Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Nothing, indeed, could be more injudicious than the early legislation of the United Parliament in regard to Scottish affairs. In order to strengthen the hands of the English officers of customs and excise located in the north, who could not understand the technicalities, and would not observe the forms of a law to which they were habitually strangers, it was determined that the Scottish Justices of the Peace should be made fac-similes of the English. We may conceive the horror of a grim Presbyterian west-country laird at finding himself associated in the commission with “the most reverent father in Christ, and our faithful counsellor, Thomas Archbishop of Canterbury, primate of all England, and metropolitan thereof!” Then came the abolition of the Scottish Privy Council, and a new act for the trial of treason, superseding the authority of the Court of Justiciary, and introducing the commission, unintelligible to Scottish ears, of Oyer and Terminer. This was passed in the face of the united opposition of the whole body of the Scottish members. Then came the Patronage Act, which effected a schism in the church, and others more or less injurious or injudicious; so that it is impossible to avoid the conclusion of Mr Burton, “that English statesmen, had they desired to alienate Scotland, and create a premature revulsion against the Union, could not have pursued a course better directed to such an end.” In fact, the existence of the Union was at one time in the greatest peril. The Scottish members of the House of Commons, though almost to a man returned on the Revolution interest, held a meeting for the purpose of considering the propriety of taking steps to have the Union dissolved; and it does not appear that there was a single dissentient voice. Lockhart, the member for Mid-Lothian, who summoned the meeting, has given us a sketch of his statement, the most important points of which were as follows: “That the Scots trade was sunk and destroyed by the many prohibitions, regulations, and impositions on it, and the heavy taxes imposed on the native produce and manufacture (all which were calculated and adapted to the conveniency and circumstances of England, with which those of Scotland did noways correspond); and that the country was exhausted of money, by the remittance of so great a part of the public taxes, and the great recourse of so many Scotsmen to London: if matters stood long on such a footing, the ruin and misery of Scotland was unavoidable; that from the haughty and insolent treatment we had lately received, it was sufficiently evident we could expect no just redress from the English.” The result of the conference was a communication with the Scottish Representative Peers, who were also by this time thoroughly disgusted with the Union; and the Earl of Findlater, selected as the mouthpiece of the party, moved the dissolution of the Union in the House of Lords, and succeeded in effecting an equal division of the members present. The motion was lost by the small majority of three upon the proxies.

It is remarkable that in this debate the Duke of Argyle and his brother, Lord Ilay, both warm friends of the Hanoverian succession, spoke strongly in favour of the motion; thus showing how keenly and universally the attempt to provincialise Scotland was felt by all classes. It became evident that, under such a system of administration, Scotland could not long remain tranquil; and, accordingly, the death of Queen Anne was followed by the raising of the insurrectionary standard.

Mar’s rebellion was at length quelled, mainly through the efforts and personal popularity of the Duke of Argyle. In all human probability it never would have taken place, but for the encouragement held out to the Jacobites by the universal discontent of Scotland. But in spite of every warning, the ministers of the day persevered in a line of conduct most offensive to the northern population. They suppressed the important office of the Scottish Secretary of State, as if the affairs of that kingdom were of so little importance, that an English Secretary, who knew nothing of the people or their laws, was perfectly competent to superintend their business in addition to that of the other country. Such an arrangement as this, however, was too preposterous to remain unaltered. The English Secretary might just as well have attempted to administer the affairs of Muscovy as those of Scotland; and, in process of time, the functions of Secretary were quietly handed over to the Lord Advocate—a combination of which the country has had much reason to complain, and which it certainly ought not to tolerate longer. The history of the country between 1715 and 1745, is, with the exception of a short period during which the Duke of Argyle exercised a sort of provisional vice-royalty, little else than a catalogue of repeated innovations and dissensions. At that time Scotland was regarded by English statesmen as a dangerous and smouldering volcano; and fully half a century, dating from the time of the Union, went by, before anything like a feeling of cordiality was established between the two nations.

When we regard Scotland as it is now—tranquil, prosperous, and enterprising—we are naturally led to wonder at the exceeding greatness of the change. The change, however, is not in the character of the people: they are still as jealous of what they esteem to be their just rights and guaranteed privileges as ever; but they have felt, and fully appreciate, the advantages which they have derived from the union; a closer intercourse has taught them to respect and admire the many estimable qualities of the English character; and they perceive that a very great deal of the aggression of which their fathers complained, and which led not only to heartburnings but to civil strife, arose rather from ignorance than from deliberate intention of offence. And if, even now, there are some matters with regard to which they consider that they have not received justice, these have not been, and will not be, made the subjects of a reckless agitation. No one believes that there is any design on the part of England to deal unkindly or unfairly with her sister. We may, indeed, complain that purely Scottish matters are treated with comparative indifference in the British House of Commons; but, then, it is impossible to forget that the great majority of the members know very little indeed of the Scottish laws and institutions. There is some truth in one observation of the _Times_—though the writer intended it for a sneer—“that the Scottish representatives in London are not only regarded with the deepest respect, but to them the highest of all compliments is paid—namely, that when a Scotch subject is brought before the House, almost invariably the matter is left to their own decision, without interference of any kind.” If the _Times_ could have added that Scottish business obtained that prominence to which it is entitled—that our bills were not invariably shuffled off and postponed, as if they related to matters of no moment whatever—the statement might be accepted as satisfactory. Even as it is, we are not inclined to stand greatly upon our dignity. Neglect is, upon the whole, preferable to over-legislation; and we are not covetous of the repetition of such experiments as were made by the late Sir Robert Peel upon our banking system. But, so far as we know, beyond an occasional grumble at slight and delay, there has been no serious remonstrance on this head. What we do remonstrate against is, that while exposed to an equal taxation with England, Scotland does not receive the same, or anything like the same, encouragement for her national institutions, and that her local interests are not properly cared for on the part of the British government.

We are very anxious that this matter should be stated fairly and calmly, so that our brethren in the south may judge for themselves whether or not there is substantive reason in the appeal for “Justice to Scotland” which, having been faintly audible for many years, is now sounded throughout the land. We have anything but a wish to make mountains out of molehills, or to magnify and parade trifles as positive grievances. Therefore we shall not allude to such matters as heraldic arrangements, though why the stipulations made by treaty with regard to these should be violated or overlooked, we cannot comprehend. If emblems are to be retained at all, they ought to be in strict accordance with the position of the things which they represent. Our real complaints, however, are not of a nature which will admit of so easy a remedy as the application of a painter’s brush, or a readjustment of quarterings; nor can they be laughed down by silly sneers at the attitude of the Scottish Lion. They are substantial and specific; and both the honour and the interest of Scotland are concerned in obtaining their redress.

And first we maintain, and refer to the Treaty of Union, and our present arrangements as proof, that the equality established between England and Scotland has been observed only as regards equality of taxation, but has been disregarded in the matter of allowances. We ask Englishmen, against whom the charge of pecuniary injustice has almost never been made, and who frequently have erred, in regard to foreign connection and subsidy, on the other side, to take into serious consideration the facts which we are about to adduce.

The object of the Treaty of Union was to establish uniformity of trade and privilege, internal and external, throughout the United Kingdom; to equalise taxation and burdens; and to extinguish all trace of separate interest in matters purely imperial. But it was not intended by the Union to alter or innovate the laws and institutions of either country—on the contrary, these were strictly excepted and provided for. The previous acts, both of the English and the Scottish Parliaments, remained in force, applicable to the two countries: but, for the future, all legislation was to be intrusted to one body, “to be styled the Parliament of Great Britain.” Referring again to the Treaty of Union, we find anxious and careful provision made for the maintenance in Scotland of three national institutions, the Church, the Courts, and the Universities; all of which the united legislature was bound to recognise and protect. In short, the whole spirit and tenor of the Treaty is, that, without altering national institutions, equality should be observed as much as possible in the future administration of the countries.

It cannot be pretended that the Union implied no real sacrifice on the part of the Scottish people. London, to the exclusion of Edinburgh, became the seat of government. Thither the nobility and wealthier gentry were drawn, and there a considerable portion of the revenue of the country was expended. That was the inevitable consequence of the arrangement which was made, and the Scots were too shrewd not to perceive it. But, on the other hand, the advantages which the union offered, seemed, in prospect at least, to counterbalance the sacrifice; and it was understood that, though the Scottish parliament was abolished, and the great offices of state suppressed, the remanent local institutions were to receive from the British government that consideration and support which was necessary to maintain them in a healthy state of existence.

It is almost to be regretted that the Treaty of Union was not more distinct and specific on those points; and that no stipulation was made for the expenditure of a fair proportion of the revenue raised from Scotland within her bounds. That such a guarantee would have been advantageous is now evident; for, instead of diminishing, the tendency towards centralisation has become greater than ever. No government has tried to check it—indeed, we question whether public men are fully aware of its evil.

As a country advances in wealth, the seat of government will always prove the centre point of attraction. The fascinations of the court, the concourse of the nobility, the necessary throng of the leading commoners of Britain during the parliamentary season, are all in favour of the metropolis. To this, as a matter of course, we must submit, and do so cheerfully; but not by any means because we are in the situation of an English province. It never was intended to make us such, nor could the whole power of England, however exerted, have degraded us to that position. London is not our capital city, nor have we any interest in its aggrandisement. We do not acknowledge the authority, in matters of law, of the Chief-Justice of England—we are altogether beyond the reach of the southern Ecclesiastical Courts. These are not accidental exceptions; they are necessary parts of the system by which it was provided that, in all things concerning our local administration, we were to have local courts, local powers, and a local executive. We complain that, in this respect, the spirit of the treaty has not been observed. Our Boards of Custom and Commissioners of Excise have been abolished; the revenues of the Scottish Woods and Forests are administered in London, and applied almost entirely to English purposes; and a like centralisation has been extended to the departments of the Stamps and Post-office.

But lest it should be said that these are grievances more shadowy than real, let us take the case of the Woods and Forests mentioned above. The hereditary revenues of the Crown in Scotland amount to a very large sum, all of which is sent to London, but hardly a penny of it ever returns. Holyrood, Dunfermline, Linlithgow—all our old historical buildings and objects of interest, are allowed to crumble into decay; because the administration of a fund which ought to be devoted to such purposes is confided to Englishmen, who care nothing whatever about the matter. By one vote in the present year, £181,960 were devoted to the repair and embellishment of royal palaces, parks, and pleasure-grounds in England; but it seems by the statement of the Chancellor of the Exchequer that there are no funds available for the repair of Holyrood. Of course there can be no funds, if all our money is to be squandered in the south, and an annual expenditure of nearly £10,000 lavished upon Hampton Court, where royalty never resides. Of course there can be no funds, if £40,000 is given for a palm-house at Kew, and upwards of £62,000 for royal parks in England. But there _are_ funds, if we may believe the public accounts, arising from the revenue of the Crown in Scotland, though most unjustly diverted to other than Scottish purposes. It may be, however, that, very soon, no such funds will remain. A large portion of the Crown property situated in Scotland has been advertised for public sale; and we may be sure of this, that not even a fractional portion of the proceeds will be applied to the North of the Tweed. Now, if the management of this branch of the Revenue had been intrusted to a board in Edinburgh (as it formerly was, before the Barons of Exchequer were abolished), we venture to say that, without asking or receiving one shilling of English money, we could have effectually rescued ourselves from the reproach to which we are daily subjected by strangers, who are not aware of the extent to which centralisation has been carried. They look with wonder and sorrow at Holyrood, with her ruined chapel, and the bones of our Scottish kings and queens exposed to the common gaze, and ask whether they really are among a people famous for the enthusiasm with which they cleave to the memories of the past, and to the recollections of their former glories. Peering through the bars of that charnel vault where the giant skeleton of Darnley is thrown beside the mouldering remains of those who once wore the crown and wielded the sceptre of Scotland, they can recall no parallel instance of desecration save the abominable violation of the sepulchres of St Denis by the base republican rabble. And who are to blame for this? Not certainly the Scottish people, but those who have diverted the revenues applicable to purely national objects, to the maintenance of English palaces and the purchase of London parks.

Centralisation has deprived us of several important offices which could have been filled quite as economically and efficiently for the public service in Scotland as in the south. We are by no means in favour of the extension of useless offices, but there is a vast difference between such and places of responsibility, where local knowledge becomes a very high qualification. It is impossible that a board, sitting in London, can give the same satisfaction to the people of Scotland, or conduct business so effectually, as if it was located among them. But, besides this, it seems to be a settled matter that Scottish official appointments are to be remunerated on a different scale from that which is applied in England and in Ireland. Why is it that our officials—in the Edinburgh Post-office, for example—are paid at a far lower rate than those who perform the same duties in London and in Dublin? Is it because Ireland contributes more than we do to the revenue? Let us see. The revenue of Scotland for the year ending 1852 was £6,164,804, of which there was expended in the country £400,000, leaving £5,764,804, which was remitted to London. The revenue of Ireland for the same period was £4,000,681, of which there was expended in Ireland £3,847,134; leaving a balance merely of £153,547. Have the people of Scotland no reason to complain whilst this monstrous inequality is tolerated?

Let us now turn to the Universities, which in the eyes of a Government so zealous as the present affects to be in the cause of education, and to Lord John Russell in particular, ought to be objects of considerable interest. Let us see how they have been treated. In the year 1826 a Commissioner was appointed by George IV. to examine into the state of the Scottish Universities, and to report thereon. The Commissioners, of whom the Earl of Aberdeen was one, made a report in 1831, to the effect that, in general, the chairs were scandalously ill-endowed, and that adequate and complete provision should be made in all the Universities, so that the appointment to the Chairs “should at all times be an object of ambition to men of literature and science.” Four or five bulky blue books of evidence, &c., were issued; but the only party connected with literature who derived any benefit from the commission, was the English printer. Not a step has been taken in consequence by any administration, _although two-and-twenty years have elapsed since the report was given in_! Sir Robert Peel had no objection to found and endow Popish colleges in Ireland, but he would not listen to the representations made on behalf of the Protestant colleges of Scotland. In consequence, the emolument drawn from many Chairs in Scotland is under £250 per annum, even in cases where the Crown is patron! Such is the liberality of the British Government in regard to Scottish education in its highest branches, even with the most positive reports recorded in its favour! As for museums, antiquarian and scientific societies and the like, they are left entirely dependent upon private support. We do not say that a Government is bound to expend the public money upon such objects as the latter; but it is at all events bound to be impartial; and really, when we look at the large sums devoted every year as a matter of course to London and Dublin, while Edinburgh is passed over without notice, we have a right to know for what offence on our part we experience such insulting neglect. This is, moreover, a matter which ought not to be lightly dismissed, inasmuch as, if Edinburgh is still to be regarded as a capital city, she is entitled to fair consideration and support in all things relating to the diffusion of arts and science. We do not desire to see the multiplication of British museums; but we wish to participate directly in that very lavish expenditure presently confined to London, for what are called the purposes of art. If we are made to pay for pictures, let us at least have some among us, so that our artists may derive the benefit. We have all the materials and collections for a geological museum in Edinburgh, but the funds for the building are denied. Nevertheless, a grant of £18,000 per annum is made from the public money to the geological museums of London and Dublin.

Passing from these things, and referring to public institutions of a strictly charitable nature, we find no trace whatever of state almonry in Scotland. Dublin last year received for its different hospitals £23,654 of state money. Edinburgh has never received the smallest contribution. Can any one explain to us why the people of Scotland are called upon to maintain their own police, while that of London receives annually £131,000, that of Dublin £36,000, and that of the Irish counties £487,000—or why one half of the constabulary expense in the counties of England is defrayed from the consolidated fund, while no such allowance is made to Scotland? We should like very much to hear Mr Gladstone or Lord Palmerston upon that subject.

It is anything but an agreeable task for us to repeat the items of grievance, of which these are only a part. There are others highly discreditable to the Government, such as the continued delay, in spite of constant application, to devote any portion of the public money to the formation of harbours of refuge on the east and northern coasts of Scotland, where shipwrecks frequently occur. But enough, and more than enough, has been said to prove that, while subjected to the same taxation, Scotland does not receive the same measure of allowances and encouragements as England, and that the system of centralisation has been carried to a pernicious and unjustifiable length. If these are not grievances, we are really at a loss to know what may be the true meaning of that term. To many of the English public they must be new, as we have no doubt they are startling; for the general impression is, that Scotsmen, on the whole, know pretty well how to manage their own affairs, and are tolerably alive to their own interest. That is undeniable; but the peculiarity of the case is, _that we are not permitted to manage our own affairs_. England has relieved us of the trouble; which latter, however, we would not grudge to bestow, if allowed to do so. But our grounds of complaint are not new to statesmen and officials of every party. Representation after representation has been made, but made in vain. The press of Scotland has, year after year, charged the Government with neglect of Scottish interests, and warned it against persevering in such a course; but without effect. The unwillingness of the people to agitate has been construed into indifference; and now, when the national voice is raised in its own defence, we are taunted with previous silence!

Now, we beg to repeat again, what we have already expressed, that we do not believe it is the wish of Englishmen, or of English statesmen, that we should be so unfairly treated. Indeed, we have reason to know that some of the latter have expressed their conviction that Scottish affairs are not well administered, and that great reason of complaint exists. That is consoling, perhaps, but not satisfactory. We are told that we ought to be very proud, because, at the present moment, a Scotsman is at the head of the Government. As yet we have seen no reason to plume ourselves upon that accident, which in no way adds materially to the national glory. We shall reserve our jubilation thereon, until we have a distinct assurance that Lord Aberdeen is prepared to grant us substantial justice. Of that, as yet, no indication has been afforded; and, to confess the truth, were it only for the grace of the movement, we would far rather see the reforms and readjustments we require conceded to us, as matter of right, by an English than by a Scottish Premier. What we seek is neither favour nor jobbing, but that attention to our interests which is our due. If Lord Aberdeen thinks fit to render it now, we shall, of course, be very glad to receive it; but we do not entertain extravagant expectations from that quarter. If his heart had really been warmly with the country of his birth, it is almost impossible to suppose that, having set his name, as he did, to a strong report in favour of assistance to the Scottish universities, he would have allowed about a quarter of a century to elapse without mooting the subject, either as a peer of Parliament, or as an influential member of more than one Cabinet; and it is impossible to forget that, with the most deplorable schism in the history of the national Church of Scotland—the more deplorable, because it might have been prevented by wise and timely legislation—his name is inseparably connected. Therefore, in so far as our interests are concerned, we see no especial reason for glorification in the fact that Lord Aberdeen is a peer of Scotland. That Lord Campbell, who, as the _Times_ avers, “holds the highest common law appointment in the three kingdoms,” was born in Cupar, in the ancient kingdom of Fife, by no means reconciles us to the fact of an unfair application of the revenue. Lord Brougham, we believe, first saw the light in Edinburgh—is his subsequent occupation of the woolsack to be considered a sufficient reason why the citizens of the Scottish metropolis should be compelled to maintain their own police, when those of London and Dublin are paid out of the imperial revenue? Really it would appear that notorieties are sometimes expensive productions. With profound respect for the eminent individuals referred to, we would rather, on the whole, surrender the credit of their birth, than accept that as an equivalent for the vested rights of the nation.

Supposing, then, that the reality of the grievance is made out—as to which we presume there can be no question, for the matters we have referred to are of public notoriety—it is necessary to consider what remedy ought to be applied. Undoubtedly much is in the power of Ministers. They may select more than one point of grievance for curative treatment; and Mr Gladstone may possibly endeavour, in his next financial arrangements, to atone for past neglect; but it is not by such means as these that the evil can be wholly eradicated. We must look to the system in order to ascertain why Scotland should have been exposed so long to so much injustice; and, believing as we do, that there was no deliberate intention to slight her interests, we are driven to the conclusion that the fault has arisen from the utterly inadequate provision made by the State for the administration of her internal affairs.

The absurd idea that the true position of Scotland is merely that of a province, has received countenance from the fact that there is no Minister in the British Cabinet directly responsible for the administration of Scottish affairs. There is, indeed, a Home Secretary for the United Kingdom; but it is impossible to expect the holder of that office to have an intimate acquaintance with the laws, institutions, and internal relations of the northern division of the island. The Secretary of State, in general, knows nothing about us, and is compelled to rely, in almost every case, upon the information which he receives from the Lord Advocate. Now, the position of a Lord Advocate is this: He must be a Scottish barrister, and he usually is one who has risen to eminence in his profession. But he has had no experience of public affairs, and usually little intercourse with public men, before he receives her Majesty’s commission as first law officer of the Crown. He has not been trained to Parliament, for a Scottish barrister is necessarily tied to his own courts, and cannot, as his English brethren may, prosecute his profession while holding a seat in Parliament. Thus, even supposing him to be a man of real eminence and ability—and we are glad to express our opinion that, of late years, the office has been worthily filled—he enters the House of Commons without parliamentary experience, and has very little leisure allowed him to acquire it. For, in the first place, he is, as public prosecutor, responsible for the conduct of the whole criminal business of Scotland; and he is the Crown adviser in civil cases. Then he has his own practice to attend to, which generally increases rather than diminishes after his official elevation; and in attending to that in Edinburgh, he is absent from London during half the parliamentary session—in fact, is seldom there, except when some important bill under his especial charge is in progress. Besides this, the office of Lord Advocate is understood to be the stepping-stone to the bench. One gentleman, now a judge of the Court of Session, did not hold the office of Lord Advocate for three months, and never had a seat in Parliament. In the course of last year (1852), no less than three individuals were appointed Lords Advocate in succession, and two of them did not sit in the House. Owing to these circumstances, it rarely happens that a Lord Advocate can acquire a reputation for statesmanship—he has neither the time, the training, the facilities, nor the ordinary motives of doing so. At any moment, even on the eve of completing some important national measure, he may be summoned to the bench, and, in such an event, the interests of the country are tied up until his successor in office has been able to procure a seat, and has become, in some measure, reconciled to the novel atmosphere of St Stephen’s.

This is, beyond all question, a bad system. The peculiar legal functions of the Lord Advocate are, in addition to his private practice, a burden quite heavy enough for any single pair of shoulders to sustain; nor is it consonant either with the dignity or the convenience of the country, that he should be made to act as a sort of assessor or adviser to the Home Secretary. He ought certainly to be in Parliament, as the Attorney-General of England is, to give advice in legal matters, but no further. The training of the bar is not by any means that which tends to the development of administrative qualities; and, even were it otherwise, we have shown that the precarious nature of the office must preclude the holder of it from the advantage of official experience. But, in fact, as those who have had public business to transact in London know full well, there is no order or arrangement whatever provided for the administration of Scottish affairs. Let us take the case of a deputation sent to London about some local matter. They naturally, in the first instance, direct their steps to the Lord Advocate, who, if in town—by no means a certain occurrence—receives them with great courtesy, listens to their story, and then, regretting that the subject in question does not fall within the sphere of his department, refers them to the Junior Lord of the Treasury. They recount their tale to that official, who really seems to exhibit some interest, but discovers, after a time, that they should have made application to the Board of Woods and Forests. Thither they go, and are probably referred to some clerk or under-secretary, brimful of conceit, and exclusively English in his notions. He refers them to the Secretary of the Treasury; but that man of figures is too busy to listen to them, and knows nothing about the matter. He suggests an application to the Home Secretary. Lord Palmerston, the pink of politeness, smiles, bows, and remits them to the knowledge of the Lord Advocate. By this time half the deputation have left, and the others are savage and excited. They are advised to memorialise the Treasury, which they do, and receive an immediate reply that “my Lords” will take the matter into their consideration. And so in all probability they do; but it turns out at the last moment that the Chancellor of the Exchequer has a ruling voice in the matter; and, as his financial arrangements for the year are already made, the application must stand over to be considered at a future period.

It is now full time that a new order of things should be introduced, and that the affairs of Scotland should be administered by a responsible Secretary of State with a seat in the Cabinet. We have, on every ground, full right to demand this. The public revenue levied from Scotland is larger than that of either Holland, Belgium, Naples, Sardinia, or Sweden and Norway. It is larger than the combined revenues of Bavaria, Denmark, Greece, and Switzerland. The revenue of Ireland is one-third less than ours, and yet Ireland has not only a Secretary of State, but a Lord-Lieutenant. No one surely can venture to say that the interests here involved are too trifling to require superintendence, or that any organisation would be superfluous. For our own part, having watched narrowly for years the working of the present absurd and unregulated system, we do not hesitate to declare our conviction that justice never can, and never will, be done to Scotland until its affairs are placed under the management of a separate Secretary of State. This point cannot be pressed too strongly. The wealth, importance, and position of the country justify the demand; and we have yet to learn that there is any one sound or substantial reason for denying it.

Another point, and it is one of vast importance, is to insist that, at the next adjustment of the representation, Scotland shall send its just proportion of members to the House of Commons. At present, whether the test of revenue or of population be applied, we are inadequately represented as contrasted with England. We pay more than a ninth of the whole revenue of the United Kingdom, but we have only a thirteenth part of the representation. It is quite necessary that this should be remedied, so that our interests may be properly and efficiently attended to in the legislature. We care not what criterion is taken—whether that of revenue or that of population—but we have a right to demand and expect, that in this matter also we shall be dealt with according to the same measure which is applied to England. According to the last census, each of our Scottish members represents an average population of 54,166; whilst one member is returned for every 35,845 of the population of England. The apportionment ought to be made according to some clear, intelligible principle—not by a mere flourish of the pen, or an arbitrarily assumed figure. With a responsible Minister, and an adequate representation, attention to the interests of Scotland would be secured; and it is the bounden duty of every man who wishes well to his country to bestir himself for the attainment of these objects.

We have not approached this subject with any feeling of exacerbation. In demonstrating wherein Scotland has not received its proper meed of justice and consideration, we have been careful to avoid rash strictures or unworthy reflections upon our neighbours. If in some things we have suffered from neglect, and in others from innovation, we must not hastily conclude that there is a deliberate intention anywhere to deprive us of our due. The form in which our affairs have been administered for well-nigh a hundred years, is, as we believe we have shown, quite inadequate for the purpose for which it was originally intended; and the rapid development of the wealth and population of the country ought, long ago, to have suggested the propriety of a more rational arrangement. There is no occasion, in a matter of this sort, for any appeal to national feelings, which indeed it would be superfluous to rouse. The case is a very clear one, founded upon justice and public policy; and, if properly urged, no government can venture to treat it indifferently. But in whatever way this movement may be met—whether it is regarded with sympathy, or replied to by derision—it is our duty to aid in the assertion of our country’s rights; and we shall not shrink from its performance.

FOREIGN ESTIMATES OF ENGLAND.[2]

With what heart or conscience can an English critic expose the deficiencies of a foreign book, “dedicated to the great, the noble, the hospitable English people”? Upon its first page he finds a compliment that cripples his quill. Though he had gall in his ink, it must turn to honey on his paper. Mr Schlesinger takes his English readers and reviewers at an unfair advantage. Perhaps he thinks to treat them like children, thrusting a comfit into their mouths to bribe them to swallow drugs. The flattering flourish of his commencement may be intended to mask the batteries about to open. He gags us with a rose, that we may silently bear the pricking of the thorns.

Inexhaustible interest attaches to the printed observations of intelligent foreigners upon England and its capital. The field is vast, and has been little worked. There are few books upon the subject either in French or in German, and, of such as there are, very few possess merit or have met with success. Defaced, in a majority of instances, by prejudice, triviality, or misappreciation, they attracted slight notice in the countries of their publication, and were utterly unheeded in that they professed to describe. Increased facilities of communication, and more extensive study of the English language in France and Germany, will bring about a change in this respect. We anticipate the appearance, within the next twenty years, of many foreign books upon England, and especially upon London—a city first known to Continentals, according to the author now present, in the year of grace 1851. “Stray travellers, bankers, wandering artisans, and diplomatic documents, had occasionally let fall a few words, which sounded like fairy tales, concerning the greatness, the wealth, the industry, and the politics of the monster city of the West; but that city lay, geographically, too far out of the way, and the phases of its historical development had not been sufficiently connected with the history of Continental nations, for it to be, like Paris, a favourite object of travel and study.” The cosmopolitan glasshouse was the glittering bait which drew to our shores a larger concourse of foreigners than England ever before at one time beheld, or than she is likely ever again to behold, at least in our day, unless in the rather improbable contingency of the French Emperor’s successfully realising those projects of invasion some are disposed to impute to him. A summer of unusual beauty, a general disposition to show kindness and hospitality to the stranger, the manifold attractions of that really wonderful building, unsurpassed save by the edifice now rising from its remains on the slope of a Kentish hill, combined to invest London with a charm to which foreigners who had already visited it were wholly unaccustomed, and for which those who for the first time beheld it were quite unprepared.

Max Schlesinger, well known as the author of one of the most successful and popular of the books that were written on the late Hungarian war, was amongst the visitors to the Crystal Palace, but must have resided in England for a longer period than the duration of that exhibition. The first volume of his “Wanderings,” which appeared last year, was written in England, for he dates his preface from the Isle of Wight. He does not profess to give an account of London. He felt that two volumes, compendious though they be, would be insufficient for more than a glance at such a multitude of objects for description, and of subjects for reflection and analysis, as are presented by the overgrown British metropolis, and he preferred dwelling upon a few points to glancing at a great many. He has hit upon an ingenious and amusing plan for the exposition of his views and maintenance of his impartiality. He establishes himself in an English family, in the _terra incognita_ of Guildford Street. The master of the house, Sir John, who is intended as a prototype of his countrymen, is a thorough John Bull—shrewd, sensible, intelligent, with a moderate allowance of English prejudices, a warm attachment to his country, a well-founded conviction of its pre-eminence amongst the nations, and of the excellence of its institutions. Dr Keif (the word signifies a grumbler), another inmate of the house, and an old friend of Sir John’s, is an Austrian journalist, whose pen has taken liberties that have endangered his own, and who has sought refuge in England, which he begins good-humouredly to abuse almost as soon as he has landed in it. He is kind-hearted, impetuous, excitable, given to faultfinding and polemics, and nearly as much convinced of German superiority as Sir John is of that of England. Then there is a Frenchman, Tremplin, introduced in the second volume, and who can see nothing good out of Paris. An Englishman named Frolick—who conducts the foreigners upon nocturnal excursions to theatres, gin palaces, “penny gaffs,” the purlieus of Drury Lane and St Giles’s, and to any other place they are curious to study—and the ladies of Sir John’s family, make up the list of characters, amongst whom there are occasionally very amusing dialogues, when the master of the house, Keif, and Tremplin, hold stiff disputations as to the merits of their respective countries. Mr Schlesinger’s style is pointed, and often humorous; and the plan he has adopted imparts to his book a lightness and entertaining quality by no means invariably found in works of the kind; whilst it at the same time enables him to avoid that appearance of invidious dogmatism which is one of the most fatal pitfalls literary travellers are exposed to stray into.

As may be supposed from the terms of his dedication, Mr Schlesinger has found much to like and admire in England, and especially in the English nation. His book is, upon the whole, highly favourable to us, although sarcastic Dr Keif and that puppy Tremplin now and then point to a raw spot. Evidently well acquainted with our language, gifted with an active mind and an observant eye, he has no need to resort to the flimsy devices of some recent writers on the same topic. There is solid pabulum in his pages, something superior to the flimsy lucubrations of one or two French writers we have lately fallen in with, and of one of whom (M. Méry) we took notice a few months ago. Most Frenchmen who write about London do so with an extremely superficial knowledge of the subject. Want of self-confidence is not a failing of theirs; they come to England with a mere smattering of the language, and with a predisposition to dislike the place and its customs, to laugh at the people, to be tortured by the climate and poisoned by the cooks. They remain a short time, examine nothing thoroughly, nor appreciate anything impartially, quit the country with joy, remember it with a shudder, and write books in which burlesque stories and ridiculous exaggerations are eked out by denunciations of perpetual fogs, and by hackneyed jokes concerning the sun’s invisibility. Such writers may be sometimes witty, occasionally amusing, but they are neither fair critics nor reliable authorities.

There is no plan or order in Mr Schlesinger’s book. Guildford Street is his headquarters; thence he rambles, usually with Dr Keif, sometimes with Sir John and other companions, whithersoever the fancy of the moment leads him. On their return home, from Greenwich or Vauxhall, from the House of Commons or a minor theatre, or from a stroll in the streets, they invariably find, no matter how late the hour, the cheerful tea-urn and smiling female faces to welcome them; and it is usually during these sober sederunts, whilst imbibing innumerable cups of bohea, that Sir John and Dr Keif hold those lively arguments which Mr Schlesinger has transcribed with stenographic fidelity. We turn to the fourth chapter of the second volume, headed “Westminster—The Parliament.” Probably no foreigner ever gave a more vivid and correct description than this chapter contains of things with which it takes both time and pains for a foreigner to become thoroughly acquainted. Doubtless Mr Schlesinger has been indebted to reading and conversation as well as to his own observations, and some statistical and descriptive parts of his work are probably derived from English books. One entire chapter, that on Spitalfields, he acknowledges to have taken from such a source. But there are numerous remarkable passages for which he can hardly be indebted to anything but to his own quick ear and sharp eye. In company with Sir John and Dr Keif, he goes to the Speaker’s Gallery of the House of Commons. It is five o’clock—bills are being read—presently the debate begins—Dr Keif, who has a perfect knowledge of English, is indignant that the chat amongst the members prevents his hearing the orators. These, he is assured by Sir John, who is an old frequenter of the House, are mere skirmishers, of little importance; the gossips will be still enough when any one worth listening to rises to speak. A message from the Upper House fixes the attention of the Germans, who are immensely diverted by the formalities with which it is presented, by the forward and backward bowing of the messengers and of the sergeant-at-arms, whose official costume, knee breeches and sword, has already excited their curiosity. Mr Schlesinger, a decided liberal in German politics, not unfrequently becomes as decidedly conservative in treating of English customs and institutions. “All these ceremonies,” he says, “are extraordinarily comical to the foreign guest, and even the Englishman, who enters for the first time in his life the workshop of his lawmakers, may probably be rather startled by such pigtailed formalities, although his courts of justice have already accustomed him to periwigs. In most Continental states, ceremonies handed down from previous generations, and unsuited to the present time, have been done away with as opportunity offered. People got ashamed of perukes and silk cloaks, and dismissed them to the lumber room, as opposed to the spirit of the age. Whether they might not, in their war against those intrinsically unimportant and harmless externals, make a commencement of more serious conflicts, was probably overlooked. In France and Germany we have lived to witness such conflicts. In the revolutions of both those countries the war was in great measure against externals, against abuses of minor importance, against titles of nobility, orders of knighthood, upper chambers, clerical and royal prerogatives; but in neither did a compact majority ever contrive to seize the right moment, to harmonise contradictions, and to secure the two results which should be the aim of every revolution—improvement of the condition of the people, and unlimited individual liberty. Where these two things are secured, all other difficulties peaceably solve themselves.... A pacific progress ensues; a gradual, but so-much-the-safer activity of reform becomes not only possible, but necessary and inevitable. The English, even those belonging to the Radical party, have an instinctive sense of this truth. The Lower House has never taken the field against the Peers, because their wives wear coronets in their hair, or because the Queen opens and closes Parliament in the Upper House, upon which occasions the Commons stand thronged like a flock of sheep before the bar of the House of Lords,” &c. &c. We pass over some pages of interesting remarks to get to Mr Schlesinger’s sketches of certain prominent members of the House of Commons, merely recording, by the way, this German reformer’s opinion, that the monarchical principle is firmer in England at the present day than it was a century ago, before the clamour of innovation and revolution had swept across the Channel. We trust and believe that he is right in this opinion. We well know that there are, both in and out of Parliament, a few men, more noted for a certain class of talent than respected for consistency and high principle, who look upon the crown as a costly bauble, and would gladly see it replaced by a republican government. If they do not say as much, it is because they dare not, because they know that the press and the public would combine to hoot them down. But it is not difficult to discern the levelling principle that is paramount in their hearts. The enunciation of that principle, did they ever contemplate it in any form, has not been favoured by the events of the last five years. Common sense and shrewd perception are qualities claimed by Englishmen, and usually conceded to them even by those foreigners who like them least. We must, indeed, be lamentably deficient in both, not to have taken a warning from what we have beheld, since 1847, in the two most civilised countries of the European continent. There is little contagion in such examples as have been set to us. License, with despotism as a sequel, constitutes no very alluring prospect to a nation accustomed to seek its prosperity in industry and order. We have seen enough of the results of sudden changes abroad to desire that any we adopt at home should be exceedingly gradual and well-considered. Foreign revolutionists have done us the service which drunken helots were made to render to the children of Sparta. We have learned temperance from the spectacle of their degradation.

In his preface, Mr Schlesinger protests his impartiality, and on this score we have no fault to find with him. Some of his parliamentary portraits, however, are perhaps a little tinged by his political predilections. In the main they are extremely correct, and the likenesses undeniable. Mr Disraeli, Lord John Russell, Lord Palmerston, Colonel Sibthorp, are his four most prominent pictures. Lord John himself would hardly claim the designation of “a great orator” bestowed upon him by his German admirer, who, in other respects, gives a truthful and happy delineation of the Whig statesman. But the following sketch is the gem of the parliamentary chapter.

“‘So that is my Lord Palmerston,’ whispered Dr Keif, parodying his friend Kappelbaumer—‘that is the “_God-preserve-us_” of all rational Continental cabinets? He yonder with the white whiskers, the finely-cut features, the striped neckcloth, and the brown trousers, which he probably got as a present from Mazzini? Yonder elderly gentleman, lying rather than sitting upon his bench, and chatting with his neighbour as he might do in a tavern? Now, by Metternich! this Lord Palmerston looks so cordial, that, if I had not read the German newspapers for many years past, I never would have believed all the wickedness there is in him. To think that yonder people do not scruple to converse with him! with a convicted partisan of rebels, in whose company no respectable citizen of Vienna or Berlin would be seen to cross a street! But, as we say, there is nothing in a man’s looks. He does not look in the least like a rebel or a conspirator. And yet to think of all the rude notes he has written!’

“‘That is just because he is a great diplomatist,’ remarked Sir John, with much unction. ‘We like him so much the more because you, across the water, hate, and fear, and throw stones at him. He has the luck to be as popular at home as he is abused abroad. When that is not the case with a minister of foreign affairs, better pension him off at once. He is appointed for the very purpose of barking and snapping all round the house, to keep off intruders and thieves. And can you deny that Lord Palmerston perfectly performed his bull-dog mission? Was he not always on his legs? Did he not lustily bark like a chained watch-dog, so that all the neighbours round respected him? And did he ever bite anybody? No, you cannot say that he ever bit anybody. Only showed his teeth. Nothing more. That was enough. And that, merely by so doing, he frightened you all, that, we well know, is what you will never forgive.’

“‘I would give anything in the world,’ cried Dr Keif, ‘to hear him make a little speech. How does he speak?’

“‘In a way I well like to hear,’ answered Sir John; ‘out and openly; no pathos, no emotion—sensibly, intelligibly—and above all, courteously and politely, as befits an English gentleman. It is not in his nature to be rude; he cannot be so, except when he takes pen in hand to write abroad. In the House he is never personal; and yet nobody better knows how to turn a troublesome questioner into ridicule, often in the most innocent manner, so that it is impossible to be angry with him.