The French have their Saint Fiacre, who must be the patron saint of hackney coaches; why shouldn't the English calendar boast, in the like manner, of its "Saint Cabbie?" The sufferings of that much injured creature have been more than sufficient lately to elevate him to the honours of canonisation; and the weakness, the uncomplaining resignation, with which he has borne those sufferings, surely entitle him to some public mark of our gratitude? Has he fallen from his high elevation of eightpence—or, rather, a shilling—down to sixpence, fallen almost without a murmur—and is no popular testimonial to be given him by way of ointment to that fall? Has he not endured the taunts of vulgar minds without a retort? Has he not sat quietly under the sarcasms of little boys, and never once used his whip to drive them away? Has he not been hunted from stand to stand, worse than a wild beast, by the policemen? And has he not been compelled, which was adding insult to injury, to carry himself and cab to the station-house (without being paid, mind you, for the additional distance,) as often as the vindictive object was to fine him? These are broad daylight truths which we require no turning on of the gas to recognise—these are trials and triumphs of temper which are so many proofs of martyrdom, scarcely to be surpassed by any you will find in "Fox's Book Of Martyrs." We propose, therefore, that some statue be erected in honour of Saint Cabbie; and we think Scotland Yard, which has been the scene where he has been made to bleed so often for his injured cause, would be the fittest spot for the erection. Designs for the statue should be thrown open to public competition and sent in, for selection, to the Police Commissioners. For ourselves, we are anxious to contribute our small mite to the worthy object, and beg, therefore, to suggest the following appropriate design:—
Let a wild horse—the wildest that can be found on the Green Yard—be harnessed to the craziest cab that can be picked off a nocturnal cab stand, and on the top of that cab let poor Cabbie be fastened à la Mazeppa. An aureol, made of dirty straw, should shine round his head; his whip should be lying by his side, broken in two, and suspended round his neck should be his badge of suffering, on which should be marked the fatal word "6d." On the box should be seated a Member of Parliament (the conventional long ears of an M.P. might be left out on this occasion), with the New Cab Act in his hand, driving the poor Cabman to desperation. The motto on the panel might be "For Wheel and Woe."
The above design, we are sure, would work up into a very magnificent statue.
In the meantime we hope Cardinal Wiseman will exercise all his influence with the Pope, or whoever may be the great almanac-maker; at Rome, to have Saint Cabbie introduced by the side of Saint Fiacre in the Romish Calendar.
A Present from the Pope.
His Holiness—says the Journal de Bruxelles—has sent to the young bridegroom, the Duke of Brabant, "a fragment of the wood of the manger which formed the cradle of our Saviour." The Pope has a constant supply of relics on hand to be bestowed on fitting persons and fitting occasions. Enthrone Liberty in the Capitol, and the Pope, no doubt, would send her a relic; nothing less than "the Kiss of Judas?"