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the reunion of family and friends who have laboured for six days to get it. What, I ask, then, are the poor people, because they are poor, to skulk and hide in their solitary bed-rooms and garrets to munch cold mutton by way of saving their souls ?
Sir A. Poor or not, all are equal in the sight of heaven.
Lord A. So, it seems, you think; for here is your prohibition from entering a club-house on a Sunday. Look at clubs, as now constituted: they are men's homes. Look at the United Service Club, where the men who have been fighting our battles by land and sea at the risk of life and limb congregate ;-look at the numerous members of Oxford and Cambridge, who make the University Clubs their place of sojourn. What, are these men, who occupy merely bed-rooms in the neighbourhood, and actually breakfast, dine, and sup in these clubs, to be shut out of their homes ? to be “ cribbed, cabined, and confined" in their dusky dormitories, and not permitted to take their natural food in the usual place ?
Sir A. Why, I really
Lord A. What! you have effectually barred them out of all taverns, eating-houses, cook-shops, &c., &c., which are, by the preceding clause, closed against them,—they cannot get food there.
Sir A. I have provided for that contingency in my twentieth clause.
Sir A. Why, I there permit persons to consume victuals in inns, hotels, coffee-houses, &c., who shall have lodged and slept on the premises during the preceding night, or, without having done so, between the hours of two and four in the afternoon by any person or persons who shall usually victual at the same.
Lord A. This does not relleve my friends the clergy, the army, and the navy, any more than it does the tailors, and shoemakers, and painters, and paper hangers. There are five or six thousand members of the clubs of which I have spoken. In what hotels are they to get beds on the Saturday night to qualify them for eating their breakfast and dinner there the next day? And as for “usually victualling"-I don't like the phrase, Andrew; those men do not usually victual in such places, for they usually “ victual" in the clubs, which are conducted exactly as private houses are, and are, in fact, the private residences of every individual who belongs to them.
Sir A. I belong to no club.
Lord A. Very right; but why do you insist on a man's “ victualling" between two and four ?
Sir A. Between the hours of divine service.
Lord A. Not a bit of it, those are between one and three; and why, if a man chose to“ victual" at seven, when divine service is altogether over, may he not do so ? Is salmon more sinful at seven, than turtle at two?
Sir A. My dear Lord, you can turn grave subjects into mirth. But these I consider necessary restrictions upon the irregularities of mankind, and as enactments tending to the maintenance of piety and religion.
Lord A. So far so good. But, my dear Sir Andrew, as Sunday is a day of rest-compulsorily as you make it—but for the purposes of relaxation and enjoyment
Sir A. To keep holy, my Lord.
Lord A. Ay, but are there not two definitions of that word ? are not all holy-days festivals ?-Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide, are holy-days. Is there sin in Greenwich fair ? condemnation in Sadler's-wells ? or utter destruction in Astley's amphitheatre of arts ?
May-VOL. LXI. NO. CLXI.
Sir A. I confine myself merely to the Sabbath.
Lord A. Remember, I appreciate your motive, and applaud your principles; but tell me, just for one moment, without having the slightest leaning towards Popery or its superstitions, do you believe that the millions of Roman Catholics—the great majority of Christians in the world—are all rendered obnoxious to eternal punishment because they treat the Sabbath -observing it, remember, much more devoutly than we do, for all religious purposes—as a holy-day or festival? They dance, they sing, they even act plays and visit plays on the Sundays. Are they all
Sir A. I do not argue about Roman Catholics. I am speaking of our church.
Lord A. Does this slight variation make so great a difference? But you speak of our church; you are, if I mistake not, a Scotch Presbyterian.
Sir A. Well, then, I will show you that in Scotland the very reverse of this frivolous indelicacy, with which you justly charge the Papists, is the case; no sound of gaiety is heard on the Sabbath; and as for music, not an instrument is used
Lord A. --Always excepting that national one, the Scotch fiddle, I presume ? However, I will not argue points which wiser men have set at rest before, but come to the next prohibition of moving about. Why, your ninth clause prohibits the travelling of coaches, omnibuses, vans, and carts from proceeding or continuing on their journey in any manner on the Sundays.
Sir A. And very properly, too. It was with the view to insure rest for man and beast that I concocted this clause.
Lord A. But don't you perceive that you stop the mails, upset the system of the post-office, derange the economy of all our mercantile interests, and paralyze the exertions of the manufacturing classes ?
Sir A. As how ?
Lord A. Why, thus: take the Edinburgh mail by way of example; if you stop the coaches on Sunday, the mail that leaves London on Friday night will be stopped at Catterick-bridge for a day; and that which leaves London on the Saturday night will be stopped for a day at Stevenage; while the Glasgow Friday mail will quietly take up its rest for four-andtwenty hours at Doncaster, and the Saturday mail come to a full stop till Monday morning at Elvanfoot-bridge.
Sir A. I admit there may be some inconvenience. Lord A. Some, my dear Andrew? Why, in addition to all the evils which will assail the great mass of the population, by the detention of all the correspondence of the nation, all the poor devils
Sir A. I beg your Lordship's pardon; the
Lord A. I beg yours—the poor unfortunate passengers by these conveyances will be starved; for while one clause of your Act stops them at places in which they have no business, for four-and-twenty hours, another clause prohibits the inn-keeper, tavern-keeper, and cook-shop-keeper from allowing them a room to sit down in- a breakfast, dinner, or supper to eat,-or a glass of wine, beer, ale, cider, mum, mead, or spirituous liquors to drink,
Sir A. Not so. If they arrive a little before twelve, they may be admitted into their inns, under another clause.
Lord A. And forced to incur an increased expense in a dirty alehouse, while in the agonies of suspense about a failing concern in Edinburgh, or a dying parent in London; and for this there is no remedy; for you have clogged the wheels of all the post-chaises and glass-coaches in the empire.
Sir A. Unquestionably. Why should people go racketing about the country on Sundays;
Lord A. Greater men than we have done such things; but, as far as the mass of the people go, they have no other day to relax in,
Sir A. My dear Lord, in America they put chains across the streets on the Sabbath, to prevent the egress of the inhabitants.
Lord 4. Ah! but that is a land of freedom. Did I ever tell you what happened to Montague ;—I don't mean our agreeable friend Rokeby, but to a Montague of the last generation ? He was a captain in the navy, and arrived off Boston on a Sunday, during divine service. He landed in his gig, which he sent back to his ship; and was proceeding to find the residence of one of the authorities, when he was accosted by two beadles, who laid violent hands upon him, and forced him into the stocks,-in uniform as he was,—and there kept him till church was over.
Sir A. Active officers !
Lord A. Yes; like the informers in your own Bill, who may labour in their vocation with unmitigated severity on the day of general rest. However, after he was released, Montague appealed to the mayor of the town, but could get no redress. All the answer he got to his remonstrances was
It is the custom here; you should have inquired what our customs were, before you came amongst us. I calculate we can give you no redress.”
Sir A. Reasonably argued.
Lord A. Montague stayed there a fortnight-foraged upon the enemylived sumptuously amongst the barbarians-and, having completed his intended stay, resolved to repay the civility of his rigid, yet hospitable, friends, by inviting the mayor and corporation to dinner on board of his frigate.
Sir A, I admire his Christian-like spirit of forgiveness.
Lord A, They came; dined and drank, as mayors and aldermen always do; and a very pleasant day they had. The corporation barge was alongside, to convey them to the shore. The parting cup had been drained; and their worships were at the gangway, ready to step into their gilded gondola, when Montague, ordering the boatswain aft, directed the mayor to be seized and tied up; and having properly prepared his worship for the reception of his wholesome correction, gave him a couple of dozen, soundly laid on.
Sir A. What! flog him ? Lord A, Most soundly; and having seen him so served, he administered a dozen a-piece to each of the aldermen, and a dozen and a half to the recorder. Never was such an uproar on the deck of a King's ship: they cursed and swore, and tore and stamped, and vowed vengeance against their treacherous host.
Sir A. And what did he say by way of explanation ?
Lord A. “ Gentlemen," said Montague, “it is the custom here to flog mayors and aldermen; you should have inquired what our customs were before you came amongst us. I calculate I can give you no redress.”
Sir A. Heavy retaliation !
Lord A. But just. In half an hour after, they were over the side, his anchor was up, and he bowling away before a stiff breeze; after which period my friend Montague never visited the United States. So much for American customs.
Sir A. Please to remember that I did not advocate chaining up the streets—I merely mentioned it as the custom of another country-the prohibition from letting out horses and carriages will, I think, be sufficient.
Lord A. Yes, to keep everybody at home who happen to be unlike yourself—too poor to keep horses and carriages of their own, You never hire horses or carriages-you belong to no club-you never travel on business -ergo, nobody else must be permitted to do so. No, my dear Andrew, you live very snugly at home, and therefore, having all the rest of the week
to amuse yourself after your own fashion, you are content to “victual," as you call it, in your own house.
Sir A. And what then ?
Lord A. Why, in order to meet the convenience of your own position, you exempt from rest and quiet all menial servants whose labour is necessary to send up your dinner, hand round your entrées, serve your wine, make your coffee, and give you your chasse—is it not so ?
Sir A. It is an inevitable evil, and I see no remedy.
Lord A. And then, my dear simple, single-hearted fellow, while you keep your cook tied by his leg to the fire-place, your kitchen-maids dancing at his tail, your butler uncorking, your footman handing and serving, your coachman and grooms helping, your housekeeper attending, and your still-room woman on the qui vive, you set it down in your calendar that they are doing nothing incompatible with piety and religion ; while you denounce to eternal condemnation and forty shillings penalty a hale, hearty cockney, who for pleasure hires a boat and rows himself and his wife and children to the Red House for a regale, or to Putney for pleasure, and afterwards smokes his pipe, sips his ale, and cracks his biscuit with his happy family in a bower on a bowling-green.
Sir A. Such things are insufferable !
Lord A. Was England less prosperous, or were the blessings vouchsafed by Providence less important, when Sunday was the acknowledged day of recreation and festivity, than she is now? The squire's hospitable board, graced by the presence of the parson of the parish, seemed to offer no forbidden fruit, and the gladdened hearts of the happy neighbours engendered no guile, because they were cheered with a horn of his honour's Octo. ber. The religion of the Establishment has no gloom in its character, and I would advise you to confine your legislation to your own country and the church to which you belong. Your Bill of itself would create a rebellion in the country.
Sir A. I believe it will meet with unqualified support.
Lord A. Not it—the truly religious man sees in it nothing but cant and supererogation; the worldly man sees in it ruin and embarrassment to all our civil and political institutions; the working classes see in it a tyrannical effort to deprive them of the relief from labour which God himself has permitted them; the infidels, who scoff at all religion, will lay hold of it to expose the absurdity of what they will not hesitate to denounce as fanaticism ; while the only people who will be found favourable to its enactments will be the Byers, and Simpsons, and Thompsons, and other public informers, who are encouraged to pursue the most venal possible system of espionage by its provisions, and who, like the menial servants, who are to be worked to death for your convenience, are to be permitted to pursue their infamous calling on the Sunday for your gratification.
Sir A. I see I have no hope of support from your Lordship, so there is no use in my defending my measure-I mean well, and
Lord A. Nobody doubts that—so does a child who drinks boiling water out of the spout of a tea-kettle ;-but, I tell you, the thing is incompatible with the usages of society or the habits of mankind, and utterly impracticable in the present civilized state of society, and so good night.-Are you for Crocky's ?
Sir A. You are too bad, my Lord; but there is so much generous kind. ness and good nature about you that it is impossible even for me to be angry.
Lord A. Adieu !
Scene- The Foreign Office. PRINCE TALLEYRAND AND VISCOUNT PALMERSTON. Viscount Palmerston. Well, Prince, J am glad-a to-a have the pleasure of seeing you out-a.
Prince Talleyrand. The English people, I suspect, would be better pleased if they saw your Lordship out.
Vis. P. What is your news from Paris ?
Prince T. (aside.)As if he fancied I should tell him.- None. You have got Lord Granville's despatch ?
Vis. P. Yes—it came last night to Downing-street.
Vis. P. Haven't read it-a. I was at Lady Grey's, and forgot I had it in my pocket.
Prince T. Things look angry-how is your friend, Leopold ?
Prince T. Bad job for you, that Belgian affair.—You'll never get over those infernal protocols-they'll stick to you through life. I say, Cupid, ---why do they call you Cupid ?-Eh?
Vis. P. Miscreants ! because a lady, who shall be nameless, gave me that name-a.
Prince T. Well, then, Cupid be it.—What the deuce have you been doing with Lord Howard de Walden at Lisbon ?
Vis. P. Doing? What you have done a thousand times, playing a game.
Prince T. Yes; but our play differs in this-you have had the misfortune to be found out. Have you burned the despatches that somebody will move for ?
Vis. P. I wish all the fellows were burned who move for anything in my department-a.
Prince T. You are not fortunate, I own-your Princess Pumpkina is not a sure card-and Pedro is
Vis. P. As bad as his brother. Prince T. In Spain you are botching it; that other little girl will fail you-you have too many queens on your
hands. Vis. P. And too many knaves in the service.
Prince T. Granville is sadly worried by your friend Durham; the Bear and the Bore don't suit his views.
Vis. P. No; he wrote home about it, but Durham must have his way. Prince T. We know what his Belgian scheme is. Does it meet with the sanction of the high contracting party herself ?
Vis. P. I cannot say; I believe I know as little of what is going on as any gentleman in the country.
Prince T. You take it too easy-you ought to have kicked when old Grey wrote direet to the Belgian Minister without saying a word to you on the subject.
Vis. P. Kick !-Gad! two can play at kicking; and if I had said a word, old Grey, as you call him, would have had me out and Durham in.
Prince T. I don't know, I think we should not have permitted it.
Prince T. Why-I mean myself and my King. We do what we like, don't we, Cupid ?
Vis. P. Egad! I believe you do. Granville complains of Durham ; but if I did what I really think I ought to do, I ought to complain of Granville. For my own part, I don't understand how your King of the Barricades could have the face to denounce the barricade-makers in that affair of Sunday se'n. night.