An incident which created some excitement in fashionable circles, shortly after the opening of the Crystal Palace, will illustrate one feature of British civilization which will not be out of place in connection with these remarks on the aristocracy. Everybody has heard of the London Police, their admirable drill, and great efficiency. Their impartial enforcement of the rules of the Great Exhibition was peculiarly illustrative of these characteristics, and also of the spirit of law and order, as paramount and inflexible in the Metropolis. No departure from these rules was allowed to any one; and carriage after carriage, all blazing with heraldic splendours, and filled with rank and beauty, was forced to change its route by the simple waving of a policeman’s finger. It so happened that a dashing young fellow, a scion of the noble house of S——, driving his own equipage through Hyde Park, ventured to disobey. On this the policeman seized the horse’s head, and backed him. The hot-blooded Jehu instantly raised his whip, and struck the policeman several violent blows over the face and head. The result was his immediate arrest; and on being carried before the Magistrate, young S—— found himself committed for ten days imprisonment, which he accordingly fulfilled with exemplary submission, wearing jail-clothes, and performing sundry penances, precisely as if he had been the humblest offender in the land. On the same day that this happened, a cabman whom I had engaged to take me, in a hurry, to a certain part of the town, drove me rapidly through St. James’s Park, and was just making his escape into the street, near Buckingham Palace, when he was stopped, in the gate, by a policeman, and ordered instantly back, with a threat of severe punishment should he again trespass where he knew that only private carriages were admitted. As my time was precious, I ventured to interpose, and exhausted every art, in vain, to induce the inexorable policeman to allow the cab to pass on. He little knew my sincere respect for him, and the real satisfaction I took in thus finding him “a brick for his principles.” Finally, I offered to alight, and discharge the cabman there; but this also the policeman respectfully forbade. “It would never do,” he said, “to allow cabmen to take such liberties; the cab must go back;” but then he advised me not to pay the fellow a single penny, as he was not entitled to anything but an arrest, for exemption from which he might be thankful. I was exceedingly annoyed, in spite of my admiration for authority, but thought it best to submit without further parley. Next day I heard of the fate of the Honorable Mr. S——, and, on the whole, felt glad that I had got off so easily. Thus it seems that law is law in London, for all classes alike; and if the stranger, in his cab, is not permitted to violate it, he may at least console himself with the fact that he would fare no better if he were a home-born aristocrat in a dashing tilbury. It is this well-defined system of society, in which every man knows his rights, and where even privilege is limited, and as absolutely held in check as license, that makes even humble life in England, in spite of all its burdens, a life of liberty and contentment. Theoretical equality may exist with far less of real independence, and we who value ourselves on self-government, are perhaps in danger of finding ourselves without government, and too jealous of authority to submit even to law.
CHAPTER XIV.
St. Mary’s, Lambeth—Temple—St. Paul’s—Tunnel.
Time never need hang heavily on one’s hands in London. A stroll in the Parks is an unfailing resource in fair weather: when it was wet, I used to take refuge under cover of some exhibition. The National Gallery, in Trafalgar Square, and the Vernon Gallery, gratuitously opened to the public, in Marlborough House, were quite a resource; although the annual show of pictures in the former was nothing extraordinary. The portrait of Dr. Wiseman was displayed there, and a sight of it cured me of all curiosity to see more of him. Its coarse and sensual effect afforded a very striking contrast to the refined and intellectual head of the Bishop of London, which was hung vis-à-vis, perhaps not without design. But of pictures I do not propose to speak particularly.
In the cool of a charming May morning I sauntered forth, and crossed Westminster Bridge. It was too late for the full enjoyment of Wordsworth’s emotions, on that thoroughfare, for already the city was astir; and yet there was enough in the scene it commanded to make one stop a few moments and conjure up the imagery of his inimitable sonnet:—
“Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air!
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep:
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep,