Part 4

One other case, the robbery at the Vicarage. The thief was met coming away. He was described as a nice, gentlemanly looking man. A young policeman met him in the street, and that thief had the impudence to walk and talk to him. They walked up to the G.N. Station together, and the policeman thinking no harm, the burglar got clear away, but he was apprehended afterwards with others. There was a defence of an alibi set up for one, and men were brought from Northampton to declare that he was engaged at a tea garden there at the time. The jury did not believe them. The same defence is one of the most common. If proved, it is, of course, most conclusive, but it is very easy to set up this defence and get it sworn to. It was once used by a man charged with stealing a horse, who was found riding away upon its back. It occurs in Pickwick, when Mr. Weller says: “Samivel, why wasn’t there an alibi?”

There have not been many civil cases of any great interest, but a few breaches of promise, and one rather peculiar case, known as the Mud case, tried on the Midland Circuit. It was a question of right of navigation through what is now Mr. Roberts’ granary against the river, and it was stated that barge after barge had been brought up there. It was shown that it was physically impossible for a boat to go up there, as there was an obstruction rendering it impossible for any boat to pass through it. That trial lasted for years. I was at Northampton during one of the trials. There was another case between two tradesmen, one of whom had been thrown amongst some implements, and in the first trial the verdict was for the defendant; in the next the plaintiff got one shilling damages.

I have previously given particulars about the rejoicings we had when the railways came here. Just let me add one or two words to show it was not all gain when the railways came. You used, if you wanted to go to London, to get up early, and, by the Eastern Counties express, start at 6 o’clock, and be four or five hours going. In going there and coming back you had done a hard day’s work. I used to find it necessary to be called in good time, and recollect asking John Frisby, who used to run after the mail, to call me. Instead of doing so a little before six, he called me at three. “John,” I said, “do you know the time?” “Yes,” he said, “I thought I had better be in good time.” When the railways were just made, there was very little difference in the time taken to go to London by the G.N.R. or G.E.R. A good fight took place between the two companies. You could run by Northampton for 5s., instead of 11s. or 12s., by the Great Northern, and I was once beguiled with a lady in going the cheap route. We started at seven and arrived in London at two in the afternoon. When we got there we were so tired we could not go out that day at all. We had return tickets, but gave them up and came back by the G.N. The Great Northern put a stop to it by running the direct journey there and back for 5s. I tried that, and, coming home, was pulled in by the window, the train being overcrowded, and sat not upon the seat, but the arms between, and experienced for several hours something like you have seen described after a man has been tarred and feathered, in riding a rail, or the sensation of the monk who went into the barber’s shop, and instead of paying the usual twopence, wanted to be shaved for the love of God. “Certainly,” said the barber; and he shaved the monk with cold water, a blunt razor, and a very short allowance of soap. At the conclusion of which the monk said, “Heaven defend me from ever being shaved again for the love of God.” He came to the conclusion, as I did, that it was better to have things at the ordinary price and have them in the regular way.

Washington Irving tells the story of how one of the early settlers in the State of New York, not a very industrious person, walked out on the Catskill Mountains on a shooting expedition, and met with a party who were playing at skittles. They invited him to have some whisky and water, which he accepted, and immediately fell asleep, and at the close of half a century awoke. His faculties were in precisely the same condition as when he fell asleep, but the world had progressed around him. He went home and found those whom he had left young were grown old, and many of his neighbours had vanished from the scene. He had gone asleep under the Monarchy and awoke under the American Republic. That is the story, the humorous side of which is admirably painted by Washington Irving. It seems to me that in one point of view, at least when we exercise that wonderful faculty of memory that power of abstracting ourselves from what has passed and is passing before us, and carry ourselves back to the days of our youth, and for a few moments ignore all that has since passed around us that one is somewhat in the condition of Washington Irving’s hero of the tale in America! The history of a small city involves the history and the progress of the nation. The population of the country has increased relatively as the population of our own City has increased. The same causes which have led to our improvement have led to the improvement and the advancement in wealth, honour, and happiness of the increased population which these circumstances have brought into being. Nothing, I think, could be more distressing than to have our progress blotted out. That is not the way in which a wise and merciful Providence deals with his creatures. Our troubles, our afflictions, the memory of those we have lost, become pleasant memories. We do not fail to notice the beauty of the thought that those who are taken from us are not lost, but only gone before. And so it is in the life of a nation. If one were depicting the life of the nation for the last 50 year’s one would speak of the happiness that the great bulk of the population enjoyed.

I have lived through the Chartist Riots, the Irish Famine, and the Cotton Famine, which tried the endurance of our artisans in the manufacturing districts, and caused in the minds of statesmen and of every thinking man the great apprehensions as to its bearing upon the industry and wealth and happiness of the country. I have lived through periods of war—the Crimean War, when the thoughts of everyone were directed to our Army in distress barely holding its own through that dreadful winter—and the Indian Mutiny. All these incidents in the life of a nation answer to the troubles and afflictions in the life of the individual. We have survived the troubles which faced us, and how can I do more than say that thoughts such as these remind us of our duties as Citizens, as individuals, as members of the great community, showing us how much we have to be thankful for and how much we are dependent on circumstances.

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FINIS.

[Picture: Map of Whittlesey Mere, from “Fenland Notes & Queries.”]

FOOTNOTES

{5} The pagination in the book cannot be followed for the illustrations in some cases as they appear on their own pages in the middle of random paragraphs. In such cases the illustrations have been moved onto the following page, and the pages numbers in the list of illustrations have been changed accordingly. The filenames for the illustrations are their original page numbers.—DP.