ORATORY IN THE COUNTRY
Midhurst has more than once been somewhat closely associated with great political orators, for not far away, at Dunford, lived Mr. Cobden, whom I often used to go and hear speak in the House of Commons, where his oratory never failed to secure the appreciation which it deserved. In West Sussex, however, he did not excite any extraordinary attention either as an orator or politician, many regarding his political views with extreme distrust, whilst others did not understand them. Very often it is the case that politicians of quite European reputation are but lightly esteemed in their own part of the country, a state of affairs which is sometimes caused by their talking over the heads of the audiences whom they address. Country-folk as a rule do not (or did not) appreciate highly cultured oratorical efforts, but prefer speeches, not devoid of humour, dealing with matters of local interest.
I once heard a peculiarly apt criticism of a speech made by a politician of profound learning and knowledge, but one not very much in sympathy with the more frivolous side of life. This orator, having to address a meeting in a country town, had beforehand been begged to remember that his audience was not remarkable for any great intellectual culture, and was consequently unlikely to appreciate historical allusions or erudite criticism—a chatty, sparkling speech judiciously peppered with anecdote and chaff would be the sort of thing to arouse enthusiasm and capture its sympathies. The evening having come, the speaker, determined to profit by these hints, attempted to enliven his discourse by here and there interpolating remarks of a less serious kind than those which his speeches usually contained. Well satisfied with the result, and driving away with an old friend, he said to him: “Well, I hope that suited you; at any rate no one could say I spoke too seriously.” “It was a capital speech,” came the reply, “only, to tell you the truth, it rather reminded me of an article from the Quarterly Review out for a lark.”
XV
Retrospection—The first train from Norwich—Disappearance of coaches—Railway mania of the ’forties—Hudson and his house—Steam carriages of the past—Letter franking—Society and its love of pleasure—Bridge—Decrease of betting and increase of speculation—Changes in Parliament—The late Mr. Bradlaugh—An unfortunate speech—Growth of the Press—Lady Seymour and the cook—Louis Napoleon—His witty criticism—The Franco-German War—Paris Herself Again—Mr. Mackenzie Grieves—The overflow of London—Disappearance of nursery gardens—Modern villagers—Folklore—Friends who have passed away.
Looking back to old days in the ’thirties and ’forties, what gigantic changes come into view! Nearly everything was on a different footing from to-day, and things which are now permanent institutions were at that time either at their very beginning or not dreamt of at all.
The majority of modern inventions were unknown, or in their infancy, whilst life in general went on very much in the happy-go-lucky fashion characteristic of another age. Law and order, it is true, exercised a sort of sway, but the former, if just, was often terribly cruel, whilst the latter was, by comparison with to-day, only indifferently maintained. Three years after I was born our excellent modern police had been established by Sir Robert Peel, but the county police in Norfolk were only constituted some ten years later—a salutary innovation which, strangely enough, was not greeted with universal approbation. In 1842, indeed, when the new guardians of law and order had already done duty for three years, my father, at a meeting of the county magistrates at Norwich, presented a petition, signed by himself and a large number of other landowners, praying for some reduction or even the abolition of the police force, on the ground that it produced nothing but expense, and caused people to be prosecuted for offences of a very trivial nature.
My father, of course, disliked the new police force principally on account of its being an innovation, for, a staunch Conservative, he opposed changes of any kind whatever, including railroads, which were his special abomination. The advent of the railway in Norfolk was, I remember, a depressing blow to him, and he did all he could to keep the line outside the borders of his property so that he might forget its existence. Direct railway communication between London and Norwich was not established till 1845, the first through train starting from Trowse on the morning of June 30 of that year. In January 1846 all the coaches between Norwich and London had ceased to run, the last of them to go being the mail through Bury St. Edmunds.
In the ’forties came the railway mania, when many of a speculative disposition were completely carried away by dreams of immediate and colossal wealth. Within a year or two, however, a dreadful awakening was the lot of those who had gambled in railway shares, which went down faster than they had risen, a large number of people being completely ruined, amongst them the great Hudson himself. During the time when things were going well, flattery and praise were heaped upon him and he was the recipient of several public testimonials; but after the disastrous fall in railway shares he at once became the principal object of an outburst of widespread popular indignation.
HUDSON