ' what more can you want ? ' 4 Yes, sir/ said 
the son ; * but I have wound up the Chancery suit and 
given my client great satisfaction, and he is in possession 
of the estate.' ' What, you improvident fool ! ' rejoined 
the father indignantly. 'That suit was in my family 
for twenty-five years, and would have continued so for 
so much longer if I had kept it. I shall not encourage 
such a fellow.' 

As in Butlers time it might still be said : — 

So lawyers, lest the Bear defendant, 
And plaintiff Dog, should make an end on't, 
Do stave and tail with writ of error, 
Reverse of judgment, and demurrer, 
To let them breathe awhile, and then 
Cry Whoop ! and set them on again. 

In fact, like ' Jarndyce and Jarndyce/ hundreds of 
suits struggled on until they expired of inanition, the 
costs having swallowed up the estate. Such were the 
inevitable delays fifty years ago, that no one could 
enter into a Chancery suit with the least prospect of 
being alive at its termination. It was no small part 
of the duty of the respectable members of the legal 
profession to keep their clients out of Chancery. It 

b 2 



244 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

wa>. perhaps, inevitable that this grievance should have 
been made the shuttlecock of party, that personalities 
>hould have obscured it, that, instead of the system, the 
men who were almost as much its victims as the 
suitors should have been blamed. Many successive 
Lord Chancellors in this way came in for much unde- 
served obloquy. The plain truth was, they were over- 
worked. Besides their political functions, they had 
to preside in the Lords over appeals from themselves, 
the Master of the Rolls, and the Vice-Chancellor ; they 
had some heavy work in bankruptcy and lunacy. The 
number of days that could be devoted to sitting as a 
Chancery judge of first instance was, therefore, ne- 
cessarily small. That this was the keynote of the 
difficulty was shown by the marked improvement 
which followed upon the appointment of two additional 
Vice-Chancellors in 1841. In that year, too, another 
scandal was done away with by the abolition of the 
Six Clerks' office — a characteristic part of the unwieldy 
machine. The depositaries of the practice of the Court, 
the Six Clerks and their underlings, the * Clerks in 
Court/ were responsible for much of the delay which 
arose. The ' Six Clerks ' were paid by fees, and their 
places were worth nearly two thousand a year, for which 
they did practically nothing, all their duties being dis- 
charged by deputy. No one, it was said, ever saw one of 
the 'Six Clerks.' Even in their office they were not 
known. The Masters in Chancery were, too, in those days 
almost as important functionaries as the judges them- 



LA W AND JUSTICE 245 

selves. Judges' Chambers were not then in existence, 
and much of the work which now comes before the 
judges was disposed of by a master, as well as such 
business as the investigation of titles, the taking of 
accounts, and the purely administrative functions of the 
Court. All these duties they discharged with closed 
doors and free from any supervision worth talking 
about. They, too, were paid by fees, their receipts 
amounting to an immense sum, and it was to them that 
the expense of proceedings was largely due. The 
agitation for their abolition, although not crowned 
with success until fifteen years later, was in full blast 
fifty years ago. 

At law, matters were little better. ' Justice was 
strangled in the nets of form.' The Courts of King's 
Bench, Common Pleas, and Exchequer were not only at 
conflict with Equity, but in a lesser degree with each 
other. The old fictions by which they ousted each 
other's jurisdiction lasted down to 1831, when, by statute, 
a uniformity of process was established. It seems now- 
adays to savour of the Middle Ages, that in order to 
bring an action in the King's Bench it should have been 
necessary for the writ to describe the cause of action 
to be ' trespass,' and then to mention the real cause of 
action in an ac etiam clause. The reason for this absurd 
formality was that, * trespass ' still being an offence of a 
criminal nature, the defendant was constructively in the 
custody of the Marshal of the Marshalsea, and therefore 
within the jurisdiction of the King's Bench. % In the 



246 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

same way a civil matter was brought before the Court 
of Exchequer by the pretence that the plaintiff was a 
debtor to the King, and was less able to pay by reason 
of the defendant's conduct. The statement, although in 
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mere fiction, was 
not allowed to be contradicted. But the fact that the 
jurisdiction of the Court of Common Pleas was thus 
entrenched upon was less serious than it might have 
been, since in that court the Serjeants still had exclusive 
audience ; and, distinguished as were the members of 
the Order of the Coif, it is easy to understand that the 
public preferred to have their pick of the Bar. 

But a much more serious matter was the block in 
the Courts. This perennial grievance seems to have 
then been chiefly due to the shortness of the terms 
during which alone legal questions could be decided. 
Nm prius trials only could be disposed of in the vaca- 
tions. Points of law or practice, however, cropped up 
in those days in even the simplest matter, and, since 
these often had to stand over from term to term, the 
luckless litigants were fortunate indeed if they had not 
to wait for years before the question in dispute was 
finally disposed of. The Common Law Procedure, 
moreover, literally bristled with technicalities. It was 
a system of solemn juggling. The real and imaginary 
causes of action were so mixed up together, the ' plead- 
ings ' required such a mass of senseless falsehood, that 
it is perfectly impossible that the parties to the action 
could have the least apprehension of what they were 



LA W AND JUSTICE 247 

doing. Then no two different causes of action could be 
joined, but each had to be prosecuted separately through 
all its stages. None of the parties interested were compe- 
tent to give evidence. It was not until 1851 that the 
plaintiff and the defendant, often the only persons who 
could give any account of the matter, could go into the 
witness-box. Mistakes in such a state of things were, 
of course, of common occurrence, and in those days 
mistakes were fatal. Proceedings by way of appeal 
were equally hazardous and often impracticable. The 
Exchequer Chamber could only take cognisance of 
* error ' raised by a * bill of exceptions ; ' and even at 
this time the less that is said about that triumph of 
special pleading the better. The House of Lords could 
only sit as a Court of Error upon points which had run 
the gauntlet of the Exchequer Chamber. But perhaps 
the crowning grievance of all — a grievance felt equally 
keenly by suitors at law and in equity — arose from the 
limited powers of the Courts. If there were a remedy 
at law for any given wrong, for instance, the Court of 
Chancery could give no relief. In the same way, if it 
turned out, as it often did, that a plaintiff should have 
sued in equity instead of proceeding at law, he was 
promptly nonsuited. Law could not grant an injunc- 
tion ; equity could not construe an Act of Parliament. 

There were then, as we have said, no County Courts. 
The Courts of Requests, of which there were not a hun- 
dred altogether, only had jurisdiction for the recovery 
of debts under 40s. We have already given an illustra- 



24 8 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

tion of the methods of Palace Court, which may serve 
as a type of thtfse minor courts of record. Indeed, with 
the exception of the City of London, which was before 
the times in this respect, there was throughout the 
kingdom a denial of justice. Those who could not 
afford to pay the Westminster price had to go without. 
For in those days all matters intended to be heard at 
the Assizes were in form prepared for trial at West- 
minster. The ; record ' was delivered to the officers 
of the King's Bench, Common Pleas, or Exchequer, and 
the cause was set down for trial at Westminster, nisi 
prim in the meantime the judges happened to go on 
circuit into the county in which the cause of action 
arose, — in which event one of them would take down 
the record, try the action with a jury of the county, 
pronounce judgment according to the verdict, and 
bring back verdict and judgment, to be enrolled in 
due course at Westminster. In equity, things were 
even worse. There was, except in the counties palatine 
of Durham and Lancaster, no local equitable jurisdic- 
tion. And it was commonly said, and said with obvious 
truth, that no sum of less than 500Z. was worth suinsr 
for or defending in the Court of Chancery. 

Divorce was then the * luxury of the wealthy.' An 
action for the recovery of damages against the co-re- 
spondent, and a suit in the Ecclesiastical Courts for a 
separation ' from bed and board,' themselves both 
tedious and costly, after having been successfully pro- 
secuted, had to be followed by a Divorce Bill, which 



LA W AND JUSTICE 249 

had to pass through all its stages in both Lords and 
Commons, before a divorce a vinculo matrimonii could 
be obtained. There is a hoary anecdote which usefully 
illustrates how this pressed upon the poor. ' Prisoner 
at the bar/ said a judge to a man who had just been 
convicted of bigamy, his wife having run away with 
another man, c the institutions of your country have 
provided you with a remedy. You should have sued 
the adulterer at the Assizes, and recovered a verdict 
against him, and then taken proceedings by your 
proctor in the Ecclesiastical Courts. After their suc- 
cessful termination you might have applied to Parlia- 
ment for a Divorce Act, and your counsel would have 
been heard at the Bar of the House.' ' But, my lord,' 
said the disconsolate bigamist, 'I cannot afford to 
bring actions or obtain Acts of Parliament ; I am only 
a very poor man.' ' Prisoner,' rejoined the judge, with 
a twinkle in his eye, ' it is the glory of the law of Eng- 
land that it knows no distinction between rich and 
poor.' Yet it was not until twenty years after the 
Queen came to the throne that the Court for Divorce 
and Matrimonial Causes was created. 

Probate, too, and all matters and suits relating to 
testacy and intestacy, were disposed of in the Ecclesias- 
tical Courts, — tribunals were attached to the arch- 
bishops, bishops, and archdeacons. The Court of 
Arches, the supreme Ecclesiastical Court for the Pro- 
vince of Canterbury, the Prerogative Court, where all 
contentious testamentary cauaes were tried, as well as 



:;o 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



the Admiralty Courts, were held at Doctors' Commons. 
I: was a curious mixture of spiritual and legal func- 
::-«n<. The judses and officers of the Court were often 
i iergy without any knowledge of the law. They were 
paid by fees, and, according to the common practice of 
those days, often discharged their duties by deputy. 
r.e advocates who practised before them were, too, 
anything but 'learned in the law.' They wore in Court, 
if ■»!" Oxford, scarlet robes and hoods lined with taffety, 
;rvl if of Cambridge, white miniver and round black 
» eiwt caps. The proctors wore black robes and hoods 
i.ned with fur. The procedure was similar to that in 
\ irv.e in the Common Law Courts, but the nomencla- 
tive was entirely different. The substitute for punish- 
- e..: was % penance/ and the consequence of non-sub- 
•.<<::: * excommunication/ which, in addition to spiri- 
:t:a". va:::s. incapacitated the delinquent from bringing 
. .v ;utio:\ and at the end of fortv davs rendered him 
iV\ to imprisonment bv the Court of Chancery. The 
*...:..,/. rest/.: was that both penance and excommu- 
■./•: were indirect methods of extracting money 
..\ •..:<. l>n: the whole system was full of abuses, 
v. '. ,n. twenty vears later, these courts were shorn 
.:.'. :\etr inttvrtan: functions, it was with the uni- 
w.s.h .\ ttvttvtvnee of the public. Until then there 
v- c.v -tuny ^ ho sharvxl the opinion of De Foe's intelli- 
gent foreigner* :ha: • England was a fine country, but 
* « c&lUxl l\v:ors* Commons was the devil, for there 
'tling ou; of his clutches, let one's cause be 



LA W AND JUSTICE 251 

never so good, without paying a great deal of 
money.' 

In bankruptcy, a severity which was simply ferocious 
prevailed. Traders owing more than 300/., and a 
little later all traders, could obtain a discharge upon 
full disclosure and surrender of all their property ; but 
even then the proceedings were protracted to an almost 
interminable length. The machinery was both cum- 
brous and costly. Down to 1831 the bankruptcy law in 
London was administered by Commissioners appointed 
separately for each case by the Lord Chancellor. In 
that year a Court of Review was established, with a 
chief judge and two minor judges; and this to some 
extent controlled and supervised the proceedings of 
the Commissioners, now a permanent body. In the 
country, however, the old procedure prevailed ; but the 
amount of business done was ridiculously small, creditors 
preferring, as they always probably will do, to write off 
the bad debts rather than to attempt to recover them 
by the aid of the bankruptcy law. The system, more- 
over, bristled with pains and penalties. If a bankrupt, 
as alleged, did not surrender to his commission within 
forty-two days of notice ; nor make discovery of his 
estate and effects ; nor deliver up his books and papers, 
he was to be deemed a felon and liable to be transported 
for life. An adjudication — the first stage in the pro- 
ceedings — was granted upon the mere affidavit of a 
creditor, a fiat was issued, the Commissioners held a 
meeting, and, without hearing the debtor at all, declared 



25 2 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

him a bankrupt. It was thus quite possible for a 
trader to find himself in the Gazette, and ultimately in 
prison, although perfectly solvent. He had his remedies, 
it is true, lie could bring an action of trespass or false 
imprisonment against the Commissioners. He could 
make things uncomfortable for the assignee, by im- 
peaching the validity of the adjudication. But in any 
case a delay extending perhaps over many years was 
inevitable before the matter was decided. 

4 Insolvent debtors,' as those not in trade were dis- 
tinguished, were in yet worse case. Imprisonment on 
' mesne process ' or, in plain English, on the mere affi- 
davit of a creditor, was the leading principle of this 
branch of the bankruptcy law ; and in prison the debtor 
remained until he found security or paid. The anomaly 
which exempted real estate from the payment of debts 
had been removed in 1825 ; and, since then, a debtor, 
actually in prison, could obtain a release from confine- 
ment by a surrender of all his real and personal property, 
although he remained liable for all the unpaid portion 
of his debts whenever the Court should be satisfied of 
his ability to pay them . Everything, moreover, depended 
upon the creditor. He still had an absolute option, after 
verdict and judgment, of taking the body of the debtor 
in satisfaction, and the early records of the Court for 
the Relief of Insolvent Debtors show how weak and 
impotent were the remedies provided by the Legis- 
lature. It was not until twenty years later that the full 
benefits of bankruptcy were extended to persons who 



LA W AND JUSTICE 253 

had become indebted without fraud or culpable negli- 
gence. Enough has already been said of the state of 
the debtors' prisons. It is sufficient to add here that in 
the second year of the Queen nearly four thousand per- 
sons were arrested for debt in London alone, and of these 
nearly four hundred remained permanently in prison. 

It was, however, in the administration of the criminal 
law that the harsh temper of the times reached its 
zenith. Both as regards procedure and penalties, justice 
then dealt hardly indeed with persons accused of crimes. 
In cases of felony, for instance, the prisoner could not, 
down to 1836, be defended by counsel, and had, there- 
fore, to speak for himself. Now think what this meant ! 
The whole proceedings, from arrest to judgment, were 
— for the matter of that they still are — highly artificial 
and technical. The prisoner, often poor and uneducated, 
was generally unaccustomed to sustained thought. The 
indictment, which was only read over to him, was often 
almost interminable in length, with a separate count for 
each offence, and all the counts mixed and varied in every 
way that a subtle ingenuity could suggest. Defences 
depended as largely for their success upon the prisoner 
taking advantage of some technical flaw (which, in many 
cases, had to be done before pleading to the indictment), 
as upon his establishing his innocence upon the facts. 
But what chance had an illiterate prisoner of detecting 
even a fundamental error when he was not allowed a 
copy of the document ? In fact, in the words of Mr. 
Justice Stephen, the most eminent living authority upon 



254 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

the history of our criminal law, ' it is scarcely a parody 
to say that from the earliest times down to our own 
clays the law relating to indictments was much the 
same as if some small proportion of the prisoners con- 
victed had been allowed to toss-up for their liberty.' 

There might, further, be the grossest errors of law, 
as laid down by the judge to the jury, or of fact upon 
the evidence, without the prisoner having any remedy. 
Neither the evidence nor the judge's directions appeared 
upon the face of the ' record,' and it was only for some 
irregularity upon the record that a writ of error would 
lie. A curious practice, however, gradually sprang up, 
whereby substantial miscarriage of justice was often 
averted. If a legal point of any difficulty arose in any 
criminal case heard at the Assizes, or elsewhere, the 
judge respited the prisoner, or postponed judgment, and 
reported the matter to the judges. The point reserved 
was then argued before the judges by counsel, not 
in court, but at Serjeants' Inn, of which all the judges 
were members. If it was decided that the prisoner had 
been improperly convicted, he received a free pardon. 
It was this tribunal which was in 1848 erected into the 
Court for Crown Cases Eeserved. 

The outcry against capital punishment for minor 
felonies was still in full blast. The history of this 
legislation is extremely curious. The value of human 
life was slowly raised. It had, thanks to the noble 
efforts of Sir Samuel Komilly, ceased to be a capital 
offence to steal from a shop to the amount of 5$. ; 



LA W AND JUSTICE 255 

but public opinion was still more enlightened than 
the laws. A humane judge compelled to pass sentence 
of death upon a woman convicted of stealing from a 
dwelling-house to the value of 40s., shocked when the 
wretched victim fainted away, cried out, 4 Good woman, 
good woman, I don't mean to hang you. I don't mean 
to hang you. Will nobody tell her I don't mean to 
hang her?' Jurors perjured themselves rather than 
subject anybody to this awful penalty. In 1833 Lord 
Suffield, in the House of Lords, declared, 4 I hold 
in my hand a list of 555 perjured verdicts delivered at 
the Old Bailey in fifteen years, for the single offence of 
stealing from dwelling-houses ; the value stolen being 
in these cases sworn above the value of 40s. ; but the 
verdicts returned being to the value of 39s. only.' 
Human life was, then, appraised at 5/. But juries 
were equal to the occasion. Disregarding the actual 
amount stolen, they substituted for the old verdict 
' Guilty of stealing to the value of 395.' — ' Guilty of 
stealing to the value of 4/. 195.' Here is an illustration. 
A man was convicted at the Old Bailey of robbing his 
employers to the amount of 1,000/. The evidence was 
overwhelming. Property worth 200/. was found in his 
own room ; 300/. more was traced to the man to whom 
he had sold it. The jury found him guilty of stealing to the 
amount of 4/. 19s. He was again indicted for stealing 
25/., and again convicted of stealing less than 5/. In 
the remaining indictments the prosecutors allowed him 
to plead guilty to the same extent. In the same way, 



2$6 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



for years prior to 18S2, when the death penalty for 
forgery was abolished — except in the cases of wills and 
powers of attorney relating to the public funds — -juries 
refused to convict. 'Prisoner at the bar,' said Chief 
Baron Richards to a man acquitted at Carnarvon 
Assizes for forging Bank of England notes, * although 
you have been acquitted by a jury of your country- 
men of the crime of forgery, I am as convinced of 
your guilt as that two and two make four.' And the 
jury privately admitted that they were of the same 
opinion. In short, the severity of the penal code was 
a positive danger to the community. Professed thieves 
made a rich harvest by getting themselves indicted capi- 
tally, because they then felt sure of escape. The sentence, 
moreover, could not be carried out. ■ It became usual 
in all cases except murder to merely order it to be 
recorded, which had the effect of a reprieve. Here are 
some figures. In the three years ended December 
31, 1833, there were 896 commitments in London and 
Middlesex on capital offences and only twelve exe- 
cutions. In 1834, 1835, and 1836 there were 82S 
commitments and no executions. With the first year 
of the Queen a more merciful rigime was began. Six 



noting ; rescuing mur- 
gling with arms ; and 



offences — forgery in all cases ; 

derers ; inciting to mutiny ; smug 

kidnapping slaves — were declared not capital. But it 

was not until 1861 that all these blots were finally 

erased from the Statute Book, 

Among other medieval, barbarities, the dissection 




LA W AND JUSTICE 257 

of a murderer's body was not abolished until 1861, but 
it was made optional in 1832. Hanging in chains 
was done away with in 1834. The pillory, a punish- 
ment limited to perjury since 1816, was altogether 
abolished in 1837. The stocks had been generally su- 
perseded by the treadmill ten years earlier. Common 
assaults and many misdemeanours were, on the other 
hand, much more leniently dealt with in those days 
than they are in our own. As late as 1847 a case 
occurred in which a ruffian pounded his wife with his 
fists so that she remained insensible for three days. 
Yet, since he used no weapon, he could only be con- 
victed of a common assault and imprisoned without 
hard labour. 

But it was not perhaps an unmixed evil that the 
powers of the magistrates were then very limited. 
The ' Great Unpaid/ as they were then universally 
known, were a bye- word. Their proceedings, both at 
Petty and Quarter Sessions, were disgraced by igno- 
rance, rashness, and class prejudice. Summary juris- 
diction was then, fortunately, only in its infancy. 



S 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 



CHAPTER XTX 



Tub consideration of the country as it was would not 
be complete without some comparison with the country 
as it is. But I will make this comparison as brief as 
possible. 

In the Church, the old Calvinism is well-nigh dead : 
even the Low Church of the present day would have 
seemed, fifty years ago, a kind of veiled Popery. And 
the Church has grown greater and stronger. She will 
be greater and stronger still when she enlarges her 
borders to admit the great bodies of Nonconformists. 
The old grievances exist no longer; there are no 
pluralists: there is no nou-resident Vicar: the small 
benefices are improved : Church architecture has re- 
vived: the Church services are rendered with loving 
and jealous care : the old reproaches are no longer 
hurled at the clergy: fat and lazy shepherds they 
certainly are not : careless and perfunctory they can- 
not now be called : even if they are less scholarly} 
which must be sorrowfully admitted, they are more 
earnest. 






CONCLUSION 259 

The revival of the Church services has produced 
its effect also upon Dissent. Its ministers are more 
learned and more cultured : their congregations are no 
longer confined to the humbler trading-class: their 
leaders belong to society : their writers are among the 
best litterateurs of the day. 

That the science of warfare, by sea and land, has 
also changed, is a doubtful advantage. Yet wars are 
short, which is, in itself, an immeasurable gain. The 
thin red line will be seen no more : nor the splendid 
great man-o'-war, with a hundred guns and a crew of 

« 

a thousand men. 

The Universities, which, fifty years ago, belonged 
wholly to the Church, are now thrown open. The 
Fellowships and Scholarships of the Colleges were 
then mostly appropriated : they are now free, and the 
range of studies has been immensely widened. 

As for the advance in physical and medical science 
I am not qualified to speak. But everybody knows 
that it has been enormous : while, in surgery, the 
discovery of anaesthetics has removed from life one of 
its most appalling horrors. 

In literature, though new generations of writers 
have appeared and passed away, we have still with us 
the two great poets who, fifty years ago, had already 
begun their work. The Victorian era can boast of 
such names as Carlyle, Macaulay, Thackeray, Dickens, 
Tennyson, and Browning, in the first rank of men of 
letters; those of Darwin, Faraday, and Huxley in 



2 6o FIFTY YEARS AGO 

science. Besides these there has been an immense 
crowd of men and women who belong to the respectr 
able second rank — to enumerate whom would take 
pages. Who can say if any of them will live beyond 
the century, and if any will be remembered in a 
hundred years ? 

We have all grown richer, much richer. 'The 
poor/ says Mr. George, ' have grown poorer/ That 
is most distinctly and emphatically untrue. Nothing 
could be more untrue. The poor — that is to say, the 
working classes — have grown distinctly better off. They 
are better housed ; they are better fed ; they are more 
cheaply fed ; they are better dressed ; they have a thou- 
sand luxuries to which they were formerly strangers ; 
their children are educated ; in most great towns 
they have free libraries; they have their own clubs; 
they are at liberty to combine and to hold public 
meetings ; they have the Post Office Savings Bank ; and, 
as for political power, they have all the power there is, 
because you cannot give any man more than his vote. 

Formerly they demanded the Six Points of the 
Charter, and thought that universal happiness would 
follow on their acquisition. We have now got most 
of the Six Points, and we do not care much about the 
rest. Yet happiness is not by any means universal. 
Some there are who still think that by more tinkering 
of the machinery the happiness of the people will be 
assured. Others there are who consider that political 
and social wisdom, on the possession of which by our 



CONCLUSION 261 

rulers the welfare of the people does mainly depend, is 
outside and independent of the machinery. 

Is it nothing, again, that the people have found out 
their own country ? Formerly their lives were spent 
wholly in the place where they were born ; they knew 
no other. Now the railways carry them cheaply every- 
where. In one small town of Lancashire the factory- 
hands alone spend 30,000/. a year in excursions. The 
railways, far more than the possession of a vote, had 
given the people a knowledge of their strength. 

The civil service of the country is no longer in the 
patronage of the Government. There are few spoils 
left to the victors ; there are no sinecures left ; except 
in the Crown Colonies, there are few places to be given 
away. It is, however, very instructive to remark that, 
wherever there is a place to be given away, it is inva- 
riably, j ust as of old, and without the least difference of 
party, whether Conservatives or Liberals are in power, 
filled up by jobbery, favouritism, and private interest. 

You have been told how they have introduced vast 
reforms in Law. Prisons for debt have been abolished ; 
yet men are still imprisoned for debt. Happily I know 
little about the administration of Law. Some time ago, 
however, I was indirectly interested in an action in the 
High Court of Justice, the conduct and result of which 
gave me much food for reflection. It was an action 
for quite a small sum of money. Yet a year and a 
half elapsed between the commencement of the action 
and its hearing. The verdict carried costs. ■ The costs 



262 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

amounted to three times the sum awarded to the plaintiff. 
That seems to be a delightful condition of things when 
you cannot get justice to listen to you for a year and 
a half, and when it may cost a defendant three times 
the amount disputed in order to defend what he knows 
— though his counsel may fail to make a jury under- 
stand the case — to be just and right. I humbly sub- 
mit, as the next reform in Law, that Justice shall have 
no holidays, so as to expedite actions, and that the 
verdict shall in no case carry costs, so as to cheapen 
them. 

As for our recreations, we no longer bawl comic 
songs at taverns, and there is no Vauxhall. On the 
other hand, the music-hall is certainly no improvement 
on the tavern ; the ' Colonies ' was perhaps a more 
respectable Vauxhall ; the comic opera may be better 
than the old extravaganza, but I am not certain that it 
is ; there are the Crystal Palace, the Aquarium, and the 
Albert Hall also in place of Vauxhall ; and there are 
outdoor amusements unknown fifty years ago — lawn 
tennis, cycling, rowing, and athletics of all kinds. 

There has been a great upward movement of the 
professional class. New professions have come into 
existence, and the old professions are more esteemed. 
It was formerly a poor and beggarly thing to belong 
to any other than the three learned professions; a 
barrister would not shake hands with a solicitor, a 
Nonconformist minister was not met in any society. 
Artists, writers, journalists, were considered Bohemians. 



CONCLUSION 263 

The teaching of anything was held in contempt ; to 
become a teacher was a confession of the direst 
poverty — there were thousands of poor girls eating out 
their hearts because they had to 'go out* as gover- 
nesses. There were no High Schools for girls ; there 
were no colleges for them. 

Slavery has gone. There are now no slaves in 
Christendom, save in the island of Cuba. Fifty years 
ago an American went mad if you threw in his teeth 
the 4 Institution ; ' either he defended it with zeal, or 
else he charged England with having introduced it 
into the country: in the Southern States it was as 
much as a man's life was worth to say a word against 
it ; travellers went South on purpose that they might 
see slaves put up to auction, mothers parted from their 
children, and all the stock horrors. Then they came 
home and wrote about it, and held up their hands and 
cried, ' Oh, isn't it dreadful?' The negro slavery is 
gone, and now there is only left the slavery of the 
women who work. When will that go too? And 
how can it be swept away ? 

Public executions gone : pillory gone — the last man 
pilloried was in the year 1830 : no more flogging in the 
army : the Factory Acts passed : all these are great 
gains. A greater is the growth of sympathy with all 
those who suffer, whether wrongfully or by misfortune, 
or through their own misdoings. This growth of 
sympathy is due especially to the works of certain 
novelists belonging to the Victorian age. It is pro- 



264 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

ducing all kinds of good works — the unselfish devotion 
of men and women to work among the poor : teaching 
of every description : philanthropy which does not 
stop short with the cheque : charity which is organ- 
ised : measures for prevention : support of hospitals 
and convalescent homes : the introduction of Art and 
Music to the working classes. 

All these changes seem to be gains. Have there 
been no losses ? 

In the nature of things there could not fail to be 
losses. Some of the old politeness has been lost, 
though there are still men with the fine manners of our 
grandfathers : the example of the women who speak, 
who write, who belong to professions, and are, gene- 
rally, aggressive, threatens to change the manners of 
all women : they have already become more assured, 
more self-reliant, less deferent to men's opinion — the 
old deference of men to women was, of course, merely 
conventional. They no longer dread the necessity of 
working for themselves ; they plunge boldly into the 
arena prepared to meet with no consideration on the 
score of sex. If a woman writes a bad book, for 
instance, no critic hesitates to pronounce it bad be- 
cause a woman has written it. Whatever work man 
does woman tries to do. They boldly deny any in- 
feriority of intellect, though no woman has ever pro- 
duced any work which puts her anywhere near the 
highest intellectual level. They claim a complete 
equality which they have hitherto failed to prove. 



CONCLUSION 265 

Some of them even secretly whisper of natural 
superiority. They demand their vote. Perhaps, be- 
fore long, they will be in both Houses, and then man 
will be speedily relegated to his proper place, which 
will be that of the executive servant. Oh! happy, 
happy time ! 

It is said that we have lost the old leisure of life. 
As for that, and the supposed drive and hurry of modern 
life, I do not believe in it. That is to say, the compe- 
tition is fierce and the struggle hard. But these are no 
new things. It is a commonplace to talk of the leisure 
and calm of the eighteenth century — it cannot be too 
often repeated that in 1837 we were still in that century 
— I declare that in all my reading about social life in 
the eighteenth century I have failed to discover that 
leisure. From Queen Anne to Queen Victoria I have 
searched for it, and I cannot find it. The leisure of 
the eighteenth century exists, in fact, only in the brain 
of painter and poet. Life was hard ; labour was in- 
cessant, and lasted the whole day long ; the shopmen 
lived in the shop— they even slept in it ; the mill 
people worked all day long and far into the night. 
If I look about the country, I see in town and village 
the poor man oppressed and driven by his employer : 
I see the labourer in a blind revenge setting fire to 
the ricks ; I see the factory hand destroying the ma- 
chinery ; I see everywhere discontent, poverty, privi- 
lege, patronage, and profligacy ; I hear the shrieks of 
the wretches flogged at the cart tail, the screams of the 

T 



FIFTY YEARS AGO 

1 at Bridewell. I see the white ftcee of 

the poor creatures brought out to be hung up in rows 
for stealing bread ; I see the fighting of the press-gang ; 
I see the soldiers and sailors flogged into sullen obedi- 
ence ; I see hatred of the Church, hatred of die govern- 
ing class, hatred of the rich, hatred of employers—- 
where, with all these things, is there room for leisure ? 
Leisure means peace, contentment, plenty, wealth, and 
ease. What peace, what contentment was there in 
those days ? 

The decay of the great agricultural interest is a 
calamity which has been coming upon us slowly, 
though with a continually accelerated movement 
This is the reason, I suppose, why the country regards 
it with so strange an apathy. It is not only that the 
landlord's are rapidly encountering ruin, that the 
farmers are losing all their capital, and that labourers 
are daily turned out of work and driven away to- the 
great towns ; the very existence of the country tonji is- 
threatened ; the investments which depend on. rent and 
estates are threatened'; colleges and charitiseareloahig 
their endowments ; worst of all, the rustic, the back- 
bone and support of the country, who has always 
supplied all our armies with all our soldiers, is fast. 
disappearing from the laucL I confess that, if some- 
thing does not happen to stay the rain of agriculture 
in these Islands, I think the end of their greatness will 
not be far off. Perhaps I think and speak as a fool ; 
but it seems to me that & cheap 1 



CONCLUSION 267 

if, among other blessings, it deprives the countryside 
of its village folk, strong and healthy, and the empire 
of its stalwart soldiers. As for the House of Lords and 
the English aristocracy, they cannot survive the day 
when the farms cannot even support the hands that till 
the soil, and are left untilled and uncultivated. 

There are, to make an end, two changes especially 
for which we can never be sufficiently thankful. The 
first is the decay of the old Calvinism ; that gone, the 
chief terror of life is gone too ; the chief sting of death 
is gone ; the terrible, awful question which reasoning 
man could not refrain from asking is gone too. 

The second change is the transference of the power 
to the people. All the power that there is we have 
given to the people, who are now waiting for a prophet 
to teach them how best to use it. I trust I am under 
no illusions ; Democracy has many dangers and many 
evils ; but these seem to me not so bad as those others 
which we have shaken off. One must not expect a 
Millennium ; mistakes will doubtless be committed, and 
those bad ones. Besides, a change in the machinery 
does not change the people who run that machinery. 
There Avill be the tyranny of the Caucus to be faced 
and trampled down; we must endure, with all his vices 
and his demagogic arts, the professional politician whose 
existence depends on his party ; we must expect — and 
ceaselessly fight against — bribery and wholesale corrup- 
tion when a class of these professional politicians, poor, 



268 FIFTY YEARS AGO 

unscrupulous, and grasping, will be continually, by 
every evil art, by every lying statement, by every 
creeping baseness, endeavouring to climb unto power — 
sue] i there are already among us ; we shall have to 
awaken from apathy, and keep awake, those who are 
anxious to avoid the arena of politics, yet, by educa- 
tion, position, and natural abilities, are called upon to 
lead. Yet who, even in the face of the certain dangers, 
the certain mistakes, of Democracy, shall say that great, 
terrible, and most disastrous mistakes have not been 
made by an Aristocracy ? There is always hope where 
there is freedom ; let us trust in the common-sense of 
the nation, and remain steadfast in that trust. 



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