Volume II Part 34 (2/2)

”Oh! Grandmother,” cried Tom, running in, out of breath, ”there's at least a thousand cats in our garden.”--”No, no, Tom,” quickly replied, the old lady; ”not a thousand, Tom.”--”Well I'm sure there's five hundred.”--”No, nor five hundred,” replied the old lady, not taking her eyes off her knitting.--”Well, then, grandmother, I'm sure there's fifty.”--”I don't think there _are_ fifty, Tom.”--”Well, at all events, there's _our cat and another_.”--”Ah! Tom,” replied the old lady, ”that _may_ be.”

I believe that the carriage of Lord Brougham is occasionally to be seen at the door of Miss Martineau.

But when I heard this I was pleased, for I said to myself, ”So, then, this champion of democracy, this scorner of rank and t.i.tle, is flattered by the carriages of the n.o.bility crowding at her door;” and, again I said to myself, ”_human nature is the same everywhere_.”

But the Reviewer, in his virulence, has not been satisfied with attacking me; he has thought it necessary to libel the whole profession to which I have the honour to belong. He has had the folly and impertinence to make the following remark: ”No landsmen can have been on board of a s.h.i.+p a week, without coming to the conclusion that a _sensible house dog_ is more like the people he has left at home than most of his new companions, and that it (the house dog) would be nearly as _capable_ of solving problems on national character.”

Indeed!!

Is it possible that the Reviewer should still remain the dupe of such a vulgar error? That at one time it was the custom to send to sea _the fool of the family_, is certain, and had the Reviewer flourished in those days, he would probably have been the one devoted to the service-- but _tempora mutantur_. Is the Reviewer aware that one-half, and certainly the most successful half, of English diplomacy, is now carried on by the admirals and captains, not only in the Mediterranean, but all over the world. Is he aware that when the Foreign Office wishes to do its work cheaply and well, it demands a vessel from the Admiralty, which is made over to that office, and is set down as employed on ”particular service:” that during that service the captain acts from instructions given by the Foreign Office alone, and has his cabin piled with voluminous doc.u.ments; and that, like the unpaid magistracy of England, we sailors do all the best of the work, and have nothing but our trouble for our pains. Nay, even the humble individual who pens this remonstrance was for months on this very service, and, when it was completed, the Foreign Office expressed to the Admiralty its satisfaction at his conduct during his short diplomatic career.

_House dogs_! Hear this, ye public of England! A sensible house dog is to be preferred to St Vincent, Nelson, Collingwood, Exmouth, and all those great men who have aided their country as much with their pen as with their sword; as much by their acuteness and firmness in diplomacy, as by their courage and conduct in action.

Now, Mr Reviewer, don't you feel a little ashamed of yourself? Would you really like to give up your name as the author of this bare-faced libel? Would you like openly to a.s.sert that such is your opinion, and that you will stand by it?

No liberal, high-minded man, whatever his politics may have been, has ever refused to do justice to a service which has been the bulwark of England. Lord Brougham has lately published a work containing the lives of celebrated persons in the reign of George the Third. I will just quote a few pa.s.sages from his life of Lord St Vincent.

”The present sketches would be imperfect if Lord St Vincent were pa.s.sed over in silence, for he was almost as _distinguished_ among the _statesmen_, as the _warriors_ of the age.

”A _statesman_ of profound views and of penetration, hardly _equalled_ by any other man of his time.

”But the consummate vigour and wisdom of his proceedings during the dreadful period of the mutiny, are no less a theme of wonder and of praise.

”When the Addington ministry was formed, he was placed at the head of the Admiralty; and now shone forth in all its l.u.s.tre that great capacity for affairs with which he was endowed by nature, and which ample experience of men, habits of command, and an extended life of deep reflection, had matured.

”The _capacity of a statesman_ and the valour of the hero, outshone by the magnanimous heart which beats only to the measures of generosity and justice.”

Here, again, the Reviewer is in what the Yankees would call an ”everlasting awkward fix;” for he contradicts Lord Brougham, the patron and sole supporter of his fast-waning review, without the aid of whose admirable pen, it would long ago have gone to its proper place. He must now either admit that he is himself wrong, or that it is Lord Brougham who is in error. He has but to choose.

I have but one more remark to make upon the review itself. At the close of it, the Reviewer observes, that my remarks upon the marine are interesting and useful. How does he know? Upon his own argument, if we house dogs are not competent upon sh.o.r.e matters, he must be equally ignorant of anything connected with our profession; and I therefore consider it a piece of unpardonable presumption on the part of a _land lubber_ like him to offer any opinion on the subject.

The Reviewer, whoever it may be, has proved himself wholly incompetent to his task; he has attacked, but has yet to learn the art of parrying, as has been proved by his laying himself so open. His blows have been stopped, and, without giving, he has received severe punishment. I am the more surprised at this, as I really considered that there was a certain tact in the Edinburgh Review, which enabled it to know where to direct the blow, so as to make it tell; a species of professional knowledge proper to executioners, reviewers, and cab-drivers, and which may be summed up in the following axiom: ”The great art of flogging is, to know where to find a bit of _raw_.”

So little have I felt the castigation intended, that I have had some compunction in administering this discipline to the Reviewer in return.

Surely the _Edinburgh Review_ can put a better head on, when it takes notice of this second portion of my work? I will give it an anecdote.

A lady of my acquaintance was blessed with a son, then about three years old. She was very indulgent, and he was very much spoiled. At last he became so unmanageable that she felt it was her imperative duty to correct him. She would as soon have cut off her right arm, but that would not have mended the matter, nor the child. So one day, when the young gentleman had been more than usually uproarious, she pulled up his petticoats and administered what _she_ considered a most severe infliction. Having so done, with a palpitating heart she sat down to recover herself, miserable that she had been compelled to punish, but attempting to console herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. What then was her surprise to have her reveries interrupted by the young urchin, who, appearing only to have been _tickled_, came up to her, and laying down his head on her lap, pulled up his coats, and cried, ”More whipping, Ma; please, more whipping.” So weak has been the wrist, whether it be feminine or not, that has applied the punishment, that I also feel inclined to exclaim with the child, ”More whipping, (Miss Martineau?) please, more whipping.”

The Reviewer has p.r.o.nounced that ”_no author is cleverer than his works_.” If no author be cleverer than his works, it is equally certain that _no reviewer is cleverer than his review_. Does the Reviewer recollect the fable of the jacka.s.s who put on the lion's skin? Why did he not take warning from the fabled folly of his ancestor and _hold his tongue_? He might still have walked about and have been supposed to be a Reviewer.

He a.s.serts that I am not capable of serious reflection: he is mistaken.

I have seldom cut the leaves of the _Edinburgh_, having been satisfied with looking at its outside, and thinking how very appropriate its colours of _blue and yellow_ were to the opinions which it advocates.

But at times I have been more serious. I have communed with myself as it lay before me, and I have mentally exclaimed:--Here is a work written by men whom the Almighty has endowed with talents, and who will, if there be truth in Scripture, have to answer for the talents committed to their keeping,--yet these men, like madmen, throw about fire, and cry it is only in sport; they uphold doctrines as pernicious as, unfortunately, they are popular; disseminate error under the most specious guise; wage war against the happiness of their fellow-creatures, unhinging society, breeding discontent, waving the banner of infidelity and rebellion, and inviting to anarchy and bloodshed. To such prost.i.tution of talent to this work of the devil, they are stimulated by their pride and their desire of gain! And I have surmised that hereafter they _will have_ their reward; but, remembering that we are forbid to judge, I have checked my thoughts as they have turned upon what might hereafter be the portion below of--an Edinburgh Reviewer.

Note 1. A very acute reviewer has observed of my first portion, that there always appeared as if there was something _left behind and not told_. He was right; I have entered into every subject just as deeply as I dared to venture, without wearying the cla.s.s of readers for whom, although not avowedly, yet in reality, the work has chiefly been written. The second portion will therefore be found almost as light and trifling as the first.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

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