Passages of a Working Life during Half a Century
Chapter VII
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CHAPTER VII.
DURING the spring of 1830 I am engaged in carrying forward the
regular monthly publication of the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, which was issued in
half volumes. I am also occupied in writing a second volume of “The Menageries.” Important events are at
hand. The confirmed ill-health of George IV. was the
chief subject of political interest, for most persons were looking forward to the
inevitable dissolution of Parliament, which would follow the accession of a new King. Yet
the greater number of the Londoners were more agitated by a change that was proceeding—the
metamorphosis of the old watchman into the new police—than by the approaching transition
from the fourth George to the fourth
William. There were many silly people who thought that our liberties were
coming to an end when a dozen tall fellows in a blue uniform were seen issuing from their
station to patrol the streets, unarmed with sword or pistol. Ruffians, and thieves, and
dirty little boys insulted them; and sometimes there was a serious affray, in which the
guardians of the peace were openly defied. I looked, one afternoon, from my windows in Pall
Mall East, and beheld what was really a formidable street riot, in which the conduct of the
rioters was as brutal as that of the police was forbearing. “Down with the ![]()
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Peelers!” was the cry that came with a gathering mob
that rushed forth from the narrow and dirty Whitcomb Street, and went on, to the terror of
shopkeepers and passengers, till large re-inforcements arrived, and the mob fled, as they
always will flee, before combined and vigorous action.
George IV. died on the 26th of June. The oath of
allegiance to King William IV. having been taken by
peers and commoners, the business of Parliament commenced on the 29th, and after a somewhat
stormy three weeks, it was prorogued by the King on the 23rd of July. In the royal speech
the general tranquillity of Europe was adverted to as an object of congratulation. On
Monday morning, the 26th of July, three Ordinances of the King of
France were published, which shook Paris to its centre, as by a social
earthquake. These unconstitutional decrees, which suspended the liberty of the periodical
press, dissolved the Chamber of Deputies, and lessened the number of the people’s
representatives, produced what is known as the Revolution of July. Never did any event of
foreign politics more deeply and widely stir the feelings of the British people, At the
commencement of another week, the three days of the barricades had snatched the sovereignty
of France from the incapable hands of the elder branch of the Bourbons; the Duke of Orleans had consented to exercise the functions of
Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom; the Chamber of Deputies was again opened, and a large
majority, after a few days’ debate, declared that the urgent interests of the French
nation called the Duke of Orleans to the throne.
For several weeks in our country this great French ![]()
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revolution was the one absorbing topic of thought and speech. The sympathy of the British
people with the revolutionists was a solid feeling of satisfaction that a “royal
rebellion against society” had been signally defeated. These expressive four
words are those by which Dr. Arnold characterised
the cause of this great outbreak. In a letter of the 24th of August, he writes to his
friend the Rev. George Cornish: “It seems
to me a most blessed revolution, spotless beyond all example in history, and the most
glorious instance of a royal rebellion against society, promptly and energetically
repressed, that the world has yet seen. It magnificently vindicates the cause of
knowledge and liberty, showing how humanizing to all classes of society are the spread
of thought and information, and improved political institutions; and it lays the crimes
of the last revolution just in the right place, the wicked aristocracy, that had so
brutalized the people by its long iniquities that they were like slaves broken loose
when they first bestirred themselves.”* In the same spirit, Mr. Brougham writes to me, in the middle of August, from
Lancaster: “I give you much joy of these grand events. The peaceful and moderate
conduct of the French Liberals is everything for the cause of sound opinion and good
government. I find all rational Tories are of this mind, and my support in Yorkshire
was almost as much from them as any other quarter. Then what a thing that our friend
M. de Broglie, Minister of
Instruction, is Prime Minister!”
On the 16th of August the deposed King
of
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France had embarked at Cherbourg, for England. The probability of a
reactionary movement seemed to be at an end, and whilst all France, according to M. Guizot, hastened to Paris, many of the tourists of
England, turning from the picturesque of Italy and Switzerland, went to look upon the spots
which had already attained historical celebrity;—spots where for three days workmen in
blouses had stood up against a regular soldiery, till a small band of the Chamber of
Deputies, at first hesitating and timid, proclaimed, “France is free! Absolute
power elevated its standard; the heroic population of Paris has beaten it
down.” Mr. Matthew Hill and I were strongly
moved by “these grand events.” We determined not only to have a holiday in
Paris, but to collect there as many facts from eye-witnesses during the three days as to
give additional interest to a narrative which might form a portion of the Library of
Entertaining Knowledge. My excellent friend M.
Tarver, of whom I have spoken in the previous volume, agreed to accompany
us. We set out on the evening of the 30th of August, and the Dover mail arrived in time for
the steam-packet to Calais. Englishmen who had never crossed the Channel were rushing from
London and the provinces, to look upon the scenes, the descriptions of which, during the
recess of Parliament, filled every newspaper. A fellow-passenger in the mail asked
permission to breakfast with us when we had reached the well-known salle à manger of the original Meurice. Our friend
Tarver catered in the mode which he thought would be most
agreeable to us as citizens of the world. Our chance acquaintance was rather dismayed at
our solid refection of cutlets, pâté de foie gras, and a couple of ![]()
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bottles of Lafitte, but he bore the infliction of the share of the bill with a true English
magnanimity.
In our journey to Paris, we were surprised to find, by talking with the
people in the villages where we changed horses, and in the towns where we dined or slept,
how little was known with any exactness of the circumstances that had been happening in the
capital. They had no news to tell us that was not a week old; they had no conjectures to
offer upon the probability of future events. We went out of our direct way to see
Chantilly. The palace of the great Condé had been
destroyed in the first revolution; but the park and gardens, which Delille had made famous as “ce beau Chantilly,” still flourished. At
the time of our visit an unusual gloom hung over the place, for a mysterious tragedy had
there been enacted a very few weeks before. The house was shut up. The old Duke de Bourbon had been laid in the vaults of St. Denis
to be terrified no more by the echoes of another revolution. The huntsman of the duke was
an Englishman. Of him I learnt much of the condition of the peasantry in the forest of
Chantilly, and was led to think there might be even a worse lot than that of a Dorsetshire
labourer. “A severe winter,” said the huntsman, “is a blessing
to the poor in this district, for horses often fall on the slippery roads, and breaking
their legs, are killed and left on the wayside. Then, and almost only then, the
cottagers have a taste of fresh meat.”
Our sojourn in Paris for a fortnight was not a period of idleness. The
public resorts presented unusual objects of interest. On the evening of our arrival we dine
at a restaurateur’s, the private meal at the Hôtel de Windsor not offering sufficient
food ![]()
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for our curiosity. Amongst the diners were many young men of the
National Guard, which body of the civic militia had been suppressed by Charles X. in 1827, but had started up again to take its
share in the fight for liberty in July, 1830. During our visit to Paris, M. de Lafayette related with characteristic animation how
he was at breakfast on the 29th of July, at his seat at La Grange, when the news of the
Ordinances came; how he hastened to Paris to organize the National Guard; and how the young
men who were at the head of the movement asking him for his name as their chief, he at once
gave his assent. The uniform of the National Guard, when we were in Paris on the 2nd of
September, was seen in every quarter. One of my friends was moved to enthusiasm at the
immediate presence at the restaurant of some of the heroes of the three days, and he stood
up, to the visible surprise of the party in regimentals at another table, to propose the
health of the gentlemen of the National Guard. The compliment was received with the usual
politeness of the nation. We fraternized, and had a pleasant hour of warlike anecdote.
No time was lost by my friends and myself in setting out upon a tour of
inspection of the streets and quays which had been memorable scenes of the great conflict.
It required, however, some minute observation to trace the external evidence of the warfare
that had raged only a month before. In a great battle-field, such as that of Waterloo,
where thousands have perished amidst standing corn, nature very soon covers the traces of
bloodshed with her own green mantle. In a populous city, where men have ![]()
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been fighting from house to house, regardless of the temporary injury to private
property, the ravages are very soon obliterated by the usual course of industry. The work
and the pleasure of the world goes on as before, and in another generation the minute local
associations of stirring events have ceased to have any abiding place in the memory. But to
me and my fellow-travellers there was not one of these spots of passing celebrity which had
not an excitement for our curiosity.
Without stopping to regard the objects of our special search near the Rue de
Rivoli, where we lodge, we hire an open carriage, and driving along the Quai de la Cité,
proceed at once to the Hôtel de Ville. In the open space opposite the hotel there was a
very unusual display of merchandize, which told of something different from the peaceful
exchange of the necessaries of life. Muskets, pistols, swords, bayonets, many of them
rusty, and most in a dilapidated condition, were lying on the pavement for chance sale.
Here we got into talk with a smart and intelligent young man, who had his arm in a sling,
having been wounded by a sabre cut. He was a nail-maker, of the name of Louis
Jean Deré. He told us how a journeyman printer had given him the news of the
Ordinances, and how they went out the next morning to fight side by side, and were fighting
up and down the city during the three days of conflict. Here was exactly a man to tell us
something more than we could learn from chance observation, so we agreed that he should
accompany us in our progress, and a very useful and trustworthy guide we found him.
Opposite the Hôtel de Ville was the shop of a grocer, of the name of
Rivière, who, as a ![]()
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branch of his trade, sold
wine and brandy. Deré pointed out this store as a place that bore
signal evidence of the affray. The good man was proud to show us his broken window-sashes
and his riddled shelves. He was more proud to tell us how one of his sons had been a
school-fellow of one of the young princes of the house of Orleans. The passion for relics,
which most of us, I suppose, cannot refrain from indulging, was displayed by me in a way
which did not much command the after-sympathy of my household. On a peg in the shop hung a
pewter wine measure, of about the capacity of a pint, which had been pierced by a ball. I
bore it off in triumph, at a fancy price, contemplating libations to liberty on future days
of July. I am afraid it was too vulgar a utensil ever to make an appearance at my table,
and it went, I suppose, the way of all useless things which encumber tidy servants who have
no respect for enthusiasm—not even for antique images with broken noses—who deal cruelly
with our most sacred treasures of antiquarianism in the way that a wicked housemaid scoured
the shield of Martinus Scriblerus.
The series of “Entertaining Knowledge”
contains two volumes entitled “Paris and
its Historical Scenes.” They were written by Mr. Craik. The first volume is one especially of permanent interest, as
relating to the growth of the French capital under the old monarchy; and describes its more
remarkable edifices and situations in connexion with the great events of which that city
had been the theatre. Nor is the second volume less valuable, as continuing the succession
of sketches, held together by the thread of local associations. To bring together in a
condensed narrative the obscure records of the ![]()
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middle ages, and the
pamphlet of the hour,—to tell the story of the Barricades of the League, of the Three Days
of 1830,—was a labour worthy of a trustworthy writer. It is sufficient to refer to this
volume to render it altogether unnecessary to go over the scenes that my friends and I
traced during our fortnight’s exploration. I have therein indicated some of the
objects that especially attracted my notice through personal information, which passages
are referred to by the letters S. T. I have some notes before me of
various details by our companion, Mr. Tarver, whose
knowledge of the language which he had spoken from his childhood, saved us from many a
difficulty and mistake. One of his notes as to the general demeanour of those with whom we
conversed, principally mechanics, is worth transcribing: “Nothing can equal the
calm and unpretending manner with which the mass of the people speak of the three
glorious days. Satisfied with having successfully repelled the act of tyranny, they
resumed their occupations, even apparently unconscious of having done anything to
deserve the gratitude of their fellow-citizens.” From a friend of ten years
earlier with whom I was then associated in the “Architects and Antiquaries’
Club”—a most pleasant society, of which the elder Pugin and other eminent artists were members—I derived valuable information
for the materials of the projected book. Mr. Crecy
was engaged in the building of a magnificent square in the Rue St. Lazare, and had seen
some remarkable traits of the scrupulous honesty and excellent organization of some of the
heroes of the three days. A band of men having come to demand his tools and his timber for
the formation of a barri-![]()
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cade, took off every article which could
possibly be useful to them. Not a crowbar or a pickaxe, not a scaffold pole or a deal
batten, not the minutest piece of wood, was lost. Everything was restored to Mr.
Crecy, who did not estimate his damage at the value of five shillings.
Of the inner political life of the Paris of 1830, I had a few glimpses.
Lafayette gave a weekly reception at the Hôtel
which he inhabited, as commander of the National Guard. The spacious rooms were crowded,
not only with officers and privates of the civic militia, but with deputies and
journalists, with men of science and of art, with foreigners of all climes. I renewed here
my acquaintance with a clever Frenchman, M. St. George, who had been a
useful contributor to the “London
Magazine.” He was here quite at home, for his democratic principles had always
been very manifest, and were somewhat difficult of restraint in the moderate-toned
miscellany which St. Leger and I conducted. He
pointed out to me the various celebrities, but there was none on whom I looked with more
respect than upon the venerable man who had fought with Washington in 1777, who had organized the French National Guard in 1789,
who had incurred the hatred of the Jacobins in 1792, by his denunciation of the outrages
committed against Louis XVI., who had retired into
private life when the ambition of Bonaparte seemed to
render liberty impossible, who finally a month before I saw him had headed the revolt of
the people against Charles X., and believed that he
had established freedom upon a constitutional basis when he proposed Louis Philippe as king. The fine old man was now in his
seventy-third year, courteous, high ![]()
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spirited as became one who
belonged to the chivalrous days of the old aristocracy; identified with the hopes and
feelings of the class more especially regarded as the people, in whose moral and
intellectual progress he saw something like a security for the future against a return of
the storms which he had witnessed.
I had an opportunity, in company with Mr.
Hill, of being present at an entertainment of a very unusual character in
France. The London system of public dinners, for social or political purposes, was then
comparatively unknown in Paris. We had been introduced to a celebrated man of letters who was said to have had the not very
enviable distinction of having been private secretary to Robespierre. He was now the editor of one of the most voluminous and
ambitious periodical works in the French language—“Le Bulletin Universel,” which had its ramifications
throughout Europe. He had his soirées in an immense library, set apart for the use of
contributors of all nations, where they might peruse the new books and journals of their
own languages, and digest them upon the systematic principle of French editors into
elaborate reviews and smart paragraphs. I was well acquainted with the “Bulletin Universel,” for in the third volume of the
“London Magazine” I had
introduced a new department, called the “Journal of
Facts,” in which I referred to the Bulletin as a monthly publication averaging
700 or 800 octavo pages—“a most valuable store-house of every new fact that is
called into light by the communication of mind throughout the world.” I was
happy to intrust this department to a gentleman well qualified to conduct it by his
knowledge of ![]()
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foreign languages. Mr.
Charles Atkinson rendered me this literary assistance several years before
he had become the able and esteemed secretary of University College. Mr.
Hill and I were invited to join a large party of the collaborateurs of “Le
Bulletin Universel,” who were to assemble at an early hour of a coming
afternoon to dine at a pleasant tea-garden outside the barriers. The party was a large one.
There was a mixture of tongues—French, German, Italian, but only one Englishman besides
ourselves. We were happy to recognize the distinguished member of parliament who had
written the best book on English finance—Sir Henry
Parnell, a member of our Useful Knowledge Committee. The guests were being
seated, when I took the liberty of mentioning to the president the political eminence of
our compatriot, venturing to refer to the custom in England, that men of high mark should
have a seat at the upper end of the table. With perfect suavity he informed me that in
France the principle of equality was so recognized that he could make no distinctions. The
guests took their places par hasard. The eating
went on very rapidly, for the object of the meeting was, that certain fiery spirits should
deliver exciting orations. It was as much like a platform assembly as could be imagined,
with the single exception, that a good deal of wine was drunk. But there were no toasts
given out by the chair; no standing up for three times three; no speeches such as England
was so fertile in producing, when the honoured one declared for the fiftieth time, that
this was the proudest moment of his life. But there were speeches at this French political
assembly which were really worth listening ![]()
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to, if only for the
intensity with which the rising democratic spirit of Europe was thus embodied. One of the
most remarkable of these speakers—worthy of note not only for his ability but for the
adventurous circumstances in which he had recently been placed,—was M. Potter, the famous Belgian. Banished in the previous
April under a sentence of conspiracy against the government of the Netherlands, he had
returned from France after the days of July, and had headed the revolt of Brussels on the
25th of August. It was about the 10th of September when we saw him after his return to
Paris, when the first insurrection of Brussels had been put down, and only a few days
before he returned thither, to organize that second insurrection, which ended in the
separation of Belgium from Holland. One little incident of this dinner I well remember, as
moving us to repeated merriment in intervals of the most solemn displays of fervid oratory.
A little boy with a fiddle crept to the side of the three Englishmen, who probably looked
less stern than some around us, and requested that we would ask the president for
permission to exhibit his skill for the entertainment of the company. We ventured to convey
this request to the chairman, who graciously consented. In a pause of the speechification,
the little fellow mounted upon a stool, played with considerable spirit the long suppressed
air of La Marseillaise, equally distasteful to Bonaparte and
Bourbon; renewed his exertions during another pause, and went round with his hat to collect
sous from the company.
My attention was agreeably directed in Paris to inquiries of a less
exciting nature than the circum-![]()
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stances attending the Revolution of
the three days. In the preparation of the two volumes of my “Menageries,” I had studied the habits of the
animals there described in the small collection that was then still preserved in the Tower
of London, in the caravans of Bartholomew Fair, and best of all, in the gardens of the
Zoological Society. Those gardens, first opened to the public in the spring of 1828, were
in 1830 far removed from their present perfection. The space enclosed was comparatively
small, the buildings were not of the best construction with regard to the health of the
animals; the collection itself contained some very beautiful specimens, especially of the
carnivora, but did not then offer the noble assemblage of living curiosities, some almost
unique, which have now been gathered together here, through the munificence of scientific
travellers and the liberal expenditure of the Society, that has thus raised up one of the
most useful and the most popular institutions of London. I was curious to see in Paris how
far our spirit of associated enterprise in England promised successfully to compete with
the state expenditure of France. We had the rare advantage of visiting the Jardin
des Plantes under the guidance of the illustrious Cuvier. During the outbreak of the Revolution of the three days he was in
England, but he returned soon after Louis Philippe
had been called to the throne, to continue his course of lectures on the history and
progress of the natural sciences. His recent visit to England rendered his conversation
during our walks through the gardens and the museum peculiarly interesting. He had seen
that we were making an attempt in the right direction towards the formation of a great ![]()
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national menagerie, but he had also seen the effect of limited means
in confining the larger quadrupeds in miserable cages, instead of exhibiting them wherever
possible, under the influence of their natural habits. I might have told him, and perhaps
did so, that, a short time before, the young elephant of our Zoological Gardens, shut up in
a cage on one side of a passage about four feet wide, had, whilst I was looking at some
animal in the opposite cage, inserted his trunk into my outer pocket searching for a cake,
and not easily withdrawing it, had dragged me up to the bars and then tore my coat into
ribbons. The amiable desire of the man who was then confessedly the greatest naturalist in
Europe, to impart a portion of his rare knowledge to a listener who had no scientific
pretensions, but who might be able to present some truths to the popular understanding,
left a deep impression upon my memory. The unpretending simplicity of his manner was in him
nothing remarkable, for I have ever noticed simplicity as the leading characteristic of men
of the highest talents and acquirements.
Mr. Hill and I left Paris about the 16th of
September. We travelled to Rouen and thence on to Havre. Here we heard the distressing news
of the fatal accident which had befallen Mr.
Huskisson at the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, on the
10th of September. Deeply felt as was the calamity which accompanied this auspicious event
of the opening, there was scarcely any educated person in England who did not hail the
triumph of the locomotive engine as the commencement of a change which would produce more
permanent effect upon the progress of society than any ![]()
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revolutionary
movement—any substitution of one set of political administrators for another set, at which
most of the outs are ready to exclaim—“Patience, and shuffle the cards.”
When the great political economist who led the way to commercial freedom, perished under
the wheels of the “Rocket” engine, he might, as the trains first began to move
through the wondrous power of steam, have thought that there was at that hour being
accomplished a new manifestation of the most terrific force in the universe, subdued and
regulated into perfect organization and discipline. At the meeting of 1824, for erecting a
monument to James Watt, Mr.
Huskisson had described one man as directing steam into the bowels of the
earth, another placing it upon the surface of the waters, and he added, “a third,
perhaps, and a fourth, are destined to apply this mighty power to other purposes, not
less important than those which it has already produced,” Yet probably
George Stephenson, who was destined to work out
the “other purposes,” could scarcely have filled his imagination with a thought
of the extent to which the locomotive would be applied, when, in a letter addressed to the
editor of the Companion to the Almanac, in
October, 1829, he said, “The ‘Rocket’ locomotive engine, which gained
the premium of 500l., is about to be put on Chat Moss, to drag
the gravel for finishing the permanent way, and there is no doubt but a proportionate
reduction will take place—besides doing away with the wear and tear of the horse-track
which, on all new-made roads, is so considerable.” This is Eclipse dragging a
sand-cart.
I return from this interesting trip to resume my usual tasks. My literary
employment during 1830, ![]()
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in connexion with the “Library of Entertaining Knowledge,” could scarcely be called
light, and it had been somewhat troublesome. Several manuscripts came into my hands,
valuable as materials for books, but requiring an immensity of labour to prune them of
their superfluities, and interweave passages which would impart to them a more artistical
character than they originally presented. Such were three volumes written by Mr. James Rennie, entitled “Insect Architecture,” “Insect Transformations,”
“Insect
Miscellanies.” His manuscripts contained a mass of truly valuable original
observations upon the habits of insects; and feeling their value I laboured hard to make
them more readable, and especially to trace those evidences of Design, which lift the mind,
by details far more entertaining than the inventions of romance, to the constant feeling of
the Living Principle of all things. These volumes were the main cause of Mr.
Rennie obtaining the honourable position of Professor of Zoology, at
King’s College. He was a man of jealous and irritable feelings, and had the
imprudence to make an invidious attack upon some eminent men of science, recklessly
accusing them of irreligion. Mr. Rennie’s newborn zeal had not
the effect of advancing him in the favour of the authorities of King’s College; who,
although they differed from the founders of the University of London (now University
College) upon the question of direct religious instruction in the classes, were far too
able and liberal to join in the vulgar prejudices with which science was at this period
very frequently surrounded. Rather to mark the temper of the times, than with a desire of
drawing attention to my own writings, I give an ![]()
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extract from my
volume of the “Library of Entertaining
Knowledge,”—“The Elephant, principally viewed in
relation to Man,” which was published in 1830. This passage forms the
conclusion of a chapter on the “Fossil Remains of Elephants:”—“In leading
the mind of the reader to the contemplation of those remote periods, whose history, dark
and imperfect as it may be, is yet written in legible characters within the soil on which
we tread, it may occur to some few that we deserve the reproach of the amiable and pious
Cowper, against those who— ‘drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn That he who made it, and revealed its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.’ |
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The professors of geology have too long been open to such reproaches, partly from the
misplaced zeal with which they attempted to associate an infant science with theories
crudely conceived, and built up without a comprehensive knowledge of a great body of facts;
partly from the prejudices of those who fancied they saw a moral danger in the pursuit of
the science itself. But the time is past, we hope for ever, when the diligent and modest
student of Nature, in any of her departments, has to fear the same sort of spirit which
Galileo had to encounter; and which still, in
some Catholic states where intolerance predominates, holds the sublime discoveries of
Newton as little better than atheism. Now and
then, in our own days, an ignorant or a crafty controversialist attempts to repress the
progress of inquiry, by proclaiming that some particular course of ![]()
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scientific investigation leads to irreligion; but, in her own peaceful and sober courage,
true religion feels that she has nothing to fear from the utmost hardihood of research, and
nothing to gain from the servile timidity of those who thus exclusively claim to be her
supporters.”*
The elections to the new Parliament were over in England. The organization
of parties under the Duke of Wellington was threatened
with a speedy disruption. The Liberals had gained ground in the contests. Large
constituencies had manifested, in a remarkable manner, that the question of Reform in
Parliament could no longer be dealt with in the summary manner in which, three years
before, Birmingham had been denied a member in the place of the disfranchised East Retford.
Mr. Brougham, after exertions of unparalleled
activity, in addressing the freeholders half-a-dozen times a day in as many different
places, was triumphantly returned for Yorkshire. Parliament met on the 2nd of November. In
the very first moment of debate, he who had become the real leader of the House of
Commons—the representative of a great county instead of a nomination borough-
* Sir J. Emerson Tennent,
in his “Sketches of the Natural
History of Ceylon,” citing a passage from my little work, obligingly says, “It
will be seen that I have quoted repeatedly from this volume, because it is the
most compendious and careful compilation with which I am acquainted of the
information previously existing regarding the elephant. The author incorporates
no speculations of his own, but has most diligently and agreeably arranged all
the facts collected by his predecessors.” I may add that in
exhibiting the elephant in “relation to man,” I brought together a body
of historical facts as to his employment by the nations of antiquity, and by the
people of the East in their wars. A most interesting French book on this subject by
M. St. Amand had not then been published. |
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asserted the constitutional right of the Commons to do whatever
business they pleased before the consideration of the King’s speech, and gave notice
of a motion for Reform. In the House of Lords, the Duke of Wellington
declared that the Legislature possessed the full and entire confidence of the country, and
that he would oppose every measure for what was called Reform. Then was the land agitated
by conflicting opinions, such as had scarcely before manifested themselves, with equal
intensity, for a generation. The declaration of the Duke of
Wellington, on the 2nd of November, was followed by the overthrow of his
ministry on the 16th. Sir Henry Parnell, who at the
dinner at the guinguette at Paris was denied a seat of honour, was the immediate instrument
of accomplishing this change, by his motion on the subject of the Civil List, which left
the Ministry in a large minority.
The list of the ministry of England, which appeared in the British Almanac for 1831, was made up to the
15th of November, 1830. In that list Wellington was
Prime Minister; Lyndhurst, Lord Chancellor; Goulburn, Chancellor of the Exchequer; Peel, Home Secretary. “Never,” says
Sidney Smith, “was any administration
so completely and suddenly destroyed.” Had such an immediate destruction been
confidently anticipated, I doubt whether we should have sent forth the list in the
Society’s Almanac, afterwards issuing a leaf to be substituted by the purchaser. In a
week, Grey was Prime Minister; Brougham, Lord
Chancellor; Althorp, Chancellor of the Exchequer;
Melbourne, Home Secretary.
I have mentioned in another place a fact which I had known in 1832, and
which I could repeat in ![]()
| 156 | PASSAGES OF A WORKING LIFE: | [Ch. VII. |
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1862, without any violation of
confidence—that Lord Althorp almost forced the Great
Seal upon Mr. Brougham, who exclaimed again and again,
“What! leave the House of Commons?”* The Lord Chancellor’s
patent had been made out, which obviated the temporary necessity of his longer sitting in
the House of Lords as Speaker without being a Peer. Having received a note from
Lord Brougham to come to his private room in the House of Lords
before the afternoon meeting of the House, I had a very hurried interview. The time was
expired for his moving into the House. The Mace and Purse were in the passage; anxious
ushers were about the door. “I can only stay to say a word,” he
exclaimed; “advertise Paley to-morrow
morning.” He rushed along as nimbly as that officer of Elizabeth, of whom it was said— “The grave Lord-Keeper led the brawls.” |
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The “panting” Mace-bearer “toiled after him in
vain.” I stepped out of the room and saw the officials looking somewhat as the
royal ushers of Versailles might have looked when shoestrings heralded the Revolution, and
Bastiles and buckles were doomed. I ventured to say to one of these solemn men in black,
“Is that quite regular?”—“Regular, sir? oh dear! The last
was bad enough, but this one!—Oh dear!” Chaos was come again.
I returned home, meditating as I went, upon a new example of the
versatility of genius. A Lord Chancellor who had been only a week on the woolsack—perplexed
as one might have thought with
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| Ch. VII.] | THE SECOND EPOCH. | 157 |
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the technicalities of Chancery, with which he was unfamiliar—the
orator upon whom a great party mainly relied for carrying through schemes of improvement
which were essentially necessary to maintain the power which they had won—that a man so
burdened should resolve at the same time singly to undertake a labour which was best fitted
for the abstracted student, seemed to me almost inexplicable. And yet the announcement
which I sent forth was no idle flourish. The plan of the book had been conceived a year
before, when it was thought that Mr. Brougham and
several men of science might be induced to work together in its production. If I recollect
rightly, there were some difficulties in completing such an arrangement. The sudden resolve
of December, 1830, cut the knot of this difficulty, and so “Paley’s Natural Theology, with Notes and an Introductory
Discourse by Henry Lord Brougham,” was advertised as in preparation. I had
been astonished, and so was the world to be.
Thomas Arnold (1795-1842)
Of Corpus Christi College, Oxford; he was headmaster of Rugby School (1827-42) and father
of the poet Matthew Arnold.
Charles Caleb Atkinson (1793-1869)
The son of Caleb Atkinson; educated at the Mount School, Cirencester and the Inner
Temple, he was a London barrister and Secretary of University College London
(1835-67).
Henry Peter Brougham, first baron Brougham and Vaux (1778-1868)
Educated at Edinburgh University, he was a founder of the
Edinburgh
Review in which he chastised Byron's
Hours of Idleness; he
defended Queen Caroline in her trial for adultery (1820), established the London University
(1828), and was appointed lord chancellor (1830).
King Charles I of England (1600-1649)
The son of James VI and I; as king of England (1625-1649) he contended with Parliament;
he was revered as a martyr after his execution.
Charles X, King of France (1757-1836)
He was King of France 1824-1830 succeeding Louis XVIII; upon his abdication he was
succeeded by Louis Philippe, duc d'Orléans.
John Singleton Copley, baron Lyndhurst (1772-1863)
The son of the American painter; he did legal work for John Murray before succeeding Lord
Eldon as lord chancellor (1827-30, 1834-35, 1841-46); a skilled lawyer, he was also a
political chameleon.
George James Cornish (1794-1849)
The son of George Cornish of Salcombe Hill, Devon; educated at Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, he was a friend of Thomas Arnold and prebendary of Exeter.
William Cowper (1731-1800)
English poet, author of
Olney Hymns (1779),
John
Gilpin (1782), and
The Task (1785); Cowper's delicate
mental health attracted as much sympathy from romantic readers as his letters, edited by
William Hayley, did admiration.
George Lillie Craik (1798-1866)
Scottish literary historian and professor of English literature and history at Queen's
College, Belfast (1849); he published
Spenser and his Poetry, 3 vols
(1845).
Edward Cresy (1792-1858)
English architect and civil engineer who produced a long series of books beginning with
The Architectural Antiquities of Rome, 2 vols, (1821–22).
Georges Cuvier (1769-1832)
French biologist whose comparative study of fossils led him to believe in the
immutability of species.
Jacques Delille (1738-1813)
French poet and translator, author of
Les Jardins (1782).
Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)
Italian astronomer and mathematician, inventor of the telescope.
Henry Goulburn (1784-1856)
Educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, he held a variety of government offices and was
Tory MP for Horsham (1808-12), St. Germans (1812-18), West Looe ((1818-26), Armaugh
(1826-31), and Cambridge University (1831-56).
François-Pierre-Guillaume Guizot (1787-1874)
French statesman and historian; he published
de la Révolution
d'Angleterre (1826-27) and
Histoire générale de la civilisation
en Europe (1828).
Matthew Davenport Hill (1792-1872)
English barrister, the brother of Sir Rowland Hill; he was MP for Hull (1833-35),
recorder of Birmingham (1839) and a reformer of criminal laws.
William Huskisson (1770-1830)
English politician and ally of George Canning; privately educated, he was a Tory MP for
Morpeth (1796-1802), Liskeard (1804-07), Harwich (1807-12), Chichester (1812-23), and
Liverpool (1823-30). He died in railway accident.
William Lamb, second viscount Melbourne (1779-1848)
English statesman, the son of Lady Melbourne (possibly by the third earl of Egremont) and
husband of Lady Caroline Lamb; he was a Whig MP, prime minister (1834-41), and counsellor
to Queen Victoria.
Louis XVI, king of France (1754-1793)
King of France 1774-1793; the husband of Marie Antoinette, he was guillotined 21 January
1793.
Louis Philippe, king of the French (1773-1850)
The son of Louis Philippe II, Duke of Orléans; he was King of France 1830-48; he
abdicated following the February Revolution of 1848 and fled to England.
Emperor Napoleon I (1769-1821)
Military leader, First Consul (1799), and Emperor of the French (1804), after his
abdication he was exiled to Elba (1814); after his defeat at Waterloo he was exiled to St.
Helena (1815).
Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727)
English scientist and president of the Royal Society; author of
Philosophae naturalis principia mathematica (1687).
William Paley (1743-1805)
Educated at Christ's College, Cambridge, he was archdeacon of Carlisle (1782) and author
of
Moral and Political Philosophy (1785),
Evidences of Christianity (1794) and
Natural Theology
(1802).
Henry Brooke Parnell, first Baron Congleton (1776-1842)
The son of Sir John Parnell, second baronet; he was Whig MP for Queen's County (1802,
1806-32), Portarlington (1802), Dundee (1832-41); he held high government offices and wrote
on economics.
Auguste Charles Pugin (1768 c.-1832)
Educated at the Royal Academy Schools, he was an architectural draughtsman and authority
on the Gothic style who produced a series of volumes in connection with the publisher
Rudolph Ackermann.
James Rennie (1787-1867)
Educated at Glasgow University, he was a Scottish naturalist and clergyman who was
professor of natural history and zoology at King's College, London (1830-34). He died in
Australia.
Maximilien Robespierre (1758-1794)
The most dogmatic and aggressive of French revolutionary leaders; he sent Danton to the
guillotine.
Francis Barry Boyle St. Leger (1799-1829)
Irish poet and novelist, educated at Rugby School; he wrote for the
New
Monthly Magazine and
Knight's Quarterly Magazine, was
co-editor of the
London Magazine, and was editor of
The Album and the
Brazen Head.
Sydney Smith (1771-1845)
Clergyman, wit, and one of the original projectors of the
Edinburgh
Review; afterwards lecturer in London and one of the Holland House
denizens.
John Charles Spencer, third earl Spencer (1782-1845)
English politician, son of the second earl (d. 1834); educated at Harrow and Trinity
College, Cambridge, he was Whig MP for Northamptonshire (1806-34) and chancellor of the
exchequer and leader of the lower house under Lord Grey (1830).
George Stephenson (1781-1848)
Originally a collier, he became a distinguished inventor, engineer, and early locomotive
builder.
John Charles Tarver (1790-1851)
Raised in France, he was French tutor to the Duke of Cambridge and from 1826 was French
master at Eton; he published dictionaries and textbooks. In 1819 he married Mary Cristall,
a relation of the writer Ann Batten Cristall.
Sir James Emerson Tennent, first baronet (1804-1876)
Originally Emerson; educated at Trinity College, Dublin, he met Byron in Greece and
published
A Picture of Greece in 1825 (1826), a collections of
memoirs; he was MP for Belfast (1832-45) and civil secretary in Ceylon (1845-50). He
contributed to the
New Monthly Magazine.
George Washington (1732-1799)
Revolutionary general and first president of the United States.
James Watt (1736-1819)
Scottish inventor of the steam engine patented in 1769.
The London Magazine. (1820-1829). Founded by John Scott as a monthly rival to
Blackwood's, the
London Magazine included among its contributors Charles Lamb, John Clare, Allan Cunningham,
Thomas De Quincey, and Thomas Hood.
