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[Illustration: (cover)]


[Illustration:

                    _Copyright Fine Art Society_

VICTORIA REGINA

1837

FROM THE PAINTING BY H. T. WELLS, R.A.]




[Illustration: (Title Page)]

  THE
  QUEEN’S REIGN

  AND ITS COMMEMORATION · A
  LITERARY AND PICTORIAL REVIEW
  OF THE PERIOD · THE STORY
  OF THE VICTORIAN TRANSFORMATION ·
  BY SIR WALTER BESANT

  1837 ♔ 1897

  The Werner Company · · London
  Chicago · New York · Berlin · Paris
  Eighteen Hundred and Ninety Seven


[Illustration]




CONTENTS


                                      PAGE
  Introduction                           5
  CHAPTER I                              7
  CHAPTER II                            15
  CHAPTER III                           32
  CHAPTER IV                            41
  CHAPTER V                             48
  CHAPTER VI                            61
  CHAPTER VII                           72
  THE COMMEMORATION                     85




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INTRODUCTION

    “Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty.”
                                           _As You Like It._


When Sydney Smith, towards the close of his life, considered the
changes which had passed over the country within his recollection, he
said that he wondered how the young men of his time had managed to
preserve even a decent appearance of cheerfulness. Sydney Smith died
in 1845, just at the beginning of those deeper and wider changes of
which he suspected nothing; for, though he was a clear-headed man in
many ways, he was no prophet--he saw the actual and the present, but
was unable to feel the action of the invisible and potent forces which
were creating a future to him terrible and almost impossible. Had he
possessed the prophetic spirit, he would have been another Jeremiah for
the destruction of the old forms of society; the levelling up and the
levelling down destined to take place would have been pain and grief
intolerable to him.

I have always maintained that the eighteenth century lingered on in its
ways, customs, and modes of thought until the commencement of Queen
Victoria’s reign, and I regard myself with a certain complacency as
having been born on the fringe of that interesting period. I might
also take pleasure in remembering that one who has lived through this
reign has been an eyewitness, a bystander, perhaps in some minute
degree an assistant, during a Revolution which has transformed this
country completely from every point of view, not only in manners and
customs, but also in thought, in ideas, in standards; in the way of
regarding this world, and in the way of considering the world to come.
I do not, however, take much pleasure in this retrospect, because the
transition has taken place silently, without my knowledge; it escaped
my notice while it went on: the world has changed before my eyes, and
I have not regarded the phenomenon, being busily occupied over my own
little individual interests. I have been, indeed, like one who sits in
a garden thinking and weaving stories, nor heeding while the shadows
shift slowly across the lawns, while the hand of the dial moves on from
morning to afternoon. I have been like such a one, and, like him, I
have awakened to find that the air, the light, the sky, the sunshine
have all changed, and that the day is well-nigh done.

Do not expect in this volume a Life of Queen Victoria. You have her
public life in the events of her reign: of her private life I will
speak in the next chapter. But I can offer you no special, otherwise
unattainable, information; there will be here no scandal of the Court;
I have climbed no backstairs; I have peeped through no key-hole; I have
perused no secret correspondence; I have, on this subject, nothing to
tell you but what you know already.

Do not again look in these pages for a _résumé_ of public events. You
may find them in any Annual or Encyclopædia. What I propose to show
you is the transformation of the people by the continual pressure and
influence of legislation and of events of which no one suspected the
far-reaching action. The greatest importance of public events is often
seen, after the lapse of years, in their effect upon the character of
the people: this view of the case, this transforming force of any new
measure, seldom considered by statesman or by philosopher, because
neither one nor the other has the prophetic gift--if it could be
adequately considered while that measure is under discussion--would be
stronger than any possible persuasion or any arguments of expediency,
logic, or abstract justice.

I propose, therefore, to present a picture of the various social
_strata_ in 1837, and to show how the remarkable acts of British
Legislation, such as Free Trade, cheap newspapers, improved
communications, together with such accidents as the discovery of
gold in Australia, and of diamonds at the Cape, have altogether, one
with the other, so completely changed the mind and the habits of the
ordinary Englishman that he would not, could he see him, recognise his
own grandfather. And I hope that this sketch may prove not only useful
in the manner already indicated, but also interesting and fresh to the
general readers.

                    W. B.

EASTER SUNDAY, _18th April 1897_.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER I

QUEEN AND CONSTITUTION

    “The wise woman buildeth her house.”--_Book of Proverbs._


In 1837 the Queen mounted the throne. It was a time of misgiving and
of discontent. The passing of the Reform Act of 1832 had not as yet
produced the results expected of it; there were other and more sweeping
reforms in the air: the misery and the oppression of the factory hands,
the incredible cruelty practised on the children of the mill and the
mine, the deep poverty of the agricultural districts, the distress
of the trading classes, formed a gloomy portal to a reign which was
destined to be so long and so glorious. Thus, in turning over the
papers then circulated among the working-classes of the time, one
observes a total absence of anything like loyalty to the Crown. It has
vanished. A blind hatred has taken its place. What is loyalty to the
Crown? To begin with, it is something more than an intelligent adhesion
to the Constitution; it regards the Sovereign as personifying and
representing the nation; it ascribes to the Sovereign, therefore, the
highest virtues and qualities which the nation itself would present to
the world. The King, among loyal people, is brave, honest, truthful,
the chief support of the Constitution, the Fountain of Honour. To obey
the King is to obey the country. To die for the King is to die for the
country. The Army and the Navy are the King’s Army and Navy. The King
grants commissions; the King is supposed to direct military operations.
The King is the First Gentleman in his country. When one reads the
words which used to be addressed to such a man as Charles the Second
one has to remember these things. Charles the Second, unworthy as he
was in his private life, was still the representative of the nation.
Therefore, to ascribe to that unworthy person these virtues which were
so notoriously lacking was no more than a recognition of the fact that
he was King. Has, then, personal character, private honour, truth,
principle, nothing to do with kingcraft? Formerly, nothing or next
to nothing. Now, everything. Another George the Fourth would now be
impossible. But he has been made impossible by the private character of
his niece.

Consider a little further the question of loyalty. I say that in 1837
among the mass of the people, even among the better class, there was
none. Indeed the loyalty of the better sort had suffered for more than
a hundred years many grievous knocks and discouragements. The first
two Georges, good and great in official language, were aliens; they
spoke a foreign tongue; they saw little of the people; yet they were
tolerated, and even popular in a way, because they steadfastly upheld
the Constitution and the Protestant religion. The third George began
well; he was a Prince always of high moral character, strong principle,
and great sincerity. Since Edward the Confessor or Henry the Sixth
there had been no Sovereign so virtuous. But his constant endeavours
to extend the Royal Prerogative, his obstinate treatment of the
American Provinces against the impassioned and reiterated entreaties of
Chatham, Burke, and the City of London, his stubborn refusal to hear
of Parliamentary Reform, his desire to govern by a few families, his
long affliction and seclusion, destroyed most of the personal affection
with which he began. His successor, the hero of a thousand caricatures,
a discredited voluptuary, never commanded the least respect except in
official addresses; nor did William the Fourth, old, without force or
character, without dignity. Wherefore, in 1837, when the cry of “Our
Young Queen” was raised, it met with little response from the great
mass of the people.

[Illustration: THE DUKE OF KENT]

In its place there was an eager looking forward to Revolution and a
Republic. There can be no doubt that in the thirties and the forties
there were many who looked forward to a Republic as actually certain;
that is to say, as certain as the next day’s sun. The Chartists
numbered many strong Republicans in their body, though the Law of
Treason forbade them to put forward the establishment of a Republic as
one of their aims. There were newspapers, however, which spoke openly
of a Republic as a matter of time only. The great European upheaval
of 1848, save for the miserable _fiasco_ of the Chartist meeting,
left this country undisturbed. Not a single Republican rising was
attempted in Great Britain. Those living men who can remember thirty
or forty years back, can very well recall the Republican ideas which
were floating about in men’s minds. Where are those ideas now? They are
gone; they exist no longer, save, perhaps, among a very small class.
I do not know even if they have an organ of their own. The reason is,
that as the Chartist movement--the agitation for Reform--was due mainly
to the widespread distress and the discontent of the country, so, when
the distress vanished, the desire for change vanished also.

[Illustration: THE DUCHESS OF KENT]

In this account of transformation the return to loyalty must be noted
first. It is not only loyalty to the Queen herself, though that is
universal, but to the Crown. There is a general feeling that the
Leader of the Nation--not the Imperator, Dictator, or Emperor, but
a nominal Leader, such as our own, one under whose presidency the
Government is carried on, who is not, however, the Government--is more
conveniently the heir of a certain family rather than a person elected
by the country at large at regular intervals. The United States think
differently. This, however, is what seems to us. We do not want a great
popular election convulsing the country once every four years with a
desperate party struggle; we have already quite as many elections as we
want; we are quite satisfied if our President succeeds when his time
comes, gives his name to the events of his reign, and continues in the
Presidential chair for life. We ask of him only to make himself as good
a figure-head as he can; we expect him to observe his coronation oath;
and we beg him, if he wishes to stay where he is, not on any account to
intrigue or scheme for the extension of the Royal Prerogative.

On the other hand, we willingly agree to attribute to a Sovereign all
the glories of the reign; as if he himself commanded the armies and the
fleets; as if he himself enlarged Science and Learning and Philosophy;
as if he himself were a leader in Literature, Science, and Art. This is
because the Sovereign is the representative of the Nation. In the same
way the disasters and miseries of the reign must also be placed to his
account, as if he himself were the author and the cause of everything.
Thus by far the greater part of the distress and discontent which
prevailed during the first years of the Reign (1837–48) was attributed
in the minds of the people as due to the Sovereign and the monarchical
forms of Government.

With the gradual return of loyalty gradually grew quieter the old
clamours for the abolition of the House of Lords. I will show you
some other reasons why this clamour ceased. First of all, in times
of prosperity political changes are never demanded. A revolution
presupposes a time of want, distress, or humiliation. We have enjoyed a
time of general prosperity for many years.

I believe that Americans find it hard to understand the continued
existence of our Upper House. Well, but something may be said for that.
Thus, the House of Lords contains about 650 possible members; of these
about thirty, or even less, and those including the Law Lords, do the
whole work of the House. These thirty are in a sense representatives
of the whole number, not regularly elected, but allowed to be the
representatives. It is quite conceivable--even by the strongest
advocate of popular election--that a body of 650 gentlemen, all of the
best possible education, nearly all advanced in years, all independent
in their circumstances, all wealthy, with no private interests to
advance, unconnected with commercial enterprise, with no companies to
support, no schemes of money-making in the background, might elect out
of their own body a Second Chamber of much greater weight and moral
authority than any body elected by the multitude. In such a House, one
would argue, there is no place for bribery, jobbery, or corruption. In
fact, there are none of these things.

[Illustration: THE DUCHESS OF KENT AND PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 2]

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 4]

[Illustration: AUTOGRAPH OF PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 4]

But, it is objected, a caste is created, and there should be no such
thing as a caste. Perhaps not; if we were to start anew, we would have
none. Australia has none, nor New Zealand; in our case, however, the
caste is two thousand years old and more. It is venerable by reason of
its age; it would be extremely difficult to remove it; moreover, it is
a caste rendered innocuous by the simple provision that the younger
sons do not belong to it; none but the Head has any power or authority
by reason of belonging to it; it is a caste, not of so many families,
but of so many men. Moreover, English people like old institutions;
this House of Peers, therefore, is not only kept on, but is rendered
popular by the continual infusion of new blood--the continual election
to the House of new men with no family connection or influence.
Among the recently made Peers there are successful men of business:
engineers, physicians, manufacturers. Tennyson, Lister, Leighton,
Kelvin, show that a peerage is at last open to literature, science, and
law.

Again, it is objected that the House of Lords can oppose a popular
measure. So can every Upper House. But the Peers, though they often
send back measures amended, never refuse to assent to measures which
are understood to be desired by the mass of the people.

Again, any profligate may sit in the House. This is an objection which
is met by the simple fact that a Peer of well-known bad character
would not dare to present himself in the House of Lords. But the
Peers represent Norman blood and feudal ideas. Nothing of the kind.
Most of the Lords are of quite recent creation, and are sprung from
families obscure and even humble. Here is an instance. I was once
conversing with a bricklayer, an elderly man, who had formerly been a
prize-fighter. He began to talk of a certain noble family. “My father,”
he said, “used to go poaching with his grandfather. They were both
employed on the same farm. His grandfather went into the town of ----
and set up a shop for game--hares and rabbits and such--which my father
poached for him till he got took and went to prison.” The sequel is
obvious. The man who started the shop and made the other man do the
work and undergo the risk for him, got on; his son started life in a
higher plane, showed abilities, grew rich, and was eventually created
the first Peer of his family. This is perhaps an extreme case; but the
point is that Englishmen are constantly working their way to the front
by sheer ability and without any family influence whatever; that when
they are well to the front they receive Peerages; that the whole family
is thereby raised in the social scale; and that every Peer represents
a network of cousins, nephews, and relations, who rejoice in his rank
because it lends them too a certain social superiority.

[Illustration: PIERREPONT PARK, BROADSTAIRS, KENT

One of the early Residences of the Queen]

[Illustration: Victoria

Kensington Palace

1826 December]

[Illustration: PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 6]

[Illustration: THE MUSIC-ROOM AT PIERREPONT PARK]

For these and other reasons, the outcry against the House of Lords has
ceased. It will perhaps revive again, but in some milder form; for the
old assertion of rank, the former haughtiness of the aristocrat, has
been greatly mitigated: in the last century it was complained at Bath
that noble Lords would not even enter the society of plain gentlemen;
it is now understood that whatever may be a man’s rank, he cannot be
any more than a gentleman. Rank gives him precedence: a seat in the
House of Lords, but no more; this is all he can claim.

A third cry, which used to be loud and general, but is now greatly
reduced in volume, is the disestablishment of the Church of England.
A large and powerful society has been working for this end for many
years. Members have been sent up to the House, pledged to bring
about these results. Yet the Church remains. When the Irish Church
was disestablished, nearly thirty years ago, every one said that the
English Church would go next. What excellent prophets we are. How many
similar predictions do I remember! The Irish Church was disestablished
because it was not the Church of the people, but of a small section.
The English Church remains, because it is the Church of the majority,
and is without doubt becoming more so every year. The Churches are
crammed with people--of the better sort: the working-man, though as a
rule he does not go to Church, has learned during the last sixty years
to regard the Establishment with friendliness and respect, if not with
gratitude and affection.

[Illustration: KENSINGTON PALACE IN 1819]

We see in this country at the present day a loyalty to the Crown,
to equal which we must go back to the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and
for the same principal reasons, a Sovereign personally respected and
beloved, a period of marvellous expansive prosperity and advancement
of every kind. We see the Republican form of Government no longer
advocated; the House of Lords no longer attacked; the old cry for
the disestablishment of the Church growing daily weaker; the See of
Canterbury extending everywhere its authority, and promising to become
the Rome of the Episcopal Church.

I call attention to another point. Everybody knows that a great part
of the history of this country consists of the long and never-ending
struggles of the King to extend his prerogative, and of the people to
maintain their rights. To observe that the reign of Queen Victoria
presents not one single instance of a desire on the Queen’s part
to extend her powers--those powers are much less than those of the
President of the United States--she has been contented with them.
Again, she has welcomed every act of reform; she has always shown a
perfect trust in the whole people; she has clung to no small clique
of families; she has admitted no reservation of aristocratic caste;
she has willingly received as her ministers such men as Gladstone,
Disraeli, John Morley, James Bryce, and others who have no pretensions
whatever to aristocratic descent; she has been, in a word, entirely
loyal to the Constitution: she has lived, not for herself, but for the
Empire.

It is impossible here to avoid saying--what every one else writing
on this subject has already said--something about the extent and
population of the British Empire. Under the Union Jack at this moment
there lie the British Islands, Egypt, India, Burmah, a part of Borneo,
Australia, New Zealand, the Dominion of Canada, the West Indies, South,
East, and West Africa, with innumerable islands scattered over the face
of the whole globe. A great deal of this territory has been acquired
since the year 1837: at that time vast tracts of it were worthless
deserts, for which no one ventured to predict a future. Australia
contained a few thousand whites; New Zealand, not half a dozen; South
Africa was the Cape and nothing more; Canada contained only the two
divisions; there was no emigration--there was no thought of emigration.
The exports and imports of the country, though they were thought large
at the time, were only worth a hundred millions sterling, against
four hundred millions at the present day. The national debt in 1837
amounted to 30 per cent of the wealth of the whole country: at present
it is 7¼ per cent on that wealth. In 1837 there were 28,000 merchant
ships belonging to Great Britain and her colonies: at present there
are about the same number, but with four times the tonnage. And so on
with tables of figures which show the advance made by the country in
every branch of industry and enterprise. Above all things, we may look
round and observe that, just as on the site of Fort Dearborn of 1837
now stands the splendid city of Chicago of 1897, so, where there was
nothing in 1837 but wild plain and lonely hill, there now stand crowded
and busy cities like Melbourne and Sydney: there now lie bathed in the
golden sunlight populous colonies like Manitoba and British Columbia:
there now look upward in their youth of hope nations like New Zealand.
Great Britain in sixty years has become the mother of four nations.
Yet a little while, a few years, and these nations--federated Canada,
federated Australia, federated South Africa, United New Zealand--will
be four independent nations, proud, strong, eager to meet whatever
fortune may send them, with the prayers and the blessings of the little
Island whence they sprang.

[Illustration: KENSINGTON PALACE IN 1897]

It remains to be seen what reception they will get from the United
States; whether there will be only five independent Anglo-Saxon
countries allied with each other and the mother country by bonds never
to be broken, while the sixth still holds aloof; or whether the five
shall become six, all independent, neither one before nor after the
others, and so the unity of the race be preserved, and its destiny as
the leader of the world be assured.

As for the public and the private life of the Queen I have told you
that I know no more than you yourselves. That she ascended the throne,
a young girl of eighteen; that she married happily; that she has been
blessed with many children; that she has lost her husband and two
of her children, and more than two of her grandchildren, you know
already. Despite the fierce light that beats upon the throne, there is
nothing--absolutely nothing--in her long occupation of that seat which
has to be concealed or defended. No prince has ever occupied a throne
with greater loyalty to his people’s liberties; nay, those liberties
have increased and broadened without a word from the Queen to stay
their advance. Religious disabilities have vanished: the Catholic,
the Dissenter, the Jew, the Atheist are on the same level with the
Anglican; the Franchise has widened, without a sign of opposition from
the Queen. It may be said that she has been admirably advised. Perhaps
you will acknowledge, however, that it is the first characteristic of a
noble mind that it can understand, and will listen to, advice.

Foreigners cannot, perhaps, fully understand the depth and the reality
of that loyalty of which I have spoken--it is a personal as well as
constitutional loyalty--they can, however, understand, and they will
acknowledge, that there has never lived upon the earth a woman who in
her lifetime has created, and has inspired, and has possessed so much
affection, respect, and confidence from all parts of the world.

Of the good woman what sayeth the wise King Lemuel--who wrote too
little--from the oracle which his mother taught him?

    She spreadeth out her hand to the poor;
    Yea, she reacheth forth her hand to the needy.
    Strength and dignity are her clothing,
    And she laugheth at the time to come.
    She openeth her mouth with wisdom,
    And the law of kindness is on her tongue.
    Her children rise up and call her blessed:
    A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.
    Give her of the fruit of her hands,
    And let her works praise her in the gates.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER II

TRANSFORMATION OF THE PEOPLE

“Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated.”--_Midsummer
Night’s Dream._


“Above all things, gentlemen,” says Goldsmith’s prisoner for debt, “let
us guard our liberties.”

What were the liberties of the people? They were very real; but they
did not open the debtor’s prison; nor did they include representation.
You will hardly believe that the old condition of things should have
lasted so long.

Before the Reform Act of 1832 the only persons who had votes at
elections were freeholders; in some boroughs the electors were the
Mayor and Corporation; some were “pocket” boroughs, in which the
territorial magnate of the neighbourhood nominated the Member; in
some there were only two or three electors, who openly put up the
seat to the highest bidder. The House of Commons was a body made
up almost entirely of younger sons or cousins of the Lords, who
voted as they were ordered; many of the members held places under
Government--they voted as they were told; many of the members were
bribed on every important occasion. On the declaration of the American
War of Independence it was in such a House Mr. Burke vainly thundered
and protested that taxation in a free country could only go with
representation. Alas! the liberties of the country had no other guard
than the House of Commons; and the House betrayed the country. It
took sixty years of almost continual struggle to get the Reform Act
of 1832; yet in a country of twenty millions no more than 440,000 had
votes. There are now six million voters; that is to say, the suffrage
is practically universal. There are people still outside the wide
limits of the franchise, but they are, as a class, so poor, so held
down by the hourly necessities of finding food, that they can hardly be
considered as suffering any loss of dignity by having no votes. For my
own part, I do not think that the suffrage should be a matter of right,
nor should it depend upon income or rent; I think that a man before he
is allowed to vote should show that he possesses some knowledge of the
history of his country and its constitution. I do not expect any one to
agree with me, but that is my opinion.

[Illustration: PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 8]

Consider, next, the changes in the conduct of elections. Formerly the
election was open and public: it occupied several weeks; during the
whole time the town was filled with violence, clamour, drunkenness, and
bribery; the elector had to fight his way to the hustings; the mob,
which took sides with impartial ferocity, fought each other and hustled
the electors. Since it was proclaimed how every man voted, electors
had to vote against their conscience for the sake of their private
interests--for instance, in the great Westminster election of 1784 the
King let his tradesmen understand clearly how he expected them to vote;
a contested election cost many thousands; no one could sit in the House
who had not an estate worth £300 a year at least; Roman Catholics,
Dissenters, and Jews were not permitted to become Members of Parliament.

On the other hand, an election of the present day is conducted with
perfect order. There is no shouting; there is no fighting; at eight
o’clock in the morning an office is thrown open; a policeman stands
outside to direct the voters; almost everybody in the electoral
district records his vote. He receives a paper with the names of the
candidates upon it; he marks the name for which he votes, folds the
paper, and gives it to a clerk, who in his presence drops the paper
into a box. At the close of the day the voting papers are opened and
counted. The election is over. There has been no bribery, nobody knows
how any man has voted, and the whole business is complete in one day.

In changing the franchise and the mode of election we have changed
the House of Commons itself. It represents the people--not one class
only, but the whole people. There are in it younger sons of Lords;
they no longer come in as nominees, but on their own merits; there
are no pocket boroughs; there is no property qualification, some of
the Members are lawyers, some literary men, some tradesmen, some
working-men; all the nation is represented in that assembly. The House
is no longer the rich man’s club as it used to be, but it represents
the nation; it is no longer a fortress of prejudice and conservatism,
but it represents the nation. And consider the vast accession of
dignity and self-respect to the working-classes when they realise
that the government of the country is really and actually in their
own hands, and that they can bring in their own Members of Parliament
without coercion and without fear.

[Illustration: A WATER-COLOUR DRAWING BY PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 12]

The next change is in education. Sixty years ago the mass of the
country was uneducated. Millions could neither read nor write; millions
could read a little and could not write at all. The whole country is
now educated--in every rural village, in every crowded city street,
there is a school, and the children are compelled to come in. In
addition to the schools there are village libraries, institutions with
lending libraries, public libraries where the best literature of the
past and the present is freely offered to the people. They can carry
home the books, they can have as many books as they are able to read.
We are creating new readers by the million. Are we, it is often asked,
creating also a whole nation of students? Hardly. Education does not
create students, who are born, not made. Besides, we do not want to
become a nation of students. The hard work of the world is not done by
students or philosophers. Education, however, teaches us something of
our own ignorance, something of the source of information, something
of humility. Above all, education falling on a kindly soul gives the
lad a new recreation for his evenings: instead of horse-play along the
streets, instead of drinking at a bar, instead of “keeping company”
with a girl every evening, he reads. He does not read for instruction,
he pursues no course of study, he reads just for recreation; but such
is the character of the reading found for him that he imbibes a great
amount of information, learns manners, and acquires a higher standard
of morals. The circulation of the penny weeklies proves that he reads;
there are a hundred of them at least; their circulation is enormous,
some of them attaining to half a million. If we buy some and look at
them we find them “scrappy”; they are not vicious, or immoral, or
seditious, they are the exact opposites of these; but they are scrappy;
it would seem as if their readers, which is probably the fact, are
incapable of a sustained argument, and like to be stimulated by short
stories of adventure, odds and ends of history, and so forth. Think,
however, of the change from a nation which was in great part illiterate
in 1837 to a nation which knows something of history and something of
geography, and which now reads with avidity. Hardly a cottager now but
takes in his weekly newspaper. Lloyd’s _Weekly News_ is, I believe, the
most widely circulated of them. It claims more than a million readers;
it owns a great pine-forest in Norway to supply its paper, and it is
a most respectable paper, popular and full of news, taking one side
strongly, but never scurrilous. If you want to understand the English
rustic of the day, send for the last number of Lloyd’s and read it
through. I am sure that after reading this journal your appreciation of
the British rustic will be distinctly raised. And you will own that he
is changed indeed.

[Illustration: AN ETCHING BY HER MAJESTY]

Consider, next, the widening of the world. I think that it is the
tendency of those who live in a small country to make it smaller by
their own seclusion. The rustic, for instance, formerly knew nothing
of the world but his farm and his village and the nearest market
town, whither he carried produce or drove the pigs on market day.
This town--which once a week was enlivened by the crowd attending the
market; the farmers at the Corn Exchange or the cattle-sheds; the cries
of the people at the stalls; the farmers’ ordinary at the principal
inn--was, to the rustic, a metropolis, a centre of gaiety. There came
rumours, it is true, of an outer world. Somewhere or other there was
a king; a recruiting-sergeant carried off a young man here and there;
there were recollections of the great wars when wheat went up to 103s.
a quarter, when farmers became squires, and squires became peers, but
the rustic remained where he was. The village was so full that wages
ran down, even while wheat went up; in Devonshire, a man of eighty
years assures me that the wages of the agricultural labourer in his
youth were 7s. a week, with a two or four roomed cottage, and a pound
or two to be made at harvest time. Such a man, with his family, never
tasted meat all his life, except sometimes a piece of fat pork. His
children lived chiefly on oat-cake. The man’s drink was rough harsh
cider. It seems incredible how strong men, of splendid physique, could
have been made out of such materials.

[Illustration: THE CORONATION SPOON]

[Illustration: THE AMPULLA OR RECEPTACLE FOR THE HOLY OIL FOR ANOINTING]

This man’s position is now so far improved that he receives about
twenty shillings a week, with harvest allowances; that he has an
allotment on which he grows his vegetables; that he keeps poultry and
a pig; that he eats meat of some kind every day; that his wife and
children go warmly clad.

[Illustration: THE CORONATION VESTMENTS]

What has caused this change? The widening of the world. How the world
was first discovered by the English rustic to be so wide and so empty,
I do not know. It was during the twenty years between 1815 and 1835
that the discovery began; at first it spread very slowly; the rustic
heard of it at the market town; he met with a sailor who talked about
the splendid chances beyond the seas; he heard letters read from
settlers in Canada and Australia; here and there one, greatly daring,
left the village, and was considered as good as dead till letters
arrived entreating all--father, mother, brothers, and sisters--to
leave their home and join him. At last they began to go, and the tide
of immigration set in that has never since stopped or slackened. In
the year 1815 the emigration from this country amounted to no more
than 2000; in 1825 it was 25,000; in 1850 it was nearly 300,000. From
1815 to 1896 I do not think that the emigrants from these shores have
amounted to less than 10,000,000; of these more than one-half have gone
to the United States. These emigrants do not, for the first generation
at least, forget their native land and the kin they have left behind
them. Imagine, then, the difference between a village closed absolutely
to the outer world, into which there penetrates no voice, no rumour, no
report from without, and a village where every family has got sons and
daughters in the lands across the sea.

The world has been widened for us by the rise of the other nations of
our race. It has also been widened by the railway and by the cheap
post. Small as is our island compared with the great continent of
America, there was formerly no knowledge of any part of it outside
the native place; at the present moment the people can get about
all over the country--to the seaside, to London, to the Lakes, to
Wales; everywhere there are excursion trains and cheap tickets; the
children learn by their annual treats to look out every year for new
and interesting places; to the people the excursion is an event which
excites and stimulates them all. You may see them by thousands in the
ruins of an old abbey, trying to reconstruct the past splendours; or
among the ruins of a Norman Castle; or in the gardens and galleries of
some great house which is thrown open to them; or by the seashore,
rowing, sailing, bathing; or in some park, where the children dance
and sing and try to persuade the deer to let them come near. In one
small town of Lancashire, a town of factories, the people spend
£30,000 a year on their excursions; they descend upon the Lincolnshire
watering-places, which are small and ill-provided, and they eat up the
town and the farms all round; they invade the hotels of Ambleside and
Grasmere, and eat up all that therein is; they reduce the Isle of Man
to famine; they leave the coast of Northumberland empty and cleared
out, with an emptiness like that caused by the locust. Such is the
effect of the world’s widening.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir George Hayter_

THE CORONATION]

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by C. R. Leslie, R.A._

THE QUEEN RECEIVING THE SACRAMENT AFTER HER CORONATION]

Consider next the cheap post. The people have begun to write to each
other. Formerly there was little or no communication by letter. It
is true that a cheap and easy way was practised, by means of which
a young man could communicate to his friends the simple fact of his
safety. It was to address a letter to his mother; if she took that
letter in it would cost her eightpence at least, but she knew there
was nothing written within, therefore she refused to take the letter,
which was undelivered, but she knew from the address outside that her
son was safe. Now, however, letters pass freely into the village;
they convey information, as to work and pay, that the newspapers have
not yet learned to furnish; wherever workmen are wanted, thither sets
in a stream in search of work. Some years ago a mischievous fund was
raised, called the Lord Mayor’s Fund, for the unemployed. A rumour of
this fund ran through the whole length and breadth of the land; all
the unemployed came up to London from all parts to share in the money
so raised; it was distributed chiefly in soup tickets; the men took
the tickets, sold them, and drank the contents. The point, however, to
notice is that the people, before the proposed fund was started, knew
all about it, and had begun to come up in order to claim their share.

I have spoken of the rise in wages. To this I will return presently.
Meantime observe that with the rise of wages there has also arrived
an extraordinary cheapness in food. The price of wheat, between the
years 1786 and 1837 was never lower than 39s. a quarter, and rose
to 106s., 113s., 119s., and even 126s. a quarter. It was over 70s.
a quarter for seventeen years of that time, and over 50s. for forty
years; it is now about 20s. With the price of grain, other things have
fallen; tea, which sixty years ago was five shillings a pound, can now
be had for eighteenpence; sugar, of which the commonest kind formerly
cost ninepence a pound, is now about twopence; cheese, butter, rice,
and other products are now imported, and are sold at a half of their
former price; meat comes over from New Zealand, frozen, in unknown
quantities; clothing is half the price it was; the working-man’s wages,
therefore, which have more than doubled, represent a much greater
purchasing power. He stands, therefore, upon a higher level of comfort.
Another thing--a very important thing--has been done for the rustic. By
an Act passed quite recently village councils--parish councils--have
been founded. To these councils, elected by the working-classes from
themselves, are entrusted the governing of the parish: the lighting,
paving, cleaning of the streets, the order and police, and all matters
belonging to the daily life of the place. On these councils the squire
and the parson may sit, if they are elected; but they have no more
power than the others.

So far, it is reported that without the presence of the squire or
parson the new councillors flounder. This, however, was to be expected.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir G. Hayter_

PRINCESS VICTORIA, AGE 16]

In the year 1837 any person who owed another any sum of money, however
small, was liable to be arrested for debt, and if he would not pay he
could be thrown into prison and kept there till he did pay. Thousands
of unfortunate debtors were kept in prison for the whole of their
lives on account of some miserable debt which, if they had been out of
prison, they could have paid off in a short time. There was a devilish
malignity about the law which enabled an attorney to roll up a bill of
costs (which the prisoner had to pay), on this pretence and that, like
a snowball increasing as it rolled; the warders of the prison demanded
fees and “garnish,” in default of which the prisoner was turned
into the “poor side,” where the privations and misery and enforced
idleness were terrible. If a working-man got into prison, as was always
happening, there was no hope for him: the costs went mounting up, he
could do no work, he must sit down and starve. Outside the prison, what
became of his wife and children? In the year ending 5th January 1830,
7114 persons were sent to the prisons of London for debt; in 1840 the
number of prisoners for debt were 1732 in England; in Ireland, under
1000; in Scotland, under 100. By the Act of 1861 imprisonment for debt
was forbidden, except in case of debt fraudulently contracted; in 1887,
by the Bankruptcy Act imprisonment for debt was virtually abolished
altogether. A terror was removed from life when the walls of the Fleet
and the Queen’s Bench were taken down and the gates thrown open. The
recovery of small debts is now entrusted to the County Court, where the
Judge makes an order that so much should be paid weekly or monthly. If
the debtor breaks that order, he is liable to imprisonment for contempt
of Court.

The English working-man has been accused of servility. Such a charge
could never be brought against the working-man of London, or of the
North; that servility existed in some of the agricultural districts
was undoubtedly true. How should it be otherwise when a man’s daily
bread, his work, his home, his wage, depended wholly on one man--the
squire? His village was his prison; he could go nowhere else; there
was no work for him out of his village; the squire was his “overlord,”
to use the old phrase; he was not legally, yet he was in reality,
_ascriptus glebæ_, bound to the soil; he looked for help in sickness
and in trouble to the great house whose ladies looked after the
village, helping, feeding, clothing, and admonishing. The man was like
a child in leading-strings, or at best like a schoolboy under rule
and discipline. With the cause of that servility, the fact itself is
vanishing.

The depression in agriculture seems also, on the whole, turning out
favourably for the agricultural labourer; the farms are worked more
economically and want fewer hands; but the superfluous hands have
left the village--there are now no more than are wanted day by day;
if an odd piece of work turns up it is difficult to find a man to do
it. The men are therefore valued in proportion to their paucity of
numbers; their wages, for the same reason, are going up; they live more
comfortably, they have more money to spend, they are more independent.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir George Hayter_

TAKING THE OATH TO MAINTAIN THE PROTESTANT TRUTH]

The old laws forbidding workmen from making combinations or “Covins”
for the advancement of wages were passed in the fourteenth century,
and remained in force until the year 1825, when they were at last
repealed. You think, then, that nothing remained for the workpeople
but to form as many combinations as they pleased. You are quite wrong.
There was still the right of holding public meeting. Until that was
acquired--it was only fully granted a few years ago--the repeal of the
old law was practically valueless. The right of forming trades unions
has been acquired entirely during the present reign. Now the trades
union is not popular; it has been ruthlessly enforced; the treatment of
blacklegs has been cruel; yet no one can deny that the position of the
working-man has been enormously improved, his independence advanced,
his wages increased, by the union. The Agricultural Union has not done
so much: partly because the countryman is difficult to manage; partly
because it would appear that he wants another kind of union. Thus the
skilled agriculturalist is a man who knows a great deal, he cannot be
replaced except by one like himself; the best chance, therefore, is to
stimulate emigration and keep down his own numbers.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir David Wilkie_

THE QUEEN’S FIRST COUNCIL]

I have not mentioned among the forces making for advance the abolition
of flogging. As a matter of fact flogging is not abolished, but it
is only inflicted upon civilians as a punishment for robbery with
violence. About thirty-five years ago there was a common form of
robbery called “garrotting,” in which violence and brutality were
commonly exhibited. By the advice of the judges the garrotter, on
conviction, was flogged. It is maintained that the flogging practically
stopped the garrotting. However that may be, there is no doubt that the
ruffian who suffers that punishment dislikes it extremely. But this
punishment did not affect the respectable classes. In the Army and the
Navy, on the other hand, where flogging was practised continually,
it did affect them; and it seems wonderful that, in the face of the
prejudice against the service which these punishments created, we
should have been able to maintain an Army at all. It is, however, just
to state that flogging in the Army had been enormously reduced: in 1869
there were only 21 soldiers flogged out of our whole army of 150,000,
while an able seaman of the first class could not be flogged at all;
and in the same year, in the whole of the navy of 80,000 men only 8
were flogged. By the Army Discipline Act of 1879 flogging was finally
abolished. But, I repeat, I do not consider this reform as affecting
materially the mind of the English working-man.

Now read through this long list of reforms, every one of them
exercising steady, continual, irresistible influence upon the
individual. What changes do you expect to find in him?

[Illustration: THE QUEEN IN BRIDAL DRESS]

He has become, in fact, more independent, more responsible; he knows
so much more that he feels his own ignorance; he is not so easily
led by a demagogue; it is not so easy to inflame his passions; he
thinks and asks questions; he is better fed, better clothed; he walks
more upright; he is no longer a machine; he understands the power of
combination; he sits at the table of his parish council on equal terms
with the squire and the vicar; he no longer regards his native village
as the place to which he is bound; he has friends in various parts of
the world; they come home from time to time and they tell him of these
countries--Republics all, except in name--where there are no squires
and no landlords; and he asks himself whether it is better to stay on
in the old place, or to try for a bigger thing beyond the seas.

Changed as he is, and certain to change yet more and more in the
immediate future, do not forget that the English working-man, even of
the town, feels a great shrinking about leaving the old home. In a
village this seems natural; the place is calm and lovely, the ancient
church with its gray tower standing in the churchyard, where the rooks
and pigeons and blackbirds keep up a continual chorus; the village
green, the village inn, the gabled cottages, the gates that lead to
the Hall, the fields and hedges, the stream, and the hills, and the
hanging woods--these things enter into the very heart and soul of the
Englishman; he loves them all, he cannot choose but love them, though
he would not know how to express his affection; in the churchyard he
knows the mounds that belong to his own people; in the tavern he sits
among his cronies on the polished settle beside the fire, his mug
before him, his pipe in his mouth. In his heart he wants no other life.
These things he could not find in America or Australia or New Zealand.
Yet he is changed, and if you wait for twenty years you will no longer
recognise him for what he was. He is getting a touch from America, a
thought from Australia, a custom from New Zealand; he will be a citizen
of the world, and, if I read the signs aright, he will become before
another generation the owner and the master of agricultural England.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir George Hayter_

THE MARRIAGE OF THE QUEEN TO PRINCE ALBERT]

Let us leave the village and turn to the town.

There are two books in our literature which tell of English factory
life in the early part of this century. One of these is Disraeli’s
_Sybil_; the other is Mrs. Trollope’s _Michael Armstrong_. I fear
that these two books are not read so much as they should be; partly,
perhaps, because we do not love to dwell too much on the shameful side
of history. The condition of the working-man before the Victorian era
is indeed a very shameful part of history. The record of the factory
and the mine is very black. Let me show you something of what it was.
I tell you beforehand, that the story proves that power over his
fellow-men must never be entrusted to any man; for he will abuse that
power--he will become an oppressor and a tyrant.

He began this oppression with the children. He has a mill, a factory,
a mine; in which he made the children work. He worked them so cruelly;
he gave them such long hours, such poor food, such wretched clothing,
that he lowered the vitality of these unfortunate children so that
an epidemic broke out among them; it carried off thousands. This
frightened the owner of these children, because, if they all died, what
would become of his mill?

Then the House of Commons interfered--very reluctantly--because to
stand between the master and his man was felt to be a dangerous
innovation. It interfered, however, and passed a law which forbade
children under nine to be employed in a factory, and limited their
hours to twelve, exclusive of an hour and a half for rest and food; so
that by this merciful Act a little girl of ten might be, and actually
was, made to work from six in the morning till half-past seven at
night. Can one conceive a readier method of destroying strength, youth,
self-respect, everything? But the injured millowner got over this law.
He was not forced to make the children work continuously. He therefore
made the children work in relays, so that they had half the night as
well as half the day to work in. This went on for thirty years before
the nation was moved by the injustice and cruelty of the thing. An Act
was passed that no children should work between 8.30 P.M. and 5.30
A.M.; that children under thirteen should not work more than 48 hours
a week or eight hours a day; and that those under eighteen should not
work more than 68 hours a week or 11⅓ hours a day. As I told you, the
man who had the power exercised it cruelly, heartlessly, ruthlessly,
for the conversion of his people into slaves.

[Illustration:

                    _Paintings by Winterhalter_

PRINCE ALBERT AND QUEEN VICTORIA AT THE TIME OF THEIR MARRIAGE]

Then, because the Act spoke of the factory or the mill, and not of the
mine, they took the little children and dropped them into the coal-pit.
When the boy or the girl was six years of age--six! think of it--they
took the little thing and put it in a dark passage, underground, with
instructions to open and shut a door in order to let the trucks come
and go. All day long--for twelve hours--that innocent infant was kept
in the dark opening and shutting the doors. They worked from four in
the morning till four in the evening; when they were taken up they were
stupid, and cared for nothing but to sleep. When they grew older they
pushed the trucks with their heads; when they grew older still the lads
became hewers of coal: the girls--now women--continued to push the
trucks with their heads or to drag them, clad in nothing but a pair
of short trousers. This was done in a Christian country which boasted
of having abolished slavery. Observe that there was no chance for
these children ever to learn anything, ever to do anything, except to
continue all their lives in the coal-pit; they were doomed to brutish
ignorance, to unremitting toil, without holidays, except on Sunday--day
after day, week after week, year after year, till they could push the
truck no longer, till the pick fell from their hands.

The chimney-sweep’s case was almost as bad as the miner’s. He too was
taken at a very early age, and his duty was to climb the chimney,
sweeping it as he went up. It is not a pleasant thing to climb a
chimney choked with soot; it abraded hands, elbows, and knees:
sometimes the little wretch could get no higher; if he failed he was
beaten unmercifully. There was a curious prejudice against sweeping
with a brush: the child was allowed to go unwashed, though the neglect
of cleanliness was certain to bring on a dreadful disease. It was not
till four years after the Queen began her reign that an Act was passed
protecting the children and substituting the brush for the human body.

[Illustration: BUCKINGHAM PALACE--FRONT VIEW]

[Illustration: BUCKINGHAM PALACE--GARDEN VIEW]

This was the treatment of children in mill, in mine, in town. There
were other lines and branches of cruelty because children are helpless.
But these examples will suffice.

Let us leave the children and turn to the men. The change for the
better began, I believe, with the ideas of the French Revolution, at
first eagerly caught by the English working people: it was continued
by the long agitation for the Reform Act of 1832 and the fierce
resistance of the Duke of Wellington and the Bishops: these ideas and
this agitation taught the people how to combine and act together. They
also taught the people to hate a Government in which they had no share
or part or lot. A great many--though still the minority--could now
read; the papers they read were bitterly hostile to the ruling powers.
As I have already pointed out, there was no loyalty at all among the
working-men of the Thirties; they did not pretend any. Their papers
were revolutionary; the things they said of the Queen and the Prince
Consort were revolting; the aristocracy, according to them, were open
and shameless; the clergy were pampered hypocrites. What has happened
since then? The people have been admitted to their share in the
Government; they can do what they like: if they choose they can alter
the Constitution. Do they choose? Not at all; they have become loyal;
they have become, comparatively, conservative.

[Illustration: THRONE ROOM, BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

[Illustration: BALL AND CONCERT ROOM, BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

The recreations of the working-man, apart from the tavern, were
boxing and dog-fighting. Single-stick, wrestling, quarter-staff,
cock-fighting, had to a great extent gone out. Boxing remained, every
man knew how to handle his fists: you may remember that in _Tom Brown
at Oxford_, there is a serious discussion on the knotty question
whether a gentleman can, or cannot, always lick a cad. Dear me, this
kind of talk is now so old-world. However, a man was always supposed
to be ready to strip and engage--gentleman or cad. Dickens’s stories
contain many instances of the rough-and-ready “turn up.” The change is
a gain from one point of view; it is a loss, from another, that the
noble art of self-defence has fallen out of practice; it is, further, a
gain as well as a loss, that it shows signs of returning to favour.

There are still fairs left. Several fairs were held in the
neighbourhood of London. Bartholomew’s, degenerated into a scene of
drunkenness and disorder, still continued. Greenwich Fair continued,
and Deptford Fair; there was also a fair at Barnet; but the fairs had
practically gone out of the life of the country. It was a mark of the
times that the working-classes no longer delighted in the noise and the
ribaldry that disgraced the later years of the London fairs.

I have spoken of education in the rural districts. Long before the
young rustic could learn to read, the townsmen had the chance of some
education. There were many charity schools: there were the schools of
the National Society and of the British and Foreign Society: there were
also the Sunday Schools.

Criminal procedure does not, perhaps, affect the average civilian. At
the same time one learns that before 1836 it was actually forbidden
that a prisoner should defend himself before the jury by counsel.
Imagine, if you can, a timid, shrinking girl, called upon to plead for
her life in open court after being maddened by jargon which she did not
understand and formalities which only filled her with bewilderment.
It is said that the judges themselves repaired this evil: it is quite
possible. Our judges have always been superior to the laws they have
had to administer; but then the prisoner was at the mercy of the judge;
he might, or he might not, find a remedy for the speechlessness and the
incapacity of the prisoner.

If you take up a bundle of old newspapers you will find that every one
of them has got a red stamp upon it. This was the tax upon newspapers.
It was a penny a copy in 1760; in 1815 it was actually fourpence
a copy; in 1836 it was reduced to a penny; in 1855 it was totally
abolished. There was, in addition, a tax on paper, which was repealed
in 1861. It is wonderful how newspapers continued to exist at all with
an impost so crushing: it is still more wonderful how working-men’s
papers could hold their own. In fact, their circulation was very small;
they were weekly, not daily; they were taken in at taverns where the
men could see them, not by the men themselves. It is not one of the
least reforms of this reign which has placed in the hands of everybody
a cheap newspaper, full, large, with copious intelligence, and educated
commentary.

[Illustration: QUEEN’S STATE COACH]

The outcome of the national discontent was the organisation called
Chartism. Look at the working-man of the present day. He has received
an education sound and thorough, up to a certain point, at the Board
School; he has had the chance of continuing his education after leaving
school at evening classes. He has also had the chance of joining
a Polytechnic, which is a kind of technical University, teaching
everything; and a kind of public school, in which athletics of all
kinds are practised and encouraged. There are a great many thousand
lads in the Polytechnics, and they are as fine young fellows as one
can desire to see. They are skilled in technical work; they are taught
by the best men in their own subjects; they do not drink or frequent
taverns; they do not loaf about the streets. I do not pretend that
these lads are representatives of their own class; I admit that they
are the flower of the flock. The working-man has now free libraries and
reading-rooms, where he can sit and read or borrow books to take away.
There is no longer any revolutionary talk among those who converse;
there is Socialism, of course, but that is very different. It would be
difficult indeed for a young man to escape some of the Socialist ideas
which are in the air, and are producing unexpected and far-reaching
results. Here, however, except among a few foreigners, we have no
Anarchists. The wages are better, the hours are shorter; there is
a Saturday half-holiday; there are four Bank holidays in the year,
besides Christmas Day and Good Friday. Everything is cheaper--food and
clothes of all kinds. Lectures, concerts, dramatic recitals, debates,
dances, are got up everywhere by the working-men for themselves.

The working-man’s attitude towards the Church, to which I have already
alluded, has quite changed of late years. He formerly regarded it with
a ferocious hatred, being taught by the papers they published for him
that the clergy believe nothing, and wallow in ease and luxury at
his expense. “Why,” said one of them to me twenty years ago, “if the
Church was abolished we should all get our breakfast for nothing.”
That kind of talk has now vanished. If the Sunday morning orator
still denounces Christianity with perfervid vehemence--as he used
to do in the Whitechapel Road--the working-man listens with a smile
and presently goes on to the next ring, where the Socialist preaches
universal happiness to come as soon as we can get the much-desired
equal division; and him, too, he leaves presently with another smile.
He is not in the least moved by either orator.

Canon Barnett’s Church in Whitechapel is an example of what may be
done with a parish composed entirely of working-people. They do not
attend his services, I believe. But he has educated them into an
audience which listens intelligently to the best and most thoughtful
and most cultivated scholars and teachers of the day; they flock
every year to a Loan Exhibition of Pictures which he collects for
them; he gives them receptions, concerts, discussions; he has built
Toynbee Hall in their midst as a settlement and place of culture.
Some of them he has made students and scholars: it is not too much to
say that Canon Barnett’s parishioners are intellectually far above
the average of the class supposed to be their superiors--that of
the shopkeepers and the traders. However, it would not be fair to
take these people as an average of our working-man. When I think of
the mass of the people as they were sixty years ago--how ignorant
they were, how drunken, how brutal, how dangerous to order and to
government, how unruly, how disloyal--I cannot but claim for the men of
the present a change nothing short of transformation! There is still
much to be done, the Millennium is not yet reached; but there is no
comparison--none--between the people of 1837 and the people of 1897;
and the advantage is all on one side.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE FROM THE RIVER]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER III

TRANSFORMATION OF THE BOURGEOIS

“Will you mock at an ancient tradition?”--_Henry V._


When one speaks of the Bourgeois, one means the class which Matthew
Arnold was never tired of ridiculing as without culture, ideals,
or standards. For my own part, I think it would be more useful to
recognise, first, that there are certain occupations in life which can
be carried on very well without ideals; that the advent or genesis
of ideas among certain people would inevitably spoil them for their
humble work; and that it is sufficient for the State if they remain on
the side of order, with due respect to law and justice. Now, whatever
the short-comings of these people with respect to culture, no one can
complain of them with respect to their love of order.

A craftsman--a man who makes anything--may cultivate himself to the
highest, and remain a craftsman; he may be an artist; he may be a poet;
he may nourish himself upon the noblest thoughts, and yet remain a
craftsman. Out of the trade of shoemakers have sprung poets, artists,
and actors. Cobblers have been fierce politicians. But a man who sells
the shoes which another man makes cannot, in the nature of things,
cultivate lofty standards or æsthetic ideals. His occupation, which has
in it something servile, forbids it. And I have here to speak of the
English tradesman, and to show the transformation which has fallen upon
him too.

Let us consider the daily life of a London shopkeeper early in the
present century. He had a shop in Cheapside. The shop occupied the
front part of the ground-floor: at the back was the “parlour,” the
family living-room, which looked out upon a small churchyard, in which
funerals were conducted almost daily; the ground was covered with bones
and bits of coffins; once a month or so the sexton made a bonfire of
the wood. Upstairs were the bedrooms--the best bedroom in front, which
nobody ever occupied because there were no guests. Here the tenant of
the house lived, he and his family; they had no change, and desired
none, from day to day. An apprentice lived with them, slept under
the counter, and made himself useful in the house as well as in the
shop--washing plates and dishes after meals and running errands for his
mistress. One servant was kept; she and the daughters and the mistress
of the house were all occupied perpetually in making things; they made
puddings, cakes, jam, preserves, pickles, cordials, perfumes, washes,
and home-made wines--thin and pallid fluids named after cowslip,
primrose, raspberry, and currant. When they were not making or cooking
they were sewing; all the women of the house sewed perpetually--they
were slaves to the needle: they sat round the table in the parlour,
with a single candle, and sewed in silence all through a winter
evening. The girls had been to school; they went to a private school in
the suburbs, where they learned various small feminine accomplishments;
they learned from their mother certain maxims which should regulate the
conduct of every maiden. And on Sunday they turned out for church in
toilettes whose splendour highly gratified the pride of their father,
because they seemed to challenge all Cheapside to spend more money
upon the daughters’ dress. Yet he knew, and all the neighbours knew,
that this finery was all contrived at home--hats trimmed, ribbons and
streamers put in place, and the lovely sleeve designed by the girls
themselves. At church they enjoyed a service which we should call
lugubrious. The psalms were read, two hymns were sung but slowly, and
the sermon, an hour long, was an argument on doctrine; but there was
the pleasure of sitting in the Sunday best, which made one forget the
doctrine and enjoy the hymns.

[Illustration: QUEEN IN ROYAL CLOSET, ST. GEORGE’S CHAPEL, WINDSOR]

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Landseer_

THE QUEEN, THE PRINCE OF WALES, AND PRINCESS ROYAL]

All day long in the week, and during a good part of the evening, the
good man served in his shop. It was a shop of which survivals may
still be found in various parts of London--a shop with a round window
furnished with many small panes of glass; the window was not garnished
with the choicest wares which this dealer had to sell--not at all; he
prided himself on keeping much better things within than those which
he chose to show. After dark the window was illumined by two or three
candles.

He breakfasted, for the most part, on tea and toast; he dined at
one o’clock, plentifully if not luxuriously; it was not the custom,
among his class, to invite friends to dinner. The house, in fact,
was regarded as a kind of sacred harem, to which no one was invited.
Friends, however, were taken to the tavern. Unless he was a Dissenter,
this citizen was a member of the Vestry, and served all the parish
offices. On Sunday he dined more plentifully than on a week day: he was
a member of a club which met once a week; there he exchanged sentiments
which we should call commonplace, but they were expected; any other
sentiments would have affected his friends painfully, with doubt and
misgiving.

These sentiments were based upon convictions fixed and unalterable. He
believed--long before any Reform Bill--that the only land of liberty
was Great Britain; that British armies were irresistible, and British
fleets were ever victorious; that the greatest enemy to mankind was the
Pope; that the greatest crime conceivable was not to pay your debts,
especially debts contracted with a tradesman of Cheapside; that the
greatest disgrace was to become bankrupt. A debtor’s prison he regarded
as the chief safeguard and stay of British trade; he would listen to no
sentimental nonsense about locking up debtors--every debtor ought to be
locked up, ought to be flogged, ought to be hanged!

[Illustration: THE QUEEN’S PRIVATE CHAPEL, WINDSOR]

[Illustration: ST. GEORGE’S CHAPEL]

He entertained no sympathy with trades unions: the working-man was the
servant of his employer; it was not for him to regulate his own wages
and his hours; he was to take what he could get, what the generosity of
his master, what the conditions of trade, allowed him to have.

This man, of whom there were many hundred thousands in the country,
read no books; he was quite ignorant of what we call everything, that
is, of literature, science, art, music, history. Something he knew of
what was going on, because there were newspapers at the tavern, which
he sometimes read. But he took in no newspaper, and he read no books.
There were no books in his house at all; his girls read no books. A
book of Family Prayers there was; and for Church purposes, Prayer Books
and Bibles, but no books. And so this man, with all his household,
lived and died, as Matthew Arnold pointed out, without culture, without
ideals, without standards, without aspirations.

[Illustration: QUEEN’S PRIVATE SITTING ROOM, WINDSOR]

[Illustration: THE ROYAL KITCHEN, WINDSOR]

He had become, after the Mob Riots of the eighteenth century, a
prodigious coward. Formerly, as in 1715, when a mob appeared in the
street, he had run to the mug-house or tavern, seized a club, and
sallied forth to disperse that mob. Gradually he lost courage; he
stayed at home; he was sleek and fat and unwarlike; when the mob came
along he put up his shutters, locked his door, and sat behind it
trembling. However, the establishment of the New Police sufficiently
repressed the mob, and made the question of the civic valour no longer
necessary.

For holidays, he had none, that is to say, he felt no need of any
change year after year; he lived the daily routine, and would not alter
it if he could. Some of his neighbours--a few--had begun to go in the
summer to Brighton or to Margate. Not our friend; he stayed where he
was, with his nose over the churchyard, and said that London air was
best. Once a year he might take his family to Bagnigge Wells or over to
Vauxhall; on summer evenings he would walk with them in the pleasant
fields outside the city walls; he wanted no other holiday. Nor did his
people. His daughters married and left him; but he and his wife kept on
where they were until the end.

The man himself, ill-educated, vulgar, incapable of understanding
anything except that which lies on the surface, unfortunately stood
in the eyes of the world to represent the City: the trading merchants
had gradually withdrawn from the Corporation, leaving it to the
shopkeepers, so that for a time the Mayor and Corporation of the
greatest city of the world were drawn from a narrow, vulgar part of
the community. Not only the city, but trade itself fell into contempt
during this interval. You may remember that Thackeray is filled with
contempt of trade, with his Alderman Gobble and the purse-proud
merchants.

One point must be acknowledged in favour of this man. He was a great
stickler for what he called morals--not including that part of morals
which deals with the treatment of dependents. Private character he
expected of his friends: a young man who came courting his daughters
had to bring with him an unsullied private character. You may note, if
you please, because the virtue is the foundation of all trade, that in
his private expenditure he was thrifty.

How, then, has this man been affected by the changes of sixty years?

First, his trade is entirely altered. The extension of machinery has
affected every line of trade. In watchmaking, for instance, the best
watches were made in Clerkenwell: they cost from six pounds to a
hundred and twenty pounds; a machine-made watch can now be obtained
for twenty shillings. So with stuffs, velvets, silks, ribbons,
everything: machinery has largely increased the production and as
largely diminished the cost. This means, as one effect, that less
capital is required to embark in trade. Free Trade, which has done such
great things for this country, though we make no converts, has largely
affected the retail trade.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN IN ROYAL ROBES]

Apart from his trade the English tradesman’s private life has been
completely changed. He no longer lives next to a noisome burial-ground
in the city; he has a villa in a suburb; he goes into town every
morning and comes out in the evening; the old evenings with the city
cronies are things of the past. In his suburb there is very little
social life even for his children; for himself there is none. He does
not frequent theatres or concerts; he stays at home. In the morning he
reads a newspaper; in the evening he reads books and plays cribbage. As
for his children they have forgotten the former stage; they are well
educated; they go into the professions; they are artistic and become
Art students; they are as well read as can be desired; they are in the
stream of modern ideas.

Not only this, but the social position of the tradesman has been
raised: here and there one may find a huge palace devoted to the sale
of everything; the palace has been created by the genius of one man,
and is controlled by the mind of one man. It is impossible to feel
anything but respect and admiration for a man of such great ability,
who has created interests so vast and so commanding.

The shopkeeper has, for the most part, abandoned the Corporation; he
no longer seeks office in the city; when he does, he is a man who can
hold his own with the merchants who have once more taken over the
municipality; the City is the gainer by the change, and so is the
London tradesman, because what advances the reputation of the City also
advances him.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Sir Edwin Landseer_

ROYAL GROUP, WINDSOR, 1843]

The forces which have changed the common people have also acted
upon himself and his family: the widening of the world, improved
communication, and cheap postage and the rest. His young people
are not concerned with the polytechnics, but they are moved by the
spirit of athletics that drag all the youth of this country into the
playing-fields. They career over the country on bicycles; they play
golf, lawn-tennis, cricket, football; they are not shut out from
suburban society by the old exclusiveness with which “wholesale people”
formerly regarded “retail people.” The playing-field is a leveller;
there is no rank in a football team.

[Illustration: BALMORAL CASTLE]

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by C. R. Leslie_

BAPTISM OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL]

Let us not forget to remark how large a knowledge of geography is
possessed by our friend of Cheapside. You would be amazed at the
extent: sure and certain I am that the average American citizen cannot
compare with my man in this respect. He has learned this knowledge by
following day after day the wars and rumours of wars which assail the
country continually. Since the accession of Queen Victoria, we have
carried on war in Canada, at the Cape, in India, in New Zealand, on the
West Coast of Africa, in the Crimea, in Egypt, in China, in Abyssinia,
in Dahomey, in Burmah, in Afghanistan, in Chitral, and I know not
where beside. This good man, with his newspaper and his atlas, gets up
his geography from day to day and from war to war.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by F. Winterhalter_

ROYAL GROUP, 1848]

There is perhaps a “seamy” side to trade of every kind. With that I
have no concern whatever; I have only to show here how the events of
sixty years have affected the London tradesman, and this, I venture to
hope, I have succeeded in doing. Again, it must be understood that I
am talking of the better class--not necessarily the richer class--of
London retail dealers. There are, I believe, those who live for making
money, and have no other care or thought. For them order, law, peace,
justice exist for no other purpose than to allow the most perfect
freedom for the besting of the customer. The old Cheapside trader was
narrow and stupid; these people are neither narrow nor stupid; they
are sharp; they exist in every trading city; they are purse-proud and
ostentatious; they flourish their wealth at the “Grand Hotels”; they
wear the finest fur and the richest silk--and, if you please, we will
say no more about them.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV

TRANSFORMATION OF THE PROFESSIONS

            “I charge you by the law,
    Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar.”
                                      _Merchant of Venice._


Sixty years ago there were three professions and two services. The two
services were the Army and the Navy; the three professions were the
Church, Law, and Medicine.

The Church was the natural home of the scholars: a few scholars drafted
off into the Law; there were also a few in the House, where they made
apt quotations from Horace, and delighted the members by giving a
Virgilian turn to a debate. Nowadays--alas!--were a scholar to venture
on a Latin quotation, the House would not understand.

It is pleasant to look back upon the quiet, uneventful, peaceful life
of the early Victorian scholar. He began at a public school, where
he needed no stimulus in the way of stripes; he devoured books; he
acquired scholarship by a kind of intuition; he wrote Latin verses,
in which every hexameter had a Virgilian phrase and every pentameter
reminded one of Ovid; he wrote Greek Iambics more easily than the
most rapid English poet ever composed blank verse; he thought in
Latin; he made jokes in Greek. This boy gained, of course, a School
scholarship and entered one of the Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge.
Here he obtained one of the College scholarships; one of the University
scholarships; all the prizes that there were for Latin and Greek
compositions; and at last took the highest degree possible in Classical
Honours. This done, a Fellowship was the next step. This place was
worth about £300 a year, with rooms, commons, and dinner free. There
were no duties attached: if he chose to take Orders and to remain
unmarried he might keep his Fellowship for life. He did take Orders: he
was appointed College Lecturer in Classics; he remained Lecturer for
ten years, when the Tutor took a College Living; he then succeeded to
the Tutorship, which was worth three or four thousand a year. He then
had two courses open to him: he might remain Tutor long enough to amass
a considerable fortune, and then take a College Living and retire into
the country; or he might wait on, presently retire, and either finish
his days as a Fellow, or be perhaps elected to the Mastership, a post
both dignified and well endowed. By this time he had passed the period
when men most desire to marry: he was settled in most excellent rooms;
he had a free library; his habits were fixed; the College Port was
renowned; he was too comfortable to run the risk of change. Therefore
he stayed where he was, within the walls of the old College, and
younger men took the College Livings. He never wrote anything to prove
his own learning or to advance the learning of others; he produced
nothing except a few Greek epigrams. And when at last he died there was
for a brief period a memory of one who had been among them--a great
scholar--and then oblivion closed over him and he was gone. Such was
the life of the Don. Sometimes he retired from the College and took the
Head Mastership of a school, but not often.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Count D’Orsay_

THE ONLY EQUESTRIAN PORTRAIT OF HER MAJESTY]

All the clergy were not College Dons and great scholars. Yet there
was always, at that period, a flavour of scholarship about them: the
beneficed clergy of the country were generally younger sons of the
country gentry, because almost every family had a church living in its
gifts, and these livings were too valuable to be bestowed out of the
family. A young man who took a curacy in the country without family
influence probably found himself stranded for life on eighty pounds a
year. Those of the benefices which did not belong to private patrons
were either in the gift of the Lord Chancellor, with whom interest
was required; or of the Bishop, who had his own relations to provide
for: of the sons, nephews, and cousins, for instance, of Dr. Sparke,
sometime Bishop of Norwich, it was said “as the Sparkes fly upwards;”
or of some college at Oxford or Cambridge which wanted them for its
Fellows. The only chance for such a man was to attract attention as a
preacher in some town. But this chance came to few; therefore for half
the clergy at least their profession was a starveling. Yet those who
had no interest entered it, in hopes and under the pressure of a call
which they believed to be real, and not to be disobeyed under penalties
too awful to be contemplated. Meantime it is now nearly fifty years
since Charles Kingsley, who could never shake off the prejudice of
small middle-class gentility, uttered the sneer that the modern way
of making your son a gentleman was to send him to Oxford first and
to put him in Holy Orders next. He here expressed, however, a common
feeling about the clergy, which was that they should be scholars first,
gentlemen next, and Divines last. And there is no doubt that the social
position of the Church, and, therefore, the adhesion of all the better
classes to the Church, has proved of the greatest value, in times of
religious decay, towards maintaining the Church in her position of
ascendency.

The administration of the parish was still that of the eighteenth
century. That is to say, the Church was there, before all people, with
open doors, offering its services, its sermons, its offices, freely to
all who chose to accept them. It was not considered the business of
the clergy to run after those who refused their offices. As for the
piety and the reputation of the clergy, their lives were pure; there
was commonly no scandal: they were supposed, however, to be addicted
to wine, and in the City there were some who were known as “three
bottle men.” In opinions the majority were of the Evangelical type,
with Calvinistic leanings: they preached sermons wholly on points of
doctrine. The general belief was that mere membership in the Church
was of no importance at all, and that the salvation of the soul was an
independent and separate transaction carried on between the individual
and his Creator. This kind of preaching has not yet wholly ceased, but
it is rare: such preachers are no longer heeded.

[Illustration: COUNCIL CHAMBER, OSBORNE HOUSE]

[Illustration: BILLIARD-ROOM, OSBORNE HOUSE]

Let us compare the Church of the present day. It is no longer a
Church of scholars: there are still some learned members in it, but
the old presumption that a clergyman must be a scholar, is quite
lost and forgotten; rather the presumption is the other way, that a
clergyman is not a scholar. The young scholars of the day do not, as
a rule, take upon them Holy Orders: there are too many openings for
their intellectual activities. Moreover, the prizes are not what they
were. Agricultural depression has ruined the fellowships, cut down by
one half the country livings, destroyed the value of Deaneries and
Canonries. The Bishoprics still, however, keep their value, and a
profession cannot be thought very poor which numbers so many prizes
as the Church of England, with her Archbishops and her Bishops.
Preaching, which was formerly so important a part of Church work,
has decayed deplorably. The reason is the development of the parish
work, which now occupies the whole time of the clergy, leaving them
no time for meditation and study. For, since the people will not come
to the clergy, the clergy condescend to stoop to the people. At the
present moment the Church is the centre of numberless institutions and
associations which aim at civilising the people rather than making
them religious. The clergy preside over clubs for the lads, clubs
for the girls, temperance associations, mothers’ meetings, sales of
clothing, lectures, concerts, care of the poor and of the sick, benefit
societies, visiting organisations, Sunday schools, country holiday
funds, convalescent homes, and a thousand other things. Now the working
people, and especially the very lowest class, regard this activity
with a kind of admiring wonder; they see these young fellows--many
of whom are not clergy, but live among them--working morning, noon,
and night for no reward: they are touched by this devotion; their
lads would follow them to the death. I do not say that this example
makes them religious, but it fills them with that new feeling towards
religion which has been already considered. The doctrines held by the
present clergy are in most cases High Church, with which, personally,
I have no kind of sympathy. At the same time, one must admit that the
modern views have destroyed the dreadful terrors about Election and
Predestination: in the Anglican, as in the Roman Church, once more the
Fold protects.

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE QUEEN IN ROYAL ROBES]

In Law and Medicine, fewer changes have been made. In the former, a
barrister was not allowed to make a friend of an attorney, or to take
his hand, or to visit at his house. The low class attorney-at-law,
of whom there were a great many, practised with impunity all kinds
of iniquities and conspiracies; he was, indeed, an enemy to the
human race; he was usurer; he was the concoctor of civil actions,
which he dragged on interminably;--it was he who filled the prisons
with unfortunate prisoners; he robbed the widow and defrauded the
fatherless; he took advantage of difficulties which he aggravated--he
charged what he pleased. The power of the attorney--now called
solicitor--for mischief is very greatly curtailed;--a taxing master
looks after his bills; he can no longer clap a debtor into prison; he
is liable to be struck off the rolls for misconduct.

In Medicine the physician never claimed so great a superiority over
the surgeon. If he did, that superiority has vanished. Great are the
recent triumphs of surgery: not so great, perhaps, those of medicine.
In those days the surgeon operated in the presence of the physician; he
did not aspire to the medical degree; he could not be called “Doctor.”
There were no anæsthetics in those days; operations of all kinds were
limited by the patient’s power of endurance: a long operation killed,
because there is a limit to the endurance of pain. The discoveries of
the laboratory have placed the treatment of all disease on a new and
more scientific footing. Fortunately, I am not called upon in this
place to do more than indicate changes that only a medical student
could properly explain. We can, however, all understand the ward, clean
and neat, with regulated temperature; the patients under the care of
bright and cheerful nurses; the hospitals “walked” not by the young
ruffians of the “Bob Sawyer” type, but keen and eager students, with
whom science is more than a mere profession, and the causes of diseases
more than their cure.

[Illustration: OSBORNE HOUSE, ISLE OF WIGHT]

Sixty years ago, I said, there were only three professions. How many
are there now, recognised as on an equal footing of dignity and
importance with these three?

Formerly, Architecture was not considered a profession. I remember
long ago, in the Sixties, listening to a group of men who were
discussing whether architecture had any claims at all to be a
profession--certainly the local architect was also the house-agent--and
whether a gentleman could belong to it. I believe they agreed that it
was only a trade.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL YACHT “VICTORIA AND ALBERT”]

Formerly, there was no profession of science at all. At Cambridge
there were chairs of Mathematics, of Chemistry, and of other branches.
But there was no profession of any branch of science. No man set up a
laboratory and said “I am a chemist by profession”; there were none of
the great Schools for Physical Science, such as now exist at Cambridge,
at South Kensington, at Newcastle, and at other places; no young men
began by “going in” for science, as they do at present. That profession
which offers the noblest prizes of fame and name, together with a
sufficiency of income, has been created in all its numerous branches
within the last sixty years. The British Association made the world
familiar with the claims and the work of the new science. Such men as
Humphry Davy, Faraday, Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, and so many others, who
will be accounted the chief luminaries of this age, planted firmly the
claims of science in the minds of the people, and raised the position
of science to the same level as that of Latin and Greek scholarship.
All these physicists, electricians, zoologists, biologists, chemists,
and the rest have come into existence during the Queen’s reign. The
teaching of science at our Universities and Schools, the multiplication
of new Colleges in all the Colonies, as well as at home, have created
places for these students and a demand for their teaching: they have
also created a demand for new books, which only these teachers were
able to supply.

Formerly, again, the position of teacher in a school, except when one
was Headmaster of Eton, Harrow, or Winchester, was one of curious
contempt. The reason for this contempt was simple: it was the
connection between a schoolmaster and his floggings. That connection
has now ceased. At a few schools, the Head exercises the old business
with the birch: it is regarded as a custom or a usage rendered
venerable by antiquity. “I was swished,” said a young fellow the other
day, “nineteen times when I was at school. I have always regretted that
I didn’t make it twenty.” But the assistant masters have no power of
inflicting personal chastisement.

This old contempt has vanished: the profession is now regarded
with great respect, and carries with it a proper amount of social
consideration. No young man, formerly, who could by any possibility get
into any other line of life, would take a place as assistant master
even in a public school. If he did, it was in hopes of obtaining
a boarding-house and making a rapid fortune. The position is now
literally run after by young University men of the greatest distinction
and the best credentials as to scholarship. The present Headmaster
of Harrow, writing to the papers some time ago, made this suggestive
observation. I quote from memory--“I believe that I have at Harrow, at
this moment, the best collection of assistants that were ever gathered
together at any public school. Yet I am certain that if they were all
to resign, I could replace them very shortly by another collection
equally good.” So ready, so eager, are the young scholars of the day to
become masters in the public schools. Sixty years ago they would have
stayed on at Oxford or Cambridge, and led the life already described of
the Scholar, the Fellow, and the College Tutor.

Another new profession, though to the younger men it seems an old
profession, is that of engineering. There are many branches of
engineering: one constructs piers, jetties, railways, bridges, great
works like the Forth Bridge, or smaller bridges, tunnels, roads,
embankments, and the like. Another devises and constructs machinery
of all kinds, another controls electricity: there must be an engineer
in every factory as in every little steamer. Great prizes in money
and fortune belong to this profession. It is eminently a learned
profession: to attain unto any degree of eminence in it one must be a
good mathematician.

Other new professions are those of the actuary and the accountant. And
there are “followings” once not allowed to be professional, such as
that of the painter and the sculptor, the work of literature, music,
acting, etc. A young man may enter any one of these branches of mental
achievement: he may choose his own department; he will occupy as
good a social position as the young barrister; he will belong to the
professional class. As for the prizes in some of them, if they are not
equal to those of the Bar or the Church, they are considerable; in some
kinds of literature, such as educational books, fiction, and the drama,
successful writers command incomes which would be considered incredible
by Douglas Jerrold and the wits of the early Victorian era.

To recapitulate. Where there were three professions sixty years ago
there are now dozens: given a young man of ability and activity, it is
difficult not to find for him an opening where he will get a chance
of gaining a splendid prize of success. For the man of exceptional
ability, the Church leads him to a Bishopric with a life peerage and
£10,000 a year; the Bar leads him to an income of £10,000 a year,
and, if he pleases, a peerage; Medicine may give him £15,000 a year,
also with a peerage, or a baronetcy, if he wishes one; all the other
professions have their splendid prizes and their magnificent chances
which are open to a young man of ability. Compared with the condition
of 1837, we are like the occupants of a broad expanse of country which
has been suddenly widened in all directions by the removal of walls and
fences and the abolition of prohibitions.

One thing remains with the new as with the old professions: they all
demand an apprenticeship and a training. No one can enter the Law, or
Medicine, or any other, without being able to pay, over a period of
five years, at least a thousand pounds, probably two thousand when
all is done. Until this condition is removed, which is not likely to
happen, it is not true to say, or to think, that every career in this
country is open to every boy.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER V

TRANSFORMATION OF WOMAN

   “A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light.”
                                WORDSWORTH.


Let me present to you, first, an early Victorian girl, born, indeed,
about the Waterloo year; next, her granddaughter, born about 1875.

The young lady of 1837 has been to a fashionable school: she has
learned accomplishments, deportment, and dress. She is full of
sentiment: there was an amazing amount of sentiment in the air about
that time--she loves to talk and read about gallant knights, crusaders,
and troubadours; she gently touches the guitar--her sentiment, or
her little affectation, has touched her with a graceful melancholy,
a becoming stoop, a sweet pensiveness; she loves the aristocracy,
even though her home is in that part of London called Bloomsbury,
whither the belted earl cometh not, even though her papa goes into the
City; she reads a deal of poetry, especially those poems which deal
with the affections, of which there are many at this time; on Sunday
she goes to church religiously and pensively, followed by a footman
carrying her Prayer Book and a long stick; she can play on the guitar
and the piano a few easy pieces which she has learned; she knows a
few words of French, which she produces at frequent intervals; as to
history, geography, science, the condition of the people, her mind is
an entire blank; she knows nothing of these things. Her conversation
is commonplace, as her ideas are limited; she cannot reason on any
subject whatever because of her ignorance,--as she herself would say,
because she is a woman. In her presence, and indeed in the presence of
ladies generally, men talk trivialities. There was indeed a general
belief that women were creatures incapable of argument, or of reason,
or of connected thought. It was no use arguing about the matter. The
Lord had made them so. Women, said the philosophers, cannot understand
logic: they see things, if they do see them at all, by instinctive
perception. This theory accounted for everything--for those cases when
women undoubtedly did “see things.” Also, it fully justified people in
withholding from women any kind of education worthy the name. A quite
needless expense, you understand.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN RECEIVING THE CRIMEAN VETERANS AT BUCKINGHAM
PALACE]

The girl who lived in Bloomsbury Square, or in the suburbs--say
Clapham Common--had, in those days, to make herself happy with
slender and simple materials. There were very few concerts: I think
the Philharmonic was already in existence; Oratorios were sometimes
performed: it was not every girl who liked what was then called
classical music; the general cultivation of music was poor and meagre,
and within very narrow limits: people liked songs, it is true,
especially pathetic songs. These, like the poetry of the _Keepsake_
and _Friendship’s Offering_, mostly turned on the domestic affections.
The young ladies recognised this sentiment, bought or copied those
songs, and sang the most mournful of ditties. Everybody, in every class
which respected itself and claimed gentility of any kind, talked about
the opera, to which the well-to-do young lady was taken once a year,
solemnly. This gave her the right for the rest of the year to talk
about the _repertoire_, and to speak with disrespect of the leading
singers.

The theatre was very seldom visited; indeed there were reasons why it
was not desirable that young ladies should go to the theatre; if they
did go it was an event very much discussed both before and after. There
were only one or two theatres that respectable people could possibly
attend, and the one part of the house where ladies could be seen was
the dress circle. Now in the Thirties, if my information is correct,
there were good actors, but the plays were monstrously bad. The Queen,
however, used to like going to the theatre. If you walk down to those
north of the Strand, you may see how the road was widened for her
to go to the Adelphi melodramas. The reading of girls was carefully
selected for them; in serious circles--there were many circles in 1840
privileged to be serious--fiction was absolutely forbidden; its place
was taken by religious biography: wonderful to think how large a part
was played by religious biography about that time. I do not know what
books besides these biographies and records of “conversation” were
allowed, but I imagine that there were not many. At all events, a
young woman must not be allowed to read anything which would suggest
to her the wickedness of the world, the realities of the world, the
truth about men and women, or the meanings of humanity. She was to
leave her mother’s nest not only innocent--girls do still leave their
mothers in innocence--but also in a state of ignorance, which was
then mistaken for a state of grace. How far she really was ignorant
no one but herself could tell; one imagines that there may have been
some knowledge behind that demure countenance that was not generally
suspected.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Winterhalter_

THE FOUR ROYAL PRINCESSES

PRINCESS ROYAL, PRINCESS ALICE, PRINCESS LOUISE, AND PRINCESS HELENA]

As for her accomplishments, they comprised, apart from the knowledge
of a few pieces on the guitar and the piano, some slight power of
sketching or flower-painting in water-colours. Of course it was nothing
better than the amusement of an amateur. As for attempting literature,
no one, with very few exceptions, ever thought of it. There was
then but a limited demand for women’s literary work--a very limited
demand--yet there had already been some very fine work done by women.
Mrs. Ellis was writing those famous and immortal works of hers on the
_Women of England_, the _Mothers of England_, the _Wives of England_,
the _Daughters of England_,--so far as I know, for the subject is
inexhaustible, the _Housemaids of England_. These essays, which I
fear, dear reader, you have never seen, endeavoured to mould woman
on the theory of recognised intellectual inferiority to man. She was
considered beneath him in intellect as in physical strength; she was
exhorted to defer to man, to acknowledge his superiority--not to show
herself anxious to combat his opinions. At this very time, one woman
at least--Harriet Martineau--was proving to the world that there were
exceptions to the inferiority of the sex in matters of reason; while
another woman--Marian Evans--already grown up, was shortly to enter the
field with another illustration of the same remarkable fact.

It has been often charged against Thackeray that his good women were
insipid. Thackeray, like most artists, could only draw the women of
his own time, and at that time they were undoubtedly insipid. Men, I
suppose, liked them so. To be childishly ignorant; to carry shrinking
modesty so far as to find the point of a shoe projecting beyond the
folds of a frock indelicate; to confess that serious subjects were
beyond a woman’s grasp; never even to pretend to form an independent
judgment; to know nothing of Art, History, Science, Literature,
Politics, Sociology, Manners;--men liked these things; women yielded to
please the men; her very ignorance formed a subject of laudable pride
with the Englishwoman of the Forties.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Winterhalter_

“FIRST MAY 1851”

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON PRESENTING A BIRTHDAY GIFT TO HIS GODSON, PRINCE
ARTHUR]

As for doing serious work, the girl of that period shrank appalled at
the very thought. To earn one’s livelihood was the deepest degradation;
the most sincere pity was felt for those unhappy girls whose fathers
died or failed, or left them unprovided, so that they must needs do
something. It was pity mingled with contempt. Even this meek and
gentle maiden of the early Victorian period could feel--and could
show--the emotion of contempt. Readers of Cranford will remember how
the unfortunate lady opened a tea shop; those ladies who were too old
or too ignorant for teaching--“going out” as a governess--sometimes
set up a “fancy” shop, where children’s things--lace, embroideries,
things in wool and pretty trifles--were sold. I remember such a shop
kept by two gentlewomen, old, reduced, decayed; but they were very sad,
always in the lowest depressions; I fear it was but a poor business.
There were no professions open to women. Those who did not marry--they
were comparatively few--stayed at home with one of the brothers,
generally the eldest, and as often as not, such an unmarried sister
proved the angel of the house. Sometimes, to be sure, the lot was
hard, and she was made to feel her dependence. In general, I like to
believe, the single woman of the family, in whom all confided, in whom
all trusted,--the nurse of the sick; the contriver and designer of the
girls’ frocks; the maker of fine cakes and the owner of choice recipes;
who knew all the branches of a numerous family; who kept together the
brothers and cousins who would fly apart but for her,--was as much
valued as she deserved to be.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN IN GALA COSTUME]

There were many ways of “going out” as a governess. The most miserable
lot of all was considered--and no doubt was--to be a resident teacher
in a girls’ school. In this position there was no society of any kind;
there was no chance of meeting young men; there was no pleasure; there
was an enforced and unnatural pretence at virtue; there was no hope of
change, no hope of happiness, no hope of love; there was not even any
chance of making money. One might also become a visiting governess and
undertake the children of a house for the day: this gave liberty for
the evening. One might become a resident governess in a house: this
exposed a girl to the insolence of the servants, the advances of the
sons, the caprices or snubs of her employer. Novels of thirty years ago
are full of the down-trodden governess. One pities her, because the
position, even at the best, must have been beastly--indeed, I remember
very well--and the position intolerable for snubs and slights. At the
same time, her employer complained that she was meek to exasperation,
and resigned to a point which maddened. I have known ladies who were
quite carried away: they became speechless in trying to tell of the
meekness of a governess. Again, a girl might teach music, if she knew
any--a thankless task when the stupidities of the pupils were visited
on the teacher. A woman was not allowed to teach dancing: for a most
praiseworthy reason, you cannot teach dancing without showing more than
the tips of the toes--half the foot perhaps--where, then, is feminine
modesty? This accomplishment was therefore taught by a professor,
generally a man who had played in his youth some small part in the
operatic ballet; he carried a little “kit” or small fiddle, with which
he discoursed a scraping, watery kind of music, while his nimble feet
showed the way, and his thin legs cut single or double capers which the
girls admired, but were not naturally invited to imitate. Nor could a
woman teach writing and arithmetic--I cannot possibly explain why. For
some unknown reason these useful arts were always taught by men. Yet
women could add up; women could write, even in the year 1840. One such
teacher of arithmetic and penmanship I knew. He practised entirely in
girls’ schools. He was proud of his profession, which he ranked with
those of Divinity and Law. He was full of innocuous jokes and, so to
speak, non-alcoholic stories. He died about twenty years ago, ruined,
he told me, by the introduction of women into the profession.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by Winterhalter_

PRINCE OF WALES, AGE 7]

I say, then, that in the year 1840, so far as I can remember, there
was hardly a single occupation in which a gentlewoman could engage,
except that of teaching. Miniature painting can hardly be called an
exception, because it is given to so few to be painters. She could not
lecture or speak in public. St. Paul’s admonition to women, that they
must not “chatter” in church, interpreted to forbid public-speaking
in church, was extended to every kind of public-speaking. No woman so
much as dreamed of speaking in public at this time. Later on, a Mrs.
Clara Balfour astonished people by lecturing in Literary Institutes. I
believe she was the first. I remember hearing her lecture. The people
sat with gloomy faces: when they came away they shook their heads.
“Irregular, my dear madam.” “Sir, it is irreligious.” “Madam, it was
an unfeminine and revolting Exhibition.” These comments were heard on
the stairs. This system of artificial restraints certainly produced
faithful wives, gentle mothers, loving sisters, able housewives.
God forbid that we should say otherwise, but it is certain that the
intellectual attainments of women were then what we should call
contemptible, and the range of subjects of which they knew anything
was absurdly narrow and limited. I detect the woman of 1840 in the
character of Mrs. Clive Newcome, and, indeed, in Mrs. George Osborne
and other familiar characters of Thackeray.

Of Society in 1840 let me speak only of the wealthier City class--the
people who lived in big houses in Bloomsbury or in the suburbs. They
had “evenings” with a little music; they were very decorous. The young
men stood round the wall or in the doorways. The little music included
those songs of the affections already mentioned. There was a little
refreshment handed about, or set out in the dining-room. It consisted
of sandwiches, cake, and negus. Sometimes there was a dinner party. The
company were invited for half-past six. The dinner--always the same, or
nearly the same--consisted of salmon cutlets, haunch of mutton, boiled
fowl, and tongue; birds of some kind, and pudding of one or two kinds.
The dishes were put on the table; everybody helped each other. Nobody
drank anything until the host had first taken wine with him; there was
nothing to drink at dinner except sherry. After dinner the port went
round once; the ladies retired,--this was about half-past seven or a
quarter to eight. The men closed up; fresh decanters were placed on
the table, and they drank port steadily till half-past ten, _i.e._ for
three long hours. Then they went upstairs to the drawing-room; and, as
if the port was not enough, they had brandy and water hot.

I have spoken of the wealthier class, but there was, and there is
still, an immense number of girls belonging to the ranks where care
and thrift were necessary in all things. In this class the unfortunate
girls were slaves to the needle. All day and all the evening they
were engaged in making and mending and darning. Families were large:
there were little children and big boys; and the pile of linen and of
stockings waiting to be mended seemed never to grow less, while the
pile of things that had to be made grew steadily greater.

A generation that has grown up with a sewing-machine cannot understand
this slavery. Think of this machine which sews up a length of three
feet in a minute, and of the time that was formerly required to do the
same work by hand. It is not too much to say that the sewing-machine
set free millions of girls. What they are doing with their freedom is
considered in the next few pages.

It was, at the best, an artificial and unnatural life. There was
something Oriental in the seclusion of women in the home, and their
exclusion from active and practical life; it led to many a rude
awakening, many a shattered idol, many a blow which embittered the rest
of life.

[Illustration:

  LORD MACAULAY
  THOMAS CARLYLE
  WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
  GEORGE ELIOT
  CHARLES DICKENS
  MATTHEW ARNOLD
  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS OF THE REIGN]

I must not forget, in considering the Englishwoman of 1840, her
extraordinary cowardice. It was impressed upon her from childhood that
she was a poor, weak creature--that she needed protection even in broad
daylight. Therefore, when a young lady of fortune went abroad, unless
she drove in her carriage she had a hulking footman walking behind her.
If she was not a lady of fortune, she was escorted by a maid; she could
go nowhere by herself; she saw danger at every corner, and was ready to
scream at meeting a strange man in the open street. Nor must we forget
her little affectations: she could not help them; they were part of her
education. For instance, it was a very common affectation with girls
that they could not eat anything at all, such was their extraordinary
delicacy and elevation above the common mortal. So they sat at dinner
with a morsel upon their plates, which they left untouched. Some
girls made up for this privation by a valiant lunch; some habitually
lived low, and practised, though in no religious spirit, abstemious
austerities. I think, however, that the girl who wished to be
thought consumptive, cultivated a hectic bloom, and coughed and
fainted, carried affectation perhaps too far.

[Illustration:

  THOMAS HOOD
  ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
  ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
  WILLIAM MORRIS
  ROBERT BROWNING

REPRESENTATIVE POETS OF THE REIGN]

Such was the woman of 1840: in London, among the richer sort, a gentle
doll, often good and affectionate, unselfish and devoted, religious,
charitable, tender-hearted; sometimes, through the shutting up of
all the channels for intellectual activity, snappish, impatient, and
shrewish; in the country, in addition to these qualities, a housewife
of the very first order.

Let us turn to the Englishwoman--the young Englishwoman--of 1897.

[Illustration: STATUE OF THE QUEEN IN KENSINGTON PALACE GARDENS.

                    BY PRINCESS LOUISE
]

She is educated. Whatsoever things are taught to the young man are
taught to the young woman. The keys of knowledge are given to her; she
gathers of the famous tree. If she wants to explore the wickedness
of the world she can do so, for it is all in the books. The secrets
of Nature are not closed to her; she can learn the structure of the
body if she wishes. The secrets of science are all open to her if she
cares to study them. At school, at college, she studies just as the
young man studies, but harder and with greater concentration. She has
proved her ability in the Honours Tripos of every branch; she has
beaten the Senior Wrangler in mathematics; she has taken a first-class
in classics, in history, in science, in languages. She has proved,
not that she is man’s equal in intellect, though she claims so much,
because she has not yet advanced any branch of learning or science one
single step, but she has proved her capacity to take her place beside
the young men who are the flower of their generation--the young men who
stand in the first class in Honours when they take their degree. It is
from such young men that our best statesmen, our judges, our ablest
lawyers, our historians, our scholars, our divines, are taken, and
among them the young Englishwomen of the day stand _inter pares_.

[Illustration: STATUE IN HOUSE OF PARLIAMENT.

                    BY GIBSON
]

[Illustration:

  MICHAEL FARADAY
  JOHN TYNDALL
  CHARLES DARWIN
  HERBERT SPENCER
  LORD LISTER
  THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
  LORD KELVIN

REPRESENTATIVE SCIENTISTS AND PHILOSOPHERS OF THE REIGN]

She has invaded the professions. She cannot become a priest, because
the Oriental prejudice against women still prevails, so that women in
High Church places are not allowed to sing in the choir, or to play the
organ, not to speak of preaching. For some reason or other, women have
never written nobly on religion. They have written powerful religious
novels, but there has never been among them a Dean Stanley or a Hooker.
Nay, more, I have never heard of a woman carrying her classical studies
into the ecclesiastical domain; and unless one is a scholar, it seems
impossible to write nobly of religion. In the same way, she cannot
enter the Law, because the portals of the Law are closed in her face by
the Inns of Court, which will not allow her to become a barrister, and
by the Law Institute, which will not allow her to become a solicitor.
Some day she will get over this restriction, but not yet. For a long
time she was kept out of medicine. That restriction is now removed;
she can, and she does, practise as a physician or a surgeon, generally
the former. I believe that she has shown in this profession, as in her
university studies, she can stand, _inter pares_, among her equals and
her peers, not her superiors. There is no branch of literature in which
women have not distinguished themselves. None, it is true, in which
they have attained the same distinction as a few men--a very few men;
but among those called the foremost in their generation, woman stands
their equal. In music they compose, but not greatly; they play and they
sing divinely. The acting of the best among them is equal to that of
any living man. They have become journalists, in some cases of very
remarkable ability; in fact, there are thousands of women who now make
their livelihood by writing in all its branches.

[Illustration:

                    _Painting by W. Simpson_

HER MAJESTY’S VISIT TO THE AMERICAN SHIP “RESOLUTE,” 1856]

There are artists of all kinds--oil painters, water-colour painters,
black-and-white artists, sculptors, workers in pastel, carvers; in a
word, every art that exists is practised successfully by women. As for
the less common professions--the accountants, architects, actuaries,
agents--they are rapidly being taken over by women.

It is no longer a question of necessity; women do not ask themselves
whether they must earn their own bread, or live a life of dependence.
Necessity or no necessity they demand work, with independence and
personal liberty. Whether they will take upon them the duties and
responsibilities of marriage, they postpone for further consideration.
I believe that, although in the first eager running there are many who
profess to despise marriage, the voice of nature and the instinctive
yearning for love will prevail.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL VISIT TO THE GREAT EXHIBITION, 1851]

Personal independence: that is the keynote of the situation. Mothers no
longer attempt the old control over their daughters: they would find it
impossible. The girls go off by themselves on their bicycles; they go
about as they please; they neither compromise themselves nor get talked
about. For the first time in man’s history it is regarded as a right
and proper thing to trust a girl as a boy insists upon being trusted.
Out of this personal freedom will come, I daresay, a change in the
old feelings of young man to maiden. He will not see in her a frail,
tender plant which must be protected from cold winds; she can protect
herself perfectly well. He will not see in her any longer a creature of
sweet emotions and pure aspirations, coupled with a complete ignorance
of the world, because she already knows all that she wants to know.
Nor will he see in her a companion whose mind is a blank, and whose
conversation is insipid, because she already knows as much as he knows
himself. Nor, again, will he see in her a housewife whose whole time
will be occupied in superintending servants or in making, brewing,
confecting things with her own hand. For the young woman of the present
day can make nothing: she cannot make her own dresses, she cannot
trim her hat, she cannot cook, she cannot compound things delectable;
the rolling-pin she knows nothing about, or the pastry-board. Love
will be changed indeed. Man and woman will be of the same stature
and of the same strength! I think not; there will always be the same
differences in kind, but not so great in degree. The man will always
look upon the world from his own point of view, the woman from hers;
and these are never the same. Perhaps the greatest change is that woman
now does thoroughly what before she only did as an amateur. I have
said that she cannot make her own dresses. That is true, as a general
rule; but the woman who can, does so professionally and thoroughly:
and the woman who sews now, sews more beautifully, turning out work
equal to that of her ancestress, the Anglo-Saxon lady. So, also, if a
girl takes up painting, she “goes through the mill”; she studies it in
earnest, she studies it as a man would. And so with everything; the
shallow amateurish pretences are gone; women are thorough, women are
professional.

I have spoken above of certain little affectations of sixty years ago.
These have vanished. The Englishwoman of to-day enjoys an excellent
appetite, and tackles her dinner valiantly; she has not yet learned
to be critical over the dishes or over the wine, that will doubtless
arrive. As for pretending to be hectic or consumptive she would scorn
such a shallow mockery; her desire, on the other hand, is to appear
strong and healthy.

There have been certain losses in this development. For instance, there
has appeared among us, for the first time in the history of woman,
the girl who does not care about her personal appearance. She wears
uncompromising spectacles, instead of a dainty _pince-nez_, she cuts
her hair short, she wears a jacket all angles; there is no roundness in
her figure, there is no sweet look of Venus in her face. Now, even on
the philosophic countenance of Hypatia men loved to discern that sweet
and gracious look of Venus, which made her philosophy palatable and
her lectures tolerable. Fortunately, this girl is as yet very scarce;
generally, it is whispered, there are certain sufficient reasons for
her indifference to dress; and it has even been remarked of her that,
if she did not study and do her best to uglify herself, it would still
be impossible, by any arrangement of hair or costume, for her to
beautify herself.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI

THE COUNTRY TOWN

“I saw the people that were therein, and how they dwelt after the
manner of the Zidonians, quiet and secure, and had no dealings with any
man.”--BOOK OF JUDGES.


Let us leave London, and visit a certain English country town--a market
town--as it was in the year 1837. We will then consider the place as it
is to-day.

In 1837 it is a quiet town with no industries except those created
by the requirements of an agricultural centre. This not only causes
a certain amount of activity and trade, but also gives rise to such
industries as saddlery, farm implements, etc. The town consists chiefly
of two or three streets running parallel, the larger and more important
being the High Street. In the middle of the High Street is a square or
place, where once a week is held a market, at which all kinds of things
are exposed for sale, from poultry to shoe laces. A corn exchange, a
branch bank, the town hall, one or two shops, and the principal inn,
fill up the square. The inn boasts a large wooden porch, whose pillars
are painted to resemble stone. A covered way leads to the stables and
stableyard. Within, there is a hall, imperfectly lighted, in which one
finds a fly-blown map of the country, a huge pike in a glass case, a
stuffed otter, doors leading to the coffee-room and commercial room,
a glass partition separating the bar-parlour, with the bar itself in
front, and a broad, low staircase leading to the upper rooms. Here,
on market day, the farmers hold their ordinary, with deep and long
potations to follow. Here the lodge of Freemasons holds its monthly
meetings in the winter, with a cheerful time of refreshment after
labour. Here the county balls are held twice a year. There is a close,
confirmed smell always lingering in the house; it suggests not so much
beer and tobacco, which belong to a humbler house of entertainment,
as hot brandy and water. The cold meats displayed under glass beside
the bar look as if they were imbibing and assimilating that smell. If
the windows were sometimes open, one feels, it would make that cold
chicken fresher, and would enliven that cold roast beef. When you order
dinner at this hostelry let it be of the simplest. Avoid their soup, of
which they have but one kind; be careful as to their fish, which has
not only travelled fifty miles by train, but has also waited longer
than is good for it; but you may trust them entirely in the matter of
roast beef and mutton, fowls and “birds.” As regards wine, you will
avoid most carefully claret; it is a thick and strong liquid, very
heavily “fortified” with brandy. No one in England, as yet, has learned
what claret means; they buy it, and they pour brandy into it. Their
sherry is a fiery compound, which you must regard with an uncomfortable
suspicion; this also has been “treated” with brandy. In the year 1837,
if you ask for champagne (which is extremely unusual) you expect a wine
sweet and cloying, pink in colour, and served in long narrow glasses
which make it look very pretty. In 1837 we all, even among those who
have travelled, belong to the age of sweet champagne. We regard the
wine, not as the exhilarator-in-chief at human banquets, but as a
feminine luxury, suitable for weddings, christenings, Christmas Day,
and such other family gatherings in which women take their parts. For
ourselves, we shall order what is expected of us, namely stout, with
our dinner,--good, thick, foaming stout,--which is without doubt the
finest drink ever invented as a companion to beefsteak or to a roast
leg of mutton. We shall perhaps, for the good of the house, have a pint
of the fiery sherry with the admirable apple pie, seasoned with cloves,
which they will presently bring us; and then, for the serious business
of the evening, we shall call the landlord and consult him. Which is
it to be? Does he recommend the 1820? Has he, perchance, a few bottles
left of 1798, though that is almost past praying for? Does he think
the 1828 sufficiently matured? Would he recommend that he should set
before us some of his Tawny? These questions--these difficulties--are
recognised as matters of the greatest importance. There are two of
us, we are moderate men; a bottle a head is our humble limit, we must
not throw away this moderation upon an inferior bottle. Finally, we
yield to him. In port, this landlord, we know from former experience,
hath a conscience; he brings us, not the most expensive wine, as a
low-class practitioner would do, but the wine which he thinks will
please us best. He carries the bottle in his own arms, as if it were a
baby; he draws the cork as an actor on the stage opens a letter--with
importance; he decants it as if it were liquid elixir, leaving off at
the precise moment when a drop from the turbid dregs of the bottle
might sully the perfect purity of the splendid purple which he calls
upon you to admire, holding the decanter before the light. We take our
two bottles; we sit down to dinner at six, so that when the bottles
are empty it is no more than nine. We ring the bell and order brandy
and water before we go to bed. We hold up the bottle to the light. It
is the light of candles, not gas; no nasty, new-fangled gas is allowed
in this old inn; and, indeed, those who have once used wax candles can
never desire any better or softer light.

[Illustration: PRINCE ALBERT, AGE 4]

In the bedroom the furniture is simple. There is a vast four-poster,
with its heavy furniture and valance and curtains. The bed is provided
with feather mattresses, deep and soft and sinking, and pillows as
deep. There is a washhand-stand, there are two chairs, there is a
dressing-table with a looking-glass, there is a chest of drawers. There
is nothing else--not a writing-table, not an easy chair; a bedroom is a
place, if you please, to sleep in, not to sit in or to work in. If a
guest wants to work, let him have a private room and pay for it, unless
he can write in the public room.

[Illustration:

  LORD BROUGHAM
  SIR ROWLAND HILL
  LORD PALMERSTON
  LORD BEACONSFIELD
  RICHARD COBDEN
  W. E. GLADSTONE
  LORD SALISBURY

REPRESENTATIVE STATESMEN OF THE REIGN]

If a bottle of port was considered a sufficient allowance of drink for
a moderate man, what was it for a toper? The amount of drinking in
these country inns was, in fact, incredible. Men who were considered
quite temperate, as a rule, would sit drinking at a public dinner
half the night through. They drank, not weak potations of whisky and
Apollinaris, but strong fiery port, which they liked, as Tennyson is
reported to have liked it, strong and black and sweet. Not for such
drinkers as these did mine host produce his best and rarest; a more
common and a ranker liquid did for them. The public dinner was rare.
There was generally in the bar-parlour, however, the town toper. He was
a man whose father had amassed money in trade and left his son a small
fortune, enough to keep him in idleness. The small fortune proved, as
usual, a danger and a pitfall; idleness led to temptation, temptation
led him to the bar-parlour. We may see him sitting in the wooden
armchair, where he spends all his evenings. He is close upon fifty--the
toper’s limit. A tumbler of rum and water is on the table beside him.
He is silent, for very good reasons. He smiles upon the company to
show how sober he is. He has been drinking all day long, and is now
quite full and quite drunk; yet at ten o’clock he will get up and walk
home by himself without so much as a reel or a lurch. He presents to
the world when he goes out into it a nose of a kind that you cannot
find now, a red, even a purple nose, largely swollen, covered with red
blotches; it is a nose enlarged and painted by rum.

[Illustration: PRINCE CONSORT IN ROYAL ROBES]

The tradesmen of the town have their club, which meets every night, but
not in the tavern; they frequent a place of lesser repute, where they
are alone. They are shy of admitting strangers. It is not known how
much they drink; but one hears of families where there are daughters
who, on the arrival of the familiar footstep, hurry out of the way.

The town is eight miles from any other town. A stage-coach passes
through every day, but there is very little done to encourage it. The
oldest inhabitant has lived here, man and boy, for eighty years, but
he has never seen any other town. The coach drives merrily down the
High Street, with the horn blowing: the coachman pulls up at the inn,
the passengers all get down and have a drink, the horses are changed,
the coachman mounts, the guard blows his horn, and the excitement of
the day is over. The interests of the town are wholly self-centred:
it is not conscious of any other place. There were wars twenty years
ago. There is a fellow, somewhere, who fought at Waterloo; but nobody
asks him questions. A weekly paper, published at the nearest town,
comes over on Sunday mornings and gives them news of the outer world;
but, indeed, the news of the outer world drops on their ears like the
murmurs of the ocean in the shell, it means nothing.

The yearly holiday has not yet reached this place. The vicar, the
lawyer, the doctor, want no holiday, and take none. The schoolmaster
takes his in his garden. Year after year, month after month, day after
day, they do the same things in the same way, they have the same talk.
As for books they have none, only a dozen or so in a row. Boys who are
fond of books are regarded askance; they are dragging down upon their
heads a terrible future; no money is to be made by reading books. Boys
who are fond of making music, who take to a piano as other boys do to
a cricket bat, are considered as in a dangerous way. It is remarkable,
and is to me inexplicable, how this country, where formerly every
gentleman played some instrument, came to regard music with suspicion.
The fact, however, is undoubted. In the same way, a boy who could draw
and paint was looked upon with mingled pity and contempt. There was a
great deal of caste in the profession chosen by the boys. The vicar’s
son went to Oxford or Cambridge and took orders; the lawyer’s eldest
son was articled to his father; the doctor’s eldest son was articled
to his father; in the principal shops the eldest son was brought up
to carry on the shop. The professional people, who called themselves
gentlemen, would not associate with the shopkeepers; the county people
would not associate with the professional people; thus society was
hedged about and kept in gradations. As regards other professions, the
banks took some of the young men; one or two turned out to be clever,
got scholarships, and went to the universities, there to settle down
for life on a College Fellowship; necessity compelled a few into
teaching, then considered the last refuge of the destitute; the boy who
could draw was articled to an architect in the nearest big town; some
went up to London and became clerks; here and there one or two, greatly
daring, disappeared altogether beyond the seas.

[Illustration: DRAWING-ROOM AT ST. JAMES’S PALACE, 1861--THE LAST
ATTENDED BY THE PRINCE CONSORT]

As for the girls, they stayed at home. Their place was at home, they
knew nothing solid in the way of book learning; but, like the London
girls, they were accomplished. They could play a little and sing a
little, they could do all kinds of fine work, they made all the family
pies and cakes, they could distil, they could pickle and preserve,
they could make and mend. They stayed at home; out of three or four,
one remained unmarried. For her stretched along the road on the west
of the town a row of tiny villas, each with its pretty little garden
in front full of flowers--dahlias, peonies, geraniums--and the garden
behind with its vegetables and its fruit trees. The unmarried one lived
here, alone but not lonely. She it was who made most of the society of
the place. Sometimes, when there was not enough money, she remained
living with the eldest brother--a responsibility which he was never
known to refuse. Religion played a great part in their lives. Most of
the girls were “serious”: they attended a Thursday evening sermon,
which proved it; they read books about election and the elect, which
they applied serenely to other people. They were taught that all the
people--outside, in the street--in the world were destined to endless
torments: all but a very few, including themselves. They believed it,
or said they did; and the words never caused them a shudder, a gleam of
pity, a thought of remonstrance. That is what they called believing the
doctrine.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by H. N. King_

LAST PHOTOGRAPH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT]

The Church in 1837 is venerable, but tottering. Within there are high
pews, long pews, square pews, pews with a fireplace, pews in the
chancel; the organ is in the west gallery where the choir sits. In the
middle there is a “three-decker” _i.e._ a pulpit, a reading-desk, and
a clerk’s desk, one above the other. The original east window has been
destroyed and is replaced by a modern thing. The charity children sit
round the altar rails. The once open roof is squared down and plastered
over, half the windows are bricked up, one aisle has been pulled down
and rebuilt in brick.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by H. N. King_

STATUE OF QUEEN AND PRINCE CONSORT AT WINDSOR]

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Valentine_

THE ALBERT MEMORIAL, LONDON]

These ladies read little; they went nowhere. London was unknown to
them, save for one short visit. They were full of prejudice. They would
not visit their right-hand neighbour, because her money--not much of
it--came from the drapery trade; nor their left-hand neighbour, because
one must draw the line above the farmer’s daughter. They were full of
little pretensions. Their papa was formerly the vicar--a gentleman
and a scholar; or he was a solicitor, who, though himself sprung from
a shop, was a gentleman by right of his profession; therefore his
daughters refused to visit their cousins. It was truly wonderful to
watch the social hedges raised everywhere.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Mayall_

A FAMILY GROUP

  (Standing)
    PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES
    DUKE AND DUCHESS OF HESSE

  (Seated)
    PRINCESS CHRISTIAN
    THE QUEEN
    PRINCESS BEATRICE
    DUKE OF CONNAUGHT
    PRINCESS ROYAL
]

Somehow or other these hedges troubled the younger folk little. The
young man came along in due course. He came to tea, he brought his
flute, he stayed to supper--bread and cheese and beer, with a glass of
hot brandy and water afterwards. He gazed upon one of the girls; one
Sunday evening he presented her with a rose in the church porch. The
vicar that evening demonstrated the impossibility of hoping to escape,
but the girl with the rose in her hand sat tremulous, flushed, happy.
After the sermon the young man walked home with her, the sister giving
up her place and walking with the brother. The young man stayed to
supper--cold lamb and a lettuce, with beer and a glass of hot brandy
and water. They talked of the sermon of despair, and the text, with
no escape possible. While they talked, the spring of love was welling
up in the girl’s young heart--thus is the soundest theology mocked by
Nature. In two or three months there followed the wedding, with the
breakfast and the pink champagne.

Not every country town has experienced this decline; some few have
escaped, but all have suffered more or less which depend entirely
on the agricultural interest. Of one class I speak with great
sympathy--the Nonconformist ministers. They were none too well paid
in the most palmy days. The chapel contained perhaps a hundred and
twenty members; these members paid two shillings a quarter each for his
seat, or eight shillings a year. There was no endowment; the minister
therefore received forty pounds a year. This was increased by voluntary
gifts from the richer members of the congregation, so that the minister
probably reckoned on a hundred or a hundred and twenty pounds a year
for his stipend. Now, alas! there are no richer members, there are no
voluntary offerings; the poor man has to keep himself and his family on
forty pounds a year.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo By Gunn & Stuart_

H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES]

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Gunn & Stuart_

H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES]

What is this country town like after all these years? There are a few
changes in the buildings, but not many. The market-place, the corn
exchange, the cross, the old inn, are all there. The church has been
restored; the pillars have been deprived of their plaster and are once
more of polished stone, the high pews are replaced by low benches, the
roof is opened up, the east window is restored, other windows are in
course of restoration; it is now a noble and very beautiful old church.
The organ and choir have been sent to the chancel; the “three-decker”
has made way for a small and richly-carved pulpit; there is light,
colour, brightness in the church and its decorations, a light and
colour which appear also in the service.

The other changes in the town are not so apparent. You will find,
however, that the farmers’ ordinary is no longer held--the times are
now too bad. Nor do gentlemen drink port all the evening; the old
port is all gone. The inn is a house of call for bicyclists, who
drink beer or tea; there are not so many finely appointed dog-carts
driving in and out--landlords, like their tenants, are badly hit. The
market is not so well attended--there are fewer rustics. The saddler
especially is a melancholy man, because the agricultural depression
has struck him hard--a man can go on using an old saddle for years.
All the shopkeepers, however, are gloomy, their shops hardly yield
them a living. The lawyer’s income has suffered grievously, so has the
doctor’s; their daughters have left the town and are getting their own
living by working at something or other. All the young men have gone.
Everybody leaves the town who can, for it is a place of decay.

Yet is the town really brighter and better than before; far and wide
its arms stretch out to its sons who have gone away. Some are ranching
in Canada, some are fruit farming in California, some are practising
medicine on Ocean Liners or in colonial towns, some are teaching in
schools and colleges at home and in the colonies, some are labourers
on farms in Manitoba or British Columbia, soon to be themselves owners
of farms. The town is poorer, there are fewer people; yet, apart from
money, it is a far richer place than it was, with broader minds, with
fewer prejudices, and greater knowledge.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII

THE DAY OF NEW IDEAS

“Voices call us--whither? Ah! whither?”


It is doubtful business to ascribe new ideas to a whole people. For
change of ideas is more gradual than change of manners. We may go on
for a long time acting under one influence and thinking that we believe
in another. But from all that has gone before, I think we may assume a
change in the governing beliefs and sentiments of the nation greater
than any change since the time of Queen Elizabeth, when the old faith
gave way to the new and with the new faith came new courage, new arts,
new enterprise, a new literature.

As to our religion, that has indeed changed. The Calvinist, the old
Evangelical, lingers yet here and there, but he is comparatively rare;
even in the narrower sects there has been a broadening influence at
work. In the Anglican faith--the Church of England--which is apparently
destined to absorb all other forms, we have agreed tacitly to talk no
more about the salvation of our souls, neither to talk about it, nor
to think about it; to believe ourselves to be one flock in one fold,
with one shepherd. Whether this change conduces to the higher spiritual
life, I cannot venture to affirm or to deny; I am no theologian. That
the world has become, through this change, through the cessation of
the awful question which formerly poisoned life, far, very far happier
than it was, I do declare without hesitation and from my own personal
knowledge and experience. There was no very high spiritual life,
formerly, so far as I remember, among those who sought the hardest
to limit the mercy of Heaven; they led the common life of the lower
<DW72>s, with trade in their minds and trade on their souls. There is no
very high spiritual life under the changed conditions; still the common
folk live the common life. Here and there among the clergy is found
a Stanley; here and there among the crowd one lights upon a saint.
Always there is the common life for the multitude; always there is the
saintly life for the chosen few, whether the leader is St. Francis or
Calvin, whether the head of the Church be the Pope, or the Archbishop
of Canterbury, or John Wesley. Let us teach men and women to live well,
with full consideration for each other--which is the most comprehensive
virtue; the life which thinks of others is the happiest.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Russell & Sons_

H.R.H. THE DUKE OF YORK]

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Russell & Sons_

H.R.H. THE DUCHESS OF YORK]

Another ingredient in happiness is physical comfort. We are all much
better fed than we were, better housed, better clad; all along the
line the standard of comfort has been advanced. The huge barracks in
which the working-classes of the great cities now live are not pretty,
but consider how much more comfortable they are than the old court
of tumble-down cottages with a street about four feet wide. The new
barracks are fully provided with water, they are kept in a sanitary
condition as good as any palace of prince or peer, they are light
and airy. Go into any of the old courts--there are a few still at
Westminster--and see for yourselves the dirty, dilapidated dens in
which the people formerly lived. Then, while you think of the advanced
standard of comfort, remember the cheap bread, the cheap tea, the cheap
meat, the cheap butter, cheese, bacon, eggs, fruit, which are now
offered to the working-man. Not only have his wages gone up, but their
purchasing power has advanced as well. If instead of eighteen shillings
a week he now gets thirty, and if a shilling now could buy twice as
much as a shilling sixty years ago, the standard of comfort for this
man and his family has been advanced indeed.

This standard of comfort, this increase in solid happiness, has by long
custom and usage become the right of the people. They consider it as
much their right as any of the liberties secured by Act of Parliament.
This new right constitutes a danger, because a national disaster might
run food up to famine prices, and then we should see, what we have not
seen for a long time, the tigerish side of the Anglo-Saxon.

[Illustration: THE JUBILEE PROCESSION (1887) LEAVING BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Hughes & Mullins_

HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN IN JUBILEE DRESS, 1887]

We have learned that the old revolutionary cry has quite died away and
is almost forgotten. This also is partly the result of the increased
comfort. At the same time the advance of democratic ideas has been
most marked. Slowly but surely, the whole power in the country has
passed into the hands of the Commons. The dominant idea at the present
moment of our people is that the country must be governed for them
and by them. This would have seemed a most terrible thing sixty years
ago. That we should be governed by working-men! Incredible! It is,
however, the fact; we are governed by the people. Only, what the
prophets did not understand, the governing power is delegated by the
people to representatives, who are not, as a rule, working-men; one or
two working-men are in the House and doing well. The people, however,
are very chary of electing one of themselves; they prefer to send to
the House as their representatives such men as John Morley and James
Bryce, scholars and students, responsible persons, whom they know and
can trust; they will not send demagogues and wind-bags and political
adventurers. You have seen how they treat the House of Lords; so long
as it gives no trouble it may remain, but only on condition that it
is recruited from new families. If it were to obstruct any really
popular movement--which the House will not do--we should see what would
happen. Meantime, the people look abroad and judge for themselves. They
observe that the great colonies are all Republics, and are doing well
under republican institutions. If we were not doing well under our
institutions, it is quite certain that the revolutionary cry would be
heard again.

[Illustration: THE JUBILEE PROCESSION (1887) APPROACHING TRAFALGAR
SQUARE]

[Illustration: THE JUBILEE PROCESSION (1887) IN REGENT STREET]

[Illustration:

                    _Copyright Foster & Dickinson_

THE GOVERNMENT SIDE OF THE HOUSE OF LORDS ON THE NIGHT OF THE DIVISION
ON THE HOME RULE BILL, 8TH SEPTEMBER 1893

THE LORD CHANCELLOR ABOUT TO ‘PUT THE QUESTION’]

As regards work and wages, the people are firmly persuaded that they
are entitled to be the dictators. They think that they have a right to
exact what wages they think are fair, and to work for such hours as
they think right. There have been desperate struggles, in which the
employers have lost huge sums of money, while the men have suffered
terrible privations. It is not for me to discuss in this place the
right or the wrong of Trades Unions; it is enough to state that the
working-men hold this belief, and are ready, whenever it is possible,
to act upon it.

[Illustration:

                    _Copyright Foster & Dickinson_

THE CONSERVATIVE BENCHES OF THE HOUSE OF LORDS ON THE NIGHT OF THE
DIVISION ON THE HOME RULE BILL, 8TH SEPTEMBER 1893

THE MARQUIS OF SALISBURY SPEAKING]

It is sometimes maintained that the British workman is a socialist;
well, it is certainly true that socialism exists in his ranks; yet
he is not a socialist. Out of the vague socialism which floats about
everywhere are springing up ideas, not adopting the theory of universal
equality of work and pay, whether to the able man or to the fool, but
ideas as to the rights of labour, ideas as to the power and the share
which should be allotted to Capital. That these questions should be
discussed by the working-classes, whom they so closely concern, appears
to me most wholesome for the State. Capital was formerly a despot;
Capital took what it pleased, and tossed the workman what it pleased.
Capital can do so no longer; Capital has now to reckon with a rival
power, far greater than itself in strength as soon as it proves equally
great in resolution. I believe so fully in the sense of justice which
underlies everything in our working-man’s mind, that I do not believe
that, however strong he will be, he will ignore the rights of Capital.

[Illustration: A GARDEN PARTY AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

As to the educational and informing influences of which we have
already spoken, they are only beginning to be felt. Everywhere is to
be seen the working lad studying in the Free Library side by side
with those who only read for amusement. The young fellow who studies
is going to rise in the world; he will become an employer, or he
will become a political leader. We may reckon upon seeing the House
of Commons, in fifty years, filled with such popular leaders sent up
by the constituents. They will not be necessarily demagogues; they
will not be necessarily adventurers seeking fortune and place by
politics (fortunately members of the House of Commons are unpaid, this
discourages the adventurers); they will, however, be leaders of the
people, sprung from the people.

[Illustration:

                    _Copyright S. Hildesheimer & Co., Ltd._

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS DURING THE HOME RULE DEBATE

MR. GLADSTONE ADDRESSING THE HOUSE]

Everything points, I repeat, to the advance of democratic ideas in all
directions. For instance, most of the Civil Service is now open to
competitive examination; the lads of the Polytechnics will get these
appointments. There are some branches not yet open; these will also be
thrown open. The law and medicine now require a five years’ training,
at a cost of over a thousand pounds; these professions will be thrown
open to the lads who can pass the examinations. It is now impossible
for a poor lad to enter the army or the navy; by changes in the
management and daily life of a regiment or a ship, poor lads will be
enabled to win commissions.

[Illustration:

                    _Photo by Hughes & Mullins_

A BREAKFAST PARTY AT OSBORNE

  PRINCESS MARIE VICTORIA OF EDINBURGH
  PRINCESS ALEXANDRA OF EDINBURGH
  PRINCESS BEATRICE OF EDINBURGH
  THE QUEEN
  PRINCESS ALICE OF HESSE
  DUKE OF CONNAUGHT
  PRINCESS HENRY OF BATTENBERG
  PRINCESS IRENE OF HESSE
]

These changes for the lads and working-men I foresee very clearly. With
regard to the position of women I also foresee important changes. At
the present moment there is a wild and insensate game of “grab” going
on. Women admit of no restrictions, they claim everything. They are not
satisfied with the whole intellectual field, they would overrun the
field of physical labour. They take the men’s work at half the pay,
they drive the men out of the country, they remove from themselves
the possibility of marriage, they deny the country that increase of
population which the country has a right to expect. This folly will
presently cease; calmer and more sensible counsels will prevail. It
will be recognised that Nature assigns limitations and prescribes
certain kinds of work for men, and certain other kinds for women. Above
all, it will be remembered that if a man owes himself to his country as
a soldier or a workman, so a woman owes to her country the duties of
maternity.

[Illustration:

  SIR J. E. MILLAIS, F.R.A.
  SIR E. J. POYNTER, F.R.A.
  G. F. WATTS, R.A.
  LORD LEIGHTON
  J. M. W. TURNER, R.A.
  JOHN RUSKIN
  SIR EDWIN LANDSEER, R.A.

REPRESENTATIVE ARTISTS OF THE REIGN]

Such is the contrast between the English of 1837 and the English
of 1897. I am not ignorant that there are still many, and great,
improvements to be effected; but I hope that my readers who have
followed me will acknowledge that we are not only advanced, but that
we are advancing in new directions which will lead the country into
paths hitherto unsuspected, or contemplated with dread. I regard these
steps without anxiety; that is to say, I recognise the dangers if these
lines are pushed out too far. In all human efforts there is danger;
if we always thought of the danger we should effect nothing. There is
weakness, unworthiness, among the best of men; yet, with my countrymen,
the prospect which opens out before them is so splendid that it makes
one forget the danger.

       *       *       *       *       *

I would offer this book as a small tribute towards the reconciliation
of the Anglo-Saxon race. It is not only with England that we have to
do--not only with what Shakespeare called

    This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,
    This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
    This other Eden.

We have to do with other nations, soon to become great nations: Canada,
Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, all with the same language,
the same laws, the same institutions, the same literature, the same
ancestors.

       *       *       *       *       *

You who read these pages who are not the Queen’s subjects cannot,
perhaps, fully understand the depth and the reality of that loyalty
of which I have spoken--it is a personal as well as constitutional
loyalty. You do, however, understand, and you will acknowledge, that
there has never lived upon the earth a woman who in her lifetime
has created, and has inspired, and has possessed as much affection,
respect, and confidence from all parts of the world.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THE COMMEMORATION

A RECORD OF RECORD DAYS

BY CHARLES PALMER

              “O you that hold
    A nobler office upon earth,
    Than arms, or power of brain, or birth
    Could give the warrior kings of old.”
                                    TENNYSON.


All the national pride and the power, the love of country, the growth
of Empire, the loyalty, and the kinship which has characterised the
reign of Queen Victoria, was exemplified or expressed in the memorable
events that marked the Sixtieth Anniversary of Her Majesty’s Accession
to the Throne. To tell the story of those days of joyous enthusiasm,
which culminated in the triumphal progress of the Sovereign to London’s
Cathedral of St. Paul’s on 22nd June 1897, is to write the record of a
time of unexampled rejoicing throughout the Empire, and of scenes of
pomp and splendour in the British Capital such as perhaps the world,
and certainly England, had never before witnessed.

To attempt to trace the inception of so unique and historic a
celebration would be impossible. It had no discernible beginning. The
spirit of loyalty to the Throne, of love and devotion towards its
illustrious occupant, had grown with advancing years, keeping pace with
the artistic, the material, and the moral development of the Victorian
Era.

On 23rd September 1896 Her Majesty’s reign had exceeded that of any
other English monarch, George III., whose fourth son, Edward Duke of
Kent, was the father of the Queen, having died in the fifty-ninth year
of his occupancy of the throne. It was the Queen’s expressed desire,
however, that the national rejoicing which would naturally signalise so
auspicious a day should be postponed until the sixtieth anniversary of
her accession. As soon as the Royal wish in this regard was made known,
spontaneous preparations commenced over all her vast Empire with a
view to celebrating in a manner worthy the nation and the nation’s
Sovereign so great and glorious a reign. Side by side with extension
of Empire there had been the growth of Imperial sentiment among the
masses of the English people, and of love for the mother-country on
the part of her Colonial sons. The invitation to the Premiers of
Australia, Canada, the Cape, New Zealand, and Newfoundland to visit
England and take a personal share in the national celebration was one
which consequently met with a ready and hearty response. They were to
bring with them representatives of the fighting forces of the Colonies
and Dependencies--of the brave fellows who were helping to maintain
that Greater Britain beyond the seas--and were to come as guests of
the nation. They came, and they brought with them something else
more valuable than all--the desire for closer union and for a united
defence. Canada, through its Premier, Mr. Laurier, unfolded a scheme
of preferential tariffs for the commerce of the mother-country; and
Sir Gordon Sprigg carried with him the request that Cape Colony should
be permitted to contribute towards the maintenance of the Imperial
Navy--proofs of practical loyalty which none could mistake.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION--THE QUEEN’S CARRIAGE LEAVING
BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

In England and in the capital it was felt that some good work should
be inaugurated which might form a lasting memorial of a memorable
time, and at the right moment the Prince of Wales broached a scheme
for freeing the great London hospitals from debt, and providing these
voluntary institutions with a more sufficient income--a proposal that
at once received support from all sections of the people.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

PRINCES AND NOTABLES ASSEMBLING IN THE COURT OF BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

There was yet another scheme which owed its origin to the kindly
thought of a member of the Royal Family, one that awoke responsive
feelings in every heart, for it was the poor of London whom the
gracious Princess of Wales considered above all others. She wrote, on
29th April 1897, from Marlborough House, to the Chief Magistrate
of the City, urging that “in the midst of the many schemes and
preparations for the commemoration of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, when
everybody comes forward on behalf of some good cause,” it seemed to
her “one class had been overlooked, namely, the poorest of the poor in
the slums of London.” The Princess pleaded that the poor beggars and
outcasts “should be provided with a dinner or substantial meal” during
the week of the 22nd of June, and headed the subscription list with
£100.

As the historic 22nd of June drew nearer, London put on the gayest and
brightest attire. From every house-top and window floated the Union
Jack, or fluttered flags and bunting, while on the line of route mapped
out for the triumphal progress of the Sovereign decorations had been
arranged on a scale of beauty and magnificence never equalled in the
history of the capital. Wherever timber could be safely fashioned into
temporary seats, there stands had been erected,--some of immense size
holding as many as five thousand persons, others of towering height,
some on roofs of Government offices, and some resting against sides of
church steeples, or built on the few vacant spots to be found amid the
bricks and mortar of an overcrowded city. For days the streets were
thronged with eager sightseers from all parts of England, from Europe
and America. Foreign Princes, distinguished Ambassadors, and special
Envoys arrived at the invitation of the Sovereign and the Government;
there is feasting and jubilation, and London for once at any rate is
the gayest of gay cities.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION--THE QUEEN’S CARRIAGE WITH THE
CELEBRATED TEAM OF EIGHT CREAMS]

Sunday 20th June 1897, the Sixtieth Anniversary of the Queen’s
Accession to the Throne, was observed as a day of general Thanksgiving
throughout the country. In the morning Her Majesty, attended by many
of her children, went to St. George’s, Windsor, to return thanks in
the historic chapel of the Castle for all the blessings and glories of
her reign. In London the members of the House of Peers were present in
their robes of scarlet and ermine in Westminster Abbey; Her Majesty’s
“faithful Commons” went to the Church of St. Margaret’s, near neighbour
to the Abbey; and the Judges attended St. Paul’s Cathedral, at which
the Prince and Princess of Wales were also worshippers.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

THE ROYAL CARRIAGE LEAVING THE GROUNDS OF BUCKINGHAM PALACE]

When Commemoration Day broke, dull and cloudy, London was already
awake; and thousands were pouring in from the suburbs to take their
places on the line of route, the privileged on seats and stands, the
rest by the roadside. Those who had slept out in the open in St.
James’s Park, anxious to be the first to greet their Sovereign on this
auspicious day, saw the Royal Standard floating under the gray sky
and above Buckingham Palace, where the Queen had passed the night.
Soon there is life and movement behind the great gates, a passing to
and fro of servants in brilliant scarlet liveries, and the coming of
Royal carriages bringing the distinguished guests who are to ride in
the Royal procession. The crowds grow denser under the line of trees
standing out in the green perspective of the Park; as the morning wears
on, although there is no sun, the heat becomes stifling and oppressive.
There is the marching and counter-marching of troops to the sounds
of military music, the slow approach of those “war-worn veterans,”
the pensioners of Chelsea Hospital, for whom kindly forethought has
provided benches within the Palace gates, and the hurrying here and
there of Court functionaries and Chiefs of Police, until, just as
Big Ben, in the Clock Tower of the House of Commons, chimes out the
first quarter after nine, the strains of the National Anthem herald
the approach of the Colonial procession. It had been so arranged that
these sturdy representatives of the guardians of peace and power
over-sea should be the first to reach the Cathedral, there to line the
roadways, so as to be able to gaze upon the Queen’s cortege as it went
by and then to fall in behind; thus not only seeing, but ultimately
participating in, the Sovereign’s progress.

Cheers rend the air as, by way of the tree-shaded Mall, comes this
mighty force of Empire personified, this moving column from the
greatest volunteer army the world has ever seen. Men in red coats,
men in blue, soldiers in the serviceable Kharki, men with glistening
helmets, or with turbans, carrying guns or holding lances,--the stern
Zaptiehs from Cyprus, the diminutive and yellow-skinned Dyaks from
North Borneo, the troops from Hong-Kong in their curious hats sitting
like mushrooms on their heads, those big-limbed fighters the Hausas and
the Maoris, the handsome forms of the Australian troopers, the Cape
Mounted Rifles (fit bodyguard for the Colony’s Premier), the Rhodesian
Horse, whose participation in the recent troubles in South Africa
secures for them a cheer of particular heartiness,--men from Natal,
from Canada, from every quarter where the British flag flies and the
English tongue is heard, move along between the unbroken lines of a
joyous people, ready to acclaim them brothers in patriotism and loyalty
as well as by blood and the ties of race.

[Illustration: MILITARY TYPES

GRENADIER GUARDS, NEW SOUTH WALES LANCERS, WEST INDIAN REGIMENT]

It is a stirring scene, one which makes the pulse beat faster, and the
face flush with pride and excitement. But a greater and a grander is
yet to come. While these brave sons are on their way to St. Paul’s,
the Queen is preparing for her historic and triumphal progress along
the same gaily-decked streets, now packed with a moving mass of loyal
people. There is but a short interval of increased expectancy between
the passing of the Colonials and the appearance of the front of the
military pageant which is to accompany Her Majesty to the steps of
the Cathedral, where praise and thanksgiving are to be rendered to an
Almighty God for the blessings of an unparalleled reign.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

THE ROYAL CARRIAGE PASSING ALONG PALL MALL]

It is the British Army in miniature, at the head of which, by desire
of the Prince of Wales, rides the tallest man in the service,
Captain O. Ames of the Life Guards, proud of his six feet eight
inches, and having as an escort four troopers of exceptional stature.
Blue-jackets dragging their naval guns are followed by detachments of
Cavalry regiments; and then in imposing array, in what seems to be
a never-ending line, mounted men pass in review--Hussars, Dragoons,
Lancers, and Horse Artillery--with bands playing and pennants flying,
and high above the martial music rises the proud cheers of a people
justly glorying in this spectacle of military strength.

[Illustration: MILITARY TYPES

SERGEANT GORDON, V.C., FIRST WEST INDIAN REGIMENT]

With the appearance of the foreign suite, aides-de-camp, equerries, and
gentlemen in attendance on the Royal personages, the procession gains
in stateliness and colour, every nation contributing its distinctive
and gorgeous uniforms, making up a moving picture of unequalled
splendour as these high dignitaries, some hundreds in number, precede
the first of the Royal carriages. In these latter are seated the
special Envoys of Greece and Central America, Mexico and Brazil,
Chang Yin Hun, the Chinese Ambassador, in handsome Eastern robes;
Mr. Whitelaw Reid, the United States special Ambassador, affording a
contrast amid all this magnificence by the plainness of his black coat
and prosaic silk hat. Next follow the great Officers of State and yet
more carriages containing Royal Princesses, the Queen’s children and
her children’s children, Princesses from every Court in Europe, and
the widowed daughters of Her Majesty--the Empress Frederick, whose
beloved consort formed so noble a figure in the other procession ten
years earlier, and Princess Henry of Battenberg, discarding for this
joyous day her sombre attire and dressed in white. Sixteen carriages,
all drawn by four horses, richly caparisoned and with postillions,
serve to carry this noble company. Next come the Royal Princes and
representatives, mounted and riding three abreast, the Duke of Fife and
the Marquis of Lorne being among the first of this exalted group, which
numbers forty in all, and includes in its later ranks the Prince of
Naples, Prince Albert of Prussia, the Grand Duke Serge of Russia, the
Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary, and the Grand Duke of
Hesse, all present to do honour to England’s Queen.

An escort of Indian Cavalry, richly dressed and splendidly horsed,
follows, and then there is a slight break in the procession, for the
seventeenth and last carriage is that containing the beloved Sovereign
on whom all thoughts and hearts are centred.

Elaborate arrangements had been made so that Her Majesty, just before
leaving Buckingham Palace, might send a simultaneous message to her
subjects throughout the world, and these are the words, simple but
sincere, which were transmitted over the private wire from the Palace
to the Central Telegraph Department in St. Martins-le-Grand, thence
to be flashed to the farthest corner of the British Empire:--“From my
heart I thank my beloved people. May God bless them. V.R. & I.”

Let history record the fact, happy and significant as it is. During
all that parade of military pomp and Royal splendour the sun had been
hidden behind a haze of clouds, but at 11.15, just as a gun mounted
in the Park booms the signal that the Queen is passing from under the
portals of Buckingham Palace, there is a sudden burst of brilliant
sunshine, which illumines that scene of inspiring grandeur and spreads
itself over the carriage in which is seated Her Majesty, the Princess
of Wales, and Princess Christian. Cheers burst forth from countless
loyal throats, mingling with the strains of the National Anthem, as
the Queen’s carriage is drawn along by eight cream- horses,
covered with trappings of crimson and gold, ridden by richly-apparelled
postilions, and attended by grooms in gold-embroidered livery.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

SCOTTISH PIPERS AND COLONIAL TROOPS PASSING NATIONAL GALLERY]

In front rides the Commander-in-Chief, Viscount Wolseley, his breast
ablaze with decorations. On the right of the Royal carriage are
the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Connaught, and on the left the
veteran Duke of Cambridge, chief personal aide-de-camp to Her Majesty.
In the rear is carried the Royal Standard, and following are high
Court Officials, the Queen’s Colonial bodyguard, a squadron of Horse
Guards, a troop of Life Guards, and a detachment of the Royal Irish
Constabulary.

[Illustration: MILITARY TYPES

AN OFFICER IN HONG-KONG REGIMENT]

In Pall Mall the reception is one of exceptional loyalty and
enthusiasm. “Clubland” is decorated with a richness and profusion
testifying, as surely as do the shouts of welcome which greet the Royal
progress, that in the ranks of wealth and fashion are to be found some
of Her Majesty’s most devoted subjects. The chorus of acclamation is
passed on by the crowds thronging the roadside, and is taken up by the
Peers and County Councillors seated on immense stands in front of and
facing the National Gallery.

At last Temple Bar, the boundary of the City, is reached, and here
waits the Lord Mayor in Civic State, ready to offer fealty to his
Sovereign by rendering up that famous pearl-hilted sword which Queen
Elizabeth presented to the Corporation. The Royal carriage passes
the Law Courts, where the learned judges and lawyers raise cries of
welcome, and comes to a stand just within the City precincts, on
the north side of the memorial which marks the site of the old City
gates. Bowing low, with grace and deference the Chief Magistrate
with both hands presents the sword. The Queen bends over the side
of her carriage, lightly touches the emblem of authority, and, with
a smile and softly-spoken words, once more consigns it to the Lord
Mayor’s keeping. With an agility which the Queen good-humouredly
remarks to the Prince of Wales, the Chief Magistrate, still wearing
a long gold-embroidered robe of purple velvet, mounts his horse and,
bare-headed, rides off towards the Mansion-House, sword in hand, while
the people applaud approvingly.

Then the Royal procession continues on its way along Fleet Street, and
thence to Ludgate Hill, with its choice decorations of bright purples
and delicate greens, its hanging garlands, its laurel festoons, and its
gaily-bedecked masts.

Here is the very apotheosis of all the splendour and magnificence of
the day; for, as that mighty cavalcade surrounding and accompanying
Queen Victoria reaches the summit of the hill, its stateliness and
beauty is rivalled by such a picture of ecclesiastical pomp and
circumstance, of grandeur and dignity, as was never before witnessed
in connection with the rites of the Established Church. The solemn act
of worship and thanksgiving is to be performed in the broad open space
outside St. Paul’s, and on the steps leading to the west door of the
Cathedral are grouped the highest dignitaries of the Church, in all
their wealth of ornate vestments, waiting to receive the Sovereign;
while gathered around are the military band and immense surpliced
choir, a brilliant company of distinguished guests, including the
Premier of England and the members of the Imperial Government, soldiers
in brave array, and yeomen of the guard in their picturesque
attire, a front line of splendid uniforms being formed by the corps
of gentlemen-at-arms in their crimson cloth coats heavy with bullion
adornments, their burnished helmets with nodding plumes of white,
holding in hand richly-chased halberts.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

LORD ROBERTS REVIEWING THE PROCESSION AS IT APPROACHES ST. PAUL’S]

From the outset of her reign the Queen showed her interest in the
first line of defence of her island kingdom, and repeatedly held Royal
reviews at Spithead. The most noteworthy of these were in 1856, at the
close of the Crimean War, when Britain’s sea-power was displayed in 254
vessels of all sizes--the last occasion when “the wooden walls of Old
England” took a prominent part; and in 1887, the Jubilee year, when it
was believed that the iron bulwarks of Britain’s shores had attained
their ultimate strength and power. Great as was the fleet then shown
to Her Majesty’s Royal guests and her gratified people, it was weak
compared with the vast array of 26th June 1897, when no fewer than a
hundred and sixty vessels flew their pennants to the breeze, and in
combined strength and powers, both of defence and attack, surpassed all
other fleets which have ever been gathered together at any one corner
of Neptune’s domain. These splendid squadrons, ready at a few days’
notice for mobilisation for active service, should need arise, are
independent of the 125 vessels which constitute the British fleets in
commission in all parts of the world.

[Illustration: THE NAVAL REVIEW AT SPITHEAD, JUNE 26, 1897

DISPOSITION OF THE SHIPS.--The ships were anchored, with free space
to swing with the tide, in five lines, each extending to rather over
five and a half sea miles. In addition to these regular lines, there
were, just outside the entrance to Portsmouth Haven, flotillas of
small Government craft. The first line, nearest the shore of the
mainland, consisted of torpedo boats and, on its western flank, of
training brigs, the latter about the only representatives of the
pure sailing-ships left to our navy; the second line was composed of
destroyers and gunboats; the third line, of third-class cruisers,
torpedo gunboats, and gunboats; the fourth and fifth, of battleships
and cruisers. A sixth line was constituted by the war-ships sent
by foreign Governments in honour of the great naval event and of
the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee; while a seventh was composed of a
representative fleet of our unsurpassed mercantile marine. If the
latter be numbered with the British fleet, together with pleasure
steamers and yachts which sailed and steamed in and out of the lines
the whole day long, it may be reckoned that there were nearly three
hundred vessels in the Solent.]

It is the centre of this wondrous throng which furnishes the most
striking portion of a gorgeous picture, for here at the foot of the
steps stand the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, wearing dark purple
copes; the Bishop of London, with a cope of salmon pink and gold, and
on his head a skull-cap of cloth of gold; the Bishop of Winchester
in a gown of dark velvet; the Dean of Westminster and the Canons of
the Abbey attired in their coronation copes of purple velvet with
gold devices; and the Dean of St. Paul’s and the Canons enveloped in
scarlet copes emblazoned with the sacred monogram “I.H.S.,” surrounded
by a halo of gold-embroidered tongues of fire. Here, too, is the
Archimandrite of the Greek Church in more sable vestments, and a hat
with black hangings descending down the back as far as the waist, a
style of head-dress closely resembling that of the Archbishop Antonius
of Finland. Behind the open masonry of the western portico sit hundreds
of guests on rudely-constructed stands, and in the windows and on
the roofs of the large business houses that encroach so near to the
Cathedral are assembled thousands of eager spectators.

To this great scene of colour and animation the Queen approaches,
amid the plaudits of her people, re-echoed by those assembled at the
Cathedral front. A railed space is kept clear, while the one carriage
containing the Sovereign passes within the enclosure to the foot of the
steps, accompanied by those bearing the Royal Princes and Princesses
and noble ladies in attendance.

Again the sun bursts forth in radiant beams as the National Anthem is
thundered out by the military bands. A copy of the brief service, in
morocco binding, is handed to the Queen, and the choir, assisted by
the military bands, breaks out into that song of holy praise, “Te Deum
Laudamus.” It is a setting composed for the occasion by Dr. Martin,
the Cathedral organist, and the music is full of power and beauty.
Subdued are the strains where the notes of praise change to those of
prayer; first the male voices are heard in stately unison, and then
the bright tones of the boys take up the song, but the whole vocal
and instrumental strength joins in overwhelming power for the closing
words, “O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded.”
All stand uncovered while this is sung, and Her Majesty remains seated,
holding a white sunshade over her bowed head, but the Princesses
by standing up in their carriages participate in this act of Royal
Thanksgiving.

[Illustration: MILITARY TYPES

THE NIGER COMPANY CONSTABULARY]

With united voices Dean Gregory, the Canons, and Minor Canons of St.
Paul’s offer the prayer “O Lord, save our Queen,” to which the great
choral force makes answer, “And mercifully hear us when we call upon
Thee.” The Lord’s Prayer is recited by the Dean, and then the Bishop
of London, standing immediately in front of the Sovereign, invokes
the Divine favour--“O Lord, our heavenly Father, we give Thee hearty
thanks for the many blessings which Thou hast bestowed upon us during
the sixty years of the happy reign of our gracious Sovereign Lady,
Queen Victoria. We thank Thee for progress made in knowledge of Thy
marvellous works, for increase of comfort given to human life, for
kindlier feeling between rich and poor, for wonderful preaching of
the Gospel to many nations; and we pray that these and all other Thy
gifts may be long continued to us, and our Queen, to the glory of Thy
Holy Name, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

[Illustration: THE NAVAL REVIEW--THE ROYAL SALUTE

Exactly at two o’clock the _Victoria and Albert_ slipped her moorings,
and, with the Royal Standard flying, left the harbour, preceded, as an
advance guard, by the Trinity yacht _Irene_. When passing the _Victory_
the band on board the latter played the National Anthem, while the boys
on the old three-decker _St. Vincent_ manned the yards and cheered.
The Prince of Wales’s yacht was followed by the _Carthage_, with the
foreign Princes and Court functionaries; the _Enchantress_, with the
Lords of the Admiralty; the _Wildfire_, with the Colonial Premiers and
Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain; the _El Dorado_, with the Ambassadors; the
_Danube_, with the Members of the House of Lords; and the _Campania_,
with the Members of the Commons. At ten minutes past two the Royal
Squadron reached Spithead, and there came out of the lace of gray mist
a symphony of explosions. The salute of the fleet to His Royal Highness
had begun. It seemed as if there were a roll of Titanic drums, and then
a sharp crack, which pierced the ear. Smoke curled up in wreaths from
the ships’ sides and drifted away to leeward in curious streaks. Anon
it belched from the snake-heads of the smaller guns in circles which
floated high in the silver sky. It was the finest thing in the way of
a tattoo human ear has probably ever heard, except perhaps the awful
salvos of heaven’s artillery. Only the thin refrain of the cheering of
the tars, who lined the bulwarks of the battleships, could be heard as
the Royal Squadron passed along the waterway between the international
fleet and the big British battleships and cruisers. A quarter of an
hour later the Royal Squadron turned into the waterway between the
battleships, torpedo gunboats, and again came the diapason, weird
in its strangely regular irregularity. Folds of white smoke curled
and slid up from the sides of the great ships, and the even gray sky
overhead began to warp into folds, with just here and there a little
glimpse of blue out of the fleecy smoke, bearing with it a gleam of
sunshine from a broken cloud overhead.]

An awe-inspiring silence falls over that vast throng as the Archbishop
of Canterbury, with hand uplifted and head uncovered, pronounces the
Benediction, while the Sovereign, to whom all hearts go out in love and
sympathy, bows her venerable head.

Few have remained unmoved spectators of that solemn and impressive
scene; but every man turns pale with emotion, and the eyes of the
women fill with tears when Dr. Martin, having turned to the mighty
numbers which occupy the surrounding buildings, has raised his baton,
the signal has been understood, and the populace has risen in one
great body to join with the crowned heads, the princes, the statesmen,
the bishops, and all the noble and brilliant assembly fronting the
Cathedral, in voicing the music of the Old Hundredth.

Little wonder that the beloved Sovereign, seated there in her
half-mourning attire in the midst of all that throng of dazzling
colour, is overcome with the might and the power of that final outburst
of praise and thanksgiving. The tears fall fast down that kindly face,
and the hands are seen to tremble.

But there is a greater and a grander scene yet to come. A hush as of
death, which succeeds the “Amen” of the grand old hymn, is broken by
a cry which at once changes thoughts of worship into shouts of almost
frenzied loyalty. “Three Cheers for the Queen.” Whose voice utters this
welcome summons?--welcome to feelings bursting for expression, welcome
to hearts throbbing in the throat with half-hysterical excitement. Some
say it was the Archbishop of Canterbury (Dr. Temple) who gave the call,
others that the voice came from the group of foreign princes.

Whoever it was, the word is obeyed with electric power. Stately bishops
wave their caps in air, soldiers raise their swords on high, flags and
handkerchiefs flutter from the surrounding houses, and with one mighty
voice “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” is hurled forth by the great throng.

And what of the Queen, the gracious lady, the centre of all this
overwhelming enthusiasm. Her face is pale, but radiant; and, although
the tears course down her cheeks, there is a look of inexpressible
pride and thankfulness in the Sovereign’s eyes. Her eldest son comes
forward to whisper--words maybe of comfort and courage--to his beloved
mother, and the Duke of Cambridge also draws nearer to Her Majesty.

“God Save the Queen” is given out by the massed bands and voices, and
all the people join in singing. Then there is more joyous cheering,
and then the end of the ceremony, so grand and impressive, so
heart-stirring, and so wonderful that those who witnessed it are for
the moment dazed by its overwhelming effects.

Once more there is movement in the procession, for the Queen has
yet to meet countless thousands of her people; and with remarkable
precision the great cortege sets out on its way, to the accompaniment
of the music of instruments and that grander music, the plaudits of
a happy and contented people. The Sovereign is driven through the
City, and past the Mansion-House, where the Lord Mayor has already
arrived, and where the Lady Mayoress briefly welcomes the Queen and
hands her a bouquet of mauve and white orchids in a silver basket. The
procession proceeds over the river by way of London Bridge, through
the ancient borough of Southwark, the High Street, the Borough Road,
and Westminster Bridge Road, over the Thames again, and then under the
shadow of the Houses of Parliament, where the “faithful Commons” are
assembled on a stand of immense construction, along Parliament Street,
across the Horse Guards’ Parade, where, as throughout the whole route,
space is kept for the procession by a thin red line of military, ’neath
the welcome shade of Mall’s avenue of trees, to the massive entrance
gates of Buckingham Palace.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION--THE CEREMONY AT ST. PAUL’S]

Following is the order of that portion of the Procession known as the
“Queen’s Procession”:--


_First Carriage_ (_Pair of Horses_).

Señor Don Demetrio Iglesias, Costa Rica; Herr von Brauer, Baden; M.
Ramon Subercasseaux, Chile; and M. Ran Gabé, Greece.


_Second Carriage_ (_Pair_).

M. E. Machain, Paraguay; Señor Canevaro, Peru; M. M. Mijatovitch,
Servia; and M. Medina, Central America.


_Third Carriage_ (_Pair_).

Don Antonio Mier y Celis, Mexico; Dr. Alberto Nin, Uruguay; Dr. Cruz,
Guatemala; and M. de Souza Correa, Brazil.


_Fourth Carriage_ (_Pair_).

His Excellency Chang Yin Hun, Chinese Ambassador, H.S.H. The Prince
Charles de Ligne, Belgian Ambassador Extraordinary; Count van Lynden,
Netherlands; and Monsignor Sambucetti (_Papal Envoy_).


_Fifth Carriage_ (_Pair_).

His Excellency Hon. Whitelaw Reid, United States Special Ambassador;
Duke of Sotomayor, Spanish Special Ambassador; and General Davout, Duc
d’Auerstadt, French Ambassador Extraordinary.


_Sixth Carriage_ (_Pair_).

Lady Suffield, Lady-in-Waiting to H.R.H. The Princess of Wales; Count
Seckendorff, Chamberlain to H.I.M. The Empress Frederick; Lord Colville
of Culross, K.T., G.C.V.O., Chamberlain to H.R.H. The Princess of
Wales; and Earl of Kintore, G.C.M.G., Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen.


_Seventh Carriage_ (_Pair_)

Earl of Lathom, G.C.B., Lord Chamberlain; Earl of Pembroke and
Montgomery, G.C.V.O., Lord Steward; Princess Hatzfeldt-Trachenberg,
Mistress of the Robes to H.I.M. the Empress Frederick; and Dowager Lady
Churchill, Lady of the Bedchamber.


_Eighth Carriage_ (_Pair_)

Duchess of Buccleuch, Mistress of the Robes; Princess Ena of
Battenberg; Princess Alice of Battenberg, and Princess Alice of Albany.


_Ninth Carriage_ (_Pair_)

Prince Alexander of Battenberg; Princess Feodore of Saxe-Meiningen;
Princess Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein; Prince Arthur of Connaught;
and Princess Victoria Patricia of Connaught.


_Tenth Carriage_ (_Pair_)

Duke of Albany; Princess Aribert of Anhalt; Princess Louis of
Battenberg; Princess Margaret of Connaught; and Princess Beatrice of
Coburg.


_Eleventh Carriage_ (_Pair_)

Princess Adolph of Schaumburg-Lippe; Princess Frederick Charles of
Hesse; and Hereditary Princess of Saxe-Meiningen.


_Twelfth Carriage_ (_Four Horses_)

Princess of Bulgaria; Duchess of Teck; Princess Frederica of Hanover;
and Princess Charles of Denmark.


_Thirteenth Carriage_ (_Four_)

Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz; Princess Henry of Prussia; Duchess
of York; Princess Victoria of Wales.


_Fourteenth Carriage_ (_Four_)

Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz; Grand Duchess of Hesse; Grand
Duchess Serge of Russia; and Princess Louise (Duchess of Fife).


_Fifteenth Carriage_ (_Four_)

Duchess of Albany; Duchess of Connaught; Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and
Gotha; Princess Henry of Battenberg.


_Sixteenth Carriage_ (_Four Black Horses_)

Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha; Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne;
Princess of Naples; and H.I.M. the Empress Frederick of Germany.

  Col. Hon. H. W. J. Byng, C.B.

  Lieut. F. E. G. Ponsonby.

  Escort of Indian Cavalry.

  F.M. Viscount Wolseley, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., Commander-in-Chief.

  THE QUEEN,

  accompanied by
    H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES AND
    H.R.H. THE PRINCESS CHRISTIAN OF SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN,
    in a State Carriage drawn by Eight Cream- Horses.

  H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES.

  H.R.H. THE DUKE OF CONNAUGHT, General Officer Commanding the Troops.

  H.R.H. THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE.

  Capt. of Escort.

  The Standard.

  Field Officer of Escort.

  Chief of the Staff, Major-General Lord Methuen, C.B., C.M.G.

  Earl of Coventry, Master of the Buckhounds.

  Marquis of Lothian, K.T., Gold Stick of Scotland.

  General Earl Howe, G.C.B., Gold Stick in Waiting.

  Duke of Portland, G.C.V.O., Master of the Horse.

  Lieut.-Colonel Sir A. J. Bigge, K.C.B., C.M.G., Equerry to the Queen
    and Private Secretary.

  Lieut.-Colonel Right Hon. Sir F. I. Edwards, K.C.B., Keeper of the
    Purse and Extra Equerry to the Queen.

  Lieut.-Colonel A. Davidson, M.V.O., Equerry in Waiting.

  Major-General Sir J. C. McNeill, V.C., K.C.M.G., Equerry in Waiting.

  Major-General Sir H. P. Ewart, K.C.B., Crown Equerry.

  Major d’Albuquerque, Personal A.D.C. to H.R.H. Duke of Oporto.

  Lieutenant de Mellos, Personal A.D.C. to H.R.H. Duke of Oporto.

  Colonel Duval Telles, A.D.C. to H.M. King of Portugal.

  A.D.C. to the French Special Ambassador.

  A.D.C. to the French Special Ambassador.

  A.D.C. to the French Special Ambassador.

  A.D.C. to H.R.H. Prince Henry of Prussia.

  A.D.C. to H.R.H. Prince Henry of Prussia.

  Admiral of the Fleet Sir J. E. Commerell, G.C.B., V.C.,
    Groom-in-Waiting to the Queen, in attendance on H.R.H. Prince Henry
    of Prussia.

  Captain Evers, in attendance on H.R.H. Prince Waldemar of Denmark.

  Captain G. L. Holford, C.I.E., Equerry to H.R.H. Prince of Wales, in
    attendance on H.R.H. Prince Eugene of Sweden and Norway.

  Maj.-Gen. A. Ellis, C.S.I., Equerry to H.R.H. Prince of Wales, in
    attendance on Prince Waldemar of Denmark.

  Colonel Sir Nigel Kingscote, K.C.B., Extra Equerry to H.R.H. Prince
    of Wales.

  Captain Hon. A. Greville, Extra Equerry to H.R.H. Prince of Wales, in
    attendance on the Duke of Sotomayor, Special Ambassador of Spain.

  Colonel Lord Wantage, K.C.B., V.C., Extra Equerry to H.R.H. Prince of
    Wales.

  General Sir H. Lynedoch Gardiner, K.C.V.O., Groom-in-Waiting and
    Extra Equerry to the Queen, in attendance on H.R.H. Prince Rupert
    of Bavaria.

  H.E. Herr von Schon, in attendance on H.R.H. Duke of Saxe-Coburg and
    Gotha.

  General Sir Dighton Probyn, G.C.V.O., K.C.B., K.C.S.I., V.C.,
    Comptroller and Treasurer to H.R.H. Prince of Wales.

  Major Cavaliere Viganoni, A.D.C., in attendance on H.R.H. Crown
    Prince of Italy.

  Lieut.-General Terzaghi, First A.D.C., in attendance on H.R.H. Crown
    Prince of Italy.

  Captain Cavaliere Merli Miglietti, A.D.C., in attendance on H.R.H.
    Crown Prince of Italy.

  Baron von Hotwitz, in attendance on H.H. the Prince and H.R.H.
    Princess Frederick Charles of Hesse.

  His Excellency Count Otto Traun, in attendance on H.I. and R.H.
    Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria.

  Baron von Roeder, in attendance on H.R.H. Princess of Saxe-Meiningen.

  Earl of Gosford, K.P., Lord-in-Waiting to H.R.H. Prince of Wales.

  Lord Harris, G.C.I.E., Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen, in attendance on
    H.I.M. Empress Frederick.

  Earl of Clarendon, Lord-in-Waiting to the Queen, in attendance on
    T.R.H. Crown Prince and Princess of Italy.


[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION

THE ROYAL CARRIAGE AND SUITE PASSING HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT]

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION--THE INDIAN PRINCES ENTERING
BUCKINGHAM PALACE GATES]

It is calculated that considerably over a million persons saw the Royal
procession, but so admirable was the conduct and the temper of the
vast multitude that the accidents along the six miles of route were
comparatively insignificant, and no loss of life was recorded.

At night the Queen gave a State Banquet to her royal and distinguished
guests at Buckingham Palace. London was brilliantly illuminated with
gas and electric devices, and on all the highest eminences of England
bonfires were lighted, forming a ring of fire round the coast. More
than a hundred of these joyous beacons could be counted from the
Malvern heights, and some seventy blazed on the heights discernible
from the top of the Crystal Palace.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL PROCESSION--THE QUEEN’S RETURN TO BUCKINGHAM
PALACE]

On Wednesday, 23rd June, Her Majesty, none the worse for the fatigue
of that never-to-be-forgotten day, received the Lord Chancellor and
the Peers, the Speaker and the Members of the House of Commons, at
Buckingham Palace, where they presented loyal and dutiful addresses.
Subsequently the Queen journeyed to Windsor, and on her way received
10,000 school children in St. James’s Park. At night the streets
and buildings were again illuminated, and by Royal Command a gala
performance was given at the Opera House, Covent Garden, attended by
the Prince and Princess of Wales, the foreign Princes and Princesses,
and all the special Envoys.

There were yet other interesting events to be crowded into these times
of national rejoicing. On the following day, the 24th, 300,000 of the
poorest in London were fed; and the Princess of Wales, accompanied by
the Prince and two of her daughters, visited many of the dining-halls,
drank to the health of the old people, and spoke kindly words.

If the Tuesday of the week of Diamond Jubilee, with its gorgeous
pageant through the streets of London, gave proof of military power
and Imperial greatness, the Naval Review on the Saturday, when
the Prince of Wales, on behalf of the Queen, passed down lines of
battleships moored a length of 25 miles, afforded significant evidence
of unparalleled naval strength. In the quiet waters of the Solent
rode at anchor these maritime leviathans in five columns, each nearly
five miles long, every battleship decorated with brilliant bunting
and manned by England’s Blue-jackets,--ironclads, torpedo vessels,
cruisers, gunboats, and torpedo-boat destroyers, sea-engines of
destruction of every kind were there, and yet that immense collection
of British war-vessels formed but a portion of the Queen’s Navy
scattered over the waters of the globe. Foreign nations sent a brave
array of battleships in honour of the occasion, thousands of spectators
crowded steamers in the waterway between the southern coast and the
Isle of Wight, while the shores were black with sightseers.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN PLANTING A TREE AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE ON THE
SIXTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF HER ACCESSION, 29TH JUNE 1897]

[Illustration:

                    _Copyright by J. Thompson_

A LATE PORTRAIT OF HER MAJESTY, 1897]

At about two o’clock in the afternoon the Prince of Wales, wearing
the uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet, accompanied by his brother,
the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, and his son, the Duke of York, passed out of
Portsmouth Harbour on the Royal yacht, _Victoria and Albert_. At the
same moment the signal was given to “man ship” and fire a Royal salute.
The first to obey the order is the flagship _Renown_, carrying the
pennant of Fleet-Admiral Sir Nowell Salmon, in supreme command; then
follow in turn all the guns of that mighty fleet, until the booming
of ordnance sounds like the roaring of many thunders. Ships bearing
foreign Princes, Colonial Premiers, and Ambassadors proceed in the
wake of the Royal yacht, which, as it passes each vessel of the Fleet,
is cheered by officers and men, hat in hand. When the Prince of Wales
had completed his inspection of those unbroken lines, one mighty and
overpowering Hurrah! is given by all on a signal from the Renown.
Although later in the day a tropical thunderstorm broke over that
“Nineteenth-Century Armada,” and the weather continued unpropitious,
at night every ship was outlined with incandescent lamps, the shape
of each man-o’-war being plainly shown by the electric glow. As the
Royal yacht slowly passed to her anchorage, half-way down the line of
battleships, the sun blinked with a golden glitter, and the breeze
from the west stretched every pennant and flag. The play of colour
was like that of an old English garden in the first blush of summer,
of the African veldt after rain, or the swaying rainbow sheen of
the flower-strewn grasses and uplands of Australia. Then came once
more that strangely joyous clapping of hands or the guns from the
phanto-ships in unison with hearts beating with gratified loyalty on
the long line of vessels on the outer verge. The Prince of Wales held a
reception on board the _Victoria and Albert_ of all the flag officers
of the fleet and the officers representing the foreign fleets. While
this function was going on, the _Dunera_ weighed anchor to make around
the fleet. The sun shone with brilliancy, and the dancing pale green
waves mocked the happy hearts of a proud people. At no period of the
long day did the magnificent lines of the vessels stand out with such
vivid and  brilliancy. The low mainland, dressed in its nearest
front with shapely woods, formed a nice background to the sun-glinted
funnels and hulls of the ships.

To complete as far as possible this brief record of national rejoicing,
mention must be made of the Queen’s visit to Kensington, the place
of her birth, and of the garden party given on the same day, 28th
June 1897, at Buckingham Palace. Seated at the entrance to a marquee
erected on the lawn, the Sovereign received her guests, the Princes
and Princesses from European and Eastern Courts and the flower of the
English nobility. It was a brilliant gathering, forming a fitting
conclusion to that panorama of scenes of splendour and beauty which the
capital of the Empire had contributed in celebration of sixty years of
a beneficent and illustrious reign.

[Illustration: LONG MAY SHE REIGN]


_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of
inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed.

Table of Contents added by Transcriber and placed into the Public
Domain.

Illustrations without captions are decorative headpieces and tailpieces.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Queen's Reign, by Walter Besant

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