XXI. John Bull and his Island: Postscript.

Pauperism has been, for some time, the question of the day in England, the burning question, as they say over here. John is making theories.

Theories! he was wont to exclaim, the British nation can afford to laugh at theories. This is the remark that a Conservative, possessed of more pretension than foresight, made one day before Thomas Carlyle.

“My dear sir,” replied the apostle of force in England, “the French nobility of a hundred years ago said they could afford to laugh at theories. Then came a man and wrote a book called the ‘Social Contract.’ The man was called Jean Jacques Rousseau, and his book was a theory, and nothing but a theory. The nobles could laugh at his theory; but their skins went to bind the second edition of his book.”

Yes, John, my friend, you are quite right to make theories: it is high time. But do not neglect to put them into practice: open your museums and picture galleries on Sundays, and shut a few public-houses;[10] do not rest content with sending missionaries to your poor, to tell them that they, like you, may one day dwell in the mansions of the blessed; make them taste a few of the sweets of this life, amuse them, help them to shake off the stupefying influence of drink; teach them little by little that you do not mean to support them in idleness and drunkenness, and that Unions and other houses of refuge for old age are not instituted to encourage them to be careless and thoughtless for the morrow. Try to make thinking men of them; at present they are but slaves. Unfortunately for you, all these people can read. Beware of the day on which they get sober. Take care of your skin: it is not impossible that there may be yet a good deal of binding to be done.

“At the four corners of Trafalgar Square, the London Place de la Concorde, four pedestals are to be seen. Three are surmounted by statues, the fourth is waiting.”[11]

It is waiting still.

If England is short of heroes, let her install General Booth on the fourth pedestal; but for goodness and symmetry’s sake, let her set someone upon it.

The statue of Queen Anne, that stands in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral, in the heart of the City, has been wanting a nose for the past five or six years. For a shilling she might be provided with a beauty. Yet no; the fat aldermen of Beefsteakopolis, who dine at three or four guineas a head, and have lately spent twelve thousand pounds upon a ridiculous and hideous monument that stands at the entrance to the part of London that is under their jurisdiction, refuse a nose to the sovereign in whose reign lived the great Marlborough, hero of Blenheim and Malplaquet. Yet nobody can doubt that a nose would be very useful to the poor thing, neglected by John Bull, and stuck up there, in one of the most furiously draughty spots in London.

“One of the largest tea houses is not ashamed to publish the following advertisement in all the public thoroughfares and railway stations of England:—‘We sell at three shillings a pound the same tea as we supply to dukes, marquises, earls, barons, and the gentry of the country.’ The poor viscounts are left out in the cold: it is a regrettable oversight.”[12]

The oversight has been repaired; I congratulate both the viscounts and the firm. Who says books serve no purpose? Why, princes and bishops have been added. If only Her Majesty would be kind enough to give Cooper Cooper’s tea a trial!

“The day the House of Lords reject any important measure passed by the Liberals, it will have dealt its own death-blow.”[13]

The operation is being performed the House having just rejected Mr. Gladstone’s Franchise Bill. If it has not dealt its own death-blow, it has had a narrow squeak!

How ill-inspired the lords must be in seeking a quarrel with John Bull, who has no wish to do them any harm! If I were a peer of this realm, I fancy I could make myself the most amiable and submissive being in the world. I would again say to John: “Now, look here, my dear fellow, you know the House of Lords is convenient in one way, because it spares you the trouble of holding two elections. It will always be my endeavour to make myself agreeable. I have forty or fifty thousand a year, and if you think I am going to be angry at anything the Commons may do, why, you make a huge mistake. I know I am a fifth wheel to the State coach, but you are too gentlemanly to remind me of it, if I do not make you feel that a fifth wheel can sometimes play the part of a bâton dans les roues. I will imitate the good example set by the Queen: when you want the Liberals, you shall have them; when you want the Conservatives, you shall have them. You, on your part, must continue to hold me in respect, and call me the noble lord as hard as ever; I shall, as before, take precedence of intellect and wealth; I shall patronise literature and art, by scattering among my countrymen—for a consideration—the valuable libraries and art treasures left me by over-conservative forefathers, and protect the drama by keeping more actresses than ever. Surely, old friend, we ought to be able to rub along together.”

If the House of Lords should succumb, it will have the consolation of knowing that its ruin has been wrought by its most ardent friends, and not by its enemies. For that matter, a Government or Constitution generally does die at the hands of its friends à outrance.

I also said: “The two great political parties are of about equal strength.... The Irish party however, grows more national every day, and the Government may before long have to reckon seriously with it.”[14]

The failure of the Egyptian campaign has greatly diminished the popularity of the Liberal party, and it is more than probable that, if it obtain the victory in the next election, its majority in Parliament will be reduced to about a score. The partisans of Irish autonomy number forty: it therefore seems pretty clear that Mr. Parnell, the head of the Irish Home Rule party, will ere long be Viceroy of England. Friend John will have to choose between two rather bitter pills: granting Ireland her independence, or conquering the Sister-Isle vi et armis. The prospect is not a brilliant one.

THE END