THE BOOK OF THE WEEK.
A book of reminiscences by the venerable reformer, George Jacob Holyoake, could not be other than interesting. He saw the birth of Radicalism, and the appearance and disappearance of the Chartists, and he was acquainted personally with many of the world's finest spirits—with Gladstone, Mill, Spencer, Mazzini, and a host of others. He himself was a sturdy fighter in the cause of progress and toleration, and he presents in his own person a striking illustration of the falsity of the notion that as a man ages his mind inevitably contracts, and he looks with fear rather than hope toward the future. Mr. Holyoake has no belief or disbelief in a life beyond the grave. Like Spencer, Darwin, Mill, Huxley, George Eliot, and Leslie Stephen, to name no others, he is an agnostic, but he is confident that if there be a hereafter, it will offer similar opportunities of service; and so far as the present world is concerned he is profoundly convinced that "there will be more sunshine and flowers in the hearts of men in the years to come." One may judge of the distance we have since travelled when we are reminded that in 1842 Mr. Holyoake was immured in Gloucester Prison for "atheism," as agnosticism used to be called. It is not so much that unbelief is growing as that the civilised world has become more and more disposed to act in the spirit of Mr. Holyoake's motto, "Let us try to tolerate each other instead of trying to convert each other." Here is an interesting story of Gladstone:
Gladstone said, "You and I are growing old. The day is nearing when we shall enter —" Here he paused, as though he was going to say another life, but not wishing to say what I might not concur in, in his sense, he—before his pause was well noticeable — added, "enter a changed state." What my views were he knew, as I had told him in a letter:—"I hope there is a future life, and if so, my not being sure of it will not prevent it, and I know of no better way of deserving it than by conscious service of humanity."
The author retains the keenest possible memory of the "Chartist Terror" of April 10, 1848, when, in view of a monster demonstration in support of a national petition to the Commons, the Duke of Wellington filled London with troops, enrolled 100,000 special constables, barricaded the streets, and placed cannon on the bridges. It may be doubted whether Wellington really believed that there was any conspiracy for the overthrow of society, and whether he did not welcome the Chartist demonstration as an opportunity for indulging his feeling of antagonism, to the democratic spirit. Mr. Holyoake was one of the leaders in the Chartist movement:
My advice to the processionists was to "Beware of the police" and not to strike again if they were struck. Many of them, I knew, were willing to die for their country if that would save it. They would serve it much better by dying without resistance than dying with it. If any were killed their comrades should move quietly on. Nothing would tell more strongly on public opinion than such observance of order. The conclusion to which the Chartist leaders came was that the Government wanted to create a conflict, shoot down a number of the people, and then proclaim to Europe that they had "saved society," by murder, as one of their chief special constables (Prince Louis Napoleon) did soon after in Paris.
Wellington's unspeakable arrogance is illustrated by several stories. Presuming on his good fortune and the splendid courage of his troops, which enabled him to defeat Napoleon at Waterloo, he gave himself the airs of an Emperor, and abusing his privileged position he said to a deputation of Chartists—"You seem to have heads on your shoulders ; take care that you keep them there." Here is another story of Czar Wellington:—
In the Peninsula War Corporal Petrie was unable to obtain his arrears of rations, and desired to make a complaint to the Commander-in-Chief. Upon being introduced he found Wellington sealed at a table reading some documents. "Well," said the Commander, without raising his eyes, "what does this man want?" "He is come to appeal to your lordship about his rations." replied the officer in attendance. Where-upon, without asking or permitting a single word of explanation from the injured soldier, Wellington hurriedly exclaimed, "Take the fellow away and give him a d——d good flogging!" Petrie, naturally indignant and a determined man, lay in wait two nights to shoot Wellington, who escaped by taking one night a different route, and on another being closely accompanied by his staff.
Mr. Chamberlain's career reminds Mr. Holyoake of the performances of a "quick change artist" in a London music hall. The author, however, pays a generous tribute to the man he considers to have gone wrong. "He," it is finely said, "who has once stood upon the side of humanity deserves more respectful treatment than he who never took the part of the right." Personal ambition, the desire to stand well with the lords and ladies, and to be included in their visiting lists and lauded in the journals of the moneyed classes, Mr. Holyoake considers an adequate explanation of Mr. Chamberlain's change from Radicalism to Conservatism.
For Disraeli the author, as might have been expected, has little tenderness. "When O'Connell described him as the heir-at-law of the impenitent thief who died on the cross, he was nearer the truth than he knew." Disraeli, in a memorable phrase, accused Gladstone of being "intoxicated with the exuberance of his own verbosity," but he himself would seem at times to have labored under suspicion of being intoxicated with something else:—
In his time I heard members manifestly inebriated address the House of Commons. On a memorable night Mr. Gladstone said Disraeli had access to sources of inspiration not open to her Majesty's Ministers. On that occasion Lord John Manners carried to him, from time to time during his oration, five glasses of brandy and water. I saw them brought in.
That was the famous occasion when Disraeli congratulated himself on the solid piece of furniture between himself and Gladstone, whom he had goaded into fury. Nothing could be neater than Gladstone's retort that "he doubted whether Disraeli needed protection so much as support from the table. For his brilliancy in another speech, delivered at Manchester, in 1872, the Conservative leader was manifestly indebted to the "source of inspiration" to which Gladstone had delicately alluded: When the Times report arrived it was found that a considerable portion of the speech was devoted to the laudation of certain country families which were not mentioned in the Manchester reports, and it was said that Disraeli had dictated his speech to Mr. Delane before he came down. But though he lost his voice and his memory, he never lost his wit, for he praised another set of families that came into his head.
The author has a good deal to say about Herbert Spencer, who was afflicted throughout his life with misgivings about his health, so that it was impossible for anyone ever to greet him in terms which implied that he was or could be well:—
Though he often had to abandon his thinking, he resumed it on his recovery. The continuity of his thought never ceased. One form of trouble was recurring depression, so difficult to sustain, which James Thomson, who oft experienced it, described —when a man has to endure—
The same old solid hills and leas;
The same old stupid, patient trees;
The same old ocean, blue and green;
The same sky, cloudy or serene;
The old two dozen hours to run
Between the settings of the sun.
Mr. Spencer's last letter to me was in answer to one I had sent him on his birthday. It was so characteristic as to deserve quoting:— "Thanks for your congratulations, but I should have liked better your condolences on my longevity." He wanted no twilight in his life. Like the sun in America, his wish was to disappear at once below the horizon—having simply given his share of light in his day.
With regard to his own health Mr. Holyoake has some interesting remarks. He says:—
After I became an octogenarian I was asked whether my years might be ascribed to my habits. I could only explain what my habits were. In the first half of my life I ate whatever came to hand, and as not enough came I easily obtained moderation. But then I was disposed to be moderate on principle, having read in the Penny Magazine, about 1830, that Dr. Abernethy told a lady "she might eat anything eatable in moderation." In the second and later half of my life I gave heed to Carnaro, and sought to limit each meal to the least necessary for health. The limitation of quantity included liquids as well as solids, decreasing the amount of both "in relation to age and activity," as Dr. Thompson advised. Not thinking much of meat I limited that to a small amount, and cereals to those that grow above ground. A tepid bath for the eyes (on the recommendation of the Rev. Dr. Molesworth, of Rochdale), and a soap bath for the body every morning ends the catalogue of my habits. My general mode of mind has been to avoid excess in food, in work, and in expectation; by not expecting much. I have been saved from worry if nothing came. When anything desirable did arrive. I had the double delight of satisfaction and surprise. The conduciveness of my habits to longevity may be seen in this. More than 40 of my colleagues, all far more likely to live than myself, have long since died." Had I been as strong as they, I also should have died as they did. Lacking their power of hastening to the end I have lingered behind. The principles and aims of earlier years are confirmed by experience at 88. Principles are like plants and flowers, they suit only those whom they nourish. Nothing is adapted to everybody.
The author has much to say about the changes he has witnessed in social customs and conditions. Here is his account of the, state of affairs in what he calls the "tinder-box days":—
Seventy years ago the evenings were wasted in a million houses of the poor. After sundown the household lived in gloom. Children who could read, read, as I did, by the flickering light of the fire, which often limited for life the power of seeing. Now the pauper reads by a better light than the squire did in days when squires were county gods. Now old men see years after the period when their fore-fathers were blind. Then a social tyranny prevailed, unpleasant to the rich and costly to the poor, which regarded the beard as an outrage. I remember when only four men in Birmingham had the courage to wear beards. They were followers of Joanna Southcott. They did it, in imitation of the apostles, and were jeered at in the streets by ignorant Christians. George Frederick Muntz, one of the first two members elected in Birmingham, was the first member who ventured to wear a beard in the House of Commons; and he would have been insulted had he not been a powerful, man and carried a heavy Malacca cane, which he was known to apply to anyone who offered him a personal affront.
One further quotation must suffice. It embodies Mr. Holyoake's life-long plea for "two Sundays":—
None of our Sunday societies or Sunday leagues seem ever to have thought of the advantages of advocating, as I have long done, two Sundays—a devotional Sunday and a secular Sunday. The advocacy of two Sundays would put an end to the fear or pretence that anybody, wants to destroy the one we have. The policy of a second Sunday is a necessity. It would put an end to the belief that the working classes are mad, and not content with working six days want to work on the seventh. It would preserve the present Sunday as a day of real rest and devotion. The one Sunday we now have is neither one thing nor the other. Its insufficiency for rest prevents it being an honest day of devotion. Proper recreation is out of the question. There is too little time for excursions out of town on the Saturday half-day holiday. Imprisonment in town irritates rather than refreshes—mere rest is not recreation.
A want of occupation gives no rest.
A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
Those who would provide recreation in the country find it not worth while for the precarious chance of half-day visitors. On a secular Sunday, recreation would be organised and be more self-respecting than it now can be. It would be cheaper to mill-owners to stop their works two clear days than run them on short days. . . . Had Moses foreseen the manufacturing system, instead of saying "six days" he would have said "Five days shalt thou labor." If he deserves well of mankind who makes two blades of wheat grow where only one grew before, he deserves better who causes two Sundays to exist where only one existed before—for corn merely feeds the body, whereas reasonable leisure feeds the mind.
The Advertiser(10/6/1905),
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