Even ladies wore hair-powder. The last, within our memory, so adorned, was Mrs. Bridge, the mother of Mr. James Oakes Bridge, who lived in St. Anne-street, and a fine, stately, venerable lady of the old school she was.
A terrible time was it for hair-dressers, who then carried on a thriving business, when pigtails and hair-powder were abolished at one fell swoop. It was in reality to them like the repeal of the Navigation laws, in idea, to the ship-owners, or free-trade to the farmers. We were amusingly reminded of it only a few weeks since. Being on our travels, with rather a wilderness of hair upon our head, we turned into a barber’s shop, in a small town through which a railway, lately opened, runs. The barber had a melancholy look, and seemed to be borne down by some secret sorrow, to which he gave utterance from time to time in the most dreadful groans. At length he found a voice, and rather sobbed than said, “Oh sir, these railways will be the ruin of the country!” Did our ears deceive us? Or was the barber really gone mad? We were silent, but, we suppose, looked unutterable things, for he continued, “Yes, sir, before this line was opened, I shaved twenty post-boys a day from the White Hart, and now if I shave one in a week I am in high luck.” Unhappy shaver, to be thus shaved by the march of improvement! And inconsistent George Hudson! thou talkest of the vested rights of shipowners and landlords, and yet didst thou ever stay thy ruthless hand and project a line the less that country post-boys might flourish, and country barbers live by shaving their superfluous beards? O! most close shaver thyself, not to make compensation to thy shavers thus thrown out of bread and beards by thy countless innovations!
But it is time that we should finish this chapter, and we will do so with copying an anecdote touching hair powder, which greatly struck us as we lately read it in the History of Hungary. Some great measure was under discussion in the diet of that country, when Count Szechenyi appeared in the Chamber of Magnates, on the 28th of October, 1844, in splendid uniform, his breast covered with stars and ribbons of the various orders to which he belonged. “It is now thirty-three years,” said he, “and eleven days since I was sent to the camp of Marshal Blucher. I arrived at the dawn of day, and at the entrance of the tent found a soldier occupied in powdering his hair before a looking-glass. I was rather surprised, but, on passing on a little further, I found a page engaged in the same way. At last I reached the tent of the old general himself, and found him, like the others, powdering and dressing his hair also. ‘General,’ said I, ‘I should have thought this was the time to put powder in the cannon and not in the hair.’ ‘We hope,’ was the reply, ‘to celebrate a grand fête to-day, and we must, therefore, appear in our best costume.’ On that day the battle of Leipsic was fought. For a similar reason, gentlemen, I appear here to-day, dressed in this singular manner. I believe that we are to-day about to perform one of the brightest acts in the history of our nation.” The address was received with loud acclamations. But hair-powder and gunpowder have, we believe, long since been divorced, even in the camp. It was inconvenient. It was found, as touching the former, that, on a hot day, it was impossible “to keep your powder dry.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
hether we consider the magnificence of its estate, the amount of its revenue, or the extent of its influence, the Liverpool Corporation might ever be compared to a German principality put into commission. We have, in a former chapter, alluded briefly to its state and condition in those old days, when
“All went merry as a marriage bell,”
and no Municipal Reform Bill ever loomed in the distance. But we feel that we must say something more about such an important body. The old Liverpool self-elected Corporation was always looked up to and spoken of with respect from one end of the country to the other. It was, indeed, considered to be a kind of model Corporation by all others, and quoted, and emulated, and imitated on all occasions and in all directions.
We have said that it was self-elected. We must add that it was most exclusive in its character and formation. “We don’t shave gentlemen in your line,” says the hair-dresser in Nicholas Nickleby to the coal-heaver. “Why?” retorted the other, “I see you a-shaving of a baker, when I was a-looking through the winder last week.” “It’s necessary to draw the line somewheres, my fine feller,” replied the principal. “We draw the line there. We can’t go beyond bakers.” And so it was with the old Corporation. They drew a line in the admission of select recruits into their body, and strictly kept to it. All tradesmen and shopkeepers, and everything retail, were carefully excluded, and classified in the non-presentable “coal-heavers’ schedule.” But they were not only exclusive in the fashion which has been indicated, but in other ways also. Their line of distinction was more than a separation of class from class. They were not only a self-elected body, but a family party, and carefully guarded the introduction of too many “outsiders,” if we may so speak, of their own rank and order in society. They would, indeed, occasionally admit a stranger, without any ties of relationship to recommend him. But this was only done at long intervals, and just to save appearances. Thus, such men as Mr. Leyland, Mr. Lake, and Mr. Thomas Case were, from time to time, introduced into the old Corporation. But extreme care was taken that the new blood should never be admitted in too large a current. For the same reason, that of saving appearances, our ancient municipals, although ultra-Tory in their politics, occasionally opened the door of the Council Chamber to a very select Whig. Nothing, however, was gained for the public by this quasi-liberality of conduct. The Whigs, so introduced, generally fell into the ways of the company into which they had been admitted; and it was remarked, that in every distribution of patronage they were at least as hearty and zealous jobbers as the most inveterate Tories. This may have been said enviously. But, at all events, it was said. We are, recollect, writing history, not censure. Human nature is of one colour under every shade of politics. “Cæsar and Pompey very much ‘like, Massa; ‘specially Pompey.”
We have said that, with the exception of the occasional Whig admitted for the sake of appearances, or to be ornamental, the politics of the old Corporators tended to extreme Toryism. They were, nevertheless, divided into two parties, as cordially hating each other as the rival factions in Jerusalem. As their opinions on all great public matters exactly coincided, the apple of discord between them must have been the immense patronage at their disposal, and which was too often considered as the heirloom of the Corporate families. On one side were the Hollingsheads, Drinkwaters, Harpers, etc. On the other, and at that time, and for years after, the stronger interest, were arrayed the Cases, Aspinalls, Clarkes, Branckers, etc. The latter party owed much of their preponderance to the influence of the great John Foster of that day, who, although not a member of the Council himself, possessed a strange power over its decisions and judgments, and brought to his friends the aid of as much common sense and as strong an intellect as ever were possessed by any individual. But it is not to be supposed that the members of the former Corporation limited their attention and zeal to the battle for patronage and place. Let us do them justice. Considering the immensity of the trust committed to their charge, the fact that there was no direct responsibility to check, control, or guide them, and the sleepy sort of animal which public opinion, now so vigilant and wakeful, so open-eared, open-eyed, and loud-tongued, was in those old stagnant times, our conviction has always been that they performed their duty miraculously well. We are neither their accusers nor eulogists. If they were not perfect, they were not altogether faulty. They expended the town’s revenues for the town’s good. Their foresight extended to the future as well as the present. They perceived the elements of coming greatness which the port of Liverpool possessed, and laid the foundation, often in the face of as loud clamour and criticism as those days were capable of exciting, of their growth and development. Their successors have but walked in the path which they had opened, and carried out the plans which these Council forefathers had devised. In every part of the town may be seen their works and creations, carried on under the superintendence of the Mr. Foster whom we have mentioned, and of his gifted son, too little appreciated amongst us until he was beyond the reach of all human praise and applause. On the tablet to Sir Christopher Wren, in St. Paul’s, London, it is written, Si monumentum quæris, circumspice. And, even so, if we are asked to point out the ever-abiding epitaph which, from generation to generation till the world’s last blaze, will uphold the memory of our old defunct Corporation, we should answer “Liverpool.” When we are told of their extravagance; when we hear of their nepotism; when their spirit of exclusion is scoffed at; when their ultra politics are ridiculed; let us draw a veil over all and everything, as we contemplate our docks, our churches, our public buildings, and once more exclaim, Si monumentum quæris, circumspice. These speaking memorials will remain when all their faults are forgotten!