Some Private Views | Page 7

Æolian harp, and
quite as melancholy. There are one or two exceptions, of course, as in
the case of Mr. Calverley and Mr. Locker; but even the latter is careful
to insist upon the fact that, like those who have gone before us, we
must all quit Piccadilly. 'At present,' as dear Charles Lamb writes, 'we
have the advantage of them;' but there is no one to remind us of that

now, nor is it, as I have said, the general opinion that it is an advantage.
It is this prevailing gloom, I think, which accounts for the enormous
and increasing popularity of fiction. Observe how story-telling creeps
into the very newspapers (along with their professional fibbing); and,
even in the magazines, how it lies down side by side with 'burning
questions,' like the weaned child putting its hand into the cockatrice's
den. For your sake, my good fellow, who write stories [here my friend
glowered at me compassionately], I am glad of it; but the fact is of
melancholy significance. It means that people are glad to find
themselves 'anywhere, anywhere, out of the world,' and (I must be
allowed to add) they are generally gratified, for anything less like real
life than what some novelists portray it is difficult to imagine.
[Here he stared at me so exceedingly hard, that anyone with a less
heavenly temper, or who had no material reasons for putting up with it,
would have taken his remark as personal, and gone away.]
Another cause of the absence of good fellowship amongst us (he went
on) is the growth of education. It sticks like a fungus to everybody, and
though, it is fair to say, mostly outside, does a great deal of mischief.
The scholastic interest has become so powerful that nobody dares speak
a word against it; but the fact is, men are educated far beyond their wits.
You can't fill any cup beyond what it will hold, and the little cups are
exceedingly numerous. Boys are now crammed (with information) like
turkeys (but unfortunately not killed at Christmas), and when they grow
up there is absolutely no room in them for a joke. The prigs that
frequent my Midway Inn are as the sands in its hour-glass, only with no
chance, alas! of their running out. The wisdom of our ancestors limited
education, and very wisely, to the three R's; that is all that is necessary
for the great mass of mankind: whereas the pick of them, with those
clamping irons well stuck to their heels, will win their way to the
topmost peaks of knowledge.
At the very best--that is to say when it produces _anything_--what does
the most costly education in this country produce in ordinary minds but
the deplorable habit of classical quotation? If it could teach them to
_think_--but that is a subject, my dear friend, into which you will
scarcly follow me.
[I could have knocked his head off if he had not been so exceptionally
stout and strong, and as it was, I took up my hat to go, when a thought

struck me.]
'Among your valuable remarks upon the ideas entertained by society at
present, you have said nothing, my dear sir, about the ladies.'
'I never speak of anything,' he replied with dignity, 'which I do not
thoroughly understand. Man I do know--down to his boots; but
woman'--here he sighed and hesitated--'no; I don't know nearly so
much of her.'

_THE CRITIC ON THE HEARTH._
It has often struck me that the relation of two important members of the
social body to one another has never been sufficiently considered, or
treated of, so far as I know, either by the philosopher or the poet. I
allude to that which exists between the omnibus driver and his
conductor. Cultivating literature as I do upon a little oatmeal, and
driving, when in a position to be driven at all, in that humble vehicle,
the 'bus, I have had, perhaps, exceptional opportunities for observing
their mutual position and behaviour; and it is very peculiar. When the
'bus is empty, these persons are sympathetic and friendly to one another,
almost to tenderness; but when there is much traffic, a tone of severity
is observable upon the side of the conductor. 'What are yer a-driving on
for just as a party's getting in? Will nothing suit but to break a party's
neck?' 'Wake up, will yer? or do yer want that ere Bayswater to pass
us?' are inquiries he will make in the most peremptory manner. Or he
will concentrate contempt in the laconic but withering observation:
'Now then, stoopid!'
When we consider that the driver is after all the driver--that the 'bus is
under his guidance and management, and may be said _pro tem_, to be
his own--indeed, in