Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume LXII., No. 381, July, 1847

by Various

Dublin, with her vice-regal court, has something like the appearance of a capital; and I sincerely trust that it may be long before any government, yielding to the clamours of the parsimonious Joseph Hume, shall attempt to rob her of that privilege. Edinburgh has not a shadow of royalty left her, save the Commissioner to the General Assembly! The dreary halls of Holyrood, I fear, will never again be rendered gay by the presence even of a delegate of sovereignty; and were it not for the existence of the courts of law, now miserably contracted in their functions, Edinburgh would inevitably become a retrograding city. Notwithstanding the habitual jealousy with which we of the balmy west are wont to contemplate our beautiful rival, I really am, from the bottom of my soul, sincerely sorry for the capital of Scotland. Last year, after our parliamentary campaign, I treated myself to a run on the Continent, and I never was more struck in my life than with the remarkable similarity which exists between Edinburgh and Darmstadt. There are the same spacious streets, the same wide squares, the same imposing and substantial buildings; but, alas! there is also the same dearth of inhabitants, and the same remarkable absence of that traffic and bustle which is the surest index of the wealth and prosperity of a town. Huge plate-glass windows in the shops are not, I apprehend, unerring tokens of the thriving business of the tradesman; and it is quite possible that a city of palaces may be inhabited by those who rank in the monetary scale very far indeed below the point which their external appearance indicates.

Edinburgh is, in my mind, the best existing evidence of the baneful effects of centralisation. She never was, and in all probability never will become, a seat of commerce or manufacture; and perhaps it is better so, for I hardly think that her noble aspect would be beautified by the addition of some hundred chimney stacks, on the model of the St. Rollox column, vomiting out long streams of smoke across the surface of the clear blue sky. She is no longer a seat of government. Even had it been intended, as some still maintain, that, after the incorporating Union, a shadow of local government should be left to Scotland, subsequent events and mighty uncontemplated changes have arisen to render such a view untenable. But then, until some thirty years ago, Edinburgh had many privileges. The whole public business of the country was transacted by native functionaries residing within her walls. She had her boards of Custom and Excise. The high officers of the law all resided there, and she still was able to maintain something of the semblance of a metropolis. But the besom of reform, nowhere else so ruthlessly and cruelly wielded, swept every cranny and corner of her clean. Under the pretext of economy, all the local boards were suppressed and transferred to London, amidst the insane joy of our primitive native reformers, who do not seem for one moment to have reflected on the fatal consequences which were sure to follow. The courts of law, and all that remained to us of the ancient Scottish constitution were next assailed. In vain did Sir Walter Scott and others, who had not bowed the knee to Baal, demonstrate the impolicy of measures which must have the effect of degrading the status of the bar by narrowing its prospects, and of impoverishing the bulk of the citizens of Edinburgh by materially diminishing the income which had hitherto been expended amongst them. Such warnings were regarded as the drivellings of a senile intellect. Year after year the work of abolition went on. Some offices were suppressed, others grievously curtailed; and in several departments, where the fees of office were retained, these were ordered to be transmitted, and are so at the present moment, to the general account of the Treasury, in which they figure under the item of Miscellaneous Revenue;—so that the public purse of Great Britain is now augmented by the balance of the fees which were originally intended for the maintenance and support of the high officers of the Scottish crown.

Now, mark the consequence of all this. The bar, as a profession, has been very materially lowered; for it is impossible to expect that the same class of men as formerly will devote themselves assiduously to the law, when it no longer holds out to their ambition the reasonable prospect of an ultimate prize. No Scottish advocate now-a-days can hope to be comfortably shelved save on the Bench, and it is a long and weary toil to attain that coveted eminence. There are hardly any middle situations left, which a man of any talent or enterprise would accept. But a lower field has been opened, and the bar is now, to the detriment of the country practitioners, monopolising the inferior situations of sheriffs-substitute; and the holders of these places are still, notwithstanding a recent change for the better, but inadequately remunerated for the onerous duties which they perform. It is now quite notorious that the Scottish bar can hold out no inducement to young men of talent and distinguished abilities. It is therefore not surprising to find that many members of our oldest and most influential families have now qualified themselves for the English bar, which, with its colonial judgeships, commissionerships, and high offices, is in all probability the first profession in the world. The English, Bogle, are too wise a people to strip themselves naked, because at certain seasons their clothing may have been inconveniently warm.

I say, therefore, that the wholesale spoliation and reduction of offices in Scotland has had, in the first instance, the effect of removing from Edinburgh many of the ablest men, at least of the rising generation. And if that should be thought a light matter, let me remark, that not only the law but the literature of the country has suffered. The time has been, and is not long gone by, when, in a single turn of the Parliament House, you might encounter in their advocates’ gowns, such men as Scott, Wilson, Jeffrey, and Lockhart—it would now, I think, rather puzzle you to select from the children of the Scottish Themis, one single name equal in weight to the least of these. Edinburgh, I am afraid, has ceased to hold rank as a nursery of talent; and for that, as well as other deteriorations, she may thank the Reformers and the Whigs.

In the second place, I say that there is not a single tradesman in Edinburgh who has not suffered materially in purse on account of these insane reductions; and it would have been far better if some of them who set up for practical economists, had been minding their own balance-sheet instead of attending to the ledger of the nation. Is it not as clear as sunshine, that every penny which has been taken out of Edinburgh, has been ultimately abstracted from their pockets? Will any one of them venture to say, that trade has not declined since the work of spoliation began? I am told by those who are intimately acquainted with the place, that the contraction of general society, even in the winter session, is something positively remarkable—that there is less festivity, less social intercourse, fewer equipages, and fewer entertainments now, than were common thirty years ago, when the city had attractions not only for our own but even for the English nobility. At present, as I understand, not a single Scottish peer maintains a mansion in Edinburgh, and the more influential of the gentry are gradually withdrawing from it also. It is useless to say that this is owing to the superior attractions of London. A small capital, provided it be otherwise a pleasant residence, will always attract to it persons of moderate fortune; because they are certain to obtain a much higher position in proportion to their means, than they could possibly aspire to in the more plethoric metropolis. But then the fundamental charm of such a residence consists in an agreeable society. And where, as in Edinburgh, every thing has been done to impoverish the habitual residenters—where every possible inducement is held out to draw talent away from it, and where nothing is attempted to create a corresponding influx—where genius, however bright, must linger in obscurity and decay—is it, I ask, possible to expect that any such society can be found? You will find beauty there, no doubt; but, alas! that beauty can do but little for those who possess it. Go into an Edinburgh ballroom, and you will see groups of pretty young women, well educated, well principled, and with ancient blood in their veins, whose fate it is to be left withering on the stalk, because they have no portions of their own, and the men cannot afford to marry. And do you think that the poor fellows, bred up, through the mistaken pride of their parents, to a thankless and declining profession, are less legitimate objects of pity? Morning after morning, throughout the cold and dreary routine of the winter session, do they pace the barren boards of the Parliament House in a kind of dreamy languor, or laugh off with reckless witticism the disgust which is preying on their souls. No kind agent approaches them with a fee, for there is scarcely legal business left—thanks to the new-fangled Jurisdiction Acts which throw a triple burden on the sheriffs—to keep twenty or at most thirty elderly advocates in something like tolerable employment. They are afraid to try literature, for the common prejudice is against it; and so the best and most precious years of their lives are consumed in idle listlessness, and in dull and sickening expectation. Far better had it been for them, if, like their younger and more fortunate brothers, they had been shipped off from school to India, even though they had fallen with glory on the banks of the distant Sutlej, or gone to sleep, benumbed and frozen, amidst the snows of the Kyber Pass! For then they would have left behind them a brave and an honourable name, and have escaped the weary curse of a profitless and ignoble existence. If not one other word of old Belhaven’s prophecy were true, he spoke like a faithful seer, when he warned the Scottish gentry that ere long their daughters would be languishing for want of husbands, and their sons driven away to seek employment at the hand of the stranger.

All this is so perfectly conspicuous and self-apparent, that one cannot but be amazed at the apathy which has prevailed at the time when, and since, these miserable innovations were made. And I can hardly persuade myself that the citizens of Edinburgh—indeed the people of Scotland, for it is their common cause—will remain much longer quiescent, without making some effort for the restoration of their decaying capital. Let Edinburgh, in the first instance, have its due; and let the system of centralisation be so far relaxed, that the ordinary business of the nation may be conducted in its own capital. The loss to London would be nothing—the gain to Edinburgh would be immense; and I am sure no ministry whatever ought to grudge so reasonable a demand, more especially as the whole patronage would still be left in their power. As regards the legal and other official changes, I have every reason to believe that even the Whigs are now convinced of the fatal effects of their policy; and far be it from me in any way to impede their repentance. Indeed, neither party in the state are altogether blameless in this matter; and I hope that as both have sinned against their country, both will join cordially in the graceful act of reparation.

Let us, moreover, have a board of commissioners, sitting at the same time with the Court of Session, before whom all evidence relating to private bills may be laid, before these are submitted to the consideration of the Imperial Parliament. I cannot figure to myself any possible objection to this scheme. It would cost the country nothing, for the whole expense of the establishment should be defrayed by the companies who are demanding constitution; and considering the multiplicity of these projects, the quota of each would be a matter of absolute indifference. I maintain broadly, that justice will never be done, even to the companies themselves, until things are put upon such a footing. No man, or body of men, can properly perform the judicial function, unless they are directly responsible to the public. It is this principle which secures the due administration of justice, and it is universally acted upon throughout the civilised world.

In Committee practice, points are constantly occurring which involve legal questions of the subtlest and most delicate nature. Do five country squires, or five manufacturing cotton-lords, or five railway millionaires form a proper tribunal to hear or to decide upon these? The simpler points of form and of order, and the competency or incompetency of leading a certain line of evidence, are matters which few of these gentlemen have any pretension to understand. And the consequence is, that in some cases the inquiry is protracted to a ridiculous length, by the intervention of parties who have no right whatever to be heard, and in others, a fair and legitimate opposition is ruthlessly strangled in the bud. The wisdom of collective parliament is undoubtedly great, but I deny that such wisdom is equally divided among the members. One blockhead, through sheer obstinacy or stupidity, may throw out a bill on committee; and surely it is rather imprudent that the risk should be unnecessarily incurred. On all these considerations, therefore, I advocate the establishment of a local board for Scotland, to relieve honourable members of the most onerous and thankless duty which they are now called upon to perform. The public would be better and more economically served; and I need hardly point out the advantages which would accrue to Edinburgh. It is true, that under such an arrangement, my vocation and that of several thousands more would be at an end. We should no longer be brought up to London, at the cost of the unfortunate shareholders, to testify with Mandeville courage to the existence of imaginary mines, or the wealth of uncultivated districts. Our fictitious statistics would disappear beneath the operation of a sounder system than the present; but I cannot presume to maintain that the interests of the nation would thereby be exorbitantly damaged. The establishment of such a board would cause far less expense to all parties concerned, than the course which is now pursued; and surely it would be better if we were allowed to retain within ourselves that considerable portion of capital which is now either squandered in London, or quietly transferred to the pockets of the English lawyers. These gentlemen may well be satisfied with the product of their own country, without rapaciously absorbing the smaller item, which, if retained at home, is sufficient to resuscitate the poorer bar of Scotland.

I think it is very generally admitted, at least by the sufferers, that something should be done to counteract the baneful effects of that centralisation which has been gradually but surely on the increase. The members whom we send to parliament are infinitely too supine upon such really important points: they seem to forget altogether that they are intrusted with a national duty, and exhibit none of that watchfulness and spirit which characterise the zealous Irish. It is to be devoutly wished that some intelligent and patriotic nobleman—some true and generous Scotsman, such as we all know the Earl of Eglinton to be—would put himself at the head of a national movement, and force these subjects upon the attention of our drowsy governments. I am certain that he would not look around him in vain for sympathy and support. The feeling that our Scottish interests have been culpably and dangerously overlooked, is now far more prevalent than ever; more especially since the detrimental effects of Peel’s wanton aggression upon the Banking system of the nation have been felt by the commercial community. Every true Scotsman must feel that our present position is a degrading one; and we want but a vigorous effort to compel that justice which is our fair prerogative. But so long as our Peerage and members sit with folded hands, and allow every remnant of our native institutions to be uprooted and removed without a struggle and without remonstrance, we cannot expect any thing else than a continued drain upon our country, and a decline in the resources, the wealth, and the institutions of our capital city. Oh, for some spirit powerful enough to rouse those sluggards to their duty! Brave old Sir Walter sleeps in his honoured grave at Dryburgh, and as yet no one has arisen who is worthy to occupy his place.

But I must turn to some other theme; for I really can hardly keep myself within bounds when I reflect on this. What shall I tell you of now?—the theatres or Jenny Lind? You have no doubt heard of the great sensation which the long-deferred appearance of the Swedish warbler has excited in the metropolis, but you can scarcely form any adequate idea of its extent. The long delay which intervened between her first engagement and her actual visit,—the fuss, lighting, and controversy betwixt the two rival managers—and the reports of the unparalleled enthusiasm with which she was received at Vienna and elsewhere, all served to keep the expectation of the public screwed up to the highest pitch. And when it was at last ascertained that the actual Jenny was in London, and speedily to appear, the price of opera-boxes and of stall-tickets rose as rapidly in the market as railway scrips in the redoubted days of staging. Mr D’Israeli’s friends, the Caucasians, were too acute to let so glorious an opportunity escape them. They bought up on speculation every vacant place, and retailed them at exorbitant profits to the eager and impatient amateurs. The expenditure of coat-tails at the pit-door for the first two or three nights was, I understand, something prodigious. Fractured ribs were as plentiful as gooseberries in their season; and the triumph of the syren was complete. She retired amidst a shower of bouquets—one of them thrown by a royal hand; and next morning the journals, forgetting politics for a time, vied with each other in ecstatic rhapsody and high-flown panegyric of the fair and gifted stranger. All this was extremely stimulating to the curiosity; and though, as you are well aware, nature has not gifted me with extreme nicety of ear, and the exorbitant rate of admission was somewhat of a stumbling-block, I resolved to throw parsimony to the winds for once, and took a box upon joint speculation with our friend Mr Archy Chaffinch.