known that a multitude of our countrymen
taken at random from the sense, industry, self-
denial, self-respect, and household virtues of
this nation, repairing to the Exhibition at
Sydenham, make it their business to get drunk
there immediately; to struggle and fight with
one another, to tear one another's clothes off,
and to smash and throw down the statues. I
say, this is not generally known to be so. Yet
I find this picture, in a fit of temperate
enthusiasm, presented to the people by an artist
who is one of themselves, in pages addressed
to themselves. I am even informed by
a temperate journal, that the artist saw
these facts, in this said Exhibition at Sydenham,
with his own bodily eyes. Well! I repeat,
this is a state of things not generally known.

It is not generally known, I believe, that
the two scarcest books in England are The
Pilgrim's Progress and The Vicar of
Wakefield. Yet I find that the present American
Minister (perfectly familiar with England)
communicated the surprising intelligence
to a company, assembled not long ago, at
Fishmongers' Hall. It is not generally
known perhaps, that in expatiating on the
education of his countrymen His Excellency
remarked of these two rare works, that while
they were to be met with in every cabin in
the United States, they were "comparatively
little known in England"—not generally
known, that is to say.

It is not generally known, and if it were
recorded of our English Institutions, say by a
French writer, would not, I think, be
generally believed; that there is any court of
justice in England, in which an individual
gravely concerned in the case under inquiry,
can twice call the advocate opposed to him,
a Ruffian, in open court, under the judge's
nose and within the judge's hearing. Is it
generally known that such a case occurred
this last July, and was nobody's business?

It is not generally known that the people
have nothing to do with a certain large Club
which assembles at Westminster, and that the
Club has nothing to do with them. It is
simply an odd anomaly that the members of
the Club happen to be elected by a body who
don't belong to the Club at all; the pleasure
and business of the Club being, not with that
body, but with what its own members say and
do. Look to the reports of the Club's
proceedings. In January, the right hand says it
is the left hand that has abetted the slanders
on "an illustrious personage," and the left
hand says it is the right hand. In February,
Mr. Pot comes down on Mr. Kettle, and Mr.
Kettle requests to be taken from his cradle
and followed by inches to that honourable
hob. In the same month, the forefinger of
the left hand hooks itself on with Mosaic-
Arabian pertinacity to the two forefingers of
the right hand, and never lets go any more.
In March, the most delightful excitement of
the whole session is about a club dinner-
party. In April, there is Easter. ln May,
there is infinite Club-joy over personal Mosaic-
Arabia, and personal Admiralty. In June,
A relieves himself of the mild suggestion that
B is " an extraordinary bold apostate:" when
in cuts C, who has nothing to do with it, and
the whole alphabet fall together by the ears.
In August, Home Office takes up his colleague
Under Treasury, for talking " sheer nonsense."
In the same month, prorogation. Through
the whole time, one perpetual clatter of
"What did I say, what did you say, what did
he say? Yes I will, no you won't, yes I did, no
you didn't, yes I shall, no you shan't"—and
no such thing as what do they say? (those
few people outside there) ever heard of!

It is not generally known, perhaps, to what
lengths, in these times, the pursuit of an
object, and a cheer or a laugh, will carry a
Member of this Club I am speaking of. It
cannot have been generally observed, as it
appears to me (for I have met with no just
indignation on the subject), how far one of
its members was thus carried, a very little
while ago. Here is the case. A Board is to
be got rid of. I oppose this Board. I have
long opposed it. It is possible that my official
opposition may have very considerably
increased its difficulties and crippled its
efficiency. I am bent upon a jocose speech, and
a pleasant effect. I stand up in the heart of
the metropolis of the world. From every
quarter of the world, a dreadful disease which
is peculiarly the scourge of the many, because
the many are the poor, ill-fed, and badly
housed—whereas I, being of the few, am
neither—is closing in around me. It is coming
from my low, nameless countrymen, the rank
and file at Varna; it is coming from the hot
sands of India, and the cold waters of Russia;
it is in France; it is in Naples; it is in the
stifling Vicoli of Genoa, where I read accounts
of the suffering people that should make my
heart compassionate, if anything in this world
can; nay, it has begun to strike down many
victims in this city where I speak, as I the
speaker cannot fail to know—must know
—am bound to know—do know thoroughly
well. But I want a point. I have it! "The
cholera is always coming when the powers of
this Board are about to expire (A LAUGH)."
This well-timed joke of mine, so neatly
made upon the greatest misery and direst
calamity that human nature can endure, will
be repeated to-morrow in the same newspaper
which will carry to my honourable friends
here, through electric telegraph, the tidings
of a troop-ship put back to Plymouth, with
this very pestilence on board. What are all
such trifles to me? I wanted a laugh; I
have got a laugh. Talk to me of the agony
and death of men and brothers! Am I not
a Lord and a Member!

Now, is it generally known, I wonder, that
this indecency happened? Have the people
of such a place as TOTNES chanced to hear of
it? Or will they ever hear of it, and shall
we ever hear of their having heard of it?