restore sanity to the deranged, or sight to the
blind, nor can it banish disease and death, nor
drive crime out of the land. It cannot annul
the past, nor undo the thing once done.
But "our littleness" has many developments
besides those we cannot help and which are
beyond our control, and to some of these there
is blame attaching because we could be greater
in respect of them, if we would. I was present
on a recent occasion at the Crystal Palace when
the "Share Clubs," as they are called, held one
of their Sunday meetings there. Any attempt
to turn the resources of the Crystal Palace,
as a place of innocent Sunday recreation, to
account, is worthy of record. The favour
seemed, however, to have been conceded
somewhat under protest. The children were
admitted to their playground, but all the toys were
locked up. There is one amusement and one
only which has ever been the great Sunday
stronghold of our poorer classes, and which
seems likely to remain so for some time to
come. To link themselves together in couples
and walk with a slow and measured step in
total silence, is the sport in question, and on the
occasion of my Sunday visit to the Crystal
Palace, this diversion was being kept up with
great spirit. This Sunday walk requires to be
registered as a remarkable institution in this
country. A young man is considered to have
made his final choice, when once it is said
of him that he has "walked" with Mary Anne.
It is a solemnity approached with very great
gravity and a deep sense of its importance, by
both the parties. An assignation is made at a
street corner, and here George or Mary Anne,
whosoever gets first to the ground, spends
the time that elapses before the arrival of the
other party to the contract, in chewing a straw
or sucking a parasol handle, according to the
sex of the individual. Some wrigglings
announce the moment when the beloved object
has hove in sight. Neither beloved object,
however, looks at the other; but, having shaken
hands very stiffly and glanced up the street and
down the street, both stand for a short time
apparently in some indecision what to do next.
This state of things ends in desperation on the
part of George, who suddenly turns about and
hooks out his right elbow. Mary Anne attaches
herself to the proffered limb, and off they march.
From that moment the affair is concluded, and
George and Mary Anne are held to be affianced.
A great deal was done in this way at the
Crystal Palace on Sunday, the fourth of August;
but for those who were too young to walk, or
who had already walked, there was mighty
little amusement. True, the gymnasium was
accessible—probably because it was impossible
to render it otherwise without rooting it up from
the ground; and every facility was afforded to
the company for turning themselves topsy-turvy
immediately after dinner, or for hanging
with their heads downward till they were black
in the face; but here the line was drawn. "To
the Boats," was inscribed at the entrance of one
path, but when you had pursued the path to the
water's edge, the boats were found to have been
cunningly removed to the centre of the lake,
where nobody but a good swimmer who could
pick a padlock, and row without oars, could get
at them. "To the Cricket-ground," said another
inscription; but there was no cricket when one got
there. And the quoit-ground was destitute of those
rings of iron which are rather an important
ingredient in the game. Now, surely "our littleness"
comes out rather here. What possible harm
could there have been in allowing the perfectly
well-behaved persons who visited the Crystal
Palace on the Sunday of which I speak, to have
had some few of the resources of the place left
at their disposal? If any one strong enough
to use the gymnasium swings were at liberty to
do so, why lock up the see-saws and the merry-go-rounds
from the weak remainder of the
company? What harm in allowing those persons,
who were to be found in considerable numbers,
gazing, horror-struck, at the antediluvian
monsters—what harm in allowing them a little row
on the lake?
In that Great Building at Kensington "our
littleness" comes out, in some respects, as well
as our greatness. Was nothing consigned to
the back settlements which might, with advantage,
have taken the place of that Toy Trophy,
witli its rocking-horses and croquet-hammers?
One first-class situation is occupied by a stall
ornamented with "breadths" of alpaca, of
different colours. The candles have it all their own
way in another specially conspicuous place, where
they are arranged with a symmetrical ludicrousness
terrible to behold. These "trophies"
are, generally speaking, very poor and paltry
affairs. The word, according to Dr. Johnson,
means " something shown or treasured up in
proof of victory." What sort of victories are
proclaimed here? There is one trophy where the
victory is over the beasts of the field, and where
the spoils are turned into peaceful fur-tippets;
and one there is, consisting of all sorts of useful
and homely wares, gathered together and brought
into one bond of union, with this beautiful
and mysterious inscription flourishing above it:
"Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our Empire, and behold our Home!"
There is something of littleness, again, in the
crowds about the jewellery-cases. It is less
the intrinsic beauty of the jewels that draws
the numerous gazers, than the wretched thought
of the money they are worth, or perhaps the
even smaller thought of the wonderfully good
society those trinkets are going into. What
curiosity, what interest does this consideration
awaken! And so the jewel-cases with their
hideous silver cups and presentation candlesticks
in the same ill-used metal, are thronged:
and close by, in the Russian Court, the bronze
groups, which as works of art are second
to nothing in the place, are neglected and passed
by. The bronzes will be purchased, perhaps,
by people of taste, but one cannot depend on
their going into the best society; whereas, on
the other hand, the jewels will blaze at dinner-tables
in Mayfair, and at balls in Belgravia—
what a thought!
But perhaps the most remarkable developments
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