Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/348

 14, 1860.] Count Jocelyn for Fallowfield! A morning dream. They might desire that he should change his name; but ‘Count’ is preposterous, though it may conceal something.

“You say Andrew will come, and talk of his bringing Caroline. Anything to give our poor darling a respite from her brute. You deserve great credit for your managing of that dear little good-natured piece of obstinate man. I will at once see to prepare dear Caroline’s welcome, and trust her stay may be prolonged in the interests of common humanity. They have her story here already.

“Conning has come in, and says that young Mr. Harry Jocelyn will be here this morning from Fallowfield, where he has been cricketing. The family have not spoken of him in my hearing. He is not, I think, in good odour at home—a scapegrace. Rose’s maid, Polly, quite flew out when I happened to mention him, and broke one of my laces. These English maids are domesticated savage animals.

“My chocolate is sent up, exquisitely concocted, in plate of the purest quality—lovely little silver cups! I have already quite set the fashion for the ladies to have chocolate in bed. The men, I hear, complain that there is no lady at the breakfast-table. They have Miss Carrington to superintend. I read, in the subdued satisfaction of her eyes (completely without colour), how much she thanks me and the institution of chocolate in bed. Poor Miss Carrington is no match for her opportunities. One may give them to her without dread.

“It is ten on the Sabbath morn. The sweet church-bells are ringing. It seems like a dream. There is nothing but the religion attaches me to England; but that—is not that everything? How I used to sigh on Sundays to hear them in Portugal!

“I have an idea of instituting toilette-receptions. They will not please Miss Carrington so well.

“Now to the peaceful village-church, and divine worship. Adieu, my dear. I kiss my fingers to Silva. Make no effort to amuse him. He is always occupied. Bread!—he asks no more. Adieu! Adieu!”

Filled with pleasing emotions at the thoughts of the service in the quiet village church, and worshiping in the principal pew, under the blazonry of the Jocelyn arms, the Countess sealed her letter and addressed it, and then examined the name of Cogglesby; which plebeian name, it struck her, would not sound well to the menials of Beckley Court. While she was deliberating what to do to conceal it, she heard, through her open window, the voices of some young men laughing. She beheld her brother pass these young men, and bow to them. She beheld them stare at him without at all returning his salute, and then one of them—the same who had filled her ears with venom at Fallowfield—turned to the others and laughed outrageously, crying:

“By Jove! this comes it strong. Fancy the snipocracy here—eh?”

What the others said the Countess did not wait to hear. She put on her bonnet hastily, tried the effect of a peculiar smile in the mirror, and lightly ran down stairs.

“ the Ancients!” exclaimed Puff, in “The Critic,” “they’ve stolen all my best thoughts.” Let us only look back far enough, and we shall find that those who are ready to assist us in the tinkering of our Constitution, have also reason to complain of the pilfering propensities of their forefathers. There is, indeed, nothing new under the sun! Universal suffrage is as old as the Saxons; annual Parliaments date nearly as far back. A rate-paying franchise existed before the battle of Agincourt; and County Court judges sate and dispensed cheap law when Alfred the Great was king. The elements of our pet system of Reformatories even may be traced amongst the crumbling dust of ruined monasteries. The advance of civilisation has produced many novel details for legislation; but in nearly every instance, when we come to reform the system of our Government or law, we do not make a new model; we merely scrape away the corruption of the Middle Ages, which has defaced the old one invented by our sturdy Saxon ancestry.

England is at one and the same time the most liberal and the most conservative of nations. We stretch forward one hand to grasp a reform, and grope behind our backs with the other to find a precedent. No people hugs its old customs, its ancient likes and dislikes, so closely as the English. Are we wrong, then, in supposing at this juncture, when all classes are so anxiously discussing what is to be the extent of the parliamentary franchise in the future, that a sketch of it, as it existed in the past, long before the memory of our friend Mr. Minkinshaw, may not be devoid of interest to our readers?

Hallam lays it down that there are four different theories as to the ancient right of voting. He says: “1. The original right, as enjoyed by boroughs represented in the Parliaments of Edward I., and all of later creation, where one of a different nature has not been expressed in the charter from which they derive the privilege, was in the inhabitant householders resident in the borough, and paying scot and lot—by those words including local rates, and probably general taxes. 2. The right sprung from the tenure of certain freehold lands, or burgesses, within the borough, and did not belong to any but such tenants. 3. The right derived from charters of incorporation, and belonging to the community or freemen of the corporate body. 4. A right not extending to the generality of freemen, but limited to the governing part, or municipal magistracy.” The third of these, as regards the original parliamentary boroughs and many enfranchised by the successors of Edward I., was clearly an usurpation; and the fourth was a further usurpation upon it—an abuse upon an abuse—as repugnant to a Constitutionalist as colour blazoned upon colour would be to a herald.