Nuts And Nutcrackers Part 6

[Ill.u.s.tration: 148]

Douglas Jerrold, in his amusing book, "Cakes and Ale," quotes an exquisite essay written to prove the sufficiency of thirty pounds a-year for all a man's daily wants and comforts--allowing at least five shillings a quarter for the conversion of the Jews--and in which every outlay is so nicely calculated, that it must be wilful eccentricity if the pauper gentleman, at the end of the year, either owes a shilling or has one. To say the least of it, this is close shaving; and, as I detest experimental philosophy, I'd rather not try it. At the same time, in this age of general glut, when all professions are overstocked--when you might pave the Strand with parsons' skulls, and thatch your barn with the surplus of the college of physicians; when there are neither waste lands to till and give us ague and typhus, nor war to thin us--what are we to do? The subdivision of labour in every walk in life has been carried to its utmost limits: if it takes nine tailors to make a man, it takes nine men to make a needle. Even in the learned professions, as they are called, this system is carried out; and as you have a lawyer for equity, another for the Common Pleas, a third for the Old Bailey, &c, so your doctor, now-a-days, has split up his art, and one man takes charge of your teeth, another has the eye department, another the ear, a fourth looks after your corns; so that, in fact, the complex machinery of your structure strikes you as admirably adapted to give employment to an ingenious and anxious population, who, until our present civilization, never dreamed of morselling out mankind for their benefit.

As to commerce, our late experiences have chiefly pointed to the pleasure of trading with nations who will not pay their debts,--like the Yankees. There is, then, little encouragement in that quarter. What then remains I scarcely know. The United Services are pleasant, but poor things by way of a provision for life. Coach-driving, that admirable refuge for the dest.i.tute, has been smashed by the railroads; and there is a kind of prejudice against a man of family sweeping the crossings. For my own part, I lean to something dignified and respectable--something that does not compromise "the cloth," and which, without being absolutely a sinecure, never exacts any undue or extraordinary exertion,--driving a hea.r.s.e, for instance: even this, however, is greatly run upon; and the cholera, at its departure, threw very many out of employment. However, the question is, what can a man of small means do with his son? Short whist is a very snug thing--if a man have natural gifts,--that happy conformation of the fingers, that ample range of vision, that takes in everything around. But I must not suppose these by any means general--and I legislate for the ma.s.s. The turf has also the same difficulties,--so has toad-eating; indeed these three walks might be included among the learned professions.

As to railroads, I 'm sick of hearing of them for the last three years.

Every family in the empire has at least one civil engineer within its precincts; and I 'm confident, if their sides were as hard as their skulls, you could make sleepers for the whole Grand Junction by merely decimating the unemployed.

Tax-collecting does, to be sure, offer some little prospect; but that won't last. Indeed, the very working of the process will limit the advantages of this opening,--gradually converting all the payers into paupers. Now I have meditated long and anxiously on the subject, conversing with others whose opportunities of knowing the world were considerable, but never could I find that ingenuity opened any new path, without its being so instantaneously overstocked that compet.i.tion alone denied every chance of success.

One man of original genius I did, indeed, come upon, and his career had been eminently successful. He was a Belgian physician, who, having in vain attempted all the ordinary modes of obtaining practice, collected together the little residue of his fortune, and sailed for Barbadoes, where he struck out for himself the following singularly new and original plan:--He purchased all the disabled, sick, and ailing negroes that he could find; every poor fellow whose case seemed past hope, but yet to his critical eye was still curable, these he bought up; they were, of course, dead bargains. The masters were delighted to get rid of them--they were actually "eating their heads off;" but the doctor knew, that though they looked somewhat "groggy," still there was a "go" in them yet.

By care, skill, and good management, they recovered under his hands, and frequently were re-sold to the original proprietor, who was totally unconscious that the sleek and shining n.i.g.g.e.r before him had been the poor, decrepid, sickly creature of some weeks before.

The humanity of this proceeding is self-evident: a word need not be said more on that subject. But it was no less profitable than merciful.

The originator of the plan retired from business with a large fortune, ama.s.sed, too, in an inconceivably short s.p.a.ce of time. The shrewdest proprietor of a fast coach never could throw a more critical eye over a new wheeler or a broken-down leader, than did he on the object of his professional skill; detecting at a glance the extent of his ailments, and calculating, with a Babbage-like accuracy, the cost of keep, physic, and attendance, and setting them off, in his mind, against the probable price of the sound man. What consummate skill was here! Not merely, like Brodie or Crampton, antic.i.p.ating the possible recovery of the patient, but estimating the extent of the restoration--the time it would take--ay, the very number of basins of chicken-broth and barley-gruel that he would devour, _ad interim_. This was the cleverest physician I ever knew. The present altered condition of West Indian property has, however, closed this opening to fortune, in which, after all, nothing short of first-rate ability could have ensured success.

I have just read over the preceding "nut" to my old friend, Mr. Synnet, of Mullogla.s.s, whose deep knowledge of the world makes him no mean critic on such a subject. His words are these:--

"There is some truth in what you remark--the world is too full of us.

There is, however, a very nice walk in life much neglected."

"And what may that be?" said I, eagerly.

"The mortgagee," replied he, sententiously.

"I don't perfectly comprehend."

"Well, well! what I mean k this: suppose, now, you have only a couple of thousand pounds to leave your son--maybe, you have not more than a single thousand--now, my advice is, not to squander your fortune in any such absurdity as a learned profession, a commission in the Line, or any other miserable existence, but just look about you, in the west of Ireland, for the fellow that has the best house, the best cellar, the best cook, and the best stable. He is sure to want money, and will be delighted to get a loan. Lend it to him: make hard terms, of course. For this--as you are never to be paid--the obligation of your forbearance will be the greater. Now, mark me, from the day the deed is signed, you have snug quarters in Galway? not only in your friend's house, but among all his relations--Blakes, Burkes, Bodkins, Kirwans, &c, to no end; you have the run of the whole concern--the best of living, great drink, and hunting in abundance. You must talk of the loan now and then, just to jog their memory; but be always 'too much the gentleman' to ask for your money; and it will even go hard, but from sheer popularity, they will make you member for the county. This is the only new thing, in the way of a career, I know of, and I have great pleasure in throwing out the suggestion for the benefit of younger sons."

A NUT FOR THE PENAL CODE.

It has often struck me that the monotony of occupation is a heavier infliction than the monotony of reflection. The same dull round of duty, which while it demands a certain amount of labour, excludes all opportunity of thought, making man no better than the piston of a steam-engine, is a very frightful and debasing process. Whereas, however much there may be of suffering in solitude, our minds are not imprisoned; our thoughts, unchained and unfettered, stroll far away to pleasant pasturages; we cross the broad blue sea, and tread the ferny mountain-side, and live once more the sunny hours of boyhood; or we build up in imagination a peaceful and happy future.

That the power of fancy and the play of genius are not interrupted by the still solitude of the prison, I need only quote Cervantes, whose immortal work was accomplished during the tedious hours of a captivity, unrelieved by one office of friendship, uncheered by one solitary ray of hope.

Taking this view of the matter, it will be at once perceived how much more severe a penalty solitary confinement must be, to the man of narrow mind and limited resources of thought, than to him of cultivated understanding and wider range of mental exercise. In the one case, it is a punishment of the most terrific kind--and nothing can equal that awful lethargy of the soul, that wraps a man as in a garment, shrouding him from the bright world without, and leaving him nought save the darkness of his gloomy nature to brood over. In the other, there is something soothing amid all the melancholy of the state, is the unbroken soaring of thought, that, lifting man above the cares and collisions of daily life, bear him far away to the rich paradise of his mind-made treasures--peopling s.p.a.ce with images of beauty--and leave him to dream away existence amid the scenes and features he loved to gaze on.

Now, to turn for the moment from this picture, let us consider whether our government is wise in this universal application of a punishment, which, while it operates so severely in one case, may really be regarded as a boon in the other.

The healthy peasant, who rises with the sun, and breathes the free air of his native hills, may and will feel all the infliction of confinement, which, while it chains his limbs, stagnates his faculties.

Not so the sedentary and solitary man of letters. Your cell becomes _his_ study: the window may be somewhat narrower--the lattice, that was wont to open to the climbing honeysuckle, may now be barred with its iron stanchions; but he soon forgets this. "His mind to him a palace is," wherein he dwells at peace. Now, to put them on something of a par, I have a suggestion to make to the legislature, which I shall condense as briefly as possible. Never sentence your man of education, whatever his offence, to solitary confinement; but condemn him to dine out, in Dublin, for seven or fourteen years--or, in murder cases, for the term of his natural life. For slight offences, a week's dinners, and a few evening parties might be sufficient--while old offenders and bad cases, might be sent to the north side of the city.

It may be objected to this--that insanity, which so often occurs in the one case, would supervene in the other; but I rather think not. My own experience could show many elderly people of both s.e.xes, long inured to this state, who have only fallen into a sullen and apathetic fatuity; but who, bating deafness and a look of dogged stupidity, are still reasoning beings--what they once were, it is hard to say.

But I take the man who, for some infraction of the law, is suddenly carried away from his home and friends--the man of mind, of reading, and reflection. Imagine him, day after day, beholding the everlasting saddle of mutton--the eternal three chickens, with the tongue in the midst of them; the same travesty of French cookery that pervades the side-dishes--the hot sherry, the sour Moselle: think of him, eating out his days through these, unchanged, unchangeable--with the same _cortege_ of lawyers and lawyers' wives--doctors, male and female--surgeons, subalterns, and, mayhap, attorneys: think of the old jokes he has been hearing from childhood still ringing in his ears, accompanied by the same laugh which he has tracked from its burst in boyhood to its last cackle in dotage: behold him, as he sits amid the same young ladies, in pink and blue, and the same elderly ones, in scarlet and purple; see him, as he watches every sign and pa.s.s-word that have marked these dinners for the long term of his sentence, and say if his punishment be not indeed severe.

Then think how edifying the very example of his suffering, as, with pale cheek and l.u.s.treless eye--silent, sad, and lonely--he sits there! How powerfully such a warning must speak to others, who, from accident or misfortune, may be momentarily thrown in his society.

The suggestion, I own, will demand a much more ample detail, and considerable modification. Among other precautions, for instance, more than one convict should not be admitted to any table, lest they might fraternize together, and become independent of the company in mutual intercourse, &c.

These may all, however, be carefully considered hereafter: the principle is the only thing I would insist on for the present, and now leave the matter in the hands of our rulers.

A NUT FOR THE OLD.

Of all the virtues which grace and adorn the inhabitants of these islands, I know of none which can in anywise be compared with the deep and profound veneration we show to old age. Not content with paying it that deference and respect so essentially its due, we go even further, and by a courteous adulation would impose upon it the notion, that years have not detracted from the gifts which were so conspicuous in youth, and that the winter of life is as full of promise and performance, as the most budding hours of spring-time.

Walk through the halls of Greenwich and Chelsea--or, if the excursion be too far for you, as a Dubliner, stroll down to the Old Man's Hospital, and cast your eyes on those venerable "fogies," as they are sometimes irreverently called, and look with what a critical and studious politeness the state has invested every detail of their daily life. Not fed, housed, or clothed like the "debris" of humanity, to whom the mere necessaries of existence were meted out; but actually a species of flattering illusion is woven around them, they are dressed in a uniform; wear a strange, quaint military costume; are officered and inspected like soldiers; mount guard; answer roll-call, and mess as of yore.

They are permitted, from time to time, to clean and burnish pieces of ordnance, old, time-worn, and useless as themselves, and are marched certain short and suitable distances to and from their dining-hall, with all the "pride, pomp, and circ.u.mstance of glorious war." I like all this. There is something of good and kindly feeling in perpetuating the delusion that has lasted for so many years of life, and making the very resting-place of their meritorious services recall to them the details of those duties, for the performance of which they have reaped their country's grat.i.tude.

The same amiable feeling, the same grateful spirit of respect, would seem, from time to time, to actuate the different governments that wield our destinies, in their promotions to the upper house.

Some old, feeble, partizan of the ministry, who has worn himself to a skeleton by late sittings; dried, like a potted herring, by committee labour; hoa.r.s.e with fifty years' cheering of his party, and deaf from the cries of "divide" and "adjourn" that have been ringing in his ears for the last cycle of his existence, is selected for promotion to the peerage. He was eloquent in his day, too, perhaps; but that day is gone by. His speech upon a great question was once a momentous event, but now his vote is mumbled in tones scarce audible.--Gratefully mindful of his "has been," his party provide him with an asylum, where the residue of his days may be pa.s.sed in peace and pleasantness. Careful not to break the spell that has bound him to life, they surround him with some semblance of his former state, suited in all respects to his age, his decrepitude, and his debility; they pour water upon the leaves of his politics, and give him a weak and pleasant beverage, that can never irritate his nerves, nor destroy his slumbers. Some insignificant bills--some unimportant appeals--some stray fragments that fall from the tables of st.u.r.dier politicians, are his daily diet; and he dozes away the remainder of life, happy and contented in the simple and beautiful delusion that he is legislating and ruling just as warrantable the while, as his compeer of Chelsea, in deeming his mock parades the forced marches of the Peninsula, and his Sunday guards the dispositions for a Toulouse or a Waterloo.

A NUT FOR THE ART UNION.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 159]

The battle between the "big and little-endians" in Gulliver, was nothing to the fight between the Destructives and Conservatives of the Irish Art Union. A few months since the former party deciding that the engraved plate of Mr. Burton's picture should be broken up; the latter protesting against the Vandalism of destroying a first-rate work of art, and preventing the full triumph of the artist's genius, in the circulation of a print so credit' able to himself and to his country.

The great argument of the Destructives was this:--We are the devoted friends of art--we love it--we glory in it--we cherish it: yea, we even give a guinea a-year a-piece for the encouragement of a society established for its protection and promotion;--this society pledging themselves that we shall have in return--what think ye?--the immortal honour of raising a school of painting in our native country?--the conscientious sense of a high-souled patriotism?--the prospect of future estimation at the hands of a posterity who are to benefit by our labours? Not at all: nothing of all this. We are far too great materialists for such shadowy pleasures; we are to receive a plate, whose value is in the direct ratio of its rarity, "which shall certainly be of more than the amount of our subscription," and, maybe, of five times that sum. The fewer the copies issued, the rarer (i. e., the dearer) each impression. We are the friends of art--therefore, we say, smash the copper-plate, destroy every vestige of the graver's art, we are supplied, and heaven knows to what price these engravings may not subsequently rise!

Now, I like these people. There is something bold, something masterly, something decided, in their coming forward and fighting the battle on its true grounds. There is no absurd affectation about the circulation of a clever picture disseminating in remote and scarce-visited districts the knowledge of a great man and a great work; there is no prosy nonsense about encouraging the genius of our own country, and showing with pride to her prouder sister, that we are not unworthy to contend in the race with her. Nothing of this.--They resolve themselves, by an open and candid admission, into a committee of printsellers, and they cry with one voice--"No free trade in 'The Blind Girl'--no sliding scale--no fixed duty--nothing save absolute, actual prohibition!" It is with pride I confess myself of this party: perish art! down with painting! to the ground with every effort of native genius! but keep up the price of our engraving, which, with the rapid development of Mr. Burton's talent, may yet reach ten, nay, twenty guineas for an impression. But in the midst of my enthusiasm, a still small voice of fear is whispering ever:--Mayhap this gifted man may live to eclipse the triumphs of his youthful genius: it may be, that, as he advances in life, his talents, matured by study and cultivation, may ascend to still higher flights, and this, his early work, be merely the beacon-light that attracted men in the outset of his career, and only be esteemed as the first throes of his intellect. What is to be done in this case? It is true we have suppressed "The Blind Girl;" we have smashed _that_ plate; but how shall we prevent him from prosecuting those studies that already are leading him to the first rank of his profession? Disgust at our treatment _may_ do much; but yet, his mission may suggest higher thoughts than are a.s.sailable by us and our measures. I fear, now, that but one course is open; and it is with sorrow I confess, that, however indisposed to the shedding of blood, however unsuited by my nature and habits to murderous deeds, I see nothing for us but--to smash Mr. Burton.

By accepting this suggestion, not only will the engravings, but the picture itself, attain an increased value. If dead men are not novelists, neither are they painters; and Mr. Burton, it is expected, will prove no exception to the rule. Get rid of him, then, at once, and by all means. Let this resolution be brought forward at the next general meeting, by any leader of the Destructive party, and I pledge myself to second and defend it, by every argument, used with such force and eloquence for the obstruction of the copperplate. I am sure the talented gentleman himself will, when he is put in possession of our motives, offer no opposition to so natural a desire on our part, but will afford every facility in his power for being, as the war-cry of the party has it, "broken up and destroyed."

A NUT FOR THE KINGSTOWN RAILWAY.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 164]

If the wise Calif who studied mankind by sitting on the bridge at Bagdad, had lived in our country, and in our times, he doubtless would have become a subscriber to the Kingstown railway. There, for the moderate sum of some ten or twelve pounds per annum, he might have indulged his peculiar vein, while wafted pleasantly through the air, and obtained a greater insight into character and individuality, inasmuch as the objects of his investigation would be all sitting shots, at least for half an hour. Segur's "Quatre Ages de la Vie" never marked out mankind like the half-hour trains. To the uninitiated and careless observer, the company would appear a mixed and heterogeneous ma.s.s of old and young, of both s.e.xes--some sickly, some sulky, some solemn, and some shy. Cla.s.sification of them would be deemed impossible. Not so, however; for, as to the ignorant the section of a mountain would only present some confused heap of stone and gravel, clay and marl; to the geologist, strata of divers kinds, layers of various ages, would appear, all indicative of features, and teeming with interests, of which the other knew nothing: so, to the studious observer, this seeming commixture of men, this tangled web of humanity, unravels itself before him, and he reads them with pleasure and with profit.

So thoroughly distinctive are the cla.s.ses, as marked out by the hour of the day, that very little experience would enable the student to p.r.o.nounce upon the travellers--while so striking are the features of each cla.s.s, that "given one second-cla.s.s traveller, to find out the contents of a train," would be the simplest problem in algebra. As for myself, I never work the equation: the same instinct that enabled Cuvier, when looking at a broken molar tooth, to p.r.o.nounce upon the habits, the size, the mode of life and private opinions of some antediluvian mammoth, enables me at a glance to say--"This is the apothecaries' train--here we are with the Sandycoves." You are an early riser--some pleasant proverb about getting a worm for breakfast, instilled into you in childhood, doubtless inciting you: and you hasten down to the station, just in time to be too late for the eight o'clock train to Dublin. This is provoking; inasmuch as no scrutiny has ever enabled any traveller to pry into the habits and peculiarities of the early voyager. Well, you lounge about till the half-after, and then the _conveniency_ snorts by, whisks round at the end, takes a breathing canter alone for a few hundred yards, and comes back with a grunt, to resume its old drudgery. A general scramble for places ensues--doors bang--windows are shut and opened--a bell rings--and, snort! snort!

ugh, ugh, away you go. Now--would you believe it?--every man about you, whatever be his age, his size, his features, or complexion, has a little dirty blue bag upon his knees, filled with something. They all know each other--grin, smile, smirk, but don't shake hands--a polite reciprocity--as they are none of the cleanest: cut little dry jokes about places and people unknown, and mix strange phrases here and there through the dialogue, about "_demurrers_ and _declarations_, traversing _in prox_ and _quo warranto_." You perceive it at once--it is very dreadful; but they are all attorneys. The ways of Providence are, however, inscrutable; and you arrive in safety in Dublin.