February 11th, 1854. A very sharp contest took place this day for South Staffordshire, betwixt Lord Paget and Lord Ingestre, which ended in a majority of 1568 votes for Lord Paget, the Liberal Candidate. Lord Ward, a Conservative by induction, who can command this constituency, by some unexplained reason, threw the whole of his weight and influence into the hands of the Liberals, hence the result of the election. We had again another pitiable exhibition of territorial influence in Dudley and elsewhere, ordering to “do as you are bid,” leading the liege vassals to do battle in a cause which it was too well-known that all utterly abhorred.
LOOK ON THIS PICTURE.
Once upon a time there lived in Staffordshire a noble Lord. Among other possessions he held the lordship of a Manor close by his residence; it was, however, but a barren dignity, as the Manor was all common and waste land. However, he got an act of Parliament for enclosing the waste lands, and inserted a clause reserving all Mines to himself, should there prove to be any. Well, in time this Manor became built over. Many working men out of their savings put up houses for themselves, and the place became very populous. The old lord died; and the next Lord, who was very young, thought Staffordshire a very nasty place, so he went to Italy and foreign parts to enjoy himself, and there revelled in luxury and extravagance. Fortunately for this Lord, his Agents found Mines under nearly all that Manor, and as their master’s wants were great, they opened all the Mines they could. But the Working Men, who had built their houses upon the surface? Row after row of houses split and cracked, and became ruins; some houses sank into the earth—it seemed as if some convulsion of nature had passed over this manor. Many poor workmen were ruined, for they had borrowed money to assist them in building their houses, and when the mortgagees found their value was destroyed, they sold them for what they would fetch. Others went to his Lord’s Agents and begged of them to leave ribs and pillars under their houses, but they would not. Some begged the Agents to patch their houses up—but no: not a day’s labour! not a barrow of mortar! not a brick! not a tile! would this Lord’s Agents give them! And the Miners kept enlarging their circle like an encroaching sea, and those, whose dwellings were not ruined, were kept in daily dread of their little property, around which clung so many pleasant memories; where, after years of toil and care, they had fondly hoped for tranquillity in old age!
Well, this Lord with all his wealth was unhappy, he coveted an Earldom! The Election came on, and “Which Candidate,” said the noble Lord to himself, “shall I support? Why, I’ll support the one who will support Ministers, and if they win, why, my Earldom is safe!” So this Lord had an interview with Lord Aberdeen, and he turned his Coat (for before he was a Conservative), and his Agent went round and commanded all his Tenants to turn their Coats. “But,” said the Tenants, “we surely cannot support Ministers, for they have truckled to the Russian Influence, and for the first time in History, England has shown the White Feather!” But the Agent said—“Leave the Country to the noble Lord. Has he not the largest stake in it.”
LOOK ON THIS PICTURE!
Well, in Staffordshire there lived another Lord, not very rich. He was much younger than the Lord we have been speaking of. When he left school he went into the Army. Being a thoughtful lad he sat down, as it were, by the roadside of life: before him two paths branched off—the path of Luxury and the path of Duty. And Pleasure said to him—“Enjoy yourself.” But Duty replied—“Remember your poor Fellow Countrymen. Are not you one of their natural guardians? What were rank and wealth given you for?” Well, this young Lord listened to the call of Duty, and he vowed that his life should be useful.
So he began by devoting the time he could spare from his military duties to visiting the poor and wretched. By way of a start he got together a subscription of Three Thousand Pounds, and fitted up a large house in London, in which poor, houseless creatures, of whom there are thousands in London, who sleep in the streets and cellars, or whatever shelter they can find, might have a comfortable and clean bed, at a very trifling charge. He was now about twenty years of age. His occupation had become a real pleasure. He travelled much about England, and went through our large towns, and over factories, and got together all the facts he could about the state of the Working Classes. Whilst thus employed, the Engineers on the railways struck. The Directors wanted to increase their Dividends, and took away from the Engineers some privileges they had always enjoyed; but the Engineers would not stand this, so they stood out. Unskilful Engineers were set on—accidents happened; there was great confusion and alarm. Well, the Engineers looked round for an Arbitrator, and they chose one. Whom? THIS YOUNG LORD; for they had heard of him and his kind heart.
Soon after the death of the Duke of Wellington, a large sum of money was subscribed to erect a lifeless monument to his Grace. But this young Lord Ingestre proposed that the money should be spent in securing to the poor of London free Water, and their share of the light of Heaven, the common property of us all—and other Sanitary improvements, necessary to the health and strength of the working man. It was for this that the “Times Newspaper” fell foul of the young Lord, and called him a silly young medler. But many simple folks, and especially hardy sons of toil, are still of the young Lord’s opinion. I think that the Great Duke would have wished so too, could he have spoken from the tomb. But the “Times” owed Lord Ingestre a “grudge” for supporting the Engineers against the Railway Directors, and the opportunity was taken of venting their spleen.
But our young Lord had too much pluck to be set down by a Newspaper, so he just went on as before, and tried to get at the truth respecting the Working Classes, and the way to make them better off. After seeing things in England, he went to America on the same errand. Whilst there his Friends sent for him to return to England, to contest the representation of his native County against the Candidate brought forward by the Lord above spoken of, and other Lords and great folks like him. Well, when they heard he was coming, they told the poor folks all sorts of lies about the young Lord: that he was for a little loaf—that he was all for the rich—that he was against Free Trade; but, fortunately, the young Lord had time to go through the County, to see and speak to the people. And he asked them—“Is it likely that I, who have all my life been working for the Labouring Man, to secure him and his children comforts and blessings, that I am so foolish and wicked as to take away from him his bread?” And the people looked round upon the houses in ruins, and it seemed to them strange that a noble Lord should have ever thought, except at an election, of the Working Man’s good.
MEN OF STAFFORDSHIRE! Are you Englishmen? If so, why do you permit yourselves to be dictated to? Your Fathers were Free Men! Were you animated by my spirit (and I am a plain Englishman like yourselves), you would never hear of a Lord commanding the Votes of a free people.