UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 311 ^TM 
 
Fifteen Volumes in an Oak Bookcase. 
 
 " Marve 
 
 
 Telegraph. 
 
 UiMivL-iiunL LiuiinriY. 
 
 In Monthly Volumes, ONE SHILLING Each. 
 
 READY ON THE 2 5 /A OF EACH MONTH. 
 
MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. 
 
 1. SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. 
 
 2. PLAYS FROM MOLIERE. By English Dramatists. 
 
 3. MARLOWE'S FAUSTUS AND GOETHE'S FAUST. 
 
 4. CHRONICLE OF THE CID. 
 
 5. RABELAIS' GARGANTUA, AND THE HEROIC DEEDS 
 
 OF PANTAGRUEL. 
 
 6. THE PRINCE. By Machiavelli. 
 
 7. BACON'S ESSAYS. 
 
 S. DE FOE'S JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR. 
 9. LOCKE ON TOLERATION AND ON CIVIL GOVERN- 
 MENT ; WITH SIR ROBERT FILMER'S PATRIARCHA. 
 
 10. BUTLER'S ANALOGY OF RELIGION. 
 
 11. DRYDEN'S VIRGIL. 
 
 12. SIR WALTER SCOTT'S DEMONOLOGY AND 
 
 WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 13. HERRICK'S HESPERIDES. 
 
 14. COLERIDGE'S TABLE TALK: WITH THE ANCIENT 
 
 MARINER AND CHRISTABEL. 
 
 15. BOCCACCIO'S DECAMERON. 
 
 16. STERNE'S TRISTRAM SHANDY. 
 
 17. HOMER'S ILIAD, Translated by George Chapman. 
 
 18. MEDIMAL TALES. 
 
 19. JOHNSON'S RASSELAS; AND VOLTAIRE'S CANDIDE. 
 
 20. PLAYS AND POEMS BY BEN JONSON. ' 
 
 21. HOBBES'S LEVIATHAN. 
 
 22. BUTLER'S HUDIBRAS. 
 
 23. IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS: MORES UTOPIA; 
 
 BACON'S NEW ATLANTIS; AND CAMFANELLA'S 
 CITY OF THE SUN. 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 
MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. 
 
 24. CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY. 
 
 25 and 26. DON QUIXOTE (Two Volumes). 
 
 27. BURLESQUE PUYS AND POEMS. 
 
 28. DANTE'S DIVINE COMEDY. Longfellow's Translation. 
 
 29. GOLDSMITH'S VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, PLAYS, 
 
 AND POEMS. 
 
 30. FABLES AND PROVERBS FROM THE SANSKRIT. 
 
 31. CHARLES LAMB'S ESSAYS OF ELIA. 
 
 32. THE HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD, Written by 
 
 Himself. 
 
 33. EMERSON'S ESSAYS, REPRESENTATIVE MEN, AND 
 
 SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE. 
 
 34. SOUTHEY'S LIFE OF NELSON. 
 
 35. DE QUINCEY'S OPIUM EATER, SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 36. STORIES OF IRELAND. By Maria Edgeworth. 
 
 37. THE PLAYS OF ARISTOPHANES, Translated by Frere. 
 
 38. SPEECHES AND LETTERS. By Edmund Burke. 
 
 39. THOMAS A KEMPIS' IMITATION OF CHRIST. 
 
 40. POPULAR SONGS OF IRELAND, Collected by 
 
 Thomas Crofton Croker. 
 
 41. THE PLAYS OF ^ESCHYLUS, Translated by R. Potter. 
 
 42. GOETHE'S FAUST, the Second Part." 
 
 43. FAMOUS PAMPHLETS. 
 
 44. SOPHOCLES, Translated by Faucklin. 
 
 45. TALES OF TERROR AND WONDER. 
 
 46. VESTIGES of the NATURAL HISTORY OF CREATION. 
 
 47. THE BARONS' WARS, Etc. By Michael Drayton. 
 
 48. COBBETT'S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 
-Satlantjmc ^ress 
 
 BAIXANTYKE. IIANSUX ANlJ CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
THE ORIGINAL 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS WALKER, M.A. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY 
 
 LL.D.. PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT 
 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 
 BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 
 GLASGOW AND NEW YORK 
 
 1S87 
 
G-/^^ " A na toy mo a 4, 
 
 MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. 
 
 1. Sheridan's Plays. ^ 29, 
 
 2. Flays from Moliere. By | 
 
 English Dramatists. 3^' 
 
 3. Marlowe's Faiisius and , 
 
 Goetlie's Fausi. 31' 
 
 4. Chrofiicle of the Cid. 32, 
 
 5. Fabelais' Gargantiia3.n6.\.\\Q ! 
 
 Heroic Deeds of Pa7nag>tiel. 33' 
 
 6. Machiavclli's P7-i7ice. 34. 
 
 7. Bacon's Essays. 35. 
 
 8. Defoe's Jfurnal of the 
 
 Plngne y^af, | 3^' 
 
 9. Zf?^/'^ o« CiZ'/Z Government 
 
 r^nd Fihnej^s 'Putriarcha." 37' 
 
 1 o. j5 utler's A nalogy ofRelig ion. 
 
 11. Dry den's Virgil. 
 
 12. Scotfs Deinonology and 39 
 
 Witchcraft. 40. 
 
 13. Her rick's Hesperidts. 41 
 
 14. Coleridge's 7 able-Talk. 42 
 
 15. Boccaccio's Decameron. 
 
 16. Sterne's Tristram Shandy. 43 
 
 17. Chapman' s Homer s Iliad. 44 
 
 18. MedicEval Tales. 45 
 
 19. Voltaire's Candide, and ^ 
 
 Johuson's Rasseias. 4^' 
 
 20. yonson's Plays and Poems. 
 
 21. Hobbes's Leviathan. 47' 
 
 22. Samtiel Butler's Hudibras. 
 
 23. Ideal Comtnonwealths. 
 
 24. Cavendish's Life of Wolsey. 40. 
 25 & 26. ZliJw Quixote. 50. 
 
 2 7 . Burlesque Plays and Poems. 
 28. Dante's Divine Comedy. 
 
 Longfellow's Translation. 
 " Marvels of clear type and general neatness. ' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Goldstnith's Vicar of Wake- 
 field, Plays, and Poems. 
 Fables and Proverbs from 
 
 the Satisknt. (Hitofadesa.) 
 
 Lamb's Essays of Elm. 
 The History of Thomas 
 
 Ellwood. 
 
 Efnerson's Essays, &'c. 
 Southey' s Life of Nelson. 
 De Qiiincey's Confessions 
 
 of an Opimn-Eater, ^c. 
 Stories of Ireland. By Miss 
 
 Edgeworth. 
 Frere's Aristophanes : 
 
 Achariiians , Knights, Birds. 
 
 Burke's Speeches and Letters. 
 Thomas a Kempis. 
 Popular Songs of Ireland. 
 Potter's Aischylus. 
 Goethe's Faust: Part II. 
 
 Anster's Translation. 
 Famous Pamphlets. 
 Franckhn' s Sophocles. 
 M. G. Lewis's Tales of 
 
 Terror and Wonder. 
 Vestiges of the Natural 
 
 History oj Creation. 
 Drayton's Baj'ons' Wars, 
 
 NympJiidia, S^c. 
 
 Cobbett's Advice to Young 
 
 Men. 
 
 The Banqtiet of Da?zte. 
 Walker's Original. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Coleridge's " Friend" in 1S12 and Walker's "Original" in 
 1835 are the two chief attempts made in our century to produce 
 in quick succession a series of papers chiefly from one hand, and 
 published in an independent series after the manner of the 
 periodical essayists who set the fashion in Queen Anne's time. 
 " The Friend " extended to twenty-seven numbers, " The 
 Original" to twenty-nine. The two works are as unlike as 
 their authors. Thomas Walker would have made but a poor 
 poet ; and Coleridge but a poor police magistrate. " The 
 Friend" has heights and depths of thought which may be 
 caviare to the general. " The Original " is not the work of a 
 rare genius, is not the gift to us of one of the immortals, yet it 
 is a book that none -who have once met with it would willingly 
 let die. Its graceful writing, always direct and clear, drawing 
 its grace from the simplicity of truth, satisfies the cultivated 
 reader ; its wisdom and its playfulness in illustration of the 
 various forms of our life, social and individual, yield matter 
 various enough to make the collection pleasant to all sorts and 
 conditions of men. Thomas Walker in his " Original" frankly 
 delivered himself, and brought the way of life as it was seen by 
 a refined and social gentleman, well educated, shrewd, and with- 
 out one low thought, so plainly within view of his reader that 
 neither young nor old, rich nor poor, learned nor unlearned, 
 could read through his book without having been in some 
 degree amused and taught through his experience. 
 
 ';M633 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He was born in 1784 at Manchester, where his father and his 
 uncle were prosperous men of business. His father, after the 
 outbreak of the French Revolution, was so active in expression 
 of political opinion that he was tried for high treason at Lan- 
 caster, defended by Lord Erskine, and acquitted. His uncle 
 went cibroad r.nd settled at Naples. Thomas Walker himself 
 was entered to Trinity College, Cambridge; graduated as B.A. 
 in 1808, and 9.S M.A. in 181 1. He was called to the Bar at the 
 Inner Temple in 1812, at the age of twenty-eight; and at the 
 age of forty-five, in 1829, he became one of the magistrates of 
 the Lambeth Police Office. That was seven years before his 
 death in January 1836, at the age of fifty-two. 
 
 It was only eight months before his death that Thomas 
 Walker, in full work as a police magistrate, and only conscious 
 of a need to take more than average care of his body if he 
 would maintain vigour of mind, set himself the task of pro- 
 ducing, unassisted, the weekly papers to which he gave the 
 name of " The Original." The first number appeared on the 
 20th of May 1835. The clear statement with which it opened 
 tells its aim, and from time to time — in the numbers for the 
 15th of July, the i6th of August, the i6th of September, and the 
 18th of November — the author took the reader into his con- 
 fidence, and came at last to a confession of his sense of flagging 
 powers. He was more ill than he knew, when he at last resolved 
 to give himself a three months' holiday, and wrote, still buoyant 
 with hope, that address to his readers with which his work was 
 closed. Its date was the 2nd of December. He would go on 
 again next March, on the first Wednesday of March ; would 
 wait till the dark days were gone, that he might not have to 
 write so much by candle-light. Diet, sleep and exercise, well 
 regulated, were all that was required to put him right. They 
 were hardly to be set right in London. He would go abroad. 
 When he wrote that last address to the readers of his " Original," 
 Thomas Walker was within seven weeks of death. 
 
 He travelled abroad, and was at Brussels when the end came. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 He had been using his time there by visiting the prisons, 
 and inquiring into their condition. On Saturday, the i6th of 
 January, as he went up the Montagne de la Cour towards the 
 Hotel de Belle Vue, where he was staying, the friend who 
 walked with him saw that he suffered from difficulty of breath- 
 ing. Next day, Sunday, he went to church, and dined at the 
 tabic dhotc ; and he had arranged to visit, on the following 
 Tuesday, the prison of Vilvorde, before which, in days of old, 
 Tyndale was strangled and burnt. He was too ill to keep his 
 engagement, but did not think himself in any danger, and 
 refused to have a doctor called to him. " There was no occa- 
 sion," he said, " he should soon be well." He had some tea 
 taken into his room tliat evening, and was left. As he had rung 
 no bell when it was late next morning, a waiter entered his 
 room and found that the tea-things had not been touched, and 
 that the author of " The Original " lay dead in his bed, cold and 
 stiff. The doctors then were summoned, and, after a post- 
 mortem, certified that the cause of death was pulmonary 
 apoplexy, its seat being the right lung. There is much in this 
 volume that acquires added interest, when we consider that we 
 have here, within its last few months, the summing-up of the 
 experiences of a true and gentle life. A pathos comes, for 
 example, into the essay on " The Art of Attaining High Health " 
 when we think of it as written by a man while death was only 
 waiting for the ink to dry. 
 
 They say that every man has one book in him, if he could 
 but utter it. In this book one man, not rarely gifted, but 
 endowed with quick intelligence, well educated in the schools, 
 well trained to the good use of Hfe and tuned to its right music, 
 has opened himself frankly to us all. His is a true book, for it 
 has life in it — a life. There are books to be found in the world 
 of rarer power, that are less worth retaining as companions. 
 
 "The Original" is here printed in successive numbers as it 
 first appeared. Part of the interest of the book lies in the con- 
 struction of its successive numbers, and in traces of character 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that are obscured by classification and rearrangement, without 
 regard to the serial form. But a library edition, in which the 
 papers have been carefully grouped according to their matter, 
 was carefully edited by one of the book's warmest admirers, 
 the late Dr. Guy, for the original publishers. In this edition* 
 Walker's " Original " is a handsome, well-printed octavo, price 
 five-and-sixpence ; a book which many readers may be glad to 
 have. Dr. William Augustus Guy was an old friend and adviser 
 of my youth, and I had not known him long before he advised 
 me to read Walker's '" Original." 
 
 H. M. 
 May 1887. 
 
The Original. 
 
 BY THOMAS WALKER, I\I. A., 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 BARRISTER-AT-LAW, AND ONE OF THE POLICE MAGISTRATES OF THE METlCd'OLIS. 
 
 PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY AT 12 O'CLOCK, BY H. RENSHAW, 
 356 STRAND, NEARLY OPPOSITE WELLINGTON STREET. 
 
 No. I. V/ednesday, May 20, 1835. 
 
 PRELIMINARY ADDRESS. 
 
 Dear Reader, — I address you without ceremony, because I 
 do not like ceremony, and because I hope we shall soon be on 
 intimate terms. I have long meditated this mode of introducing 
 myself to your acquaintance, from a belief that it might be for 
 our mutual advantage : for mine, by furnishing a constant and 
 interesting stimulus to my faculties of observation and reflection ; 
 for yours, by setting before you an alterative diet of sound and 
 comfortable doctrines blended with innoxious amusement. 
 
 It is my purpose to treat, as forcibly, perspicuously, and con- 
 cisely as each subject and my own ability will allow, of what- 
 ever is most interesting and important in Religion and Politics, 
 in Morals and Manners, and in our Habits and Customs. 
 Besides my graver discussions, I shall present you with original 
 anecdotes, narratives, and miscellaneous matters, and with 
 occasional extracts from other authors, just as I think I can 
 most contribute to your instruction or amusement ; and even 
 my lightest articles I shall, as often as I am able, make subser- 
 vient to the illustration of some sound principle, or the enforce- 
 ment of some useful precept — at the same time rejecting nothing 
 as too trifling, provided it can excite in you an antibilious 
 sensation, however slight. 
 
 Aloof from sect and party, my chief and steady aim will be to 
 satisfy the wants of those who thirst after the truth, and to excite 
 a love of it, where a love of it does not now exist. Certain it is, 
 
lo THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the vast majority of human kind pass througli life in ignorance 
 of its inspirations. They flatter themselves indeed to the con- 
 trary, if they only do not wantonly quit its path, or if in their 
 zig-zag course they sometimes cross or deviate into it, as party, 
 sect, or narrow interest leads them ; but, alas ! by the pure love 
 of truth their actions are never guided. As long as the truth 
 suits their purpose — well ; but the moment it does not, they shut 
 their eyes, or turn away. Look wherever you please — in public 
 or in private — and you will find that it is so. Yet our holy 
 religion again and again commands, and your worldly welfare, 
 properly understood, unceasingly requires, that we love and follow 
 the truth. 
 
 In conclusion. I must tell you, that with regard to pecuniary 
 profit as an author, I estimate that, as I do popularity in my 
 capacity of magistrate. A desire for popularity has no influence 
 on my decisions ; a desire for profit will have none on my writ- 
 ings. I hunt after neither one nor the other. If they follow as 
 consequences of a patient and fearless perseverance in the 
 establishment of right — well and good ; I value them on no 
 other terms. I aspire in my present undertaking to set an 
 example towards raising the national tone in whatever concerns 
 us socially or individually ; and to this end I shall labour to 
 develop the truth, and seasonably to present it in a form as 
 intelligible and attractive to all ages and conditions as lies in my 
 power. 
 
 I have given you my name and additions, that you may be 
 the better able to judge what credit I am entitled to in respect 
 to the different subjects of which I may treat, and as the best 
 security against that license which authors writing anonymously, 
 even when known, are but too apt to allow themselves. 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 
 
 By the Democratic principle, I mean the principle of popular 
 government fitly organized. 
 
 By the Ochlocratic principle, I mean the principle of mob- 
 government, or government by too large masses. 
 
 By the Oligarchic principle, I mean the principle of exclusive 
 government, or government by too few. 
 
 The Democratic principle is the fundamental principle of 
 English Government, and upon its effective operation depend 
 the purity and vigour of the body politic. This principle has a 
 tendency in two difterent directions, and constant watchfulness 
 and skill are required to preserve it in its full force. Unless its 
 application is varied as population increases, it becomes in prac- 
 tice either oligarchical or ochlocratical ; oligarchical, for instance, 
 
PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. ii 
 
 in the ancient corporations of thriving towns, and ochlocratical 
 in increasing parishes with open vestries. 
 
 The Oligarchic principle tends to make those who attain 
 power, tenacious, arbitrary, and corrupt ; those who wish for it, 
 discontented and envious, and the rest fatally indifferent. Hence 
 our long-standing and fierce party struggles on questions of 
 reform — hence the ochlocratic principle so slowly called into 
 action, and hence the headlong consequences ; all of which evils 
 would have been entirely prevented, had the democratic principle 
 been duly kept, or put in operation. 
 
 Ochlocracy (which is derived from two Greek words signify- 
 ing mob-government) is the most inquisitorial, dictatorial, and 
 disgusting of all governments, and its tendency is to despotism 
 as a more tolerable form of tyranny. It is an unwieldy 
 monster, more potent in the tail than in the head, and is hardly 
 stimulated to action but by the garbage or trash, thrown to 
 it by the base or the weak for their own base or weak pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Notwithstanding almost all our institutions have from time to 
 time been neglected, or unskilfully reformed, yet the original 
 democratic principle has still been there ; and it is that principle, 
 however weakened or obscured, which has preserved our con- 
 stitution as a blessing to ourselves and an example to others, 
 through barbarous ages, through the most violent political and 
 religious storms, amidst the desolation of civil wars, and under 
 the weakest and most arbitrary of our monarchs. This con- 
 sideration should excite in us the most jealous care of a principle 
 to which we owe so much, and through which alone we and 
 posterity can derive all the benefits of increasing civilization. 
 Such care is the more necessary, as a foreign principle, called 
 the principle of Centralization, is creeping in amongst us ; a 
 principle chiefly cried up by men who are totally ignorant of the 
 efficacy of the democratic principle — ^men who, with strange 
 inconsistency, are perpetually calling out for popular enlighten- 
 ment, whilst they are striving with all their might to take away 
 popular power, except, indeed, so far as it may be made available 
 for party purposes — men who contemptuously turn from the prac- 
 tical wisdom of their own free and noble institutions to the 
 theories and devices of novices in liberty or proficients in des- 
 potism ; as if France and Prussia were fit examples for the 
 imitation of Britain. 
 
 There are two vices inherent in the centralization principle, 
 which are quite sufficient to render it odious to all true English- 
 men. In the first place, it must necessarily create a tribe of 
 subordinate traders in government, who wnth whatever English 
 feelings they might set out, must from the nature of things, they 
 or their successors, become arbitrary, vexatious, and selfish. In 
 
12 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the second place, as it would deprive the citizens of the invigora- 
 ting moral exercise of managing their common affairs, it would 
 soon justly expose them to the reproach of that Roman emperor, 
 who to certain Grecian deputies claiming for their country a 
 restoration of political privileges, made this bitter answer, " The 
 Greeks have forgotten how to be free." Freedom, like health, 
 can only be preserved by exercise, and that exercise becomes 
 more necessary as a nation becomes more rich. The inevitable 
 tendency of the centralization principle, like the ochlocratic, 
 though more insidiously, is to despotism. The first is the 
 favourite of those who call themselves Liberals, and the last of 
 the Radicals. 
 
 The democratic principle has the most stability, and is the 
 only one under which perfect freedom can exist. The oli- 
 garchic, which is the Tory principle, is more stable than the 
 ochlocratic, and is less unfavourable to liberty. The democratic 
 is the real conservative principle, and the ochlocratic the real 
 destructive. The democratic principle works the best men to 
 the top — the oligarchic the most selfish — the ochlocratic the 
 most profligate and pretending, whilst it throws into utter 
 obscurity the honest and the wise. The democratic principle 
 tends to make manners frank, noble, and disciplined ; the 
 oligarchic makes them artificial and insipid, and the ochlocratic 
 brutal. The three principles exhibit all their characteristics in 
 a greater or less degree wherever they operate, from a parish 
 vestry to the House of Commons, and in every class of society. 
 • The Aristocratic principle having no real existence in this 
 country except in the hereditary branch of the legislature, and 
 having nothing to do with executive and subordinate govern- 
 ment, it does not come within my purpose to notice it. 
 
 I shall hereafter take occasion to enter into a full exposition 
 of the details of democratic government as applicable to 
 parishes, towns, and counties ; thence endeavouring to arrive at 
 the true principles of representation, which are certainly not 
 discoverable in our present semi-ochlocratic state, or state of 
 transition only, let us hope, from oligarchical predominance. I 
 have said that the oligarchic is the Tory principle ; and I may 
 add, the Whig also, except when it is made to give way to the 
 ochlocratic for the sake of getting or retaining power. Would 
 that we might but see some statesman shake off the shackles of 
 party " like dew-drops from the lion's mane," and despising the 
 craft of government, patriotically stand forth the champion of 
 democracy in its proper sense of popular or self-government 
 fitly organized ! Then should we see faction wither and die, and 
 in its place, public spirit and public purity raise England to the 
 highest pitch of national greatness. 
 
 Reader, think of these things— divest yourself of prejudice, 
 
THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE MERCHANT. 13 
 
 and apply what I have said to present circumstances. I will in 
 a future number give you a captivating example from ancient 
 history of the true spirit of government. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE MERCHANT. 
 
 Wisdom is the science of Life. In the capital of an Eastern 
 kingdom lived many ages since Seid Ali, a man so devoted to 
 science that he neglected everything else. He had made many 
 profound and important discoveries, of which others had availed 
 themselves to obtain distinction and wealth — whilst he was 
 passing the meridian of life, his patrimony spent in experiments, 
 his health impaired by study, his temper soured by neglect. 
 He had for a neighbour and acquaintance Ghulam Hassan, 
 known throughout the city by the appellation of the Honest 
 Merchant. Hassan had begun the world with very little educa- 
 tion and no money, but in recompense he had a straightforward 
 understanding, quick observation, a very agreeable frankness of 
 manner, and a heart without guile. Consequently he was 
 universally courted, and though much given to hospitality and 
 the performance of very generous acts, he had amassed a con- 
 siderable fortune. To him in his extremity, Seid disclosed all 
 his griefs. When he had finished — 
 
 "I have a few friends coming to sup with me this evening," 
 said Hassan ; " be of the party, and when they are gone, we 
 will talk of your affairs. In the meantime, take this purse for 
 present exigencies. I will enable you soon to repay me. How 
 it is to be done, I will endeavour to devise before we meet again. 
 Only keep up your spirits, and all shall be well." 
 
 Kind intentions need no preface. The moment the guests 
 were gone, Hassan began thus : 
 
 " You see, my friend, you have kept yourself so much in your 
 study, that yours is the fame of a dead man. You have caused 
 vast benefits to be derived to the world, but the world has 
 scarcely seen you, and, of course, never thinks of rewarding 
 your merits. To remedy your error, I have planned a frolic, if 
 you are not too proud to play your part in it; but I have 
 observed, almost every man must stoop to rise, and happy he 
 who can do so without dishonour. You remember our going 
 this time two years to my little country place, near that singu- 
 larity amongst us, the ancient aqueduct. I cannot tell you how 
 much I was struck with your conjectures as to its origin, and 
 your observations on its construction and materials. Now the 
 old man who used to occupy my house and accompany visitors 
 to the ruins, is lately dead, and what I propose is, that you 
 should disguise yourself, and take his place. You know what 
 
14 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 an extensive acquaintance I have, and the terms upon which I 
 live with them. I will take care to make parties to the aqueduct, 
 and you in a homely garb shall be their guide. Everything 
 strikes by contrast, and a man of your attainments in such a 
 situation cannot by possibility fail soon to attract sufficient 
 notice to accomplish all you desire." 
 
 " I do not know — " said Seid, despondingly — 
 
 " I dare say you do not," interrupted Hassan, " but you know 
 this, that with my little knowledge I have gained a fortune, and 
 that with all yours you have lost one. In matters of science," 
 continued he, bending low with unaffected homage, " I kiss the 
 very ground you walk upon, but in practical matters you must 
 put faith in me. Well-grounded faith, my friend, take the word 
 of a successful man, has great virtue in other things besides 
 religion. To-morrow I will arrange everything — not another 
 word — good night, and may Heaven give you your deserts ! " 
 
 Experience shows, that those who have fallen into a wrong 
 train, frequently meet with nothing but an unbroken series of 
 adverse circumstances. Let them but change their course, and 
 the exact reverse becomes the case ; everything turns to account. 
 Just so it was with Seid. Being duly installed in his new office, 
 his altered way of life quickly produced so great a change in his 
 appearance, health, and spirits, that he scarcely needed any 
 further disguise ; and he felt, moreover, a degree of confidence 
 in himself, of which previously he had no idea. Hassan made 
 frequent parties on his account ; and his fame spread so fast, 
 that a visit to the aqueduct soon came into great vogue. As 
 good fortune would have it, the Vizier himself, who used from 
 time to time to pass an evening with Hassan in the disguise of a 
 brother merchant, sent at this conjuncture notice of his approach. 
 He found in Hassan's company an agreeable relaxation from 
 the cares of government, and the sophistications of the world ; 
 besides which, he had looked in vain for any other man, upon 
 whose information and integrity he could implicitly rely. 
 Hassan availed himself of the opportunity to induce the Vizier 
 to accompany him on an early day to his country place, and he 
 informed Seid that he was bringing a friend, with whom he 
 particularly wished him to be well. The Vizier, though not 
 scientific, delighted in the conversation of scientific men, and 
 he had not long listened to Seid, before he remarked to Hassan, 
 "It strikes me, this is a very extraordinary person. We are 
 alone; is there any objection to his supping with us.-^" 
 
 " If it be your pleasure, none," said Hassan. 
 
 The scene around the house was lovely, the air cool and 
 fragrant, the repast simple but refined, and without any state. 
 The Vizier was in the best possible humour, and Seid, pleased 
 with so acute and polished a hearer, rose above himself, till at 
 
THE ALBUNEAN LAKE. 15 
 
 last Hassan, suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter, cried 
 out — 
 
 " Pardon me, but I can resist no longer." 
 
 Then rising up, he gravely added — 
 
 " I have extreme satisfaction in this opportunity of presenting 
 to his highness the Vizier the philosopher Seid All.'' The 
 surprise of the two was great, and the pleasure mutual. Hassan 
 then related the history of the whole aftair, and it will easily be 
 supposed that from that time ample justice was done to the 
 merits of his friend, and would have been done to his own, but 
 his reply to the Vizier's intimation was, " Whatever your good- 
 ness intends for me, bestow on Seid. He deserves everything, 
 and I want nothing." 
 
 THE ALBUNEAN LAKE. 
 
 To the left of the road from Rome to Tivoli and nearer the 
 latter, lies the Albunean Lake, insignificant as to extent, but 
 interesting from its classical associations. The water resembles 
 warm soapsuds, and sends forth a most noisome sulphureous 
 vapour. Islets of weeds sometimes detach themselves from the 
 sides, and are said to present a remarkable appearance as they 
 are moved about on the constantly bubbling surface. Virgil 
 describes the lake as shaded by a sacred grove, and as having 
 a communication with the infernal regions. This fiction must 
 have been readily beheved in the days of heathen poetry ; for 
 Sir William Gell, in his Topography of Rome and its Vicinity, 
 observes, " the rocky crust of the margin probably covers an 
 unfathomable abyss, for a stone thrown into the lake occasions 
 in its descent so violent a discharge of carbonic acid gas, and 
 for so long a time, as to give the idea of an immense depth of 
 water." He adds, " the sulphureous smell is so strong, that 
 when the wind assists, it has sometimes been perceived in the 
 highest parts of Rome " — a distance, I should think, of from ten 
 tofifteen miles. The grove mentioned by Virgil is now reduced 
 to a few stunted trees, standing on a sterile plain covered with 
 unsightly weeds. The scene is strikingly desolate and disagree- 
 able. In the spring of 1822 I visited it in company with two 
 friends. We walked round the lake, leaving our horses in 
 charge of a courier. As we were on the point of remounting, one 
 of the party called our attention to something emerging from 
 the weeds on the opposite side. For a moment he supposed it 
 to be one of the floating islets, of which he had just been speak- 
 ing, and we paused to observe it. We were, however, soon 
 convinced that it was a living being ; but as we could literally 
 see nothing but a pair of distended nostrils moving through the 
 
i6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 water, and two large eyes at a distance behind them, we were 
 utterly at a loss to conjecture to what they could by possibility 
 belong. 
 
 The monster was evidently making towards us, and when 
 about the middle of the lake, it raised two very long, dark, 
 shaggy ears, as if by way of attracting our attention, and then 
 suddenly let them sink. The horses started, and we stood in 
 silent amaze. Again the ears were raised, and again let fall. I 
 do not know how I looked, but throwing a glance on one of my 
 companions, who was of a florid complexion, I saw he had become 
 as pale as death ; and I told him afterwards, I was sure that, 
 for the moment, he was not far from believing in the poet's 
 account. At length we discovered the object of our wonder to 
 be a young ass, nearly black, which, having fallen into the lake 
 and being unable to get out, was on the point of perishing. In 
 its extremity it had the sense to make towards us for assistance, 
 but in such an exhausted state, as only just to be able to keep 
 its nostrils and eyes above the water as it slowly swam, and we 
 had great difficulty in helping it to land. Certainly I never 
 experienced anything like so much perplexity as from this ex- 
 traordinary combination of such an incident with such a scene, 
 and had the animal sunk before we had ascertained what it was, 
 regard for my credit would have prevented me from ever 
 mentioning the occurrence. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Life without some necessity for exertion must ever lack real 
 interest. That state is capable of the greatest enjoyment, where 
 necessity urges, but not painfully ; where effort is required, but 
 as much as possible without anxiety ; where the spring and 
 summer of life are preparatory to the harvest of autumn and the 
 repose of winter. Then is every season sweet, and in a well- 
 spent life the last the best — the season of calm enjoyment, the 
 richest in recollections, the brightest in hope. Good training 
 and a fair start constitute a more desirable patrimony than 
 wealth ; and those parents who study their children's welfare 
 rather than the gratification of their own avarice or vanity, 
 would do well to think of this. Is it better to run a successful 
 race, or to begin and end at the goal ? 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 Take care, or care will take you. 
 
 A little method is worth a great deal of memory. 
 
 The flatterers of kings and princes have ever been held in 
 
ANECDOTE OF DUNNING. 17 
 
 deserved hatred and contempt. In this country they seem 
 nearly to have had their day, but their successors, the courtiers 
 of the people, are equally contemptible, and much more per- 
 nicious. 
 
 The art of government is the most difficult, the noblest, and 
 the most important of all arts, and it is the most inefficiently 
 practised and the least understood. Well might the Chancellor 
 of Sweden say to his son, " You know not with how little wisdom 
 the world is governed I " 
 
 LOCKE'S OPINION OF THE GOSPEL. 
 
 The Gospel contains so perfect a body of ethics, that reason may 
 be excused from the inquiry, since she may find man's duty 
 clearer and easier in Revelation than in herself. — Letter to 
 Molyiieux. March 30th, 1696. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF DUNNING. 
 
 I ONCE heard Home Tooke relate the following anecdote 
 illustrative of the personal appearance of Dunning, Lord Ash- 
 burton, who was the most celebrated lawyer of his day. When 
 it was the custom for barristers to leave chambers early, and to 
 finish their evenings at the coffee-houses in the neighbourhood 
 of the inns of court, Lord Thurlow on some occasion w-anted to 
 see Dunning privately. He went to the coftee-house frequented 
 by him, and asked a waiter if Mr Dunning was there. The 
 waiter, who was new in his place, said he did not know him. 
 " Not know him I " exclaimed Thurlow with his usual oaths ; 
 "go into the room upstairs, and if you see any gentleman like 
 the knave of clubs, tell him he is particularly wanted." The 
 waiter went up, and forthwith reappeared followed by Dunning. 
 
 Notice. — I purpose ere long to enter upon three subjects of 
 interest and importance : — The art of dining and giving dinners; 
 the art of travelling ; and the art of attaining high health — all 
 from experience. 
 
i8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. IL V^ednesday, May 27, 1835. 
 
 REMARKS ON THE LIFE OF NUMA. 
 
 In my preceding number I promised to give a captivating 
 example from ancient history of the true spirit of governm.ent. 
 As the best preparation of the minds of my readers for the 
 doctrines I hold, I think I cannot do better than give it now. 
 It is an extract from a sort of schoolboy translation, though not 
 without meiit, of Plutarch's Life of Numa Pompilius, published 
 under Dryden's name. In point of matter it is to me of 
 exquisite sweetness and beauty, surpassing anything I am 
 acquainted with. I am aware that latterly it has become the 
 fashion to doubt the authenticity of such accounts, and to 
 accompany doubts with sneers ; but according to my idea of 
 human nature there is in the following narration a much 
 greater air of truth than of fiction, and the long career of Roman 
 greatness in war and peace seems to me the strongest confirm- 
 ation of the received accounts of the respective characters of 
 Romulus and Numa— just as Athenian greatness may most 
 naturally be attributed to Solon, that of Sparta to Lycurgus, and 
 our own to the admirable Alfred, each government taking its 
 impress from the character of its principal organizer. They who 
 doubt such causes of undeniable results, involve themselves in 
 greater difficulties ; as Grotius says of those who disbelieve the 
 miracles of the Christian religion, that to suppose its long con- 
 tinuance and wide spread accomphshed by other means, is to 
 suppose a greater miracle than all. We may say of this life of 
 Numa, what Fox in his History adds after the description of a 
 virtuous character— who would not wish it to be true ? There is 
 indeed somewhat prevalent now a base-mindedness, a sort of 
 Satanic envy and dislike of superiority, which makes many turn 
 avvay from the contemplation of what is good and great; but let 
 us hope for better times. 
 
 LIFE OF NUMA. 
 
 NuiNlA was endued with a soul rarely tempered by nature and 
 disposed to virtue, and excellently improved by learning, 
 patience, and the studies of philosophy ; by which advantages 
 he had utterly extirpated not only all such disorderly motions of 
 the mind as are universally esteemed vile and mean, but even 
 all inclination to violence and oppression, which had once an 
 honourable esteem amongst the barbarous nations, being per- 
 suaded that there was no other fortitude than that which 
 
LIFE OF NUMA. 19 
 
 subdued the affections and reduced them to the terms and 
 restraints of reason. 
 
 Upon this account, whilst he banished all luxury and softness 
 from his own home, and offered his best assistance to any 
 citizen or stranger that would make use of him, in nature of an 
 upright judge or faithful counsellor, and make use of what 
 leisure hours he had to himself, not in pursuit of pleasure, or 
 acquisition of profit and wealth, but in the worship of the 
 immortal gods, and in the rational contemplation of their divine 
 power and nature, his name grew so very famous that Tatius, 
 who was Romulus' associate in the kingdom of Rome, chose to 
 make him his son-in-law, bestowing upon him his only daughter 
 Tatia. Nor did the advantage of this marriage swell his vanity 
 to such a pitch as to make him desire to dwell with his father- 
 in-law at Rome, but rather to content himself to inhabit with his 
 Sabines and cherish his own father in his old age. The like 
 inclinations had Tatia, who preferred the private condition of 
 her husband before the honours and splendour she might have 
 enjoyed in her father's court. This Tatia, as is reported, after 
 she had lived for the space of thirteen years with Numa in 
 conjugal society, died ; and then Numa, leaving the conversa- 
 tion of the town, betook himself to a country life, and in a 
 solitary manner frequented the groves and fields consecrated to 
 the gods, making his usual abode in desert places 
 
 He was aboutforty years of age, when the ambassadors came 
 
 from Rome to make liim offers of the kin<_;dom Their 
 
 speech was very short, as supposing that Numa would gladly 
 have embraced' so favourable an opportunity of advancement. 
 But it seems it was no such easy matter to persuade him ; for 
 contrary to their expectation, they found that they were forced 
 to use many reasons and entreaties to allure him, frorn his c[uiet 
 and retired life, to accept the government of a city, whose 
 foundation was laid in war, and had grown up in martial 
 exercises 
 
 As soon as he was determined by their persuasions and 
 reasons, joined to those of his father and his kinsman Martins, 
 and of his own citizens (having first done sacrifice to the gods), 
 he set forward towards Rome, being met in his way by the senate 
 and people, who expressed a marvellous desire to receive him. 
 The women also welcomed him with joyful acclamations, and 
 sacrifices were offered for him in all the temples ; and_ so 
 universal was the joy, that the city seemed not to receive a king, 
 but the addition of a new kingdom. 
 
 The first thing that he did at his entrance into government 
 was to dismiss the band of three hundred men, which Romulus 
 constantly kept for his life-guard ; for he did not think it 
 reasonable to show any distrust of those who had placed so 
 
20 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 much confidence in him, nor to rule over people that durst not 
 trust him 
 
 When Numa had thus insinuated himself into the favour and 
 affection of the people, he began to dispose the humour of the 
 city (which as yet was obdurate, and rendered hard as iron by 
 war) to become more gentle and pliable by the applications of 
 humanity and justice. It was then, if ever, tl:at Rome was 
 really such a city as Plato styles "a city in a high ferment ;" for 
 from its very original it was a receptacle of the most daring and 
 warlike spirits, whom some bold and desperate adventurer had 
 driven thither from every quarter ; and by frequent incursions 
 made upon its neighbours, and continual wars, it had grown up 
 and increased its power, and now seemed strong and settled by 
 encountering dangers, as piles driven into the ground become 
 more fixed and stable by the impulse and blows which the 
 rammer lays upon them. Wherefore, Numa, judging that it 
 was the masterpiece of his art to mollify and bend the stubborn 
 and inflexible spirits of this people, began to call in the 
 assistance of the gods : for most commonly by sacrifices, 
 processions, and religious dances which he appointed, and in 
 which he officiated in person (which had always some diverting 
 exercise and pleasing entertainment mixed with their solemn 
 devotion), he soothed the minds of the people, and rendered 
 their fiery, martial temper more cool and tame 
 
 Numa forbad the Romans to represent God in the form of 
 man or beast ; nor was there any painted or graven image of a 
 deity admitted among them formerly; but for the space of the 
 first one hundred and sixty years, they built temples and erected 
 chapels, but made no statue or image, as thinking it a great 
 impiety to represent the most excellent beings by things so base 
 and unworthy ; there being no possible access to the Deity, but 
 by the mind raised and elevated by divine contemplation. 
 
 The portion of lands, which belonged to the city of Rome at 
 the beginning, was very narrow ; but Romulus by war enlarged 
 it very much. Now all this land Numa divided amongst the 
 indigent part of the citizens, that by these means he might keep 
 them from extreme want, which is the necessary cause of men's 
 injuring one another, and might turn the minds of the people to 
 husbandry, whereby themselves, as well as their land, would 
 become better cultivated and more tractable. For there is no 
 way of life, that either so soon or so powerfully produces the 
 love of peace, as the life of husbandry, whereby so much war- 
 like courage is preserved, as enables men to fight in defence of 
 what is their own, but all boldness in acts of injustice and 
 encroachment upon others is restrained and destroyed. Where- 
 fore Numa, that he might take and amuse the hearts of his 
 citizens with agriculture or husbandry, choosing it for them as 
 
LIFE OF NUMA. it 
 
 an employment that rather begets civility and a peaceable 
 temper than great opulency and riches, divided all the lands 
 into several parcels, to which he gave the name of Pagus or 
 Borough, and over each of them he appointed overseers, and 
 such as should go about to inspect them. And sometimes he 
 would himself, in person, take a survey of them ; and making a 
 judgment of every man's inclination and manners by his in- 
 dustry, and the improvements he had made, he preferred those 
 to honours and authority who had merited most, and, on the 
 contrary, reproaching and chiding the sluggishness of such as 
 had given themselves over to a careless and a negligent life, he 
 reduced them to better order. But among all his political 
 institutions, that which is most admired is his distribution of 
 the people into companies according to their several arts and 
 professions. For whereas the city did consist of, or rather was 
 distinguished into, two kinds of people, and could not by any 
 means be united, it being impossible to efface the strangeness 
 and difference between them, but that there would be perpetual 
 clashing and contention of the two parties ; Numa, having 
 considered that hard bodies, and such as are not easily incor- 
 porated so long as they remain in their gross bulk, by being 
 beaten into a powder, or reduced into small atoms, are often 
 cemented and consolidated into one, determined to divide the 
 whole people into many lesser parts, and from thence by casting 
 them into other distinctions, to abolish that first and great 
 distinction, which was thus scattered into smaller parts. This 
 distribution was made according to the several arts or trades, of 
 musicians, goldsmiths, masons, dyers, shoemakers, tanners, 
 braziers, and potters ; and all other handicraftsmen he com- 
 posed and reduced into a single company, appointing unto every 
 one their respective halls, courts, and ceremonies of religion 
 proper to their several societies. Thus it was that he first 
 banished out of the city the custom of calling and reputing one 
 a Sabine, another a Roman, one a partisan of Tatius, another 
 of Romulus ; so that this distribution became the means of well 
 
 uniting and mixing all of them perfectly together 
 
 During the reign of Numa the temple of Janus was never seen 
 open one day, but continued constantly shut for forty-three 
 years together ; so entire a cessation of all kind of war was 
 there on all sides. For not only the people of Rome were 
 tamed, and as it were charmed by the just and mild government 
 of their prince, but even the neighbouring cities round about, as 
 if some gentle breeze or salubrious air had blown from Rome 
 upon them, began to change their temper; and a general 
 inclination to peace and good government was infused into all, 
 so that every one applied himself to the management of his 
 lands and farm, to the quiet education of his children, and 
 
22 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 worship of the gods. Festival days and pleasant banquets, 
 mutual benevolence and kind entertainment of friends visiting 
 and conversing freely with each other, without fear or jealousy, 
 were the common practice over all Italy, while from Numa's 
 wisdom, as from a fountain, a universal honesty and justice 
 flowed upon all, and his calm tranquillity diffused itself around 
 every way. So that the high and hyperbolical expressions of 
 the poets are said to fall short in describing the happy state of 
 those days. For during the whole reign of Numa there was 
 neither war, nor sedition, nor innovation designed against the 
 State, nor even so much as any enmity or envy to the person of 
 the prince, nor was there any plot or conspiracy out of ambitious 
 design to oust him of his government. But either the fear of 
 the gods, who seemed to take a particular care of his person, or 
 a reverence for his virtue, or divine good fortune, which during 
 his time kept men's lives free and pure from all such wickedness, 
 then produced an effectual instance and proof of the truth of 
 that opinion of Plato, which he ventured to deliver many ages 
 after, in relation to a well-formed commonwealth, viz., "That 
 the only means to cause a true cessation or cure of evil among 
 men, must be from some divine conjuncture of fortune when 
 royal authority, meeting with a philosophical mind in the same 
 person, shall put virtue in a state of power and authority over 
 vice." Yox the wise man is truly happy; and happy also are 
 they who can hear and receive the words which flow from the 
 mouth of a wise man. Possibly there would be no need of com- 
 pulsion or menaces to subject the multitude ; but that when they 
 see virtue in a clear and shining instance manifested in the life 
 of their prince, they would freely of themselves grow wise, and 
 conform themselves to an innocent and happy life, in friendship 
 and mutual concord, with justice and moderation, wherein con- 
 sists the noblest end of all political government ; and that prince 
 is of all others most worthy of royal authority, who can bring to 
 etTect such a life and such a disposidon in his subjects. Now 
 this is what Numa seems to have *had constantly in his view 
 
 more than any other man 
 
 Numa's death was neither sharp nor sudden, but being 
 gradually worn away with old age and gentle sickness, he at 
 last ended his days a little above fourscore years old. That 
 which made all the glories of his life consummate, was the 
 honour paid to him at his funeral, when all the people that were 
 in alliance and amity with him, met together at his interment, 
 with public presents and garlands. The senators carried the 
 bier, on which his corpse was laid, and the priests followed and 
 accompanied the solemn procession. All the rest of the train, 
 among which were a great number of women and children, 
 followed with such lamentable sighs and tears, not as if they 
 
GOVERNMENT. 23 
 
 assisted at the burial of an aged, worn-out king, but rather as if 
 each of them had then buried his dearest relative in the flower 
 of his age. 
 
 FROM THE COMPARISON OF NUMA WITH LYCURGUS. 
 
 Thus much of Numa was truly great and godlike, that 
 though an alien, he was thought worthy to be courted to come 
 and take the crown — that he altered the whole frame of the 
 government by mere persuasion, and that he kept the absolute 
 rule over a city consisting of two parties not yet well compacted, 
 which he did without any occasion to make use of arms, or any 
 sort of force ; but by mere dint of wisdom and justice brought 
 every one to concur entirely with him, and settled a perfect 
 harmony among them. 
 
 GOVERNMENT. 
 
 In these our days, we travel from London to York, with great 
 I'apidity, in perfect personal security, without accident, without 
 even a jolt, and never stopped by flood, or frost, or snow. The 
 reason is because the money and labour expended have been 
 expended in making a good road, instead of providing against 
 the defects of a bad one. This is an apt emblem of wise 
 government, directing its means to proper ends, and keeping 
 pace with the times ; all then goes on simply and well. But 
 now let us suppose the road from London to York left as it was 
 five hundred years ago, and passing through morasses and 
 forests, and over desert moors. What loss of time, what 
 uncertainty, what annoyances, what dangers, what impedi- 
 ments, what expense of horses and carriages and living, would 
 then be the consequences ! What smiths, what wheelwrights, 
 what surgeons, what robbers, what beggars, what guards, would 
 be found along the line ! What inns for travellers, what 
 hospitals for accidents, what refuges for the poor, what stations 
 for police, would border the now cultivated and smiling country I 
 What botching and patching, and what expedients there would 
 be ! What Acts of Parliament I what Acts to amend Acts ! what 
 committees ! what reports ! what commissions ! what grants of 
 money ! We see the parallel continually exhibited in almost 
 all matters of government. Then mole-eyed economists cry 
 out against necessary expense ; the profiters by things as they 
 are strenuously resist improvement, and find supporters for 
 their own interested purposes ; whilst the heads of government 
 are too indolent or too timid to strike at the root of what is 
 defective. At last, when alteration must come, some fales 
 principle is adopted to " skin and film the ulcerous place " — 
 
24 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 some board and its dependencies is created to reduce the evil 
 to the bearable point, and there to perpetuate it — or else there 
 comes an overwhelming flood threatening to sweep away both 
 good and bad together. 
 
 The prime remedy for the defects in our institutions is to be 
 found in democratic, or self-government fitly organized — that 
 government which, by making each part healthy and vigorous, 
 would unite the whole in health and vigour under the monarchy 
 or key-stone. Then would vanish a chaotic mass of evil, which 
 at present renders sound legislation as impossible as it would be 
 to frame an efficient Mutiny Act for an ill-organized army. In 
 my observation of even the worst part of mankind, I see so great 
 an aptitude for the right path, and so little aberration, consider- 
 ing the quantity of neglect, that I feel confident an adequate 
 enforcement of the real English principles of government, com- 
 bined with our advanced state of civilization, would produce 
 moral results, as unthought of and as incalculable as have 
 been the physical results from the application of steam. The 
 machinery, by which alone this desirable end can be accom- 
 plished, must consist of local governments so ordered that those 
 who are most successful in the honourable conduct of their own 
 concerns would be selected, and, being selected, would be willing 
 to give up time sufficient to superintend the affairs of their 
 respective communities. Now this can only be permanently 
 effected by making government a social and convivial affair — a 
 point of interesting union to the men most deserving the con- 
 fidence of their fellow-citizens. Under such circumstances, the 
 expense of government might be greater than at present, but the 
 expense of want of government would assuredly be more than 
 proportionately less, and the state of society would be healthy 
 and constantly improving. In my next number I shall enter 
 into details, beginning with parochial government. 
 
 FORTUNE-TELLING. 
 
 There is nothing more silly than a belief in fortune-telling, 
 whether we consider the thing itself, or the description of persons 
 who profess the art — an art to which no one of character or 
 education ever pretends. But such belief is scarcely less 
 dangerous than silly, especially amongst young persons of the 
 humbler classes. By exciting false hopes, it leads to false 
 steps ; and unsettled habits, anxiety, disappointment, disho- 
 nesty, ruin, and untimely or ignominious death have been 
 directly or indirectly its consequences. Many are induced to 
 have their fortunes told from mere idle curiosity ; but a lucky 
 guess, or a prediction accidentally verified even in part, may 
 
FORTUNE-TELLING. 25 
 
 take such hold of the imagination that reason cannot resume her 
 former sway — besides that it is inexcusable to give encourage- 
 ment to a race of profligates, thieves, and children-stealers. A 
 revolting instance of this encouragement is to be witnessed at 
 Epsom races on the part of many elegantly dressed females, and 
 the mixture causes a considerable detraction from the brilliancy 
 of the scene. The following anecdote strikingly shows how 
 difficult it must sometimes be to detect imposition. It will 
 remind the readers of Hamilton's " Memoirs of De Grammont" 
 of some passages in that work. 
 
 A little more than sixty years since a fortune-teller in Paris 
 was roused from his bed at the dead of night by a loud knocking 
 at his door. On opening it he perceived standing before him a 
 man mufrlcd up in an ample cloak, with a large hat slouched 
 over his face. "What do you want.'"' said the fortune-teller, 
 somewhat alarmed. The stranger answered sternly, "If you are 
 what you profess to be, you can tell me that." " I can tell 
 nothing without my cards," replied the other. They both 
 walked in, and the fortune-teller, having shuffled his cards and 
 laid them out, after a pause, observed with a tone of deference, 
 •' I perceive I am in the presence of an illustrious person." 
 " You are right," said the stranger; " and now tell me what it 
 is I wish to know." The fortune-teller, again consulting his 
 cards, answered, " You wish to know whether a certain lady 
 will have a son or a daughter." " Right again," said the 
 stranger. After another pause, the fortune-teller pronounced 
 that the lady would have a son. On which the stranger replied, 
 "If that prove true, you shall receive fifty pieces of gold — if 
 false, a good cudgelling." A few weeks after, about the same 
 hour and in the same manner, the stranger reappeared, and 
 before he could speak, the fortune-teller exclaimed, " You find I 
 was right." " I do," said the stranger ; " and I am come to 
 keep my promise." So saying, he produced a purse of fifty 
 louis, and departed. 
 
 The stranger's mode of proceeding seems to have been de- 
 signed to put the fortune-teller's skill to the severest test. The 
 circumstance of his coming alone, and at such an hour, makes it 
 probable he had not communicated his intention to any one ; 
 whilst his carefulness in concealing his person and face, and his 
 extreme caution to afford no clue to the discovery of himself or 
 his object by conversation, were admirably calculated to render 
 imposition impossible. The history of the case is this. I heard 
 it about seventeen years since from a gentleman in Paris, who 
 learned it from Volney, the celebrated traveller in the East. 
 Volney had it from the fortune-teller himself, who applied to him 
 for some Syriac expressions. On being asked for what purpose 
 he wanted them, he confessed his trade ; and ^'olney finding 
 
26 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 him a remarkably shrewd person, inquired of him the story of 
 his hfe. He said, that when he was young, he had a great turn 
 for expense, very slender means, and an inveterate repugnance 
 to anything like drudgery. After long puzzhng himself to 
 discover some mode of life, by which he could unite certain 
 profit with continual amusement, he determined to set up as 
 a fortune-teller. He commenced by taking a lodging in the 
 obscure quarter of the Marais, and practising in a small way in 
 that neighbourhood, where the blunders of a beginner would not 
 be of much consequence. At the same time he never failed to 
 be in daily attendance about the Court, and spared no pains to 
 make himself familiar with the personal appearance and private 
 history of every person of the least note there. After two years 
 of practice amongst the small, and of study amongst the great, 
 he thought himself qualified to begin business on a grand scale, 
 and having by bribery of a servant procured a proper customer, 
 he tried his art in his new sphere with great success. His 
 fame, and of course his gains, increased rapidly, and it was 
 when he was in his zenith that the adventure above related 
 happened. He explained it thus. Whilst shuffling his cards, he 
 purposely let two or three fall, and in rising from picking them 
 up, he contrived to catch a sufficient glimpse of the stranger's 
 countenance to discover that he w^as no less a person than the 
 Duke of Orleans, afterwards Philippe EgaHte, and the father of 
 the present King of the French, who was actually the child in 
 question. He took not the least notice of the discovery he had 
 made, but pretended to ascertain the fact from the contemplation 
 of his cards. Having overcome this difficulty, his practised 
 acuteness made the rest easy to him. It was publicly known 
 that the Duchess was near her confinement, and he had heard 
 the Duke was anxious to have a son; he therefore confidently 
 guessed the object of his visit, and after the manner of his tribe 
 hazarded the prediction which he thought would ensure him 
 the most liberal pay. He did not expect the proposed alterna- 
 tive, which obliged him to be on his guard, and he had actually 
 only just returned from learning the news at the palace, and 
 was scarcely in bed, when the Duke arrived, whose faith must 
 have been confirmed by the fortune-teller's anticipation of his 
 intelligence. 
 
 If the story be true, it is not probable that a man like the 
 Duke of Orleans, having experienced such an instance of fortune- 
 telling, would be satisfied without recurring to it, and it may 
 possibly be that such excitement of ambitious hopes contri- 
 buted to his, as to Macbeth's, untimely fall. 
 
( 37 ) 
 
 GOOD BREEDING. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN is a Christian in spirit that will take a polish. 
 The rest are but plated goods ; and however excellent their 
 fashion, rub them more or less, the base metal will appear 
 through. 
 
 An Englishman making the grand tour towards the middle of 
 the last century, when travellers were more objects of attention 
 than at present, on arriving at Turin sauntered out to see the 
 place. He happened to meet a regiment of infantry returning 
 from parade, and taking a position to see it pass, a young 
 captain, evidently desirous to make a display before the stranger, 
 in crossing one of the numerous water-courses with which the 
 city is intersected, missed his footing, and in trying to save 
 himself, lost his hat. The exhibition was truly unfortunate— the 
 spectators laughed — and looked at the Englishman, expecting 
 him to laugh too. On the contrary, he not only retained his 
 composure, but promptly advanced to where the hat had rolled, 
 and taking it up, presented it with an air of unaffected kindness 
 to its confused owner. The officer received it with a blush of 
 surprise and gratitude, and hurried to rejoin his company — there 
 was a murmur of applause — and the stranger passed on. Though 
 the scene of a moment, and without a word spoken, it touched 
 every heart — not with admiration for a mere display of polite- 
 ness, but with a warmer feeling for a proof of that true charity, 
 "which never faileth." On the regiment being dismissed, the 
 captain, who was a young man of consideration, in glowing 
 terms related the circumstance to his colonel. The colonel 
 immediately mentioned it to the general in command ; and when 
 the Englishman returned to his hotel, he found an aide-de-camp 
 waiting to request his company to dinner at headquarters. In 
 the evening he was carried to Court — at that time, as Lord 
 Chesterfield tells us, the most brilliant Court in Europe — and 
 was received with particular attention. Of course during his 
 stay at Turin he was invited everywhere ; and on his departure 
 he was loaded with letters of introduction to the different States 
 of Italy. Thus a private gentleman of moderate means, by a 
 graceful impulse of Christian feeling, was enabled to travel 
 through a foreign country, then of the highest interest for its 
 society as well as for the charms it still possesses, with more 
 real distinction and advantage than can ever be derived from 
 the mere circumstances of birth and fortune, even the most 
 splendid. 
 
 I think I cannot more appropriately conclude this anecdote 
 than by adding the excellent, and excellently expressed, advice 
 of Polonius to his son. on his departure for a foreign country. 
 
28 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 The precepts are admirably adapted to form a man of the world 
 and a gentleman, in the best sense of the terms ; and in my 
 opinion are well worth committing to memory by those whom 
 they concern. 
 
 Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 
 Nor any unproportioned thouglit his act. 
 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 
 Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 
 Of entrance into quarrel ! but, being in, 
 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be ; 
 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend. 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry, 
 
 This above all — to thine own self be true. 
 
 And it must follow, as the night the day. 
 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 
 AN EXECUTION. 
 
 Amid the varied scenes of this vast metropolis, there is probably 
 none so striking as an interior view of an execution at the Old 
 Bailey. Being desirous to witness the effect of the punishment 
 of death, I once accompanied one of the sheriffs, on a cold 
 winter's morning, to see three men executed. We arrived 
 between seven and eight o'clock, and were shown into the press 
 room, a low, gloomy chamber. Two of the men, having at- 
 tempted to escape, were heavily ironed. Each placed his foot 
 upon an anvil, whilst a smith, with a large hammer and great 
 force, drove the rivets out. The sound was awful. One of the 
 criminals, who had confessed to a hundred burglaries, I had 
 myself committed for trial. He was a fine-looking man of nine- 
 and-twenty, but so altered that I could scarcely trace his former 
 features ; and I was informed that, even in the most hardened, 
 nature generally gives way in the last four-and-twenty hours, and 
 suffers dreadful wreck. When the three were pinioned, the 
 procession set slowly forward along the dark and narrow 
 passages, a bell dismally knolling, and the Ordinary reading 
 portions of the burial service. A few minutes after the drop 
 fell, we retired, as is the custom, to breakfast in what is called 
 the Lord Mayor's parlour. The Ordinary presided in full 
 canonicals, and kept our attention alive by anecdotes connected 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 29 
 
 with the occasion. On his right sat the City AFarshal in 
 mihtary uniform. The sheriffs wore their massive gold chains, 
 and the two under-sheriffs were in Court dresses, contrasted with 
 whom was a gentleman of peculiarly primitive appearance and 
 attii'e — a constant attendant. The group, the time of day, the 
 occasion, formed a combination altogether singular. After the 
 lapse of an hour, the sheriffs were summoned to see the bodies 
 cut down, and I was surprised to find the countenances as placid 
 as after natural death. 
 
 Notice. — In consecjuence of different requests I shall in my 
 next number begin to fulfil my promise to treat of the art of 
 attaining high health, from experience. 
 
 No. III. ^Vednesday, June 3, 1835. 
 
 PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 
 
 It was my intention, in entering into the details of parish 
 government, to have written an original article ; but in looking 
 into a sketch on the subject, which I pubhshed in January, 1834, 
 I think it advisable to begin with that, in a corrected form, and 
 to supply its deficiencies hereafter. 
 
 It seems to me that the first in order, and most important of 
 all reforms, is the Reform of Parochial Government — that is, 
 the adaptation to present circumstances of the Enghsh principle 
 
 of SELF-GOVERXMENT VX SMALL CO.MMUNITIES. 
 
 Parochial government is the verj' element upon which all 
 other government in England depends, and as long as it is out 
 of order, everything must be out of order — representation — 
 legislation — police. Hence, instead of a House of Commons of 
 men of practical wisdom and distinct views in matters of govern- 
 ment, saying little and doing much, a House of Commons as it 
 is. The choosers and the chosen are ahke vague in the know- 
 ledge of their duties. They have had no proper training ; they 
 have not begun at the beginning— government at home. 
 Hence also a confused mass of laws, and a flood of vice and 
 crime. Hence demagogues, adventurers, theorists, and quacks, 
 the tormentors of the public peace ; and mobs, and combina- 
 tions, and visionary schemes. Let each portion of the country 
 be thoroughly governed, and the soundness of the whole will 
 make those evils necessarily vanish. At present all is, as it 
 
^o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 were, chaotic, offering a fertile field to the wild and selfish, 
 whilst the wise and good are discouraged and dismayed. 
 
 It is by the principle alone of self-government by small com- 
 munities that a nation can be brought to enjoy a vigorous moral 
 health, and its consequence — real prosperity. It is by the same 
 principle alone that the social feelings can be duly called into 
 action, and that men, taken in the mass, can be noble, generous, 
 intelligent, and free. It has been from neglect of this principle 
 that England, with all her advantages, has not made greater 
 progress ; and it will be only to its abandonment, and the sub- 
 stitution of a heartless system of generalization and mercenaries, 
 that she can ever owe her decay and become fit for despotism. 
 Put the administration of justice throughout the land, the police, 
 the poor laws, the roads, into the hands of mere officials placed 
 over extended districts, with which they are to have little or no 
 community — take from men of business and of fortune every- 
 thing but their business and their fortunes, and on the one 
 hand will be created a race of traders in public affairs, and on 
 the other, of selfish besotted individuals, with a government 
 relying for its strength on an all-pervading patronage ; and, in 
 the proportion that this is done, evil will arise, and good be 
 prevented. 
 
 It is true that everything connected with parish government 
 has long been, with the ignorant and unthinking, as well_ as 
 with many who ought to have known better, the object of ridi- 
 cule and abuse ; and that those whose duty it especially was to 
 have taken office upon themselves, have diverted their attention 
 and their efforts to private channels, or to those public institu- 
 tions which at best are but inefficient expedients for well- 
 organized local government. They have had an excuse for 
 their neglect in the difficulty of effecting good, and the feeling 
 that it could only be temporary ; and most of those who have 
 made any attempt at reform have rather furnished a v/arning 
 than an example for imitation, because the machinery was too 
 defective to work w^ell for any length of time. There have been 
 some general Acts of Parliament and many local ones for the 
 better government of parishes ; but they have been called forth 
 only to remedy evils become intolerable, and have either been 
 in abandonment of true principles, or have very inadequately 
 enforced them. The ancient courts too, with their inquests and 
 fines, have fallen into disuse, and their place has not been 
 supplied by local institutions better fitted to the times, and 
 absolutely necessary to well ordered communities. 
 
 It is a melancholy truth that at this moment no small portion 
 of the population through the land may be said to be out of the 
 pale of government, unless when their crimes, the consequences 
 of neglect, draw down its vengeance upon their heads. It is 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 31 
 
 pitiable to see wretches brought before the tribunals of justice, 
 who never had any chance of well-doing ; and the only marvel 
 is that, with so many temptations and so little care, there is not 
 far more of disorder and outrage. Not only in the metropolis, 
 but in every town, nearly in every parish in the kingdom, there 
 is a neglected population, sunk in ignorance, filth, and vice, 
 which, almost unseen, festers in the body politic, and more or less 
 infects the health of all. It is not by the efforts of individuals, 
 or of any combinations of individuals, that this evil can be 
 remedied', but by an improved local organization proceeding 
 from the State— an organization required for the moral elevation 
 and the well-being of all classes, as well the governing as the 
 governed. 
 
 The mode of reform I think desirable is briefly this. As the 
 parishes throughout the kingdom vary so much in extent, popu- 
 lation, wealth, and intelligence, it would be impossible to form 
 one constitution to suit them all; nor would it be ciuite practi- 
 cable to meet the exigencies of each case, or of each class of cases, 
 by separate Acts of Parliament ; besides that amidst the rapid 
 improvements of the age, which would become still more rapid 
 by 'better local organization, no constitution could in numerous 
 instances be long applicable without some change. 
 
 I would therefore suggest a general Act of Parliament, em- 
 powering commissioners to apply its provisions according to the 
 circumstances of each parish ; which being done, the comrnis- 
 sion to cease, and any future alterations, from time to time 
 deemed requisite, to be made by the magistrates in quarter 
 sessions assembled. All that the commissioners or magistrates 
 should have to do should be to adapt parochial constitutions, 
 and then the parishioners should manage their own aftairs in- 
 dependently of all control, except that of the legal tribunals. 
 Any system of interference is a mockery of freedom — childish in 
 conception, arbitrary and debasing in eftect. The difference in 
 the size of parishes I think very desirable, as affording varied 
 scope for intelligence and exertion. At the same time there 
 may be some so small as to require consolidation, at least for 
 certain purposes : and others so large, and possessing such 
 different interests, as to make division expedient. It seems to 
 have been an universal oversight with the founders of empires 
 and with great legislators, to have made no provision for the 
 change of circumstances their wise institutions were sure to 
 produce, and baneful have been the consecjuenccs to mankind. 
 
 There are three principal points to be attended to in parish 
 government — subdivision according to extent and population — 
 election of officers — and their powers. Division is in all things 
 essential to order, and every parish too extensive or populous 
 for individual superintendence, ought to be divided into wards, 
 
32 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 over each of which a warden or guardian annually elected by 
 the ratepayers of the ward or of the parish, according to circum- 
 stances, should preside. It should never be forgotten, that it 
 is indispensable to every well-regulated community that there 
 should be no part of it with which some individual superinten- 
 dent should not be thoroughly acquainted. In parishes requiring 
 no subdivision, the ratepayers should annually elect a certain 
 number of governors. In parishes containing few subdivisions, 
 the wardens, and a sufficient number elected in addition, should 
 be governors, and, where the wardens were numerous enough, 
 they alone. In every parish there should be a principal and his 
 deputy chosen from amongst the governors by themselves. 
 
 With respect to the powers of the governors, they should 
 have those of peace officers, and each warden should have a 
 subwarden and the requisite number of assistant constables, 
 elected in the same manner as himself. When fit persons 
 could be found, a certain portion of the governors, to be elected 
 amongst themselves, should be magistrates wichin the parish. 
 All the ancient officers of England from the sheriff downwards 
 are supposed to have a community of interest with those over 
 whom they are placed — the only principle for a free country. 
 In the Acts of Parliament relating to the management of the 
 poor, from Elizabeth's time to that of George the First, magis- 
 terial acts are directed to be done by magistrates " residing in 
 or near the parish," and to the non-observance of that direction 
 may be attributed a great deal of the maladministration of the 
 poor laws. The governors should further have the power of 
 enforcing the laws, of prosecuting such felonies or misdemea- 
 nours committed within their parish as to them should seem 
 meet, of holding a court of requests, of abating and fining for 
 nuisances, " of inquiring of," to use Lord Bacon's words 
 respecting the jurisdiction of the court leet, "punishing and 
 removing all things that may hurt or grieve the people in their 
 health, quiet, and welfare," of managing the poor and the 
 highways, of providing schoolhouses and savings banks, of 
 making drains, public walks, bathing-places, and any other 
 improvements for the common good, and of raising rates within 
 certain limits for carrying the above objects into effect. 
 
 Were parishes properly constituted, it can scarcely be doubted 
 but that the advantages of distinction, the hope of further ad- 
 vancement, and the desire of doing good would be sufficient to 
 induce the best qualified to seek office ; and as the electors 
 would come much into immediate contact with the objects of 
 their choice, they would most likely, at least after a httie experi- 
 ence, be more careful and discriminating than electors under 
 other circumstances usually are. Mob-flatterers, adventurers, and 
 jobbers would be too nearly in view long to escape detection. 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 33 
 
 It would be very desirable, I think, that every parish where 
 the means would allow, and in many parishes that every ward, 
 or a union of wards, should possess a place of meeting for the 
 convenience of the governors, and under their control, and that 
 the rest of the ratepayers or inhabitants should be admitted by 
 ballot, and on payment of a certain subscription, to form a sort 
 of club. A point of union amongst different classes having a 
 common interest must be advantageous to all, especially in the 
 communication of information and the promotion of mutual 
 goodwill ; and such institutions would be excellent objects for 
 the munilicence of public-spirited individuals, either by dona- 
 tion or legacy. 
 
 The chief points to be attended to by the Commissioners 
 would be, what parishes ought to be divided, what subdivided 
 or consolidated, and in what manner ; how many governors 
 there should be in each, and the mode of election in each ; 
 what portion of the powers contained in the general Act should 
 be extended to each parish ; where there should be magistrates, 
 and their number, and what the limits of taxation according to 
 wealth, distribution of property, and intelligence. 
 
 Parishes are so many little commonwealths, capable in dif- 
 ferent degrees of being made by effective organization nurseries 
 of useful ambition, manly intelligence, and social \irtue. It is 
 here that pubhc men should begin their discipline, cultivate 
 their sympathies, and learn to see their way. It is here that 
 the lowliest citizen should proudly feel within the reach of merit 
 the first steps to advancement. It is from this goal that all 
 should have a fair start, and the State place her sons in their 
 proper order. Then might representation be the extraction of 
 the choicest of the land, legislation become something like the 
 essence of wisdom and simplicity, and police an ever-vigilant 
 force having for its chief characteristic moral influence, 
 
 I have sketched this outline to endeavour to give to the 
 public mind a little of what I conceive to be the right tone 
 on the all-engrossing topic of Reform. I like comfortable, 
 generous times. I loathe the base, malignant, destroying spirit 
 now in the ascendant, chilling and poisoning as it works ; and 
 I would fain see the present age of calculation and economy 
 pass away, to be succeeded by a glorious one of high-minded 
 morals. To inspirit the rich, to enrich the industrious, and to 
 ensure a sound and brilliant prosperity, what this great country 
 wants, is not a sour system of paring and pulling down, but a 
 statesmanlike infusion of the splendour and energies of war into 
 the conduct of peace — the same prompt and liberal application 
 of means to ends — the same excitements to action — the same 
 encouragements to those who serve their country. 
 
34 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 
 
 According to the promise made in my last number, I enter 
 upon the subject of attaining high health. If my readers are 
 like myself, it will be satisfactory to them to know what autho- 
 rity I have for so doing, and what is my experience. My 
 acquaintance of later years are accustomed to treat my precepts 
 as theoretical, and to maintain that I am indebted for the health 
 they see me enjoy to an originally very strong constitution. 
 With what truth the following statement will show. 
 
 Some months before I was born, my mother lost a favourite 
 child from illness, owing, as she accused herself, to her own 
 temporary absence, and that circumstance preyed upon her 
 spirits and affected her health to such a degree, that I was 
 brought into the world in a very weakly and wretched state. It 
 was supposed I could not survive long, and nothing, I believe, 
 but the greatest maternal tenderness and care preserved my 
 life. During childhood I was very frequently and seriously ill — 
 often thought to be dying, and once pronounced to be dead. I 
 was ten years old before it was judged safe to trust me from 
 home at all, and my father's wishes to place me at a public 
 school were uniformly opposed by various medical advisers, on 
 the ground that it would be my certain destruction. Besides 
 continual bilious and inflammatory attacks, for several years I 
 was grievously troubled with an affection of the trachea, and 
 many times after any excess diet or exertion, or in particular 
 states of the weather, or where there was new hay or decayed 
 timber, my difficulty of breathing was so great that life was 
 miseraljle to me. On one occasion at Cambridge I was obliged 
 to send for a surgeon in the middle of the night, and he told me 
 the next morning he thought I should have died before he could 
 open a vein. I well remember the relief it afforded my agony, 
 and I only recovered by living for six weeks in a rigidly abste- 
 mious and most careful manner. During these years, and for a 
 long time after, I felt no security of my health. At last, one day 
 when I had shut myself up in the country, and was reading with 
 great attention Cicero's treatise De Oratore, some passage, I 
 quite forget what, suggested to me the expediency of making the 
 improvement of my health my study. I rose from my book, 
 stood bolt upright, and determined to be well. In pursuance of 
 my resolution, I tried many extremes, was guilty of many absur- 
 dities, and committed many errors, amidst the remonstrances 
 and ridicule of those around me. I persevered nevertheless, 
 and it is now, I believe, full sixteen years since I have had any 
 medical advice, or taken any medicine, or anything whatever by 
 way of medicine. During that period I have lived constantly in 
 
CROSSING THE ALPS MATHEMATICALLY. 35 
 
 the world, for the last six years in London without ever being 
 absent during any one whole week, and I have never foregone a 
 single engagement of business or pleasure, or been confined one 
 hour, with the exception of two days in the country from over- 
 exertion. For nine years I have worn neither greatcoat nor 
 cloak, though I ride and walk at all hours and in all weathers. 
 My dress has been the same in summer and winter, my under- 
 garments being single and only of cotton, and I am always 
 lightly shod. The only inconvenience I suffer, is occasionally 
 from colds ; but with a little more care I could entirely prevent 
 them, or, if I took the trouble, I could remove the most severe in 
 four-and-twenty hours. I do not mean it to be understood, that 
 the same simple means would produce so rapid a cure in all 
 persons, but only in those who may have acquired the same ten- 
 dency to health that I have — a tendency of which I believe all 
 persons are much more capable than they suppose. 
 
 In the course of my pursuit after health, I once brought 
 myself to a pure and buoyant state, of which previously I had 
 no conception, and which I shall hereafter describe. Having 
 attained so great a blessing, I afterwards fell off to be content 
 with that negative condition, which I call the condition of not 
 being ill, rather than of being well. Real health produces an 
 elasticity and vigour of body and mind, which makes the posses- 
 sors of it, in the characteristic words of the Ploughman Poet, 
 O'er all the ills of life victorious. 
 
 And now having, I hope, excited the curiosity of my readers, 
 and inspired them with some degree of confidence as to my 
 qualifications for the task I have undertaken, I shall in my next 
 number proceed to details. 
 
 CROSSING THE ALPS MATHEMATICALLY. 
 
 The following anecdote is founded on fact, and the local de- 
 scription is strictly accurate. 
 
 Ever}'body has seen or heard of Bonaparte's road over the 
 Simplon. As some English travellers were ascending it on their 
 way into Italy, two young men of the party walked on consider- 
 ably before the rest. Soon after they had passed the post-house 
 on the summit, one of them, who had lately taken a wrangler's 
 degree at Camljridge, and was now first launched into the world, 
 observing the barrier of mountains in front, proposed to make a 
 short cut along a cow-track, which presented itself on the left. 
 His less speculative companion thought it would be better to 
 keep the road, and an argument ensuing — 
 
 " It is really quite astonishing," exclaimed the mathematician 
 ^vith warmth," that people cannot reason. Don't I pursue with 
 
 i; -y 
 
36 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 my eye an unbroken chain of mountains there, covered with 
 eternal snow ? It is clear the road cannot continue in its 
 present direction — it must curve round here. This track is evi- 
 dently the chord of the arc, and whei'e cows can go, I can go. 
 The case is as clear as anything in Euclid — it does not admit of 
 a doubt." 
 
 " But why then," said the other, " did not Bonaparte cause the 
 road to be made here ?" 
 
 " Because he was a fool,'' replied the wrangler ; so saying, he 
 struck into the path, and his friend, after a moment's hesitation, 
 followed him. 
 
 " I knew I must be right," said the Cantab, chattering away 
 most authoritatively, till the cow-track at length diminishing 
 into a sheep-track, he became rather less loquacious ; and the 
 sheep-track also terminating soon after amongst some ominous 
 unevennesses, a dead silence and a halt ensued. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the wrangler again, " we have only to go 
 on subtending the arc ;" and so they did, till they suddenly 
 arrived at the edge of a precipice at least five hundred feet 
 perpendicularly deep, from which awful position they descried 
 in the distance the road magnificently descending before them 
 towards the village of the Simplon. 
 
 " I wish," said the prudent traveller, " you had not been so 
 extremely clever in proving this to be the nearest way, which 
 proves itself to be no way at all. I will back Keller* against 
 Euclid for a Swiss guide." 
 
 " I was right, however," said the wrangler, " about the direc- 
 tion ; you may now see where the road winds under the 
 mountain there, and but for this precipice we should just have 
 cut off the curve, as I said." 
 
 "A very near thing, truly !" replied the other ; "but come, I 
 shall take the command now." So saying, he turned to the 
 right, and keeping along the brink of the precipice, was followed 
 by the disconcerted wrangler till they arrived at a practicable 
 descent over broken masses of rock, interspersed with stunted 
 shrubs and alpine plants. The sun was already far in the west 
 — the way was most difficult — the distance to the road was 
 uncertain — the carriages would most probably have passed — the 
 anxiety of the two increased to a degree that those who have 
 not been in a similar situation or seen such tremendous scenery 
 can have little idea of. Here they slid down a steep descent of 
 loose, sharp stones — there they scrambled up a rugged breast- 
 work — then they skipped from fragment to fragment — till at last 
 the wrangler, setting his foot amongst some plants, which 
 concealed a cleft, sunk up to the knee ; and, in his haste to 
 withdraw his leg, snapped the small bone of it. His companion, 
 * The author of the well-known travelling map. 
 
LONDON IN TIMES PAST AND PRESENT. 37 
 
 though slow in getting into difficulties, was ever prompt in get- 
 ting out, and being strong and stout-hearted, he quickly mounted 
 his friend upon his back, and, with extreme labour and scarcely 
 less danger, succeeded in carrying him into the road. Here he 
 deposited his burden to rest ; and as they sat in painful medita- 
 tion, the shades of night were fast veiling the sublimities of 
 Nature — no sound was heard, nor was there any sign of living 
 being. They had, however, only just resumed their harassing 
 march, when they were cheered by the rolling of wheels behind 
 thern, and their own carriage, which had most fortunately been 
 detained by an accident, rapidly descending the hill, put an end 
 to their anxiety, and soon conveyed them to the inn, where they 
 found the rest of their party assembled, and everything prepared 
 for their reception for the night. The next morning the mathe- 
 matician was carefully conveyed towards Milan ; and there 
 during a vexatious confinement he had ample leisure to reflect 
 on the danger of ingenuity, when unaccompanied by experience. 
 He is not the only one whose theorizing has brought himself 
 and others to the brink of a precipice. 
 
 LONDON IN TIMES PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Considering the enormous, and, in many parts demoralized, 
 population of London, it is quite marvellous there should be so 
 little personal insecurity. I have been in the habit for many 
 years of going about all parts of the town and the environs, at 
 all hours, without any precaution, and I never experienced on 
 any occasion the slightest molestation ; and I scarcely ever met 
 in society any one whose own actual experience was different. 
 It was not so formerly, as the following instances will serve to 
 show. At Kensington, within the memory of man, on Sunday 
 evenings a bell used to be rung at intervals to muster the 
 people returning to town. As soon as a band was assembled 
 sufficiently numerous to ensure mutual protection, it set off; and 
 so on till all had passed. George the Fourth, and the late Duke 
 of York, when very young men, were stopped one night in a 
 hackney coach, and robbed on Hay Hill, Berkeley Square. To 
 cross Hounslow Health or Finchley Common, now both enclosed, 
 after sunset, was a service of great danger. Those who ventured 
 were always well-armed, and some few had even ball-proof 
 carriages. There is a house still standing, I believe, on 
 Finchley, which in those days was the known place of rendez- 
 vous for highwaymen. Happily these things are now matters 
 of history. 
 
 The standard of wealth is no less changed than the standard 
 of safety. Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, was once the 
 
38 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 street of fashionable shops — what Bond Street was till lately, and 
 what Bond Street and Regent Street together are now. I 
 remember hearing an old lady say, that in her young days the 
 crowd of handsome equipages in Tavistock Street was con- 
 sidered one of the sights of London. I have had the curiosity to 
 stride it. It is about one hundred and sixty yards long, and 
 before the footways were widened would have admitted three 
 carriages abreast. Within m.emory the principal carriage 
 approach to Old Drury Lane Theatre^ the last but one before 
 the present, was through that part of Drury Lane which is now a 
 flagged foot-passage, and called Drury Court, just opposite the 
 New Church in the Strand. The ring in Hyde Park, so cele- 
 brated in old novels and plays, and so often the scene of duels, 
 is still traceable round a clump of trees near the foot-barracks. 
 It encloses an area of about ninety yards in diameter, and is 
 about forty-five yards wide. Here used to assemble all the 
 fashion of the day, now diffused round the whole park, besides 
 what is taken off by the Regent's Park. At the rate the country 
 is advancing in wealth, what will be the comparison at the end 
 of the next half century, and what will be the burden of the 
 national debt ? 
 
 I will add one more instance of change. A retired hackney 
 coachman, giving an account of his life to a friend of mine, 
 stated that his principal gains had been derived from cruising 
 at late hours in particular quarters of the town to pick up 
 drunken gentlemen. If they were able to tell their address, he 
 conveyed them straight home ; if not, he carried them to certain 
 taverns, where the custom was to secure their property, and put 
 them to bed. In the morning he called to take them home, and 
 was generally handsomely rewarded. He said there were other 
 coachmen who pursued the same course, and they all considered 
 it their policy to be strictly honest. The bell at Kensington, the 
 glories of Tavistock Sti-eet, and the coachmen's cruises, may all 
 be referred back a little more than seventy years and afford 
 indisputable and consoling proofs of improvement in security, 
 wealth, and temperance. I like to look at the bright side of 
 things. 
 
 ITALY, 
 
 WRITTEN AT VIENNA, IN 1 822. 
 
 Fair Italy ! 
 Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
 Of all art yields, and nature can decree.— Lord Byron. 
 
 I HAVE seen Italy from Passtum to Roveredo during the most 
 brilliant season of a very brilliant year. I have seen it and 
 enjoyed it, by sunlight and by moonli§}it, each hour in the twenty* 
 
ITAL Y. 
 
 39 
 
 four, from the dawn of spring to the ripeness of autumn. I have 
 watched the sun set upon '• the rehcs of ahnighty Rome," and 
 rise upon the bays of Naples and Mola di Gaeta. Floating in a 
 gondola, with the setting sun behind me, I have seen the full 
 moon illuminating the towers of Venice, and I have wandered in 
 the Coliseum by her light. I have seen her at Florence shining 
 through the most brilliant foliage, with myriads of fire-flies 
 glittering beneath. I have watched her silvery light streaming 
 over the waves in the bay of Naples, before purpled by the 
 setting sun. 
 
 I ha\e seen vegetation bud and come to maturity, unchecked 
 by frost or blight, and uniting the freshness of spring with the 
 fulness of summer. I have inhaled the powerful odour of the 
 orange flower and the delicate fragrance of the vine, listening 
 to the song of the nightingale on a lovely evening by the bay of 
 Naples. I have seen the vast remains of Adrian's villa, rising 
 in broken masses from amidst the ilex, the pine, the cypress, 
 and the olive, mingled with the blossoms of the peach, the 
 cherry, and the most beautiful shrubs — all canopied by a deep 
 and cloudless azure — crumbling arches, amid sombre evergreens 
 and the gayest garlands of crimson and white — such a contrast 
 and such a harmony ! 
 
 I have ridden a hundred and fifty miles in vigorous health, 
 between Nice and Genoa, with the smooth and beauteous 
 iNIediterranean on my right, and the snow-covered, rugged Alps 
 on my left — through olive and lemon groves, with towns and 
 villages, convents, bridges, rocks, and dells, all romantically 
 blended together. I have sailed on the magnificent gulf of 
 Genoa, and the enchanting bays of Naples, Alola di Gaeta and 
 Baise. I have seen the lovely gulfs of Villa Franca and La 
 Spezia, and the falls of Terni and Tivoli. 
 
 I have breathed the gales of spring on the banks of the Tiber, 
 and in the delicious environs of Naples. I have traversed the 
 Lago Maggiore and the lake of Como, and have bathed in the 
 soft and limpid waters of the Lago di Garda. I have gathered 
 the most delicious fruits fresh from the tree, and have passed 
 during the vintage through loaded vines, hanging on trellises or 
 in festoons, for miles and miles. I have exercised during the 
 freshness of morning, enjoyed at my ease the tranquil glow of 
 the midday sun, and sat uncovered at midnight beneath the 
 starry azure — feeling simple existence dehcious enjoyment. 
 
 I have visited St. Peter's again and again ; I have seen it 
 illuminated in the interior and on the exterior. I have seen the 
 Apollo and the Laocoon by torch-light, and have passed hours 
 before the Venus de' ]Medici and the masterpieces of Raphael. 
 I have stood upon the Alban Hill, and looked along the Appian 
 Way, a ruin itself, bordered on each side for fifteen miles with 
 
40 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 ruined tombs. I have wandered many an evening, on foot and 
 on horseback, over the inspiring solitudes of the Campagna di 
 
 Roma. 
 
 Fair Italy ! 
 * * * * 
 
 Even in thy desert, what is hke to thee? 
 
 Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
 
 More rich than the other climes' fertility ; 
 
 Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
 
 With an immaculate charm, which cannot be defaced. 
 
 I have visited the ruins of Psestum, of Tusculum, and of 
 Pompeii. I have leaned over the crater of Vesuvius in dark- 
 ness, listening to the fiery storm below. I have explored the 
 stupendous retnains of the Palace of the Caesars, and of the 
 Baths of Titus and Caracalla. I have viewed from Cecilia 
 Metella's tomb the three ranges of aqueducts magnificently 
 stretching across the plain, and once connecting the walls of the 
 "Eternal City" with the distant mountains— now standing in 
 solitary grandeur, broken, and overgrown with ivy and wild 
 flowers. I have descended into the tombs of the ancient 
 Romans, visited the dungeons of their captives, and followed 
 the track of their triumphs. I have wandered over the scenes 
 which Virgil has sung, stood where Cicero harangued, and 
 walked on the very road which Horace loved to frequent. 
 
 No. IV. ^Vednesday, June 10, 1835. 
 
 PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT— (^^«/////^^^). 
 
 In the article on government in my second number I have said 
 that the only machinery by which the greatest moral improve- 
 ment can be effected, must consist of local governments, so 
 ordered that those who are most successful in the honourable 
 conduct of their own concerns would be selected, and, being 
 selected, would be willing to give up time sufficient to superintend 
 the affairs of their respective communities. By the most 
 successful in the honourable conduct of their own concerns, I 
 mean those who by prudence, sagacity, integrity, and industry, 
 attain independence at least, or, being born to fortune, exhibit 
 those moral qualities which make fortune a blessing to them- 
 selves and to those around them. Now in order to secure the 
 selection of such persons, it is necessary that those who are to 
 select, should have uppermost, or indeed solely in their minds, 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 41 
 
 their own individual well-being; and that being the case, it 
 must follow that they would choose the best cjualihed to serve 
 their respective communities. This is a principle which, though 
 probably in some degree anciently in force, has long since fallen 
 into neglect ; and the relation between the electors and the 
 elected, in parishes as elsewhere, is now too slight to make the 
 electors sufficiently careful in their choice. For instance, in 
 any parish it is ordinarily matter of indifference, or nearly so, to 
 the parishoners at large, whom they elect to govern them ; and, 
 if they do interest themselves, it is only on some extraordinary 
 occasion, or for some party purpose ; but indifference is the 
 rule. The reason is twofold : first, because the powers of 
 government are much too small ; and secondly, because the 
 elections are by too large masses. The remedy is also twofold : 
 first, to divide every parish, if not already small enough, into 
 such districts that one individual, to be elected by each district, 
 might be perfectly cognizant of its interests ; and secondly, to 
 give him such powers, that those interests would be materially 
 promoted or injured according to his qualifications for using the 
 powers intrusted to him. Then each elector would have the 
 strongest possible inducement to make a judicious choice : 
 first, because he would be one of a number sufficiently limited to 
 make his vote of decided consequence ; and secondly, because 
 he would personally and continually feel the good or ill effect of 
 his selection. Now, the fittest persons to preside over the several 
 districts would be also the fittest to be the governors of the 
 whole parish, and therefore the self-interested feeling, which is 
 the strongest and most constant, of each elector would be made 
 subservient to the interest of his community. This is what I 
 mean, in my former article, by the words — " As the electors 
 would come much into immediate contact with the objects of 
 their choice, they would most likely — at least after a little 
 exj^erience — be more careful and discriminating than electors 
 under other circumstances usually are. Mob-flatterers, adven- 
 turers, and jobbers would be too nearly in view long to escape 
 detection." Under such a system these characters must either 
 mend their course, or sink into insignificance, to the great 
 blessing of the country. 
 
 In the election of the heads of districts I should be inclined to 
 give a vote to every man of competent age, having anything 
 like a settled inhabitancy, and I should make the elections 
 annual. The elected should be the representatives of their 
 districts, to all intents and purposes ; the inhabitants delegating 
 to them for the year the whole of their political power. Here 
 would be the first step in a graduated system of representation 
 — a principle absolutely necessary for the well-ordered govern- 
 ment of a population so numerous as that of this country. The 
 
42 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 artificial system of electing electors is a false one ; but here the 
 soundest test is applied. The head of a district, besides being 
 its representative in the parish, and its delegate everywhere, 
 should be a peace officer with others under him elected like 
 himself; should superintend the collection of rates ; and should 
 see to the enforcement of all laws relating to his charge — so 
 that his attention to his duties, or his neglect or vexatious 
 execution of them, would be felt by all within his jurisdiction. 
 The evils arising from the present deficiencies of government 
 might then be expected to vanish, and the effects of moral 
 influence, the most powerful of all, would appear in their place. 
 Division into organized districts would afford practicable fields 
 for the well-disposed to work in, instead of the unmanageable 
 and hopeless masses at present continually exposed to confusion 
 and misrule. The consideration of the inducements to the most 
 fitting persons to give up time sufficient to superintend the affairs 
 of their respective communities, I shall defer till my next number. 
 I will just add an observation of Dr. Johnson's as applicable to my 
 doctrines : " I am a friend to subordination, as most conducive 
 to the happiness of society. There is a reciprocal pleasure in 
 governing and being governed.'' 
 
 OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 
 
 The following letter, addressed to the Bishop of London in 
 my own name, appeared in the Times of January 26th, 1833. It 
 has been since so often mentioned to me in terms of approba- 
 tion, it is so much connected with parish government, and the 
 subject is so applicable to the present conjuncture, that I am 
 induced to republish it without any alteration. 
 
 " My Lord, — Your Lordship's position, as Bishop of this 
 metropolis, your zeal and energy, and your particular attention 
 to the subject of this letter, make me decide at once to whom to 
 address it. 
 
 " The means of accomplishing a better observance of the 
 Sabbath have long occupied my thoughts, and were intended 
 to form a principal topic in a second part to my pamphlet on 
 pauperism, of which work your Lordship has been pleased to 
 express your approbation. I am induced to write at this con- 
 juncture by my conviction, from constant experience as a magis- 
 trate, of the rapidly increasing demoralization of the lower 
 classes, and by the painful number I am obliged to witness of 
 cases of vice and miser}', utterly remediless in the present very 
 inadequate state of our civil and ecclesiastical local polity. I 
 shall confine myself on this occasion to only one suggestion, 
 
OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 43 
 
 which I believe would be the best practical beginning of a more 
 ettective system. 
 
 " To your Lordship, and all those by whom any sound and 
 far-reaching improvement is to be accomplished, it would be 
 quite superlluous to enlarge upon the advantages of a due 
 observance of Sunday in a religious point of view ; but I wish 
 to make an observation on the uses of bringing the whole 
 population one day in the week upon parade, if I may so express 
 myself. The consequences would be, a more general solicitude 
 ' to provide things honest in the sight of all men,' and a greater 
 carefulness to avoid whatever was individually lowering in the 
 general eye. Here is a forcible and constantly recurring check 
 on the evil doings of men, and on the indiscretions of the other 
 sex — here is a most powerful inducement to decency of appear- 
 ance and behaviour ; and if we contrast what must be the 
 condition of a universally church-going people with that of our 
 present population, tainted, preyed upon, and deranged by an 
 untrained and unobserved refuse, we shall come to the con- 
 clusion that no pains and no expense would be too great, if only 
 for our own sakes, to bring about the change. I could enlarge 
 much upon this subject, and illustrate my observations by many 
 facts, but a desire to be concise prevents me from adding more 
 than that I beheve the proper observance of a day of rest, even 
 in a temporal view, is of much greater importance to the well- 
 being of society than is generally conceived. I will take occa- 
 sion here to avow my conviction that a national Church is an 
 institution essential to a well-disciplined State, and that it is for 
 the general interest that that State should provide accommo- 
 dation for religious worship, with every inducement to attend it, 
 for those who otherwise would be unprovided. A position has 
 lately been taken that Dissenters from the Church ought not to 
 be called on to contribute towards its maintenance, on the 
 ground that they pay for themselves, and derive no benefit from 
 the Establishment. As well might a dissenter from gas lights, 
 who should choose to carry his own lantern, protest against 
 being rated, on the ground that, as he lighted himself, he 
 derived no benefit from living in a lighted community. The 
 argument is founded on false premises, and goes to the disso- 
 lution of society. 
 
 " Of the mass of persons who have lost the habit of going to 
 a place of worship, or have never been there, it is probable 
 most, if not all, have at times an inclination to change their 
 course, either from some flash of good feeling, from curiosity, 
 from the influence of remorse or calamity, or from some other 
 temporary excitement; but the difficulties that will ordinarily 
 present themselves to such must generally be too strong for 
 their diffidence or want of energy to overcome ; the favourable 
 
44 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 moment passes, and multitudes are lost, or, being lost, lose all 
 chance of being reclaimed. At present the harvest truly is 
 plenteous, but the labourers are few. 
 
 " The plan I would propose is, that the incumbent of each 
 parish in the metropolis, with the churchwardens, and a com- 
 petent number of respectable inhabitants to be approved of by 
 the clergj'man, should divide their parish into convenient dis- 
 tricts, and should by personal inquiry ascertain how many in 
 each district, at present unprovided, would wish to attend a 
 place of worship, — that first, the utmost accommodation and 
 facilities should be afforded so far as the existing churches or 
 chapels would allow ; secondly, that rooms should be licensed 
 where clergymen could be procured and remunerated ; and, 
 lastly, the two resources failing, that discreet persons, not in 
 orders, should be appointed by the incumbent to read in suffi- 
 cient and convenient places, prayers, and a short plain sermon 
 to be chosen each week by the clergyman. The duties of the 
 persons co-operating with the churchwardens should be to 
 receive and point out accommodation to those presenting them- 
 selves at each place of worship, and to go round their respective 
 districts from time to time, to induce, by a judicious manifesta- 
 tion of interest, an increasing attendance. I think such a 
 process would be productive of excellent effects to both classes, 
 and if any objection is made to rooms, or officiators not in 
 orders, my answer is, that in the earliest ages of Christianity 
 rooms preceded churches, and would now lead to them, and that 
 if respectable laymen may not officiate to the extent proposed, a 
 large mass must be left destitute, or fall into less desirable 
 hands. 
 
 " With respect to the expense, I apprehend it would be com- 
 paratively trifling. The services of the laymen would of course 
 be gratuitous, and rooms, no doubt, w'ould often be offered on 
 the same terms, or at most for a moderate consideration. I 
 have myself had much experience amongst the lower classes, 
 and I should be willing to give all the assistance in my power in 
 the furtherance of the plan, which I am convinced would lead 
 to a variety of beneficial results, greater than could at the outset 
 be calculated. 
 
 " I have the honour to be your Lordship's faithful servant." 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 {continued). 
 
 After making many blunders in my endeavours to improve my 
 health, I discovered that I had fallen into the great, but, I 
 believe, common error of thinking how much food I could take 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 45 
 
 in order to make myself strong, rather than how much I could 
 digest to make myself well. I found that my vessels were over- 
 charged, and my whole frame encumbered with superfluities, 
 in consequence of which I was liable to be out of order from the 
 slightest exciting causes. I began to take less sleep and more 
 exercise, particularly before breakfast, at which meal I confined 
 myself to half a cup of tea and a very moderate quantity of 
 eatables. I dined at one o'clock from one dish of meat and one 
 of vegetables, abstaining from everything else, and I drank no 
 wine, and only half a pint of table-beer. At seven I had tea, 
 observing the same moderation as at breakfast, and at half-past 
 nine a very light supper. If I was ever hungry during any 
 other part of the day, I took a crust of bread or some fruit. My 
 care was neither to anticipate my appetite, nor to overload it, nor 
 to disappoint it — in fact, to keep it in the best possible humour. 
 I continued this course almost invariably for several months. It 
 was now the middle of a very fine summer, and I was residing 
 at home in the country, alone with my mother, who was a 
 remarkably easy and accommodating person, and to the con- 
 tentment she inspired me with I attribute a good deal of the 
 extraordinary state I arrived at. She used frequently to say 
 she could not help looking at me, my features were so changed. 
 Indeed, I felt a dilTerent being, light and vigorous, with all my 
 senses sharpened. I enjoyed an absolutely glowing existence. 
 I cannot help mentioning two or three instances in proof of my 
 state, though I dare say they will appear almost ridiculous, but 
 they are nevertheless true. It seems that from the surface of an 
 animal in perfect health there is an active exhalation going on, 
 which repels impurity ; for when I walked on the dustiest roads, 
 not only my feet, but even my stockings, remained free from 
 dust. By way of experiment, I did not wash my face for a 
 week, nor did any one see, nor I feel, any difference. One day 
 I took hold of the branch of a tree to raise myself from the 
 ground, when I was astonished to feel such a buoyancy as to 
 have scarcely any sense of weight. In this state all my sensa- 
 tions were the real and marked indications of my wants. No 
 faintness, or craving, but a pleasurable keenness of appetite told 
 me when to eat. I was in no uncertainty as to when I ought to 
 leave off, for I ate heartily to a certain point, and then felt 
 distinctly satisfied, without any feeling of oppression. No 
 heaviness, but a pleasing composure preceded my desire for 
 rest, and I woke from one sound glowing sleep completely 
 refreshed. Exercise was delightful to me, and enough of it was 
 indicated by a quiescent tendency, without any harassing 
 sensation of fatigue. I felt, and believe I was, inaccessible to 
 disease ; and all this I attribute to the state of my digestion, on 
 which it seems to me entirely depends the state of man. Being 
 
46 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 in health, it is easy to keep so, at least where there are facilities 
 of living rationally ; but to get into health whilst living in the 
 world, and after a long course of ignorance or imprudence, is of 
 difficult attainment. 
 
 I do not consider it at all necessary, or even desirable, to be 
 strict in diet when the constitution is once put into good order ; 
 but to accomplish that end, it is certainly essential. It also 
 requires great observation and attention to know what to 
 practise and what to avoid in our habits of life; and I see 
 people constantly doing what is precisely the most prejudicial to 
 them, without the least consciousness of their errors. It is now 
 so long since I was in the same state myself, that I find some 
 difficulty in recollecting with sufficient exactness what I might 
 have thought it necessary to lay down for the benefit of valetu- 
 dinarians. I will, however, in my next number, give some of the 
 most important particulars. 
 
 THE EVE OF BATTLE. 
 
 " The Emperor kept the watch in the midst of his brave men. 
 The night presented a remarkable spectacle : two armies, the 
 one of which extended its front upon a line of six hours' march, 
 fired the air with its lights ; in the other the lights seemed to 
 be brought into one small point ; and in the one, as well as in 
 the other, all was watchfulness and motion. The lights of the 
 two armies were at half-cannon shot distance respectively; 
 the sentinels were almost touching, and there was not a single 
 motion on either side which could not be heard by the other." 
 
 The above passage, cut out of a newspaper, is part of 
 Bonaparte's bulletin of the battle, I believe, of Auerstadt. I 
 give it for its resemblance to the beginning of Shakespeare's 
 Chorus to the Fourth Act of Henry the Fifth. The bulletin 
 was fresh from the reality ; and it makes me believe that that 
 poet's description must have been taken from some chronicle, 
 or from some military writer. Indeed, I have often thought 
 that much of what is ordinarily attributed to imagination is 
 rather the result of a talent for happily appropriating what has 
 been seen, or heard, or read, and that Shakespeare possessed 
 this talent in a more eminent degree than any other person ih 
 any age or country. Notwithstanding his imperfect education, he 
 has interwoven classical and scriptural lore into his works with 
 more skill and beauty than Milton, or any of the most learned 
 writers, and often in a manner nearly imperceptible. It is my 
 belief that those who trust much to imagination and little to 
 observation will never make a lasting impression on mankind. 
 Imagination, I think, can properly do little else than more or 
 
THE EVE OF BATTLE. 47 
 
 less vividly colour outlines taken from reality, and I doubt that 
 even Ariel and Caliban are altogether exceptions. 
 
 I subjoin the greater part of the chorus, on account of other 
 resemblances, besides those in its beginning, to the extract from 
 the bulletin. In the first place, Henry and Bonaparte are 
 equally represented as keeping the watch in the midst of their 
 men; secondly, the presence of the hero of Agincourt is made 
 to produce the same reanimating effect which the Duke of 
 Wellington's produced upon his fainting troops towards the 
 conclusion of the battle of Waterloo ; and lastly, Bonaparte's 
 apprehension through the night lest the English should be gone, 
 as mentioned by General Gourgaud, and the exclamation 
 attributed to him, when he saw them in the morning—" Now I 
 have these English dogs ! "—find a parallel in the national 
 feeling described by Shakespeare. Dr. Johnson, whose strength 
 did not lie in poetical criticism, coldly says of these choruses, 
 " The lines given to the chorus have many admirers ; but the 
 truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much must be 
 forgiven." 
 
 From camp to camp, tlirough^the foul womb of night, 
 
 The hum of either army stilly 'sounds, 
 
 That the fixed sentinels almost receive 
 
 Tlie secret whispers of eacli other's watch. 
 
 Fire answers fire ! and tlirougii their paly flames 
 
 Each battle sees the other's umbered face 
 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul. 
 
 The confident and over-lusty French 
 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
 
 Like sacrifices, by their watcliful fires 
 
 Sit patiently, and mly ruminate 
 
 The morning's danger 
 
 Oh, now, who will behold 
 
 The roval captain of this ruined band 
 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. 
 
 Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head ! 
 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 
 
 Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile. 
 
 And calls them— brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
 
 Upon his royal face tliere is no note 
 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 
 Unto the weary and all watched night ; 
 
 But freshly looks and overbears attaint 
 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ; 
 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks 
 
48 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 PUNCTUALITY. 
 
 If you desire to enjoy life, avoid unpunctual people. They 
 impede business and poison pleasure. Make it your own rule 
 not only to be punctual, but a little beforehand. Such a habit 
 secures a composure which is essential to happiness. For 
 want of it many people live in a constant fever, and put all 
 about them into a fever too. To prevent the tediousness of 
 waiting for others, carry with you some means of occupation — 
 a Horace or Rochefoucault, for example — books which can 
 be read by snatches, and which afford ample materials for 
 thinking. 
 
 AGRICULTURE. 
 
 In looking into Coleridge's Table Talk the other day, I met 
 with a passage in high commendation of the poet Cowley's 
 Essays. It put me in mind of an extract I formerly made from 
 the one in praise of agriculture, which I give below on account 
 of its beauty. On some future occasion I mean to pursue the 
 subject, with reference to its jJresent state in this country. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM COWLEY. 
 
 The first wish of Virgil was to be a good philosopher — the 
 second, a good husbandman ; and God (whom he seemed to 
 understand better than most of the most learned heathens) dealt 
 with him just as He did with Solomon — because he prayed for 
 wisdom in the first place, He added all things else, which were sub- 
 ordinately to be desired. He made him one of the best philo- 
 sophers and best husbandmen ; and, to adorn and communicate 
 both these faculties, the best poet. He made him, besides all this, 
 a rich man, and a man who desired to be no richer. To be a 
 husbandman is but a retreat from the city ; to be a philosopher, 
 from the world ; or rather, a retreat from the world as it is man's 
 into the world as it is God's. 
 
 But since Nature denies to most men the capacity or appetite, 
 and Fortune allows but to a very few the opportunities or 
 possibility of applying themselves wholly to philosophy, the 
 best mixture of human affairs that we can make is to be found 
 in the employments of a country life. It is, as Columella calls 
 it, " Res sine dubitatione proxima et quasi consanguinea sapien- 
 tial," the nearest neighbour, or rather next in kindred, to philo- 
 sophy. Varro says, the principles of it are the same which 
 Ennius made to be the principles of all nature — earth, water, air, 
 and the sun. It does certainly comprehend more parts of 
 philosophy than any one profession, art, or science in the world 
 
MOUNT VESUVIUS. 49 
 
 besides ; and therefore Cicero says, the pleasures of a husband- 
 man, " mihi ad sapientis vitam proximc videntur accedere," 
 come very nigh to those of a philosopher. There is no other 
 sort of life that affords so many branches of praise to a 
 panegyrist : the utility to a man's self; the usefulness or rather 
 necessity of it to all the rest of mankind ; the innocence, the 
 pleasure, the antiquity, the dignity 
 
 If great delights be joined with so much innocence, I think it 
 is ill done of men not to take them here, v/here they are so tame 
 and ready at hand, rather than hunt for them in courts and 
 cities, where they are so wild, and the chase so troublesome and 
 dangerous. We are here among the vast and noble scenes of 
 Nature, we are there among the pitiful shifts of policy ; we work 
 here in the light and open ways of the divine bounty, we grope 
 there in the dark and confused labyrinths of human malice ; our 
 senses are here feasted with the clear and genuine taste of their 
 objects, which are all sophisticated there, and for the most part 
 overwhelmed with their contraries ; here is harmless and cheap 
 plenty, there guilty and expensive luxury. 
 
 I shall only instance one delight more, the most natural and 
 best-natured of all others, and a perpetual companion of the 
 husbandman ; and that is the satisfaction of looking round 
 about him, and seeing nothing but the effects and improvements 
 of his own art and diligence ; to be always gathering some fruits 
 of it, and at the same time to behold others ripening and others 
 budding ; to see all his fields and gardens covered with the 
 beauteous creatures of his own industry; and to see, like God, 
 that all his works are good 
 
 A man would think, when he is in serious humour, that it 
 were but a vain, irrational, and ridiculous thing for a great 
 company of men and women to run up and down in a room 
 together, in a hundred several postures and figures, to no purpose 
 and with no design. Yet who is there among our gentry, that 
 does not entertain a dancing-master for his children as soon as 
 they are able to walk .'' But did ever any father provide a tutor 
 for his son, to instruct him betimes in the nature and improve- 
 ments of that land which he intended to leave him ? 
 
 MOUNT VESUVIUS. 
 
 To have travelled has many ad\-antages, and one is, that annoy- 
 ances and dangers, in recollection, become sources of pleasure; 
 add to which, in the language of Scripture, " the affliction is 
 but for a moment," whilst the recollection endures for years. 
 I advise those who are beginning their travels to bear this in 
 mind. 
 
50 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 A few days after the eruption of Vesuvius, in February, 1822, 
 I ascended the mountain, in company with a friend, and attended 
 by Sah-atore, the well-known -chief guide. It was night before 
 we arrived at the crater, which at that time, we were told, was 
 near three-quarters of a mile in circumference. We lay down 
 looking over the edge of this vast cauldron, whilst the lava some- 
 times boiled up as if it would overwhelm us, roaring like a 
 stormy pent-up sea, and presenting the fiery appearance of 
 molten iron obscured by smoke ; then it would sink down in 
 silence, and leave us in total darkness. We forgot ourselves in 
 the awfulness of the scene, till Salvatore reminded us that it was 
 scarcely safe to remain. We had not left the place above two 
 minutes before we heard a crash. Salvatore went back to see 
 whence it proceeded, and on his return informed us that the 
 very spot where we had been lying was precipitated into the 
 crater. I thought he said so to enhance the interest of the 
 expedition. When we arrived at the beginning of the descent, 
 he shouted as loud as he could, by way of signal, to a boy 
 whom he had stationed at the foot of the cone, with orders to 
 hold up a torch for us to steer by. No torch appeared, and, 
 fearing the boy had perished, we proceeded in darkness, except 
 where lighted by the very brilliant colours of the yet burning 
 lava. Salvatore, notwithstanding his experience, missed his way, 
 and became somewhat confused. He knew we were in danger 
 of falling into hollow places, crusted over. We got knee-deep 
 into hot ashes, which burnt off a pair of very thick hose drawn 
 over my feet and legs for their protection. A sulphureous smoke 
 became so suffocating that we must have sunk under its effects, 
 had not Salvatore suggested the expedient of breathing through 
 two or three folds of our silk handkerchiefs, which to our surprise 
 afforded instant and almost complete relief. At length, after 
 repeated shoutings, the torch was raised ; and when we reached 
 the boy, we found he had been engaged in roasting eggs for us 
 on the lava instead of listening for the signal. After sleeping at 
 the Hermitage, a sort of inn upon the mountain, we re-ascended 
 in the morning to see the sun rise; and we were then made 
 fully sensible how narrowly we had escaped destruction, for the 
 part where we had been lying had wholly disappeared. 
 
 Later in the spring I made two other ascents — the first with 
 a party of thirty-five, including ladies and gentlemen, servants, 
 and guides. Whilst we were resting on the summit of the 
 mountain, one of the gentlemen proposed, in a sort of joke, to 
 Salvatore, to descend into the crater, then in a state of repose. 
 Salvatore took him at his word, and they immediately set off, 
 followed by degrees by every male present, more after the 
 manner of sheep than of rational beings. We arrived rapidly 
 at the bottom, which was at a considerable depth. It was full 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 51 
 
 of small fissures, through which issued short pale flames, and 
 we were obliged to keep changing our places on account of the 
 heat through our shoes. The stooping position necessary in 
 re-ascending the steep sides exposed us to a sulphureous vapour, 
 which was extremely annoying, and my hurry to escape made 
 me neglect the expedient of the handkerchief. On mustering 
 at the top, we found that one of the servants was missing, but 
 before wc could take steps for his safety he crawled out nearly 
 suffocated. It was a rash adventure, undertaken too precipi- 
 tately to guard against danger had there been any, of which we 
 were ignorant. 
 
 My last expedition afforded nothing worthy of note except a 
 scene at Salvatore's, where I arrived by night with a party of 
 ladies, on their way to sleep at the Hermitage, preparatory to an 
 ascent the next morning. Salvatore's house stands in a court- 
 yard, and has the stairs on the outside. As our arrival was 
 expected, the court was soon completely filled with asses and 
 mules, each under the conduct of a boy carrying a torch. 
 Salvatore posted himself at the foot of the stairs, with his jacket 
 slung like a military pelisse, and a truncheon in his hand. The 
 steps above him were occupied by blooming English girls, 
 waiting their turns to be seated on such animals as he should 
 select. The eagerness of the boys for preference — Salvatore's 
 vehement but graceful action as he poured forth his oaths and 
 brandished his truncheon — the passiveness of the ladies — the 
 contrast between their complexions and the swarthy ones of the 
 Italians, a contrast much heightened by the waving torches, the 
 incessant vociferation, and the triumph of each successful 
 candidate as he navigated his fair charge through yielding 
 rivals — formed altogether a scene of such striking effect, that 
 the lapse of thirteen years has effaced from my recollection 
 nothing of its freshness. 
 
 No. V. \Vednesday, June 17, 1835. 
 
 PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT— (^^;///;«/^^). 
 
 I SHALL begin this article with some explanations of my last on 
 the same subject ; and here let me advertise my readers that 
 my plan, throughout my writings, will be to proceed in a 
 familiar and desultory manner, rather than by formal and 
 unconnected dissertations, and that those who wish to draw 
 any profit from my labours, if any profit is to be drawn, must 
 
52 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 read me, not cursorily, and now and then, but regularly and 
 with attention, and must preserve my numbers for the purpose 
 of reference. My object is to induce my readers to put their 
 minds in training, '• by setting before them," as I expressed 
 myself in my prehmininary address, "an alterative diet of 
 sound and comfortable doctrines." Now, it is the nature of an 
 alterative diet to require time and perseverance. But to return 
 to my subject. 
 
 I must repeat that good government is only to be expected 
 from the selection of men of honourable and business-like 
 repute in the conduct of their own affairs; and any system 
 which does not produce such selection, however loudly cried up 
 by the unthinking and their deceivers, is false and worthless. 
 Parishes are at present too disorganized, and their pov\^ers of 
 government are too ill directed and too limited, to hold out 
 sufficient inducement to the most fitting persons to interest 
 themselves in the management of them. The best quahfied are 
 generally the most averse to interfere, and consequently a vast 
 quantity of public spirit lies dormant, or is in a manner wasted 
 on the many expedients with which this country abounds for 
 supplying the deficiencies of local governments. Few people 
 comprehend in their idea of parish governments anything 
 beyond the administration of the poor-laws, whereas, if the 
 governments were what they ought to be, poor-laws would soon 
 become unnecessary. Pauperism is a monster which looms 
 laree through the mist of ignorance and misconception ; but I, 
 who have grappled with and anatomized it in its various forms, 
 agricultural, commercial, and mixed, in Devonshire, Hereford- 
 shire, Lancashire, and London, know perfectly well that, under 
 the influence of local self-governments, thoroughly organized, it 
 would soon disappear from the land. To the moral cripples 
 around us, under such governments, we should have only to 
 take the tone of the apostle, when steadfastly beholding the 
 cripple at Lystra, he cried out with a loud voice, " Stand 
 upright on thy feet ; and the cripple leaped and walked." So, 
 without any miracle, would it soon be here ; for poverty in 
 England is not from physical but solely from moral causes. 
 Remove the multitudinous encouragenients to dependence, on 
 the one hand — open as nuich as possible the ways to self- 
 advancement, on the other, and the character of those who 
 come within the baneful influence of the poor-laws would be 
 reversed. Parishes are little states, which ought to exhibit in 
 finished miniature the principal features of large ones. They 
 should be preparatory schools for the art of government, full of 
 rivalry in themselves, and with one another, in promoting the 
 public welfare — moral farms, divided, drained, and tilled, so as 
 to produce the richest harvests and the fewest weeds. At 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 53 
 
 present they are little better than neglected wastes. The 
 first division I have proposed into wards has already a model 
 on a larger scale in the wards of the City of London, each 
 having an alderman, his deputy, and a certain number of 
 common councilmen with their inferior officers — only that many 
 modifications would be necessary. The City model did not 
 begin low enough, that is, in the parishes throughout the land, 
 so that the first elements of government have remained crude 
 and disordered, affecting upwards the whole frame with the 
 imperfections of its parts. 
 
 With respect to a "settled inhabitancy," as a qualification for 
 voting for the head of a parish ward, or for the governors of a 
 whole parish not large enough to be divided into wards, I should 
 say that having been usually resident for six months previous to 
 the election, and having, during that time, paid, whether weekly 
 or otherwise, and however little, for an occupancy, would be 
 sufficient. I think the population of each ward should not much 
 exceed a thousand, so that the number of males, of competent 
 age, c[ualified as above, could not much exceed a hundred ; 
 therefore, on the score of numbers, there could be no objection 
 to so low a quaHfication. Then the election would only be for 
 a year, and each voter would have a personal interest in his 
 choice. It is desirable to exercise as many as possible in 
 go\erning themselves, or in choosing those who are to govern 
 them ; and here would be a safe approach to universal suff"rage 
 in the election of those immediately in authority over their 
 fellow-citizens, and to be their representatives in the parish, and 
 in higher degrees of government. Now let us suppose a parish 
 containing thirty thousand inhabitants, divided into thirty wards, 
 the resident males of each ward, of competent age, and paying 
 for their occupancy, electing annually one of themselves to 
 superintend their conmion interests, to keep the peace, and to 
 represent them in the parish government ; there feeling himself 
 responsible for the good order and good condition of his ward, 
 his subordinate officers elected in like manner to assist him. I 
 apprehend that, under such a system, the moral influence created 
 would go near to supersede the necessity of legal restraints, and 
 that greatly increased powers of government, for the purposes of 
 improvement, might be safely and ad\'antageously granted under 
 so much and such well-ordered popular control. 
 
 I proceed nov/ to the consideration of the inducements to the 
 most fitting persons to give up time sufficient to superintend the 
 affairs of their respective communities ; and I suppose it will be 
 universally granted that no consideration on the subject of 
 government can be of more importance. The principal reasons 
 which deter men of honourable feelings, and of habits of atten- 
 tion to their own affairs, from taking much part in public 
 
54 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 concerns, I apprehend to be— the difficulty, from want of proper 
 organization, of effecting much good ; the fleeting nature, from 
 the same cause, of any good effected ; the want of co-operation 
 on the part of others hke themselves ; the opposition of the 
 interested and the factious ; and the grievous annoyances of 
 popular elections. All these objections, it seems to me, would 
 be obviated by such division as I propose. Each district would 
 be so small, that an individual could with ease comprehend, and 
 watch over, its interests. Whatever good he could effect he 
 might confidently anticipate would be preserved by the sim- 
 plicity of the machinery. Uniformity of division would ensure 
 uniformity of co-operation, whilst the interested and the factious, 
 as I have remarked before, would be too nearly in view, and in 
 too close contact with their fellow-citizens to escape detection, 
 and would consequently soon be put to silence. It is only in a 
 state of disorganization that such people can thrive. The elec- 
 tion, though strictly popular, would be subject to none of the 
 disagreeable circumstances incident to unwieldy constituencies, 
 necessarily without direct interests, and in which the worst 
 portion is almost always the most prominent. In parish wai'ds 
 the compact number of electors, their clear and substantial and 
 common interest to make a judicious choice, their means of 
 accurately judging, after a short working of the system, whom to 
 choose, and the freedom and fairness of the election, would 
 cause a very different process from that which is witnessed 
 amidst the corruptions, and unreasonableness, and violence of 
 the oligarchic and ochlocratic systems. This is the first opera- 
 tion of what I have called the democratic principle, or principle 
 of self-government fitly organized, one of the advantages of 
 which would be the production of a new race of characters, for 
 which at present there is no opening ; and we may judge of the 
 soundness of the ochlocratic principle by the fact that its exten- 
 sion has not exhibited a single instance of an improvement of 
 public men. 
 
 In the arrangement I propose, one strong inducement to men 
 of character and business to take the lead in the affairs of their 
 respective divisions would be the apprehension of personal 
 annoyance to themselves, and of injury to their every-day in- 
 terests, if they allowed ill-qualified persons to be set in authority 
 over them. Now, whenever means can be devised to excite the 
 respectable portion of the community to take an active part in 
 public affairs, that portion, all experience shows, is sure to 
 prevail. It is the general supineness of the deserving that gives 
 to the undeserving any chance of ascendency ; and that supine- 
 ness cannot exist under the democratic principle fitly organized. 
 Under any other principle it will always exist, for the reasons 
 stated in the article on the Principles of Government, in my 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 55 
 
 first number. Compact divisions, under the constant inspection 
 of men of character, would, by that inspection alone, become 
 greatly improved. Mere authority prevails only as it presses ; 
 but authority joined with worth dispels disorder, and, as it were, 
 clears the moral atmosphere. What Plutarch says of the effect 
 of Numa's virtue, I have seen enough to know, is true to nature ; 
 and here I must again most strongly recommend to my reader's 
 attention the extracts from his life given in my second number — 
 especially the beautiful passage in pages 21, 22. 
 
 There would be other inducements to the best c|ualified to 
 become the heads of wards, which I shall mention when I come 
 to consider the heads in their capacity of representatives in the 
 parish councils. 
 
 In point of detail it may perhaps be objected, that it would 
 frequently be dangerous to confine the right of choosing the 
 heads of wards to the inhabitants of the wards, instead of ex- 
 tending it to those of the parish generally, and in some debased 
 divisions it might possibly for a time cause some slight incon- 
 venience. But, in the first place, it is to be considered that the 
 main principle of the choosers having a strong conmion personal 
 interest in their choice, can only be called into full action by 
 such a restriction ; secondly, that the present debasement could 
 not long continue under an improved organization ; and thirdly, 
 that comparison on every side would soon operate beneficially 
 on elections — besides that the lowest classes are the least jealous 
 of their superiors, and the most so of their equals and those only 
 a little above them ; add to which, the introduction of a few 
 improper persons into a body of men of weight would certainly 
 end in the confusion and retreat of the intruders. The restric- 
 tion of the right of voting to those who have an immediate 
 interest in exercising their right is the only sound principle ; 
 and the adoption of a sound principle, though attended with 
 some present inconvenience, m.ust always end in sound results — 
 whereas the admission of an unsound principle, in order to avoid 
 partial or temporary evil, will eventually produce greater evil 
 still. 
 
 Lastly, it is to be observed, that the institution of .parish 
 wards would be no new or doubtful experiment. It is only the 
 combined application of two tried principles : the first, the true 
 English one of self-government ; and the second, the principle of 
 division carried down to the point of personal control. It is 
 militar)' division, and civdl principle ; which is the only organiza- 
 tion by which well-ordered and real freedom can exist. A parish 
 ward would be to a parish what a company is to a regiment ; 
 and the head of the ward, with his deputy and inferior assistants, 
 would answer to the captain with his lieutenant and non-com- 
 missioned officers. The company is the foundation of the 
 
56 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 discipline and well-being of the army, as the ward would be the 
 foundation of the discipline and well-being of the State. Military- 
 division, combined with the principle of self-government, seems 
 to have been the system perfected by Alfred ; and I have so 
 high an idea of its efficacy, as fully to believe the accounts of 
 the good order reported to have prevailed in his reign. Besides, 
 if the histories of him handed down to us had been fictitious, 
 they would, from the age in which he lived, have made him 
 superstitious and bigoted ; but though he is always stated to 
 have been devout, his devotion is represented as pure as his love 
 of justice. It is only under a system of moral intluence such as 
 his that his noble saying, that men ought to be as free as their 
 own thoughts, has any sense. It supposes perfect liberty of 
 action to men made just by good government. 
 
 I shall in my next number proceed to the consideration of 
 parish government in the aggregate. 
 
 PAROCHIAL IMPROVEMENT. 
 
 The following extract is from the introduction to a pamphlet 
 ol mine on Pauperism, first published in 1826. I give it here, 
 not on account of the particular subject, but in connection with 
 the preceding article, as a practical proof of what might be effected 
 in general improvement by an organized superintendence under 
 the authority of the law. I was armed with no authority, but 
 that of influence of my own creating, and had no organization 
 but a voluntary and very imperfect one. The place, when I 
 began, was considered in a hopeless state of demoralization, and 
 its name was a sort of byword in the country round ; yet a 
 great deal of the attention I bestowed upon it was beyond what 
 was required for its management, and had for its object my own 
 restruction. I made it my constant aim to establish the principle 
 of self-government, and the consequence has been that the 
 system I introduced works well to this day. 
 
 " In August 1 8 17 an opportunity occurred to me of commenc- 
 ing an experiment on the subject of pauperism in the township 
 of Stretford, in the parish of Manchester— a district partly manu- 
 facturing, but principally agricultural, and containing about 
 2000 acres of land and as many inhabitants. I began by pro- 
 curing the adoption of somewhat the same plan as Mr. Sturges 
 Bourne's Select Vestry, not then legalized — a suggestion of the 
 neighbouring magistrate, whom I consulted in the first instance, 
 and whose co-operation, as well as that of the most respectable 
 inhabitants, I uniformly met with, during a residence at intervals 
 of three years and a half. I soon found that the magistrates as 
 usual had no confidence in the overseers, to the great gain of the 
 
PAROCHIAL IMPROVEMENT. 57 
 
 paupers, whose appeals from the oveiseers to the magistrates 
 were incessant. I found that the paupers were insolent in the 
 extreme to the farmers, and in a great measure their masters ; 
 that the paupers were leagued together to get as much from the 
 rates as possible, and that they practised all sorts of tricks and 
 impositions for that purpose ; that the industrious labourers 
 were discoura.;ed ; the well disposed inhabitants airaid, or per- 
 suaded that it was in vain to interfere ; and every individual 
 driven to do the best he could for himself or his connections at 
 the general expense. For some time the paupers tried every art 
 to deceive or tire me out, and some of the ratepayers who were 
 ousted from the management thwarted me in secret ; but the 
 good effects of the new system became so apparent, both as to 
 economy and good order, that opposition grew less and less, and 
 at last suddenly and entirely ceased. I spent almost my whole 
 time for some months in visiting the labouring classes — in making 
 myself master of their habits — in explaining to them the causes 
 of their distress — and in enforcing, as occasions arose, the doc- 
 trines of Mr. Malthus,* which I took care to put in the most 
 familiar and pointed manner I was able, and I was surprised to 
 see the effect generally produced — it was as if a new light had 
 broken in upon my hearers. By degrees I gained their con- 
 fidence ; they constantly applied to me to settle their disputes, 
 or for legal advice, or for assistance in whatever difficulties they 
 found themselves ; and as I was frequently able to serve them, 
 I found that circumstance of great advantage in caiTying into 
 execution any measure of severity or privation. With respect to 
 former abuses in the management, I made it a rule never to look 
 back, but held that neglect on one side and imposition on the 
 other had balanced the account, and that it would be better to 
 look only to the future. I found this plan attended with the best 
 effects. Those who had profited by abuse were glad to escape 
 so easily. Those who really wished for what was right were not 
 revolted by any appearance of harshness ; and, instead of wrang- 
 ling about the past, everything went on well for the present, and 
 not one retrograde movement was made. A few hours in a 
 week soon became sufficient to do all the business, and at last a 
 trifling superintendence was alone necessary. Information came 
 to me from all cjuarters ; the league amongst the paupers was 
 dissolved ; appeals to the magistrates, whose unvaried counte- 
 nance I experienced, entirely ceased ; the rates were considerably 
 diminished ; the labourers depended more upon themselves, and 
 were generally better off; and, what was most important, new 
 principles were gaining ground. 
 
 * I mean the doctrines Mr. Malthus himself laid down, not those igno- 
 rantly attributed to him. 
 
58 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 " The amount of money paid to the poor during the years of 
 my occasional superintendence, exclusive of the maintenance of 
 those in the workhouse and of the expense of a few articles of 
 clothing, was as follows : — 
 
 £ .. d. 
 
 From March 1817 to March 1818 . . 812 16 6 
 
 1818 ,, 1819 . . 537 19 72 
 
 1819 ,, 1820 . . 489 12 6 
 
 1820 „ 1821 . . 368 4 o 
 
 "When I first interfered in August 1817, it was the practice to 
 admit families into the workhouse ; at the time my interference 
 ceased the number of inmates was reduced to eight— viz., six aged 
 persons and two young women— one of the latter half idiotic 
 and the other labouring under severe disease. Three of the old 
 men broke stones for the roads, and the idiotic girl maintained 
 herself. In fact, a workhouse was become quite unnecessary. 
 Before the commencement of the alteration of system, the 
 expenses of pauperism were rapidly increasing, and the reduction 
 was solely owing to that species of amendment in management 
 which may be put in practice under any circumstances." 
 
 Note to Second Edition., published in 1831. 
 
 The last opportunity I had of seeing the effects of my system 
 was in September 1828, when 1 made the following extract from 
 the Poors Books : — 
 
 £ s- ^• 
 
 May 1817, Monthly payments to regular poor 68 3 6 
 ,, 1818 ,, ,. 33 12 o 
 
 ,, 1827 ,, „ 15 2 o 
 
 ,, 1823 ,, ,, 13 10 o 
 
 In April of this present year, 1835, I attended a town's meet- 
 ing for half an hour, after a lapse of fourteen years, and found 
 the business carried on just as when I was there before ; and I 
 learnt it was in contemplation to abandon the workhouse on the 
 2ist of this month, as useless. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 {contimced). 
 
 As I have stated in the beginning of this number, I shall fellow 
 in my observations upon health the familiar and desultory style, 
 writing down what I have to say just as it occurs to me. 
 
 This is the golden rule— Content the stomach, and the 
 stomach will content you. But it is often no easy matter to 
 know how, for, like a spoiled child or a wayward wife, it does 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 59 
 
 not always know its owti wants. It will cry for food when it 
 wants none ; will not say when it has had enough, and then be 
 indignant for being indulged ; will crave what it ought to reject 
 and reject what it ought to desire ; but all this is because you 
 have allowed it to form bad habits, and then you ignorantly lay 
 upon poor Nature your own folly. Rational discipline is as 
 necessary for the stomach as for the aforesaid child or the 
 aforesaid wife, and if you have not the sense or the resolution to 
 enforce it, you must take the consequences ; but do not lay the 
 fault upon another, and especially one generally so kind, if you 
 would but follow her simple dictates. '■ I am always obliged to 
 breakfast before I rise — my constitution requires it," drawls out 
 some fair votary of fashion. "' Unless I take a bottle of port 
 after dinner," cries the pampered merchant, " I am never well." 
 "Without my brandy-and-water before I go to bed, I cannot 
 sleep a wink," says the comfortable shopkeeper ; and all suppose 
 they are following Nature ; but sooner or later the offended 
 goddess sends her avenging ministers in the shape of vapours, 
 gout, or dropsy. 
 
 Having long gone wrong, you must get right by degrees ; 
 there is no summary process. Medicine may assist, or give 
 temporary relief ; but you have a habit to alter — a tendency to 
 change — from a tendency to being ill to a tendency to being 
 well. First study to acquire a composure of mind and body. 
 Avoid agitation or hurry of one or the other, especially just 
 before and after meals, and whilst the process of digestion is 
 going on. To this end, govern your temper — endeavour to look 
 at the bright side of things — -keep down as much as possible the 
 unruly passions — discard envy, hatred, and malice, and lay your 
 head upon your pillow in charity with all mankind. Let not 
 your wants outrun your means. Whatever difficulties you have 
 to encounter, be not perplexed, but think only what it is right 
 to do in the sight of Him who seeth all things, and bear without 
 repining the result. When your meals are solitar}', let your 
 thoughts be cheerful; when they are social, which is better, 
 avoid disputes, or serious argument, or unpleasant topics. 
 " Unquiet meals," says Shakespeare, "make ill digestions;" and 
 the contrar)- is produced by easy conversation, a pleasant project, 
 welcome news, or a lively companion. I advise wives not to 
 entertain their husbands with domestic grievances about chil- 
 dren or ser\-ants, nor to ask for money, nor produce unpaid bills, 
 nor propound unseasonable or provoking questions ; and I 
 advise husbands to keep the cares and vexations of the world to 
 themselves, but to be communicative of whatever is comfortable, 
 and cheerful, and amusing. 
 
 With respect to composure of body, it is highly expedient not 
 to be heated by exercise, either when beginning a meal, or 
 
6o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 immediately after one. In both cases fermentation precedes 
 digestion, and the food, taken into the stomach, becomes more 
 or less corrupted. I will mention two strong instances. A pig 
 in high health was driven violently just after a full meal ; it 
 dropped down dead, and at the desire of some labourers, who 
 thought it was too good to be lost, a butcher forthwith proceeded 
 to dress it. When the hair was scalded off, the skin presented 
 in some places a somewhat livid hue, and when the stomach was 
 opened, the contents were so extremely offensive, that all present, 
 of whom I was one, were obliged to fly, and the carcass almost 
 immediately became a mass of putridity. The second case was 
 that of a man in the service of a relation of mine, who, after a 
 harvest supper and a hot day's labour, was thrown in a wrestling 
 match, by which he instantly died, and decomposition took 
 place so rapidly that it was with difficulty his body within four- 
 and-twenty hours could be placed in a coffin. Whilst I was 
 subject to the affection of the trachea before mentioned, I 
 frequently brought on the most distressing attacks, and some- 
 times instantaneously, by heating myself just before or after 
 meals. Even dressing in a hurry ought to be avoided previously 
 to a meal, and I should advise all, especially invalids, to be 
 ready a little beforehand, as the mind is also often in a state of 
 hurry prejudicial to digestion. After meals, stooping, leaning 
 against the chest, going quick upstairs, opening or shutting a 
 tight drawer, pulling off boots, packing up, or even any single 
 contortion or forced position of the body, has each a tendency 
 to cause fermentation, and thereby produce bile, heartburn, 
 difficulty of breathing, and other derangements. I have often 
 experienced ill effects from washing my feet at night instead of 
 in the morning, fasting, which is decidedly the safest time. Of 
 course persons in high health may allow themselves liberties, 
 but those who are at all liable to indigestion cannot be too 
 observ^ant of even their most trifling actions. In my next 
 number I shall take up the subject of diet. 
 
 COURTEOUS FORBEARANCE. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN, making a morning call upon a late county 
 member of great taste and scrupulous courtesy% was accom- 
 panied into the library by a beautiful kid, which he found 
 standing at the street-door. During the conversation the ani- 
 mal proceeded round the room, examining the different objects 
 of art with ludicrous curiosity, till, coming to a small bronze 
 statue, placed upon the floor, he made a butt at it and knocked 
 it over. The owner of the house taking no notice, his visitor 
 obserx^ed : " That kid is a special favourite, I perceive ; how 
 
DERIVATIONS. 6i 
 
 long have you had it ? " " I had it ! " exclaimed the virtuoso, in 
 an agony, '• I thought it had been yours." " Mine ! " said the 
 gentleman, with no less astonishment ; " it is not mine I assure 
 you." Whereupon they both rose, and by summary process 
 ejected the intruder. 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 The taxes of State are more oppressive than the State taxes. 
 
 Private comfort and public magnificence constitute the per- 
 fection of society. 
 
 The cheapest government is not the best, but the best govern- 
 ment is the cheapest ; that is, God's few at the top well paid by 
 God's many. 
 
 Philosophy is a fire of rotten sticks flickering in a desert, with 
 all around cold and dark. Religion is the glorious sun, cheering 
 and illumining universally. 
 
 What an annoyance are long speakers, long talkers, and long 
 writers !— people who will not take time to think, or are not 
 capable of thinking accurately. Once, when Dr. South had 
 preached before Queen Anne, her Majesty obser\^ed to him, 
 "' You have given me a most excellent discourse. Dr. South ; 
 but I wish you had had time to have made it longer." " A ay, 
 madam," replied the Doctor, "if I had had time, I should have 
 made it shorter." The model of a debate is that given by 
 Milton in the opening of the second book of " Paradise Lost." 
 
 DERIVATIONS. 
 
 There is no word in the English language so much abbre- 
 viated from its original as the word " alms," from the Greek 
 i\^y]iio(jvvq. Six syllables are contracted into one ; thus, el-e-e- 
 mos-u-ne — elmosune — elmosn (from which the French aumone), 
 alms ; in Italian limosina, from the same original. The practice 
 amongst modern nations of appropriating different parts of 
 words from the dead languages is by no means uncommon ; as 
 in the proper name Johannes, the English take the first part, 
 John, and the Dutch the last, Hans. These instances of deriva- 
 tion made an impression upon me, because they were told me, 
 when a boy, by the two greatest masters of their day in lan- 
 guage : the first by Home Tooke; the second by Person ; both 
 of whom possessed the gratifying faculty of adapting their 
 conversation to the young and the unlearned. The word alms 
 in the original signifies something given from the motive of pity ; 
 but, however amiable the feeling, we should be careful not to 
 indulge it idly and indiscriminately. It is often said, we ought 
 
62 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 to give for our own sakes, without inquiry — in my opinion a very 
 unsound and selfish doctrine. It is difficult to bestow charity 
 without doing more harm than good. We not only run the 
 risk of paralysing the moral energies of the immediate objects of 
 our bounty, but of those who hope to become so. Giving with 
 discretion is a great virtue ; it is twice blest, and the extent of 
 its benefits can never be foreseen to either party. Illustrative 
 of this is the following narrative ; the first part of which is true 
 to the letter :— 
 
 A FEW SHILLINGS WELL LAID OUT. 
 
 As the burly coachman of one of the Northern stages was 
 remounting his box one bleak November night at the door of a 
 little inn noted for spiced ale — 
 
 " How much will you take me to London for ? " said a thinly 
 clad boy of about fourteen, in a soft and doubting tone. The 
 coachman turned round, and, with a look of contempt slightly 
 qualified by pity, growled out : 
 
 " Can't take you for less than half-a-crown." 
 
 " I have only a shilling left," said the boy. 
 
 "Why didn't you say so at first?" said the coachman, 
 replacing his foot on the nave of the wheel. The boy retreated 
 a step into the shade. 
 
 " Come, jump up, my lad," cried a gentleman on the coach, 
 " I will find you eighteenpence." 
 
 " Are not you very cold ? " said the gentleman, after a short 
 interval. 
 
 " Not very," replied the boy, rubbing his hands cheerily up 
 and down in the pockets of his cotton trousers. " Not very; I 
 was thinking of London.'' 
 
 "And what are you going to do there?" said the gentleman. 
 The boy replied that he was going to be bound apprentice to 
 his uncle, who kept a cook's shop in the Borough. Then he 
 told his own little history, and how he had travelled up one 
 hundred and fifty miles with the few shillings his widowed 
 mother had been able to muster for him ; and he concluded 
 with a very intelligent account of his native place, and a no less 
 amusing one of the principal people in its neighbourhood. 
 
 " And what do you intend to do to-night ? " said the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " I shall go to my uncle's," replied the boy. 
 " But how will you find him out ? We shall not arrive before 
 midnight. Besides, your uncle will be gone to bed. Come, I 
 will give you five shillings, and you can stay comfortably at the 
 inn till morning.'' 
 
 ( To be continued^ 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 No. VI. Wednesday, June 24, 1835. 
 
 PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT— (^^;///;«/^//). 
 
 I WAS asked the other day by an inhabitant of one of the greal 
 squares, what there could possibly be to do for the head of a 
 parish ward, supposing parishes to be divided as I propose. 
 Let us suppose the parish, in which the square is situated, to be 
 divided, and the square to be one of the wards, and that the 
 management of everything which relates genei^ally to the 
 interests of the parish, such as lighting, paving, cleansing, 
 police, and pauperism, was centred in the parish council, con- 
 sisting of the heads of the difterent wards. Now, the square 
 being inhabited by rich people, a rich man would be elected for 
 its head, one who had a common interest with those over whom 
 he was immediately placed, which interest he would represent 
 in the council, and superintend in the ward. He would have a 
 voice in raising the general supplies, and authority to see to 
 their particular application in his own ward. He would have a 
 perfect knowledge of his district, and a constant eye to its good 
 management. He w-ould be an easy channel for the other 
 inhabitants to apply through, in case of any complaint to 
 redress, or any suggestion to offer. He would be the guardian 
 of the peace of his ward, and responsible for it, with his sub- 
 ordinate officers to assist him. His personal superintendence 
 would be a check to anything detrimental to the common 
 interest. He would be able to collect the bulk of the rates free 
 of expense, returning the defaulters, if any, to be dealt with by 
 the council. He would have authority sufficient to maintain 
 the interests of his w^ard, and would be sufficiently controlled 
 not to be able to maintain them at the expense of the interests 
 of the parish. He would have a compact and practicable field 
 for the discharge of his public duty, and would have an 
 opportunity, if he were so minded, as no doubt many would be, 
 to distinguish his year, or years, of office by acts of munificence 
 and public spirit. Whatever information or returns were 
 wanted, they could, through his means, be easily and accurately 
 obtained. In such a ward the duties would be lighter and more 
 simple than in poorer and less cultivated ones ; but still there 
 would be evils to prevent, and advantages to procure, as well 
 as to see to the due management of the ordinary business ; and 
 such a superintendence, made universal, could not fail to ensure 
 the spread of good government and of local nnpro\emcnt, with 
 great rapidity. 1 shall have more to say on this subject in my 
 
64 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 observations on parish government in the aggregate, which I will 
 endeavour to condense in my next number, so as to conclude 
 the subject. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 {continued). 
 
 I MUST begin with a itw remarks on my last article. I have 
 there dwelt on the ill-consequences of being heated by exercise 
 just before or after meals. There is one case which seems to be 
 almost an exception ; I mean that of dancing immediately before 
 or after supper — at least, I never sutiered any inconvenience 
 from it in my ailing days, though I cannot speak from much 
 experience. But further, I do not call to mind any instances in 
 other persons, and at any rate they cannot be so common as 
 would be the case from any other mode of equal exertion under 
 similar circumstances. The reason I take to be this — that from 
 the enlivening eftect upon the spirits, the digestive powers are 
 able to overcome any tendency to fermentation ; and if that be 
 so, it proves the extreme healthfulness of the exercise, when 
 taken rationally and for its own sake, instead of, as it usually is, 
 as an exhibition, in overcrowded and overheated rooms at the 
 most unseasonable hours. 
 
 I particularly i-ecommended in my last number attention to 
 the state of the mind, because the effect of the spirits is very 
 great and often even instantaneous in accelerating or retard- 
 ing the digestive powers ; and upon the digestive powers im- 
 mediately depends whatever happens to our physical being. 
 Whenever food is taken into the stomach, it begins directly to 
 undergo a change, either from the action of the gastric juice, 
 which is the desirable one, or from that of the natural heat. In 
 the latter case, a sensation of fulness and weight is first 
 produced, and then of more active uneasiness, as fermentation 
 proceeds ; and at last, when digestion commences, it is upon a 
 mass more or less corrupted, according to the quantity and 
 nature of the food, the time it has remained, the heat of the 
 body, and perhaps other circumstances. The mind will fre- 
 cjuently regulate all this, as I have repeatedly experienced ; for 
 a feeling of lightness or oppression, of fermentation or quiescence, 
 will come or go as the spirits rise or fall, and the effect is 
 generally immediately perceptible in the countenance, and felt 
 throughout the whole frame. Such influence has the mind on 
 the digestive powers, and the digestive powers on the body ; 
 and when we speak of a light or heavy heart, we confound it 
 with a less romantic organ. The heart, it is true, will beat 
 quicker or slower, but the hghtness or heaviness we feel is not 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 65 
 
 there. There is no sickness of the heart ; it needs no cordial ; 
 and the swain who places his hand in front, whatever the polite 
 may think, is the right marksman. There lies our courage, and 
 thence proceed our doubts and fears. These truths should 
 make us careful how we live ; for upon the digestive organs 
 mainly depend beauty and strength of person, and beauty and 
 strength of mind. Even the most eminently gifted have never 
 been proof against its derangement. It is through the digestion 
 that grief and all the brooding affections of the mind affect the 
 frame, and make the countenance fallen, pale, and liny, which 
 causes Shakespeare to call it " hard-favoured grief," and to say 
 that " grief is beauty's canker." On the other hand, joy, or any 
 pleasurable affection of the mind, which promotes digestion, 
 at the same time fills and lights up the countenance. Often, 
 when I have been taking a solitary meal, the appearance of an 
 agreeable companion, or reading any good news, has produced 
 an instantaneous effect upon my digestive organs, and, through 
 them, upon my whole frame. In the same v/ay a judicious 
 medical attendant will, in many cases, by talking his patient 
 into an appetite, or raising his spirits, do him more good than 
 by any medicines. That all this is through the stomach I will 
 prove by two instances. First, no one will doubt that the 
 scurvy proceeds from the state of that organ, and that through 
 that organ alone it can be cured. Now, I have read in medical 
 writers, that after a tedious voyage sailors, grievously aftlicted, 
 have repeatedly been known to have instantaneously experienced 
 a turn in the disorder on the sight of land, and that soldiers 
 besieged have been affected in like manner, on the appearance 
 of succour ; that is, the spirits have produced the same effect 
 that medicine or proper food would have produced, which must 
 have been through the same organ. The second instance is 
 what I have several times observed in my own person. When 
 I have had any local inflammation from hurts, however remotely 
 situated, what has aftected my digestion has at the same 
 moment affected the inflammation. Fasting too long, eating too 
 soon, taking too much wine, or having my spirits lowered, have 
 instantly been unpleasantly perceptible in the seat of the inflam- 
 mation ; whilst taking food or wine when wanted, or having my 
 spirits raised, have produced the direct contrary effect. How 
 this is effected anatomically, I leave to the scientific to explain. 
 I only know it from observation ; but I do know it, and how to 
 profit by it, and I teU it to my readers that they may profit by it 
 too, which brings me to a repetition of my rule — Content the 
 stomach, and the stomach will content you. 
 
 To the caution I gave against stooping after meals, I should 
 add that it is particularly to be avoided with anything tight 
 round the body, and the same may be said of all the actions I 
 
 C 
 
66 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 have enumerated. They are also pernicious in proportion as 
 the meal has been full or rich. Anything greasy or strong, 
 especially the skin of the fat of roast meat, when disturbed by 
 exertion, will produce the most disagreeable effect, or perhaps 
 bring on a regular bilious attack. Packing up, preparatory to a 
 long journey by a public vehicle, used often to be a cause of 
 serious inconvenience to my health, from my mode of doing it. 
 First of all laying in a hearty meal, because I had a great 
 distance to go, the very reason why I ought to have been 
 abstemious; then having to finish packing after eating, with 
 more things than room for them, the hurry, vexation, and 
 exertion of arranging them, together with the fear of being too 
 late, and bustling off, caused such a fermentation as not only 
 made my journey most uncomfortable, but made me generally 
 out of sorts for some time after. When I had brought myself 
 into a regular state of health, and took care always to be before- 
 hand with my arrangements, eating sparingly, and setting off 
 composedly, I found an immense difference, particularly in the 
 absence of any feeling of being cramped in my limbs, which 
 was always annoying in proportion to my improper living. I 
 find my supplementary observations have extended so much 
 further than I contemplated, that I must defer commencing the 
 subject of diet till next week ; but I was unwilling to omit any 
 details which might be useful, though at the risk of being on 
 some points too minute. 
 
 DOCTOR GREGORY'S DESCRIPTION OF 
 HEALTH. 
 
 What I have said in preceding numbers respecting the state of 
 health I once attained, is not, I find, easily credited by those 
 who have not had similar experience. I subjoin a passage from 
 high professional authority — that of Dr. James Gregory, late 
 Professor of Medicine in Edinburgh — confirmatory of my 
 positions ; and those who will take the trouble to make the 
 comparison will find how fully I am borne out. The passage 
 was pointed out to me many years since by a physician, and I 
 extracted it at the time, but had forgotten its contents till I had 
 the curiosity to refer to it the other day, and I now give an 
 abbreviated translation from the original Latin. I believe it is 
 principally taken from Celsus. My most staggering assertion I 
 take to be this : " It seems that from the surface of an animal 
 in perfect health there is an active exhalation going on, which 
 repels impurity ; for when I walked on the dustiest roads, not 
 only my feet, but even my stockings, remained free from dust."' 
 Pr. Gregory says of a person in high health — " The exhalation 
 
DESCRIPTION OF HEALTH 67 
 
 from the skin is free and constant, but without amounting to 
 perspiration'' — exhalatio ■per cuteiii libera et cotjs/ans, citra 
 vera sudorein, which answers with remarkable precision to my 
 "active exhalation," and the repulsion of impurity is a necessary 
 consequence. In fact, it is perspiration so active as to fly from 
 the skin, instead of remaining upon it, or suffering anything 
 else to remain ; just as we see an animal in high health roll in 
 the mire, and directly after appear as clean as if it had been 
 washed. I enter into these particulars, not to justify myself, 
 but to gain the confidence of my readers, not only on this 
 particular subject, but generally — more especially as I shall 
 have frequent occasion to advance things out of the common 
 way, though in the way of truth. I have before remarked that 
 well-grounded faith has great virtue in other things besides 
 religion. The want of it is an insuperable bar to improvement 
 in things temporal, as well as in things spiritual, and is the 
 reverse of St. PauFs, "rejoiceth in the truth, believethali things, 
 hopeth all things ; " for it believes nothing and hopes nothing. 
 It is the rule of an unfortunate sect of sceptics in excellence, 
 who, at the mention of anything sound, look wonderfully wise, 
 and shake their heads, and smile inwardly — infallible symptoms 
 of a hopeless condition of half-knowledge and self-conceit. But 
 to return to the passage, which is as follows : 
 
 " When a man is in perfect health, his mind is not only equal 
 to the ordinar}- occasions of life, but is able easily to accommo- 
 date itself to all sorts of situations and pursuits ; his perception, 
 understanding, and memory are correct, clear, and retentive ; he 
 is firm and composed, whether in a grave or lively humour — is 
 always himself, and never the sport of inordinate affections or 
 external accidents ; he commands his passions, instead of 
 obeying them ; he enjoys prosperity with moderation, and bears 
 adversity with fortitude, and is roused, not overwhelmed, by 
 extraordinary emergencies. These are not only the signs of a 
 healthy mind, but of a healthy body also ; and indeed they do 
 not a little contribute to health of body ; for as long as the 
 mind is shut up within it, the)- will mutually and much affect 
 each other. . . 
 
 " The muscle s are full and firm, the skin soft, almost moist, 
 and never dry, the colour, especally of the face, fresh and 
 constant, and, wdiether fair or dark,i never approaching to pale or 
 yellow ; the countenance animated and cheerful ; the eyes 
 bright and lively ; the teeth sound and strong ; the step firm ; 
 the limbs well supporting the body ; the carriage erect ; every 
 sort of exercise easy ; and labour, though long and hard, borne 
 without inconvenience : all the organs of sense acute, neither 
 torpid nor too sensitiv'e ; sleep light and long, not easily dis- 
 turbed, refreshing, and either without dreams, or at least 
 
 C 2 
 
68 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 without unpleasant ones, steeping the senses in sweet forget- 
 fulness, or fiUing the mind with pleasant images. Other signs 
 of a healthy body are the temperate circulation of the blood ; the 
 pulse strong, full, soft, equal, neither too quick nor too slow, 
 nor easily raised beyond the ordinary rate ; the respiration full, 
 easy, slow, scarcely apparent, and not much accelerated by 
 exercise ; the voice strong and sonorous, and in men deep, not 
 easily made hoarse ; the breath sweet, at least without 
 anything to the contrary ; the mouth moist ; the tongue bright, 
 and not too red ; the appetite strong, and requiring no stimu- 
 lants ; the thirst moderate ; the digestion of all sorts of food 
 easy, without any fermentation, or sensation of oppression ; and 
 the exhalation from the skin free and constant, but without 
 amounting to perspiration, except from the concurrence of 
 strong causes." 
 
 There is one very important conclusion to be drawn from the 
 above description, and that is, that a high state of health is a 
 high moral state, which is the reverse of what would be gene- 
 rally supposed. Dr. Gi'egory says that a man in perfect health 
 is not the sport of inordinate affections, and that he commands 
 his passions, instead of obeying them, which means, that there 
 is no physical excess to make the affections and passions unruly, 
 but that, like temperate gales, they waft him on his course, 
 instead of driving him out of it. What is generally called high 
 health, is a pampered state, the result of luxurious or excessive 
 feeding, accompanied by hard or exciting exercise, and such a 
 state is ever on the borders of disease. It is rather the mad- 
 ness or intoxication of health, than health itself, and it has a 
 tincture of many of the dangerous qualities of madness and 
 intoxication. 
 
 TWO GOOD DISHES. 
 
 As the fruit season is at hand, I give a receipt for preparing 
 it, which I think ought to be much more common than it is. 
 From the failures I have seen, I suppose it requires some skill 
 and attention; but, when well managed, it furnishes a dish 
 tempting in appearance, very agreeable to the palate, and much 
 more wholesome than fruit with pastry. It is excellent for 
 luncheon, or for supper, when any is wanted, and is very grate- 
 ful, cold, in hot weather. It applies to every kind of fruit that 
 is made into tarts, and is particularly good with ripe peaches or 
 apricots, and with greengage or magnum-bonum plums. 
 
 Wash a sufficient quantity of rice ; put a little water to it, and 
 set it in the oven till the water is absorbed. Then put in a little 
 milk, work it well with a spoon, set it in the oven again, and 
 keep working it from time to time till it is sufficiently soft. A 
 
TIVO GOOD DISHES. 69 
 
 little cream worked in at the last is an improvement. Fill a 
 tart dish nearly full of fruit, sweeten it, and lay on the rice 
 unevenly by spoonfuls. Bake it till the rice has a light brown 
 or fawn colour on the surface. 
 
 Another receipt, also applicable to the season, and, in my 
 opinion, of great merit, is the following :— 
 
 Put a few beets, a little onion, one lettuce, and a cucumber 
 sliced into a stewpan, with a little water, and a proper quantity 
 of butter, and pepper, and salt. Set the pan in the oven, and 
 when the \egetables have been stewed some time, put a quantity 
 of boiled peas and some meat into the pan, and let the whole 
 stew till the meat is ready to serve up. Lay the vegetables on 
 the dish round the meat. Mutton, lamb, and veal are excellent 
 dressed in this manner ; and it is a very good way of using up 
 cold meat. 
 
 It is true, this dish is by no means suited to make its appear- 
 ance in state exhibitions,' but that, in my m»ind, is no objection. 
 I like the familiar and satisfactory style both of cooking and of 
 eating, with the dish actually before me on mensd firmd, the 
 solid table— not a kickshaw poked from behind, and dancing in 
 the air between me and my lady neighbour's most inconvenient 
 sleeve, without time to think ^^■hether 1 like what is offered, or 
 whether I want it or not. This is all exceedingly polite accord- 
 ding to present notions ; but I rather prefer something of the 
 Miltonic mode, 
 
 Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, 
 Are at their savoury dinner set 
 Of herbs, and other country messes, 
 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 
 
 or Dryden's style, as paraphrased from Horace : 
 
 Sometimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try 
 A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty. 
 
 A savoury dish, a homely treat. 
 
 Where all is plain, where all is neat, 
 
 Without the stately spacious room, 
 The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom. 
 Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great. 
 
 It is pity one never sees luxuries and simplicity go together, 
 and that people cannot understand that woodcocks and cham- 
 pagne are just as simple as fried bacon and small beer, or a 
 haunch of venison as a leg of mutton ; but with delicacies there 
 is always so much alloy as to take away the true relish. 
 
70 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 CHARACTER THE BEST SECURITY. 
 
 " I OWE my success in business chiefly to you," said a stationer 
 to a paper-maker, as they were settling a large account ; " but 
 let me ask how a man of your caution came to give credit so 
 freely to a beginner with my slender means ? " " Because," 
 replied the paper-maker, " at whatever hour in the morning I 
 passed to my business, I always observed you without your 
 coat at yours." I knew both parties. Different men will have 
 different degrees of success, and every man must expect to 
 experience ebbs and flows ; but I fully believe that no one in 
 this country, of whatever condition, who is really attentive, and 
 what is of great importance, who lets it appear that he is so, can 
 fail in the long run. Pretence is ever bad ; but there are many 
 who obscure their good qualities by a certain carelessness, or 
 even an affected indifference, which deprives them of the advan- 
 tages they would otherwise infallibly reap, and then they 
 complain of the injustice of the world. The man who conceals 
 or disguises his merit, and yet expects to have credit for it, 
 might as well expect to be thought clean in his person if he 
 chose to go covered with filthy rags. The world will not, and 
 cannot in great measure, judge but by appearances, and worth 
 must stamp itself, if it hopes to pass current even against baser 
 metal. 
 
 A FRENCHMAN'S IDEA OF AN ENGLISH 
 DINNER. 
 
 How difficult it is for those not " to the manner born " to 
 acquire accurate ideas of the ways of their fellow-men ! A 
 French emigrant of some property, who had experienced great 
 hospitality during the late war in a town in the north of 
 England, on the eve of his departure invited his entertainers to 
 a dinner, which, on their arrival, he informed them, with much 
 apparent satisfaction, he had taken care should be in the true 
 English fashion. To verify his words, there was a hare at the 
 top of the table, a hare at the bottom, and a pie containing 
 three brace of partridges in the middle. The second course 
 consisted of a large piece of roast beef and a goose. Out of all 
 rule as was this feast, still it exhibited the principal features, 
 though exaggerated and inverted, of a substantial English 
 dinner — a joint and poultry, and a course of game. How 
 many descriptions by foreigners of the habits, customs, and 
 ways of til inking of any people are not more faithful than was 
 this confident attempt at imitation ! Nay, often natives them- 
 selves, when treating of what belongs to any class but their 
 
A FEW SHILLINGS WELL LAID OUT. 71 
 
 own, fall into as great errors. It is only profound observers 
 who are aware of this difficulty of attaining accuracy. Those 
 who have seen little, or seen imperfectly, seldom distrust their 
 own knowledge. I remember once in a party of travelled men, 
 where the conversation turned upon the comparative merits of 
 EngUsh and continental inns, by far the most decided opinion 
 was given by a young officer, whose experience of the Continent 
 proved to have been confined to forty-eight hours' residence at 
 Ouillacq's hotel at Calais. 
 
 A FE^^^ SHILLINGS WELL LAID OX^^—^contimied). 
 
 At the first appearance of lamps, the boy began to count them, 
 and had just given up with the exclamation, " Well ! if there 
 are not more lamps in this one street than in all our town ! " 
 when the coachman called out to him : 
 
 " I say, young man, where are you going to put yourself 
 to-night.'"' 
 
 " I shall stop where you stop," said the boy. 
 
 " But you've no money, you know.'' 
 
 "Ay," said the boy triumphantly, "but this gentleman will 
 give me some." 
 
 " So much the better for you," said the coachman. 
 
 At the inn the gentleman took the boy apart, and, putting 
 five shillings into his hand, told him to get a comfortable supper 
 and a good night's rest, and not to let any one know how much 
 money he had. " In the morning," continued he, ''make your- 
 self as decent as you can, and go to your uncle's with a shilling 
 or two in your pocket. And now, my lad, I hope you will be 
 steady and do well in the world ; and, above all, I recommend 
 you never to forget your poor mother." The boy was less 
 profuse in his thanks than might have been expected. 
 
 " " What is your business with me, young man ? " said Mr. B., 
 as a decently dressed, smart youth of about seventeen was 
 shown into the library. 
 
 " I am the boy, sir, you gave five shillings to on the coach, three 
 years since, last November." 
 
 " What do you say "i " said Mr. B. " Oh ! now I recollect 
 the circumstance, though I do not recollect you ; but what is 
 your will with me, and how did you contrive to find me out i"' 
 
 The youth told his story, interrupted by occasional questions 
 from Mr. B., in nearly the following words : — 
 
 " When you gave me the money, sir, I felt more than I said. 
 Your name I saw on your portmanteau, and I happened to 
 hear your servant tell the hackney coachman where to drive ; 
 
72 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 so it came into my mind that I would never rest till I had 
 shown you that I was not ungrateful. In a few days I came to 
 look at your house. I owe you more than you think, sir. 
 When I found my uncle, I will say he received me kindly 
 enough ; but he seemed to look upon me much more as soon as 
 he heard how a gentleman like you had been pleased to stand 
 my friend ; and I do not think but I should have been a very 
 different character to what I am, if I had not had the good 
 fortune to see you. I should have come long ago, but I hope 
 you will excuse me for saying I did not forget your advice not 
 to neglect my mother. Now, however, she is so comfortably 
 off, that she has sent me word I need trouble myself no farther 
 on her account. I hope, sir, you will not take it amiss" — (here 
 he paused and blushedj ; " but why I have taken the liberty 
 to come to-day is, my uncle at this time of the year makes 
 a kind of large, seasoned pie, which is much thought of by the 
 better sort of people in our neighbourhood. It will be nothing 
 to a gentleman like you, I know ; but if you will only allow me 
 to bring you one," said the youth, in a supplicatory tone. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. B., with a smile, " as I clearly perceive it is 
 a free offering on your part, I accept it willingly. Your grati- 
 tude does you great credit. Bring your pie as soon as you 
 please, and let me see you again this day week, that I may tell 
 you how I like it." 
 
 A day or two after, Mr. B. had a dinner-party, at which 
 something occurred to induce him shortly to relate the boy's 
 story. It drew forth various commendatory remarks, which 
 were put an end to by a fashionable witling of the day 
 expressing an affected curiosity just to see what it was " the 
 better sort of people " in the Borough liked. He said he had 
 rather a turn for that kind of thing, and had lately been reading 
 some account of the manner of living in Madagascar. In con- 
 sequence of this sally, it was resolved to have the pie intro- 
 duced ; when, contrary to all expectation, and after much 
 grimace, it was ascertained to be a pie of real and original 
 merit, and, its history givmg it an additional zest, it met with 
 much applause. Mr. B.'s chief guest, a man of great patronage 
 and intrigue, partly to introduce a fling at the witling, whom he 
 hated for a personal jest, and partly to please his host whose 
 interest he wanted, desired he might have one of the pies sent 
 to his house ; whereupon an expectant at the lower end of the 
 table immediately protested his lordship, as usual, showed his 
 taste, and begged to follow so high an authority. A baronet of 
 pretence joined in the request, for the sake of a subject to dilate 
 upon at his own table, and for an appropriate opportunity of 
 signifying his acquaintance with a grandee of the first class. A 
 wealthy member of the Lower House, who had not spoken a word 
 
A FEW SHILLINGS JVELL LAID OUT. 7-:, 
 
 before, ventured to express a similar Avish, simply because he 
 was not -willing to let the day pass without saying something. 
 An indefatigable fashion-hunter, judging it a possible case of 
 vogue, resolved not to be left behind ; and lastly, an unprin- 
 cipled wit modestly gave a double order, chuckling at the oppor- 
 tunity of getting a good thing he never meant to pay for. 
 
 The donor of the pie made his appearance at the appointed 
 time, and his anxiety was changed into delight when he found 
 his present had given satisfaction to Mr. B.; but when he was 
 informed of the whole of his success, he was all but over- 
 whelmed. He hurried back to his uncle with the joyful news, 
 and the worthy man of victuals, who had hitherto been kept in 
 ignorance of his nephew's proceedings, no sooner reco^'ered from 
 his astonishment, than he confidently anticipated countless wealth 
 and never-dying fame from the patronage of his distinguished 
 customers. But alas! he was unversed in the intricate and 
 slippery ways of the world, and especially of that part of it 
 which lies in the interior of great men's houses. He naturally 
 concluded his pie had been sought for simply for its merits, and 
 that consequently it would make its own way ; and he honestly 
 resolved it should continue to deserve its reputation. But his 
 praiseworthy intentions were doomed to meet with no reward in 
 the quarter he most calculated upon ; and from the household 
 ministers of the West, in the plenitude of their power, he- ex- 
 perienced nothing but mortification and defeat. Every pie- 
 purveyor's place was filled up, in possession and reversion, 
 through interest and by means of which his simple soul never 
 dreamed, and he not only never received a second order, but 
 was unable to obtain payment for half the first. However, after 
 all, the balance was greatly in his favour ; for the first noise of 
 his success prodigiously increased his custom amongst his plainer 
 dealing neighbours, who considered it would be showing an 
 unpardonable want of taste not to eat his pies even to surfeit. 
 
 But, to return to the hero of the story, in whom Mr. B. began 
 to take a permanent interest. Finding from examination that 
 he had attended more to pie-making than to scholarship, he 
 advised him to devote his leisure-time to attendance upon some 
 competent master. •' For," said he, " if you get on in the world, 
 which you seem well qualified to do, you will find the want of 
 suitable acquirements a constant hindrance and mortification. 
 Lose no time in beginning, and I will charge myself with the 
 expense." With such encouragement it is not to be wondered at 
 that the scholar soon came to write a beautiful hand, and to be 
 more than commonly expert in accounts, by which means he 
 was enabled greatly to assist his less learned uncle, who, in 
 return, made him first his partner, and finally his heir; and to 
 his benefactor, who happened to possess a neglected property in 
 
74 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the vicinity of his residence, he was fortunate enough, by his 
 local knowledge and zealous superintendence, to render the most 
 important services. 
 
 No. VII. \Vednesday, July 1, 1835. 
 
 PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT— (r^;^^/;^^d?^). 
 
 The notions of the upper classes as to the nature and importance 
 of parochial government are in general most inadequate and 
 erroneous. They are scarcely extended, as I have said before, 
 to anything beyond the administration of the poor-laws ; and as 
 that has been a very troublesome and disagreeable duty, and as 
 the discharge of it was under the control and exposed to the 
 caprice of the magistracy, it has been considered that parish 
 offices were only fit to be filled by persons of unrefined habits 
 and low station. The consequence has been the gross neglect of 
 the fundamental principle of sound government, which is the 
 principle of self-government by small communities. In the 
 meantime the wealthy and enlightened classes, either from 
 public-spirited motives or sense of duty, or from love of distinc- 
 tion or want of occupation, have diverted their attention to 
 expedients, which either very inadequately remedy or greatly 
 aggravate the evils arising from the absence of efficient local 
 government. The means of accomplishing a beneficial change 
 consist in a reorganization adapted to present circumstances, in 
 the concentration of existing powers, and in the creation of new 
 ones. By reorganization I mean, first, internal division, where 
 division is requisite ; secondly, the creation of new functionaries, 
 more in number than at present ; thirdly, a remodelling of the 
 mode of election. By the concentration of existing powers, I 
 mean the transferrence of all powers, vested in separate boards, 
 or commisions, or officers, to the general parochial council. By 
 the creation of new powers, I mean of such increased powers of 
 interference, of taxation, and of making improvements, as might 
 be advantageously entrusted under a system of completely 
 organized popular control. The greater the power vested in 
 parochial government, the more likely it would be to fall into 
 proper hands : because, in the first place, it would enhance the 
 inducements to seek it ; and, in the second, it would create an 
 apprehension of abuse, if misplaced, and it would make electors 
 more cautious in their choice. In order to ensure a willingness 
 for office on the part of the well-qualified, it would be necessary 
 to remove all control over them, except that of the higher legal 
 tribunals. It would be extremely unfitting to submit men, freely 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 75 
 
 elected by their fellow-citizens, to the control of individual 
 magistrates. They ought to be responsible to no tribunal lower 
 than the court of quarter sessions. The instances of abuse 
 could but be very infrequent, and a feeling of independence is 
 absolutely necessary to the manly discharge of public duty. 
 
 According to my view, parishes should be divided into five 
 classes. The first class is that in which the population is so 
 small as not to admit of representation, and in that case the 
 vestry would be the council, and from itself would choose what 
 executive officers were required. The second class is that which 
 would not need division, but which would be sufficiently populous 
 to elect a council. The third class is that where a division into 
 wards is necessar>', but where the wards would not be sufficiently 
 numerous for the heads of them to form a council, and then it 
 would be requisite that each ward should elect a certain number 
 of members besides the heads to constitute a council. The 
 fourth class is where the wards are so numerous, that the heads of 
 them would be sufficient to form a council ; and the fifth class is 
 that in which the heads would be too numerous, in which case 
 they ought to choose amongst themselves who should be of the 
 council. I have before observed, that I do not think the popula- 
 tion of each ward should ever be much more than one thousand, 
 and I am of opinion that the council of the largest parishes 
 should not exceed fifty. 
 
 For the purposes of illustration, I will again suppose a parish 
 of thirty thousand inhabitants, divided into thirty wards, each 
 ward having its head, his deputy, and ten of the most fit inhabi- 
 tants as constables, all annually elected by residents of six 
 months' standing, paying for their own occupancy, and by rate- 
 payers for the same period. It should be the duty of the head 
 and his subordinates, by continual personal inspection, to see to 
 the good keepine of the ward, both as to its peace and its local 
 arrangements. It should also be in tlie power of the head to call 
 the inhabitants together, if he or they wished it, to consult upon 
 any particular point. The business of the council should be to 
 elect a president and his deputy, with a clerk, and what other 
 paid officers might be necessar}', and to choose from themselves 
 the executive officers. The council should form an estimate of 
 the expenses for the year, consolidating the rates into one for 
 the purposes of collection, but distinguishing them as to their 
 intended appHcation. They should publish, as often as con- 
 venient, for circulation through the heads of the wards, statements 
 of their estimates, and of their projected measures, together with 
 accounts of their expenditure, so that the public might always 
 know what was going on, and either object in time, or cheerfully 
 agree. Under such circumstances, there would be no danger in 
 granting considerably increased powers of taxation, improve- 
 
76 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 ment, and superintendence. It should also be the duty of the 
 council to inspect the parish from time to time, because such 
 inspection would not only be preventive of evil, but where it 
 existed w"Ould be the most efficacious mode of making it dis- 
 appear. If the chief men of any large parish were to associate 
 together for the purposes of government under such an organized 
 system, there would, beyond all doubt, soon be a very great 
 change for the better, and many of those drawbacks to the well- 
 being of society, which, when seen at a distance, are supposed to 
 be remediless, would dwindle into insignificance. At present 
 there is an unapproached mass of evil, which it is sinful and 
 unchristian, as well as most impolitic, to leave unattended to. 
 A field is open for the most interesting and beneficial exercise 
 of the moral faculties, and, till it is entered, it is in vain to think 
 of anything really sound in any part of the State. The very 
 foundation is rotten. 
 
 I have asserted in my third number, that the only plan by 
 which properly qualified persons, that is, " the most successful in 
 the honourable conduct of their own affairs," could be induced to 
 give up time sufficient to superintend the affairs of their respective 
 communities, would be by making government "a social and 
 convivial affair — a point of interesting union to the men most 
 deserving the confidence of their fellow-citizens." It is not very 
 difficult, often very easy, to induce such men as above described 
 to come forward in emergencies ; but when some particular 
 grievance is redressed, or improvement carried into effect, tirey 
 return again to their own an'"airs, leaving those of the public to the 
 ordinary incompetent, or self-interested superintendence, and a 
 retrograde movement, or at least no further advance, is the con- 
 sequence. Cheap government is the favourite doctrine of the 
 day ; but it is only sound when it means the best government on 
 the lowest terms. In any other sense it is a delusion ; for, 
 however small the direct expenses of inadequate government 
 may be, the collateral ones will be much greater in proportion. 
 For instance, the services of an incompetent judge might be 
 purchased for a much less remuneration than those of a com- 
 petent one ; but what would be the cost of his incompetency .'' 
 I have known in a single assize town the expense of unnecessary 
 delay cost individuals, besides other inconveniences, more than 
 half the judge's salary. So in parishes, misgovernment and 
 want of government are much more expensive to the community 
 than good government would be, though apparently they cost less. 
 Our ancestors understood principles something better, and 
 were wont to pay for public services, as in the case of justices of 
 the peace and members of Parliament ; and when the practice 
 fell into disuse, justices and members took to paying themselves 
 at a much more extravagant rate. That grievance has been on 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. yj 
 
 the decline, but it is now getting into fashion to do away with 
 citizen government, and to substitute that of mere hirelings in 
 its place. The true system is that of the best citizens govern- 
 ing the rest on the social and convi\ial plan. In every 
 community the style of government ought to have relation to 
 the style of the upper part of the community, otherwise it will 
 inevitably fall into low hands. Those who serve the public 
 must be treated in the style to which they are accustomed. It 
 is perfectly useless to attempt permanently to command men's 
 services for nothing, or even for less than they are worth. The 
 aim should be to procure the best services on the cheapest 
 terms, and in the most efficient way ; and there is no system so 
 cheap or so efficient as that of the table. The Athenians in 
 their most glorious days rewarded those citizens who had 
 deserved well of the State by maintaining them at the public 
 expense in the Prytaneum, or council-hall. The table also is a 
 mode of payment for services to be performed, which goes 
 further than any other, and will command greater punctuality, 
 greater attention, and greater alacrity. When properly regu- 
 lated, it is the bond of union and harmony, the school for 
 improvement of manners and civilization, the place where 
 information is elicited and corrected better than anywhere else, 
 as I know from repeated experience ; and by the mixture of 
 men of different occupations, and, to some extent, of different 
 classes, over the social board after the discharge of their public 
 duties, the best results are produced both on the head and 
 heart. It is by this process only that the higher classes can 
 come at an accurate knowledge of what relates to those below 
 them, or the lower classes form a proper estimate of their 
 superiors. It is only in these moments of freedom and 
 relaxation, when suspicion, and jealousy, and fear are banished, 
 that the truth comes out, or can come out. There is no inter- 
 course which is so interesting or profitable as that which arises 
 from a mixture of business and pleasure. Pleasure alone is 
 sauce without meat, and soon palls ; business alone is meat 
 without sauce, and is equally dry ; but the two together have 
 the true relish. For want of division into communities, from 
 parish communities upwards, and for want of self-government, 
 society is vague, heartless, and dull. People meet by classes, 
 without an object, without interest, and without any distinct 
 limit as to numbers ; in consequence of which the chief feature 
 of society in the present day is a mob-like sameness. By 
 means of self-governed communities, the boundaries of society 
 would be more defined and significant, the olijects of inter- 
 course more interesting and profitable, and the relations 
 between man and man more various and sympathetic. A 
 great part of the profitless, or even pernicious pursuits into 
 
78 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 vyhich people plunge, are merely substitutes for the occupa- 
 tions of such a system as I advocate — a system which 
 cannot exist except socially and convivially. Local govern- 
 ment efficiently organized would soon produce such an 
 improvement as comparatively to leave little to do except to 
 keep the machinery in order ; and therefore, unless inducements 
 were held out to keep up a constant watchfulness and general 
 superintendence, neglect first of all, and then abuse, would 
 creep in. As I have above remarked, the style of government 
 ought to have relation to the style of the upper part of the 
 community, otherwise it will inevitably fall into inferior hands ; 
 and therefore such a parish as St. George's, Hanover Square, 
 which contains 58,000 inhabitants, and is, doubtless, for its 
 population, the richest community in the world, ought to have a 
 rich government establishment, if the affairs of government are 
 expected to be permanently attended to by the chief people. 
 
 It is far from desirable that the government of any community 
 should be exclusively in the hands of the richest ; on the con- 
 trary, the greater mixture of classes there is the better, provided 
 the selection is made on account of talent and character ; but, 
 in order to hold sufficient inducement to the highest, and to raise 
 the tone of those below to a height corresponding with their 
 duties, it is necessary to adopt the standard of the chief men, or 
 nearly so. St. George's, I should say, ought to have a splendid 
 common hall and appendages, combining the plan of the City 
 companies' halls and the West-end clubs, for the purposes of 
 business, entertainment, and daily resort ; and such an estab- 
 lishment would offer the best encouragement to architecture, 
 sculpture, and painting. It ought to be built and maintained 
 out of the rates, and it would soon pay for itself by its effects. 
 Here those placed in authority should be entertained at con- 
 venient periods and on set occasions at the pubhc expense, not 
 extravagantly and excessively, but in refined moderation, and 
 with simple refreshments, whenever thought conducive to the 
 despatch of business, particularly with suppers, to induce occa- 
 sional inspections of the parish at uncertain hours of the night — 
 a regulation I know to be of the greatest efficacy. On this 
 subject, I have observed in a little essay, republished in my 
 third number : "It would be very desirable, I think, that every 
 parish, where the means would allow, should possess a place of 
 meeting for the convenience of the governors, and under their 
 control, and that the rest of the ratepayers, or inhabitants, 
 should be admitted by ballot, and on payment of a certain 
 subscription to form a sort of club. A point of union amongst 
 different classes, having a common interest, must be advanta- 
 geous to all, especially in the communication of information and 
 the promotion of mutual goodwill ; and such institutions would 
 
PAROCHIAL GOVERNMENT. 79 
 
 be excellent objects for the munilicence of public-spirited indivi- 
 duals, either by donation or legacy." Establishments of this 
 kind, I should hope, might also be made subservient to female 
 interest, though where chflerent classes are concerned that is a 
 matter of some difficulty, though, perhaps, not of an insuperable 
 nature. Exclusivcness, so much talked against, and often so 
 unreasonably, is really a necessary precaution in the present 
 undefined boundaries of overgrown society ; but in a better 
 organized State, difterent and more sympathetic feelings might 
 grow up. The first year the present magnificent building of the 
 Athenicum Club was opened, when ladies were admitted every 
 Wednesday night during the season, it was certainly a very 
 convenient, cheap, and easy mode of assembling, and might, it 
 appears to me, be permanently adopted and improved upon 
 under other circumstances. 
 
 With the political inducements I have mentioned, to the 
 leading men of different communities to take upon themselves 
 the charge of government, together with the attractions of such 
 establishments as I propose, I should not apprehend any defi- 
 ciency of public spirit ; whilst the popular and organized mode 
 of election would effectually prevent abuse, as far as human 
 means can prevent it. I will only add on this part of my 
 subject, that the higher the tone and style of government the 
 more unlikely improper persons would be to seek to intrude 
 into it, because in any refined element such persons cannot 
 exist. From St. George's, the richest, I will turn to the hamlet 
 of Mile End New Town, in the parish of Stepney, I believe the 
 poorest community in the metropolis, and the same reasoning, 
 I think, applies in both cases, reference being had to the respec- 
 tive degrees of wealth ; and so with respect to every parish in 
 the land. The regulations in country parishes must often vary 
 considerably from those in parishes in towns ; but division, the 
 superintendence of the best men, and the bringing together the 
 inhabitants, socially and convivially, is at least as necessary as 
 in towns, if not more so. The advantages to the country, and to 
 country gentlemen, if the latter could once be brought to turn their 
 attention and their energies to local government nistead of their 
 present pursuits, would be incalculable. The improvement m 
 property, and in the morals and intelligence of all classes, would 
 be general and rapid. I have at different periods of my life 
 examined minutely into the practicability of such imiDrovement, 
 and I see few difficulties, if once set about. Rivalry and example 
 in local government would cause a wide spread of knowledge of 
 the art, at present lamentably neglected or unknown, though 
 the most interesting that can occupy a rational and benevolent 
 being's thoughts. In order to give it the most interest, it is 
 desirable to concentrate the power and expense of government 
 
8o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 as much as possible in eacli separate community, and to leave 
 the citizens to manage their own concerns, uncontrolled except 
 by laws enforced by the higher tribunals. 
 
 I do not know that I have anything further to add on the 
 subject of parochial government. What I have wTitten is some- 
 what desultory and interspersed with repetitions ; but my wish 
 is to impress my doctrines upon the minds of my readers as 
 famiharly as possible. My suggestions are much scattered, and, 
 in order fully to comprehend my views, it will be necessary 
 to read the article on the principles of government in my first 
 number ; the Life of Numa, with the prefixed remarks, and the 
 article on government, in my second ; on parochial government 
 in my third ; on the same subject, and on the observance of the 
 Sabbath, in my fourth ; on parochial government continued, and 
 on parochial improvement in my fifth ; and on parochial govern- 
 ment in my sixth. 
 
 DIALOGUE ON PAUPERISM. 
 
 [The following Dialogue between a Select Vestryman and a Labourer, was 
 composed from conversations held with labourers at different times, and 
 was first pubUshed in 1826, in my pamphlet on Pauperism. It may be 
 of use in throwing a little hght on the unlearned in such matters.] 
 
 Could I say a word to you, sir, concerning this old man 1 
 
 Oh ! certainly. What does he want ? 
 
 He wants you to speak for him in the vestry. He is more 
 than threescore and ten. He has been a good workman in 
 his time, but you see he is almost done : you won't say but the 
 parish ought to do something for such as him, for he has not a 
 penny nor a penny's worth. 
 
 The parish ought to do ! He ought to have done for himself. 
 Above fifty years' labour, a good workman, and not saved one 
 penny ! I dare say, if he had all the money he has spent in 
 getting drunk, and all the wages of the idle days he had made, 
 he would not need to trouble the parish. 
 
 Bless you, sir ! he never had it in his power to drink much. 
 He has brought up a large family; as many as ten children. He 
 loved a little drink, too, when he could catch it ; he is but like 
 other folks in that. 
 
 The more's the pity. But so it is ; if your neighbours do 
 wrong, that is an excuse for you all : because others drink their 
 wages, and come upon the parish, you think you will do the 
 same, that they may have no advantage over you. I suppose 
 what you call bringing up these ten children was keeping them 
 in fihh and rags, and, instead of sending them to school, going 
 himself to the ale-house. Where were they generally to be found ? 
 — tumbling about in the lanes without shoes and stockings? 
 
DIALOGUE ON PAUPERISM. 81 
 
 There was no great care taken of them, I believe. 
 
 So there is not one now able to do anything towards helping 
 ihe old man. What has become of them all? But, perhaps, 
 the less that is said about them the better. 
 
 Why, they didn't turn out so well as they might have done, 
 a:iy of them. 
 
 I dare say they turned out quite as well as could be expected. 
 Now, if he had laid out his spare money in bringing up his 
 family carefully, do you suppose there would not have been one 
 out of his ten children, or his ten children's children, able to 
 assist him in return? 
 
 it's much if there would not. 
 
 Well ! at any rate he might have taught them to be honest, 
 anc industrious, and clean, and civil-spoken ; all that costs 
 not-iing, you know, but a little trouble, and setting a good 
 example. He would then have had no difficulty in finding them 
 good places ; and when they had got a little money themselvoe, 
 they could have gone to a night school, or something of that sort, 
 and it would be strange if some of them had not got forward in 
 the v-orld. Respectable people like to take those they employ out 
 of a well-reputed family ; and, when they have taken them, to stand 
 their friends ; and one good one in a family helps on another. 
 
 Well ! I never thought of all that before. 
 
 Many a lucky thing will fall out that you never thought of, if 
 you will but do the best you can for yourselves; but if you 
 cannot do just as you wish, you will do nothing, or worse than 
 nothing. If a labouring man has a large family, I know that it 
 requires management to bring them up well, but he can sooner 
 get them out for it, and in return they are sure to be able to 
 repay him some time, some of them, instead of coming to him 
 again, as perhaps this old man's have done. 
 Ay, they've troubled him sadly in that way. 
 Well, then, it is good both ways, you see; not that I ap- 
 prove of parents depending upon their children in their old age, 
 except where they have had more than common difficulties to 
 strive against, or where they have done more for their children 
 than in their situation could have have been expected of them. 
 In other cases, they ought to lay by for themselves, and leave 
 their children free. 
 
 But there are not many that can do as you say. 
 What is to prevent them, unless it be poaching, rat-hunting, 
 bear-baiting, frequenting the ale-house, and the like ! In the 
 meantime their children run wild, half- clothed, half-starved, 
 stealing anything they can lay hold of. If ) ou were a master, 
 would you employ such ? 
 
 I don't think I should be very fond of them. 
 
 The consequence is, therefore, they can only get odd jobs now 
 
82 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 and then, when there is more work than hands ; and they get 
 idle, drunken, dishonest habits, which soon leave them only twc 
 chances — a gaol or the workhouse. Instead of thinking of 
 raising themselves, they think how little work they can do, hov 
 much drink they can get, how much they can pillage, or, what is 
 very little better, how they can impose on the parish ; for 2II 
 that the idle get must come out of somebody's industry or 
 property. Now, what do you say 1 
 
 Why, I believe, sir, you have given nearly a true accour.t ; 
 but as for this old fellow, you must recollect that the times have 
 been very bad. 
 
 I know that ; but do you mean to say that he laid by money 
 when the times were good, and that you apply to the parish for 
 him because he has spent all his savings in keeping himself 
 since times have been so bad ? 
 
 Nay, I can't say I think he ever saved much. 
 
 Then what better would he be now, however good the times 
 had been ? Would he be a penny richer.-' With most of you (I 
 don't say all) the only difference between good and bad tim.es is 
 that when they are good you drink more and work less, and 
 when they are very good there are many who choose to work 
 and starve one week in order to drink and be idle the next, and 
 that is all the good they get. You know, they say they belong 
 to a good parish ; they don't care for spending the last penny ; 
 they are sure to be provided for ; there's property enough. They 
 shall be provided for, they may depend upon it ; they shall be 
 provided with hard work and coarse food. The money that is 
 taken from the industrious to keep the idle shall no longer be 
 taken in this parish. As for this foolish old man, he is past 
 mending, so we must see what little work he can do, and allow 
 him some trifle in addition. W^hen any one of you once think of 
 living by any other means than your own honest labour, from 
 that moment, you may depend upon it, you doom yourselves to 
 lives of poverty and wretchedness. So, good-by to you, and 
 take care of yourself. 
 
 Well, sir ! I have never troubled the parish for a farthing. 
 
 It would have been a disgrace if you had ; but have you never 
 thought about it ? How often have you and your wife talked it 
 over when any of your neighbours got relief.'' How often have 
 they tried to persuade you to apply, and told you you were fools 
 for slaving? If you had not been ashamed to show those active 
 limbs of yours, should we never have seen you at the vestry ? 
 Come, be honest, and tell the truth. Well ! I won't press you ; 
 your silence is an answer. I'll tell you what — the parish is the 
 ruin of nearly all of you ; and they are your worst enemies that 
 countenance you in having anything to do with it. Again, let 
 me advise you to depend only upon yourself. 
 
( 83 ) 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 {continued). 
 
 Of Diet. — Health depends on diet, exercise, sleep, the state of 
 the mind, and the state of the atmosphere, and on nothing else 
 that I am aware of. I have been accustomed, for many years, 
 to take the air before I eat, or even drink a drop of liquid, and 
 at whatever time I rise, or whatever the weather is. S'ometimes 
 I am only out for a few minutes ; but even a few draughts of the 
 open air, when taken regularly as part of a system, produce a 
 tonic effect; and I attribute my constant health more to this prac- 
 tice than to any other individual thing. Sometimes I walk or 
 ride a considerable distance, or transact business for some hours; 
 and twice I have ridden thirty miles, and sat magisterially for a 
 couple of hours, before breaking my fast, or feeling the slightest 
 inconvenience. This strength arises from habit, and I observe 
 my mle so religiously, that I should have the greatest repugnance 
 to break it, from a thorough conviction of its efficacy. To those 
 who are not in a situation, or have not the resolution, to adopt 
 my practice, I recommend as near an approach to it as possible. 
 I recommend them before taking anything, either solid or liquid, 
 to perform their ablutions, and to dress completely, and to 
 breathe for a time the freshest air they can find, either in doors 
 or out. I also recommend them to engage themselves in some 
 little employment agreeable to the mind, so as not to breakfast 
 till at least an hour and a half or two hours after rising. This 
 enables the stomach to disburden itself and prepare for a fresh 
 supply, and gives it a vigorous tone. I am aware that those who 
 have weak digestions, either constitutionally or from bad habits, 
 would suffer great inconvenience from following my rules all at 
 once. I remember the faintness and painful cravings I used to 
 feel after rising, and, like others, I mistook weakness for appetite ; 
 but appetite is a very different thing — a pleasurable sensation of 
 keenness. Appetite supplied with food produces digestion — not 
 so faintness or craving. The best means — and I always found 
 it effectual — of removing the latter sensations, is to take a little 
 spirit of lavender dropped upon a lump of sugar. After that, a 
 wholesome appetite may be waited for without inconvenience, 
 and by degrees a healthy habit will be formed. It is to be 
 obsei'ved that nothing produces a faintness or craving of the 
 stomach in the morning more surely than overloading it over- 
 night, or any unpleasant affection of the mind, which stops 
 digestion — and this shows the impropriety of adding more food 
 as a palliative. With respect to the proper food for breakfast, 
 that must depend much upon constitution and way of life, and, 
 like most other matters pertaining to health, can best be learnt 
 
84 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 by diligent obsei-vation. I think, as a general rule, ab-tinence 
 from meat is advisable, reserving that species of food till the 
 middle of the day, when the appetite of a healthy person is the 
 strongest. But at breakfast, as at all meals, it is expedient to 
 select what is agreeable to the palate ; being then, as always, 
 specially carefully not to let that circumstance lead to excess, 
 even in the slightest degree, but, on the contrary, to observe the 
 often laid down rule of leaving off with an appetite. Some 
 people swallow their food in lumps, washing it down with large 
 and frequent gulps of liquid — an affront to the stomach, which 
 it is sure to resent with all the evils of indigestion, as it is 
 impossible for the gastric juice to act, especially if the body is 
 under the influence of motion. Even the motion of the easiest 
 carriage on the smoothest road in such a case tends to produce 
 fermentation and fever, and drinking more, the usual remedy 
 with the ignorant, aggravates the inconvenience ; the only plan 
 is to wait till the stomach is drained, and digestion can com- 
 mence. Mastication is good two ways : first, to break the food 
 into small pieces, upon which the gastric juice can sooner act; 
 and secondly, to mix it w^ell with saliva, which is the great 
 facilitator of digestion. This subject of saliva is of great 
 importance. W^hen the salival glands are dry, it is impossible 
 digestion can go on well. They are much affected by the mind ; 
 and joy and grief will produce an instantaneous change, and 
 whatever partakes of joy or grief acts in a corresponding degree. 
 It is for this reason that I have remarked in a former number 
 that it is expedient at meals to avoid all unpleasant, or even 
 serious, topics. Light, agreeable conversation, with moderate 
 mirth and laughter, promote digestion, and principally, I believe, 
 by stimulating the salival glands. Hence the wholesomeness of 
 food that is fancied to such a degree as to make the mouth 
 water. Hence the benefit of talking invalids into an appetite ; 
 and frequently the first symptoms of recovery, after a dangerous 
 or even hopeless illness, manifest themselves by desiring some 
 particular food grateful to the palate; so persons, who have been 
 given up and left to eat what they chose, have recovered from 
 that very circumstance, when medicine and prescribed diet have 
 failed. All this is from stimulus to the salival glands; and from 
 it I infer the expediency of allowing invalids, except in things 
 manifestly detrimental, to follow their fancy, and, for the same 
 reason, it is desirable to make their meals as cheerful as possible, 
 by the presence of some one agreeable to them, or by any other 
 means. 
 
 Note. — I have to apologize for want of variety in this number; 
 but, contrary to my expectation, all my shorter articles are 
 omitted, and my last breaks off for want of space. 
 
( 85 ) 
 
 No. VIII. Wednesday, July 8, 1835. 
 
 [I AM induced to give the followinpj article on account of its 
 appropriateness to the time ; and, notwithstanding its forbidding 
 title and its length, I beg to recommend it to the perusal of my 
 readers, both male and female.] 
 
 POOR-LAWS IN IRELAND. 
 
 I MET the other day with the following passage from Inglis's 
 book on Ireland. Speaking of Limerick, he says : " Some of the 
 abodes I visited were garrets, some cellars, some were hovels on 
 the ground-tloor, situated in narrow yards or alleys. I will not 
 speak of the filth of the places ; that could not be exceeded in 
 places meant to be its receptacles. Let the worst be imagined, 
 and it will not be beyond the truth. In at least three-fourths of 
 the hovels which I entered there was no furniture of any descrip- 
 tion, save an iron pot — no table, no chair, no bench, no bedstead ; 
 two, three, or four little bundles of straw, with perhaps one or two 
 scanty and ragged mats, were rolled up in the corners, unless 
 where these beds were found occupied." After describing the 
 corresponding appearance of the inmates, he adds : " I allude to 
 the disputed question, whether there be, or be not, a necessity 
 for some legal provision for the poor ; and I confess that, with 
 such scenes before me as I have at this moment, it dees seem to 
 me an insult to humanity and common sense to doubt the neces- 
 sity to which I allude." Then he concludes : "Justice demands 
 that, in the ratio of their abundance, men should be forced to 
 contribute.'"' The inference from the abo\e passage is that this 
 state of things is attributable to the want of poor-laws. Now the 
 same scenes may be witnessed in the heart of this wealthy metro- 
 polis, w^here poor-laws are in full vigour, and where the complaint 
 has been that they were administered with too lavish a hand. 
 It is not the want of poor-laws, but improvident and debased 
 habits from other causes, that produce this misery, real to a great 
 extent, but apparent to a far greater. In the year 1829, when I 
 became a police magistrate, I was in the habit of visiting, both 
 by day and night, the habitations of the lowest classes, of which 
 a great portion are Irish, in the courts and alleys branching from 
 Rosemary Lane and from the High Street, Whitechapel, towaids 
 Spitalfields. I also renewed my visits when the cholera first 
 appeared. In respect to filth and want of furniture, I have 
 frequently witnessed scenes cjuite equalled by those described by 
 Mr. Inglis ; in respect to inmates, I never saw misery to such an 
 
86 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 apparent extent, but certainly to greater, reference being had to 
 the general state of the two countries. I will mention particular 
 instances. I remember going one Sunday morning with the 
 parochial authorities of Whitechapel, amongst other places of a 
 like description, to a house in Rosemary Lane, now pulled down, 
 which was inhabited at free cost by several families, there being 
 no legal claimant. It had an ornamented front, and had for- 
 merly been of some consideration. The ground-floor was in too 
 dilapidated a state to be occupied at all. We were obliged to 
 borrow a candle at ten o'clock in the morning to enable us to 
 ascend with safety the ruined staircase. The first room we saw 
 was the common receptacle of the filth of the house, and, as Mr. 
 Inglis says, " let the worst be imagined, and it will not be beyond 
 the truth." Through an interior window we saw two nearly 
 naked children standing in a wretched room, the door of which 
 was locked. With some difficulty we gained admission. In one 
 corner a woman was lying on dirty straw, covered only with a 
 ragged sack. In another was a basket of sprats, with some 
 skate heaped on the floor by it. There were a few broken pieces 
 of crockery on the mantel-piece, and a faggot of wood was reared 
 up in the fireplace ; other articles there were none in the room. 
 The woman hawked fish, and probably earned some shillings a 
 day ; but, like most of her tribe, preferred mere sensual enjoy- 
 ment to comfort, and was no doubt, from what we observed, 
 sleeping off the effects of supper and gin. In another room were 
 two young men and their wives, with no other furniture than two 
 poor beds ; and the rest of the inmates were of a similar class. 
 In a street near, called Cartwright Street, is a disputed property, 
 which is occupied, or was, without ceremony. In one house 
 alone, when cholera was prevalent in that quarter, there were 
 forty inhabitants, several of whom fell victims to the disease. 
 There were at that time great complaints against the keeping of 
 pigs, at the number of which I was much surprised. Some were 
 even found living upstairs, and from them, and those below in 
 the most confined places, the nuisance was excessive. Filth and 
 mud were accumulated in all directions, some abatement of 
 which has been effected by the alarm from cholera. In short, 
 the generality of the world has very little idea of the state of the 
 lowest parts of it, even in its immediate vicinity, as I had proof 
 in the ignorance of the respectable inhabitants of Whitechapel 
 of what was existing around them ; and this is one of the strongest 
 arguments in my mind in favour of organized and vigilant parish 
 government, because such evils as I have described have only to 
 be brought frequently before men's eyes to be made to disappear. 
 In one of my visitations I went into a house in a filthy court at 
 two o'clock in the moi'ning, and found an Irishman very drunk, 
 sitting with his wife and children on tubs and mugs, and without 
 
POOR-LA WS IN IRELAND. 87 
 
 any table or chairs, round a fire, on which they were frying beef- 
 steaks and onions, which sent forth a most savoury odour. This 
 was another instance of a love of enjoyment at the expense of 
 comfort, and any person, visiting the family in the daytime, 
 would have had no doubt of their being in a state of destitution, 
 an error into which medical men and benevolent ladies arc very 
 apt to fall, from not having opportunities of distinguishing 
 between the real and the apparent, and from attributing the 
 temporary effects they witness to unavoidable poverty, instead 
 of to systematic improvidence. The consequence is that, though 
 the course they pursue administers present alleviation, it tends to 
 permanent aggravation. In further illustration of the difference 
 between real and apparent destitution, I will mention the foUow'- 
 ing fact. An owner of small houses in the parish of Limehouse 
 about a year ago sought before me to be excused from paying 
 his rates, on the ground that he could get no rent from his 
 tenants. I told him I had little doubt but that they spent in gin 
 what they ought to pay him. He said he had no doubt of it too ; 
 and being asked why he did not distrain, he replied, there was 
 no furniture in any of his tenements to distrain upon, but that 
 the people, having gotten possession, spent their earnings in eating 
 and drinking, and other indulgences, and set him at defiance. 
 This is a numerous class in London, and a class which meets 
 with great support from unthinking and mistaken benevolence. 
 Indeed, it may be taken as a rule, to which there are few excep- 
 tions, that where there is much apparent destitution there is at 
 least as much real misconduct and improvidence. All bare- 
 footed, shirtless beggars are vagabonds of the first class. Perhaps 
 an alteration in the law, by giving a sort of summary process 
 of ejectment by magistrates in such cases as those in Limehouse, 
 might operate as a salutary check to a practice detrimental to 
 property, but still more so to morals. 
 
 It is to be observed that, where there is property without any 
 recognized owner, or where the proprietors of small houses, from 
 having other means, or from being wearied out, or from indolent 
 benevolence, become negligent, improvidence, debasement, and 
 apparent difficulty of living start into life like weeds and vermin 
 amongst ruins, to the injury of all around. The want of cultiva- 
 tion and strict government will generate, even in the midst of 
 wealth, poverty and all its appendages. If any street in London 
 were to be abandoned by its owners, it would soon produce 
 appearances and realities such as are described by Mr. Inglis, 
 in spite of any system of poor-laws that could be devised ; 
 whilst, on the other hand, with attention and efficient govern- 
 ment, poor-laws would ere long become a dead letter. Of this 
 I am confident ; and I apprehend there is no country in which 
 legal provision is in reality less requisite than in Ireland. Not- 
 
88 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 withstanding tlie many disadvantages it at present labours 
 under, it is, by the accounts of all, who have no end to answer 
 by perverting the truth, in a state of rapid improvement, and 
 only requires strict and impartial government to draw capital to 
 its vast capabilities, sufficient for the employment of whatever 
 surplus labour there may be. Nothing could be more withering 
 to the brightening prospects of that hitherto ill-fated country, 
 than the establishment of Mr. Inglis's false principle of forcing 
 men to contribute, in the ratio of their abundance, to a mere 
 palliative to present evils, at the expense of future independence. 
 What Irish labourers can be, when thrown with sufficient stimu- 
 lus upon their own resources, is manifested in the enterprise of 
 the harvesters in seeking employment here, in their frugality of 
 living, and in their care of their earnings. What they are under 
 the influence of poor-laws, I can speak from six years' constant 
 and ample experience ; and I will add an extract in point from the 
 preface to the second edition of my pamphlet on Pauperism, 
 published in 1831, and fully confirmed by subseciuent observa- 
 tion : — 
 
 " I will here observe of the Irish paupers that they are much 
 more accompUshed in their vocation than the English. They 
 are more plausible and persevering, more cunning and deceit- 
 ful, more skilled in turning the law to their advantage, and 
 more ready to suffer privation for the sake of indulgence. This 
 consideration, coupled with the inexperience of the adminis- 
 trators, makes me think that poor-laws, however modified, 
 would soon lead in Ireland even to greater evils than they have 
 ever produced in this country. I should apprehend too, but 
 this I advance with diffidence, that where the Catholic rehgion 
 prevails there would probably be an increased tendency to 
 relax the administration, and most of all where there is a 
 Catholic population under Protestant proprietors. The real 
 point to be aimed at for the improvement of Ireland, or indeed 
 of any country, is the raising the moral standard. Now, in my 
 opinion, poor-laws, by their very nature, have a directly con- 
 trary effect. I think I cannot illustrate this better than by the 
 following anecdote, which I once heard from a gentleman con- 
 nected with Guy's Hospital. The founder left to the trustees a 
 fund to be distributed to such of his relatives as should from 
 time to time fall into distress. The fund at length became 
 insufficient to meet the applications, and the trustees, thinking 
 it hard to refuse any claimants, trenched upon the funds of the 
 hospital, the consequence of which was, as my informant 
 stated, that, as long as the practice lasted, no Guy was ever 
 known to prosper. So that if any individual could be wicked 
 enough to wish the ruin of his posterity for ever, his surest 
 means would be to leave his property in trust to be distributed 
 
POOR-LA WS IN IRELAND. 89 
 
 to them only when in distress. Just so it has been with the 
 legal provision for the poor in England. With slight variations, 
 the fund required has, from its institution, been continually 
 increasing, and the progress of moral improvement has, in 
 consequence, been greatly retarded. 
 
 " I will further remark with respect to Ireland, that I think 
 periodical assessments, levied something in the same manner as 
 the poor's rates here, and judiciously and impartially employed 
 in public improvements, would be productive of unmixed advan- 
 tage to the country. But if such a fund were suffered to be 
 applied in any degree upon the specious principle of relieving 
 the necessitous, instead of the sound one of purchasing labour in 
 open market, I have no doubt but that it would ultimately be pro- 
 ductive of far more evil than good." 
 
 I will conclude this article with another extract from p. 22 of 
 the same pamphlet, descriptive of the baneful effect of pauperism, 
 or a dependence on legal provision, on the human mind, as a 
 warning against its farther extension. 
 
 " The extent to which deceit and self-debasement enter into 
 the composition of pauperism is quite inconceivable, except to 
 those who have, as it were, anatomized the subject. The whole 
 life of a pauper is a lie— his whole study imposition ; he lives by 
 appearing not to be able to live ; he will throw himself out of 
 work, aggravate disease, get into debt, live in wretchedness, 
 persevere in the most irksome applications, nay, bring upon 
 himself the incumbrance of a family, for no other purpose than 
 to get his share from the parish. It is his constant aim to 
 make everything he has of as little value as possible; and he is 
 consequently often obliged to throw away advantages, and to 
 use those he keeps so as to be of little comfort to him. He 
 necessarily becomes what he feigns to be, and drags after him, 
 without remorse, his family and all within his influence. Such 
 is the operation of the poor-laws, that deceit and self-debase- 
 ment, in various degrees, may be taken to be of the very essence 
 of pauperism. Pique and spite are frequent causes of it, and are 
 generally the worst cases to deal with ; but deceit and debase- 
 ment are the means necessarily used to succeed. I have known 
 a man who earned a guinea a week, because his brother would 
 earn more, keep himself out of work for eight months, with 
 occasional intervals, and during the time starve himself and his 
 family on eight shillings a week from the parish ; which he con- 
 trived to get by various impositions and persevering application. 
 I knew another with a wife and family, who could earn sixteen 
 shillings a week at outdoor work, but because a fellow-workman 
 received eighteen shillings, he went to weaving, at which he 
 could only earn ten shillings, and got two shillings more from 
 the parish. I have known cases of men procuring themselves 
 
go THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 and their families to be turned out of their houses, in order to 
 compel the parish to find them residences, though they well knew 
 they should suffer by the change. I knew a case of a woman, 
 who having heard that a neighbour had had some shoes given 
 to her children by the parish, swore she would have some too ; 
 and being refused, set off to the magistrate in a borrowed 
 costume of misery, with all her children in rags, and before she 
 arrived concealed their shoes behind a hedge. Having told her 
 tale of woe and oppression, and finally succeeded, she sold the 
 parish shoes the next day for half their value, and squandered 
 the money. Instances like the above, though of common occur- 
 rence, will generally escape detection, or, if the imposition is 
 stated, it will hardly be credited— especially against the solemn 
 and artful asseverations of the paupers themselves, who, having 
 once made an application, it is a point of honour amongst them 
 not to be foiled ; as it is to get as much as others, who are in 
 anything like similar circumstances. Besides, they will design- 
 edly plunge themselves so deeply into distress, that there is no 
 alternative but to help them out. I have frequently heard 
 paupers use this phrase : ' I will throw myself upon you, and 
 then you viust relieve me.' 
 
 " In almost all cases paupers have more than they choose to 
 state, and perhaps, from the way in which they receive it, more 
 than they are aware of. I knew the case of a labourer who 
 called his earnings Zs. 6d. a week, and on that statement had his 
 rent partly paid by the parish ; yet it was afterwards proved 
 that he had advantages equal to more than 20^-. a week. He 
 must have known that he had more than he said, but he cer- 
 tainly was not aware to what extent ; and the appearance of 
 himself and his family, and their apparent mode of hving, were 
 in conformity to the sum he gave in. Mismanagement is a 
 necessary art with paupers, and they are at such pains to 
 conceal their real state from others, that they very rarely know 
 it themselves." 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH- 
 
 {contiuiied). 
 
 It is observable that animals, accustomed to feed in company, 
 almost always fall off if placed alone ; and with men in training 
 to fight or run, it is of great importance to have some one 
 constantly present, to keep their spirits in a pleasing state of 
 excitement. I will here mention two instances of the effect of 
 the want of mastication. One is in horses ; when any derange- 
 ment in the teeth prevents them from chewing their food, the 
 hide becomes hard and dry, more like the covering of a hair 
 trunk than of a living being. The other instance is of a young 
 lady, who was subject to dreadful fits, for which no remedy 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 91 
 
 could be discovered, till a physician found out that her teeth 
 were in such a state as effectually to prevent mastication. He 
 adopted the strong measure of causing all her teeth to be 
 drawn, and a fresh set put in, from which time she completely 
 recovered. A skilful dentist once told me that there were 
 people so ignorant, especially ladies, as to avoid mastication 
 in order to save their teeth ; whereas the very act is beneficial 
 to them, but still more the effect upon the digestion, upon 
 which the soundness of the teeth depends. Instead then of 
 swallowing the food whole and drowning it in liquid, which 
 many think harmless provided it is not strong, the proper course 
 is to masticate thoroughly, in a cheerful, composed huinour, 
 and to drink in sips, rather than in large draughts, so as to 
 reduce what is taken into the stomach into a pulpy state, easily 
 and speedily acted upon by the gastric juice. If more liquid is 
 required, it is better to take it in moderation an hour or two 
 after eating, when it facilitates instead of impeding digestion , 
 and by this course exercise, at least of a gentle kind, is allowable, 
 almost without restriction as to time, after meals. 
 
 A good preventive against a habit of taking large draughts is 
 to use small cups and glasses till a contrary habit is formed ; 
 and, in general, I find a wine-glass a very good regulator in 
 drinking malt liquor, and that it makes a smaller quantity sufiice 
 without the danger of forgetting the rule. With moderation in 
 liquids it is much more easy to measure the appetite, and there 
 is veiy little danger of taking too much solid food. When the 
 appetite is weak, it is difficult to know where is the proper limit 
 in supplying it, as there is no marked sensation. When it is 
 vigorous, we eat heartily to a certain point, and then feel distinctly 
 satisfied, without any oppression. This is a sort of first appetite, 
 and the moment it is satisfied we ought to leave off. If we go 
 on, the stomach seems to suffer a sudden extension, which 
 enables us to eat, without inconvenience at the time, a great 
 deal more than the body requires. Sometimes the extension is 
 longer delayed, and only produced by the action of quantity, or 
 some particular stimulant ; and accordingly we see people 
 refuse to eat more in the first instance, and then go on with 
 great willingness. But all this is pernicious, and produces that 
 superfluity in the system which creates a disposition to disease, 
 and which, when caiTied far, renders disease dangerous or fatal. 
 How common it is to hear people remark that they have dined 
 after the first dish, and then to sec them go on for an hour, 
 sacrificed to the absurdity of the repast ! Pressing to eat or 
 drink, especially children, is a species of civility more honourable 
 in the breach than in the observance. The appetite ought to be 
 in such a state of vigour, that, when satisfied, the solid food 
 seems immediately to identify itself with the system ; and we 
 ought to feel the liquid we take, instantly, to use Falstaff's 
 
92 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 phrase, " course from the inwards to the parts extreme." Then 
 we rise from meals refreshed, not encumbered. The signs of 
 this desirable state, as exhibited in the countenance, are 
 clearness and smoothness of complexion, thinness of hps and 
 nose, no wrinkles under the eyes, the eyes bright, the mouth 
 inclined to a smile, not drawn down with a sour look, as 
 is the case with an overcharged digestion. There should be no 
 fulness in the under-lip, or uneasy sensation, when pressed, 
 which is a sure sign of derangement of the stomach. Most 
 especially, the lower part of the nose should have a clear, healthy 
 appearance, not thickened and full of dark dots and inflamma- 
 tory impurities, as is so frequently to be observed. The differ- 
 ence between a pure state and that of irregular living is so great 
 as to produce in many people an almost complete change of 
 appearance in expression of countenance and personal attraction ; 
 and attention to diet is of the first consequence to those who 
 wish to improve- or retain their looks, as well as to enjoy the 
 perfect possession of their faculties. 
 
 As a proof of the efficiency of diet, I will here mention what I 
 experienced from attention to it on a particular occasion. In 
 the middle of August ]822, I travelled in a private carriage 
 from Stutgardt to Paris without stopping, except for an hour and 
 half each morning to breakfast, being on the road four days and 
 three nights. The course my companion and myself pursued 
 was this. We had a basket, which we kept constantly reple- 
 nished with poultry or game, and bread and fruit. We ate 
 sparingly whenever we felt inclined. We never drank when we 
 ate, but took a little fruit instead. About a couple of hours 
 after a meal, if we felt at all thirsty, we took a little water at the 
 first post-house we came to. By this plan the motion of the 
 carriage did not at all disturb digestion ; and, notwithstanding 
 the time of year, we were entirely without fever or feverishness. 
 We arrived at Paris perfectly fresh, and, after taking a warm 
 bath, supped in the Palais Royal. I afterwards walked on the 
 Boulevards till past midnight, and rose the next morning at six, 
 in as composed a state as I ever was in my life. 
 
 When we left England in the preceding November, my com- 
 panion felt heated and much inconvenienced by travelling, even 
 so late as ten at night, and we were obliged to remain three days 
 at Lyons to give him time to recover. Between Stutgardt and 
 Paris he enjoyed perfect composure, and on our arrival I ob- 
 served that, notwithstanding he wore a pair of tight boots all 
 the way, his ankles were not in the least affected with swelling ; 
 whereas the courier, who did not understand passing through 
 Champagne without tasting the wine, though he was comfortably 
 seated behind the carriage, had his legs so much swelled, that 
 he had some difficulty in getting upstairs. By the same course 
 
MY MOTHER. 93 
 
 I believe I could travel indefinitely as to time, not only without 
 inconvenience, but in high health. 
 
 The precaution of drinking little, and particularly at a suf- 
 ficient interval after eating, I take to be essential. I also think 
 it very beneficial to have the opportunity of taking food in 
 moderation as soon as it is desired, by which the iiTitation of 
 fasting too long is avoided, and the stomach is kept in perpetual 
 good-humour. The plan of eating and drinking beforehand, 
 instead of carrying provisions in the carriage, is a very per- 
 nicious one, as the food becomes corrupted before it is wanted, 
 and in the meantime produces the uncomforts of fermentation. 
 I shall in my next number continue the subject of Diet. 
 
 MOBS. 
 
 I HATE all mobs and tumultuary assemblies, on one side or the 
 other. They are the senseless instruments of party; the clumsy 
 machinery by which imperfect government is carried on, or 
 opposed, by imperfect politicians. They are in their very nature 
 unlawful and unconstitutional, directly at variance with our free 
 institutions, which are as much opposed to anarchy as to des- 
 potism. They are alternately encouraged from interest or tole- 
 rated from fear. The following extract from a letter from Dr. 
 Priestley to the people of Birmingham, after the riots of 1791, is 
 strongly illustrative of what the mob spirit is capable ; and that 
 the progress of civilization has been able in no degree to assuage 
 that spirit, Nottingham, Derby, and Bristol afford indisputable 
 proofs in recent times. The Birmingham mob was on the Tory, 
 the others on the Whig side. 
 
 " You have destroyed the most truly valuable and useful 
 apparatus of philosophical instruments that perhaps any indi- 
 vidual, in this or any other country, was ever possessed of, in 
 my use of which I annually spent large sums, with no pecuniary 
 view whatever, but only in the advancement of science, for the 
 benefit of my country and of mankind. You have destroyed a 
 library corresponding to that apparatus, which no money can 
 re-purchase, except in a long course of time. But what I feel 
 far more, you have destroyed manuscripts, which have been the 
 result of the laborious study of many years, and which I shall 
 never be able to recompose ; and this has been done to one who 
 never did or imagined you any harm." 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 In the article on the art of attaining high health, in my fourth 
 number, I had occasion shortly to mention my mother. She 
 was indeed in many particulars an example for her sex — an 
 
94 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 example too valuable to be altogether lost. I will sketch for 
 study one or two of the agreeable features in her character. 
 When I was living alone with her, as already stated, I used 
 occasionally to go out to dinner in the neighbourhood, and after- 
 wards to walk home late, sometimes very late. By the way, I 
 will remark, that I have never felt my mind so vigorous, as 
 frequently when walking home in the country after a dinner- 
 party. The excitement of company and good cheer, heightened 
 by exercise in the refreshing cool of the night, produces an effect 
 on the spirits, according to my experience, unequalled at any 
 other time ; and it seems to be something the same with horses, 
 which never go with such alacrity as when returning home after 
 a 'good feed, and in company, at night. But to resume. At 
 whatever hour I arrived, I always found my mother sitting up 
 for me alone. Not a word of reproach — not a question. If it 
 happened to be cold or damp, I was greeted with a cheerful fire, 
 by which she had been sitting, reading or netting, as her eyes 
 would permit, and with a colour on her cheek, at seventy, which 
 would have done no discredit to a girl of eighteen. She had 
 always the supper-tray ready, but not brought in, so as neither 
 to tempt me if I did not want anything, nor to disappoint me if 
 I did. When a man throws himself into a chair, after the 
 fatigues of the day, he generally feels for a period a strong pro- 
 pensity to silence, any interruption of which has rather a tendency 
 to irritate. I observed that my mother had always great tact 
 in discovering the first symptoms of revival, till which she would 
 quietly go on with her own occupation, and then inquire if I had 
 had an agreeable party, and put such questions as showed a 
 gratifying interest, equally removed from worrjqng curiosity and 
 disheartening indifference. I recommend the same course 
 generally to female consideration and adoption. If, from any 
 engagement, I wished to breakfast earlier than usual, however 
 early, she was always ready, and without taking any credit for 
 her readiness. If I was down before the hour, I was almost sure 
 to find her seated at table ; or, if the morning was fine, walking 
 composedly before the windows, with breakfast prepared. If I 
 desired to have a particular dinner, it was served up just as I 
 asked for it— no alteration — no additional dish, with the very 
 unphilosophical remark, "You have no occasion to eat it un- 
 less you like." She seemed to be aware that needless variety 
 causes a distraction destructive of perfect contentment, and that 
 temptation resisted, as well as temptation yielded to, produces, 
 though in an inferior degree, digestive derangement. I will 
 mention only one other trait, and that is, that though she was 
 unremitting in her care and attention when any of her family 
 were ill, yet her own indispositions she always concealed as long 
 as she could, for it seemed to give her pain to be the cause of 
 the least interruption to the pleasure of those she loved. 
 
( 95 ) 
 
 GOOD FEELING. 
 
 Soon after the battle of Waterloo, when so many maimed and 
 ■wounded officers were to be seen in the streets, a gentleman, 
 passing along Bond Street, was somewhat forcibly pushed 
 against the wall by a porter. In the irritation of the moment 
 he raised a small cane he had in his hand, and gave the porter 
 a smart cut across the shoulders. The man instantly turned 
 round and threw him.self into an attitude of attack ; but perceiv- 
 ing his adversary had recently lost his right arm, he took off his 
 hat, and, without saying a word, passed on his way. 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 Many people have a great horror of the purse-proud. I cannot 
 say that I have ; for I am always perfectly at my ease with them. 
 It is the purse-empty that 1 dread. '• Poverty is no crime," is a 
 common saying in the mouths of the indolent and the improvi- 
 dent ; nine 'times out of ten, I believe, it approaches very near. 
 But poverty proper is a disease nearly worn out in this countr)-, 
 and its place is supplied by pauperism, or the spirit of depen- 
 dence, on which I have remarked in a former publication : '• Of 
 all taxes upon means— of all clogs to self-advancement— of all 
 drawbacks upon enjoyment, assuredly the dependence of those 
 who ought to depend upon themselves is the heaviest and most 
 irksome. No station in hfe is too high— none too low — to 
 escape this scourge. The peer of princely fortune, the frugal 
 tradesman, and the industrious labourer— each in his degree is 
 haunted, threatened, importuned, and preyed upon. To avoid 
 this fate, how many are afraid to accumulate ! — how many give 
 up in despair ! — how many, seeing ruin inevitable, prefer to ruin 
 themselves, and plunge into that state it would have been the 
 labour of their lives to avoid '. " The most accurate description 
 of English poverty I ever heard was from a beggar-boy in Italy, 
 who accosted me at the door of a post-house, whilst I was wait- 
 ing for horses. He made some obsen-ation, which led me to 
 ask him if he thought there were no poor in England : to which 
 he replied, " Oh : yes, yes ; but in England they are all rich 
 poor — in Italy we are poor poor." 
 
 Complaining of adverse fortune, keeps fortune adverse. A 
 happy disposition to improve opportunities, sooner or later, I 
 believe, never fails of success. 
 
 True courage is that which is not afraid of being thought 
 afraid; the rest is counterfeit. Such for the most part is 
 duelling courage. 
 
96 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. IX. V/ednesday, July 15, 1835. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE READER. 
 
 Dear Reader, whether gentle or simple, male or female, 
 young or old — for I am happy to say I have of all sorts. 
 
 I do not know whether you find yourself in any degree wiser, 
 or better, or happier, for my labours so far as they have gone, 
 but I am sure I do. At least from the very frequent testi- 
 monies I meet with, I cannot doubt but that I have contributed 
 to your amusement ; and I consider that to be a great point 
 gained, if I can maintain it ; because, with amusement, you 
 cannot fail in the end, considering the sources I draw from, to 
 derive considerable profit. In my first address I told you it 
 was an alterative diet of sound and comfortable doctrines, 
 blended with innoxious amusement, that I proposed to set 
 before you, and I hope so far I have kept my word. Like all 
 alteratives, it is only by perseverance that mine can produce 
 much effect, and you must learn from my desultory writings 
 what is to be learnt, as you would from other people's conversa- 
 tion, by habitual attention. 
 
 I have been much amused with the progress of opinion as to 
 my undertaking. When I first mentioned it, I was told I 
 should never begin, or that I should never go on, or that I 
 should involve myself in dangerous expense, or that there was 
 something startling and improper in a man in a public situation 
 like mine conducting a periodical, and that to put my name to 
 it was out of all question. Well, I did begin, and I feel no 
 diffidence of being able to go on, but the contrary. I am in no 
 danger from expense, and, so far as I can judge, the balance 
 will turn in my favour. After my early numbers appeared, the 
 idea of any impropriety in my being the avowed author of them 
 was deemed quite ridiculous ; but still objections were made, 
 though all of the most complimentary kind, as that my writ- 
 ings were too good to last, that it was impossible an individual 
 could alone sustain such a weight, and that, considering my 
 other avocations, I was tasking my lime beyond all bounds. 
 Whether these objections are valid, time will show. As to the 
 first, that my writings have been too good to last, I beg, gentle 
 reader, to inform you, that the reception they have met with 
 will induce me to redouble my efforts and attention to prevent 
 any deterioration ; and that, after this number, I shall dedicate 
 myself with additional earnestness to your service. The 
 general observation now made to me is, that my work is not 
 sufficiently known, and that I do not take pains to puff it, as 
 
ADDRESS TO THE READER. 
 
 97 
 
 the phrase is. It is true I have abstained from some of the 
 usual channels of notoriety, and have given my publisher 
 positive directions to do the same : being anxious, in the first 
 instance, to deserve success, from confidence, that in that case, 
 if it comes slowly, it will come surely ; and, secondly, inde- 
 pendently of personal feeling, I am actuated by what I consider 
 a due regard to my station. I will tell you, however, that, both 
 in society and in the streets, I am constantly gratified and 
 encouraged by volunteered testimonies of approval — principally, 
 as I have said before, as to the amusement I afford. At the 
 hazard of being accused of vanity or quackery (and by this 
 time you will have found out that I hazard a good deal), I will 
 give you a few specimens of written opinions I have received 
 from persons of very different characters. They have the merit 
 of being honest, as they were perfectly unsought and unex- 
 pected; and they may serve as a sort of review, not without 
 interest to those who take any interest in my work. The first 
 is from a country gentleman, not given to giving himself much 
 trouble. He says characteristically, " I reproach myself with 
 not having acknowledged The Original, but shall apply for 
 mercy, from the fact of having read it twice over, a circumstance 
 for which neither you nor any other author could ever be 
 prepared." The second is from a gentleman, celebrated for the 
 wit and pic[uancy of his writings, and is expressed thus : " I 
 wish you all the success of the Spectator., Tatler, and Ginwdian. 
 What does not society owe to the man, who, after protecting 
 the laws for so many hours a day, gives up the residue of his 
 time to the amelioration of politics and morals ? The ladies 
 return you their best thanks for your lucubrations : they would 
 be much more happy to thank you here." The third, which is 
 from a lawyer and a scholar, has the following passage : " I 
 sincerely wish you may make an impression on the reading 
 public. A friend of mine says you will soon be tired of writing 
 so much good sense. I do not think so, if you find or make an 
 appetite for such wholesome food." The fourth, and only one 
 asked for, is from au unpretending lady, who says amongst 
 other praises, " I must compliment you upon the rehgious, 
 moral, and benevolent feelings w'hich go through your work." 
 The last is from a man of high connections, to whom I gave the 
 monthly part, containing the first six numbers, and is as follows : 
 " A gieat many thanks for your present. I could not stop till I 
 had read it cjuite through. Sound sense and right feeling are, 
 I may say, in every page of it, and excellent language. Go on. 
 Your description of Italy is lovely. I am all for your demo- 
 cratic principle. Your advice, too, about health is perfectly 
 good. Go on, then, I say, and give us more instruction and 
 amusement, and as well and agreeably told as you have done." 
 
 D 
 
98 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 The above are not formal, but familiar testimonials, and are the 
 more satisfactory on that account. 
 
 With respect to the effect produced upon myself by my weekly 
 undertaking, I find it has a tendency to increase three out of the 
 four essentials to happiness enumerated by Dr. Paley in the 
 sixth chapter of the first book of his Moral Philosophy, which 
 chapter ought to be familiar to every one. In the first place, it 
 furnishes " exercise to the faculties in the pursuit of an engaging 
 end ;" and this, I think, must be so evident as to need no illus- 
 tration. Secondly, it contributes to "a prudent constitution of 
 habits," inasmuch as I am obKged to be more attentive to my 
 diet, to exercise, and to early rising ; otherwise I should often 
 be unequal to the task I have imposed upon myself, and I find 
 it easy or difficult, agreeable or irksome, just as I live. With a 
 little more practice I expect to acquire a complete command of 
 my habits. Then the search after, and contemplation of, what 
 is excellent, greatly increase my love for it, and give me a 
 distaste for everything unworthy ; besides which, as occasion 
 demands, I find stores in my mind long since dormant or for- 
 gotten, and I can scarcely take up a book or a newspaper, or go 
 into society, or pass along the streets, that something worthy of 
 note does not occur to me. The third essential to happiness, 
 according to Paley, is health, and that, as I have above observed, 
 I am obliged to attend to. What he says upon the subject 
 accords so much with my views, and with what I have laid 
 down, that I will here subjoin it ; I have already given the high 
 medical authority of Dr. Gregory in support of my positions. 
 The passage from Paley is as follows : — 
 
 " By health I understand, as well freedom from bodily dis- 
 tempers, as that tranquillity, firmness, and alacrity of mind, 
 which we call good spirits ; and which may properly enough be 
 included in our notion of health, as depending commonly upon 
 the same causes, and yielding to the same management, as our 
 bodily constitution. 
 
 " Health in this sense is the one thing needful. Therefore no 
 pains, expense, self-denial, or restraint, to which we subject 
 ourselves for the sake of health, is too much. Whether it require 
 us to relinquish lucrative situations, to abstain from favourite 
 indulgences, to control intemperate passions, or undergo tedious 
 regimen-; whatever difficulties it lays us under, a man, who 
 pursues his happiness rationally and resolutely, will be content 
 to submit. 
 
 " When we are in perfect health and spirits, we feel in our- 
 selves a happiness independent of any particular gratification 
 whatever, and of v/hich we can give no account. This is an 
 enjoyment which the Deity has annexed to life ; and it probably 
 
rSCARIOTISM. 99 
 
 constitutes, in a great measure, the happiness of infants and 
 brutes." 
 
 In conclusion, I have every reason so far to be satisfied with 
 the result of my labours, having hitherto met with nothing but 
 unqualified commendation ; and I feel that the desire to increase 
 the interest of my work will increase with its success. There is 
 one testimonial in my favour which affords me particular satis- 
 faction; and that is, that so far from having no honour in my 
 own country, I learn my numbers are eagerly desired in the 
 village where I long lived, and where I comm.enced my study of 
 the administration of the poor-laws. 
 
 ISCARIOTISM. 
 
 A SINGLE and apt expression for an important combination of 
 ideas has great convenience and efficacy. It prevents confusion, 
 and tends to establish truth and right. It furnishes a distinctive 
 mark for what is good or bad, for what is woi'thy of honour or 
 dishonour. A pretended zeal for the welfare of others, for the 
 purpose of basely promoting one's own, I term Iscariotism. 
 "Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard very costly, 
 and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped His feet with her hair. 
 Then saith one of His disciples, Judas Iscariot, Why was not 
 this ointment sold for three hundred pence and given to the 
 poor ? This he said, not that he cared for the poor ; but because 
 he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein." 
 It was Iscariotism that Dr. Johnson meant when he said, in 
 allusion, I believe, to Wilks, that patriotism was the last resource 
 of a scoundrel. Patriotism is pure gold; Iscariotism its base 
 counterfeit.. The prevalence of Iscariotism is a reflection upon 
 the constitution or administration of any government, because it 
 cannot exist but where there is weakness or corruption. Vigour 
 and purity are quite fatal to it. It thrives under the oligarchic 
 and ochlocratic principles, but withers to nothing under the 
 democratic, in the sense I use that tei'm in my first number. It 
 lives by being paid by the many, or bought by the few, and its 
 course is determined by the highest bidding. Its real character 
 is gross selfishness; its assumed, disinterested zeal; its means 
 of succeeding, falsehood and impudence. Besides political, 
 there are charitable Iscariots, who serve their own eiids by a 
 busy interference in public institutions. Their real character is 
 selfishness also ; their assumed, extraordinary philanthropy and 
 liberality; their means of success, plausibility and cunning. 
 Besides selfishness, Iscariots, political and charitable, have this 
 in common, that they aim to keep those they affect to befriend 
 in a constant state of dependence. 
 
loo THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HICxH HEALTH— 
 
 {continued). 
 
 Before I resume my remarks on diet, I have a few desultory 
 observations to make. I have frequently had occasion to 
 remark on the very different state of my feet, that sometimes 
 they were not at all inconvenienced by exercise, and at others 
 liable to blister, or to a sensation of fulness or heat ; that at one 
 time I was annoyed by corns, at another perfectly free from 
 them ; that the same shoes would be sometimes easy, and at 
 others much too tight ; that at some seasons I walked with per- 
 fect freedom and alacrity, at others with a difficulty amounting 
 almost to lameness. All these variations, I have long since 
 ascertained, depend entirely upon the state of the digestion, 
 though I have heard my remarks to that effect turned into 
 ridicule by the unthinking. I have now a pair of shoes rather 
 smaller than usual, which have given me an opportunity of 
 making my observations with great accuracy, and I find that by 
 excess of diet, which I have purposely tried, they become so 
 painful that I am obliged to take them off, and even that does 
 not afford instant relief, whilst they are perfectly easy as long 
 as I take only the requisite quantity of food, and at proper times ; 
 for I have proved that as soon as I have fasted too long uneasi- 
 ness commences, not to the same extent as from excess, but still 
 that there arises a certain degree of irritability upon which the 
 pressure acts. Eating moderately, I find, affords instant relief; 
 that is, Content the stomach, and every other part will be content. 
 Moreover, provided the digestion is m a perfect state, any incon- 
 venience from external causes, such as from the pressure of 
 shoes actually too small, only lasts as long as the external cause 
 acts. The moment the cause is removed, the effect ceases ; but 
 it is otherwise where the frame is out of order from deranged 
 digestion. Then it takes some time for the part affected to 
 recover its tone, or it may be that actual disease is the conse- 
 quence, according to the force of the cause acting, or the ten- 
 dency to disease. People die from a wound in the foot, or a cut 
 fmger, on account of their previously improper living, which has 
 disposed their bodies to disease, and the wound or cut is the 
 exciting cause ; but with those in perfect health, cure commences 
 immediately after the injury, whether the injury be great or small, 
 provided it is not in a vital part. Hence, in accidents, it is 
 necessary with most people that they should submit to the 
 influence of diet and medicine before a cure can be effected ; and 
 the same course is generally pursued before an operation, the only 
 reason being that there are very few who live as they ought to 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. loi 
 
 do. The difterence in the state of health is so great, that the 
 same blow which would cause death in one man would not even 
 produce discoloration in another. 
 
 Once, when I was riding at Rome, my horse suddenly ran up 
 a steep bank, and threw nie off behind with great force on my 
 head upon a hard road. 1 felt a violent shake and a very 
 unpleasant sensation fur the moment, but experienced no bad 
 consequences whatever. For some time previously I had been 
 living very carefully as to diet, and had taken a great deal of 
 exercise, otherwise I am confident I should hav^ suffci'^d greatly, 
 if not fatally ; as it was, I had no occasion cvf-n,t:vtiikt3 any pre- 
 caution, and I felt nothing beyond the one shock. Had.iji,y yes?els 
 been overcharged, the effect must have l;een_-verf difiprent^ ■, 
 
 But to return to tight shoes. Everybody musi. li'ave observed 
 that they are more inconvenient at the end of the day than at 
 the beginning, and most of all after a full dinner, though they 
 may not have been aware that over-fasting will produce some- 
 thing of the same effect, and that consequently the whole is 
 referable to the state of the digestion ; for even the fatigue of 
 the day does not act directly upon the limbs, but first upon the 
 powers of the stomach. Restore them, and the sensation of 
 fatigue disappears. Labour and exercise, when the stomach is 
 too full, or too empty, especially the former, cause great uneasi- 
 ness ; and as soon as the stomach is relieved, the weariness is 
 relieved also. Even that fatigue of the limbs, which seems only 
 removable by rest or sleep, I believe equally depends upon the 
 same cause, and that it is the stomach first which requires repose. 
 Where it only requires food, as I have just remarked, the fatigue 
 of the limbs will disappear without rest ; when it has received 
 too much food, the fatigue will in like manner be relieved as 
 digestion proceeds. I recollect once, when walking a long dis- 
 tance before breakfast, I became at length so wearied, as only to 
 be prevented by my companion from lying down in the road ; 
 and when I had breakfasted, I was immediately fresher than 
 when I started. After eating too heartily, I have experienced 
 still more distressing weariness, which has gradually disappeared, 
 without any cessation of exercise, as digestion has proceeded. 
 This is something the same as what is called second wind in 
 boxing or running. It may be said, that when the feet are in- 
 conveniently affected by exercise, they are relieved by placing 
 them in a horizontal position ; but I apprehend that position is 
 chiefly beneficial as affecting the connection with the stomach, 
 and that for any other reason it would be nearly useless ; in 
 short, it appears to me that in the stomach is the spring upon 
 which entirely depends every other function and every other 
 affection of the frame. 
 
 With respect to corns, I have been treated with great ridicule 
 
I02 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 for asserting that they are dependent upon the digestion ; but I 
 have observed these things, and the ridiculers have not. With 
 me, when I am in the best health, they disappear, and only 
 come, or inconvenience me, in proportion as I am careless. 
 This I have ascertained over and over again. Of course they 
 are made better or worse by different kinds of boots or shoes ; 
 but no kind of boot or shoe will bring them, unless there is a 
 tendency from improper living. Pressure would only affect as 
 long as it lasted, btU would cause no formation, without some 
 superfluity to work upon. The reason why corns shoot on the 
 approach of rain' id, that the change in the atmosphere more or 
 lejs deranges the digesLion, which causes a throbbing sensation. 
 i ^a.ve made these remarks because the state of the feet is of so 
 much importance to 'our comfort and activity, and because I 
 think they are applicable to the general management of ourselves, 
 and may be useful to those who are subject to gout, rheumatism, 
 cramp, and other diseases of the limbs. My principal aim is to 
 furnish my readers, from my own observation and experience, 
 with sufficient hints to induce them to think, and to notice what 
 happens to themselves. If I am not always perfectly right in 
 what I lay down, I do not much mind that, provided I enable 
 others to get right in detecting my errors. I am sure I am not 
 very far from the truth in my principal positions. 
 
 I beheve that species of health is the best, and certainly the 
 most prized, which is the result of study and observation, and 
 which is preserved by constant watchfulness and resolution. 
 Anxiety and quackery are destructive of health, but a rea- 
 sonable attention is absolutely necessary. Those who con- 
 stitutionally enjoy robust health seldom know how sufficiently 
 to value it ; besides which, for want of discipline, they are not 
 often so well as they think themselves. They frequently mis- 
 take strength for health, though they are very different things — 
 as different as St. Paul's clock from a chronometer. The weaker 
 mechanism often goes the best. I think that those who are so 
 constituted as to be well with care have on the whole the most 
 reason to be thankful, as being most likely to enjoy permanent 
 well-being of body and mind ; there is often a recklessness 
 about constitutional health which is dangerous to both. As 
 usual, I have been led on beyond my calculation, and must defer 
 my other observations till my next number. 
 
 REGULATION OF CHARITY. 
 
 There is nothing more destructive to the interests of mankind 
 than the principle of providing for those whom Providence 
 intended to provide for themselves, whether the principle is put 
 
REGULATION OF CHARITY. 103 
 
 in practice by Government or by individuals, whether by poor- 
 laws or by private bounty. By destroying moral energy it 
 destroys the soul, and under the mask of kindness is the height 
 of cruelty. Every one who idly gives, or to gratify his own 
 feelings, or to avoid importunity, so far from well deserving, is 
 answerable for the consequences arising from debasement. 
 Casual charity is much to be deprecated ; for the objects of it 
 are ever undeserving, and it serves only to create, or perpetuate, 
 a lost race. The rule is, that human beings are born into the 
 world with a capability of self-dependence, if they please to 
 avail themselves of it, and the exceptions are so few as not to be 
 worth providing for beforehand. To help those who are helping 
 themselves, or who only want a fair start, is most praiseworthy 
 and beneficial. To relieve the few, whom unavoidable calamity 
 has utterly overwhelmed, or overtaken too late in life to have a 
 chance of retrieving themselves, is a gratifying duty ; but to lay 
 down any general rule that the old are to be maintained, the 
 fatherless to be provided for, the sick to be taken care of, is to 
 render null God's ordinances in favour of prudence and foresight 
 in the shape of the ordinary changes and vicissitudes of life. 
 There is no excuse for poverty so weak as that of old age ; it is 
 the very reason why a man should have made provision for 
 himself. Though it is commonly assumed to be a sufficient plea 
 for help, the truth has only to be stated to be past dispute. If 
 the fatherless are held to be legally entitled to relief, the 
 parental feeling of obligation to provide for children will be 
 weakened or destroyed. If the sick are to be taken care of by 
 law, one of the chief uses of health will be perverted or neglected. 
 Particular cases of old age protracted beyond the usual period, 
 children left destitute by extraodinary contingencies, or sickness 
 of uncommon violence or duration, furnish legitimate objects for 
 the voluntary care of relatives, friends, and neighbours, and 
 that resource, if left to free operation, would always be found at 
 least amply sufficient. Legal provision either makes the mass 
 of misery it can but inadequately relieve, or is a wretched 
 expedient for remedying the demoralization and debasement of 
 defective government. Give men fair-play, with the full con- 
 sequences of their own actions, and they will exhibit human 
 nature according to a much higher standard than that of any 
 system of poor-laws. I will conclude this article with two strong 
 illustrations — one a public, the other an individual case, in 
 which relief was more than commensurate to an extraordinary 
 emergency. 
 
 In July 1794 a fire broke out in the hamlet of Ratcliff, in the 
 parish of Stepney, which consumed more houses than any 
 conflagration since the Fire of London : about six hundred were 
 burnt. An account was transmitted to Government, and arrived 
 
104 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 during the sitting of a Cabinet Council. In consequence, one 
 hundred and fifty tents were ordered to be pitched for the 
 reception of the distressed sufferers, and food was distributed 
 for their reUef ; besides which, covered waggons were sent from 
 the Tower to accommodate those for whom the tents were not 
 sufficient. Amongst other subscriptions in aid of the sufferers, 
 £'/ooo. was collected at Lloyd's in one day, and on one Sunday 
 alone the sum of ;{^8oo was received from visitants to the camp 
 and ruins, of which ^426 was in copper, and £^i iJ^s. in farthings 
 ■ — showing indisputably the universal sympathy of rich and poor 
 on this call on their charity, and notice was soon given that 
 there was no need of further aid. 
 
 The second case is the following. About eighteen years since 
 the rector of the parish of Whitechapel was called in the middle 
 of the night to baptize four male infants, just born of one mother. 
 The father, a journeyman shoemaker, was at a loss for names, 
 and was overwhelmed at his prospect of what he thought certain 
 ruin. At the suggestion of the rector the children were named, 
 according to the order of their birth, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and 
 John, and he caused the facts to be inserted in the newspapers. 
 The consequence was a vast number of personal inquiries by 
 different classes, large presents of baby-linen and other things, 
 and unsolicited contributions to the amount of ^900. The 
 children all died before the expiration of fourteen months, and 
 the greater part of the money was soon after wasted in mis- 
 management and extravagance. 
 
 I will add, that well-reputed widows, with large families and 
 slender means, are often even benefited, pecuniarily and as to the 
 advancement of their children, by the loss of their husbands, on 
 account of the many friends they meet with. Indeed, I do not 
 think there is man or woman in this country who deserves 
 support that does not find it ; but of this I am quite sure, that 
 the contrary is much too often the case. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 
 
 A SHORT series of familiar letters, written by me in 1822, during 
 a journey on the Continent, lately came into my hands ; and, by 
 way of variety, I purpose giving, through a few numbers, such 
 extracts as I think may aftbrd any amusement to my readers. 
 
 Genoa, January 12, 1822. 
 
 I was rather disappointed with Nice, though some of the 
 environs are pretty, and the gulf of Villa Franca as lovely as 
 anything I ever saw. It was so cold in the early part of the 
 mornings, that I was obliged to protect my hands in my walks, 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 105 
 
 by keeping them in my pockets, and nearly the same at night, 
 whereas in the middle of the day I bathed in the sea, I may 
 almost say, to cool myself. This vicissitude must render it 
 necessary for invalids to be very careful. The air is so dry, 
 that, notwithstanding the sharp frosts, we had young peas every 
 day for dinner, and I observed the plants in flower and pod, as if 
 it had been summer. In the inn garden were orange-trees loaded 
 with ripe fruit. The olive-groves about Nice are particularly 
 fine, and the shade in hot weather nmst be delightful. I re- 
 marked many trees five feet in diameter, and bearing the marks 
 of extreme old age. The north coast of the Mediterranean 
 seems to be particularly favourable to the olive, and it visibly 
 degenerates in whichever direction it recedes. On New Year's 
 Day all the inhabitants of any consideration were out in the 
 streets in full Court dresses, calling upon one another, and when 
 they met, kissing in the streets — very wretches most of them — 
 priests hugging officers, and officers hugging priests. I hugged 
 myself that I knew none of them, to have such a liberty taken 
 with me by such rapscallions. The oranges in this country are 
 not near so good as we get in England, but I hke them for their 
 freshness ; and for the same reason I think the lemons delicious. 
 After all, the trees, as they are pruned for bearing, are too formal 
 to be beautiful — they look like trees in a pantomime, but they 
 certainly give the environs of Nice a very rich appearance. 
 
 We embarked on board a felucca on the 4th, but landed at 
 Monaco on account of contrary winds. There we took mules to 
 this place, the road been rendered impracticable for carriages by 
 the greatest storm there has been for forty years. We had a 
 very pleasant, healthy, and interesting journey of four days, with 
 three mules and two muleteers on foot, who kept pace with us, 
 sometimes at the rate of seven miles an hour. The road is most 
 interesting from the beautiful situations of the towns and villages, 
 the almost constant view of the sea, the numerous and extensive 
 olive, and orange, and lemon groves, and the various evergreens 
 and herbs with which the rocks and mountains are covered. I 
 recognized many plants which we grow in green-houses. We 
 entered Genoa at full trot, Chapuis, our courier, in grand cos- 
 tume, galloping before us. cracking his whip in the true French 
 style, cutting right and left at everybody that came in his way, 
 swearing and calling out in the most imperious manner, and our 
 two muleteers running along in the greatest glee. At first I was 
 quite ashamed of the display, but everybody seemed to take it 
 in good part, and rather to like what in England would have 
 caused Chapuis to have been knocked off his mule at least 
 twenty times. He had been courier to Bonaparte, and he 
 seemed to forget for the moment that he was not in the Imperial 
 service. 
 
io6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 I must not omit to mention the excellence of my mule, which 
 I rode down the steepest and most slippery places in perfect 
 safety. She only committed one fault, and that was in stopping 
 at an inn, when the muleteers were in advance. Two men 
 whipping behind, two pulling before, and myself kicking in the 
 middle, could not induce her to move, except kicking most 
 violently both behind and before, till at last one of the muleteers 
 returned and set me forward. 
 
 What a splendid place Genoa is ! The palaces I think 
 much superior in magnificence to those at Venice, and I have 
 never seen anything comparable to the line of the three 
 principal streets. The environs too are quite delightful on all 
 sides, and I never saw such a number of magnificent residences. 
 The room in which I am writing is splendidly ornamented with 
 gilding and fresco painting. I do not think I ever saw in 
 London so superb an apartment ; but in cold weather, as this is, 
 it is impossible to keep oneself warm. The floors are all tiled. 
 It seems the fashion to live high up. Our rooms, which are in 
 the principal suite of a former palace, are nearly at the top of a 
 lofty building. We have eighty-six marble steps to ascend to 
 get to them, and it is something the same in most of the palaces 
 I have seen. I believe the family in general only occupy the 
 principal floor, and sometimes content themselves with less ; 
 and, indeed, it is impossible for an individual to want the whole 
 of some of these immense piles. In one palace I counted 
 twenty-five windows in front on one floor. In many, carriages 
 drive into the vestibule ; and the staircases, landing-places, and 
 halls are in proportion. To-day aU the world was out. The 
 men wrap themselves up in large cloaks, but the women are 
 lightly clad and wear only a thin piece of muslin thrown over 
 their heads, but not covering the face, with dark curls on each 
 side the forehead. The lower orders use printed calico. The 
 muslin gives an elegant and delicate appearance, and in general 
 the complexions are good, and the manner and air prepossessing. 
 The men too are rather a fine race. The more I see of the 
 place the more I admire it. 
 
 No. X. V/ednesday, July 22, 1835. 
 
 GOLDSMITHS' HALL. 
 
 On Wednesday last I was shown over the new Hall of the 
 ancient and wealthy City Company of Goldsmiths, when it was 
 in a complete state of preparation for the opening dinner. It is 
 
GOLDSMITHS' HALL. 107 
 
 not my intention to say more of its architectural merits than to 
 express my full agreement with the general opinion, that it 
 exhibits an extraordinary union of magnificence, good taste, and 
 comfort. It is in a political and moral point of view that I am 
 going to consider it— as one of the institutions in accordance 
 with my ideas of free, efficient, and enjoyable government. I 
 have long entertained great admiration of the constitution of the 
 government of the City of London, and I believe to that con- 
 stitution we are greatly indebted for the preservation of our 
 liberties through so many ages. Not only on many critical 
 occasions have the citizens sto'od forth the sturdy champions of 
 political rights, but it can scarcely be doubted that apprehension 
 of their power has frequently prevented arbitrary measures from 
 having been even meditated. Such a citadel, always well 
 garrisoned, and, what is of no small consequence, always well 
 provlsw?icd, close to the seat of government, cannot have been 
 without the most influential effects. The circumstances, too, 
 of the King himself not entering the City without first being 
 announced ""to the Lord Mayor at the gates, and of no soldiers 
 being allowed to be introduced without consent, have_ been 
 outworks not without use— especially the latter, because it has 
 enabled spirited magistrates to furnish examples of the supe- 
 riority of moral influence over physical force in quelling disturb- 
 ances. The strength of the City has depended both upon the 
 union and the division of its government— upon its union under 
 the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, the Court of Common Council, 
 and the Liver\- ; upon its division into wards and companies, 
 though the latter may be considered as only collateral, but 
 still very important. The union has produced unity of action 
 and influence— the division has produced discipline and that 
 confidence which arises from a habit of consulting and acting 
 together in compact bodies, without which everything is vague 
 and mob-like. The reasons why the City government has not 
 exhibited all the advantages of which it appears capable, I 
 apprehend to be twofold : first, because the boundaries have 
 not from time to time been extended, in like manner as the 
 Romans were wont to extend their city boundaries, as popu- 
 lation and wealth increased ; and secondly, for want of local 
 improvement, which has gradually driven away the higher 
 classes of inhabitants, so that City honours have had a con- 
 tinual tendency to fall into lower and lower hands. In other 
 parts of the country the machinery and splendour of local 
 government are quite inadequate to what is wanted ; in the City 
 it is the reverse, and there is consequently a waste, upon a 
 population diminishing both in number and quality, of what 
 would suffice for far more extended purposes. The City is like 
 an ancient mansion kept up in all its former splendour after it 
 
io8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 has become so inconv^enient that the best members of the family 
 will no longer live in it; and, consequently, that which would 
 amply supply their wants is lavished upon less worthy objects 
 and for inadequate ends. It is an establishment much larger and 
 more expensive than the locality requires, and those who are 
 called citizens are for the most part no longer really such, but 
 outlying members and foreigners, who attach themselves for 
 what they can get, without having any corresponding duties to 
 perform, or any substantial interests to connect them. If 
 government and the means of government were made co- 
 extensive, the benefits would be great in all ways. The dis- 
 tinctions, wealth, and various advantages pertaining to the City, 
 in the different ramifications of its government, would be 
 increased in attraction by diffusion, instead of being incon- 
 veniently confined to a limited district of crowded or narrow 
 streets, thronged with business and deserted as to residence 
 by the chief persons who have occasion to attend there. The 
 City companies, which were originally so many brotherhoods 
 for the protection of different trading interests, have become 
 in these times, I apprehend, nearly useless in that view ; but as 
 social bodies, governing themselves, I consider them of high 
 importance, and as so many strongholds of freedom, if it 
 were seriously attacked. They give a community of interest, 
 they increase each individual membei-'s stake in the country, 
 they create aggregate power, and a brotherly and social feeling, 
 forming altogether solid bulwarks to the body politic. I have 
 already alluded to the importance of the City being well-pro- 
 visioned ; and although City feasting is often a subject of joke, 
 and is no doubt sometimes carried to excess, yet I am of 
 opinion that a great deal of English spirit is owing to it ; and 
 that as long as men are so often emboldened by good cheer, 
 they are in no danger of becoming slaves. The City halls, with 
 their feasts, their music, and their inr.piriting associations, are 
 so many temples of liberty ; and I only wish that they could be 
 dispersed through the metropolis, and have each a local govern- 
 ment attached in proportion to the means of the establishment. 
 Then would there be objects worthy of the highest intelligence, 
 united with social attractions ; and improvement in government 
 might be expected to become steadily progressive. 
 
 SILVER THREEPENCES AND FOURPENCES. 
 
 I HAVE often thought it would be very advantageous in our daily 
 money transactions to have some silver coins of smaller value 
 than sixpence. In pursuing the subject, I have come to the 
 conclusion that it would be beneficial in three ways, and to a 
 
SILVER THREEPENCES AND EOURPENCES. 109 
 
 more considerable extent than I at first supposed. First, it 
 would greatly increase small traffic, to the convenience of 
 buyers, and the profit of sellers. Copper money is both 
 disagreeable and cumbersome, and, to avoid carrying it, we con- 
 tinuallv abstain from laying out trifling sums, to the privation of 
 many little enjoyments and comforts. It is hardly necessary to 
 mention instances. They occur constantly, in passing along the 
 streets, in travelling, and, in short, in much of our every-day 
 intercourse— so that at the end of the year both we, and those 
 with whom we should deal, are considerable losers. How often 
 would a biscuit or an orange be grateful and wholesome ! but 
 the nuisance of five pence is a general bar to the purchase, and 
 the same with a multitude of twopenny and threepenny matters. 
 How often, to avoid the weight and jingle of copper, do we 
 avoid or stop short of a turnpike ! 
 
 The second advantage would be the more accurate regulation 
 of prices and payments, which is of no small consequence in our 
 daily dealings. How many articles are charged sixpence or a 
 shilling, when they could be well afforded much cheaper, 
 merely for the convenience of payment! Consequently, the 
 traffic is very much diminished by a natural repugnance to give 
 more than the value ; or, if the purchase is made, it is accom-_ 
 panied by a certain degree of dissatisfaction, which takes oft 
 from the enjoyment. Not only is cheapness an inducement to 
 buy, but all prudent people like to have value received. On the 
 other hand, for the same convenience of payment, the price is 
 necessarily sometimes fixed too low, to the loss of the seller. 
 At the great clubs, where no article is served for less than 
 sixpence, double the quantity wanted is often given, or nothmg 
 at all is charged. The consequence is, a restraint on the con- 
 sumption of many extras, or a loss to the general account. The 
 want of smaller coins is a great drawback to the frequent use of 
 cabs, and the same may be said perhaps of boats on the Thames. 
 People do not like to be constantly paying an over-price, or to 
 be encumbered with pence, to the great detriment of the callings ; 
 for^ though sometimes too much is paid, far more frequently 
 employment is altogether lost. 
 
 The third advantage would be in the regulation of gratuities 
 for small services, such as to waiters, or porters at inns, on 
 occasions where sixpence is beyond reason too much, or to 
 horse-holders in the streets ; and here those employed are either 
 paid extravagantly, or not at all, or their services are refused. 
 Every one must have experienced again and again the annoy- 
 ance of applications for gratuities, which it is difficult equitably 
 to make pavment of, and the consequent dissatisfaction of one 
 party or the other, or perhaps of both. The instances I have 
 given of the inconvenience of the want of small coins are only 
 
no THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 by way of specimens, but others will easily suggest themselves. 
 In conclusion, I am of opinion that an abundant supply of 
 silver threepences or fourpences would materially increase the 
 profits of many small branches of trade, and of various humble 
 callings ; that it would contribute much to the convenience and 
 contentment of those who have purchases to make, or services 
 to requite ; and that any expense of coinage would be far more 
 than counterbalanced by an increase of revenue from an increase 
 of traffic. I say nothing of the effect it would have upon casual 
 charity, because I am decidedly opposed to the practice ; but its 
 greatest merit in my eyes is, that it would improve the market 
 for honest industry. 
 
 The following table will show, that by means of a supply of 
 threepenny and fourpenny -pieces any sum not involving the 
 fraction of a penny might be paid without the intervention of 
 copper. For the information of those unacquainted with 
 algebraical signs, the sign + signifies, with the addition of; — 
 signifies less by; and =, equal to. Thus, 8 + 2 — 3 = 7 signifies 
 8, with the addition of 2, and less by 3, is equal to 7. 
 
 d. d. d. d. d. d. d. 
 
 4-3= I 6+4+4=14 
 
 6—4= 2 12+3=15 
 
 12-4-3= 5 12+4=16 
 
 4+3= 7 12+4+4-3=17 
 
 4+4= 8 12+4+3=19 
 
 6+3= 9 12+4+4 = 20 
 
 6+4=10 12+6+3 = 21 
 
 4+4+3 = 11 12+6+4=22 
 
 6+4+3 = 13 12+12+3-4— 23 
 
 INJURY AND INSULT. 
 
 People are generally very ready to put up with even intentional 
 injury, when neither preceded nor followed by insult. I recol- 
 lect a strong instance of this. A man applied to me for a 
 warrant against another for knocking out one of his front-teeth, 
 which he held up before me. On my remarking upon his loss, 
 he replied, " Oh ! I should not have come for that, only he 
 called me a thief." It is useful in going through life to bear 
 in mind that courtesy to, and sympathy with, those we have 
 accidentally injured, ordinarily diminish greatly the amount of 
 reparation required, and sometimes even inspire as much good- 
 will as a benefit conferred. 
 
MARRIAGE IN LOW LIFE. 
 
 COUNTRY HOUSES. 
 
 When I used to frequent country houses, I often heard com- 
 plaints made of the difficulty of getting down London society, 
 especially m parts remote from the metropolis. Invitations for 
 a short period, it was said, are not worth accepting, and for a long 
 one, except in particular cases, not desirable. The easiest 
 remedy for this dilemma seems to be for persons acquainted 
 with each other, who reside in the same part of the country, or 
 on the same route, to make out lists of those they would wish to 
 invite, and for what periods, and at what times. Then, by a com- 
 parison, arrangements might often be made, holding out sufficient 
 inducements, and satisfactory to all parties. 
 
 MARRIAGE IN LOW LIFE. 
 
 A FEW days since, when sitting on the bench, I received the 
 following note from a clergyman : " W. 13. is in custody on a 
 charge of drunkenness. He is wanted here to be married. If his 
 case will allow, discharge him that he may be at church before 
 twelve o'clock." It then only wanted a quarter, so I had the 
 prisoner brought up immediately, and finding his offence was 
 not of a very grave nature, in consideration of the feelings of his 
 intended, I let him go, under a promise that he would return to be 
 judged. He was as good as his w^ord ; indeed, I am not sure 
 that the police did not keep an eye upon him. It appeared that in 
 order to make the most of his last moments of bachelorship, he 
 had gone with three companions to Astley's Theatre, thence to 
 supper, and was finishing his amusements with knocking at 
 doors and ringing bells, when he was captured at three o'clock 
 in the morning, after an assault upon a policeman. From church 
 his wife attended him to the office, and waited, I suppose with 
 anxiety, the result of my decision, which was a fine of five shil- 
 lings. This is rather an extreme case ; but I am afraid that 
 marriage amongst the very lowest classes is in general a very 
 thoughtless, joyless affair from beginning to end. Why it is so 
 I may on some future occasion endeavour to show. 
 
 Now I am on the subject of low life, which may have some 
 interest with those of my readers who know nothing of it but by 
 report, I will here mention a scene I witnessed in one of my 
 rounds alluded to in my last number. On entering an obscure 
 and dirty court, about two o'clock in the morning, we heard a 
 loud laugh from a room in which there were lights. We were 
 informed by the officer who accompanied us that it was called 
 the painted chamber, from the walls being covered with rude 
 
112 rilE ORIGINAL. 
 
 drawings, principally, as I recollect, of ships and portraits. In 
 the room were about eight beds, in each of which was a man 
 with a lighted candle over his head, and a pipe in his mouth, 
 enjoying and contributing to the wit of the party. After talking 
 with them for some time, we left them to their mirth. These 
 men were by profession beggars, and were the choice spirits of 
 their order — no doubt as much exclusives as the most select 
 circles in the west. It can only be in a neglected state of society 
 that talent can be so degraded. 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 Many people are dreadfully shocked at anythins; like insolence. 
 It docs not affect me at all ; but I have a horror of servility. 
 The former often partakes of the nature of independence; the 
 latter always of that of meanness. I do not mind a man not 
 taking off his hat to me ; but one that will not put it on, in spite 
 of all I can say, is a great annoyance. I do not dislike a little 
 vanity ; it is ever an ingredient in the composition of agrecable- 
 ness. But humility makes me shudder, as being a sort of reptile 
 that I am always afraid of treading upon ; besides, like many 
 other reptiles, it is very venomous at times. There is a sweetish, 
 pulpy manner, which I have observed uniformly covers, both in 
 men and women, a bitter kernel. What I most depend upon is a 
 sort of slow, substantial, John ]>uUish civility. 
 
 Few men ever enjoyed marked popular favour for their own 
 merits, but out of opposition to others. The English ladies, who 
 during the war had the bad taste to place Bonaparte's bust in 
 their houses, did it not out of admiration for him, but out of 
 hatred to those who were opposing him. 
 
 HORRORS OF WAR. 
 
 The letter from which the extract below is made came accident- 
 ally into my hands. It is froin an officer to his brother-in-law. 
 Having shown it to a friend of mine, it appeared in the Times 
 newspaper, in 1830, with the following preface: "Though the 
 following extract refers to an event of no very recent date, yet 
 there is something so characteristic in its military bluntness and 
 simplicity, and so impressive in its powerful but unaffected 
 description of the horrors of war, that our readers will, wc dare 
 say, not think their time wasted in perusing it." 
 
 "Camp near Bhurtpore, Feb. 7, 1826. 
 " The Jauts profess to neither give nor receive quarter, and the 
 most horrible sight I ever saw was the following day of the 
 storm. I went round the walls, and found five or six thousand 
 
ADDRESS TO LABOURERS. 113 
 
 of the garrison lying dead— the artillery-men under their guns, 
 which they had never thought of quitting— the Sepoys strewed 
 in every direction, so as to make it difficult to pass without 
 treading on a body. A soldiers blood by this time is as cool as 
 yours, Jack, and you may judge of my feelings by your own, 
 when I tell you that at each gateway there were five or six 
 hundred carcases lying one upon another in all the attitudes of 
 death you can imagine a human being to exhibit on such an 
 occasion ; and, as in sudden death the countenance retains the 
 expression of the last moments of feeling, you might read defiance, 
 fear, resignation, and fury in the same assemblage. The expres- 
 sion of agony and pain was beyond description. These gallant 
 soldiers wore a dress made like an Englishwoman's warm winter 
 pelisse of two pieces of coloured calico, and stuffed with raw 
 cotton and quilted, which garment was intended to serve the 
 double purpose of warmth and armour, as a sword would not cut 
 through. In consequence, when our people came in close con- 
 tact -svith them at those gateways, where the enemy could retreat 
 no further, their dress caught fire, and as hundreds fell one upon 
 the other, many were burnt, both of the wounded and the dead. 
 I was so horror-struck, that I could have knelt down, resigned 
 my commission, and forsworn war in all its circumstances ; and 
 lam not ver}' squeamish either, for I have seen many horrible 
 sights in my time, but none like this." 
 
 ADDRESS TO LABOURERS. 
 
 [The foUownng address to a number of pauperized labourers (taken from 
 the Appendix to my pamphlet on Pauperism) was written with a view to 
 particular application, but, owing to circumstances, was never made use 
 of. It was intended for the commencement of an improvement of system. 
 I insert it here principaHy for the purpose of inculcating what I conceive to 
 be right notions into the minds of those who, with the best intentions, are 
 apt to mislead the labouring classes, and to uphold them in courses most 
 detrimental to their welfare.] 
 
 I WISH to talk to you a little about your condition, which I 
 would willingly help you to mend. 
 
 You ought to be better fed, better clothed, and better lodged. 
 Every labourer in the land should be able to earn sufficient 
 wages to procure himself a constant supply of comfortable 
 clothing and nourishing food ; he ought to have the means of 
 bringing up his children decently, and of teaching them what is 
 suitable to their condition ; he should be able to provide against 
 the common accidents and sicknesses of life, and also to lay by 
 a sufficient store to maintain his old age in comfort. 
 
 All this he should be able to do by his own industry. There 
 are many things to be considered and many things to be done, in 
 
114 ^-^^ ORIGINAL. 
 
 order to bring about this change. Let us begin with considering 
 parish relief— what it is, and what effect it produces. There is 
 nothing which concerns you more. I dare say you think parish 
 relief is something in addition to wages. You are mistaken : it 
 is chiefly a part of wages, but given in a manner most hurtful to 
 those who receive and those who pay. I will try to make this 
 matter plain to you. Let us suppose there to be two parishes, 
 each containing twenty farms and one hundred labourers, and 
 suppose the labour of each man to cost the farmer 2s. a day, 
 but that in one parish the labourer only receives \s. 6d., the 6d. 
 being kept back, and put into a fund, to be paid to him upon 
 certain conditions. Suppose also, that in the other parish, at the 
 end of each week, each man receives for each day he has worked 
 his full wages of 2s., and suppose that he has nothing farther to 
 look to. You understand, as he does his work, he receives the 
 whole of his wages of 2s. a day ; and upon his wages alone he is 
 to depend in sickness and in health, whether he has work or 
 whether he has none, and for the maintenance of his family 
 whether large or small, and in his old age he is to have nothing 
 to look to but the savings of his youth. Let us see how it is 
 likely he will conduct himself. As he has good wages, he \yill 
 be able to live well, and to work hard ;* now, as there is nothing 
 so good for health as hard work with good living, he will seldom 
 lose any time from sickness, or be at any expense for the doctor. 
 As he will have no pay if he cannot get work, he will take care 
 to keep a good character, and satisfy his employer. As he will 
 have no allowance for a large family, he will not marry till a 
 reasonable time, and will most likely look out for a wife like 
 himself, who can work hard and manage well. As he knows the 
 comforts of his old age must depend entirely upon the prudence 
 of his early years, he will constantly be laying by part of his 
 wages, and, as a steady man generally keeps his strength long, he 
 will be able to save enough to spend his latter days in ease and 
 independence. In such a parish is not this the way that people 
 would generally go on ? 
 
 {To be cofitifiued.) 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 
 
 Lerici, January i6, 1822. 
 Yesterday we travelled on horseback all day over wild and 
 barren mountains, the road often veiy steep and rugged ; but 
 where it would permit, we generally went at full gallop. We 
 changed horses at every post, and a man meant for a postillion, 
 
 * Tliis was written in a county where living is very cheap and wages low. 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 115 
 
 though perfectly unUke our idea of one, rode before us. The 
 cattle and furniture were of the most curious description — 
 rather of a beggarly description, or rather, they beggar descrip- 
 tion ; however, the beasts get along, and are much safer than 
 they look. A priest and a lady riding astride, or rather sitting 
 on the top of her horse with one foot on each side, as is the 
 manner here, accompanied us part of the way. The felucca 
 arrived this morning with our carriage ; but, because the captain 
 had taken a passenger on board who was not mentioned in his 
 papers, a council of health deliberated before it could be landed. 
 You have no idea how strict they are on this coast, for fear of 
 infection. 
 
 Florence, Febraary 2. 
 
 I do not like Florence as a city so much as I expected ; but the 
 statues and paintings are above all praise. I idolize the Venus, 
 and go to worship her almost every morning. There is an air 
 of divinity about her, which did not break in upon me till after 
 repeated contemplation, and which, I dare say, the many never 
 discover at all, though they praise her as if they did. Pieced, 
 restored, discoloured, what must she have been when fresh from 
 the sculptor's chisel ? On Thursday we went to a grand ball, 
 given by the Prince Borghese, Bonaparte's brother-in-law, on 
 the opening of his palace, after a complete refitting. He is the 
 richest man in Florence. All the best people here, both natives 
 and foreigners, with many ladies from Sienna and Bologna, were 
 present. The vestibule was filled with orange-trees, so as to form a 
 delicious grove for the company to pass through, and the staircase 
 was lined with beautiful plants and flowers, amongst which was a 
 profusion of the finest lilies-of-the-valley I ever saw. There were 
 sixteen rooms open, all newly and superbly decorated. The ball- 
 room, which is large, lofty, s.nd well-proportioned, is lined, as far 
 as is seen, with mirrors, partially concealed by pink and white 
 silk hangings. The ceiling is newly painted with the Triumph of 
 Scipio. The whole was most brilliantly lighted, the music ex- 
 cellent, and the company in their best. The Englishmen were 
 superior in appearance to the Englishwomen — the contrary as 
 to the Florentines. The Italian ladies dress beautifully, especially 
 the head. Indeed, this is truly the land of taste, and I never 
 saw such a display of it as the other night, in many particulars. 
 Several of the Italian women were very fine-looking — two beau- 
 tiful ; one so much so, that she was constantly the centre of a 
 circle of gazers, in which situation custom, I suppose, had made 
 her perfectly, but beco'hiingly, at her ease. I preferred the other, 
 from a nameless something in her appearance, and I was glad 
 to learn that, though of high rank and great riches, her fame is 
 as fair as her person — a very singular case here. I am happy to 
 say my companion was the most elegant-looking man in the 
 
Ii6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 room by much, and I think the most gentleman-Hke dancer. 
 The Itahans do not appear to me to dance well, and, what 
 surprised me, I observed several out of time. 
 
 Italian horses do not well understand English riding, and 
 many are the accidents in consequence. I was one of a party 
 the other day in the Cascine, or Hyde Park of Florence, when it 
 was proposed to charge a ditch. The foremost horse fell, and 
 in rising contrived to drive in with his forefoot the lower part of 
 his rider's nose, so as in appearance utterly to annihilate it. He 
 was horribly disfigured ; and, as he is a young and gay fellow, 
 when he felt the full extent of the injury, he was naturally a 
 good deal affected. He had all our sympathies. Two of us 
 galloped off for medical assistance, and the rest put him into a 
 carriage, which a Russian nobleman lent on the occasion. By 
 the time the patient arrived, in our zeal we had collected five 
 doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries, English and Italian, but 
 happily little remained for them to do. During his melancholy 
 progress, accompanied by one of the party, the sufferer, by an 
 irresistible impulse, kept applying his hand' to the part affected, 
 till most unexpectedly, and precisely after the manner of the toy 
 called Jack-in-the-box, the nose started into its proper place 
 ngain, and at the same instant despair was converted into 
 extravagant joy. This accident has had the effect of making us 
 rather more careful than hitherto, which may contribute to the 
 safety of others, as well as our own. A few days since, in making 
 a sharp turn quick, I was very near riding over the Grand Duke, 
 who was walking with his family. Such things, which might be 
 attended with unpleasant consequences to natives, are over- 
 looked in the Enghsh ; partly, I suppose, from consideration of our 
 national character, and partly, no doubt, from motives of interest. 
 I must give you another little anecdote of the hero of the nose. 
 One day, when a party of us had sat at table tiU after midnight, 
 he sallied forth alone, and "hot with the Tuscan grape." Appre- 
 hensive of the consequences, I followed him, and found him 
 on one of the bridges over the Arno, engaged with a solitary 
 Frenchman, with whom he was insisting upon having a boxing 
 match. The Frenchman, with the instinctive horror of his 
 nation of an English fist, deprecated most earnestly any such 
 proceeding. With much difficulty 1 induced my friend to go 
 away, and I received for my successful interference a shake by 
 the hand more expressive of gratitude than I ever experienced 
 before. 
 
 There is a society here, called the Misericordia Society, of 
 which I have heard the following account, but do not know if it 
 is accurate. It is composed of men of the highest rank, whose 
 business it is, in case of accident or sudden death, to assemble 
 at the sound of a bell, and render what assistance may be 
 
LETTERS FROM THE COI^TINENT. 117 
 
 necessary. That there may be no personal ostentation, they 
 wear black masks. I met about a dozen of them the other day 
 bearing a dead body through the streets. They were all dressed 
 in black dominos, and, as it rained, in very broad slouched hats. 
 They never spoke, and relieved one another in carrying with 
 great dexterity and quickness. Their step struck mc as un- 
 usually majestic, probably from their dress, and the solemnity 
 of their occupations. It was a very imposing sight. I am told 
 that sometimes the Grand Duke himself goes out and assists. 
 
 It is very, very cold here — much colder than I ever felt it in 
 England. The air is so thin, and the wind often so strong, that 
 it seems literally to blow through one. The men constantly 
 wear cloaks, ordinarily hanging open, but the moment they 
 come upon the wind, they throw them over the left shoulder, 
 and carefully cover their mouths. The houses are contrived 
 with reference to hot weather, and are very comfortless to 
 English feeling at this season. After dinner we often sit in our 
 travelling cloaks, with napkins put upon our heads like judges' 
 wigs, which is very efficacious. The streets are kept extremely 
 clean, not, I apprehend, so much from a love of cleanliness, as 
 from economy of manure to keep up the very high cultivation of 
 the surrounding country. 
 
 Florence abounds with palaces of a severe and prison-like 
 appearance, built for defence by her grandees in turbulent but 
 highly interesting times— the very opposite of the peace, security 
 and dulness which reign at present. Then all the faculties of 
 the soul were called into action, and virtues and vices were both 
 prominent. Now everything is decent in appearance through 
 the watchfulness of the Government ; but the absence of all 
 political interest necessarily reduces the moral standard to a 
 low level — so that we may almost say here, with Hamlet, 
 
 "What is a man, 
 If his chief good, and market of his time 
 Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more. 
 Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before, and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason 
 To rust in us unused." 
 
 [The Art of Attaining High Health will be continued in the 
 next number.] 
 
( n8 ) 
 
 No. XL "Wednesday, July 29, 1835. 
 
 OFFICE OF CORONER. 
 
 The longer my experience and contemplation of our ancient 
 political institutions, the greater is my admiration of the wis- 
 dom of their original principles, and the more ardent my desire 
 to see their complete adaptation to present circumstances. 
 Amongst the offices derived from the common law, there is none 
 more consonant with English principles, or which is calculated 
 to be more efficient, than that of Coroner. He is elected by the 
 freeholders, and acts only with the assistance of a jury. I think 
 if the office were newly regulated, it would greatly promote the 
 public welfare, and save a great deal of legislation, which can 
 never produce equally beneficial results. The election at present 
 is eminently exposed to the objection alluded to in the article on 
 parochial government in my fourth number, namely, '"that the 
 relation between the electors and the elected is too slight to 
 make the electors sufficiently careful in their choice." The 
 coroner for a part of a county is elected by the freeholders of the 
 whole, and consequently the majority, feeling no public interest 
 in their votes, give them to serve private ends. This has led 
 very much to the practice of making the office a provision for 
 persons unsuccessful in their profession, and whom their friends 
 spare no activity thus to disburden themselves of. I do not say 
 that it is by any means always so ; but it certainly happens 
 sufficiently often to degrade the office, and to give it a tone and 
 influence below what its very important duties entitle it to. 
 The number of coroners, within my recollection, of inferior 
 capacity and discretion has always been very great, and I believe 
 solely from the reasons above assigned. The inferiority of 
 coroners has naturally led to a corresponding inferiority of 
 juries, except in very particular cases ; a defect which the 
 more enlightened must feel it difficult to overcome, on account 
 of the established practice. The frequently enormous and un- 
 necessary expense of elections, too, must have tended to furnish 
 a sort of justification for pecuniary laxity quite inconsistent with 
 impartial justice, and to which there are peculiarly strong tempta- 
 tions. The remedy for this defect in election is only to be 
 found by confining the right of voting to the district over which 
 the coroner is to preside, as lately contemplated, and by making 
 each district of a reasonable extent. A higher class of coroners 
 would no doubt produce a higher class of jurors, though the 
 coroners do not select ; but if that should not be the result it 
 might easily be accomplished by other means. 
 
OFFICE OF CORONER. 119 
 
 One circumstance, which renders the coroner's inquest much 
 less beneficial than it is capable of being, is the practice of 
 imposing nominal or trifling fines, by way of dcodands. This 
 practice, I apprehend, has arisen, in a great measure, from the 
 deodand being payable to the King, or to his grantee, generally 
 the lord of the manor. Such application is too remote in the 
 first case, and unsatisfactory in the second ; and therefore I 
 think the rights of the Crown should be transferred, and those of 
 individuals be purchased for the little they have become worth. 
 If the fines were made payable to some public and local fund of 
 acknowledged utility, the intention of imposing them, which is 
 for the punishment and prevention of neglect, would not be frus- 
 trated, as it now is. The intention and the application would 
 both be manifestly for the pubhc benefit. 
 
 Notwithstanding the defects which have crept into the 
 administration of the coroner's duties, I think, so far as crime 
 has been concerned, inquests have, for the most part, been 
 tolerably efficient ; but that may be said to be almost the least 
 important part, inasmuch as the same investigation may be 
 made, and often is, by justices of the peace. It is with reference 
 to loss of life by accidents that a new practice is more par- 
 ticularly required, and it is of more importance than perhaps 
 at first sight may appear. The great majority of fatal accidents, 
 I believe, would be found, if strictly investigated, to be the 
 consequences, directly or indirectly, of neglect, or of culpable 
 disregard of the interest of others, from parsimony or some 
 other" selfish motive. If, then, in all cases of accidental death, a 
 searching inquiry were entered into by a coroner of high 
 character and great acuteness, assisted by intelligent and 
 respectable jurors, and fines were imposed in proportion to the 
 degree of blame discovered, a great improvement as to general 
 safet yand convenience must be the consequence. For instance, 
 if it were found that the death of a labourer, by falling from a 
 scaffold, might have been prevented by a better construction, 
 and a moderate fine were imposed, with an intimation that any 
 similar case would in future be probably more severely treated, 
 self-interest would soon produce the required improvement in 
 scaffolding. In the same manner, adequate fines for death, by 
 the overturning of coaches, or by improper driving, or from 
 accidents in mines, or from any other cause, would ensure those 
 precautions which would be productive of great additional 
 security and convenience. By making severe examples in cases 
 of fatal accidents, the chances of accidents at all would be 
 materially diminished, and this I think could in no way be so 
 effectually accomplished as by the process of a coroner's 
 inquest. It is a prompt inquiry by those who have the best means 
 of judging and the strongest inducements to do what is right. 
 
I20 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 I subjoin a passage from Blackstone's Commentaries, showing 
 what kind of officer it was originally intended the coroner should 
 be. With the latter part of the passage, notwithstanding the 
 authority of Sir Edward Coke, I cannot agree, as I am of 
 opinion that it is expedient that those who serve the pubhc 
 should be paid by the public. 
 
 " The coroner is chosen by all the freeholders in the county 
 court, as by the policy of our ancient laws the sheriffs, and 
 conservators of the peace, and all other officers were, who were 
 concerned in matters that affected the liberty of the people. 
 For this purpose there is a writ at common law for the election 
 of coroner, in which it is expressly commanded the sheriff to 
 cause such an one to be chosen as may be best qualified for the 
 office; and in order to effect this the more surely, it was enacted 
 by the statute of Westminster (in the time of Edward I.) that 
 none but lawful and discreet knights should be chosen. But it 
 seems it is now sufficient if a man hath lands enough to be 
 made a knight, for the coroner ought to have an estate sufficient 
 to maintain the dignity of his office, and answer any fines that 
 may be set upon him for his misbehaviour ; and if he hath not 
 enough to answer, his fine shall be levied on the county, as the 
 punishment for electing an insufficient officer. Now indeed, 
 through the culpable neglect of gentlemen of property, this office 
 has been suffered to fall into disrepute, and get into low and 
 indigent hands ; so that, although formerly no coroners would 
 condescend to be paid for serving their country, and they were 
 by the aforesaid statute of Westminster expressly forbidden to 
 take a reward, under pain of a great forfeiture to the king, yet 
 for many years past they have only desired to be chosen for the 
 sake of their perquisites ; being allowed fees for their attendance 
 by the statute 3 Henry VII. c. i., which Sir Edward Coke com- 
 plains of heavily, though since his time those fees have been 
 much enlarged."' 
 
 CHANGE IN COMMERCE. 
 
 I HAVE by tradition the following particulars of the mode of 
 carrying on the home trade by one of the principal merchants of 
 Manchester, who was born at the commencement of the last 
 century, and who realized a sufficient fortune to keep a carriage 
 when not half a dozea were kept in the town by persons con- 
 nected with business. He sent the manufactures of the place 
 into Nottinghamshire, Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, and tlie 
 intervening counties, and principally took in exchange feathers 
 from. Lincolnshire, and malt from Cambridgeshire and Not- 
 tinghamshire. All his commodities were conveyed on pack- 
 horses, and he was from home the greater part of every year 
 
CHANGE OF COMMERCE. 121 
 
 performing his journeys entirely on horseback. His balances 
 were received in guineas, and were carried with him in his saddle- 
 bags. He was exposed to the vicissitudes of the weather, to 
 great labour and fatigue, and to constant danger. In Lincoln- 
 shire he travelled chiefly along bridle-ways through fields, 
 where frequent gibbets warned him of his perils, and where 
 flocks of wildfowl continually darkened the air. Business car- 
 ried on in this manner required a combination of personal atten- 
 tion, courage, and physical strength, not to be hoped for in 
 a deputy ; and a merchant then led a much more severe and 
 irksome life than a bagman afterwards, and still more than a 
 traveller of the present day. Competition could but be small ; 
 but the returns from the capital were not so high in reality as 
 in appearance, because the wages of labour ought to be deducted, 
 and probably the same exertion now would produce from the 
 same beginnings ten times the fortune. The improvements in 
 the mode of carr}'ing on commerce, and its increase, may be 
 attributed in a great degree to the increased facility of communi- 
 cation, and the difference between the times I have alluded to 
 and the present is nearly as great as that between a pack-horse 
 and a steam-carriage. What will be the progress fifty years 
 hence defies calculation. I lately heard a striking instance of 
 the advantages of steam in towing vessels. An Indiaman used 
 sometimes to lie at Blackwall six weeks before she could get to 
 Gravesend, because she had to wait for a combination of spring 
 tides and a favourable wind. Now the same sized vessel could 
 get down with certainty in three hours. 
 
 Before I conclude this article, I will relate, that in the eai'lier 
 days of the merchant above mentioned, the wine merchant who 
 supplied Manchester resided at Preston, then always called 
 Proud Preston, because exclusively inhabited by gentry. The 
 wine was carried on horses, and a gallon was considered a large 
 order. Men in business confined themselves generally to punch 
 and ale, using wine only as a medicine, or on very extraordinary 
 occasions ; so that a considerable tradesman somewhat injured 
 his credit amongst his neighbours, by being so extravagant as to 
 send to a tavern for wine even to entertain a London customer. 
 Before Preston itself existed, in the time of the Romans the 
 only port in Lancashire was a few miles higher up the River 
 Ribble, and was called Rerigonium, of which there is now 
 scarcely any or no trace. If I rightly recollect my reading, the 
 chief e.xports to Rome consisted of willow baskets, bull-dogs, 
 and slaves. Rerigonium was the Liverpool of the present day. 
 
THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Many people give themselves great uneasiness respecting the 
 treatment they meet with from acquaintance ; and that which 
 should be a source of pleasure is rather one of continual 
 mortification and disappointment. This arises from a want of 
 reflection, or want of knowledge of the world, or from not taking 
 pains to strike a balance, or not knowing how to do it. The 
 strongest, and, at the same time, the rarest reason for acquaint- 
 ance, is sympathy of disposition, and that operates under all 
 circumstances. Other reasons are merely accidental, and it 
 requires judgment and temper to understand their force ; as they 
 seldom equally affect both parties, and consequently one party 
 is very apt, on any change taking place, to feel aggrieved. 
 Accidental reasons for acquaintance are neighbourhood, equality 
 of station or fortune, smiilarity of trade, profession, or pursuit, 
 the connecting link of a third person, a com.mon interest on some 
 particular occasion, temporary residence, and others not neces- 
 sary to be enumerated. When a change takes place with respect 
 to one party, and that party either is the superior, or, by the 
 change obtains any advantage of position, it is difficult, except 
 amongst the very reasonable, to regulate future intercourse. 
 There is danger of too much being expected on one side, and 
 too little, either from apprehension or disinclination, being ac- 
 corded on the other. For instance, if two people are acquainted 
 from living in the same neighbourhood, and one cjuits for a 
 better, the other will probably, without sufficiently adverting to 
 circumstances, fancy neglect ; if they both quitted for a better, 
 the balance would adjust itself, and their intercourse would 
 continue, cease, or be weakened, according to mutual conve- 
 nience. The same may be said of equality of station or fortune. 
 Similarity of trade, profession, or pursuit are great causes of 
 acquaintance ; but, being subject to change, the intercourse 
 arising from them is liable, in like manner, to change. People 
 are acquainted because they are merchants, lawyers, geologists, 
 or fox-hunters, and their acquaintance varies with their occupa- 
 tion. New pursuits bring new connections, and almost neces- 
 sarily weaken the old ones. Acquaintance arising from the 
 connecting link of a third person may very often be reasonably 
 discontinued by the link being broken, though the inferior party 
 may not be reasonable enough to admit it. A common interest 
 on some particular occasion, as on an election, causes acquaint- 
 ance, which it is frequently a matter of some difficulty to 
 arrange after the occasion is over. That arising from tempo- 
 rary residence is the most subject to produce dissatisfaction 
 in its continuance under altered circumstances ; as, to put one 
 
ADDRESS TO LABOURERS. 123 
 
 of the strongest cases, if a person, distinguished or sought after 
 in London, visits some remote part of the country, where society 
 is scarce, and the means of hospitahty abundant, the mode 
 of return is not very easy, from a want of knowledge of tlie 
 world on one side, and an apprehension of annoyance on the 
 other The truth is, the society of the stranger ought to be 
 considered as balancing, or nearly so, the cordiality of his 
 reception ; but his fear that it will not be so prevents him from 
 being commonly civil when he meets his entertainers on his own 
 ground, and bitter are the mortifications in consequence. I 
 could enlarge upon these instances, or add to them, but I think 
 they are sufficient for illustration ; and my purpose is to turn 
 the attention of those of my readers who have been sufferers to 
 the subject, in order that they may revolve in their minds how 
 much of what they have attributed to want of consideration, or 
 to slight, has been the almost necessary result of circumstances, 
 and I hope that in consequence they may be able to enjoy the 
 advantages of acquaintance without any painful drawbacks. I 
 will conclude with an anecdote in point, but which I do not 
 recommend for imitation. A distinguished ornament of London 
 society, about half a century since being at Bath, was accus- 
 tomed to converse familiarly with a sort of small gentleman, 
 who frequented the same bookseller's shop. Some time after 
 his return to town he was accosted in St. James's Street by his 
 watering-place acquaintance. " I beg your pardon, sir," he 
 replied, " but really I do not recollect to have seen you before." 
 " Oh yes, you saw me at Bath." " I shall be most happy to see 
 you at Bath again." 
 
 ADDRESS TO I. k'QO'\J^Y.'RS>— {continued). 
 
 Now let us return to the other parish, where the labourer 
 receives for his wages only i^-. 6d. a day of his 2^., and where 
 the 6d. is put into a fund, and suppose the conditions upon 
 which he is to receive anything from the fund to be : first, he must 
 not have saved anything for himself, or if he has, he must have 
 spent it all before he can have any claim ; secondly, he must be 
 unable to get work, or he must be unable to perform it from 
 sickness, accident, or old age ; or thirdly, he must have a larger 
 family than he can possibly keep upon his slender wages. How 
 will a man live then ?' He will begin by saying, what is the use 
 of my saving? besides, how can I save out of i^. Gd. a day? 
 So if he gets more by any chance he will spend it all, because he 
 has given up all thoughts of saving. As he knows that, if he 
 cannot get work, the fund must keep him, he will not so much 
 mind getting a constant place, or giving satisfaction in any 
 place. As, whilst he is young, he does not sec much cauge why 
 
124 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 he should be steady, having the fund to look to, he will take 
 little care of himself; and as he knows that he can manage to 
 keep a small family somehow or other, and that if he has a large 
 one he shall have help, he will marry without thought, and per- 
 haps repent as soon as he is married. Then he must work hard, 
 and live poorly ; sickness comes upon himself and his family ; he 
 applies to the fund, and gets his pittance. Having once begun, 
 he is ever after contriving how to keep on, by throwing himself 
 out of work, pretending to be ill, or wasting his means. His 
 claims are disputed ; he goes backward and forward, loses his 
 time, drinks for vexation, and is a ruined man to the end of his 
 life. His example ruins his children, who follow the same course 
 of improvidence, marry without thought, and spend their whole 
 lives m misery. This course makes people increase faster than 
 they are wanted ; less money is paid in wages, and more into the 
 fund, and things grow worse and worse. The few, who are 
 inclined to be industrious and saving, are discouraged, and at 
 last find it impossible. Their wages are taken from them, and 
 given to the worthless, and they see they have no chance of get- 
 ting any part back, but by doing as others do. And is not parish 
 relief just this? Not money, as you supposed, all taken out of 
 the pockets of the rich to be given to the poor, but, in a great 
 measure, a tax upon the wages of the labouring classes them- 
 selves, of which the most undeserving get the most and the very 
 meritorious get nothmg at all, and of which a great deal is spent 
 in law or wasted in mismanagement. I am sure that in many 
 parishes the occupiers of the land could better afford to give one- 
 third more wages to good workmen, than to pay their poor- 
 rates ; and that here \2S. a week for daily labour to steady 
 labourers would be cheaper to the farmers than Q)S. in the present 
 state of things. Now, I will put it to you— Would it be better to 
 start in hfe with I2.f. a week, and manage your own concerns, or 
 have IS. a week kept back to be given to you only if you fall into 
 want, and if you have any luck in life never to be given to you at 
 all.? A hale' man, who takes care of himself, may well earn full 
 wages for forty years of his time. Now, 3^. a week for forty years 
 amounts to ^312, which large sum the poor-laws take from the 
 man who honestly earns it, and give it to the overseer— to dis- 
 tribute to whom? To the idle and improvident, to destitute 
 children, or to those who are sick, or infirm, or old, or who are 
 unable to get work, or who have large families. But you will 
 say, Are destitute children, are the sick, the infirm, the old, or 
 those who cannot get work, or who have more children than they 
 can keep— are all these to be left without assistance ? Certainly 
 not ; there they are, and as long as they are there must be 
 assisted ; but I tell you, it is the poor-laws, it is having a parish 
 to look to that makes destitute children, by making improvident 
 
ADDRESS TO LABOURERS. 125 
 
 parents. It is the same cause that makes the greatest part of 
 sickness and infirmity in a class of men, who, of all others, might 
 be most easily strong and healthy — I mean farming labourers. 
 It is the want of steadiness on the one hand, and the want of 
 means on the other, both produced by the poor-laws ; it is to 
 these causes that we may trace almost all the sickness and 
 infirmity which unfortunately are so common amongst you. It 
 is to the poor-laws that we may attribute so many labourers 
 without work, and such large families without sufficient provision. 
 Improvident marriages are the cause of both these evils, and the 
 poor-laws are decidedly the chief cause of improvident mar- 
 riages. In other countries there are other causes, which produce 
 these bad effects ; but in England, which possesses so many 
 advantages, it is to the poor-laws almost alone that we may 
 attribute the evils of pauperism. I do not mean to say that, 
 with the best plan and the best management, there would not be 
 particular cases of distress ; now and then a destitute child — an 
 individual reduced to poverty by long sickness or unexpected 
 infirmity — an extreme old age, not sufficiently provided for — a 
 partial scarcity of work, or a family larger than common prudence 
 could maintain. Such accidents must happen more or less fre- 
 quently ; but where the generality are well provided for, what 
 would a few instances the other way signify? Is there not 
 private charity enough .'* Would not you yourselves, if you were 
 well off, be willing to contribute to the assistance of the few 
 unfortunate persons about you ? I am sure you would : / am 
 sure there would be no need of laws to provide for distress, if 
 there were no laws to produce it. Now, do not forget, that the 
 poor-rates are a tax upon your wages, of which the most hard- 
 working and prudent pay the most, and receive ihe least ; and 
 the most idle and spendthrift pay the least, and receive the 
 most. 
 
 If any of you still think that the poor-rates are no princi- 
 pally raised out of your wages, I will explain it to you in another 
 way. Suppose two farmers to hire five labourers each — and 
 suppose one of the farmers to say to his labourers, " I shall only 
 pay you wages when you work, and you must take care of your 
 money, and provide for yourselves." And suppose the other 
 farmer to say, " I will allow you pay when I have no work for 
 you, or when you are sick, or old, or if you have large families." 
 Would not he pay lower wages than the farmer who only paid 
 according to the work done ? It is by a species of rivalry in 
 well-doing that zeal is kept up. Just so it is in parishes : the 
 farmers are obliged by law to pay those who cannot work, and 
 so they are obliged to give less wages to those who can. I do 
 not mean to say that all the money which is paid in poor-rates ; 
 but a great part of it would ; perhaps, all that is now paid to the 
 
126 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 poor, and the rest, such as the expenses of the overseers, and law 
 expenses, would remain in the pockets of the farmers and the 
 landlords ; besides which, steady labourers, well paid, would do 
 more work and do it better, and be altogether better servants. 
 If for the last seventy years what has been paid in poor-rates 
 in this parish had been paid in wages, and the labourers had 
 been as careful as they ought to have been, the old would now 
 be living comfortably on their own savings, instead of being 
 dependent on the parish ; those who have larger families than 
 they can keep, would have most likely waited a little before they 
 had married, and there would be less sickness, and less infirmity. 
 The best part of ^looo a year which is paid in poor-rates would 
 be paid in wages ; the farmer would be better served, and the 
 labourer better off; but remember, that to bring about this 
 change depends upon yourselves. High wages would bring ruin 
 upon the farmers unless the labourers were prudent ; they can- 
 not now pay you when you work as if they were not obliged to 
 keep you when you cannot work ; but it would be better for them 
 and better for you, if there were no such laws as the poor-laws, 
 and the sooner they can be done without the better for all parties. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 
 
 Florence, June 2, 1822. 
 We returned from Rome May 30th. The weather is unusually 
 hot. Everything is in florid beauty. This country, which is 
 better governed than any other part of ill-fated Italy, is cultivated 
 every inch, and now presents one brilliant green. The corn 
 grows in fields planted with figs, mulberries, and vines — the 
 latter most delicately fragrant ; though, in general, 1 do not 
 think the flowers are ciuite so sweet as with us, but of brighter 
 colours. In coming from Rome we passed through a wild 
 and mountainous district near Radicofani, large tracts ot 
 which were entirely covered with high broom, loaded with 
 flowers as thickly as any branch of laburnum you ever saw. 
 The flowers are larger, and of a more golden hue than ours, and, 
 when waved by the v/ind and heightened by a glowing Italian 
 sky, they presented a softer, richer scene than I could have 
 conceived. The scent, too, was delightful. By the way, if you 
 wish to spend winter comfortably, you cannot do better than 
 stay in England. If you wish to enjoy spring, come to fair 
 Italy. We think of being in Paris by September. Nothing like 
 Paris after all, for a residence abroad. You may thank your 
 stars you have lived there. 
 
 We are obliged here to sit down always to two courses of 
 five dishes each, besides soup. Our only resource is, now and 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 127 
 
 then, to order one dish by way of luncheon, and to piciend to 
 dine out. I objected at first to the mode of dinner ; but the 
 only answer I could ever get was, " It is the same price.''' 
 Foreigners, at least of the lower order, have somewhat a pro- 
 pensity to attribute base motives on all occasions. Mine was 
 always supposed to be parsimony. If you refuse to ascend a 
 tower, or to cross a bridge, they assure you there is no danger, 
 and beg you not to be afraid. When at Rome, my companion 
 made a shooting excursion of a few days to Ostia ; in the mean- 
 time I was obliged to submit to the two courses, four wax lights, 
 and two attendants — one on each side, with a plate ready, 
 rivalling each other in zeal to change mine, often before I had 
 half done, pushing each dish at me in its turn, and supposing, if 
 I did not eat of it, it was from dislike. Thus they made me as 
 great a slave as themselves. In answer to your inquiry, the 
 style of beauty at Prince Borghese's ball was, beautiful foreheads 
 and eyebrows, dark eyes, good teeth, and clear complexion, 
 rather dark. The handsomest women were from Sienna. At 
 Rome the women are good-looking ; at Naples not — but give me 
 English beauty ten times over. The party at the Countess of 
 Albany's (the Pretender's widow) was not so dull as I expected. 
 She has no remains of beauty, but has a very long face, with, I 
 think, a cast in her eyes. She does not appear to me to have 
 been ever either beautiful or interesting, and I suspect much of 
 what Alfieri says of her to be fiction. Her party was well 
 managed. vShe sits in state, and the ladies in two or three rows 
 round the room. The gentlemen walk about, and in the ante- 
 room you may talk at your ease. Ices and lemonade were 
 handed round, and there was a handsome tea-service on a table 
 in the middle of the room, at which the company helped them- 
 selves very conveniently. She is of the German house of 
 Stolberg, and has a pension from our Government of ^1500 or 
 ^2000 a year, which, I believe, is all, or neariy all, she has. 
 The Grand Duke has just passed, as is his daily custom, on his 
 way to the Cascine, with his two carnages and six, all thoroughly 
 appointed. But in this country they never can avoid something 
 shabby ; for, after followed a carriage, and pair of untrimmed 
 horses, with one dirty footman out of livery, and here they far 
 excel the Romans and Neapolitans in approach to English 
 propriety. I have seen the King of Naples driving with rope 
 harness. We stayed at the Cascine till nine o'clock — a delicious 
 evening. Many people were there, and very respectable all. 
 They put mc in mind of England — no soldiers, as at Naples. 
 After dark the moon shone beautifully through the trees, and thou- 
 sandsof fire-flies sparkled under them, with the air as soft as balm. 
 Thence we went to the fashionable cafe to eat ice : it was full 01 
 people inside and out, sitting on benches. But O, how inferior 
 
128 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 to the Boulevards at Paris ! On one of the bridges the people 
 sit till late, without hats, on seats brought out for the occasion. 
 The delights of the climate seem to suffice without any other 
 aids. 
 
 June 3. 
 
 I wrote you a long letter yesterday, and now proceed to fill 
 up the chasms in my travels. Between Montargis and Lyons 
 we passed through some very fine country, especially on the 
 Loire and the Allier. Though it was the middle of December, 
 I have seen nothing brighter even in this bright country, at this 
 bright season, than the two days, between Cone and St. Sim- 
 phorien, which Arthur Young, I found from his works at Naples, 
 calls the finest climate in France, or perhaps in Europe. The 
 road down the Rhone is interesting. The ruins at Nismes are 
 very fine, and I think, generally, that the ruins in the South of 
 France are, with some exceptions, better worth seeing than 
 those of Italy. There may be enumerated the beautiful tri- 
 umphal arch at Orange, the amphitheatre and inaison cari'ce at 
 Nismes, the mausoleum and triumphal arch at St. Remi, and 
 last and greatest, the Pont du Card, some miles from Nismes, 
 which is an aqueduct consisting of three ranges of arches one 
 upon another, over a wide bed of a river and part of a valley. 
 It is nearly perfect, very massive, and comes upon you suddenly, 
 in a wild and desolate country, without a visible habitation, and 
 surrounded by rocks covered with evergreens. It struck us more 
 than any Italian antiquity we saw, the Coliseum not excepted, 
 nor the temples at Piestum. It is out of the regular road, and I 
 had never heard of it before I saw it. I did not see the ruins at 
 Aries. The walls of Avignon are the most beautiful I have met 
 with, and the ancient palace of the Popes is an imposing pile, 
 now degraded into a barrack and prison. We made a day's 
 expedition to the fountain of Vaucluse, in a vile machine without 
 springs, over a viler road, but were recompensed. The fountain 
 is a basin of considerable extent, of clear, blue water, very deep, 
 situated at the base of a very high overhanging rock, with one 
 wild fig-tree shooting out just above the water. On one side 
 stands aloft a ruined chateau, said to have been Petrarch's ; and 
 on the other a rugged mountain, with here and there a tree. 
 The rocks have more of a dreary, weather-worn appearance 
 than any I have seen. The water flows from the basin down a 
 steepish bed of broken rocks; and conceive, in the middle of the 
 stream, a gingerbread column painted and gilt, erected by the 
 loyal prefect of the department to Louis XVIII. ! In parts of 
 Dauphiny the ground is covered entirely with flint, and looks as 
 barren as the barrenest rock ; yet you see growing there almonds, 
 peaches, olives, mulberries, figs, and walnuts. Whoever wants 
 to have an idea of the resources of France, should visit the 
 
HAND-LOOM WEAVERS. 129 
 
 South ; it is a fine country. I think they are wrong who call it 
 uninteresting. It is on so much larger a scale than England, 
 that the interesting parts are less conspicuous, but stilly they 
 exist ; and the chmate heightens them considerably. The fisher- 
 men at Marseilles came originally from Spain, and they live by 
 themselves. They have the darkest complexions and the most 
 expressive countenances I have seen, not excepting the Neapoh- 
 tan fishermen, who, in point of beauty of limbs, excel all other 
 men I ever met with. 
 
 [The article on Diet, which I promised in my last number, I 
 must beg indulgence for till my next.] 
 
 No. XII. Wednesday, Aug. B, 1835. 
 
 HAND-LOOM WEAVERS. 
 
 I GIVE the following extract from the Report of the Committee 
 of the House of Commons on the state of Hand-loom Weaving, 
 by way of illustration of many of my observations throughout 
 my numbers, and for the purpose of instilling into the minds 
 of my readers what I conceive to be right conclusions on a 
 subject of deep importance— that is, the well-being of the labour- 
 ing classes. 
 
 " Your Committee cannot help observing, that they found in 
 this evidence the proof of the necessity for actual personal 
 observation and inspection, in order to come at the truth of the 
 condition of the working classes ; for that Mr. Makin, although 
 living in the midst of these people, and himself engaged in the 
 trade, expresses himself as one who had been incredulous as to 
 the state of the hand-loom weavers, until he had looked narrowly 
 into their affairs, and as one who was startled at what he found 
 to be the fact. Your Committee dwell upon this, because it 
 shows, beyond a question, that the data on which assertions of 
 prosperity are commonly founded, are erroneous, and that actual 
 survey and inspection are necessary in establishing the truth. 
 Further, your Committee found that, as to clothing, the hand- 
 loom weavers of Bolton are at the lowest ebb ; in detailing 
 which, Mr. Makin says, ' I cannot recollect any instance but one, 
 where any weaver of mine has bought a new jacket for many 
 years, and I am only sorry I did not bring one or two jackets to 
 let the Committee see the average state in which they are clothed ; 
 that as to bedding, they have scarcely any, and of other furni- 
 
 E 
 
I30 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 ture less ; that they are generally without chairs, having nothing 
 but two or three stools to sit on, and that sometimes they have 
 nothing but a stool, or chair, or a tea-chest ; that their rents are 
 generally in arrear ; and that they are obliged to borrow of their 
 masters to pay them ; that to such courses has this destitution 
 driven them, that they are much in the habit of embezzling the 
 materials given out to them to weave, so much so, indeed, that 
 the dealing in embezzled warp and weft has become a trade 
 exceeding all calculation, there being houses for receiving and 
 paying for the goods so embezzled, and that there are manu- 
 facturers of considerable means who deal with these receiving 
 houses, and who manufacture and sell the goods so bought, to an 
 extent which influences the market, causing a reduction, first, in 
 the market price of goods, and next, in the weavers' wages.' 
 Your Committee, shocked at hearing this detail of dishonest 
 practices, involving the character of a large part of a large com- 
 munity, were still more shocked at the thought that the charac- 
 ters of others, beyond the temptations of want, were also involved. 
 As a corollary to this, your Committee found that the due and 
 usual attendance at divine worship is generally neglected ; that 
 this arose from shame, in the first instance, at appearing at 
 church in rags ; that the writings of Carlile and Taylor have 
 obtained a greater spread ; and that the witness had seen com- 
 panies of men applauding those who have argued against the 
 existence of a God. But your Committee cannot in justice close 
 their obervations on these statements without the accompanying 
 remark, that the witness attributes this awful state of things to 
 no innate vices and infidelity of the people themselves, but solely 
 to that recklessness which originates in want and despair. 
 
 With respect to the first remark in the extract as to " the 
 necessity for actual personal observation and inspection, in order 
 to come at the truth of the condition of the working classes," 
 and the circumstance of a person living in the midst of a popu- 
 lation, and himself engaged in their trade, being completely 
 ignorant of their state, I have said in the article on Poor-Laws 
 in Ireland, in my eighth number, " the generality of the world 
 has very little idea of the state of the lowest parts of it, even in 
 its immediate vicinity, as I had proof in the ignorance of the 
 respectable inhabitants of Whitechapel of what was existing 
 around them ; and this is one of the strongest arguments in my 
 mind in favour of organized and vigilant parish government, 
 because such evils as I have described have only to be brought 
 frequently before men's eyes to be made to disappear." I will 
 now add, that there is no other way of making them disappear. 
 I dissent from the conclusion the Committee and Mr. Makin 
 seem to come to, that the actual state of the people described is 
 a state unavoidable on their parts. I believe it to be the conse- 
 
HAND- LOOM WEAVERS. 131 
 
 quence of want of prudence and want of energy ; besides that, 
 no doubt, it was made to appear by the people themselves 
 much worse than it really was. When an end is to be 
 gained by appearing poor, it is very easy to do so. The 
 pride of appearing decent soon gives way to policy, and 
 it by no means follows that because jackets had ceased to 
 be purchased, it was from universal inability. If weavei's 
 with families could not afford new jackets, those without could, 
 but then it would be unpopular to wear them. The same reason- 
 ing applies to the want of furniture ; when it is expedient to 
 lower the standard of comfort, articles of comfort are sacri- 
 ficed, whether there is necessity or not. In the article on Poor- 
 Laws in Ireland, I have given a parallel description to Mr. 
 Makin's of an absence of furniture, not from poverty, but from 
 policy. Wherever an excuse can be found for not paying rents, 
 rents will not be paid, especially where landlords join in up- 
 holding their tenants in asking for aid and protection ; it is a 
 species of collusion to help one another at the expense of others. 
 This course was pursued over and over again by the Spitalfields 
 weavers and their abettors, till, the truth having been found out, 
 we hear no more complaints, though many of the causes formerly 
 alleged, no doubt, still exist, and rivalry much more than ever. 
 I am in possession of a few curious facts respecting the Spital- 
 fields supposed distresses. As to the assumption that destitution 
 from low wages has driven the weavers to a habit of embezzling 
 the materials given out to them to weave, I have to remark that 
 in the year 18 17, when I commenced my inquiries into the habits 
 of the weavers in one of the townships of the parish of Manches- 
 ter, I learnt that embezzlement had there been a habit long 
 before the invention of power-looms, or the consequent fall of 
 wages, and that sometimes it had increased to such a pitch as to 
 make the masters resolve not to give out any materials at all in the 
 place, whereby every loom was at a stand. By degrees employ- 
 ment was again given, and by degrees the same abuse recurred. 
 During the want of work the poor-rates were the never-failing 
 resource, and in this, as in many other instances, furnished a 
 constant encouragement to moral debasement ; though the 
 truth might never come to the ears of those who lived in the 
 midst of these malpractices. Embezzlement of silk by the 
 Spitalfields weavers was long since made the subject of an Act 
 of Parliament, and is punishable summarily with great severity. 
 The Committee speak of the practice as if it were new, and they 
 and Mr. Makin attribute it without hesitation to poverty, conse- 
 quent upon the present state of hand-loom weaving. Here I 
 beg my reader's attention to this fact, that during six years and 
 a half that I have sat, I may say without intermission, as a 
 magistrate, I have watched very narrowly, and I have not dis- 
 
 E 2 
 
132 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 covered one single case of crime committed from poverty, in the 
 sense the word is commonly used. It is the excuse constantly 
 alleged, and often received, and, according to mere appearance, 
 reasonably received ; but I have no hesitation in saying that 
 poverty, properly so called, does not produce crime, but that it 
 is produced by a love of indulgence without sufficient industry 
 to command the means of honestly gratifying it. It is true, in 
 hard times there is oft-en an increase of crime, because more 
 industry is required; but still it is to gratify indulgence, and not 
 to supply necessity. Even where the necessities of life, such as 
 bacon, cheese, potatoes, &c., are purloined by apparently poor 
 women, who frequent provision shops at the times when busi- 
 ness is at the height, the thefts are all committed, as far as my 
 experience goes, by a regular class of performers, who calculate 
 upon not being detected, or, if detected, upon being let off. 
 Sometimes petty thefts are committed in order to purchase gin, 
 sometimes \o supply those articles which should have been pur- 
 chased with the money spent in gin, but indulgence is ever the 
 moving cause. I mention these particulars, because the quantity 
 of misplaced compassion shown for petty delinquencies is the 
 greatest encouragement to their commission. I confess I could 
 not help being surprised at the Committee's simplicity in being 
 so much shocked at hearing that manufacturers of considerable 
 means were found to purchase embezzled materials, and that they 
 should look upon it as a new practice, at least to its present 
 extent. I am afraid it is far from new, and that some large 
 fortunes, both in the silk and cotton trade, have been accumu- 
 lated by that, and other practices, not less dishonourable. 
 
 I cannot think that the neglect of divine worship is a corollary 
 to the state of the weavers described by ]\Ir. ]\Iakin; for I 
 believe it has always been too much the case with that claffs ; at 
 least, wherever I have seen them it has been so, and I should 
 rather say their condition is a corollary to their neglect of 
 divine worship. That blasphemous writings and speeches 
 should, in their neglected state, meet with some attention is not 
 to be wondered at ; because, as the mind cannot lie altogether 
 sterile, if pains are not taken to sow good seed, weeds will take 
 root ; and it was this consideration that induced me to address 
 the letter to the Bishop of London on the observance of the 
 Sabbath, which is inserted in my fourth number. I am con- 
 vinced that without some such plan the spiritual wants of the 
 many will never be supplied, and that, till they are, it is in vain 
 to expect their temporal good discipline. With Mr. Makin, I 
 attribute the state he describes to no innate vices and infidelity 
 of the people, but I cannot agree with him that it is solely owing 
 to a recklessness originating in want and despair, because I see it 
 exist in the same degree where there is neither want nor despair. 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 133 
 
 My opinion I have stated in the article on Government in my 
 second number in the following words : "In my observation of 
 even the worst part of mankind, I see so great an aptitude for 
 the right path, and so little aberration, considering the quantity 
 of neglect, that I feel confident an adequate enforcement of the 
 real English principles of government, combined with our ad- 
 vanced state of civilization, would produce moral results as 
 unthought of and as incalculable as have been the physical 
 results from the application of steam." In the year 181 7, I 
 endeavoured to dissuade the weavers in my then neighbour- 
 hood from bringing up their children to their own calling, being 
 convinced that power-looms would eventually supersede hand- 
 looms ; and though I have no doubt but that there are great 
 exaggerations of the difficulties which the present race have to 
 contend with, yet it must be supposed that they are in a state 
 far from desirable. But what effect could any bolstering up the 
 trade have, unless to keep those employed in it in a lingering 
 state, necessarily growing worse and worse ? False hopes only 
 weaken that elasticity of human nature, which can extricate 
 men from far greater difficulties than any produced by the 
 gradual changes arising from improvements in machinery; and 
 if the weavers who are now suft'ering were only convinced that 
 nothing can be done for them in the way they ask, they would 
 soon exhibit a very different tone from that which they will 
 think their policy, as long as ignorance of sound principles, 
 motives of self-interest, or a love of popularity can find them 
 supporters. Their real friends must pursue a very different 
 course if they intend to serve them. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 icoiilinued). 
 
 It requires a great deal of attention, and, v.'hen living in the 
 world, a great deal of resolution, to observe a proper diet ; and 
 it is only a knowledge of its powerful effect both upon body and 
 mind that is likely to induce sufficient care. When taking 
 meals alone it is most easy to regulate them ; but I believe 
 meals were meant to be social, and that a little irregularity in 
 agreeable comoany is better than the best observance in solitude. 
 They who can unite the advantages of the two states arc sure to 
 enjoy the easiest digestion. In diet, as in most of our habits, 
 we are apt to be content with too low a standard, instead of 
 continually striving to approach the highest point of improve- 
 ment ; and certainly no study can be more interesting in its 
 progress or more important in its effects. Eating and 
 drinking, reasonably used, are not only extremely pleasant in 
 act but in their consequences, and a healthy appetite duly 
 
134 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 ministered to would be a source of constant enjoyment without 
 alloy. As we must take nourishment, it appears to me wise to 
 draw as much gratification from it as possible. Epicurism has 
 rather an ill name, but I think very undeservedly, if it does not 
 lead to gluttony, or occupy too great a share of attention. A 
 dainty meal is something pleasant to look forward to, and the 
 expectation of it gives a wholesome edge to the appetite, and 
 makes business be despatched with alacrity. Let any of my 
 readers call to mind their anticipations in journeying towards a 
 bespoken repast at a favourite inn, and that will put them in the 
 way of appreciating the value in the journey through life of 
 daily anticipations of satisfactory cheer. To come to particulars ; 
 and tirst of breakfast. As to this meal, much depends upon 
 constitution and manner of life. Those who are weakly, and 
 those who do not take much exercise, will do well to be rather 
 abstemious at breakfast, lest they anticipate digestion. Those 
 who take exercise before breakfast and rest after, may safely 
 give themselves more latitude than they who observe an opposite 
 course. Moderation in all cases is the safest. I have often 
 remarked that people who make it their boast that they always 
 eat a hearty breakfast are rather of a full than a healthy habit ; 
 and I should think, as a rule, that the practice is unfavourable to 
 long life. As digestion is liable to be deranged by the various 
 occupations of the morning, it is expedient to be careful both as 
 to quahty and quantity of food. To that end, I hold it desir- 
 able to avoid much liquid, the fat or skin of meat, much crumb 
 of untoasted bread, especially newly baked bread, all spongy 
 substances, and whatever has a tendency to create thirst. 
 Coffee, unless in a small quantity and diluted with milk, is 
 rather heating : tea, before exercise or in travelling, I think 
 preferable. In my own case, I find it best to adhere to one 
 moderate-sized cup of liquid, whether tea, coffee, or cocoa. I 
 prefer brown bread toasted to any other preparation of flour, 
 and if any addition is wanted, I recommend only one on the 
 same occasion, such as eggs, a httle meat, bacon, broiled fish, 
 water-cresses, or fruit. Variety I think good, but not on the 
 same day, especially as it makes it more difficult to measure 
 the appetite. If anything is required between breakfast and 
 dinner, something simple and in moderation should by all 
 means be taken, as disappointing the appetite, I believe, is 
 much more prejudicial than is generally supposed. Bread and 
 fruit I find verv grateful in the middle of the day, and if meat is 
 taken, good table-beer, I think, is the most refreshing beverage, 
 or where that is not liked, wine and water. As to dinner, I am 
 of opinion that the consideration of that important meal may 
 most conveniently be referred to my article on the art of dining, 
 which I shall probably enter upon in my next number. 
 
EXTRAVAGANCE AND ECONOMY. 
 
 NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 135 
 
 It has been well said by I know not whom, that an Englishman 
 is never happy, but when he is miserable ; that a Scotchman is 
 never at home, but when he is abroad; that an Irishman is 
 never at peace, but when he is at war. 
 
 EXTRAVAGANCE AND ECONOMY. 
 
 When a spendthrift sees his error he generally becomes a 
 miser. Few indeed are the instances where extravagance is 
 converted into a w^ell-ordered generous expenditure ; and it is 
 W'ith nations as with individuals. When the war was com- 
 menced with revolutionary France, it w^as supposed by its 
 advocates that it would be terminated in six weeks. Upon that 
 supposition, calculation of course was not worth attending to, 
 and though the contest was continued with a short interval for 
 twenty years, the spirit of profusion, with which it was begun, 
 never abated. I shall not enter into any detail of the many 
 reasons which induced the rulers of the day to think only of 
 spending as much money as could by possibility be raised. 
 They did, in fact, pursue that course, and when the struggle was 
 over, great national exhaustion succeeded, made far greater and 
 of much longer duration by those who thought it their policy 
 unceasingly to exaggerate our difficulties; for the consequence 
 was, each interest affected was taught to look to the State for 
 relief, instead of to their own energies and prudence, which 
 would long since have brought them completely through ; but 
 then that would not have served party purposes, in comparison 
 with which, in the eyes of politicians, the national welfare is as 
 nothing. I recollect that soon after the conclusion of the war, 
 when all sense of danger was over, and whilst the applications 
 of the tax-gatherer were undiminished, a very general desire for 
 a more economical system was rising up, and it must have 
 become irresistible, but for the hasty, selfish proceedings of 
 demagogues and crude reformers, w^ho created alarm, and 
 thereby diverted public attention to the public safety. I think 
 it was on occasion of a foolish meeting at Manchester, called 
 the Blanketteer Meeting, that ten thousand men were added to 
 the army. I have already, in my eighth number, shortly 
 expressed my opinion against mob assemblies, called by many 
 safety-valves, and often supposed to be the guardians of liberty, 
 but, according to my view, the most efficient friends of abuses 
 in government. I intend on some future occasion to take up 
 the subject more at length. To return : the obstinate and ill- 
 judged resistance of the party in power to all retrenchment, 
 
136 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 caused it to be forced upon them, on principles and in a tone 
 quite below the character and the interests of a great nation, 
 which tone and principles, if they remain in their present force, 
 must of necessity destroy public spirit, and create, with 
 individual wealth perhaps, individual selfishness, baseness, and 
 con-uption. During the war the tone of the Government was 
 that of energy and extravagance, and that of the governed 
 became the same. A corresponding effect must be expected 
 now ; and would take place also, if the nation's affairs were 
 conducted with spirit and generosity. A minimum in expendi- 
 ture will produce a minimum in other things of more con- 
 sequence ; and in elevation of thought, we seem to be on the 
 road to merit the appellation which has been bestowed upon 
 us, of a nation of shopkeepers, and for the benefit of what class 
 the change would be, I am utterly at a loss to discover. I will 
 conclude my observations with an extract from Burke, who did 
 not forget the statesman in the reformer, and I beg my reader's 
 attention to his description of parsimony, as being particularly 
 applicable to some of the retrenchers of the present day. 
 
 " When a cold penury blasts the abilities of a nation, and 
 stunts the growth of its active energies, the ill is beyond all cal- 
 culation. Mere parsimony is not economy. Expense, and great 
 expense, may be an essential part in true economy. Economy 
 is a distributive virtue, and consists, not in saving, but in selec- 
 tion. Parsimony requires no providence, no sagacity, no powers 
 of combination, no comparison, no judgment. Mere instinct, 
 and that not an instinct of the noblest kind, may produce this 
 false economy in perfection. The other economy has larger 
 views. It demands a discriminating judgment, and a firm saga- 
 cious mind. It shuts one door to impudent importunity, only to 
 open another, and a wider, to unpresuming merit. If none but 
 meritorious service or real talent were to be rewarded, this nation 
 has not wanted, and this nation will not want, the means of 
 rewarding all the service it ever will receive, and encouraging all 
 the merit it ever will produce. No State, since the foundation of 
 society, has been impoverished by that species of profusion." 
 Iiurke"^ might have gone much farther, and hav;; said that any 
 State which should indulge in such species of profusion would be 
 incalculably enriched by it, both pecuniarily and morally. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 
 
 Florence, June 7, 1822 
 I SHALL now go back to our first arrival at Rome, which was on 
 the 1 2th of February. As is generally observed, Rome disap- 
 points you at first, improves as you know it, and ends in being 
 the most interesting of places. The Campagna too, or country 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 137 
 
 round it, which strikes travellers, merely passing along the high 
 road, as the most desolate of districts, becomes l3y acquaintance 
 highly interesting — at least I found it so, by dint of walks of 
 from two to three hours before breakfast, and of still longer rides 
 in the evening. The best view is from the tomb of Cecilia 
 Metella, on the side farthest from the road, where most visitants 
 never go. You see there, from an eminence, the walls and 
 domes of the city, the three ranges of aqueducts, stretching for 
 miles and miles towards the mountains, w'ith one e.xception in 
 various stages of mutilation, and partly covered with thick ivy 
 and wild shrubs, ruined tombs, temples and fortifications, and 
 dark and lofty pines scattered over a desolate plain, or what 
 looks like a plain in comparison with the Apennines and the 
 Alban mountain, which bound it. When the lights are favour- 
 able, it is a most imposing scene ; I think all scenery, in which 
 ruins are a feature, appears to the greatest advantage by a fading 
 light. There is another fine point of view from near Albano, 
 looking down towards Rome, along the old Appian Way, which is 
 a straight line of about fifteen miles, bordered on each side the 
 whole distance wuth ruined tombs — some of them turned into 
 habitations for the wretched peasantry. If Sterne was so far, 
 I should think this view suggested to him that beautiful passage, 
 " To die is the great debt due unto nature— tombs and monu- 
 ments, which should perpetuate our memories, pay it themselves, 
 and the proudest pyramid of them all, which wealth or science 
 has erected, has lost its apex, and stands obtruncated in the 
 traveller's horizon." Along the whole of the Appian Way, which 
 reaches considerably more than a hundred miles, the ruins of 
 once magnificent tombs are to be seen in greater or less profusion. 
 In a columbarium, or receptacle for the ashes of the dead, dis- 
 covered near Rome whilst we were there, were found all the vases 
 or urns, containing burnt bones, arranged as in a sort of 
 pigeon-house, from whence the name. There are several epitaphs, 
 but the prettiest is one from a mother to her son, who died, I 
 think, at twenty-three. It is in the original, " Quod tu mihi 
 facere debebas, ege tibi facio, mater pia ; " which, literally trans- 
 lated, signifies, " What you owed to do for me, I, your affec- 
 tionate mother, do for you." It will bring to your mind Burke's 
 passage on his son : " I live in an inverted order— they, who 
 should have been to me as posterity, are in the place of ancestors.'' 
 Cicero has a passage of still nearer resemblance. 
 
 From tombs we will go to a different subject — the Carnival, in 
 the midst of which we arrived. The scene is the Corso, the 
 principal street in Rome, about three-quarters of a mile long, 
 quite straight, with many handsome palaces, some churches and 
 convents, and other public buildings in it. Stages or platforms 
 are erected on each side the street, with chairs and bencnes 
 
138 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 upon them, and from the windows and balconies hangs in great 
 profusion tapestry, as you have seen at fetes at Paris. About 
 two o'clock for the last eight days the people begin to assemble 
 in carriages and on foot, in masks and without, and in all sorts 
 of characters, and they parade about, amusing themselves as 
 well as they can till the race, which begins and ends just before 
 dark. I saw no humour or fun, except what arose from pelting 
 with sugar-plums and comfits. Sometimes there were very hot 
 contests, and in places the ground looked as if there had been a 
 violent hailstorm. It is the English, you must know, who intro- 
 duced the more vigorous, and, as I think, only amusing warfare ; 
 the noble Roinans heretofore having contented themselves with 
 a sort of a courteous interchange, as dull as themselves. The 
 most tremendous conflicts used to take place between the 
 Englishmen passing by and a party of English ladies'-maids, 
 posted in front of the shop of one Samuel Lowe, wine merchant. 
 vSamuel Lowe in the " Eternal City ! " and English ladies'-maids 
 on the soil of Livia, Octavia, and company ! What changes ! 
 But, as Gibbon somewhere prognosticates the future ascendency 
 of the negro race, perhaps the Timbuctooians may hereafter 
 figure in London as we now figure at Rome. We may as easily 
 imagine that, as Julius Caesar could have imagined the present 
 change. Before the race, the Corso is cleared in an instant, and 
 some eight or ten horses without riders start, all covered with 
 gold-leaf and such trumpery ; and, indeed, in spite of Madame 
 de Stael's high-flown description, the whole affair is too trumpery 
 to have anything more said about it. At night there were mas- 
 querades at one of the theatres — very dull. I do not understand 
 the assertion that the English are less fitted for masquerades 
 than foreigners ; my experience tells me the exact reverse. At 
 the last masquerade the grandees of Rome attend, dressed up. 
 The ladies, principally in scarlet, looked superb in the boxes. 
 The last day of the Carnival is the most spirited ; and as soon as 
 it is dark commences its funeral, previous to the sombre season 
 of Lent. The funeral is ideal ; but every person in the street 
 and at the windows holds one or more lighted tapers in their 
 hands ; some have a great many bundled together. It happened 
 to be a very favourable night — dark, still, and clear, and from 
 the purity of the atmosphere the lights are much more brilliant 
 than with us. The scene was highly curious. Even the people 
 driving about in their carriages hold lights. The joke is to put 
 out your neighbours' lights, and keep in your own ; but it lasted 
 sadly too long, and it was impossible to get away without being 
 covered with wax, as many were. At length darkness resumed 
 her reign, and so ended the silly delight of the degenerate con- 
 querors of the world. 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. i 39 
 
 June 12. 
 
 The country is beginning to lose its youthful beauty. We find 
 Florence so very pleasant now, that we have kept prolonging 
 our stay. The hot weather suits mc amazingly, and what with 
 baths, ices, riding in the shade, temperance, and some pleasant 
 people, 1 have passed the last ten days paradisiacally ; but those 
 who do not know how to manage themselves suffer much. Our 
 thermometer is generally near 80° all night, in a north room to 
 the river. To return to where I left off. During Lent there are 
 no amusements at Rome, public or private ; but it is the best 
 time for seeing the place. At the end of Lent comes Holy- 
 Week, in the ceremonies of which I took no interest. The music 
 is fine ; but I saw none of the effects said to be produced by it, 
 such as tears, &c. The illumination of the exterior of the dome 
 of St. Peter's, which is effected almost instantaneously, is very 
 striking, and the fireworks are more magnificent than any I ever 
 saw, but I was dreadfully tired of the whole business. The 
 simplicity of our service, performed every Sunday in three small 
 rooms in a private house to a congregation of remarkable pro- 
 priety of appearance and behaviour, was much more to my taste 
 than any of the ceremonies in St. Peter's. 
 
 There are fewer unpleasant objects or circumstances at 
 Florence than in any city I have been in, the towns in England 
 not excepted. Naples is just the reverse, but very fascinating at 
 first. I prefer Rome to both, on account of its interest. If I 
 might have my choice of one statue, it should be the Venus, 
 whose attraction ever heightens by contemplation. Of all the 
 paintings I have seen, I should prefer to possess Raphael's 
 Madonna della Seggiola in the Grand Duke's palace. It is a 
 representation of the Virgin ; and the painter has made her of 
 that merit which is above all modes and fashions, and which 
 would equally become a palace or a cottage. Existence here, 
 under the most favourable circumstances, is certainly much 
 superior to existence with us. The climate throws a charm 
 round everything which is quite indescribable. I can only give 
 you some idea of the brilliancy of the atmosphere, by saying 
 that it is more different from ours than the light from wax is 
 from that from tallow. The sensations too approach much 
 nearer to something exquisite ; or, as Moore expresses it, 
 
 " And simply to feel that we breathe, that we hve, 
 Is worth the best joys life elsewhere can give." 
 
 Virgil attributes the same superiority of atmosphere to Elysium 
 that Italy seems to me to have over England; and a charm, 
 indeed, it is, that almost compensate-s for the many advantages 
 which, in other respects, we enjoy. 
 
HO THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. XIII. \Vednesday, Aug. 12, 1835. 
 
 ARISTOLOGY, OR THE ART OF DINING. 
 
 According to the Lexicons, the Greek for dinner is Ariston, 
 and therefore, for the convenience of the terms, and without 
 entering into any inquiry, critical or antiquarian, I call the art of 
 dining Aristology, and those who study it, Aristologists. The 
 maxim that practice makes perfect does not apply to our daily 
 habits ; for, so far as they are concerned, we are ordinarily 
 content with the standard of mediocrity, or something rather 
 below. Where study is not absolutely necessary, it is by most 
 people altogether dispensed with ; but it is only by a union of 
 study and practice that we can attain anything like perfection. 
 Anylaody can dine, but very few know how to dine so as to 
 ensure the greatest quantity of health and enjoyment — indeed, 
 many people contrive to destroy their health ; and as to enjoy- 
 ment, I shudder when I think how often I have been doomed to 
 only a solemn mockery of it ; how often I have sat in durance 
 stately, to go through the ceremony of dinner, the essence of 
 whicli is to be without ceremony, and how often in this land of 
 liberty I have felt myself a slave ! 
 
 There are three kinds of dinners- — solitary dinners, every-day 
 social dinners, and set dinners ; all three involving the con- 
 sideration of cheer, and the last two of society also. Solitary 
 dinners, I think, ought to be avoided as much as possible, 
 because solitude tends to produce thought, and thought tends to 
 the suspension of the digestive powers. When, however, dining 
 alone is necessary, the mind should be disposed to cheerfulness 
 by a previous interval of relaxation from whatever has seriously 
 occupied the attention, and by directing it to some agreeable 
 object. As contentment ought to be an accompaniment to 
 every meal, punctuality is essential, and the diner and the 
 dmner should be ready at the same time. A chief maxim in 
 dining with comfort is, to have what you want Avhen you want 
 it. It is ruinous to have to wait for first one thing and then 
 another, and to have the little additions brought when what 
 they belong to is half or entirely finished. To avoid this a 
 little foresight is good, and, by way of instance, it is sound 
 practical philosophy to have mustard upon the table before the 
 arrival of toasted cheese. This very omission has caused as 
 many small vexations in the world as would by this time make 
 a mountain of misery. Indeed, I recommend an habitual con- 
 sideration of what adjuncts will be required to the main matters ; 
 and I think an attention to this on the part of females might 
 
PREFERMENT TO PLACE. 141 
 
 often be preventive of sour looks and cross words, and their 
 anti-conjugal consequences. There are not only the usual 
 adjuncts, but to those who have anything of a genius for dinners 
 little additions will sometimes suggest themselves, which give a 
 sort of poetr)' to a repast, and please the palate, to the promotion 
 of health. As our senses were made for our enjoyment, and as 
 the vast variety of good things in the world were designed for 
 the same end, it seems a sort of impiety not to put them to 
 their best uses, provided it does not cause us to neglect higher 
 considerations. The different products of the diaerent seasons, 
 and of the difterent parts of the earth, afford endless proofs of 
 bounty, which it is as unreasonable to reject as it is to abuse. 
 It has happened that those who have made the gratification of 
 the appetite a study have generally done so to excess, and to 
 the exclusion of nobler pursuits ; whilst, on the other hand, such 
 study has been held to be incompatible with moral refinement 
 and elevation. But there is a happy mean, and as upon the 
 due regulation of the appetite assuredly depends our physical 
 well-being, and upon that, in a great measure, our mental 
 energies, it seems to me that the subject is worthy of attention, 
 for reasons of more importance than is ordinarily supposed. I 
 shall continue this article in my next number. 
 
 PREFERMENT TO PL.\CE. 
 
 I HAVE often wondered, both in reading history and in observ- 
 ing my own times, that there are so few examples of the worthy 
 employment of patronage. It might be supposed the glory and 
 the influence that would result from it to men in high place 
 would have made that the rule which, unfortunately for mankind, 
 is but the e.xception. '•' He that seeketh to be eminent amongst 
 able men," says Lord Bacon, "hath a great task ; but that is ever 
 good for the public. But he that plots to be the only figure 
 amongst cyphers, is the decay of a whole age." Of all the talents 
 that could be possessed by men in power, surely that would be 
 the noblest and most useful which would enable them to avail 
 themselves of the talents of others. It is mar\-ellous that the 
 feeling of responsibility, that the consciousness of the destiny of 
 millions being in their hands, that the love of the approbation of 
 the wise and good, do not outweigh in the minds of kings and 
 ministers all lesser considerations. It is natural to think that 
 the very circumstance of being placed on what Bacon calls " the 
 vantage ground to do good," would of itself inspire lofty ideas 
 and comprehensive views ; as grandeur of position in the physical 
 world creates a corresponding elevation of mind, and a total for- 
 getfulness of self. The influence of one man, however high his 
 
142 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 station, can but be trifling except through the medium of those 
 below him, and his influence will be great and beneficial in pro- 
 portion to the worthiness of the channels through which it flows. 
 Nothing would so eftectually excite honourable ambition as the 
 conviction that the road to preferment lay open to merit alone, 
 and that every place vvould be bestowed, without other considera- 
 tion, upon the person most fitted to fill it. 
 
 The adoption of such a system would be productive of the 
 double advantage of a higher tone and more efficient service, 
 and would put an end to that race of aspirants who use those 
 arts to prevail which ought to ensure their defeat. Wise insti- 
 tutions and good laws are comparatively of little avail, without 
 able and honourable men in the different degrees of office, and 
 it is only by a regularly just disposal of preferment that the 
 proper standard of purity and zeal will ever be established in the 
 administration of the various branches of the public service. 
 Individual instances of the preferment of the most worthy 
 produce only partial and temporary benefit, and the tone of the 
 class, in the long run, ordinarily prevails. It is by a species of 
 rivalry in well-doing that zeal is kept alive, and standing alone 
 becomes wearisome and discouraging. All patronage is a trust ; 
 and bestowing preferment unworthily is a violation of a trust, 
 and the greater the unworthiness the greater the violation. It 
 is not enough to prefer those who are fit, the choice should fall 
 upon the most fit. It is not enough to choose from those who 
 apply ; the most meritorious should be sought out, and the pre- 
 ferment offered to them, not as matter of favour and obligation, 
 but as something required to be accepted from a sense of public 
 duty. It is true, these are not the doctrines generally received ; 
 if they were, patronage would not so openly be made an instru- 
 ment for creating undue influence, or upholding party ; nor 
 would the public service be so often sacrificed for the sake of 
 making provision for relations, friends, and dependents ; a system 
 which, strange to say, has many advocates amongst those who 
 think rightly on other points, and who have no immediate interest 
 in perverting the truth. In my opinion there is nothing more 
 deserving of reprobation in public men than abuse of patronage ; 
 because I think there is nothing more detrimental to the public 
 welfare. It not only discourages existing merit, and prevents a 
 further increase, but it encourages importunity, intrigue, servility, 
 profligacy of principle, and many other base qualities, which 
 spread their pestiferous influence over society. It enables men 
 in power to maintain themselves by other supports than that of 
 public opinion, and surrounds them with a phalanx of hangers- 
 on, who effectually deter the meritorious from even thinking of 
 making their approach. Political reforms have done something, 
 and may do more, towards diminishing the abuse of patronage ; 
 
POVERTY AND PAUPERISM. 143 
 
 but what is chiefly wanted, is a higher moral tone, to scout every 
 appointment that is not made upon the only sound principle of 
 selectinfj the best fitted. 
 
 POVERTY AND PAUPERISM. 
 
 I GIVE the following extract from my pamphlet on Pauperism, 
 on account of the distinction drawn between Poverty and 
 Pauperism, and for the sake of correcting certain erroneous 
 notions connected with the two. 
 
 " In order to exhibit pauperism in its strongest colours, sup- 
 pose an extensive and fertile parish, with an unusual number of 
 wealthy residents, with large woods, much game, a facility of 
 smu'^'^ling two or three commons, several almshouses, endow- 
 ments' for' distributing bread and clothes, and much private 
 charity ; and suppose the rich to take no farther concern in 
 parochial affairs than alternately to grumble at the amount of 
 a rate or the harshness of an overseer, as application is made to 
 them for their money or for their protection. Urider such 
 circumstances, the spirit of pauperism will be at its height ; and 
 yet people, who should know better, will be found to hold such 
 language as this : ' I don't know how it is the rates in this 
 parTsh are so high. We are particularly well off for provision for 
 the poor ; there are almshouses, and regular distributions of food 
 and clothes; they have all common-rights, at least they all 
 take them; they pick up fuel for nothing— 1 am sure they are 
 never out of my woods ; they smuggle almost everything they 
 want ; and then private charity is really quite unbounded ; and 
 yet I can't say I see much gratitude in return. The damage done 
 to property is immense, and the expense and vexation about 
 game completely destroy all the pleasure of it. I often wish I 
 had not a bird or a hare on my estate. Really it is in vain to do 
 anything for the poor ; indeed, I think the more pains one takes, 
 
 the worse they are. Lord gave them an ox to roast last 
 
 King's birthday, and they absolutely pulled down his park 
 paling to make the fire.'* ' For poverty put pauperism and for 
 charity indiscretion, and all will be explained. Giving to pau- 
 perism is only ' spreading the compost on the weeds to make 
 them ranker.' 
 
 " It is of the utmost importance accurately to distinguish 
 between poverty and pauperism : for by confounding them, 
 poverty is dishonoured and pauperism countenanced. Supply 
 poverty with means and it \-anishes, but pauperism is the more 
 confinned. Poverty is a sound vessel empty, but pauperism 
 
 * This actually happened a few years since. 
 
144 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 is not only empty but cracked. Poverty is a natural appetite, 
 merely wanting food — pauperism a ravenous atrophy, which no 
 food can satisfy. Poverty strives to cure itself — pauperism to 
 contaminate others. Poverty often stimulates to exertion — 
 pauperism always paralyses. Poverty is sincere — pauperism is an 
 arch-hypocrite. Poverty has naturally a proud spirit — pauperism 
 a base one, now servile, now insolent. Poverty is silent and 
 retiring — pauperism clamorous and imposing ; the one grateful, 
 the other the reverse. There is much that is alluring in 
 poverty, but pauperism is altogether hateful. It is delightful 
 to succour the one, and irksome to be taxed for the other. 
 Poverty has the blessing of Heaven as well as those who 
 relieve it — pauperism, on the contrary, has nothing in common 
 with the Christian virtues. St. Paul has described the spirit of 
 pauperism, and given his decided opinion upon it. ' Neither 
 did we eat any man's bread for nought ; but wrought with labour 
 and travail night and day, that we might not be chargeable to 
 any of you, to make ourselves an ensample unto you to follow 
 us. For even when we were with you, this we commanded — 
 that if any would not work, neither should he eat. For we 
 hear that there are some which walk among you disorderly, 
 working not at all, but are busybodies. Now those that are 
 such we command and exhort by our Lord Jesus Christ, that 
 with quietness they work and eat their own bread.' Indeed, the 
 injunctions of Christianity are wholly in opposition to the spirit 
 of pauperism ; and the merit of those institutions which serve to 
 encourage, and of those individuals who thoughtlessly succour 
 it, may be estimated accordingly. 
 
 "In such a parish as that above described, the ample fund 
 capable of being raised, and, from its supposed management, 
 necessarily abused, would alone induce an over-population, and 
 the charitable endowments and private largesses would power- 
 fully contribute to the same end ; besides which are to be taken 
 into the account the pauperized habits produced by poaching, 
 smuggling, and gathering fuel, and by the barbarizing privileges 
 of common-rights. Increase the supposed advantages of such a 
 place, and pauperism will increase in the same or in a greater 
 proportion. How vain from such a population to expect grati- 
 tude for favours, or respect for property : ' Do men gather 
 grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles.?' Idle and lawless habits 
 and abandoned principles can be the only fruits. They alone 
 are in their hearts grateful for assistance who are really striving 
 for themselves — the traveller fainting on his journey, and not 
 the beggar by the wayside." 
 
( 145 ) 
 
 TEMPER. 
 
 Of all personal and mental attractions, the two most permanent 
 are undoubtedly smoothness of skin and temper — a sort of 
 velvetness of body and mind. As they both especially depend 
 upon the digestion, that is one of the strongest arguments for 
 attending to its state. For once that the actions of human 
 beings are guided by reason, ninety-and-nine times they are 
 more or less influenced by temper. It is an even temper only 
 that allows reason her full dominion, and enables us to arrive at 
 any intended end by the nearest way, or at all. On the other 
 hand, there is no obstacle to advancement or happiness so great 
 as an undisciplined temper — a temper subject to pique or 
 uncertainty. Pique is at once the bitterest and most absurd 
 enemy a man can have. It will make him run counter to his 
 dearest interests, and at the same time render hini completely 
 regardless of the interests of all around him. It will make him 
 blindly violate every principle of truth, honesty, and humanity, 
 and defeat the most important business or break up the happiest 
 party, without remorse, or a seeming consciousness of doing 
 what is wrong. It is pity that those who allow themselves to be 
 subject to it are not treated with a great deal more severity 
 than they usually are ; for, in truth, they are greater pests to 
 society than all the criminals who infest it, and, in my opinion, 
 are often much more blameworthy. I have remarked that 
 persons much given to pique are frequently particularly strict in 
 the outward observances of religion. They must have strange 
 notions, or rather no notions at all, of the spirit of Christianity ; 
 and the doctrines they hear must fall upon the most stony 
 of places. Nay, I have met with persons so insensible to pro- 
 priety as to avow, without scruple, that they have left oft' attend- 
 ing a place of worship from some supposed affront they have 
 received there. The concluding sentence of Fenelon's Tele- 
 machus is so much in unison with my sentiments, and is so 
 well expressed, that I will conclude with it : 
 
 " Above all things be on your guard against your temper. It 
 is an enemy that will accompany you everywhere, to the last 
 hour of your life. If you listen to it, it will frustrate all your 
 designs. It will make you lose the most important opportu- 
 nities, and will inspire you with the inclinations and aversions 
 of a child, to the prejudice of your gravest interests. Temper 
 causes the greatest affairs to be decided by the most paltry 
 reasons ; it obscures every talent, paralyses every energy, and 
 renders its victims unequal, weak, vile, and insupportable." 
 
146 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT— 
 
 {concluded). 
 
 Florence, June 12, 1822. 
 I HAVE been reading for the second time JNIadame de Stael's 
 Corinne, and generally in the places described. With a con- 
 siderable quantity of nonsense, I think it excessively clever. 
 The descriptions are often very just, and made me perceive 
 beauties I should otherwise have missed; but they are occasion- 
 ally too poetical. I perfectly agree with her, that the scenery in 
 a warm climate in the middle of the day conveys an idea of 
 tranquillity quite inconceivable to those who have not witnessed 
 it. I never mentioned that, when at Naples, we went to see 
 some royal races about fifteen miles in the countrj-. They were 
 in imitation of English races, but they reminded me much more 
 of Astley's than of Newm.arket. The whole Court was present, 
 and the king acted as steward — not in a very dignified manner. 
 He started the horses, and abused the jockeys abundantly. The 
 most interesting sight was the peasantry, assembled from thirty 
 miles round, regaling themselves in groups in a forest, in their 
 various very picturesque costumes. They seemed to enjoy 
 themselves exceedingly, and several parties pressed us much to 
 partake of their cheer. By far the best view of the Bay of 
 Naples, and the most beautiful view I ever saw, is from a stone 
 bench in the garden of the convent at Camaldoli, a few miles 
 from the city. At a little distance from the convent there is a 
 notice on a post forbidding females to pass further, as contrary- 
 to the rules of the order ; but I believe the most enterprising of 
 the English ladies, in spite of this prohibition, and of the 
 difficulties of the road, do occasionally contrive to insinuate 
 themselves into the garden. The environs of Naples are truly 
 delicious, especially in spring, which is by much the most 
 favourable season for seeing Italian scenery south of Florence. 
 We visited Tivoli both in spring and summer, and the difference 
 in point of beauty was immense, and still greater at Adrian's 
 Villa, near it. The ruins of the villa resemble those of a town 
 more than of a countiy-seat. They contain a theatre, baths, 
 place for the representation of sea-fights, and everything that 
 can be thought of in the way of luxury and delight. The first 
 time we were there, the fruit-trees and shrubs were loaded with 
 white and peach-coloured flowers, which, contrasted with the 
 many kinds of magnificent evergreens and the various masses of 
 ruins, presented a strikingly beautiful appearance; but in summer 
 we found a lamentable change. The flowers were gone, and 
 with them the contrast, and the full foliage of the vines and 
 figs obscured the ruins, so as very much to diminish their effect. 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 147 
 
 Bologna, J une 24. 
 
 We quitted Florence on the 21st, and travelled all night 
 on account of the heat. Sunrise from the top of the Apen- 
 nines is glorious. We prolonged our stay at Florence, to be 
 present at a ball given at a villa about a mile from the city. I 
 had a great desire to see a fete at an Italian villa at the best 
 season of the year, for the better understanding of " Romeo and 
 Juliet." A terrace at the back of the house was illuminated, and 
 locked down upon a garden planted with orange-trees, with a 
 fountain in the middle, and surrounded, as Juliet's garden was, 
 with a wall "high and hard to climb." It was a beautiful 
 starlight night, the sky like blue velvet bespangled with gold. 
 There was no moon, but the lamps served to "tip with sil-er all 
 the fruit-tree tops." The air was as soft as balm, and the scene 
 as completely Julietical as possible. I would not have missed it 
 for a great deal. I have been reading all Shakespeare's plays the 
 scenes of which are laid in Italy ; and it is surprising how very 
 faithful they are to the manners and customs, and how many 
 allusions are to be found in them to the objects around. The 
 other day I observed in Florence a stuffed alligator suspended 
 from the ceiling of an apothecary's shop. Like Juliet's nurse, 
 both men and women still carry large green fans, to the exclusion 
 of parasols ; and nightingales and pomegranates continually re- 
 minded me of ''nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree." 
 The paintings in the gallery here are of the first merit, but 
 unfortunately I have no appetite to enjoy them. I have seen so 
 much of the fine arts, that for the present I am absolutely 
 satiated. We went yesterday to see "The Maid and the Magpie" 
 acted in the open air. The intense attention and variety of 
 strong expression of countenance of the lower orders occupied 
 me so much, that I scarcely saw anything of the play. Per- 
 formances in the open air are common at this season. I like 
 Bologna much, and the people appear very superior to any I 
 have seen in the Pope's States. 
 
 Salzburg, July i. 
 
 For four days we have been travelling through the TyroL It 
 is beautiful and interesting. It has all the features of Swiss 
 scenery, but cultivation is richer and more extended, and there 
 is less of boldness. Mountains covered with larch, and now 
 and then with snow, torrents, bright corn-fields, the greenest 
 meadows, neat villages of white houses, pretty churches, de- 
 tached, comfortable-looking cottages, no appearance of poverty 
 or of accumulation of wealth, and avery picturesque peasantry, 
 make up the country, as far as I have seen it. I do not wonder 
 at the Tyrolese being patriotic. We have being gradually leav- 
 ing everything Italian, and are now completely in Germany. 
 
148 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 What a change in the people, country, and climate ! At Bologna 
 the thermometer was as high as it could rise — above ii8^ ; here 
 it is 65°. The difference between the scenery we have last seen 
 and that of Italy is the same as that between a picture by an 
 old master and one wet from the paintei-'s brush. Italy and the 
 Tyrol, methinks, might be personified by two persons, one 
 dressed for a ball, and the other for the chase — the first full of 
 grace and brilliancy, the other of freshness and strength. The 
 Tyrol exhibits the dewy freshness of morning ; Italy, even in her 
 loveliest scenes, has something of aridity appearing through. But, 
 Italy ! Italy for me ! I do not know what I would take not to 
 have seen it. 
 
 Vienna, August 4, 1S22. 
 
 We arrived here on the 6th of July, and leave it to-morrow. 
 At Salzburg we visited the famous salt-mines, Avhich are said to 
 have been first worked by the Romans, and we were told it 
 would take eight days' good walking to explore them thoroughly. 
 The dress we put on consisted of a white jacket and trousers, 
 the latter very wide for the purpose of containing the skirts of 
 the coat, a cap, stiff leather glove for the right hand, and a 
 leather apron, like a cobbler's, tied on behind ; and ladies, many 
 of whom visit the mines, of necessity adopt this inconvenient 
 and unbecoming costume ; but place and occasion reconcile 
 even the most fastidious to anything. The entrance is at the 
 side of a hill along a level passage, at the end of which is the 
 first descent, which is a very steep inclined plane of considerable 
 length. The guide seats himself first, upon two parallel rounded 
 rafters; then one of the party, with his left hand upon the 
 guide's shoulder, and so on, till all are placed, on which the 
 guide launches himself, and the whole train descends with great 
 velocity, and very pleasantly — each person sitting upon his 
 leather apron, ancl with his glove-hand holding a rope as a sort 
 of banister. At the end of the descent is another level, and so 
 on for six or seven descents, till at length we arrived at a lake, 
 about a hundred yards long and thirty wide, into which the 
 salt-rock, or rather clay, is thrown, and when the water is satu- 
 rated it is passed through wooden conduits into the village, 
 and there filters through long ranges of billets of wood, which 
 collect the salt. For visitors the lake is illuminated, and 
 there is a boat upon it, in which those who wish m.ay make 
 a voyage, very much like that which "poets write of" with old 
 Charon. There are thirty- two of these lakes. We made our 
 exit by a boarded passage, a mile in length, upon a little car- 
 riage drawn by men, and at the end is a cottage, where we 
 left our dresses, and finished one of the most amusing expedi- 
 tions I ever made. 
 
 We embarked on the Danube at Linz with our carriage at 
 
LETTERS FROM THE CONTINENT. 149 
 
 midday of July 5th. The voyage was pleasant ; but the Danube, 
 as far as we saw, is not to be compared with the Rhine for 
 beauty of scenery ; in size it is much superior. We saw some 
 ruins/but none of interest ; the towns presented nothing remark- 
 able : there were some magnificent-looking convents. Now and 
 then the scenery was good, but in general the country is ilat and 
 unvaried. We slept at a poor little inn, and landed the next 
 afternoon. I believe the Danube above Linz is more interesting. 
 We have stayed at this place longer than we intended, not 
 that there is much to see, but the lounging life we lead with a 
 very agreeable little society of our countrymen, we find a whole- 
 some change, and it gives us time to digest what we have seen, 
 which I find highly necessary, for one thing had begun to drive 
 out another for some time past. Most of our party play at 
 tennis, and we ride, dine, and sup together every day. I like 
 the way of living here very much. We dine about three o'clock, 
 and on few dishes, get excellent beef-steaks and genuine beer 
 and very pleasant wine, principally from Hungary, and have 
 enjoyable little suppers — excellent pickled trout, and crayfish as 
 large as httle lobsters. The English are very popular here, and 
 we find every disposition to court us. For three Saturdays our 
 party have gone to Baden, remaining till Monday. It is an e.x- 
 tremely neat little town, fifteen miles off, with hot sulphureous 
 springs. The Emperor and the whole Imperial family are there, 
 Hving, and walking about in the most simple style; they are 
 very popular. On Sundays they are all to be seen on the 
 promenade, in a valley something in the style of the scenery at 
 Matlock. The concourse is large, and the costumes various, 
 both European and Oriental. Young Napoleon walks with the 
 Emperor, and, singular enough, the valley is called St. Helena. 
 There is nothing remarkable about Vienna. The city within 
 the walls does not contain more than 80,000 inhabitants. All 
 the houses have a good appearance ; there are no beggars, nor 
 indeed any nuisance whatever, that I have seen. The suburbs 
 contain about 170,000 inhabitants. The people of all ranks seem 
 much given to enjoy themselves in a peaceable and moderate 
 way, and they appear to have the means at command. For 
 public and private gardens, promenades and places of recreation, 
 they are particularly well off. On Sundays the Prater, which is 
 the Hyde Park of Vienna, but much larger, is like a fair, and the 
 villages in the neighbourhood seem so many places of entertain- 
 ment. The government is a paternal despotism, the policy of 
 which is to keep the people in good-humour, and to prevent them 
 from thinking. The police superintend everything, even as to 
 which side of a bridge you are to walk upon, and no one is 
 allowed to bathe in an immense public bath there, and still 
 less in the Danube, until he has proved his ability to swim — a 
 
ISO 
 
 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 rope being tied round his body, and a policeman holding one 
 end of it. I have seen this with my own eyes. The Austrian 
 system I take to be nearly perfect in its kind ; but it is not a 
 kind to my free-born English taste, and though, under the cir- 
 cumstances, I have passed a most agreeable month here, I have 
 no wish to repeat my visit. 
 
 [In my only remaining letters, one from Munich, the other 
 from Paris, I find nothing I think worthy of extraction ; I hope 
 my readers will not have thought the same of the preceding 
 letters.] 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 If any man possessed every qualification to succeed in life, it is 
 probable that he would remain perfectly stationary. The con- 
 sciousness of his powers would tempt him to omit opportunity 
 after opportunity to the end of his days. Those who do succeed, 
 ordinarily owe their success to some disadvantage under which 
 they labour, and it is the struggle against a difficulty that 
 brings faculties into play. 
 
 Ordinary men are often ruined by an over-estimate of their 
 own powers ; extraordinary men are kept back by the opposite 
 error. They calculate remote difficulties, instead of advancing 
 to them ; and if they trusted to their resources, they would find 
 no obstacle to be insurmountable. 
 
 In general the difficulty of doing anything chiefly lies in pre- 
 paring to do it — in the proper training, or acquiring an apt 
 disposition of mind and body. What it is difficult to do in one 
 state, it is difficult not to do in another ; and this applies equally 
 to the exercise of physical and mental faculties, to running or 
 fighting, to speaking or composing. Plutarch says of Paulus 
 /Emilius, that he made little account of beating an enemy, 
 compared with the bringing of his army to strict discipline ; for he 
 thought the one a certain consequence of the other. It is skill 
 and resolution in acciuiring the proper disposition to action that 
 make life easy. This disposition is what is termed alacrity, and 
 its opposite is that distressing repugnance, denominated nerv- 
 ousness, both depending upon the state of the digestive powers. 
 Under one influence existence is a perpetual source of pleasure, 
 and under the other an exhibition of pitiable weakness. These 
 two states depend greatly upon natural constitution, but no less 
 perhaps upon our own care. 
 
( 151 ) 
 
 No. XIV. Wednesday, Aug. 19, 1835. 
 
 DOMESTIC ECONOMY OF THE LABOURING 
 
 CLASSES. 
 
 I SHALL make no apology for devoting so large a portion of this 
 number to one subject ; first, because of its great interest and 
 importance ; and secondly, because I wish to give, at one view 
 and in the most compact form, the following recently written 
 observations, practically illustrated by a document which was 
 the result of a very careful investigation. The greatest evils, 
 perhaps, under which the lower classes labour, arise from igno- 
 rance of domestic economy. It is certainly below the mark to say 
 that, on an average, labourers' families might live much better 
 than they now do for one-third less expense. Waste and un- 
 comfort are but too often the chief characteristics of their 
 management — the bitter consequences of which are strife, 
 sickness, debt, misery, recklessness, and crime. Their pur- 
 chases are often bad in quality, small in quantity, and high in 
 price ; their meals wasteful and unwholesome ; their clothes 
 neglected, and everything about them destitute of arrangement. 
 There are many causes which conspire to keep up this state of 
 things. First, the want of efficient local government, having for 
 its basis moral influence. The majority of mankind are, as it 
 were, out of the pale of systematic discipline, and it is marvellous 
 that their neglected state' is not productive of worse consequences 
 to themselves and the rest of the world. Secondly, the means 
 which are adopted to remedy the evils of neglect only tend in 
 principle to aggravate and perpetuate them, and the endless 
 institutions, miscalled charitable, with which the land is covered, 
 by furnishing so many substitutes for prudence, diminish the 
 necessity for prudence itself, and, in defiance of morals and 
 religion,' reduce human beings below the standard of their 
 nature. Thirdly, it has ever been the policy of Government to 
 sacrifice the people to considerations of revenue, to raising 
 soldiers and sailors, and to the preservation of their own in- 
 fluence against their opponents — sometimes with a specious 
 show, in the latter particular, of pursuing an opposite course. 
 Fourthly, what has been the policy of Government is in reality 
 the policy of every party, because party can only exist by popular 
 debasement, brought about and fostered by flattery and falsehood, 
 just as a purpose is to be accomplished. Fifthly, there is a notion 
 verj' prevalent amongst the upper classes, that in order to be able 
 to command the quantity of labour they require, it is necessary 
 
152 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 to keep the labouring classes in a state of dependence, or bor- 
 dering upon it, and, though this unchristian feeling is no doubt 
 fi-equently disguised to those who entertain it, yet their actions 
 constantly correspond with its influence, even when they appear 
 to be dictated by disinterested kindness. It is a very narrow 
 and short-sighted view to suppose that independence resulting 
 from prudence could produce any other than the most beneficial 
 consequences, though it is perhaps impossible to calculate before- 
 hand the full extent of those consequences on the general state 
 of society. We see that the number of workmen requisite to 
 perform the same quantity of work, that the bad quality of the 
 work, and the trouble and drawbacks to the employers, are in 
 proportion to the degradation of the labourers, and we know that 
 the most prudent are the steadiest in their occupation and the 
 most to be depended upon. The desire of accumulation, and 
 the hope of advancement, are the most permanent incitements to 
 labour. In considering this question, it is necessary not to con- 
 found that independence which arises from accidental causes with 
 the independence which is the result of prudence. The first is 
 generally attended with pernicious consequences ; the second 
 scarcely ever. Lastly, the unthrifty, uncomfortable condition of 
 the labouring classes depends greatly upon the mode of their 
 education, so far as they have any. Good training is alone good 
 education, and it is not enough to teach only those things which 
 are good or bad, as they are used. A woman does not neces- 
 sarily make a better helpmate to a labouring man because she 
 can read and write ; but it is otherwise, if she has been taught 
 the domestic arts of hfe suitable to her condition. Both are 
 desirable, but the latter are indispensable to happiness, and they 
 are lamentably neglected. It is upon this part of the subject 
 only that I propose to make any further observations. 
 
 There is no class of persons to whom domestic comfort is of 
 so much importance as to those who have to earn their liveli- 
 hood by hard labour, and there is no greater contrast than that 
 between a well-ordered and a cheerless home. In the one case, 
 when the husband returns from his work, he finds a kindly wel- 
 come, a cheerful fire, quiet children, as good a meal as his means 
 will allow, ready prepared, ever)' want anticipated, every habit 
 attended to, a universal neatness, and everything in its place. 
 In the other case is the reverse of all this, and in addition, 
 perhaps, the wife absent, or intoxicated, and some article taken 
 to the pawnbroker's to furnish the means of indulgence ; angry 
 words ensue, and then blows. The husband flies to the public- 
 house, where a welcome awaits him. His wife breaks in upon 
 hmi, and at last, for peace, is invited to partake of his enjoy- 
 ments, which on such occasions ever end in excess, and crime 
 or the parish is the resource. Women brought up in ignorance 
 
DOMESTIC ECONOMY. 153 
 
 of comfort, of course are careless about the means of providing 
 for it. They are heedless how they marry, and, when married, 
 never think of the duties of their situation. I recollect a young 
 woman, the wife of a labourer in the country, once applying to 
 me respecting some alleged harsh treatment on the part cf a 
 shopkeeper, to whom she owed money. On investigating the 
 case, I found that she regularly spent three shillings a week in 
 sweet things, and that she held herself entitled to pass the first 
 year after her marriage in complete idleness : a privilege, I dis- 
 covered, by no means seldom claimed. Of course the habits of 
 the first year would become, in a great measure, the habits of 
 after-life, and the indulgence in sweet things would most likely 
 be transferred in time to things less harmless. 
 
 A greater degree of self-dependence is especially to be desired 
 amongst the labouring classes, which can only be produced by a 
 greater degree of prudence ; and there is nothing so likely to 
 induce prudence as the cultivation of domestic economy; indeed, 
 it is an essential part of domestic economy, because without fore- 
 sight there can be little or no comfort. The very facilities the 
 lower orders possess of living from hand to mouth frequently 
 tend to their ruin, by preventing the necessity of providing before- 
 hand, and there is, perhaps, nothing which is more injurious to 
 their interests than being able to make their marketings on 
 Sunday mornings — a privilege loudly claimed for them by pre- 
 tended friends, who are ever the advocates of whatever supposes 
 the lowest standard. They must have a strange idea of what an 
 English labourer ought to be, who think him incapable of suffi- 
 cient prudence to have one week's wages in store, and, by so 
 lowly rating him, they make or keep him where he is. Sunday 
 markets are productive of evils in many ways ; and, if they were 
 prohibited, the labouring classes would be materially benefited. 
 
 Considering how powerful by nature is female influence, there 
 can be no one mode so sure of increasing the stock of human 
 happiness and human virtue as a quiet perseverance on the part 
 of women in studying to promote the comforts of home. There 
 is on the part of the upper classes a general desire to attend to 
 the interests of those below them, though the means pursued are 
 frequently the reverse of judicious. I believe there is no way in 
 which the labouring classes can be so effectually served as by 
 instructing them in the arts of domestic economy, because a 
 well-ordered home is the best security for good order in eveiy- 
 thing else. To those who take an interest in schools, and 
 generally in the training of children and young people, I would 
 suggest the idea of introducing a sort of exercise in domestic 
 economy, and of aflbrding every facihty and encouragement for 
 its practice. I will conclude my observations with enumerating 
 a few particulars, which appear to me most worthy of attention, 
 
154 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 and others will no doubt occur to those who turn their minds to 
 the subject. In my intercourse with the labouring classes, what 
 I have observed they seem most to want to learn is — to market 
 and make purchases on the most advantageous terms ; to apply 
 the arts of cookery to preparing food in an economical, whole- 
 some, and palatable manner ; in the country, to brew and bake ; 
 to light a lire expeditiously and economically ; to keep up a fire 
 economically ; to make a fire cheerful expeditiously ; to set out a 
 table quickly and neatly ; to clear away expeditiously ; to cut 
 out, make, and mend linen, and to keep other clothes in good 
 order ; to wash and get up linen ; to dry and clean shoes ; to 
 sweep and clean rooms quietly and expeditiously, and to keep 
 them neat and comfortable ; and lastly, to prepare proper food 
 for children and the sick. The difference in the way of doing 
 these things, as far as my observation could go, is immense ; 
 and the difference in point of comfort corresponding. The 
 management of a fire is of great importance ; and quietness and 
 quickness are essential to comfort. Some women conduct their 
 household concerns with a noise and confusion which are quite 
 distracting. 
 
 The following statement, which was drawn up for the Duke of 
 Somerset, I give by way of specimen of investigation, and to put 
 those who wish to turn their attention to such subjects into 
 what I conceive to be the right course. Though it applies to a 
 particular district, much of the matter is of general application, 
 and the doctrines I have laid down, if they are good anywhere, 
 are good everywhere. 
 
 " The following account of the labouring classes in the parish 
 of Berry Pomeroy * is the result of information collected between 
 November 1822 and May 1823 ; but there is so much difficulty 
 in ascertaining the whole truth in such matters, that I do not 
 pledge myself to accuracy in every particular. Few are able to 
 represent things as they are — many wilfully pervert, and most 
 speak from some bias ; added to which, being a stranger in that 
 part of the country, I was liable to fall into error from ignorance 
 of local customs and expressions. However easy it may appear 
 to discover the truth, it is only necessary to pei'severe in investi- 
 gation to be convinced of the difficulty. 
 
 " The labouring classes in Berry parish are certainly better off 
 than in many parts of the kingdom, but it is in a slavish way. 
 The children, till ten or eleven years of age, are carelessly 
 brought up, generally with parochial assistance, with an imper- 
 fect knowledge of reading, and a part of them with a still more 
 imperfect knowledge of writing. They are then bound appren- 
 tices by the parish till they are twenty-one, at which period, with 
 a moderate stock of clothes and a few shillings in their pockets, 
 * In Devonshire. 
 
DOMESTIC ECONOMY. 155 
 
 with a mere knowledge of drudgery and great unskilfulncss in 
 domestic economy, without hope of bettering their condition or 
 thought of looking beyond the present moment, with the parish 
 for their world and the overseer for their guide, they become 
 nominally free. The course then is to hire themselves as yearly 
 servants for board, lodging, and washing, v/ith from ^5 to ^9 in 
 wages. They generally marry early, and then go into cottages 
 or rooms, as they can get them, with at most a small garden, a 
 pig, and a hen or two. They then become daily labourers, and 
 earn from ^s. to 10^. a week (including an allowance of cider), 
 and their wives get about 8^. a day when there is outdoor 
 work, at other times generally doing nothing. Their highest 
 idea of independence is to maintain themselves as long as they 
 have only a small family, and are in health, and can get labour 
 in the parish or parts adjoining; but they look no further.* 
 Ignorance, and their rehance on the parish, bind the gieat 
 majority of them to the soil as effectually as if they were Russian 
 boors. There are a few who make voyages to Newfoundland, 
 but are still frequently dependent on parochial relief, and the 
 instances of those who get out into the world are so few as not 
 to be worth mentioning. Artisans, lime-burners, and cider- 
 makers get higher wages than the agricultural labourers, but 
 are more subject to want of employment, and are equally or 
 more improvident. The only present instance in the parish of 
 a man bringing up a family without aid is of a lime-burner at 
 Langcombe, named Richard Warren, who, however laudable his 
 practice, maintains, from sympathy or fear, the same doctrine as 
 the rest; and when age or infirmity overtakes him, he must 
 come to the same state. From a conference I had with five of 
 the most deserving or intelligent labourers of the parish, I was 
 more convinced than before, even from their own partial and very 
 guarded statements,! of their abihty to provide for themselves; 
 
 * I should except those who are sick in clubs, but whose subscriptions the 
 parish is frequently called upon to pay. 
 
 t The difficulty of getting at the truth from persons in this debasing state 
 of dependence is almost inconceivable. They live a prey to suspicion, con 
 cealment, and apprehension, both on their own individual account and on 
 account of the common cause. Hence the gross errors which well-meaning 
 but superficial inquirers fall into respecting them. I once counted a row of 
 eggs laid upon a shelf in a pauper labourer's cottage, and then asked his 
 wife how many hens she had, which, coupled with my having a note-book 
 in my hand, so alarmed her, that she was seized with a violent illness. If 
 she had been aware of my coming, the eggs would have been concealed. In 
 a cottage in Lancashire, whilst the inmates were complaining that they had 
 not tasted butcher's meat for a month, a terrier I had with me turned up a 
 mug under which were the bones of a neck of mutton newly picked. A 
 woman, just after telling me she could not get food, forgot herself and cut a 
 large slice of bread to quiet a squalhng child. The child bit one piece, and 
 then threw the remainder indignantly into the dirt. 
 
156 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 but I was at the same time forcibly struck with the discourage- 
 ments they labour under ; and it appeared to me that after 
 having compelled them to do their best, the consequence would 
 be sooner or later to make them quit their unp romising situation, 
 for the probability of turning their prudence to greater account in 
 more favourable districts, leaving their places to be filled up by 
 new-comers, with their cast-off habits. It appears as impossible 
 to retain a provident population in Bridgetown, as Bridgetown 
 is, as to have a healthy one in a swamp — the place must be 
 reformed as well as the people. It is certain that, of the labour- 
 ing classes of all descriptions, whether strong or weak, skilful 
 or unskilful, industrious or idle — whether with large or small 
 families, married or unmarried, marrying late or early, daily 
 labourers or artisans — whether possessing the most advantages 
 or the fewest — whether working constantly for the richest, or 
 occasionally for the poorest farmers, it is certain that not one 
 has more than a few pounds beforehand. The system there- 
 fore is radically bad — a system of debasing equalization. The 
 parish, on the one hand, holds out strong temptations to 
 improvidence ; and, on the other, there are no inducements, or 
 none sufficiently powerful, to encourage a contrary course. 
 There is a labourer at Berry, who has a wife and only one child ; 
 he is subject to an infirmity which occasionally disables him 
 from labour, during which time he has relief from the parish. 
 His wife is one of the only two remaining women possessed of 
 looms. She might by industry gain as much as would keep her 
 husband during his illness ; but she has not used her loom for 
 two years, pleading the difficulty of getting work and the ill- 
 health of her child, but in reality not choosing to ' save the 
 parish,' as the phrase is — for that would be the only effect she 
 perceives ; and she would incur the blame of her compeers for 
 an abandonment of their supposed rights. To compel her to 
 work is possible, but it would be contending against public 
 opinion, and perhaps inducing an intentional aggravation of 
 the man's infirmity, in order to triumph over the parish, 
 instances of which perverseness are by no means rare, nor are 
 they to be wondered at, when it is considered that they are 
 esteemed as a sort of self-devotion, or patriotic contest for the 
 common rights. According to the present state of things, an 
 individual of the lower class, who should be inclined to become 
 provident, must suffer present privation for remote and uncer- 
 tain advantages. All he could expect would be the accumu- 
 lation of a little fund, from which, whatever advantages he could 
 derive, the sums he would otherwise have obtained from the 
 parish would be reckoned as so much lost, and so he would be 
 continually told. He would have no means of turning his 
 capital to account, as long as he remained in the parish, except 
 
DOMESTIC ECONOMY. 157 
 
 perhaps by setting up a small shop, and all he could do would 
 be to use his fund as his necessities obliged him, with the 
 consciousness that it might fail at last, and leave him in no 
 better state than the rest. * What is the use of saving ? — the 
 parish must keep us,' is the common language ; and unless it is 
 made apparent that they who save will have opportunities 
 afforded them of providing iniicli better for themselves than the 
 parish will provide for them, it is almost in vain to think of 
 creating a provident population. Sa\'ing implies present priva- 
 tion, and there must be future advantages held out, and those 
 not very remote, to induce and preserve an alteration of habits. 
 With attention and judgment, a system might be introduced 
 which would operate a completely beneficial change, making 
 allowance for occasional instances of human frailty — that 
 is, prudence might be made to become almost as general 
 as improvidence is now. I shall confine myself, however, to 
 only one suggestion (as being that alone which, under pre- 
 sent circumstances, is likely to be in any degree carried into 
 practice), and that relates to the residences of the labouring 
 classes. 
 
 " On account of the scarcity of accommodations, cottage rents 
 are oppressively high, especially in Bridgetown. A journeyman 
 shoemaker there, who has had fourteen children, and has five at 
 home, pays ^4 loj-. a year for one room and a miserable garret, 
 with a small garden. He gains 2s. or 3^-. a week by teaching a 
 night-school ; but, during his wife's confinement in the spring, 
 he was obliged to dismiss his scholars for want of room, just 
 when his expenses were the greatest, and the parish had to 
 make up the difference. The crowded state of the population 
 and the wretched state of the accommodations are highly un- 
 favourable to health and morals, and some of the labourers have 
 to go three miles to their work, which, in a hilly country and rainy 
 climate, is a serious drawback upon their time in task work, a 
 profitless wear of the constitution, and a frequent cause of disease 
 and infirmity. After a sorry breakfast of weak suet-broth, a 
 labourer of the poorer order sometimes walks three miles to his 
 work, with a little more than a piece of barley-bread for his 
 dinner, eaten in the fields in wet clothes, and returns at night to 
 a filthy crowded chamber to his supper, which is his principal 
 meal. The distance from employment too is a frequent cause of 
 not obtaining it at all, and I believe, if the artisans also were a 
 little scattered, it would be better both for themselves and for those 
 who liave occasion to employ them. But I consider the circum- 
 stance of there being so few gradations as to residence as one of 
 the gi-eatest evils. A separate cottage in bad condition, with a 
 small garden, generally too small to be of much advantage, and 
 therefore neglected, forms, with, I think, one or two exceptions, 
 
158 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the highest class of labourers' tenements. The consequence is, 
 the great stimulus to exertion, the hope of advancement, has 
 scarcely any operation. If there were gradations, from a couple 
 of rooms to comfortable family cottages, with land sufficient for 
 a garden, a small orchard, and to keep a cow or two, there 
 would be an obvious inducement continually held out to thrift 
 and good character, in hopes of obtaining the higher prizes. 
 Individuals would begin to strive for themselves, and would 
 cease, as at p7'esent, to make common cause against the parisJi* 
 The success of one would excite the emulation of others, and the 
 general character would be raised. The children of those in the 
 higher rank of labourers would often be deterred from too early 
 marriages by the dread of descending from their station, and 
 the children of the lowest class would sometimes, from feelings 
 c>f prudence or ambition, wait till they had the means or oppor- 
 tunity of advancement. The impulse of character would be felt, 
 and the present practice of heedless marriages would cease to 
 be so prevalent.f The advantages of gardens to cottages, I 
 believe, are universally allowed : the smallest size, as some of 
 the labourers informed me, should be one-eighth of an acre. I 
 am aware that an objection would be alleged to their having 
 orchards, as affording them a cover for stealing and selling the 
 farmers' apples ; but as only those would possess them who had 
 advanced themselves, or whose fathers had done so before them, 
 I do not think the objection valid against the moral effect of 
 making a higher gradation. Indeed, robbing orchards would 
 probably be held in greater disrepute than it is, when some of 
 the class who are now the offenders might themselves suffer 
 from the practice. I have heard it objected that labourers 
 keeping cows diminishes the farmer's profits ; but experience in 
 many parts of the country where it is the custom, so fully proves 
 its advantages, that I hold it unnecessary to say much upon the 
 subject. A plentiful supply of milk, and domestic cmploymott 
 for females, much more than counterbalance any inconvenience, 
 if there be any, which I much doubt, from a labourer's cow. 
 
 * Bsin^ on one low level, the labouring classes here have all one common 
 correspondhig feeling. Though apparently quiet and orderly, I found them 
 in reality more violent and unreasonable, particularly the women, and less 
 intelligent, than I have experienced in the manufacturing districts. 
 
 f Passion, affection, the hope of offspring or of domestic comfort, have 
 comparatively little operation in producing marriages in this degraded class. 
 Mere custom is one great cause. If the men could obtain employment as 
 easily whilst single as when married, and could meet with accommodation 
 undisturbed by the matrimonial uncomforts of others, and the women had a 
 more marked choice between provident and improvident husbands, a great 
 alteration for the better would take place. Houses kept by respectable 
 middle-aged people without any young children, where single men could 
 have accommodation according to their inclination or means, would consider- 
 ably conduce to prevent premature marriages, and would be otherwise advan- 
 tageous in many ways. 
 
DOMESTIC ECONOMY. 159 
 
 With a proper-sized garden, a cow, a pig, and a few hens, a 
 cottager's wife never need be at a loss for work, and the differ- 
 ence between a female so occupied, and the gossiping women 
 of Bridgetown and Berry would soon become apparent. The 
 men, too, under such circumstances can in a great degree find 
 employment at home in wet weather, or at the seasons of the 
 year when the least labour is wanted, which prevents them from 
 being a burden to the farmers or the parish, or living upon their 
 savings, or wasting them at the alehouse. I have mentioned 
 the highest class of cottages having land enough for two cows, 
 and this I think might be desirable for three reasons :— First, be- 
 cause it is making a higher gradation, which is giving a greater 
 stimulus, and raising the moral character ; secondly, because it 
 would increase the facility of obtaining milk to those who have 
 no cow, or who are temporarily in want of a supply, for where 
 the labourers are wholly dependent for mili^ upon the farmers 
 they are seldom regularly or sufficiently accommodated ; and 
 thirdly, because I think it highly desirable to have a reserve of 
 labour for those periods of the year when there is the greatest 
 demand for it in a class of persons, who, for a tiifling advance, 
 as in harvest, or when they are particularly wanted, are willing 
 to work for others, and at other times can depend upon them- 
 selves. In the present state of things, where there is only one 
 class of mere labourers, living from hand to mouth, there must 
 either be at some seasons too few, or at others too many, and 
 consequently the farmers must either suffer inconvenience from a 
 scarcity of hands, or else from a degraded set of supernumeraries, 
 frequently living partly upon the parish, and partly by depreda- 
 tions.* 
 
 " With respect to the method of bringing about the change, 
 in case your grace should be inclined to make the attempt, 
 either wholly or in part, I think the principal thing is to let your 
 intentions be generally known, and the farmers who desire to 
 have cottages built upon their farms may signify the same to 
 your steward. In such cases the cottages should go with the 
 farms. The labour of men resident is worth more than that 
 of those at a distance ; and a few steady labourers, dispersed 
 over a farm, are a great advantage in preventing trespasses and 
 depredations, and in watching the cattle and sheep, besides the 
 advantages to the labourer in living near his work, which are 
 very considerable, especially in bad weather. There are, I be- 
 
 * Instead of keeping cows, the land might, in many cases, be applied to 
 other purposes, according to circumstances. Where there has been a long 
 connection between farmer and labourer, and the latter afterwards becomes, 
 by his prudence, occupant of a little land, still holding himself at the dis- 
 posal of his former master during periods of extra demand for labour, and in 
 his turn receiving assistance from the farmer's team, &c., how profitable, 
 both morally and pecuniarily, is such a relation, compared with that arising 
 from the system of pauper supernumeraries ! 
 
i6o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 lieve, on the Berry estate many plots of land, at present, from 
 their rough state or inferior quality, of little or no value to the 
 farmers, which would, in the hands of industrious labourers, 
 working for themselves at spare times, soon become fit for 
 cultivation. Cottages, not built for the convenience of particular 
 farms, should be held immediately from your grace, and, if let 
 to proper persons, the trouble of collecting the rents would be 
 very trifling. I think it would be well to encourage applications 
 from the labourers themselves for cottages, or gardens, or land, 
 as a stimulus to exertion and good conduct ; but particular care 
 should be taken to examine into the merits of each case.* If a 
 man applied to have his garden enlarged, I would first see that 
 he made the most of what he had already. If he asked for land 
 for a cow, I would not only make him show that he had money to 
 buy one, but I would ascertain that the cow would be well managed. 
 If he asked for a cottage, I would ascertain that a labourer was 
 wanted, and give him accommodations according to his means 
 already provided. A few applications properly scrutinized, and 
 graciously complied with, I have no doubt would produce a 
 very good effect, and could not be accompanied by any of those 
 inconveniences which frequently attend inconsiderate alterations. 
 Many well-meaning people attempt to remove evils of long stand- 
 ing, and arising from complicated causes, by hasty and general 
 processes. The consequence is, they utterly fail in their endea- 
 vours, or perhaps even aggravate the mischief, and then give up 
 in despair or disgust ; whereas in such cases investigation, 
 discretion, and time are indispensable. Poverty produced by 
 improvidence is not removed, but confirmed, by pecuniary 
 bounty ; and improvidence itself, as it proceeds from various 
 causes, frequently demands as various remedies for its cure. 
 From the method I would point out no disadvantages could 
 well arise ; for I would do nothing for those who did not give 
 earnest of their merit by first doing something for themselves. 
 I would assist the deserving in their endeavours, but the usual 
 objects of attention I would leave to the consequences of their 
 own misconduct. It is too much the fashion to bestow every- 
 thing on those who deserve nothing, and to let the meritorious 
 struggle on, not only unaided, but frequently under the dis- 
 advantage of having the undeserving preferred before them.f 
 Perhaps in the outset a little pecuniary encouragement to one 
 or two of the most provident labourers, of two or three pounds 
 
 * Much might be done at a small expense, in improving and altering the 
 present cottages. 
 
 t I would reverse this process, and, if I may say so, would macadamize 
 the roads to self-advancement, at the same time making the ways of improvi- 
 dence as difficult and cheerless as possible. I have learnt to look with a 
 voy suspicious eye at what are called the unfortunate, especially when they 
 have plausible tongues. 
 
GRUMBLERS. i6i 
 
 each, to assist them in buying a cow, or for some such purpose, 
 might set the plan forward with advantage ; but I am against 
 giving, except in ver)- particular cases, and in aid of exertion, 
 and not to save it. Whatever improvement takes place, I think 
 it ougl^t to make an adequate return in rent. 
 
 " I am far from holding out that the adoption of the foregoing 
 suggestions would work miracles, but I think it would produce 
 an improvement in the condition of the labouring classes on 
 your grace's estate, and, with judicious management, a very 
 considerable one; and at the same time would be the means 
 of increasing the value of the farms, and of the property 
 generally.'"' 
 
 GRUMBLERS. 
 
 Th-ere is a sect, unfortunately well known to most in this 
 land, under the denomination of Grumblers, whose fundamental 
 maxim is — whatever is, is wrong. Wherever they are found, 
 and they are found almost everywhere, they operate as a social 
 poison ; and, though they contrive to embitter the enjoyments of 
 everybody about them, they perpetually assume that themselves 
 are the only aggrieved persons, and with such art as to be 
 believed, till thoroughly known. They have often some excel- 
 lent qualities, and the appearance of many amiable ones ; but 
 rank selfishness is their chief characteristic, accompanied by 
 inordinate pride and vanity. They have a habit of laying the 
 consequences of their owm sins, whether of omission or of com- 
 mission, upon others ; and, covered with faults, they flatter 
 themselves they "walk blameless." Where their selfishness, 
 pride, or vanity are interested, they exhibit signs of boundless 
 zeal, attention and affection, to which those who are not aware 
 of their motives are the dupes ; but the very moment their 
 predominant feelings are offended, they change from April to 
 December. They have smiles and tears at command for their 
 holiday humour ; but in " the winter of their discontent " there 
 is no safety from the bitterest blasts. Their grievances are 
 seldom real, or, if real, are grossly exaggerated, and are generally 
 attributable to themselves ; for, absorbed in their own feelings, 
 they are wonderful losers of opportunities. In conclusion, I 
 think it would be for their advantage, as it certamly would be 
 for that of the rest of the world, if they were made subject to 
 some severe discipline ; and I would suggest for the first, second, 
 and third oftence, bread and water and the tread-mill, for one, 
 two, and three months, respectively ; for the fourth oftence, 
 transportation for seven years to Boothia Felix, or some such 
 climate ; and any subsequent delinquency I would make capital, 
 and cause the criminal to be shut up with some offender in 
 equal degree, there to grumble each other to death. 
 
 F 
 
i62 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. XV. Wednesday, Aug. 26, 1835. 
 
 ART OF TRAVELLING. 
 
 In my tirst number, I promised to make some observations on 
 the art of travelling, which promise I shall now perform, not 
 professing to offer a complete set of rules, but only such as occur 
 to me at a considerable distance from actual experience, and 
 such as I do not recollect to have seen elsewhere. Travelling 
 may be said to be a state of great pleasure, mixed with great 
 annoyance ; but by management the former may be much in- 
 creased, and the latter proportionably diminished. In whatever 
 way you travel, I particularly recommend you to guard against 
 the cravings of hunger, both for your health's sake, and in order 
 the better to preserve placidity of temper, which, with every pre- 
 caution, is exposed to frequent disturbance. When your mind 
 is ruffled, you can neither see with pleasure nor protit, and the 
 natives are pretty sure to revenge themselves for your ill humour 
 by imposing upon you. On setting out on the last long journey I 
 made, which was in a private carriage with one companion, I 
 bought a small basket and caused it to be filled with cold pro- 
 visions, bread, and fruit, and I kept it constantly replenished 
 during ten months, whenever we were upon the road, to which 
 circumstance I mainly attribute the fact that we never had the 
 shadow of a disagreement or an uncomfort. There is nothing 
 like a basket of this sort for diminishing the dreadful tediousness 
 of uncertain distances at the end of a long day, and it is a great 
 consolation in case of accidental stoppages. In aid of it, I pur- 
 chased two clasp knives, and forks attached, a couple of tumblers, 
 and a snuff-box, with an almanac on the lid, by way of salt- 
 cellar. A quarto French dictionary served for table, and so 
 equipped we almost defied fortune. At the inns where we slept, 
 I always made special mention of the basket over-night, and the 
 consequence was, it was frequently specially filled, particularly 
 with excellent game, which, with bread and grapes, or figs, we 
 found extremely palatable and wholesome. Where the wine was 
 good, we generally carried off a bottle or two ; but wine, and 
 mdeed any liquid, ought to be sparingly used on such occasions, 
 and an hour or two after eating; otherwise the motion of the 
 carriage prevents digestion, and induces feverishness. The 
 fruit, taken by way of vegetables, supplied in a great measure 
 the place of liquids. The proper and most agreeable mode of 
 refreshing is in small quantities, and frequently ; and the only 
 thing to be guarded against is to leave sufficient appetite for the 
 meals you intend to take where you stop, and this sometimes 
 
ART OF TRAVELLING. 163 
 
 requires a little judgment and resolution. Some people have a 
 habit, and rather make a boast of it, of travelling long distances 
 without taking anything ; but I strongly recommend the basket 
 system, having tried both plans. In public conveyances, I 
 think a sandwich-box might be convenient. I shall conclude 
 this part of my obsei-vations with referring my reader to the 
 article on Health in my eighth number, in which I have mentioned 
 a remarkable proof of the efficacy of the basket. 
 
 One of the greatest annoyances in travelling is continual 
 exposure to imposition ; but this may, by good inanagement, be 
 frequently avoided, cither altogether or in part, as by bad man- 
 agement it may be greatly increased. There are four kinds of 
 imposers. The first are downright rogues, who make a point of 
 taking advantage whenever they have the power; but even they 
 have degrees of extortion, accordmg to the behaviour of their 
 Aactims. The second are a sort of good-tempered, easy imposers, 
 who impose as a matter of course, but whom a little good man- 
 agement almost immediately turns from their purpose. They 
 are willing to impose upon } ou if you are v.illing to be imposed 
 upon, but otherwise not. On remonstrance they will pretend 
 they have made a mistake, or that, if you are not satisfied, they 
 do not wish to have any dispute. The third will not attempt 
 imposition, unless they are encouraged to it by some foolish dis- 
 play or swagger ; nor the fourth, until they are provoked by 
 unreasonableness or discourtesy. My obsei"vation tells me 
 there is no preventive against these different kinds of imposition 
 so sure as a certain cjuiet, composed bearing, indicative at once 
 of self respect and of consideration for others. I have inade 
 many experiments in the matter under various circumstances, 
 both in this country and abroad, and the result seems to me to 
 be that by such behaviour }ou ensure greater attention at a 
 lower cost than by any other course ; and, having adopted such 
 a course, I think that on the Continent you may still be exposed, 
 when actually travelling, to miposition to the extent of about 
 ten per cent, upon your expenditure, to which, for comfort's sake, 
 and to avoid the chance of being wrong, which frequently 
 happens in small matters, it is wise to submit — without keeping 
 yourself in a constant fever and a state of distraction from the 
 objects only worthy of attention. I am speaking now of those 
 who have no, or but little, experience ; others will be able to 
 protect themselves to a greater extent. 
 
 One of the most desirable qualities in travelling is punctuality, 
 or readiness. Without it there is but small satisfaction, either 
 to yourself or those with you. In all my journeys I was always 
 ready in time, but often with a good deal of bustling and hurry, 
 till one morning in Switzerland I looked out of my window as I 
 was dressing, and saw a gentleman who had just joined the 
 
 F 2 
 
i64 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 party, pacing backwards and forwards before the inn with a 
 degree of composure which made me determine to imitate what 
 he told me was his constant rule, to be ready at least a quarter 
 cf an hour before the time. I adopted the practice thence- 
 forward, and found the greatest advantage from it. One of the 
 benefits of habitual punctuality is the confidence it inspires ; the 
 imcertainty of unpunctuality is a continual drawback to enjoy- 
 ment. It hangs over one like a cloud. 
 
 The quickest mode of acquiring a good idea of any place is to 
 take the earliest opportunity of ascending some tower, or emi- 
 nence, from which there is a commanding view, with some 
 person who can point out the most remarkable objects. If this 
 is followed up by wandering about without a guide, and trusting 
 solely to your own observation, you will be as well acquainted 
 with the localities in a few hours, as the generality of travellers 
 Avould be in a week, or perhaps better, because your impressions 
 would be stronger. I do not mean by this to supersede the 
 employment of guides in sight-seeing, for they are very useful in 
 savmg time. The first day I arrived at Rome I met a classical 
 friend, who had been there some time, and who had made him- 
 self completely master of the place. He took ine to the top of 
 the tower in the Capitol, and pointed out everything remarkable, 
 so that from the very beginning I acquired a sort of familiar 
 acquaintance with the city and its environs, and was never at a 
 loss afterwards. As soon as you have seen all you wish to see 
 in any place, and do not mean to make it a residence, it is advis- 
 able without delay to proceed on your journey. Many people 
 lose a great deal of time in loitering, and to no purpose whatever, 
 because it is impossible under such circumstances to settle to 
 anything. 
 
 Wherever you are, it is good to fall into the customs and habits 
 of the place ; for though sometimes they may be a little incon- 
 venient, it is generally much more so to run counter to them. 
 Those who will have their own way never succeed, but at a 
 much greater cost than success is worth. 
 [Tfl be coftfimted.) 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 There is in the art of dining a matter of special importance — 
 I mean attendance — the real end of which is to do that for you 
 which you cannot so well do for yourself. Unfortunately this 
 end is generally lost sight of, and the effect of attendance is to 
 prevent you from doing that which you could do much better 
 for yourself. The cause of this perversion is to be found in the 
 practice and example of the rich and ostentatious, who con- 
 
ART OF DINING. 165 
 
 stantly keep up a sort of war establishment, or establishment 
 adapted to extraordinary instead of ordinary occasions, and the 
 consequence is that, like all potentates who follow the same 
 policy, they never really taste the sweets of peace : they are in 
 a constani state of invasion by their own troops. It is a rule at 
 dinners not to allow you to do anything for yourself, and I have 
 never been able to understand how even salt, except it be from 
 some superstition, has so long maintained its place on table. 
 I am alwavs in dread that, like the rest of its fellows, it will be 
 banished to the sideboard, to be had only on special applica- 
 tion. I am rather a bold man at table, and set form very much 
 at defiance, so that if a salad happens to be within my reach, I 
 make no scruple to take it to me ; but the moment I am espied, 
 it is nipped up from the most convenient into the most incon- 
 venient position. That such absurdity should exist amongst 
 rational beings, and in a civilized country, is extraordinary ! 
 See a small party with a dish of iish at each end of the table, 
 and four silver covers unmeaningly staring at the sides, whilst 
 everything pertaining to the fish comes, even with the best 
 attendance, provokingly lagging, one thing after another, so that 
 contentment is out of the question ; and all this is done under 
 pretence that it is the most convenient plan. This is an utter 
 fallacy. The only convenient plan is to have everything actually 
 upon 'the table that is wanted at the same time, and nothing 
 else ; as, for example, for a party of eight, turbot and salmon, 
 with doubles of each of the adjuncts, lobster-sauce, cucumber, 
 young potatoes, cayenne, and Chili vinegar, and let the guests 
 assist one another, which, with such an arrangement, they could 
 do with perfect ease. This is undisturbed and visible comfort. 
 I am speaking now only with reference to small parties. As to 
 large ones, they have long been to me scenes of despair in the 
 way of convivial enjoyment. A system of simple attendance 
 would induce a system of simple dinners, which are the only 
 dinners to be desired. The present system I consider strongly 
 tainted with barbarism and vulgarity, and far removed from real 
 and refined enjoyment. As tables are now arranged, one is 
 never at peace from an arm continually taking oft' or setting on 
 a side dish, or reaching over to a wine-cooler in the centre. 
 Then comes the more laborious changing of courses, with the 
 leanings right and left, to admit a host of dishes, that are set on 
 only to be taken oft" again, after being declined in succession by 
 each of the guests, to whom they are handed round. Yet this 
 is fashion, and not to be departed from. With respect to wine, 
 it is often offered when not wanted ; and, when wanted, is per- 
 haps not to be had till long waited for. It is dreary to observe 
 two guests, glass in hand, waiting the butler's leisure to be able 
 to take wine together, and then perchance being helped in 
 
1 66 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 despair to what they did not ask for ; and it is still more dreary 
 to be one of the two yourself. How different when you can put 
 your hand upon a decanter at the moment you want it ! I 
 could enlarge upon and particularize these miseries at great 
 length ; but they must be only too familiar to those who dine 
 out, and those who do not may congratulate themselves on 
 their escape. I have been speaking hitherto of attendance in 
 its most perfect state ; but then comes the greater inconvenience 
 and the monstrous absurdity of the same forms with inadequate 
 establishments. Those who are overv/helmed with an establish- 
 ment are, as it were, obliged in self-defence to devise work for 
 their attendants, whilst those who have no such reason ape an 
 example, which, under the most appropriate circumstances, is a 
 state of restraint and discomfort, but which, when followed 
 merely for fashion's sake, becomes absolutely intolerable. I 
 remember once receiving a severe frown from a lady at the head 
 of her table, next to whom I was sitting, because I offered to 
 take some fsh from her, to which she had helped me, instead 
 of waiting till it could be handed to me by her one servant ; and 
 she was not deficient either in sense or good-breeding, but when 
 people give into such follies they know no mean. It is one of 
 the evils of the present day that everybody strives after the 
 same dull style, so that where comfort might be expected it is 
 often least to be found. State, without the machinery of state, 
 is of all states the worst. In conclusion of this part of my 
 subject, I will observe that I think the affluent would render 
 themselves and their country an essential service if they were 
 to fall into the simple, refined style of living, discarding every- 
 thing incompatible with real enjoyment ; and I believe that if 
 the history of overgrown luxury were traced, it has always had 
 its origin from the vulgar-rich, the very last class worthy of 
 imitation. Although I think a reduction of establishment would 
 often conduce to the enjoyment of life, I am very far from wish- 
 ing to see any class curtailed in their means of earning their 
 bread ; but it appears to me that the rich might easily find more 
 profitable and agreeable modes of employing the industrious 
 than in ministering to pomp and parade. 
 
 I had written thus far for my last number, according to my 
 promise in my last but one ; but there was not even space enough 
 to notice the omission. I now wish to add about a page, and 
 as, like other people I suppose, I can write most easily upon what 
 is freshest in my mind, I will give you, dear reader, an account 
 of a dinner I have ordered this very day at Lovegrove's, at 
 Blackwall, where, if you never dined, so much the worse for you. 
 This account will serve as an illustration of my doctrines on 
 dinner-giving better than a long abstract discourse. The party 
 will consist of seven men beside myself, and every guest is asked 
 
SICK WIVES. 167 
 
 for some reason — upon which good-fellowship mainly depends, 
 for people brought together unconnectedly had, in my opinion, 
 better be kept separate. Eight I hold to be the golden number, 
 never to be exceeded without weakening the efficacy of concen- 
 tration. The dinner is to consist of turtle, followed by no other 
 fish but whitebait, which is to be followed by no other meat but 
 grouse, which are to be succeeded simply by apple fritters and 
 jelly, pastry on such occasions being quite out of place. With 
 the turtle, of course, there will be punch, with the whitebait 
 champagne, and with the grouse claret. The tu o former I have 
 ordered to be particularly well iced, and they will all be placed 
 in succession upon the table, so that we can help ourselves as 
 we please. I shall permit no other wines, unless, perchance, a 
 bottle or two of port, if particularly wanted, as I hold variety of 
 wines a great mistake. With respect to the adjuncts, I shall take 
 care that there is cayenne, with lemons cut in halves, not in 
 quarters, within reach of every one, for the turtle, and that brown 
 bread and butter in abundance is set upon the table for the 
 whitebait. It is no trouble to think of these little matters before- 
 hand, but they make a vast difterence in convivial contentment. 
 The dinner will be followed by ices and a good dessert, after 
 which coffee and one glass of liqueur each, and no more ; so 
 that the present may be enjoyed rationally without inducing 
 retrospective regrets. If the master of a feast wishes his party 
 to succeed, he must know how to command, and not let his 
 guests run riot, each according to his own wild fancy. Such, 
 reader, is my idea of a dinner, of which I hope you approve ; 
 and I cannot help thinking that if Parliament were to grant me 
 ^10,000 a year, in trust, to entertain a series of worthy persons, 
 it would promote trade and increase the revenue more than any 
 
 SICK WIVES. 
 
 I AM Strongly of opinion that sick wives are very interesting for 
 a short time, and very dull for a long one. It is of great im.por- 
 tance that females of all classes should reflect upon this distinc- 
 tion, and not abuse a privilege most readily granted them, if 
 exercised within the bounds of moderation. Nothing is so 
 tedious as uniformity ; and as, under the bright sky of Italy one 
 sometimes sighs for a cloud, so in long-continued health a slight 
 ailment now and then is not without its advantages. In a wife 
 it naturally calls forth the attentions of the husband, and freshens 
 the delicacy of his affections, which gratifying effects, it is to be 
 leared, tend frequently, in minds not well disciplined or strongly 
 constituted, to generate habits of selfishness, and a sort of sickly 
 
i68 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 appetite for indulgence. I seem to have observed that husbands, 
 after a certain duration of ill-health in their wives, begin to mani- 
 fest something of impatience, afterwards of indifference, and 
 lastly of weariness, however much they may keep up their atten- 
 tions and try to disguise their feelings ; and I am sure there are 
 not a few who begin to calculate and look out before they are 
 lawfully entitled so to do. I would not for the world mention 
 these horrid truths but from a conviction that those who are ill 
 all their lives might be well all their lives, if they took due care, 
 or put proper restraints upon themselves. Finding illness 
 answer in the first instance, they are too apt to neglect, or even 
 encourage it, till it becomes a habit, and then the rest of their 
 habits become conformable— to the metamorphosis of the unfor- 
 tunate husband's home into a hospital. Perhaps the husband 
 may in part thank himself for his state, for not having shown 
 firmness soon enough ; and I would advise that when things 
 seem to be hastening on to this course, under the auspices of 
 some silky medical attendant, he be as speedily as possible 
 replaced by one of rougher mould, by way of experiment. When 
 a course of treatment long tried produces no benefit, but rather 
 the reverse, it is good to try a change, and therefore, if uninter- 
 rupted indulgence cannot effect a cure, if every request complied 
 with, every wish anticipated, only aggravates the e\il, probably 
 a dose or two of privation might be of service. If business neg- 
 lected and pleasure foregone have been in vain, why should not 
 a round of engagements be called in aid .'' A party of pleasure 
 with a few agreeable female friends might produce a turn in a 
 long-standing disorder when nothing else could, and, being re- 
 peated at proper intervals, might effect a permanent cure. I 
 admit this is a strong remedy, a sort of mineral poison, likely in 
 the first instance to cause an access of malady ; but anger is a 
 strong stimulant, and tears often aftbrd great relief, and a desire 
 to witness what is going forward hath a wonderful efficacy in 
 rousing to exertion. I have the more faith in such medicines, 
 because I have often known a sick wife completely cured for a 
 time by the serious illness of her husband, or her children, or by 
 any exciting event, either of joy or grief 
 
 This is a subject of great importance, for it concerns the well- 
 being of so many homes, the comfort and morals of so many men, 
 the good training of so many children, and the peaceable enjoy- 
 ments of so many dependents. The instances of habitual illness 
 which could not have been prevented by care at first, or by 
 prudence and resolution afterwards, must be too few to have 
 much effect on domestic enjoyment, and when they do occur 
 they ought to meet with unceasing consideration, especially as 
 they are almost ever borne with an instructive patience and 
 resignation. But it is far otherwise with the ill-health I mean, 
 
ECONOMY OF LABOUR. 169 
 
 which has its origin and its continuance, one or both, in mis- 
 management ; and those who suffer themselves to be the victims 
 of it ordinarily exact, under one guise or other, a very annoying 
 degree of sacrifice from all about them. The sooner the evil is 
 put out of fashion the better. 
 
 ORNAMENT. 
 
 Nature is the true guide in our application of ornament. She 
 delights in it, but ever in subserviency to use. Men generally 
 pursue an opposite course, and adorn only to encumber. With 
 the refined few, simplicity is the feature of greatest merit in orna- 
 ment. The trifling, the vulgar-minded, and the ignorant, prize 
 only what is strikhig and costly — something showy in contrast, 
 and difhcult to be obtained. Nothing can more severely or more 
 truly satirize this taste than the fancy of the Negro chief in the 
 interior of Africa, who received an Englishman's visit of ceremony 
 in a drummer's jacket and a judge's wig. I always think of this 
 personage when I see a lady loaded with jewels ; and if I had a 
 wife, and she had such encumbrances, from the anxiety of which 
 I saw no other chance of her being relieved, I should heartily 
 rejoice in one of those mysterious disappearances, which have 
 been so frequent of late, and which, it may be, have sometimes 
 originated in a feeling on the part of husbands similar to mine. 
 
 ECONOMY OF LABOUR. 
 
 One great superiority of the manufacturers of this country over 
 the agriculturists is attributable to their attention to the 
 economy of labour. In my earliest remembrance the farmers 
 were too ignorant to think of it, afterwards they were too 
 prosperous, and now they are too much bent on seeking relief 
 from other sources than their own energies. What might be 
 done in time by a combination of mechanical and chemical 
 science, it is as impossible to calculate beforehand as it would 
 have been fifty years since to have foretold what would be the 
 present state of spinning, weaving, bleaching, and transport. 
 Human energy and human invention completely baffle calcu- 
 lation, as is proved, amongst many others, by this fact, that silk 
 and cotton are sent from India here, and manufactured and sent 
 back, so as to undersell the natives in their own markets, in spite 
 of distance, and comparative difficulty of living, from both 
 natural and political causes. I think, with such examples of the 
 triumph of skill, industry, and enterprise, the actual state of our 
 agriculture utterly disgraceful. I was led into these remarks by 
 
I70 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 a. passage in one of my letters from the Continent, from which I 
 have given the series of extracts in former numbers. The 
 passage is as follows : " I observed in Lorraine two ploughs in 
 a held of light land, drawn one by five horses, and the other by 
 four, both held by women, and driven by men." This only 
 proves that economy of labour is less practised in some parts of 
 France than it is here ; and such I believe to be generally the 
 case on the Continent compared with this country, not only in 
 agriculture, but in everything else. I have frequently seen in 
 France four men shoeing a horse, having first put him in the 
 stocks, and tying each foot in turn over a bar. The reason, 
 probably, why the women were holdmg the ploughs I saw, 
 might be that they were more skilful than the men, as, during 
 the war, females were more regularly employed in such labour. 
 I will conclude with a remarkable instance of the triumph of 
 ingenuity over calculation. The Abbe Raynal lays it down, 
 without supposing a doubt, that North America could never 
 become of much importance beyond a short distance from the 
 coast, on account of the impossibility of ascending the great 
 rivers. The application of steam to navigation has alone falsi- 
 fied that position, and railways and canals are adding their 
 powerful aid. I cannot help thinking that those who affirm 
 that, if a North-West passage were to be discovered, it would 
 never be made available to any useful purpose, are a little 
 presumptuous. The progress of improvement already witnessed 
 should teach us dirfidence in hazarding such predictions. The 
 first experiment I ever saw of applying steam to navigation was 
 on the Duke of Bridgewater's canal, when eleven coal barges 
 were dragged along by an engine at the rate of two miles an 
 hour, and with terrible destruction to the banks. This, I think, 
 was before steam navigation was brought to anything like 
 perfection in the United States, and I little thought then of 
 being carried some fifteen miles an hour against the wind, as I 
 was the other day on the Thames. 
 
 COMPOSITION. 
 
 There is no exercise of the mind more delightful or more 
 irksome, according to circumstances, than composition. With 
 me, the humour depends almost entirely upon my mode of 
 living ; and, when I practise my doctrines respecting health, I 
 think I may say I experience no difficulties. Attention to diet I 
 find CO be of much the most consequence ; but when I am also 
 careful as to quantity of sleep and exercise, my capabilities rise 
 to their highest pitch : that is, temperance removes difficulties, 
 and moderation in sleep and activity in exercise create facilities, 
 
EDUCATION. 171 
 
 There are accidental causes which have their influence, but in 
 an inferior degree, and personal management at all times 
 enables me to command my powers. It is far otherwise when 
 the temptations of society induce irregularities or excess, and 
 the digestive organs have lost their tone. Ideas refuse to ap- 
 pear ; phrases, which at other times would have fallen into the 
 ranks in order due, become, as it were, of the awkward squad, 
 and seem utterly incapable of disciplme, and despair is only 
 driven away by necessity. I should think there can scarcely be 
 a more piteous case than that of an author out of sorts, writmg 
 for bread against time. As far as the pencil can go, Hogarth 
 has depicted such a person in his " Distrest Poet," but there must 
 be " that within which passeth show." The difference between 
 the best humour for composition and the worst is about the 
 same as that between a salient fountain and a crazy pump in a 
 deep well. The produce may be equally good in both cases, but 
 the labour is beyond comparison different. It has happened to 
 me more than once to receive particular commendation tor those 
 numbers in the composition of which I have been the most 
 perplexed, and which I fully expected would have met with 
 censure. However, I intend to avail myself of the comparative 
 solitude of next month to pay special attention to my state, both 
 for my own ease, and to see the result. 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 It is a great art in the education of youth to find out peculiar 
 aptitudes, or, where none exist, to create inclinations, which may 
 serve as substitutes. Different minds are like different soils : 
 some are suited only to particular cultivation ; others will 
 mature almost anything ; others, again, are best adapted to a 
 round of ordinary products ; and a few are wasted, unless they 
 are resen-ed for what is most choice. The coinmon nm of 
 minds may be compared to arable land, and are suited indif- 
 ferently to the drudgery of any business. There is a more 
 rugged, and apparently sterile class, which yields no return to 
 ordinary- cultivation, but is like the mountain-side, rearing, in a 
 course of years, the stately forest ; and there are the felicitous 
 few, which resemble the spots calculated for the choicest 
 vineyards. It is fortunate for the individuals and society when 
 each class is put to its proper use. To pursue the comparison, 
 minds, like soils, are often deceitful in their early promise ; and 
 as a young orchard will sometimes thrive vigorously for a time, 
 and when its owner expects a fair return will canker and die — 
 so youth will promise success in a particular line, till some 
 hidden defect begins to operate, and the fondest hopes are 
 
172 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 blasted. However, these are the exceptions, and not the rule, 
 and sound judgment in the destination of children will in the 
 vast majority of cases be amply repaid. The great error, I 
 apprehend, that parents fall into, and often unconsciously, is 
 that they consult their own interests and inclinations rather than 
 those of their children, and that vanity, ambition, and avarice 
 too often blind their understandings. There are difficulties even 
 with the purest intentions, because apparent aptitudes are not, 
 as I have already observed, always real ones, and because 
 inclinations often arise from accidental causes, and change for 
 the same reason. Where there is a great and undoubted 
 aptitude, it must be injudicious to thwart it; for though the 
 indulgence may be attended with objections, it must in the 
 nature of things be compensated by keen enjoyment, and it is 
 better to be eminently successful in an inferior line, than 
 moderately so, with a great chance of failure, in a superior one. 
 Where it seems a matter of indifference to what a young person 
 is destined, it is important, when the choice is made, to create a 
 corresponding inclination, which will serve in some sort instead 
 of an aptitude, and this may be easily accomplished in general 
 by contriving some attraction to the calling, as by bringing 
 about an intimacy with one already en.i^aged in it, and turning 
 the will of the parent into the choice of the child. Some such 
 course is the most likely to ensure that willingness and steadi- 
 ness which are the forerunners of success. There are certain 
 useful branches of learning which it is expedient, or rather 
 necessary, that every one should be instructed in, according to 
 situation in life, whatever may be the individual repugnance or 
 unfitness. But it is otherwise with accomplishments and the 
 higher parts of learning ; for they profit really nothing, where 
 there is no turn for them, and the time and attention they are 
 made to occupy might often be advantageously employed on 
 plainer objects. I will instance the routine of accomplishments 
 that young ladies are constrained to acquire, whether they have 
 any taste for them or not, the display of which, when unaccom- 
 panied by taste, is a great annoyance in society. A taste 
 cultivated affords pleasure both to the possessor and to others ; 
 and if people would only addict themselves to that in which 
 they excel they might well afford to be ignorant of most other 
 matters. What a quantity of dancing, singing, playing, and 
 drawing there is, which has no other effect but to expose and 
 bore ! 
 
( 173 ) 
 
 No. XVI. Wednesday, Sept. 2, 1835. 
 
 GIVING SECURITY. 
 
 Society is governed much more by false than by true prin- 
 ciples ; by expedients and substitutes rather than by sound rules. 
 When abuse has arisen from the neglect of a principle, it is a 
 very common error to abandon the principle, and adopt some 
 expedient with reference to the particular abuse, which is the 
 beginning of endless botchery. There are very numerous 
 instances of this both in the practice of government and in 
 legislation. A true principle, if adhered to, has a self-adjusting 
 ■power ; a false one requires constant bolsterint^, and every 
 quack has his nostrum. There never was a period, probably, 
 in the history of this country, when there was a greater tendency 
 to wander from sound principles, than at the present. The 
 undoubted necessity for great changes has raised up a host of 
 reformers, who think, because they can see abuses, that they can 
 with equal facility see the proper remedies ; but they appear to 
 me, one and all, incapable, from the double disqualification of 
 party blindness and want of elementary experience. It is not 
 often that 1 trouble myself about the lengthy debates in the two 
 Houses of Parliament ; but on two or three c^uestions, which 
 have been the objects of my particular attention, I have read 
 everything that has been said on both sides, and 1 can say, 
 without exaggeration, that I have been perfectly astonished at 
 the general absence of accurate information and clear views, 
 and I have often had occasion to doubt whether those who took 
 my side of the question or those who took the opposite were 
 the most deficient. The reason of this I believe to be twofold : 
 first, the want of schooling in the art and practice of govern- 
 ment, which can never be supplied by information at second 
 hand ; and, secondly, because, even with the purest and 
 highest minded, according to the present standard, I fear zeal 
 for some party end constantly predominates over that for the 
 establishment of truth. Nothing but the organization of local 
 governments, upon such principles as will induce the best 
 qualified there to begin their training, will ever produce a race of 
 sound legislators and practical statesmen. It is not in the 
 nature of things that either minister or legislator should learn 
 their business in office or in Parliament ; they are beginning 
 where they ought to end. They should enter upon their career 
 in a smaller field, and in closer contact with mankind. The 
 minister should know from his own gradual experience, or he 
 will ever be vague in his views, as well as in trammels to 
 
174 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 interested and narrow-minded underlings ; and the legislator 
 should draw from nearer sources than the biassed and imperfect 
 information to be obtained through committees and commissions, 
 in which information, as far as I have seen, there is at least as 
 much of falsehood as of truth. Our leading men are formed 
 very much upon the plan of making a general by giving at once 
 the command of an army. To say that any man has great 
 official or parliamentary experience is ordinarily to say little 
 more than that he is a tactician in trick and intrigue, and, in 
 proportion, removed from the straightforward path of patriotism. 
 However, the fault lies principally in the want of opportunity 
 for preparation, owing to a system of overgrown government-in- 
 chief, instead of a duly organized ascending scale. 
 
 Having wandered into these remarks, I will bring myself back 
 to my subject proposed by repeating my first sentences : " Society 
 is governed much more by false than by true principles ; by 
 expedients and substitutes rather than by sound rules. When 
 abuse has arisen from the neglect of a principle, it is a very 
 common error to abandon the principle, and adopt some expe- 
 dient with reference to the particular abuse." A strong illustration 
 of this seems to me to be found in the practice of taking security 
 from persons in public trusts of a pecuniary character — a practice 
 the reasonableness of which I have never heard even doubted; but 
 let us see how it is likely that it operates. In my article on Prefer- 
 ment to Place, in my thirteenth number, I have observed : " It is 
 not enough to prefer those who are fit ; the choice should fall 
 upon those who are most fit. It is not enough to choose from 
 those who apply ; the most meritorious should be sought out." 
 If this principle had been followed, the idea of requiring security 
 would never have occurred. It would have been unnecessary, 
 and would have been a degradation. But neglect of the prin- 
 ciple induced a frequent violation of trusts, and, the most promi- 
 nent feature being a defalcation in accounts, the remedy applied 
 had solely a reference to that, though it is not to be supposed 
 that a public defaulter could originally have been very fit for his 
 situation. The real remedy lay in an inquiry on each defalcation 
 into the mode of appointment, and a demand on the part of the 
 public of the enforcement of the principle I have above laid 
 down. The expedient of taking security has a tendency to lower 
 still farther the standard of qualification, because, the principal 
 abuse being professed to be guarded against, greater careless- 
 ness as to general fitness will be the consequence, and, though 
 the public may be saved from pecuniary loss in particular 
 instances, the class of servants will be deteriorated. They have 
 other duties to perform beside receiving money ; but, provided 
 they can get security considered sufficient, those other duties 
 will be comparatively little thought of by those who have to 
 
ART OF TRAVELLING. 175 
 
 appoint. They will easily justify to themselves a bad appoint- 
 ment with a good security. But if character were the only 
 security it would be otherwise, and the public would have the 
 chance of being well served in every pai'ticular. Suppose a 
 situation vacant, where security is required. The most likely 
 person to obtain it is some one with a large family, who, by 
 improvidence or mismanagement, has become an unceasing 
 burden to his connections. They exert all their influence, and 
 most strenuously, to get rid of him, and are quite willing to run 
 the risk of finding him security in order to relieve themselves 
 from the present pressure. What chance has an independent 
 man, who is a burden to nobody, v/ith such a competitor t and 
 what chance has the pubhc of being considered.'' The meri- 
 torious are generally too backward in urging their claims, and it 
 is not to be expected that their friends will be as zealous as the 
 interested supporters of a hanger-on. As I can conceive nothing 
 much more irksome to a man of honest intentions and high 
 feeling than to have to ask his friends to become his sureties, I 
 believe that very circumstance has often prevented the most 
 fitting applications ; and, after all, the securities taken for the 
 undeserving, when they have been recurred to, have often proved 
 unavailing, or, on the other hand, have caused the ruin of inno- 
 cent persons, after a world of previous anxiety. There is also 
 this evil in the system, that it frequently mduces neglect in those 
 whose place it is to see to the punctual discharge of official 
 duties, and their reliance upon the security produces the very 
 inconvenience meant to be guarded against. Though the 
 practice of requiring security is undoubtedly not uniform in its 
 evil operation, I believe its general tendencies to be — to encou- 
 rage the improvident and mismanaging by opening to them situa- 
 tions of which otherwise they would have no chance, to pro- 
 mote jobbing amongst the connections of such, to discourage 
 merit and to lower the value of character, to increase careless- 
 ness and corruption in the dispensation of patronage, and to 
 defeat its own particular end by injuring the public service 
 instead of promoting it. The true principle is to make character 
 the only security, and a few departures in practice would only 
 work their own cure ; but a departure from the principle produces 
 a permanent deterioration. 
 
 ART OF TRAVELLING— (r^;?f/«^<'. 
 
 Before setting out upon a journey it is advantageous to be 
 rather more abstemious than usual for a day or two, as the 
 sudden change of habits, even with the most regular livers, is 
 apt to produce some derangement of system ; and at any rate 
 
176 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 such a course makes the body accommodate itself better to the 
 motion and confinement of a carriage, upon which I have made 
 some remarks in my articles on the attainment of health. It is 
 particularly desirable to make the necessary arrangements with 
 respect to luggage, passports, &c., a httle beforehand, and not to 
 be in a feverish hurry and bustle at the last moment, with the 
 chance of forgetting something of importance. Setting out at 
 one's ease is a good omen for the rest of the journey. With 
 respect to luggage, I recommend the greatest compactness pos- 
 sible, as being attended with constant and many advantages, 
 and in general I think people are rather over-provident in takmg 
 more than they want. Avoid being entrusted with sealed letters, 
 or carrying anything contraband, for yourself or others. A ne- 
 cessity for concealment causes a perpetual anxiety, and has a 
 tendency to destroy that openness of manner which is often very 
 serviceable in getting on. Avoid also commissions, except for 
 particular reasons ; they are generally very troublesome and 
 encumbering. When the weather will permit, avail yourself of 
 opportunities of quitting your carriage to take exercise ; as, 
 whilst the horses are changing, walk about, or walk forward, 
 taking care only not to get into a wrong road, of which some- 
 times there is danger. If you pay yourself, a great deal of your 
 comfort will depend upon management. I once posted a con- 
 siderable distance through Prance with a Bohemian courier vyho 
 did not understand paying, so I undertook it for my companion. 
 As I wished always to walk forward on changing horses, it was 
 an object to me to save time, and the course I pursued was this : 
 I took care to have a constant supply of change of every neces- 
 sary denomination, and to ascertain what it was usual in the 
 different parts of the country to give the postillions. Before 
 arriving at each post-house I calculated by the post-book the 
 charge for the horses, and on arrival I had the exact sum ready, 
 which I put in the postillion's hand, saying, with a confident 
 air, so much for the horses, so much for driving, and so much 
 to drink. The consequence was, I lost no time ; the money was 
 received without any objection, and almost always with thanks. 
 By a less decided or less accurate method, the trouble and 
 vexation are great, and you have to do with a set of people who 
 are never satisfied. If you do not know what the amount is, or 
 hold your purse in your hand, or exhibit any hesitation or doubt, 
 you are immediately attacked and pestered in the most impor- 
 tunate and tormenting manner. It has a great effect, I believe, 
 with the postillions, to separate their gratuity into the driving 
 and the drink-money. They consider it, I was told, as a sort 
 of attention, and certainly 1 found the observance of the rule very 
 useful. A certain sum for driving, with four or five sous to drink, 
 will elicit thanks, when a larger amount, not distinguished, will 
 
ART OF DINING. 177 
 
 only excite importunity. I am speaking of what was the case 
 fifteen years since, and I think it was the same in Italy. Decision 
 of manner in paying has universally a very good effect, but then 
 it is necessary to make the best inquiries as to what is right. 
 
 An Englishman in foreign countries need have no fear that 
 any courtesy he may be disposed to show will not meet with an 
 adequate, or more than adequate, return. A foreigner connects 
 with his idea of an Englishman, wealth, freedom, and pride. 
 The two former qualities inspire him with a feeling of his own 
 inferiority, whatever he may profess to the contrary, and the last 
 has the effect of preventing him from hazarding the first advance, 
 or, if he does venture, it is generally with caution and distrust. 
 For the same reason he will not unfrequently receive an advance 
 with a degree of suspicion which has the appearance of dislike; 
 but the moment he feels anything approaching to a confidence 
 of courteous treatment, he is eager to meet it more than half- 
 way. English reserve and this foreign suspicion combine to 
 keep up a distance and sort of alienation in appearance, which 
 do not exist in reality, and which it is in an Englishman's power 
 to dispel whenever he pleases. All things considered, it is next 
 to impossible that foreigners should not feel that Englishmen 
 enjoy a decided superiority, and it is useful in travelling to bear 
 in mind this fact, not for the purpose of gratifying pride, but of 
 showing a disposition above it. English courtesy bears a high 
 premium everywhere, and the more so because it has universally 
 the credit of being sincere. An habitual exercise of it in travel- 
 hng is an excellent passport. I do not at present recollect 
 any other observations on the art of travelling which are not 
 commonly to be met with, but I feel confident that the few I 
 have given, if attended to, may be of considerable service. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 I SHALL begin this article with stating that the dinner at Black- 
 wall, mentioned in my last number, was served according to my 
 directions, both as to the principal dishes and the adjuncts, with 
 perfect exactness, and went off with corresponding success. 
 The turtle and whitebait were excellent ; the grouse not cjuite of 
 equal merit ; and the apple fritters so much relished, that they 
 were entirely cleared, and the jelly left untouched. The only 
 wines were champagne and claret, and they both gave great 
 satisfaction. As soon as the liqueurs were handed round once, 
 I ordered them out of the room ; and the only heresy committed 
 was by one of the guests asking for a glass of bottled porter, 
 which I had not the presence of mind instantly to forbid. 
 There was an opinion broached that some flounders water- 
 
178 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 zoutched, between the turtle and whitebait, would have been an 
 improvement — and perhaps they would. I dined again yester- 
 day at Blackwall as a guest, and I observed that my theory as 
 to adjuncts was carefully put in practice, so that I hope the 
 public will be a gainer. 
 
 In order to bring the dinner system to perfection according to 
 mv idea, it would be necessary to have a room contrived on the 
 best possible plan for eight persons, as the greatest number. I 
 almost think six even more desirable than eight ; but beyond 
 eight, as far as my experience goes, there is always a division 
 into parties, or a partial languor, or sort of paralysis, either of 
 the extremities or centre, which has more or less effect upon 
 the whole. For complete enjoyment a company ought to be 
 One ; sympathizing and drawing together, listening and talking 
 in due proportions — no monopolist, nor any ciphers. With the 
 best arrangements much will depend upon the chief of the feast 
 giving the tone, and keeping it up. Paulus ^^mihus, who was 
 the most successful general and best entertainer of his time, 
 seems to have understood this well ; for he said that it required 
 the s.ime sort of spirit to manage a banquet as a battle, with 
 this difference, that the one should be made as pleasant to 
 friends, and the other as formidable to enemies, as possible. I 
 often think of this excellent saying at large dinner-parties, where 
 the master and mistress preside as if they were the humblest of 
 the guests, or as if they were overwhelmed with anxiety respect- 
 ing their cumbrous and pleasure-destroying arrangements. 
 They appear not to have the most distant idea of the duties of 
 commanders, and instead of bringing their troops regularly into 
 action, they leave the whole army in reserve. They should at 
 least now and then address each of their guests by name, and, 
 if possible, say something by which it may be guessed who and 
 what each person is. I have witnessed some ridiculous and 
 almost incredible instances of these defects. I remember once 
 at a large dinner-party at a great house the lion of the day not 
 being called out once, and going away without the majority of 
 the company suspecting who he was. On a similar occasion, as 
 a very distinguished man left the drawing-room, a scarcely less 
 distinguished lady inquired who that gentleman was who had 
 been so long talking to her, though she had sat opposite to 
 him at dinner. It appears to me that nothing can be better 
 contrived to defeat its legitimate end than a large dinner-party 
 in the London season — sixteen, for instance. The names of the 
 guests are generally so announced that it is difficult to hear 
 them, and in the earlier part of the year the assembly takes 
 place in such obscurity that it is impossible to see. Then there 
 is often a tedious and stupefying interval of waiting, caused per- 
 haps by some affected fashionable, some important politician, 
 
ART OF DINING. 179 
 
 or some gorgeously decked matron, or it may be by some culi- 
 nary accident. At last comes the formal business of descending 
 into the dining-room, where the blaze of light produces by de- 
 grees sundry recognitions ; but many a slight acquaintance is pre- 
 vented from being renewed by the chilling mode of assembling. 
 In the long days the light is more favourable, but the waiting 
 IS generally more tedious, and half the guests are perhaps 
 leaving the Park when they ought to be sitting down to dinner. 
 At table, intercourse is prevented as much as possible by a 
 huge centre-piece of plate and flowers, which cuts off about 
 one-half the company from the other, and some very awkward 
 mistakes have taken place in consequence, from guests having 
 made personal observations upon those who were actually oppo- 
 site to them. It seems strange that people should be invited, to 
 be hidden from one another. Besides the centre-piece, there 
 are u?ually massive branches, to assist in interrupting commu- 
 nication ; and perhaps you are placed between two persons 
 with whom you are not acquainted, and have no community of 
 interest to induce you to become so, for, in the present over- 
 grown state of society, a new acquaintance, except for some par- 
 ticular reason, is an encumbrance to be avoided. When the 
 company is arranged, then comes the perpetual motion of the 
 attendants, the perpetual declining of what you do not want, 
 and the perpetual waiting for what you do, or a silent resigna- 
 tion to your fate. To desire a potato, and to see the dish handed 
 to your next neighbour, and taking its course in a direction from 
 you, round an immense table, with occasional retrograde move- 
 ments and digressions, is one of the unsatisfactory occurrences 
 which frequently take place ; but perhaps the most distressing 
 mcident in a grand dinner is to be asked to take champagne, 
 and, after much delay, to see the butler extract the bottle from a 
 cooler, and hold it nearly parallel to the horizon in order to 
 calculate how much he is to put into the first glass to leave 
 any for the second. To relieve him and yourself from the 
 chilling difficult)', the only alternative is to change your mind, 
 and prefer sherry, which, under the circumstances, has rather 
 an awkward effect. These and an infinity of minor evils are 
 constantly experienced amidst the greatest displays, and they 
 have from sad experience made me come to the conclusion that a 
 combination of state and calculation is the horror of horrors. 
 Some good bread and cheese, and a jug of ale, comfortably set 
 before me, and heartily given, are hea\en on earth in compari- 
 son. I must not omit to mention, amongst other obstacles to 
 sociability, the present excessive breadth of fashionable tables, 
 for the purpose of holding, first, the cumbrous ornaments and 
 lights before spoken of; secondly, in some cases, the dessert, at 
 the same time with the side dishes ; and lastly, each person's 
 
l8o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 cover Avith its appurtenances ; so that to speak across the table, 
 and through the intervening objects, is so inconvenient as to 
 be nearly impracticable. To crown all, is the ignorance of what 
 you ha-ve to eat and the impossibility of duly regulating your 
 appetite. To be sure, in many particulars you may form a 
 tolerably accurate guess, as that, at one season, there will be 
 partridges in the third course, and at another, pigeons, in dull 
 routine. No wonder that such a system produces many a dreary 
 pause, in spite of every effort to the contrary, and that one is 
 obliged, in self-defence, to crumble bread, sip wine, look at the 
 paintings, if there are any, or if there are not blazon the arms 
 on the plates, or lastly, retreat into oneself in despair, as I 
 have often and often done. When dinner is over, there is no 
 peace till each dish in the dessert has made its circuit, after 
 which the wine moves languidly round two or three times, and 
 then settles for the rest of the evening, and cotiee and small-talk 
 finish the heartless affair. I do not mean to say that such dinner- 
 parties as 1 have been describing have not frequently many re- 
 deeming circumstances. Good-breeding, wit, talent, information, 
 and every species of agreeable quality are to be met with there; but 
 I think these would appear to much greater advantage and much 
 oftener under a more simple and unrestrained system. After 
 curiosity has been satisfied, and experience ripened, I imagine 
 most people retire from the majority of formal dinners rather 
 wearied than repaid, and that a feeling of real enjoyment is the 
 exception and not the rule. In the long run, there is no com- 
 pensation for ease, and ease is not to be found in state and 
 superabundance, but in having what you want when you want 
 it, and with no temptation to excess. The legitimate objects of 
 dinner are to refresh the body, to please the palate, and to raise 
 the social humour to the highest point ; but these objects, so 
 far from being studied, in general are not even thought of, and 
 display and an adherence to fashion are their meagre substi- 
 tutes. Hence it is that gentlemen ordinarily understand what 
 pertains to dinner-giving so much better than ladies, and that 
 bachelors' feasts are so popular. Gentlemen keep more in view 
 the real ends, whereas ladies think principally of display and 
 ornament, of form and ceremony — not all, for some have ex- 
 cellent notions of taste and comfort ; and the cultivation of them 
 would seem to be the pecuUar province of the sex, as one of the 
 chief features in household management. There is one female 
 failing in respect to dinners which I cannot help here noticing, 
 and that is, a very inconvenient love of garnish, and flowers, 
 either natural, or cut in turnips and carrots, and stuck on dishes, 
 so as greatly to impede carving and helping. This is the true 
 barbarian principle of ornament, and is in no way distinguish- 
 able from the "untutored Indian's " fondness for feathers and 
 
FA UPERISM. l%\ 
 
 shells. In both cases the ornament is an encumbrance, and has 
 no relation to the matter on which it is placed. Buit there is a 
 still worse practice, and that is pouring sauce over certain dishes 
 to prevent them from looking too plain, as parsley and butter, 
 or white sauce over boiled chickens. I cannot distinguish this 
 taste from that of the Hottentot besmearing himself with grease 
 or the Indian with red paint, who, I suppose, have both the same 
 reason for their practice. To my inind, good meat well cooked, 
 the plainer it looks the better it looks, and it certainly is better 
 with the accessories kept separate till used, unless they form a 
 part of the dish. In my ne.xt number I shall give my ideas of 
 what dinners ought to be. 
 
 PAUPERISM. 
 
 I SHALL continue from time to time, as long as they last, to give 
 such extracts from my pamphlet on pauperism, as I think will 
 contribute to instil sound doctrines on the subject into the minds 
 of my readers. 
 
 " Though the sum annually raised on account of pauperism 
 is so large, yet in any ordinary period the amount of real 
 pauperism is probably much less than is supposed, and of that 
 amount a large proportion is directly produced by the certain 
 anticipation of a provision from the parish. The expenses of 
 management and of litigation, and indeed all the expenses of the 
 system, except the money laid out for the actual maintenance of 
 paupers, may here be put out of the question, because, if the 
 latter could be dispensed with, the former would cease of course. 
 A pauper, in the strict sense of the word, is one who, being 
 without property, and unable by his labour to support himself 
 and those legally dependent upon him and having no com- 
 petent friends compellable or willing to nelp him, is forced to 
 resort to the parish for relief. From the number of real paupers, 
 then, are to be excepted : first, the few who have property, but 
 conceal it, some of whom, from miserly habits, receive relief for 
 many years ; secondly, the more numerous class, with competent 
 friends, who would willingly assist them, but do not choose to 
 save the parish ; thirdly, the large class who successfully feign 
 inability to perform or procure labour ; fourthly, all those who 
 by any other species of imposition, or by abuse on the part of 
 their friends, wrongfully participate in the parish fund ; and, 
 lastly, the more prudent portion of the immense number, who, 
 whilst in full employ, receive a part of their maintenance from 
 the poor-rates, which portion, if they were not remunerated in 
 so degrading a mode, would learn immediately to depend upon 
 themselves. So far as the classes above enumerated are con- 
 cerned, no inconvenience would result from the immediate 
 
1 82 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 abolition of the poor-laws. With respect to those who are really 
 paupers, but who have become so from the certain anticipation 
 of a provision from the parish, there may be reckoned : first, 
 those to whom property has at some period of their lives come, 
 but who have wilfully run through it, in consequence of their habits 
 having been previously formed according to the low standard of 
 the poor-laws ; secondly, the numerous class who have had 
 opportunities of accumulating, but who have wasted their means 
 with a fixed determination eventually to have recourse to the 
 parish ; thirdly, those whose determined pauper habits have 
 disgusted their friends, or made them lose opportunities of 
 making some ; fourthly, those who have incapacitated them- 
 selves from labour by dissolute habits, contracted from a reliance 
 on parochial assistance ; fifthly, those (and a numerous class 
 they are) who, from perverseness of temper, have wilfully brought 
 themselves upon the parish ; sixthly, tnose who married from a 
 reliance on the rates ; seventhly, hereditary paupers — in country 
 places, especially where there are no great changes, it will often 
 be found that the principal part of the poor-rates are paid to a 
 few families, who have been in the habit of depending upon them 
 from the remotest periods to which the accounts go back, and 
 who think they have acquired as good a title to the parish fund 
 as the landowners have to their estates ; lastly, those who have 
 been persuaded by other paupers to pauperize themselves. I 
 have not enumerated these different classes from theoretical 
 inference, but from practical observation ; and it is obvious that, 
 so far as they are concerned, the poor-laws might, without incon- 
 venience, be made to cease with the next generation. 
 
 "Amongst the various means of reducing pauperism, it is 
 highly desirable that its true nature should become as generally 
 understood as possible, in order that it may meet with more 
 discouragement than has hitherto been given to it. It is to be 
 wished that the magistrates would not so frequently inculcate 
 the doctrine of reliance upon the overseer, in the various cases 
 of distress and difficulty presented before them; that the 
 affluent and humane would not incautiously encourage applica- 
 tions to the parish, and, on the plausible statements of the 
 applicants, take part with them against those whose duty it is to 
 be strict ; that the employers of labourers would not, for the 
 sake of a partial and temporarj^ saving, assist in pauperizing 
 their workmen, who are sure to repay them with idleness, 
 dishonesty, and refractoriness ; that political partisans would not 
 deceive the labouring classes by holding out to them that they 
 dixe forced into a state of dependence by misrule and oppression ; 
 and lastly, that the prudent part of those classes would not stand 
 aloof from sympathy or fear, but would heartily unite against the 
 spirit of pauperism as the worst of all possible enemies to their 
 
CLUBS. 183 
 
 nearest interests. There can be no humanity in the poor-laws : 
 if wages are not sufficient, they are only paying what is due in a 
 degrading and cruel manner; if wages are sufficient, they are a 
 provision held out beforehand to improvidence and all its deso-_ 
 lating evils. Nothing can permanently better the conditioti oj 
 the workim; classes but an increase ofprudejice. Any improve- 
 ment in means would be wasted, or worse than wasted, unless 
 there should be a corresponding improvement of habits. How 
 could a reduction of taxation, or a diminution in the price of 
 corn, permanently benefit those who become idle and profligate 
 as the means of living become easy, or what better is a man in 
 the end for being able to gain as much in four days as he gained 
 in six, if he only works in proportion, or wastes his money as fast 
 as he gets it.^ It is lamentable, but true, that to the improvident 
 population of large towns, and to the pauperized labourers of most 
 of the agricultural districts, any facilities for maintaining them- 
 selves, beyond drudging for the bare necessaries of life, only make 
 them work the less and multiply the faster. Of providing any 
 resources for casualties or for old age they have no idea ; and it 
 is this state of things which makes it so generally believed that 
 the poor-laws system cannot be dispensed with. Those who 
 hold this opinion do not look to a sufticiently high standard ; 
 they see that improvidence is the present characteristic of the 
 labouring classes, and that the improvident, as a body, will not 
 labour unless compelled by necessity ; therefore, it is concluded 
 that the bulk of mankind must be kept on the verge of necessity, 
 or that the requisite labour will not be performed. But the most 
 efficiently industrious are those who, having fixed their minds 
 upon securing comfort and independence, are constantly intent 
 on the means ; and there is no reason in the nature of things 
 why the requisite habits should not be made as prevalent as the 
 opposite ones are now." 
 
 No. XVII. V/ednesday, Sept. 9, 1835. 
 
 CLUBS. 
 
 One of the greatest and most important modern changes in 
 society is the present system of clubs. The facihties of living 
 have been wonderfully increased by them in many ways, whilst 
 the expense has been greatly diminished. For a few pounds 
 a year advantages are to be enjoyed, which no fortunes, except 
 the most ample, can procure. I can best illustrate this by a 
 particular instance. The only club I belong to is the Athenaeum, 
 which consists of 1200 members, amongst whom are to be 
 
1 84 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 reckoned a large proportion of the most eminent persons in the 
 land in every line — civil, military, and ecclesiastical, peers 
 spiritual and temporal, commoners, men of the learned profes- 
 sions, those connected with science, the arts, and commerce in 
 all its principal branches, as well as the distinguished who do 
 not belong to any particular class. Many of these are to be met 
 with every day, living with the same freedom as in their own 
 home. For six guineas a year every member has the command 
 of an excellent library, with maps ; of the daily papers, English 
 and foreign, the principal periodicals, and every material for 
 writing, with attendance for whatever is wanted .^ The building 
 is a sort of palace, and is kept with the same exactness and 
 comfort as a private dwelling. Every member is a master, with- 
 out any of the trouble of a master. He can come when he 
 pleases, and stay away as long as he pleases, without anything 
 going wrong. He has the command of regular servants, without 
 having to pay or to manage them. He can have whatever meal 
 or refreshment he wants, at all hours, and served up with the 
 cleanliness and comfort of his own home. He orders just what 
 he pleases, having no interest to think of but his own. In short, 
 it is impossible to suppose a greater degree of liberty in living. 
 To men who reside in the country, and who come occasionally 
 to town, a club is particularly advantageous. They have only to 
 take a bedroom, and they have everything else they want in a 
 more convenient way than by any other plan. Married men, 
 whose families are absent, find the nearest resemblance to the 
 facilities of home in the arrangements of a club ; and bachelors 
 of moderate incomes or simple habits are gainers by such 
 institutions in a degree beyond calculation. They live much 
 cheaper, with more ease and freedom, in far better style, and 
 with much greater advantages as to society, than formerly. 
 Before the establishment of clubs no money could procure many 
 of the enjoyments which are now within the reach of an income 
 of ^300 a year; and the difference between that part of men's 
 lives when they are entering the world, heretofore and at present, 
 is very remarkable. Neither the same facilities of living, nor 
 the same opportunities of cultivating society, could have been 
 commanded twenty years since, on any terms. In those days 
 every mode of living for a young man upon the town was 
 attended with something irksome — expense on one hand, uncom- 
 fort on the other — confinement very much to the same limited 
 circle of acquaintance, not so much from choice, perhaps, as 
 from necessity, and obHgation to conform to arbitrary rules of 
 living instead of, as now, freely following the inclination. Clubs, 
 as far as my observation goes, are favourable to economy of 
 time. There is a fixed place to go to, everything is served with 
 comparative expedition, and it is not customary in general to 
 
CLUBS. 185 
 
 remam lang at table. They are favourable to temperance. It 
 seems that when people can freely please themselves, and when 
 they have an opportunity of living simply, excess is seldom 
 committed. From an account I have of the expenses at the 
 Athensum in the year 1832, it appears that seventeen thousand 
 three hundred and twenty-three dinners cost on an average t\\ o 
 shillings and nine-pence three farthings each, and that the 
 averagl; quantity of wine for each person was a small fraction 
 more ihan half a pint. Many people drmk no wine, some only 
 one glass, and excess, or even anything approaching to it, may 
 be said to be unknown. I have often found that the beginning 
 of excess was to be traced, at taverns and coffee-houses, to 
 calling for more than was wanted, for the good of the house and 
 not to" appear shabby. The consequence was an unfitness for 
 leaving the table, w^hich induced further indulgence, not from 
 absolute inclination, but from not knowing what else to do. It 
 is otherwise where people begin only with what they desire ; as 
 soon as they are satisfied, it is easy to stop ; but if a man who 
 only wants half a pint of wine, thinks himself obliged to order 
 double the quantity, when he has finished it he will probably go 
 on still further, from a mere disinclination to move, caused by 
 the first trifling excess. One of the most important advantages 
 attending clubs is the circumstance of their affording a harmless 
 place of resort at all hours. They are harmless, because there 
 is nothing going on but conversation, study, or a little play for 
 the sake of amusement ; and it is a great preventive of expense 
 and irregularities to be able to pass those intervals from business 
 or other engagements, which are otherwise difficult to dispose of, 
 in security from temptation. Lord Chesterfield, who must be 
 allowed to have been a good judge in such matters, has given it 
 as his opinion that ten times more men are ruined from the 
 adoption of vice than from natural inclination. Now nothing' 
 leads people more to adopt vice than the difficulty of employing 
 their leisure hours and those periods when a disinclination to 
 solitude comes on. Men do not in general acquire a habit of 
 bad company for the love of bad company, but because it is the 
 easiest to get into, or perhaps at the moment the only resource ; 
 and those who only make occasional aberrations are probably 
 most frequently induced to do so by temptation presenting itself, 
 and there being no other attraction at hand. A club is a con- 
 stant provision against these dangers for those who wish to avail 
 themselves of it ; and whether a man is w^eary of solitude, or is 
 not cjuite ready for it after the enjoyments of society, he has 
 always a resource in the easy attractions of his club, where he 
 may ' harmlessly while away the hour or half-hour which he 
 would otherwise be at a loss to dispose of In my opinion, a 
 well-constituted club is an institution aftbrding advantages un- 
 
1 86 THE: ORIGINAL. 
 
 mixed with alloy. I am aware that such is not the view which 
 ladies are disposed to take of the subject, but I think they judge 
 from a misapprehension of facts, and that in the end they will 
 be no small gainers by the improvement of the habits of the men 
 Jikely, or rather certain, to result from the course of life pursued 
 in clubs. The objections I have heard stated are — that clubs 
 make men independent of female society, the effects of wtiich 
 are already sensibly felt ; that they prevent men from thinking 
 of marrying, and that, if they do marry, the luxury and comfort 
 they have enjoyed at so easy and cheap a rate render them dis- 
 contented with home. With respect to the objection that clubs 
 make men independent of female society, I can only say that at 
 the Athenteum it is certainly not the case. In the first place, very 
 few members breakfast there, and of those few the majority are 
 generally visitors to town, who, if not at the club, would be at a 
 coffee-house. There is a greater number to read the morning 
 papers, who have breakfasted at home, and take the club in the 
 way to their business. During the day there is a succession of 
 stragglers, who look in as they pass by, or have occasion to consult 
 books or write letters. There is generally the largest assembly 
 between the arrival of the evening papers and the hour of dinner, 
 when people congregate on their way to their respective homes ; 
 but as it is to learn the news, and to give invitations, the ladies 
 can be no losers by such a practice. From the number of 
 dinners I have already mentioned to have taken place at the 
 Athensum in 1832, it appears the daily average of dinners was 
 forty-seven and a fraction ; and if from that num.ber be deducted 
 those members who, independently of clubs, from their avoca- 
 tions or their habits, or any other reason, would have been tak- 
 ing a solitary meal, it cannot be said that female society was 
 much affected ; nor is it moi'e so at present. In those hours of 
 the evening which are peculiarly dedicated to society, I should 
 think, on an average, twenty members could not be counted at 
 any one time throughout the suite of rooms upstairs, the largest 
 of which is one hundred and three feet long and thirty wide ; 
 indeed, in general, when I have gone there in the evening, it has 
 been as into a sort of desert. If female society be neglected, it 
 is not owing to the institution of clubs, but more probably to the 
 long sittings of the House of Commons, and to the want of easy 
 access to family circles. For the most part, female society is 
 only to be met with at formal and laborious dinners, and over- 
 crowded and frivolous parties, attendance on the latter of which 
 men of sense soon find out to be a nuisance and a degradation. 
 It was said by a man of high rank, large fortune, and extraordi- 
 nary accomplishments, that he did not know a single house in 
 London where he could venture to ask for a cup of tea ; and 
 though this might not be literally true, it argues a lamentable 
 
ART OF DINING. 18/ 
 
 degree of restraint. An easy access to female society and the 
 club system for men, in my opinion, would go very well together. 
 I must here remark that at the Athenasum I never heard it even 
 hinted that married men frequented it to the prejudice of their 
 domestic habits, or that bachelors were kept from general society. 
 As to the objection that clubs prevent men from thinking of 
 marrying, I think they can only have that effect so far as to pre- 
 vent them from thinking of marrying prematurely, but that their 
 ultimate tendency is to encourage marriage by creating habits 
 in accordance with those of the married state. In opposition to 
 ladies' objection to clubs, I would suggest this important distmc- 
 tion — that they are a preparation, and not a substitute, for 
 domestic life. Compared with the previous system of living, 
 clubs induce habits of economy, temperance, refinement, regu- 
 larity, and good order ; and, as men are in general not content 
 with their condition so long as it can be improved, it is a 
 natural step from the comforts of a club to those of matrimony, 
 and I certainly think there cannot be a better security fur the 
 good behaviour of a husband than that he has been trained in 
 one of those institutions. When ladies suppose that the luxuries 
 and comforts of a club are likely to make men discontented 
 with the enjoyments of domestic life, I think they wrong them- 
 selves. One of the chief attractions of a club is that it offers an 
 imitation of the comforts of home, but only an imitation, and 
 one which will never supersede the reality. As to luxuries, I 
 have shown that in the Athenteum the mode of living is simple, 
 rather than luxurious, and in some of the other clubs the scale 
 is still more economical ; whilst at the Travellers', which is the 
 most expensive, there is no approach, considering the class of 
 which it is composed, and taking the average, to anything like 
 excessive luxury. There is one hint, which I think ladies might 
 take with advantage from clubs, in their domestic management, 
 and that is, that the style of dinner is the easy, and not the 
 ornamental — a difference upon which I have made some remarks 
 in the article on the Art of Dining in my last number ; and I 
 will conclude with recommending them not to fancy any com- 
 parisons unfavourable to themselves, but confidently to trust to 
 those powers, which, if they use well, they cannot use in vain. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 In the article in my last number on the Art of Dining, I pro- 
 mised to give this week my ideas of v/hat dinners ought to be. 
 I shall begin with repeatmg a preceding passage. 
 
 " In order to bring the dinner system to perfection according 
 to my idea, it would be necessary to have a room contrived on 
 
i88 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the best possible plan for eight persons as the greatest number. 
 I almost think six even more desirable than eight ; but beyond 
 eight, as far as my experience goes, there is always a division 
 inio parties, or a partial languor, or a sort of paralysis either of 
 the extremities or centre, which has more or less effect upon the 
 whole. For complete enjoyment, a company ought to be One, 
 sympathizing and drawing together, listening and talking in due 
 proportions — no monopolist, nor any ciphers." I am now sup- 
 posing the whole object to be the perfection of dinner-parties, 
 without reference to number of family or acquaintance, and 
 without reference to display or any other consideration ; but I 
 suppose every other consideration postponed to convivial enjoy- 
 ment alone. Spacious and lofty rooms destroy, or at least 
 weaken, that feeling of concentration which is essential to per- 
 fect fellowship. There is a sort of evaporation of oneself, or 
 flying off into the void, which impairs that force of attention 
 necessary to give and receive complete enjoyment. A party, to 
 use a familiar phrase, should be, as it were, boxed up, com- 
 fortably packed, with room enough, but not to spare, or, as the 
 French revolutionists used to have it, should be " one and indi- 
 visible.'' Those who have dined in the very small rooms, called 
 caburets particiiliers, at the restaurateurs at Paris, must have 
 remarked the beneficial influence of compactness in promoting 
 hilarity and banishing abstraction and restraint ; but those 
 rooms have no other desirable qualification but their smallness, 
 which is often extreme, and they have not been originally con- 
 trived for the purpose for which they, are used, yet they have 
 a capability of producing more of a festive disposition than is to 
 be found amidst space and display. Dining-rooms in London 
 are in general, I think, very tasteless and uninspiring in them- 
 selves, and when set out they are decorated after the barbarian 
 style, rather for display than with reference to their use. 
 
 From the architect to the table-decorator there seems to be 
 a total absence of genius for the real objects to be aimed at. 
 Justness of proportion, harmony of colouring, and disposition of 
 light are the most desirable qualities in any room, but especially 
 in a dining-room, without any individual ornaments or objects 
 to distract the attention ; so that the moment one enters there 
 may be a feeling of fitness, which is productive of undisturbed 
 satisfaction, and disposes the mind to the best state for enjoy- 
 ment. Attention should be directed to produce an effect from 
 the whole, and not by the parts. For this reason light should 
 be thrown in the least observable manner, and not ostentatiously 
 from ornamented objects. There should be the pleasing eftect 
 of good light, with the least perception whence it comes. There 
 is no art in lighting a table by cumbrous branches, but there is 
 in throwing a light upon it, like some of Rembrandt's paintings, 
 
ART OF DINING. 189 
 
 and the effect is accordingly. The first is vulgar ; the latter 
 refined. In the same manner light from windows should be 
 admitted only with reference to the table, and during dinner the 
 view should be shut out to prevent distraction. With respect 
 to the proportions of a room, they should be studied with refer- 
 ence to the table, which, as I have said, should in my opinion 
 be of the size to accommodate not more than eight persons. In 
 point of width I would not have more space than necessary 
 for the convenient circulation of the least possible number of 
 attendants. In point of length, there should be room for a 
 sideboard at one end, and a sufficient space from the fireplace 
 at the other, so that the length of the room would be somewhat 
 greater than the width. In respect to height, it should be pro- 
 portioned to the length and width, and therefore the height 
 would not be considerable. A high room is certainly not favour- 
 able to conversation, because it is contrary to the principle of 
 concentration ; and the prejudice in favour of height arises from 
 its effect considered with respect to large parties and to over- 
 loaded tables. I would have the door in the side, at the end 
 near the sideboard, and the windows on the side opposite. As 
 to colouring, the same rule ought to be observed as in every- 
 thing else, that is, to study general eftect. To suit all seasons 
 best, I think the walls ought to be of rather a sober colour, with 
 drapery of a warm appearance for cold weather and the con- 
 trary for hot. Perhaps it may be thought by many that all 
 these particulars are very immaterial, and that the consideration 
 of them is very trifling ; but my opinion is that in all our actions, 
 whether with reference to business or pleasure, it is a main 
 point, in the first place, to produce a suitable disposition ; and 
 as dining is an occurrence of every day of our lives, or nearly 
 so, and as our health and spirits depend in a great measure 
 upon our vivid enjoyment of this our chief meal, it seems to me 
 a more worthy object of study than those unreal occupations, 
 about which so many busy themselves in vain. But I am for- 
 getting an important matter in the dining-room. I mean the 
 due regulation of the temperature, upon which comfort so much 
 depends, and from want of attention to which there is annually 
 so much suffering both from heat and cold. In hot weather the 
 difficulty is the greatest, and is best to be overcome by attention 
 to ventilation and blinds. In winter there is little difficulty with 
 due care and no stinginess, which latter is apt to appear both in 
 having the fire only lighted just before dinner, and in not keep- 
 ing it up properly to the end of the party ; and I do here protest 
 against the practice I have often witnessed, of letting the fire 
 actually go out in cold weather before the guests. There is 
 nothing more cheerless or of more inhospitable appearance. On 
 the other hand, a bright blazing fire has a very inspiring effect 
 
igo THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 on entering the dining-room, and is an object worthy of special 
 attention to those who wish their parties to succeed. More- 
 over, in such a room as I have described, the opening after 
 dinner on a dreary day to admit a cheerful fire would be a very 
 inspiring moment, witli an agreeable party brought into perfect 
 unison by a well-imagined, well-executed repast — a scene to 
 kindle equally attachment to one's friends and love of one's 
 country. The cultivation of the fireside is one of the greatest 
 import, public and private. 
 
 Having said, I think, everything I have to say as to the 
 arrangement of the dining-room till I come to the table, I will 
 here dedicate a word or two to its necessary appendage, the 
 kitchen, which I would have literally an appendage, and not, as 
 at present, a distant and unconnected establishment. As I said 
 before, I am now supposing the whole object to be the perfection 
 of dinner-parties, without reference to any other consideration, 
 and therefore I put aside custom, fashion, and prejudice, as 
 enemies to the true theory and practice, and I boldly advance 
 my own opinions. I must beg the reader to bear in mind that I 
 am speaking with reference to small parties, and that I am an 
 advocate for dinners which, as nearly as can be calculated, are 
 just enough, and no more. I speak not of the bustle of prepara- 
 tion for twelve, sixteen, or twenty people, with about four times 
 as much as they can possibly consume, and with a combination 
 of overpowering heat and disagreeable scents. I have in view a 
 quiet little kitchen, without noise, or annoying heat, or odour, 
 save some simple savoury one, provocative of the appetite, and 
 incapable of offending the most fastidious. Such an establish- 
 ment would I have immediately adjoining my dining-room, and 
 communicating with it by an entrance close to the sideboard, 
 closed during the process of dinner by a curtain only, so that 
 the dishes could be brought in without noise, or current of air, 
 or constant opening or shutting of a door. As Matthew Bramble, 
 in " Humphrey Clinker," talks, in his delights of the country, of 
 eating trout struggling from the stream, I would have m.y dishes 
 served glowing, or steaming, from the kitchen stoves — a luxury 
 not to be compensated, and a quality which gives a relish, 
 otherwise unattainable, to the simplest as well as the most 
 highly finished dishes. Let those who have sense and taste 
 conceive a compact dinner, quietly served in simple succession 
 according to such an arrangtment, with everything at hand, and 
 in the best possible state, and compare it with a three-course 
 repast, imported under cover, in tedious procession from under- 
 ground. In my next I shall treat of the table, the dinner, and 
 the mode of conducting it. 
 
igi ) 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 There is a paper in the Spectator, No. 449, descriptive of the 
 devoted attentions of a lovely female in the bloom of youth to 
 her decrepit father. This paper has frequently been the sul^ject 
 of unqualined commendation. It is one of Steele's, and, like 
 most of his, it is in my opinion very inferior, both in judgment 
 and taste, to those of Addison. Parental and filial affection 
 are reciprocal duties, but, like all other duties, they ought to be 
 kept within the bounds of reason. Where they are not, they 
 savour more of vanity and selfishness than of that true good 
 feeling which is to be depended upon under all circumstances. 
 Parents who are unboundedly wrapped up in their children are 
 apt, if disappointed by them in their views, to become unreason- 
 ably unforgiving, though perhaps that disappointment is princi- 
 pally owing to their own injudicious indulgence. They blind 
 themselves to the real nature of their fondness, and then suffer 
 their feelings to be embittered by what they conceive to be the 
 height of ingratitude ; and the same false species of attachment 
 often leads them to sacrifice the tme welfare of their offspring to 
 the suggestions of avarice or ambition. In the same manner, I 
 do not think unmeasured devotion on the part of children so 
 much to be depended upon as that in which there is a reasonable 
 portion of self-consideration — or rather, I apprehend, there is 
 self-consideration in disguise, and proceeding from an unsure 
 foundation. In the case described by Steele far too much is 
 given up, and I should be apprehensive that in real life the 
 assiduities of an accomplished lover might tempt the lady to 
 pass from one extreme to the other — at any rate, I should have 
 more confidence in a female who set out by distinguishing how 
 much was due to her father and how much to herself. A feeling 
 of total devotion is somewhat dangerous, because, if it changes 
 at all, it is probable it will be wholly transferred ; and as love in 
 its nature is much stronger than fihal attection, the chances 
 against the latter would, in the long rxm, be fearful. But it is 
 otherwise where the strongest feeling is yielded to, but in such 
 manner that the weaker ones may have place in their proper 
 order. Then is the best security that each will be permanently 
 and duly acted up to. For instance, love, filial affection, and 
 friendship may exercise at the same time their respective influ- 
 ences, but any attempt to invert the order, except temporarily, 
 is against the laws of nature, tlie force of which has a constant 
 tendency to recur. It is, to my mind, extremely revolting to see 
 the enjoyments proper to the season of youth remorselessly 
 sacrificed to the selfishness of age — to see a young person 
 indefinitely withering under a slavish attendance, for the per- 
 
192 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 formance of those services which might be equally well rendered 
 with no personal privation, and this too under the mask of 
 affection — under a pretence of being unable to bear the minis- 
 tration of any other hand. It is a sacrifice which a wcll- 
 constituted mind would not only not require, but would not 
 permit ; and any parent with a proper feeling for a child would 
 rather reverse the practice, and study how least to let age and 
 infirmity interfere with the enjoyments and interests of youth. 
 " As long as I live think only of me," is detestable. The true 
 doctrine is, " Whilst you requite my tenderness, do not let me 
 feel that the few years I have to remain exercise any baneful 
 influence on the many you may hope to enjoy." It would be 
 unnatural in an only daughter to give way to an attachment 
 which would lead to an entire separation from an aged and 
 infirm parent ; but it is equally, or more, unnatural in a parent 
 to oppose an advantageous alliance which would admit the 
 fulfilment, in reasonable proportions, both of conjugal and filial 
 duties — besides that, to witness the satisfactory establishment of 
 a child ought to carry a consolation with it incomparably beyond 
 the selfish pleasure of a inonopoly of attentions. Devotion such 
 as that described by Steele, however easy, or even pleasurable 
 at first, cannot, when indefinitely continued, but become some- 
 what irksome Ijoth in practice and in reflection, which feeling 
 will of necessity, more or less, mix itself up with the object ; 
 whereas a reasonable mean, which does not exclude other sen- 
 timents, may go on without the slightest diminution, and every 
 attention from first to last may be a genuine offering of the 
 heart. It is good that this should be reciprocally borne in mind, 
 as an additional reason why too much should not be required, 
 nor too much undertaken. The extreme of devotion has 
 generally, I appi-eiiend, part of its foundation in a feeling of 
 self-importance and a love of applause, which part, after a time, 
 is likely a little to give \vay unless strengthened by the accession 
 of pride. In this, as in all things, a I'easonable beginning is 
 most likely to have a reasonable end. 
 
 PAUPERISM. 
 
 The following is a continuation of the extracts from my pamphlet 
 on Pauperism. 
 
 " In populous towns and manufacturing districts, where the 
 fluctuations in wages are greater than in the country, as well as 
 the numbers affected, it may seem at first sight that parochial 
 provision is indispensable ; but, in fact, that provision mainly 
 contributes to cause the fluctuations. In ordinary times, there 
 constantly exists a surplus population; for it cannot be doubted, 
 
PAUPERISM. 193 
 
 but that the working classes might be more prudent and in- 
 dustrious, and consequently that a smaller number would be 
 sufficient to perform the labour required. The lowest in degree 
 are always in a partial state of pauperism, and the greater 
 portion of the remainder upon the verge of it. If from any cause 
 the value of labour materially decreases, there is no resource but 
 the parish, and production is continued with the aid of thai 
 artificial support ; so that wages are forced lower and lower, and 
 when the demand for labour would naturally have returned to 
 its former standard, it is prevented by the extra production, and 
 the industrious and prudent labourer is for some time deprived 
 of the benefit he ought to have received. When demand for 
 labour falls below the average, the improvident part of the 
 working classes are the most turbulent and clamorous, and the 
 readiest tools in the hands of the factious and designing. When 
 the demand for labour rises above the average, they become, in 
 the proportion that wages advance, idle, dissolute, and difficult 
 to manage. The first fruits of improvidence, when soured by 
 bad seasons, are riot and sedition ; when ripened by prosperity, 
 extravagance, profligacy, and combination. If the workmg 
 classes were to become as prudent as they have hitherto been 
 the reverse, many of them would render themselves quite inde- 
 pendent of labour, and almost all partially so ; then, when the 
 demand for labour should fall below the average, they would 
 keep v/ithdrawing in proportion to their means, till the demand 
 returned to its former standard. If it rose above the average, 
 those who had become independent would return to labour or 
 would remain at it, as the additional remuneration tempted them, 
 till the extra demand ceased, or if permanent, till i: was met by 
 increased population ; and this is the state in which labour 
 would be the cheapest and most satisfactory. 
 
 "Though a provident population must have more resources 
 than an improvident one, yet it will lie much more difficult to 
 form or keep up combinations amongst them. The interest of 
 each individual is more distinct, and therefore not so easily 
 drawn into the mass ; every man is calculating his own gradual 
 advance, and will not readily make a certain sacrifice for an un- 
 certain benefit ; he is in a state of progressive comfort, from 
 which it is difficult to disturb him, and his prudence and constant 
 occupation make him little liable to become the dupe of the de- 
 signing. The life of the improvident, on the contrary, is an 
 alternation of privation and indulgence, and they are ever ready 
 to undergo the former for the chance of the latter ; they listen, 
 and become a prey to the plausible and artful, to whose designs 
 uneasiness and credulity constantly expose them. They have 
 no fixed purpose or ultimate aim to keep them steady, and their 
 individual interest being worth little to them, thev are very 
 
194 ' THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 willing to throw it into the general, and make common cause 
 with those who have as little to lose as themselves. A prudent 
 population is the best calculated to resist unjustifiable aggression, 
 and an improvident one to commence it." 
 
 TWOPENNY POST. 
 
 The Twopenny Post is a great convenience, and would be a 
 much greater if it were used without restraint. It is a pity that 
 in this land of liberty there should be so much tyranny from 
 absurd customs. Why should any one be affronted by the 
 payment of postage, which is to save the trouble of sending a 
 servant or the expense of a special messenger .'' Why should a 
 domestic travel a mile, when a few yards would suffice, or a 
 shilling or eighteen-pence be paid instead of twopence .'' A free 
 use of the post would promote a great deal of easy intercourse, 
 which the trouble or expense of sending entirely prevents ; and, 
 indeed, to distant parts of the town in different directions, there 
 can be ro mode of conveyance at once so convenient and so 
 capable of despatch. It enables communications to be made, 
 and answers to be returned at almost all times, without delay ; 
 and, if used to a greater extent, would most probably be rendered 
 still more efficient by an increased number of deliveries. I am 
 happy to say that I have of late perceived a considerable relaxa- 
 tion of former restraint ; and for my own part I intend to take 
 the liberty of paying postage, whenever it suits my convenience, 
 assuming that my correspondents are not subject to the vulgar- 
 minded habit of fancying affronts. It has often been suggested, 
 and with great reason, that it would be desirable to have the 
 receiving-houses for letters distinguished in such a manner as 
 to make them easily perceptible, and it appears to me that this 
 object would in general be sufficiently accomplished if the 
 nearest lamp had some peculiar mark for the day, and a portion 
 of coloured glass for night, with a difference for the two posts, 
 General and Twopenny. 
 
 No. XVIII. V/ednesday, Sept. 16, 1835. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 To those who are the slaves of custom or fashion, or who have 
 never thought for themselves, the doctrines on the art of dining 
 laid down in my last number must appear startling, absurd, or 
 impossible to be carried into practice, except in a very limited 
 
ART OF DINING. T95 
 
 number of cases. The simple style I propose is as different from 
 the ornamented and cumbrous one now in vogue as the present 
 cropped, unpowdered, trousered mode of dress is from that of a 
 gentleman in the middle of the last century, when bags, swords, 
 buckles, and gold lace were universally in use ; and I m.ay be 
 thought as much out of the way in my notions by some, as any 
 one would have been in the year 1750 who should have advo- 
 cated the dress of 1835. But simphcity and convenience have 
 triumphed in our dress, and I have no doubt they will equally 
 do so in time in our dinners. With respect to the practicability 
 of my system, I lay down rules which I think the sound ones, 
 with a view to their being approached as nearly as circumstances 
 will permit. For instance, I am of opinion a party, to be the 
 most satisfactory, should not exceed eight persons, and therefore 
 I would keep as near that number as possible. I think it is a 
 very material point to have a dinner ser\-ed up quite hot, and 
 therefore I would have a kitchen as close to the dining-room as 
 conveniently it could be. I differ from those who like large 
 parties, and who think the kitchen ought to be remote, and I 
 frame my rules accordingly, and would bring my practice as 
 near my rules as circumstances would allow. I should prefer 
 two small parties simply regaled, to one large one with an o\tr- 
 loaded repast, and I would make all my arrangements with 
 reference to the style I think best, and keep to it as strictly as I 
 could. As it appears to me that the more intent we are upon 
 what we are doing the greater is our enjoyment, I have dwelt 
 in the article in my last number upon the means of preventing 
 distraction at the dinner-table — not that I mean all that I have 
 said always to be adhered to, but I give it by way of guide and 
 specimen. I endeavour to exhibit the true philosophy of dining, 
 leaving the practice to be modified according to tastes and 
 circumstances, and as I am decidedly of opinion that the true 
 philosophy of dining would have great influence upon our well- 
 being, bodily and mental, and upon the good ordering of our 
 social habits', I think it well worth serious attention. The above 
 observations apply as well to what I am going to say as to 
 what I have said'; the application of my rules must depend 
 upon circumstances. 
 
 I concluded the article on dining in my last number with pro- 
 mising to treat, in the present, of the table, the dinner, and the 
 mode of conducting it. A great deal of the pleasure of a party 
 depends upon the size of the table being proportioned to the 
 number of those sitting at it. The other day, when dining alone 
 with a friend of mine, I could not help being constantly sensible 
 of the unsocial influence of too large a table. The circular form 
 seems to me to be the most desirable, and as tables are now 
 made with tops of different sizes, to put on as occasion requires, 
 
 G 2 
 
196 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 those, who think it worth while, can adapt their table to their 
 party with what precision they please. According to my system 
 of serving the dishes in succession, the only thing to be consi- 
 dered in the size of the table is convenient room for sitting, 
 so as neither to be crowded nor to be too far apart. For any 
 number not exceeding four, I think a square or oblong table 
 quite as comfortable as a round one. With respect to setting 
 out a table, everything should be briUiantly clean, and nothing 
 should be placed upon it except what is wanted ; and everything 
 ■wanted, which can conveniently be upon the table, should be 
 there, so as to dispense as much as possible with attendance, 
 and thereby avoid the trouble of asking for things, and the 
 frequent occurrence, even with the best arrangements, of having 
 to wait. I rather think the best mode of lighting a table has not 
 yet been discovered. I think it desirable not to have the light 
 upon it, nor indeed anything which can interrupt the freest com- 
 inunication between the guests, upon which sociability greatly 
 depends. The art of throwing the most agreeable light upon a 
 table is well worth cultivating. Instead of those inconvenient 
 and useless centre-pieces, which I have already denounced, I 
 would have a basket of beautiful bread, white and brown, in the 
 middle of the table, with a silver fork on each side, so that the 
 guests could help themselves, which would be perfectly easy 
 v'ith a party not exceeding eight, which limit I understand in all 
 I say. I would have the wine placed upon the table in such 
 manner as to be as much as possible within the reach of each 
 person, and I hold stands for the decanters to be impediments, 
 and coolers also, except, perhaps, in very hot weather. If the 
 wme is served at a proper temperature, it will in general remain 
 so as long as ought to be necessary; but it is often set upon the 
 table before it is wanted, for show. As I am an enemy to a 
 variety of wines, I think one wine-glass only most convenient at 
 dinner, nor do I think in general that water-glasses for the wine- 
 glasses are of much use. I like to snnphfy as much as possible ; 
 and instead of the supernumeraries we now see, I would have 
 one or more sets of cruets upon the table, according to the size 
 of the party, and containing those things which are continually 
 vvanted, and which it is desirable to have at hand. When they 
 are to be asked for, they are not used half so much as Avhen 
 they are within reach. Whatever dish is placed upon the 
 table, it ought to be preceded by all its minor adjuncts, and 
 accompanied by the proper vegetables ciuite hot, so that it may 
 be enjoyed entirely, and at once. How very seldom this is fully 
 experienced, for want of previous attention or from the custom 
 of sacrificing comfort to state and form ! I suppose I hardly 
 need add that I am an advocate for the use of dumb-waiters : 
 and the smaller the party is, the more they are desirable, be- 
 
ART OF DINING. 197 
 
 cause attendants are a restraint upon conversation and upon 
 one's ease in general, in proportion to the limited number 
 at table. I will conclude this part of my subject with recom- 
 mending, in the arrangements of the dining-room and the set- 
 ting out of the table, Madame de Stael's description of Corinne's 
 drawing-room, which she says was " simply furnished, and with 
 everything contrived to make conversation easy and the circle 
 compact,' as nearly as possible the reverse of what is aimed at 
 in English dinners of the present day. 
 
 With respect to the dinner itself, there are two kinds of 
 dinners — one simple, consisting of few dishes, the other em- 
 bracing a variety. Both kinds are good in their way, and both 
 deserving attention ; but for constancy, I greatly prefer the 
 simple style. As it is not my purpose to give a series of bills of 
 fare, after the manner of the authors of books on cookery, I shall 
 perhaps find it difficult to make my notions on dinners suffi- 
 ciently comprehended. I mean only 10 lay down a few general 
 lules, and leave the application to the genius of those who read 
 them. In the first place, it is necessary not to be afraid of not 
 having enough, and so to go into the other extreme, and have a 
 great deal too much, as is almost invariably the practice. It is 
 also necessary' not to be afraid of the table looking bare, and so 
 to crowd it with dishes not wanted, or before they are wanted, 
 whereby they become cold and sodden. "• Enough is as good as 
 a feast " is a sound ma.xim, as well in providing as in eating. 
 The advantages of having only enough are these : it saves ex- 
 pense, trouble, and attendance ; it removes temptation, and 
 induces contentment, and it affords the best chance of having a 
 well-dressed dinner, by cone entrating the attention of the cook. 
 The having too much, and setting dishes on the table merely 
 for appearance, are practices arising out of prejudices, which, if 
 onxre broken through, would be looked upon, and deservedly, as 
 the height of vulgarity. The excessive system is a great pre- 
 ventive of hospitality, by adding to the expense and trouble of 
 entertaining, whilst it has no one advantage. It is only pursued 
 by the majority of people for fear of being unlike the rest of the 
 world. In proportion to the smallness of dinner, ought to be its 
 excellence, both as to quality of the materials and the cooking. 
 In order to ensure the best quality of materials, it is necessary to 
 have some intercourse with the tradesmen who provide them, 
 that they may feel an interest in pointing out and furnishing 
 whatever happens to be most desirable ; and judicious criticisms 
 on the cooking, whether in blaming or commending, are essential 
 to keeping up a proper degree of zeal. There is a mean in these 
 things between too much meddling and total negligence, and I 
 think it is to be lamented on many accounts that there is so 
 much of the latter on the part of the higher classes towards 
 
198 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 those with whom they deal. Both parties would find their 
 account in a mutual good understanding. To order dinner well 
 is a matter of invention and combination. It involves novelty, 
 simplicity, and taste ; whereas in the generality of dinners, there 
 is no character but that of dull routine, according to the season. 
 The same things are seen everywhere at the same periods, and 
 as the rules for providing limit the range very much, there are a 
 great many good things which never make their appearance at 
 all, and a great many others, which, being served in a fixed 
 order, are seldom half enjoyed ; as, for instance, game in the 
 third course. This reminds me of a dinner I ordered last 
 Christmas Day for two persons besides myself, and which we 
 enjoyed very much. It consisted of crimped cod, woodcocks, 
 and plum-pudding, just as much of each as we wanted, and ac- 
 companied by champagne. Now this dinner was both very 
 agreeable, and very wholesome from its moderation ; but the 
 ordinary course would have been to have preceded the woodcocks 
 by some substantial dish, thereby taking away from their relish, 
 and at the same time overloading the appetite. Delicacies are 
 scarcely ever brought till they are quite superfluous, which is 
 unsatisfactory if they are not eaten, and pernicious if they are. 
 When the materials and the cooking are both of the best, and 
 the dinner is served according to the most approved rules of 
 comfort, the plainest, cheapest food has attractions, which are 
 seldom to be found in the most laboured attempts. Herrings 
 and hashed mutton, to those who like them, are capable of 
 affording as much enjoyment, when skilfully dressed, as rare and 
 costly dishes. I think it would be a great improvement to 
 introduce, as a mode of enjoying easy society, small parties to 
 plain savoury dinners, without state or ceremony. They need 
 not supersede more expensive repasts, but might be adopted as 
 a variety and a relief. At present such a thing is scarcely 
 heard of as asking half a dozen people to a dinner, unless it 
 be an affair of trouble and expense. If people can dine alone 
 in a plain manner, they could do so in society much more 
 agreeably. 
 
 I shall proceed with this subject in my next number. 
 
 PAUPERISM— {Extracts concluded). 
 
 "The poor-laws had originally, comparatively speaking, only to 
 provide for individual cases of pauperism — now occasionally for 
 immense masses. Their tendency to keep the operatives of 
 populous districts so near the verge of pauperism has the follow- 
 ing effects : — When the demand for labour is small, distress is 
 great, and the pressure on the rates heavy ; when the demand 
 
PA UPERISM. 
 
 199 
 
 increases, industry becomes general, till the ordinar>' wants of 
 the labouring classes, according to their low standard, are 
 tolerably supplied, and then idleness and extravagance com- 
 mence. The quantity of labour performed, in proportion to 
 numbers, keeps decreasing as the demand for it rises ; the 
 surplus population, everx'Avhere more or less existing, is drauTi 
 progressively towards the places where the demand for labour is 
 the greatest, whilst what is taken away is speedily in a course of 
 being more than supplied. Speculation begins to rage, idleness 
 increases, numbers make up the diiference, a glut ensues, specu- 
 lators are ruined, production stops, confidence is destroyed, 
 complete stagnation follows. The labourers have provided no 
 resources, but fall back upon that provision which they have 
 always had their eyes upon ; the claimants are so much in- 
 creased, that other funds are obliged to be called in aid, till 
 distress has somevrhat reduced population, and there has been 
 time to consume the over-production, and then in a few years 
 the same destructive course comes round again. This state of 
 things is equally pernicious to the employer and employed : it 
 favours speculation in the one and debasement in the other, to 
 the ruin of both. If the labouring classes were in a considerably 
 higher state of advancement, the results would be ver\' different ; 
 the profits of trade and the wages of labour would be more 
 regular. When the demand for labour increased, it would be 
 more slov/ly supplied, and of course would be more permanent. 
 ^^'hen it diminished, a portion of the labourers would retreat 
 upon their own resources. An increased demand for labour 
 would only be met by the increased industry of those already 
 engaged, by the return of those who had retired, by the com- 
 paratively scanty supply to be drawn from a distance, and by 
 the slow progress of increased population — a diminished demand 
 would be met by the increased resources of the labouring class. 
 Fluctuations could scarcely be considerable or productive of 
 any great inconvenience, commerce would proceed less by fits 
 and starts, and speculation v\ould give way to a more regular 
 and healthy system. As the same moral advance took place in 
 other parts of the world, the effect would be more and more 
 beneficial. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " If there were no poor-rates, but more prudence, and wages 
 were sufficiently high to enable the labourer to provide for old 
 age and to bring up decently the average number of children, 
 allowing for the ordinar)- casualties, then where there were 
 more than the average number of children, or extraordinary' 
 casualties, the resources would be a certain degree of privation, 
 and beyond that the voluntary assistance of those around. 
 Where there is general comfort, a few cases of poverty (not 
 
200 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 pauperism), so far from being considered burdensome, are not 
 only cheerfully, but eagerly relieved. These are the legitimate 
 objects of charity, and as they excite the kindly affections, and 
 repay them with gratitude, they tend to increase the general 
 stock of virtue and happiness. But the poor-laws, by serving to 
 debase the one class, and to make the other believe such debase- 
 ment inevitable, greatly retard any material improvement. They 
 keep up a race of paupers even under the most favourable 
 circumstances. There is at least a skeleton regiment in every 
 parish ; a {q.\\ gin-drinking, canting old women, two or three 
 dissolute fellows, with a show of infirmity to excuse them from 
 work — a half-knave, half-fool, with his attendant train of ragged 
 urchins — besides sundry loose characters, who alternately enlist 
 and desert as the humour takes them, and the times permit. 
 This corps, ever ready on emergency to be filled to its com- 
 plement, is kept constantly exercised in a predatory warfare on 
 the squire's game, the farmer's fences, his wife's poultry, and 
 every petty pillagable article ; for which services, besides their 
 regular pay, they obtain contributions from the poor, and pen- 
 sions from the rich. Every Mond ly morning old Betty Tomkins 
 sets off to receive her shilling from the vicarage, and toddles 
 home with her pockets full of oddments,* and her apron full of 
 sticks, invoking the Lord to bless every one she meets. Lame 
 Nathan occasionally hobbles his rounds amongst the little 
 farmers, to pick up his dinner, and anything else he can lay his 
 hands upon, with the character of being ' a willing fellow if he 
 could but work.' For the better maintenance of this corps 
 perhaps an establishment is kept up — a barrack-master and 
 surgeon — then stores are to be laid in, and petty interests are 
 created at the expense of the general. It is the nature of 
 pauperism to infect ; it is the study of paupers to make converts. 
 Experience teaches them that it is the tendency of numbers to 
 increase their pay, and decrease their degradation. By numbers 
 they overav/e and tire out those whose interest it is to control 
 them : by numbers they dimmish the examples of independent 
 exertion. They are consequently assiduous in every art of re- 
 cruiting their ranks, and preventing desertion. // is little known 
 by ivJuit pc'fsuasioii, threats, derision, and intrigue, many healthy 
 spirits are corrupted^ and how many by the same means are 
 f>7'evented from emancipating tlieinselves. As long as there is a 
 
 * I once had an argument with a well-known divine on the prevalence of 
 pilfering, which he denied. Whilst I was on a visit at his house some time 
 after, and after this pamphlet was published, he observed a v/onian, who liad 
 been called in from the village to assist in his family during the illness of one 
 of the servants, going away in the evening with very swollen pockets. He 
 called her back, and the contents were exhibited in my presence. They 
 consisted of a large lieap of fragments of bread, toasted and imtoasted, a 
 broken phial, an old housewife, a goose's pinion, and half a carrot. 
 
PA UPERISM. 20I 
 
 permanent fund, it will be so. Temporary efforts may produce 
 temporary reductions, but it is system against the want of it. 
 The greater part of the population is kept too near the verge of 
 pauperism, with unsettled habits and downward looks. Their 
 thoughts are so habituated to what is low, that any partial 
 scheme for their improvement advances slowly, is eyed with 
 suspicion, and generally ends in decay ; and it may be laid 
 down as a maxim, that in every political institution, the ten- 
 dency of which is to induce other than self-dependence, abuse 
 is unavoidable, and that, if it were not, still the results could 
 never be beneficial. 
 
 " There is a dread with some people that the labouring classes 
 may be made so prudent as to become independent of work, or 
 so lehned as to be above it, or that their habits may be so 
 raised as to require exorbitant wages. That individuals may 
 become independent of work, is very true and very desirable ; 
 but that very circumstance will always hold out sufficient tempta- 
 tion to ensure a supply of labourers. With respect to an increase 
 of refinement, the error arises from taking the ettect of transition 
 for permanent effect. Where partial improvement is going on, 
 the few who are the first to partake of it are ^•ery likely, as the 
 phrase is, to give themselves airs and to appear above their 
 work; but it is not the nature of the acquirement, but the new- 
 ness of it and the distinction, which produce the evil. The 
 individuals are not above their work, but above their fellow- 
 workmen. As soon as the improvement becomes general, the 
 inconvenience ceases. It is a common complaint, on an exten- 
 sion of education, that female servants become difficult to be met 
 with, and difficult to be managed ; but in those parts of the 
 country where the same extension has long existed, no such 
 complaint is ever thought of. It must not be forgotten, with 
 respect to refinement, that the offices of labour are almost 
 universally capable of being rendered much more agreeable and 
 respectable than they have hitherto been. It is to be wished 
 that every portion of the labouring classes were too refined 
 for the filth of Covent Garden or the brutalities of Smithfield. 
 The evil here lies in the bad contrivance and arrangement of 
 those places of public concernment. It is surely a great 
 error to spend nearly a million of money on a penitentiary, 
 whilst the hotbeds of vice from which it is filled are wholly unat- 
 tended to. 
 
 '• What must necessarily be the moral state of the numerous 
 class, constantly exposed to the vicissitudes of the weather, amidst 
 the mud and putridities of Covent Garden ? What ought It to 
 be where the occupation is amongst vegetables, fruit, and flowers, 
 
202 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 if there were well-regulated accommodations ? * As for Smith- 
 field, it is only necessary to witness its horrors during the night 
 and morning of a market', to be convinced of its corrupting effects, 
 and without witnessing description can scarcely be adequate. 
 It ought to be the first care well to adapt every public institu- 
 tion to the end intended ; but to attempt to prevent, merely by 
 penal enactments, the evils of mental debasement, arising from 
 deficient municipal regulations, is hke the practice which 
 neglects the constitution and applies caustic to each external 
 eruption. But this is a subject of vast importance, and requiring 
 a separate consideration. With respect to raising the habits of 
 the labouring classes so as to require exorbitant wages, I will 
 only observe in this place, that, provided habits are proportion- 
 ally raised, wages may be considerably augmented without 
 increasing the cost of labour, and that the drawbacks upon the 
 enjoyments of this beauteous world, arising from the ignorance, 
 grossness, and dishonesty of the labouring classes, are so 
 numerous and so heavy, that scarcely any expense can be too 
 great to remove them." 
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 
 
 It is now nine o'clock at night of Monday, the fourteenth of 
 September, and I have four pages of this number to write by 
 nine o'clock to-morrow morning. In my number for the 26th of 
 August, I concluded an article on Composition with saying 
 that I intended to avail myself of the comparative solitude of 
 the present month, to pay special attention to my state, both for 
 my own ease, and to see the result as to my facility in writing. 
 I have done no such thing, but, thinking my temptations would 
 be fewer, I have been more off my guard than usual, and have 
 deteriorated instead of improving. The consequence is, I write 
 with difficulty, and what would have been perfectly easy to me, 
 if 1 had followed up my resolution, is now an irksome task ; but 
 I rejoice at it nevertheless, because it makes me feel more 
 strongly the expediency of discipline, and I hope by this time 
 next week to have made a regular progress. Self-discipline is 
 the most important occupation of man, and ought to be the 
 never-ceasing object of his attention. There can be no spectacle 
 so noble as a human being under perfect self-control — self- 
 control, not only in abstaining from what is wrong, but in pur- 
 suing what is right. In such a state alone is to be found per- 
 
 * Since this was first written, Covent Garden market has been remodelled 
 and greatly improved as to buildings, but as to slovenliness and filth much 
 remains to be done. This is to be lamented on another account, as there 
 are the elements of a very agreeable place of resort. It is now to be hoped 
 that the nuisance of Smithfield will not exist much longer. 
 
SELF-DISCIPLINE. 203 
 
 feet freedom. Every other is more or less a state of servitude 
 to indolence or ill-directed energy. Till this morning, when 
 necessity compelled me, I could not bring myself to put pen 
 to paper for this week's number, and the consequence was 
 that during the previous days I was a slave to irresolution, 
 which irresolution was produced by inattention to diet and 
 by too much sleep. Self-discipline is the regulation of the 
 present with a view to the future ; but unfortunately the temp- 
 tations of the present generally prevail against advantages 
 which are not present, and we content ourselves with deferring 
 the execution of our resolves from occasion to occasion through- 
 out our lives. It seems to me as if the first thing we ought to 
 attend to was our physical state, or bodily health, and that 
 everything else would follow almost as a matter of course. I 
 mean that sound state which is equally removed from debility 
 and feverish excitement, and the attainment of which implies 
 the exercise of many virtues, whilst it is favourable to the de- 
 velopment of many more. It is the character of the Christian 
 religion to inculcate the practice of self-discipline to a much 
 greater e.xtent than was ever even thought of before, and the 
 Christian religion is constantly represented by its earliest 
 teachers as holding out perfect freedom to its disciples. It 
 appears to me certain that the practice of its precepts is calcu- 
 lated to ensure the greatest quantity of happiness here, as well 
 as hereafter, because, whilst it permits every rational enjoyment, 
 it imposes restraint only in those things which are injurious. 
 An individual who acted up to the rules of Christianity could 
 not but enjoy existence in the highest perfection of which it is 
 capable. But a degree of perseverance is necessary, to which 
 few can bring themselves. It is not by violent efforts that a 
 proper state can be attained, for they are never lasting. It is 
 not by plunging into extremes that we can ensure our well-being, 
 for they defeat every object of living ; but it is by a steady, 
 temperate course, with a constant check upon ourselves even at 
 the thought of evil. When v.-e have gone wrong, we must get 
 right by degrees, so as to acquire a new habit as we reform. A 
 violent resolution is only made to be broken. A sudden start 
 from the wrong to the right road, is followed by as sudden a 
 start back again. It is necessary also in self-discipline, in order 
 to make it effective and permanent, that it should be extended 
 to all our actions and habits. It is the whole man that must be 
 reformed, or there is no safety. There must be no reserves, no 
 compromises, no granting ourselves, as it were, a lease of certain 
 irregularities, with a determination to quit them at the expiration 
 of a term. We must begin from the present, and go steadily on, 
 watching ourselves unceasingly, making our aberrations daily 
 less and less, and securing every advance by all the precautions 
 
204 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 in our power. We must never be too sure, which is the almost 
 certain forerunner of a relapse, but must distrust our strength on 
 every occasion of temptation, either of commission or omission. 
 It shall be my endeavour to practise somewhat of all I preach ; 
 and, indeed, I feel to a certain extent the beneficial influence of 
 turning my thoughts to the subjects I have treated of in these 
 papers. 1 shall set to work in earnest in carrying that resolve 
 into execution, which I have mentioned at the beginning of this 
 article. 
 
 IMPOSITION. 
 
 A SHORT time since a boy about twelve years of age was brought 
 before me by a journeyman shoemaker's wife, who said she had 
 found him in a state of destitution, and had taken him in for 
 charity, but that her husband would not let him remain any 
 longer, and the overseers of the parish, to whom she had repre- 
 sented the case, would not afford any relief. On being ques- 
 tioned, the boy said he was born and had lived in some out-of- 
 the-way place in Essex, which he described ; that his father had 
 died of cholera, and that his uncle, after keeping him some time, 
 had brought him to London, and left him without a place to go 
 to. Though 1 was convinced, from experience, that there was 
 imposition on the part of the woman, or the boy, or both, I was 
 unable to detect it. and I sent the boy to the workhouse of the 
 parish where he was found, and after my business was over 
 went there myself; but still, with the assistance of the parish 
 officers, I was baffled in endeavouring to get at the truth, and 
 the woman was told to take the boy till inquiries could be made. 
 From those inquiries enough was learnt to refuse assistance, and 
 the boy, having been turned out by the shoemaker, was again 
 brought to my office for wandering about. A policeman was 
 now sent with him to ascertain the truth, and by some means 
 he discovered that the boy was a runaway apprentice from a 
 shoemaker in Bethnal Green, to whom he had been bound from 
 a parish in London, in the workhouse of which he was born and 
 brought up, and consequently his story about his father, his 
 uncle, and Essex was an entire fiction. It farther appeared 
 that on the complaint of his master for thieving and other mis- 
 behaviour I had once committed him to the House of Correction 
 for one month, though he was not recognized either by mvself 
 or by any one about the office : but I then recollected that I had 
 received a communication from the governor of the prison, at 
 the desire of the visiting magistrates, informing me that the boy 
 had made a complaint of having been grievously starved by his 
 master, and that there could be no doubt of the fact, as his 
 appearance on his arrival quite corresponded with his account. 
 
IMPOSITION. 205 
 
 In consequence I sent an officer to inquire into the case, and he 
 learnt that the statement was without foundation. I also ascer- 
 tained that at the time I committed the boy he made no com- 
 plaint of being starved, nor presented any appearance of starva- 
 tion, so that he had had the art to assume it within a few hours 
 after I saw him. On his last appearance before me his master 
 again came, and, declaring him incorrigible, I sent him once 
 more to the House of Correction, where he nov.' is. I see many 
 instances of this consummate degree of imposition, in men, 
 women, and children, and I mention the above case by way cf 
 putting those on their guard who have not opportunities of de- 
 tecting false statements, or experience in judging of the tales of 
 applicants for assistance. I have taken great pains to sift a 
 variety of cases of apparent destitution, and sometimes have 
 been baffled for a considerable period ; but it is singular, and at 
 the same time consoling, that I have not met with one real 
 instance — that is, an instance in which the party had not the 
 means of more or less escaping from a state of want. There is 
 a degree of debasement which creates an inveterate habit of 
 delighting in a miserable life, and whatever means were fur- 
 nished they would effect no improvement. Wherever extreme 
 misery is observed it may be taken to be an incurable disease. 
 I have known many cases of persons wandering in the streets 
 in the most deplorable condition, who had homes to go to, or 
 who would have been received into their respective workhouses, 
 and the most wretched being I ever saw, and who fell a sacri- 
 fice to his morbid habits, had his choice of constant employment 
 with a tradesman or of the workhouse, but he preferred perish- 
 ing in a vagabond state. Most of these cases originate, I appre- 
 hend, in a skill in imposition, which there is a pleasure in 
 exercising, and the practice of feigning misery on the one hand, 
 and the habits of indolence generated on the other, at last pro- 
 duce that debasement from which there is no return. Skill in 
 imposition is a most dangerous quality, and a propensity to 
 indulge in the exercise of it seems irresistible. The boy, whose 
 case I have above mentioned, I have no doubt, will never be 
 reclaimed. Such cases may be prevented, but never can be 
 cured, and the thoughtless charity of the many holds out 
 endless temptations to those who choose to prey upon it. The 
 real remedy for this debasement consists in more efficient local 
 government, which by moral influence would prevent the 
 existence of such a refuse population as is now to be found in 
 almost every parish. 
 
2o6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. XIX. W-ednesday, Sept. 23, 1835. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 I WAS obliged to break off suddenly in my last article on the 
 Alt of Dining for want of space. 
 
 Suppose a party of eight assembled in a room and at a table 
 arranged according to what I have said in this and the preceding 
 number, to a dinner either plain or costly, and, in the latter case, 
 either of i&\N dishes or of considerable variety ; I would have 
 ever)"^ dish served in succession, with its proper accompaniments, 
 and between each dish there should be a short interval, to be 
 filled up with conversation and wine, so as to prolong the repast 
 as much as possible, without inducing excess, and to give time 
 to the digestive powers. By means of such intervals, time 
 would be given to the cook, and to the attendants, so that 
 nothing would have to wait for the guests, nor would the guests 
 have to wait for anything, due preparation being made for each 
 dish before its arrival, without bustle or omissions. In dinners 
 of few dishes they ought to be of rather a substantial kind ; but, 
 when composed of variety, the dishes should be of a lighter 
 nature, and in the French style. It must be confessed that a 
 French dinner, when well dressed, is extremely attractive, and, 
 from the lightness felt after a great variety of dishes, it cannot 
 be unwholesome ; though I do not think, from my own experi- 
 ence and observation, that the French mode of cookery is so 
 favourable to physical power as the English. If I might have 
 my choice, I should adopt the simple English style for my 
 regular diet, diversifying it occasionally with the more compli- 
 cated French style. Although I like, as a rule, to abstain from 
 much variety at the same meal, I think it both wholesome and 
 agreeable to vary the food on different days, both as to the 
 materials and the mode of dressing them. The palate is better 
 pleased, and the digestion more active, and the food, I believe, 
 assimilates in a greater degree with the system. The produc- 
 tions of the different seasons and of different climates point out 
 to us unerringly that it is proper to vary our food ; and one good 
 general rule I take to be, to select those things which are most 
 in season, and to abandon them as soon as they begin to dete- 
 riorate in quality. Most people mistake the doctrine of variety 
 in their mode of living. They have great variety at the same 
 meals, and a great sameness at different meals. Let me here 
 mention, what I forgot before, that after the dinner on Christ- 
 mas Day we drank mulled claret — an excellent thing, and very 
 suitable to the season. These asrreeable varieties are never met 
 
ART OF DINING. 207 
 
 with, or even thought of, in the formal routine of society, though 
 they contribute much, when appropriately devised, to the enjoy- 
 ment of a party, and they admit scope for invention. I think, 
 in general, there is far too little attention paid to varying the 
 mode of dining according to the temperature of the seasons. 
 Summer dinners are for the most part as heavy and as hot as 
 those in winter, and the consequence is, they are frequently very 
 oppressive, both in themselves and from their effect on the room. 
 In hot weather they ought to be light, and of a cooling nature, 
 and accompanied with agreeable beverages well iced, rather than 
 with pure wine, especially of the stronger kinds. I cannot 
 think there is any danger from such diet to those who use it 
 moderately. The danger, I apprehend, lies in excess from the 
 pleasure felt in allaying thirst and heat. The season in which 
 Nature produces fruit and vegetables in the greatest perfection 
 and abundance, is surely that in which they ought to be most 
 used. During the summer that cholera was the most prevalent, 
 I sometimes dined upon pickled salmon, salad, and cider, and 
 nothing else ; and I always found they agreed with me perfectly, 
 besides being very agreeable. Probably, if I had taken them 
 in addition to more substantial food, so as to overload my 
 appetite, it might have been otherwise, and yet that course would 
 have been adopted by many people by way of precaution. In 
 hot weather the chief thing to be aimed at is to produce a light 
 and cool feeling, both by the management of the room and the 
 nature of the repast. In winter, warmth and substantial diet 
 afford the most satisfaction. In damp weather, when the 
 digestion is the weakest, the diet ought to be most moderate in 
 quantity, but rather of a warm and stimulating nature ; and in 
 bracing weather. I think plain substantial food the most appro- 
 priate. By studying to suit the repast to the temperature, the 
 greatest satisfaction may be given at the cheapest rate. Iced 
 water is often more coveted than the richest wine. 
 
 One of the greatest luxuries, to my mind, in dining, is to be 
 able to command plenty of good vegetables, well served up. But 
 this is a luxury vainly hoped for at set parties. The vegetables 
 are made to figure in a very secondary way, except, indeed, 
 whilst they are considered as great delicacies, which is generally 
 before they are at their best, and then, hke other delicacies, they 
 are introduced after the appetite has been satisfied ; and the 
 manner of handing vegetables round is most unsatisfactory and 
 uncertain. Excellent potatoes, smoking hot, and accompanied 
 by melted butter of the first quality, would alone stamp merit on 
 any dinner ; but they are as rare on state occasions, so served, 
 as if they were of the cost of pearls. Everybody of genuine 
 taste is delighted with a display of vegetables of superior order ; 
 and if great attention was bestowed upon that part of dinners 
 
2o8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 instead of upon the many other dishes, dinners would be at once 
 more wholesome and more satisfactory to the palate, and often 
 less expensive. I have observed that, whenever the vegetables 
 are distinguished for their excellence, the dinner is always 
 particularly enjoyed, and if they were served, as I have already 
 recommended, with each dish, as they are most appropriate and 
 fresh from the dressing, it would be a great improvement on 
 the present style. With some meats something of the kind is 
 practised, as peas with ducks, and beans with bacon, and such 
 combinations are generally favourites ; but the system might be 
 much extended, and with great advantage, by due attention. 
 With respect to variety of vegetables, I think the same rule 
 applies as to other dishes. I would not have many sorts on the 
 same occasion, but would study appropriateness and particular 
 excellence. There is something very refreshing in the mere look 
 of fine vegetables, and the entrance of a well-dressed dish of 
 meat, properly accompanied by them and all their adjuncts, 
 would excite a disposition to enjoyment much greater than can 
 the unmeaning and unconnected courses now placed before our 
 eyes. This is a matter of study and combination, and a field 
 for genius. It is a reasonable object of attention, inasmuch as 
 it is conducive to real enjoyment, and has nothing to do with 
 mere display. In French cookery vegetables meet with atten- 
 tion much more proportionate to their importance than in ours, 
 and appropriateness in serving them is much more studied. 
 
 I think I have now said all 1 had to say respecting dinners. 
 My object has been to point out what I consider to be the true 
 philosophy, and to put people upon the right scent of what ought 
 to be done, rather than to particularize it. Those who wish to 
 succeed can only do so to much extent by first getting into the 
 right course, and then thinking for themselves, with such aids as 
 they can derive from observation and the best treatises on 
 cookery. The chief point to be aimed at is to acquire a habit 
 of thinking only of the real object of dining, and to discard all 
 wish for state and display in a matter which concerns our daily 
 enjoyment of health and pleasure. I consider my observations 
 on the art of dining as part of what I had to say on attainment 
 of high health from the necessary dependence of our health 
 upon the judicious and satisfactory manner in which we make 
 our principal meal. I think the art of dining, properly under- 
 stood, is especially worthy the attention of females of all classes, 
 according to their respective means. It comes peculiarly within 
 the province of domestic economy, and is indeed one of its 
 most important features. But females ought to be especially 
 on their guard in this essential affair not to divert their views 
 from realities to show, to which they have a strong propensity. 
 There are many things in which they can indulge their taste for 
 
IMPOSITION. 209 
 
 ornament, provided it is not carried too far, with advantage to 
 themselves and to the satisfaction of others ; but in tlic article 
 of dinners it is misplaced, because destructive of something of 
 much more importance ; and the realities, when in full force, have 
 quite suHicient attractions without any attempt to heighten them 
 by "foreign aid." In conformity with my dislike to show or 
 display in everything connected with dinners, I prefer a service 
 of plain white ware — the French manufacture, I believe, or an 
 imitation of it — -to plate or ornamented china. There is a sim- 
 plicity in white ware, and an appearance of cleanliness and 
 purity, which are to me particularly pleasing, besides which it 
 is, I always think, indicative of a proper feeling, and a due atten- 
 tion in the right direction. As to desserts, I am no great friend 
 to them. I enjoy fruits much more at any other time of the day 
 and at any other meal, besides which I think they are unwhole- 
 some froni being unnecessary. At any rate, I would have them 
 in great moderation and confined to a few kinds of ripe fruit. 
 Preserved fruits are in my opinion cloying after dinner, and I 
 believe injurious to the digestion of a substantial meal, and 
 confectionery I think still worse. Desserts are made instru- 
 ments of show as much or more than dinners, and though, 
 unlike dinners, they cannot well be spoiled by it, yet it makes 
 them a perpetual source of temptation to excess. It is most 
 unphilosophical to set things before people, and to tell them 
 they need not take them unless they please. Contentment and 
 safety mainly depend upon having nothing before us, except 
 what we ought to take. 
 
 I purpose in my next number coming to a conclusion on the 
 subject of the art of dining. My remaining topics are wine, 
 the means of limiting dinners to small parties, and the effect 
 of such limit upon the mode of carrying on society in the most 
 convenient and agreeable manner. It seems to me that great 
 improvements are practicable, at least with those who prefer 
 real enjoyment to mock, and who like ease and liberty better 
 than state and restraint. 
 
 IMPOSITION. 
 
 In my last number I gave an article under the head of Imposi- 
 tion, for the double purpose of putting the charitable upon their 
 guard, and of diminishing the harvest for the encouragement of 
 impostors. There is a species of applicants which I intended 
 but omitted to mention, which of all others is the most unlikely 
 to excite suspicion, and is at the same time the least liable to 
 detection. I mean those who state themselves to have come 
 from distant parts of the country to London to seek service or 
 employment, or to find out relations or friends, and who repre- 
 
2 TO THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 sent themselves to have been disappointed, and to be reduced 
 to a state of utter destitution — adding perhaps some calamitous 
 circumstance of having fallen ill or having been robbed. It 
 must be confessed that nothing can be more probable than that 
 many such cases should happen, or rather it seems most im- 
 probable that they should not continually happen. Nevertheless, 
 though I cannot account for it, I find from diligent examination 
 that "such is by no means the fact. Whether it is that few 
 persons come on mere speculation, or that even the least portion 
 of prudence helps them through their difficulties, or that they 
 meet with sufficient assistance from those of their own calling or 
 class, I do not exactly know ; but this I know, that for six years 
 that I have been a magistrate, during which time I have wit- 
 nessed many and many cases of persons of both sexes and all 
 ages who have represented themselves as having come to Lon- 
 don from all parts of the United Kingdom, and to be from 
 various calamitous accidents reduced to utter destitution — . 
 during these six years, I say, I have not met with a single 
 mstance which was not one of imposition, and where my inter- 
 position was necessar)'. I have very frequently had cases, which 
 appeared to me desperate, examined into by parish officers, and 
 in "several instances I have had persons taken care of under my 
 own superintendence, and at my own expense, till the truth of 
 their representations could be ascertained, but the results have 
 been uniformly the same ; and my conclusion is that there is no 
 such thing in this country as what may be called isolated 
 destitution, that is, destitution out of some particular sphere of 
 sympathy, and therefore my opinion is that those who bestow 
 their charity upon casual applicants utterly unknown to them, 
 under however plausible circumstances, are only diverting their 
 means from legitimate ends, and are fostering fraud and pro- 
 moting moral debasement. It was but the other day, whilst I 
 was thinking of these things, that a case was brought before me 
 which I thought would at "last prove an exception. An old rrian 
 of wretched appearance was found by a policeman at night lying 
 in the street, apparently almost dying. With difficulty he was 
 taken to the station, and he told me he was on his way out of 
 Sussex to Colchester, which was his native place, and that he 
 had no money, and was very ill with the ague, of which he had 
 all the appearance. Whilst I was thinking what to do with 
 him, I observed that his right hand did not shake at all, of which 
 I informed him, at the same time telling him firmly that I knew 
 he was an impostor, and that if he was found again in the 
 neighbourhood I would send him to prison, whereupon his ague 
 entirely ceased, and he quickly departed without saying a word. 
 There is scarcely any suffering which impostors will not endure 
 to gain their ends, and the greater their misery, the greater and 
 
IMPOSITION. 211 
 
 surer their hai-vest. Their skill in counterfeiting starvation, 
 sickness, and infirmity is quite extraordinary, and the luxury of 
 their suppers at the expense of the unwary is in proportion. A 
 case occurred at my office, within a week, particularly illustrative 
 of the impositions of applicants from the country, and it was one, 
 from the sex and age of the party, peculiarly calculated to 
 excite sympathy. A decent-looking girl of seventeen was brought 
 before me to apply for assistance under circumstances stated to 
 be of complete destitution. She said she came from Norwich, 
 that her father was not long dead, that after his death she went 
 into the service of an old Jew, who also soon died, and his 
 daughter recommended her to come to London, where she told 
 her slie would easily get a service amongst the Jews. She said 
 she had only a shilling, and a shawl of trifling value to dispose of, 
 when she left home ; that she had not been able to get a place, 
 and that she was reduced to sleep in the street. After asking her 
 some questions, I was convinced her story was not true, and I 
 dismissed her, quite contrary, as I perceived, to the judgment of 
 the officer who brought her. The next day she was introduced 
 again under the auspices of the gaoler of the office, who had had 
 great experience in these matters, and he said he had examined 
 her very closely, and he was convinced of the truth of her story. 
 1 questioned her again, and was confirmed in my former opinion, 
 though I could not make her imposition clear to others. The 
 gaoler pleaded hard for her, and asked me if I would send her to 
 a neighbouring workhouse till he could write to Norwich to make 
 the necessary mquiries, and if satisfactory, he would engage to 
 get her a place. Knowing the bad policy of such a practice I 
 refused ; and then he asked me if 1 had any objection to his 
 providing a lodging for her at his own expense, till he could get 
 an answer. I told him I had not, but that I thought his humanity 
 would be unavailing. When the girl left my presence, the 
 officers of the establishment made a little subscription for her 
 amongst themselves— by no means an uncommon thing for 
 them to do in cases of supposed distress. The gaoler was as 
 good as his word ; he not only procured a lodging for the girl, 
 but understanding she was ill from lying in the street, he got her 
 admission into the London Hospital, and also obtained a pro- 
 mise of a place for her when she should come out. Though I 
 differed from him in opinion, I gave him great credit for his zeal 
 and humanity ; but the next morning he appeared before me 
 saying he felt bound to tell me the truth, which was, that he had 
 discovered the girl's story to be false, that she had turned out to 
 be an abandoned character, and that he had quite given her up. 
 If men of so niuch experience, with such opportunities of scruti- 
 nizing, could be so imposed upon, what chance have those in 
 the upper classes of forming correct judgments in such cases i 
 
212 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 Though I have heard many quite indignant at the idea of being 
 supposed to be deceived, when, as they say, they have seen with 
 their own eyes, and examined with the greatest strictness, I 
 can only recommend them, if they do not v/ish to do harm, to 
 become as sceptical as they are credulous, and to reserve their 
 means, and their attentions, for the prudent and the striving, 
 who have always some earnest to give for their real characters. 
 Whilst I am upon this subject, I will mention one instance 
 amongst several, in which, with all my caution, I was completely 
 taken in. A girl about sixteen years of age was accused before 
 me of robbing a family, in whose service she lived. She strongly 
 asserted her innocence, and the evidence was of such a nature 
 that I was induced to believe it was the result of a conspiracy 
 to ruin her character. As I have an objection to the principle 
 of referring to parish assistance, I directed her to be placed at 
 my own expense under the care of the landlady of a neighbour- 
 ing public-house, in order to see how she behaved, and, if well, 
 I intended to have had a situation procured for her. She 
 remained for eight weeks, at the end of which time the landlady 
 came to me to say that since the girl had been with her she had 
 missed several articles, and that the house had been twice set 
 on fire. She added she had long suspected the girl, and had at 
 length no doubt of her guilt, and that she was afraid to keep 
 her another hour. On examination my opinion was the same, 
 so I gave the girl half-a-crown, and told her she must look out 
 for herself. She went av/ay with the wide world bciore her, 
 perfectly unconcerned, and I have since learnt that she con- 
 trived to procure herself a situation. I have two remarks to 
 make upon this case. The first is, that where depravity has 
 once gained possession, it is almost hopeless to expect it w-ill 
 ever be eradicated. The more I see of life, the more I am con- 
 firmed in this opinion, and am therefore the more convinced of 
 the necessity of early and watchful training, and of the expe- 
 diency of diverting the public attention to attempts at reforming 
 criminals. The second remark is, that, contrary to general 
 belief, there is little or no difficulty for those who seriously 
 try, to find situations or employm.ent. The difficulty consists 
 in so behaving as to keep them. Provided only that a ne- 
 cessity for self-dependence can be made to be felt, then every 
 person, however unlikely, soon finds a living somewhere. 
 There is a market for all sorts of ser\'ices at all sorts of prices. 
 Individuals of defective intellects have a value at a certain 
 class of public-houses by way of butt, and very often at farm- 
 houses for something of the same reason, and to have thrown 
 upon them the lowest and most disagreeable offices. Lameness is 
 a good guarantee for the faithful discharge of duties of a stationary 
 or gentle nature, and age the same. Misfortune is often a sort 
 
THE PARKS. 213 
 
 of fortune in obtaining a preference for pity's sake ; as a boy 
 Avith one arm will be selected from a number of competitors to 
 hold a horse. If all persons felt obliged to hawk alDout their 
 services for the best price they could get, all persons would be 
 provided for. Customers are always to be met with, partly- 
 actuated by compassion, partly to get services cheap, partly 
 taken by a plausible or earnest manner. Even want of character, 
 whatever may be supposed to the contrary, is by no means an 
 insuperable obstacle, because personal application continually 
 supersedes inquiries as to character, and, in charges for mis- 
 behaviour, to the question, " Had you a character with this 
 person.'"' the constant answer is, "I cannot say that I had." 
 The course frequently is to ask for some reference, with which to 
 be at once content, or to intend to inquire the first opportunity, 
 but to neglect so to do. It is curious to hear in the world the 
 positive assertions that are made as to the modes in which the 
 affairs of men are conducted, which are directly at variance with 
 practice. I constantly hear it said, " How is a person to get a 
 situation, who cannot get a character .-^ It is impossible." And 
 again, " How is such a man to find employment.'' Nobody will 
 have him." One thing to me is certain, and that is, throw 
 people on their own resources, and, under circumstances the 
 most untoward, they will get through so often, as to make the 
 exceptions not worth calculating. This brings me to conclude 
 with a case which happened last week. An aged female, on 
 crutches and with only one leg, was charged before me by an 
 overseer, with abusive language and violent conduct in a work- 
 house, to ^n extent beyond all bearing. Her defence, amongst 
 other things, was that she was kept a close prisoner ; to which it 
 was answered, that the parish had gone to the expense of thirty 
 shillings to purchase her a wooden leg, and that the first time 
 she was allowed a holiday she got drunk, pawned her leg for a 
 shilling, and was brought back in a helpless state of intoxication. 
 This woman is one of a very numerous class, who are brought 
 to utter ruin by a reliance on the poor-laws and on mistaken 
 private charity. I have no doubt, when it serves her purpose, 
 her cant is equal to her abuse. 
 
 THE PARKS. 
 
 It would be curious if London could be conjured back for a day 
 or two to what it was only thirty years ago, that those of the 
 present time might be aware of their advantages, as compared 
 with those enjoyed even at that recent period. Amongst other 
 changes, the pavements, independently of macadamization, have 
 undergone immense improvements, and, besides the widening of 
 many of the principal streets, the art of driving must have made 
 
214 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 great progress, for in Fleet Street, in which the carriage-way has 
 been in places narrowed, I remember it no uncommon occurrence 
 to see stoppages for nearly an hour together, though now there 
 is scarcely such a thing for five minutes, notwithstanding the 
 introduction of omnibuses and cabs, and a great increase of 
 private carriages and of traffic of all sorts. I cannot account 
 for this, unless that men's wits sharpen as occasion demands. 
 At that time the flagways were generally much narrower than 
 they are now, and so ill-laid, that what were called beau-traps 
 were to be met with in almost every street ; that is, loose flags, 
 which, being pressed upon, splashed the leg up to the knee. I 
 think even the term is now all but forgotten. The crossings 
 were neither raised nor swept, and both carriage and foot-way? 
 were so unskilfully laid, that they were scarcely ever free from 
 mud. To add to these inconveniences the town was dimly 
 lighted with oil, much more dimly than later, when improvements 
 were introduced in opposition to gas. The first exhibition of 
 gas was made by Winsor, in a row of lamps in front of the 
 colonnade before Carlton House, then standing in the lower 
 part of Waterloo Place, and I remember hearing Winsor's 
 project of lighting the metropoUs laughed to scorn by a com- 
 pany of very scientific men. To the honour of the East, 
 Finsbury Square was the first public place in which the new 
 system was adopted, and, to the disgrace of the West, Gros- 
 venor Square was the last. But amongst the many improve- 
 ments which have contributed to the convenience and orna- 
 ment of the metropolis none are more striking than those in 
 the parks. The state in which they are kept does great credit 
 to those who have the management of them. The right-lined 
 formalities of St. James's Park seemed almost to defy the 
 efforts of taste ; and I could not have conceived that, without 
 any advantages of ground, the straight canal and unpromising 
 cow-pasture could have been metamorphosed into so graceful 
 a piece of water and so beautifully varied a shrubbery. In 
 walking round the water, almost at every step there is a new 
 and striking point of view of buildings and foliage. Buck- 
 ingham Palace, Carlton Terrace, the Duke of York's column, St. 
 Martin's Church, the Horse Guards, Westminster Abbey, and 
 other inferior objects, seen between and over the trees, form a 
 combination and a variety I have never seen equalled. I cannot 
 help here noticing a nuisance and a drawback to the enjoyment 
 of the place which has lately arisen, and which I perceive is 
 rapidly on the increase. I mean a number of persons of the 
 lowest description standing and moving about with baskets of 
 fruit. Two rows of them are allowed actually to obstruct the 
 principal entrance into the interior of the garden, whilst otliers 
 are spread in various directions, all incessantly calling out after 
 
THE PARKS. il5 
 
 the manner of a penny fair. If it is thought that thus vulgar- 
 izing a place, which ought to be kept in a manner sacred, will 
 be for the advantage of any class, it is a great mistake. The 
 exhibition and noise last Sunday were quite disgraceful, and the 
 innovation is really an insult to the respectable portion of the 
 humbler classes, whose principal gratification almost in frequent- 
 ing such a place is to witness and feel themselves partakers of 
 the refinements of higher life. Through whatever channel the 
 practice has crept in, 1 hope the proper authorities will soon 
 put an end to it. The widened, extended, and well-kept rides 
 and drives in Hyde Park, with the bridge and the improve- 
 ment of the Serpentine, and in other respects, form a most 
 advantageous comparison with the former state ; whilst the 
 beauties" of the Regent's Park, both as to buildings and grounds, 
 seem like the effect of magic when contrasted with the re- 
 membrance of the quagmire of filth and the cowsheds and 
 wretched dwellings of which they occupy the place. Amidst 
 all these improvements it is to be lamented that the Green 
 Park has been so much neglected, seeing that it is the most 
 conspicuously situated, and, notwithstanding its inferior size, is 
 by much the most advantageously disposed as to ground. 
 There was a talk some years since of its being terraced in 
 part and wholly laid out in a highly ornamented style, which, 
 by way of variety and with reference to its situation, seems a 
 judicious plan. I would his ^lajesty would give orders to that 
 effect, and then, as its present name would become inappro- 
 priate, it might be called after its royal patron. It is to be 
 hoped that whenever the opportunity occurs the ranger's house 
 will not be permitted to stand in the way of the very great im- 
 provement its removal would cause both to the park and to 
 Piccadilly. I do not believe there is any single thing that would 
 add so much to the ornament of London as the embellishment 
 of the Green Park to the extent of which it is capable. What 
 a pity it is that the original design of making a gradual descent 
 from Waterloo Place into St. James's Park was not allowed to 
 be carried into execution 1 Besides the beauty of the plan, a 
 horse entrance there would have been such an immense con- 
 venience to such a numerous class. As it is now out of the 
 question, the nearest practical approach to it seems to be by the 
 macadamization of Pall-Mail, with an entrance to the park, if 
 that could be permitted, between Marlborough House and the 
 palace. I do not know how that would affect the palace, but if 
 it would be no inconvenience to royalty, it certainly would be a 
 great boon to the equestrian public. As to the pavement in Pail- 
 Mall, a more stupid obstruction, I think, cannot well be con- 
 ceived, and the removal of that, even with the present entrance 
 to the park, would be a very considerable improvement. 
 
2i6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 SAILORS. 
 
 There is no class of men who meet with such ill treatment 
 from their fellow-creatures as sailors. After suffering the hard- 
 ships of the sea, and toiling with unconquerable labour, they are 
 beset on their return from each voyage by the most villanous 
 and the most profligate of the species, for the purpose of robbing 
 them of their hard-earned wages ; whilst those who should step 
 forward to protect them, leave them to their fate, or even hold 
 that they are capable of nothing better. When a vessel arrives 
 from a long voyage, the crimps, or keepers of sailors' lodging- 
 houses, are on the alert to get as many of the crew into their 
 power as possible. Boats are sent to fetch the men ashore, and 
 the watermen receive a fee from each crimp for every sailor they 
 can bring. The sailors leave the vessel, often I believe made 
 half drunk, without money, and with nothing but their chest, 
 upon v.'hich the crimps advance them money, till they receive 
 their wages. Every temptation is put in their way to lead them 
 to extravagance and recklessness. An exorbitant bill is made 
 out, the amount of which is deducted from their wages, and they 
 are very soon robbed or defrauded of the balance. As soon as 
 they land they are sponged upon by a set of idle fellows, who 
 hang about the docks, pretending to be unable to get employ- 
 ment, or to have been old shipmates ; they are defrauded by 
 low Jews under colour of selling them worthless articles cheap, 
 and they are plundered and miposed upon by the most profligate 
 women. It is in a great measure a confederation against them, 
 from which they have no chance of escape. Each party plays 
 more or less into the other's hands. I have occasion to see 
 frequent instances of these abominations, and in general they 
 are so contrived that there is no remedy or punishment. It 
 frequently happens that a sailor who has sixty or seventy pounds 
 to receive will have, at the end of a. few days, an enormous bill 
 made out against him by a crimp, for what he and his hangers- 
 on are alleged to have consumed, and for money advanced to 
 supply his extravagance in his freaks of intoxication. For his 
 balance there is an eager contest among the harpies who surround 
 him, which leads them sometimes to the most barefaced and 
 scandalous practices. I remember one instance of a sailor 
 having his wages taken from him by force in open day in the 
 High Street, Whitechapel, whilst in a hackney coach with a 
 man and woman, who had accompanied him to the India House. 
 They robbed him under such dangerous circumstances to them- 
 selves, from fear that some one else would anticipaie them. In 
 the lowest of the sailors' pubhc -houses there are, at the back, 
 
ART OF DINING. 217 
 
 what are called long rooms, the walls of which are painted with 
 ships or other devices, and here are to be witnessed at almost 
 all hours, but principally at night, scenes of the greatest villany 
 and debasement. 
 
 {To be cojitintied) 
 
 No. XX. Wednesday, Sept. 30, 1S3S. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 Before I proceed to the topics I proposed to dii^cuss in this 
 article, I wish just to add one observation to what 1 have said 
 in my eighteenth number on the introduction of delicacies at 
 dinner. 1 have there observed that " delicacies are scarcely ever 
 brought till they are quite superfluous, v/hich is unsatisfactory if 
 they are not eaten, and pernicious if they are." Frequently 
 when I have expressed my sentiments on this subject in con- 
 versation, the objection made has been that it would be difficult, 
 or too expensive, if delicacies were introduced in the early part 
 of dinner, to provide enough. The answer is, that it is not 
 necessary to have a sufficient supply for each guest to make a 
 dinner upon, but enough to afford each a reasonable portion 
 before the appetite is palled. For instance, at a party of six 
 persons, if the dinner consisted of soup, fish, a Joint, and three 
 woodcocks, I maintain it would be much better to serve the 
 woodcocks before the joint, both on the score of enjoyment and 
 of health— of enjoyment, because a delicacy, when the appetite 
 is nearly satisfied, loses a great part of its relish and is reduced 
 to the level of plainer food whilst the appetite is keen— of health, 
 because it is much more easy to regulate the appetite when the 
 least tempting dishes are brought last. By serving delicacies 
 first, people would dine both more satisfactorily and more mode- 
 rately, and entertainments would be less costly and less trouble- 
 some. I have often seen a course of game taken away, nearly 
 or quite untouched, which would almost have dined the party, 
 and much more agreeably than on the preceding dishes. The 
 truth is, and a melancholy one too, that set dinners are managed 
 more with a view to the pageant than the repast, and almost in 
 everv particular, besides that of delicacies, there is a sacrifice of 
 enjoyment to an unmeaning and vulgar-minded style. Let us 
 hope that some daring and refined spirits will emancipate us 
 from such barbarous thraldom, and that we may see a rivalry of 
 inventive genius instead of the present one of cumbrous pomp. 
 Simplicity, ease, and sound sense are making progress in many 
 
2i8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 things relating to our way of living, and surely they will not be 
 excluded from one of the most important of our tempoi'al 
 concerns. 
 
 A matter suggests itself to me here, which it is expedient not 
 to pass over : I mean the practice of persons in different stations 
 of life, or enjoying different degrees of affluence, in their inter- 
 course with each other, all adopting, as far as they are able, the 
 same style of entertainment. The foi-mal, stately style is cer- 
 tainly not that of the greatest enjoyment, but it is tolerable only 
 when it is adequately kept up, and with a disciplined estab- 
 lishment. Those who maintain large establishments feel a 
 necessity to find them employment to prevent greater incon- 
 veniences ; but for those who have only a moderate household, to 
 go out of their way for the purpose of badly imitating what is 
 rather to be avoided altogether, is the height of folly. I do no': 
 know anything more unsatisfactory than a state occasion where 
 the usual mode of living is free from all state. It excites my 
 pity, and wearies me ; and I cannot be at my case whilst I am 
 conscious that the entertainers are giving themselves trouble, 
 and suffering anxiety to a greater degree than it is probable they 
 can be recompensed, and are perhaps incurring expense which 
 is inconvenient, and for which some comfort is to be sacrificed. 
 In whatever style people live, provided it is good in its kind, 
 they will always have attractions to offer by means of a little extra 
 exertion well directed within their own bounds, but when they 
 pass those bounds they forego the advantages of variety and 
 ease. It is almost always practicable to provide something out 
 of the common way, or something common better than common ; 
 and people in different situations are the most likely to be able 
 to produce an agreeable variety. The rule generally followed is 
 to think what the guests are accustomed to, whereas it should be 
 reversed, and what they are not accustomed to should rather be 
 set before them, especially where the situation of the entertainer, 
 or his place of residence, affords anything peculiar. By adopting 
 such a course, persons of moderate income may entertain their 
 superiors in wealth without inconvenience to themselves, and 
 very much to the satisfaction of their guests — much better than 
 by laboured imitations of their own style. Contrast should be 
 aimed at, and men used to state and luxury are most likely to be 
 pleased with comfort and simplicity. We all laugh at the idea 
 of a Frenchman in his own country thinking it necessary to 
 treat an Englishman with roast beef ; but it is the same principle 
 to think it necessary to entertain as we have been entertained, 
 under different circumstances. There are people in remote parts 
 of the countr)', who, having the best trout at hand, and for 
 nothing, send for turbot at a great expense to entertain their 
 London guests ; and instances of the like want of judgment are 
 
ART OF DINING. 219 
 
 innumerable. In general it is best to give strangers the best of 
 the place ; they are then the most sure to be pleased. In enter- 
 taining those who are in a different class from ourselves, it is 
 expedient to provide for them what they are not used to, and 
 that which we are most in the way of procuring of superior 
 quality. ]\Iany people, from their connection with foreign 
 countries, or with different parts of their own, are enabled to 
 command with ease to themselves what are interesting rarities to 
 others, and one sure way to entertain with effect is, as I ha\e 
 before recommended, to cultivate a good understanding with 
 those W'ith whom we deal for the supply of the table. By way 
 of illustration of what I have said on the subject of choice, plain 
 dinners, I will give an account of one I once gave in the chambers 
 of a friend of mine in the Temple, to a party of six, all of whom 
 were accustomed to good living, and one of whom was bred at 
 one of the most celebrated tables in London. The dinner con- 
 sisted of the following dishes, served in succession, and with 
 their respective adjuncts carefully attended to. First, spring 
 soup from Birch's on Cornhill, which to those who have never 
 tasted it, I particularly recommend in the season, as being quite 
 delicious ; then a moderate-sized turbot, bought in the City, 
 beautifully boiled, w\X\x first-rate lobster-sauce, cucumber, and 
 new potatoes ; after that, ribs of beef from Leadenhall Market, 
 roasted to a turn, and smoking from the spit, with French beans 
 and salad ; then a very fine-dressed crab ; and. lastly, some jelly. 
 The owner of the chambers was connected with the City, and he 
 undertook specially to order the different articles, which it would 
 have been impossible to exceed in quality ; and though the fish 
 and beef were dressed by a Temple laundress, they could not 
 have been better served, I suppose principally from the kitchen 
 being close at hand, and her attention not being distracted ; 
 and here I must remark that the proximity of the kitchen was 
 not the least annoyance to us in any wa}', or indeed perceptible, 
 except in the excellence of the serving up. The beef deservedly 
 met with the highest praise, and certainly I never saw even 
 venison more enjoyed. The crab was considered particularly well 
 introduced, and was eaten with peculiar zest, and the simplicity 
 of the jelly met with approval. The dessert, I think, consisted 
 only of oranges and biscuits, followed by occasional introduc- 
 tions of anchovy toast. The wines were champagne, port, and 
 claret. I have had much experience in the dinner way, both at 
 large and at small parties, but I never saw such a vividness of 
 conviviality, either at or after dinner, which I attribute princi- 
 pally to the real object of a dinner being the only one studied ; 
 state, ornament, and superfluity being utterly excluded. I hold 
 this up as an example of the plain, easy style of entertaining. 
 There was nothing which anybody may not have with the most 
 
220 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 moderate establishment and the smallest house, perhaps not 
 always in exactly the same perfection as to quality of materials, 
 but still sufficiently good, with a little tro.ible and judgment. 
 
 It is the mode of dinner that I wish to recommend, and not 
 any particular dishes, or wines. Common soup made at home, 
 fish of little cost, any joint, the cheapest vegetables, some happy 
 and inexpensive introduction, like the crab, and a pudding, with 
 sherry and port, provided everything is good in quality, and the 
 dishes are well dressed, and served hot and in succession, with 
 their adjuncts, will ensure a quantity of enjoyment which no one 
 need be afraid to offer, and so it will be with any combination in 
 the same style ; but then it is ;ibsolutely necessary not to overdo 
 the thing, on the one hand, and, on the other, to direct the atten- 
 tion entirely in the right course ; to think nothing of display or 
 fashion, but only of realities, and to dispose everything for 
 comfort and ease. Such dinners admit of an endless variety of 
 combination, and by more or less additional expense, often very 
 triiling, may be made greatly sought after. There is one pre- 
 caution, which I would recommend to those who step out of the 
 common way in entertaining, and that is to make some mention 
 of what they mean to do at the time they give their invitation, 
 otherwise a sort of disappointment may be sometimes felt, which 
 is destructive of that disposition to be pleased which guests 
 ought to feel. For instance, speaking from my own experience, 
 I greatly prefer small parties to large ones, and simple dinners 
 to overloaded ones ; but it has happened to me, that, if from the 
 style of the invitation I have made up my mind to a state party, 
 I have been disappointed at finding a small one, though I should 
 have preferred it in the first instance, and so it might be to 
 invite any one to a simple dinner, however excellent, without 
 giving some notice. There is often a little art in giving an 
 invitation, not only so as to prevent disappointment, but to pre- 
 pare the invited for any particular circumstance, in order that 
 they may come with the proper disposition, created by anticipa- 
 tion. I recollect at the dinner I have above described, I stated 
 in my invitations, verbal and written; what I meant to attempt, 
 and the names of the party. As the success of it so strongly 
 illustrates my positions in favour of compactness of dining-room, 
 of proximity of kitchen, of smallness of party, of absence of 
 state and show, of undivided attention to excellence of dishes, 
 and to mode of serving them in single succession, I am tempted 
 to add the names here by way of authentication, and to 
 show that my guests were competent judges, not to be led 
 away from want of experience. The party consisted of Lord 
 Abinger, then Sir James Scarlett, Sir John Jfohnstone, the 
 present member for Scarborough, Mr. Young, private secretary 
 to Lord Melbourne, I\Ir. R. Bell, of the firm of Bell Brothers, 
 
ART OF DINING. 221 
 
 who occupied the chambers and acted as caterer, and lastly, 
 my excellent friend, the late Honourable George Lamb, whose 
 good-humoured convivial qualities were held in high estimation 
 by all who knew^ him, and who on this occasion outshone him- 
 self. I had seen him on many and many a festive and joyous 
 occasion, both amidst the revelries of the northern circuit and in 
 private society, but I never saw him, or any other man, in such 
 height of glee. Such a scene could not take place at a table 
 set out, however well, in the customary style. There could 
 not be the same ease and inspiration, the same satisfaction, 
 and concentration of mind on what is to be done, the same 
 sympathetic bringing together of a party over one thing at once. 
 \Vhat is there in state and show to compensate for this enjoy- 
 ment .^ They are the resources by which dulness seeks to 
 distinguish itself, and it is pity that those who are capable of 
 better things should submit to such trammels. In proportion 
 as the set-out is brilliant, I have observed the company is 
 generally dull, and every ornament seems to me an impediment 
 in the way of good-fellowship. I must add a word or two to 
 what I have said respecting the mode of giving invitations, upon 
 which, I think, more depends than at first sight appears. If a 
 formal invitation on a large card requesting the honour, &c., at 
 three weeks' notice, were to be received, and the party should 
 prove to be a small familiar one, to a simple dinner, however 
 good, some disappointment would almost unavoidably be felt, 
 partly because the mind would have been made up to something 
 difterent, and partly on account of the more laboured preparation. 
 It is, in general, I think, advisable to give some idea to the 
 invited what it is they are to expect, if there is to be anything 
 out of the common way, either as to company or repast ; at any 
 rate, it is expedient not to mislead, as some people are very 
 much in the habit of doing, and then receiving their company 
 with an apology, which throws a damp over the affair in the very 
 outset. Now, instead of a formal invitation, let us suppose one 
 to such a dinner as the under-mentioned, couched in these 
 words : — " Can you dine with me to-morrow 1 I shall have 
 herrings, hashed mutton, and cranberry tart. My fishmonger 
 sends me word herrings are just in perfection, and I have some 
 delicious mutton, in hashing which I shall direct my cook to 
 exercise all her art. I intend the party not to exceed six. and, 
 observe, we shall sit down to table at half-past seven. I am 
 asking as follows." Now, I should greatly prefer such an in- 
 vitation to a formal one in general terms, and I suppose most 
 other people would do the same. It would show an intentness 
 and right" understanding on the matter in hand, from which the 
 happiest results might be expected, and the guests would go 
 filled with the most "favourable predispositions, which is starting 
 
222 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 at an advantage ; for at parties in general, it requires some time 
 before they can be raised to anything like the proper tone of 
 fellowship. Such a style puts dinner-giving within almost every- 
 body's reach, and would induce a constant flow of easy hospitality, 
 instead of a system of formal parties, " few and far between." 
 The same mode is equally desirable in invitations to simple 
 dinners of the most costly or rarest dishes, and in some respects 
 more so, as the anticipations would be more vivid. I have 
 heard it frequently objected to the simple style, that some of the 
 guests, when there is little or no choice, may not be able to 
 make a dinner; but this objection is entirely obviated by par- 
 ticularizing, as above, what the dinner is to consist of, and those 
 whom it does not please can then decline the invitation. A 
 simple dinner, well served, to a party of a similarity of taste, can- 
 not fail to have peculiar success ; it makes perfect the union. 
 These snug little parties, I must confess, have very much the 
 air of being confined to bachelor ones, but I think them equally 
 applicable to a mixture of the sexes. Ladies are very apt to 
 suppose that men enjoy themselves the most when they are not 
 present. They are in a great measure right, but for a wrong 
 reason. It is not that men prefer their own to a mixture of 
 female society, but that females delight in a number of observ- 
 ances, and in forms, upon some of which I have already touched, 
 and upon a certain display and undeviating order, which conspire 
 to destroy that enjoyment which they seem to think they are 
 debarred from. The fault is their own. If they will study my 
 doctrines, and fall a little into the herring-and-hashed-mutton 
 system, they will soon find a difference in their favour. In their 
 management of dinners, let them think only of what contributes 
 to real enjoyment. Such a system will afford them plenty of 
 scope for the display of their taste in realities, instead of in 
 vanities, which have no charms for men in the article of con- 
 viviality. If they wish to witness anything like the enjoyment 
 I have described to have taken place at my dinner in the Temple, 
 they must adopt something of the same course to ensure it. 
 Side-dishes, centre-pieces filled with flowers, and such encum- 
 brances and impediments, are fatal to it. They may make their 
 election, but they cannot have both. I rather believe they think 
 their system necessary to keep up a proper degree of respect to 
 themselves, and that without it men would become too careless 
 and uncivihzed ; but this I apprehend to be a mistake. There 
 may be well-regulated ease without running into disorder and 
 brutality, and whatever facilitates the social intercourse between 
 the sexes, will of course increase refinement on the part of the 
 men. I think it would be a vast improvement in society if 
 the practice of fam.iliar dining were introduced — parties not 
 exceeding eight, without the trouble of dressing beyond being 
 
SAILORS. 223 
 
 neat and clean, with simple repasts, costly or otherwise, accord- 
 inf^ to the means or inclinations of the givers, and calculated to 
 please the palate, and to promote sociability and health. I will 
 explain myself further on this head in my next number ; till 
 which I must defer the consideration of my remaining topics on 
 the art of dining. 
 
 SAILORS— (^^;/r/«^i^^ . 
 
 Sailors who are entrapped into these long rooms, or similar 
 places, are kept in a constant state of reckless excitement, and 
 they never think of returning to sea till they have got rid of all 
 their wages ; indeed, I believe they are not unfrequently glad 
 when their means are gone, as the only chance they have of 
 escaping from the fangs of those who surround them. This 
 forced disposition, as I consider it, I have often heard taken for 
 granted to be the necessary disposition of sailors, and thus it is 
 argued that the sooner they are deprived of their money the 
 better both for themselves and their employers. Now, it seems 
 to me that if sailors had fair-play, and the maritime part of sea- 
 port towns could be reformed, their natural character would 
 rather be that of thought and carefulness than of recklessness 
 and extravagance. Hardship and the scenes frequent on the 
 ocean are not the best calculated to produce levity ; and the 
 peculiar ease with which they might accumulate their wages, if 
 it once became the custom amongst them, is much more likely 
 to make them more saving than other men, rather than less so. 
 A habit of accumulation, when once accjuired. is the most 
 constant of all habits, and prompts the most forcibly to industry 
 and exertion ; so that a sailor who should reasonably enjoy a 
 portion of his wages, and put by the remainder, would be more 
 certain to return to his calling and to exercise it steadily than 
 one of the present race. I believe there are now a great many 
 exceptions to what is considered to be the usual character of 
 sailors, and that they are happily increasing from various causes ; 
 but unquestionably a great deal remains to be done, and it is 
 quite melancholy to see how many instances there are of noble 
 and generous fellows falling a prey to the most worthless for 
 want of a little protection. It is a matter of great consequence 
 also to the rest of society on its own account, because the harvest 
 which the present state of seafaring men affords to the vicious 
 and the criminal, is one great cause of so many depredators who 
 prey at other times upon the various classes of the public. 
 
 During the last war, when so many sailors were wanted both 
 for the navy and the merchant service, every art was used to 
 entrap them, and every species of demoralization encouraged to 
 keep them in a state of dependence. The object on the part of 
 
224 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 Government was to get their services for less than they were 
 willing to take for them, and though the pay was kept down, and 
 the expense of manning the navy was not so great as it would 
 have been if sailors had been fairly dealt with, yet the system 
 in its consequences has cost the nation a great deal more than 
 a just cause would have done. The same system is to a degree 
 still pursued in manning merchant vessels, so far as keeping 
 sailors in a state of dependence, though great improvements have 
 taken place, and there is a much more enlightened policy on 
 the part of many shipowners. Whenever the Government or in- 
 dividuals contrive to purchase labour for less than its real value, 
 the public has to make up the difference, and something more. 
 On this subject, which is a very important one, I will extract a 
 few sentences from my pamphet on Pauperism. 
 
 " There is a certain price for everything, and any attempt to 
 force it below produces a contrary effect, though it may cause a • 
 division of the payment. Individuals may contrive to lower 
 wages, and may throw the difference, with the increased cost of 
 labour, upon the public — the State may inadequately remunerate 
 those it employs, and thereby keep down the amount of taxa- 
 tion ; but the means of paying the taxation will be inevitably 
 
 diminished in a greater proportion It is beyond a doubt 
 
 that an armed force, raised by conscription or impressment, by 
 ballot, or by the seductions of enlistment, costs a nation more 
 than the necessary price, though it may cost the Government 
 less. The general rule for obtaining labour, of whatever kind, 
 at the cheapest rate, seems to be first to render the service as 
 agreeable and respectable as its duties will permit, and then to 
 offer in open market the lowest direct remuneration which will 
 induce the best qualified spontaneously to engage themselves, 
 and willingly to continue. I believe if the subject were closely 
 pursued, it would appear that by renderinL,^ the various offices of 
 labour as little irksome as may be practicable, and by approxi- 
 mating by all possible means the direct wages of labour to the 
 cost of labour, pauperism and crime might be very considerably 
 
 reduced The hope of an immediate and adequate 
 
 reward, and the certainty of the secure enjoyment of it, are in- 
 dispensably necessary to obtain labour at the lowest price, and, 
 however high that price may be, still it is the lowest possible. 
 By a law of Nature the slave is the dearest of labourers, and the 
 man whose Jieart is in his work the cheapest — nay, even the 
 brute, who is going home in the hope of eating his corn in 
 comfort, is able to accomplish more than by any urging that can 
 be inflicted upon him. Heart, kept constant by prudence, con- 
 stitutes the perfection of a labourer." It is to loe observed that 
 the immense quantity of crime and pauperism that springs 
 directly and indirectly from the present want of moral cultiva- 
 
PRINCIPLE OF POOR-LA iVS. 225 
 
 tion amongst sailors, is to be paid for by the public in addition 
 to their wages ; and that if they were prudent, though their 
 wages might be somewhat higher, those wages would constitute 
 the whole cost of their labour, instead of, as now, being only one 
 part. If any labourer by his improvidence becomes a pauper, 
 or causes any of those who ought to be dependent upon him to 
 become paupers, the expense of that pauperism is to be added 
 to his wages, to make up the whole cost of his labour; and, in- 
 the same manner, if he is guilty of crime, or tempts others to 
 be guilty, the expense incident to that crime is likewise to be 
 reckoned part of the cost of his labour, though it is not paid by 
 his employers, but by the public. I believe there are now in the 
 maritime districts of this metropolis a great many respectable 
 lodging-houses for seafaring men, and a great many prudent 
 characters amongst them ; but there is a vast number who are 
 quite the reverse, and who are the cause of great public detri- 
 ment. It is very desirable that there should be some systematic 
 provision for the protection of sailors, so as to give them a fair 
 chance of becoming prudent, by having facilities afforded them 
 for escaping bad company, and for placing in safety such part 
 of their wages as they would not wish to spend. It seems to me 
 that it would answer extremely well as a speculation for respect- 
 able persons acquainted with the habits of seamen to establish 
 comfortable places for their reception, and to manage their af.airs 
 for them from their arrival till their departure. There could be 
 no risk with proper caution, and the sailors, the public, and, I 
 doubt not, the shipping interest, would be great gainers by the 
 consequent improvement in morals. 
 
 PRINCIPLE OF POOR-LAWS. 
 
 The principle of poor-laws, however modified, is this — that the 
 number of persons, incapable of maintaining themselves, neces- 
 sarily exceeds the means of duly providing for them, except by 
 a compulsory- tax. If it is not true that the number of persons 
 does so exceed, then the principle is false, and its operation, like 
 that of every other false principle, must be pernicious. The 
 proposition must be taken in its fullest sense; the number of 
 persons incapable of maintaining themselves must not only 
 actually, but necessarily, exceed the means of duly providing for 
 them, except by a compulsory tax. This supposes government, 
 both general and local, to be of the best form, and in the most 
 efficient order, and that, after all, prudence aided by charity is 
 insufficient for individual support, and therefore that the addi- 
 tion of a compulsory tax is necessary. If all these suppositions 
 are not real, then poor-laws are not founded on sound principle, 
 
 H 
 
226 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 but are in the nature of an expedient to bolster up some defect, 
 or defects, whicli ought to be sought out and thoroughly reme- 
 died. Their tendency would be only to cover and perpetuate 
 abuse, whether that abuse existed in the general or the local 
 government, in a deficiency of prudence, or in a want of charity. 
 Till government, both general and local, should be put into the 
 most efficient order, till every encouragement should be given to 
 prudence, and till charity should be excited by all possible 
 means, it would be too much to say that any other resources 
 would be necessary ; and recurring to any other resources pre- 
 maturely, would be to retard improvement in the right quarters. 
 Expedients are easy modes of supplying defects, and they often 
 look specious, and for a time produce apparent benefit ; but it is 
 only on the slow operation of sound principles that reliance can 
 safely be placed. Those who maintain the principle of poor- 
 laws, maintain it as a permanant principle, to be kept in opera- 
 tion under all circumstances ; because they say all property in 
 civilized countries being appropriated, they who are born into 
 the world and have not the means of providing for themselves, 
 have a right to a maintenance from the property of others. 
 This position is maintained chiefly on the assumption that any 
 one born into the world where all property is appropriated, has 
 greater difficulty in providing for himself than in a savage state ; 
 but the direct contrary is the fact. In any given country a man 
 capable of labour can more easily command the necessaries of 
 life, when it is civilized, than he could have done when it was in 
 a savage state ; but it will be objected that he cannot, under all 
 circumstances, obtain employment. I will consider that objec- 
 tion by-and-by. 
 
 With respect to persons incapable of labour, whether from 
 infancy, or age, or from inability, physical or mental, their 
 natural rights cannot be greater in a civilized than in an uncivil- 
 ized state, though in the former their chances of provision, inde- 
 pendently of any compulsory maintenance, are much better than 
 in the latter. The advocates for the principle of poor-laws 
 assert that children, whose parents are unable to maintain them, 
 have a natural right to a maintenance from the property of 
 others. If by a natural right is meant the right they would have 
 had in a state of nature, of what value is it, or how is it to be 
 enforced ? Being destitute, how are they in a worse condition 
 where property is appropriated than where it is not .'" and in the 
 latter case parents are exposed to inability to maintain their 
 children. If then those children are not in a worse condition, 
 they are not entitled to any new right by way of compensation. 
 They could have had no advantages in a state of nature which 
 give them a right to compulsory provision in a state of civiliza- 
 tion. The truth is, their claims are of a higher nature than any 
 
PRINCIPLE OF POOR-LA WS. 227 
 
 that laws can enforce, and in a well-ordered society are sure to 
 be attended to without compulsion. The same reasoning applies 
 to the destitute aged and impotent. In a state of nature, where 
 property is not appropriated, there can be no compulsory pro- 
 vision for them, and their chances of voluntary provision are 
 much less than in a state of civilization. Now as to those who 
 are capable of labour, and who, it is said, are entitled to have 
 employm.ent found them if they cannot get it themselves, or to 
 subsistence because all property is appropriated, I answer that 
 in a civilized state there should be no such class, unless created 
 or permitted by defective government. Where political regula- 
 tions are such as to give all men fair-play, and not to place any 
 unnecessary temptations to improvidence in their way, the same 
 exertion and the same prudence that would enable the savage to 
 exist, would enable the civilized labourer to live well, and to find 
 employment for himself under all circumstances ; whereas the 
 savage, with only the pauper standard of shifting for himself, 
 would be star\'ed to death. Whatever quantity of destitution 
 there may be in this country or in Ireland for want of employ- 
 ment, it may be traced to removable causes ; but to provide for 
 that destitution by the adoption of a permanent principle, is the 
 surest w^ay to prevent the causes from being removed. 
 
 Whenever government is carried on upon the principle that 
 "whatever is morally wrong, cannot be politically right," the 
 standard of morals, individually, will soon be raised too high to 
 admit of anything like a class of paupers, and there will be no 
 destitution, for the relief of which the funds of private charity 
 will not be far more than sufficient. I\Ty conclusion is that 
 poor-laws are not founded on any natural right, but that they 
 merely involve a question of expediency ; and I think that no 
 system of management will be ultimately productive of benefit 
 unless it has for its object the total abolition of the principle. 
 There is another point of view in which I would put the principle 
 of poor-laws, and that is, that they can only be an expedient to 
 supply the deficiencies of wages, or the waste of improvidence. 
 If wages are high enough to support the whole class of labourers, 
 poor-laws would only encourage improvidence ; if wages are not 
 high enough, poor-laws would operate to prevent their becoming 
 so. Temporary' want of employment is no argument for the 
 adoption of a permanent principle, and permanent want of em- 
 ployment argues an over-population, which can only be the 
 result of improvidence, for which the poor-laws are not the cure. 
 
 H 2 
 
( 228 ) 
 
 No. XXI. V/ednesday, Oct. 7, 1835. 
 
 ART OF DINING. 
 
 As the season for fires is approaching, or rather, from the wet 
 weather, is arrived, I must make an observation or two upon that 
 important head. A cheerful fire is our household sun, which I, 
 for one, like to have ever shining upon me, especially in the 
 coming months of November and December, when the contrast 
 between that and the external fogs and mud is most striking and 
 agreeable. A good fire is the next best substitute for a summer 
 sun, and, as our summer sun is none of the brightest, we are wise 
 to make the most of its successor. An Englishman's fireside 
 has, time out of mind, been proverbial ; and it shows something 
 of a degenerate spirit not to keep up its glories. There is an 
 unfortunate race, who labour under a constant pyrophobia, or 
 dread of fire, and who cannot bear the sight of it, or even the 
 feel, except from a distance, or through a screen. When we 
 have to do with such, we must compromise as well as we can 
 between comfort and consideration ; but I am speaking to the 
 real enjoyers of the goods of life, without any morbid infirmity 
 about them. A bright, lively fire I reckon a most excellent 
 dinner companion, and in proper fire weather I would always 
 have it, if I may so say, one of the party. For instance, two or 
 three at each side of the table, one at the top, and the fire at the 
 bottom, with the lights on the mantelpiece ; but then, to have this 
 disposition in perfection, the room should be something after the 
 plan I have recommended in my seventeenth number. Under 
 such circumstances, I think if Melancholy herself were one of the 
 guests, she could not but forget her state. A fire is an auxiliary 
 at dinner, which diffuses its genial influence without causing 
 distraction. As Shakespeare says of beauty, " It is the sun that 
 maketh all things shine ;" and as Dryden sings after Horace — 
 
 With well-heaped logs dissolve the cold, 
 
 And feed the genial hearth with fires ; 
 Produce the wine that makes us bold, 
 
 And sprightly wit and love inspires. 
 
 It might be supposed, from the way in which the fire is ordi- 
 narily treated during dinner, that it was a disagreeable object, or 
 a common enemy. One or more persons are made to turn their 
 backs upon it, and in that position screens are obliged to be 
 added to prevent fainting. This is a perverse mode of proceed- 
 ing, arising partly from the ill-adaptation of dining-rooms to 
 their use, partly from the custom of crowding tables, and partly 
 
ART OF DINING. 229 
 
 from the risk of oppressiveness, where there are large numbers 
 and overloaded dinners ; so that in this, as in-most instances, one 
 abuse engenders another, and the expediency of adhering to a 
 rational system is clearly manifested. We are the creatures of 
 habit, and too seldom think of changing according to circum- 
 stances. It was but the other day I dined where the top of the 
 table was unoccupied ; but though the weather was cold and 
 wet, the master of the house maintained his position at the 
 bottom with his back to the fire protected by a screen. If I 
 could have wheeled him round, " the winter of my discontent" 
 would have been made " glorious summer," and I should have 
 dined with complete satisfaction. 
 
 The conservancy of fires ought principally to fall within the 
 superintendence of the female part lof a family, because they arc 
 least seldom out of the way, and it is a subject of very g;reat 
 importance in the maintenance of domestic comfort, especially 
 where the males, either from pleasure or business, are exposed 
 to the vicissitudes of weather. Let any one call to mind the 
 difference between two houses where good and bad fires are 
 kept. To the labouring classes a good fire at meals is the 
 greatest source of health and enjoyment ; and at public-houses 
 a cheerful blaze seen through the windows is a bait well under- 
 stood to catch the labourer returning from his work to a com- 
 fortless home. If he once gets 
 
 planted unco right, 
 Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
 
 there is no chance of his quitting, till, like Tarn O'Shanter, he is 
 compelled by necessity. The essential quality of a fire is to be 
 bright without being too hot, and the best and quickest mode of 
 restoring a neglected fire is to stir out the ashes, and with the 
 tongs to fill up the spaces between the bars with cinders. If 
 carefully done it is surprising how soon this'process will produce 
 an effective and glowing fire. 
 
 Whilst I was writing the above, a friend of mine called to 
 propose that we should dine together at the Athenaeum, and he 
 would send a brace of grouse he had just received. We dined 
 very satisfactorily, but agreed that a perfect edition of our dinner 
 would have been as follows : — First, a dozen and a-half of small 
 oysters, not pampered, but fresh from their native bed, eaten 
 simply after the French fashion, with lemon-juice to give an edge 
 to the appetite. In about twenty minutes, the time necessary 
 for dressing them, three fine flounders water-zouched, with brown 
 bread-and-butter — a dish which is better served at the Athenaeum 
 than anywhere I know. At a short interval after the flounders, 
 the grouse, not sent up together, but one after the other, hot and 
 hot, like mutton-chops, each accompanied by a plate of French 
 
230 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 beans. With the flounders half a pint of sherry, and with the 
 grouse a bottle of genuine claret, which we get for three-and- 
 sixpence a bottle, after which a cup each of strong hot coffee. 
 This is a style of dining which made us think of the gorgeous, 
 encumbered style with pity and contempt, and I give these 
 particulars by way of study and as a step towards emancipa- 
 tion. After my desultory manner I must here mention an in- 
 stance of barbaric ornament I witnessed a short time since at a 
 dinner which, substantially, was excellent. I had to carve a 
 tongue, and found my operations somewhat impeded by a couple 
 of ranunculuses stuck into it, sculptured, one in turnip and the 
 other in carrot. It was surrounded by a thin layer of spinach, 
 studded with small stars, also cut in carrot. What have 
 ranunculuses and stars to do with tongue and spinach ? To my 
 mind, if they had been on separate and neighbouring dishes 
 and unadorned, it would have been much more to the purpose. 
 
 At length I am come to the consideration of that important 
 accompaniment to dinner — wine, in the management of which 
 there is ordinarily a lamentable want of judgment, or rather a 
 total absence of it. Besides an actual want of judgment, there 
 is frequently a parsimonious calculation on one hand, or an 
 ostentatious profusion and mixture on the other, both destruc- 
 tive in their different ways of true enjoyment. The art in using 
 wine is to produce the greatest possible quantity of present glad- 
 ness without any future depression. To this end a certain de- 
 gree of simplicity is essential, with due attention to seasons and 
 kinds of food, and particularly to the rate of filling the glass. 
 Too many sorts of wines confuse the palate and derange diges- 
 tion. The stronger wines, unless very sparingly used, are apt 
 to heat in hot weather, and the smaller kinds are unsatisfactory 
 when it is cold. The rate at which to take wine is a matter of 
 great nicety and importance, and depends upon different cir- 
 cumstances at different times. Care and observation can alone 
 enable any one to succeed in this point. The same quantity of 
 wine, drunk judiciously oi injudiciously, will produce the best or 
 the worst effects. Drinking too quick is much more to be 
 avoided than drinking too slow. The foiTner is positively, the 
 latter negatively, evil. Drinking too quick confuses both the 
 stomach and the brain ; drinking too slow disappoints them. 
 After long fasting, begin slowly and after a solid foundation, 
 and quicken by degrees. After exhaustion from other causes 
 than fasting, reverse this order. Small wines may be drunk 
 with less caution as to rate than the fuller bodied. As soon as 
 the spirits are a little raised, slacken the pace, contrary to the 
 usual practice, which is to quicken it. When the proper point 
 of elevation is attained, so use the glass as just to keep there, 
 whereby enjoyment is prolonged without alloy. The moment 
 
ART OF DINING. 231 
 
 the palate begins to pall, leave off. Continuation after tliat will 
 soon produce a renewed desire, the gratitication of which is 
 pernicious. This state is rather an unfitness for leaving off than 
 a fitness for going on. In respect to simplicity, I think four 
 kinds of wine the very utmost ever to be taken at one time, and 
 with observance of what wines go well together, as sherry, 
 champagne, port and claret ; but they should be drunk in uniform 
 order, and not first one and then another, and then back again, 
 which is a senseless and pernicious confusion. For my own 
 part, I rather like one kind of wine at a time, or at most two ; 
 and I think more is lost than gained by variety. I should lay 
 down the same rules as to wines as I have already done as to 
 meats ; that is, simplicity on the same day, and variety on 
 different days. Port only, taken with or without a little water, at 
 dinner is excellent ; and the same of claret. 1 think on ordinary 
 occasions, such a system is by far the most agreeable. Claret — 
 I mean genuine, undoctorcd claret, which, in my opinion, is the 
 true taste — is particularly good as a dinner wine, and is now to 
 be had at a very reasonable price. I would not wish better than 
 that given at the Athenaeum at three-and-sixpence a bottle. 
 Rhenish wines are xtxy wholesome and agreeable, drunk simply 
 without other wines : I do not think they harmonize well with 
 champagne. As to seasons, the distinction is obvious, that light 
 wines are the best in summer ; but then care should be taken, 
 for the sake of health, that they are sound; and with much fruit 
 perhaps, a little of stronger wine is advisable. In winter, 
 generous wine is to be preferred, and it is a pleasant variety to 
 have it occasionally spiced or mulled, especially in very dreary 
 weather, or after severe exposure. In hot weather, beverages of 
 various kinds, having wine for their foundation, and well iced, 
 are very grateful. There is scarcely any luxury greater in sum- 
 mer than wine and water cooled with a lump of ice put into 
 it, though it is seldom practised in this country. In Italy, a 
 plate of pure ice is regularly served during the hot seapon. Itx 
 England, unfortunately, a great deal of money is wasted on ex- 
 cess, whilst simple luxuries are almost altogether neglected. The 
 adaptation of wines to different kinds of food is a matter not to be 
 neglected. The general rule is, to drink white wine with white 
 meats, and red with brown, to which may be added, that light 
 wines are most suitable to light dishes, or to the P^rench style, 
 and the stronger to substantial dishes, or the English style; but 
 this latter rule has many exceptions. I must not here pass over 
 altogether the excellence of malt liquor, though it is rather 
 difficult to unite the use of it judiciously with that of wine. 
 When taken together it should be in great moderation, but I 
 rather prefer a malt licjuor day exclusively now and then, by way 
 of variety, or to take it at luncheon. There is something 
 
232 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 extremely grateful in the very best table-beer, and it is to be 
 lamented it is so rarely to be met with in the perfection of which 
 it is capable. That beverage at dinner, and two or three glasses 
 of first-rate ale after, constitute real luxury, and I believe are a 
 most wholesome variety. Good porter needs no praise, and 
 bottled porter iced, is, in hot weather, most refreshing. Cider- 
 cup, lemonade, and iced punch in summer, and hot in winter, 
 are all worthy of their turns ; but I do not think their turns 
 come as often as they ought to do. We go on in the beaten 
 track, without profiting by the varieties v/hich are to be found 
 on every side. 
 
 What I have hitherto said has been with a vievv principally to 
 individual guidance in the use of wine, though much of it may 
 be applied to the management of parties. In the management 
 of parties, so far as relates to wine, judgment, liberality, attention, 
 and courage are necessary; and calculation, inattention, osten- 
 tation, profusion, and excess, are the vices to be guarded against. 
 I always take for granted that whatever wine is produced, it is 
 to be good of its kind. Judgment is necessary in knowing what 
 wines are suitable to the season, the food, and the description of 
 guests ; in what order to serve them, at what rate to drink, and 
 when to stop. Liberality is necessary to furnish promptly and 
 cheerfully the reciuisite supply; attention is necessary to execute 
 what the judgment suggests ; and courage is necessary to keep 
 the erring, either from ignorance or refractoriness, in the right 
 path, and to stop at the right point. The master of a feast 
 should be master in deed as well as in name, and on his judi- 
 cious and confident control depends for the most part real con- 
 vivial enjoyment ; but he should govern rather by imperceptible 
 influence than by any outward demonstration, or appearance of 
 interference. He should set the wine in circulation at the earliest 
 fitting moment, for want of attention to which there is often a 
 flagging at the outset. He should go on rather briskly at first, 
 and should then contrive to regulate its pace according to the 
 spirits of the party. He should cause the wines to be served in 
 their proper order, and should preserve that order as much as in 
 him lies, both by his own example and by good-humoured recom- 
 mendation. He should let his guests know what he intends, so 
 that they may have an opportunity of regulating themselves 
 accordingly ; as if he thinks proper to produce only a certain 
 quantity of any particular wine, he should say so. Uncertainty 
 is fatal to convivial ease, and the reintroduction of any kind of 
 wine, after other wines have intervened, is specially to be 
 avoided. This error arises either from want of courage in allow- 
 ing a violation of propriety, or from a calculation that there 
 would be enough, when there turns out not to be enough, and 
 then hesitating to supply the deficiency at the proper moment. 
 
PRAISE OF I VINE. 233 
 
 He should be liberal as long as liberality is beneficial, and as 
 soon as he perceives that the proper point to stop at is arrived, 
 he should fearlessly act upon his perception. There is a liberal, 
 hearty manner, which prevents suspicion, and enables the pos- 
 sessor to exercise his judgment, not only without offence, but 
 with approbation. Calculation, however studiously concealed, 
 sheds a baneful influence over conviviality, which nothing can 
 counteract. Inattention causes things either to go on wrong, or 
 not to go on at all. Ostentation excites disgust or contempt, 
 and destroys enjoyment for the sake of display, by introducing 
 variety without reference to reason. Profusion produces the 
 same effect from ignorance or mistaken liberality. There may 
 be excess without variety, though it is not so probable. It is 
 much more often the result of want of courage in the master of 
 the feast than of inclination on the part of the guests, and good 
 government in the beginning is the surest guarantee of a tem- 
 perate termination. In what I have said, I have supposed the 
 giver of an entertainment to have means at his command, but 
 where it is not so, the plainest wines, provided they are sound, 
 and are heartily and judiciously given according to the rules I 
 have laid down, cannot fail to give satisfaction to the reasonable, 
 and more satisfaction too than the most costly with the many 
 drawbacks which usually accompany them. They are for the 
 most part exposed to the same fate that I have already described 
 to await delicacies in fooH ; that is, they are so mixed up and 
 encumbered with other things, as to be deprived of their relish, 
 and reduced to the level of their inferiors, or even below. It is 
 to be wished that those who are not in the way of giving costly 
 wines would never attempt it ; because they are only putting 
 themselves to inconvenience, and their guests to greater. It is 
 a very serious tax upon one's palate and veracity, to be obliged 
 to drink and pronounce upon compounds, with names to which 
 they have not the most remote pretension. What I have said 
 heretofore about dinners applies equally to wines. Let people 
 keep to their own proper style, and endeavour to excel in what 
 is within their ordinary reach. A little extra attention and a 
 little extra expense are then productive of satisfactory results, 
 and they are sure to please others without any sacrifice of what 
 is due to themselves. I have yet to make some particular 
 observations on the use of champagne, which I must defer, 
 with two or three other topics, to my next number. 
 
 PRAISE OF WINE. 
 
 After my observations on the use of wine in the preceding 
 article, I think I may appropriately introduce Falstaff's humorous, 
 but in many respects just and eloquent, panegyric upon sack, 
 
234 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 which is only a particular species of wine. The effect he describes 
 it to have upon wit and learning peculiarly applies to the table, 
 and may afford a hint to those who circulate their wine as if it 
 were merely designed for sensual purposes, that it has nobler 
 uses : 
 
 " A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It 
 ascends me into the brain, dries me there all the foolish, dull, 
 and crudy vapours, which environ it ; makes it apprehensive, 
 quick, forgetive,* full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes ; 
 which, delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, 
 becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent 
 sherris is, the warming of the blood, which, before cold and 
 settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusil- 
 lanimity and cowardice ; but the sherris warms it, and makes it 
 course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the 
 face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this 
 little kingdom, man, to arm ; and then the vital commoners, and 
 inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart ; 
 who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of 
 courage, and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the 
 weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and 
 learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack com- 
 mences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that 
 Prince Harry is valiant ; for the cold blood he did naturally 
 inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, 
 manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of 
 drinking good, and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become 
 very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human 
 principle 1 would teach them should be, to forswear thin pota- 
 tions, and addict themselves to sack." 
 
 EASE OF MIND. 
 
 Ease of mind is incomparably the most valuable of all posses- 
 sions — not the ease of indolence, but of action — the smoothness 
 of the unruffled current, not of the stagnant pool. This possession 
 is not the gift of fortune : the gifts of fortune frequently destroy 
 it. It must be of our own acquiring, and is in a great measure 
 within the reach of all who diligently seek after it. It does not 
 depend upon the amount of our worldly possessions, but upon 
 our mode of using them ; not upon our ability to gratify our 
 desires, but upon our regulation of them. It is essentially the 
 result of our habits, which habits are entirely within our own 
 control. To enjoy ease of mind, there must be a feeling that we 
 are fulfilling our duties to the best of our power, otherwise we 
 
 * Imaginative. 
 
EASE OF MIND. 235 
 
 only sear instead of satisfying our conscience. The possession 
 of riches, or the pursuit of them, beyond the Hmits of moderation, 
 are unfavourable to this state, because temperance in the use of 
 worldly enjoyments is absolutely necessary to it, and then comes 
 the responsibility of the application of our superfluity. How 
 many men's ease must be destroyed by superabundance, who 
 would have been happy with less temptation, or with the feeling 
 that less was expected from them ! The pursuit of riches for the 
 sake of riches untits the mind for ease, by generating a perpetual 
 restlessness and anxiety, and by exposing to continual disappoint- 
 ments ; and the same may be said, even in a stronger degree, of 
 an ambitious love of those worldly distinctions, which, neither in 
 the pursuit nor in the possession, can confer any real enjoyment. 
 A steady advance by honest roads towards those things which 
 are within our reach without too arduous efforts, and which, 
 being attained, are worth our having, should be the aim of all 
 who have their fortune to make; whilst they who have had 
 theirs made for them, sliould habituate themselves to temperance 
 in their own enjovments, and to active and discreet hberality 
 towards others. They who diligently cultivate the habits neces- 
 sary to attain ease of mind place themselves almost above its 
 disturbance. To the mortifications of disappointed ambition 
 they are not at all exposed, and to the crosses of adverse fortune 
 very little, whilst unavoidable afflictions, in the well-constituted, 
 soften rather than sour the mind, and cannot be said to destroy 
 its ease. Like cypresses, they throw a shade over the current, 
 but in no way disturb its smoothness. Strict and constant dis- 
 cipline can ensure ease of mind in poverty or privation, of which 
 St. Paul has attorded a beautiful example in his own person. " 1 
 have learnt in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. 
 I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound. 
 Everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and 
 to be hungr)-, both to abound and to suffer need." But it must 
 not be forgotten that in this discipline is included the fixed con- 
 templation of things above. They, of this world only, cannot 
 expect to bear the afflictions of the world, as if they looked upon 
 it as a mere state of preparation for another, which is the peculiar 
 advantage possessed by the true Christian. There is no book 
 comparable to the New Testament for teaching that temper of 
 mind which is alone capable of ensuring a current of happiness 
 independent of external interruptions. It gives that tone which 
 prevents us from annoying or feeling annoyance. It teaches us 
 to bear all things, to hope all things, and to think no evil. How 
 different such a state from that of those who bear nothing, hope 
 nothing, and are ever thinking evil I In order to derive full 
 benefit from the doctrines of the New Testament, it is not suf- 
 ficient to recur to them occasionally, but by daily attention to 
 
236 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 make them part of our system, so that the mind may become its 
 own master, and as much as possible independent of everything 
 without. Goldsmith says — 
 
 How small of all that human hearts endure, 
 That part, which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 
 Still to ourselves in every place consigned, 
 Our own felicity we make or find. 
 
 Shakespeare observes, " there is nothing either good or bad, but 
 thinking makes it so ; " and Alilton expresses it — 
 
 The mind is its own place, and in itself. 
 Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. 
 
 In order to enjoy ease of mind in our intercourse with the 
 world, we should introduce into our habits of business puuctuality, 
 decision, the practice of being beforehand, despatch, and exact- 
 ness ; in our pleasures, harmlessness and moderation ; and in all 
 our dealings, perfect integrity and love of truth. Without these 
 observances we are never secure of ease, nor indeed taste it in its 
 highest state. As in most other things, so here ; people in 
 general do not aim at more than mediocrity of attainment, and, 
 of course, usually fall below their standard, whilst many are so 
 busy in nmning after what should procure them ease, that they 
 totally overlook the thing itself. 
 
 Ease of mind has the most beneficial effects upon the body, 
 and it is only during its existence that the complicated physical 
 functions are performed with the accuracy and facility which 
 Nature designed. It is consequently a great preventive of 
 disease, and one of the surest means of elTecting a cure when 
 disease has occurred ; without it, in many cases, no cure can 
 take place. By ease of mind many people have survived serious 
 accidents, from which nothing else could have saved them, and 
 in every instance recovery is much retarded by the absence of 
 it. Its effect upon the appearance is no less remarkable. It 
 prevents and repairs the ravages of time in a singular degree, 
 and is the best preservative of strength and beauty. It often 
 depends greatly upon health, but health alwa>'s depends greatly 
 upon it. The torments of a mind ill at ease seem to be less 
 endurable than those of the body, for it scarcely ever happens 
 that suicide is committed from bodily suffering. As far as the 
 countenance is an index, "the vultures of the mind" appear to 
 tear it more mercilessly than any physical pain, and no doubt 
 there have been many who would willingly have exchanged their 
 mental agony for the most wretched existence that penury could 
 produce. From remorse there is no escape. In aggravated 
 cases, probablv, there is no instant, sleeping or waking, in which 
 its influence is totally unfelt. Remorse is the extreme one way ; 
 the opposite is that' cleanliness of mind which has never been 
 
MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 237 
 
 recommended anywhere to the same extent that it is by the 
 precepts of tlie Christian rehgion, and which alone constitutes 
 " perfect freedom." It would be curious if we could see what 
 effects such purity would have upon the appearance and actions 
 of a liuman being — a being who lived, as Pope expresses it, in 
 "the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind." 
 
 DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 Ir is weak to be scared at difficulties, seeing that they generally 
 diminish as they are approached, and oftentimes even entirely 
 vanish. No man can tell what he can do till he tries. It is 
 impossible to calculate the extent of human powers ; it can only 
 be ascertained by experiment. What has been accomplished by 
 parties and by solitary individuals in the torrid and the frozen 
 regions, under circumstances the most difficult and appalling, 
 should teach us that, when we ought to attempt, we should never 
 despair. The reason why men oftener succeed in overcoming 
 uncommon difficulties than ordinary ones is that, in the fi.rst 
 case, they call into action the whole of their resources, and that, 
 in the last, they act upon calculation, and generally under-calcu- 
 late. Where there is no retreat, and the whole energy is forward, 
 the chances are in favour of success ; but a backward look is 
 full of danger. Confidence of success is almost success ; and 
 obstacles often fall of themselves before a determination to 
 overcome them. There is something in resolution which has an 
 influence beyond itself, and it marches on like a mighty lord 
 amongst its slaves ; all is prostration where it appears. When 
 bent on good it is almost the noblest attribute of men ; when on 
 evil, the most dangerous. It is by habitual resolution that men 
 succeed to any great extent ; impulses are not sufficient. What 
 is done at one moment is undone the next, and a step forward is 
 nothing gained unless it is followed up. Resolution depends 
 mainly on the state of the digestion, which St. Paul remarkably 
 illustrates when he says, '• Every man that striveth for the 
 mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a 
 corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible. I therefore so run, 
 not as uncertainly ; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air ; 
 but I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection, lest that 
 by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should 
 be a castaway." 
 
 MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 
 
 "The iron tongue of midnight" proclaims another day gone for 
 ever. 
 
 How we loiter away our lives! If we wasted our means as 
 we do our time, we should be bankrupts all. 
 
23? THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 We live on resolutions instead of performances, and content 
 ourselves with the ease of the present, in the confidence of future 
 exertion. We condemn the omission of others, and overlook 
 our own. 
 
 We neglect the advantages we have, and think what we should 
 do if we were something else than what we are. 
 
 We look back upon the past, and sigh that we did not begin 
 then ; yet we let the present slip as we let the past before. 
 
 We "possess each the sovereignty of ourselves — the noblest 
 and most profitable field in which to exercise dominion, but we 
 busy ourselves most in what least concerns us. We make our- 
 selves slaves where we might be kings, and seek for power where 
 it profits us nothing. 
 
 We pretend to reform others, whilst we exhibit in our own 
 persons examples of neglect, disorder, and revolt. 
 
 Our passions, which we ought to govern, we suffer to govern 
 us, and instead of aiding us in our course, they hurry us out of 
 it till they have lost their force ; and our judgment takes posses- 
 sion of her seat when she has nothing to guide. Man is like a 
 vehicle hurried across a dangerous country by powerful and 
 fiery steeds, and never gaining the road till they are become 
 worn-out hacks. 
 
 But there are the busy few toiling after their own destruction 
 in the fields of avarice and ambition, mistaking means for ends, 
 and laying up for themselves loads of care and anxiety, till the 
 grave opens, and they discover on its brink that the journey 
 through this world was not to provide the things of this world, 
 but those for the world to come. They are like travellers from 
 a distant country arriving on the shores of the boundless ocean, 
 encumbered with everything but what pertains to their voyage. 
 Though they have used their time, it was only to abuse it ; and 
 their labour has been worse than vain. 
 
 If we would live as we ought to do, we must so enjoy the pre- 
 sent that we may look upon the past with pleasure and upon 
 the future with hope. The more we can bring ourselves to con- 
 sider the importance of the future, the more likely we are duly 
 to regulate the present ; and the happiness of this life mainly 
 depends upon our reference to that in the life to come. 
 
( 239 ) 
 
 No. XXII. Wednesday, Oct. 14, 1835. 
 
 ART OF DINING— {conc/iided). 
 
 I CONCLUDED the article on the Art of Dining in my last 
 number with promising to make some observations on the use 
 of champagne. Of whatever materials composed, I never knew 
 a party that could be said to go oft' ill, where there was a 
 judiciously liberal supply of good champagne. I say judiciously 
 liberal, because there may be too much, as well as too little, though 
 the error, comparatively speaking, is seldom on the side of 
 excess ; but I have seen, when a party has been raised to what I 
 call the champagne point of conviviality, that an extra cjuantity 
 has caused a retrograde movement, by clogging the digestive 
 powers. In this, as in all other matters relating to the table, 
 but here especially, much must depend upon the eye, the judg- 
 ment, and the resolution of the master. He must have liberality, 
 to give, attention and skill to regulate, and courage to stop. 
 There are two classes of dinner-givers to whom I do not address^ 
 myself on this subject, because 1 know it would be in vain. The 
 hrst is that class who began their career and had their habits 
 formed during the war, when champagne was double the price 
 it is now. They gave it then like drops of blood, and I have 
 never yet seen an instance of liberalization. The second class 
 is that who merely give it as a part of their state, and deal it 
 out to the state prisoners round their table only to tantalize 
 them. I have no hope, then, of producing any effect except 
 upon those who date their assumption of table government on 
 this side the battle of Waterloo, and who have, or are capable of 
 acquiring, the same contempt of show that I myself have. 
 
 To give champagne fair-play it ought to be produced at the 
 very beginning of dinner, or at any rate after one glass of sherry 
 or madeira. Any other wines rather unfit the palate for it. The 
 usual mode is, as with other delicacies, to produce it after the 
 appetite is somewhat palled, and I have often thought it par- 
 ticularly ungallant and ungracious, where there are ladies, to 
 keep it back till a late period of dinner, and such a practice 
 often presents an absurd contrast of calculation and display. 
 According to my doctrines, the champagne should be placed upon 
 the table, so that all may take what they like, when they like, till 
 the presiding genius pronounces in his own mind that there has 
 been enough, which is not difficult to a practised eye. This 
 supposes a supply at discretion up to the champagne point, 
 which is very agreeable on particular occasions, or now and then 
 without any particular occasion, but would not be convenient 
 
240 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 to most people, or even desirable, if convenient. I am far from 
 objecting to a limited supply, even the most limited — that is, 
 one glass round ; but I do object to the period when it is usually 
 served, and to the uncertainty with which it is served. Where 
 it is handed round, and meant to be so only once, twice, or any 
 greater fixed number of times, to which limits there can be no 
 objection, the rule I would lay down is, that it should be handed 
 round after the first glass of sherry, and if more than once 
 without any other wine between, and that it should be contrived 
 to notify beforehand what the supply will be. It might be 
 thought rather awkward to make the communication. That, I 
 think, would depend on custom and tact. I am sure I should 
 have no hesitation in making it, and, at any rate, the awkward 
 effects often arising from uncertainty would be much greater. 
 What can exceed the awkwardness of two persons who are 
 going to take wine together, beating about the bush to get each 
 the other to propose champagne — a scene I have frequently 
 witnessed between the best-bred people ? What can exceed the 
 awkwardness of asking for it when there is no more, or of waiting 
 till a fresh supply is brought, contrary to the original intention. 
 All these awkwardnesses are the consequences of uncertainty, and 
 are much at variance with the ease which is essential to con- 
 viviality. An annunciation that there is champagne without 
 limit, or that it will be handed round once, or twice, or oftener, 
 saves these embarrassments. If it is placed upon the table, I 
 would make a similar annunciation, as indeed I always do, that 
 there is to be one bottle, two, or more, or at discretion. Then 
 people know what they are about, and are at their ease, for want 
 of which there is no compensation. By means of previous an- 
 nunciation even the entertainers of the old school, and the men 
 of state, might make their calculation available to a satisfactory 
 purpose. The advantages of giving champagne, with whatever 
 limit, at the beginning of dinner, are these : that it has the 
 greatest relish, that its exhilarating quality serves to start the 
 guests, after which they seldom flag, and that it disposes people 
 to take less of other wines after, which is a relative, and some- 
 times even an absolute, saving to the pocket of the host, and it 
 is undoubtedly a saving to the constitutions of his guests. With 
 wines, as with meats, serving the most delicate first diminishes 
 consumption — a desirable effect in all respects. I know that a 
 couple of glasses round of champagne at the beginning of dinner 
 will cause a less consumption, and with better effect, than the 
 same quantity, or more, at a later period ; and where there are 
 ladies, the portion they choose to take is most grateful to them 
 upon this plan, and often the only wine they wish to accept. At 
 the present price of champagne, if it is judiciously given, I laelieve 
 it is on many occasions little or no additional expense, and its 
 
ART OF DIXIAG. 241 
 
 effect is always contributive of exhilaration. By promoting ex- 
 hilaration it promotes digestion, and, by diminishing the con- 
 sumption of other and perhaps stronger wines, is consequently 
 favourable to health. No other wine produces an equal effect in 
 increasing the success of a party, and a judicious champagne 
 giver is sure to win the goodwill and respect even of those who 
 can command it at pleasure, because a great deal depends upon 
 the mode of dispensing it. If it is handed round often it should 
 not be handed round quick, at least after the second glass, but 
 at such intervals as the host points out. If it is placed upon the 
 table within every one's reach, his nicely regulating power is 
 requisite to give it sufficient, but to restrain over-circulation. As 
 the only anxiety of many who give parties regardless of expense 
 is that thev should go off well, I must repeat that they cannot fail 
 if there is a liberal supply of good champagne heartily given. Of 
 course there will be various degrees of success dependini; upon 
 various circumstances, but champagne can always turn the 
 balance to the favourable side, and heartiness in giving will 
 compensate for many defects in other particulars. I must here 
 add, that in little ylVl-j champctrcs champagne has great efficacy, 
 and is a specific against that want cf spirit that not unfrequently 
 occurs ; also on any convivial occasion where there is an absence 
 of something desirable in the way of comfort or convenience, or 
 where any disappointment has happened, champagne is the 
 most powerful auxiliary in remedying the omission and making 
 it forgotten. In short,' where champagne goes right nothing can 
 well go wrong. I think it quite a waste to produce it, unless it 
 is iced, or at least of the temperature of cold spring water, and 
 in hot weather its coldness is one of its most effective quaHties. 
 The less it is mixed with other wines the better it agrees with 
 any one, and the objectionable effects attributed to it are often 
 in reality the result of too much combination with other liquids. 
 Taken simply and in due quantity, I think there are few con- 
 stitutions to which it v,-ould not be beneficial, and I have fre- 
 quently seen invalids who I have thought would have been all 
 the better for an alterative course of it. 
 
 With respect to the kind of champagne to be preferred, that 
 depends. I think, upon the occasion. The kind I have been 
 alluding to throughout this article is the sparkhng. I know 
 many people affect to hold it in utter contempt in comparison 
 with' the still ; but I suspect not a few of them do so to show 
 their grandeur and their learning, rather than from their real 
 taste. Undoubtedly still champagne, generally speaking, is a 
 higher class of wme', and in a more perfect state than the spark- 
 ling ; but it is almost as difficult to compare the two, as it would 
 be to compare champagne w^th port. Still champagne is suit- 
 able to a grave party, talking over matters of state. But the 
 
242 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 sparklincr is much better adapted to give brilliancy and joyous- 
 ncss, and for that purpose I believe would be preferred by almost 
 everybody. Its very appearance is inspiring. In wines there 
 is about the same difference between these two, that in poetry 
 exists between " Paradise Lost" and the " Rape of the Lock." 
 When sparkling champagne is opened, the cork should not fly out 
 as from a bottle of soda-water. When it does, it marks that the 
 \vine is in too crude a state, and has not been sufficiently fer- 
 mented. I think its good qualities are the most effective, when 
 it is somewhat more active than merely creaming ; when it has 
 a certain liveliness, combined with flavour and coldness, which 
 makes it according to my taste delightfully grateful. I believe 
 I am now come to the end of the observations I had to make 
 upon the use of champagne. I will here supply a slight omission 
 in the proper place, on the subject of desserts. I have stated 
 that I was no great friend to them, but I must mention that the 
 most eligible mode I ever saw of serving them was by grouping 
 the fruit upon a low wooden plateau, which was placed in the 
 middle of the table. It was the least trouble in setting on, it 
 left the greatest space, and had the richest and most tasteful 
 appearance. I doubt whether after dinner is a proper time to 
 serve ice, that is, if dinners are arranged, as I have recommended 
 in a former number, according to the season. I am rather in- 
 clined to think that ice would be better alone, and later in the 
 evening. It certainly spoils the palate for a time for wine, and 
 is principally grateful, before the dessert, in counteracting the 
 heating and oppressive effects of overgrown repasts. 
 
 My next topic is the means of limiting dinners to small parties, 
 and the effect of such liinit on carrying on society in the most 
 convenient and agreeable manner. The apparent impediments 
 to small parties are large families and numerous acquaintance. 
 I shall here assume that small parties are the most desirable, if 
 attainable, and that the system I advocate of moderate repasts, 
 whether simple as to the number of dishes, or varied, and totally 
 free from state and ostentation, is the best. In such a system 
 the trouble of cooking and serving would be much less than in 
 the present mode of entertaining company, and the whole busi- 
 ness less complicated and anxious, and as far as acquaintance are 
 concerned, one party might be divided into two without any in- 
 crease of household care, but the reverse. If it is considered 
 necessary to have a numerous company on the same day, I should 
 think it advisable to divide them into two or more tables ; be- 
 cause, as it is impossible there should be a unity of party 
 at a table above a certain size, there is the best chance of it by 
 such divisions as may each secure a unity. By a unity I mean 
 where there is general conversation only, instead of particular or 
 partial. It is absurd to call that one party which is broken into 
 
ART OF DINING. 243 
 
 many, but which sits at one table. Sociabihty would be much 
 promoted by at once forming it into divisions at different tables, 
 i have heard of this being practised at ball-suppers with the 
 greatest success, and I do not see why there should not be equal 
 success at dinners. It is always to be borne in mind that setting 
 out a dinner-table is a far less operose business according to my 
 doctrines than according to prevailing custom, and that setting 
 out and serving two tables for eight persons each would not be 
 so much trouble as it now is to set out and serve one table for 
 sixteen ; whereas in the former case there would be two agree- 
 able parties, instead of one dull one in the latter. The same 
 principle applies most strongly where there is a large family. 
 Division of tables on occasion of entertaining company would 
 then in my opinion be particularly convenient and advantageous ; 
 and I should think that often dinners at different hours of the 
 day, according to the avocations or inclinations of a large family, 
 and their intimacies, would greatly promote its well-being. It 
 might suit some to dine at one hour and some at another, and to 
 entertain their particular friends in an easy way, with a reunion 
 of the whole in the evening, when numbers may meet advan- 
 tageously. A free, simple style of living would admit of this 
 without difficulty. Suppose, for instance, one part of a large 
 family dining at four o'clock, with or without any strangers, and 
 another at seven, according to their previous arrangements, and 
 all meeting in the drawing-room, or disposing of themselves 
 according to their different pursuits. One of the great advan- 
 tages of a simple, stateless style of living is that it admits of so 
 much liberty in various ways, and allows of many enjoyments, 
 which the cumbrous style totally prevents. I think it would be 
 the perfection of society if there were a constant current of small 
 dinner-parties for the purpose of enjoyment only, and a general 
 mixing up on easy terms in the evening, according to each 
 person's circle of acquaintance. I have heard people say that 
 they have tried to get evening society, according to the French 
 manner of droppers-in, but that they have never been able to 
 succeed. The truth is, that no individual, or small number of 
 individuals, will ever make such a plan succeed for long together. 
 It must be the general custom in order to have permanent and 
 complete success. I have frequented houses in that way at times, 
 but always found it more irksome than agreeable, aimply from 
 the uncertainty of finding the inmates at home, and the repeated 
 disappointments of finding them out. These objections would 
 vanish if the custom of receiving in an evening w^ere general, 
 because if one family was not at home, another would be, and 
 a person in search of society would be sure to find it somewhere, 
 instead of returning unsuccessful. It is an annoyance to prepare, 
 and make up one's mind, for society, and then not to meet with 
 
244 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 it. The temptation to remain at home is too strong to venture 
 upon a speculation, where there are so many chances against 
 success. But if any one had a number of acquaintances in the 
 same quarter, who received in an evening, an inchnation for 
 society might ahvays be gratified with sufficient certainty to 
 induce the attempt. Some visible sign, indicating whether they 
 received at any house on any given evening, or whether the 
 number was full, would save trouble to visitors, and would ensure 
 complete privacy, whenever desired, or society to the extent 
 desired, and not beyond. It would be a great improvement in the 
 world, and a great advantage to the rich, if they would spend 
 that portion of their means, which they dedicate to social inter- 
 course, in procuring real enjoyment for their visitants, rather 
 than in that state and display, f r which no reasonable person 
 cares, or which, it may be more truly said, every reasonable 
 person dislikes and despises. If, for instance, a rich man were to 
 give simply excellent dinners, and provide his guests with accom- 
 modation at places of public amusement, he would give them 
 more satisfaction than by inviting them to the most sumptuous 
 entertainments, and would most likely much increase his own 
 enjoyment. Such a practice would tend greatly to improve 
 public amusements, and would add to their interest by giving 
 brilliancy to the scene. There are many ways in which those 
 who have a command of means have opportunities of rendering 
 social intercourse with them peculiarly advantageous and in- 
 teresting to persons of smaller fortunes ; but as it is, in general, 
 the richer the host the duller the entertainment, principally 
 because expense is lavished in the wrong direction, without 
 taste, or invention, or rational end. 
 
 In order to make a dinner go off well a good deal often de- 
 pends upon the giver's mode of receiving his company. In the 
 first place, he should always be ready. He should receive cor- 
 dially, so as to let his guests feel inspired by an air of welcome, 
 and he should set them well off together by the introduction of 
 suitable topics. It is usually seen that the host receives his 
 guests almost as if they were strangers to him, and, after a word 
 or two, leaves them to manage for themselves as well as they 
 can, by wandering about or turning over books, or some resource 
 of that sort, if they happen not to be weli known to some of the 
 company ; and even persons who are in the habit of meeting 
 often seem to be actuated by a feeling of mutual reserve for want 
 of being well started by the host. It frequently requires some 
 time after the dinner has commenced to take off the chill of the 
 first assembling, and in respect to individuals it sometimes never 
 is taken off during the whole partv. During dinner it is expe- 
 dient for the head of the feast to keep his eye upon everything 
 around him, and not to occupy himself exclusively, as many do, 
 
PRIZE-FIGHTS. 245 
 
 with those immediately near, or, what is worse, to sink into fits 
 of abstraction or anxiety. The alacrity and general attention of 
 the host furnish the spring from which the guests usually take 
 their tone, and where they are not well known to e-ach other, it 
 is good to address each frequently by name, and to mention 
 subjects on which they have some common interest. There is 
 also much tact required in calling into play diffident or reserved 
 merit, and in preventing too much individual monopoly of con- 
 versation, however good. In order to have perfect success the 
 guests must be capable of being well mixed up together, and the 
 host must be capable of mixing them, which, unfortunately, few 
 are ; but many are much more capable than they appear to be, 
 if they would turn their attention to the subject. These latter 
 observations are more applicable to large parties than to small 
 ones, but they do apply to both. 
 
 I have now come to the conclusion of what occurs to me on 
 the subject of Aristology, or the art of dining and giving dinners, 
 which subject the reader will perceive I have treated in the most 
 familiar, and perhaps too careless a way. I have written off- 
 hand as matter suggested itself from the stores of experience. 
 I have always advanced what I thought to be right, without the 
 slightest fear of being sometimes wrong ; and I have given my- 
 self no thought as to exposure to ridicule or anything else. My 
 object is in this, as in every other subject on which I touch, to 
 set my readers to think in the right track, and to direct them in 
 their way as well as I can. I consider what I have said on the Art 
 of Dining to be a part of my observations on the Art of Health, 
 which subject I shall continue under the latter title in my next 
 number. 
 
 PRIZE-FIGHTS. 
 
 There was a time when pugilistic prize-fights had many advo- 
 cates, and some of high authority, as tending to promote 
 courage, manly feeling, and a love of fair-play. Having long 
 had a wish to judge with my own eyes of the effect of these 
 strictly national exhibitions, I availed myself of an opportunity 
 several years since to go to one, which promised all the advan- 
 tages of high patronage and first-rate bruisers. A field some- 
 w^here near Hounslow Heath was selected for the scene of action. 
 There was a great concourse of spectators from the highest ranks, 
 one of whom acted as timekeeper, down to the very lowest, and 
 every variety of equipage, from the barouche and four to the 
 donkey-cart. I could not help admiring the judgment and order 
 with which everything was managed. The inner ring was appro- 
 priated to the combatants and their seconds and bottle-holders, 
 and the outer to the principal patrons of " the fancy " and the 
 
246 772^^ ORIGINAL. 
 
 select, who were to lie down on the grass when the fight was 
 actually going on. Beyond them was a circle of persons on foot, 
 then the carriages, and, on the outside of all, the trees were 
 filled with spectators, so that the greatest possible number could 
 see without obstruction. When everything was arranged, and 
 the combatants were preparing, two magistrates, attended by 
 only a couple of constables, made their appearance, and entered 
 into a conference with the chief manager, during which there 
 was perfect peace, though a manifestation of great anxiety. The 
 conference ended in the magistrates and their officers retiring, 
 and then the manager gave a signal for dispersion, which was 
 instantly obeyed. Whatever disgrace boxing matches may be 
 thought to reflect on our national character, I thought this move- 
 ment a proud testimonial the other way, as being a stronger 
 instance than I could have conceived of prompt obedience to 
 the laws and of respect to authority ; and I do not believe the 
 like would have been exhibited in any other country in the world. 
 There was every motive to excite resistance. All had paid, and 
 rather dearly, for admission into the field ; they had had the 
 trouble of finding themselves situations, for which some had paid 
 a further sum ; there was great force on one side and compara- 
 tively none on the other ; there were some men who might think 
 themselves almost above control on such occasions, and others 
 at all times most ready to throw it off ; the illegality of such 
 assemblages was by no means universally admitted ; their ob- 
 ject had many defenders, and interference at that critical 
 moment had somewhat the appearance of being vexatious. Yet, 
 notwithstanding this combination of reasons, the motley multi- 
 tude departed as passively as if before an overwhelming force, 
 and indeed more so, for there was even no expression of dis- 
 approbation. I attribute this curious result to two causes : 
 first, in spite of his office, to the great personal respectability 
 and singular propriety of behaviour of the chief manager, or 
 commander-in-chief as he was technically called ; and secondly, 
 to that inborn habit of obedience to authority, which is one of 
 the most beneficial and admirable effects of our free institu- 
 tions. It is the true spirit of our citizen government, which 
 no neglect ever destroyed, and which can never be changed 
 for any other spirit except for a worse. This spirit, acted 
 upon by personal influence, exhibits government in its most 
 beautiful point of view, and it is a system which statesmen 
 ought especially to foster, though now unfortunately there is a 
 tendency in a different direction. 
 
 No sooner was the signal given than there was a general 
 break-up, which presented rather a remarkable appearance. 
 The heavier carriages crowded towards the gate, whilst horse 
 and foot, and many of the light vehicles, made their way 
 
PRIZE-FIGHTS. 247 
 
 through the hedges, and spread themseh'es over the country, to 
 re-unite, according to the directions given, as they could, in a 
 gravel-pit close to the Uxbridge Road. There no molestation 
 was offered. I admired the excessive care and delicacy with 
 which the combatants were prepared for action. Each second 
 knelt on his right knee, whilst the man whom he backed sat 
 upon his left thigh, apparently helpless, with his arm supported 
 on the second's shoulders, and lighter shoes were put on, and 
 every necessary act perforined in a manner that would have 
 done honour to the most accomplished ladies'-maid. When the 
 men were ready to set-to, I admired also their condition, their 
 courage, and their good-humour, as well as the intense attention 
 of the assembly. Whilst the fighting is apart, there is nothing 
 very revolting ; but the closing, with which each round generally 
 ends, and the falling together, sometimes over the rope which 
 forms the ring, is an exhibition of unmixed brutality and debase- 
 ment ; as indeed is the whole affair, as soon as the combatants 
 become exhausted in everything but their courage. They then 
 appear like drunken men, butchering one another, without much 
 consciousness of what they are doing ; and my conclusion, at 
 the end of the combat, which lasted almost an hour, was that 
 prize-fighting is a barbarous practice, altogether deserving the 
 fate it seems nearly to have met with. Whenever the men fell, 
 or were knocked down, they lay as if they were dead ; and they- 
 were raised, seated, their wounds sponged, lemon applied to 
 their lips, or a little wine given them, with the same care and 
 nicety which I have described to have been used in preparing 
 them for the combat. This extreme gentleness, contrasted with 
 the other parts of the scene, was very striking. The object is 
 to prevent the slightest waste of strength in making any exertion 
 which can be avoided ; and the expediency was apparent, when 
 the exhaustion became so great that a feather would almost 
 have turned the scale either way. As a specimen of some of the 
 component parts of the assembly, I have a lively recollection of 
 the following circumstance. Whilst preparations were making 
 for the fight, I took out a pocket-book, and placed it in a side 
 pocket by way of security. I saw I was observed by a sus- 
 picious-looking character, and soon after I was surrounded by 
 at least fifty men, who hustled me in such a manner as to make 
 my blood thrill with a sort of horrific sensation, though I had 
 nothing valuable to lose, and I knew I was in no danger of per- 
 sonal injury. Expecting an attack I made a vigorous resistance, 
 and got through without loss; but I took good care for the 
 remainder of the day not to expose myself again. This attrac- 
 tion together of depredators is one of the many evils of such 
 exhibitions ; for it is not to be supposed they will separate with- 
 out some detrimental consequences tc the public, either imme- 
 
248 THE ORIGINAL, 
 
 diate or in prospect ; besides, the nursery and sphere of prize- 
 fighting is one of gambling, profligacy, and crime. 
 
 If any one, bent on striving for mastery in a great career, 
 could bring himself to undergo an equally strict preparatory dis- 
 cipline with that which a prize-fighter undergoes, and should in 
 action husband in like manner his energies with reference to the 
 one point in view, what is it that human nature, especially some 
 natures, might not accomplish for their own glory, and the good 
 of mankind ? In all cases of strict training, it seems essential 
 that the person undergoing it should place himself under the 
 absolute control of another, as the infirmity of our nature is not 
 sufficiently proof against momentary impulses and temptations, 
 and one deviation, however slight, would most probably lead to 
 an indefinite backsliding. Buffon, the great naturalist, relates 
 that, being fond of his bed, he commissioned his confidential 
 servant to force him to rise every morning at a certain very 
 early hour, which injunction was so rigorously obeyed, that his 
 most earnest entreaties on many occasions to be allowed a re- 
 spite could never prevail. I believe, from experience, that two 
 persons are much more likely to succeed conjointly in any plan 
 of discipline than one alone. There is a cheerfulness and a 
 rivalry in such a combination, which are efficacious : and in 
 many respects there are two chances to one of regularity of 
 operations. For this reason I am inclined to think that two 
 young men, bent on worthy pursuits, would be most sure of 
 going steadily and cheerily on by forming their habits together ; 
 and this subject of intimacies is one deserving the utmost atten- 
 tion of parents in bringing up their children, whether male or 
 female. In bodily training, regard must be had to the object in 
 view. That which ciualities a pugilist is totally unfit in degree, 
 though perhaps not altogether in principle, for sedentary or 
 studious occupations. The late Charles Skinner Matthews, the 
 friend of Lord Byron, and celebrated by him, was distinguished 
 for extraordinary powers of mental application. He conceived 
 that he might be able to increase those powers to their greatest 
 possible extent by going through a process of training, which he 
 did, under the guidance of a well-known master of the art, to 
 whom I have already alluded in this article, and who vouched 
 to me for the truth of this statement. As study forms no part 
 of pugilistic training, but would be destructive of it, young 
 Matthews could form no idea of his growing aptitude or inapti- 
 tude in that respect till he made a trial. When he was told he 
 was in a complete state, he shut himself up, and formally set 
 forth his books. He then tried and tried to bring his mind to 
 bear, but utterly in vain ; and the experiment ended in his kick- 
 ing over his reading apparatus with great force, and sallying 
 forth in quest of some active adventure, for which alone he found 
 he had made himself fit. 
 
( 249 ) 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 It is the test of sound principles that they are received slowly, 
 and, when established, that they endure long. It is the test of 
 quackeiy that it is greedily listened to, quickly adopted, and 
 quickly laid aside. The cause is that sound principles appeal to 
 the reason, and false ones to the prejudices and narrow interests 
 of mankind ; and mankind are much more governed by pre- 
 judices and narrow interests than by reason. It is pity that 
 rulers do not take the more difficult but more honourable 
 course of bringing reason into play. It is a clear proof that 
 they are more intent on profiting by mankind than that mankind 
 should profit by them. Whenever one man is willing to serve 
 another at the expense of principle, it must be from one of two 
 reasons : either he cannot know what principle is, or he sacri- 
 fices it for some view of his own. 
 
 If we were not obliged to do anything, we should do nothing. 
 Our necessities start us, and habit and inclination keep us 
 going, some at one rate, some at another, some to one distance, 
 some to another. Our actual necessities teach us to create 
 artificial ones, and they urge us on with fresh and greater force, 
 till often the less we need the more we strive, and at last some 
 are found to reverse the order of things, and end by heaping up 
 superfluities at the expense of their necessities, as misers starve 
 themselves to death. Their necessities led them to acquire 
 superfluities, and their superfluities lead them to disregard their 
 necessities. They only are reasonable who never sacrifice the 
 end to the means, and are content with what may be termed the 
 necessary superfluities, that is, such superfluities as can minister 
 to their real enjoyment, and which are not purchased with more 
 labour than they are worth. It is true that, with many, acquisi- 
 tion becomes the enjoyment, and that, if they were to cease to 
 acquire, they would cease to enjoy, whether in wealth or power ; 
 but it is a spurious enjoyment, which argues only a grovelling or 
 grasping habit, unfitting declining years, which should be dedi- 
 cated to other objects of contemplation. 
 
250 
 
 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. XXIII. ^Vednesday, Oct. 21, 1835. 
 
 PRISON DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Prison discipline, like many other subjects which occupy public 
 attention, is not worth the time and expense which are bestowed 
 upon it. After the repeated experiments that have been made 
 to reform criminals in prisons, and the signal want of success, I 
 should think the hope must by this time be given up even by 
 the most sanguine. I believe that after the immense expense 
 that has beenlavished upon the attempt, the instances of reform 
 really attributable to the system, do not amount to one in five 
 hundred ; and if it is calculated how many might have been 
 saved from a prison at all by the application of the same means 
 to the purposes of good government, it must be concluded that 
 prison discipline with a view to reform is a great deal worse 
 than useless. But it is bad in another point of view. The sole 
 end of imprisonment ought to be punishment, in order to deter 
 from crime, and punishment by a separation from the world and 
 all its advantages ; and the greater the contrast, the greater will 
 be the punishment. Now in the reform system, however strict 
 the discipline is professed to be, there is necessarily a degree of 
 attention and indulgence which much mitigates the pains of 
 imprisonment, and causes the criminal to quit his confinement 
 with any feeling but of that dread which ought to operate as a 
 lesson to himself and a warning to others. To the neglected 
 wretches, who form the bulk of prisoners, a reform prison offers 
 no terrors. They do not like confinement and regularity, but 
 then they find so many sets- off in the attentions they meet with, 
 and the comforts provided for them— that is, comforts compared 
 with their frequent privations — and their physical state becomes 
 so much improved, that when they come again into the world, 
 their retrospect is far from one of unmixed repugnance to a 
 prison life ; and if they return, as they generally do, to their 
 vicious courses, the sufferings they bring upon themselves must 
 make them frequently almost sigh after a renewal of restraint. 
 It often occurs to me, when I am committing disorderlies to 
 prison for short periods, that to many of them the prospect of 
 control is not altogether disagreeable ; and if we reflect what 
 sufferings they must entail upon themselves by their gross 
 irregularities, it is not to be wondered that it should be so. I 
 consider, then, all attempts at reform within the walls of a prison 
 as misplaced, and as contrary to and defeating the true end of 
 imprisonment, which should present a striking contrast to a 
 state of liberty and its enjoyments. The second object of prison 
 
( 257 ) 
 
 EQUALITY OF STYLE. 
 
 I WAS once passing some time alone with a bachelor friend of 
 mine at his country-house. After dinner he always drank claret, 
 being the wine he preferred. On one occasion he had a large 
 party of the neighbouring gentry to dine with him, and the follow- 
 ing day, when claret was produced as usual, he asked me if I 
 had not thought it strange that he had not set any before his 
 guests. On my answering that I had certainly observed the 
 fact, he informed me it would have been his wish to have done 
 so, and that formerly it had been his practice on such occasions, 
 but that he had thought right to discontinue it, because among 
 the party there were some who had families to provide for from 
 means inferior to his own, but who, he had learned from observa- 
 tion, scrupulously made a point of entertaining him as he had 
 entertained them, though he knew it was neither convenient to 
 them, nor in accordance with their usual style. Of course I 
 approved of his consideration. Here was a case of a gentleman 
 being restrained in his hospitality, and himself and his friends 
 curtailed in their enjoyment, from a most absurd, though very 
 common, species of pride. In bringing my experience to bear 
 upon this subject, it seems to me that pride of this kind is alto- 
 gether confined to those who have lived in a contracted circle, 
 whether as to space, or as to the different classes of society. I 
 cannot call to mind any instances of those who have mixed 
 much with the world being at all infected with it, whereas the 
 high-minded and the liberal on other points are often weak on 
 this, unless they have had their ideas enlarged by varied social 
 intercourse, which teaches men more than anything else the true 
 value of things, and leads them not to attach importance to 
 matters of no importance. The fundamental cause of this foohsh 
 pride I take to be a jealousy of superiority in wealth, from an 
 over-estimate of its value as compared with other things, though 
 the feeling is attempted to be disguised with the greatest possible 
 care ; as a man of slender means, who piques himself upon his 
 birth, has the greatest horror of being entertained by a wealthy 
 upstart better than he can make a return, at the same time pro- 
 fessing to hold wealth in the utmost contempt. This is a manifest 
 contradiction ; but even in this inveterate case, a want of know- 
 ledge of the world is a necessary ingredient. Poor men of good 
 birth are often excluded from mixed society by their own folly, 
 and by other causes ; but where they are men of the world, they 
 are generally among the most ready to partake of its good things 
 without troubling themselves overmuch about the return ; and I 
 never knew one of such who was foolish enough to be restrained 
 in his intercourse by notions of strict reciprocity. People who 
 
 I 
 
2S8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 are confined to a small neighbourhood, or who never mix but 
 with one class, are almost always strongly infected with this 
 pride. It does not prevail much amongst persons of very dif- 
 ferent stations, but chiefly among those who are nearly on an 
 equality, and who are most subject to jealousy of one another. 
 To those who are above it, it appears truly ridiculous. It has 
 this inconvenience, that it prevents free intercourse between 
 neighbours who have a different command of pecuniary means, 
 upon those terms which would be most advantageous to them 
 both ; for not only does it require that the style of entertainments 
 should be the same on both sides, but that the number should 
 be balanced. No one thinks of requiring an equality of sense, 
 or wit, or learning, and why should the rule be different with 
 respect to dishes or wines, except from a vulgar-minded feeling 
 that money is more estimable than those qualities 1 The ob- 
 servance of equality of style is not always the result of pride, but 
 often of an idea that it will be expected, or that without it there 
 will be some dissatisfaction ; but the sensible mode of proceeding 
 is, for all to keep regularly to that style which best suits their 
 means, and then intercourse will find its true level. If the man 
 of luxurious style seeks the society of his neighbour of simple 
 style, it is because he finds some equivalent, and it is a loss to 
 both that pride should bar their intercourse. The truth is, that 
 the party who has the most limited means, often stands on the 
 highest grounds, because the difference is made up by something 
 superior to wealth. So far as equality of style prevails in London 
 society, it may be said, in general, to be the result rather of 
 slavery to fashion than of pride, and often of fear of causing 
 disappointment. I have heretofore touched upon what I conceive 
 to be its disadvantages. It is pity that with the e ijoyment of 
 more political liberty than any other nation, we snould make 
 ourselves the slaves of so many absurd customs and fashions, 
 and that, with courage enough against a foreign enemy, we 
 should display such cowardice at home. It is to be hoped that 
 in time we shall be able to do as we please, domestically as well 
 as politically, provided we cause no inconvenience to others. At 
 present, with a great deal that is reasonable, we live under a 
 combination of restraints. 
 
 SAYINGS. 
 
 In order to enjoy the present it is necessary to be intent on the 
 present. To be doing one thing, and thinking of another, is a 
 very unsatisfactory mode of spending life. Some people are 
 always wishing themselves somewhere but where they are, or 
 thinking of something else than what they are doing, or of 
 somebody else than to whom they are speaking. This is the 
 way to enjoy nothing, to do nothing well, and to please nobody. 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 259 
 
 It is better to be interested with inferior persons and inferior 
 things than to be indifferent with the best. A principal cause 
 of this indifference is the adoption of other people's tastes instead 
 of the cultivation of our own — the pursuit after that for which we 
 are not fitted, and to which consequently we are not in reality 
 inclined. This folly pervades, more or less, all classes, and 
 arises from the error of building our enjoyment on the false 
 foundation of the world's opinion, instead of being, with due 
 regard to others, each our own world. The hunters after the 
 world's opinion lose themseh^es in diffusion of society and pur- 
 suits, and do not care for what they are doing, but for what 
 will be thought of what they are doing ; whereas, compactness 
 and independence are absolute essentials to happiness, and com- 
 pactness and independence are precisely the two things which 
 the generality of mankind most of all neglect, or even frequently 
 study to destroy. 
 
 Temperance makes the faculties clear, and exercise makes 
 them vigorous ; it is temperance and exercise united that can 
 alone ensure the fittest state for mental or bodily exertion. 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 (continued). 
 
 Having finished what I had to say on the subject of dinners, 
 which I consider as an essential part of my articles on health, 
 I proceed to the few remaining topics I mean to touch upon. 
 The first I shall take is exercise. Upon this depends vigour of 
 body ; and if the mind can be vigorous without, it can be much 
 more so with it. The efficacy of exercise depends upon the 
 time, the quantity, and the manner. The most invigorating 
 time, I should say from experience, is decidedly that during the 
 freshness of the morning air, and before breakfast, but this will 
 not do for invahds or persons of very weak constitutions, though 
 many underrate their own powers, and think that that is weak- 
 ness' which is only the effect of habit. They should tr>' their 
 strength by degrees, taking moderate doses of exercise at first, 
 and after a small quantity of food, or, what I have before re- 
 commended, a few drops of the spirit of lavender on a lump of 
 sugar, ihe efficacy of which in preventing faintness or a dis- 
 tressing craving is great. A few drops of lavender and a short 
 walk or gentle ride on a fine morning will give a real appetite 
 to beginners, which may tempt them to persevere till they can 
 perform with ease and pleasure what would have distressed them 
 exceedingly, or been wholly impracticable, in the first instance. 
 I always obser\-e that being well braced by morning exercise 
 produces an effect that lasts the whole day, and it gi\es a bloom 
 to the countenance and causes a general glow which exercise at, 
 
 I 2 
 
26o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 no other time can. I have heretofore spoken at large of taking 
 exercise with reference to meals, both before and after. As to 
 the other parts of the clay besides morning, the time most fit 
 for exercise must depend greatly upon the season. In the depth 
 of winter it is good to catch as much sun as possible, and in the 
 heat of summer to pursue the opposite course. The coldest 
 parts of the day, as a rule, are just before sunrise and sunset, 
 especially the former, and I believe they are the most unwhole- 
 some to take exercise in. The French, who observe rules 
 respecting health more strictly than we do, are particularly 
 cautious about sunset, on account of the vapour which usually 
 rises at that time, and which they call le serein. The morning 
 air just before sunrise is often, even in warm weather, dreadfully 
 chilly and raw, but there is no great danger of people in general 
 exposing themselves to it. It is different at sunset, and it is 
 then well to be on one's guard, especially if there is any feeling 
 of damp, and particular care should be taken not to rest after 
 exercise, or do anything to check perspiration at that time, from 
 which the most dangerous and often fatal maladies originate. 
 Though I think the fresh morning air is the most invigorating 
 in its effects, there is no period when I have felt actually so much 
 alacrity and energy as when taking exercise, either on foot or 
 horseback, at the dead of night, provided the night is clear and 
 dry, and most especially during a fine frost. The body and mind 
 seemi to me to be more in unison under such circumstances than 
 at any other time ; and I suppose from such effects that exercise 
 must then be wholesome, but I think it should be after a generous 
 meal taken some time before. I have mentioned this effect of 
 the night air in a former number, when speaking of digestion. 
 Persons of different constitutions must judge for themselves at 
 what periods of the day exercise best suits them, but taking 
 care, I must repeat, not to confound the nature of the constitu- 
 tion with the force of habit. The best tests that they are right 
 will be keenness of appetite, lightness of digestion, and conse- 
 ciuent buoyancy of spirits. Want of space compels me to break 
 off till my next number. 
 
 No. XXIV. V/ednesday, Oct. 28, 1835. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 Liberty is a super-excellent thing, ver\' much talked about, 
 and very little understood, generally least of all by those who 
 make the most noise about it ; indeed, I should say it is an 
 unerring rule that a noisv advocate for liberty is never a sincere 
 
LIBERTY. 261 
 
 one. Noise comes of ignorance, interest, or passion ; but the 
 true love of liberty dwells only in the bosoms of the pure a'nd 
 reasonable. 
 
 License they mean, when they cry Hberty ; 
 
 I'or who loves that, must first be wise and good. 
 
 The vital maxim of the worshippers of liberty is the Christian 
 one : Let us do unto others as we would they should do unto 
 us ; all else who profess their devotion, are tyrants in disguise, 
 which disguise they throw off the moment they attain the power 
 against which they have been exclaiming. The essence of 
 liberty is division and order, and its preserving principle, self- 
 government. In proportion as this combination is perfect, the 
 state of liberty will be perfect. The ignorant cannot keep this 
 in view, and the designing will not ; in consequence of which, 
 instead of the re-adaptation of sound principles as circumstances 
 require, they are frequently abandoned, and expedients of a 
 contrary tendency introduced, sometimes with specious effect in 
 the first instance, but with certain evil eventually. The present 
 times are peculiarly illustrative of this, in the desire manifested to 
 adopt the centralization, and ochlocratic or mob principles The 
 centralization principle is the e.xact opposite of the principle of 
 division, under which last the nation grew to be what it is ; and 
 its increase requires a re-adaptation to continue its glory, instead 
 of an abandonment to destroy it. The ochlocratic or mob prin- 
 ciple, though it may appear to be founded on the principle 
 of self-government, is virtually the reverse, and for this reason, 
 that its tendency is to throw the management of affairs into the 
 hands of a few, and those the most unworthy ; whilst apathy 
 and disgust keep the best as much aloof as if they were by law 
 excluded from interference. This is an inevitable result in the 
 long run. It is witnessed continually in ochlocratically organized 
 parishes and corporations, and has, from the first, been visible 
 in different degrees in the new overgrown parliamentary con- 
 stituencies. The excitement of the moment is producing a 
 partial activity, but which is factitious, and not essential. The 
 cumbrous machines will only be towed into action by party 
 steamers, in the shape of clubs and associations, and, in ordinary 
 times, will be completely water-logged, while corruption and 
 misrule will gradually creep in undisturbed. It will require far 
 more statesman-like contrivances to draw men from their 
 business, their pleasure, and their ease, and induce them suffi- 
 ciently to interest themselves in public affxirs, to keep pubhc 
 aftairs in their proper course. The spirit of party will not accom- 
 plish this. 
 
 Zealots in liberty are apt to suppose that it consists entirely 
 in independence of all government ; that is, that the less power 
 is lodged with Government, the more freedom is left to the 
 
262 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 citizens. But the most perfect state of liberty consists in the 
 most complete security of person and property, not only from 
 Government, but from individuals ; and in this point of view, I 
 apprehend, liberty is enjoyed to far greater extent in England 
 than in any other country in the world. In this point of view, 
 honesty and peaceable behaviour are essential to the enjoyment 
 of liberty. Robbery, fraud, assassination, murder, assault, even 
 exposure to duels, are all destructive of a state of liberty ; and, 
 taking exemption from these evils, as well as from any arbitrary 
 interference on the part of Government, I cannot doubt but that 
 the balance is greatly in our favour, though v/e have great room 
 for improvement. If in any other country there is greater security 
 from individual invasion of person or property, it is enjoyed at 
 an annoying and dangerous sacrifice of public liberty, for which 
 there can be no compensation. Besides, as in despotic countries 
 there is no publicity as there is in this, it is doubtful whether 
 appearances are not often contrary to the reality. For instance, 
 it has latterly been discovered, contrary to all former supposition, 
 that there are more suicides, in proportion to population, in Paris 
 than in London ; and 1 will add, though it has nothing to do 
 with my subject, that there are more in London in July than in 
 November, which is contrary to all former supposition also. 
 Whether a man has his pocket picked by a sharper, or by an 
 oppressive impost ; whether his plate or jewels are seized by an 
 order of Government, or are carried away by a housebreaker ; 
 whether his estate is cleared of its game by the king's purveyor, 
 or by a gang of poachers ; or whether he is confined to his house 
 after a certain hour by a regulation of police, or by the fear of 
 being robbed or murdered — in neither predicament can he be 
 said to enjoy perfect liberty, which consists in security of person 
 and property, without molestation or restraint, provided there is 
 no molestation or restraint of others. To attain this liberty 
 strong Government is necessary, but strong without being vexa- 
 tious, and the only form is that which, in the true spirit of our 
 constitution, consists of a simple supreme Government, presiding 
 over and keeping duly organized a scale of self-governments 
 below it. It is by moral iniluence alone that liberty, as I have 
 just defined it, can be secured, and it is only in self-governments 
 that the proper moral influence exists. In proportion as the 
 supreme Government takes upon itself the control of local affairs, 
 apathy, feebleness, and corruption will creep in, and our in- 
 creasing wealth, which should prove a blessing, will only hasten 
 our ruin. I refer those who interest themselves in this subject, 
 to the article on the Principles of Government in my first num- 
 ber, and to my different articles on Parochial Government. I 
 intend, ere long, to consider the forms of government most 
 applicable to towns and counties. 
 
( 263 ) 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 
 {contmiied). 
 
 Having treated in my last number of the times for taking 
 exercise, I proceed to the consideration of the proper quantit)\ 
 The quantity of exercise desirable depends upon constitution, 
 time of life, occupation, season, and kind and degree. I am 
 unable to say with precision what kinds of constitution require 
 the most exercise. Persons in health, of compact or light frame, 
 seem the best adapted to take a great deal with benefit to them- 
 selves. Weakly and heavy people are generally distressed by 
 much exertion ; but then it is difficult to distinguish what is the 
 effect of habit, and what of natural constitution. Those who 
 appear to be weak, often make themselves strong by a judicious 
 course of management, and the hea\-y frequently improve as- 
 tonishingly in activity by good training. One thing may be 
 taken as certain, and that is, that it is wise to go on by degrees, 
 and to increase the quantity of exercise as it is" found to be bene- 
 ficial, the best tests of which are keenness of appetite and 
 soundness of sleep. Over-exercise ought always to be avoided ; 
 but that often depends more upon the manner than the quantity. 
 The same quantity may distress, or benefit, as it is taken judici- 
 ously or the contrary. Condition also makes an immense differ- 
 ence in the same person. I remember, when I entered Switzer- 
 land after the full living of Germany, I was as different from 
 what I was when I left it as lead from feathers. In the first 
 case, the ascent of an ordinary hill distressed me, and at last I 
 enjoyed a buoyancy which seemed quite insensible to fatigue. 
 Females appear to require a much less quantity of exercise than 
 men ; and it ought to be gentle and agreeable, instead of violent 
 or long continued. With them, also, much depends upon cir- 
 cumstances ; and, in Switzerland, delicate women can take as 
 much exercise without inconvenience as would distress the 
 strongest of the sex in less invigorating countries. With respect 
 to time of life, the most vigorous periods of course demand the 
 most exercise ; but habit has always a great effect, and it is 
 expedient not to relax from indolence instead of inability. As 
 decay comes on, exercise should become moderate and of short 
 continuance at a time, and should be taken during the most 
 genial periods of the day. Active occupations either altogether 
 supersede, or diminish the necessity of exercise, for exercise 
 sake ; but sedentary or confined employments require a regular 
 course, in order to ensure anything like permanent good health, 
 and the better the air, the more efficacious will be the exercise. 
 As to seasons, in hot weather the least exercise seems necessary, 
 and that of a gentle kind ; in a moderate temperature, the most 
 
264 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 may be taken with advantage ; and when it is cold, exercise 
 should be brisk, and then, from its bracing quality, a little goes 
 a great way. Quantity of exercise depends very greatly upon 
 kind and degree. That which moderately increases the circula- 
 tion of the blood, so as to cause a glov/ on this side perspiration, 
 the soonest suffices. Walking or riding at a brisk pace in a 
 bracing air, or not over-strained exertion in some game, which 
 agreeably occupies the mind, will soon produce a sufficient 
 effect. Where the mind is not engaged, much more exercise is 
 required than where it is ; and a small quantity of \iolent exer- 
 cise is not so beneficial as a greater quantity of moderate. On 
 the other hand, a greater quantity of sluggish exertion does not 
 possess the efficacy of a smaller cjuantity of an animating kind. 
 Less of varied exertion, which brings the different muscles into 
 play, will suffice, than of exertion all of the same kind. As 
 walking over hill and dale promotes circulation more than 
 walking over a flat surface, and different paces in riaing are 
 better than a uniform one. Unless exercise produces a glow, it 
 falls short of its proper effect, and it will do this in the shortest 
 time, when it is moderate, varied, and pleasing, and in an invigo- 
 rating atmosphere. Violent exercise produces temporary 
 strength, but with a wear-and-tear of the constitution, and it 
 often induces a tendency to disease, besides the danger of bodily 
 injury from many causes. 
 
 As to manner of exercising, there is every degree from the 
 easiest carriage to the roughest horse. Carriage exercise is of a 
 very inferior kind in an invigorating point of view, and to the 
 robust is scarcely exercise at all ; but to others it is very bene- 
 ficial, though perhaps rather in the way of taking air than taking 
 exercise, and it has the effect of diverting the mind. To this 
 end it is most efficacious amidst new scenes. The most effec- 
 tive mode of all of taking exercise is, I believe, on horseback, 
 and if it will not put those who can bear it into high health, I 
 think nothing else will. For effect on the health and spirits I 
 know nothing like a brisk ride on a good horse, through a plea- 
 sant country, with an agreeable companion, on a beautiful day. 
 The exercise is thoroughly efficient, without either labour or 
 fatigue, the mind is entirely in unison with the body, and the 
 constant current of pure air produces the most vigorous tone. I 
 have frequently heard of journeys on horseback restoring health 
 when everything else has failed. A solitary ride on an unwill- 
 ing horse, over well-known ground, for the mere sake of the ride, 
 produces, comparatively speaking, very little benefit ; and care 
 should be taken to make this kind of exercise, as well as every 
 other, as attractive as possible. Exercise on foot has many 
 advantages. It is the most independent mode, is within every- 
 body's reach, is the least trouble, and can be taken when other 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 265 
 
 modes are not practicable, and is very efficacious. The feeling 
 of independence is by no means the least of its advantages, and 
 those who have the free use of their limbs, have no occasion to 
 envy their superiors in wealth their command of carriages and 
 horses, about which there are constant drawbacks. Although I 
 delight in a horse at times, yet 1 often think that, on the whole, 
 the balance is against him on the score of freedom and indepen- 
 dence. I have made many journeys on foot, and I do not know 
 that, with good management, there is any mode of travelling 
 which is capable of so much enjoyment with so little alloy. 
 Horse exercise on particular occasions is certainly the most 
 animating and delightful, but at other times it is attended with 
 greater inconveniences. Exercise on foot derives much of its 
 efficacy from being made attractive. A walk for a walk's sake is 
 only half beneficial, and, if possible, there should be some object 
 in view, something to engage and satisfy the mind. Exercise in 
 games, dancing, fencing, and such accomplishments, derive a 
 great deal of their benefit from the pleasure taken in them ; and 
 in contested games, care should be taken to avoid anxiety and 
 over-ardent exertion. There is a middle state of the mind 
 between indifference and too much eagerness, which is the most 
 favourable to health ; as there is a middle circulation of the 
 blood between languor and a state of fever. In taking exercise 
 this rule should always be observed— to begin and end gently. 
 Beginning .violently hurries the circulation, and ending violently 
 is very apt to induce colds and fever, and, besides, causes a 
 stiffness in the joints and muscles. The blood should have time 
 gradually to resume its ordinary current, or it has a tendency to 
 settle in the small vessels, which is a cause of great incon- 
 venience. Cooling gradually will prevent this. 
 
 The next thing I have to consider is sleep, upon the quantity 
 and c[uality of which health mainly depends. I believe the 
 general custom is to take too much sleep. What quantity is 
 really necessary must depend upon various constitutions, and 
 various circumstances in the same constitution ; but the rule is, 
 as I think, that we should have one sound sleep, from which we 
 should wake perfectly refreshed, without any heavy or drowsy 
 sensation or any wish to fall asleep again. The length of this 
 sleep will depend upon way of living, quantity of exertion, mental 
 or bodily, state of the atmosphere, and other causes ; but still 
 the one sound sleep is the true measure. Falling short of this, 
 or exceeding it, are both prejudicial. The first produces fever, 
 the second languor. Our energy depends in a very great degree 
 upon taking no more than the due quantity of sleep. In order 
 to ensure its quality, we should lie down free from care, and have 
 no anxiety about waking, which is destructive of perfect sound- 
 ness. -Our waking should be entirely voluntary, the result of 
 
266 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the complete restoration of the powers. The quality of sleep 
 depends upon attention to diet, exercise, and state of the mind, and 
 in a great measure upon going to bed in a prop-erly prepared state, 
 neither feverish nor chilly, neither hungry nor overloaded, but in 
 an agreeable composure and state of satisfaction of both body 
 and mind. It is better to retire to rest from society than from 
 solitude, and from cheerful relaxation than from immediate 
 labour and study. The practice, which some people have, of 
 sitting the fire out, and going to bed starved, with their mind 
 fatigued with study, is the reverse of what is expedient ; and 
 sleep u^der such circumstances is of a very unsatisfactory nature. 
 It is rather productive of what Milton calls unrest than rest. 
 Sleep, to enjoy it perfectly, requires observation and attention, 
 and all who wish for high health will do well to keep the subject 
 in their minds, because upon themselves chiefly depends the 
 attainment of this, one of the greatest blessings of life. I think 
 I shall certainly finish the subject of health in my next number. 
 
 ROASTED APPLES. 
 
 Some foreigner said rather wittily that we have no ripe fruit 
 in England but roasted apples. As the season for ripening after 
 this fashion is not far off, I oiier a greatly improved mode, which 
 was brought from Paris, and which, when well managed, makes 
 rather a rich dish of rather an insipid one. Select the largest 
 apples ; scoop out the core, without cutting quite through ; fill 
 the hollow with butter and fine soft sugar, let them roast in a 
 slow oven, and serve them up with the syrup. 
 
 As I am on the subject of receipts, I will give another, which 
 is also applicable to the season. It is a receipt for a salad, 
 which I have seen at a few houses, but I think it deserves to be 
 much inore common. 
 
 Boil one or two large onions, till soft and perfectly mild. 
 When cold, mix the onion with celen-, and sliced beetroot, 
 roasted in the oven, which has more flavour than when boiled. 
 Dress this salad with oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper. The onion 
 and beetroot are very good without celeiy. Roast beef with 
 this salad and potatoes browned in the dripping-pan, or in the 
 oven, is a dish to delight the constitution of an Englishman in 
 the winter months. 
 
 The best lettuce salads I know are dressed by my friend Dr. 
 Forbes, of Argyle Street, who is a proficient in aristology. His 
 receipt is as follows : 
 
 Take the finest lettuces you can get ; strip off the leaves with 
 the hand, using only those which are well blanched. Put them 
 into the bowl whole, and, if wet, wipe each with a napkin. Put 
 
HOT WATER. 267 
 
 a sufficient quantity of salt and pepper into the salad spoon, 
 and mix them with a little tarragon vinegar. Throw the mixture 
 over the lettuce, and add vinegar and oil in the proportion of 
 rather more than two spoonfuls of oil to one of vinegar. Stir 
 the salad very well. It is best when not prepared till it is 
 wanted. But if that is not convenient it should be kept in a 
 cold place, or the lettuce loses its crispness. It is only by ex- 
 perience that the proper quantities of the ingredients for dressing 
 can be accurately measured, but there should be great liberality 
 of oil, and the quantity of vinegar depends in a great degree 
 upon its sourness. This mode of dressing applies equally to 
 my first receipt, with the exception, I think, of the tarragon. 
 
 HOT WATER. 
 
 Having said much about wine, I will not omit all praise of hot 
 water, the efficacy of which on many occasions in life is very 
 great, and cannot be too generally known. I will begin with a 
 remarl.able cure effected by it on myself. Many years ago, 
 when I was labouring under what I supposed to be an attack of 
 common sore throat, I rode some miles on horseback, with a 
 north wind in my face. I then got into the mail, and travelled 
 nearly two hundred miles, and at the end of my journey I could 
 scarcely speak or swallow. In the morning I was still worse, 
 and on attempting to force down a little coftee, I found it utterly 
 impossible. In this extremity, a physician, now among the most 
 eminent of his profession, called upon me partly through acci- 
 dent. He told me I had got a very bad quinsy, and he imme- 
 diately ordered a kettle of hot w-ater, recommending me to gargle 
 with it as hot as I could bear, and continually. As we were on 
 intimate terms, and he was then only commencing practice, he 
 remained with me two or three hours to enforce his prescription. 
 I found so much benefit, that after he was gone I persevered till 
 night, at which time I was enabled to take food without diffi- 
 culty, and in the morning there was no trace whatever of the 
 attack, nor have I ever experienced another, though I was told 
 it would most probably be the case. The medicine ordered me 
 I did not taste, and the sole glorj- of my rapid and complete 
 cure is due to the hot water. I have never had even a common 
 sore throat since, or I should certainly try the same remedy, 
 though I never heard of its being so applied. In bruises I have 
 found hot water most efficacious, both by means of insertion and 
 fomentation in removing pain, and totally preventing discolora- 
 tion and stiffness. It has the same effect after a blow. It should 
 be applied as quickly as possible, and as hot as it can be borne. 
 Very cold water applied immediately will produce the same 
 
268 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 effect, though for a different reason. I was told the other day, 
 by very high authority, that insertion in hot water will cure that 
 troublesome and very painful thing called a whitlow. The 
 efficacy of hot water in preventing the ill effects of fatigue is too 
 well known to require notice. I should think where water 
 cannot be procured, that in the case of a bruise or a blow, im- 
 mediate and continued friction with the hand would partly 
 answer the purpose by keeping up the action of the vessels. I 
 infer this particularly, because I once avoided any inconvenience 
 from a very severe bruise by keeping myself in vigorous action. 
 As I was crossing Smithfield one evening at a quick pace on 
 my way to my office, I ran against a bar, and struck myself a 
 little above the knees with such violence as to make me stagger. 
 The pain was very great, but as I had no time to lose, and there 
 was no vehicle at hand, I hurried on, at tirst with much difficulty, 
 but by degress more easily. The distance is about two miles, 
 and, on my arrival, all sensation of pain was gone, nor was there 
 afterwards either stiffness or discoloration. If I had not kept 
 in action, I am sure I should have felt the effects of the blow 
 for a very long time. 
 
 It may be useful to some people to be informed that sealing- 
 wax dropped upon the hand will cause no injury beyond mo- 
 mentary pain, if it is suffered to remain till quite cold. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 In training youth, care should be taken from the first not only 
 to instil into their minds a desire for excelhng in those things 
 which are worthy of excellence, but they should be taught to 
 hold in contempt what is useless and prejudicial. Strength 
 is excellent, but the waste of strength is folly. To be equal 
 to every occasion is glorious, but to do more than the occasion 
 requires is vainglorious. Men are taught to pique themselves 
 upon excess instead of upon economy in their resources, 
 and the ^•anity of parents leads them to encourage their children 
 in that prodigality of effort which is sure to be followed by 
 regret. In fasting and in feasting, in exercise and in amuse- 
 ment, we are not content to observe the happy medium, but 
 strive to distinguish ourselves by overstepping the bounds of 
 reason. In what is useful we introduce abuse, and in what is 
 pernicious we exceed our inclinations, merely for the sake of 
 boasting. Men ride, and drink, and fast unreasonably, solely to 
 say that they have done so, and indulge in extravagance and 
 profligacy, and vice and frivolity, only for the name. If youth 
 were taught to glorj' in health and prudence, and all their con- 
 sequences, and to be ashamed of the opposites, their habits 
 
SUPPERS. 269 
 
 would be as easily formed to what is profitable and becoming, 
 as to the reverse. Fashion is all. To suffer real inconvenience 
 from useless, or worse than useless, feats, for the empty pleasure 
 of talking- of them, is barbarous folly, to which sound training- 
 would make men superior. What a perversion is it to glory in 
 riding or walking long distances, without rest or refreshment, in 
 drinking several bottles of wine at a sitting, or in slaughtering 
 game by heaps ! The true glory is to use a good constitution 
 well, and for worthy ends. In my foolish days I have been 
 footsore for a fortnight from toiling at one start over that 
 distance, which now, by good management, I should perform 
 with ease and benefit. I once set out with a friend of mine to 
 walk thirty miles. He was quite unused to that mode of travel- 
 ling, and besides at starting found himself not altogether well. 
 From consideration for him I was obliged to be very careful, 
 much more so than I should have been if alone. We set off 
 gently, and at the end of four miles breakfasted, after which he 
 quite recovered. At the end of eleven miles further we had 
 mutton-chops and spiced ale, both in moderation. My com- 
 panion was so fresh at the end of his journey that he ran over 
 Waterloo Bridge, and we both went out to parties the same 
 evening, as if we had only taken a walk in the Park. I have 
 performed the same distance more than once at one start, but 
 never without inconvenience for some time after. It is not 
 calculable what may be accomplished in everything in life, as 
 well as in walking by moderate beginnings and judicious perse- 
 verance. It is the great secret of success. 
 
 SUPPERS. 
 
 I DO not know how I came to dismiss the subject of the art of 
 dining without saying a few words in favour of that agreeable 
 but now neglecced meal, supper. The two repasts used to hold 
 divided empire, but dinners have in later years obtained all but 
 an exclusive monopoly, to the decay, I am afraid, of wit, and 
 brilliancy, and ease. Supper has been in all times the meal 
 peculiarly consecrated to mental enjoyment, and it is not pos- 
 sible that any other meal should be so well adapted to that 
 object. Dinner may be considered the meal of the body, and 
 supper that of the mind. The first has for its proper object the 
 maintenance, or restoration, of the corporeal powers ; the second 
 is intended, in the hours of relaxation from the cares and business 
 of the day, to light up and invigorate the mind. It comes after 
 everything else is over, and all distraction and interruption have 
 ceased, as a pleasing prelude and preparation for tlie hour of 
 rest, and has a tendency to fill the mind with agreeable images 
 
270 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 as the last impressions of tlie day. Compared with dinner, it is 
 in its nature light, and free from state. Dinner is a business ; 
 supper an amusement. It is inexpensive, and free from trouble. 
 The attempt to unite the two meals in one, in the manner now 
 practised, is a miserable failure, unfavourable to health and to 
 the play of the mind. Nothing places sociability on so good a 
 footing, and so much within the reach of all, as the custom of 
 supping. There is an objection made to suppers, that they are 
 unwholesome. Nothing, I think, can be more unfounded ; in- 
 deed, I believe them, if properly used, to be most wholesome, 
 and quite in accordance with the dictates of nature. Un- 
 doubtedly, large suppers are unwholesome after large dinners ; 
 but not so light suppers after moderate dinners. I think, if I 
 were to choose, my ordinary course of living would be a simple 
 well-conceived dinner, instead of the luncheon now in vogue ; 
 then tea, with that excellent adjunct, scarcely ever enjoyed in 
 these days, buttered toast, about the present dinner-hour, and 
 a savoury little supper about half-past nine or ten o'clock, with 
 a bowl of negus, or some other grateful diluted potation after. 
 I am of opinion there is no system so favourable to vigorous 
 and joyous health as the moderate indulgence of a moderate 
 appetite about a couple of hours before retiring to rest, those 
 hours filled up with the enjoyment of agreeable society. In 
 the colder months I have great faith in finishing the day with 
 a warm and nourishing potation. It is the best preparation for 
 one's daily end — sleep ; or, as Shakespeare calls it, " the death 
 of each day's life ; " and those with whom it does not agree 
 may be sure it is not the drink's fault, but their own, in not 
 having pursued the proper course previously. A good drink 
 over a cheerful fire, with a cheerful friend or two, is a good 
 finish, much better than the unsatisfactory ending of a moderate 
 dinner-party. Here I must mention that, in order to have good 
 negus, it is necessary to use good wine, and not, as some people 
 seem to think, any sort of stuff in any condition. Port negus is 
 delicious, if it is made thus : — Pour boiling water upon a suffi- 
 cient quantity of sugar ; stir it well ; then pour some excellent 
 port — not what has been opened two or three days — into the 
 water, the wine having been heated in a saucepan. Stir the 
 wine and water well together as the wine is poured in. and add 
 a little grated nutmeg. A slice of lemon put in with the sugar, 
 and a little of the yellow rind scraped with it, makes the negus 
 perfect ; but it is very good without, though then, properly 
 speaking, it should be called wine and water. Supper is an ex- 
 cellent time to enjoy game and all meats of a delicate nature, 
 and many other little things which are never introduced at 
 dinners. I am far from wishing to explode dinners as a social 
 meal, but I object to their enjoying a monopoly, and the 
 
SAVINGS-BANKS FOR SEAMEN. 27 i 
 
 adoption of the two meals on different occasions would furnish 
 opportunities for an agreeable variety. One frequently hears 
 people object to dining early on the ground that they feel them- 
 selves disinclined to do anything after dinner ; but this is a 
 false mode of reasoning. After a late dinner there is a disin- 
 clination to action, especially if it is an overloaded repast ; but 
 the reason of this is. that the powers have become exhausted, 
 which is a solid argument against late dining with reference to 
 health and spirits. But a moderate dinner in the middle of 
 the day. when the digestive powers are the strongest, instead 
 of unfitting for action, has the ver)' contrary etfect, and a person 
 rises from table refreshed and more actively inclined than be- 
 fore. No one, whose digestion is in good order, complains of 
 the incapacitating eftects of luncheon, which is in reality a dinner 
 without its pleasures. Luncheon may be said to be a joyless 
 dinner and dinner a cumbrous supper, and between the two, 
 they utterly exclude that refreshing little meal, tea. We live in 
 a strange state of perversion, from which many emancipate 
 themselves as much as they can, when the eye of the world is 
 not upon them ; and if everybody dared to do as everybody 
 would like, strange changes would soon appear. If the state 
 prisons were thrown upon, and the fetters of fashion cast off, 
 what inward rejoicing there would be among rich and poor, male 
 and female ! What struggles, what pangs, what restraints 
 would be avoided ! What enjoyments, what pleasures would 
 present themselves, and what elasticity would be given to the 
 different bents of the human mind ! If reason and -virtue alone 
 dictated the rules of life, how m.uch more of real freedom v\rould 
 be enjoyed than under the present worn-out dynasty of fashion ! 
 
 No. XXV. Wednesday, Nov. 4, 1835. 
 
 SAVINGS-BANKS FOR SEAMEN. 
 
 In consequence of the articles on the habits and treatment of 
 sailors when on shore in my nineteenth and twentieth numbers, 
 I received a communication on the subject of an establishment 
 of a savings-bank for that class of persons, from Mr. Hutchinson, 
 actuary of the London Provident Institution, Blomheld Street, 
 Moorfields, with whom I became acquainted when he was serv- 
 ing the office of overseer in the parish of Limehouse, which is 
 within the jurisdiction of my office. Mr. Hutchinson is doubly 
 entitled to attention on this subject : first, from a long residence 
 in the maritime quarter of the metropolis and an acquaintance 
 
272 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 with parochial affairs there ; and secondly, from a daily expe- 
 rience of several years in a savings-bank of great business. Ke 
 informed me that he had some time since sketched a plan for a 
 seamen's savings-bank, but that he was discouraged from going 
 on with it in consequence of the death of a gentleman who took 
 a principal interest in its success. At my desire he has fur- 
 nished me with a few observations, which I shall make the 
 groundwork of the following article, in many instances using his 
 own words. 
 
 Of all the plans devised for bettering the condition of the 
 labouring classes, not one has so successfully promoted that 
 object as the establishment of savings-banlcs. This marked 
 success has been the natural result of the application of a sound 
 principle — namely, that the bettering the condition of the lower 
 classes rests mainly with themselves, and that all attempts to 
 accomplish this desirable object by means of bounties and pre- 
 miums has an indirect tendency to make their condition worse, 
 inasmuch as bounties and premiums teach them rather to lean 
 upon others than to depend upon their own exertions for sup- 
 port. The Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor seems 
 to have come to this conclusion after many years of experience ; 
 for upon the establishment of savings-banks in the metropolis it 
 immediately applied its funds to the support of these institu- 
 tions, and materially assisted in permanently establishing them. 
 Although the numerous savings-banks in the metropolis would 
 seem to meet the convenience of all persons desirous of avail- 
 ing themselves of them, there is yet one class whose peculiar 
 situation and habits require that an institution should be espe- 
 cially established for their benefit. The seamen frequenting the 
 port of London make little use of the savings-banks now exist- 
 ing. They are not in any particular manner brought to their 
 notice. The rules and 'regulations have no particular relation 
 to their peculiar exigencies and way of life. They haveno friends 
 to put them in the right way, whilst they are beset onrievery side 
 by the most voracious and profligate of both sexes, whose interest 
 it is to decoy them into habits of the most senseless improvi- 
 dence. From the moment they arrive in port, and before they 
 can set foot on shore, till they are not only penniless, but have 
 utterly exhausted their credit on the most ruinous terms, they 
 are made victims of a regularly organized gang of land sharks, 
 who haunt them wherever they go. Calumniated and unpro- 
 tected whilst they might be able to secure their independence, 
 they become objects of sympathy only when sickness, accident, 
 or old age has reduced them and their families to destitution. 
 A sailor's reception on his return to land is ordinarily a sorry 
 recompense for the dangers and hardships of a long voyage, 
 and in a few days he often finds himself shamelessly stripped 
 
SA VINGS-BANKS FOR SEAMEN. 273 
 
 of the earnings of as many months. When on the ocean he 
 must makeup his mind to be cut off from domestic enjoyment, 
 but when on land it is too often embittered or destroyed by the 
 profligate system to which he is exposed. It is a mistake to 
 suppose that seamen are naturally more improvident than lands- 
 men ; they are made so by the circumstance of receiving their 
 wages in accumulated sums, and other men in the same rank of 
 hfe when exposed to the like temptation seldom resist to a less 
 extent, except in so far as they are not equally beset by villany. 
 In how many trades do the majority of workmen cease to labour 
 as long as they have a shilling in their pockets ! But this fail- 
 ing is not an incurable one, if all possible facilities and allure- 
 ments were afforded to habits of saving, and the sailor has then 
 an advantage over all other classes of labourers in that, whilst 
 he is earning his wages, he has not only no temptation to waste 
 them, but he has seldom the possibility. Once instil into a 
 seaman a desire for accumulation, and it is easier to him than 
 to any other individual. He puts a lump in store, and on his 
 return tinds it not only safe, but increased. He has the means 
 in his hands to double it. Is he not likely to apply them so, 
 and to go to sea again as soon and abetter sailor than the spend- 
 thrift .'' A desire of saving having taken root in a sailor's mind, 
 it has more time and opportunity to grow there than imder any 
 other circumstances ; and as a certain similarity of habits must 
 ever characterize the class, a partial change for the better would 
 most probably lead to a universal one. 
 
 The establishment of a seamen's savings-bank in the most 
 central situation, and under rules and regulations having solely 
 in view the habits and convenience of the class, would in all 
 probability confer invaluable benefiis upon them, if patronized 
 and supported by the shipping interest. Here the produce of 
 their labour might be safely housed until wanted for beneficial 
 purposes, instead of being dissipated in profligacy and folly, or 
 made a prey to others. What a benefit it would be to a sailor 
 to have his wages placed in security, if only till, upon getting 
 another ship, he might be enabled to purchase his outfit with 
 his own money, instead of being driven to procure it on the 
 most extortionate terms I But if a permanent habit of saying 
 could be produced, it would, by raising him in his own estima- 
 tion, make him a more valuable servant, and eventually be 
 productive of great national benefit. Experience has shown, 
 that when a depositor in a savings-bank has succeeded in 
 accumulating a few pounds, a most extraordinary stimulus is 
 frequently given to the formation of habits of industry and 
 economy, and every nerve appears to be strained to increase his 
 fund. At the same time the very bearing and manner of the 
 individual is altered, and he seems to have acquired a proper 
 
674 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 feeling of self-respect, the spread of which must produce the 
 most beneficial results to society at large. The British seaman 
 has man}' noble qualities, which, as is often visible, make him 
 the more keenly feel the debasement of some of his habits, and 
 which would doubtless induce him to enter more willingly into 
 any better course that might be opened to him. There seems 
 no mode of offering him a better course, in principle so sound, 
 or in operation so easy, as by the establishment of a savings- 
 bank, having for its sole object the encouragement of provident 
 habits among the seafaring class, by affording them every 
 possible facility to place whatever part of their hard earnings they 
 may have to spare, out of the reach of imposition and robbery, 
 for their own benefit and for that of their families. The prin- 
 cipal objects to be aimed at in the seamen's savings-bank 
 would be : — 
 
 Firstly. To establish it in the most central situation ; to have 
 it open at the hours most suitable to the convenience of seafaring 
 men; and to have in attendance persons familiar with their 
 habits and humours. 
 
 Secondly. To afford every proper facility both in investing 
 and withdrawing deposits, so as to hold out the greatest induce- 
 ments to invest, and at the same time to meet the sudden 
 exigencies of sailors wanting money for their outfit, or any other 
 necessary purpose. 
 
 Thirdly. To afford facilities for providing provision for sea- 
 men's families during their absence at sea. 
 
 Fourthly. To receive the wages of sailors on their behalf from 
 their employers. 
 
 Fifthly. When desired, to purchase annuities for seamen, and 
 to invest their money in the funds when exceeding the amount 
 allowed by law to be in the savings-bank. 
 
 Sixthly. To keep a register of depositors wanting ships, for 
 the purpose of being referred to by shipowners wanting steady 
 men. 
 
 Seventhly. To provide for distributing savings and receiving 
 wages, in case of death. 
 
 Eighthly. To act in every possible way as the stewards and 
 friends of the depositors. 
 
 Lastly. To apply to Parliament for whatever increased powers 
 might be necessary to promote the above ends. 
 
 It seems to me not to admit of a doubt but that a savings- 
 bank for seamen, properly set on foot, would be productive of 
 much immediate good, and that it might ultimately lay the 
 foundation of an entire change of habit in respect to prudence 
 among that numerous and important class. It is a subject that 
 comes particularly home to me. because I have had occasion so 
 often to become acquainted, in my magisterial capacity, with 
 
SA VINGS-BANKS FOR SEAMEN. 275 
 
 the dreadful impositions, robberies, and proiligacy which are 
 consequent upon the arrival of any number of vessels from 
 distant parts of the globe ; and from the arts that are practised 
 against sailors by gangs of confederates, in decoying and stupefy- 
 ing them with I'lquor and with drugs, it is generally quite im- 
 possible to fix any proof of guih. In fact, they are almost 
 helplessly exposed to every combination of villany, and whether 
 they are the accusers or 'the accused, they are almost equally 
 objects of pity. I have known instances of sailors being robbed 
 of fifty pounds or upwards the very day they received it ; but 
 having been first rendered senseless, detection is impossible. 
 Sometimes the day following their coming ashore, or even the 
 same day. they are themselves brought for drunkenness and 
 disorder ,'the consequence of conspiracy against them ; and when 
 remonstrated with on their imprudence, they will pathetically 
 lament their helpless situation. Their better protection is a 
 subject which deeply concerns themselves and all who are con- 
 nected with them. It is of great importance to shipowners, and 
 to the maritime interest generally. Society at large is much 
 interested, from selfish motives, as well as from motives of 
 humanity, in shutting up the fertile field which the improvidence 
 of sailors offers to vice and crime ; and even a regard for the 
 profligates and criminals themselves should induce an eftbrt to 
 remove temptation out of their way. British seamen do not 
 stand in need of charity, but justice ; and I hope to see their 
 cause meet with the highest patronage and the most extensive 
 support, and I have no doubt it will be so, if once taken up by 
 those most competent to ensure its success. I should like to 
 see a public meeting called by influential men, and a subsciption 
 opened for the purpose of establishing a savings-bank for sea- 
 men on the most efficient and attractive plan, in a handsome 
 and commodious building, worthy of its object, with officers in 
 the various departments most competent to discharge their 
 duties. As any attempt to render seamen provident would meet 
 with all sorts of opposition, underhand and open, from those who 
 are interested in keeping them in their present state, and as 
 their fears and prejudices and suspicions would be excited by 
 all possible means, ever}- practicable effort and allurement should 
 be resorted to in the outset to efiect a change. Success in the 
 metropolis would doubtless be followed by similar results in the 
 other seaports of the kingdom. If the plan is taken up by men 
 of business and influence most ciualified to bring it to maturity. 
 I shall have great pleasure in contributing twenty guineas, and 
 my services, if they can be made in any way available. 
 
 Though in what I have said of the habits of sailors there is 
 no exaggeration when applied to a great portion of them, yet is 
 there another portion, and not an inconsiderable one, which is 
 
276 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 distinguished by prudence and regularity of conduct, and I 
 believe this latter portion is now on the increase. It is, in my 
 opinion, a very strong argument in favour of the establishment 
 of a savings-bank for seamen on an efficient and extensive plan, 
 that whilst it would powerfully contribute to rescue the improvi- 
 dent from the evils with which they are surrounded, it would at 
 the same time afford facilities to the efforts of the well-conducted, 
 especially in the beginning of their career, which under no other 
 system could they so certainly enjoy. ]\Iy view of such an insti- 
 tution is, that after being well started, and complete in all its 
 appointments, it should be made to pay its own expenses, and 
 that it should not be artificially and precariously maintained 
 by external aid. I would have a general superintendence by 
 influential men, and all the rest matter of business. As I said 
 before, British seamen do not want charity, but justice; and I 
 should consider any effort now made in their behalf only as 
 the payment of a debt due to them for past ill-treatment and 
 neglect. 
 
 As the introduction of savings-banks will, I have no doubt, 
 eventually prove to have been the foundation of an entirely new 
 era in the habits and condition of the labouring classes, I sub- 
 join, as an interesting record, the following extract from Mr. 
 Hutchinson's observations : — 
 
 "It is somewhat remarkable, that although a savings-bank 
 was established at Tottenham, only seven miles from London, 
 in 1804, the attention of the public was not directed to the 
 subject until 18 10, when the Reverend H. Duncan, of Ruthwell. 
 published a paper, in which he proposed to the gentlemen of 
 the county of Dumfries the establishment of banks for savings 
 in the different parishes in the district and established one in 
 his own parish in that year, not being then aware that a similar 
 institution had been estabhshed at West Calder in 1807. Though 
 some institutions, similar both in their principles and details, 
 had been formed before the parish bank of Ruthwell, yet it was 
 the first of the kind which was regularly and minutely organized 
 and brought before the public ; and, further, as that society gave 
 the impulse, which has so widely spread through the United 
 Kingdom, it is in all fairness entitled to the appellation of the 
 parent society, although the original society was the charitable 
 bank at Tottenham. It is a curious fact, that London, which 
 should be, and generally is, among the first to lead in all matters 
 of public interest, was, in this instance, among the last to follow, 
 and that no institution of this kind of any note was opened in 
 the metropolis till the end of January 18 16, when the London 
 savings-bank commenced its operations. It is no less curious 
 
THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH. 277 
 
 that the first Act of Parliament passed relating to savings-banks, 
 was to encourage the establishment of them in Ireland, in the 
 57th year of George the Third, and that until very recently no 
 Act was passed relating to savings-banks in Scotland.'"' 
 
 THE ART OF ATTAINING HIGH HEALTH— 
 {comiuded). 
 
 State oi' the Mixd. — Attention to health has a powerful 
 influence on the state of the mmd.and the state of the mind has 
 a powerful influence on health. There is one state of tl;e mind 
 which depends upon the health, and another which depends 
 partly upon external circumstances. This latter state, though it 
 cannot be altogether regulated by attention to health, may be 
 materially aftected by it, and depression may be diminished 
 and buoyancy increased in a \ ery considerable degree. Where 
 there is nothing particularly to affect the mind in the way 
 of good fortune or of bad, of annoyance or of pleasure, its 
 state depends almost, if not entirely, upon the state of the health, 
 and the same individual will be happy or miserable in the 
 proportion that the health is regulated. I have known cases of 
 people who laboured under depression to a most distressing 
 degree, restored to high spirits merely by a long journey on 
 horseback ; and universally, exertion which is productive of 
 interest to the mind, where there is no external cause of annoy- 
 ance, raises the spirits to a state of positive enjoyment, which 
 may be stfll further increased by attention to temperance, 
 cleanhness, and moderation in sleep. Where the state of the 
 mind depends entirely upon attention to health, I can only refer 
 to what 1 have recommended in the different articles I have 
 already given on the subject of health. Where it depends upon 
 the influence of external circumstances, I shall also request 
 attention to the tone which pervades all that I have written w/Ji 
 reference to habits of living and modes of thinking, because 1 
 have throughout endeavoured to enforce doctrines founded on 
 reasonableness and the spirit of contentment. It is good riot to 
 seek after those things the disappointment of missing which is 
 greater than the pleasure of attaining; and such is the case 
 with all the vanities of the world. The irksomeness of pursuing, 
 and the emptiness of enjoyment, I think, are generally about 
 equal, whilst the mortification of failure is ever most bitter with 
 respect to things in themselves worthless or troublesome. The 
 greatest of all arts to prevent unhappiness is not to place too 
 much value on the opinion of others. Here is the grand 
 source of all anxiety, the thinking what others will think ; and 
 that is the feeling which is most unfavourable to real health. It 
 
278 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 suspends and deranges the functions to a most prejudicial 
 extent, even about trifles, when serious calamity, which does not 
 touch the pride, is met with calmness and resignation. Pride 
 is mixed up with almost all human feeling, and in proportion as 
 reason and religion can clear it away, the feelings will be sound 
 and healthy, and will contribute to the soundness and health of 
 the body. To desire nothing but what is worth attaining, to 
 proportion our wants to our means of satisfying them without too 
 much sacrifice, to value what we gain or lose as it affects 
 ourselves only, and not as weighed in the balance of others, is 
 the state of mind which will most conduce to our health. I have 
 heretofore enlarged in several places upon the great, and often 
 sudden, effects the state of the mind has upon that of the body, 
 both to good and ill ; and it is only by constant mental discipline, 
 and by observation, that that tone can be acquired which gives 
 clue smoothness, and regularity, and activity to physical action. 
 The state of the atmosphere has influence upon the health in 
 various degrees. No one is entirely independent of such influ- 
 ence ; but the more we attend to the due regulation of our 
 health, the less we feel outward changes. Persons who have 
 contracted habits of indolence and indulgence are the most 
 subject to be affected by atmospheric influences, and they are 
 often wretched martyrs to them. With vessels overcharged and 
 nerves unbraced, the slightest change causes the most distressing 
 sensations. I believe that moderation in liquids is one of the 
 best preservatives against such evils ; I mean liquids of all 
 kinds, for some people think that it is only the strength of liquids 
 that is prejudicial, whereas c^uantity is to be guarded against, as 
 well as quality, by those who wish to enjoy good health. Water, 
 tea, and all sorts of slops, ought to be used with great modera- 
 tion, or it is in vain to hope for a vigorous tone. A dry cool 
 atmosphere seems to be the most favourable to a high state of 
 health, though it may not best suit many morbid constitutions, 
 and persons labouring under particular diseases. Temperance 
 and activity will render the constitution almost proof against 
 any baneful influence of the atmosphere, but attention to diet 
 and dress are also advisable, as well as caution as to exposure to 
 the outward air. Besides the ordinary changes in the atmo- 
 sphere a great deal depends upon situation, and therefore those 
 who are able do well to avail themselves of choosing those 
 situations which, either for temporary reasons or permanently, 
 agree with them best. A good choice of situation will often 
 produce health, or continue it, more eftectually than anything 
 else. Discrimination is necessary in this ; for those situations 
 which are the most favourable to a high state of health may be 
 dangerous to those who are only making their approaches to it. 
 An invalid, or person of delicate constitution, by beginning in 
 
SUPPERS. 279 
 
 the valley, may perhaps end a hardy mountaineer. The influ- 
 ence of the atmosphere is a fit subject for constant observation, 
 and can only be well understood by that process ; I mean 
 reasonable observation, and not that of hypochondriacal and 
 nervous people. 
 
 The last subject I liave to touch upon in respect to health is 
 cleanliness. It is of great importance, and requires n uch atten- 
 tion and considerable labour in the advancement towards health, 
 especially in particular kinds of morbid affections ; but in an 
 actual state of high health, it is not only easy of attainment, but 
 it is hardly possible to be avoided. There is an activity, which 
 prevents impurity from within and repels it from without. 
 There are all degrees, from a sluggish impure perspiration to an 
 imperceptible radiation. In the first case, continual efforts of 
 cleanliness can still not produce it in a high degree ; and in the 
 second, it is there without any effort at all. People who are 
 laboriously clean, are never very clean; that is, they are not 
 pure. Purity is a sort of self-acting cleanliness ; it arises from 
 attention to system, and cleanliness is a mere outward operation. 
 There are many people, who think themselves very clean, who are 
 only whitened sepulchres ; and, however they labour, will never 
 succeed, unless by attention to something more than soap and 
 water. What I have said in the beginning of these articles on 
 an extreme state of cleanliness, though difficult to be compre- 
 hended or believed by those who have not put themselves into 
 a high state of health, is yet literally true. Cleanliness contri- 
 butes to health, and health contributes to cleanhness ; and I 
 cannot too strongly recommend attention to it, at the same time 
 repeating that the outward operation alone, without attention to 
 the system, will prove very inefficient. 
 
 I have now come to a conclusion of my articles on the Art of 
 attaining High Health. 1 could have said a great deal more on 
 many of the heads, and may hereafter touch upon some of them 
 occasionally ; but as my principal aim has been to put my 
 readers in the right way, and to set them to think for themselves, 
 1 have thought it better not to enter more into detail. Where I 
 :\m right, I hope they will follow me, to their own advantage ; 
 and \vhere I am wrong, it may perhaps lead some of them to 
 discover what is right, for the sake of detecting my errors. If 
 the truth is only discovered between us, I do not much care by 
 which side. 
 
 SUPPERS. 
 
 In the article on Suppers in my last number I expressed an 
 inclination to th'' adoption, on ordinary occasions, of a simple 
 substantial dinner in the middle of the dav, then to tea about 
 
28o THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the present hour of dinner, and lastly, to a light supper about a 
 couple of hours before retiring to rest ; but I omitted to enlarge, 
 as much as I think the subject deserves, upon the advantages 
 of such a course to men who are engaged in active occupation 
 away from their homes. To fast from breakfast to a late dinner 
 is unquestionably prejudicial to the great majority of constitu- 
 tions, though habit may prevent present sensations of incon- 
 venience. Luncheon is an unsatisfactory, unsettled meal as to 
 society, and awkward as to the appetite, which being about that 
 time in the most vigorous state, it is difficult and disappointing to 
 restrain it, and inconvenient with reference to dinner to satisfy 
 it. Now a simple dinner at or near the place of business, and 
 in the way of society made subservient to business, is free from 
 these disadvantages. If a meal is taken when the appetite is at 
 the most healthy point of keenness, and no more is eaten than 
 nature just requires, business may be resumed pleasantly and 
 without deranging the digestive powers. Then, instead of hurry- 
 ing over business, dread of interruption and anxiety to reach 
 home, there is a feeling of satisfaction and a composure which 
 ought always to be aimed at. He who keeps dinner waiting, or 
 is afraid of doing so, is in a constant state of annoyance, and 
 those about him live in almost daily uncertainty, productive of 
 anything but real comfort. A man on his arrival at home hastens 
 over his toilette, sits down to table hurried and exhausted, over- 
 loads his appetite, and soon feels heavy or sinks to sleep, neither 
 enjoying nor adding to the enjoyment of society, and destroying 
 the invigorating soundness of his night's rest. But tea is a meal 
 that can be prepared quickly and at any time ; it causes no 
 anxiety or hurry; there is little danger of excess ; and, instead 
 of oppressing, it is the very best restorative of the strength and 
 spirits. After tea the most exhausted become lively and clear 
 for the remainder of the evening, the supper-hour is subject to 
 no uncertainty, and an inclination to sleep is induced at the 
 desirable period, and not before. To those who return into the 
 country, especially in the summer-time, this system, I appre- 
 hend, would be found to possess many advantages ; and in 
 general I think it would conduce much to improve domestic 
 society. I do not hold it out as a fixed rule to supersede later 
 dinners, which on many occasions are the most convenient meals 
 for social intercourse, but as a practice which might be frequently 
 or even ordinarily adopted with advantage. To those who have 
 always been accustomed to look upon a good dinner as the conclu- 
 sion of their day's labours, any other system appears very meagre 
 and unsatisfactory, but habit would soon reconcile persons of 
 sense to a change, provided it is a change in which there is really 
 a balance of advantages. On the score of alacrity and vigour of 
 body and mind. I have little doubt but that the system of early 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 281 
 
 dinners and light suppers is much preferable to the system now 
 in force ; but then it must be pursued with due attention to the 
 rules of temperance, otherwise the evils of excess would be 
 greater than they are now. The advantages of the system in 
 respect to faciUty and clearness in mental application I know 
 from experience to be great. An early dinner prevents exhaus- 
 tion without producing oppression. Tea as a substantial meal 
 is a most powerful and agreeable auxiliary to the labour of the 
 mind, and supper the most grateful restorative when the labour 
 is over. On the whole I think, for ordinary occasions, early 
 dining is much more favourable to smoothness of life than 
 late. 
 
 When on the subject of Salads in my last number, I forgot to 
 protest against the vulgar practice of chopping lettuce small, 
 more like food for turkeys than human beings. One of the 
 best and most elegant salads at this season of the year is com 
 posed of well-blanched endive, red beetroot, and iine celery, and 
 it should be dressed in the manner I have already mentioned. 
 Salad is a luxury, in general, very inadequately enjoyed at great 
 dinners : first, iDecause it is seldom dressed with much skill, 
 and secondly, because it is not sufficiently within leach. 
 
 In the article on Hot Water, I forgot also to particularize its 
 great efficacy in the common and painful accident of crushing 
 the fingers ; for instance, in shutting a drawer, or a door. It 
 will effectually prevent the nails from going black, and remove 
 the pain with great ciuickness. Very cold water, instantly ap- 
 plied, will produce the same effect. It is useful that children, 
 who are most liable to such accidents, and often suffer greatly 
 from them, should be aware of these easy remedies. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 There is very little illness that is not the efi'ect of impru- 
 dence ; and of the part which is not such effect, much is the 
 consequence of giving way to attack. I attribute the degree of 
 health I enjoy, and which I have before described, amongst 
 other causes, to my determined resistance to first symptoms, 
 but for which I am convinced I should not have escaped so well. 
 Besides the inconvenience of illness, I have accustomed myself 
 to consider it as a sort of disgrace, and endeavour to avoid it 
 accordingly. It is the general custom to make too much of 
 invalids, as if they were labouring under unavoidable misfortune. 
 When it is really so, they are deserving of the utmost attention 
 and compassion ; but when, as is for the most part the case, 
 
282 THE ORIIGNAL. 
 
 illness is the consequence of habitual indulgence or habitual 
 carelessness, it ought to be the subject of reprobation. Illness 
 has often a great mixture of selfishness in it, both in its cause 
 and its continuance, to which the compassionate are uncon- 
 scionably made slaves. When people will do those things, 
 which the)' have every reason to believe will make them ill. 
 severity is the most effectual medicine, both for present cure and 
 future preventive. 
 
 Good cheer is a most potent engine. When well-timed, it 
 wins goodwill, and commands exertion more effectively than 
 anything else. When well understood, it goes far at little cost. 
 There was a gentleman in times past, who represented a very 
 large county for several Parliaments, at no other expense than 
 hospitably entertaining a set of hungry fox-hunters whenever 
 they happened to come near his house. I was once at a starv- 
 ing coursing party, where one of the company won all our hearts 
 by a well-timed supply of bread and cheese and ale from a lone 
 pot-house. The only election I ever assisted at, that was 
 throughout effectively managed, owed such management in no 
 small degree to a constant supply of sandwiches and madeira 
 to the committee. I consider good cheer as the very cement of 
 good government. It prevents ill-blood, brings different classes 
 together, ensures attendance, and causes alacrity, vigour, and 
 despatch. The doctrines I always hold to the parishes with 
 which I have anything to do is, that they must either eat to- 
 gether or quarrel together, that they must either have tavern 
 bills or attorneys' bills. The public has no way of being so well 
 served as by furnishing good cheer, though the public, or those 
 who call themselves the public, do not seem to think so just at 
 present. 
 
 No. XXVI. V/ednesday, Nov. 11, 1836. 
 
 REFORM. 
 
 Reform is an admirable thing, though reformers are seldom 
 admirable men, either in respect to their motives, or to the means 
 they employ to attain their ends. They are ordinarily over- 
 bearing, rapacious and inquisitorial, perfectly heedless how much 
 suffering they cause to those who stand in their way, and only 
 befriending their supporters for the sake of their support. They 
 are often men of profligate habits, whose chief reason for busying 
 themselves in public affairs is because they are afraid to look 
 into their own. Their real delight is in pulling down both men 
 and institutions, and if they could help it, they would never raise 
 
REFORM. 283 
 
 up either one or the other. When they do so, it is only from 
 opposition, and never upon sound principles. They dehght in 
 the discomfiture of others, and take no pleasure in any one's 
 happiness. With them everything is abstract and general, except 
 the work of demolition, and there they will enter into practical 
 detail with great zest. They are profoundly ignorant of the art 
 of government, and they seldom get beyond a general fitting 
 measure, little knowing, and not at all caring, whom it pinches. 
 As their policy is to flatter and cajole the lowest, they reject 
 whatever is high-minded and generous, and seek in everything 
 to debase the social standard. They are to the many what 
 courtiers are to the {&\\, and like them they misrepresent and 
 viUfy every class but that by which they hope to thrive. They 
 are vain and self-sufficient, and think they thoroughly know what 
 they have neither heads nor hearts to comprehend. There is 
 this in them that is disgusting, that they are the reverse of what 
 they profess, and they are the more dangerous, because, under 
 plausible pretexts and with specious beginnings, they work to 
 ruin. They rise into notice and importance from the pertinacioas 
 clinging to abuse of m.en often more estimable than themselyeo, 
 and from the inaction of those who content themselves with wish- 
 ing for the public good, instead of sacrificing a portion of their 
 ease in order to secure it. They see their ends but indistinctly, 
 and they are regardless of the means by which they advance to 
 them. They will advocate the cause of humanity with a total 
 want of feeling, and will seek to establish what they call purity, 
 by corruption and intrigue. Freedom of opinion they enforce 
 by intimidation, and uphold the cause of civil and religious liberty 
 by tyranny and oppression. Nothing could exhibit the character 
 of a reformer by trade more strongly than the attempt to over- 
 haul the pension list. It was an attempt inquisitorial, unfeeling, 
 and unnecessary ; and its object was to inflame and gratify the 
 basest passions of the multitude. The amount, in a national 
 point of view, was not worth thinking of ; as a precedent it had 
 lost all its force, and the only question was, whether a number 
 of unoffending individuals should be dragged before the public, 
 and made a prey to uneasiness and privation for the mere purpose 
 of gratifying malignity and prying curiosity. In somewhat the 
 same spirit was the attempt to make public the names of all 
 fund-holders above a certain amount ; and, as a specimen of 
 arbitrary feeling, there cannot be a better than the proposal to 
 break in upon the sanctity of a private dweUing with " a rigour 
 beyond the law." 
 
 The true spirit of reform delights only in the establishment of 
 sound principles by sound means. It looks to final results from 
 the gradual elevation of the public mind, and avoids all precipi- 
 tate and violent measures. It takes down with caution, and 
 
284 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 builds up with a view to practical convenience. It has the 
 common interests constantly before it, and seeks not a mere 
 transferrence of advantages, by benefiting one party or set of 
 men at the expense of another. Its object is the diffusion of 
 good with the least possible evil, and it aims at the well-being 
 of its opoonents, equally with that of its friends. 
 
 The well-taught philosophic mind 
 
 To all compassion gives, 
 Casts round the world an equal eye, 
 
 And feels for all that lives. 
 
 Unfortunately, though the true spirit of reform reigns in the 
 breasts of many, it is not sufficiently strong to excite them to 
 more than good wishes : almost all active reformers have been 
 called forth by personal pique or personal interest, and their 
 career has been more or less tarnished by unworthy motives. 
 Some, indeed, have made beginnings on pure principles ; but as 
 such avoid all appeal to the passions, they have not had patience 
 to wait for the ascendency of reason, or resolution, or temper 
 to stand up against unprincipled opposition. They have had to 
 combat, alone, against a host of foes, and it would require 
 almost the zeal of an apostle to endure to the end. What Pope 
 says is still near the truth, though, perhaps, not quite so near as 
 when he wrote ; 
 
 Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land. 
 All fear, none aid you, and few understand. 
 
 The consequence is, reform advances with an unsteady step, 
 upheld by party for party purposes, and mixed up with party 
 vices. It is imperfectly brought about by conflicting interests, 
 and so far only as suits the strongest. In my opinion, the only 
 mode of accomplishing real and permanent reform is by the 
 thorough organization of self-governments. The present unwieldy 
 system, I think, will constantly get out of order, and will, in the 
 end, tend more to mischief than to good, inasmuch as it is by no 
 means calculated to work to the top those who ought to be 
 there. The best description of a reformer is to be found in 
 Shakespeare's character of Brutus, at the end of his tragedy of 
 "Julius Caesar." 
 
 This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 
 Did that they did in envy of great Ca?sar ; 
 
 He only, in a general honest thought, 
 
 -And common good to all, made one of them. 
 
 His life was gentle ; and ihe elements 
 
 So mixed in him, that Xatiire might stand up. 
 
 And say to all the world — This was a man ! 
 
( 285 ) 
 
 ART OF LISTENING. 
 
 When Falstafif is accused by the Lord Chief Justice of being 
 deaf, he answers, "Rather an't please you, it is the disease of 
 not hstening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled 
 withal." The same disease or malady continues to be very 
 troublesome to the present day ; and those Avho are afflicted 
 with it may be instantly known by the interrogative "'umph?" 
 with which they notice whatever is said to them. This habit 
 does not arise from any defect in the faculties, but from care- 
 lessness in the use of them. It is as great an impediment to 
 the current of conversation as deafness, and without its excuse. 
 Some people are so careless that they receive no other impres- 
 sion from a first utterance than to get their attention ready for 
 a second. Others hear, but do nor mark, as is evident from this 
 circumstance, that they will generally reply after waiting for a 
 repetition, though no repetition takes place. The inconvenience 
 in both cases are the same. Attention to what is said to us, or 
 in our presence, is not only a very agreeable quality, but it is 
 indicative of a well-regulated mind, oi a mind at ease, above the 
 cares and vanities of the world, free from pride, conceit, or 
 selfishness, and without fear or reproach. Those who are a prey 
 to '• low thoughted care," or are burning under the vanities of 
 life, have their minds ever wandering from what is present. 
 Pride cannot condescend to listen, except to its superiors ; con- 
 ceit does not think it worth while, and selfishness is too much 
 taken up with its own concerns. Fear, by its very nature, is 
 destructive of presence of mind, and self-reproach turns inward 
 at every turn. Attention to whatever is said is sometimes the 
 consequence of obsequiousness, or of a courtier like disposition ; 
 but that species is easily distinguishable from the unaflected 
 attention which is the result of composure and kindness. 
 Promptness of reply is a sign of honesty and open-heartedness, 
 as slowness is often indicative of habitual cunning, or a desire to 
 take undue advantage. Nations and individuals, who are re- 
 markable for their talent at reply, usually adopt some expedient 
 to gain time, deliberation being a great auxiliary to both wit and 
 wisdom, and, when well managed, heightening the eflect of both 
 in no small degree. A genuine Irishman usually repeats what 
 is said to him before he utters his humorous answer. A 
 Frenchman takes or offers a pinch of snuff, as a prelude to his 
 neat or courteous reply ; but in the art of snuff-taking as a 
 powerful aid in conversation, from the tapping the box to the 
 application of the snuff, no man that I ever saw exhibited so 
 much grace as Home Tooke. The oracle fixes his eyes upon 
 those he is answering, the smoker takes two or three whiffs, the 
 
286 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 boon companion empties his glass, and the lady plays with her 
 fan, before they severally utter what wit, or wisdom, or discre- 
 tion dictates. Then the unwilhng witness has recourse to a 
 short cough, or to the Irishman's expedient of repeating the 
 question, and the diffident Englishman precedes his answer 
 with an unmeaning laugh. Mere slowness in reply is always 
 dull, or suspicious. Promptness is the best everyday quality; 
 and deliberation, accompanied by suitable action, the most 
 effective on particular occasions. It agreeably attracts the 
 attention, and generally rewards it. It has something of the 
 effect which Milton describes in an orator, who 
 
 Stands in himself collected, while each part, 
 Motion, each act wins audience ere the tongue. 
 
 The manner of answering usually affords greater insight into 
 character than the answer itself Decision, straight-forward- 
 ness, diffidence, cunning, and almost every other quality are 
 more or less discernible in the manner, as is also the particular 
 feeling at any given time. There is one class of listeners, who 
 cut off everything that is said to them by answering before they 
 have half heard, and of course for the most part very erro- 
 neously. They are the most unsatisfactory of all, and the less 
 one has to do with them the better. 
 As the season is approaching, when 
 
 Coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 it is an appropriate time to say something on the art of listening 
 in public, the neglect of which is a great public annoyance. 
 People sometimes seem to go to church for the express purpose 
 of preventing anything being heard but their own unrestrained 
 coughing and use of their handkerchiefs. It is impossible that 
 they themselves can attend, and it is equally impossible that 
 others should hear ; for which reasons it would be much better 
 on every account that, pending their indisposition, they should 
 confine themselves to private devotion. Appearance in public, 
 under such circumstances, I cannot help considering a great 
 indecorum, and as indicative of a total want of consideration for 
 others. It should be remembered too, that sitting in a warmed 
 building, after being exposed to the cold air, is almost sure to 
 produce that tickling in the throat which it is always painful, 
 and often impossible, to overcojne. At the same time a great 
 deal might be done in the way of control and moderation, and 
 especially at particular moments ; for it is observable that 
 during the prevalence of colds, there is generally a most deter- 
 mined combination of noises when attention is particularly de- 
 sirable, as during the giving out of the text. The preceding 
 silence is followed as people settle themselves for the sermon, 
 by a perverse outbreak, which for some time prevents a syllable 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. iZ-j 
 
 from being heard. It strongly illustrates what the late Lord Ellen- 
 borough in his peculiar phraseology observed on a similar ex- 
 hibition in his own court : " Some slight interruption one might 
 tolerate, but there seems to be an industry of coughing." Thougli 
 coughing is an annoyance which is experienced at certain seasons 
 in all public places, it is nowhere so unrestrainedly given way 
 to as in places of worship, the reason being I suppose that 
 there is no fear of any marks of disapprobation, which it would 
 assuredly meet with if indulged in to an equal extent anywhere 
 else. But this should be the strongest reason for imposing self- 
 control, with those who have a proper sense of decorum. On 
 rare occasions it is indeed noticed from the pulpit, and I think 
 it would be well if, when colds are prevalent, a recommendation 
 were now and then given that the severely afflicted should 
 remain at home, and that others should be as much on their 
 guard as possible against causing any avoidable interruption. 
 In other respects there is no cause of complaint in places of 
 worship, except that some people have a habit of coming in with 
 rather more bustle than is necessary. In other public assemblies, 
 where the object is to listen, there are minor causes of annoy- 
 ance, such as individuals talking together, either because they 
 themselves cannot hear, or do not care to hear, or from a love 
 of display. Then there is coming in and going out unseason- 
 ably, and not c^uietly, all which is inconsiderate and ill-bred, and 
 deserving of the reprobation it often meets with. Thoughtlessly 
 or wilfully to disturb a public assembly is a sure sign of folly, 
 want of breeding, or selfishness. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I CAN speak from experience that those who undertake to reform 
 local abuses will do well to bear in mind that in the first instance 
 scarcely any information is to be obtained except from the 
 meddling and the malicious, which of course is little to be relied 
 upon ; and that it is only by creating confidence as to persever- 
 ance, discretion, and purity of motive, that information can be 
 elicited from those who are worthy of credit. The well-disposed 
 have a repugnance to say anything against their neighbours, 
 and have also a dread of having their quiet disturbed by incurring 
 ill-will. They have to be convinced that good will be produced, 
 and without danger to themselves, before they will venture upon 
 free communication. In the first instance they fence and 
 equivocate ; and it requires more perseverance and patience 
 than beginners in reform usually possess, to make them lay 
 aside their caution. Breaking bread with them is far more 
 efficacious than formal attack, and the truth is much more 
 
288 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 accurately learned in the ease of conversation than by set 
 questions. It is, moreover, of great advantage never to use 
 accusatory information, liowever credible, except as a ground 
 for inquiry ; for if it sliould prove false, or even exaggerated, 
 ill-will is excited, and authority justly weakened. But if it 
 prove true, or the exact proportion of truth is ascertained, con- 
 viction after dispassionate inquiry produces by much the greatest 
 and most lasting effect, and the more probable the information 
 the greater the credit for fairness in not hastily acting upon it. 
 It is good not to anticipate, even in manner, the proof of guilt. 
 
 Some people act as if the mass of mankind could never be 
 improved ; and som.e as if they might be made perfect on a 
 sudden. The middle course is the safe one ; that is, to ascer- 
 tain what ought primarily to be done, and with practicable 
 wisdom to direct attention there. Many stumble at the first 
 step, by fixing their eyes on the summit ; but it ought never to 
 be forgotten that there is a summit to be aimed at. It is equally 
 unwise to treat children as if they were men, or as if they were 
 never to become so. 
 
 IMPRESSMENT. 
 
 In my last number was an article on Savings-banks for Seamen, 
 which was written with a view to raise the moral standard of 
 that numerous and very important class. In these times of 
 peace and progressive enlightenment, the plan I advocate, or 
 something like it, has, I hope, every probability of meeting with 
 encouragement. It would have been quite otherwise formerly. 
 During the last war, and especially till the enemy's fleets were 
 destroyed, nothing was thought of in manning our immense 
 navy but the most summary process. Justice, humanity, and 
 ultimate results were entirely lost sight of in the sense of imme- 
 diate danger ; and seamen were kidnapped, and forced into the 
 public service, and there detained, in violation of the most sacred 
 rights of free-born men, and often far beyond what anything like 
 necessity demanded. To maintain such a system, it was the 
 consequent policy to promote improvidence amongst the sea- 
 faring class by the encouragement of every species of profligacy 
 and folly ; by which policy the State was undoubtedly worse 
 served, and at a greater expense, than it w^ould have been by an 
 adherence to a more moral course. However, the great end was 
 gained, and that in those days justified the worst means. The 
 consequences were, from that and other co-operating causes, a 
 great increase of pauperism, crime, and debasement. Any 
 attempt to improve the moral condition of seamen would then 
 have been scouted, and put down at once, as detrimental to the 
 exigencies of the State; and a proposal to teach a sailor to 
 
IMPRESSMENT. 289 
 
 save his money would have been considered as little less 
 than treason. The system of impressment was looked upon as 
 indispensable, and it could only prevail, in a free country, with 
 men who were made the slaves of irregular habits. The pre- 
 text for impressment was its necessity in emergencies, but 
 the practice was extended to all cases, with a view to obtain 
 the services of seamen for a less price than if they had been 
 fairly bid for — a most iniquitous and unwise principle. It is 
 this view that leads many of those, who are concerned 
 in merchant shipping, to maintain that sailors are inevitably 
 improvident, and that the sooner they spend, or are deprived 
 of their earnings, the better. It is certainly true that the 
 direct and nominal wages of improvident labourers are gene- 
 rally less than the wages of those with more prudence, as 
 is instanced in the difference between the nominal price of 
 labour in pauperized and non-pauperized districts. But it is 
 equally true, that taking the quantity and quality of labour 
 performed, that of the provident labourer in reality costs 
 the least. The cost of the labour of the improvident labourer 
 may be divided, and part of it may be shifted from the im- 
 mediate employer, as in the case of a pauperized labourer, 
 but it must be paid from some quarter, and at a rate above its 
 value. But beside this question of calculation, there are 
 considerations of justice and humanity, which ought to be 
 of paramount importance with every well-conditioned mind. 
 Those who wring labour from others by keeping them in a state 
 of moral debasement, will assuredly have to answer for it. It is 
 said by some, as a justiiication of impressment, that all who enter 
 upon a seafaring career, are perfectly aware of their liability; 
 but it is unjust to impose upon any particular mode of life incon- 
 veniences or hardships which do not of necessity belong to it. 
 No citizen has a right to complain of being forced to take arms 
 in the defence of his country when emergency arises, and for 
 as long as the emergency lasts, nor could he complain of having 
 his property laid waste, when necessary to arrest the progress of 
 an invading enemy. But the emergency and the necessity must 
 be real, and not assumed ; and any inconvenience or loss sus- 
 tained for the common good, ought to be liberally compensated 
 at the common expense. Just so it is with sailors ; their liability 
 extends to be called upon in every emergency, and during the 
 existence of the emergency, but, like every other citizen, they are 
 entitled to compensation, not only in proportion to their services, 
 but with reference to the circumstances under which they were 
 required ; and those, from whose employment they are taken, 
 are in like manner entitled to indemnity. The only difference 
 between a sailor's occupation and any other, is that he is much 
 more exposed by the nature of the service to the occurrence of 
 
 K 
 
290 T'HE ORIGINAL. 
 
 emergencies demanding a sacrifice to the public. But there is 
 no reason that the frequency of such emergencies should be 
 made the pretext of assuming a right over a sailor's free-will, 
 at all times and under all circumstances. When Lord Nelson 
 pursued the combined fleets of France and Spain previously to 
 the battle of Trafalgar, it would be absurd to maintain that he 
 would not have been justified in every point of view in taking 
 from any merchant vessels he fell in with whatever men might 
 be necessary to render his crews efficient, though contrary to 
 the inclination of the men, and at the risk of danger to private 
 property. But when the emergency ceases, then ought the 
 question of compensation to be considered ; and, in the above 
 instance, the sailors pressed were in justice entitled to be strictly 
 remunerated for the restraint, and for their wounds ; and in 
 case of death, dependent relatives had equitable claims, as also 
 the employers, for any loss consequent upon the diminution of 
 their crews. This is the fair adjustment between a State and 
 her citizens ; and it is to be hoped that the time is gone by when 
 justice will be kept in the background from considerations of 
 partial economy. It seems to me that, as the moral habits of 
 the seafaring class improve, impressment, as the ordinary mode 
 of manning the navy, will become impracticable, and that the 
 country would gain immensely by the change. I am wholly 
 incompetent to enter into practical details as to the limits to 
 which impressment ought to be subject ; but in principle, I 
 apprehend it ought to be confined to actual emergency, and that 
 those who are pressed should be entitled to liberal compensation. 
 It would be, no doubt, necessary to invest the Lords of the 
 Admiralty, and, through them, every commander, with a power 
 of ordering impressment, according to their discretion, but at 
 their own risk ; the necessity, in case of inquiry, to be decided 
 by some competent tribunal, as also the amount of compensation. 
 I should say, that in all cases of compensation, the claims should 
 be settled by the Government, and that any question as to the 
 conduct of officers should be between them and the Government, 
 and not between officers and individuals. In times of profound 
 peace like the present, the question of impressment would be 
 most likely to be deliberately discussed, and satisfactorily 
 settled ; and there would, it is to be hoped, be ample time to 
 make any necessary provision for a change of system. 
 
( 291 ) 
 
 No. XXVII. Wednesday, Nov. 18, 1835. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE READER. 
 
 Dear Reader, — Having arrived without accident at the con- 
 clusion of my first volume, I think I cannot begin my second 
 more appropriately than with addressing you for the third time 
 — first in my first number, and secondly in my ninth ; and if 
 it is not taxing you too much, I would ask you to refer to 
 those addresses before you proceed with this. 
 
 I think you will find I have in no degree deviated from the 
 line I prescribed to myself in the outset. It has been my con- 
 stant endeavour to place before you truth and sound doctrines 
 only, in a familiar, intelligible, and attractive form ; and I am 
 happy to have practically disproved a position I had often com- 
 bated, that it is necessary, in order to succeed with a work like 
 mine, to minister more or less to false, trifling, and depraved 
 tastes. I have studied only to correct and purify such, and I 
 have the gratification to find that my writings have made a 
 far greater impression, and amongst a much more varied class 
 of readers, than I at all anticipated. At the same time I have 
 strictly adhered to my principle before stated, of abstaining 
 from all artificial means of forcing a circulation. Though, as 
 far as I have touched upon political subjects, I have used equal 
 freedom towards all parties, I have been quoted by almost every, 
 if not every, daily paper in London, as well as by many other 
 periodicals — by some frequently and very copiously ; and I take 
 this opportunity of oftering my acknowledgments for this 
 spontaneous notice. I have the same acknowledgments to 
 make in respect to several provincial papers, some of which 
 have been kindly forwarded to me through unknown channels. 
 Since my last address I have also continued to receive letters 
 from private sources, couched in still stronger terms of approval 
 than those I have heretofore alluded to. The demand for my 
 work has from the beginning been steadily and progressively 
 increasing, and I have every reason to be satisfied with my under- 
 taking. I mention these facts, gentle reader, because if you 
 reflect upon them, I think they must appear to you of a gratifying 
 nature in respect to the reception of truth and reasonableness, 
 and because I hope they will create in you a confidence that 
 there will be no relaxation in my efforts to preserve your good 
 opinion. I will now give you a few particulars of a different de- 
 scription, which may probably be of some interest to you. After 
 my first six numbers, all the articles till the eighteenth number 
 inclusive, except one article on the Horrors of War, five entitled 
 
 K3 
 
292 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 Letters from the Continent, and eight extracts from my 
 pamphlet on Pauperism, were written as they were wanted; 
 and in the last eight numbers every article, with the ex- 
 ception of the short one in praise of wine from Shakespeare, 
 was composed within the week it was printed. Sometimes I 
 have been driven to the last moment, and how I have got through 
 at all on such occasions is to me utterly unaccountable. In my 
 perplexity I have taken a subject I never considered before, and 
 written down I scarcely knew what, thinking I should be ruined, 
 but finding to my surprise the direct reverse ; for some of my 
 moral pieces, for which I have received the most commendation, 
 were composed in that hazardous manner, while the few articles 
 I had by me for years, written at perfect leisure, and frequently 
 revised, have been comparatively unnoticed. This practice of 
 delaying to the last is a very common one, but much to be 
 deprecated. I make continual resolutions to leave it off, but 
 continually yield to the temptation or humour of the moment. 
 I try to avoid invitations, but they constantly come upon me, 
 and are seldom refused. Then come the dangers of good cheer, 
 which I always flatter myself I shall be able to avoid, and am 
 always deceived — not that I commit excess in the ordinary sense, 
 but that the habits of society lead me, in spite of myself, to over- 
 step those limits of temperance which it is absolutely necessary 
 to observe in order to command the clear and vigorous use of 
 the faculties. 1 find that by taking tea and toast with or without 
 eggs, instead of dinner, and, when I have finished my labours, a 
 light supper, I can work the longest, the most easily, and the 
 most pleasantly, both at night and next morning. Dinner, 
 according to the present system, totally incapacitates me for 
 mental exertion for the remainder of the day, and affects me dis- 
 advantageously even after a night's rest. I owe it to myself and 
 to you to follow that line, which I know to be the best, and if I 
 adhered altogether to what I have laid down on the subject of 
 health, I have no doubt my numbers would exhibit proofs of the 
 beneficial consequences. I have indeed made some progress in 
 self-management since I began this work, and I hope to accom- 
 plish much more ; but as Portia says in the " Merchant of 
 Venice," " I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 
 than be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching." My mode 
 of composing I apprehend to be very different from what could be 
 supposed, and from the usual mode. I write in a bedroom at 
 an hotel, sitting upon a cane chair, in the same dress I go out 
 in, and with no books to refer to but the New Testament, Shake- 
 speare, and a pocket-dictionary. Now and then, when much 
 pressed for time, and without premeditation, and with my eye 
 upon the clock, I have written some of the short moral pieces 
 above mentioned, at the Athenaeum, at the same table where 
 
SA VTNGS-BANKS. 293 
 
 others have been writing notes and letters ; and sometimes I 
 snatch an interval at m)- office. Moreover, most of these short 
 pieces have been written by measure, to fill up certain spaces. 
 I write down a title, and then wait for the first sentence, then 
 for another, and so on, without any plan, till I have got as many 
 lines as 1 want, and I ha.ve generally found that the more unsatis- 
 factory the process has been to myself, the more satisiaction I 
 have given to others. I can only attribute my succeeding, under 
 such circumstances, to the extent I am told I have done, to my 
 formerly having read with great attention, not crammed, many 
 of the be;t authors, and to my habitual cultivation for m^any years 
 of the pure truth, unmixed with party feeling, or any bias what- 
 ever. The disposition and the hidden materials seem to bring 
 me through my emergencies. I shall conclude with a tribute 
 which I feel to be due. In former times, printers appear to have 
 been the torment of authors ; but mine are to me the reverse, 
 for they render me every assistance, and in each individual in 
 the office with whom I have to do, I find so complete an under- 
 standing of his business, such punctuality in execution, so much 
 intelligence, and such a desire to accommodate me, as make 
 what mighi be very irksome, very agreeable. With my publisher, 
 to whom I applied without an)' previous knowledge, from his 
 contiguity to the printing-office, my business is less frequent and 
 less urgent, but 1 can speak of him with equal praise ; so that 
 with readers, printers, and publisher, I consider m\self altogether 
 most fortunate. 
 
 In my first address to you I expressed a hope that we should 
 soon be on intimate terms. In what I have just written I have 
 assumed that we are so, and have let my pen talk as if I were 
 talking in person to a familiar acquaintance. 
 
 SAVINGS-BANKS. 
 
 In looking over some papers I found a little tract entitled, " Ob- 
 servations on the Utility and Management of Savings-banks," 
 which 1 wrote a long time since in reference to the village where 
 I first turned my attention to the subject of pauperism. Though 
 savings-banks are now well understood, which was not the case 
 w^hen I wrote, I subjoin a few extracts, as placing some of their 
 advantages in a familiar point of view, and as having relation to 
 the article in my twenty-fifth number on a bank for seamen. 
 Some of the reasoning, too, is applicable to those who are above 
 the condition of the classes to whom I was addressing myself. 
 
 " Should a young man of eighteen begin to save two shillings 
 a week, and go regularly on for ten years, he would, at the age of 
 twenty-eight, have in bank, reckoning his savings and the 
 
294 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 interest, about sixty pounds ; the value of which, observe, consists 
 very much in the manner of acquiring it. For suppose him to 
 have spent those ten years, as is too commonly the case, working 
 half his time and drinking and idling the rest, and suppose the 
 sum of sixty pounds to be then given him, what effect would it 
 have ? Would he not most likely drink more and work less ? 
 Does money make bad habits into good ones? It is rather 
 like putting manure upon weeds — it only makes them ranker. 
 But when a man has set his mind upon saving, he will almost 
 necessarily contract such habits as will make his savings useful. 
 He will find hard work grow easier, because it increases his 
 gains ; he will shun idleness because it stops them ; he will 
 turn away from the alehouse, because it swallows them up ; he 
 will be content with frugal fare, because it adds to his savings ; 
 and though he may look forward to the comforts of marriage, 
 he will be in no hurry to bring upon himself the charges of a 
 family. Being careful himself, he will look about for some 
 careful young woman, and they will resolve not to be married 
 till they can furnish a house and have some money in store. 
 This will make them doubly industrious and doubly careful, and 
 then their savings will mount up so fast, that perhaps they will 
 begin to have higher notions, and will put off their marriage a 
 little longer, till they have saved enough to set up on a small 
 farm, or in some business, where they think they can, by joining 
 their savings, become richer, though married, than they could 
 separate. Here marriage is indeed a blessing ! The children 
 will have advantages in education which their parents did not 
 possess ; and though all this cannot happen to all, it is yet im- 
 possible to foresee what benefit may arise to a man and his 
 descendants from placing a portion of his early earnings in a 
 savings-bank. One shilling a week saved will, with the interest, 
 amount to twenty pounds in seven years. Three shillings a 
 week will amount to sixty pounds in the same period. If a man, 
 who earns thirty shillings a week, deposits ten, he will possess 
 at the end of live years one hundred and forty pounds ; and if 
 he should marry a female who has been able to accumulate half 
 as much, they would together possess no less a sum than two 
 hundred guineas to begin the world with. 
 
 " It is true that a savings-bank holds out the best prospect to 
 those who are young and unencumbered ; but almost all may 
 derive some advantage from it — at least they may point out to 
 their children the easy means of securing their own comfort, 
 and it will be strange if, out of a large family, some do not prove 
 able to assist their less fortunate parents in their old age. Teach 
 but a child to put part of his first little earnings in the bank, and 
 in all probability poverty will not overtake him to the end of his 
 life. Teach one child to save, and others will follow the example, 
 
SA VJNGS-BAA'KS. 295 
 
 till industry and frugality become as common as vice and misery 
 are now. If a boy of twelve years of age can lay by threepence 
 a week till he is fourteen, then sixpence a week till he is sixteen, 
 and then one shilling a week till he is eighteen, by which time 
 he may be supposed to have learnt his business, he will have in 
 the bank, adding the interest of his money, ten pounds, besides 
 having acquired habits of industry and carefulness. It has been 
 shown above what he may lay by in the next ten years ; and 
 what he will be at the end of that time, compared with men of 
 his own age who have not saved, and who are neither industrious 
 nor careful, need not be shown. 
 
 " Many who have been wild in their youth begin to be steady 
 when they marry ; but bad habits will break out, and an 
 increasing family presses so hard upon those who have nothing 
 beforehand that they often become discouraged, and sink under 
 the evils of poverty. They need not, however, despair ; let them 
 consider if they have not some inclination which they now and 
 then indulge at the expense of some of their comforts, though the 
 thought of it afterwards only causes them pain. Let them try 
 to turn that inclination into an inclination for saving ; it will 
 soon grow upon them, for it gives pleasure both in deed and in 
 thought ; it will go with them to the plough, it will stay with 
 them at the loom, and will sweeten the labour of both. Let 
 them only make a beginning, if it is but with sixpence ; if 
 necessity compels them they can take it back ; the attempt will 
 do them credit, and perhaps they will be more fortunate another 
 time. Let them consider every penny they spend ; let them 
 examine if they cannot do without something which before they 
 thought necessary. If they happen to have money in their 
 pockets without any immediate use for it, let them take it to the 
 bank, and trust to their industry to supply their future wants. 
 A shilling not called for soon tempts to the alehouse, it is soon 
 spent there, a shot is soon run up, a day's wages are soon lost, 
 and thus five shillings are gone without thought and without 
 profit. Now, five shillings in the bank would make an excellent 
 beginning towards rent or towards clothing. Scrape a little 
 money together, and some pounds in the year may be saved by 
 laying in potatoes, or flour, or coals at the best hand, instead of. 
 in very small quantities and on credit. By buying two pair of 
 good strong shoes at once, so that they may always be well 
 dried before they are put on, and mended as soon as they want 
 it, two pair will last as long as three that are constantly worn ; 
 here are at least ten shillings saved, besides the saving of health 
 and strength. 
 
 "There are many other ways of saving, by means of a little 
 money beforehand ; and it is clear that a man and his family, 
 who earn four-and-twenty shillings a week, may, by good 
 
296 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 management, live better than they did before ; or, if they prefer 
 it, may lay by a few pounds at the end of the year. If a man 
 wants to borrow a little money on any particular occasion, or 
 for any particular purpose, what is so likely to obtain him credit 
 as his having been a regular saver in the bank? If he has 
 unfortunately not been so steady as he might have been, what is 
 so likely to get him a character as his beginning to put money 
 in the bank? But there is scarcely any end to the advantages 
 of such an establishment to those who choose to avail themselves 
 of it ; for unmarried women especially it is particularly desirable ; 
 they may there place their savings in safety without trouble or 
 expense ; it gives them the best opportunity of making them- 
 selves comfortable if they marry, and independent if they do not. 
 "As yet savings-banks have not been established long 
 enough to prove more than a very few of the good effects that 
 may be expected from them. They are calculated, however, to 
 serve the country in the best of all possible ways by enabling 
 every man to serve himself; they hold out encouragement to 
 youth, comfort to middle life, and independence to old a-ge, and 
 a perpetual opportunity to men to improve their condition from 
 generation to generation." 
 
 CASE OF DISTRESS. 
 
 I AM in a state of great perplexity at this moment. It is 
 half-past four in the morning, and by twelve o'clock I want 
 six pages in order to complete this number. All yesterday I 
 was racking my brain upon various topics, but with no sort of 
 success. I might as well have rummaged for gold in an empty 
 chest. I could not tind an idea on any subject. At eleven I 
 ^vent to bed in the hope of rising in a more fertile humour. I 
 was up at three, but found no change. I suppose the weather 
 has something to do with producing this collapse of the imagina- 
 tion, that is, the weather combined with a want of my customary 
 ([uantity of exercise and a sufficient attention to diet. It is a 
 losing game to persist when the humour is directly contrary ; 
 and, probably, if I had taken a vigorous ride yesterday my 
 inaptitude would have vanished, and I should have saved time. 
 These difficulties might easily be avoided, and I am quite deter- 
 mined I will avoid them for the future by increased and regular 
 attention to my state of man, though it is almost worth while to 
 feel their weight on account of the delightful sensation of light- 
 ness which follows their removal. I must eschew formal dinners 
 as much as possible, and live according to the dictates of reason ; 
 indeed, I think 1 have done penance almost long enough. I mean, 
 amongst other things, to attend particularly to sleep, upon the 
 
PAUPERISM. 297 
 
 quantity and quality of which I find vigour and elasticity of body 
 and mind very much depend. There is a great art in sleeping, 
 though it is much neglected, because everybody can sleep after 
 a fashion without any art at all. I will make it the subject of 
 a special article as soon as I have made my observations prac- 
 tically. Time creeps on, and I find myself at a complete stand- 
 still. So, with many apologies for my helpless state, and promises 
 to prevent a recurrence, I have recourse once more to my 
 pamphlet on Pauperism, and make a sufficient quantity of 
 extracts to fill up my remaining space. The last extract — on 
 the cost of labour — I thought had been inserted before, and I 
 searched for it for the purpose of referring to it in the article in 
 my last number on Impressment. It will serve to make a part 
 of what 1 have said there better understood by those who take 
 the trouble to compare the two. 
 
 PAUPERISM. 
 
 Pauperism, in the legal sense of the word, is a state of de- 
 pendence upon parochial provision. That provision, so far as 
 it is necessary to supply the demand for labour, is a tax upon 
 wages ; beyond that amount it is a tax upon property, and 
 operates as a bounty to improvidence. Where labourers, with 
 an ordinary degree of prudence, cannot maintain themselves and 
 their families without parish relief, such relief is part of their 
 own wages, kept back to be doled out to them as emergency re- 
 quires. The feigning or unnecessarily bringing on such emer- 
 gency demaiids an increase of the provision, which increase 
 falls on the property assessed to the rates. Of the large sum 
 annually raised for the purposes of pauperism, that part only 
 is a tax upon property which is absorbed by the bounty to im- 
 providence and by the expenses of the system — the remainder 
 is merely a tax upon wages, and has this double injustice 
 in it. It is not refunded by the ratepayer in the propor- 
 tions in which it is retained by him, nor distributed to the 
 labourers in the proportions in which it is deducted from their 
 wages. It is retained in the proportion of employment of 
 labour, it is refunded in that of property assessed. It is de- 
 ducted from the best labourers in a larger proportion than from 
 the worst — it is distributed to the worst in a larger proportion 
 than to the best. He who employs many hands on a small 
 rateable property retains much of what he ought to pay in wages, 
 and pays back little in poor-rates. But v/ith him who employs 
 few hands on a large rateable property it is exactly the reverse ; 
 he retains little from wages and pays much in rates. The in- 
 justice with regard to the labourers may be shown thus : In any 
 
298 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 place where wages are not sufficient to keep up the supply of 
 labour, it is necessary either to raise them till they are so or to 
 make up the difference from the parish. Suppose the wages to 
 be io.r. a week, and that it would require 12^. to keep up the 
 supply of labour. If wages are raised the best labourers will 
 receive the most benefit ; but if the difference is made up by the 
 parish the best labourers will pay, and the worst will receive the 
 greatest part of the tax. Those who work their whole time will 
 pay 2^. a week, or ^5 \s. per annum, of which they may possibly 
 receive little or nothing in return ; and, according to this scale, 
 a healthy, industrious labourer may lose in the course of his life 
 above ^200. To put the case in another way : If the price of 
 the aggregate of labour in a parish be ^1000 per annum, 
 whereof ^Soo are paid in wages and ^200, whicli is one-fifth, or 
 20 per cent, on the whole, are paid as rates, the labourer who 
 ought to have received \os. a week will only receive Zs. It may 
 be said these instances only prove that the effect of the poor- 
 laws is to establish a benefit society in every parish. But in 
 benefit societies the tax is voluntary and eciual or fairly propor- 
 tioned, and is managed by the contributors themselves ; and 
 with all their precautions there is this acknowledged objection — 
 that the worst members generally receive the most advantage. 
 But where wages are taxed by the parish the tax is neither 
 voluntary nor equal, but most unfairly proportioned. Nor have 
 the contributors any control over the distribution, but are made 
 to apply for their own as if they were depending upon others. 
 The attempt to keep down the price of labour, by reserving 
 a fund for those who have the greatest calls, appears practi- 
 cable at first sight, but in reality has invariably the effect of 
 increasing those calls beyond the capability of the fund to 
 answer, and therefore the price of labour is raised instead of 
 being reduced. To tax unmarried labourers for the benefit of 
 the married soon increases marriages, so as to make the tax 
 insufficient; and the more it is raised, the greater is the insuf- 
 ficiency, and consequently greater the demand upon some other 
 fund. ... 
 
 The mind must ever be at work, and if legitimate exercise is 
 rendered unnecessary, it will, as a rule, take an opposite direc- 
 tion, "to vice industrious, but to nobler deeds timorous and 
 slothful" — which is as accurate a description of pauperism as 
 can possibly be given. To the welfare of beings capable of 
 thought it is indispensable that the present should be regulated 
 with a view to the future. Undoubtedly it is the general opinion 
 that the labouring classes, as a body, are not capable of taking 
 care of themselves. If they are not, they cannot be capable of 
 comprehending the dictates of religion ; for who can possibly be 
 able to provide for a future life who is not able to understand 
 
PA UPERISM. 
 
 299 
 
 the duties of this ? But to what class was Christianity first and 
 principally addressed? For whom are its precepts peculiarly 
 adapted ? The poor-laws indeed say to the labourer — You need 
 not be provident. You need take no thought either for your- 
 selves or your children. But what does Christianity say ? vSt. 
 Paul, speaking not of the rich but of the poor, declares, " If any 
 provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own 
 house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel." 
 Immediately after, he states to whom the voluntary contril^utions 
 of the charitable ought to be distributed. " Let not a widow be 
 taken into the number under threescore years old, well reputed 
 of for good works ; if she have brought up children, if she have 
 lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints' feet, if she have 
 relieved the afflicted, if she have diligently followed every good 
 work." Then follow these words — '' But the younger widows, 
 refuse; they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to 
 house ; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speak- 
 ings things which they ought not." Whoever is conversant with 
 pauperism will recongnize in this last passage a very faithful 
 description of it. . . . 
 
 So far as morals alone are concerned, the cost of labour to the 
 State will be low in proportion as those who perform it possess 
 health, strength, industry, skill, honesty and prudence ; those 
 qualifications being imparted at the cheapest price, whatever 
 that price may be. Therefore the nominal cost ditters greatly 
 from the real, and labour may sometimes perchance be cheaper 
 at 20.f. a week than at ^s* The direct wages of labour are only 
 a part of the real cost, the difference being divided in various 
 proportions between the employer and the public. All the 
 expenses arising out ofthe diseases of the labouring classes and 
 from their education, beyond what they pay themselves, all that 
 is given them in charity, all the expenses of guarding against, 
 prosecuting, and punishing their crimes, all losses from their 
 ignorance and dishonesty, and the poor-rates, so far as they 
 are appropriated to the expenses of pauperism, are to be added 
 to their wages to make up the cost of labour to the community. 
 Enormous as the amount of these sums must annually be, and 
 the greater part of which might be saved, I believe it is not 
 equal to the amount to be expected from the improvement of 
 property that would soon take place if the habits of the labour- 
 ing classes were raised as they might be. 
 
 There is a certain price for everything, and any attempt to 
 force it below produces a contrary effect, though it may cause a 
 division of the payment. Individuals may contrive to lower 
 wages, and may throw the difference, with the increased cost of 
 
 * Arthur Young has somewhere said that he should prefer an Essex 
 labourer at half-a-crown a day to a Tipperary man at fourpence. 
 
300 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 labour, upon the public — the State may inadequately remunerate 
 those it employs, and thereby keep down the amount of taxation ; 
 but the means of paying the taxation will be inevitably dimin- 
 ished in a greater proportion. It is in the nature of things 
 that pauperized labourers should be dearer than independent 
 ones, and that public servants inadequately paid should be either 
 unequal to their duties, or negligent or corrupt in the discharge 
 of them. It is beyond a doubt that an armed force raised by 
 Gonscription or impressment, by ballot, or by the seductions of 
 enlistment, costs a nation more than the necessary price, though 
 it may cost the Government less. The general rule for obtain- 
 ing labour, of whatsoever kind, at the cheapest rate, seems to be 
 first, to render the service as agreeable and respectable as its 
 duties will permit, and then to offer in open market the lowest 
 direct remuneration, which will induce the best qualified spon- 
 taneously to engage themselves and willingly to continue. I 
 believe, if the subject were closely pursued, it would appear that 
 by rendering the various offices of labour as little irksome as 
 may be practicable, and by approximating by all possible means 
 the direct wages of labour to the cost of labour, pauperism and 
 crime might be very considerably reduced ; and that, notwith- 
 standing the general opinion to the contrary, even under present 
 circumstances, the cost of labour, taking quantity and quality 
 together, is less in England, owing to its superior advancement, 
 than in any other country in the world. The same union of 
 activity and perseverance, the same manly discipline, the same 
 noiseless efficiency, that distinguish the best English soldiers and 
 sailors, are to be found in the best classes of English workmen : 
 and these are points of comparison much more to be depended 
 upon than the fallacious ones of daily wages, the price of bread, 
 or the amount of taxation. The hope of an immediate and 
 adequate reward, and the certainty of the secure enjoyment of it, 
 are indispensably necessary to obtain labour at the lowest price, 
 and however high that price may be, still it is the lowest pos- 
 sible. By a law of Nature the slave is the dearest of labourers, 
 and the man whose heart is in his work the cheapest — nay, even 
 the brute who is going home, in the hope of eating his corn in 
 comfort, is able to accomplish more than by any urging that can 
 be inflicted upon him. Heart, kept constant by prudence, con- 
 stitutes the perfection of a labourer. 
 
 The cost of labour is divisible into two parts : the necessary 
 and unnecessary. The first consists of direct and indirect 
 wages ; the second of the expenses of ignorance, vice, and im- 
 providence. As science and wealth are diffused, the effects of 
 ignorance become more injurious, and the temptations to vice 
 and improvidence greater. But for the pains that have been 
 partially taken to enlighten the working classes, it is impossible 
 
MISCJ^LLANEOUS. 30I 
 
 that the principal manufacturing towns and districts could have 
 reached their present state of prosperity. The degree of igno- 
 rance which prevailed thirty years ago would not have permitted 
 such collections of numbers amidst such a diffusion of riches. 
 Improvidence and disorder would long since have gained an 
 overwhelming ascendency ; and they remain to their present 
 extent chiefly because knowledge has not made an equal pro- 
 gress with wealth. In estimating the effects of the diftusion 
 of education, it is not a comparison of the relative quantity of 
 disorder formerly with that which exists now, but with that 
 which would exist now if there had been no such diffusion. If 
 the town of Manchester, for instance, sixty years ago, contained 
 40,000 inhabitants, and now contains 160.000, and if the cjuantity 
 of disorder were even more than fourfold, yet it would not be 
 reasonable to say the spread of knowledge was the cause. The 
 true account most probably would be that but for the spread of 
 knowledge, the present wealthy population could not hold to- 
 gether at all. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Ignorant people conduct themselves towards any new institu- 
 tion as cows in a field towards a recently erected rubbing-post. 
 First, they are suspicious and alarmed, and stare at a distance ; 
 by degrees they approach, and make their awkward attack ; and 
 lastly, they quietly put it to its use. 
 
 Dryden says of Virgil : " He dexterously managed both prince 
 and people, so as to displease neither, and to do good to both, 
 which is the part of a wise and an honest man, and proves that 
 it is possible for a courtier not to be a knave." 
 
 If you wish to be happy, have a small house and a large 
 balance at your bankers ; if you wish to be unhappy, adopt the 
 opposite plan. But this rule is to be taken with reference to 
 means. The principle applies, but not the degree, to the man 
 of twenty thousand and the man of two hundred a year. To be 
 overhoused and underbalanced is an evil in all conditions, and 
 disturbs both sound sleep and good digestion. 
 
 There is no need of painful toil to those who begin prudently, 
 and seek to supply none but real wants ; wholesome labour is 
 sufficient. 
 
 Nothing has conduced to unsettle the different classes in this 
 country more than the attempts to settle them by family settle- 
 ments, marriage settlements, and parish settlements. Lawyers 
 thrive by them, but nobody else. I purpose to take occasion 
 hereafter to examine into the nature and effects of these con- 
 trivances. 
 
302 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 No. XXVIII. W^ednesday, Nov. 25, 1835. 
 
 TEA AND COFFEE. 
 
 I WAS intending to make coffee the subject of an article, when 
 I received an anonymous communication beginning thus : — 
 "When you next want a subject for The Original, let me 
 suggest to you to try your hand at a dissertation on making tea 
 and coffee, so as to produce the best of each." Making tea is 
 a very simple process, and consists merely of pouring boiling 
 water upon the leaf. In making both tea and coffee, I believe 
 it is better to use water which has only just boiled, than that 
 which has been long over the fire. The latter I fancy has some- 
 thing vapid about it, but of this I am not certain. Soft water I 
 have always understood to be preferable to hard. It is scarcely 
 necessary to say that in order to make good tea, it is requisite 
 to provide a good material. The process I should recommend 
 as most certain to prove satisfactory is as follows : — Have a 
 kettle in the room. As soon as the water boils pour some into 
 the tea-pot to heat it ; then put in as much tea as will produce 
 the desired strength, not by long infusion, but almost imme- 
 diately. Pour the water hot from the fire upon the tea. Put the 
 quantity you like of sugar and good cream into your cup, and 
 pour the tea upon them, stirring it as you pour, and all one way 
 round, which causes a smoothness and amalgamation very 
 agreeable to the palat e. I am now supposing you to be drinking 
 tea for the sake of the tea. Under other circumstances you 
 must do as well as you can. During the season of fires I think 
 a kettle much preferable to an urn as ensuring a better condi- 
 tion of the water. With respect to the look of the thing, that is 
 no consideration with me in comparison with the real advantage. 
 As to the trouble of reaching it, that is not much, and there is 
 nothing good to be had without some trouble. Letting tea stand 
 long to get the strength out or putting it near the fire to stew is 
 a very erroneous practice. The quicker it is made the more 
 delicate is the flavour. Long infusion makes it coarse and harsh. 
 For this reason the second cup cannot be expected to be as 
 agreeable as the first, but I recommend a habit to be acquired 
 of taking only one cup on ordinary occasions. I think more 
 weakens the digestive powers. A habit of sipping, instead of 
 gulping, will make a small quantity produce as much enjoyment 
 as a large one, and the difference as to health and elasticity of 
 tone is mimense. This question of quantity I recommend to 
 the consideration of ladies, some of whom are apt to think that 
 
TEA AND COFFEE. 303 
 
 there is no harm in liquids except from strength. A smali 
 quantity of finely fla\'oured green tea, made rather strong and 
 mixed with a large proportion of hot milk, is a very agreeable 
 variety at breakfast. The ingredients should be stirred well 
 together. Speaking from my own experience, I should say it is 
 expedient to be cautious in the use of green tea in the later part 
 of the day. Formerly I passed many sleepless nights without 
 being at all aware that green tea was the cause. It sometimes 
 makes me feel as if I should never want to sleep again ; but 
 that sensation is followed by a corresponding exhaustion, which 
 must be very prejudicial to the system, especially in the case of 
 persons subject to nervous affections. A cup of tea, with the 
 addition of a little toast and an Qgg, according to the wants of 
 the appetite, is particularly agreeable and satisfactory an hour 
 or two before a late dinner ; and in country houses, when a party 
 comes in from the usual exercise, especially at this season of the 
 year when there is a considerable interval before dinner, and 
 when there is frequent exposure to cold or damp, there is some- 
 thing peculiarly pleasant, as I can assert from experience, in a 
 little easy tea association. Previously to exercise or to much 
 exertion of any kind, particularly where there is any hurrying, 
 either of body or mind, tea is much preferable to coffee, whether 
 at breakfast or at any other part of the day. Tea in modera- 
 tion prevents fever and thirst, coffee causes them. Strong coffee, 
 especially with eggs, taken at breakfast, and followed by any 
 excitement, corporeal or mental, will produce a very disagreeable 
 degree of thirst for the whole day. If it is used under such 
 circumstances it should be in great moderation. Any excess in 
 strong coffee is at all times almost sure to produce feverish 
 sensations. The French are particularly cautious in their use 
 of coffee. At breakfast they dilute it with a great deal of hot 
 milk, and after dinner, when they take it strong and without 
 milk or cream, as far as my observation goes, they confine 
 themselves strictly to one small cup. I once went with a friend 
 of mine into a coffee-house at Paris, which was famous for the 
 excellence of the coffee, and we drank two cups each. When 
 we came to pay we had some difficulty in persuading the waiter 
 to take our money ; he seemed to think our proceeding so much 
 out of rule as to be scarcely credible. In travelling, which, 
 without care, is a constant state of fever, tea is greatly to be 
 preferred on every account to coffee. In what I have said in 
 respect to making tea, and in what I am going to say respecting 
 coffee, I can only give general ideas ; those who wish to become 
 proficients, must trust to their own observation and experiments. 
 The art of making coffee is more difficult, at least it is more 
 seldom succeeded in, in this country, than that of making tea. 
 Coffee should be hot, clear, and strong. In the first place, the 
 
304 
 
 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 material should be good; that from Mocha is the best, when it 
 can be procured, which I believe is very rarely. I have been 
 told by a great connoisseur that coffee imported in small parcels, 
 is better flavoured than that in bulk, from the circumstance that 
 the latter is apt to undergo a process of heating more or less. 
 In order to have coffee in the greatest perfection, it should be 
 roasted, ground, and made in immediate succession. As that 
 can seldom happen, the rule should be observed as nearly as 
 circumstances will allow. Whilst kept after roasting, the air 
 should be excluded from it as much as possible, and, I believe, 
 for that purpose a glass bottle or jar, with a ground stopper, is 
 the most efficacious. The best mode of roasting, I was informed 
 by the authority above mentioned, is in an earthen basin placed 
 in an oven with the door open — the coffee to be frequently 
 stirred with a spoon. This mode is said to allow certain coarse 
 particles to fly off, and to render the flavour more delicate than 
 when the usual close cylinder is used. I only speak on this 
 head from what I have been told, and I think I have heard a 
 difference of opinion. The receipt I am going to give for making 
 coffee 1 have just learnt for the purpose from Doctor Forbes, 
 whom I have quoted in my twenty-fourth number on the subject 
 of salads. His coffee is excellent. He uses a biggin, which 
 consists of a lower cylinder to receive the coffee when pre- 
 cipitated, and an upper one, the bottom of which is exceedingly 
 finely pierced. The first thing to be done is to make the vessel 
 hot with boiling water ; then put the coffee into it in the pro- 
 portion of a full ounce to two French cups, which hold five meat 
 spoonsful of liquid each. Do not, as is usual, press the coffee 
 down at all, but only lightly level it. Put on to the top of the 
 machine the movable cullender, to break the fall of the water, 
 which measure according to the quantity wanted, and pour it in 
 quite boiling. As soon as it is run through, the coffee is ready. 
 By this process the coffee is perfectly clear and bright, and I 
 think the proportion makes it strong enough, the material being 
 of the first quality ; but if it is desired to have it stronger, ex- 
 periment will soon teach the proper quantity. It is convenient 
 to have a measure containing an ounce, or whatever weight is 
 in constant use. The same sized biggin will not answer well 
 for making very different quantities. The upper cylinder, I 
 apprehend, should be rather deep than wide, or the water would 
 run through too fast. By not pressing the coffee down, it is 
 much sooner made, and it appears altogether better, though the 
 method was new to me. The coffee may either be made just as 
 it is wanted, or two or three hours before. In the latter case it 
 should be made quite hot when served, but on no account boiled, 
 which wastes the flavour. In order to avoid any risk of boiling, 
 it may safely be heated by insertion in boiling water. There is 
 
CHANGES OF FORTUNE. 305 
 
 an opinion thaL it is rather better when heated again than when 
 used inimediately after making, and there is also an opinion the 
 other way. With respect to a lamp under the biggin, it is 
 certainly convenient on many occasions, but I should think that 
 coffee long kept hot in that way would suffer a diminution of 
 flavour. For large parties I suppose the biggin process is 
 scarcely practicable. I once learned the French mode from a 
 professed maker, but it is so long since that I cannot charge my 
 memory with the precise particulars. As far as I recollect, 
 the coffee is only just suffered to bcil, or else is stopped just 
 before the boiling-point. It is tined, I think, by putting a small 
 portion of the skin of a fish into it. One thing only I am certain 
 of, and that is, that the water with which it is made, is previously 
 boiled with a portion of the grounds of the former making in it, 
 or with a small quantity of fresh coffee. Opinions were divided 
 which was the better plan, but it was perfectly agreed that with- 
 out one or other, there was always a rawness perceptible. Coffee, 
 like tea, especially when drunk with milk or cream, should be 
 well stirred. I do not recollect anything further to add. 
 
 A MISTAKE TURNED TO ACCOUNT. 
 
 I WAS once dining in company with some old members of Parlia- 
 ment, now dead, who related a number of anecdotes, of which I 
 recollect only this : — 
 
 Mr. Pitt, once speaking in the House of Commons, in the 
 early part of his career, of the glorious war which preceded the 
 disastrous one, in which we lost the colonies, called it " the last 
 war. Several members cried out, " The last war but one. ' He 
 took no notice, and soon after repeating the mistake, he was 
 interrupted by a general cry of " The last war but one, the last 
 war but one. '— " I mean, Sir," said Mr. Pitt, turning to the 
 Speaker and raising his sonorous voice, " I mean, Sir, the last 
 war that Britons would wish to remember ; "' whereupon the cry 
 was instantaneously changed into a universal cheering, long and 
 loud. 
 
 CHANGES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 When the late Lord Erskine was Lord Chancellor, he invited 
 the gentleman who told me the following anecdote to breakfast 
 with him. While they were conversing, a servant brought in a 
 letter, which Lord Erskine read with considerable emotion. 
 After a pause, he said it was from one of the French princes, 
 without naming which, and added that it was to solicit his 
 
3o6 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 assistance on the occasion of some embarrassment. He then 
 remarked upon the very extraordinaiy change which a few years 
 had brought about in their respective fortunes. '' The first time 
 I saw the writer of this letter," he continued, " was at Versailles. 
 I was then a poor ensign on my way to join my regiment, which 
 was lying in Minorca. As I was travelling to Paris in a public 
 vehicle, one of the passengers, who held some inferior situation 
 in the palace, offered to procure me an opportunity of seeing the 
 Court, and there I beheld this prince figuring in the most brilliant 
 manner as one of the most distinguished men in Europe. I was 
 then in the lowest rank in one profession, and am now at the 
 head of another of a totally different nature, and he, in exile and 
 in poverty, is supplicating my aid." As I am upon the subject 
 of the reverses of princes, I will present my readers, to many of 
 whom I have no doubt it will be new and interesting, with an ex- 
 tract from Lord Clarendon's " History of the Rebelhon," in which 
 he gives an account, as he had it from the king himself, of Charles 
 the Second's escape after the battle of Worcester, in which he 
 was defeated by Cromwell. This battle was fought at the end 
 of September, and it was after it that Charles concealed himself 
 in the oak, and not, as is commonly supposed, on the twenty- 
 ninth of May, which is the anniversary of his restoration. The 
 king's relish for the homeliest fare, his extreme suffering, and his 
 humble guide's encouragement to him to persevere, are curious, 
 and possess an interest beyond fiction. 
 
 " When the night covered them (that is, a body of Scottish 
 cavalry), the king found means to withdraw himself with one or 
 two of his own servants, whom he likewise discharged, when it 
 began to be light ; and after he had made them cut off his hair, 
 he betook himself alone into an adjacent wood, and relied only 
 upon Him for his preservation, who alone could, and did, miracu- 
 lously deliver him After the king had cast himself into 
 
 the wood, he observed another man who had gotten upon an 
 oak near the place where the king had rested himself, and had 
 slept soundly.. The man upon the tree had first seen the king, 
 and knew him, and carne down to him, and was known to the 
 king, being a gentleman of the neighbouring county of Stafford, 
 who had served his late Majesty during the war, and had now 
 been one of the few who resorted to the king after his coming 
 to Worcester. His name was Careless, a Catholic, who had had 
 a command of foot, about the degree of a captain, under the 
 Lord Loughborough. He persuaded the king, since it could not 
 be safe for him to go out of the wood, and that as soon as it 
 should be fully light, the wood itself would probably be visited 
 by those of the country, who would be searching to find those 
 whom they might make prisoners, that he would get up into that 
 tree where he had been. The king thought it good counsel ; and 
 
CHANGES OF FORTUNE. 307 
 
 with the other's help chmbed into the tree, and then helped his 
 companion to ascend after him ; where they sat all that day, and 
 securely saw many who came purposely into the wood to look 
 after them, and heard all their discourses, how they would use 
 the king himself, if they could take him. The day being spent 
 in the tree, it was not in the king's power to forget that he had 
 lived two days with eating very little, and two nights with as 
 little sleep ; so that when the night came, he was willing to make 
 some provision for both, and he resolved, with the aavice and 
 assistance of his companion, to leave the blessed tree ; and when 
 the night was dark, they walked through the wood into those 
 enclosures which were the farthest from any highway, and 
 making a shift to get over hedges and ditches, after walking 
 at least eight or nine miles, which were the more grievous 
 to the king by the weight of his boots (for he could not 
 put them off, when he cut off his hair, for want of shoes), 
 before morning they came to a poor cottage, the owner whereof, 
 being a Roman Catholic, was known to Careless. He was 
 called up, and as soon as he knew one of them, he easily 
 concluded in what condition they both were ; and presently 
 carried them into a little barn full of hay, which was a better 
 lodging than he had for himself. But when they were there, 
 and had conferred with their host of the news and temper 
 of the country, it was agreed that the danger would be the 
 greater if they stayed together ; and therefore that Careless 
 should presently be gone, and should within two days send an 
 honest man to the king to guide him to some other place of 
 security, and in the meantime his Majesty should stay upon the 
 hay-mow. The poor man had nothing for him to eat, but 
 promised him good butter-milk ; and so he was once more left 
 alone, his companions, how weary soever, departing from him 
 before day, the poor man of the house knowing no more than 
 that he was a friend of the captain's and one of those who had 
 escaped from Worcester. The king slept very well in his 
 lodgings till the time that his host brought him a piece of bread 
 and a great pot of butter-milk, which he thought the best food 
 he had ever eaten. The poor man spoke very intelligently to 
 him of the country and of the people who were well or ill affected 
 to the king, and of the great fear and terror that possessed the 
 hearts of those who were best aftected. He told him that he 
 himself lived by his daily labour, and that what he had brought 
 him was the fare he and his wife had, and that he feared if he 
 should endeavour to procure better, it might draw su:-picion 
 upon him, and people might be apt to think he had somebody 
 with him that was not of his own family. However, if he would 
 have him get some meat, he would do it ; but if he could bear 
 the hard diet, he should have enough of the milk and some of 
 
3o8 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 the butter that was made with it. The king was satisfied with 
 his reason, and would not run the hazard of a change of diet ; 
 he only desired the man that he might have his company as 
 often and as much as he could give it him, there being the same 
 reason against the poor man's discontinuing his labour as the 
 alteration of his fare. 
 
 "After he had rested upon this hay-mow and fed upon this 
 diet two days and two nights, in the evening before the third 
 night, another fellow, a little above the condition of his host, 
 came to the house, sent from Careless to conduct the king to 
 another house, more out of any road, near which any part of 
 the army was like to march. It was about twelve miles that he 
 was to go, and was to use the same caution he had done the 
 first night, not to go in any common road, which his guide knew 
 well how to avoid. Here he new dressed himself, changing 
 clothes with his landlord. He had a great mind to have kept 
 his own shirt, but he considered that men are not sooner 
 discovered by any mark in disguise than by having fine linen in 
 ill clothes, and so he parted with his shirt too, and took the 
 same his poor host had then on. Though he had foreseen that 
 he must leave his boots, and his landlord had taken the best 
 care to provide an old pair of shoes, yet they were not easy to 
 him when he first put them on, and in a short time after grew 
 very grievous to him. In this equipage he set out from his first 
 lodging in the beginning of the night, under the conduct of his 
 guide, who guided him the nearest way, crossing over hedges 
 and ditches that they might be in the least danger of meeting 
 passengers. This was so grievous a march, and he was so tired 
 that he was even ready to despair, and to prefer being taken and 
 suffered to rest, before purchasing his safety at that price. His 
 shoes had, after a few miles, hurt him so much that he had 
 thrown them away, and walked the rest of the way in his ill 
 stockings, which were cjuickly worn out, and his feet, with the 
 thorns in getting over hedges, and with the stones in other 
 places, were so hurt and wounded that he many times cast 
 himself upon the ground with a desperate and obstinate resolu- 
 tion to rest there till the morning, that he might shift with less 
 torment, what hazard soever he ran. But his stout guide still 
 prevailed with him to make a new attempt, sometimes promising 
 that the way should be better, and sometimes assuring him that 
 he had but little farther to go ; and in this distress and perplexity, 
 before the morning, they arrived at the house designed, which 
 though it was better than that which he had left, his lodging was 
 still in the barn, upon straw instead of hay, a place being made 
 as easy in it as the expectation of a guest could dispose it. 
 Here he had such meat and porridge as such people use to have, 
 with which, but especially with the butter and cheese, he thought 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 309 
 
 himself well feasted, and took the best care he could to be 
 supplied with other, but little better, shoes and stockings, and 
 after his feet were enough recovered that he could go, he was 
 conducted from thence to another poor house within such a 
 distance as put him not to much trouble ; for havmg not yet in 
 his thought which way or by what means to make his escape, all 
 that was designed was only, by shifting from one house to 
 another, to avoid discovery. And being now in that quarter 
 which was more inhabited by the Roman Catholics than most 
 other parts of England, he was led from one to another of that 
 persuasion, and concealed with great fidelity. But he then 
 observed that he was never carried to any gentleman's house, 
 though that country was full of them, but only to poor houses of 
 poor men, which only )ielded him rest with very unpleasant 
 sustenance ; whether there was more danger in those better 
 houses in regard of the resort and the many servants, or whether 
 the owners of great estates were the owners likewise of more 
 fears and apprehensions." At last the king, as is well known, 
 was taken to the house of Mr. Lane, a Protestant gentleman of 
 remarkably high character, and trusted by both persuasions. 
 From thence he rode before Mrs. Lane to Bristol, in the disguise 
 of a neighbour's son, and finally escaped to France, after having 
 been recognized by many persons and betrayed by none. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 How superior is a poor man with a rich spirit to a rich man 
 with a poor spirit I To borrow the expression of St. Paul, he is 
 " as having nothing and yet possessing all things.'" While the 
 other presents the melancholy reverse, he is as possessing all 
 things and yet having nothing. The first hopes everything and 
 fears nothing ; the last hopes nothing and fears everything. 
 There is no absolute poverty without poverty of spirit. The 
 sunshine of the mind gives only the bright side. He who lives 
 under its influence is courted by all men, and may, if he will, 
 enjoy their goods without their troubles. The world is, as it 
 were, held in trust for him ; and, in freedom from care, he is 
 alone entitled to be called a gentleman. He is the most inde- 
 pendent of all men, because fortune has the least power over 
 him. He is the only man that is free and unfettered ; he may 
 do what he pleases and nothing is expected from him. He 
 escapes importunity and flattery, and feels a perpetual conscious- 
 ness that he is not sought for but for himself. Suspicion of 
 motives never chills his confidence nor withers his enjoyment. 
 He has an enriching power within himself, which makes his 
 outward wants easily supplied with industry and prudence. 
 
3IO THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 without the necessity of anxious toil. A little is his enough, 
 and beyond is an encumbrance. This is the Christian doctrine 
 and the doctrine of reason, which ever go together. The principle 
 is the same, whether a man have a family or not ; good training 
 is a better patrimony than wealth, as I have already expressed 
 in a short article in my first number entitled " Life." To pro- 
 mote richness of spirit as a national characteristic it is necessary 
 to have spirited governments both local and general, and in each 
 community a large common purse — the very reverse of the pre- 
 sent tone and of the wretched doctrines of the economists. The 
 greatest quantity and the greatest diffusion of enjoyment with 
 the least care are to be found under a system of private comfort 
 and public magnificence. I shall enlar^je upon this important 
 and ill-understood topic on a future occasion. Illustrative of 
 much of the above is the following speech of Hamlet to 
 Horatio : — 
 
 Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 
 Hor. O, my dear lord 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter ; 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee. 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirit, 
 To feed and clothe thee? .... 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 And could of men distinguish her election, 
 She hath seal'd thee for herself ; for thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing — 
 A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks ; and bless'd are those 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please. Give me the man 
 That is not passion's slave, and 1 will wear him 
 In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of hearts, 
 As I do thee. 
 
 1 you are not in the humour for doing anything, and neces- 
 sity does not press, do not waste yourself in vain efforts, or 
 fritter away time in inaction, but turn to something else, or 
 think what is most likely to put you into the humour you wish, 
 whether exercise or refreshment, or society, and that try. By 
 such a process you will often make what is difficult and irksome 
 easy and agreeable ; you will generally save time in the end, 
 and almost always do better what you have to do. Some people 
 are continually flying off from their occupations, so as scarcely 
 ever to reach the effective point of application, whilst others go 
 on so long as to destroy their energy and render perseverance 
 useless. There is a profitable and wholesome mean between 
 inconstancy and weariness. When we know what we shall have 
 to do, it is wise to make suitable preparation ; as professed 
 
M ISC ELLA NEO US. 311 
 
 gamblers, by abstemiousness and repose, make themselves fresh 
 and clear for their midnight practices. 
 
 There are three weaknesses in our habits, which are very 
 common, and which have a very prejudicial influence on our 
 welfare. The first is giving way to the ease or indulgence of the 
 moment, instead of doing at once what ought to be done. This 
 practice almost always diminishes the beneficial effects of our 
 actions, and often leads us to abstain from action altogether ; 
 as for instance, if at this season of the year there is a gleam of 
 sunshine, of which we feel we ought to take advantage, but have 
 not the resolution to leave at the moment a comfortable seat, or 
 an attractive occupation, we miss the most favourable oppor- 
 tunity, and perhaps at last justify ourselves in remaining indoors 
 on the ground that the time for exercise is past. One evil 
 attendant upon this habit of procrastination is, that it produces 
 a certain dissatisfaction of the mind, which impedes and de- 
 ranges the animal functions, and tends to prevent the attainment 
 of a high state of health. A perception of what is right, followed 
 by a promptness of execution, would render the way of life per- 
 petually smooth. Children should be told to do nothing but 
 what is reasonable, but they should be taught to do what they 
 are told at once. The habit will stand them in stead all their 
 lives. The second weakness is when we have made a good 
 resolution, and have partially failed in executing it, we are 
 very apt to abandon it altogether. For instance, if a person, 
 who has been accustomed to rise at ten, resolves to rise at six, 
 and, after a few successful attempts, happens to sleep till seven, 
 there is great danger that he will relapse into his former habit, 
 or probably even go beyond it, and lie till noon. It is the 
 same with resolutions as to economy, or temperance, or any- 
 thing else ; if we cannot do all we intended, or make one 
 slip, we are apt to give up entirely. Now what we should 
 aim at is, always to do the best we can under existing cir- 
 cumstances ; and then our progress, with the exception of slight 
 interruptions, would be continual. The third and last weakness 
 to which I allude is, the practice of eating and drinking things 
 because they are on table, and especially when they are to be paid 
 for. How seldom it happens that two men leave a few glasses 
 of wine in a decanter at a coftee-house, though they have both 
 had enough ; and the consequence of not doing so frequently is 
 to order a fresh supply ; but, at any rate, even the first small 
 excess is pernicious. Excess, however slight, either in sohds 
 or liquids, deranges the powers of digestion, and of course 
 diminishes the full benefit of any meal. It often induces an 
 indisposition to move, and so one excess leads to another. 
 What is called a second appetite is generated, and the proper 
 bounds being once passed, it is not easy to fix another limit. 
 
312 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 The importance in a man's life of stopping at enough is quite 
 incalculable ; and to be guilty of excess for the reason I have 
 just mentioned, though very common, is the height of folly. A 
 very small quantity will cause the difference between spending 
 the remainder of the day profitably or agreeably, and in indo- 
 lence and dissipation. 
 
 GIVING MONEY. 
 
 I HAVE received a letter signed with initials which are unknown 
 to me, in which the writer desires me to state my opinion as 
 to the best mode of giving away large sums of money. My 
 correspondent puts the case of persons who, from taste, live very 
 much within their incomes, and who dispose of the surplus, to 
 the amount of two or three thousand pounds a year, in the way 
 of donation. The question is asked, whether it is better to 
 distribute such large sums in small portions to the usual objects 
 of bounty, or to select persons in respectable stations, with 
 straitened means, and to place them above their difficulties. 
 It is said that if large benefactions were secretly made to such 
 persons as were personally known to the benefactors, an im- 
 mense mass of good would be done, and that such unasked 
 donations cause no humiliation, but are, on the contrary, a 
 compliment. The writer adds that the rich distributor would a: 
 the end of a series of years have the pleasure of contemplating 
 an accumulation of benefits conferred on worthy persons 
 
 To be a perpetual giver, and not to do more harm than good, 
 is so difficult, as I believe to be next to impossible. Whoever 
 gives often and gives much, is sure to be found out, in spite of 
 all attempts at secrecy ; and the consequence is, that expecta- 
 tions are excited, and means resorted to, which are productive 
 of a tone of dependence and sycophancy throughout the neigh- 
 bourhood, or class, within the sphere of the bounty. Great 
 givers can scarcely avoid being imposed upon, and one example 
 of success has something of the same effect that a prize in the 
 lottery used to have. It may benefit one ; though excn that is 
 not often so, but the fame of it unsettles many. Giving in the 
 usual way to what my correspondent calls pauper applicants, 
 and begging-letter impostors, is now generally admitted to be 
 pernicious, though still much persisted in. But what makes 
 pauper applicants, and begging-letter impostors, but giving? 
 And what would be the consequence, if such objects were 
 rejected, and the sums distributed among them were confined 
 to larger bounties to fewer persons ? If it became a system, 
 however specious in appearance, and beneficial in the outset, 
 would it not infallibly become as poisonous as those it was 
 designed to supplant ? Would it not, in the end, infect a higher 
 
ADDRESS TO THE READER. 313 
 
 grade with all the symptoms and evils of pauperism? Straitened 
 circumstances, in all conditions, are in almost all cases attri- 
 butable, more or less, to indolence, imprudence, or absolute 
 extravagance. Where it is not so, it is the exception, and it is 
 the exception only that is really deserving of encouragement. 
 But there can be no system for the relief of exceptions. They 
 are in their nature objects of casualty only. Then givers them- 
 selves are often too indolent to make sufficient inquiries, or to 
 be great observers. 
 
 {7 o be continued.) 
 
 No. XXIX. Wednesday, Dec. 2, 183S, 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE READER. 
 
 Dear Reader, — If I had known what I now know, 1 would not 
 have concluded my first volume till the last number of last 
 month, giving timely notice that it was expedient I should take 
 a holiday. London living and authorship do not go on well 
 together. My writings have latterly drawn upon me more 
 numerous and cordial invitations than usual, which is a gratify- 
 ing sign of approbation, but of somewhat ruinous consequences. 
 Conviviality, though without what is ordinarily called excess, 
 during the greater part of the w-eek. and hard fagging during the 
 remainder, with a sacrifice of exercise and sleep, must tell ; and 
 if I were to go on without intermission, I must make myself 
 a slave, wnth at the same time great danger of falling off. I 
 have therefore determined to suspend my labours till the first 
 Wednesday in March, and feeling the expediency of such a ste]), 
 I think it best to take it at once. What portion of my present 
 indisposition for writing, or whether any, is attributable to the 
 mere continuance of my weekly efforts, I cannot at all determine ; 
 but undoubtedly, if I had lived according to my own precepts, 
 and had given up a portion of each day to composition, I should 
 have felt myself in a much more favourable humour than I now 
 do. Delay. I find on inquiry, is the common failing of authors, 
 and an independence of the habits of society is more difficult 
 than those who are not situated as I am can well conceive. A 
 respite will, therefore, not only give me fresh vigour for writing, 
 but you a fresh appetite for readmg ; for I cannot but fear that a 
 constant supply from the same pen might produce in the end a 
 certain want of relish. Diet, however good, ought now and then 
 to be changed. I have already given you a sufficient course of 
 mine to produce some effect, if it ever will ; and if you should 
 
314 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 feel inclined to return to it, it will have something of the charm 
 of novelty. The same phraseology and turn of thinking will not 
 be always haunting you. After a first acquaintance, a temporary 
 separation is almost always productive of agreeable results, and 
 so I trust it will be with you and me. In the course of my work 
 many subjects of importance have suggested themselves to me 
 for the first time, which I wish to have leisure to turn over in 
 my mind, and I wish to read over carefully what I have already 
 written, in order to supply any omissions I may find, and take 
 up those subjects upon which I have only lightly touched. 
 Many of the articles were written so completely off-hand, that I 
 have entirely forgotten them, as I have never given them a 
 second perusal. The reasons why I have fixed the first Wednes- 
 day in March for the resumption of my numbers, are, first, 
 because three months will afford ine ample time to recover my 
 tone ; secondly, because I shall have sufficient opportunity for 
 attending to persons and matters, of late somewhat neglected ; 
 and lastly, because during the short days my publication requires 
 so much writing by candle-light, which I wish to avoid before I 
 suffer any inconvenience, which hitherto I have fortunately 
 escaped. It will be my aim during the interval between this 
 time and March to put myself into the best state for renewing 
 my labours with effect. Diet, sleep, and exercise, are the chief 
 points to be attended to, and difficult it is to attend to them in 
 this metropolis. If one could but succeed in uniting the advan- 
 tages of solitude with those of society, it would be glorious. 
 One of my principal objects throughout my numbers has been to 
 facilitate such a union, by rendering the mode of living more 
 simple and rational, and I shall labour again in the same cause. 
 In the meantime I wish you, by a short anticipation, the com- 
 pliments of the season. I have only to add, that my publisher 
 will suppose his orders to continue in force, except where notice 
 is given to the contrary, before the appearance of my next 
 number ; and subscribers in the country wishing to have the con- 
 tinuation are requested to direct their booksellers accordingly. 
 
 GIVING lAO'ii^YX— {concluded). 
 
 It is from indolence frequently that people are givers instead of 
 spenders of their money, and they will seldom take very much 
 trouble either in giving or refusing. Large gifts have undoubtedly 
 occasionally produced the happiest consequences both on indi- 
 viduals and on whole families ; but the question is whether a 
 system of bestov.'ing surplus funds in large donations would be 
 beneficial or not. I think the system would not be beneficial, 
 because the difficulty and trouble of discrimination would be too 
 
GIVING MONEY. 315 
 
 great, and imposition and sycophancy would meet with more 
 encouragement than merit ; so that society would be a loser. I 
 think occasional donations of large sums are to be recommended, 
 but that no rule can be laid down. The question then arises, 
 what the rich, who are liberally disposed, are to do with their 
 surplus means. In the first place, I believe, that the man who 
 spends his money well, does more good in the long run than he 
 who gives it, and that there is no way of diffusing so much 
 .happiness as by the liberal employment of industry or genius. 
 Those who have more money than they want, cannot, in my 
 opinion, do better than bestow it in the promotion of public 
 improvements ; for then they not only benefit individuals of 
 different classes, by affording them scope for their talents and 
 employment for their industry, but the public is benefited also. 
 A local improvement will frequently do more to promote the 
 convenience and good morals of a community than anything that 
 can be devised, and I sometimes wonder that the wealthy do not 
 oftener turn their attention in that direction. Such a spirit' 
 generally adopted by individuals and by combinations of in- 
 dividuals, would soon produce a change for the better both in 
 town and country, and it is a species of liberality in which theae 
 is no mixture of evil. For my own part, I have a particular 
 pleasure in watching the progress of local improvements, and in 
 the reflection that the benefits derived from them arc of general 
 diffusion. I have said that spending money well does more good 
 than giving it. I shall in a future number consider to what 
 extent the injunctions in the New Testament with respect to 
 almsgiving are applicable to the present state of things in this 
 countrv. 
 
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