wanted"The very man that is wanted!"
"The very man that is wanted!"
"The very man that is wanted!"
"We must apply to him at all costs for the money," I remarked. "He will never refuse to help his father, even if his brothers were traitors. One of them must go to London to-morrow and search out Arthur and obtain the funds needed."
And so it was agreed, and the agreement was acted on; but our best efforts, the personal search of Thomas Brownlow, the most diligent inquiries of myself and my friend Harrowby, during the short time at our disposal, were unable to discover any trace of the missing Arthur, who was gone, like the wind, without a vestige to mark his flight. No one seemed to know or remember much about him. Those who affected to, said some one thing, some another, and in the Law List his name was not to be found.
The condition of the Brownlows had meanwhile become worse. The little ready money which they had, had been expended in the journey to London and the prosecution of the inquiries after Arthur. They looked hungry and dejected, and I was informed that the mortgagee, incensed at their inattention to his applications for money, had definitely decided to put someone in possession of the farm by the last day of May.
I recommended the brothers to make a last appeal personally before the end of May arrived, and see if by their united rhetoric they could soften the inflexible heart of Mr. Suamarez. This with rustic reluctance they ultimately consented to do.
The four brothers, Hugh, William, Robert, and Thomas, proceeded to Ashcroft. I believed they walked there, as their last horse had been sold some months ago, and they had not a sixpence left to pay railway fare. They arrived at the mansion of the inexorable mortgagee, and were summarily refused admission by the servant, as I had been. But with a pertinacity worthy of a better cause the four men hung about the place hour after hour, with the intention of securing a parley with Mr. Saumarez, with whom they were quite unacquainted, having hitherto conducted their negotiations through his agent.
Towards the evening, as they prowled about the coppice surrounding the house, they saw the owner of the manor, accompanied by his wife and their young children, come on to the lawn, and no sooner was the opportunity presented than the four men burst through the bushes and approached him.
Mrs. Saumarez turned deadly pale, and threw her arms round her children at the sight of these four ill-clad and travel-stained loafers, for so they looked, so suddenly appearing onthe lawn of the house, while Mr. Saumarez stood in front of his wife and children and angrily demanded what they wanted.
"It is just this, sir," said Hugh, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve preparatory to making a speech, "we are the Brownlows, sir, and we have travelled fifty miles to see you, sir. You're going to evict us from our little farm that we have had in our family for years and years without number. Give us some delay, sir—forgo your intention for this year—till after the harvest, at least, until we see what sort of crops we may have, and out of the profit of them we can pay you your demands."
angrilyMr. Saumarez angrily demanded what they wanted.
Mr. Saumarez angrily demanded what they wanted.
Mr. Saumarez angrily demanded what they wanted.
"These speeches are all idle," responded Mr. Saumarez testily. "I made up my mind long ago. I know you to be good-for-nothing men, through whose laziness your old father's farm has got into its present condition. You deserve no pity, and you deserve no delay. For the present state of affairs you have only yourselves to blame. You must take the consequences of your conduct."
"Oh, sir." began Hugh, who was the spokesman of the rest, "think of our circumstances. We have children, as you have; they will all be thrown on the world——"
"Into this," replied Mr. Saumarez, "I cannotgo. When the mortgage came into my hands—which it did along with some adjoining property about a year ago, on my return from abroad—I made a particular point of asking my agent what sort of men conducted the farm. And hearing from him that they were four brothers, all men of questionable character, named Brownlow, who owed their present degradation to their own laziness and folly, I said I wished to hear no more, and that the farm, which stood conveniently adjacent to a manor which is also mine, must be appropriated with no more delay than the usual legal routine permitted of. That is what I said to my agent. I presume—in fact, I know—he has acted on my orders. I have nothing more to say about it, so I wish you a good evening."
"We have children—two of us are married men," exclaimed Hugh, appealing to Mrs. Saumarez.
"We have had sickness in the family for months past," added Robert.
"It is not our fault—the harvests have been bad year after year."
But they were speaking to deaf ears. Mr. Saumarez, motioning to his wife and children, was turning away to enter the house.
"I don't know," said Thomas, who had not hitherto spoken, "what will become of our old father——"
"What?" inquired Mr. Saumarez sharply, turning round, "Is your old father still alive?"
"Yes, he is," they all replied at once, staring at him with most unfeigned surprise.
"I understood from my agent," replied Mr. Saumarez, his voice getting thick as he spoke, "that there were only you four brothers—men who deserved—men whom I knew to be——Look here, you Brownlows. You tell me your old father is still living. Is he well? Is he in fair health? Does his memory remain good? And how—how do you treat him in his old age?"
"How do we treat him, sir?" inquired Hugh Brownlow and the rest, speaking slowly and gazing at Mr. Saumarez as if they had seen a ghost. "Why, as to that——"
"As to that," I said, appearing from the drawing-room with old Mr. Brownlow on my arm—for in deference to his expressed wish, after the departure of his sons, I had travelled with him by train to Ashcroft in order that he too might plead, and we had just arrived—"as to that, Mr. Saumarez, the father can best answer for himself. See if he is not still an honoured and reverend sire. Look at him yourself, sir; for before heaven I believe you are Arthur Brownlow."
"Yes," exclaimed the old man on my arm, his eyes streaming with tears, "it is my son, my own son Arthur, at last! My former ruin is nothing to my present joy, for I see the boy whom I have wronged, whose reproaching image has been present with me for years—I see him at last before me; I hold him in my arms; I ask pardon of him, profoundest pardon, for all the injustice I have done him; and I rejoice to think that at last my lifelong sorrow is at an end."
Arthur was weeping on his father's neck. The brothers stood around petrified with astonishment.
"It is true," said Arthur Brownlow in a voice choked with emotion; "it is true that, had my brothers been the only parties concerned, I might perhaps—nay, I am sure I should—without compunction have retaliated as the world retaliates. But I never knew—I never suspected—that you, my father, were among them. I have wept for you as dead, for such tidings reached me some time ago. I have mourned for the unjust opinion you held of me, mourned since my boyhood, and even as a man I mourned. But now I hold you in my arms—alive, God be thanked! and forgiving, Christ be praised! And greater happiness can I not know, save if one of my own children should bring me the same experience, and then my felicity might be as great."
The mystery of the lost identity of Arthur Brownlow was easily explained. He had prospered in the world as Arthur Brownlow, when my friend Harrowby knew him; but shortly after that date he had married a Miss Saumarez, who held large estates in Jamaica, and whose name he was compelled to take for the sake of securing the entail of her property to the children. He had lived in Jamaica for nearly ten years, and had recently come back, to find some property near Hambleton added to his possessions, and with it the mortgage over Brownlow's farm. His agent only knew that Brownlow's farm was managed by the young Brownlows, since the old father had long retired from active participation in it; and with this account of the place Arthur Brownlow was naturally satisfied, since he believed his father had died some years ago. He intended to punish his brothers for their treachery and cruelty, but it is questionable whether his intention would ever have gone beyond reading them a severe, salutary lesson and then reinstating them in their freehold. At any rate, as circumstances happened, it had no chance of doing so, for the sight of his father so overwhelmed poor Arthur with joy, that all was forgotten, all was forgiven, in that happy moment; and now in the whole of my parish there is not a happier or better conducted place than Brownlow's farm.
league
Dear Readers of The Quiver,
The recent Rescript of the Czar of Russia, inviting the Great Powers to entertain the idea of a general disarmament, was naturally received with joyful acclaim by the whole Religious World. There were some, of course, who shook their heads dubiously when they heard of it. "Can it be true," they said, "that the Autocrat of All the Russias is on the side of peace?" And then they have proceeded to hint at ulterior motives for the announcement. But the great majority of Christian people have preferred to take his Imperial Majesty at his word, and to accept, with deep thankfulness to Almighty God, the Supreme Disposer of all men and all things, this gracious sign of a long-hoped-for age of universal peace and good-will, foretold by the prophets and proclaimed by the herald angels at Bethlehem.
But the Great White Czar himself does not need to be reminded that Governments are powerless unless they are supported by the peoples whom they represent in the International Councils thus convened. And this support, when voiced in a definite form, is a mighty force which will carry everything before it. Here, then, and now, under the inspiration of this blessed Christmas season, is given us an opportunity of responding to the call for Peace, which, if neglected, may not be repeated for many a generation yet to come.
We have been awaiting the inauguration of a collective expression of Christian approval and support of the Peace Rescript, not only from our own, but from all the Christian nations; but up to the present no such international movement appears to have been organised. We therefore invite our readers all over the world to join in a hearty and thankful endorsement of the sentiment of the Czar's Manifesto, and thus set in motion a powerful engine for good. We suggest also that they should all enlist their adult friends, without restriction of sex or creed, in the same Christlike cause, by obtaining their signatures to the declaration to be found on the other side of this leaflet.
When the sheet has been filled up With all the signatures obtainable, it should be returned without delay to the Editor ofThe Quiver, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C. Further sheets will be supplied, post free, on application, or any number of plain sheets may be added by the collector as required.
Yours,In the service of the Prince of Peace,The Editor of the Quiver
signature
An Honorarium ofTen Poundswill be awarded to the Sender of the First Thousand Signatures, under regulations which will appear in our next issue.
roll
We, the undersigned, desire to express our earnest sympathy with the peace proposals contained in the recent Rescript of his Imperial Majesty the Czar of Russia, and hereby authorise the attachment of our names to any International Memorial having for its object the promotion of Universal Peace upon a Christian basis.
Names.Addresses.______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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Our Roll of Heroic Deeds
TWO MANCHESTER HEROES.
One of the many notable acts of bravery which are constantly being performed by the members of fire brigades all over the kingdom is here depicted. The lower floors of a house situated in Portland Street, Manchester, were in flames, and in an upper window a man suddenly appeared and cried for help. A ladder was immediately procured, but, to the dismay of the onlookers, it was too short by several feet, and seemed absolutely useless. However, Fireman Lawrence swarmed up the ladder, closely followed by Clayton, and when they reached the top, the latter so placed his arms that Lawrence could stand upon them and thus reach the narrow gutter above, on to which he clambered. The breathless crowd beneath them watched Lawrence balance himself on the ledge, and, with great difficulty and at terrible peril to his life, pass the imprisoned man to his companion. When Lawrence, by the help of Clayton, gained the ladder in safety again, thundering roars on roars of applause worthily greeted the plucky men in recognition of their magnificent bravery.
chaplain
EX-SPEAKER PEEL. By F. W. Farrar, D.D., MR. SPEAKER GULLY.
(Photo: Russell and Sons.) Dean of Canterbury. (Photo: Bassano, Ltd.)
PART II.
II once had the honour of meeting Mr. Gladstone at a very small dinner-party of some eight or ten persons; and after dinner I found myself sitting beside him and one of our most distinguished men of letters—Mr. W. E. H. Lecky, M.P. It happened to be a time when party feeling was running very high in Parliament, and I purposely turned the conversation in that direction. The question of Home Rule was under discussion, and it was common for Irish members—especially for some who were of very excitable temperament—to be called to order. Strong language was frequently used, such as quite passed the ordinary limits of Parliamentary conventions. I mentally recalled the current anecdote—I do not know whether it be true or not—that Daniel O'Connell, in one of his fierce disputes with Mr. Disraeli, had said that he must be descended from the unrepentant thief; and I asked the great statesman whether, during his half-century of experience in the House of Commons, there had been any change in the license of vituperation, which happened at that moment to be specially prevalent. "No," he said; "in that respect there has been no change. At all the crises which my memory recalls there have been outbursts of violent expression quite as strong as any which have been heard of late." As the conversation continued, he mentioned two changes which had occurred in the House of Commons—one a mere matter of costume; the other of much greater significance. An American guest at the dinner-table had observed that he could notremember any other party since he had been in England at which he was the only person present who wore a moustache. Mr. Gladstone said that, when he first entered Parliament, there were actually more members who still wore pigtails than those who wore the beard or moustache. At that time no one, as a rule, indulged in those appendages except officers in the army. There was one exception, the late Mr. Muntz, who was for many years member for Birmingham; and so noticeable was this exception, that in the House he was popularly known as "the man with the beard."
I once had the honour of meeting Mr. Gladstone at a very small dinner-party of some eight or ten persons; and after dinner I found myself sitting beside him and one of our most distinguished men of letters—Mr. W. E. H. Lecky, M.P. It happened to be a time when party feeling was running very high in Parliament, and I purposely turned the conversation in that direction. The question of Home Rule was under discussion, and it was common for Irish members—especially for some who were of very excitable temperament—to be called to order. Strong language was frequently used, such as quite passed the ordinary limits of Parliamentary conventions. I mentally recalled the current anecdote—I do not know whether it be true or not—that Daniel O'Connell, in one of his fierce disputes with Mr. Disraeli, had said that he must be descended from the unrepentant thief; and I asked the great statesman whether, during his half-century of experience in the House of Commons, there had been any change in the license of vituperation, which happened at that moment to be specially prevalent. "No," he said; "in that respect there has been no change. At all the crises which my memory recalls there have been outbursts of violent expression quite as strong as any which have been heard of late." As the conversation continued, he mentioned two changes which had occurred in the House of Commons—one a mere matter of costume; the other of much greater significance. An American guest at the dinner-table had observed that he could notremember any other party since he had been in England at which he was the only person present who wore a moustache. Mr. Gladstone said that, when he first entered Parliament, there were actually more members who still wore pigtails than those who wore the beard or moustache. At that time no one, as a rule, indulged in those appendages except officers in the army. There was one exception, the late Mr. Muntz, who was for many years member for Birmingham; and so noticeable was this exception, that in the House he was popularly known as "the man with the beard."
LeckyMR. W. E. H. LECKY.(Photo: Melhuish and Gale, Ltd., Pall Mall, W.)
MR. W. E. H. LECKY.(Photo: Melhuish and Gale, Ltd., Pall Mall, W.)
MR. W. E. H. LECKY.
(Photo: Melhuish and Gale, Ltd., Pall Mall, W.)
The other change was this: "In old days," said Mr. Gladstone, "the House used to have an absolute control of bores." Few of the members took frequent part in the debates. Discussion seemed, by common consent, to be left mainly to a score or two of leaders. There were gentlemen who had been for long years representatives of important cities, who were never known to have opened their lips. I myself in my boyhood knew one highly respected member who, if I remember rightly, had sat for a county town for nearly fifty years, and whose sole contribution to the debates in Parliament, for all that period, had been the single sentence, "I second the motion!" It is widely different now. I suppose that now any member who has sat for a number of years, and never even made his maiden speech, is a rare exception. Although the gift of utterance is supposed to be very much less rare than once it was, yet the few only are able to speak really well. This, however, does not prevent members from the free expression of their opinions, because in print one speech does not look very much unlike another. In many cases in these days members are speaking with far less reference to the House than to the Press gallery. Their constituents expect them to speak, and like to see their names and remarks in the daily papers, however ruthlessly they may be abbreviated by the reporters. In former days a bore was never tolerated. After a very few sentences the House gave such unconcealed expression to its impatience, and the orator was interrupted by such a continuous roar of "Divide, divide!... 'vide!... 'vide!... 'vide!" that the stoutest-hearted, after a short effort, gave way, and the House was not afflicted with a wearying tide of commonplace, "in one weak, washy, everlasting flood." At present it is not always so. It is indeed but seldom that a member feels perfectly willing to bestow on his fatigued fellow-senators the whole amount of his tediousness; but I have, not infrequently, seen a member listen with the blandest smile of indifference to the torrent of interruptions which marred his oratory—and tire his audience into partial silence by leaving on their minds the conviction that heintendedto say out what he had meant to say, so that the shortest way to get rid of him would be to let him maunder on to the end!
FarrarDEAN FARRAR IN HIS OLD CORNER IN THE GALLERY.
DEAN FARRAR IN HIS OLD CORNER IN THE GALLERY.
DEAN FARRAR IN HIS OLD CORNER IN THE GALLERY.
Reverting to the subject of strong language in the House, and again speaking of O'Connell, I asked Mr. Gladstone whether he had been present when the great demagogue had convulsed the House with laughter by his parody on Dryden's epigram on the three great poets, Homer, Virgil, and Milton. "Oh, yes," he answered. "I see him now before my mind's eye, as, with a broad gleam of amusement over his face, he kept looking up at Colonel Sibthorpe,the somewhat eccentric member for Lincoln, and then jotting down something in his notes. Colonel Sibthorpe, having been an officer in the army, was exempt from the then current convention of being close-shaven, and he was bearded like a pard. I cannot recall the exact epigram, but I remember the incident perfectly."
Dublin(Photo: Lawrence, Dublin.)DANIEL O'CONNELL.(From the Painting by David Wilkie.)
(Photo: Lawrence, Dublin.)DANIEL O'CONNELL.(From the Painting by David Wilkie.)
(Photo: Lawrence, Dublin.)
DANIEL O'CONNELL.
(From the Painting by David Wilkie.)
I had never seen O'Connell's epigram in print, but I quoted it as I had, years ago, heard it quoted to me—and quite incorrectly. "Oh, these colonels!" said O'Connell, "they remind me of the celebrated lines of the poet"—
"Three colonels in three distant counties born,Armagh and Clare, and Lincoln did adorn;The first in lengthiness of beard surpassed,The next in bushiness, in both the last:The force of nature could no further go—Tobeardthe third sheshavedthe other two!"
That was the form in which I had heard it quoted, but Mr. Lecky at once suggested that the third and fourth lines were purely imaginary, and I have since found that they really were something to this effect—
"The first in direst bigotry surpassed,The next in impudence—in both the last."
Delivered as the supposed "celebrated lines of the poet" were in O'Connell's rich brogue, and with his indescribable sense of humour, it may well be imagined that it was long before the laugh of the members died away!
In old days I was not infrequently present in the House during the gladiatorial combats, which were then of incessant occurrence, between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli. The House was always crowded, and the scenes were marked by an interest and vivacity which are now of far rarer occurrence. I well remember a long and brilliant speech of Mr. Disraeli's, which occupied perhaps two hours or more, late at night. During the speech—as is very common—he had to refresh his voice repeatedly by drinking some composition or other. Water is the safest refreshment for speakers under these circumstances, but I suppose that the friend who had been thus ministering to the speaker's necessities had brought sherry, or something of that kind. The consequence was that, without any fault on his part and quite unconsciously, Mr. Disraeli—who was, I believe, an habitually temperate man—was speaking at last with far less point and lucidity than was his wont. At the close of his speech Mr. Gladstone rose to answer, and began by the remark, "I shall not notice any of the concluding observations of the right honourable gentleman, because I am sure that the House will agree with me in thinking that they were due to"—and then he added with marked emphasis—"a somewhatheatedimagination."
It was unfortunate in those years of political antagonism that the two eminent leaders were men of temperaments absolutely antipathetic. It would have been difficult to find two men who, remarkable as were their gifts, differed from each other more widely in almost every characteristic of their minds. Mr. Disraeli was a man of essentially kind heart, and one whom I have good reason to regard with respect and gratitude. Much of his apparent acerbity, many of his strong attacks, were really only on the surface. I feel quite sure that for Mr. Gladstone—in spite of the many interchanges of criticism which sometimes sounded a little acrimonious—he felt not only a profound respect and admiration, but even no small personal regard. On one occasion he spoke of his great rival as "my right honourablefriend, if he will allow me to call him so." The characteristic of Mr. Gladstone's mind was anintense moral sincerity, and he could not return the compliment. One cannot but regret that he felt himself unable cordially to reciprocate the kindly expression. Had he felt able to do so—had these two political opponents been able from that time to speak of each other as "my right honourable friend"—many acerbities of debate might have been materially softened. But in his reply, Mr. Gladstone, while he spoke with kind appreciation, could not, or would not, use the phrase which Mr. Disraeli had on that single occasion adopted. Perhaps he attached to it a meaning far deeper than its conventional significance. At any rate, the fact remains that, while in his response he spoke with dignified recognition of his opponent's gifts, and was evidently gratified by the expression he had used, he could not get himself to call Mr. Disraeli by the sacred name of "friend," and that word was, I believe, never again exchanged between them. But I only mention this little incident because in different ways it seems to me to have been touchingly to the credit of the best qualities of both. And in spite of so many years of gladiatorial combat in the arena of the House, when Lord Beaconsfield died Mr. Gladstone pronounced a eulogy upon him, generous yet strictly accurate in every particular.
slouchDISRAELI'S FAVOURITE ATTITUDE IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
DISRAELI'S FAVOURITE ATTITUDE IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
DISRAELI'S FAVOURITE ATTITUDE IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
On another occasion Mr. Gladstone—more suoin his earlier days—had almost leapt to his feet to make a controversial speech, which he had poured forth with all that intensity of conviction which held the House in rapt attention even while many of its members were being convinced against their will. Mr. Disraeli began his reply by the remark that "Really the right honourable gentleman sprang up with such vehemence, and spoke with such energy, that he was often glad that there was between them"—and here he laid his hands on the large table at which the clerks sit and at which members take the oath, which occupies the greater part of the space between the Government bench and the leading members of the Opposition—"that there was between them a good solid substantial piece of furniture." The House laughed good-humouredly at the little harmless sarcasm and at the notion of Disraeli requiring a barrier of personal protection against such vehement assaults! I was told by one who heard the remark—and it is a pleasant little incident—that, on the evening after this speech, Mr. Gladstone had met Lady Beaconsfield at some social gathering, and, so far from resenting the little hit at himself, had cordially complimented her on the excellent speech which her husband had made on the previous evening. There is, however, no doubt that Mr. Gladstone sometimes winced under the subtle swordplay of his antagonist,just as Mr. Disraeli must have felt the force of the rolling tide of his opponent's oratory. But while Mr. Gladstone sat listening with every emotion reflected on his expressive and mobile countenance, Mr. Disraeli sat motionless, with features as unchanging as if he wore a mask.
The Chaplain of the House has an excellent seat in the gallery—one of the best seats for seeing and hearing—assigned to him by the courtesy of the members. I not infrequently availed myself of the privilege of occupying this seat, and in this way I was present at some of Mr. Gladstone's last appearances in the House, I particularly recall an incident which has since then been frequently alluded to, and which was very highly to the credit of Mr. Gladstone's essential kindness of heart. Mr. Austen Chamberlain, son of the Right Hon. J. Chamberlain, had delivered what was, I believe, his maiden speech. It exhibited many of the qualities of clear enunciation and forcible statement which make his father one of the best speakers in the present Parliament. Mr. Gladstone and (I suppose) the Liberal party in general had felt much hurt by the separation of Mr. Chamberlain from their councils, and by his partial alliance with their political opponents; and this feeling could not but be shared by Mr. Gladstone, who carried into politics an ardour of conviction of deeper intensity than is felt by ordinary minds. Mr. Austen Chamberlain's speech had, of course, been delivered in favour of views which Mr. Gladstone impugned, and nothing would have been easier to him than to bring down on the head of the young member the sledgehammer force of his experience, eloquence, and intellectual supremacy. So far from this, Mr. Gladstone not only pronounced a warm eulogy on the speech, but went out of his way to say—turning to Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, and entirely overlooking any momentary exacerbation of political opposition—that it was a speech which, in the ability and the modest force with which it had been delivered, "could not but be very delightful to a father's heart." Simple and spontaneous as the expression was, it caused visible pleasure to all who heard it. Such genuine amenities do much to soften the occasional exasperations of political struggle.
AustenMR. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN.(When making his maiden speech.)
MR. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN.(When making his maiden speech.)
MR. AUSTEN CHAMBERLAIN.
(When making his maiden speech.)
I have heard many fine and telling speeches in the House from its foremost debaters, from the days of Lord Palmerston to our own; but certainly I have heard no orators who impressed me at all so deeply as Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Bright. It is, however, generally acknowledged that most of Mr. Bright's finest and most memorable speeches were not delivered in the House of Commons, but to vaster and more sympathetic audiences of the people from the midst of whom he had sprung. If I were asked what was the most eloquent speech to which I ever listened, I should at once answer, The speech which I heard Mr. Bright deliver at St. James's Hall at the time of the Second Reform Bill. The meeting was a mass meeting, and a ticket had been given me for the platform by an old friend and schoolfellow. I was seated between him and Mr. Frederic Harrison, just behind the orator of the evening. In the front row with Mr. Bright were the Rt. Hon. J. Ayrton, who had been First Commissioner ofWorks, and Mr. W. A. Cremer and Mr. Odger, who were prominent working-men leaders of the time. Among the audience, in the middle of the hall, sat Mr. John Stuart Mill, then one of the most celebrated thinkers of the day; and, throughout the meeting, he applauded with vehemence, freely bestowing his claps even on the obvious crudities of some of the working-men who subsequently spoke. As I was close behind Mr. Bright I could almost read the notes which lay before him on his broad-brimmed hat. They showed his method, which was carefully to write out his speech, to learn it by heart, and to refresh his memory by having before him some sheets of paper, on which in a large legible hand he had put down the leading substantives of every sentence. Besides the magic of his strong, manly, sympathetic voice, and the force of his Saxon English, and the purity of a style formed on the best models—especially, I believe, on John Milton and John Bunyan—he owed much of his power as an orator to the extreme deliberation of his delivery. Owing to this, an audience was able to see the point which he was intending to bring out, long before he actually expressed it. They were gradually wound up into a pitch of ever-increasing excitement and sympathy until the actual climax, so that it almost seemed as if the speaker was merely expressing in his single voice the common sentiment of thousands. Now, at the time of which I speak, Mr. Bright had been passing—as all the best and greatest men have to pass in their time—through what he called "hurricanes of abuse, and tornadoes of depreciation." He was commonly spoken of, in many of the daily papers, not only as a Radical, but as a revolutionary Jacobin, a political firebrand, and a pernicious demagogue. The point which he wanted to impress on his deeply sympathising hearers was that it was monstrous so to characterise him, when all that he had done was to point out the actual existence of perils which he had neither created nor intensified, but about which he had only uttered those timely warnings which sometimes enable a patriot to avert the terrible consequences that it might otherwise be too late to remedy. He spoke as follows, and the audience, which crowded the hall to its utmost capacity, followed him from clause to clause with breathless stillness. I cannot quote his exact words, but they were to this general effect:—
Palmerston(Photo: Fradelle and Young.)LORD PALMERSTON.
(Photo: Fradelle and Young.)LORD PALMERSTON.
(Photo: Fradelle and Young.)
LORD PALMERSTON.
"I have," he said, "been called an incendiary, a firebrand, a dangerous agitator. Now, supposing that I were to go to the inhabitants of a village or hamlet on the side of a mountain, and were to say to them, 'Do you see that thin blue smoke which is issuing from the rifts of the mountain summit above your heads?' and were to warn them that it was a menace of peril. Suppose that they were heedless of my warning, and denounced me for awaking unnecessary alarm: and suppose that soon afterwards the mountain became a huge bellowing volcano, filling the heavens with red-hot ashes, and pouring huge streams of burning lava down its sides. Would it have been I who created that volcano? Would it have been my hand which stored it with combustible materials? Should I have been a dangerous agitator because I hadwarned the dwellers in that mountain hamlet to avert or escape from the perils by which they were 'menaced'?"
Fradelle(Photo: Fradelle and Young, Regent Street.)
(Photo: Fradelle and Young, Regent Street.)
(Photo: Fradelle and Young, Regent Street.)
Such is my recollection of the passage which I heard so many years ago, and which I have doubtless spoiled in attempting to reproduce. But when the great orator, speaking with weighty deliberation, had reached thedénouementof his striking metaphor, so powerfully had he wrought on the feelings of his hearers that an effect followed such as I have never seen on any other occasion. The whole vast audience, as though swayed by one common impulse, sprang to its feet—not gradually and at the initiative of one or twoclaqueursand partisans, but with an absolutely electric sympathy, and they remained on their feet cheering the speaker for five minutes. It was by far the most decisive triumph of the magic and mastery of eloquence that I have ever witnessed in my life.
Another remarkable incident occurred at the same meeting. Mr. Ayrton, in moving a vote of thanks to the chairman, had alluded to a huge procession—part of a demonstration of the working-classes in favour of the Reform Bill—which had taken place in London a few days previously. Lady Burdett-Coutts had witnessed the procession from a balcony in the window of her house as it passed down the length of Piccadilly and Oxford Street. She had been recognised, and, knowing her generous beneficence, the working-men had cheered her. Mr. Ayrton alluded to this, and had the very dubious taste to express a strong regret that the Queen, who was at Buckingham Palace, had not done the same. The allusion was singularly misplaced, and Mr. Ayrton, as one who had been a member of the Government, ought to have known that under no circumstances could her Majesty thus recognise a demonstration in favour of a Bill which excited great differences of opinion, and was still under discussion by the House of Commons. The speech was still moremal à proposbecause it seemed, whether intentionally or not, to attribute to her Majesty a lack of that sympathy with the aspirations of the people which, on the contrary, the Queen has invariably shown, so that her kindness of heart has won a more unbounded affection than has ever been lavished on any previous Sovereign. Mr. Bright felt how unfortunate was thisgaucherie, into which the speaker had perhaps unintentionally been led. He saw also how injurious it might be to the effect which the meeting would otherwise produce. When he rose to acknowledge the vote of thanks to himself, he not only defended her Majesty from the blame which Mr. Ayrton had implied, but, alluding with touching simplicity to the long and uninterrupted devotion which the Royal Lady had shown for so many years of widowhood to the memory of her great and princely consort, he showed the unfairness of the insinuation which might seem to have been implied.
The great voices of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Bright are silent. They have passed from the heated arena of politics, "to where beyond these voices there is peace"; and they have not left their equals behind them. We seem to be passing through one of those interspaces in national life which are not illuminated by minds so bright with genius as those which have ceased to shine. The soil of the next generation may perhaps produce a harvest as rich, or richer. Meanwhile we may at least rejoice that
"Great men have been among us; hands that pennedAnd tongues that uttered wisdom:—better none."
Economical
By Lina Orman Cooper, Author of "Our Home Rulers," Etc.
I"Domestic economy consists in spending a penny to save a pound. Political economy consists in spending a pound to save a penny."
"Domestic economy consists in spending a penny to save a pound. Political economy consists in spending a pound to save a penny."
Such is an aphorism left us by one of the wisest of men. It exactly defines the principle on which I shall deal with the subject of this paper. Real economy means good management, and is quite apart from penuriousness. It implies proper regulation of a household, and careful disposition or arrangement of work. We can be thrifty of our talents, time, and money without being niggardly, for frugality need never descend into parsimony if we are watchful. There are more precious things than £ s. d., after all, and looking after those other things makes us sympathetic and original.
For instance, the real House Economical suggests sunshine and purity. Without these, smallness of rent will be more than counter-balanced by increase in doctors' fees. Of necessity, it must be liberally and variously supplied, or satiety follows. It is true that red herrings offer a larger amount of nutriment for a given sum of money than any other kind of animal food. Yet it would not be really economical to feed our households continually on halfpenny herrings. A farthing dip is the cheapest light obtainable—but eyes would be ruined if we provided nothing but single candles in our establishments. Spices and condiments are rather adjuncts of food than necessities, yet they are medicinal in their properties and of extreme value in rendering food more palatable and stimulating a jaded appetite. So far for food—for it is with food we generally find a tendency to save begins.
True economy consists in maintaining the standard of health in a family at its highest. Expenditure towards this end can never be extravagant, even if it ranges from thick curtains over our doors to silk mufflers in windy weather. Not to provide our children with warm underclothing on the score of expense is the height of extravagance; to be content without sanitary surroundings and labour-saving appliances the depth of foolishness.
The House Economical may first of all be beautiful. A horizon that is bounded by a need for thrift more often than not tends to greyness and gloom. This should not be. Lovely surroundings are of economic value in keeping spirits up to a certain point. Digestion is promoted by eating in a bright, airy dining-room. A well-arranged bedroom may be productive of sleep.
Comfortable homes are economical ones, in the best sense of the word, saving time, fatigue, and temper. One hour's opportune rest on a Chesterfield may save hours of malaise and headache. The House Economical will have rules sufficiently elastic to allow of such occasional pauses in work—"come-apart-and-rest-for-a-while" possibilities—if called for.
One great principle in the House Economical is never to spend money on unwanted things because they happen to be seen. Another is, when wanted, to get the best procurable. "Cheap and nasty" is a very true union ofwords. Yet we must remember that some inexpensive substitutes are quite as good as costly things. A copper kettle, for instance, looks just as well and wears longer than a silver one. A1 plate lasts a lifetime if taken care of. Serge is more useful than satin, and just as suitable in its way.
"She looketh well to the ways of her household" was said of the virtuous woman of old. In the House Economical we must most closely follow her example in its ingle-nooks. Our average cook thinks it good to use only lumps of orrell in the range, ignoring the possibilities of saving in any form. Now all housekeepers know that pokers should be absent from the hearth if we would limit coal bills; that cinders, sifted and washed, are most useful fuel for frying and laundry work; that a judicious admixture of wet slack with wood or "nuts" is advisable. There are two economical ways of building and maintaining good fires in our parlours. One is to ignite at the top and suffer to burndownwards. The other is to lay and light after the usual fashion and "backen" with a bucket of damp coal dust. Either procedure gives a fire that will burn for hours without attention, if not "raked" by Mary Jane. We need not, like the ghost in Hamlet, "be condemned to fast in fires" even in the House Economical, if we see that every hearth burns its own cinders—that the kitchen stove consumes every bit of table refuse—and that the coal man delivers eight bags of slack with every ton of coal.
In the House Economical some laundry work must be done—by all means send out starched things. But Jaeger underclothing, and all flannels, last longer when washed at home. It has been said that servants, nowadays, are like monkey soap—and "will not wash clothes." But insertion of a clause in our hiring lease would show them what is required in this line. To keep woollies soft and unshrunken, they must be soaked in a bath containing two parts cold to one of hot water. In this, a handful of boiled soap jelly is stirred (to a lather) and to it one tablespoonful of ammonia (liquid) added. This volatile spirit loosens all dirt, and our clothing requires no rubbing, only a thorough rinsing. After shaking well, the garments must be hung out in a shady, sunless place to dry, and finished with a warm smoother. No "cast-iron back with a hinge in it" is required for scientific washing, and a few minutes' weekly supervision will enable the mistress of the House Economical to clothe her household in double garments without fear.
In the House Economical we shall rigidly exclude everything fusty and dusty. Therefore carpets will be conspicuous by their absence from the sleeping-rooms, especially those threadbare old lengths and squares usually relegated to our bedrooms. Floors will be disinfected and stained, at the cost of a few pence, by the use of permanganate of potash, and polished with beeswax and turpentine. A cleanly smell, exemption from germs and spores and microbes, and knowledge of the perfectly sanitary condition of our sleeping chambers will result.
"A stitch in time saves nine" is the motto writ large on the lintel of the House Economical. A supply of carpenterial tools, then, will always be at hand to prevent recourse to that most expensive luxury—the British workman. We shall oil locks and link chains, keep our window cords mended and its sash running free. We shall learn how to hammer and plane and file and screw. A bit and brace will be no wonderful instrument to us but a much-used friend. A handy man about the place is a well-known boon. Who can value at her right worth the handy woman?
It is a well-known fact that "many hands make light work," but we must remember that limbs imply mouths, and that mouths must be filled. Hence, in the House Economical, each child will have its own vineyard to keep. Helpful, willing little fingers will be trained to usefulness. Our young folk find as much pleasure inresultfuleffort as in objectless employment—making beds can be as much "play" as arranging a doll's house—and Tommy can be taught to mend as well as to break.
Perhaps, in the House Economical, we are inclined rather to forget that there is a time to spend as well as a time to keep (Eccles. iii.). The very fact of an economic course in general ought to help us to a liberal one at proper seasons. Cheese-paring and skinning a flint are occupations at all times to be avoided, more especially so when festivals or hospitality call for an open hand. The royal road to prosperity is bordered by scattered wealth and watered with generosity. The wisest of men said so, and I believe him.
What can I say further of the many other avenues leading up to and from the House Economical? Of the soap to be bought by the stone and the soda in sacks? Of the plaice for luncheon instead of halibut? Of rhubarb mixed with cherries, and such like? In treating of such details in the House Economical, we are treading on less flowery meads than when considering its twin sisters—the Palace Beautiful and the House Comfortable. Yet, perhaps, it needs more real wisdom to run a family coach on economically pleasant lines than it does to be either artistic or cosy. "Common tasks require all the force of a trained intellect to bear upon them." So it needs a cultivated brain, sanctified common sense, and skilful hands, to brighten the everyday minutiæ of life in the House essentially Economical.