Part 19

Trotton church is an interesting old building, which contains a tomb of great archæological interest—the sarcophagus of Sir John Camoys and the Lady Elizabeth, his wife. This church has, like many village churches, suffered more or less from the restorations to which it has been subjected. One alteration which particularly annoyed me was the removal of an old door which bore the mark of many a Cromwellian bullet upon its exterior side. Within the last few years, however, some attempt has been made to repair the ravages of the restorer—the old wooden altar-rails having been replaced in their original position, whilst certain very curious mural paintings have been once more exposed to view. In the ’sixties and ’seventies the fiend of restoration may be said to have stalked rampant through the land, and rectors vied with one another in renovating and vulgarising the sacred edifices committed to their charge. At a Sussex church in a village quite close to where we lived, great indignation was, I remember, aroused by workshops being erected all over the churchyard, in which workmen fashioned modern Gothic pinnacles and other architectural gewgaws wherewith to decorate the stately old church. Tombstones were temporarily taken up, no particular attention being paid to their exact position, and in consequence no one felt at all certain that they were ever replaced in their old position—the tombstone of “John Smith” being in many cases placed over the grave of “Thomas Brown,” and _vice versa_, a proceeding not entirely satisfactory to their families, some of whom were very annoyed. The rector, however, who was delighted at his vulgarised church, thought little of such a trifle as this, and organised an ornate service of reopening at which his parishioners somewhat ruefully returned thanks for the blessings of the restoration.

Not very far from Trotton is the town of Midhurst, for which Charles James Fox, when only nineteen years of age, was returned in 1768. He actually had two encounters in debate with Burke before he attained his majority. On one of these occasions, it is said, when Fox had set the Treasury Bench in a roar of laughter at Burke’s expense, the latter was much nettled, and turning on the youthful member, exclaimed, “You may speak if you like, but being a minor you have no right to vote.”

At one time Midhurst was a great place for the manufacture of quilts, and from this, no doubt, originated the weaver’s shuttle which was stamped on the town pieces or tokens about 1670. These were known as Midhurst farthings, issued, as the legend on one side of them said, “For ye use of ye Poor.”

Midhurst and Rye were the only two places in Sussex which issued town tokens, that is, one token struck for the use of the whole town. The custom of striking tokens—small coins of the value of farthings, halfpennies, and pennies—only prevailed from about 1648 till 1672. As a rule, these were issued by tradesmen, but in some cases towns struck them. In Somersetshire, for instance, there were thirteen town tokens; in Dorsetshire, eight; in Devonshire, five; in Kent, one; and in Sussex the two which have just been mentioned. In Yorkshire there were none at all.

Midhurst has more than once been somewhat closely associated with great political orators, for not far away, at Dunford, lived Mr. Cobden, whom I often used to go and hear speak in the House of Commons, where his oratory never failed to secure the appreciation which it deserved. In West Sussex, however, he did not excite any extraordinary attention either as an orator or politician, many regarding his political views with extreme distrust, whilst others did not understand them. Very often it is the case that politicians of quite European reputation are but lightly esteemed in their own part of the country, a state of affairs which is sometimes caused by their talking over the heads of the audiences whom they address. Country-folk as a rule do not (or did not) appreciate highly cultured oratorical efforts, but prefer speeches, not devoid of humour, dealing with matters of local interest.

I once heard a peculiarly apt criticism of a speech made by a politician of profound learning and knowledge, but one not very much in sympathy with the more frivolous side of life. This orator, having to address a meeting in a country town, had beforehand been begged to remember that his audience was not remarkable for any great intellectual culture, and was consequently unlikely to appreciate historical allusions or erudite criticism—a chatty, sparkling speech judiciously peppered with anecdote and chaff would be the sort of thing to arouse enthusiasm and capture its sympathies. The evening having come, the speaker, determined to profit by these hints, attempted to enliven his discourse by here and there interpolating remarks of a less serious kind than those which his speeches usually contained. Well satisfied with the result, and driving away with an old friend, he said to him: “Well, I hope that suited you; at any rate no one could say I spoke too seriously.” “It was a capital speech,” came the reply, “only, to tell you the truth, it rather reminded me of an article from the _Quarterly Review_ out for a lark.”

XV

Retrospection—The first train from Norwich—Disappearance of coaches—Railway mania of the ’forties—Hudson and his house— Steam carriages of the past—Letter franking—Society and its love of pleasure—Bridge—Decrease of betting and increase of speculation—Changes in Parliament—The late Mr. Bradlaugh—An unfortunate speech—Growth of the Press—Lady Seymour and the cook—Louis Napoleon—His witty criticism—The Franco-German War —_Paris Herself Again_—Mr. Mackenzie Grieves—The overflow of London—Disappearance of nursery gardens—Modern villagers— Folklore—Friends who have passed away.

Looking back to old days in the ’thirties and ’forties, what gigantic changes come into view! Nearly everything was on a different footing from to-day, and things which are now permanent institutions were at that time either at their very beginning or not dreamt of at all.

The majority of modern inventions were unknown, or in their infancy, whilst life in general went on very much in the happy-go-lucky fashion characteristic of another age. Law and order, it is true, exercised a sort of sway, but the former, if just, was often terribly cruel, whilst the latter was, by comparison with to-day, only indifferently maintained. Three years after I was born our excellent modern police had been established by Sir Robert Peel, but the county police in Norfolk were only constituted some ten years later—a salutary innovation which, strangely enough, was not greeted with universal approbation. In 1842, indeed, when the new guardians of law and order had already done duty for three years, my father, at a meeting of the county magistrates at Norwich, presented a petition, signed by himself and a large number of other landowners, praying for some reduction or even the abolition of the police force, on the ground that it produced nothing but expense, and caused people to be prosecuted for offences of a very trivial nature.

My father, of course, disliked the new police force principally on account of its being an innovation, for, a staunch Conservative, he opposed changes of any kind whatever, including railroads, which were his special abomination. The advent of the railway in Norfolk was, I remember, a depressing blow to him, and he did all he could to keep the line outside the borders of his property so that he might forget its existence. Direct railway communication between London and Norwich was not established till 1845, the first through train starting from Trowse on the morning of June 30 of that year. In January 1846 all the coaches between Norwich and London had ceased to run, the last of them to go being the mail through Bury St. Edmunds.

In the ’forties came the railway mania, when many of a speculative disposition were completely carried away by dreams of immediate and colossal wealth. Within a year or two, however, a dreadful awakening was the lot of those who had gambled in railway shares, which went down faster than they had risen, a large number of people being completely ruined, amongst them the great Hudson himself. During the time when things were going well, flattery and praise were heaped upon him and he was the recipient of several public testimonials; but after the disastrous fall in railway shares he at once became the principal object of an outburst of widespread popular indignation.

Hudson, to whom Carlyle once alluded as “the big swollen gambler,” lived on to the early ’seventies, an annuity having been purchased for his benefit by some friends only a few years before. In his prosperous days the “railway king” used to entertain very lavishly at his house at Albert Gate. This mansion, together with the one opposite to it, was built by Cubitt, and the two houses used to be called the “two Gibraltars,” it being prophesied that they never would or could be taken; however, as has been said, Mr. Hudson soon falsified this prediction. The house is now the French Embassy.

Previous to the construction of the railway between London and Norwich, several experiments had been made in Norfolk with steam carriages to run upon the roads—the precursors of our modern motor cars. As early, indeed, as 1842, a Mr. Parr had patented a steam carriage to run for hire between Norwich and Yarmouth, whilst in the following year a steam coach was experimentally put upon the Yarmouth road. This vehicle, however, did not answer its inventor’s expectations, as its wheels refused to revolve unless lifted up from the road, when, as a contemporary somewhat quaintly put it, they at once flew round with alarming velocity.

As far back as 1831 a Parliamentary Committee had decided that carriages weighing three tons, propelled by steam and carrying fourteen passengers, could travel on the ordinary roads at an average speed of ten miles an hour with perfect safety. The first steam omnibus, constructed by Mr. Hancock, ran from the Bank at Paddington in April 1833; it could attain a speed of from ten to fifteen miles an hour, carrying some twenty-five passengers, and consumed a sack of coke every eight miles. Two years later Mr. Hancock ran what was called a “steam-engine coach” between Whitechapel and his house at Stratford. Colonel Macirone and Sir Charles Dance also ran steam cars, as did Mr. Gurney, whose coaches averaged about nine miles an hour. Though these early motor cars were by no means inefficient, they were for some reason or other put down by legislative interference, and a great industry was thus held in abeyance for some forty or fifty years.

Prints of the old steam carriages have now become difficult to obtain, as they are eagerly snapped up by votaries of the motor car, many of whom make a hobby of collecting the records connected with the early infancy of their favourite sport. One of the most curious of these prints represents an accident which happened to a Scotch steam carriage in the summer of 1834. Designed by an eye-witness of the catastrophe, it shows the unlucky passengers, several of whom were killed, being shot into the air, the boiler of the car having burst owing to an overstrain. It is said that this accident was really caused by the trustees of the road between Paisley and Glasgow who were very much opposed to the new method of locomotion, and therefore purposely kept the surface of the highway in such a condition as to impede its progress as much as possible. The remains of the wrecked steam carriage are still preserved in a museum at Glasgow. Its maker was John Scott Russell, the builder of the _Great Eastern_ steamship, which at the time it was launched was considered one of the wonders of the world.

The spirit of what we call Progress made its influence felt in the ’thirties and ’forties, and in the course of a few years, after the passing of the great Reform Bill, quite a new England began to come into existence. Old customs and ways gradually lost their hold upon the people and another order of things arose, whilst such privileges as the upper classes enjoyed became subjects of comment and criticism, with the eventual result that most of them were voluntarily relinquished.

Amongst minor changes of this sort was the abolition of the practice of franking letters. Up to the year 1840, when uniform penny postage was introduced, Peers and members of the House of Commons were entitled to have their letters conveyed free of any charge, and I still treasure a few of these frank-marked envelopes—faded souvenirs of a bygone age. In the course of the same year appeared the artistic Mulready envelope, which has now become somewhat scarce, specimens in good condition being much prized by stamp collectors.

Many of the older people shook their heads at what they called new-fangled schemes and inventions, and some, like my father, indiscriminately denounced all reforms and reformers of every kind. My father, as I have before said, hated all innovations, and would hardly consider any merits which they might possess. He was, however, by no means alone in taking up this standpoint, which to-day, when all the world eagerly grasps at anything new, seems almost inconceivable. Men of his generation viewed things from a curious point of view, being firmly imbued with the idea that the acceptance of new methods would send England to the dogs. Their outlook upon life was in reality that of the eighteenth century, and in addition to this they would appear to have vaguely realised that new ways meant the annihilation of their power as a dominant class. Even at that time there were many who foresaw the rise of democracy, a development which they regarded with feelings of the utmost alarm, as tending to bring about the ruin of England. Nor did the wonderful new inventions please pessimists of this sort, who declined to welcome them with enthusiasm, and predicted that in the end they would make for unhappiness and discontentment. As a matter of fact these vaticinations, ridiculous as they seemed, have not proved so fallacious after all, for modern inventions have produced the commercialism which is undoubtedly one of the chief causes of that curious creed—Socialism—which, deliberately ignoring the immutable instincts of human nature, holds out the prospect of a visionary Utopia, and promises everything to every one at somebody else’s expense.

In another chapter I have spoken of the great changes which have taken place in the constitution of what is known as “Society,” but since I first knew it there is one respect in which there has in reality been no alteration at all—I refer to its love of amusement and pleasure. True it is, perhaps, that in past days these were indulged in with a certain reserve and dignity—qualities which to-day seem to be considered as being of small account. True it is also that seldom did the passing fancies and follies of its leaders find their way into the public Press. Nevertheless they existed, though perhaps in a more modified form than to-day, when publicity is too often welcomed rather than shunned. Society, which is after all but a collection of quite ordinary individuals—many with more money than brains,—naturally contains (as it always has done) a certain number of people whose wealth prompts them to gratify many a costly caprice. There is nothing very astonishing about this, nor is it likely that any effect will be produced by the fulminations of those critics whose ideal society would appear to consist of a collection of prigs, faddists, and cranks, perpetually interfering in other people’s business as well as lecturing and boring the world in general. In all probability London society is no better or worse than it was in the past, though certainly more stupid. Clever people seem rarer than in former days, whilst an undue importance is attached to wealth, no matter how uninteresting may be its possessor.

Nevertheless, considering all things, society might be a great deal worse, and it certainly does not deserve the indiscriminate censure which is frequently passed upon it, there being, after all, a large measure of real kindliness and generous feeling to be found hidden beneath its veneer of frivolity. Society, however, is always an easy and attractive subject for attack, the British public being apparently never tired of hearing of its crimes. Sometimes it is blamed for the vast sums expended in entertaining, which, after all, circulates money and is good for trade; nor is it clear why people in a position to do so should not entertain their friends, or even their enemies for that matter. By the austere it is upbraided for its bridge playing, and here, perhaps, is a more legitimate reason for censure, the game in question (which I do not play, disliking all card games) having utterly destroyed much pleasant conversation. At the same time it seems to amuse a great number who would otherwise be bored, and many people welcome the game as a pleasant change from the exchange of empty and commonplace remarks.

The question of gambling is another and a graver matter, though I personally have never heard of any young lady being dragged into playing for stakes which she could ill afford, and, indeed, I wonder very much what sort of host or hostess it could be who would allow such proceedings under his or her roof. Society is to-day a very wide term, covering as it does a great number of different sets which gradually fade away into an almost imperceptible outer fringe; but even in the most remote of its confines, surely any man who deliberately laid himself out to win money from a young girl (as has been alleged) would be visited with the censure he deserved. As a matter of fact good bridge players, as is perfectly well known, dislike nothing more than the intrusion of a novice whose errors must of necessity ruin their game.

Gambling on the Turf has without question decreased. Where are the plungers of to-day? Non-existent. Modern youth, except in a few rare instances, knows better than to risk a fortune on a racehorse—an act of folly which in former days was very often committed. On the other hand, the insidious craze for speculating in stocks and shares has an almost unlimited number of votaries—women as well as men—whose one thought is to obtain information (as a rule unreliable) as to the chances of a rise or fall. This is an entirely new development. The great ladies of the past would as soon have thought of dabbling in City matters as of witnessing a prize fight; in fact, of the two I think they would have given the preference to the latter as being the more select. Those, however, were the days before the City had conquered the West End, and when the jargon of the Stock Exchange was as yet unfamiliar to aristocratic ears.

Finance in these latter days has become as much the appanage of society as politics were in the past, whilst all doors fly open at the advent of a successful speculator or financier. Politics, of course, which in old days were something of an engrossing pastime for the leisured classes, have now become a much more serious affair altogether.

Since the days of my childhood many and great changes have occurred in Parliament in the method of electing its members, and in the admission of others than Protestants to sit in the House of Commons. The first Roman Catholic to take his seat since the downfall of the Stewarts was Daniel O’Connell, who, elected member for Clare County in 1828, was admitted to Westminster in the following year, when the Catholic Emancipation Act having been passed, the Duke of Norfolk, Lord Dormer, and Lord Clifford also took their seats in the House of Lords. The first English Roman Catholic member of the House of Commons was Lord Surrey, who was returned for Horsham at the same time.

Though Mr. Joseph Pease had been admitted as an M.P. on making an affirmation in 1833, the objection of the late Mr. Bradlaugh as a Freethinker to taking the Parliamentary oath created a very great sensation some forty-seven years later. In May 1880 the member for Northampton was refused permission to affirm, and it was only some two months later that a resolution moved by Mr. Gladstone allowed him to do so. Much acrimonious controversy ensued as to the legality of such an act, Mr. Bradlaugh being on one occasion prevented from entering the House of Commons by the police. Finally, in 1886, Mr. Bradlaugh was permitted to take the oath, further intervention being stopped by the Speaker. A thoroughly sincere man, the member for Northampton lived to gain the goodwill and respect of the House of Commons, and when he died in 1891, worn out by hard work and worry, universal regret was expressed at his demise. A pronounced individualist, he was quite uncompromising in his denunciation of anything which he deemed to be false or untrue, and in the debates in which he indulged with certain ministers of religion was very outspoken as to his views on the Christian faith. This not unnaturally caused him to be regarded as a monster of iniquity by many who had no opportunity of realising the splendid qualities which he in reality possessed, and many were the absurd stories circulated about him—generally, I fear, to his discredit.

It was declared, for instance, that on more than one occasion he had defied Heaven itself, by taking out his watch at public meetings and saying, “If there be a God, let Him strike me dead within the next five minutes.”

I do not know what truth there may have been in this story, but some of the Russian revolutionary agitators (so I hear) have actually uttered this blasphemous challenge—their idea being to emancipate the peasants from the thraldom of their priests. It is said that an agitator of this sort came one day to an out-of-the-way village, and proceeded to address the peasants thus: “The God whom you fear so much does not exist, and I will prove it to you; for if I am not speaking the truth let Him kill me within the next five minutes!” Four minutes passed and the orator, more defiant than ever, jubilantly exclaimed, “You see I am right; there is no God, for I am still alive.” The headman of the village, however, stepping to the front, altogether changed the aspect of affairs. “You have proved nothing,” said he. “God exists, and you are going to die. God has not chosen to kill you, for He knew we should do so for Him,” after which statement the unfortunate apostle of Atheism was duly despatched.

One of the most striking features of the last seventy years is the prodigious growth of the Press. In 1836 there were only about a hundred and sixty newspapers published in England, whilst all the daily papers put together had only an average of 12,000 copies a day. At that time there were, I believe, but five hundred and fifty newspapers in the United States, of which fifty were dailies. The London morning papers were, of course, few in number, and as a rule not more than sixty to eighty persons were employed upon their production. None of the illustrated papers now issued were then in existence, the _Illustrated London News_ only making its appearance in the ’forties. Newspapers were considered quite precious things in old days, being frequently treasured up to be sent on to friends—a very different state of affairs from to-day, when edition succeeds edition with lightning rapidity, and a paper a day old is never looked at again.