"The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses who pull;
Each tugs in a different way,
Aud the greatest of all is John Bull."
—Byron.
NOW I am in London, the city of the world;
the Scotchman's field of laudable effort; the head and front of
civilization; the rewarder of merit, and the chastiser of
everything low. This very spot, too, Downie's wharf, is
suggestive of a retrospect which is by no means flattering to
myself. Here, years ago, I spent a night on board the Trusty,
Captain Christy, sent by my cold half-brother on my supposed way
back to an offended home. Here pride gained the ascendancy and
led me a dance up the Baltic, to escape an ordeal which that
very step had the effect of aggravating to a ten-fold degree,
but it may be all for the best. At least I know it's good to
think so. I begin to feel the importance of the present juncture
as a new starting point. I am in London; I am eighteen years
old, in possession of as many shillings as years in hard cash, a
good sound constitution, a good trade at my finger ends, and a
determination second to none. What, then, do I lack to insure
success? Judgment, sound judgmerit. Alas ! that
is an attribute that never has held a prominent place in the
composition of my character. The wages of a journeyman baker in
those days ran, for foremen, from 20 to 30 shillings a week; for
second hands, from 15 to 20; for third hands, from 9 to 14. My
first place with Mr. Gibb, Silver street, Golden square, brought
ten shillings a week.
This was obtained through the medium of what
is termed in London a house of call. Every trade has its house
or houses of call, and to the uninitiated they are very useful.
They partake of the communistic and the office of intelligence
principles combined. Those in place never allow the outs to
starve. The landlord keeps a record of applications for men, and
all the members are interested in supplying the wants of the
trade in that direction in order to relieve themselves of a
self-imposed tax. Having traveled the streets for six weeks, my
exchequer down to a solitary shilling, the receipt of my first
week's wage was very acceptable. Of course, a portion of this
had to be applied to treat the boys who helped me to gain this
round of the ladder by which to climb to fortune. Now all London
was astir to have his first parliament opened in person by that
notable specimen of royalty, George the Fourth. Riots having
occurred at his coronation, when he rudely debarred Queen
Caroline of the privilege, many were apprehensive that such
might characterize this, his first public act as king. The town
was divided, but such is the intoxicating effect of royal
pageantry on the multitude that I should hesitate to give
credence to that of which I was on that occasion an eye and ear
witness. I took my stand among the gaping crowd in Piccadilly,
where his Majesty was coolly received. I was borne along in the
living mass as near to the royal carriage, drawn by eight richly
caparisoned horses, as I could get. At Charing Cross the
coolness had ripened into a hiss. At the Horse Guards faint
hisses mingled with loud cheers, down Parliament street cheers
gaining the ascendancy, and by the time the cavalcade arrived at
the parliament house no sound but the most throat-cracking
huzzas saluted my unsophisticated ear. Consistency, thou art a
jewel! Aspiring to a higher round in the ladder after the
coronation I soon found a second hand's place of seventeen
shillings with Mr. Baldie, of Frith street, Soho square. During
this year (1822) the King visited Scotland, and who should have
the honor of being the chosen few to accompany him became the
theme of angry controversy and much jealousy in high places,—so
much so that the celebrated Lord Castle-reagh retired in high
dudgeon to his country seat, and destroyed himself by severing
his jugular vein. The King in his caprice had taken into his
social councils a rich, ignorant baker of the name of Sir
William Curtis, the man who, it is said, proposed at a
Bacchanalian spree a toast of "the three C's," and on being
asked to explain said the three C's stood for Church, King and
Curtis. This man was at this period cartooned and caricatured as
no other man ever was, and he had in his mansion a very large
apartment in which to display them. One I well remember. He was
dressed in a grotesque Highland costume, and for a sporran,
hanging from the lower part of his huge body, an immense turtle,
of the flesh of which creature he was known to be passionately
fond. The King had the bad taste to carry this voluptuous
ignoramus with him to the north, creating thereby a good deal of
gossiping scandal from his coarseness. Strange conduct on the
part of one who was said to be the first gentleman in Europe!
The new Marriage Act was made law this year, as also the new
Bread Law, doing away with the quartern and half-quartern
loaves, rendering it penal to sell bread otherwise than by
weight. About this time I became acquainted with Sophia
Grainger, a young lady, the only daughter of an elderly widow
lady living on her means in Somers Town. To the influence of
this dear lady, morally and physically speaking, I confess to
standing indebted for my salvation. The life of a journeyman
baker in London is, to say the least, anomalous. Without the
advantages of domesticity he is held in a species of slavery by
his employers by means of the domestic tie. Bakers must sleep on
the premises of the scene of their daily and nightly labor.
Their barracks, as their sleeping apartment is termed, run from
decent to the beastly. An incident may suffice to show the
nature of the latter. I had aspired to the altitude of foreman,
and engaged with a gentleman who shall here be nameless. The
bakehouse, as usual, was in the cellar, the oven beneath the
public pavement.
I asked for the barracks, wherein to deposit
my surplus clothing, arid was disgusted on being led into a dark
nook in the cellar, fitted up with bunks for beds, and entirely
without a chance of light or ventilation. My first impulse was
to leave, but the thoughts of my new elevation induced me to
stay to learn. This man was very religious; employed much of his
time distributing religious tracts among the denizens of the
neighboring mews, abolished Sunday trading, established domestic
family worship in his splendid parlor, at which on Sunday
morning all the domestics, male and female (three of each), were
requested to attend, which I did once, and could not help
thinking that that was once too often. I remained in his service
six months, and on being asked my reasons for non-attendance at
family worship I told him that after a night's rest in such a
bed, in such a place, I failed to find myself in a frame of mind
suitable for worship, and therefore should leave his service
next Saturday night, which I did, and was afterward glad to
learn that the rebuke was not thrown away. The hours of labor,
too, are drawn out to an ungodly degree. Commencing at eleven p.
m., his day's work is spun out till the following p. m. about
six during the six lawful days in the week, and on Sundays from
nine till two. Notwithstanding the limited time given him for
rest and recreation it must be acknowledged that the hours were
often very injudiciously spent. Dancing among the Scotch bakers
laid claim to the hours that belonged to the bed and the book,
and that thoughtless pastime taking a prominent part in the long
list of my weaknesses I easily fell a victim to the fascinating
maze. To keep the arrangement free from objectionable characters
some twenty of us hired the Bedform rooms, High Hol-born, for
two nights in the week. These rooms were kept by a highly
respectable family of the name of Trevest, who seemed to be well
pleased with our partics, as well they might, for in the whole
course of subsequent experience I have failed to witness
anything of the kind so well conducted.
During 1825 I worked for Mr. Tate, corner of
Hand Court, High Holborn. There I received the painful news of
my father's death at eighty-four years of age. The celebrated
banker Fauntleroy was executed at the Old Bailey in that year.
Led on by the fascinations of a Mrs. Forbes he committed the
most heartless frauds and caused the total ruin of numbers,
among whom were many widows and orphans. About this epoch Daniel
O'Connell was causiug some uneasiness in the councils of
conservatism by his telling appeals to the people in behalf of
Catholic emancipation. He is also charged with creating a
movement which, in later years, under the auspices of his more
fiery and less politic coadjutor, Fergus O'Connor, gave some
trouble and a good deal of apprehension. It was rumored also
that he (Daniel O'Connell) wrote the celebrated document called
the "Charter," which advocated a thorough change of government,
rendered the more lucid to the masses by its distinguishing
features, called points, viz: (1) Universal suffrage, (2) vote
by ballot, (3) annual parliaments, (4) non-property
qualification, (5) payment of members of parliament; in
opposition to the present system of septennial parliaments: (2)
Open voting, (3) property qualification of the exercise of the
franchise, (4) non-payment of members of parliament, (5)
property qualifications of members of parliament.
This document called for a wide departure
from the then present system, which, with all its faults, had
stood the brunt of many a hard-fought battle and borne the
nation on to a state of prosperity which was the envy of the
world. Still the reforming spirit had fairly fastened on that
wonderful people. It seemed that an obscuring veil had been
withdrawn from the nation's vision, and suddenly exposed to view
the most glaring inconsistencies. It saw and marveled at old
Gatten and old Sarum, sitting in their easy conservative chairs,
playfully manufacturing political tools to help existing powers,
to prolong monopolies aged in plethora. It saw busy Birmingham,
with all its ingenuity and all its energy, voiceless in the
law-making process, and wondered at its own blindness. Now
monopoly trembled in its most impregnable stronghold— the Bank
of England, the East India Company, the West India interest,
with its system of human bondage, the high-handed landed
interest lording it over the million in taxing the laborer's
loaf. All these, with a thousand and one intermediate abuses,
requiring the pruning-knife or, like the blasted fig-tree,
rooting out. What a sickle-waiting harvest! Who the laborers?
The house is divided against itself. The privileged class will
have all things remain as they are. Open once the flood-gates of
reform and who shall say what part of our sacred constitution
will sustain the shock? The shallow-thinking understrata, taking
pattern from a neighboring nation, would have all things swept
away that they may, in their wisdom, begin anew. But, happily,
there is in Great Britain a wiser, sounder, deeper-thinking
middle class.
In their horny hands the sickle placed,
Whate'er they undertake is ne'er disgraced.
The happy blending of the two antagnonisms
appears to the subscriber as the course of wisdom. Surely he
must be a blind reformer whose composition lacks the valuable
ingredient of conservatism, and vice versa, the conservatism of
an individual lies open to objection who opposes the removal of
a palpable abuse, even if actuated by fear of consequences. I
was working in Mount street, Grosvenor square, among the elite
of the metropolis, when the first blow was struck at the West
India monopoly by admitting the saccharine products of the
Mauritius at an equal ratio of duty with those of the West
Indies, which had the effect of rendering their entire property
unproductive, and which paved the way for the abolition at a
later day of that blot which for so many years had stained the
otherwise fair escutcheon of Great Britain—human slavery. Under
the auspices of Earl Grey the growing agitation for reform in
parliament was fast ripening into an irresistible force. All the
reformers seemed to agree to concentrate their forces on some
such measure as would augment the popular voice, well knowing
that by increased facilities each particular hobby would be more
easily attained. The Irish patriot was waxing strong when the
Duke of York, in his Protestant zeal, in his place in
parliament, made a violent anti-Catholic speech, ending in a
solemn oath to do all in his power, while life lasted, to
prevent Catholics sitting in parliament. This speech was printed
in letters of gold, on vellum, and distributed broadcast over
the kingdoms three, while Dan went on in the even tenor of his
way.
One of the most prominent men of the day was
Henry Brougham. His father, Brougham of Vaux, in Cumberland, in
his youth repaired to the Scottish capital, and married the
sister of Robertson, the historian, and I believe Harry was the
only issue of that union. He distinguished himself in his
profession, and in literary circles was one of the brightest
ornaments of that famous galaxy of talent which adorned
Edinburgh at that epoch; but, like all aspiring Scotchmen, he
partook at an early date of the London fever, and the tone of
his ambition may be gathered from the expression he is said to
have made use of when taking farewell of his friends and
stepping into his carriage. "Good-by, friends," he said, "here
goes the future Lord Chancellor of England"—a prognostication
which was verified under very peculiar circumstances. He was one
of those retained to defend the character of Queen Caroline in
opposition to the vile charges and insinuations advanced against
that unhappy lady by an unkind husband and the pandering
sycophants of a corrupt court. The evidence of the Duke of
Clarence had been adduced against the Queen when H. R. H. for a
short time left the court, and on his return, and when about to
take his seat, Brougham was in the midst of a volley of
invectives against the enemies of his client such as no other
man could wield. In the heat of argument he had the daring to
utter the following words: " Notwithstanding the evidence of
that royal slanderer now resuming his seat, the royal lady at
the bar of this court is as innocent of the crimes and follies
with which she is charged as the child unborn." We now leave the
future lord to fight his own battles against a host of enemies
in high places, increased in numbers and virulence by his action
on the Queen's trial; but if his prestige was impaired in the
aristocratic ranks by his internperate language on that trial it
was more than compensated for by the rise in the tide of popular
sentiment.
My acquaintance with Sophia had, in the
course of four years, ripened into an inseparable attachment,
and we mutually came to the conclusion that her mother should be
made acquainted with our true position. My humble position in
life made me backward, but the ordeal passed in a cordial
reception, and my mind was much relieved by the prospect of the
termination of a sort of vagabond life which naturally pertains
to an undomesticated domestic. None but those who have been
deprived of the amenities of life can
possibly appreciate their true value. The gates were thrown open
to a golden elysium "—a happy home in which I was made most
welcome.
1824.. At this time, in a way stripped of
all ostentation, was borne the mortal remains of England's great
poet, Lord Byron, on its way from Missolonghi, in Greece, where
he died, to their final resting-place in Hacknall, near Newstead
Abbey, the seat of his ancestry. Mine eyes beheld his faithful
Fletcher following his beloved master's bier in the simple
cortege proceeding through the streets of Camden Town, in the
northern district of London. ' There were very few of his former
admirers present. Amongst the few could be distinguished his
bosom-friend, John Cam Hobhouse. Most of the elite who danced
around the poet during his hours of idleness contented
themselves on this solemn occasion by sending their empty
carriages — a fitting representation of most of the hearts who
owned them. With the honorable exceptions, I would say —
MEMENTO MORI.'