CHAPTER XIII.BREACH OF PROMISE CASES.

Every now and then, while the courts sit at Westminster, the general public derives an immense amount of entertainment from what are described as breach of promise cases. It is true there is a wonderful sameness about them. The defendant is amorous, and quotes a great deal of poetry. The court vastly enjoys the perusal of his letters, and the papers quote them entire and unabridged. The lady suffers much, and the public sympathies are decidedly with her. Of course there are some atrocious cases, for which the men who figure in them cannot be punished too severely; but as a rule, we do think the men have the worst of it. A young man is thrown into the company of an attractive young female; they both have little to do at the time, and naturally fall in love. She has as much to do with the matter as he, and yet, if he begins to think that he cannot keep a wife—that the marriage will not promote the happiness of the parties concerned—that the affair was rash, and had better be broken off—he is liable to anaction for breach of promise. Such cases are constantly occurring. The jury being decidedly romantic—thinking love in a cottage to be Elysium—forgetting the vulgar saying that when poverty comes in at the door love flys out of the window—mark their sense of the enormity of the defendant’s conduct in refusing to make an imprudent marriage, by awarding to the lady substantial damages.

Now, we can understand how English jurymen—generally men with marriageable daughters, can easily make up their minds to give damages in such cases, but we more than question the invariable justice of such a course. When affection has died out, we can conceive no greater curse than a marriage; yet either that must be effected, or the jury will possibly agree to damages that may ruin the defendant for life. This we deem bad, nor do we think that a woman should always have before her the certainty that the promise given in that state of mind, which poets describe as brief insanity, an amiable jury will consider as an equivalent to an I.O.U. to any amount they please. We do protest against confounding a legal promise to marry with a promise to pay the bearer on demand £1000. We rather fear that this distinction is likely to be overlooked, not but that occasionally an action for breach of promise has a very happy effect. It serves as a moral lesson to ardent youths of an amorous disposition. It also furnishes the broken-hearted and forsaken fair with a dowry, which has been known to purchase her a husband in almost asgood a state of preservation as the gentleman who was to have borne that honoured name. All that we find fault with is the number of such cases.

A gay deceiver is no enviable character for any respectable man to wear. No man of mental or moral worth would voluntarily assume it. But a spinster coming to a court of justice, and saying to the defendant, “You have taken my heart, give me your purse,” is no very desirable position for a woman, though she may have the fortitude and strength of mind of a Mrs. Caudle herself. At any rate, the legal view of woman is very different to the poetical one, and for ourselves we infinitely prefer the latter. The view of the jury is, that a woman not marrying a man who has evidently no love for her, or he would not have married another, is to the plaintiff an injury—we think it is a happy escape—and an injury which deepens as the courtship lengthens. The jury reasons that the plaintiff, Mary Brown, is as good-tempered a girl as ever lived—that provided she could but marry she did not care who made her his wife. The position of the sexes is reversed, and the woman sings—

“How happy could I be with either,Were t’other dear charmer away.”

According to the jury, if Jones had not married Mary Brown, Jenkins would—consequently hers is a double loss. So that if a woman reaches the ripe age of thirty, by this arithmetic she is more wronged than she would have been had she been a blooming lass of twenty. Inthe same manner there is a delicate sliding-scale for defendants in such cases. A bridegroom well-made and well-to-do has to pay no end of sovereigns for the damage he has done; while a short time since, a defendant who had been attacked with paralysis was let off for £50. Woman, in this view of the case, is as dangerous as a money-lender or a shark. Byron tells us—

“Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart—’Tis woman’s whole existence.”

But our modern juries give us a very different reading. We prefer, however, to abide by the old.

Most undoubtedly to win the affections of a woman and then desert her is a crime—but it is of a character too ethereal to be touched by human law. If the woman’s heart be shattered by the blow, no amount of money-compensation can heal the wound, and a woman of much worth and of the least delicacy would shrink from the publicity such cases generally confer on all the parties interested in them. But if the principle be admitted, that disappointment in love can be atoned for by the possession of solid cash—if gold can heal the heart wounded by the fact that its love has been repelled—that its confidence has been betrayed—we do not see why the same remedy should not be within the reach of man. And yet this notoriously is not the case. When anything of the sort is tried the unhappy plaintiff seldom gets more than a farthing damages. Besides, what upright, honourable man would stoop fora moment to such a thing; and yet, in spite of all modern enlightment, we maintain that the injury of a breach of promise on the part of a woman is as great as that on the part of a man. In the morning of life men have been struck down by such disappointments, and through life have been blasted as the oak by the lightning’s stroke. With his heart gone—demoralised, the man has lived to take a fearful revenge for the first offence, possibly to become a cold cynic—sceptical of man’s honour and woman’s love. Yet breach of promise cases are not resorted to by men, and we cannot congratulate our fair friends on the fact that so many of them come into courts of law as plaintiffs in such cases. Bachelors will fear that, after all, it is true that—

“Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.”

And the result will be that while the more impetuous of us will commit ourselves at once, and come within the clutches of law, the more cool and cunning will excite hopes, which deferred will make sick the heart, and inspire an affection which may exist but to torment the heart in which it had its birth. Ay, beneath such mental grief the beauty and blessedness of life may vanish, never to return, and yet all the while he who did the deed may defy the power of human law.

Some letters which have recently appeared in theManchester Examinermay be taken as evidence that these breach of promise cases interfere very materiallywith marriages. In the immediate neighbourhood of Manchester the question, Why don’t the men propose? appears to have excited considerable interest. In that busy region men fall in love and get married, and have families, and are gathered to their fathers, just as do the rest of her Majesty’s subjects in other parts of the United Kingdom. But it seems the Lancashire witches are many of them still on their parent’s hands. Paterfamilias gets anxious. Deeply revolving the question under the signature of “A Family Man,” he sends the following letter to the Editor of the journal alluded to—

“Sir, Your cosmopolitan journal,” he writes to the Editor, “must have many readers interested in the question ‘Why don’t the men propose?’ It would be dangerous to say I have found the entire solution to this enigma, for fear of disclosing a mare’s nest; but I will warrant that one of the most powerful causes of the shyness of men in matters matrimonial, is the frequency of breach of promise prosecutions. A lady may be quite justified in prosecuting the man who has deceived her, but is she wise in doing so? Or if acting wisely for herself, does she not lower the character of her sex? Men think so, depend upon it. Your wavering, undecided, fastidious bachelor is a great newspaper reader, and devours breach of promise cases, and after reading that Miss Tepkins has obtained so many hundred pounds’ damages against Mr. Topkins, soliloquises:—‘Humph! It seems, then, that the best salve for a wounded heart is gold. Bah! women only marry for a home. It is clearthe woman is the only gainer, else why estimate her disappointment at so many hundred pounds? She gives a man nothing for his promise to marry but her heart (if that), and how much isitworth? What recompense can he get from her should she steal back the heart she professes to have given him! I’ll take jolly good care I never make a promise of marriage to a woman (which means a bond for so many hundred or thousand pounds). No; if I marry, I marry; but catch me promising.’ And thus, for fear of being trapped into committing himself, he avoids the society of women (where he might learn not only to really love, but to see the sophistry of his reasoning), and eventually settles down into old bachelorhood. What do the ladies say to this? Don’t let them think I am a crusty old bachelor. Heaven forfend! I protest my supreme admiration of the fair sex, and had better say I am,A Family Man.”

“An unmarried young girl” replies: “Sir, In looking over your valuable paper of to-day, I saw a letter headed, ‘Why do not the men propose?’ which I read with great interest, as I found that the writer, although of the opposite sex, was of the same opinion as myself, in regard to ladies prosecuting their late lovers for breach of promise of marriage. I do think it shows in them a mean spirit of revenge, of which a lady should not be guilty. It certainly does look as if they thought more of a shelter, a name, and a ring, than they do of a comfortable home and a loving and affectionate husband. I do not think it wise of them, as it must lower themselvesand all their sex in the estimation of the other sex. Besides, it does not speak much of their love for their lovers, for you know love hides many faults. I have never been deceived by any man, and I hope I never may, but the best advice I can give to my poor deceived sisters is to try and forget their faithless swains, and leave them to the stings and reflections of their own consciences, which will be a far greater punishment to them than parting with thousands of gold and silver. Let them be thankful that they have shown themselves in their true colours before they had entered on a life of unhappiness and misery, feeling assured that the man who could deceive a fond, loving woman is a man of no principle at all. For my own part, I would scorn the man who ever proved false to a woman,—I would not trust him even in business.” After this condemnation by a woman, let us trust we shall hear less for the future of breach of promise cases.

In the Loudon Bankruptcy Court, at times, melancholy revelations are made—revelations which, indeed, do “point a moral,” though they can hardly be said “to adorn a tale.” Too generally the manifestations are the same—the hastening to be rich, which to so many has been a snare—the vulgar attempt to keep up appearances and impose on the world—the recklessness and want of honour and principle which prevail where we should least have expected it, in the middle classes, who, as the heart and core of the nation, at times are apt to be too indiscriminately eulogised. Last week an illustration of what we mean occurred. It came out in evidence that a bankrupt had goods from a London wholesale house, not for his legitimate trade, but merely that, by their sale at less than cost price, funds might be provided for the passing exigencies of the hour. These goods were not unpacked, but at once sent up to a London auctioneer and sold. Nor, it seems, was this an isolated case—the custom is a common one; it is but what takes placeevery day. Again, a tradesman is in difficulties—he goes to his principal creditor, who says, “Well you must not stop yet—you must try and reduce my debt first,”—goods are ordered from Manchester or Birmingham—and, perhaps without being unpacked, taken to the warehouse of the London creditor—the tradesman then applies to the Bankruptcy Court, and, as his books are well kept, asine qua nonwith the Commissioners—and, as the principal creditor makes things as smooth as possible, the man gets a first-class certificate and begins again. Bill discounters tell you of the number of forged bills which pass through their hands, and which are sure to be taken up when due. Even the oldest and proudest firms are not free from shame. My readers need not that I remind them of the conduct of Gurney, Overend, & Co. with reference to the forged spelter warrants. A city lawyer, a man of considerable practice and experience, once assured me he did not believe there was such a thing as commercial morality—but we must hope that he had seen so much of the dark side, as to forget that there was a bright side at all, but that the true feeling in the city is not of the highest character is evident if we recall the sympathy displayed toward the directors of the Royal British Bank—and again exhibited in the case of Strachan and Sir John Dean Paul, or remember the ridiculous manifestations of the gentlemen of the Stock Exchange and Mincing Lane, of which Tom Sayers was the embarrassed subject. How wide-spread was the delirium of therailway mania—what rascalities have been laid bare by the bursting of some of our insurance and other companies. Take that list just published by Mr. Spachman, Jun., of the losses sustained by public companies through the inadequate system of the audit of accounts. The list is short, but not sweet.

“The Royal British Bank.—Stopped payment in 1856. The failure was caused by making advances to directors and others on improper and insufficient securities. Capital, £200,000; deposits, £540,000; on which 15s. in the pound has been returned; deficiency, 5s. in the pound; £135,000; total, £335,000.“The Tipperary Bank.—Failure caused by the frauds of Sadleir. Accounts were wilfully falsified. Capital, £500,000; deposits, £700,000; total, £1,200,000. The whole has been lost.“The London and Eastern Bank.—In this case the notorious Colonel Waugh appropriated to himself an amount equal to the whole paid-up capital of the bank, and has since absconded and set his creditors at defiance. The loss exceeds £250,000.“The Crystal Palace Company.—The frauds of Robson, committed by tampering with the transfer-books, entailed a loss of £100,000.“The Great Northern Railway Company.—Redpath’s frauds, committed in a similar manner to Robson’s. The auditors here were greatly at fault, as I understand that dividends were paid on a larger amount of stock than had been issued. Loss, £250,000.“The Union Bank of London.—The frauds just discovered, committed by the head cashier, William George Pullinger, by means of a fictitious pass-book, representing the account between the Union Bank and the Bank of England. The frauds are said to have extended over a period of five years, and with a proper check in the audit, ought to have been detected in the first half-year.”

“The Tipperary Bank.—Failure caused by the frauds of Sadleir. Accounts were wilfully falsified. Capital, £500,000; deposits, £700,000; total, £1,200,000. The whole has been lost.

“The London and Eastern Bank.—In this case the notorious Colonel Waugh appropriated to himself an amount equal to the whole paid-up capital of the bank, and has since absconded and set his creditors at defiance. The loss exceeds £250,000.

“The Crystal Palace Company.—The frauds of Robson, committed by tampering with the transfer-books, entailed a loss of £100,000.

“The Great Northern Railway Company.—Redpath’s frauds, committed in a similar manner to Robson’s. The auditors here were greatly at fault, as I understand that dividends were paid on a larger amount of stock than had been issued. Loss, £250,000.

“The Union Bank of London.—The frauds just discovered, committed by the head cashier, William George Pullinger, by means of a fictitious pass-book, representing the account between the Union Bank and the Bank of England. The frauds are said to have extended over a period of five years, and with a proper check in the audit, ought to have been detected in the first half-year.”

The men who did these things—the Redpaths, and Sadleirs, and Colonel Waughs—were men known and respected, be it remembered, in London life.

TheTimessays our law is worthy a nation of savages. We have a great deal to do yet, just remember the Hudson testimonial. There were our merchant princes, men of integrity, of talent, of skill—men who have made the name of British merchant a term of honour as far as our flag can reach. If London wished to reward successful industry, it might have looked amongst them. In this great city there was more than one lord of thousands, who came here with hardly a penny in his pocket, or shoes on his feet. London might have raised a testimonial to one of them; and had it done so, every unfledged clerkling and embryo Rothschild would have glowed as he saw how industry, and wealth, and honour, went hand in hand. With what delight would the young aspirant for wealth have returned to the study of those refreshing maxims in ethics which grandmammas so zealously impress upon the juvenile mind, and of which the British public are not a little fond. But a testimonial was given to Mr. Hudson for none of these things. It was not for honesty, or industry, or worth, that he was rewarded. It was simply for speculation—for a course of conduct utterly hostile to legitimate business, which has made many a decent tradesman a bankrupt, and which has turned many an honest man into a knave. England stamped with its approval a system the morality of which is somewhat questionable. It bade the young man eschew the dulnessof the counter and the office for the magic wand of speculation. It passed by the industrious merchant, the philanthropist, the patriot, to worship the golden calf, as did the Hebrews of old.

Eighteen hundred years back, on the plains of Palestine, appeared a carpenter’s son, with a divine mission but a human heart. He preached no cash gospel—He was no prophet in the eyes of the rich. He had His testimonial—He reaped it in the bad man’s deadly hate. Alas! the Hebrew nature is the true and universal one. In Mr. Hudson’s, there is the testimonial of the rich—for the Christ, and those who would follow in His steps, there is the thorny path and the open tomb. Let us not imagine that we are one whit better than the Hebrew. The Hudson testimonial proves a common paternity. Gold has still more charms than God. As Mr. Bright, if not in so many words, but in spirit, says, “Perish Savoy, rather than not trade with France,” so the London merchant and tradesman ignore too often honour and conscience, and morality, for vulgar gain.

It requires great philosophy to get over the effects of City Life. “Let any one,” says Addison, “behold the kind of faces he meets as soon as he passes Cheapside Conduit, and you see a deep attention and a certain feeble sharpness in every countenance; they look attentive, but their thoughts are engaged on mean purposes.” This feeling is perpetuated. Addison remarks of a gentleman of vast estate, whose grandfather was a trader, “that he is a very honest gentleman in hisprinciples, but cannot for his life talk fairly; he is heartily sorry for it, but he cheats by constitution, and overreaches by instinct.” I heard of such a one the other day—A, a city merchant, married his daughter to B. A proposed that A and B should stock the cellar of the young couple with vine—B agreed—A purchased the wine—got a discount—and charged B full price for his share—yet A was rich as Crœsus. I have seen this grasping displayed by city boys. The writer was once accosted by some little children with a request that he would contribute something towards a “grotto,” on his declining any assistance, he was politely informed that he was no good, as he had “got no money.”

London abounds with Montagu Tiggs, and a genuine article of any kind in any trade, if by any possibility it can be adulterated, by painful experience we know it, is utterly impossibly to buy. In trade, words have long ceased to represent things. We need not dwell at length on the wrong thus inflicted on the community at large, all feel the minor evils resulting from such conduct, and occasionally we hear of sickness induced, or of life lost,—and for what? merely that Brown may get an extra farthing on the rascally rubbish he sells as the genuine article. I fear these are not times in which we may argue for the abolition of death punishments. Such things as these sadly teach us that in London commercial morality is in danger of undergoing gradual demoralisation—that we are in danger of becoming absorbed in the pursuit of material wealth,careless of the price it may cost—that our standard of morality is not now as it ought to be in a city that boasts its Christian life and light, and that from London the evil circulates all over the British realm.

In proof of this, we may appeal to the occurrences of every day. Our great cities are shadowed over by the giant forms of vice and crime. Like a thick cloud, ignorance, dense and dark, pervades the land. Ascending higher to the well-to-do classes, we find bodily comfort to be the great end of life; we find everything that can conduce to its realization is understood—that the priests and ministers of the sensual are well paid—that a good cook, like a diamond, has always value in the market. M. Soyer, as cook, in the Reform Club, pocketed, we believe, £800 a year. Hood, in the dark days of his life, when weakened by the fierce struggle with the world and its wants, became the prey of the spoiler, and would have died of starvation had not Government granted him a pension. Many a man, in whose breast genius was a presence and a power has been suffered to pine and starve; but who ever heard of a cook dying of starvation? How is it, then, that such is the case, that so much is done for the body, and so little for the mind? that at this time the teacher of spiritual realities can but at best scrape together as much salary as a lawyer’s clerk? We are not speaking now of wealthy fellows who repose on beds of roses, but of the busy earnest men who from the pulpit, or the press, or the schoolmaster’s desk, proclaim the morality and truth without which societywould become a mass of corruption and death. How is it that they are overlooked, and that honour is paid to the soldier who gives up his moral responsibility, and does the devil’s work upon condition that food and raiment be granted him—to mere wealth and rank—to what is accidental rather than to what is true and valuable in life? The truth is our civilization is hardly worthy of the name? We may say, in the language of Scripture, we have not attained, neither are we already perfect. We have but just seen the dim grey of morn, and we boast that we bask in the sunshine of unclouded day. Our commercial morality brands our civilization with a voice of thunder, as an imposture and a sham.

Undoubtedly we are a most thinking, rational, sober, and religious people. It is a fact upon which we rather pride ourselves. It is one of which we are firmly convinced, and respecting which we are apt to become somewhat garrulous, and not a little dull. On this head we suffer much good-natured prosing in ourselves and others. Like the Pharisees of old, we go up into the temple and thank God that we are not rationalists, like the Germans, or infidels, like the French. We are neither Turks nor Papists, but, on the contrary, good honest Christian men. It may be that we are a little too much given to boasting—that we are rather too fond of giving our alms before men—that when we pray, it is not in secret and when the door is shut, but where the prayer can be heard and the devotion admired; but we are what we are—and we imagine we get on indifferently well. We might, possibly,be better—certainly we might be worse; but, as it is, we are not particularly dissatisfied, and have ever, on our faces, a most complacent smirk, testifying so strongly, to our pleasing consciousness, of the many virtues we may happen to possess, but in spite of all this we need a considerable increase and improvement as regards what is called commercial morality.

The newspapers, a few years since, contained an instance of folly such as we seldom meet with, even in this foolish generation. Two young men—gents, we presume—one Sunday evening promenading Regent Street, the admired of all beholders, met two young ladies of equally genteel manners, and equally fashionable exterior. It is said,

“When Greek meet Greek, then comes the tug of war.”

In this case, however, the adage was reversed. The encounter, so far from being hostile, was friendly in the extreme. Our gay Lotharios, neither bashful nor prudent, learned that their fascinating enchantresses were the daughters of a Count, whose large estates were situated neither in the moon, nor in the New Atlantic, nor in the “golden Ingies,” nor in the lands remote, where a Gulliver travelled or a Sinbad sailed, but in France itself. That they had come to England, bringing with them simply their two hundred pounds a quarter, that they might, in calm retirement—without theannoyances to which their rank, if known, would subject them—judge for themselves what manner of men we were. The tale was simple, strange, yet certainly true. Ladies of charming manners, and distinguished birth—young—lovely—each with two hundred pounds a quarter—cast upon this great Babylon, without a friend—no man with the heart of an Englishman could permit such illustrious strangers to wander unprotected in our streets. Accordingly an intimacy was commenced—letters written behind the counter, but dated from the Horse Guards, signed as if the composer were a peer of the realm, were sent in shoals to Foley-place. The result was, that after our Regent Street heroes were bled till no more money could be had, the secret was discovered, and they found themselves, not merely miserably bamboozled, but a laughing-stock besides.

But this tale has a moral. Ellam—he of the ill-spelt letters and the Horse Guards—was a shopman somewhere in Piccadilly. No person of any education could have been taken in by so trumpery a tale. Did the young men in our shops have time for improvement, could they retire from business at a reasonable hour, could they be permitted to inform and strengthen the mind, such a remarkable instance of folly as that to which we have alluded could not possibly occur.

The gent of the Regent Street style, of whom poor Wright used to sing to an Adelphi audience, was evidently a very badly-dressed and ill-bred-fellow in spite of the fact that his vest was of the last cut, thathis tile was faultless, that his boots were ditto, and that none could more gracefully

“puff a cigar.”

The gents of to-day are the same. I was amused by hearing of a party of them, connected with one of the city houses, who went into the country one Easter Monday to enjoy themselves; they did enjoy themselves, as all young fellows should, thoroughly, but from their enjoyment they were recalled to a sense of dignity, by a characteristic remark of one of them, as he saw passers by, “Hush, hush!” he exclaimed, “They will think we are retail.” A writer in theBuilderremarking the degeneracy of regular cocknies attributes it to the want of good air, the expensive nature of a good education, the sedentary employment of many of them. And no doubt these reasons are the true ones, and of considerable force. Well might Coleridge anticipate for his son as prosperous career as compared with his own.

“I was rearedIn the great city, pent ’mid cloister dim,And saw naught lovely but the sky and stars;Butthou, my babe, shall wander in the breeze,By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the cragsOf ancient mountains; beneath the cloudsWhich image in their arch both lakes and shores,And mountain crags, so shall thou see and hearThe lovely shapes and sounds unchangeable,Of that eternal language which thy God utters.”

This is true, and hence, let us judge leniently of the lad living within the sound of Bow Bells. Nature isthe best and truest teacher a man can have—and it is little of nature that the cockney sees, or hears, and feels. He goes to Richmond, but, instead of studying the finest panorama in the world, he stupifies himself with doubtful port; he visits the Crystal Palace, but it is for the sake of the lobster-salad; he runs down to Greenwich, not to revel in that park, beautiful still in spite of the attacks of London on its purity, but to eat white-bait; he takes, it may be, the rail or the steamboat to Gravesend, but merely that he may dance with milliners at Tivoli. The only idea of a garden to a London gent, is a place where there is dancing, and drinking, and smoking going on. And this is a type of his inbred depravity. He has no rational amusements. In the winter time shut up the casinos, and do away with the half-price at the theatres, and the poor fellow ishors de combat, and has nothing left him but suicide or delirium tremens. Literary and Scientific Institutions don’t answer in London—even a place like the Whittington Club, where any respectable young man belonging to the middle classes may find a home, is by no means (so I have understood) a success.

Tom Moore says there is not in the world so stupid or boorish a congregation as the audience of an English play-house. I fear there is some truth in this as regards London. The regular cockney is not a fine sample of the genus homo, in the first place he is very conceited, and when a man is that, it is little that will do him good; in the second place, he thinks only of business and pleasure, he lives well, dresses well, goes to church onceon the Sunday, and laughs at new-fangled opinions, and wonders why people grumble, and believes all he reads in theTimes. If you want to start any successful agitation you must begin it in the provinces. The Anti-Corn Law League had its seat at Manchester, the Reform agitation had its head quarters at Birmingham. The wisest thing done by the United Kingdom-Alliance, was to plant themselves in Manchester rather than in London. Sydney Smith said it required a severe surgical operation to make a Scotchman understand a joke, it is almost as difficult to get a Londoner to understand anything new; he is slow to recognise worth or virtue, and if any of his own connection rise, he exclaims, with the writing-master, who would not believe Newton was a good mathematician, “the fool, he is an hour over a sum in the rule of three.”

The truth is we are a city of shopkeepers; and if intellectual pursuits be denied to those engaged in trade, the consequence must be the popular opinion must be that of those who know little else than the business of the shop, and as a consequence a curse will go forth to the remotest corner of the land. Bigotry, prejudice, falsehood, and passion will be rampant and rife, and truth and reason will be trampled under foot. Just as manhood is forming, just as the moral and intellectual parts of our nature are developing themselves, just as life becomes a reality, and glimpses of the work to be done, and of the blessedness of doing it, catch and charm the youthful eye, the victim is compelled to standbehind the counter, and is threatened with beggary if he fail practically to remember that the pursuit of money, to the utter exclusion of aught higher and nobler, is the end for which life is given man. No wonder such a system fearfully avenges itself—that the sensual is exalted—that we meet so little in accordance with principle and truth. Debarred from intellectual pursuits, what awaits our young men but frivolous excitement? Ignorant, with the feelings of our common nature unnaturally aroused—with minds enfeebled by lack of healthy exercise—our middle class—the class perhaps the most important in our land—stands by society in its conventionalism and falsehood and wrong, and we mourn and sigh over giant ills, that we cannot grapple with effectually because we go the wrong way to work.

A great want of our age is education for the middle classes. We want to have them taught to believe in something else than the shop or the desk. We want them to believe the mind as fully entitled to their care as the body, and the money-bag but poor and impotent compared with the well-spent life. We would publish the all-important truth—a truth that shall live and fructify when the great city in which we write shall have become a desert-waste—the truth that man was made in the image of his maker, and that the heart that beats within is capable of divinity itself. We may have drawn in dark colours our national state. We fear the picture is but too true; and that till something be done to burst the bonds of habit, and educate the youth in our shops,the picture will continue to be true. We write not to deprecate the land of our birth; it is one dear to us by every remembrance of the past and hope for the future. Because we thus cling to it do we deplore and expose what we deem to be wrong, and that our social condition may be healthy, that our civilization may be complete that our faith may be a living leavening power, do we ask the emancipation of the sons and daughters of trade—that that long-looked-for hour may quickly come.

In spite of Lord Palmerston’s injudicious attempt to check the rifle movement in its infancy, there can be no doubt now but that it is a complete success. The appeal to the martial spirit—more or less strong in the hearts of all Englishmen—has been most cheerfully responded to. Something of the kind was evidently required to excite the energies and to occupy the leisure hours of our numerous youth. We are always in danger of becoming too peaceable a folk. Our avocations, all of a mercantile or professional character,—our amusements, less out-door, and more sedentary, than ought to be the case,—the very humane spirit which pervades all English society,—our enormous wealth; all tend to make us peaceably disposed. None can be alarmed at our warlike demonstrations. No nation in Europe need fear a British invasion. No foreign government can possibly pretend that the British government harbours designs of active hostility against any European power. Indeed, the naturally and necessarily peaceful intentions of this country are candidlyacknowledged by the most eminent men in France itself. Michel Chevalier, in his account of a recent visit to this country, has done ample justice to our moderation, and to our desire to be at peace with all the world.

We may, then, view the increase of our volunteer riflemen without any alarm—nay, rather with a considerable amount of pleasure. People connected with fast life, tell us that the falling off of the attendance of young men at the casinos is something very remarkable; the reason of this is attributed to the fact that they are engaged and interested in their drill. It is with unmixed satisfaction, that we see, day by day, the long columns of theTimesfilled with the names of the towns which have just joined the movement, and the proceedings of those which already possess a corps of riflemen. TheTimestells us, that already the force thus raised consists of 170,000, of whom half nearly are Londoners; but the movement, we trust, will continue to be developed for some time to come. Every young man should join it, as it gives him healthy recreation, soldier-like habits, and a feeling that he is a son of our common mother—fine Old England, the land of the brave and the free. We are much in the habit of doing our work by proxy. Shareholders, in companies, leave the management to a few directors, and learn, too late, to curse their folly. Institutions of the most excellent character, in the hands of a few become perverted, and are often real stumbling-blocks in the way of reform. So it is with our army and navy. We pay for them handsomely, we intrust theirmanagement to a few, and then we wake up to find that we have been trusting on a broken reed; that our guns, and muskets, are old-fashioned; that routine and favouritism in office are more than a match for the cleverest of officers and the bravest of men; and that we have almost all our work to begin over again. Now, one great advantage of the rifle movement is that it throws us back upon ourselves—that it teaches us all to feel that we have a personal stake in the defence of the country—that it recalls the martial energy which we are fast in danger of losing, and makes all panic-fear for the future impossible. Surely, also, the moral effect of all this on Europe must be great. The nation that arms itself is always respected. It is the French army that makes the name of the French Emperor so famous in all parts of the world. Again, the nation that is always protected is safe from attack. People do not go to war with strong states, but weak ones. In the fable, the wolf quarrels not with the wolf, but the lamb. It ought not to be so, we freely admit; but we must take the world as we find it, and act accordingly. And themoraleof all history is that there is no such safeguard of peace as the knowledge that a nation has set its house in order, and is thoroughly prepared for war.

Look back at the olden time, when we triumphed at Agincourt, Cressy, and Poictiers—when we won for England her foremost place among the nations of earth. A writer in theCambridge Chroniclehas collected all that he can find relative to “The Longbow of the past,the Rifle of the future,” and done good service by its republication under the title already given.

There is a muster-roll of the army of Henry V. preserved among Rymer’s unprinted collection in the British Museum. The Earl of Cambridge appears in it with a personal retinue of 2 knights, 57 esquires, and 100 horse archers. The Duke of Clarence brought in his retinue 1 earl, 2 bannerets, 14 knights, 222 esquires, and 720 horse archers. The roll includes 2,536 men-at-arms, 4,128 horse archers, 38 arblesters (cross-bowmen), 120 miners, 25 master gunners, 50 servitor gunners, a stuffer of bacinets, 12 armourers, 3 kings of arms. A Mr. Nicholas Colnet, a physician, also brought 3 archers, 20 surgeons, an immense retinue of labourers, artisans, fletchers, bowyers, wheelwrights, chaplains, and minstrels. Foot-archers were not enumerated, but the total number of effective soldiers amounted to 10,731. These were the men who gained the field at Agincourt. Philip de Comines acknowledged that English archery excelled that of every other nation, and Sir John Fortesque states “that the might of the Realme of England standyth upon archers.” In the reign of Henry II. the English conquests in Ireland were principally owing, it is recorded, to the use of the long bow. The victory gained over the Scots, by Edward I., in 1298, at the great battle of Falkirk, was chiefly won by the power of the English bowmen. In 1333 Edward III., with small loss, gained a signal victory at Halidown Hill, near Berwick, when attacked by the Scots under the Earl ofDouglas. Speed gives, from Walsingham, the following description of the battle:—“The chief feat was wrought by the English archers, who first with their stiff, close, and cruel storms of arrows made their enemies’ footmen break; and when the noble Douglas descended to the charge with his choicest bands, himself being in a most rich and excellently tempered armour, and the rest singularly well-appointed,—the Lord Percy’s archers making a retreat did withal deliver their deadly arrows so lively, so courageously, so grievously, that they ran through the men-at-arms, bored the helmets, beat their lances to the earth, and easily shot those who were more slightly armed through and through.” Gibbon notes the singular dread with which the English archers filled their enemies in the crusades, and states, “that at one time Richard, with seventeen knights and 300 archers, sustained the charge of the whole Turkish and Saracen army.” In the reign of Richard II., in 1377, the Isle of Wight was invaded by the French, who landed in great force at Franche-Ville (called afterwards Newtown), which they destroyed, and then directed their march to Carisbrooke Castle, for the purpose of taking that stronghold. The news of the invasion soon spread throughout the island, and no time was lost in mustering the forces which it possessed. These forces consisted chiefly of archers, who so admirably posted themselves in ambush, that they rendered a good account of the advanced division of the French. The other division of the enemy had commenced an attack on CarisbrookeCastle, when the victorious archers advanced to its relief, and soon cleared the island of the intruders. The battle of Shrewsbury, in 1403, was one of the most desperate encounters ever seen in England. The archers on both sides did terrible execution. Henry IV. and the Prince of Wales on one side, and Earl Douglas with Henry Hotspur, son of the Earl of Northumberland, on the other, performed prodigies of valour. At length, Hotspur being slain and Douglas taken, Henry remained master of the field.

The bow was the most ancient and universal of all weapons. Our ancestors in this island, at a very early period of their history, used the bow, like other nations, for two purposes. In time of peace it was an implement for hunting and pastime; and in time of war it was a formidable weapon of offence and defence. It was not till after the battle of Hastings that our Anglo-Saxon forefathers learned rightly to appreciate the merit of the bow and the cloth-yard shaft. Though a general disarming followed that event, the victor allowed the vanquished Saxon to carry the bow. The lesson taught by the superiority of the Norman archers was not forgotten. From that period the English archers began to rise in repute, and in course of time proved themselves, by their achievements in war, both the admiration and terror of their foes, and excelled the exploits of other nations. The great achievements of the English bowmen, which shed lustre upon the annals of the nation, extended over a period of more than five centuries, manyyears after the invention and use of firearms. All the youth and manhood of the yeomanry of England were engaged in the practice of the long bow. England, therefore, in those times possessed a national voluntary militia, of no charge to the government, ready for the field on a short notice, and well skilled in the use of weapons. Hence sprung the large bodies of efficient troops which at different periods of English history, in an incredibly short time, were found ready for the service of their country. These men were not a rude, undisciplined rabble, but were trained, disciplined men, every one sufficiently master of his weapon to riddle a steel corslet at five or six score paces; or, in a body, to act with terrific effect against masses of cavalry; while most of them could bring down a falcon on the wing by a bird-bolt, or, with a broad arrow, transfix the wild deer in the chase. There is little at the present day in England to afford any adequate idea of the high importance, the great skill, and the distinguished renown of the English archers. Some few places still retain names which tell us where the bowmen used to assemble for practice,—asShooter’s Hill,in Kent;Newington Butts,near London; andSt. Augustine’s Butts,near Bristol. Many of the noble and county families of Great Britain and Ireland have the symbols of archery charged on their escutcheons; as, for instance, the Duke of Norfolk, on his bend, between six crosslets, bears an escutcheon charged with a demi-lion pierced in the mouth with an arrow, within a double tressure flory and counterflory.This was an addition to the coat of his Grace’s ancestor, the Earl of Surrey, who commanded at Flodden Field, in 1513. There are also existing families which have derived their surnames from the names of the different crafts formerly engaged in the manufacture of the bow and its accompaniments; as, for instance, the names ofBowyer,Fletcher,Stringer,Arrowsmith, &c. If we refer to our language, there will be found many phrases and proverbial expressions drawn from or connected with archery; some suggesting forethought and caution, as “Always have two strings to your bow;” it being the custom of military archers to take additional bowstrings with them into the field of battle; “Get the shaft-hand of your adversaries;” “Draw not thy bow before thy arrow be fixed;” “Kill two birds with one shaft.” To make an enemy’s machinations recoil upon himself, they expressed by saying, “To outshoot a man in his own bow.” In reference to a vague, foolish guess, they used to say, “He shoots wide of his mark;” and of unprofitable, silly conversation, “A fool’s bolt is soon shot.” The unready and the unskilful archer did not escape the censure and warning of his fellows, although he might be a great man, and boast that he had “A famous bow—but it was up at the castle.” Of such they satirically remarked that “Many talked of Robin Hood,who never shot in his bow.” Our ancestors also expressed liberality of sentiment, and their opinion that merit belonged exclusively to no particular class or locality, by the following pithy expressions, “Many a good bow besides onein Chester;” and “An archer is known by his aim,and not by his arrows.”

And what was the result of all this practice with the bow?—why, that we never feared invasion. Those were not times when old ladies were frightened out of their night’s sleep. Every Englishman was a free and fearless soldier; the foe might growl at a distance, but he never dared to touch our shores—to plunder our cities—to massacre our smiling babes—and to do outrage worse than death to our English womanhood; and so it will be seen now that the bow has been superseded by the rifle, when our young lads of public spirit respond to Tennyson’s patriotic appeal, “Form, Riflemen, form!”

Abrochureof fifty pages, full of figures and tables, just issued, contains the criminal statistics of the metropolis, as shown by the police returns. It is not very pleasant reading, in any sense, but it no doubt has its value. We learn from it that last year the police took into custody 64,281 persons, of whom 29,863 were discharged by the magistrates, 31,565 summarily disposed of, and 2,853 committed for trial; of the latter number 2,312 were convicted, the rest being either acquitted or not prosecuted, or in their cases true bills were not found. About twenty years ago, in 1839, the number taken into custody rather exceeded that of last year, being 65,965; although since that period 135 parishes, hamlets, and liberties, with, in 1850, a population of 267,267, have been added to the metropolitan district, and although the entire population must have greatly increased in the interval. These returns exhibits strange variations in the activity of the police; while last year the apprehensions were, as stated, 64,281, in 1857 they amountedto as much as 79,364. The difference is 15,000, and of that number in excess, not one-half were convicted, either summarily or after trial, the rest forming an excess in the whole of those discharged by the magistrates. It is a striking fact that nearly half the number of all whom the police take into custody are discharged, so that the discrimination of the police is far from being on a par with its activity.

Criminal London spends some considerable part of its time at Newgate, Clerkenwell, Wandsworth, Hollowway, and other establishments well-known to fame, and descriptions of which are familiar to the reader, but a favourite resort, also, is Portland Goal, which, by the kindness of Captain Clay, we were permitted, recently, to inspect. Portland Goal is situated on a neck of land near Weymouth.

To reach it, the better way is to take a passage in one of the numerous steamers which ply between Weymouth and Portland. In half an hour you will find yourself at the bottom of the chalk hill on which the prison is built. If you are sound in limb, and not deficient in wind, in another half hour you will find yourself at the principal entrance of the goal. But to get at the Prison is no easy work. The Captain of the steamer will tell you, you must take a trap the moment you get on shore, but Jehu will ask you so long a price as to put all idea of riding quite out of the question. The people on the island will give you but little information, and that of rather a contradictorycharacter. Undoubtedly the better plan is to trust to your own sense and legs. On our way we met an officer of the Royal Navy—a captain, we imagine. Before us, at a little distance, was what we took to be the prison, but we were not sure of the fact, and accordingly asked the gallant officer. We trust he was not a type of the service. He did not know what that building was before him: he did not know whether there was a prison there; and then he finished by asking us if we were one of the officials. If the French do come, let us hope Her Majesty’s fleet will have more acute officers than our gallant acquaintance! We arrived at the principal entrance, notwithstanding the non-success of our queries with the brave marine, at a quarter to one. Before we enter, let us look around. What a place for a man to get braced up in! What a jolly thing it would be for many a London Alderman could he come here for a few months. Just below is the prison, clean, snug, and warm. At our feet is the stupendous Breakwater, within which lie, as we trust they may ever lie, idle and secure, some of the ships comprising the Channel Fleet. Here, stealing into the bay like a bird with white wings, is a convict ship, coming to bear away to the Bermudas some of the convicts now shut up within those stone walls. If you look well at her through the glass you can see her live freight on board, for she only calls here for some fifty or sixty,—who, however, have no wish to leave Portland for harder work and a less healthy climate. Beyond isWeymouth, and its comfortable hotels—its agreeable promenade—and with, in summer time, its pleasant bathing. Right across St. Albyn’s Head, and on the other side the Dorset coast, and straight across some eighty miles of the salt sea, is Cherbourg, with a breakwater far more formidable than that above which we stand. It is a clear bright sky above us, and in the light of the sun the scene is beautiful almost as one of fairy land.

We ring the bell—hand in, through a window, our letter of introduction—are ushered into a wooden cage in which the janitor sits—enter our name in a book, and sit down. The officers, consisting of about 160 men, exclusive of a small guard of soldiers, are coming in from dinner. In appearance they somewhat resemble our Coast-guard, are tall fine men, with very red faces, and big black bushy whiskers. The principal warden came to receive us; he has been here ever since the place has been opened, and we could not have had a better guide, or one more competent to explain to us the nature of the important works carried on. And now we have passed into the very prison itself, and stand surrounded by men who have committed almost every species of crime. There are some fifteen hundred of them here from all parts of England; stupid peasants from Suffolk and Norfolk, and clever rascals (these latter are very troublesome) from London, and Birmingham, and Liverpool, and other busy centres of industry, and intelligence, and life. Says our informant,We have a good many captains in the army here, and several merchants, nor are we surprised at the information.

When we entered, the men had just dined, and were collected in the yard previous to being examined and walked off in gangs, under the charge of their respective officers, to work. The gangs consisted of various numbers, of from fifteen to thirty; each officer felt each man, to see that nothing was hidden, and examined his number to see that it was all right, and as each gang marches through the gate, the officer calls out the number of the gang, and the number of men it contains, to the chief officer, who enters it in his book. As soon as this operation was over, the gangs marched out, some to quarry stones for the Breakwater below; and others, by far the larger number, to construct the enormous barricades and fortifications which the Government has ordered as a defence for that part of the world. The prisoners who cannot stand this hard work are employed in mending clothes, in making shoes, in baking, and brewing, in the school-room, and other offices necessary in such an enormous establishment. In this latter employment no less a personage than Sir John Dean Paul had been occupied till very recently. The scene was a busy one; all around us were convicts—here quarrying, there employed in the manufacture of tools, or in carpenters’s or masons’s work—all working well, and many of them cheerful in spite of the presence of an official, and little apparently heeding the sentry standing near with loaded gun ready to shoot, if need be, a runaway.We have heard gentlemen say that at Bermuda and at Gibraltar, the convicts will not work. All we can say is, that at Portland they do, and so effectually, as to cost the country but little more than four or five pounds a year. Our out door inspection over, we then went over the sleeping apartments, and the chapel, and the kitchen, and laundry, and bakery. The impression left on us was very favourable. The food is of the plainest, but most satisfactory character. The allowance for breakfast is 12 oz. of bread, 1 pint of tea or cocoa. Dinner, 1 pint of soup, 5½ oz. of meat, 1 lb. of potatoes, 6 oz., of bread or pudding. Supper, 9 oz. of bread, 1 pint of gruel or tea. The chapel is a handsome building, capable of containing fifteen hundred people, and the sleeping apartments were light and airy, and well ventilated. Each cell opens into a corridor, there being a series of three or four storeys; each sleeping apartment can contain from a hundred to five hundred men; in each cell there is a hammock, and all that is requisite for personal cleanliness, besides a book or two which the convict is allowed to have from the library. Of course the manner of life is somewhat monotonous. Before coming to Portland, the prisoners have passed their allotted time, (generally about nine months), in what is termed separate confinement, at Pentonville, Millbank, Preston, Bedford, Wakefield, or some other prison adapted for the first stage of penal discipline. Upon their reception they are made to undergo medical inspection, a change of clothes, and are required to bathe;they are then informed of the rules and regulations of the prison, and moved to school for examination in educational attainments, with a view to their correct classification. Afterwards they receive an appropriate address from the chaplain, and are allowed to write their first letter from Portland to their relations. They are then put to work, and are made to feel that their future career depends in some measure on themselves. Thus there are four classes, and the convict in the best class may earn as much as two shillings-a-week, which is put to his credit, and paid him when he becomes free, partly by a post-office order, payable to him when he reaches his destination, and partly afterwards. The dress consists of fustian, over which a blue smock frock with white stripes is thrown. Convicts who are dangerous, and have maltreated their keepers, instead of a frock have a coat of a somewhat loud and striking character. Then, again, a yellow dress denotes that the convict has attempted to escape; and further, a blue cloth dress denotes that the wearer, engaged as a pointsman, has but little more time to stay, and has a little more freedom intrusted to him. In the working days in summer the prison-bell rouses all hands at a quarter-past five, allowing an hour for washing, dressing, and breakfast. Then comes morning service in the chapel. They are then marched off to labour, where they remain till eleven, when they return to dinner. At half-past twelve they are again paraded, and dismissed to labour till six. Suppers are distributed to each cell at half-past six, and at sevenevening service is held in the chapel. The prisoners then return to their cells. In winter-time they are recalled from labour at half-past four, prayers are read at five, and supper is served at six; the prisoners then return to their cells. At eight all lights must be put out, and silence reigns in every hall, the slippered night-guards alone gliding through the long and dimly-lighted galleries like so many spectres. It may be that sorrow is wakeful, but it is not so at Portland. If the men have troubled consciences and uneasy hours, it is when they are at work, and not during the period allotted to repose. They are asleep as soon as ever the lights are put out, and till the bell summons them to labour they sleep the sleep of the just. Nor can we wonder at it. There is no sleep so sweet and precious, as that earned by a long day’s work in the open air.

Attendance at chapel and walking exercise in the open air, are the two great features of the Sunday’s employment; and, as a farther change, we may mention, each prisoner is allowed half a day’s schooling per week. While at work, of course they talk together,—it is impossible to prevent that,—and they choose their companions, and have their friendships as if they were free; and even, as in the case of Sir John Dean Paul, maintain—or endeavour to do so—the social distinctions which were accorded to them when supposed to be respectable members of respectable society. Altogether here, as at many a worse place than Portland, the convicts must work hard, for the contractor dependson them for the supply of stone which is sent down the tramway to the Breakwater; but many of the men at Portland have been accustomed to hard labour all their lives. They are chiefly young and able-bodied, and here they are well cared for and taught. Surely here, if anywhere, the convict may repent his crimes, and be fitted to return to society a wiser and a better man! We cannot exactly say what are the effects of all this; but surely the convicts must be better from this separation from their usual haunts and associates. Portland Prison is admirably adapted for carrying out a great experiment in the treatment and improvement of the criminal classes. It has now been in existence twelve years, and the experiment hitherto has succeeded. At any rate, if it is a blunder, it is not a costly one, like some establishments nearer town.

It is now nearly ten years since transportation to the colonies ceased to be a punishment for criminal offences. The Tasmanian and Australian authorities refused to receive them; and the government establishment at Norfolk Island was abandoned, the home government resolving to make an effort to dispose of the convict population in some other manner. The convict establishment on the Island of Portland was the first scheme proposed for the employment and reformation of offenders. The principal object was to secure a place of confinement for long-term convicts; the next, to systematically apply the labour of such convicts to “national works of importance,” the prosecution of which at once was profitable,and afforded the means of training the convicts to habits of industry. The Penal Servitude Act was passed in 1850, and under it the much-condemned ticket of leave came into operation. It substituted sentences of penal servitude for all crimes formerly visited by sentences of transportation to a less period than 14 years. As few of such sentences, comparatively, reached over that period, the Act practically reduced the transportation sentences to a mere tithe of what they were before—the average during the years from 1854 to 1857 not being more than 235 out of 3200. In 1857 the transportation sentences only amounted to 110, while the penal servitude sentences were 2474. In that year an Act was passed with a small proportionate remission of sentence as a reward for good conduct. The advantages of the system thus established, were considered to be—1st, Its deterring effects. 2nd, Its affording encouragement to the convict. 3rd, As giving the means of dealing with refractory convicts; and 4th, As affording means of employment to offenders on their discharge.

Portland Prison, as the chief punitive establishment under this new system, is, of course, most deserving notice. In 1857, the total expenditure on this prison was £48,782. The total value of the labour performed in the same year was £41,855, which, divided by 1488 (the average number of prisoners), gave £28. 2s. 7d. as the rate per man. We doubt if the labour in our county prisons has ever reached the half of this value. Large numbers of the Portland prisoners have obtained employmentat harbour and other similar works since their discharge, and generally their conduct has been satisfactory. The Discharged Prisoners’ Aid Society regularly assists the well-behaved convicts in finding employment on their release from confinement, and that society’s operations have been remarkably successful. Pentonville prison has ordinarily from five to six hundred prisoners; while in Milbank the daily average number, in 1857, was about 1100. Parkhurst prison is kept for boy convicts, of whom the average daily number in 1857, was 431; and Brixton, for females, of whom 784 in all were received in that year. The Fulham Refuge is another female institution, in which convicts are received previous to being discharged on license, and in which they are taught a knowledge of household work, such as cooking, washing, &c., calculated to improve their chances of getting employment. Portsmouth, Chatham, Lewes, and Dartmoor are also used as convict establishments; the latter, however, is being gradually given up, as utterly unfitted for such a purpose, its temperature in winter somewhat approaching to that of Nova Zembla. It is difficult to say what are the numbers requiring to be disposed of in these convict prisons in the average of years, but they probably range about 7,000 males and 1,200 females. If the decrease of crime in 1858 continue in subsequent years, our home prisons will amply suffice for the reception of our convict population.

One of the most blessed institutions of London is the cab. I prefer it much to the ’bus—to equestrian exercise—and if I had, which I have not, a carriage of my own, I dare say I should prefer it even to that. If the horse falls down, it is not yours that breaks its knees; if the shafts suddenly snap asunder, they are not yours that are damaged. And you need not be imposed on, unless you are flat enough to ask cabby his fare, and then it serves you right. The number of cabs now licensed in London is 4,500; each common cab and the two horses with the appointments requisite to work it are estimated to cost not more than £60, so that the capital engaged is, in round numbers, upwards of £270,000, provided by upwards of 1,800 small owners. The waste of the capital committed by this competition within the field of supply is visible to the eye, at all times and all weathers, in full stands, or long files waiting hour after hour, and in the numbers crawling about the streets looking out for fares. The cost of the keepof each horse is estimated at 16s. 4d. per week—the depreciation of horse stock is put down at 2s. 6d. per week each, and of the vehicle at 8s. per week. The market value of the labour of such a man as the driver of a cab may be set down in London at 4s. per diem. The stable rent is at least 10s. per week, per cab and horses, so that the capital invested for man, horse, and vehicle, may be set down at more than one shilling per hour lost during every hour of the twelve that cabs are kept unemployed. On every cab-stand, where in foul weather as well as fair a dozen cabs are seen constantly unemployed, the administrative economist may see capital evaporating in worse than waste at a rate of 12s. per hour, £7. 4s. per diem, or at a rate of between two and three thousand pounds per annum, to be charged to some one,i.e.the public. If all were employed, as the usual rate of driving is six miles per hour, they must be each employed at least four hours per diem to pay for their keep. If, however, the cabs were constantly employed daily, at least three horses must be employed, which would augment the charge, by that of an additional horse, at the rate of 4d. per hour. A large proportion of the cabs are employed during the whole 24 hours; but there are then two men, a night man and a day man, and three horses. It is probably greatly below the fact to state that at least one-third of the cabs are, the week through, unemployed—that is to say, one-third of the capital invested is wasted, a service for two capitals being competed for by three, to the inevitable destruction of one. As inother cases of competition within the field, efforts are made by violent manifestations of discontent at the legal fare, by mendacity, and by various modes of extortion, to charge upon the public the expense of the wasted capital. Sometimes it is in the form of a piteous appeal that the driver or the competitor has been out all day and has not before had “one single blessed fare.” And yet the legal charge for the frequently wretched service of the man, horse, and vehicle is, when taken by the hour, nearly double, and by the mile, nearly treble—when only two horses per diem are used—its actual prime cost, which is, when driving at little more than six miles an hour, 2d. or 3d. per mile, and when waiting, 1s. 4d. per hour. But there is now a cry from the cab proprietors that this charge of double the prime cost does not pay, as it probably does not under such a ruinous system, and an appeal is proposed to parliament for an augmentation of the fares, but such augmentations, under this principle of competition within the field, would only aggravate the evil, for it would lead to an increased number of competitors, and instead of there being a competition of three to do the work of two, there would be a competition of two or more to do the work of one—that is, a greater waste of capital to be paid for by some one. Since the reduction of the fares in 1852, the number of cabs in the metropolis, instead of being reduced, has been increased from 3297 to 4507 in 1857.

The criminal returns afford melancholy indications of their moral condition to those conversant with penalstatistics. Thus, in the police returns we find, under the head of “Coach and cabmen”—but it is stated by the police to be chiefly of cabmen—a very heavy list of offences. In the year 1854 it was 682; in the year before that, 777. The recurring crimes are thus denoted:

Apprehensions for

1853.

1854.

Offenses against the Hackney Carriage Act

369

335

Simple larcenies

Other larcenies

Common assaults

,, on the police

Cruelty to animals

Disorderly characters

Drunk and disorderly characters

Drunkenness

Furious driving

In respect to this service of cabs, says a writer—from whom I have taken these figures, I regret I cannot find out his name, that I might quote it—“the analysed charges and statistics show that by a properly-conducted competition by adequate capital for the whole field—for which, in my view, the chief police or local administrative authorities ought, as servants of the public, to be made responsible—service equal to the present might be obtained at 3d. or 4d. per mile; or at the present legal fare of 6d. per mile, a service approaching in condition to that of private carriages, might be insured out of the waste which now occurs.”

A pleasant way of getting along is that of getting in a Hansom, and bidding the driver drive on. A great improvement, undoubtedly, on the old Hackney coach, or on that first species of cab—consisting of a gig with a very dangerous hood—on one side of which sat the driver, while on the other was suspended yourself. Now as you dash merrily along, with a civil driver, a luxurious equipage, and not a bad sort of horse, little do you think that you may be driving far further than you intended, to a dangerous illness and an early grave.

A terrible danger threatens all who live in London, or who visit it, by means of a custom—which ought not to be tolerated for an instant—of carrying sick persons in cabs to hospitals. No doubt the increase of smallpox in the metropolis may be referred to this source. Put a case of smallpox into a comfortable cab for an hour, then send the vehicle into the streets; first a merchant sits in it for a quarter of an hour, then a traveller from the railway gets his chance of catching the disease, and so on for the next week or two. When it takes, the victims have had no warning of their impending danger, and wonder where they got it. They in their turn become new centres of disease, and for the next few weeks they infect the air they breathe, the houses they inhabit, the clothing sent to the laundress, and everybody and everything which comes within their influence, and it is impossible to say where the infection ceases. The following arrangements would easily, cheaply, and effectually do away with the evil:—1. Make it penal to let or tohire a public vehicle for the conveyance of any person affected with contagious disease. 2. Every institution for the reception of contagious disease should undertake to fetch the patient on receipt of a medical certificate as to the nature of the case.

Do not be too confidential with cabby, nor ask him what he charges, nor hold out a handful of silver to him and ask him to pay himself, nor give him a sovereign in mistake for a shilling, and delude yourself with the idea that he will return it. Don’t tell him you are in a hurry to catch the train. I once offered the driver of a Hansom a shilling for a ride from the Post Office to the Angel, Islington; he was so disgusted that he plainly informed me that if he’d a known I was only going to give him a shilling, he’d be blessed if he would not have lost the mail for me. The repeal of the newspaper stamp has done wonders for cabby. He now takes in his morning paper the same as any other gentleman. To ride in a cab is the extent of some people’s idea of happiness. I heard of a clerk who had absconded with some money belonging to an employer, he had spent it all in chartering a cab, and in riding about in it all day. M.P.’s are much in the habit of using cabs. On one occasion an M.P. who had been at a party, hurrying down to a division, was changing his evening costume for one more appropriate to business. Unfortunately, in the most interesting part of the transaction, the cab was upset and the M.P. was exhibited in a state which would have made Lord Elcho very angry.

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