Various
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 60, No. 373, November 1846
I can really give no account of my time for the last eleven weeks, which have slipped away almost unperceivedly – one day so like another, that scarce any thing can be recorded of one which would not be applicable to every other. Breakfast over, (crabs, lobster, or prawns, and honey indigenous, the constant racy accessaries,) all the intermediate time between that hour and dinner, (for I am no lunch-eater,) six p. m., is spent in sauntering along the shore, poking among the rocks, strolling over the clefts, and clambering up and wandering about the downs; and occasionally in pilgrimages to distant and pretty little farm-houses, (in quest of their products for our table,) generally accompanied by Tickler, always by a book, sometimes with my wife and children; but most frequently alone, chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies, and always avoiding, of set purpose, any other company (even were it here to be had) in my rambles, than as is aforesaid. 'Tis ecstacy to me to sit alone on a rock in a sequestered part of the shore, especially when the tide is high, and equally whether it be rough or smooth, or calm or stormy weather: for as to this last, I have discovered a friendly nook in the rocks, big enough to hold me only, and deep enough to give me shelter from the wind and rain, except when they beat right in upon me. You may laugh, perhaps, but in this retreat I have spent many an entire day —i. e. from ten A.M. to six P.M., sometimes pacing to and fro on the sands, near my hole, generally bathing about mid-day, taking with me always the Times newspaper, (which I generally got from the old postman, whom I met on my way down to the sands,) the current number of Maga, or some favourite volume, being also frequent companions. I must acknowledge, however, that the first was my special luxury, to which I daily addressed myself with all the eager relish of a dog with a fresh bone in an unfrequented place – and whom I conceive to be, so circumstanced, in a state paradisiacal; – for, indeed, to such a pass are matters come, that no man whom I know of can miss his newspaper without a restless, uncomfortable feeling of having slipped a day behind the world. Surely I may here, in passing, say a word or two about NEWSPAPERS?
And coming from one who, as you know, never had any thing to do with newspapers, except as having been an eager and regular reader of them for more than twenty years, I hope my testimony is worth having, when I express my opinion that our newspaper press is a very great honour to Great Britain, as well negatively in its abstinence from myriads of tempting but objectionable topics, as well as positively in the varied ability, the energy, accuracy, and amazing promptitude displayed in dealing with the ever-changing and often-perplexing affairs of the world. Inestimably precious is the unshackled freedom of these wondrous organs of public opinion: infringe, though never so slightly, and but for a moment, upon that independence, and you wound our LIBERTY in the very apple of the eye.
Let any government unjustifiably or oppressively attack one of our newspapers – whatever may be its politics – how indifferent even soever its character – with an evident intention to impair its independence – and there is not a man in the country who would not suddenly feel a stifling sensation, as if some attempt had been made upon his immediate personal rights. The nation may be (though fancifully) compared to a huge monster, with myriads of tentacles– or whatever else you may call them – as its organ of existence and action, every single one of which is so sensitive, that, if touched, the whole creature is instantly roused and in motion, as if you had touched them all, and stimulated all into simultaneous and frightful action. The public is this vast creature – the press are these tentacles. Fancy our Prime Minister pouncing oppressively and illegally upon the very obscurest provincial paper going – say the "Land's End Farthing Illuminator!" Why, the whole artillery of the press of the United Kingdom would instantly open upon him; in doing so, being the true exponent of the universal fury of the country – and in a twinkling where would be my Lord John, or would have been Sir Robert, with the strongest government that ever was organised? Extinguished, annihilated. Let some young and unreflecting Englishman compare this state of things with that which is at this moment in existence in Spain! – in which every newspaper daring to express itself independently, though moderately, on a stirring political event of the day, is instantly pounced upon by an infamous – a truly execrable government, and silenced and suppressed; and its conductors fined and imprisoned. We in this country cannot write or read the few words conveying the existence of such a state of facts, without our blood boiling. And is there no other country where the press is overawed – submits, however sullenly, to be dictated to by government, to become the despicable organ of falsehood and deceit – and is accessible to bribery and corruption? And what are we to say of the press of the United States of America, pandering (with some bright exceptions) to the vilest passions, the most depraved tastes of the most abandoned among the people, and mercenary and merciless libellers? With scarcely more than a single foul exception – and that, one regrets to say, in our Metropolis, in which are published nearly forty newspapers – can any person point out a newspaper, in town or country, indulging in, ribald or obscene language or allusions, or – with two or three exceptions – professed impiety, or slanderous attacks upon public or private character. Some year or two ago there was manifested, in a certain portion of the metropolitan press, a tendency downwards of this sort; and how long was it before popular indignation rose, and – to use a legal phrase – abated the nuisance? Can the chief perpetrator of the enormities referred to, even now, after having undergone repeated legal punishment, show himself any where in public without encountering groans and hisses, and the risk even of personal violence? And did not the occasion in question rouse the legislature itself into action, the result of which was a law effectually protecting the public against wicked newspapers, and, on the other hand, justly affording increased protection to the freedom and independence of the virtuous part of the press? I repeat the question – Who can point out more than one or two of our newspapers which are morally discreditable to the country? No censor of the press want we: the British public is its own censor. What a vast amount of humbug, of fraud, of meanness, of corruption, of oppression, of cruelty, and wickedness, as well in private as in public life – as well in low as in high places – is not kept in check, and averted from us, by the sleepless vigilance, the fearless interference, the ceaseless denunciations of our public press! 'Tis a potent preventive to check evil – or rather may be regarded as a tremendous tribunal, to which the haughtiest and fiercest among us is amenable, before which, though he may outwardly bluster, he inwardly quails, whose decrees have toppled down headlong the most exalted, into obscurity and insignificance, and left them exposed to blighting ridicule and universal derision. It is true that this power may be, and has been, abused: that good institutions and their officials have been unjustly denounced. But this is rare: the vast power above spoken of exists not, except where the press is unanimous, or pretty nearly so: and as the British people are a just and truth-loving people, (with all their weaknesses and faults,) the various organs of their various sections and parties rarely come to approach unanimity, except in behalf of a good and just cause. Let the most potent journal in the empire run counter to the feeling and opinion of the country, if we could imagine a journal so obstinate and shortsighted, and its voice is utterly ineffectual – the objects of its deadliest animosity remain unscathed, though, it may be, for a brief space exposed to the irritating and annoying consequences of publicity. Let this country embark, for instance, in a just war – within a day or two our press would have roused the enthusiasm of this country, even as that of one man. Let it be an unjust war – and the government proposing it, or appearing likely to precipitate it, bombarded by the artillery of the press, will quickly be shattered to pieces. All our institutions profit prodigiously by the wholesome scrutiny of the press. The Church, the Army, the Navy, the Law, every department of the executive – down to our police-offices, our prisons, our workhouses – in any and every of them, tyranny, peculation, misconduct of every sort, is quickly detected, and as quickly stopped and redressed. While conferring these immense social benefits, how few are the evils, how rare – as I have already observed – the misconduct to be set off! How very, very rare are prosecutions for libel or sedition, or actions for libel, against the press; and even when they do occur, how rare is the success of such proceedings! I happen, by the way, to be able to give two instances of the generous and gentlemanlike conduct of the conductors of two leading metropolitan newspapers of opposite politics; one was of very recent occurrence: – A hot-headed political friend of mine, contrary to my advice, forwarded to The — a fact, duly authenticated, concerning a person in high station, which, if it had been published, would have exquisitely annoyed the party in question, whose politics were diametrically opposed to those of the newspaper referred to, and would also have afforded matter for party sarcasm and piquant gossip in society. The only notice taken of my crestfallen friend's communication was the following, in the next morning's "Notices to Correspondents: " – "To [Greek: S]. – The occurrence referred to is hardly a fair topic for [or 'within the province of'] newspaper discussion." The other case was one which occurred two or three years ago; and the editor of the paper in question did not deign to take the least notice whatever of the communication – not even acknowledging the receipt of it. There is one feature of our leading London newspapers which always appears to me interesting and remarkable: it is their leading article on a debate, or on newly-arrived foreign intelligence. Let an important ministerial speech be delivered in either House of Parliament on a very difficult subject, and at a very late hour, or say at an early hour in the morning; and on our breakfast-tables, the same morning, is lying the speech and the editor's interesting and masterly commentary on it – evincing, first, a thorough familiarity with the speech itself, and with the difficult and often obscure and complicated topics which it deals with; and, secondly, a skilful confutation or corroboration, wherein it is difficult which most to admire, the logical acuteness, dexterity, and strength of the writer, the vigour and vivacity of his style, or the accuracy and extent of his political knowledge; and this, too, after making large allowance for occasional crudity, perversion, inconsistency, or flippancy. The same observation applies to their articles, often equally interesting and masterly, on newly-arrived foreign intelligence. Conceive the extent to which such a writer, such a journal must influence public opinion, and gradually and unconsciously bias the minds of even able and thinking readers. Engaged actively in their own concerns all day long, they have too often neither the inclination nor opportunity for sifting the sophistries, skilfully intermingled with just and brilliant reasoning, and disguised under splendid sarcasm and powerful invective. How, again, can they test the accuracy of historical and political references and assertions, if happening to lie beyond their own particular acquisitions and recollections? The other side of the question, such a one is aware, will probably be found in the Chronicle or Standard, the Times or Globe, Sun or Herald respectively, whose business it is to be continually on the watch for each other's lapses, to detect and expose them. To what does all this lead but the formation of an indolent habit of acquiescence in other men's opinions – a hasty, superficial acquaintance with pros and cons, upon even the gravest question propounded by other men – a heedless, universal taking upon trust, instead of that salutary jealousy, vigilance, and independence, which insists in every thing, upon weighing matters in the balances of one's own understanding? Many a man is reading these sentence who knows that they are telling the truth; and doubtless he will be for the future upon his guard, resolved not to surrender his independence of judgement, or suffer his faculties to decay through inaction. – But, bless me! this glorious morning is slipping away. I hear Tickler scratching at the door. I shut up my writing-case, don my coat, hat, and walking-stick, and away to the shore. Scarcely have I got upon the sands, when behold, floating majestically past me, at little more than a mile's distance, the magnificent St Vincent (one hundred and twenty guns.) There's a line-of-battle ship for you! I take off my hat involuntarily in the presence of our Naval Majesty. I gaze after her with those feelings and thoughts of fond pride and exultation which gush over the heart of an Englishman looking at one of HIS MEN-OF-WAR! Well – superb St Vincent, you have now rounded the corner, and are out of sight; but I remain riveted to the spot with folded arms, and ask of our naval rulers, with a certain stern anxiety, a question, which I shall throw into the striking language of Mr Canning – "Are you, my Lords and Gentlemen, silently concentrating the force to be put forth on an adequate occasion?" Who can tell how soon that adequate occasion will present itself? Is the peace of Europe at this moment so profound, is our own position so satisfactory and impregnable, that we may wisely and safely dismiss all anxiety from our minds? Why, has not, within these few days past, an event occurred which is calculated to give rise to very serious anxiety in the minds of those feeling an interest in public affairs? I allude to the Duc de Montpensier's marriage with the Infanta Donna Luisa, which I have just learned, was actually carried into effect at Madrid on the 10th instant, in the teeth of the stern and repeated protest of Great Britain. I do not take every thing for gospel which appears on this subject in the newspapers, from which alone we have hitherto derived all our knowledge of this affair; and, with a liberal allowance in respect of their excusable anxiety to make the most of what they regard as a godsend at this vapid period of the year, I would suspend my judgment till the country shall have had full and authentic information concerning the real state of the case. I hope it will prove that I for one have altogether mistaken the aspect and bearings of the affair. Discarding what may possibly turn out to be greatly exaggerated or wholly unfounded, I take it nevertheless for granted, that, (1st,) the youngest son of the reigning King of the French was, on the 10th instant, married to Donna Luisa, the sister of the reigning Queen of Spain, and heiress-presumptive to her crown; (2dly,) That this was done after and in spite of the distinct emphatic protest of the British government, conveyed to those of both Spain and France; (3dly,) That the British government and the British ambassadors at Madrid and Paris had been kept in profound ignorance of the whole affair up to the moment of the annunciation to the world at large of the fact, that the marriage had been finally – irrevocably determined upon. I think it, moreover, highly probable, that (1st,) this marriage is regarded by the people of Spain with sullen dislike and distrust; (2dly,) that there has been cruel coercion upon the two royal girls – for such they are – the result of an intrigue between their Mother, the notorious Christina, and Louis Philippe; (3dly,) that an express or implied promise was personally given, during the last year, at the Chateau d'Eu, by the French king and his minister, to our queen and her minister, that this event should not take place; – and all this done while England was reposing in confident and gratified security, upon the supposed "cordial understanding" between herself and France; in contemptuous disregard of England's title to be consulted in such an affair, founded upon her stupendous sacrifices and exertions on behalf of the peace and liberty of Spain, and in deliberate defiance – as it appears to me – of the treaty of Utrecht! What is Louis Philippe about? On what principles are we to account for his conduct? Has he counted the cost of obtaining his immediate object? Has he calculated the consequences with respect to France and to Europe generally? Is he prepared, at the proper time, to demonstrate, that the step which he has taken is consistent with his character for sincerity and straight-forwardness – with his personal honour and welfare – with the honour and welfare of his family and of France? That he has not violated any pledge, or infringed any treaty? That England is not warranted in considering herself aggrieved, slighted, insulted? That he could have had no sinister object in view, and that his conduct has been consistent with his loud professions of friendship and respect for this country and its sovereign? Let him ask himself the startling question, whether he can afford to lose our friendship and support towards himself or his family and dynasty, in his rapidly declining years – or further, provoke our settled anger and hostility? England is frank and generous, but somewhat stern and sensitive in matters of honour and fidelity; and none is abler than Louis Philippe to appreciate the consequences of her resentment. Is he aware of the altered feeling towards him which his recent conduct has generated in this country? That his name, when coupled with that conduct, is mentioned only with the contempt and disgust due to gross insincerity, selfishness, and treachery; and that, too, in a country which, up to within a few months ago, gave him such unequivocal and gratefully-recognised tokens of respect and affection? Whenever he escaped from the hand of the assassin, where was the event hailed with such profound sympathy as here? Now, his name suggests to us only that of his execrable father, and reminds us that the blood running in his veins is that of Philip Egalité. Surely the equipoise of European interests has been seriously disturbed, either through the insane recklessness of an avaricious monarch, bent on enriching every member of his family, at all hazards, or in furtherance of a deep and long-considered scheme, having for its exclusive and sinister object the aggrandisement of his family and nation. Had he come to a secret understanding beforehand with America, or any European power, to support him throughout the consequences which might ensue? Was it his object to crush English influence in the Peninsula, and render it at no distant period a mere French province, and give him a right or pretext for interference? What will the Spanish nation say to what he has done? Has he rightly estimated the Spanish character, and foreseen the consequences of what he has done, in perpetrating an abduction of their Infanta? What prospects has he opened for Spain? Has he considered what a line of policy is now open to Great Britain, with reference to Spain? Whether the northern powers of Europe will announce dissatisfaction at this proceeding remains to be seen. They cannot feel satisfaction, unless their relations and policy towards this country and France are assuming a new character. I should like to know what M. Guizot really thinks on all these subjects, and am curious to hear what he will say – or rather suffer his royal master to coerce him into saying – when the time shall have arrived for public explanation. I trust that it will speedily appear that our representatives in Spain and France have acted, as became them, with promptitude, prudence, and spirit, and that neither our late nor present foreign Secretary has been guilty of neglect or bungling diplomacy, so as to place us now in a position of serious embarrassment, or ridiculous inability for action. If the contrary be the case – that is, if no such compromise of our national interests have occurred, and we are now free to say and do what we may consider consistent with our rights and character, it is to be hoped that our government, by whomsoever carried on, will act on the one hand with dignified and uncompromising determination, and on the other with the utmost possible circumspection. They have to deal with a very subtle and dangerous intriguer in Louis Philippe, who seems to have chosen a moment for the development of his plans most convenient for himself – viz., when our Parliament was newly prorogued, not to meet again till he should have had the benefit of the chapter of accidents. All will, however, assuredly come out; and if the main features of the case prove to have been already shadowed forth truly, I do not think that there will be found two opinions in this country upon the subject of Louis Philippe and his Montpensier marriage. It is represented by, one of our journals as an event, the hubbub about which "will soon blow over;" but I do not think so – it appears, on the contrary, pregnant with very serious and far-stretching consequences – the first of which is the undoubted conversion of the "cordial understanding" between England and France, into a very "cordial misunderstanding," – with all its embarrassing and threatening incidents. Our diplomatic relations are now chilled and disordered; and the worst of it is, not by a temporary, but permanent cause – one which, the more we contemplate it, the more distinctly we perceive the consequences which it was meant should follow from it. The bearing of England towards France has become one of stern and guarded caution. In all human probability, Louis Philippe will never look again upon the face of our Queen Victoria, or partake of her hospitalities, or be permitted to pour his dulcet deceit into her ears. He may affect to regard with satisfaction and exultation the fact of his having become the father-in-law of the heiress-presumptive to the throne of Spain: but I do not think that he can really regard what he has just accomplished otherwise than with rapidly-increasing misgiving. "A few months," to adopt the language of one of our most powerful journalists, "will now probably show us how far Louis Philippe has succeeded in a feat which foiled the undying ambition of Louis le Grand, and the unexampled might of Napoleon; and what is the real value of the spoil for which he has not hesitated to imperil a thirty years' peace, and convulse the relations of Europe?" Let me return, however, to the topic which led me into this subject, and express again my deep anxiety for the efficient management of our navy: adding a significant fact disclosed by the last number of La Presse– which announces that the Minister of Marine has just concluded contracts for ship-timber to be supplied to the ports of Toulon, Cherbourg, Brest, L'Orient, and Rochefort, to the extent of upwards of 25,000,000 francs, (i. e. upwards of a million sterling.) Does Louis Philippe meditate leaving to France the destructive legacy of a war with England, as a hoped-for prevention of the civil war which he may expect to ensue upon his death?
If I were to write a diary here, it would be after the following sort: —
Monday.– Another shark! Mercy on us! What a brute! But not so big as the other.
Tuesday.– We had capital honey this morning to breakfast; eightpence per lb. – freshly expressed from the wax, and got from Granny Jolter's farm.
Wednesday.– My Times did not come by to-day's post, and I feel I don't know how.
Thursday.– The "hot crab" which we had at the parsonage, where we dined to-day, was exquisite. The way it is done is – the whole of the inside, and the claws, having been mixed together with a little rich gravy, (sometimes cream is used;) curry-paste, not curry-powder, and very fine fried crumbs of bread, is put into the shell of the crab and then salamandered. If my cook can do it on my return to town, I will give her half-a-crown.
Friday.– Nothing whatever happened; but it looked a little like rain, over the downs, about four o'clock in the afternoon.
Saturday.– A day of incidents. Ten o'clock A.M. – The coast-guard man told me, that about five o'clock this morning, as he was coming along – cliff, a young fox popped out of a thicket close at his feet, looked "quite steady-like at him for about five seconds," and then ran back into the furze.
Eleven o'clock. – Saw a Cockney "gent" on a walking tour, the first of the sort that I have seen in these parts, and he looked frightened at the solitariness of the scene. Every thing that he had on seemed new: a dandified shining hat; a kind of white pea-jacket; white trowsers; fawn-coloured, gloves; little cloth boots tipped with shining French polished leather; a very slight umbrella covered with oil-skin; and a little telescope in a leathern case, slung round his waist. He fancied, as he passed me, that he had occasion to use a gossamer white pocket-handkerchief, with a fine border to it; for he took it out of an outside breast-pocket, and unfolded it deliberately and jauntily. Whence came he, I wonder? He cannot walk four miles further, poor fellow! for evidently walking does not agree with him: yet he must, or sit down and cry in this out-of-the-way place.
Two o'clock. – Tickler caught a little crab among the rocks. It got hold of his nose, and bothered him.
Four o'clock. – As I was sitting on a tumble-down sort of gate, talking earnestly with my little boy, I heard some vehicle approaching – looked up as it turned the corner of the road, and behold – Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and one or two other persons, without outriders or any sort of state whatever! She was dressed exceedingly plain, and was laughing heartily at something said to her by a well-known nobleman who walked beside the carriage. I never saw her Majesty looking to so much advantage: in high spirits, with a fine fresh colour, and her hair a little deranged by the wind. She and her little party seemed surprised at seeing any one in such an out-of-the-way place, and her Majesty and the Prince returned our obeisances with particular courtesy.
Half-past Five. – Nick Irons met me with a large viper which he had just killed, after it had flown at his dog. Is there any difference between vipers and adders?
A quarter past Six. – On arriving at home, found a hot crab, which had been sent in to us, as an addition to our dinner, from the parsonage. I lick my lips while thinking of it. I prefer the cream to the gravy.
Half-past six. – Find I have got only three bottles of port and two of sherry left!
Nine o'clock. – My four gallon cask of elderberry wine, made for me – and capitally made, too – by one of the villagers, came home. We are to put a quart of brandy in it, and "take care it don't forment." I fancy I see ourselves and the children regaling ourselves with it on the winter's evenings, in town. Altogether it has cost me twelve shillings and sixpence!
Quarter past Nine. – Children go to bed; I had the candles brought in, resolved to read the new number of the – ; but fell asleep directly, and never woke till half-past twelve o'clock, when I knew not where I was; being in darkness – and alone. Really a journal of this sort is, upon consideration, so instructive and entertaining, that I wish to know whether you would like me to keep one during my next sojourn at the seaside and publish it in Maga? I would undertake not to exceed three numbers of Maga, each Part to contain only twenty pages.
Miss Strickland v. Lord Campbell.
Will his lordship favour the world with some reply to this clever and laborious lady's accusation contained in her letter to the Times? That letter is exceedingly specific and pointed in the charge of literary larceny, and committed under circumstances which every consideration of candour, gallantry, and literary character, concurs in rendering Lord Campbell's complete exculpation a matter of serious consequence to his reputation. Has he, or has he not, designedly appropriated to his own use, as the fruits of his own original research, the results of a literary fellow-labourer's meritorious and pains-taking original investigation – that fellow-labourer, too, being a lady? I sincerely hope that Lord Campbell's first literary attempt will prove not to be thus discreditably signalized. His book is yet unnoticed in Maga.
According to that good old intelligible English saying, it is this morning raining cats and dogs. There's an end, Tickler, to our intended eighteen-mile walk (thither and back) to the lighthouse, the machinery of which I was very anxious to explain to you. Bow, wow, wow, wow! indeed! I know what you mean, you little sinner! You want to be after the rabbits in yonder thickets, and you mean to intimate that you can go perfectly well by yourself, don't mind the rain, and will come safely home when you have finished your sport. Don't look so earnestly at me, and whine so piteously. By the way, do you call yourself a vermin dog? and yet every hair of your shaggy coat stood on end the other day, when I turned out for you the two pennyworth of mice —mice!– which I had bought for you from Nick Irons? What would you have done if a RAT were to meet you? Bah, you little wretch! Where's your spirit? Refined, and refined away by breeding, eh? What would you have done if you were to be allowed to go off now, and were to rout out accidentally a hedgehog, as Hermit did yesterday? You may well whine! He's five times your size, eh? But I've seen a terrier that would tackle a hedgehog, and bring him home, too – your own second cousin, Tory, poor dear dog – peace to his little ashes. Besides, to return to the rabbits – in spite of all your snuffing and smelling, and scampering, and routing about, you never turned up a rabbit yet! And even our kitten has only to rise and curve her little back, and you slink away, like an arrant coward as you are – Well! – come along, doggy! you're a good little creature, with all your faults – these black eyes of yours, with your little erect ears, look as if you had really understood all that I have been saying to you – so I really think – and yet – pour! pour! pour! – [Enter Emily.]