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    October 26 , 1851 . ££ § AM not in a condition , my dear Giorgio , to supply you as you would fm desire with accounts of the public events which are exciting the English in so unusual a degree ; for I have been kept a prisoner by an accident « H altogether unexpected . It would do your heart good to see the en . thusiasm which the cold English are exhibiting on behalf of Hungary and Kossuth . Edwardes , who is a thorough Englishman , and devotedly attached to liberal opinions , is very proud of it . He sympathizes with all of the Continen iontmeni

    ~ e ., „ 4- ~ „ ~~ + «^ + <» r .+ Knf nnmnlsiins that , the Liberals t of us , to a great extent , but complains that the Liberals ot the ^ tried to go too fast in 1848 ; and he almost charges us with throwing difficulties in the way of the English Minister . But Hungary he has thoroughly at heart . He recognises her constitutional claims . He would make any sacrifice to support her rights , except going to war . We have got beyond that , he says ; and he points to the state of England as a proof . Say what you may , he argues , we are getting on capitally in every respect . Trade is really increasing . The Exposition , which is just over—and he is always throwing in my teeth the savage neglect I showed in being too late to see it—proved the supremacy of England in trade and useful arts . Of real freedom the English enjoy more than any nation under the sun . The

    circumstances of the people have improved . The power of the aristocracy is abating ; that of the middle class is increasing ; and the public opinion of the country is now wielded by plain men of bnsiness , who promote the interests of society in promoting their own . It is true , he admits , that they do not get on so fast as he could wish , even with approved measures ; but slow and sure . " And there is no country , he repeats , in which so much substantial happiness is enjoyed . Am I not candid to tell all this to you , my dear fellow , who have so often argued to me the same things ? You , indeed , proved it to me in great part from books , and Edwardes speaks as a man mixing with the world ; a difference which only establishes

    your case'the more strongly . I have said little to Edwardes of my own feelings , because I would rather see than say , especially at first . But I do not see that in justice Hungary has half so great a claim on England as Italy ; nor in association ; when we owe to Italy so much of our arts and our civilization ; when so much of our daily avocations originates with her . But be that as it may , I am glad to see my countrymen renewing that sympathy for brave nations abroad which England has owned before ; and I applauded rather than criticized the praises which , while he was hastening through his tea , Edwardes poured forth with equal generosity upon Hungary and upon England . We were going to a meeting in honour of Kossuth ; and I believe that Edwardes was "to move a resolution : " but we were not

    destined to arrive at the place . Just as we had turned into Oxford-street , we found one of the great crowds for which London is famous , collected round one of those " accidents" that enliven the somewhat tame life of this thriving metropolis : some one had been knocked down by a policeman and seriously hurt . " it ' s a gentleman J" whispered a working man with emphatic horror . Edwardes descended from his phaeton—I was wrong in calling it a gig ; Edwardes says that gigs are never seen now , " except in Lincolnshire and Mesopotamia "—and we penetrated to the focus of interest . There lay a young man , in deadly stillness , bleeding at the head , and breathing heavily . The case was worse than the report : he had been knocked down into the road , and there run over ; and , as we afterwards found , was suffering from

    a concussion of the brain and a broken leg . Af ter some delay , he was removed home—not at nuy distance ; we remained with him all night ; and I have been in the house ever since . The first steps towards recovery were only advances to a more shocking state of existence ; a broken leg and violent delirium are not good companions to each other , and I volunteered to wuteh him in turn with his brother . The father was paralyzed with fear ; ami the mother , vigorous as she seemed at a pinch , wanted grip for such n purpoBC .

    It was a horrid case , and we shall never henr the whole merits of it . The young man must have been in wine ; he got into some miserable scuffle , and was , I fancy , brutally treated . The policeman came next day ; and the poor father , who is a model of helplessness , on the presence of any strong calamity , called on me to stand by him before the injurer of his son . " lie thought it well to have the presence of a third party . " The policeman had evidently eoine to beg aim ! bully , in order to save his post ; and

    he found bullying the better course . The father had no mercy for the man while pleading that he was under provocation ; but when he heard the odious details of the disturbance , some unintelligible quarrel with or about a profligate woman , he did all he could to " hush up" the matter ; and at paiting he actually shook hand * with the policeman ; who stalked out with uu air of magnanimous forgiveness that deserved lit least five shillingg . «• I clu nofc like to bear maliee , " said the tradesman to me . 1 caunot uWril *; to you the painful cmotioius which the aspect of that worthy man

    gave me—his tribulation at the sight of blood and physical suffering ; his clumsiness ; his anxiety to escape and " leave it all to the doctor and the women ; " his feverish solicitude to hush up " William ' s wildnesses , " clear the premises of police , and keep his shop free from « ' anything unusual j " the fussy , chop-fallen , pursy obtrusively evasive bearing . And yet he seemed anxious , and prepared to do " allfor the best / ' if he did but know how . Only " these things upset him so ; " they are " so remarkably

    disagreeable . " . Edwardes delighted him by telling him that the best thing that he could do was to keep out of the way ; and next to his reliance on the unbounded ability of " the doctor , " I believe , was his gratitude to me . He told me forty times , that he could not express his sense of the kindness , the perfectly unexpected and unmerited kindness , which 1 had shown to the family ; and in return , at every interval of business , he was indefatigable in seeing " that I was made comfortable , " " that I had all I wanted , " He has concentrated his own share of the labour thrown upon the household

    in surrounding me with superfluous materials for festive feeding , and with a perfect plethora of bedroom comforts , including several things of which I cannot guess the use . - Meanwhile I have grown to be quite " one of the family , " and am treated with a degree of confidence that seems extended to no one else . Of course calamity exercises its usual power , in performing the work of time . But part of this sudden familiarity , I believe , lies in the fact that I am regarded as foreigner , " and it is thought that things may be done before me which would not be permitted if 1 were an Englishman . Why is this ? Is it not because half of the ordinary sense of right and wrong lies in the notion of what your companion will think of you . " Honi soit qui mal y pense , " is the rule of chivalry—obsolete just now in England ; but the rule of daily life is , " Disgrace to him of whom ill is thought . "

    It is a good family ; would it were as happy . It comprises Mr . Johnson and his wife—a woman far short of fifty , but worn to a framework for the most respectable costume that London could exhibit ; her children , of whom the eldest is a girl some twenty-five or thirty years of age ; the youth in bed ; three other daughters , the youngest about twelve ; a second son , about sixteen or seventeen ; and the wife ' s cousin , not much older than the oldest daughter . We—how soon one gets to appropriate others into that multiple egotism we !—we are gradually " settling down into our ordinary ways ; " and very strange ways they are—at least , to me . Could I write down all of respect , surpr ise , affection , regret , and indignation , that the ordinary life of this ordinary family causes me , I mig ht take many days to write this letter—far longer than poor William will suffer me to remain at the work . Anything in the account that you cannot understand , I dare say

    Helen ean remember enough to explain to you . To be frank to you , this poor fellow lying beside my chair in his bed is a most insufferable animal . Convalescence only developes the odious inanity of his being . Pale , exhausted , feeble , he calls for attention to his comforts in a voice of irritated , impatient complaint at their not having been anticipated . From the fragmentary disclosures which he has made , I learn that his life hitherto , since he got away from school , has been one of business by day and " pleasure" by night . What the " pleasure" is I not the most

    ean only guess . Reminiscences of places of amusement artistic—triumphs over policemen , of whom our poor friend has bastinadoed enough to garrison a great town—allusions , when we are alone , to more than one " poor girl" who has been very faithful to Am—such for the past : for the future , profit by the lesson just incurred , sticking to business , and reform : for the present , mere and absolute suspension of ideas . The poor wretch has not read , has not experienced , has not loved , has not lived— he has been but the subject of accident and instinct . He cordially loves nothing ; not even " Eliza , " on whom he intends to confer his battered body , as soon as he can arrange a partnership with his father . the transition

    To describe the utter vacuity of his mind , at present , in between the Chateau Rouge stage of life , and the counting-house stage , would be impracticable : you cannot describe a negation , nor paint a vacuum . The scraps of half boastful , repentant ribaldry—the wily teats of bravado—the convalescent mind narrowing to a very few ideas , tne guides of the wise future—the tightening selfishness of the man not worth a place in the world , but now the object of an organized solicitude—make a composition of vanity ludicrously disgusting . Edwardes tells me that young Johnson is a perfect specimen of the London " gent , assure you that a gent , in articulo mortis is not a sublime object , father tells me that although William is wild— " and we have all been wild in our day , sir , "— he is a sharp fellow , and may have a place in tne business as soon as he is married— «? and a wife as soon as he ftsks ° * UU > JlllVa *> «* S » O \ J \ JM . M . MJL 4 M 11 U JltJ MBMimm * KK 4 WI «•••»» m . v- »• - «¦ — - — I

    her . " Many a girl would be glad to have him , the father says ; am Edwardes declares that it is true ! William loves nothing ; and how any one can love him I cannot guess , save for that blind instinct which , by the blesHing of our Heavenly y ^ is stronger than mail ' s precepts and maxima . A more utterly value being thua the sick man appeared us he lay in bed , it would be hnpo ** ^ to imagine . So actively worthless , so mischievous in * all that thera » him of faculties , that truly the thought came over me more than once , ^ ^ it was a less true service to any living creature to help in the lubou lugging him back into health and life , than to help in the purifying P ™ of the opposite sort . A finger and thumb might have done it . I «« ^ it wfta ltt » H reason that rostoauwd me than that same blind instinct . m clew that oorne do love him . No * hi * father ; who OPty r&tpect * b

    Tynxthlin.

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    Untitled Article

    We should do our utmost to encourage the Beautiful , for the Useful encoiarage itself . —Goethe .

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    832 THE LEADER . [ SatprDAY

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), Aug. 28, 1852, page 832, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1949/page/20/